Chapter 29

Lucy stared at the ceiling. The clock on her bedside table read 8:00 AM. She was naked, as she often was now, no pajamas, no underwear. What was the point? Her body was such a source of pleasure that she might as well play with it herself. The only control she had left seemed to come from between her legs, not her mind.

She ran her fingertips over the slight stubble of her mons, and along her lips, pondering whether she should shave now or tonight.

She wondered: Was there any way out of this? Or was she doomed to be nothing more than a sexual object forever ... at the mercy of older men, her bullies, older women? Would her relationship with her mother ever be normal again? How could they possibly contain the sexual tension that now simmered between them, when her mother could go to prison if anyone found out.

She loved her mother. She didn’t want to stop doing those things with her. In fact, it was tearing her apart that she had to hide it, to ration the stolen moments they shared. She hoped ... prayed ... her mother felt the same way. But how could they ever make it work?

She sat up slowly, wincing as the bruises on her bottom throbbed. The marks would go away just in time for the upcoming photoshoot. She was going to be marketed to an ever wider network of perverts who all wanted a piece of her young tight body.

She dragged herself out of bed, her school uniform already laid out on the chair—skirt, blouse, tie. She reached first for her white panties and pulled them up tightly over her hips.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of toast and tea. Samantha stood at the counter, in a pair of lilac hot pants and a white vest with no bra, packing Lucy’s lunchbox. She looked up as Lucy entered.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Samantha said softly. “Did you sleep okay?”

Lucy shook her head, her red hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain. “No, Mummy, I kept thinking about ... everything.”

Samantha’s hands stilled. She knew about the planned photoshoot.

“Lucy,” she began, turning to face her daughter fully, “I know this is hard. I know it’s ... wrong. But we have to be patient. Ms. Trunchbull is working on a plan. Just a few more days, okay? We can’t let Ed Pembroke win. If he releases those videos, if he exposes you...”

Lucy exhaled loudly. “I know, Mummy. But it’s just ... well ... I’m only fourteen and I have to all these disgusting things, like I’m just a thing, ... today I have to do the photoshoot. Ed gave me this.” She pulled a small, crumpled plastic bag from her pocket. Inside was lingerie, stockings, suspenders, basques, and a scrap of pink lace—, a thong, barely more than a strip of fabric.

Samantha took the bag, her fingers brushing over the delicate material. She forced a smile.

“Well,” she said, her tone unsteady, “I suppose you’d better put it on, then.”

Lucy hesitated. She glanced at the kitchen door, then back at her mother. “Here?”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. Here. Don’t worry, daddy is already off to work, his boss expects him in early now.”

Lucy’s fingers fumbled with the button of her skirt, then the zipper. She let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it. Her white school knickers followed, dropped to the tiles with a quiet rustle. She stood there, hoisting up her blouse so that she was visibly naked from the belly button down.

Samantha couldn’t look away. The sight of her daughter, and the barely visible cleft like a small indent between her legs, made her want to want to get down on her knees and eat her. Her daughter stepped into the thong and pulled it up her thighs.

“There,” Samantha murmured, adjusting the fabric, her fingers lingering against the soft skin of Lucy’s bottom. “It suits you.”

Lucy let out a shaky breath, as her mother’s hand slid between her legs, cupping her gently through the thong.

“Mummy,” she whispered, “I’m going to be late for school.”

Samantha leaned in, her lips brushing against Lucy’s ear. “Just a moment longer,” she breathed, her fingers tracing the outline of Lucy’s lips through the fabric. Then, before Lucy could protest, Samantha kissed her—softly at first, then deeper, her tongue slipping between Lucy’s lips.

Lucy’s hands flew to her mother’s shoulders, and melted into the kiss. After a few minutes in which Samantha kneaded her little girl’s buttocks and fingered her through the flimsy thong, she broke off and rested her forehead against Lucy’s.

When Samantha finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against Lucy’s, her eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered. “Just ... a few more days. Then it’ll all be over.”

Lucy nodded, pulling her skirt up and fastening it. “Okay, Mummy,” she said. “A few more days.”

Later that morning, Naomi and Lucy were sitting beside each other in French, at the back, where they were free to whisper ... and play ... more freely.

The little redhead leaned closer to Naomi, whispering. “Naomi ... do you wanna see?” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her green skirt, her blue eyes glinting with mischief.

Naomi gasped, pushing Lucy’s pale white thighs together. “Lucy! We’ll get in trouble!” she hissed, but her protest was weak, her curiosity already winning. She knew what Lucy was wearing.

Lucy didn’t wait for another objection. She turned slightly in her seat, her legs parting just enough to give Naomi a glimpse of what was hidden beneath. “Come on,” she murmured. She took Naomi’s hand, and guided it along the smooth skin of her inner thigh.

Naomi swallowed hard as her fingertips brushed against the scratchy lace of Lucy’s gusset. “Oh—” she breathed, her eyes flickering downward to the flash of pink material.

“Your turn,” Lucy whispered. “Let me see yours.”

Naomi hesitated, looking up at the rambling French teacher, but then she spread her legs slightly, her own hand reaching for Lucy’s. “Okay ... but be quick,” she whispered back.

Lucy’s fingers met the smooth, luxurious satin of Naomi’s green panties. “Hmmm, they’re so smooth!” Lucy giggled.

“Girls! What on earth are you doing!” Mr. Foster’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene ... two small, slender figures at the back of the room, their hands where they absolutely shouldn’t be.

Lucy jerked back, her cheeks flaming. “Sorry, sir!” she squeaked, snapping her legs shut so fast her knees knocked against the desk. Beside her, Naomi quickly crossed her legs, hoping she had not flashed her French teacher.

There were other rumblings from the other girls, curious about what the girls had been caught doing.

The bell rang, and the corridor flooded with the usual chaos of laughter and shouts. But for Lucy and Naomi, the noise dissolved into a suffocating silence as Beri grabbed Naomi by her hair, yanking her head back with a cruel jerk.

“Well, well, well,” Beri purred. “If it isn’t our two little weirdos from the back of French class. What were you doing, huh?” She twisted Naomi’s hair harder, forcing a whimper from her lips.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Lucy blurted. She pressed her thighs together, acutely aware of the thin scrap of lace hidden beneath her skirt. The last thing she wanted was for these mean girls to see.

Jackie stepped forward, and the tall blonde tilted Lucy’s chin up with one finger. “Liar, you think we didn’t see you? Two little sluts with your hands where they don’t belong.” Her lips curled. “Or do they belong there, ginger rat? Is that where your mummy taught you to put them?”

Lucy’s face burned. “Leave us alone!”

Beri laughed, a sharp, barking sound, and yanked Naomi’s skirt up in one violent motion. “Ooooh, look at this!” she crowed, exposing the green satin panties beneath. “Did your daddy buy these for you, Black Rat? Or was it that pervert Pembroke?” She grabbed the waistband and snapped it against Naomi’s skin. “Bet your mum’s a right whore to let you dress like this.”

Naomi’s breath hitched as Jill, the fat girl, stepped in. “I mean, look at them,” she said, reaching out to pinch the taut flesh of Naomi’s chest, searching for her nipple, through the fabric of her white blouse. No tits, no ass ... what’s the point? Unless you’re just practicing for when some perverts want something small to play with.” Her hand shot out, fingers digging into Naomi’s thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “You like that, don’t you?”

Lucy felt something snap at the treatment of her little friend. “Fuck. Off.”

Jackie’s smile vanished. In one swift motion, she grabbed Lucy’s wrist and twisted it behind her back, forcing her to arch against the lockers. “Or what, freak?” she hissed, her face inches from Lucy’s. “You’ll what? Tell on us? Who the hell would believe two little sluts like you? You’re nothing. A ginger rat. A dirty little dyke. And if you ever open your mouth, I’ll cut you up.”

“FUCK. OFF!” Lucy screamed, her voice raw with a fury that shocked even her. She jerked free, her elbow slamming into Jill’s stomach, and grabbed Naomi’s hand. They ran—skirts flying, breath ragged—down the corridor, the laughter of their tormentors ringing in their ears like a curse.