Mrs Kidkatch

The television lights were hot, the production as chaotic as it always was to an outsider like Helen Kidkatch. She sat as relaxed as she could be, waiting for the red light to come on. Waiting for the interviewer to start.

'Naughty or not, kids today are still haunted by that old bedtime story,' intoned the presenter, reading eloquently from the autocue as he addressed the nation. 'I was scared as a three year old by tales of Mrs Kidkatch coming for me if I misbehaved. Maybe you were too.'

The man leered at the camera as he said it, as if to scare those watching.

'But here we have Miss Kidkatch, right here in the studio. Miss Helen Kidkatch, no less.'

Helen smiled as the camera focused on her. Not some monster of the night, not some witch who would fly up from under the bed. An attractive 27 year old blonde in a gray business suit. A blonde with an easy smile and twinkling green eyes.

'No,' she said gently, 'of course I'm not offended by the tales. While I'm not a witch I am sure little boys and girls can be good without being threatened by me!'

The interview sped by. No, she wasn't married, had no children. But she loved them anyway. Who didn't?

Sure one day she'd love to have kids of her own. No, she wouldn't want to scare them, she laughed.

Yes, it was an unusual name, she agreed. Dutch origin - once Kidtkattersch apparently, toned down since 1870.

No, she wouldn't change it further. Kidkatch was her family name. And she was proud of it - a good New York name now.

It was quiet in her house in Queens when Helen got home. A little tired after the show but it was just a bit of fun.

She would have flopped down and watched some TV herself but there were things to do. Things to check before she could relax.

Helen went to the basement door. Still locked, which was good. Even better, little Carina hadn't moved much though that would have been tough for the six year old, given how many tight ropes holding the child down on the steel bed. Legs wide open, hands cuffed above her.

The child was awake, just. Blinking in what little light Helen allowed into the basement, eyes scared above the large ball gag Carina wore.

A faint mewling sound, a feeble struggle, from the silenced girl made Helen smile and feel a tingle in her sex.

Another one like her, in a year or so, would allow Helen to have two kids to carry on the family name. By then this one would be broken in, resigned to being bound and gagged and spanked and, well, whatever Helen wanted.

Especially punished. For being small and sexy.

But Carina Kidkatch? No, it would have to be a nicer name. Though of course Helen would continue to call her little prisoner Kunt Kidkatch.

Movie Star

'I want to be an actress like you,' said eleven year old Janie.

'Like me?' Janie's neighbor, Miss Wenner raised an eyebrow. 'Better if you were more successful than me.'

'But you were in the movies,' enthused the girl. 'I mean, all those famous people!'

'Some of them weren't nice people,' grunted the fifty year old woman. 'Anyhow it isn't all glamor. It's hard work. Long hours and very demanding directors. You have to take orders.'

'I can,' protested the girl.

'You think you could stand all day, like I did when I was a kid, tied to a wood post?'

'You were tied up all day?' Janie was intrigued.

'Sure. I was playing a young witch - Elizabeth - in "Salem's Revenge." Thirteen I was, but my big scene was being tied to a stake, ready to be burnt.'

'Cool,' breathed Janie.

'Hardly,' laughed the woman. 'The director kept wanting it reshot, different angles. Stopping and starting with the weather. It was easier to leave me tied to the stake than keep untying me. So I stood there all tied tight.'

'You told them, right?'

'Told them what? I was gagged. The props people tied me good, gagged me. Like I say, real demanding and no complaining.'

'I could do that,' said Janie.

'Really? You mean I could tie you to a post in my garage and you could stand there all day?'

'Sure!'

'Gagged, like I was?'

'No problem.'

Janie looked cute, stood against the post in the garage, her dress off her shoulders like Miss Wenner's was in the movie. Miss Wenner tied the girl as tight as she'd been tied, with lots of ropes across the child's chest, round her arms and wrists. Hands palm to palm, a cord round her thumbs.

Janie's knees were tied to the post, as were her ankles. One rope ran round her waist, down between her legs, pulling her dress up in a bunch. She wriggled and gasped as the rope was drawn tight.

'Ouch,' said the girl as more ropes were added across her flat chest, before Miss Wenner gagged her as she'd been gagged on the set. Properly. She even tied a rope round the child's neck, just like her own had been years ago, making Janie moan in panic.

'Now you have to stay there for four hours, little miss witch' grinned Miss Wenner, closing up the garage. 'Imagine you're waiting for the next shot.'

Four hours later, when Miss Wenner took Janie's gag out, the girl managed to say: 'I don't want to be an actress any more.'

'Too tough like this?'

Janie blushed. 'No. But it's something else.'

'Which is?'

'Uh, I don't know if I'd want the filming to stop. Not like this. I, um, like the rope between my legs. Rubbing me. I wanna stay tied up.'

'Ah yes. Just like me,' sighed the ex-actress, and tied the gag back in the girl's mouth. A little tighter this time.

Melissa Must Masturbate

Aunt Lydia was furious when she caught her 14 year old niece playing with herself for the fifth time that week.

Melissa stood with one hand inside her pants, the other on her small but prominent boob, caught exciting herself to yet another orgasm. She looked sheepish but didn't move her hands.

'You've been told,' growled Lydia. 'Now you'll see.'

A few days later and Melissa couldn't believe her eyes. A thick black plastic one piece, like a fetish corset, for her to wear under her everyday clothes. It had wide straps, a lockable crotch and a zipper in the back.

A zipper with a lock so it couldn't be removed.

'I can't put that on,' said the girl, horrified at what she saw inside it: small sharp metal studs sewn in to the cups, between her legs and at the seat.

'You will wear it,' said the woman sharply. 'So when you play with yourself it will hurt.'

Melissa cried and screamed and pleaded and threatened and got angry, but she wore it in the end. All weekend.

'Aaah! It hurts, Aunt. Hurts so much!' The teenager sobbed. Her legs ached because she couldn't sit down, not with the studs against her butt. Sore, from when she tried it.

She couldn't lie on her front because the studs dug into her small, pained tits. All she could do was stand or kneel or lie on her side uncomfortably.

'Please Aunt, I won't touch myself again,' she wept.

'You said that before,' said Lydia without anger, but cold. 'This will remind you.'

The girl howled, and the Aunt smirked. She liked seeing the teenager weep and stayed close.

Melissa desperately wanted to rest, to get away from the pain. She couldn't watch TV, play video games, lounge about. All she could do was suffer - and play with herself.

Melissa realized that her Aunt no longer cared if she tried to excite herself. The tortured girl could rub her boobs and between her legs as much as she wanted. Sure, it hurt like crazy but Aunt didn't stop her.

Melissa cried when she did it, but she came, despite the agony of it all. One hand between her legs, rubbing the hard steel into her soft cunt, the other hand squeezing the unrelenting studs into her tender young tits.

The girl came with a shout and a scream.

'Good,' chuckled Aunt Lydia, watching. 'Now do it again.'

The girl did, tears streaming.

Aunt made the girl put special leather gloves on, with studs - longer and sharper - at the fingertips.

'I can't play with myself with these on too!' Melissa cried as her Aunt locked them on her wrists.

'Not you, Melissa. Me. I want you to feel me up,' said Lydia, lying on the bed. Blouse open, legs wide apart revealing her wet slit through the taut, thin nylon panties. 'Now make me cum and make me hurt.'

Melissa did and Aunt came with a scream.

Pleasing the Gods

The pastor led the Burrows family through the vast snowy forest, cold breath streaming out, ice crunching underfoot. 'This is the old religion you'll see,' he explained in a whisper, 'the ancient gods demanded boys and girls tied naked in the cold.'

The church today, he added, doesn't approve or disapprove. It was simply the tradition here in the far north.

Mr and Mrs Burrows and their eleven year son Peter and ten year old daughter Karen stopped on the edge of the clearing.

They stopped and stared at the large gray stone chimney, heat and smoke billowing from the top. Around the circular wall, high on a ledge, naked boys and girls the same age as Peter and Karen were bound and gagged - wrists and ankles tied not to their immediate neighbor but the one beyond. A breathing, shivering lattice work of arms and legs crossing, necks locked by rusting iron bands to the stonework.

Boy, girl, boy, girl and so on all the way round. A twitching and silent decoration on the huge stone chimney.

But what they stared at most was at the open legs: pussy lips clipped and held wide open by cords across young thighs to small ball sacs next to them, small cocks bound and stretched up towards clips on nipples. The girl's nipples.

Boy, girl, boy, girl and so on, each supporting or hurting or teasing each other's little sex.

The Burrows family stared up, aroused and astonished.

'We have room for your two,' said the pastor, pointing to a gap. 'It would please the gods, I'm told.'

'I couldn't,' gasped Mrs Burrows, shivering with shock and a strange delight. 'The cold would...'

'Would only affect their front,' said the pastor. 'We're kind: the heat from the chimney stones warms their backs. Only their fronts get a little cold.' A pause. 'Stimulates the nipples.'

'They're gagged,' said Mr Burrows. 'They couldn't tell you what it was like.'

'Oh, we know,' chuckled the pastor. 'We have all been there when young.'

In the hotel, the family argued. The pastor said the winter this year was hard and the gods were unhappy. He didn't approve himself naturally but it was hard to deny the tradition, how people in this harsh region prayed for an early spring. Would do anything to see the green shoots of a new season, the icy river cracking.

That's what the locals said in the bars, too, eyeing the two kids.

The family went back through the forest later, chains on the children's necks. Peter and Karen cried and pleaded but they went up on the ledge, with the local children. Gagged to quieten them and not disturb the majestic silence of the snow forest. Gagged to preserve the tranquility of the home of the gods.

They went up just to appease the gods and shorten the winter, the pastor said. And it was only for two days.

Unless it snowed again, of course.

Princess Johnny

Johnny cowered. He didn't think he'd done anything really wrong but his mom was angry and now his dad was yelling at him.

'Didn't mean any harm,' sniffed the twelve year old boy.

'You were caught wearing your mom's pants!' His father sounded exasperated. 'You weren't careful!'

The boy looked up, startled. The man didn't seem so angry. 'W-what do you mean?'

'Listen son,' said Jeff, crouching by the huddled boy. 'If you want to wear girl's clothes that's fine, but keep away from mom's things.'

Johnny sat up. 'You mean I can dress in my sister's clothes?'

'No! Kathy's eight. You need something your age. Panties with lace edges, a pretty bra. Cheerleader skirts. I'll help you choose,' Jeff smiled.

Johnny gulped. This was more than he could have hoped for. 'When?'

'We'll go to the mall, just you and me. We'll pick some stuff. Our secret.'

The clothes, when they got home to an empty house, were a dream for the pre-teen. Lace and satins, straps and frills. Girl's clothes for girls who wanted to be very feminine. Or a sissy boy.

Johnny blushed when he presented himself to his father, as the man insisted. But the flared pink dress and the petticoat and the soft underwear - pale yellow panties on his slim hips and white training bra on his chest - made him tremble with excitement.

Jeff had bought makeup for the boy and carefully put lipstick on his son.

'Very sweet,' admired the man. 'But now you look like a little girl you do something for me.' He produced several yards of white rope.

'I always wanted to tie my daughter up,' he said. 'Kathy's too young and probably won't play. But we can really pretend you're a pretty little girl who's going to be tied up.'

Johnny was shocked, but nodded. He shook with fear as he put his hands behind him and his father tied them.

His father bound his son's legs, just below the pink lace hem of the dress he wore, and at his ankles over his new lace trimmed ankle socks.

Johnny's arms were tied to his body, so he could feel the ropes along with the bra he was wearing. He shook, but now with excitement. His small cock was hard inside the panties, pushing up against the dress.

Jeff held up clear adhesive tape. 'I'm going to gag you,' he said.

The boy couldn't stop his father gagging him with the satin blue panties packed between his teeth - the ones he'd been caught in earlier - and clear tape smoothed over his lower face.

'Just so I can see your pretty red lips,' explained the man. He kissed the astonished boy's shiny, plastic lips.

Jeff flipped out his thick cock and began stroking it, right in front of Johnny. 'Just stand still while I shoot my cum all over your new dress, Princess,' he gasped.

Princess Johnny stood quite still until the semen splattered on him.