Kneeling for a New Life (the Amber Memoirs)
Copyright© 2026 by E. J. Bullin
Chapter 3: The Pinky Swear
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3: The Pinky Swear - Based on the incomplete serial “Amber and Emily Saved by Aaron Adams” (2019, Storiesonline). This remaster expands the original 24-hour timeline to three weeks of initial trial, then eleven months of growth, all from Amber’s first-person perspective. The original author’s plot, characters, and key scenes are preserved and honored. Any errors have been corrected, and the story has been deepened with internal monologue, extended kennel sequences, and a fully realized ending.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Fa/ft Coercion Consensual Reluctant Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Incest Mother Daughter BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Voyeurism ENF Nudism Transformation AI Generated
Emily came back with her book bag slung over one shoulder, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. The bag was one of those cheap canvas things, twenty dollars at Target, maybe, and it held everything she owned in the world. A few changes of clothes. A charger. Some cheap makeup she’d stolen from a drugstore. A paperback romance novel with the cover torn off.
That was it. That was her whole life at sixteen.
Internal: Look at her. So much like you. So much sharper. You did this. You made her into a weapon, and now you’re handing the weapon to a stranger. Smart, Amber. Really fucking smart.
“This is him?” Emily asked, not looking at Aaron. “This is the guy we’re trusting?”
“His name is Mr. Aaron,” I said. “And yes.”
She snorted. “Mr. Aaron. Like he’s a teacher or something. You gonna make me call him sir too?”
“Yes,” Aaron said. “You will.”
Emily’s head snapped toward him. She wasn’t used to men answering her. She wasn’t used to anyone answering her without a stammer.
He didn’t stammer. He just looked back at her, calm and steady, like he had all the time in the world.
“The rules your mother wrote apply to both of you,” he continued. “That means you will address me with respect. You will not cuss at me. You will not threaten me. And you will follow instructions when they’re given.”
“Or what?” Emily challenged. “You’ll spank me? Like I’m five?”
“If that’s what the rules call for, yes.”
She laughed. It was a harsh sound, like glass breaking. “You won’t lay a hand on me. Mom would kill you.”
“She agreed to the rules, too,” Aaron said. “She pinky swore.”
That shut Emily up. Her eyes went to me, wide and accusing.
“You pinky swore? On his rules?”
“On mine,” I said. “The rules are mine. He’s just the umpire.”
“The umpire,” she repeated, like the word was foreign. “You’re going to let some random guy spank you? Spank me? Because of a pinky swear?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she laughed again, but this time, the laugh was different. Almost impressed.
“You’re crazier than I thought, Mom.”
“Probably.”
She turned back to Aaron. Looked him up and down. He was still wearing the same t-shirt and jeans, still smelling faintly of sweat and motor oil. Not handsome, exactly. But solid. The kind of man who didn’t break.
“Fine,” Emily said. “But if you try anything and I mean anything, I’ll tell everyone you raped me. I’ll ruin your life. You understand?”
Aaron nodded. “I understand.”
No flinch. No fear. Just acceptance.
Internal: He’s not afraid of her. He’s not afraid of me. That’s either very brave or very stupid. I’m betting on brave.
The walk to the truck was quiet. Emily and I had our bags, mine a little bigger than hers, but not by much, and Aaron led the way like he’d done this a thousand times.
His truck was old. An F-250, maybe from the early 2000s, with a dent in the passenger door and a crack in the windshield. The bed was full of tools and what looked like parts for something mechanical. There was a rusted chain in the corner and a tarp that smelled like rain.
Emily stopped when she saw it. “This is what we’re riding in? A piece of shit farm truck?”
“It runs,” Aaron said. “It’s paid for. And it’ll get us home.”
“Home,” Emily mocked. “You call that shitty farmhouse a home?”
“I call it mine. That’s enough.”
He opened the back door for us. The upholstery was torn, and there was dirt on the floor mats, but it was clean otherwise. I climbed in. Emily followed, still scowling.
Aaron got in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot.
Internal: You’re really doing this. You’re leaving the shelter. You’re going to some stranger’s house. You’re going to let him make the rules. This is insane. This is the most insane thing you’ve ever done, and you’ve done some pretty insane things.
“So,” Emily said, breaking the silence. “What’s the deal? We live there for a week, follow some rules, and then what? He kicks us out?”
“Then we figure out what’s next,” I said.
“What’s next is we go back to the shelter,” she said flatly. “Because there’s nothing else. There’s never anything else.”
“Maybe this time is different.”
She didn’t answer. She just stared out the window, watching the city give way to suburbs, and the suburbs give way to nothing.
The drive took about forty minutes. Aaron didn’t talk much, just pointed out a few landmarks, the turn onto the county road, and the cornfields that seemed to go on forever. He wasn’t a chatty guy. I appreciated that.
Emily, of course, had to fill the silence.
“So, Mr. Aaron,” she said, drawing out the name like it was a joke, “you live out here all alone? No wife? No girlfriend?”
“No,” he said.
“Why not? Are you gay or something?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong with you?”
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I just haven’t found anyone worth staying with.”
Emily snorted. “And you think my mom is worth staying with? She’s a mess.”
“I didn’t say I was staying with her. I said I was giving her a chance.”
Internal: He’s not defensive. He’s not trying to impress her. He’s just ... honest. I don’t know how to deal honestly.
“Whatever,” Emily said. “So what are these rules, anyway? Mom wouldn’t show me.”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
She glared at the back of his head. He didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.
I watched the cornfields roll by and thought about what I’d written. The nudity. The kneeling. The punishments. Emily was going to freak out when she saw it.
Internal: But she pinky swore. She can’t back out. Not unless you let her. And you’re not going to let her. Because this is the only chance either of you has.
The farmhouse appeared at the end of a long gravel driveway, surrounded by overgrown hedges and a barn that looked like it was about to fall over. It wasn’t much to look at, white paint peeling, porch sagging, windows dark, but it was solid. Old. The kind of place that had stood for a hundred years and would stand for a hundred more.
“This is it?” Emily asked. “It looks like something out of a horror movie.”
“It’s home,” Aaron said. “Or it will be, for a week.”
He parked in front of the barn and killed the engine. The sudden silence was loud.
“We need to put your things in the safe first,” he said. “That was part of the agreement.”
“What agreement?” Emily demanded. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Your mother did. For both of you.”
She turned to me, eyes blazing. “Mom. What the fuck?”
“The rules,” I said. “One of them is that we don’t have access to our stuff. Not for the first week. It’s to keep us from running.”
“Running? Why would we run?”
“Because we always run, Emily. That’s what we do. When things get hard, we leave. This time, we can’t.”
She stared at me. Her face was a mask of anger and confusion, and something else that looked like fear.
Internal: She’s never seen you like this. Determined. Committed. She doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But if this goes bad, I’m blaming you.”
“You always do.”
The barn was dark and smelled like hay and dust. Aaron flipped a switch, and a single bare bulb flickered to life, casting long shadows.
In the corner was a gun safe, one of those big, green monsters that weighed more than a car. Aaron spun the dial, opened the door, and gestured inside.
“Your bags,” he said.
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