Pepper's Present

One thing about a small town in a sparely-populated county is that everyone knows everyone, or at least knows of everyone. Or so it seems.

This story began a couple of weeks ago when my mom's friend Jenny, the mother of one of my BFFs Isabelle, came over for coffee one Saturday afternoon. Izzy and I have been friends literally forever. Our moms have been BFFs even longer, like long before either of us was even a thought.

My mom, Diane, is well known, at least to her closest friends, for playing sex games. She doesn't make a secret of it. Even I've known about it for a while. Not that she advertises it. On the contrary, she makes a good effort that no one sees anything out of the ordinary. But her friends know. Jenny and Lisa -- the mother of my friend Reagan who met my mom the same time she met Jenny -- and mom's circle of friends that I call her "kinky friends." A little group of ladies that share her tastes.

At first, I was just curious about what she did. Naturally, I snooped, what girl wouldn't? I didn't get to see much. But every glimmer I got made me want to see more. I bugged her, and finally, when I turned 18, mom started letting me see little slices of her fun. From the first slice, I saw I knew that it excited me, too. I couldn't help but think of men and women on their knees before me instead of mom. Talking to mom about that was so awkward, but I finally did, and after even more bugging, mom started to teach me a few things. And a few more. Then even more. Every new thing killed me. As soon as I was free, I'd practically run to my room to relieve my tension. Mom doesn't need to know about that, but as attentive as she can, I would totally not be surprised if she's guessed it by now.

Izzy, also 18, has a brother that's 12 and a sister that 6. I don't have any siblings. Obviously, her brother is in middle school, not high school with us. Toss in her baby sister (I get to call her that, since I helped change her diapers!) and it has Jenny going to three sets of PTA meetings, not just the one my mom attends. It was at the middle school's PTA meeting that somehow Jenny mentioned my mom, likely talking about something new on her parenting tips blog or something. Whatever. That was all it took for another of the mothers, a woman named Teresa to start cozying up to Jenny. Then the next meeting she coyly asked Jenny if she knew my mom. Then the next meeting she asked if the rumors she'd heard were even close to true. Finally, after dancing around it as much as she could, she just hinted hard that she would like an introduction to my mom.

Jenny told my mom, and I know because my mom let me stay and eavesdrop (we've long since agreed that we'll never say anything that could lead to a hint of one of her toy's identities, most of which I know by now), how she made sure there wasn't anyone else around, then asked her why she wanted to meet mom, was she interested in talking about parenting or something else. It mattered. Teresa stuttered hard enough that while she never gave a straight answer, Jenny guessed what she wanted to discuss. She told Teresa that mom doesn't work like that. While she definitely takes "introductions," she doesn't want her number just passed out. Like who would, right? Instead, she gave Teresa one of mom's cards. They're regular business cards she prints herself for just such "introduction requests." It just has "Diane" and an email address on it. One of several anonymous addresses she keeps on ProtonMail for just that. Which address it is tells her who gave her card out. Jenny doesn't know how mom handles that little aspect of her life -- Jenny has zero interest in games -- so she wanted to warn mom that she'd handed out a card. It's like the second time she's handed one out ever.

It took the woman two weeks to work up enough nerve to finally email mom, and when she did it was a short one, basically just saying where she'd gotten her email, and asking if she'd be interested in meeting. Mom would never let her get away with that, and seriously, who would meet someone they don't know that just emailed and asked to meet? But knowing where the card came from and knowing that Jenny wouldn't pass it out to any creeps, mom emailed her back. She gave specific instructions, too. The woman had to introduce herself and say plainly why she wished to meet.

Her response was as timid as it was brief. She simply told mom the very basics about herself, like her height (5'6") and her weight (145). She did mention that she knows Jenny from the PTA meetings at the middle school. Otherwise, she said only "I've heard you are... interested in certain private things. I am interested in exploring my own interest there."

Mom wrote her back, this time a very firm, but also gentle email. It started "I hope you understand that I neither discuss such things or participate in them with those I don't know. However, since you are a friend of Mrs. Walton, I will offer you a single chance to show me who you are and that your interest is genuine. This is a yes/no offer, you will accept it now, or it will never be made again. You will come here, and from the instant, you step foot on my property, You accept that I own you until you are off my property. There is no limit on what may be done with you. Forget any notions of privacy, you will have none. Whatever you are asked, you will answer fully and honestly. No topic, and literally nothing is off-limits. You accept that. You have only my assurances that I will keep your secret and you will not be injured. You will not be free to leave here. Once you come, you will stay until you are dismissed. Whatever ideas, thoughts, and expectations you have forget them now. I assure you of nothing, except that you will be owned in every imaginable sense of the word. While at my home, you will obey my rules, or suffer the consequences of any infraction, whatever that might be. If the offer interests you, then reply to this email and tell me what inflexible time commitments you have over the next two weeks, nothing else. I will summon you sooner or later."

Teresa took a full day to answer. When she did, she followed her directions and indicated that she had two kids to look after, and a job to support them. She didn't have that much free time, and what she could arrange was mostly evenings and weekends.

Mom waited until late Friday evening to email her a short summons that she "will present herself at 9:30 am Saturday morning to allow getting acquainted with you and thus what is being offered to serve." Not another word.

Then mom totally surprised me by asking me if I wanted to interview Teresa for her. Like so DUH. I've been begging to be allowed to play with her toys a little more. So far she's let me play a little. She's even let me run a couple of sessions, but always with her close by. She's never allowed me to handle anything all on my own before.

I ask mom what she wants me to do. We end up have a very adult conversation for over an hour, where I learn what mom would usually do. She tells me that I already know how to read a sub's body for signs they like or dislike something, I've done that plenty. Then she tells me that I am free to improvise if I chose to. Essentially, this toy is mine for this session, and it's her first session. Afterward, mom wants only a yes or no from me, the question being does this sub have anything to add to her toy collection. Something that's not already in it. Even just something different to amuse herself with -- and she hints to amuse myself with if I can handle this well. I have as long as I want, Teresa has no commitments except her kids which are home alone, so not too late that they get worried about her. I lay awake in bed last night, unable to sleep as I play the scene over and over in my mind, wondering what Teresa would be like and which directions it would go. Would it be a long session that we both enjoyed, or would I decide that she's a faker or something and kick her out quickly?

Come 9:00 I'm already anxiously waiting for her to arrive. Mom demands punctuality for her subs -- and I often see them sitting in their cars in the street waiting for the proper time to come to the door -- but Teresa hasn't a clue what the rules are yet. I figure she'll be a little early, wanting to make a good impression, to show she's eager.

I'm right, she rings the doorbell at 9:20. I go to answer the door. "You must be Teresa." I greet her. "I am Miss Rodgers. In our home, you will address everyone humbly, politely and formally. You will speak only when spoken to, and then only to answer whatever you are asked. I know mom told you, but you now absolutely belong to her. You have no say over anything whatsoever. Now please put your hands behind your back, and follow me."

Teresa lets her uneasy surprise show. She totally did not expect anyone to have a clue about her meeting, especially a teenage girl who is now, albeit kindly, ordering her around despite being only a very few years older than her own kids. She gets her hands behind her, her purse unsteady on her shoulder. Then she takes a very hesitant step inside. I shut the door and lead her back to mom's office. Well, it's my office for the moment. She's letting me have exclusive use of it to "meet" Teresa.

I don't leave her to wait now, as she'll likely be made to do in the future. Usually unnecessarily. I let her right in to the office and point to a place in front of the desk beside one of the two simple, but elegant, wood chairs with a wicker back. Teresa goes to the place and stands there.

I stand beside the other chair and face her, telling her to face me. This way there's nothing between us but air. "Just so there's no uncomfortable -- for you, that is -- misunderstanding, you will obey me. Mom won't let you waste her time, and I'm not going to let you waste mine. I value my time. So whenever I tell you to do something, I expect you to promptly say 'yes, Ma'am' or 'yes, Miss Rodgers' and then do it at a normal pace. Don't hurry, but don't even think about going slower than you usually would, either. I don't care if you like it. It doesn't matter anyway. Mom owns you. You are going to do it. Is that clear enough for you, Teresa?"

"Yes... Miss Rodgers."

"That's great, Teresa. After you do whatever, just stand back up like you're standing now. You start now by putting your purse on the desk beside you." She acknowledges and sets her purse on the desk. That's easy for her, and it looks like she's glad to have it off her shoulder.

I eye her over quickly. I take inventory of what she has on, at least what I can see of it. She's not exactly a fashionista, but she's nicely dressed. Her things look to be Wal-Mart grade, although with online shopping, who knows where they came from. She has on snug-fitting jeans with a sleeveless dark print top. I see sneakers, so I assume socks. I see a watch and a single necklace, but no other jewelry. And her make-up, of course, not so much heavily applied, as thoroughly applied, as if she's trying to make herself look as good as possible. It's a waste on her part, and she'll soon find that out. "Good, Teresa. Now please take your necklace off and put that besides your purse now." She doesn't argue that one either, although I can see the beginnings of uncomfortableness on her face as she wonders where this is going. The purse came across as a polite offer to relieve her of a burden, but the necklace she clearly intended to wear, not take off.

I give her a little smile when I see her do it. "Good girl, Teresa," I say once she's standing back up. "Now take that top off, fold it neatly and set it beside your purse. Do that now, Teresa." I know she's going to cringe hard when she hears it, and I'm not disappointed. She also gets this utterly horrified look on her face that screams she's going to burst into tears and run off. With that instruction, it's obvious that some of her clothes are coming off, maybe even more than some.

When she answers "yes, Miss Rodgers," her voice is so mousy quiet that I almost don't hear her. She moves only a little slower than she should as she lifts the top up and over her head. It bares her stomach and a decently cute black bra. It's the kind of bra that a woman would wear if she thought there was a chance of being seen in it. This tells me that she thought there might be a chance that sometime during this session she'd be asked to take something off. But I know there no way she ever thought she'd be doing it in front me. It makes her exceptionally uneasy, and Teresa lets it show.

Mom has a certain way she likes her subs to undress. While it's my choice how Teresa does it now, I kind of like mom's way. It's atypical, and thus it'll toss Teresa even more off balance. Which I know I want to do to her. It's top-down. The sub starts at the top and takes off the highest thing, then moves down to the next highest until there's nothing left. I make sure my eyes are on Teresa, who I guess to be somewhere in her late 30s or early 40s. And I make sure she can see that my eyes are on her. "Just keeping being a good girl, Teresa, and take that bra off, fold it neatly and put it on top of your blouse." I use a no-nonsense business-like voice with enough firmness in it to let Teresa know I'm not asking her. I'm telling her.

Then I watch as Teresa cringes even harder as she hears that she's expected to bare her boobs to me. After a second, she acknowledges, but her voice is even mousier and quieter than before. Her hands move nervously, clearly reluctantly, up behind her back. It takes a few more seconds than it should before I see the black straps fall down to her sides. She freezes for another instant before pulling a trembling arm lightly over her chest as her bra falls into her other hand.

"Teresa!" I don't raise my voice as I quickly scold her. "Don't ever try to hide anything here. Put your arm down now. Just undress as if I'm not here. You don't have any privacy. You don't have any modesty." She unwillingly lowers her arm, exposing a pair of moderately saggy loose breasts. They're on the small-to-average size, topped with light pink, wide nipples. Her mounds slump on her chest enough that her nipples point slightly outward instead of straight ahead. I don't really think they're that bad, considering that two babies have nursed from them, and she is definitely middle-aged anyway. But I know she can see my chest, and even with my top on it's obvious that I have ample and very perky breasts. Just ask any boy in my school, they've all eyed them through my clothes.

Next, I tell Teresa to take her shoes off. It's not mercy. And it is out of order. But with those sneakers on, she'll never get those snug jeans off. Those she doesn't mind taking off. She doesn't notice or even think about, the view it gives me of her breasts as she leans over and they hang free. I ask for her belt next, and she doesn't mind that either.

Then I ask for her jeans. She cringes anew, and just as hard. Just as reluctantly she slips them down, showing me that she's wearing a pair of black panties. They're definitely cute, and they're something a woman wouldn't mind being seen in. But they don't perfectly match the bra either. They're not a set. The high V-cut style panties have a different lace trimming them.

Too bad for her they're high cut, with their straps clear up on her hips bones. They look nice on her, but that puts the waistband of those panties above her wrist by a good inch. So I ask for the panties next. She acknowledges the command, very hushed and mousy, in a voice that breaks with little sobs. She really is about to cry.

I wonder why once I get a good look at her pubes. She has a neat strip of black hair from her waistline all the way down and between her thighs. It's more half triangle, half-strip, like a triangle that's trimmed well clear of the creases of her thighs. But even through her fur, I can see that she has a big, full pussy with long, wide lips. It seems to come up her front side a little, enough that trimming her bush above her lips would odd. Mom will have her shave it. I know that. I would, too. The hair on those lips just gets in the way.

With Teresa standing very shyly unhappy now, I ask for her watch, and then her socks. Seeing that she doesn't appear to have anything left, I ask "Teresa, do you have anything at all on or in your body now?"

She says no. I leave her standing a moment while I collect her clothes and put them in one of the drawers of the file cabinet. It's polished oak, and it has a digital lock on it. Once I shut it, it locks. Now Teresa has nothing, just her naked body, and hopefully, she realizes that she won't have anything until I give it to her.

I tell her to sit in the chair. As soon as her bottom is in it, I tell her to sit facing my desk, and cross her legs, right over left. Then I have her sit up straight, look forward, eyes up, and finally fold her hands neatly in her lap, palms up. She tries again to cover herself, putting her arms in front of her breasts as she folds her hands. I quickly tell her to move them, arms at her sides all the way to the elbows. "That's perfect, Teresa. Whenever you are told to sit in this house, that is how we expect you to sit. I don't care if it's comfortable for you or not. You look like a nice humble little girl that way, and that how we want you. You will sit still. Don't move, don't even fidget around. Just sit. And remember not to speak unless spoken to. OK, Teresa?"

I take the seat behind my temporary desk. I have my own password for mom's laptop that lives on this desk. I'm sure it doesn't let me anywhere near her private files, but it does allow me access to her toy files. I log in and bring up one of her forms. It just has basic biographical information, stuff she knows about all of her toys. But we really know very little about Teresa, so I figure I'm just going to make her tell me all of it.

While she sits still and answers my questions, I start by getting her full name (Teresa Christine Yates nee Jenkins) her birthday and age (39) address, phone number, height, weight, hair/eye color. I get the names, birthdays and ages of her two kids. Gender is kind of obvious, I don't know of any girls named Anthony or Robert. I find out that she works at Bass Pro Shops. I don't have to ask which, there's only one. I even ask what she makes there ($9/hr, which if you ask me is far below what it should be legal to pay anyone!) Then I get her clothing sizes, even her bra (36-B) and her panties (7) which are definitely not bad sizes for a woman to wear. Not everyone can be as lucky as I was in genetic lottery and wear a 32-D with size 3 panties! I ask a few more questions, the invasive personal kind, such as when her last period was(3 weeks ago), how long it lasts (4 days), how many lovers has she had (6), were any of those females? (no). In all, I spend around 25 minutes just leaving her to sit still and answer those questions.

I never tell a toy what is coming, just what to do, and only then when I want him or her to do it. So I stand walk over to the portable massage table that mom has in here. She uses it to have her toys massage her, and once in a while, she lets me get in on the spa treatment. I call Teresa over to the table and have her hop up on it. Immediately I instruct her to get on her hands and knees, then to spread both her knees and feet to the edges of the table. Once she gets that done, I have her move her bottom forward a bit until her thighs are straight up and down. Then I tell her to start with her arms straight up and down, then move them forward and out equal amounts until her back is flat with the table. Once she's got all that done, I have her hold her head up to look forward. That has her staring at the door.

I remind the newbie to stay still and quiet. I set a few things out on the table, between her feet where she doesn't have a hope of seeing them. When I'm ready, I let her hear me snap on a pair of latex gloves. Mom buys these just for me. They're pastel green, which I absolutely love. And they're size small, which is the only size that will fit my little hands.