My femininitywas now obvious.During the previous four years, Martin had allowed me to wear some of mymom's clothes around the house. He later explained to me that at first hethought I was just doing it to feel closer to her. But when he realizedthat I was wearing them because they were the only female clothes around,he started buying me about an outfit a month of clothes more getting for myage and the style of the day. On my 12th birthday, Martin bought me a smallmake-up kit, many beautiful dresses, and girls underwear. We had our ownprivate party.Later that night Martin and I had "the" talk. I still remember his bigbrown eyes filled with worry. His curly black hair falling into his faceand he pushing it back nervously. He started off by asking me about how Iwas doing at school. I told him that it was awful, I hated playing the boygames and that they always made fun of the way I ran and threw. I wasteased about my hair even though it was always very neat and in a ponytail. . Instead, I lay there, my head turned as she climbed from her perch and began going through our toy drawer, lifting items one at time, watching my reaction with each new discovery. My face was on fire, so deeply was I blushing, her rude comments turning my cunt to jelly. I could feel the wetness growing on the sheets as, unable to stop myself, I began to grind myself against the mattress.‘Bad Kitty!’ Cindy growled, catching on quickly. I stopped, trembling, noticing the wooden ruler she held, and then watching as she placed a small pile of toys on the bed next to me my face. My leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Rope. A wooden ruler. Nipple clamps. Thankfully, they weren’t the painful clover clamps that Kay loved to use on me when I misbehaved. I say thankfully, but I admit to being torn, wishing that perhaps they had been.We had bought a new bed frame shortly after moving into our house, one with a head and foot board comprised of metal rails that served a very specific purpose in our.
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