Pricilla Anderson sat alone in the back of Miss Salken's car, all too aware of the frosty silence between the two women in the front.

The ten year old stared out the window, wondering what exactly was happening between these two. Apart from Miss Salken glaring a lot at the Principal and Mrs Brooklyn saying things like: 'I'm sorry' and 'It was just some harmless fun' there wasn't much conversation between the two.

The only thing Miss Salken had said was: 'You promised you wouldn't do that again.' But she didn't expand on it and Mrs Brooklyn looked unhappiest at that.

But one thing the girl in the back learned was that Miss Salken was called Carla. Mrs Brooklyn - who Pricilla now knew was called Joan - had used the teacher's first name a couple of times.

The pre-teen assumed the two women were friendly but they didn't seem so at the moment.

Pricilla wriggled a little in her seat. The handcuffs she still wore were a little uncomfortable and she couldn't sit back properly on the seat. She stopped wriggling however when Miss Salken glared at her in the mirror. The ten year old hoped that Mrs Brooklyn would turn and look at her, maybe give her a reassuring wink, but the older woman didn't move.

All the girl could do was sit and wait as they headed to where Miss Salken lived to get the keys for the cuffs. It was odd, thought Pricilla, sitting in the back of a car with her hands cuffed behind her and a chain between her ankles. It was odd too that Mrs Salken had gone home after the play with the key in her pocket and got changed.

And it was quite some change: the history teacher was wearing something quite unlike the practical blouses and skirts she wore when teaching. In fact, Pricilla had never seen anyone wear anything like it before: skin tight electric blue pants and white ankle boots with heels, topped off by a tight, thin sweater in white.

Clothes, the child conceded, that didn't look as if there was room for a pocket.

'Um, Miss Salken,' ventured Pricilla, when she plucked up courage to speak. 'Is it far to go? It's just that my hands are hurting, in these handcuffs. I can't really sit back.'

It was Mrs Brooklyn who answered, and at least that pleased the girl. 'Don't worry, Pricilla. We'll soon be there. Just try to relax as best you can.'

Pricilla nodded but was puzzled: how did Mrs Brooklyn know where Miss Salken lived? Then it struck her with a blinding obviousness: they shared a home. This was the person Mrs Brooklyn lived with.

And that was why Miss Salken had come looking for the Principal, the cuffed girl understood a half-second later.

By the time a full second had elapsed it was also clear to Pricilla these two were more than house-mates. She stared at the back of the two women in front and her jaw hung open in stunned surprise at the sudden, illuminating thoughts.

Miss Salken caught sight of the girl in the mirror, staring back. 'Something wrong?' Her voice was cold, almost accusatory.

'Uh, no. Just that...' Pricilla gulped, not knowing what to say.

'Leave her alone,' said Joan Brooklyn sharply to the woman driving. 'She's had enough to deal with tonight.'

'You mean, having to deal with what you were doing to her?' Carla Salken was very angry.

'It wasn't what you think!'

'I don't have to think. I saw enough to tell me you were up to your old tricks.'

'You can't forget, can you?'

There was suddenly bitterness between the two females and what might have been a simmering disagreement had erupted into far more.

'Forget what? How you treated me over that girl?' The teacher driving was almost shouting.

'That was the past. Anyway, none of this would have happened tonight if you hadn't forgotten the key,' retorted Joan.

'I was busy, for heaven's sakes. Distracted with all those children.'

'Funny,' snapped Joan. 'I thought you'd decided to leave a girl in chains because you like the idea.'

Pricilla's mouth sagged open again. This was turning into a full-on row, the type her parents had before they divorced and the girl was obliged to go and live with her Aunt Eleanor. But what did the Principal mean about Miss Salken leaving a girl in chains? No one would do that, would they?

The row didn't get any further. Miss Salken swung the car sharply into a driveway and was opening the door before the vehicle had stopped. 'You wait here! I'll get the goddamned key,' the younger woman exploded and stormed off towards the house.

'Don't worry,' said Mrs Brooklyn as Carla disappeared into the house. 'She gets a little mad at me at times. She's not mad at you. As soon as she's found the key we'll have you free and take you home.'

'But... I don't want to go home.'

'Don't be silly, honey. You have to go home. Your aunt will be worried.'

Pricilla swallowed. 'You used that word honey again, um... Joan.'

The Principal turned in her seat and faced the girl. 'Pricilla... you mustn't call me that. I'm Mrs Brooklyn. I shouldn't have let you know my first name - it was wrong.' It was clear, despite the darkness in the car, she was embarrassed.

But Pricilla wasn't going to let it go. She liked the woman, liked what they'd done far too much.

'But you like me. You call me honey. You looked at my pants. You even wiped me, when I went to the toilet.'

'I was just...' The woman hesitated. 'Um, just trying to help you.'

'Not when you kissed me!' Pricilla had never felt so indignant in all her young life.

'Pricilla, you mustn't ever tell anyone about that. Promise me?'

'I won't if you kiss me again. Now.' The small girl leaned forward, a look of anticipation lighting up her face.

Joan Brooklyn recoiled a little. 'Pricilla! Carla - I mean Miss Salken - will be back in a minute. I can't.'

The girl had never felt so sure of anything and wasn't going to let this go. 'She's not here though, is she?' The girl leaned even further forward, almost off the seat. 'She won't know. Anyway, who is she to you?'

The woman shot a look at the house, at the lights on. Then back at the child. 'You wouldn't understand who she is to me. Just, uh, a friend who thinks...' The Principal didn't know how to describe the woman's jealousy, her control. Small girls wouldn't understand the dominant lesbian concept. Kids could be cruel to each other but soon forgot. A bitch might carry this on for ages in all sorts of malicious ways.

'She kisses you, doesn't she?' Pricilla glowered but didn't sit back. 'You and her live together, like two lisb -' She stopped, unsure of the word.

'We're not lesbians, if that's what you mean,' said the woman a little too quickly, hoping the gloom in the car would hide her blushes from lying. 'Just good friends.'

'Then she won't mind you kissing me again. Or you scared of me telling people what you and I did?'

Mrs Joan Brooklyn began to shake her head but looked far from convinced. She surveyed the house again and the lights still on. 'Prissy, if I kiss you,' she turned back. 'It will be just this once. Just a sort of thank-you for being so patient and understanding.'

'Good. I like it when you call me that.'

'I didn't call you honey.' The woman looked startled. 'Did I?'

'No, course not.' The girl giggled. 'I meant Prissy. That can be your name for me.'

'Um, that wouldn't be a good idea.' The woman in the front of the car seemed to be battling with all kinds of thoughts and apprehensions.

'So, do I get my kiss?'

Without warning the school Principal leant towards the small girl and planted a short kiss on Prissy's mouth. A peck, not a fully fledged kiss like before. 'There,' said Joan, straightening her position as if satisfied with herself.

'Joan!' wailed Pricilla. 'That wasn't fair!'

'Mrs Brooklyn from now on, okay? And it was fair. Now, not a word about it any more: Miss Salken's coming back.'

Miss Salken was indeed coming back, and not looking any happier. She opened the car door on her side but didn't get in. 'Damn it! I can't find the key. You'll have to come and help me look.'

'I can't leave Pricilla in the car like this,' objected Joan.

'Oh, then bring her in. She can wait while we look.' The woman gestured at the house, still with lights on. 'She can wait in the hallway.'

As Miss Salken stalked back towards the house, Joan Brooklyn sighed. 'Another crisis,' she said, more to herself. 'Come on, I'll help you out. We shouldn't be too long.'

Pricilla allowed the woman to guide her out, feeling the warmth of the woman's hands on her. 'I'm not moving until you kiss me again,' said the girl defiantly, digging her heels in. 'Properly.'

'This is getting ridiculous,' said the woman, still holding the cuffed girl's arm. 'I wish I hadn't started this.'

Pricilla giggled. 'You do. You like it.'

'I can't kiss you out here even if I wanted to,' the woman nodded towards the street. 'People could see and,' she gave a helpless shrug, 'Miss Salken might be watching.'

'Not moving,' said the girl, puckering her lips.

'Okay, okay. A kiss, but not here. In the shadows, near the door. But hurry! Carla will be getting curious why we're so slow.'

Pricilla chuckled and hurried as fast as her ankle chains would allow, until they got in shadows by the porch. 'I have to be quick,' said Joan, anxiously looking at the house.

'I know,' said the girl. 'But will you hold me this time. Y'know, like lovers do.'

'Pricilla!' gasped the woman. 'You are not my lover.'

'Could be,' chuckled the girl, enjoying the naughtiest thought she'd ever had. 'Then we can kiss all the tim-' Pricilla got no further as the woman - partly out of desperation and partly out of lust she couldn't control - seized the ten year old and planted a big, wet kiss on the restrained girl's lips. Their lips opened and to Pricilla's eternal delight Joan sank her tongue into the girl's mouth.

They broke but before Pricilla could say 'wow!' she was hauled into the house.

'Sorry I was so long,' called Joan up the stairs, sounding out of breath. 'Prissy - I mean Pricilla - can't move very fast in the ankle chain.'

'That,' said Carla angrily as she appeared at the top of the stairs, 'is why I'm looking for the key! You better get up and help me out.' She half turned and then stopped. 'No wait. You look downstairs - and leave her there.'

'Leave her?'

'Yes... just fasten her to the stair post.'

'What?' Joan stared up at the younger woman. Pricilla merely looked dumbstruck.

'You heard. She's caused enough bother wandering off already. I don't want her wandering off again.'

'And how do I do that?'

'I don't know. Use a belt from a coat.' The young teacher disappeared again.

'You gonna tie me up?' Pricilla was clearly shocked. 'I won't wander off. I mean, I'm already all chained up and where will I go in here?'

Joan looked troubled. She whispered: 'I know but it's what Carla wants.' There were some coats hanging close by and in one swift movement, the woman hauled a belt off a plastic raincoat. 'Look, I'll just tie you to the post here, at the foot of the stairs. You'll be quite safe.' A slight pause. 'Honey.'

That did it for the girl. She grinned and stood by the post.

'Turn round,' smiled Joan. 'Stand with your back to the post. I won't hurt you.'

'Don't care if you do,' said the child. 'Not you, anyways.'

Joan Brooklyn nodded, avoiding Pricilla's big eyes. She looped the plastic belt round the girl's waist and the post and knotted it. 'Not too tight?'

'No, 's fine. Joan,' at this the girl dropped her voice. 'You want to lift my skirt and look at my pants again? You could.'

Joan blushed. She half shook her head but glanced upstairs. She - and Pricilla for that matter - could hear the teacher moving things, opening drawers in a bedroom. 'I-I'll have to be quick.'

In one swift, fluent movement, the middle-aged woman dropped to her knees, scooped up the girl's skirt and exposed the child's blue pants to her gaze. Instinctively, Pricilla opened her legs as wide as she could. As wide as the ankle chain allowed. She didn't know why she was doing it only that it felt right.

The Principal never knew what came over her at that precise moment. She suddenly ducked her head forward and planted her lips on the child's pudenda. Another instant and she dropped the long skirt and was on her feet, hurrying off to search downstairs for the missing key.

Pricilla thought she would faint, both at the kiss and the curious electric-like jolt that tingled through her hips and shook her small, innocent body. 'Oh, Joan,' she mumbled, in a haze of excitement. 'That was... the best kiss. Ever.'

---

'We'll have to call her aunt, tell her what's happened.' growled Miss Salken, angrily as she snatched up the phone in the hallway. 'That key must be somewhere but I don't know where.'

'Perhaps you left it school,' suggested Joan, looking ruffled from a half-hour's fruitless searching. 'Or dropped it on the driveway.'

'Could be, but we won't find it soon. We have to get rid of her.' The younger woman gestured at the still tied and chained girl, stood meekly by the stairs. 'Her aunt can call a locksmith and have her cut out of those chains or whatever.'

Both the older woman and the child watched the increasingly agitated Miss Salken wait as the phone rang. And rang. Eventually an answer machine kicked in. 'Um', began the teacher, thrown off balance for the moment. 'Uh, Elean... I mean, Mrs Pollard. This is Miss Salken, a teacher at Oldford School. It's about your niece, Pricilla Anderson... she's, uh, resting at my house. After the play. She's perfectly okay but I need to talk to you. Thanks.'

The phone went down and in the immediate silence afterwards, even Pricilla felt the wave of anger from the Principal. 'How did you know the number of Pricilla's aunt?'

'Well, I know lots of numbers... families of the kids.' Miss Salken shrugged as if it was everyday stuff. But she sounded unconvincing.

Joan Brooklyn exploded. 'You know who she is, don't you? From that club you go to! She's one of the women you play with.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Carla, her face red. She turned away but the Principal caught hold of her arm.

'Tell me,' Joan demanded. 'You've been unfaithful again.'

'And you've been playing with small girls again,' retorted Carla, an equal anger in her face. 'You said you wouldn't, after the last one. That business with Samantha Hopper. You remember? That nearly ruined everything.'

'And you said you'd keep your hands off other women, but you can't. This one is her, isn't it? That mysterious El who leaves messages from time to time.'

'So? She's just a friend. At least she's old enough to know.' The teacher tore herself away from the older woman's grip and stalked to the door. 'I'm going out, as I was before all this,' she waved her hand at Pricilla, staring open mouthed at what had just erupted in front of her. 'Don't wait up.'

'You go out, Carla, and it's finished between us!'

'Fine,' snorted the teacher and waltzed out, her wiggling, shiny hips catching the light from the hallway a split second before she slammed the door after her.

A slow silence settled on the hallway. Pricilla stared at Joan, standing with her hands clenched, her jaw set hard. She was staring at the door as if she expected it to open and the younger woman appear, ready to continue the argument. But the sound of the car starting up outside and driving off fast suggested they'd have to wait a good long time yet.

'Mrs Brooklyn,' said the girl quietly. 'You okay?'

The principal sighed. 'I'm fine Pricilla. It's just that, well... you wouldn't understand.'

For some strange reason, the girl did. 'You mean, she isn't your lover any more. Because of my Aunt.'

Joan looked at the girl. 'You know what we're talking about here, right?'

'I think so. Miss Salken wants to, well, um... go to bed with my Aunt and not you.' The child blushed, her voice quiet. 'She doesn't want you to kiss her anymore.'

The older woman smiled. 'I guess that's about it, Pricilla.'

'Prissy,' said the girl, with a smile. 'But don't be sad about her. You can always kiss me. If you want. I wouldn't go off with anyone else.'

The woman gave a pleasant laugh and stepped over to Pricilla to untie the raincoat belt.

'No, you don't have to do that. I mean,' said Pricilla, looking over her shoulder at Joan, 'You can leave me if it helps.'

'How can it help?' But the woman hadn't started undoing the knot.

'I'm, um, your slave. You'd like that.'

'Pricilla. You can't -'

'Prissy. We agreed.'

'We didn't agree, but okay. Prissy.' The woman came and stood in front of the girl. 'You can't be my slave, however exciting that seems. You have a guardian, a home, you have to go to school -'

'You could own me. Teach me here, at home. Your home. It's legal.' Prissy was bubbling with excitement. 'I could be tied to a desk, um, I mean a chair at a desk. Chained up while you teach me things. I would be such a good pupil. I mean, I wouldn't answer back - but you could gag me. I saw it in a movie. This woman was gagged so she couldn't speak. And I would -'

'Prissy! Stop!' Joan held her hand up. 'What are you saying?'

'That I want to be yours, Joan.' The girl looked up with imploring eyes. 'I like being in chains when I'm with you.'

'You don't know what that means.'

'I do so too! It's like this, but better.'

'How better?'

'Uh, real chains. Heavy, so I know I'm wearing them all the time. So I can't move far. And gags, they'd be cool.'

'Cool? I thought you liked kissing me?'

'Oh I do. But it's like not being allowed something good. Like a popsicle on a hot day - you know when you get it eventually it's better.'

Unable to stop herself, the woman smiled. 'That's very perceptive of you, Prissy. But gags are impractical. There's meals and drinks and having to clean your teeth. Hey, you'd have to answer some questions, even in class.'

'But it'd be good. You could gag me most of the time. One with a lock, and only you'd have the key.' The girl paused to swallow. 'And I couldn't say anything, even if you put your hands in my pants. Like before.'

Mrs Brooklyn was aware the child was standing again with her little legs as wide apart as the ankle chain would allow, her hips as far forward as she could manage, given the belt tying her waist to the stair post.

'Listen...' began the woman, unable to take her eyes off the child. 'Think about this!'

'It's sticky again, in there,' whispered the child. 'Please.'

'Prissy, honey. I can't...'

'You can. There was that girl Samantha. I remember her last year. She left suddenly, before the summer recess. Miss Salken said, um, you did things to her. You played with her.'

'That was different. Not like this.' The woman was blushing. 'She wasn't like you.'

'Please!' The child began wriggling her hips. 'Just lift my skirt and do something to me.'

The Principal swallowed hard, eyes on the child. 'If I do, you have to be quiet.'

'I won't say anything.'

'It isn't that.' The woman looked hot. 'It's just that I like, um, silencing girls. When I'm not kissing them.'

'Ohhhh,' gasped Pricilla, eagerly at the thought of a gag between her teeth. 'Then gag me! Get another belt. Please!'

Mrs Brooklyn got another belt. She knew it was dangerous, wrong and many more things but it was her weakness. She never knew what distant spark impelled her to do such things but she couldn't resist. With a swift movement she wound the belt twice round Pricilla's head so the belt went into the girl's mouth, pressing the child's tongue down. The belt had a buckle and she closed it tight behind the child's head. Pricilla made a sweet gurgling noise, almost in excitement.

Incredibly, the girl's eyes - once she was gagged - seemed bigger, more attractive. More eager. Despite herself, Joan Brooklyn loved that look. She loved the situation and she couldn't stop.

The little girl's skirt came up to her waist. Mrs Joan Brooklyn, Principal of Oldford School, slid her hand into the waistband of the sweet little girl's pants and down, her finger starting to work on Prissy's delightful clit. The child bucked in her cuffs at the touch, the new explosion of sensations that tore through her small body. She gurgled happily into her makeshift gag, her eyes on the woman's face so close to her.

'Kttth mmhh!' Squealed the ten year old, wanting the woman to press her lips to her own, even if the gag was in the way.

The woman did, her full lips mashed against the gag as if she got some supreme delight from this bizarre kissing. Sexual pleasure both given and denied. Lust let loose but restrained.

Neither of them, in the throes of this unlikely pleasure, heard the door open.

'My God!' gasped Eleanor Pollard, standing frozen behind Mrs Brooklyn.