Kelly pulled the sundress on before taking off her jeans, still too uncomfortable to be seen in her panties by this relative stranger.
Taylor smiled to herself, thinking about how sweet and innocent and pure Kelly was, and how soon propriety and modesty would become things of the past.
Once the jeans were off, Taylor buttered up the insecure girl. “You look delicious.”
“Really?” Kelly asked, not catching the innuendo.
“Really, really,” Taylor responded before adding, “obviously you would look even better with stockings.”
“You think so?” Kelly asked, effortlessly being drawn into Taylor’s web.
“I know so,” Taylor smiled. “When it comes to fashion, I’m your girl.”
“I only have the pair your Mom gave me yesterday,” Kelly admitted.
“Would you like to borrow a pair of mine?”
“No, I’m ok,” Kelly answered, deciding the stockings would be too much of a new statement.
“Whatever suits your fancy,” Taylor replied, showing just the slightest hint of annoyance.
Kelly noticed it but let it go, leaving Taylor to finish getting dressed.
6. SANDRA CAN’T GET NO SATISFACTION
Sandra woke up in a hot sweat. What a crazy dream she’d had! Opening her eyes, she rubbed the sleep out of them and realized she was in the spare bedroom in the basement, which meant the recent events hadn’t been a dream.
Which meant her Mistress from college was in her house dominating her and planning to seduce her daughter.
Sandra knew she had to stop this before it went any further. She rushed upstairs and found Mariah in the kitchen making breakfast. Sandra’s resolve weakened the moment she saw the beautiful blonde bombshell. Instead of demanding she leave as she had intended, she said, “Good morning, Mariah.”
“Good morning, my pet,” Mariah smiled. “Did you have a good sleep?”
“It was ok.”
“I slept like a baby,” Mariah shared. “Your bed is really comfortable.”
Sandra sighed to herself, knowing that comment was just another shot at a power shift that Sandra had no control over.
Kelly arrived downstairs for breakfast and Sandra noticed the dress. She looked down for stockings and was happy to see she had none on.
Mariah looked too. “Good morning, Kelly,” she greeted. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Kelly shrugged, not used to big breakfasts, “Sure, it smells amazing.”
Breakfast came and went and as soon as the front door closed leaving Sandra and Mariah alone, Mariah said, “We need to talk.”
“Agreed,” Sandra said, hoping there was still a chance to end this before it got completely out of hand.
Mariah continued, “Let’s go through the training rules.”
Sandra’s Pollyanna hopes crashed and burned. “The training rules?”
“Clearly a part of you is desperately trying to fight me for your freedom, yet it’s obvious that part is losing to your yearning to submit to me,” Mariah assessed.
Sandra ignored her own plight and said with all the determination she had in her, “Regardless of my own desires, I need you to promise to leave Kelly alone.”
Mariah laughed. “This isn’t a fucking negotiation, slut. You really have regressed. I may have to add a few fillips to the rules.”
“Please,” Sandra pleaded, grasping at straws.
“Please, what?” Mariah asked, impatient.
“Can we make an arrangement where once Kelly has graduated and goes off to college, I return to being your…” Sandra began bargaining, but became unsure what to call herself.
“My pet, my slut, my whore, my kitty,” Mariah listed, a collection of labels she’d used in the past.
“Yes, all those and any more you want,” Sandra agreed, her last ditch attempt at saving her daughter from the same hopeless addiction she was subject to.
Mariah, giving the pet a glimmer of hope she never intended to follow through with, suggested, “Today, let’s focus on you.”
Sandra glanced at the clock and noticing the time cautioned, “I need to be at work in an hour.”
“Then we’d better get started. This won’t take long,” Mariah ordered.
“But…”
Mariah ignored her sub’s weak protest, reached in her purse and handed Sandra a piece of paper with the words: ‘The non-negotiable rules for SANDRA’S retraining’ printed at the top.
Sandra reluctantly took the paper, dreading the expectations that would be entered like tombstone engravings on the piece of paper. She looked at the paper and read the lengthy list:
The Retraining of Slave Sandra
1. You will obey EVERY command MISTRESS MARIAH or MISTRESS TAYLOR gives you no matter what it is.
2. You will ONLY wear panties when your period is visiting… otherwise you will never wear panties… unless instructed by either of your Mistresses.
3. You will NEVER wear a bra unless at a significant work function or required by a Mistress to enhance an outfit.
4. You will wear stockings EVERY DAY from the moment you get out of your morning shower until you wake up the following day.
5. When alone with either or both of your Mistresses you will address them as MISTRESS.
6. You are a 24-hour pet and thus are on call at all times whether at work or not.
7. You will have your cellphone turned on AT ALL TIMES in case either Mistress decides to contact you.
8. You will have your nails… fingers and toes… painted at all times… RED!
9. You will ALWAYS wear dresses or skirts unless otherwise instructed.
10. Since you are a PET and OWNED unconditionally by your two Mistresses, you must give your body to them without restriction. Thus, you may only COME with the permission of a Mistress. If you are unable to contact a Mistress, BAD LUCK.
11. Other rules may be added as either Mistress sees fit.
Of course, any disobedience of these simple rules will result in punishment.
Sandra flashed back to the when the original rules list had been introduced:
“My pet, I think you need guidelines,” Mariah announced just after coming all over her still-in-training pet.
“Pardon, Mistress?” I responded, unsure what my Mistress meant.
“I think you will be more content if I make all your decisions for you,” Mariah explained, as if this was just common sense.
“I don’t understand,” I replied.
“You are my pet. A puppy doesn’t make choices on what to wear does she?” Mariah asked.
“Well, no,” I replied, surprised by such an inter-species breakdown of our relationship.
“A kitty doesn’t choose what to eat, does she?” Mariah added.
“You want to decide what I eat?” I asked, stunned to the core.
“Well, not completely, but I am going to start choosing your outfits for you every day,” Mariah informed me.
“You are?” I asked, still in denial about yet another level in my bizarre relationship with my roommate. I loved the attention, I loved to please and I had become reliant on Mariah for my pleasure, but this new declaration seemed a bit extreme.