Molly

Chapter One

Mrs. Wilson had taken Molly from the orphanage years ago, and Molly knew she ought to be grateful: Mrs. Wilson could have hired a maid with some experience, and she had recently decided that Molly ought to be trained up in order to get a job as a paid companion someday.  But Mrs. Wilson was strict, and Molly couldn't even count the number of times she'd been birched or whipped or otherwise punished for breaking some small object or rule.

“Do you know why I have asked you to stand here in front of me?”  That was what Mrs. Wilson always asked before a punishment, as she sat in the large chair in the parlor, while Molly stood, hands behind her back, on the carpet in front of her.

“I dropped a coal on the floorboards, ma'am,” Molly answered.  But Mrs. Wilson hadn't even been there and she hadn't left a mark, how could she have known?

“Oh,” said Mrs. Wilson.  “Well, I am glad that I've trained you so well as to report yourself at all times – that was not what I was thinking of, but you know that you must be punished and you feel guilt from your actions, so we must take care of that.  Take the position.”

Obediently, if reluctantly, Molly dropped to her knees and flipped her skirt onto her back, exposing her drawers.  They were rather smaller than most, with the sides of each leg only a few inches wide, and the usual slit over the crotch therefore completely exposed both her back and front.

Mrs. Wilson gave quick beatings, but each strike with her thin cane was as hard as she could make it.  This time it was only three, but Molly could tell that she wouldn't sit comfortably for the rest of the day.

“Now,” said Mrs. Wilson, “don't bother to get up.  You must have noticed that you are now a woman.  You must be at least sixteen or seventeen now, aren't you?”

“Older, I think, ma'am,” Molly said, blushing with embarrassment at speaking normally while her backside was completely exposed.

“Well, as you are now a woman,” said Mrs. Wilson, “you must now be on your guard against … feelings.”

“Ma'am?”

“Low women – fallen women – feel disgusting, base, sexual feelings,” she continued.  “Your mother was possibly a low woman, and you may be vulnerable to them.  I must begin to give you special treatments in order to stem them.”  Suddenly, she reached down and plunged a finger into Molly's folds.  “You are wet, girl.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am.”

“Stand up, quickly.  Now, unbutton your dress and take it off.”  Molly hurried to comply, knowing that moving slowly only brought further punishments for the sin of sloth, but her hands shook.  Normally, her punishments only involved exposing her lower half, and she'd become a little used to that – but this would involve her whole body.  “Now, go to the chest in the corner and open it.”  On top of the folded quilts were a corset and a new chemise.  Could they be … ?  “Take them out and put them on.”

Perhaps the punishment would not be so bad after all!  Molly turned around to take off her dirty old chemise and put on the new one, but once it was over her head, Mrs. Wilson ordered her to turn around, and Molly realized that the neckline was extremely low, dipping lower than her breasts and exposing both of them.  The corset was not what she expected, either: from those she'd seen in shops and mail-order catalogues, she had a reasonably good idea of what they should look like.  This one held up her breasts but did not cover even the lowest bits of her nipples.

“Is this my punishment, ma'am?” Molly asked.

“Don't be stupid,” Mrs. Wilson snapped.  “On your knees.”  As Molly obeyed, Mrs. Wilson stood, and reached into her pocket to remove two clips on a chain.  She reached out with them in a very businesslike fashion, and snapped them shut on the proffered nipples at the exact same time.  Molly gasped and made to move back, but Mrs. Wilson hooked two fingers in the chain, causing her to bounce back with a cry of pain.  “These will make you think on bodily passions, and regulate them accordingly.  Replace your dress, and then run to the grocer's as you planned.”  In a haze, Molly continued to react obediently, although her nipples were smarting and aching.  Fortunately, the chain was long enough that the clips didn't pull against each other, but that also meant that the chain itself swung and moved.  She bobbed a curtsey, feeling her breasts rub against the rough wool of her dress, and left to put on her bonnet and take the basket on her errand.

At first, Molly had thought that she could stand the clamps on her breasts, as the pain faded into discomfort quickly, and the chain had some slack to it and never pulled tight.  But the feeling of having her breasts covered only by a thin – and slightly too tight, as she needed a new dress – layer of wool, pushed up by the cups of the corset and bouncing slightly as she walked, was too much.  People might not have been looking, and she couldn't look any of them in the face to tell, but if they were to glance at her, her condition would be immediately apparent.  She crossed her arms for a moment, but that only pushed her breasts out further, making the clamps and chain stand out under her bodice.

When she got to the grocer's, Molly crept quietly among the crates of fruits and vegetables until her basket was full.  Even on her earlier trips to the shop, before Mrs. Wilson had decided to begin punishing her, Mr. Bottle made her nervous with his leering smile and pinching fingers.  She was just turning the corner around the apple stand when he suddenly approached, making her jump and lose the potatoes from the top of her basket.  He stood and watched as she crouched down, gathering them, and stood up again.

“How very healthy you look this morning, Molly,” he told her.  “How very hale and plump.”  His hand reached out to stroke her breast, as usual, and she tried to hold perfectly still, as usual.  However, the moment he touched her, his eyes widened and her heart sank: he could feel that something was different.  He must have missed seeing how much bigger her bosom seemed before, as she had been mostly hidden behind stacks of vegetables.

“Well, well,” Mr. Bottle said, slowly stroking the side of one breast, and then bringing his other hand up to caress the other.  Molly shuddered, and glanced up at the window near them to see if anyone was looking in; fortunately, they weren't.  “What have you done to yourself, you naughty girl?”

“I haven't done nothing,” said Molly.  He pinched her on opposite sides of her breasts, and she jumped.

“I like how you look with your tits like this,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice.  “I like it very much, indeed.”  He drew a finger across one breast to her nipple, and then stopped in shock once again.  “Oh, you really have been naughty, haven't you?”  He toyed with the clamp through her dress, then felt around for the other one.  Molly trembled, glancing again and again at the empty window and the people walking obliviously by.  After he seemed satisfied with the state of her nipples, he slowly pushed one finger between two buttons in the opening of her dress, moving it around until he touched the chain, now warmed by her skin.  Once he curled the finger around it, he brought the other hand up and undid the buttons on the whole opening, one by one.  He pushed the sides of the bodice a little away and then stood and gazed at her breasts, one finger still curled around the chain.  Then he shook himself.

“We'd best go somewhere a little more private, shouldn't we?” he asked.

“Please … ” Molly started.  “I've got to get back – just let me pay.”

“I'll sell you everything in the basket for a shilling,” he told her.  “Mrs. Wilson would be so pleased.”

She would, Molly knew, because the woman loved to pinch a penny.  But she had also spoke of regulating bodily passions, and this didn't seem to fit – but she had no choice, as Mr. Bottle was walking off to the counter, tugging at the chain, and she had to put down the basket and follow, turning her head to look out the window and make sure nobody was watching her.

Mr. Bottle pulled her behind the counter and at last took his hands off of her.  “Wait a moment,” he told her, and rummaged in a basket behind him.  Should she run?  She'd have to stop and button her dress, but perhaps she could hold it shut … But it was too late, as he was turning back with a length of rope in his hands.  Roughly, he grabbed an arm and spun her around, then brought both arms together behind her back and wrapped her wrists with the rope, tying it off into a solid knot.  Now she was utterly helpless, she realized: he could do anything he wanted to her, and she'd be unable to push him away or hold her dress shut.

Fortunately, he only seemed interested in her breasts, and she was willing to give him those (not that she could do any giving; it was all there for him to take) if he would stay away from her lower parts.  She stood silently as he kneaded them, wincing when he grabbed too hard or pulled them in opposite directions so that the chain went taut.  It seemed like he went on forever, forgetting that there was any part of her beyond them, until the clock struck three.  He jumped, then, and let go.

“Get in the back,” he ordered, “with those sweet little tits.  Well,” he continued as she hurried as best she could, blushing hotly at the way those tits bounced in front of her.  “Not so little, are they?”  Once they were both through the door to the back room he shut it, and took hold of the chain again, ignoring Molly's wince.  “Now, I want to make sure you don't go running about out-of-doors, waving them at anyone else, so let's just – keep you here.”  For some reason, there was a small hook in the wall next to the door at the height of her neck.  Mr. Brooks took the chain and looped it over this hook, causing Molly's breasts to hang painfully from their nipples.  She was about to cry out, but he held his finger to his lips.  The bell to the outer door rang out, and a man's heavy footsteps could be heard.  “Make any sounds,” Mr. Bottle whispered, “and that man out there will wonder, and come back to find out what the noise is.  And what do you think he'll do when he sees a tastly morsel strung up by her tits?”  He left to help the man, and Molly could hear their pleasant conversation on how many bushels of this and that his restaurant would be needing today.  If she stood on her toes, she had some blessed relief, but she could only do that for so long before she had to drop and let the chain take the weight again.  She had no idea how long she was trapped in that balance before the man left and Mr. Bottle came back.

He stood in the doorway for a time, watching her efforts to be slightly comfortable with a sneering smile.  “I suppose,” he said at last, “I'll have to let you go back to Mrs. Wilson now.  She'll be so proud of you for haggling down to such a bargain, I'm sure.”  He quickly pulled the chain off the hook and untied her hands, which she had to rub in order to get the proper feeling back in them, so that she could rebutton her dress and pick up the basket.  Molly took out a shilling and handed it to him without looking at his face.  She made to leave, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Here, have a boiled sweet,” he said, holding one out.  “As a reward for your good behavior.”  She didn't want it, but she would have done anything to leave right then without arguing with him, so she tried to take it, but he drew his hand back.  “Ah-ah,” he said.  “Open wide.”  She obeyed, and he placed it on her tongue.  “Close your mouth, now, and really savor it.”  At that, she turned and fled, spitting out the sweet once she was a block away.

Mrs. Wilson was happy to have saved money, but she was quite suspicious of how Molly had done it.  When she ordered Molly to open her dress so that the clamps and chain could be removed, the red and puffy state of things caused her to scowl and promise more punishment later, but Molly was simply glad to be safe at home and rid of the dreadful things, and went to scrub the floor in the kitchen.

Note: I do plan to continue this, but I have no idea how long I'll take between chapters!  My main goal is to make sure I gradually build up the BDSM so I don't find myself going over the top with intense humiliation and degredation in order to make each chapter more interesting than the next, and to end when it's time.