In the early light of morning, little Patty Holland surfaced and blinked away her sleep. The eleven year old girl lay motionless on her back, unable to do anything but stare up at the dappled pattern on the ceiling. Reflections from where the early sun shone weakly through the shutters.

From outside the faintest sounds of a world coming to life - car engines starting, birds singing, children calling out - drifted in.

The girl tried to stretch her cramped muscles into action but beyond a tiny amount of give, her sleep bonds stopped her. She wanted to yawn too, but the soft but effective sleep gag filling her mouth prevented her. All she could do was lie on the bed and wait for her mother. From the bathroom adjoining the main bedroom, Patty could hear her mom moving about: the woman was finishing on the toilet and about to wash her hands and clean her teeth.

Inside the webbing of her sleep bonds, Patty grunted. She didn't want to particularly alert her mother in case she was in one of "whip moods" but equally the pre-teen didn't want to be left lying there for another hour. It happened - and that was when the woman would appear over her bound and gagged daughter and say: "Hey honey, didn't realize you were awake!"

But today there was no figure hurrying from the bathroom. Denise, Patty's mom, was in no hurry. Instead, Patty heard the shower come on, the woman singing gently to herself. It would, the girl concluded, be another fifteen minutes before she could expect to be released.

But it wouldn't be a full release, even then. Patty knew that from a year's experience of being bound on the bed for the night, lying next to her mother. The best that usually happened was the rubber hood the girl was wearing would be removed and the gag taken out, the rod between her cuffed ankles removed and maybe - if she was very lucky - some of the rubber body straps eased if not removed.

But usually it would be nothing like that. Usually it was just the steel rod that spread the child's legs to the limit of the ankle chains she wore which would be removed and the child ordered downstairs. Still, that was better than lying here on her back, staring up silently.

Patty tried to relax and not worry about the web of rubber straps that pinned her arms to her side, or the thin rubber hood stretched over her head. She was thankful that though the hood kept her ball gag in her mouth, her mother had at least left her eyeholes uncovered - both this time and not just one like the previous night. Patty sighed, wondering how much longer she might have to lie there. She could feel the cool morning air on her exposed hairless slit where her legs were spread apart, and remembered the way - in the middle of the night - her mother had casually fingered the child.

Probably Denise hadn't been aware of what she had been doing. It seemed to Patty that her mom did it in her sleep, flopping her hand across the child and unconsciously seeking out her child's exposed cunny. Not to please Patty, as that was deemed to be wrong by the mom, but just to tease the child. A way for the mother to wake the girl and keep her tantalized with dancing fingers on her tender, open little clit.

The assault would stop as soon as it had begun. Never enough to make the little girl cum, but enough to drive her to the edge of desperation, unable to bring herself off and her immobilized hands clenching and unclenching as she "mmmphd" into her gag. After all, this was how this night bondage had all started: being discovered playing with herself one night, and her mother determined that her daughter shouldn't "frig herself crazy," as she put it.

So every night Patty was bound in her rubber straps, buckled across her chest and tummy, holding the child's thin arms tight to her the sides of her naked body. They were wide straps, which at least afforded the girl some comfort. They were tight but the width spread the pressure so it wasn't unbearable. At least in this her mother was kind. But then the woman said she was only acting out of kindness.

Be that as it may, the ankle chains Patty had to wear were a different matter. The girl had to wear them all the time, even if no other part of her was bound. As soon as she and her mother were in the house the ankle cuffs were locked on, the twelve inch chain hanging between the child's ankles. The chain was heavy and swung awkwardly as the child walked: she had to adopt an inelegant gait to allow her to move round the house and not trip herself up. And to remind the eleven year old, there was the endless clicking and clanking of the links, like some harsh musical accompaniment.

It was even more humiliating when her mother would say: "Dance for me, sweetheart. Let me hear those musical chains rattle." Poor Patty would have to come up with some sort of shuffling dance to entertain her mother, watching her laugh at the way the child struggled and the way the chains clattered at her ankles.

Worse would follow if the mother deemed her daughter was guilty of some infraction, or misbehavior. Then the woman would produce a rod of steel that would simply lock between the two end links and make for a short but highly effective spreader bar. The rod would be locked at any time and in any place round the home without warning. Thus Patty found herself often standing, legs held apart and virtually unable to move, in any place and at any time.

No, that wasn't quite true: Patty could move but her gait was even more awkward and even more inelegant than usual, having to swing her little legs round in an arc as she attempted to move from one place to another. The worst time it could be applied was if she was in a hurry to reach the toilet. The rod would slow her right down and on more than one occasion she wet herself before she could get to the bathroom.

That usually happened when her mother fixed some weight to to spreader bar - a simple but highly effective block of iron on a short chain that dragged behind Patty. But Patty's mom had made the chain so short that the girl was obliged to stoop to try and carry it. Patty was all too aware the penalties for letting the weight drag on a polished floor and mark it were too horrific to contemplate, like a long drawn out whipping session. So Patty suffered, squatting over as she struggled both with the spreader bar and the awkward weight as she tried to move around.

More might follow too with special rods strapped either side of the child's knees which prevented Patty from bending her legs. bending over like that meant her cute ass was on offer for a hefty swipe of her mother's hand across the girl's unprotected rear. Being bent over meant that a ring gag would allow generous amounts of drool to fall on the floor in front of Patty, so her mother gave her a cloth to wipe it with as it happened. Thus Patty would have one hand holding the weight off the floor and the other busy wiping her saliva puddles off the polished floor, trying to make her way like some strange creature towards the bathroom.

Occasionally she would fail to get there in time. Needless to say making such a mess brought greater punishment. Not only a brutal spanking but also for the rest of the day a pair of handcuffs would be clicked shut on the girl's wrists, holding her hands behind her.

For Patty this was a nightmare. She couldn't lift the weight at her spreader bar, couldn't (if fitted with leg straighteners) mop up her drool should she be ring gagged. All she could do was stand straight up, not moving anyplace to preserve the polished floor, trying not to let her drool go anywhere but down her front. Moreover, as it was impossible to eat with her hands cuffed in back the child had to forego her next meal too, simply watching her mother eat while she herself went hungry.

Of course Patty tried to be defiant about all this when it began and tried to refuse to wear the chains or the bed bonds, but soon learned there were penalties. It was simple solution that Mrs Holland offered mostly. It was a ball gag with a small knurled screw set in the front. Once it was buckled in place (and sometimes padlocked to prevent any unauthorized removal) the rubber ball could be expanded by a simple few turns of the projecting screw to make it a very painful way to keep the child quiet.

With Patty's hands cuffed behind her, even if there was no there was no way she could remove it or ease the pressure on her aching jaws. "Ready to be quiet, honey?" the mother would ask after her daughter had worn the agony gag for an hour. If she shook her head, it stayed in an hour longer and the screw twist was increased. Another refusal and the gag stayed in all night with just a little tweak now and then to make Patty suffer.

Because of all this Patty soon learned that the best way to cope was to endure whatever was imposed silently and although her mother sometimes, purely as a reminder, applied the expanding ball gag for fun Patty was mostly free from it.

The ring gag was a different matter. It was applied as a matter of course, for no reason other than "it makes you look cute honey." Patty was made to look at herself in the mirror when she wore it, to see how it forced her mouth open, and how wretched it made her look.

At least at night the sleep gag, as her mother called it, was soft and comfortable - though at times it still made Patty's jaw ache. Especially if she'd had a gag in earlier. Sealed in her hood however the soft ball sleep gag was unremovable and though the black rubber hood had a zipper over Patty's mouth, it was always closed (and sometimes a small padlock put in it, which amused the mother) so there was no chance of easing it out.

Just occasionally, the mother would reach over in the night, unzip the hood and remove the soft ball before planting a lingering, tender full French kiss on the child's mouth, the woman's tongue probing deep and hard. Then the ball would slip back in, the zipper closed and the mother drift back off to sleep, leaving Patty desperate for more - and her small cunt on fire with desire.

Patty never ceased to be amazed that despite all this pain and suffering, all the humiliation and discomforts, that she still loved her mother. She was, for whatever weird reason, excited when she was kissed or touched by her mom. The eleven year old didn't know why, but she knew she was aroused by a little tenderness, a tiny bit of passion.

Sometimes it almost made all the bondage worthwhile.

With all these aspects of her restraints and suffering in the home running through her mind, Patty woke most mornings wondering what lay ahead for her. In many ways waking this particular morning was no different to any other day. She was bound and hooded and gagged and just waiting.

And then Patty remembered what lay ahead. This was going to be no ordinary day: her mother was going out all day and that meant Grandma Laura would be in charge. Patty would be delivered to her grandmother's by the mother and left for a good six hours. That would mean more -

'Hi, honey,' smiled the mother, leaning over her bound daughter, interrupting the child's thoughts. The naked woman, fresh from the shower, was toweling her long hair dry and smiling wickedly as she added: 'My, you look so sweet, lying there, all ready for me.'

Patty's heart sank. "All ready for me" meant some sort of pleasure for the mother, but less so for the helpless girl. Patty squirmed a little in her straps to show she wasn't happy with the idea, but it was pointless to protest. The woman never took any notice of her daughter's complaints or even gestures: if the girl said anything, there was always the gag to silence her. And how can you shrug when you are strapped down tight?

How can you stop being so open and inviting when your legs are held apart so well?

Denise snickered, flicked her wet hair so that it almost lashed the helpless child and then, teasingly, brought one hand up and stroked the child's small nipples. They hardened under her delicate but insistent touch. 'Ah, excited, are we?' observed the mother as she pinched and squeezed. Patty squirmed a little more, moaning into her gag. She hated her mom playing with her nipples like this, making her grow hot in her dampening tunnel. But it was also wriggling in pain as her nipples were sensitive almost all the time when she was bound like she was.

In quiet desperation and frustration, Patty watched her mother approach a drawer by the bedside and open it. In a moment she had produced a big pink strap-on dildo with a similar one curved inwards at the strap end. That would be the end that would go in the mother: the more brutal projecting one would fuck the spread open child.

It was the dildo that Patty most feared. 'Please, no, Mom... not that!' yelped the secured girl. The woman however merely laughed at the urgent grunts coming from her gagged daughter. Having strapped the dildo to her hips so the longer length of pink rubber jutted forward, she stood and stroked it as if it were a real cock that needed to be cajoled into staying hard. 'No lube today, darling... I hope you are damp enough down there for this to go in easy,' the mother smirked as her fingers slid up and down the pink shaft. Shaped and veined, as she said, like a man's thick cock would be.

Patty gave a strangled gasp. At least if her mom slicked it with some lube it would only hurt with its length and not the dryness. But like this... Patty tried to plead anew. Desperately, the girl tried to wriggle her hips in the hope that some movement, however small, would trigger her juices. It was futile, but Patty had to try something.

The mother though wasn't about to wait, even if the child's meagre plan did work. Without a word the woman clambered up on the bed, positioning herself over the spread legs of her daughter. Carefully she lowered herself down, pushing the tip of the rubber against Patty's small slit. It yielded an opening, albeit reluctantly, and the length - painfully for the bound little girl - slid up into the small, stretched opening.

'Mommmm!' pleaded Patty into her gag.

The mother laughed and with one firm, accurate thrust of her monstrous dildo, drilled the strap-on deep into her helpless daughter. Patty screamed, as she usually did.

---

Patty could barely sit on the stool by the kitchen table. Her little cunny felt as if was on fire from the abuse of the fucking she had received from her mother. She sat as gingerly as she could on the rough wooden stool, aware how her tender little pussy was pressing into the small ridge of wood that ran across the seat.

'Don't go wriggling now,' her mother had said. So Patty strove to keep her balance as best she could with her steel rod ankle spreader still in place and her feet off the floor, trying not to cause herself any more pain by falling. 'I expect you are hungry,' smiled Patty's mom as she helped herself to breakfast. 'Pity you can't eat with that gag in your mouth.'

Patty grunted a little in agreement. The gag she wore was a standard ring gag instead of the sleep gag, which had been removed after her fucking earlier. Patty was unclear why she was being made to suffer like this with her elbows cuffed behind her and the spreader bar in place as she perched on the stool.

The little girl didn't think she'd done anything wrong, but maybe her mom saw something or even suspected something. Whatever it was, it was enough for Patty to go on being punished.

Denise made herself comfortable at the table in front of her daughter and proceeded to eat her breakfast, The sight of the food, the smell of it and the fact she was hungry made Patty drool from her ring gag - a thin waterfall of saliva that fell down her front and puddled around the ridge of wood on the stool top. The child could feel the growing pool of cool saliva lapping against her suffering cunny, bringing in its way a modicum of relief.

On the other hand, the girl knew, it was humiliating to sit like this and more than painful to watch someone else eat while you couldn't. Yet as always Patty had no choice. She did what her mother wanted and there was never any chance to avoid the punishments or tortures. It was a matter of enduring as best she could.

Eventually the woman at the table looked up and grinned at her daughter. 'If you are hungry, sweetheart, perhaps Grandma will feed you.' Then the woman's face darkened. 'But you know you can't tell her about this, right? This is our little secret. You remember the promise you made about keeping our little secret?'

Despite the awkwardness of her position, Patty nodded. It was their little secret, all this bondage and sex and punishment, and no one else could ever know.

---

Grandma was grandma, as always. A cheerful, plump little woman with silver gray hair but Patty knew looks could be deceiving. Right now, as the old woman stood next to her grand-daughter and together they were waving Patty's mom off as she headed down the street, Patty's other arm was being twisted up her back out of sight of the disappearing car. As soon as Patty's mom was out of view Grandma kicked the door shut and clamped her free hand over Patty's mouth and nose.

'Bitch,' said Grandma to the child. 'I reckon Denise is far too lenient with you. Now let's get you punished.'

Without a word the woman hauled the child across the hallway and to the basement stairs. With Patty struggling for breath Grandma marched the girl down the stairs to the room equipped as a dungeon. 'Look what's waiting for you honey,' grinned the grandmother. 'Lots of things to punish you with today. Can you see all the chains and whips and straps waiting for you?'

Patty could see but most of all wanted to cry out that she needed to breathe. Thankfully Grandmother released her hand from Patty's face and gratefully the girl sucked in air.

'Now, remind me sweetheart,' purred the grandmother, tightening her grip on the arm twisted up behind the eleven year old girl. 'What mustn't we do?'

'M-mustn't tell anyone Grandma,' gasped the girl as she took in the view, knowing everything was all designed to keep her immobile, all intended to hurt her. 'M-my bondage and punishments... It's our little secret.'