The Dream Factory (F/F) (Now with all new chapter 9!)

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter One - A Cunning Plan


Hi there! My name is Samantha Ward, and if you asked me to describe myself, I’d say I’m a plus-sized Barbie with a TV tan.

For reference, try to picture a chubby 18-year-old schoolgirl with a mess of unruly dark hair that no product can tame, dark-rimmed glasses, and a face full of freckles.

Recently, I've become low-key obsessed with the idea of corporal punishment. Not in a scary, sadistic way, (No judgements - but in my mind clothes-pegs are for hanging shirts, not people) but more in the context of old fashioned children's books in which unruly boarding school pupils would routinely find themselves called to he headmasters study to be disciplined.

I know, it might sound a little weird. But there’s something about the stories of strict teachers and smacked bottoms that I just can't seem to get enough of.

Alas, my parents are very politically correct/ middle aged hippies and wouldn’t dream of raising a hand to me - more's the pity.

However, that's not to say that i've never experienced the giddy thrill of a firm hand on my backside,..

Once, when I was much younger, and my heine was a little less round, I vividly recall being spanked in front of the entire family by our fearsome patriarch - my Great Aunt Harriet.

At the time, I had been utterly inconsolable, rendered a tearful mess by the pain and very public humiliation (it was my Grandmother's 60th birthday party)

And now? - Well, let's just say I've come to feel very differently about the incident. Indeed, the memory of that short, sharp punishment has stayed with me throughout the years, growing in significance, an itch that I cannot scratch if you will.

But all is not lost, recently I arrived at a rather cunning plan. I decided that the best way to increase the likelihood of enjoying some full fat, no-nonsense, old-skool discipline (Outside of the more murky corners of the internet) was to wrangle myself an invitation to stay with my Great Aunt herself.

So, I decided to begin a clandestine correspondence with her, hoping it would lead to a golden ticket to the dream factory.

One rainy afternoon, I sat at my desk, pen in hand, staring at a blank sheet of paper.


But how to begin? I mused to myself

"Dear Great Aunt Harriet," I wrote, taking care to make my handwriting as neat as possible


"I hope this letter finds you well. It has been such a long time since we last saw each other, and I find myself thinking about you often..."

('Stop me when I'm telling lies', I chuckled to myself)


I paused, tapping the pen against my chin. How to steer the conversation toward suggesting a visit, without arousing suspicion?

"I have been doing quite well at school. My grades are excellent, and I have been studying hard for my upcoming exams" (Wow - boastful much?!)


"I'm writing because we've been working on a genealogy project in class and I wondered if I could interview you as part of my paper?" (An absolute, barefaced lie - ain't I a stink!?)


I read over what I had written. It certainly sounded innocent enough.

"Samantha, dinner's ready!" Mum called from downstairs.


"Coming!" I replied, quickly folding the letter and slipping it into an envelope.

I resolved to mail it first thing in the morning.


Weeks passed, and I began to lose all hope of a reply. Then, one bright Saturday morning, a letter arrived. The envelope was old-fashioned, with a wax seal.

My heart pounded as I opened it.

"Dear Samantha," it began, "What a delightful surprise to receive your letter! It has indeed been far too long. I remember you as a very spirited child, and it would be lovely to catch up with you now that you are nearly grown"

(A most promising start, I thought to myself),..


I would be very happy to sit for an interview, although I'm not sure how interesting a subject I'd be. But, if you like, we can arrange for you to come down to the coast and stay with me at the seaside"

(I couldn’t believe it. My plan had been an unmitigated success. Sam 1, Universe 0!)


I carefully folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, a wicked smile playing on my lips. Now, I just had to convince my parents to let me go.

At dinner that evening, I broached the subject.


"Mom, Dad, I received a letter from Great Aunt Harriet today. She asked if I could come to stay with her for a bit."


Dad looked up from his plate. "Your Great Aunt Harriet did!?"


"You sound surprised?"


"A little - I guess I always thought Harriet hated kids - that's why she lives in that big gingerbread house on the edge of a dark and scary forest"


"Ignore your Father honey - he thinks he's being funny" Mom said, rather undermining her own point by struggling not to laugh.


"So, how did this invitation come about?" Mom asked curiously


Fortunately I had my explanation cocked and loaded.


"I wrote to her a few weeks ago asking if I could interview her for a social studies project and, well, one thing led to another..."


Mum exchanged a curious glance with Dad. "Well, of course you're welcome to visit if that's what you want. I guess we thought you might still be upset about the unpleasantness around your Grandmother's Birthday party.."


"All water under the bridge," I assured her, with an air of feigned indifference (in fact, nothing could be further from the truth,..)


"Oh, well, if you're sure,.. I guess I should call her and make the arrangements."


"That'd be great - Thank you!" I beamed, delighted that plan (Operation: Prelude to Discipline) appeared to be going without a hitch.


Riding the bus to school later that morning, my mind buzzed with anticipation. What would it be like to see Great Aunt Harriet again? Would she remember that spanking from years ago? And, far more importantly, would she be willing to repeat it if given sufficient motivation?

In the weeks to come, as the date of my impending visit drew ever closer, I found myself thinking more and more about my secret fascination with spanking and discipline.


My love for old children's books played a big part in shaping my,.. unconventional interests. From an early age I'd found myself inexplicably drawn to stories that featured corporal punishment - most notably Enid Blyton's boarding school novels.

I would spend hours in the library, my nose buried in those old books, imagining myself in the place of those naughty children, feeling the sting of a strict headmaster's hand on my ample backside.


I become infatuated by an old cartoon strip from the 1950's called Beryl the Peril.

For the uninitiated, 'Beryl' was a devious and scheming tomboy character that was always getting up to mischief - which led to regular spankings (usually with a slipper) over her father knee.

Oh, how I envied her.


One of my very earliest crushes was Supreme Commander Servalan from the TV show Blakes 7 (Like most Canadians of a certain age, My Dad was a big fan of low budget British sci-fi from the 1970's)

For those of you who were not aware, Servalan was a vision of icy elegance, always impeccably dressed in her stark, white outfits that contrasted sharply with her dark, calculating nature.

I often imagined myself, cast as an ill-fated rebel, captured and brought to heel before her.

My heart would race as I hung there, helplessly shackled to the dungeon wall, trembling under her dark, penetrating stare,..


Growing up, one of my favorite pastimes was watching reruns of the 1960s Batman series. While Batman and Robin were the supposed heroes of the show, it was Eartha Kitt's Catwoman who truly captured my imagination. With her sleek black catsuit and iconic purring voice, she exuded an aura of playful menace that left me utterly entranced. I would sit in front of the TV, my eyes glued to the screen, my heart pounding with every appearance she made.

Naturally, I had fantasies about being one of her captives.

In my dreams, I was a spandex clad heroine, caught snooping and trussed up by Catwoman's goons.

Propped up on a mountain of leopard skin pillows, my wrists and ankles were securely tied with frayed, hessian ropes, and a purple silk gag was firmly placed in my mouth, ensuring my silence.

Catwoman would crouch down beside me, her balletic movements smooth as a hot knife through butter.


"Poor little Batgirl, all tied up and nowhere to go" she would purr, as she moved in closer.


"You look so helpless," she would tease, tracing a finger along my cheek. "I wonder what I should do with you. Maybe a little lesson in obedience is in order?"


I would try to respond, but the gag reduced my defiance to a few mewed protestations.


"What's the matter?" She would tease "Cat got your tongue?"


In the end I could only look up at her with wide, pleading eyes, feeling a flush of embarrassment at being so utterly at her mercy.

The anticipation of what she might do next was both terrifying and exhilarating. Would she continue to tease me, or perhaps dole out some playful, yet stern punishment?


But it wasn’t just fiction that fuelled my imagination. My school days were marked by my secret longing for our fearsome games teacher/ resident drill Sargent Ms. Cord.

A former semi-professional rugby player (think American football, but without the pads) Jessica Cord was short, compact and sinewy, but with the long flowing red locks of a Disney Princess.

Alas, my profound lack of coordination and, almost pathological aversion to physical exercise, placed me directly in her cross-hairs.


“What on earth was that?” she would holler across the field after I had fumbled the ball for roughly the 100th time that afternoon.


I would blush, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as my classmates snickered from behind their hands.


“Ward! - You have all the hand eye coordination of a sofa cushion!”


I would stammer out a breathless apology, all the time relishing in the thrill of being singled out by this track-suited Goddess.


“Again!” she would command, her eyes locked on mine. “And this time, you had better put some real effort into it!"


Naturally I often found myself fantasising about being punished for my 'two left feet', creating wonderfully imaginative scenarios involving Ms Cord, most of which featured a judicious supply of ropes and chains.


As I grew older, my curiosity could no longer be sated by my imagination alone.

It was at this point that I turned to the internet, poring over online forums and chat rooms where like-minded individuals shared their 'real-life' experiences and deepest fantasies. I devoured endless stories of strict teachers and disciplined pupils, each narrative more thrilling than the last. These forums became my safe haven, a wonderful place where I could explore my desires without fear of judgement.

Of course, these were just fantasies, conjured up by someone's overactive imagination. But the thought of experiencing such discipline in real life kept me eagerly counting down the days until my visit.


One evening, as I lay in bed, I let my mind wander once more to the adventures that might await me. What if Aunt Harriet decided I needed more than just a spanking? What if she tied me up, like the heroines in my detective novels, and left me trussed up in the cellar? Or maybe she would set me impossible tasks, and each failure would result in a delicious new punishment. The possibilities were endless and tantalising.

I sighed contentedly, hugging my pillow. Soon, I would be at Aunt Harriet's, and maybe, just maybe, all of my secret wishes would come true.

TBC

[hafnermg]

I can't wait to see her dreams come true!!

[Beaumains]

What an excellent start to a story. The writing flows incredibly well, and the story is paced perfectly. I can't wait to read more!

[Stiletto Amore]

I can't wait to see her dreams come true!!

Hehe! You and me both

[Stiletto Amore]

What an excellent start to a story. The writing flows incredibly well, and the story is paced perfectly. I can't wait to read more!

What an incredibly lovely thing to say - thanks so much!

[Stiletto Amore]

CHAPTER TWO

A Breakfast meeting

The big day had finally arrived and I was up with the lark, bright of eye, and bushy of tail, eager to begin my adventure.
It was Christmas morning in the Ward household and I couldn't wait to get started.
Wiping the dust from my eyes, I gazed longingly at the green blazer, with yellow trim, hanging proudly on the back of my bedroom door.
As someone looking to fully embrace the role of the (dis)obedient schoolgirl, there was only ever really one choice of outfit for the trip.
Full disclosure, from the first moment I learned to tie a tie, I have always loved dressing in my school uniform.
While most of my peers resented being forced to adhere to a strict dress code, I embraced it wholeheartedly.
With my shirt primly buttoned to the neck and tie knotted neatly - I took great pride in my appearance.
For me there was always something incredibly appealing in the wilful obedience of choosing to wear my uniform in such a factitious manner (particularly when so many of my peers looked like they had gotten dressed in the dark, or had some deep-seated fear of mirrors)

Perhaps inevitably my buttoned up appearance marked me as a prime target for bullying and harassment - but I didn't let this discourage me and continued to wear my uniform with pride (irrespective of how many times I was stuffed in a sports locker with a sports sock in my mouth for being an 'incorrigible swot')

Of course my parents soon noticed my reluctance to change out of my uniform after school and inevitably one of them would ask if I wouldn't be more comfortable in my own clothes, but they rarely pressed the issue and I was often still dressed in my schoolgirl attire until bed.

Selecting one of the crisp white blouses from the wardrobe I slipped my arms through the sleeves and slowly buttoned the cuffs.
I felt like an actor putting on her costume.
"Five minutes to curtain Miss Ward!"

After buttoning the front of my blouse, but leaving my collar open, I pulled on my knee length pleated skirt which I fastened in place with a thin leather belt.
I raised my chin and fastened the top button, enjoying the feeling of the starched collar tight around my throat. Taking the green and yellow striped school tie, I knotted it neatly in a more than passable double Windsor, drawing it up tight.

Of course I anticipated that my parents might have some questions about my choice of outfit (it being a weekend and all!) but decided that, in the grand scheme of things, the thrill of indulging my schoolgirl fetish in public was worth any potential embarrassment.
With a final, nervous glance in the mirror, I slipped on my blazer and made my way downstairs.

"Morning Fam'" I said, affecting a light and breezy tone, as I took my seat at the table.

"Hey kiddo!" Said my Dad, not looking up from the paper

"Good morning dear" Mom said, her eyes slowly widening in surprise as she took in my outfit,

"Sam?"

"Yes Mommy dearest" I replied, trying to appear as cool as the proverbial cucumber.

"Why are you dressed in your school clothes?"

"Did you turn over too many pages on your calendar?" Dad asked, ever happy to join in with a pile on.

I cleared my throat, my cheeks reddening with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. "I guess I thought it might be nice to wear it today. You know, just for fun."

Mom raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "For fun?"

I nodded, trying, and almost certainly failing, to maintain my nonchalant demeanor

"Yeah, well, I thought Aunt Harriet might like to see me in my uniform,.."

"What a sweet gesture" Mom cooed, "I'm sure she'll really appreciate it"
I beamed, feeling satisfied that the danger had passed.

Dad raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Either that, or she'll think that her Great Niece has a thing for uniforms," he joked.

"Dad!" I exclaimed, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"George! Don’t be so inappropriate!," Mum scolded, flashing her husband a sharp look. "You’ll make her feel self-conscious."

Dad raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I was just having a little fun"

"It’s fine," I said quickly, desperate to steer the subject matter back to safer ground.

Mom reached across the table to pat my hand "Well, I think you look very smart, dear. When I was your age I couldn't wait to get out of my school clothes"
I felt my cheeks flush, but managed to mumble something about the preppy look being very 'in' right now.
Fortunately for my mounting anxiety, the conversation soon turned to my upcoming trip to see Great Aunt Harriet.

"I must say, your Mother and I were quite surprised when you suggested a visit" Dad mused.

"Oh, really? Why's that?" I asked, trying to sound casual

"Well, it's just you used to be absolutely terrified of her when you were little"

"Well, people can change" I replied defensively

"Of course they can love," Said Mom, continuing to fight my corner.

"So, what can you tell me about Great Aunt Harriet?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"What would you like to know sweetie?"

“Well,” I began, trying to phrase my question carefully, “I was just wondering what she was like when you were growing up. I remember you once mentioned that she could be quite strict,..”

Mum’s face took on a thoughtful expression. "Well, I suppose you could say she’s a little old-fashioned in some of her thinking-"

"That's certainly one way to describe it," Dad interjected teasingly

"What do you mean?" I asked, hungry to learn more.

Mom shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink.
"Well, let's just say she was a firm believer in the doctrine, - 'Spare the rod, spoil the child.'"

I seized the opportunity to probe further. “Did Aunt Harriet ever spank you Mom?”

Mom looked slightly embarrassed but nodded. "On occasion," She admitted sheepishly.

Dad chuckled "You Mom was an original Riot grrrl"

Mom looked a little sheepish.

"I really wasn't" She assured me, with a shy grin.

A shiver of excitement ran through me, as my mind immediately conjured up dozens of possible scenarios in which I might be similarly reprimanded and punished, just like my Mom.

“Golly!" I said breathlessly "I’ve read about those kinds of things in old books, but I didn’t realize it was something people actually did.”

Mom gave a small nod. “Unfortunately, it was quite common back then”

I tried to keep my voice casual, though my heart was pounding.
“Did it hurt?"

"Well it certainly stung. Your Great Aunt had a rather impressive backhand,.."
I paused, as though deep in thought.

"What kind of things would you get spanked for?"

"Oh, the usual, general naughtiness I guess. One time I was play-fighting with your cousin, and a paperweight got smashed. Let's just say I couldn't sit down for a week"

'Oh my!' I thought to myself (somebody pass the smelling salts)

"What did she use, was it a hairbrush, or-"
Mom looked a little embarrassed, as though she’d shared more than she’d initially intended.

“Why are you so interested in all this Samantha?” She asked pointedly

I fumbled for an answer. “Oh, just doing some last minute research, find out what I've got myself into, I guess"

Mom raised a curious eyebrow but didn't press further, although I thought I saw her share a rather curious look with my Dad,..

“Well, it’s not too late to back out” Mom prompted

I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m actually looking forward to it” (which was very much true, for all sorts of reasons)

As we finished eating, the conversation drifted on to more mundane topics. However, my mind was still buzzing with the thoughts of my great aunt's strict discipline and the tantalizing possibility of experiencing it firsthand.
When breakfast was over, I helped clear the table and then went upstairs to double-check my packing.
I wanted to make sure I had everything I might need for my stay.
As I zipped up my suitcase, I heard my mom call from downstairs.

"Samantha honey, your Father's getting the car ready. You two should leave soon if you don't want to miss your train."

"Coming, Mom!" I called back. I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
This was it. I was really going.
I felt like a hyperactive child on Christmas morning.
I grabbed my suitcase and made my way downstairs, skipping all the way.
TBC

[Beaumains]

That's quite the chapter about a school girl uniform fetish . Sam is an interesting and shameless character, who is unafraid to do anything within her power to reach this weird goal. This had been quite a set-up for this encounter, so I am really curious where rhis is going. Great stuff!

[Stiletto Amore]

That's quite the chapter about a school girl uniform fetish . Sam is an interesting and shameless character, who is unafraid to do anything within her power to reach this weird goal. This had been quite a set-up for this encounter, so I am really curious where rhis is going. Great stuff!

Haha! Sam has a dream, and will stop at nothing to make it come true!
Let's just hope those long nights spent watching youtube videos on the art of manifestation finally pay off for our hero

I really appreciate the lovely feedback - thanks for the support.

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Three:
Waiting for Harriet

The drive to the train station felt interminably long, not least because Dad insisted on singing along to the radio for the entirety of the trip.
The station was bustling with holiday travellers, and the sight of people hurrying to and fro with their luggage, excited to begin their vacation only added to my growing sense of anticipation.
After two fruitless laps of the car-park, and a boat load of cuss-words, Dad finally found a suitable parking spot, and we got out, relieved to finally be able to stretch our legs.
Dad hoisted my suitcase out of the boot with ease and together we made our way into the station and onto the platform.
I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious as I noticed some of the other passengers glancing curiously at my outfit. But I held my head high, determined to see this through.
Dad stepped forward, a teasing smile on his face.
"Now, remember to be good for your Great Aunt" he said, straightening my tie with a playful tug.

I laughed, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yes, Dad."

The train's whistle blew, signalling that it was time to board. I took a deep breath and picked up my suitcase, giving my Father one last smile
"Safe travels, Sammie," said Dad, giving me a thumbs-up.

With a final wave, I boarded the train.
Finding my seat, I settled in, looking out the window as the station platform gradually receded into the distance.
The journey to Aunt Harriet’s house was going to take a few hours, so I had plenty of time to read. Fishing my battered copy of The Clue of the Tapping Heels out of my satchel I glanced around the carriage, noting that almost everyone besides myself was dressed for a day at the beach.
My knee-length pleated skirt and green blazer, while standard in an academic setting, left me feeling incredibly conspicuous among a sea of board shorts and sunscreen.
I busied myself with my book, trying to ignore the occasional curious glances from my fellow passengers.
Eventually the gentle sway of the train rocked me into a comfortable doze, and I was soon lost in a wonderful dream in which I was a brave teen detective, roped up and gagged - the helpless captive of a gang of villainous crooks.

Alas, I was soon jolted from my happy slumber by the sudden appearance of a stern-looking man with a thick, bushy moustache that drooped down from his upper lip, making him look a little a walrus in a guards uniform. His beady eyes, hidden beneath heavy, grey brows, lingered a little too long on my schoolgirl outfit, and I felt my cheeks flush slightly under his scrutinising gaze.
Finally, he broke the silence with a gruff voice. "Ticket, please."

I froze, momentarily flustered. The adrenaline from being suddenly woken up made my mind go blank. I fumbled through my bag, my fingers scrabbling for the elusive piece of paper.
In order I retrieved a notebook, my phone, some colourful scarves and a family sized bag of corn chips, but no ticket.

"I’m so sorry, I must have misplaced it!" I said, my voice coming out as little more than a squeak.

The guard’s eyes gleamed with a hint of satisfaction, and he cleared his throat with a portentous "Ahem. - Well, Miss I'm afraid if you can’t produce your ticket, I’ll have to call the police. Fare evasion is a very serious matter, you know."

I could feel the color drain from my face.
The merest suggestion of being marched off the train in handcuffs sent chills of excitement through my body. If it was at the hands of uniformed police woman, even better.

The tension in the carriage felt palpable, with everyone waiting for the resolution of this unexpected piece of dinner theatre.

"Please, I—I’ll find it. Just give me a moment."
I tried to look cowed and apologetic, but I was secretly exhilarated by being the centre of attention.

Just as the guard’s patience seemed to wear thin, I located the ticket, it had fallen through the inner lining of my blazer.

"And is this your card!?" I said, producing the ticket with a triumphant flourish.

The guard’s eyes widened in a mix of anger and frustration as he snatched the ticket from me.

He examined it with a meticulous eye, probably searching for any reason to follow through with his earlier threat. After a moment, he grudgingly nodded and signed the ticket before handing it back.

"Hmmph! Very well. But next time, be more careful," he said with a final, disapproving glance.
He turned on his heel and continued with his rounds, noticeably deflated.

As he walked away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. My cheeks were still flushed, but the thrill of narrowly escaping a sticky situation lingered in my mind.

"That was a close shave" said a friendly voice from across the aisle.

I looked up to see a rather pretty young woman in her early twenties with a mess of unruly curls, thick glasses and an undercut. She was wearing a black horror movie t-shirt, checked shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Around her neck was a red bandanna, knotted to one side like a neckerchief.
She had a mischievous grin on her face.

"You're telling me" I replied with a sigh "I was beginning to think I was a goner"

"He certainly seemed rather taken with you. I think it broke his heart when you found that ticket and he didn't have an excuse to slap the cuffs on you"

"Yeah, he did seem a little eager," I replied, blushing slightly at how much I was enjoying the thought of being hauled away in chains.
"Actually, come to think of it, are ticket inspectors even allowed to carry handcuffs?"

"Not traditionally, but I suspect that 'Sir Creeps A'lot' brings his in from home"

"Well, no sense in being unprepared I guess" I replied with a grin.
Our laughter broke the ice, and soon we were chatting away like old friends.

Vee’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she took in my school uniform.
“I have to say, that outfit really suits you,” she said, grinning. “You look like an anime character.”

I felt a flush of warmth at the compliment. “Thank you!" I beamed

"So, what's the occasion?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, I'm assuming there's a good reason you're dressed like that during the summer holidays. Detention? A fancy dress party? Meeting the Queen?-"

"Oh, I see. No, nothing like that. I'm going to stay with my Great Aunt. I haven't seen her for years so I thought she might like to see me dressed up in my uniform"

"Well, that's hella' sweet of you"

"I do try" I said pushing back my glasses.

“I’m Vee Daniels, by the way,” she said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

“Samantha Ward,” I replied, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Vee.”

“Likewise!” Vee said

“Hey, I see you’re reading The Clue of the Tapping Heels,” Vee said, nodding towards the book, lying face down in my lap. “That's such a classic. How far have you got?”

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “Oh, um, I’m actually re-reading one of my favorite scenes,” I said, carefully avoiding her eyes.

Vee’s curiosity was piqued. She leaned over slightly to get a better look at the paperback. Her eyes widened when she saw the bookmarked page.

“Wait a minute, isn't this the part where Nancy gets captured and tied up by the villains?”

I felt my cheeks heat up. “Yeah, it’s, um, one of the most exciting scenes.”

Vee gave me a knowing look, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, I can understand why you marked this page" She said holding up the page open so I could see the black and white illustration.
It depicted everyone's favourite teen detective, all bound up, gagged and tied.

I blushed a hitherto undiscovered shade of red.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she handed the book back to me. "I always thought those scenes were the best bits too,"

"You did?" I stammered, hardly daring to believe my ears.

“Looks like we’re almost there,” Vee said, glancing out the window as the station platform came into view.

“Wow! That flew by,” I said, feeling more than a little wistful that my time with Vee was coming to an end.

“I should give you my number before we part ways,” Vee said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a biro.

"Hold out your arm"

Ever obedient, I did as I was told, allowing Vee to scrawl her contact details over the back of my hand.

“There you go. And just in case, here’s my email as well,” she added with a grin, scribbling
another line below her phone number.
"Must dash" She said, rushing out of the carriage and onto the busy platform "Have fun with your Great Aunt!"

I gathered up my belongings and departed the train.

My heart raced with anticipation as I scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

"Over here, Samantha," came a voice that was both stern and wonderfully familiar.
I stared across the concourse.
And there she stood.

Great Aunt Harriet herself.

Swathed in a pair of out-sized sunglasses, and a wide brimmed hat, she cut a resplendent, dare I say handsome, figure.
With her statuesque form, resplendent in a rich, burgundy bow blouse and high-waisted black skirt that flared out just below the knee and long, silver hair pulled back into a tight, unforgiving bun, she looked so stylish it felt like everyone in the station, drew themselves up to their full height to sneak a better look.
Her features were sharp and angular, with cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass.
She looked like she had been voted most likely to make a coat from a basket of small puppies
In short, I was impossibly smitten.

"Aunt Harriet," I said, my voice tinged with nervous excitement.

She gave me a curt nod. "It's good to see you, Samantha. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

"Yes, thank you," I replied, trying to match her composed demeanour.

"Well - Come along then," she said, turning sharply on her heel and striding purposely towards the exit.

Aunt Harriet didn’t offer a word of small talk for our walk back to the car, nor did she seem particularly inclined to slow her brisk pace and I had to hurry to keep up with her, my suitcase bumping, inelegantly behind me.

[Beaumains]

This story keeps amazing me. The plot is absurd. Especially with Sam being the self-aware and not caring about the perception she creates. Power to her, I guess. The overly dramatic ticket problem and unexpected tie up conversation about the book are so over the top and unbelievable that it makes the entire story quite adorable.

[Stiletto Amore]

This story keeps amazing me. The plot is absurd. Especially with Sam being the self-aware and not caring about the perception she creates. Power to her, I guess. The overly dramatic ticket problem and unexpected tie up conversation about the book are so over the top and unbelievable that it makes the entire story quite adorable.

Yay! So glad you continue to enjoy the story
Hehe! I'm not sure my stories could ever be mistaken for realistic, kitchen sink dramas

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Four

A Hunting Lodge for a Rich Weirdo

When we finally reached her town car, I was embarrassed to find that the brief exertion had left me breathing heavily, (not to mention caused me to sweat in some rather unfortunate places,..)


Without a word, Aunt Harriet popped open the boot allowing me to clumsily bundle my luggage inside before scrambling into the passenger seat, with all the grace of a balletic hippo.


After a brief struggle with a stubborn and uncooperative seat belt, I watched, with quiet fascination, as Aunt Harriet retrieved a pair of immaculate red leather driving gloves from her handbag and slowly pulled them on, tugging at each finger until the fit was perfect.


With slow, precise movements she performed a final check on her appearance, before starting the engine with a throaty purr.


As we pulled out of the station car park and onto the high street, I couldn't help but sneak admiring glances at my Aunt as she navigated the traffic with effortless grace.


It felt like I was being chauffeured around by Cruella De Vil


For the longest time, neither of us said a word.


Then, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence in which I was beginning to wonder if Aunt Harriett had simply forgotten I was there, she finally broke the ice,


“I must say, Samantha,” she began, her voice cool and statesman like, “your letter caught me somewhat by surprise"

"Oh?" I replied a little nervously, fiddling with the end of my tie.

"Well, it's not often that your estranged great niece writes to you after 5 years of radio silence,.. much less to request private tuition in deportment and social graces,.."

I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flush. "I… well, you see, Aunt Harriet, I’ll be going off to university soon, and, well, I was thinking, maybe I would benefit from schooling in the art of the social and cultural etiquette,.."

"And you thought I could help with that?" She teased haughtily, signalling she was far from immune to old skool flattery.

"I could think of no-one more uniquely qualified" I replied, laying it on thick with syrup.

"It's no secret that I’ve always looked up to you, Aunt Harriet, and over the years I've tried my best to emulate your austere dignity and buttoned up appearance, not to mention your exquisite penmanship,.."

"Well, your calligraphy shows some promise," She conceded "although it still needs more work,.. Some of your strokes look misaligned and inconsistent. You need to need to stop after each stroke and lift the pen,.."

"You see! And that's why I sought you out. I knew that if anyone could teach me how to behave like a well-bred young lady-about-town - it would be you!”

Aunt Harriet’s lips curled into a faint smile.


“Well, Samantha,” she said after a long pause, “I must say I'm genuinely touched to learn that you thought so highly of me,.."

The hook was baited.

"And I suppose it's true to say that my years as a headmistress and as lady-in-waiting for Lady Winifred Humphrey-Smithe, have taught me much about the art of etiquette and proper behavior,.. An all too rare commodity in an age of Tick-tack and My-Face,.."

I fought hard to suppress a giggle.


"I couldn't agree more, Aunt Harriet. Which is why I was so desperate to learn at your feet"

I could feel the weight of her piercing gaze, as she studied me in the mirror, almost certainly weighing my sincerity.

For a brief moment, I feared I had overstepped, but then her expression softened, just a fraction into what might almost pass as a smile,..


"Very well - As per your request, your time with me will be modelled after the experience of attending a traditional finishing school, with daily classes on both etiquette and academic studies - Fortunately I am currently between contracts so I was able to take the time to compile a suitably rigours lesson plan,.."



It was at this point in proceedings that it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn't actually sure what Aunt Harriet's job was.



I think I remember my parents saying that she was self-employed, and that she largely worked from home, but otherwise very little.



Oh well, I'm sure there would be plenty of opportunity to ask Harriet about this later,..


"Golly, thanks Aunt Harriet, I really appreciate all your efforts" I gushed, my thoughts returning to the illicit schoolgirl fantasy already in progress.


"You're very welcome dear, although you shouldn't get too excited, there will also be a series of household chores for you to complete every day,.."

"That seems only fair,.." I agreed

"I'm glad you think so," Aunt Harriet continued "But there's more,.."


Excellent. I had rather hoped that there would be,..

"You are to address me as Ma'am, or Headmaster at all times - Is that understood?"

"Yes Aunt Ha- Ma'am!" I said, hastily correcting myself.

"And I see that you are already wearing your school uniform. Good. I expect you to stay dressed like this for the duration of your stay - You will find some spare blouses and skirts in the bedroom I’ve prepared for you. There will be a uniform inspection each and every morning, with demerits for any infractions. Is that clear?”

“As crystal, Ma’am,” I replied, doing my level best to contain the giddy anticipation building inside me.

I could hardly believe this was really happening. Aunt Harriet was really going all out to make sure every detail of my time here felt as authentic as possible.
Speaking of which,..

"I have prepared a list of house rules and regulations - you will find a copy waiting for you in your room. I suggest you take the time to read it as there will be significant punishments for any and all rule breaking—no matter how minor. I trust that is acceptable to you?”

I nodded, trying to suppress the grin threatening to break out across my face. "Yes, Ma'am. Whatever you think’s best.”

"Glad to hear it" Aunt Harriet’s lips curved into a tight smile. "Then we shall see if your actions match your words."

"I won't let you down" I assured her boldly

“See that you don't" She said, as as we pulled up to a modest, if perfectly manicured townhouse.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Aunt Harriet announced, her voice tinged with a hint of pride as she opened the car door and stepped out.


I climbed out of the car with as much poise as I could muster (ie - very little) and dragged my luggage over to the house.


The large, black wooden door had a polished brass knocker shaped like a gargoyles head.


I half expected the creature to ask us a riddle before it would grant us entry, but disappointingly found that it behaved rather like a normal door and yielded to Harriet's key.

As my Great Aunt pushed open the door and led me into the wood panelled hallway, I was immediately struck by how perfectly the place reflected her personality—cold, elegant and severe, but not without it's eccentric charms,..
Case in point, everywhere I looked, were stuffed animals, staring back at me through their glass eyes.
A fox stood proudly in the corner, whilst a hawk stood guard in an alcove by the door

"Do you... like taxidermy, Ma'am?" I ventured, my voice tight with unease as I found myself face to face with a ferret perched on a nearby shelf.

"One must have hobbies" She replied archly.

I followed her deeper into the house, past a series of grim faced portraits. Their eyes seemed to follow me as I walked, like something out of a Hannah Barbera cartoon. They stared down at me disapprovingly, as if I were already breaking some unspoken rule simply by being here. One particularly sour-looking gentleman with mutton chops seemed especially displeased. I had to resist the urge to wave at him, just to break the tension.

"Who are they?" I asked, nodding at the pictures

"Long dead relatives," answered Aunt Harriet in a way that left it unclear if she was talking about the portraits, or the stuffed creatures on the walls,..


As I tried, and failed, to suppress a shiver, I thought I saw my Aunt flash a wry smile,..


Was it possible she was enjoying this role-play almost as much as me?

Returning to the task in hand, Aunt Harriet resumed her tour giving me a brief but precise running commentary as she led me around the house.

"Here’s the sitting room," Aunt Harriet explained, her voice crisp. "You may use this space in the evenings after lessons, provided, of course, that you conduct yourself appropriately."


The furniture was stiff and formal, upholstered in dark, heavy fabrics that reminded me of a cigar room in some dusty gentleman's club.
Predictably, there was no sign of a television.

The kitchen followed, along with the larder.


"-Naturally you will help with preparing the ingredients for the meals - peeling potatoes, washing the vegetables and so on,.."

"Naturally," I replied, briefly imagining myself dressed as a plump Victorian maid.

We moved on, taking in the water closets and the dining room, before coming to a heavy iron door at the very end of the hall.

"Now, Samantha," she said in a low, measured voice, "this room is my off-limits. It is my private study, and it is kept locked at all times. You are not, under any circumstances, to enter it. Do I make myself clear?"

Her tone was sharp, and her eyes bore into mine, leaving no room for argument. A thrill ran through me despite the sternness of her warning. What on earth could she possibly be hiding in there?

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Good.” She gave a curt nod, her eyes lingering on me as if she were assessing my trustworthiness. Then, without another word, she turned briskly on her heel and led me upstairs.

My heart raced as I followed her, the mystery of the forbidden study swirling in my mind.



It was impossible not to imagine all the delicious secrets that might be lurking behind that door —a kings ransom in imported candy, salacious letters from long-lost lovers, the bricked up bodies of long lost ancestors, or perhaps something even more tantalizing,..

Finally, we arrived at my bedroom. Aunt Harriet opened the door to reveal a neat, sparsely decorated room.

The walls were painted a pale shade of grey, and the furniture was minimal: a single bed with a simple white duvet, a wooden wardrobe, and a small desk with a straight-backed chair. But it was what lay on the bed that caught my eye.

Folded neatly, was a series of new clothes - crisp, white, long-sleeved blouses still in their cellophane wrappers, along with pleated grey skirts, a black blazer, grey cardigans, white socks, and several striped neckties.


I felt a rush of excitement at the sight of all this wonderful bounty.


My secret fantasy of living the life of prim and proper schoolgirl was finally coming true.


And there, resting on the desk, was a small leather-bound notebook.
I picked it up and flicked through the pages. As promised, it contained pages and pages of Aunt Harriet’s close script, detailing the various House Rules and Regulations. along with the number of demerits that I could be expected to be given for any infraction.


Thrillingly, the list of instructions regarding the strict dress code alone, ran up to two whole pages,..

My heart quickened as I imagined the possible punishments for breaking these rules. Would I get detention? Better yet, would she spank me? Tie me up and gag me? These thoughts made my cheeks flush with a pleasing warmth.

“You'll have plenty of time to study that later,” Aunt Harriet said sharply, calling a temporary halt to my erotic daydreams. “For now, freshen up. I expect you downstairs for your first lesson in five minutes.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am,” I stammered, suddenly very aware of how much I’d been sweating during the drive. I could feel the damp patches under my arms, and the thought of Aunt Harriet receiving me in this state made my stomach twist in anxiety.

I was just about to rip open one of the cellophane bags when my phone buzzed from deep inside my satchel.


I fished it out eagerly, my spirits lifting at the sight of Vee’s name on the screen. The girl I’d met on the train had left quite an impression—her sharp wit and easygoing nature had made the long journey far more bearable.

"So… did you make it to the Dragon’s Lair in one piece?"

I smiled, "Just about But it’s more like Leatherface’s house than a lair tbh."


A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again

"Leatherface, huh? Should I be worried that you’re going to end up on the menu?"

"Sam á l'orange" I fired back

"Why am I picturing you trussed up and covered in goose fat with an apple in your mouth?"

"Honestly, I think that says more about you, than about me"

"Well, at least you'd be getting one of your five a day"

I was just about to compose a suitably witty rejoinder, something about how you 'don't win friends with salad', when I was interrupted by the booming voice of Aunt Harriet bellowing up the stairs.

"Samantha! You're late for your first lesson!"

I nearly dropped the phone in panic. My heart rate spiked as I quickly tapped out one last message to Vee before shoving the phone into my pocket.
I'd been in the house less than 30 minutes and I was already in trouble.

Suffice to say, I couldn't wait to see what my first punishment would be.

[Beaumains]

Another very interesting chapter, and it is really a shame that this story does not get more replies because it is so creative. Samantha's quirkiness is still adorable and I love the effort you keep putting in the little details like the gargoyle. I only think that her plan of trying to get punished is unnecessary.

On a slightly different note, this chapter is a lot different than I expected. I had not expected aunt Harriet (excuse me, the headmaster) to go along with her. This either is a very weird person, or she has had contact with Sam's parents and is trying to do Sam a favour. The latter seems more plausible to me.

[Stiletto Amore]

Another very interesting chapter, and it is really a shame that this story does not get more replies because it is so creative. Samantha's quirkiness is still adorable and I love the effort you keep putting in the little details like the gargoyle. I only think that her plan of trying to get punished is unnecessary.

On a slightly different note, this chapter is a lot different than I expected. I had not expected aunt Harriet (excuse me, the headmaster) to go along with her. This either is a very weird person, or she has had contact with Sam's parents and is trying to do Sam a favour. The latter seems more plausible to me.

Thanks so much - I can't tell you how much I appreciate the encouragement.
It's always gratifying to learn that someone has enjoyed something I've written - no matter how ridiculous the plot

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Five
T.R.O.U.B.L.E

As I hurriedly descended the stairs, my heart thudded in anticipation, still buzzing with the promise of the impending (first) punishment.
When I entered the drawing room, my eyes widened at the sight before me.

Aunt Harriet stood in the centre of the room, dressed in a tailored tweed suit, with a high collared blouse - a magnificent silver broach at her neck and a flowing black academic gown draped over her sleek, angular frame.
The black mortar board perched atop her head was very much the icing on the (already perfect) cake.

Severe, puritanical, yet also undeniably chic - she was like a vision torn from my dream journal - the Demon Headmistress of my dreams

I struggled to hide the admiration in my gaze but before I could even think of paying her a compliment, Aunt Harriet's withering gaze landed upon me.

“You’re late,” she said in her wonderfully clipped tones.

The smile vanished from my face instantly.

It was time to get back into character.

“I— I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I stammered, feeling my face flush. “I didn’t mean to—it's just-”

“No excuses,” she interrupted, wagging her finger in a most enchanting manner “Punctuality is the hallmark of a disciplined pupil, and you, alas, have fallen at the very first hurdle,..”

I stood frozen, shame creeping up my neck.

“You will write lines as punishment,” she declared, pointing to an old wooden desk in the corner of the room.

I meekly opened my mouth to protest,

"Lines Ma'am?" I replied pathetically.

“Yes Samantha, Lines! 1,000 of them - to be precise!"

Exsqueeze me? A baking-powder?

My knees nearly buckled. “A thousand, Ma’am?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Did I stammer?” she shot back, dragging me by the arm and roughly depositing me in the chair behind the desk.
She had laid out a stack of white paper, an ink well and an old fashioned fountain pen.

"The phrase you will write is this: ‘It is difficult to prove yourself reliable when people are required to wait for you'. Any questions?”

I thought for a long moment.

"No Ma'am"

“Good. Now stop slouching and sit up straight. There! That's much better. And just so you know— I will be reviewing every single line. Any that are not perfectly neat will be struck out and you will have to start again.”

I nodded meekly, suppressing the urge to complain, or else suggest a more preferable form of punishment,..

Dutifully picking up the pen, I began, "‘It is difficult to prove,.."

For the next hour or so I applied myself diligently to the task at hand, studiously churning out pages and pages of, what I hoped were suitably neat lines as Aunt Harriet lurked menacingly in the background, just out of shot.

Yet every time I glanced up, she was there, leaning over me, her hands clasped neatly behind her, her lips pressed into a tight line.

My hand was cramping, but I dared not stop. Instead I persisted with my task, biting my lip as I focused on keeping my letters uniform and neat.

Not long after I reached the halfway mark, Aunt Harriet reappeared and inspected my progress. I held my breath as her eyes narrowed.

“Sloppy,” she muttered, pulling out a red pen.

With a series of elegant flicks of her wrist, she crossed out nearly 50 lines.

My stomach churned.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said quietly.

“No apologies - just correct them,” she snapped, returning to her place over by the mantel.

Two gruelling hours later, my wrist felt as though it might fall off, but finally, it was over - I had completed the last line. I placed the pen down, flexing my sore hand, and let out a nervous, shaky breath.

Aunt Harriet approached once more, surveying my work with an inscrutable expression.

After what felt like a small eternity, she gave a curt nod.

“Just about acceptable,” she said.

High praise indeed.

Then, after a pause, “Very well. You have completed your lines to my satisfaction"

I almost sighed with relief but caught myself, giving her a quick nod instead. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Aunt Harriet glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece

"Hrumph! It seems you have a free period - you may return to your room to freshen up. The evening meal will be served in exactly one hour. I suggest you don't be late!”

I didn't need to be told twice and hurriedly made my way upstairs, eager to get out of my sticky uniform and into a fresh set of clothes.

The room was just as I had left it—neat and orderly, with the disparate elements of my new school uniform/ costume lying untouched on the bed.
I quickly grabbed a towel from my luggage and headed for the bathroom, hoping for a refreshing shower after the lengthy and mind-numbing punishment.

But as I turned the knob, I was greeted with a torrent of icy water that was so cold it caused me to briefly leave my body.

After taking a moment to compose myself, I tentatively placed my hand back under the shower head.
It was still cooler than a penguins tuxedo.

Several minutes went by, but the water temperature stubbornly refused to do the decent thing and rise above freezing.
“HIja’ majQa’ DenIb Qatlh” I muttered under my breath
(For those of you not fluent in the Klingon mother tongue, this roughly translates as “Yes! Well done, you Denebian slime devil!”)

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.

Apparently Aunt Harriet's immersive finishing school experience extended to recreating the arctic tundra in the guest bathroom.
Nevertheless, I was far too stubborn, not to mention having far too much fun, to let a minor inconvenience like a refreshing ice bath stop me from living out my secret fantasy.

Shivering, I submerged myself in the water where I washed quickly, my teeth chattering the entire time.

After drying off, and dressing in my underwear, I removed one of the crisp XL white blouses from its plastic wrapping.

Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I savoured the feeling of the smooth fabric against my skin as I fastened my shirt cuffs.

However, when I went to button up the starched collar I found that it was at least a size too small.

Another practical joke from Great Aunt Harriet perhaps?

It took a brief struggle, but eventually I managed to button it up all the way to the top.
It was a little uncomfortable, but in a way that I secretly, rather enjoyed,..

I selected a blue-and-black striped necktie from the selection on offer and stood in front of the mirror to knot it neatly.
I took my time, making sure the knot was precise. I wanted it to pass muster.

With a deep breath, I straightened my shirt cuffs, smoothed down my skirt, and headed downstairs, eager—if a little anxious—to see what Aunt Harriet had in store for me next.

Descending the stairs, I tried to keep my shoulders back and my chin up—just as Aunt Harriet had instructed earlier. I could already hear the low hum of classical music coming from the dining room.

As I reached the bottom step, my breath caught in my throat. There, waiting for me in the archway to the dining room, stood Aunt Harriet

She had changed outfits yet again. Gone was the tailored tweed, replaced by a floor-length ball gown in deep, shimmery blue silk that pooled gracefully around her feet.

Her silver hair, previously pinned up in a strict bun, was now loose, falling in gentle waves around her shoulders.

In the dim lighting of the hallway, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a Hollywood back-lot - a femme fatale who was just as likely to pull a pistol from her purse, as she was to light a cigarette.

Picture Lauren Bacall,.. if she'd been cast in the role of Maleficent.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

I felt my cheeks flush as I became aware of just how long I'd been staring.

“Something wrong, Samantha?” Aunt Harriet’s voice, cool as ever, jolted me from my trance. But there was also a faint glimmer of amusement in her eye,..

If I didn't know better, I could’ve sworn she was secretly enjoying the effect these dramatic costume changes were having on me.

I tried not to fidget as Aunt Harriet’s gaze swept over me, her mouth set in a thoughtful line as she studied my appearance.

Suddenly I felt very conscious of the way the ill-fitting shirt collar emphasised my double chin, and how the lines of the crisp white blouse exposed my plus sized frame.

I felt like a dumpy schoolgirl in the presence of an evil fairy queen.

I tugged nervously at my shirt cuffs, as Aunt Harriet closed the distance between us.

“A most commendable effort, Samantha,” she said, after completing her inspection.

My spirits lifted instantly, warmth spreading across my cheeks at her praise.

“Although…” She tilted her head, her eyes zeroing in on the knot of my tie. “I still think we can do better- Lift your chin, please.”

My heart drummed in my chest as I obeyed, tilting my head upward.

I stood rigid as a statue, as she slipped her slender fingers around my tie, pulling the knot loose with a quiet precision, removing all traces of my own, pitiful efforts.

Her fingers brushed lightly against my throat, as she turned up my starched collar.

Her movements were cold and clinical, but the close proximity made the experience feel strangely,.. intimate.

I watched in a state of silent rapture as she draped the material around my neck, and with a quick, fluid motion, she crossed one end of the tie over the other, before looping it round and through, fashioning it into a perfect Windsor knot.

Satisfied, she folded my collar back down and smoothed the tie into place with a gentle pat.

“There,” she said, stepping back to inspect her work. “Much better. Don't you think?”

“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks still warm. “I didn’t realise I’d been doing it wrong all these years.”

“Hmm, perhaps we should add ‘knot-tying’ to your curriculum?”

“Oh, yes, please! I’d love that,” I replied, a bit too eagerly.

"So. I take it you like the clothes that I picked out for you?" she asked coolly.

"Oh yes!" I blurted out, a little too eagerly, then immediately cringed. "I mean—yes, thank you Ma'am."

"Good," she replied with a nod of satisfaction. She extended a hand toward the dining room, gesturing for me to enter before her. “Shall we?”

I followed, trying to mimic her poise, though I felt painfully aware of the weight of my shoes clumping on the wooden floorboards compared to her balletic steps.

The dining room was as formal and elegant as I’d expected, complete with a grand, polished table set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses.
Aunt Harriet took her place at the head of the table, indicating the chair across from her.

At each place setting, a silver cloche sat atop a porcelain plate.

Aunt Harriet sat down across from me, her movements precise and fluid, like a dancer. I settled into my chair, smoothing my skirt self-consciously as she reached forward and lifted the cloche before her.

Underneath was a magnificent steak, cooked to perfection and arranged beautifully alongside roasted vegetables and a golden, crisp potato gratin.

My stomach rumbled in anticipation of what was to come as I lifted my own cloche only to come face to face with a mysterious grey-brown sludge.

For a long moment I stared down at the plate, trying to figure out exactly what it was I was looking at.

A sickly smell hit my nostrils—something stale and fishy, with a hint of cabbage—and I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my expression neutral.

I poked it with my fork, half expecting it to slither away.

Aunt Harriet arched a curious eyebrow. “Well, Samantha?”

“Uh…” I paused, trying to summon a response that didn’t sound ungrateful "Thank you for the meal Aunt Harriet"

"You're very welcome dear. Now eat it up, before it gets cold,"

Summoning all of my courage, I scooped up some of the beige gloop.

With a deep breath, I brought the spoon to my lips, steeling myself against the inevitable.

Somehow it was even worse than I feared - it was bland, metallic and tasted like wet cardboard.
In short, it was rather like chewing a dirty sponge.

I could feel the urge to gag rising, but forced myself to swallow it down.

"And?" Aunt Harriet asked, eager to hear my review of her culinary efforts.

I managed a weak smile, as I fought to keep down my lunch.

But then, a mischievous thought surfaced, and I couldn’t resist.

"Please, Ma’am - Can I have some… less?"

Aunt Harriet’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest.

Without a word, she rose and glided over to a sideboard where she retrieved a slender wooden ruler.

"Hands out, Samantha," she said firmly.

I placed my hands out as instructed, my heart hammering in my chest as I held them steady.

I knew better than to flinch as she brought the ruler sharply across my knuckles.

I gasped—not so much from the pain, though it did sting, but from the sheer thrill of it all.

I had to work hard to keep my expression composed, pretending to be cowed even as my heart raced with excitement.

“Aunt Harriet, I—” I started, my voice low, contrite.

“Silence!” she snapped, her voice brooking no argument. “You will learn to appreciate what is given to you!"

“Yes Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am - I was only joking—” I began, trying to explain, but Aunt Harriet cut me off with a fierce glare.

“If I hear another word out of you this evening I’ll see to it that your mouth is washed out with soap. Perhaps that will teach you some respect.”

“It'd probably taste better than the food,..” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Is that so?!" She asked, visibly struggling not to smile.

Is it possible that Aunt Harriet was just as entertained by our little game as I was?

But just as quickly, her expression reverted to its factory settings.

"Well, since you can't be trusted to hold your tongue, let's see if we can't find something to keep you quiet,.."

I blinked, feeling a pulse of excitement course through me.

What on Earth did she mean by that?

Having regaining her composure, Aunt Harriet’s eyes blazed with comic fury, and before I knew it, she had crossed the room again, her steps stiff with anger as she stormed out of the dining room.

For a moment I thought she might fetch a bar of soap and carry out her threat there and then, but instead, she reappeared with a thick roll of brown packing tape.

I felt a flicker of excitement deep in my chest, my pulse quickening at the prospect of what was about to happen.

"Come here Samantha!" She ordered, calling me to heel.

A thrilling shiver ran through me, but I did my best to keep my face composed as I stood up from the table,..

[Python_Struggles]

Hi there, love this latest installment to the series! You really do a superb job of sharing the protagonist’s inner thoughts and emotions regarding her nervousness and such. Love the detail in things like the color of the bondage devices, awesome job!

[Beaumains]

This remains such a fantastical story, where it is so hard to understand the characters, especially aunt Harriet. She seems way too wild and fitting into Samantha's dreams that it is hard to believe she is not in on it. It is too perfect. But, according to Sam's description, she would also not be the type to just want to spend time with her distant family member. If she is really this way, then she is even weirder than Sam.

I love all the little details. Here, I have read about almost most possible bondage scenarios and positions, so I like the ridiculous lines like

“HIja’ majQa’ DenIb Qatlh” I muttered under my breath
(For those of you not fluent in the Klingon mother tongue, this roughly translates as “Yes! Well done, you Denebian slime devil!”)

it just gives so much character to story.

My only concern is that 1000 lines is a lot, and would definitely take more than a few hours, even when the lines are short. If Sam also has to focus on neatness, it is a little overkill.

[Stiletto Amore]

Hi there, love this latest installment to the series! You really do a superb job of sharing the protagonist’s inner thoughts and emotions regarding her nervousness and such. Love the detail in things like the color of the bondage devices, awesome job!

Gee! Thanks so much! I really appreciate the lovely comments

[Stiletto Amore]

This remains such a fantastical story, where it is so hard to understand the characters, especially aunt Harriet. She seems way too wild and fitting into Samantha's dreams that it is hard to believe she is not in on it. It is too perfect. But, according to Sam's description, she would also not be the type to just want to spend time with her distant family member. If she is really this way, then she is even weirder than Sam.

I love all the little details. Here, I have read about almost most possible bondage scenarios and positions, so I like the ridiculous lines like

“HIja’ majQa’ DenIb Qatlh” I muttered under my breath
(For those of you not fluent in the Klingon mother tongue, this roughly translates as “Yes! Well done, you Denebian slime devil!”)

it just gives so much character to story.

My only concern is that 1000 lines is a lot, and would definitely take more than a few hours, even when the lines are short. If Sam also has to focus on neatness, it is a little overkill.

Haha! So glad you enjoyed the Star Trek reference - I guess it's no great surprise that Sam is a giant nerd
Really glad that you're still enjoying the story - despite its shocking lack of realism (upon reflection maybe 1,000 was a bit of a stretch)
Hope you like the next part when it arrives
Thanks again

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Six
Detention

I pushed back my chair, the sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor cutting through the deathly silence.
As I stood up, my knees felt oddly unsteady, though whether it was from nerves or excitement, I couldn’t quite be sure.
Aunt Harriet stood motionless, her arms crossed disapprovingly.
My steps were measured, my head bowed in an attempt to appear suitably repentant, though the flush creeping up my neck betrayed the giddy elation simmering just beneath the surface.

"Come along girl! I haven't got all day!" She snapped, causing me to complete the last leg of the journey at something approaching a sprint.

“Now then, Samantha,” Aunt Harriet said coolly, “Do you have any more smart-mouthed quips you’d like to share with the class?”

Aware that my Great Aunt’s piercing gaze was studying my every move, I tried to suppress the Cheshire grin threatening to spread across my face, instead opting for what I hoped was a suitably chastened expression. I paused, tilting my head as if deep in thought before replying with a wry smirk, “None that spring to mind, Ma’am.

Aunt Harriet raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Delighted to hear it,” she said sardonically.

For a moment, there was silence between us as she held up the roll of packing tape.
It was somehow both a threat, and an invitation.

I watched as she attempted to locate the end of the roll, her perfectly manicured nails struggling to get any form of purchase.
The small, fumbling motions were so at odds with her otherwise impeccable precision that I almost laughed.

Catching myself, I discretely asked “Would you like some assistance, Ma’am?”

Aunt Harriet glanced at me, her expression softening momentarily.
“Yes, Samantha, you may.”

I located the edge of the tape with ease and peeled it back, handing the roll back to her. “Here you are, Ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice unexpectedly gentle.

But any tenderness in her tone was soon replaced with brisk efficiency. She tore a strip from the roll with a sharp rrrriippp, a sound that sent an electrifying shiver coursing through my body,

Aunt Harriet noticed, of course. She always did.

“Are you cold,” she observed. “Do you want to fetch your blazer?”

I shook my head emphatically, unwilling to break the moment. The game was far too intoxicating to halt now.

"It's fine" I assured her "Go ahead"

“Very well - Now put your lips together,” she ordered, her voice low and commanding.

I obeyed, my breath hitching as she leaned in.

Without another word, she placed the strip over my mouth, pressing it down firmly, effectively gagging me.

“There we are,” she murmured softly, smoothing the tape around the edges, her fingertips brushing my skin, sending a pleasant shiver through me.

She tilted her head, inspecting her work. “Much better, don't you think?”

I nodded, the sound of my muffled “mm-hmm” carrying rather more enthusiasm than I’d intended.

Aunt Harriet’s lips curved into a sly smile, like she'd caught me out in a lie.

“Now, hold out your hands, palms together.”

I hesitated only briefly before placing my hands together in front of me, my fists instinctively balled up. I stared straight ahead, trying to feign indifference, but my cheeks burned as I felt her eyes on me.

“Well, aren’t you the most obliging little hostage,” she teased

She worked swiftly, wrapping the tape around my wrists, binding them firmly together over the crisp cuffs of my blouse. The tape was pulled taut with each pass, compressing my wrists snugly enough that I could feel its pressure with every movement. She completed four precise turns before tearing the roll free with another sharp rip.

“Good girl,” Aunt Harriet said, her voice tinged with approval.

My chest swelled with a strange pride as I stood there with my hands bound and my mouth taped shut.

Aunt Harriet stepped back, her eyes scanning me as if she were appraising a painting.
Then, without a word, she crossed the room to the hatstand. My eyes followed her, widening slightly as she plucked a long, elegant Hermes scarf from its hook and deftly folded it into a thick band.

“Lift your chin,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

I tilted my head up, my breath catching as she tied the scarf firmly over my eyes. The world plunged into darkness, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of every sound—the rustle of the tape, the ticking of the clock, the faint hum of music from the dining room.

"This way," She said, taking me firmly by the shoulders, and guiding me across the room.

I stumbled slightly, but her hands steadied me.

“Stand there, facing the wall” she said. “And don’t move a muscle until I tell you. Understood?”

I nodded, letting out a muffled “Mmm-Mhmm” of agreement through my gag.

Of course, with my hands bound in front of me, I knew I could easily reach up to pull the gag away and use my teeth to cut through the tape.
But that thought barely crossed my mind.
After all, escape was the last thing I wanted.
Besides, with my eyes covered I had no way of knowing if Aunt Harriet was still in the room waiting to pounce if I made one wrong move.
My pulse quickened at the thought.

As I stood there, my mind began to wander. What if someone came to visit Aunt Harriet? How would she explain the presence of a bound and gagged schoolgirl in the corner of the room? An innovative art installation?
And what if my mom called? Would Aunt Harriet answer the phone, her voice sweetly composed as she said, “I’m sorry, Samantha can’t come to the phone right now—she’s a little tied up at the moment”?
The thought sent a giddy thrill through me. I shifted on my feet, trying to keep still, my mind spinning with all the delicious possibilities of what Aunt Harriet might do to me next.

At first, the breathless excitement of finally being trussed up and gagged was enough to keep me still, but as time dragged on, a new and pressing discomfort crept in. I shifted my weight nervously as the realisation hit me: I needed to use the bathroom.
Whilst was always in my power to end this game at any time (All I had to do was wriggle free or yell/ mumble loudly enough to get Aunt Harriet’s attention) something in me refused to break character.

And so I remained, impassive and resolute in the corner of the room - like a kinky statue, or a decorative lamp.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard her footsteps approaching. The steady click of her heels against the wooden floor made my heart race.

"Still here, I see," Aunt Harriet’s voice rang out, mockingly.
I knew better than to respond, and so kept my own counsel.

"Hmm, Well I suppose I should commend you on your stoicism. You bore your punishment with grace and poise"
I beamed beneath my gag.

"Come along Samantha, let's get you loose,"

With her steadying hand on my shoulder, I was guided across the room to the sofa.
Once I was seated, Aunt Harriet reached across me and pulled down my blindfold.

As the world slowly blinked back into focus, I squinted up at my elegant captor.

“Well?” Aunt Harriet said, her hands on her hips as she studied me. “Have you learned your lesson?”

I nodded sheepishly, my cheeks burning.

“Very well,” she said, leaning in to peel the tape off slowly.

The adhesive tugged uncomfortably at my skin, and I winced as it finally came free.
Well, it was certainly cheaper than wax paper, if no less painful.

“Thank you, Aunt Harriet,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse.

Her smile softened, almost as if she was proud of me. “Of course, dear.”

I hesitated, then blurted out, “May I use the bathroom, please?”

Her expression softened instantly. “Oh, my dear, of course you may! I’m so sorry—I should have thought to ask before all this.”
She reached for a pair of scissors and carefully snipped through the tape binding my wrists.

As soon as my hands were free, I bolted from the room, muttering a quick, “Thank you!” over my shoulder.
I barely made it in time, relief washing over me as I closed the bathroom door behind me.


Having availed myself of the facilities, I took a moment to freshen up.
After washing my hands and splashing cold water on my face, I paused to check my reflection. The beautiful Hermes scarf still hung loosely around my neck. I decided I liked the way it looked and left it where it was, before heading back downstairs.

When I returned to the sitting room, Aunt Harriet was waiting, only this time she looked almost apologetic.

“Samantha, I truly am sorry for not checking if you needed the bathroom before I tied you up. That was thoughtless of me.”

I assured her that it was fine, and that there was no harm done.

"I appreciate you being so understanding" She said warmly, "But I really should have known better"

"Well, we all make mistakes," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand "Besides, I could have said something myself"

"Would that have been before, or after you were gagged?" Aunt Harriet joked.

I couldn't help but laugh "Touché"

"Either way," She announced, with an affectionate grin "Let's agree that we'll both take better precautions in the future"

My cheeks flushed at the thought that there might be a 'next time' but managed to stammer an "Agreed"

"Good. Excellent. Now that's all been cleared up” she replied briskly. Then, her tone shifted, and the mischievous glint returned to her eyes. “Back to the business at hand.”

Resuming her role as the Demon Headmaster, Aunt Harriet ushered me back into the dining room and gestured dramatically towards my uneaten dinner.
My stomach turned.

“This time you’ll finish every last bite,” Aunt Harriet said firmly. “And don’t even think about leaving the table until your plate is clean.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I murmured, feeling my enthusiasm for the game waver slightly.

I sat at the table and forced myself to lift a spoonful of the revolting food.

However, just as I was about to take my first bite, I received a last minute reprieve from the warden.
Aunt Harriet announced that she had a stack of papers to mark, so would be in her study for the rest of the evening

"I trust I can leave you in here unsupervised?"

"Yes Ma'am, of course Ma'am"

And with that she sashayed away, like the stone cold Diva she was.

Left alone in the dining room I racked my brain trying to think of a way to make this meal magically disappear, you know, short of actually eating it,
And then, inspiration struck.

Seizing my chance, I untied the blindfold from around my neck and spread it across my lap. Glancing toward the doorway to make sure she wasn’t watching, I scooped the remaining slop into the silk scarf, tying it into a makeshift pouch which I stuffed into my skirt pocket.
By the time Aunt Harriet returned, I was sitting in front of a clean plate, looking appropriately full.

“Finished already?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, my tone studiously polite.

“Good girl,” she said approvingly. “Now, since you’ve finally finished eating, you can get started on the washing up.”

[Beaumains]

Great continuation. A very insightful chapter. Aunt Harriet is trying to make Sam's little fantasy come true. Somehow I suspect she has had contact with Sam's parents who are fully aware of these fantasies.

[Stiletto Amore]

Great continuation. A very insightful chapter. Aunt Harriet is trying to make Sam's little fantasy come true. Somehow I suspect she has had contact with Sam's parents who are fully aware of these fantasies.

Thanks so much for taking the time to comment and offer feedback!
It's so gratifying to know that you (and hopefully others - but really, who knows?) are still enjoying this tale.
Without wishing to spoil the unfolding plot (such as it is) I think it's fairly safe to assume that Sam's predilections are probably not the great secret that she thinks they are,..

[Stiletto Amore]

Chapter Seven - Lights out in Camelot

The next twenty minutes were spent, hunched over the sink, with my bare arms plunged into the hot soapy water as I attempted to scrub the serving dish clean of every last trace of gruel.
It was an arduous task, the grey lumpy material (one could scarcely call it food) appeared to have the adhesive power of quick drying cement (not to mention the taste) and by the time I had finished my hands were red and pruney from the effort.
I watched with baited breath as Aunt Harriet thoroughly examined each and every square inch of the ceramic serving dish.

“Acceptable,” was the one word summation.
“You may go up to bed now. Lights out in 30 minutes"

I was tempted to point out that it wasn't yet dark and that I could still hear small children playing outside, but I suspected that this was very much the point of the exercise.

She went on
"Breakfast is at 6-30 and uniform inspection is at 25 past. I trust you’ll be punctual in rising. As you're aware by now, I don’t tolerate tardiness in this house.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course Ma'am” I replied obediently, drying my hands on a dishcloth.

Her sharp gaze lingered on me for a moment, then softened ever so slightly.

“Goodnight, Samantha.” She said, momentarily breaking character

“Goodnight, Aunt Harriet.”

I quickly made my way upstairs, being careful not to go so far as to break into a run.
Once I was safely ensconced in my room, I closed the door behind me and let out a breath I hadn’t realised I'd been holding.
Finally alone, I reached up, pulling loose my necktie and undoing the top two buttons of my blouse. It felt like slipping off tight shoes after a long day hiking up the side of a mountain.

“What a relief” I murmured to myself, stretching out my neck muscles.
Whilst it was a tremendous thrill to be permitted to live out my schoolgirl uniform fantasies, it was still nice to be free of the chaffing collar.

With no time to waste, I retrieved my phone from my luggage, bathing in its familiar blue light.
I scrolled through my contacts and tapped on "Mom"
The line rang twice before her cheerful voice picked up.

"Hey Mom, I was just calling to check in and let you know I've arrived safely"

"That's very thoughtful of you Sami. And how is Harriet?"

I assured her that her Aunt was in rude health.

"And is she still as strict as I remember?"

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “She definitely has high standards,” I said diplomatically. “But I think she means well.”

“Well, as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” Mom replied, her voice full of support for her daughters latest obsession.

“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate you letting me do this.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Though, if she does decide to spank you, might I suggest hiding a book down the back of your shorts?”

“Mom!” I exclaimed, my cheeks flushing despite myself.

“What? It’s good advice!” she said, laughing.

"I'll take it under advisement"

"And does she still live in that spooky pet cemetery on the Hill?”

"Haha! She certainly does! There's dead animals everywhere! In fact," I whispered conspiratorially, "there's one watching me right now,.."
My gaze drifted to the stuffed owl perched ominously on the table beside the door. Perhaps it sensed we were talking about him.

"Well, you should make sure that you behave yourself or you might find yourself stuffed and mounted with the rest of the exhibits.”
Oh, the irony.
Nonetheless I assured my Mother that I would be a model house guest/ pupil before bidding her goodnight.

With only minutes left before lights out, I scrolled through my contacts and tapped on Vee.

“Hey, you!” Vee’s voice was bright and mischievous. How's life in the Bates Motel?"

I laughed, plopping onto the bed.

"You don't know the half of it" I assured her.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Well,” I began, “So far today, I've been given lines for tardiness, had my knuckles rapped for back-chatting and was given detention for not finishing all of my dinner - which, no word of a lie - was like something from a Victorian workhouse!"

“Holy Oliver Twist!” Vee exclaimed.

“My thoughts exactly,” I agreed. “But when I said something to that effect, she scolded me for insubordination.”

“Let me guess,” Vee said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You were sent to bed without any supper.”

“Not even close,” I replied, unable to suppress a grin. “She taped my wrists and made me stand in the corner.”

There was a beat of silence before Vee said, “Hang on. You didn’t tell me your aunt is Elly Kedward!”

I burst out laughing. “It must have slipped my mind.”

"What did you say?"

"When?"

"When do you think!? When she tied you up?"

"Oh, Not much really,.." I waited a beat "but that was probably because she had taped my mouth shut"

“Haha! Touche. But, it doesn’t sound like you’re complaining,” Vee teased.

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” I replied, my voice full of mock innocence.

Vee let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m so jealous. Why couldn’t I get invited to Kinky Hogwarts?”

“Maybe I could have a word with the organising committee,” I offered. “See if I can’t get you a ticket?”

“You’d do that for me?” Vee asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

“Of course,” I said with a grin. “What are friends for?"
Before Vee could reply, we were interrupted by a loud banging on my door.

“Samantha! It's your two minute warning!” She bellowed
I looked at the clock on my phone - It wasn't even 19-30.

I jumped, fumbling with my phone. “Gotta go! Talk later” I stammered before hurriedly ending the call.

I quickly changed out of my school clothes and into my striped pyjamas.

The loose, soft fabric felt heavenly after a day spent in my impossibly tight, starched uniform.
I folded my clothes neatly and placed them on the chair by the desk, then climbed into bed where I dutifully pulled the covers up to my chin.
Best.
Vacation.
Ever

The next morning I woke with a flutter of nervous excitement in my chest. Today was my first full day under Aunt Harriet’s roof, and I couldn't wait to see what thrills and spills awaited me.
I sprang out of bed like a child waking up in Disneyland.
After brushing my teeth (don't forget to floss) I selected a crisp, grey blouse from the selection on offer and slipped my arms into its sleeves. After buttoning the shirt all the way to the top, I picked out a blue and black striped necktie.
Mindful of Aunt Harriet’s exacting standards, I took my time tying a precise Windsor knot, pulling it snug against my collar so that the knot sat perfectly at the base of my throat.

The morning was unseasonably chilly, so I chose a pair of black trousers and layered a grey cardigan over my blouse. To complete the look, I slipped into my black school blazer, smoothing down the lapels and giving myself a final once-over in the mirror.

"Not shabby, even if I do say so myself"

"What say you, Mr Poe?" I asked the stuffed bird in the corner.

However, if the owl had an opinion about my dress, he was remaining tight lipped.

"Oh, well - Suit yourself" I said, I thought as I left the bedroom and made my way downstairs.

Upon entering the dining room, I froze, my eyes widening at the magnificent vision before me.
Aunt Harriet was dressed in an immaculate riders outfit consisting of a pair of form fitting white jodhpurs, a bow-blouse tied elegantly at the neck and a red tunic with bright, golden buttons. Most thrilling of all were her knee-high black leather boots, polished to a mirror shine.
She looked every inch the lady of the manor, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself as a naughty stable girl waiting to be reprimanded. My mind wandered briefly to whether the outfit came with a riding crop—and if I could somehow persuade Aunt Harriet to use it on me.

“Good morning, Samantha,” she said, her sharp eyes quickly appraising me.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” I replied, standing straighter under her gaze.

She approached, her boots clicking against the floor, and began her inspection. As always, her attention to detail was impeccable. She tugged at the lapels of my blazer, smoothed down my cardigan, and finally adjusted my tie, pulling it so tight that I nearly choked.

“Much better,” she said with a nod of approval.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” I managed, my voice slightly hoarse from being throttled.

We took our seats at the dining table, and once again I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in our meals. Aunt Harriet’s plate held a sumptuous full English breakfast: golden eggs, sizzling bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast. Meanwhile, my side of the table featured a sparse bowl of something that looked suspiciously like road sweepings (which I sincerely hoped was muesli)
It was a comical scene and I couldn't fail to be amused, despite my considerable food envy.

Taking a mouthful of the cereal, I found myself gurning in disgust.

After, what felt like a suitable pause - I delivered my verdict.

“Well, I didn't think it was possible, but this actually tastes worse than it looks,”

Aunt Harriet’s eyes narrowed in comic rage.

“Ha! I see that you still haven’t learned your lesson,” she said, standing up with all the dramatic flair of an 80'd soap opera Diva.

Before I could react, she moved behind me, her hands landing firmly on my shoulders. I stiffened, a rush of exhilaration coursing through me as she held me tightly in place.

“Perhaps we should do something about that loose tongue of yours,” she teased, her voice low and commanding
"Any suggestions?" she asked, her tone almost playful.

I pretended to think for a moment, tilting my head. “A gag, Ma’am?”

“An excellent suggestion Samantha,” she said, clearly pleased with my intervention.

With that, Aunt Harriet snatched up a freshly laundered serviette from the table which she folded into a thick band.

“Now, be a good girl and gag yourself will you.”

My heart raced as I took the cloth from her hands. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said obediently, opening my mouth and placing the serviette between my teeth.

“And Samantha,” Aunt Harriet added, her sharp gaze meeting mine. “Be sure to make it good and tight.”

“Yes, Ma’mmph!” I replied, the gag muffling my voice as I pulled the ends sharply before tying a secure, double knot at the back of my head.

“There, much better. Now I can enjoy my meal in silence."

As Aunt Harriet began eating her breakfast, I sat silently, my hands resting in my lap. The rumbling in my stomach was hard to ignore, but the thrill of the moment far outweighed my mounting hunger.

Of course, with my hands free, I could have easily removed the gag, but the thought never even crossed my mind. Escape wasn’t the goal here—silent obedience was.

I watched as Aunt Harriet ate, savouring every bite of her lavish meal while I remained mute and still. The soft clink of her fork against the plate was the only sound in the room, a stark reminder of the level of control she wielded.

When she finally put down her knife and fork, she dabbed her lips with a napkin and turned her attention back to me.

“It’s almost time for lessons,” she announced, after glancing at her watch “You may now remove
your gag.”

I reached up and carefully untied the knot, pulling the damp cloth from between my teeth.
My cheeks flushed as I noticed the fabric was damp with my saliva.

“I’m sorry for drooling, Ma’am,” I said, my voice timid.

Aunt Harriet chuckled softly, clearly amused.
“That’s only to be expected, dear. And for future reference, your gags go in the wash-basket.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, feeling a strange thrill at her matter-of-fact tone.

I carried the damp serviette to the wicker basket by the door, depositing it as instructed.
The simple act of following her orders filled me with a sense of satisfaction.

Also, the fact that she had said "My gags" - plural, implied this wouldn't be the last time I would be forcibly silenced during my stay.

“Now, go and prepare yourself for lessons. We begin in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, already eager for whatever the rest of the day had in store.

[Beaumains]

Another nice chapter. That phone call with her mom makes it very clear that her mom knows fully what is going on.

A bold guess of mine is that Sam completely forgets she "has" to interview aunt Harriet. Also, I am curious whether you will let Aunt Harriet go as far as to make Samantha regret her choices as she is still enjoying it immensely.

[Stiletto Amore]

Another nice chapter. That phone call with her mom makes it very clear that her mom knows fully what is going on.

A bold guess of mine is that Sam completely forgets she "has" to interview aunt Harriet. Also, I am curious whether you will let Aunt Harriet go as far as to make Samantha regret her choices as she is still enjoying it immensely.

So glad you're still enjoying the story.

Hmm, it does rather seem that Sam's parents might know a little more than they are letting on,..

At this juncture I'd be surprised if Sam even remembers her 'cover story'