Pandora's box

She was just a little girl, really. She knew that because he often said to her,

"You are such a little girl!"

He'd been saying it for years!

But, unlike good little girls who are seen and not heard, she had an inclination to be vocal. She had an inclination to air her views, and sometimes she was even strident in the airing of those views.

That had to stop. The little girl needed to learn that it was much better if she remained quiet and chose her words very, very carefully. He had told her that many times. But, not even his stick had managed to convince her of the benefits of holding her tongue.

He opened the box and delight was written all over his face. She had withdrawn to the foetal position; reduced to the state of a worried, wee little thing.

She opened her mouth as instructed and bit on the penis-shaped gag whilst he secured the strap around her head.

For more than an hour all that he would hear were her myews and moans as he played with her; this hole and that. A greedy boy, he produced other toys to insert in her holes. In and out, in and out. She was made helpless; secured as she was by the wrists and the ankles. She was no more than his plaything; a dribbling mess.

Later, when he had washed his toys well and prepared her for her day, he warned the little girl that inappropriate words could be silenced in other ways now.

She looked up at him with wide eyes; a little petulant, perhaps. Yet, his words had an effect on her. For the rest of the day, she was very demure indeed.

She was just a little girl; his good little girl.