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Whatever it was, it hurt. The straps, she called them restraints, kept me from moving very much during the process, another word she liked using. I heard Ms. Joyce's voice as she talked to Mrs.Landers. Once again some of it didn't make any sense to me. I wondered if the nurse had given me something to scramble my wits. I sort of remember that once or twice she made me drink some stuff that made things look funny and after a few minutes I got scared, really scared of something, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. " Mrs. Landers, I do believe you have the honors this morning. What have you planned for this little slut, latex or leather? The way she's dilating you can probably get the leather glove up that whore's cunt without using any grease. That's what I'd do, put that gloved fist right up against her cervix and say hello to the baby. I really feel sorry for the poor kid. Can you imagine having a mother who is a certified slut before she turns sixteen? " . ’ I moved closer. I thought Christie was becoming purple. It was difficult to know with the paint. I was on the edge of the pool and asked that Christie be let go. I told Emma it was an accident. She tightened her grip and Christie was flailing around helplessly. Her colour was going to dark blue and I knew I had to do some thing. I jumped in and pulled Emma’s arms from around Christie’s neck. She started coughing and breathing again. I grabbed Christie, pulled her to the side of the pool and lifted her out of the water. It was time to go. Unfortunately they didn’t agree. Angie was standing on Christie’s clothes and Emma was standing between us and the gate. I told them I was very sorry for what had happened and we were leaving. Angie said we weren’t leaving, we’d caused offence and they had the right to retribution. I told them not to be so bloody difficult, that an apology should suffice. They didn’t agree. They wanted to wrestle. I told them I don’t fight. Christie’s colour was.
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I?m awfully uncomfortable, but I?ve gotten used to that. I?m comfortable almost as rarely as I get to share my feelings with people. The heels are no big deal, I wear them all the time. My back aches from hunching over and my bound arms are nearly numb. My jaw aches from the giant dong (you never really get used to that) and my breasts feel like they?re on fire. But patiently, I wait. I half-heartedly stamp my feet and throw my head back, trying to be a ?good little horsey girl,? as Katherine likes to say. I try to make puppy-dog eyes at her so maybe she?ll come untie me, but she doesn?t even look up. Come to think of it, she hasn?t looked up in quite a while. Why does she make me do this if she isn?t even going to look at me?? God, she can be mean. But I can?t think like that. My role isn?t to question her motives or intentions-- it?s to serve her in what few ways I can and entertain her otherwise. She says she considers me, quite literally, as a pet. Humans take on.

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