Melted

by Eva

Note: This is the sequel to my earlier "Melting" story on Leslita. I meant to post it when I was an active author and never got round to it. Anyway, here is it is now. Enjoy.

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"Now fuck off, bitch" said Ginny from the front passenger seat of the car. She didn't even look round at me, where I was sat in the back, but then she knew how I was dressed, knew how I had been prepared.

My twelve year old owner had "prepared" me for this evening, and prepared me well I have to say. A ridiculously thin but gaudy red and silver mini dress – so low cut my small tits were just about all on show if I moved even an inch – a whore look with slutty makeup and newer, painfully higher heels buckled on my ankles. I looked like a hooker desperate for a cheap fuck. But I wouldn't be paid; I was Ginny's property and I was free to be used as she decreed. And I wouldn't be seen by anyone but my owner's friend – for tonight I would be staying at Monique's house, given by Ginny to her friend for the young girl to use as she saw fit. No doubt to be used the way Ginny had told her friend I could be used.

If you know my story of being owned and used by Ginny you will know something of how and why I am where I am. A mature, once successful business woman who surrendered everything – her well-paid job, her pride, self-esteem, status and above all her future – to be the sex slave of young Virginia.

Ginny, as she prefers to be called, is my mistress. She is amused by me and sometimes allows me sex, between all the beatings and abuse and tying up.

Ginny's mother Beverly, my former friend who tolerates her daughter's "interest" in humiliating and using me as a slave was looking impatient where she sat behind the steering wheel. She never liked taking me out anywhere, especially when I looked like this. She even wrinkled her nose at the way I stank of cheap perfume. But she had agreed to drive me over to Monique's parent's place; being French they had returned to the family home in Paris for the weekend and left their barely thirteen year old daughter in their London house on the understanding she would have a "sleep over."

Monique of course wouldn't have told them she was sleeping with – or making use of – a slave. Her parents would be horrified how I looked, who I was and what I did. The French always exhibit a sense of style, and I didn't have any style at all.

"You still here, fuckwit?" Ginny at last turned and stared at me, her attractive young face furrowed in annoyance. "I thought I told you to get moving."

"Yes Mistress," I said, fumbling for the door. It was raining outside and I had hoped it might ease before I actually had to get out.

"I need to go to the all-night shop on the way home," said Beverly, to her daughter. She said it casually, as if I wasn't there. But then to the woman, I mostly wasn't; I was the near-invisible object her daughter owned. The fact I was once her work colleague and friend had long since faded. Ginny owned me and Beverly accepted my presence in the house and in her daughter's bed. At least, in bed whenever Ginny allowed me to have sex, that is.

And providing I didn't scream too much when Ginny was beating me, Beverly never said much about me these days. Like I say, near-invisible – and fading to completely invisible.

I got out of the car and the cold, hard rain soaked my thin dress immediately. As I never wear underwear my nipples with their large nipple rings were soon all too prominent. The car that had delivered me to this house sped off the moment I closed the rear door, and I stood at the kerbside feeling the cold rainwater run down my neck; I have virtually no hair these days thanks to Ginny's insistence I am near-bald and so nothing to absorb it. The rain ran in rivulets down my face and I shivered. Partly out of fear; I had no idea if they had delivered me to the right house. I could imagine knocking on the door and some old couple peering at me, the woman wondering if her 75 year old husband had finally gone mad and ordered a cheap whore.

Lucky him, lucky slut. At least a whore would be paid.

And would it be Monique who answered the door, even if it was the right house? I had never met her, and apart from a small smudge of a smile on a large school photo I had no idea what she looked like. It was entirely possible she didn't exist. This was possibly an extravagant joke. Or if nothing else, another humiliation for me.

Shivering and anxious, I walked up the drive towards the house. There didn't seem to be any lights on, so the nightmare would be worse, standing by the front door unable to get out of this storm.

I was at the door and about to knock when I realised what had disturbed me. It wasn't getting dressed or made up like this, not having my feet forced into a new pair of outrageously high heels, not even being offered to another young girl. It was that at no point had anyone said when I would be collected and taken home.

I looked back over my shoulder at the empty black drive, slicked with rain and gleaming in the street lights. I wondered if this might be indeed be a joke and Beverly's car would come roaring up, her and her daughter laughing at my distress. But as I stood I also understood that would show they cared, that they wanted me. At least show me that Ginny cared. Yet I had learned – having given myself to this demanding, cruel and incredibly sexy pre-teen – that I couldn't expect such kindness. I was a slave, a plaything, a sex toy. In service to this girl I silently (screams and moans aside) took what was given, whatever it was, and I was rarely given kindness.

But as I stood there I knew there would be no rescue, no cavalry riding up to save me. I lifted my hand to rap on the door and I felt tears run down my rain-lashed cheeks. I had never felt so utterly alone since I had agreed to become Ginny's property a year ago.

A year of being used and ignored but also occasionally rewarded with sex. Hot and passionate sex as if the young girl cared. I shivered again, but for a different reason.

I didn't get to knock. The door was suddenly flung open and a girl with short black hair and deep, dark eyes was staring at me. "I saw you walk up the drive," said the child, looking me up and down with a look that was half grin and half amazement. It couldn't have been Monique; there was no trace of any French accent.

But she was expecting me. "You better come in and don't drip on the carpet," she said and indicated a large coconut-fibre 'welcome' mat just inside the door. I stepped in, glad at least to be out of the rain.

"Fuck," said the girl as she closed the front door, staring at me and taking in my disheveled and soaking tart look. "You're a mess." She paused and surveyed me. "Are you always like this?"

I didn't know what to say. "I do what Ginny says," I said, being the best I could think to say.

Monique shrugged, as if my submission to a girl of her age – a friend at that – was beyond her. Almost as if she was saying: "Adults! Who on earth understands them?" Without a word she turned and led me into the kitchen. The house seemed empty apart from her; there was no sign of anyone else around, no noises other than her opening the fridge and pouring herself a soft drink.

I stood, still shivering, still dripping water but it was on a plastic tile covered floor. I expected I would be required to mop up the mess I had brought in. The girl was looking at me again, and in the better light of the kitchen I got a chance to look at her.

She was smaller than Ginny by an inch or two, but unlike Ginny this girl had a bust. Nothing more than an A cup, but she was wearing a bra under her loose t-shirt. Small tits, small but obvious pokies.

But whatever Monique thought of me in my cheap dress, she understood what I was. I was a submissive, and she wasn't going to offer me a drink. At least, not in the conventional way. "You thirsty?" She asked me, one thin, elegant eyebrow raised.

I nodded. "Yes ma'am," I said.

Monique laughed. "Ma'am! Fuck! That's they type of shit my mother would say." The girl rolled her eyes and felt a pulse in my sex as she did so; she was pretty in a practical way, the way women with French blood can be. Not glamourous, all of them, but with shapely and well-proportioned cheeks and a strong nose. I felt she was strong and independent too. "Well," continued Monique, "I suppose if you want a drink you better get on your knees and lick up all that water you're dripping on the floor."

It was a test, of course. Ginny would have told her friend that I would do anything, no matter how outrageous. Licking up rainwater from a kitchen floor was a pretty good test of my submission.

I got on to my knees and put my head down. The water had puddled quite a lot where I stood, and I lapped at it like a desperate bitch. I felt, perhaps even more than with Ginny, a total humiliation. With my owner, I knew she would use me, degrade me, but in her way love me. It was the trade-off we had; she made me feel worthless mostly and then every so often made me feel like a million dollars.

But this girl Monique I didn't know. She might just want the humiliation part, just want to test how far a real sub would go. Something to compare with her friend when they got to school. She did that for me and did you make her do this?

The rainwater tasted foul, but then there could have been anything on the floor already. I looked up and noticed a silver dog bowl and thought, oh hell, they have a dog. The creature's probably slavered all over the floor in here. Probably if it was a dog and not a bitch it would wander in and sniff my crotch, maybe licking at my cunt with its big, fat tongue. I felt hot in the face, and another twinge in my sex pulsed again.

This tremor though was thinking of Monique watching me being fucked by a dog. I suppose that is how it is with us submissives; I was horrified by the idea and worried sick, but I was excited by the concept. I was also here to serve Monique, so what she wanted was enough for me.

Another twinge where I felt it most, and I dared to lift my eyes and look at her feet as I cleaned my mess off the floor. Black leggings, mid-calf. Nice ankles. Bare feet, with painted toenails. Perfectly shaped feet.

I wanted to kiss them, which made me feel even more low. Even more excited. I groaned inwardly; I was hoping I would be ignored by this girl and in turn I could just ignore her. Get through this night and look forward to seeing my owner again. perhaps hoping she would have missed me, wanted me in bed when I got home.

But this girl here was demanding my attention just by standing there, watching me humiliate myself.

Oh shit, I thought, I want this dark, sensuous girl to do things to me. Just so I knew she wasn't ignoring me. That's the thing with being a submissive, the thing people don't understand. It isn't being hurt or abused or bound or doing a hundred and one disgusting, demeaning things. It is being the centre of attention. Never being left alone and forgotten. Even when you are tied up you know your owner hasn't let you slip from her mind; you know that she will come back and untie you at some point.

Monique told me to get up. "We have a mop for cleaning the floor," she said.

I nodded. "Very good, ma'am. Shall I get it?"

The girl smiled at me and damn, I felt my cunt twinge again. She was more than lovely when she smiled. "No," she said. "It will dry on its own. I have better things to do than watch you clean the house."

Well, that was something. I had wondered if I was here as unpaid maid. "Very good, ma'am," I said.

"Oh stop saying that!" Monique was grinning. "I am not a ma'am. I am me. Monique. So call me that." Before I could say, 'Very good, Monique,' she added: "Wait, call me Nicky. Everyone does but my parents." Another roll of her eyes.

"Yes, Nicky," I said.

"You know I'm not French, don't you?" I didn't, and I said so.

"Born in Middlesbrough, of all places," she said, sipping more of her drink. "My father's French and he was working at some refinery up there. Something like that. He's a chemical engineer. Boring as hell." Another sip of her drink. I stood, hands behind me, aware I was still dripping water, but not as much. Nicky ignored the drips. "My mum's English and–" She stopped herself. "God knows why I'm telling you this." She put the empty glass down.

"Our background and family matters," I said. It was bold of me; I wouldn't dared have said that to Ginny. She would have beaten me for it. For 'trying to be clever' as she called it.

"Maybe," said Monique. "Anyway, where are you from?"

"London," I said. "Romford."

The girl nodded, but I could tell she didn't know Romford because of the slightly disinterested look in her eyes. But she did say: "Essex girl." Then she remembered the punch-line of the old joke about dumb Essex girls. "Because a shopping trolley has a mind of its own."

She laughed and that wanted to make me smile. I liked this Nicky a lot.

"They all like you in Essex? A sub... is that the word?"

"Right word, yes. But, no, Nicky. It's just how I am." I shivered. I was still cold.

"Let's get you out of those wet things and into a bath. I don't want Ginny blaming me if you get pneumonia." She indicated I should strip then and there, and I did, glad to be out of the thin, wet dress.

"Fuck, your tits are as small as mine," she grinned as she looked at my thin, pale body. My reduced breasts, to make me look more like a girl. No pubic hair, and she stared at my hairless mound. Her eyes flickered up to my head. "You like your hair that short? Your head, not your cunt," she added.

Do fish swim? Did I have a choice? It was what Ginny wanted: she liked shaving my head, with me sat between her open legs so I could feel her hot little pussy pressed on my neck as she ran the razor over my head. A couple of times she didn't even cuff my hands behind me and I was allowed to rub my clit as she did it. Not allowed to climax, but it was nice, playing with myself as my hair fell round my shoulders.

I told Nicky it was my owner's choice. She responded with another stare. "So you think she is your owner." She shook her head. "You know at first I thought she was joking when she told me about you. I thought no one would be like that." Another disbelieving shake of the head. "Anyway, the bathroom's upstairs." She pointed to the stairs, so I moved that way.

I felt embarrassed, and grateful. I had never had a bath in Ginny's presence, though of course I had knelt by the bath tub and soaped and washed my owner often enough. Now I was lying in the hot water, among the bubbles, and Nicky was kneeling where I would be usually. She wasn't soaping me or touching me, but just letting her fingers trail in the water, making small swirls and patterns in the disappearing suds.

"You know this is weird, right?" She said, not looking at me.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I remained quiet to let her finish.

"This slavery thing – you are a slave, right? – seems crazy. She told me you had a job and a home and you gave it all up for... For what?"

"For her. I love Ginny, so it seemed the natural thing to so." I was looking at Nicky, at her loveliness, but concentrating on the memory of Ginny. or trying to; it wasn't easy with this girl here.

The teenager looked up at me, briefly. "Love? Really?" She seemed puzzled by the whole idea. "So how did you fall for someone like her?"

"I met her through her mum. I went to her house, got talking to her and she sort of, well..."

Nicky raised an eyebrow. "She made you do things."

I nodded. "Just a few things and I realised, you know, that she was wonderful."

The girl by the side of the tub sighed, went back to swirling the water. She hadn't touched me and didn't look as if she would. Presently she said: "Actually, no I don't know. She's a friend of mine but... I wouldn't trust her. Not fully."

I blinked at Nicky. How could she say that about someone that wonderful?

Nicky sat back on her ankles, flicked the water off her fingers and then absent-mindedly wiped her hand on her tee-shirt. She wasn't looking at me. I waited for her to say what was on her mind. "You know I'm not gay, don't you?"

I said I had no idea. I had assumed– That made me stop. Ginny had beaten me for assuming before. Bitches, in her words, don't assume anything. Ever. Only that they will get thrashed for being stupid.

"I'm not gay. Not a les," Nicky said, still preferring not to look at me. "I know she is. Ginny. She told me ages ago, before she said anything about you. I was worried at first, thinking she wanted to bed me." Nicky wrinkled her pretty nose. "But I couldn't do that with her."

I was feeling more bold than I should be. "So, may I ask why I'm here?"

Nicky looked at me with a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I couldn't believe anyone would be like you. Maybe I thought I was giving you a break from all that punishment crap."

I felt I should defend my owner. "It isn't really crap. She is wonderful and she owns me because she–" I hesitated at the word 'love.' Maybe Ginny never really loved me at all. Maybe I just hoped it. I felt a pang of pain in my belly, a cold grip on my heart.

The last line in a poem by Auden goes: 'For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?' Well, in my case I couldn't bear to feel unloved. I couldn't help it, but tears were suddenly running down my face.

Nicky noticed, and she touched me. She put her hand out and her fingers met my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying. Stupid of me." I said, sniffing tears back. I expect I looked revolting. If I'd cried in front of Ginny she would have given me something to cry about.

"No, not really," said the girl. Her fingers were still on me. A cautious touch, but she was breaking down a barrier. Her hand went up to my head, stroking my short hair as if I was a pet. I thought perhaps she did that with their dog, and I said so.

Nicky laughed. "We haven't got a dog. That bowl in the kitchen... hell, Ginny said I should get a dog bowl, to feed you from. So you'd feel at home."

I laughed back, despite my tears. "See," I said, "she does care. She wants me to feel comfortable here."

Nicky smiled, but indicated she didn't think that at all. Suddenly she stood and peeled off her tee-shirt, revealing her plain white A-cup bra. She peeled off her leggings, and with it her pants. Blue panties, I could see. She tossed them on one side and then climbed into the bath with me.

I slid up the bath to make room for hr, unable though to take my eyes off her small mound and the delicate dusting of black hair. I could see her slit through it, and my own cunt pulsed anew.

"I'm not gay," she said, reminding me, in case I had forgotten. "I just want to share this bath with you. So don't get any weird ideas."

I shook my head, watching her settle into the water, making it rise around me – and her. Her lovely little cunt disappeared under the water with its few remaining bubbles. She twisted and ran the hot tap behind her, sending waves of warmth up the bath and round me. I wasn't sure it was all the water doing it though; some of the warmth was burning in me.

She still had her bra on and was unconcerned about it. She began splashing water on herself. She was kneeling between my legs, though I'd pulled them up a little to make room for her. But it was a big bath. I watched as she washed, seeing her bra turn transparent, seeing her small, delightfully brown nipples through the wet fabric.

"Do you always bathe with your bra on?" I asked. Again, not words I would have risked with Ginny.

"I don't want you thinking I'm doing this to excite you," said Nicky, her trademark one eyebrow raised. "You perverts get off on seeing tits, right?"

I shrugged, not wanting to show that this particular pervert gets off on seeing breasts through wet bra cups. I could swear her nipples were a little hard, and I tried not to look, but she knew I was looking. She smiled at me.

"You're weird," she said, now soaping her chest, running her glistening wet hands over her bra-covered boobs.

"How, please?" I was glad to speak, to hide my gulp.

"You could have had anyone. Maybe with longer hair, but if you're into women some female would have wanted you. You're old but still good-looking enough, I suppose." More soaping, more stares from me. I couldn't be sure, but I thought her nipples were harder now. "I bet you were a good fuck, and now... Ginny says she doesn't like having sex with you."

My heart fell with thud that must have been heard for miles. There were tears in my eyes again. "She probably thinks–" I began, and felt stupid. I felt crushed, and stupid too.

"Fuck her," said Nicky, with a dismissive shrug. "Silly cow never knows what she wants. Like I said before, I wouldn't trust her too much." Her dark eyes were on me and she had stopped rubbing her breasts. "So, you want to have sex with me?"

I gulped again, my feeling or wretchedness suddenly lifted. "But... You said you're not gay."

"No, but doesn't stop me trying it, right?"

I nodded. She was in charge; nothing would stop her doing whatever she wanted. I was looking at her little tits again, feeling my own under her gaze. "How do you want me?" I asked.

Another shrug. "I suppose all lezzies start with a kiss, right?"

"Maybe, but not with me," I breathed. "Ginny didn't. She twisted my nipples first, to see how much pain I could take. And punched my belly. The first kiss was later. She said when I had earned it."

Nicky regarded me, weighing up the situation. Without warning she lunged forward, hands round my neck, pressing her lips to mine. I felt her small, strong tongue pushing at my lips, so I opened dutifully. Her kiss – our kiss – was long and tender and exciting. I put my hands on her back, and began to fumble for the wet bra fastening.

"No," she breathed into my mouth. "The bra comes off when I say."

"Yes, Ginny," I said, and kissed her more.

---

The bra didn't come off all night. The only way I could feel her breasts was through the wet, then drying, then dry, bra. The only way I could kiss her nipples was through the fabric over them. We lay in bed and spent most of the night talking and kissing and holding and feeling, but she bucked away sharply when I put my fingers to her pussy.

"No," she said. "You can kiss me and feel me up top but not that. Not yet."

"Yes, Ginny," I said. I was hers after all to do with as she pleased. But the words 'not yet' excited me.

We dozed and woke often, watching the slow, cold dawn through the window. Sometimes we said something about ourselves, and I felt confident enough to ask her why she changed her mind about being gay.

"I haven't because I'm not," she said. "Kissing and feeling up aren't gay," she said. "Lesbians would be eating each other out. I don't want that."

I nodded, but felt sad. I was good at eating others out. Surely Ginny had told her friend that? It was what I did, hour after hour, for my owner as I lay on my back and she squatted over me. Sometimes while she watched TV, sometimes as she did her homework. Occasionally while she had a meal if her mother didn't object. I glanced at the clock, watching the time move inexorably on, towards when Ginny would want me back. I felt odd; I didn't want to leave Nicky.

Not without bringing her to a climax with my tongue.

At nine Nicky got up and went downstairs to make breakfast, leaving me in bed. I felt foolish, things being this way round. It was my job to serve, not lie in bed. But I took the opportunity to play with myself, thinking of how I wish I could have used my tongue on Nicky's little, soft slit. I was playing with my twat slowly, getting as much as I could from it, thinking of what Nicky and I had done in the night.

I had my eyes closed, drifting towards an orgasm. I could hear her on the phone downstairs, talking to someone. Voices raised. Probably calling Ginny, saying come and get her, I've finished with the slut. But I was lost in my own pleasure, and I never heard her until she said from the door: "Get out."

My eyes flew open. She was stood in the doorway to her bedroom, hands on hips. Naked apart from her little white bra, of course.

I fell out of bed, thinking I had gone too far. I started to mumble something about being sorry, that it wouldn't happen again.

"Be quiet," said Nicky, indicating I should kneel in front of her. But she didn't have anything in her hand to beat me with, not like Ginny would have done. Then Nicky said, surprisingly gently. "I have had it with that bitch Ginny. So from now on... Eat me out. Now." She even bent herself back a little, hips thrust forward, and put her fingers on either side of her nether lips so her lightly haired cunt was easy for me to reach.

Reach with my lips, my tongue.

Nicky's cunt was everything I'd hoped it would be; smooth and warm and wet and soft, and I lapped at it eagerly. I kissed it's barely oyster shape. My tongue slid into the folds as if it was created solely for that delight. I could hear the girl gasping above me as I put my best into it, licking feverishly but carefully at her small, hard clit. Tasting her immature secretions as if they were drops of honey.

"Oh... Fuck," sighed the girl as she gave a moan of pleasure and came, her small hips shuddering. I didn't retract my tongue; I hadn't been told to so so. But my licking was lighter, more gentle. Less hurried as she went through all the waves of her climax. My healing licks, I called them privately. I was healing Nicky.

The girl got hold of my head (I thought she would have had gripped my hair if I had any) and eased my head back to look down into my eyes. "I had no idea," she said, her breath ragged, her eyes big and dark and intense. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted you to make me show you," I said.

"Yeah," she said, and swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Nicky that you–"

"Ma'am," she said. "It's ma'am from now on."

There seemed to be a subtle change in her. No uncertainty now, and allied with a sort of determination. Yet it made her look even more lovely than before. I nodded. "Ma'am, I'm sorry I didn't do it to you before."

"Me too." She let go of me and went to a drawer, found some panties – white ones – and dragged them on. She got dressed in jeans and shirt as I knelt where she had left me. "I don't want you to go back to Ginny," said Nicky, as she buttoned her shirt.

I said nothing. It wasn't my choice what became of me. But maybe that was why there were raised voices on the phone. Maybe Nicky had finally decided I was good for her, finally grasped what I could do for her.

Maybe finally Nicky told Ginny what she thought of her.

"She's a cow. I told her I will buy you from her," said Nicky. She was at the mirror, brushing her short, black hair. She looked stunning and my cunt was pulsing. I still had the taste of her young cunt on my lips.

"Your parents –" I began.

"I'll sort them out." Said Nicky, as if she knew she would. "He's away all the time anyway, so he won't care. And my mother... well, she will have to accept."

"Ma'am, is Ginny okay with what you said?"

"Not your worry," said the thirteen year-old girl briskly. "Now, let's get you downstairs. I'll put your breakfast in that dog bowl and then you can tell me – show me – what a slave does." She paused. "Guess I've got a lot to learn."

"And I have a lot to teach you, ma'am," I said as my heart soared. She had melted under my tongue, and I knew I loved her. Except now I would try and make her love me as well.

Then I could undo her bra and kiss those wonderful small breasts of hers because she wanted it that way. Wanted me that way.

The end