Soft, nervous, barely audible whisper: "This is wrong. We shouldn't be doing this!"

Soft in return, but thick with derision and sneering disdain: "Don't be such a fraidy cat! I don't care if you don't want to do this, but you're gonna. Or else!"

The two girls were close together, down in the basement. One of them wanted to be there, while the other wanted to be far far away. But she'd been given no choice about being involved this enterprise.

Actually, that wasn't true. She had been given a choice: help her cousin explore, or have her mom told that she'd broken a very firm rule. Given that choice, well, Courtney just didn't see any other option. So, there she was, along with her cousin Sasha, down in the basement. Not that they weren't allowed down there to play, because they were. What wasn't allowed, not at all, under any circumstances, was to enter inside the door Sasha was about to open. Not that Sasha seemed to care at all about breaking such a firm, strict rule! Courtney nervously nibbled her full, soft, pouty lower lip, watching as her cousin slipped the concealed panel back, revealing the inside. Nothing about this summer vacation was going right, not from the moment her cousin first arrived at their home.

She didn't know why that was so, either. Or why her cousin seemed to have changed so. Every summer, for the past five years, Sasha had spent a month there with Courtney and her Mom, and they'd always had heaps of fun together. It was the high point of Courtney's summer vacation, in fact, and one that she'd looked forwards to each year.

She'd looked forward to it this year, too. Even more so when Samantha, her Mom, had told her Sasha would be spending, not just the one month with them, but the entire three months of vacation. Courtney didn't know all the details of why that was, or why Sasha was flying this time instead of her parents driving her. But she knew enough to be only a teensy bit envious of her cousin getting to fly, instead of being green with jealousy.

Samantha had sat her daughter down about two months ago, explaining that her cousin might be spending the entire summer with them this year. Courtney had been quite ecstatic, then settled down, soberly listening as her Mom had explained some things to her. Sasha was likely to be sad or unhappy, she'd said. There was quite a bit of trouble going on in her family, between her parents. Courtney had nodded; not as surprised as her Mom might have thought for, only last vacation, Sasha had secretly confided in her, telling her some things that had been going on at home.

Courtney felt real bad for her cousin. She, herself, had never had a father. Her Mom would never talk about him, except to gently explain that her father had been a bad man, a very bad man indeed. That they'd never been married. In fact, Mommy had never seen him before, or since, that one time.

The time that had resulted in Samantha becoming pregnant with her daughter.

Now, that didn't make a great deal of sense to Courtney. She couldn't, at all, understand. What she did understand, beyond any doubt, was just how much her Mommy loved, and wanted, her. It wasn't just her words, her assurance. Her every action loudly shouted out to Courtney how much her Mommy loved and wanted her, and really, that was all that mattered to her.

Still, sometimes she secretly yearned for a Daddy. Wondered what that might be like to have one. Everyone else she knew had one. Well, some might be married, or just living together, or divorced, or even a stepdad. But, they had somebody. And in the rare case when they didn't - two girls in her class, their fathers had died - at least they had had one for part of their lives.

Sasha had both a Mom and a Dad, and sometimes Courtney would, in the dark of night while they lay in their beds, ask her what it was like to have a Dad. It had always sounded nice, from what Sasha had said.

At least, it had always sounded nice, until last year, anyways.

Sasha had been reluctant, at first, to talk about things. And Courtney hadn't wanted to push or pry. But, during that last summer, Sasha had confided that things at home weren't at all nice any more. Her parents were starting to get into more and more fights, with her Dad becoming really violent, throwing and breaking things, threatening them both. Courtney had actually been scared for her cousin. That all sounded so awful! Scary and frightening!

Things had gotten much worse, too, although Courtney hadn't been told all the details. Precocious and bright as she was, there were some things Samantha felt that no nine year old should know in detail, not even her daughter. Between that last summer and this one, things had taken a terrible turn with her sister's family. Ruth was calling several times a week, often in tears, sometimes semi-hysterical, just to talk with her sister, having no idea what to do. Things were turning intolerable between her and Mike, her husband. He'd lost his job, started drinking, would snap and explode at the least little thing.

What no one had known was that he'd also be dead by late April, of a massive brain tumor. The autopsy had found that, and only then did the true cause of his Jekyll and Hyde behavior been revealed. But, by then the damage had been done. Ruth was bordering on both a nervous breakdown and deep depression, and needed professional help, while Sasha . . .

Sasha had been changed, too: from a formerly biddable, polite and mannered, cheery and bright child, to a sulky, belligerent preteen of eleven. Not too bad, no, but more then Ruth, in her current condition, could handle. Which was why Samantha had offered to take her for the whole summer, which Ruth had tearfully yet deeply gratefully accepted.

Now, Courtney hadn't been told all the details, only that Sasha would be spending the whole summer; that she was a bit 'stressed out' and needed to relax, have fun, and recover; that Mike, her Dad, had suddenly died, without warning, and that Sasha was deeply grieving and hurting inside. That Courtney should do all she could to help her cousin's pain and hurt.

Courtney felt awful, truly horrid, to hear all that, and grieved for Sasha as deeply, perhaps, as Sasha did herself. And she'd been more then happy to do just as Mom asked. She'd spent the entire month before the visit, making plans, coming up with ideas to help her cousin heal from her sorrow and grief.

Plans which barely lasted days, let alone the first week.

For Sasha had changed, indeed. And not at all in ways Courtney, at nine, was prepared to handle, no matter how bright and clever she was.

Not in terribly obvious ways, either. At least, Courtney thought sullenly and resentfully, in ways her Mom seemed not to notice. Or at least overlook. Which irritated Courtney no end. Her Mom, while not overly strict, was quite firm when it came to rules, obedience and discipline. Punishment, too, if and when that was deserved, ranging from scolds and lectures, to 'time-outs' and groundings, to writing lines or essays, and even to spankings and paddlings. Courtney could push a rule or limit or, more intelligently, talk and try to negotiate one but, if she broke a limit or rule, well, by now, she knew that if she did, she shouldn't be surprised at what happened after!

From former talks with Sasha over the years, her Mom seemed the same way, too. Which was why Courtney was furious and angry over things as they currently stood. Logically she could accept that Sasha was hurting inside, was acting out because of that, and Mom was going easy, trying to gently heal, gently guide Sasha back into proper behavior. But, emotionally, Courtney was growing quite bitter and resentful inside.

If she had snapped back at her Mom like Sasha had done, she'd've had her mouth soaped! Sent to her room without eating if she'd've complained about the 'crappy food' Mom had made for dinner. Or, frankly, punished because of any of the many things Sasha had done, not done, or said when she first had arrived.

But . . . Sasha hadn't been. Soaped. Or punished. Or anything! Well, other then having several quite firm, severe lectures and scolds anyway. And they seemed to have had some effect, since Sasha ceased being quite as, well, bratty when around her Aunt.

But, while she might have chosen discretion over valor when it came to her Aunt, she sure as heck didn't change at all where it came to her cousin!

And, in some ways, that was even worse. Nor was it even terribly obvious, either. Just little things; well, seemingly little things, for they were anything but little to Courtney! Rather then the closeness they'd had, Sasha was now acting quite the snob and bully. Complaining to Courtney about being 'stuck' with a 'little kid' all summer. Pert little nose lifted in the air, sniffing at Courtney, lording it over her because she was eleven and Courtney only nine. Sneering at her clothes, calling them little kid clothes, while she had more grown up ones. Which she did, too! Ordinarily Courtney would have oohed and ahhed over her cousin's good fortune, but not this time!

The list when on and on. Anything that Courtney wanted to do, or play, was for 'little kids'. Sasha insisted - always! - on doing what she wanted to do, and would brook no argument or negotiation. Every chance she got she took to snipe, insult, bully and humiliate her little cousin until, by now, Courtney was sick and tired of dealing with Sasha, heartily wishing her far far away.

And she'd only been here two weeks, too!

Courtney had come to her Mom several times, near tears, protesting about things. But her Mom, after cuddling and listening to her complaints, just asked her to be more patient. That Sasha was just hurting inside, and needed time to heal. That she was counting on Courtney to help her with her cousin.

Now, that did make her quite proud, that Mom was counting on her so, and it did make her more determined to deal with Sasha. But there was only so much more of this she could take!

Worse, instead of her helping Sasha get better, it seemed she was being corrupted instead! Helplessly, against her will, slowly but surely. Somehow Sasha could always pick just the right things to say or do to get under her skin, and thus provoke an action from Courtney. Actions that, even at the time she did them, she knew were wrong yet seemed unable to refuse to do.

So far they'd simply been mild ones: sneaking cookies or snacks; staying up way past their bedtimes, reading by flashlight under the sheets; watching stuff on cable Courtney knew Mom wouldn't approve of them watching. Little things like that. Nothing terribly serious.

Until now.

Last week they'd been playing in the basement together, while Mom was upstairs vacuuming. Sasha had started in on her again, a disdainful sneer on her face, calling her a 'little kid'. It had started there, anyway, and had only gotten worse. Courtney couldn't exactly remember what her cousin had said, but she'd basically accused her of being such a little kid that her own Mom couldn't or wouldn't trust her with anything.

And that's when Courtney had made her mistake, breaking at that, hotly returning that her Mom did, in fact, trust her. Sasha had jeered, calling her a liar, and that was when Courtney had stormed over to the wall. 'I'll prove it!' she'd virtually snarled, seething.

The basement was quite nice, the floor carpeted and the walls paneled in a dark brown veneer. More a combination family and rumpus room and den, with couches, chairs, an excellent stereo and TV system. There certainly didn't seem anything out of the ordinary down here, at any rate. At least, until Courtney had gently pressed with tiny fingers against the paneling, and a small section had slid back, revealing a circular push-button combination lock and chromed twist handle in the now-open recess. 'See!' she'd triumphantly caroled.

'Big deal!' Sasha had snorted, trying to look bored and miserably failing as she padded over. 'What's that got to do with anything?'

Courtney had compounded her mistake by explaining: three years ago she'd woken up late at night, feeling very sick, and went looking for her Mom. But she hadn't been in bed, asleep, so she padded downstairs to look for her. She hadn't been on the first floor either, so down to the basement she'd gone, just in time to see Mom opening a doorway that Courtney had never knew existed, the recessed panel already opened and visible.

Mom hadn't been pleased at that, but neither had she been angry, once Courtney had explained how sick she was. Nor had she dodged the obvious, expectant questions about the door, explaining that, yes, the door was hidden and secret, and that, yes, there was rooms back there. But that Courtney wasn't allowed back there, and that she was to promise both never to try and open that door, nor to tell anyone else about it. That it was their secret, and no one else's.

Unfortunately for Courtney, Sasha was quick to pick up on one important point, latching onto it like a starving Doberman onto a mailman's leg. Courtney found out about that moments later, when her cousin sauntered over and peeked inside the recess then boldly started testing out the numbered buttons, trying to unlock the still-unseen door. Courtney, of course, immediately squawked, telling her to stop, then her already fair, flawless complexion turned pale as milk when Sasha threatened to tell on her. For hadn't she'd broken her promise to her Mom by showing Sasha the recess behind the panel? She'd get her butt paddled for sure for that!

Courtney's tummy lurched; she felt sick inside, realizing what she'd done. It wasn't just that she'd get paddled for her disobedience, she felt worse knowing she'd broken trust with her Mom, broken a promise made. Not that that seemed to bother Sasha a darned bit!

Sasha had been quick to use that as a threat over her head this whole week, in fact. Courtney wasn't sure if she should just come clean and confess, or not. The problem was, more then anything else, her resentment over the difference between how her Mom was handling her versus Sasha. Courtney was positive that Sasha wouldn't be punished at all about this, only her, and that, no matter what, just didn't seem fair at all!

Much worse was that Sasha was every bit as clever as Courtney was. How she'd managed the feat Courtney never did figure out, but during that next hour she'd patiently kept trying out the lock, testing different number combinations until, at last, she gave a smothered cry of glee. A horrified look came over Courtney's face as, adjacent to the panel recess, a door-sized section of panel silently opened a crack.

Her expression grew even more horrified as Sasha slipped small fingers inside, levering the door wide open. 'What are you doing?!' Courtney had gasped, her whisper aghast and dismayed. 'Going exploring' Sasha had disdainfully sneered back. 'I'm not a little bitty kid too scared to go look around! You just stay out here and watch out for Aunt Samantha. I'm going exploring!'

And with that Sasha had slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Courtney didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to run right up and get her Mom. But, if she did, not only would she have to confess her part in this, but Sasha would only become more intolerable. She'd use her tattling as just more proof that Courtney was just a little kid, much too little for the likes of her. Too little to show any independence, any ability to just do something because she wanted to, rather then having to get permission for everything like a little baby.

She'd almost cried out with relief when Sasha had finally stepped back out, closing the door carefully behind her. Then blinked, looked at Sasha closely, curious at her expression: thoughtful, pensive, almost dreamy. That quickly changed, soon as her cousin saw her, reverting right back to her lordly dismissive disdain. 'What are you looking at, twerp?' she'd sneered.

Courtney quickly reclosed the panel, fervently praying her Mom never found out about this little 'adventure'. Unfortunately for her, however, the nightmare was only just beginning, not ending.

For Sasha wasn't satisfied with just one visit. Oh no! Nor would she talk about what was inside nor, for that matter, permit Courtney to accompany her in her following visits, using the threat of telling on her to keep Courtney obedient to her will.

Each and every day after, the two had sneaked downstairs, Sasha sometimes contriving excuses to her Aunt. Well, outright lying, more precisely, like saying they were going out to play and then quietly padding downstairs. Sometimes she'd be inside for only fifteen minutes, and sometimes for as long as two hours, depending on what her Aunt was doing and how much time she safely thought they had.

And then there was today.

Courtney's Mom had gotten a phone call last night. Miss Annette, an elderly neighbor, was confined to her bed with a broken hip, and her daughter had asked if Samantha could watch her tomorrow. She apologized for the short notice, but a work emergency had come up and she needed to make a quick one-day business trip. Normally Samantha wouldn't leave Courtney home alone, but as Annette's was only five minutes away, and with Sasha also there, she felt reasonably comfortable leaving the two of them home together.

Samantha explained the rules both that night and before she left that morning: no going outside (which, considering it was pouring cats and dogs outside was no prison sentence), no answering or opening the door to anyone, call every hour . . . the usual, normal rules.

Sasha, needless to say, was delighted. The entire day to explore! And, finally, a chance to do more, much more, then just merely explore!

Courtney was, as one might imagine, much less then pleased. All the more so when Sasha had imperiously commanded her, given Courtney her orders. Which, in effect, was to keep her nose clean, stay outside and don't pester her.

So now they were, once again, down in the basement together. Why they were still conspirationally whispering when it was just the two of them together seemed, well, silly. But, it also felt right, so they did.

Sasha had the oddest gleam in her grass-green eyes, the tiny gold flecks there seemed more brilliant then ever before. Even her smooth soft cheeks seemed a little flushed, a soft pink there. "I'm going to be a few hours so don't freak out twerp. Just go watch a video or something," she told Courtney. "If Aunt Samantha wants to talk to me, just tell her I'm sleeping or in the bathroom or something. Got it?" she demanded.

"Yeah, I got it," Courtney replied in a soft, low, sulky and surly tone.

"Good! Now, take a hike," Sasha ordered, as small fingers unerringly punched out the numbered combination then turned the handle, opening the door to the one side. Without another word she drew the door open, slipped inside, then closed it, leaving Courtney alone outside.

More and more Courtney was regretting her decision to not come clean with her Mom. It was making her feel, not independent and self-reliant, but, rather, dirty and soiled. Quite guilty and unclean. Inside, where it counted.

And instead of her cousin appreciating this illicit confidence between the two of them, of that drawing them back closer together, Sasha remained just as aloof and disdainful as ever. Courtney deeply sighed, wanting to cry. The only vestige of pride she kept about this whole affair was, no matter how curious she was about what lay inside - and she was, no mistake or doubt about that! - she refused to ask Sasha about that, or to explore herself, wishing to keep at least that little part of her promise to her Mom still alive and intact.

Well, there was no need or reason this time to remain down here, so Courtney, with another deep sigh, padded back upstairs. She knew she really wasn't doing the right thing, and just prayed this wouldn't blow up in her face.

Unfortunately, prayers like that usually aren't answered. And her's was to be no exception.

It couldn't have been more then forty-five minutes from the time her Mom left until she heard the sound of a key in the front door. Her tummy got the most incredibly horrifying, sickening feeling as she looked up from her book to see her walk back inside, fumbling her soaked umbrella closed.

"Hello sweetheart!" she called out.

"M-m-m-om!" she blurted, fumbling. "W-w-what are you doing home?"

"Change in plans baby," Samantha replied, closing the door behind her once the umbrella was closed. "Miss Eloise's business trip was cancelled at the last minute, so she didn't have to go after all. Good thing she has a cell phone," she said, smiling at her daughter, "Otherwise she'd've been at the airport and on her flight, never knowing the meeting was called off."

Poor Courtney was in a panic, heart thumping against her little ribs, tummy feeling incredibly nauseous. Sasha was still downstairs, in the forbidden room, not knowing - or having any way of telling - Mom was now home. Nor, for that matter, did Courtney have any way of telling Sasha, as she'd never been shown the combination to unlock the door! What was she gonna do?!

As if her mind had been read, Samantha asked as she put the umbrella away, "Reading a book, I see. Where's Sasha?"

"Ummmm . . . ahhh . . . ," Courtney mumbled, furiously thinking while struggling to remain calm and innocent. "I'm not sure. She's around somewhere, I guess." What could she say, after all? She sure couldn't explain her absence inside by saying she'd gone out to play, not when they'd been told to stay inside. Although . . . now that she thought about it, considering how bratty Sasha had been, that probably would be believable after all. Then again, how could Courtney make sure to 'tip off' Sasha with that explanation before Mom came down on her like an avalanche? Not to mention Sasha being dry as a bone while it was pouring down outside!

Alas for Courtney, no matter how mightily she struggled for composure, she might as well had a brilliantly glowing 'GUILTY!' sign emblazoned on her forehead. Samantha had no sooner glanced at her daughter before the smile left her face, replaced by a quite stern, no nonsense look Courtney was quite sickly familiar with. Clear as day was the Up To Something Sneaky look in her daughter's eyes.

"What's going on Courtney? Where's Sasha, and what's up?" she asked quite firmly. Well, asking was actually too mild; demanding was much closer, in fact.

Courtney wilted in her chair, feeling as if she was shrinking, feeling utterly trapped. Huge, sea gray orbs flickered left, right, down . . . anywhere but at her Mom as her tiny, 4' 2" , 56 pound form fidgeted and squirmed.

"Courtney?" Samantha repeated, her tone rising from start to finish.

"Oh Mom!" she abruptly blurted out, tears already filling her huge woeful eyes. "I messed up! I really messed up bad!" before truly bursting out in tears.

The heavy door, cunningly balanced to move at just a light nudge, closed firmly behind her. Sasha licked her full, soft lips with the tip of a tiny, moist, pink tonguetip as she stood there a moment. The pit of her tummy, already tingly and warm, grew even more so.

She couldn't hear a blessed thing, but that no longer surprised her, made her nervous. Not like it had the very first time, anyway, when her first, atavistic sensation was feeling like in a tomb.

Especially when it had closed that first time, before she'd had a chance to turn on the lights inside, leaving her alone in utter absolute darkness and silence. She'd almost wet herself, she'd been so scared. And, if she'd had any doubts about the soundproofing, the fact that her cousin hadn't ever mentioned hearing Sasha's high-pitched, panicked shrieks that first time proved how good that soundproofing was.

Since then she'd turned the lights on before the door was fully closed, having found by touch that first time the switches on the wall next to the door. This wasn't a particularly big room. Actually looked more like a combination coatroom and sitting room then anything else. It was, perhaps, ten by ten feet, one wall with hangers screwed to the paneling, with two small couches against the opposite wall, plus a small coffee table and some padded chairs.

Sasha remembered her first time exploring inside. She just couldn't figure out what the big deal was, hiding something like this. Heck, didn't look all that different from some parlor sitting rooms she'd seen before. Well, except for the glaringly obvious coathooks, anyway. There had to be more then just this, and sure enough, there was.

Opposite from the door she came in through was yet another door, this one, in no way, concealed at all. Not even a lock, per se, although there was a vault-like bolt arrangement that held the door closed. Which she discovered once she spun the spoked wheel in the center of the door and opened it.

Looked like a vault door, too. About three inches thick, a series of shiny bolts now recessed in the door itself. As the interior was in shrouded gloom, Sasha wisely decided to explore that door closer, not wanting to get a horrid shock finding out she couldn't get it open from the inside if she closed it. It looked so massive she was very surprised she could move it as easily as she did. And yes, once gazing at the back of the door, she could discern no apparent way of opening it again, so she toed off her sandals, using them to block the door from closing before she slipped past the opening and inside.

Small fingers blindly patted the inside walls, gliding up and down, seeking any switches. There were, she was surprised to discover, quite a few, and not just the normal, expected one, two or even three. Nor would they be the only switches inside, either, as she would discover during her explorations.

They didn't make a sound when she flicked them, but the sudden blaze of light from inside make a soundless explosion on her eyes. Startled, Sasha blinked several times at the brightness, then her little jaw dropped as she could, finally, clearly see inside.

That first time she'd walked about inside as if in a daze, a dream. Nothing truly seemed real, even as she delicately touched many of the things there as if to reassure herself of their substance, their reality, their existence.

As she padded about the surface changed beneath her bare little feet. Sometimes thick plush carpet, sometimes smooth, highly polished wood, marble or tile. In a couple of areas rougher, bare cement or plain old hard-packed dirt.

The same for the walls: sometimes light or dark wood paneling. Sometimes glistening, gleaming tile. Sometimes bare cinderblock.

There was just so much to see, so much down here! It was as big . . . no, bigger, much bigger! . . . then the outside basement was! And so many things inside!

Sasha remained in a daze for most of that day, trying to assimilate everything that she'd seen inside, most of that she'd no idea what it was called, some of it no idea what it was for or how it was used. And there was quite a bit more down there she hadn't really had the time to examine or poke and peek around and into.

But, she sure intended to do just that!

Also trying to assimilate, absorb and grasp feelings inside her that had abruptly, explosively erupted; powerfully enough to have almost dropped her to her knees at times.

She spent a mostly sleepless night that night, restlessly shifting in bed, mind chaotically whirling with everything she'd seen . . . and felt. She'd never suspected anything like that had existed; hadn't dreamed anything like that existed!

Nor had she any idea why that made her feel inside the way it had. The way it was, even now, just thinking about, just picturing, inside that room!

She wasn't silly, or naive, or immature. Or uneducated, for that matter. Between her Mom and school, with Health Class, she had a pretty decent understanding of her body, of the incipient changes in store. Some no longer incipient or impending, but actually happening, in fact, well aware and quite pleased and proud of her budding, nascent breasts. Small they might be, but undeniably breasts they were, firm pert swells topped by small, pale pink puffy peaks.

Peaks that had abruptly tightened to hard nubs, had begun oddly tingly as she explored.

As they were even now as she lay there in bed, pondering, thinking.

That hadn't happened before. Not like that, anyway. But that tingling in her tummy sure had. Real low down, an odd tight/tingle/warmth that, well, was such a wonderful feeling to have! Felt even better the times she'd just lazily press up against the banister at home, or her bedpost, and just gently rock against it. Sometimes for a long long time, not really thinking of anything, just gently rocking, eyes closed, her breathing at times growing short and funny.

She'd felt that very same breathless wonderful dreamy feeling today, but without ever pressing against anything! Just because of the things she'd seen!

Sasha couldn't wait to explore again tomorrow, and there was nothing she'd let stop her, either!

She kicked the sheet off, feeling somewhat warm, even in just the light cotton nightgown, then just laid there sprawled atop the bed. 'What would it be like to do that stuff?' she thought, 'and not just look?'

Ooooh! How that made her tummy tighten even more! Oh yes, tomorrow she'd explore even more. Peek into those cabinets and drawers, see what was inside.

Courtney had a better chance of commanding the Earth to stop spinning then she had stopping her cousin's continuing exploration. The very next day Sasha had demanded Courtney come with her again downstairs, to play guard during her clandestine examination.

Sasha's tummy had already started tingling before she'd gotten the door opened, and that tightness only increased once inside. She barely gave the first room a glance; nothing interesting there, after all. The really cool stuff was inside!

This time she paid more attention to details as she wandered about. The main room, once past that cloak/sitting room, was octagonal shaped, and rather big, as she'd discovered the day before. There was a door in each of the eight walls, with most of those doors just as sturdy as the entrance one was.

She decided to check out what was behind those doors another day, as there certainly was quite enough here to keep her busy, so she just started wandering around, eyes wide and feeling a bit breathless. Scattered about were a few comfy looking chairs, a loveseat and sofa, some small end- and coffee tables. Those she didn't give a second look at. Not with everything else here!

This, she was sure, standing in front of it, running small fingertips over the surface, had to be a stock. It sure looked just like the pictures and drawings she'd seen of them in her history books, anyway! Nothing fancy, just a vertical post of wood, with a crossbar hinged to permit wrists and neck to be placed inside and secured. But there were two more placed in this big room, in different places, and they didn't look quite the same. One, in addition to the crossbar for head and hands had a second one at the base. Obviously for feet, she thought. While the third had, in addition for the crossbars for both feet, head and hands also had a second post, more a benchtop, padded in black leather that smelt so heavenly! It took her only a few moments to discern the purpose: the bench supported the body, probably out to the hips (she wasn't sure; at 4' 10" she didn't quite fir, although she tried) and then the legs bent straight down to have the feet locked below.

Sasha wished she fit it better, if only to see what that felt like. But there were sure far more things down here to examine! Like that. This had to be a rack; it couldn't be anything else. Again it looked far too close like illustrations she'd seen to confuse it with anything else, even if this one - like the third stocks - had the top covered in padded black leather.

There again seemed to be a variation to that, finding another that looked the same, except one end was split, so that the top looked like a 'Y', but laying on its side. She wriggled up on top, until small sleek hips rested at the juncture of the three padded surfaces, then laid her small slender arms up towards the cuffs at that end, then lithe bare legs down the other, split two, small bare feet close to the cuffs there.

A sudden, abrupt deep hard shiver rippled through her little body at that, tummy tingling even worse then ever before, especially when she imagined her small wrists and ankles actually locked in those leather cuffs! Stretched out taut, unable to move or anything!

Sasha lay there for several very long moments, relishing that wonderful sensation, again surprised at feeling it without pressing against a dog gone thing! It was the most awesome, marvelous of feelings!

She finally, reluctantly slithered down then explored some more. Over there was a smooth wooden X-shaped cross thing, with attached leather straps, while over there was another, looking more like a T-shaped one. Oohh, there was so much down here!

She finally crept back out, ignoring her cousin as she shut the door closed behind her. Courtney would never understand any of that, she was way too little.

That night, Sasha again found it difficult to drift off to sleep, her mind whirling and churning. Again the sheet was kicked off, this time with her laying atop her sheets, small hands gripping the head rail of the bed, little bare legs spread wide, just as she had been atop the Y-rack thingie. 'What would it be like,' she wondered, 'To be strapped down to that? Unable to move?'

Her thoughts continued down that path. Well, backed up a bit, first, before doing so. Obviously she couldn't do that to herself, so someone else must do it for her, no? So her thoughts picked up from there, imagining laying down atop it as someone else (just a nebulous, vague image, Sasha didn't picture anyone special, or even picture a gender, just a sort of unspecific, shadowy 'someone') tightened the cuffs around her small wrists and ankles, then drew the attached chains slowly tighter and tighter, helplessly stretching her out.

Her breathing started getting faster at that, short and rapid. Tummy much tighter, almost throbbing. Small nipples tightened, turning into hard little flushed points. Nubs that tingled and throbbed with each breath as her small heaving breasts grazed those now-sensitive tips long the inside of her nightgown. Sasha was literally gently writhing atop her bed, eyes closed, bathing in those blissful sensations which seemed to grow more and more.

Then her eyes abruptly flew open, her face bright and hot as she literally flew to the bathroom, mortified. Once inside she yanked her panties down and hopped up onto the commode . . . then grew more and more puzzled. She was certain she'd had to badly pee! Hadn't she started to?

Peeling off some toilet paper she gingerly blotted herself down there. Yes. She was a little wet. But . . . it wasn't pee. And it wasn't sweat? So, what was it?

Her smooth forehead wrinkled quite a bit as she puzzled over that, all the while blotting herself and her panties dry. None of her classes had ever said anything about this! It sure wasn't her period, that was for sure, because it wasn't blood. So, what could it be?

Well, where classes and parenting fail, giggling whispered gossip came to the rescue. Tawny-gold brows lifted in astonishment. She'd gotten a juicy cootchie!

Well, that's what her friends called it, anyway. Something that happened to a girl when she got excited. Although Sasha hadn't been very clear then what had been meant by 'excited'. She was still puzzling that out when she padded back to bed, when sleep finally overcame her.

Her explorations over the next few days certainly helped clear the matter up, a great deal in fact. For, in addition to the items and furnishings, she'd also found pictures, magazines and movies. Those were in the first room to the right, once you walked in. Rather an odd-shaped room, a triangled one. Probably because there wasn't much room there because of the outside basement. Inside there, though, was a big TV, a movie screen, a projector, speakers on the walls, a VCR, and a big dresser full of videos, movie reels, and magazines.

Bold as she was Sasha didn't dare play with either the videos or the movies. The reels she had no idea how to play, and the videos she was apprehensive about possibly messing one up by accident. The magazines, however, were an entirely different story, and she spent a long hour just paging through piles of them.

Almost every one dealt with the same thing: women being tied up. Usually by other women, but sometimes by men. Normally the women were quite naked, something that made Sasha blush a bit. The naked men had her blushing quite hotly . . . not that that kept her from avidly looking.

The magazines also helped explain what a lot of the stuff she was finding was used for. Some made her quite curious, like the things called 'vibrators'. Others made her shiver with dread, like those evil-looking clothespins she saw at times clipped on nipples . . . or worse! While others, like the whips and stuff made her really nervous, swallowing hard with sheer anxiety and alarm thinking of those things!

But . . . there were other things, too. Like blindfolds and hoods. Gags, too. Sasha didn't much like the thought of being unable to see. But the thought, the image, of being gagged, being unable to say a word or nothing, made her sensations feel even stronger.

By the end of the week she'd pretty much thoroughly explored the entire area. Some she still didn't understand. Why have a shower area down here when there were showers and baths in the main house? Why have doggie kennel cages when you didn't have pets? What were some of those rooms used for? And some of the stuff she'd found?

She'd probably never find out. It wasn't like she could ask, after all! Still, she'd certainly found out more then enough.

More then enough for her to want to try some of this out.

Unfortunately, it seemed that almost everything in here was either not her size, or needed someone else to do the tying. Which wasn't going to do at all, oh no!

Sasha finally did discover one thing she could probably do on her own. It wasn't going to be as tight or as taut as she'd prefer, wasn't going to do her whole body, but for a first time it should be just right. At least until she figured out how to use some of the other things.

In one area of the main room was a circular spot of polished, light gray tiled floor. From floor to ceiling ran two steel poles about four feet apart. There were also two more steel poles running from those, sort of making a square. The upper pole had two sleeves that permitted it to freely move upwards along the upright poles, but not downwards unless you pressed in a stud on each sleeve first, and then you could move them back down again.

The bottom pole was slipped through double sleeves, permitting it to move freely up and down as well as back and forth. This pole wasn't solid like the other three; there was a knurled sleeve in the middle, like for a microphone stand, that allowed it to expand wider or shrink smaller. Sasha assumed, based on some of the pictures she'd seen, that that was to adjust how wide you had your feet go. Which was good, for her plans.

All she needed was a set of four cuffs that would fit her wrists and ankles, and those were much harder to find. She didn't think she'd ever find any that fit, despaired of that, in fact, before finally stumbling over some in one of the smaller dressers.

Now all she needed was a few hours to try this stuff out. And, as if her prayers had been answered, not two days later Aunt Samantha told them they'd have the day to themselves.

Sasha could hardly sleep at all that night, she was so excited! Over and over again she rehearsed what she'd do, how to do it . . .

. . . What she'd be daydreaming about as she did.

By the time she entered the main room - again barefoot, using her sandals to block the door from closing - her heart was racing, she felt so warm and flushed, tummy tingling and tight. There was a touch of anxiousness and nervousness, too, yes, but mostly she was filling to bursting with eager anticipation.

First she gathered the cuffs from the drawer, small hands trembling a bit as she did, the smooth soft palms feeling the teeniest bit sweaty. Those she placed over by the pole thing before small bare feet flashed, scurrying off for more. None of which she needed, or was going to use, but oh! how they'd make things ever so much more exciting!

She carefully moved a small little table to one side, in front, where she could easily see the top if she looked down at to the side a little. Before too long, sitting atop the table, lay several carefully chosen items. First was a very smooth, polished inch-thick wooden paddle that looked very much like a hairbrush, but without any bristles. Next to that lay a leather strap, made of belting leather, three inches wide and eighteen long, with a smooth polished lacquered wood handle. Then there was a riding crop. As well there was a flogger, the thongs like bootlaces, twenty of them two foot in length attached to a braided leather handle. And, finally, a gag.

Not just any gag, either. And, boy! Were there lots to choose from down here, too! Sasha's cheeks were quite a bright rose as she sat this gag down, laying the rectangular leather piece carefully flat so that the mouthpiece part was sticking straight up. If she hadn't known just what a penis looked like from Health Class, she'd gotten a much better, more vivid picture, from those magazines! So she had a very good idea just what that mouthpiece was supposed to resemble!

It was just way too embarrassing to actually use that, but something about the image of being threatened with that being used on her was terribly exciting. Unable to resist, do anything about having that thing put in her mouth, knowing that she and whoever did that to her knew exactly what it looked like. What it resembled, would mean with it in her mouth.

Still, she did want to be gagged during this, but she was a bit nervous about using most of what she'd found. Thankfully one of the magazine layouts had shown a woman being gagged with a sponge and tape. Which helped her to decide as, in the dresser she'd found chock full of gags, which is where she got the penis one from, she'd also found a roll of wide white bandage tape and several sizes of spongy balls. Some of them were soft, some quite firm, with quite a size range. She picked out one that she felt would, with a little effort, fit just right, then brought those back with her.

Now she had everything she needed, and her heart really started to race. She'd debated all night as to what to wear . . . or, not wear . . . as the case might be. Part of her wanted to be naked, but somehow, even by herself, she felt too nervously shy to do that. Maybe another time, after she'd gotten more used to this. Still, she hadn't wanted to be fully dressed, either, so last night she'd made the perfect mental compromise.

It was a matter of moments to shimmy out of her shorts and top, tossing them carefully aside, as if someone had taken them off and didn't care at all where they fell. All she was wearing now was her swimsuit. Her other swimsuit, the one Mom had expressly refused to buy for her. So-o-o-o . . . Sasha had simply used her own money and bought it anyway, without her Mom knowing anything about it.

Or Aunt Samantha or her baby cousin either. Although she had described it to Courtney, who had, predictably, agreed with her Mom's idea about it.

Personally, Sasha didn't see a darn thing wrong with it. It wasn't like a thong, or anything, even if it was a bikini.

A string bikini. The top two small triangles of pale blue that completely covered her nascent budding breasts, the bottoms of the same color, also triangles that covered for and aft, leaving the sides of her sleek hips bare save for the connecting strings. All the important parts were covered, after all! So what was all this crap about 'modesty' and stuff? Sheesh! She wasn't a baby any more, she was eleven, after all!

Sasha lifted the upper bar to just over her head, then adjusted the bottom one so that the cuff connector rings were just shoulder width to her. Then came the cuffs themselves. Little fingers trembled with excitement as she picked them up. Two inch wide bands of gleaming black leather, the buckles and rings bright shining chrome. Jolting little thrills rippled through her little bikini-clad body as she carefully buckled on all four, drawing them quite snug, especially the two at her wrists.

Then came the gag.

From the pictures she'd seen she'd need three or four pieces of tape, so she carefully tore off those first. Then she picked up the ball and opened her small mouth wide. It took a little bit to press it inside, but it did fit. Tasted funny, too; she'd never had a sponge in her mouth before, and wasn't sure she liked how it tasted or felt. It filled her mouth a lot, too, gradually expanding inside after being pressed smaller to get inside. Sasha wasn't sure the tape was really needed, after all, to keep it inside but, as she'd already prepared the pieces . . .

She carefully placed the one right over her mouth - well, actually over the sponge and her lips, as she couldn't close her mouth shut - before smoothing it down with her small palm. The second went just under that one, ear to ear as the first, covering a bit under her little chin whereas the first had reached up to just under her pert little nose. The final two went diagonally, just as in the pictures had shown, with all four being firmly, smoothly pressed against her skin.

Sasha tried to breathe through her mouth after that, pretty sure she couldn't but test-trying anyway. Then tried to push the sponge ball out with her small tongue, and felt a rippling tingle as it didn't even budge, let alone move. It only took a few tries before she clearly understood that the only way that ball was coming out was when she used her fingers to pry off the tape and draw it out.

Huge grass-green eyes grew wide and round, little knees almost buckled when she tried talking . . . then making a loud noise . . . then yelling. Talking was right out; she couldn't make a single noise that sounded at all like a word. That wasn't even mentioning the volume: trying to make a sound at her normal speaking volume was quieter then a whisper. And even a full-throated yell could barely be heard at all. Sasha couldn't be sure, but she thought that, if she was in her bedroom like this and someone was outside in the hall, she could try yelling her head off and she wouldn't be heard. Although she was pretty certain that she'd be heard if they were both in the same room together.

It was a shivery-scary-exciting feeling, being gagged, and she couldn't wait to find out just how much better it all felt once she was finished! Stepping over, she stood between the two upright poles, shifted her small feet back against the bottom pole then crouched down. Small fingers moved the rings at the ankle cuffs, slipping and clipping them in place to the attachment rings of the pole. She then stood up, feeling her tummy quiver and throb at seeing and feeling her small feet cuffed and held by the pole down below.

She did a few test moves. She couldn't move forwards or backwards, nor open or close or legs at all. Nor could she lift her feet. Well, either foot, anyway. If she held onto the overhead pole she could lift both feet at the same time. Not that that was all that easy, but it could be done. About all she could do was wriggle and shift her feet, using the little play that existed with the attached rings there.

Her wrists were next. And Sasha couldn't secure them the same way she'd done her ankles. For two reasons. One was that she didn't have three hands; once she attached one wrist, she'd have no way to attach the other. More importantly, however, was she needed to get back down again, after. She'd no desire to get stuck!

So she'd thought of a plan. Instead of using rings that firmly closed once clipped, she'd found some that looked like what mountain climbers used. Those, too, also would close once clipped. But, not with their springy middle pieces taped open! Instead of looking like an oval D shape, they now looked more like a C. Sasha slipped one each through the attachment rings of the pole, then lifted it carefully upwards, hearing the little 'click' sounds as it moved, well aware of once up, it wasn't coming back down again, not until she could walk to each pole and press those buttons again.

She lifted it higher and higher until, with her small bare feet pressed flat against the cool tile beneath, the bar was several inches lower then the height of her small wrists when she lifted her arms up high. It took a bit of work and effort but she was then able, by carefully jerking her wrists, to flick the wrist cuff wrings through the opening of the taped connector clips. Keeping her feet perfectly flat, Sasha took a deep breath . . . then another . . . they yet another . . . before shoving the pole up another click higher. There was still some slack left so, with another breath, upwards went the pole with yet another click.

Sasha softly frowned. There was still some slack left, more then she really wanted. Especially when she lifted all the way up on tiptoes. But she'd need that slack in order to jerk the rings back up and out of the connectors so, whether she liked it or not, better to be a bit looser then she wanted, then tighter then she'd later need for her escape.

She wished she could see what she looked like. But she couldn't have everything, after all. Besides, regardless what she might look like (and she could, rather easily, picture that anyway in her mind) she certainly knew what she felt like! Ohmahgawd, did she ever know how she felt!

Sasha looked around for a few minutes. Up at her cuffed and secured hands up over her head, held shoulder width to the pole. Then down to her cuffed small ankles, held just as securely. Gazed at her bare tummy, so taut and flat. At the small, hard peaks so terribly obviously pressed against the bikini top, like small pebbles. If she really had been captured, why, anyone looking at her could tell just how she felt, how this made her feel! She wouldn't be able to hide that, at all!

The sensation that jolted Sasha at that was powerful, so intense her little knees actually did buckle. She would have stumbled, if not outright fallen, if her wrists hadn't been cuffed and fastened above. She felt that, of course. No way to miss that. Which, somehow, only made those quickly growing tingles and throbs grow even worse. She moaned at that realization, one of startled dismay. Then her eyes grew rounder at that sound, not even realizing she had made a sound to begin with, then at the very muffled noise she had made from behind her gag.

Her mind started racing. She been captured. Kidnapped. Mightily struggled but to no avail, partially stripped before being tied up like this. Gagged to keep silent, no way to call for help, to plead for mercy or release. Literally stretched out as if on display, no way to cover herself, no way to stop anything that might happen. She had to escape, just had to!

Her huge eyes darted down to the table, she whimpered at seeing the paddle, the strap and crop, 'remembering' hearing the voice of her captor, with great delight, promising to use them on her helpless body, to teach her not to fight, not to struggle or resist. Then moaned at hearing that weird, almost inaudibly muffled involuntary whimper, her tummy throbbing so badly, tight, hot and tingly. Then jerked at hearing that muffled moan.

Her eyes flickered at that gag, the mouthpiece upright and, unbeknownst to her, looking much lifelike, quite rampant. Again she 'remembered' being told that, soon, very soon, she'd have that in her mouth. After all, she'd have to get used to what that was like, for her to be sold.

It was almost too much, almost overwhelming, the sensations that rippled, throbbed, seethed inside her. She'd thought she'd understood, been prepared, but was finding out that it was one thing to daydream, and quite another to experience. Actually being helplessly secured, being gagged, was adding an intensity to all this that was almost frightening in its power. Much more so then even the last couple of days had been.

Her small nipples were so hard and taut, so puckered, that, even through the swimsuit fabric Sasha could clearly see their outline and shape. And, although she couldn't clearly see down below, she could certainly feel how the bottoms were sticking to her, as if they were wet from swimming.

Except . . . she hadn't been swimming. Which meant she must be juicy again! And, from what she was feeling, a whole lot more then before!

Again she 'fought' the cuffs that held her. Jerking and tugging, 'struggling' to escape. There was just . . . something . . . about that, about being completely helpless, totally in another's control, that made those tingling feelings so wonderfully marvelous! She couldn't explain it, not even to herself. She didn't understand it, not at all. And she didn't care, either.

All she cared about was reveling in the sensations, glorying in them, drinking them in like a thirsty sponge and shamelessly wallowing in them.

She jerked her small wrists, trying - and failing - to wriggle them loose from the cuffs. Tugged and pulled her small feet, failing in that, too. Heard her muffled little sounds as she desperately 'called for help'. Every motion - and lack thereof - every sound, every sensation, only increased that seething throbbing in the bit of her tummy.

Then Sasha started imagining her captor returning, grinning at her still being there, unable to escape. Knowing that she was about to have the last of her clothes stripped from her, leaving her totally naked. She had to stop that from happening. She just had to!

So she struggled even harder, twisting and jerking her little body, smooth skin now softly flushed, now sheening in a thin film of perspiration. Struggled, writhed, twisted, jerked, kicked out . . .

Sasha jerked to a halt, gleaming, fiery-aroused emerald orbs wide and huge as she felt her feet shift wider, heard a soft raspy 'clickety' sound from below. Her head dropped, gazing down at her small feet . . . which were now at least six inches further apart then when she'd started. Which didn't sound all that much, until she realized that, with her small bare feet fully flat on the tiles, her wrists were quite firmly pulling against the upper pole, not a jot of slack there.

Somehow the pole had slipped wider. Sasha tried pulling her ankles together, but the pole didn't budge. Then tried harder and harder to pull them together, then gave a hard jerk with her one foot, thinking that maybe the pole was jammed and needed a good hard push.

It still didn't move, so Sasha jerked again and again, harder each time. Then went to give a mighty jerk . . .

She didn't realize just what she'd done, until after. But, much like pushing against something really stuck, when you go to really push hard, you draw back first. And, while the pole refused to move at all more closed . . .

It seemed quite eager to move in the opposite direction; more open. With another series of soft raspy clicks the bottom pole extended again, moving as if it was greased. Sasha gasped, felt her tummy drop. This time when she regained her balance her small feet were a good eighteen inches wider then when she'd started. Wide enough apart that, no matter how she shifted and squirmed, her small heels were up off the tiles. She wasn't quite up onto the balls of her feet, no. But, with her full weight onto her cuffed wrists, she couldn't get her feet flat on the floor again.

Her heart started racing again, this time not from excitement but from nervous, slowly growing fear. She carefully rose all the way up onto her tiny toes, taking the weight off her wrists, then started trying to flick and jiggle the rings off the taped connectors. It was hard going, she had to crane her neck to watch what she was doing, and worse, she could only stay up on tiptoes for a little bit before her slender calves started quivering with the strain.

She had to get those rings flicked off. At least one of them, anyway! Otherwise she'd be stuck here!

For hours, too! All day! she suddenly realized with acute dismay, for she'd never told Courtney the door combination, so her cousin had no way of getting in to help free her, even assuming she'd want to do that! And if Courtney couldn't come in to free her, that meant she'd be stuck there all day until Aunt Samantha came home!

That was just too awful to contemplate! Both being stuck here like this for hours and hours, and being found like this by her Aunt! She'd die of embarrassment for one and, for another, somehow Sasha didn't think her Aunt would just let this little indiscretion slide by like she had been doing the others.

The helpless preteen unconsciously gulped, eyes involuntarily darting down to the stuff on the table, especially the strap and paddle ones. Aunt Samantha sure as heck wouldn't have to go far to find anything to punish her with, oh no!

She finally had to rest, her little muscled calves quivering with the strain. Which sure didn't help her slender arms any, not with them then taking her weight fully on her cuffed small wrists. It wasn't painful, no, but it also wasn't at all comfortable, either. Downright uncomfortable, in fact.

Just as bad was her lithe trembling legs. Sasha had to consciously keep them drawn together, afraid that if she relaxed any she might accidentally open them further, with that fiendish pole down there just gleefully letting them open even wider. It was truly, undoubtedly the oddest sensation, feeling her arms high overhead, fully extended and stretched, while unable to touch the floor with her heels no matter how hard she strained, unable to close her legs and not daring to open them any.

Now that she wasn't struggling so hard - either for play or for real - the air felt cool on her bare, sweaty skin. She also felt very sticky and juicy below still, the bottoms sticking and clinging to smooth bare mound.

Her small jaws were starting to ache a little, too, not used to being held that open, that wide, for this long. The ball felt different, too, more, well, wetly squishy. She silently cursed herself for doing such a splendid job with the gag, for now she wanted nothing more then to rid her mouth of that thing. She pushed and prodded the ball with her small tongue, tried working her jaws and lips to get rid of the tape, even tried rubbing her face against her small shoulders, but she couldn't get anything to budge.

Not that getting ungagged would do a thing to release her from her confinement, but at least that would be one less slowly-growing ache to worry about. Besides, if she could get ungagged, maybe she could lift herself high enough to reach the cuffs with her mouth and undo one of the buckles with her teeth!

Alas, that was not to be, for as Sasha had already discovered, she'd done too excellent a job gagging herself. She was going to have to figure something out, and soon, too! She still had hours left before Aunt Samantha came home, true. But she was getting more and more tired, and Sasha was afraid that, not much longer, and she'd be too exhausted to get on tippytoes and keep trying.

So, once again she lifted up, feeling her little firm calves quivering as she did, and started trying to escape.