Emily And Karen Train Me

This one is for Tim, who shares my love of shame.

It was hard enough for me to get used to Emily's having a regular boy friend. My younger sister would of course continue to want me to clean her when she returned from her now quite frequent dates. I knew that she had this secret pleasure in my experiencing a first tasting of each time her boy friend fucked her. She would summon me to her room and just sit on the edge of her bed as I crawled under her skirt to lick her soppy quim.

Later that year, though, she also began seeing a hard little girl, a few years younger than Emily, who enjoyed my sister's natural air of command. Karen, however, gleamed with perverse pleasures when Emily began initiating her as a junior domme, practicing the new art on me, of course.

Little Karen had a tight little figure, probably a 32A on top and not much more in her hips. "Now Karen," Emily would begin her lesson, "you will learn to have Leslie remove your panties for you before she services you in any way you would like. Leslie has quite the talent for using her teeth in this way and she can slip your panties down and off without making a mark. Of course if she does, you will begin by spanking her naughty little bottom."

Karen soon learned that it was even more fun for her to humiliate me by ordering me to remove her tampon with my teeth. This had been a favorite of Emily's for ages and it drove home to me how totally abased I had become when I would see the tiny little tampons that this little girl wore—of course, she was all of25 by now but it was if she still used Tampax Juniors.

The finest refinement added to my constant submissive life by Karen, however, was when she forced me to put my nose and mouth inside her incredibly tight labia so that she knew she could easily cut off my ability to breathe when trapped between her thin lower lips. Emily delighted in seeing me pant and would gesture to Karen out of my view to do something to up the pressure even more—release a blast of pee into my air-starved breathing apparatus, for example.

Karen soon became more interested, however, in supervising my bodily functions. When I failed to satisfy her increasingly sadistic desires, such as dripping even one drop of her strong yellow pee, she would impose a draconian punishment. It was worst when I was having my period. She would inform me rather bossily that I was now being deprived of my tampon privileges. This did not mean a thick pad would be chafing my thighs, however; instead, Karen would ceremoniously place a tiny thin pantiliner in my panty crotch and tell me how she would enjoy whipping my quim should I leak through the liner.

Since I flow heavily on my early days, my ignominious failure would be greeted with glee by both Karen and Emily. "Leslie, lower your panties for period inspection," Emily would intone. Karen would then peer down at my shameful panties, where the clotted flow had easily flooded the tiny liner and made my panty crotch a horrid mess.

Karen also enjoyed being personally served during her menstrual days. She would love to tease me by showing how her girlish flow could readily be absorbed by a small, low-absorbency tampon. As is true of so many women, though, the onset of her menses made Karen irregular as far as her bowels were concerned. Often, I would be told to position myself beneath her small bottom as she spread her cheeks above me and I would only see the anal rosette start to pucker when her loose stool would pour out on my face in a wretchedly smelling mess.

Emily went into hysterics as the light brown poo—what a perfect word for Karen's loose movement—covered my face and contorted it with the incredibly pungent smell I now was forced to endure until the two of them would permit me to rise and clean off. First I might be made to lick Karen's messy bottom hole while Emily laughed and cackled at the disgusting poo on my face.

I was assigned, of course, to maintain careful schedules of all three of our menstrual periods. Karen gradually assumed most responsibility for disciplining me. When she felt I needed to be punished, I was called before her, with Emily watching in full enjoyment, as Karen took out her little black notebook in which she would enter all of my domestic offenses.

"Emily," she would say in a feigned air of concern, "Leslie has earned five black marks this week and I'm afraid that means that she must be awarded a full six with the cane." Then I would wait, full of fear always, because either of them might offhandedly decide that I also deserved a few "Mistress's Strokes" which were always administered between my legs and my spread-open labia.

"Leslie," Karen would say, "I'm afraid you must bend over and hold your naughty labia apart. I intend to award you two sharp Mistress's strokes down there where they will have the most good result." Then she would take Emily's thin cane, run it cruelly through my already sopping vulval lips, and then with just the tiniest ladylike flick of her slim wrist, snap the cane into my spread totally open quim. It was a sickening feeling although the spark when cane slapped my tender pussy flesh often gave me a sort of orgasmic reaction.

Or, if neither of them really had need of the joy gained from punishing my quim, Karen would instead apply a control punishment. "Leslie, you will put on this pantygirdle and you will ask my personal permission to lower it should you need to use the toilet," Karen would say, with her pretty little bossy manner. "I don't intend to lower your girdle for some time so I hope you will use your control to be sure you don't have any unnecessary accidents," she said with a huge grin.

Both of them were totally gaga when they managed to force me to have an accident. Pee was the usual one since eventually, denied any release from the tight pantygirdle, my poor bladder would let go and I would feel the pee quickly descend into my short womanly urethra and seep out speedily into the girdle.

It was far far worse, of course, if, as Karen loved to put it, "Leslie made a doody in her pants." I would try to keep my anal rosette clamped but eventually the movement would have its way and in an equally sickening way, ooze out into a mashed lump in my pantygirdle crotch. Karen would smell it, of course, and reach under my skirt to feel the humiliating lump in the crotch as she told Emily of how I had once again "done a doody in my panties."

I would first be made to take out my own little conduct book and watch as Karen very officiously would enter the date and then something like "Leslie lost control again and made a big doody in her panties. We are considering putting her back in diapers until she shows more control that a big girl should have by now." Then Karen announced a new humiliation: I would be sentenced to go braless for several days despite my 34Bs' obvious need.

I was totally freaked, of course, by the constantly threatened possibility that I would be returned to diapers for a possibly indefinite period. Karen loved to talk about the prospect and told Emily in front of me that it seemed so silly for me to continue to have the privilege of wearing "big girl panties." Sometimes she would bring over small-sized panties that are commonly worn by little girls for me to wear: bunnies or ducks or flowers would adorn them and sometimes the crotch was a plastic one designed for the early teen girls who might not yet be capable of always holding their pee in.

Emily loved seeing her make me put on these little girl panties but so far, she felt, I thought, that diapers would be taking things farther than necessary. But every time I made a mess in the pantygirdle, either a doody or my period leaking through the tiny liner, Karen would tell Emily that I didn't deserve the privilege of wearing panties when it was clear that all I did was soil them.

It was becoming increasingly clear that it would only be a matter of time before the dread order to put me in diapers might be issued. One night when Emily returned from a date, I was cleaning her cream-filled quim—a task I had come to accept as a privilege. Karen arrived, and it turned out she had had a date, quite uncommon in her case. Emily daringly asked her if she needed to be "creamed"—Emily's term for my licking her quim clean after she had been royally fucked.

Karen blushed and said that she indeed needed me to accommodate her need for creaming. I was made to crawl under her short skirt and found that she had no panties on and that her cunt was incredibly wet. I imagined that her small size meant that whoever had fucked her had deposited a large load that was oozing freely from her. I found the different taste of her quim curiously different and exciting, and it made me all the more humiliated to be cleaning up this girl's fucked cunt, this girl who hardly ever dated.

Karen had rather short, fair pubic hair and I suppose it made it even easier for me to lick her clean than was my experience with cleaning Emily, who had long pale blonde pubic hair that seemed to always be between my teeth. Karen was still feeling happy from her rare intercourse so she girlishly laughed with Emily as I cleaned both of their seeping quims.

"Maybe we should shave Leslie down there so she will look better when she wears little girl panties," Karen suggested to my ever- ready-to-humiliate-me sister. Soon the Lady Schick and the shaving cream appeared and my panties were lowered as Emily spread the cream on my pubes while Karen carefully shaved me clean as a baby down there. That night, though, I was allowed to sleep in the next bed in Emily's room while Karen made love to my sister. Normally I had been excluded from their making love but now I could hear as Emily was obviously rubbing Karen's labia and clit until the smaller girl exploded in obvious throes of orgiastic joy.

And then Emily remembered I was there and whispered to Karen. "Leslie, come over here and clean up Karen. I think she's had a sweet cum and needs to feel your talented tongue licking up her juice. It would be extra nice if you let your tongue graze her little nub," Emily went on as she took Karen's small hand and directed her to her own spread gash.

"And sweetie," Emily looked at me with this strange grin on her face, "there's something I've brought for you to wear. Look in the top drawer."

I knew before I opened it that it was the cloth diaper I had dreaded. "Oh Emily," Karen exclaimed, "you did do it! I see the little diaper pail over there too! How cute!"

And I was made to stand as my "big girl" panties were removed with a definitive air of finality and this smaller woman, ten years my junior, expertly powdered my quim, anus and thighs before pinning a thick cloth diaper onto my nether regions. My humiliation was becoming complete.