Witching Hour

Eliza Horton stood in her nightdress outside her parents room. Down the hall, the old clock struck twelve and the ten year old girl shivered.

Witching hour, her friends said, when the bad creatures come out.

She should have been in bed, but couldn't stay asleep. From inside her parents' room, she could her her mom and dad making love, the bed springs creaking, her mother gasping. The child didn't understand quite what making love was, what her mother and father did, why it seemed to hurt her mother so much - the way she cried and moaned so much.

Her father was saying something about 'putting it in there.' Her mom said something back like she was talking with her mouth full.

Eliza wanted to knock and ask if she could sleep in there with them, but they'd me mad at her, especially if they had to stop making love. Eliza knew what they did when they were mad. There was the spare bed, the one with chains on at the corners. The girl would be taken to that bed, fastened down and chained spread out, hands and legs apart and covered up for the night. There would be the sleep gag - the large adhesive tape gag to be stuck over her mouth and probably the hood, soft and warm buckled round her head, fastened at her slim neck. Oh yes, and the door locked.

Her mother would tell her that she would stay there until tomorrow. Late tomorrow.

Eliza would be safe then, on the spare bed. No witches, no goblins. Nothing to scare her.

Inside the room, the girls' mom was crying out, saying, 'Do it again, honey! Hurt me!'

Eliza wondered if her mom was being stretched out on their big bed. Her father said, 'Be quiet, whore, or I'll gag you.' The child wondered if that gag would be like the one her mom and dad usually taped in her mouth.

The child was already wet between her legs and lifted the hem of her nightdress, reaching for her hot, wet little cunny. She listened to more sounds and gasps from her mom and dad, a slap on a bare ass and a stifled cry from the woman, her father saying: 'Hold still while I tie your hands.' Eliza listened, and fingered herself.

The clock chimed the quarter and Eliza came with a little shudder.

Now she was ready. She straightened her nightdress as well as she could with her cuffed hands, slipped her little ball gag out of her mouth and knocked on her mom and dad's door. 'Mom, dad, I can't sleep,' she said. 'My gag's come out and I need the spare bed, please.'

Seven of Eleven

It was all down to odds, Mrs Aaron said. That was how you understood chance: eleven girls in the class and one of them would be tied up for the afternoon, depending on how the dice rolled.

Eleven eleven year old girls, ironically. Girls sent to school in short skirts and make-up, teetering on little high heel shoes. Mrs Hubert's Junior Sluts, the school called them. Only fit for punishing.

Punished by the whim of a dice roll.

Marcia Leander knew exactly how odds worked and how often. She was seven of eleven because her name, either first name or family name, fell in the middle of the class list. When they did first names, Britney was the two (Andrea Aaron always said she was number one in every way, so she couldn't be chosen), Zoe number eleven.

Family names selection meant Danielle Walker was last - twelve when a double six was rolled - and Kitty Bullen took the double one. But either way, Marcia Leander was middle.

The girls lined up as they usually did at the front of the class in order of first names, some posing and flirting with the whistling boys. Mrs Aaron rolled the two big dice, the boys placing bets.

A five as the dice stopped rolling. That meant it couldn't be any of the girls whose numbers were below six - or even the last in the list: the pre-teen who needed twelve to be punished. The liberated ones ran back to their places.

More bets, more jeers. The second dice was rolled, landing with two uppermost. Five and two was seven, and that was always Marcia's number. She sighed as she put her hands behind her back and the other girls ran laughing back to their seats.

Like Mrs Aaron always said as she tied the gag in Marcia's mouth, seven is the easiest number to get with two die. Six and one, four and three. Or today, five and two. Pretty Marcia Leander's bondage seven. Third day running.

Marcia's hands were secured behind her at wrists and elbows, ankles crossed and knees bound tight.

The dice rolled again to decide Marcia's punishment. A six and a three: nine meant a whipping on Marcia's chest. Another roll - this time adding up to a four - meant it was Geri who would wield the riding crop. Seven now would have meant the teacher took Marcia's place as punisher.

Another throw of seven meant that was how many strokes, and Geri eagerly dragged up Marcia's sweater to reveal the bound and gagged girl's prominent nipples. Geri grinned as she pinched them to make them even harder.

But Mrs Aaron wasn't worried about not whipping the girl today as she watched Marcia writhe and wail under the crop. After all there was tomorrow and the next day, knowing how easy it was to roll a seven with two dice.

Doing Nothing

'What am I gonna do this summer? Nothing. Right through the vacation.'

Chelsey Oslo answered her mom that way for a week, ignoring her father who just wanted her out the house, until her mother mentioned money. The teenager still wanted to do nothing but she liked the idea of being paid.

That was how she ended up at one of the kids clothing stores in the mall as a live mannequin. Nine hours a day standing in the window, wearing little girl dresses. Perfect: she wasn't tall for her age and did exactly nothing, all day, for fifteen dollars.

She didn't even care about all the bows and frills on the clothes. Or the lace petticoats and panties she wore underneath.

'We're kinda disappointed in you,' said Mrs Preston, who ran the store, after a couple of days. 'Business is suffering. You look good but keep moving. That scares the kids and their mom's and aunts don't want to come in and buy.'

'I'll stand still all the time,' promised Chelsey. When she didn't, Mrs Preston said if she wanted to continue it had to be Plan B.

Plan B was the teenage girl tied to a post, arms and legs and neck secured to adjustable but lockable arms so she didn't move. Even her fingers were tied to the finger-like ends of the post arms. And a porcelain doll's mask, to hide Chelsey pulling faces, wrinkling her nose. With its big eyes, snub nose and pretty pouting lips, the baby-doll mask hid Chelsey's facial gestures and even restricted her view, making her stare over the shoppers going past, pointing to her. Snickering, some of them.

Every morning, before opening, Mrs Preston adjusted the post's arms and legs so when Chelsey was tied to it - with see-through plastic straps that didn't mar the little girl clothes - the teenager had to remain in whatever pose was set until short breaks for lunch or rest room.

Business picked up, Chelsey was promised a bonus.

'We're closed Sundays,' said Mrs Preston on the Saturday evening.

'Good, a day off,' said Chelsey, standing in the window in a pink bridesmaid's dress and strapped in a dancing pose, limbs aching despite the tight plastic straps holding her.

'No,' said the manager. 'We need a display all weekend. You just stay like that,' she said. 'We open at ten on Monday.'

'I can't,' panicked Chelsey from behind the mask.

'Relax. You'll be fine, honey,' soothed the woman. 'Just like the other girls in the window.' She slipped an inflatable gag in through the smiling hole at Chelsey's mask lips and pumped the gag up. Just for the weekend, she said, with a special chemical coating to stop her feeling hungry, too.

The others mannequins in the window stared ahead, unable to offer advice as they wore their gags all the time now. But they knew Chelsey would get used to it.

She had the whole vacation.

Hundred Dollar Baby

Mr and Mrs Houston had seen Kimberley box before. They sat - as all parents of participating girls did - with their hands cuffed behind them, keeping them in their seats. The couple knew the house rules: nothing spoiled a good evening's boxing between little girls than irate parents trying to get into the ring and stop their bare-chested offspring being pummeled by some bigger girl.

'Kim's out of her age group, again,' said Denny Houston, to his wife Madeline. He sounded disappointed and relieved. It would, both parents knew, be over fairly quick. Kimberley was good for a nine year old but her opponent was eleven.

Looked muscular too as she waved, free of bonds, to the large crowd.

Even with the big soft foam gloves the girls wore it would hurt their daughter up against this taller, stronger girl. She was billed as Dionne - a champion who hadn't been defeated in five weeks.

Winners earned the right to enter the ring without chains or gag.

Kimberley on the other hand was a three time losing streak challenger. Her parents watched silently as their daughter was brought through the crowd to the ring, her hands in the big red gloves and wrists cuffed in front of her, short skirt swirling. The promoters had provided an ankle chain and a large gag, to show how poor she was rated after three defeats. Kim of course wouldn't be chained for the fight or gagged - that would have made the contest even more unequal.

She was freed, ungagged and the fight started.

Kim circled the taller girl warily, dodging, but not for long. Five hard blows rained in and the lightweight Kimberley staggered back. She tried to keep her hands up, but was slow. Another two blows to a largely undefended face and the smaller girl went down to be counted out.

The crowd were hooting with pleasure and annoyance at another quick fight.

Dionne stood unmarked, arms raised as the winner. Seconds were in the ring, helping Kimberley up before securing the loser with chains at her unsteady legs and ankles. Kimberley's face was wiped clean of snot and a trickle of blood, the doctor declared her fit and the child gagged.

The ankle chain was hauled tight and Kimberley dangled above the ring, slowly being hoisted up to join the gallery of five other losers from the night's contests, hair hanging down, sweat and tears dripping on the canvas below.

'Poor Kim,' muttered Madeline, wriggling in her seat. 'Hell, I wish I could finger myself,' said the mother in frustration. Her husband agreed: it would be great to jerk off himself, seeing their beaten little girl hanging upside down again.

Four time loser, the man thought. Next week it will be more chains, a bigger gag. Maybe a younger opponent though. It would be good to see Kimberley pummel some eight year old and see that brat hauled upside down instead.

Mrs Dragon

'This is what they did,' said Amber, holding the long lengths of rope up for her friend Gina to see. 'They tied the princess to the stake.'

The old apple tree in the yard was the only stake they had. The two seven year olds looked at it. Gina swallowed. 'You gonna tie me to that?'

'Sure. And this.' She showed her friend a length of cloth, knotted in the middle. 'It's a gag, in case you're a witch too and can say spells.'

Gina was confused. 'Princesses aren't witches.' She wanted to add she wasn't bad either, but Amber had said it was mostly good princesses who got tied up. The beautiful ones, especially.

'But you could be a witch too,' said Amber firmly. She'd read all the book on fairy tales. The one her mom gave her as a birthday present. Witches, she said, could make themselves look pretty.

'And I can't have clothes on, right?'

Amber nodded. She had explained that Princesses were very beautiful and everyone wanted to see their bodies. Even her mom had told her that. Gina took her pants and top and shoes off and went and stood next to the tree, arms at her side. Naked and shivering.

Gina watched her friend tie the ropes round her body, arms and legs. Tight with lots of knots. Gina said she didn't know Princesses had to have so much rope on them.

Amber said it was what they did in ancient times. Honest.

Then the gag. Gina made strange gurgling noises into it but Amber didn't listen as she added a blindfold. She hadn't told Gina it was to stop the Princess seeing the dragon.

Amber admired Princess Gina, all helpless, and said she was going to watch TV. 'I'll be back in an hour to rescue you,' she giggled and ran indoors.

Later, Amber wouldn't believe there really had been a dragon in the yard, looking for the Princess.

Gina said she felt it and heard it. It was true!

A dragon's hands had been all over Gina while she was tied, just playing with her while she was helpless. Gina insisted there'd been long fingers on her flat chest and little nipples. Pinching, scratching, stroking. Rubbing too, making them hard. There was this hot breath on the child's gagged and blindfolded face as well.

The dragon had even said 'Aaah', a lot and there was this funny smell, like someone's private place. 'You know, pussy,' Gina blushed. She didn't know about dragons before but she knew now they smelt strange. She decided it must have been a lady dragon as it smelt like her mom's laundry somedays and had perfume on as well.

Amber laughed and said there'd been no dragon. Only her mom had been at home, in the kitchen, and she definitely hadn't seen any dragons. She would have said, wouldn't she?