The images were jerky and blocky. But you could tell even from the black and white security camera images it was a woman and young child heading for the checkout, shopping baskets in their hands.

'Police are puzzled by the disappearance of this 26 year old mother, Lauren Brady, and her seven year old daughter , Cherie, last seen here at a store on River Street,' the voice on the television had the usual concerned, newsy tone as Liz Reed would expect. The woman watched as the image on the screen switch to a shot of the Brady's car, parked in a small lot in a quiet part of town, surrounded by cops. 'The only clue the police have so far is the Brady family car, found later parked and locked. The shopping was untouched and there were no signs of a struggle, no evidence the woman and child have come to any harm. Police are appealing for witnesses.'

The image switched back to another security video shot of the Brady's leaving the store. Liz smiled: she could tell the woman following them was herself - another shopper. She shouldn't have been caught on camera of course but that was easily dealt with. She would go to the cops and say that she had seen the two leave ahead of her, get into their car and head off towards South Boulevard. No officer, there didn't seem to be any problems and I'm sure I never saw anyone near their car.

Liz wouldn't tell them of course that she had seen them since, that she had followed them out of the parking lot. She wouldn't tell them she now had the mother and daughter bound and gagged in her own basement behind a secret wall.

The 48 year old woman stood up and turned off the TV. She felt good about this, how well it had gone. But then, she had prepared carefully for all this - right down to having the basement ready for two prisoners. Of course, Lauren wouldn't remain in the basement: there was a place in Liz's bed for her, providing she co-operated. And with her daughter locked and secured in the basement, Liz was confident the young woman would do exactly what was required.

And what was required was pleasure: licking the older woman to orgasm, or spreading herself wide to take Liz's double ended strap-on in her no doubt delightful and suitably wet cunny.

Liz shivered with delight at the prospect. She now had the female that had excited her so much when she was her teacher eleven long years ago. Sure, the very pretty Lauren was older now but that couldn't be helped. She was never going to stay fifteen forever.

Naturally Liz would have preferred, if she could, to have seduced the teenager back then, getting her pupil into bed voluntarily, having sex with the bright fifteen year old as an older woman and her young lover would.

But when that became clear it wasn't going to happen - when she was so summarily dismissed by the girl with all kinds of threats - Liz simply bided her time, just planning and watching. Now she was retired, she had the time and the energy to make Lauren hers.

Eleven years! A long time indeed, thought Liz, but she always taught her pupils that patience pays off. And it had.

In the intervening years the teenager had matured into a woman but was still pretty. Perhaps she had lost that look of innocence, the small high breasts had become heavier, fuller - but that was to be expected now she was a mother. That was to be welcomed too: playing with these larger tits would be even more fun. But of course Lauren, the one pupil she had admired among all the others, couldn't be quite so innocent now. Not after having had a failed marriage and a child.

Liz tried not to feel angry about the errors Lauren had made. In her arms, under her protection, the teenager wouldn't have made the mistakes she had subsequently. Wouldn't have been allowed to fall into the clutches of some selfish man who abandoned her with a small child. Lauren, as Liz's little love slave, would have obeyed because she was loved and protected.

Just like she will be from now on.

Liz felt good, but reminded herself that this wasn't revenge. This was deliberate, sensible planning. A carefully thought out scheme which would have Lauren - and yes, her daughter - in the former teacher's home. Never to go away again.

In one sense it was unfortunate that there was a seven year old child involved. But you have take opportunities as they arise and make the most of them. The child, this Cherie would play her part in the re-education and training of her mother. Lauren no doubt would do anything to make sure her imprisoned daughter would be spared.

It had worked already. Liz had followed Lauren's car, inviting her to stop on an empty road, putting a gun (a replica, as it happened) to the child's head and making Lauren do what she was told to spare the child's life. Liz had been very good, tying up the child in the trunk of Liz's rented car and telling her she had no choice but to follow to the empty parking lot. The terrified mother abandoned her car there and having left it she had to sit in the passenger's seat of Liz's rental car, hands cuffed behind her and wearing a red-haired wig to hide her normal blonde hair, as they drove to Liz's home.

It was, Liz congratulated herself, a perfect plan. Perfectly executed.

Now she would "assist" the police, perhaps even send them looking in the wrong direction. Liz smiled as she rehearsed it in her head: 'I'm sure they turned north on Fourth, officer.'

---

Liz Reed slid back the secret panel in the basement. It had been, perhaps, an unnecessary expense. The police hadn't come over to check her house as clearly middle aged women don't kidnap mothers and daughters but it was always better to be prepared. Even a close examination of the basement wouldn't reveal the way in to the small area she kept Lauren and her daughter. It was soundproofed well and the two prisoners were efficiently gagged with rubber ball, tape and a hood that locked over their heads. They would be concentrating on simply breathing and not trying to shout or struggle with their straps that held them spreadeagled to the frame in front of the wall. They wouldn't be aware of each other, let alone anyone searching the main area of the basement, so they wouldn't know when to try and shout. If they could.

The two figures, the woman to the right of her daughter standing in an X position, hadn't even heard the door panel slide back and the cloth hoods stopped them reacting to the invasion of subdued light. Neither of Liz's captives stirred and only the regular rise and fall of their chests showed they were alive. But of course, that was exactly what the woman wanted: she had no intention of harming them like this. But it was good to keep them on their toes - literally, the way the straps had been adjusted to keep them standing against the wall - and it excited her to see Lauren in particular standing with her legs wide apart, even if she did have her skirt still on.

Liz was tempted to put her hand up the skirt and touch the slave's pussy. But after so long waiting Liz knew that she could wait just a little longer. After all, she needed it to be right. Patience! She reminded herself.

The teacher regarded Lauren for a few moments, looking at her breasts and contemplating what she would do with them later. Nothing too severe at first, just a few gentle kisses. Before she got down to the nibbling and sucking.

Liz was a little disappointed that the teen she had so lusted after all those years ago hadn't learned much about how to dress. The bound female was wearing a white blouse, but underneath it was a black bra. Yes, Liz understood the fashion for not caring about showing one's underwear in public, but it was distasteful. Lauren would have to be trained to appreciate that a lady wears the same color bra as her top.

No doubt too, Liz thought, Lauren also doesn't understand the concept of matching pants and bra. She had no doubt - if she lifted the hem of Lauren's cheap denim skirt - there would be different color pants underneath. No doubt a thong in red or even lime green, and Liz shuddered at the thought. But then she consoled herself. There would be plenty of times where Lauren would be naked, so perhaps it was no big issue.

Tempted as she was to peek under her prisoner's skirt, Liz resisted it. For now.

But what of the child next to her mommy? Liz regarded the seven year old Cherie. She was dressed in a loud t-shirt and short-legged jeans. Jeans with a large wet patch at the crotch: the child had pissed herself while bound in the basement and beneath the child's spread legs there was a small puddle. Liz permitted herself a sigh of displeasure. In one way, the child would probably require more training than her mother.

However Cherie was there as a teaching aid to help persuade her mother. In one sense, it was better the child was terrified. Lauren would be more eager to co-operate that way, not wanting her offspring o be hurt any. Still, children had to be shown the right way. Even if kidnapped, you didn't soil yourself.

Perhaps a stern punishment would be good for the child, especially if in front of a bound and gagged Lauren.

To Liz's surprise she found herself staring at the small girl and thinking what she would do to her, to teach her. To hurt her, really. She had though t- wrongly as it turned out - that she might not enjoy having the child here. But there were all kinds of possibilities and the woman found her cunt tingling and growing wet.

For a moment Liz was tempted to play

Liz smiled and retreated from the cell, as she called it, locking the door behind her. The mother and child could wait a little longer. Particularly Cherie in her soaked pants and jeans. That would teach her.

---

Liz was very helpful at the police station. Her witness statement would help the police, Lieutenant Garocki promised the woman.

'Have you had many witnesses?' asked Liz casually as she got up to leave.

'A few,' said the detective behind the desk. 'But nothing conclusive.'

'I am sure you will soon find that poor woman and her daughter. I imagine if they knew how much bother they had caused by this, they'd soon be in touch.'

'Yeah, I'm sure,' said Garocki, shuffling the papers on his desk. Interview over.

Liz walked through the station, a woman relaxed. She even paused to study the notice board to show she was at ease, just in case someone thought otherwise. She even had a quick word with the desk sergeant about a missing dog picture. Then she left the building and walked slowly across to where she had parked her car. Someone confident she had been a good citizen and done her duty. Liz felt good: a woman in no hurry because she had nothing to hide.

Outside, in the sunshine, Liz checked her reflection in her purse mirror. Not looking flushed, she was pleased to see. She patted herself mentally on the back and crossed to a store nearby and bought a few things she needed, taking her time. Only then did she make her way back to her car. She dropped her groceries in the trunk and eased into the driver's seat.

'Can I have a word, ma'am' said a woman, leaning down to peer into through the driver's window. An attractive woman, mature but still in good shape. Perhaps some ten years younger than the former teacher. Liz concluded this woman must have followed her out.

'Why yes, um...?'

'Detective Lindsay Hill,' the woman offered. 'I'm on the case of Lauren Brady.'

'Really?' Liz tried not to show any alarm, and immediately detecting a lie straight away. A skill she had learned teaching children who lied. 'I just gave a statement to the Lieutenant. I was at the supermarket when that poor woman and her child were... you know, went missing. I was on the security tape. I guess I thought the least I could do was come down and help.'

'Very thoughtful of you, Ms...?'

'Hart, but please, call me Liz.'

'Liz. That would be Liz Findlay, correct?'

A small squeeze on Liz's heart. She hadn't used the name Findlay for years. Not since she stopped teaching. She tried to keep her face from showing any concern and her voice level. 'Well no, officer. I said my name is Hart. Liz Hart.' The merest beat. 'You must have got me confused with someone else.'

'Must have.' The cop stood.

For a second Liz thought it was over. She reached to start the car.

'One thing though, Liz.' The cop still had her hand on the roof of Liz's car. 'I need to ask you about Woodfern High.'

---

Liz drove as steadily as she could, aware the cop next to her was studying her. A cold stare.

'I really can't comment on when I was there,' said Liz in response to Officer Hill's earlier question about the school. 'It was a long time ago. I don't like to remember my days as a teacher. That's why I changed my name. Put it all behind me. You really can't blame me, after what I went through.'

'Strange that you didn't mention it in your witness statement, Ms Findlay.'

Liz felt herself color up. 'I told you. I'm now Hart. My Findlay years were... well, bad.'

'Sure. All those accusations of you and that girl. What was her name?'

'Danielle Marks was a liar, officer. She alleged all kinds of things. She had what we called a vivid imagination. The school board thought it better I retire rather than there be a court case. I wanted one, as I knew I could prove my innocence. But they said it would harm the reputation of the school.

'So you became Liz Hart. And you do what now?'

'I write, officer. Books on teaching.'

'That's right. Under the name of Findlay McGregor.'

'A pseudonym, officer. Books on education sound better if they are by males from a stern Scottish connection.' She glanced at the police officer in the passenger seat. 'I am sure in the world of law enforcement you respect people with tough names.'

'Like, uh... Columbo? Miss Marples?'

Liz shook her head. She wasn't going to get far with this female. 'So what do you want from me? You trying to reopen the Danielle Marks case?'

'No, I'm trying to solve the Brady case. I'm intrigued why you didn't say in your statement that you once taught Lauren.'

'I'm not sure I did. There were a lot of girls at Woodfern, and I never tried to remember any of them once they left. Unless they were trouble, I taught myself to forget them.'

'But why would you forget an attractive girl like Lauren?' The cop reached into her jacket and took out a photo. As they drew to a halt at a stop light the cop put it on the dash in front of Liz. It was photograph of Lauren when she was fourteen or fifteen. A photo of a very attractive teenage girl.

Just the way Liz remembered her.

'So?' Liz shrugged. The lights changed and she moved off. Not as smoothly as she normally did.

The cop said nothing for a minute or two, and then said: 'You don't mind me looking round your house?'

'Like I said, feel free. I'm afraid it's not very tidy. I've been under pressure from my publisher. Deadline, you know.'

'Deadline, right. Means something else in law enforcement,' said Lindsay.

They drove on in silence.

---

Lindsay didn't seem in any hurry. She glanced casually round the living room, and then settled herself on the couch. She had a neat, charcoal gray suit on and her knee length skirt slipped back an inch or two as she slowly crossed her legs. Good shape legs, noted Liz.

'Yeah, nice home,' said Lindsay.

'But you wanted to look round it.' Liz was trying not to show she was edgy. 'I have work to do.'

'Perhaps I don't need to look round,' said the cop. 'Perhaps you just need to tell me where the mother and daughter are.'

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me, Ms Findlay. You know, I'm kinda hot. Mind if I take my jacket off?' Before Liz could say anything, the woman on the sofa had slipped her jacket off. Her shoulder holster had the effect of stretching her blouse tight across her generous bust. Without a word the woman flipped the top button on her scarlet blouse undone. Some of her substantial cleavage came into view.

Liz stared, not sure what to say or even think. The woman slid her skirt back on her thigh, revealing the edge of a dark welt of stocking top. Liz gulped at this obvious show. 'What do you want?' she managed to say.

'Like all cops, the truth.' The woman's skirt slid back another inch. She was definitely wearing stockings.

'I think you should leave,' said Liz as firmly as she could, indicating the front door. 'When you have a warrant, come back then, officer Hill.'

'You really wouldn't want that, would you?'

'Uh, I have nothing to hide,' said Liz, feeling hot.

'I think you do.' The cop unfastened another button: the edge of her dark red bra came into view. Her leg came up a little and the skirt showed more welt, the hint of a satin strip over her garter clasp.

'What are you doing?' Liz suddenly felt terrified.

'Oh, let's say I'm revealing things to you, in the hope you reveal things to me.' Lindsay leaned forward, her breasts and bra cups almost in full view. 'You see, when you peel things back, you never know what you will find underneath.'

The skirt was right back now, the dark red satin of her garter belt on view. Expensive underwear, Liz noted among her sense of panic.

'M-ms Hill, this, um... it isn't right.' Liz's voice was croaking. She wanted to run, but where to? She was in her own home but there would no place to hide.

'Liz, I know about you.' The cop in the expensive clothes was smiling, still leaning forward to show her chest.

'Know what?' Liz could barely speak.

'I know about you and Lauren. I know about you and Danielle. Oh, yes, and Marilee Hill.'

'B-but... There isn't a-anything to know.' Terror soaked though Liz. She was stumbling blindly into some well-placed trap.

'I am Marilee's mother, so I would know. I know you wanted her in your bed. I know you got her into your bed. Yes, even that you told Marilee that you wanted to fuck Lauren Brady. In fact, you wanted Marilee to help you get her into your bed, remember?'

Feeling dizzy and sick, Liz sat down heavily on the seat behind her. She remembered.

---

Looking much smarter with her skirt back down though with her blouse still open, Lindsay stood hands on hips and regarded the two bound figures in front of her.

Next to the cop, though looking less than happy with her hands cuffed behind her, was Liz. She had been crying a little - some from self-pity - but she was trying not to show too much emotion.

But then some of the tears were from being masturbated by the barrel of officer Hill's gun: whatever else Liz might have expected when she confessed to having kidnapped Lauren and her daughter Cherie it wasn't being cuffed and made to cum with the cold black barrel of a pistol rubbing between her legs. It was, as Lindsay had said, a hard way to climax. A painful and humiliating way too.

Now she could only stand and wait as Lindsay Hill reviewed the situation. Cop-speak that meant here taking a look at her property. Lindsay didn't say anything for a while as she regarded the bound, stretched and hooded mother and child. She shook her head at what she saw. 'Amateurish,' she said quietly. The first word she had spoken since arriving in the secret cell.

Lindsay had explained upstairs, as she masturbated the cuffed Liz, that as the owner of the slave called Lauren she didn't take very kindly to her property being stolen.

Owners of slaves usually give the rights up in different circumstances, she had also explained. That was right before she whipped the big ass of the howling former teacher with the thin belt she had removed from her suit skirt. Buckle outwards as the older woman bent over.

'I'm sorry,' Liz had blubbered as she took her punishment. 'I didn't know.'

'You do now,' said Lindsay, planting her spike heel into the older woman's ass and sending the bending woman sprawling. As Liz had her hands cuffed behind her she landed heavily on her front, knocking the wind out of her and making Lindsay laugh.

Now they were downstairs and Lindsay was very much in command. She moved up to the hooded woman and took hold of the female's breasts through her grubby shirt, simultaneously squeezing and twisting the tits hard. Inside the black hood, Lauren let out a scream - gag muffled naturally - at the sudden, unexpected attack. Liz watched silently, both resentful that Lauren had come to claim her own property and pleased at least Lauren would get some blame for being made a captive so easily.

Liz though - and certainly Lauren - didn't expect the next punishment. Without warning Lindsay drove her balled fist hard into the unseeing slave's belly.

There was a deep if stifled groan from the stretched woman and if she hadn't been stretched out so well, she would have doubled up in pain.

Liz felt a tremor of disgust and excitement at this, and shot a glance at the bound and hooded child stood next to her mom. The child was moving her head, hearing noises but unable to understand what was happening. The child made some noise, as if maybe asking her mommy what was happening.

Lindsay was ignoring the child. All her anger was directed to the woman on the frame. And anger it was: the cop was clearly out to make her slave suffer. The woman slid her belt off once again and lifted the woman's denim skirt (revealing, Liz noted, a pair of pants that didn't match the slave's black bra) and began to beat the woman's thighs with the buckle end.

Each blow rang out in the otherwise silent room, followed by a suppressed howl from the tortured female. In front of Liz's eyes vivid red welts sprang up on the helpless woman's thighs. Lauren was twisting and screaming as best she could, with little Cherie twisting in her own panic at the noise that she didn't understand.

For a reason she didn't understand, Liz tore her eyes from the punished mother to stare at the daughter, feeling a tingle in her own sex at he idea that the child would suffer next.

Cherie didn't though. After Lauren had received what must have been twenty lashes with the belt, the cop dropped her skirt and turned to Liz. 'See what I do to slaves who stray?'

Liz nodded with a gulp. 'Am I to be your slave, too?'

'You?' Lindsay suddenly laughed. 'Shit no! I like my women a little younger. Like bitch Lauren here. Someone I can make look like trailer trash!'

Lauren, obviously sobbing inside her hood, had stirred at the sound of the woman's voice, as if she recognized it. The young woman hadn't stopped her noise but was trying not to sob so loudly.

Little Cherie though hadn't detected anything she knew and was still struggling in her ropes.

'Huh, look at the little bitch,' said Lindsay dismissively, sneering at the child. 'Standing in her own piss.'

In that moment Liz understood something and the thought hit her hard. Cherie was not part of her mother's slave life.

Before she even thought about it, Liz turned to Lindsay. 'You don't like the kid, do you?'

'No, why should I?' Lindsay had one eyebrow cocked.

'I can help,' blurted Liz. 'She's in the way, right? I can take her off your hands.'

'She isn't on my hands,' grunted Lindsay.

'But she stops you having slave Lauren all too yourself. Lauren's a mother, and you haven't figured out what to do about the child.' Liz wasn't sure where this flood of words were coming from, but the flowed. 'So we have a deal. You take Lauren away - keep her where you keep a permanent slave - and I keep the kid. As all mine.'

Lindsay shook her head. 'You might have forgotten I'm a cop and you seem to be arrested. Case solved, Lauren and her offspring free - free enough for me to resume my ownership.'

'But it isn't that easy is it?'

'Tell me how it's not, with you in cuffs like you are.'

'Okay, arrest me. But I might say something at the station. Arrest me, and little Cherie here knows something. She gonna keep quiet at school, to her relatives? Some neighbor? She's a loose cannon and you have no control of her, whatever you do to her mom.' Liz took a deep breath. 'Give the kid to me and let me out of these cuffs - then you can keep Lauren. After all, she's already missing. Sure, the case isn't solved but so what?'

Lauren pursed her lips, considering the offer. 'I don't know,' she began.

'Okay, then think about this. Even if I don't say anything, even if the kid stays quiet, what if someone says you hadn't voiced your suspicions on the case. You had information and didn't pass it on.'

'Cops work that way,' Lauren shrugged. 'Ever seen Columbo?'

'But it isn't your case, is it? I wasn't interviewed by you. You aren't Lieutenant Garocki, right?' Liz wanted to grin, as she had the point precisely. 'Don't you think he'd be surprised at what you knew and the interest you took in it, off the record?'

Lindsay took a deep breath. 'Okay, you take the kid. But listen, Findlay.' The woman's voice was hard, her eyes cold. 'You don't mess this up, right? If you do, you'll go down for a real long time.'

'Oh, I won't,' said Liz, holding her hands out behind her for the cop to unlock her cuffs.

---

Seven year old Cherie Brady looked round the room, clearly still in some shock about what had happened to her since being freed from the frame. She was puzzled why she was naked, and wondered why she was bound. And this woman, watching her... wasn't she the woman who had made her mom tie her up?

'Where is my mommy?' The child ventured, not sure if she should speak at all. Her jaw still ached from that thing that had been tied in it for so long. She had, while hooded, heard noises that sounded like her mom's voice - and a lot of screams and cries from what she thought must have been her mother. 'Is my mommy okay?'

'Your mom's fine,' said Liz, smiling at the well tied and naked child before her. Ropes were round the little girl's arms and body, her wrists and elbows bound behind her. Her legs were tied too, obliging the kid to stand up straight. 'She had to go away for a while, with a friend' (Liz couldn't help but smile at that - Lindsay had been far from friendly with her slave, blaming her for being taken as a captive) and she said I had to look after you here.'

Cherie frowned. She didn't felt like she was being looked after, bound like this and not having any clothes on. Like kids do, she asked why.

'Oh, you have to be naked because I like it,' said Liz from where she sat. 'And the ropes, well... that's to protect you. So you don't go anyplace I don't know.'

'I want to go home,' said the girl.

'I'm sure you do. And you will, soon. But for now you have to stay here.'

'Can't I be dressed?'

'No, I haven't got any clothes for you, Lauren.'

A complete look of confusion showed on Cherie's face. 'But... I'm not Lauren. That's my mom's name.'

'I know. But I think it's kinda a nice name. You see, I think your mom when she was your age would have looked just like you. And I liked her when she was younger. So, Lauren it is.'

'I'm Cherie!' Barked the child.

'Not if I say you aren't. And if you are going to make such a dreadful noise you'll need this.' Liz held up the ball gag the child had worn earlier, so the child could see it swinging from the woman's fingertips.

'No! It's horrible,' gasped the child. She swayed, unable to turn or run away.

Liz got up slowly with a small gasp. Her own ass still hurt from the thrashing Lindsay had given her a couple of hours ago, a last whipping before the police officer took the tightly bound Lauren - the mother - away to who knows what hell. The sore woman moved to the child and rubbed the ball of red rubber against Cherie's - the new Lauren's - tightly clamped lips.

'Okay sweetheart, if you don't want to open wide I guess I'll have to make you.' Liz simply took hold of the small girl's nose between her thumb and forefinger with her free hand and closed the air supply off, pinching hard just to make the girl feel even more uncomfortable. For a moment the new Lauren tried to shake her head to get rid of the grip but couldn't dislodge Liz's hand. Then she squealed loudly in protest, through her tightly pressed lips. When that didn't do anything and her air was running out, she threw her mouth open to gasp in a lung-full of air.

That would have been the perfect time to slip the ball gag in.

But what Liz did even surprised herself a little. She simply dropped the ball gag and clamped her hand over the child's mouth. Little Lauren's eyes flew open and she gurgled a scream into the hand that covered her mouth. 'Guess what, Lauren,' breathed the woman. 'You had your chance to help me and now you're going to see what misbehaving means. Every time you don't do exactly what I say, when I say it, you have to suffer.'

'Mmmmfff!' screamed little Lauren with her remaining breath. She was turning blue in the face, struggling to shake her head free of the relentless grasp the woman had on her nose and mouth.

'Sorry, Lauren,' laughed Liz. 'Time for you to suffer.'

The small girl's struggles were getting weaker, her eyes flickering. At the last possible moment, Liz released her grip on the child's cute nose, allowing to suck air in. A few seconds later, the process was repeated and her cute little nose clamped tight again.

Panic was in the child's eyes, just as Liz wanted it. As she began to fade again, the kid was allowed a small snort of air, then the process went on. For six or seven more times, until the child's legs were buckling in terror and lack of oxygen.

Only now did Liz let go and allow the child to gulp air through both mouth and nose. She was crying and spluttering as she did so.

'Y-you hurt me...' cried the seven year old. 'I thought... you were... g-going to kill me.'

'I thought so too,' said Liz calmly. 'You ready for some more breath control games?'

Little Lauren might not have known what that was but she understood the point she wouldn't be allowed to breathe. 'N-no, please. I'll wear that thing.'

'It's called a ball gag, honey. Call it by its proper name.'

'Um... the ball gag,' sniveled the girl. 'I'll wear the ball gag. Jus' don't stop me breathing.'

'Maybe.' Liz picked the ball gag up. 'Guess it's all filthy from being on the floor, but hey that's the price you pay for disobeying.'

Little Lauren gave a whimpering sound but opened her mouth. At the order of "wider" she stood, jaw straining wide open. Like a trussed up small bird, waiting to be fed.

Liz dangled the ball gag over the child's gaping mouth, telling the girl to put her head back as if going to be fed. But Liz didn't slip the gag in. She kept Lauren waiting until fresh tears ran from the child's eyes.

'Please,' gurgled Lauren. It came out as a strained "ee-th" but Liz knew the child was begging in her own way. Yet she kept the child waiting a little longer before she dropped the ball into Lauren's yawning mouth and casually buckled it tight behind the child's head.

'You think by now, Lauren, you are beginning to understand me? Do you think you are beginning to understand I don't play games?'

The gagged girl nodded.

'Do you see why you must always obey?

Another nod.

Liz smiled. 'And are you called Cherie?'

The small girl nodded, at least until Liz's string fingers closed on one of the child's nipples, where it peeked through the tight ropes across her chest. Liz slowly and deliberately squeezed and twisted the tender little nubbin.

Somewhere, deep in her throat, Cherie-to-be-Lauren screamed. Liz smiled and twisted harder.

'Let me ask you that question again,' said Liz, releasing her grip. 'Are you Cherie?'

The child cottoned on, but pain tends to encourage that in the young. Tearfully, the girl shook her head.

'And are you Lauren?'

Lauren-once-was-Cherie nodded.

'Hmm, tell me your name.'

From the depths of the gagged child's throat came a sound that could have been "Lauren", though it sounded more like "O-en", which pleased Liz nonetheless.

'Keep saying it, Lauren. Over and over.' The woman settled back in her chair, wincing only slightly as her pained ass met the cushions. As the small tightly tied and gagged girl standing before her repeated the 'o-en' sound, Liz carefully lifted her skirt back and slid her hand inside her wet pants. She slowly brought herself to a rich climax, listening to the "song of Lauren" as she called it and playing with her clit until she came.

Even after she had climaxed and the child was obviously flagging, Liz indicated the girl should continue. 'You'll keep saying it until I believe you are Lauren. You see,' she explained as she got a belt ready to whip her little prisoner, just for the fun of doing it. 'I waited eleven years to get your mother here and I never really got take advantage of her when I did. But now I have the new Lauren, and I reckon another eleven years of punishing you will be fine by me.'

With tears running down the new Lauren's face, Liz gently kissed the child on her ball gag. 'Just remember, little Lauren, you will be hurt and bound, but you will share my bed as I wanted your mother to share it. And although you will be naked most of the time, sometimes you can dress as trailer trash just to please me. You know, I can't wait to get you your first black lace bra to show through a thin blouse, so I can see what a tramp you are. Just like your mother.' The woman reached up with her free hand and gently, almost affectionately, teased the child's small nipple. Still sore from the earlier assault but this time, feeling just slightly hard as the woman caressed it.

Lauren gave a small moan, as if she understood she was being pleasured. Another kiss on the gag, and Liz stood back and snapped the leather belt noisily.

'I want you to continue saying your name while I whip your pretty legs,' she said as she regarded the girl's terrified face. 'Just like I wanted to do with Lauren all those years ago. Except that I wanted her to say she loved me while I beat her.'

Little Lauren blinked and knew she would be required to do the same one day, when she was used to her new name. She nodded and braced herself for the first lash on her tightly bound legs, repeating her name into her gag. Her new name.

'O-en, O-en, O-en,' the little girl grunted, punctuated by the occasional deep-throated scream.

Liz felt happier than she had felt for a long time. Little Lauren wasn't, but Liz was sure the child would soon welcome being punished and bound.

If not, she would just have to beat it into her.