Carrie\'s Birthday

Carrie's Birthday

It was a Tuesday in late May.

Carrie, the smallest cheerleader on the Femivici Spiders team, was about to pack up her stuff and head home for the night.  It was her 13th birthday, and her mom had promised that tonight would be super-special.

Carrie was a very intelligent girl with blazing ambition.  She'd scored over 160 on an IQ test, and she'd written several articles for a teen political magazine that had been published and made her a few thousand dollars in author's fees.  Last weekend, she and her family had been featured on a network's "morning show" that was interested in her now-respected teenage view on current politics and her writing.

Carrie packed her cheerleader gear into her leather Gucci gym bag that she'd told her father to buy for her, and now she stood on the sidewalk in front of the very special private middle school that she'd attended for the past two years to await her father's arrival for her ride home.

Her mother had set Carrie up for life by making sure that the little girl had always had the finest of everything; a tennis court and a coach at age five, intelligence counselors at age six, conditioning counselors at age seven, SAT coaches at age eight, cheerleading advisors and placers at age nine, and at age ten the entire family of four had moved to the east coast solely for the sake of little Carrie so that she could attend the Femivici School in western Massachusetts.

The Femivici School (referred to as the "Femaveech" by attendees) was located in the western woods of the Berkshire Mountains.  It accepted only the brightest young girls of the wealthiest families in America, and further filtered their attendees by conversing only with the mothers of their potential applicants.  The girls they accepted had to be able to pass an IQ test with a score of 140 or better, and had to submit an essay on several psychological indicators that demonstrated, to the practiced evaluator, that they were dominant females with a future in the realm of inevitability: the Female dominance of the Earth.

Little Carrie, at age thirteen, had been submitted to the Femaveech by her mom via email and surreptitious letter.  Carrie had taken the IQ test while a Femaveech lady had sipped tea with her mom, and she'd gone out to the campus on a daytrip with her mom to cover the essay portion while the academy's director had coached her.  She'd scored as high as any thirteen-year-old girl in the academy's history.

The school had accepted Carrie for the seventh-grade school year via express courier, and Carrie's mom, Linda, had directed the move of the family to western Massachusetts so that their treasured daughter could explore her future with this special academy providing the basics.

The family consisted of the most-important member, little Carrie, thirteen, a ninety-pound pack of dynamite and brains who was by far the most-intelligent member of the four and who stood under five feet tall.  Her mom, Linda, was 38 and gorgeous, a former cocktail waitress who'd never been to college but who had incredible street smarts and had been quite savvy on how to manipulate men in her prime.  Carrie's dad was James, a 39-year-old chemical engineer who held a decent position at Monsanto and made a decent paycheck that he turned over to Linda every Friday.  James was meek and submissive, and had no say in the family direction; he left all of that to Linda.  James spent most of his private time tied up in on the floor in the bathroom off the master bedroom, or sitting silently at Linda's side on the couch as she directed the family.  Both kids thought of their father as a very meek non-influence, a benevolent presence who paid the bills and whom they loved, but as their mother's lackey.

The fourth member of the family was the elder child, Christopher, who had tried very hard to make his way through high school but had ultimately failed, and was now working as a custodian at the town library.  He was 17 years old and fairly stupid, and was gratified that his mother Linda had been able to secure him a position cleaning up and shining windows for the locals at the downtown building.  He lived in a room in the basement of the family home.

Little Carrie had the entire third floor of the family home to herself.  Linda, her mom, had directed her daddy James and brother Chris as they'd knocked down plaster, laid carpet and painted walls for their treasured girl/sister/daughter so that Carrie could have her own private Princessdom on the third floor of the family home.

Her failed older brother got the basement room, and Carrie had easily noticed her mom Linda's disdain for the older sibling when he'd flunked out of high school despite his best efforts.  He was a good-looking boy, and affable, but he'd just never caught onto book learning and was a fairly useless human being other than for general lug work.

Carrie thought of her father James as a wonderfully gracious and loving man, a sugary-sweet parent who always revered her and let her have whatever she wanted and who was able to keep up with her in literary conversation... but who was really soft and submissive and ought to be licking her feet.  Her dad was a smart and conversive subby who smelled of cigar smoke and belonged under the foot of Woman.  She had him wrapped around her finger, and he amused her.

Only on her thirteenth birthday, however, did Carrie find out just how submissive her dad and brother actually were, and just how much her mom controlled the family.

Sure, Carrie had heard the strange late-night thrashing noises and her dad's muffled yelps from across the house, and she'd heard her mom yelling at her brother down in the basement and the following whippy noises that preceded her older brother's cries, but she'd never put the two and two together.

Carrie watched as the family's SUV pulled into the Femavici School driveway and passed the security gate.  It was her dad James at the wheel of the black 2007 Caddilac Escalade, and he was alone.  He pulled up right in front of where Carrie stood, parked, and hopped out immediately to take her school bags and books from her and place them in the back seat.  He opened the passenger door for his newly-thirteen year old daughter and smiled as he helped her into the tall vehicle.

Once they were underway and heading home, James turned to his daughter Carrie and politely asked her how her day had been.  "Shut up," Carrie responded, as she didn't feel like talking, and James closed his mouth.

Carrie had been raised with unusual manners as opposed to the regular crowd of American children.  Her mother had been the basis of all of Carrie's standards throughout her thirteen years, and to Carrie it was a perfectly normal thing to respond to males directly with her honest, undiplomatic emotions of the moment when these inferior beings addressed her.  The Femavici School had reinforced this.

Since the day that Carrie had been able to speak, her mother had coached her on the difference between males and females.  Carrie had been trained from birth to regard females as her equals or betters, and to see all males as her inferiors or slaves.  As far back as Carrie, at thirteen, could recall, her three-years-senior brother had been the house chore-performer and her 39-year-old father had been the moneymaker and whipping boy.  Carrie and her mom had been the royalty and exalted members of the household, the only important members, and the only two of the four who were actual human beings and not trained animals.

Tonight, though, was supposed to be different.  As her daddy James drove her home, little Carrie, with her short brown hair and skinny body, but with that exemplary brain, happily anticipated the night ahead according to what her mom had promised:  "Tonight, on your thirteenth birthday," Linda had told her, "you, Carrie, will be thirteen and you will begin your first day as a woman and as a dominant and superior female.  In a sexual way."

James pulled the SUV into the garage.  As always, the submissive father walked around to his daughter's side of the car and took her school things from her, and then let her climb onto his back as he carried her into the house.  This was natural to both of them; Carrie had been raised with the idea that females never walked within the confines of their homes as long as a male was present, nor did they have to deal with any work or unpleasantness; males were responsible for all of that mundane or menial detritus.

Dinner was normal.  Carrie sat at the far end of the table, opposite her mother Linda, and James sat on the floor to Linda's left eating his dinner off a plate under Linda's feet.  Christopher, Carrie's brother, was being punished and was not having dinner that night, which wasn't unusual.

Once Carrie and her mom finished eating, they retired to the living room to flip through channels as the males prepared for Carrie's 13th-birthday party.  "I wrote a script for your party!" Linda told her daughter with a gleeful smile.

Carrie's thirteen-year-old eyes lit up as her dad and her brother now entered the living room and stood before the divan that she and her mom shared.  They held up a massive white birthday cake upon which thirteen sparklers flared and lit up the room with light and smoke and sulphuric happiness.  Linda commanded the males to kneel, holding the cake before them, and to place it on the coffee table.

The sparklers died down and trailed rills of thick blue smoke into the air for a minute as Linda gave her husband and son their orders, the next orders they'd need to follow in respect to thirteen-year-old Carrie's birthday party.

"Stand up," Linda ordered.  The 39-year-old James stood up before his daughter, smiling happily.  "You too, Chris," Linda ordered her sixteen-year-old son, and the 5'10" muscular-but-stupid boy stood up grinning sheepishly at his tiny little sister.

"Strip for your newest Mistress," ordered Linda. Carrie watched her dad and brother quickly shed all of their clothes and stood naked before the two female members of the family.  Her dad, 39, attractive, had good black hair with a few traces of silver and was in good shape, thin, but very meek and sheepish.  Her brother was handsome and thickly muscular, also 5'10", but relatively stupid while very kind-hearted.  Both of the males wore chastity belts made of leather and bulletproof plastic called "Lexan" that Linda had provided.  Neither was allowed to orgasm without Linda's approval and supervision.  Carrie had seen both her brother and father naked before, but only for moments.  Her mom had always sent her out of the room before punishing or stripping the males.  Carrie knew that the leather-plastic belts that her brother and father wore were called "chastity belts" because they stopped the males from "touching themselves", and she knew that she herself didn't have to wear one of these belts because, as her mom Linda had always told her, "Girls can play with themselves whenever they want and are still useful.  Males are useless when they are allowed to play with themselves whenever they want to, so we girls need to stop them from doing so except under our command."

When her family's male members were stripped down to nothing but their chastity belts, Linda had her daughter slice the birthday cake in the traditional way.  Linda had her daughter give her first orders to her father and older brother:  "Kneel at our feet, Daddy and Chris," were the words.

Thirteen-year-old Carrie was then advised by her mother Linda on the way life would be, going forward, in the family.  Now that she was thirteen, the males of the house were her slaves.  They would remain naked at all times except for collars and belts, and they would immediately accept any command she gave them.  They would provide all of the money for the family by working and then turning over their earnings to Linda, while Carrie would go to college and earn a degree and have a lifetime of choices ahead of her as should all females.

The males, her brother and father, would slave for the remainder of their lives to provide for she and her mother, and would never be free or human.  She, Carrie, would be free to rule the world if she chose, or to take a tiny apartment, if she chose to, and eat bon-bons while watching "Price Is Right" for the rest of her life.  Either way, her father and brother would provide the income and labor to make whatever she chose to do a reality.

Tonight, however, was simply the first night of the rest of Carrie's life.  As a present, her parents were giving her a small house of her own near the campus of the Femivici School.  Her brother would move into this house with her and would be her slave, providing every comfort and need she would possibly require, until the school year was finished.

In the Fall, a new home was being readied for Carrie and her family in the wilds of Eastern Europe.  In the former Czechoslovakia was a very exclusive and expensive school called the OWQ (Other World Queendom) for girls 14-and-older that was founded and administered by women believing in the concept of Female Supremacy.  This school required that the entire family relocated to the grounds of the academy, and that the females were completely in agreement regarding the enslavement of the male.   The school, with this insidious cooperation of the family females, would then enslave the family males and add them to the stock of male slaves serving the campus.

At the end of this current school year, Linda planned to move the family to this wondrous place so that she and her daughter could enjoy Female Dominance for life.  Tonight would be her daughter's initiation into this lifestyle openly, and she needed to see that young Carrie enjoyed dominating males and also intuitively knew how to both love and enslave a male at the same time.

"Boys," ordered Linda as she and Carrie sat side-by side on the sofa with the males of the family kneeling before them, "Each of you put a slice of cake on this plate and place it on the floor before Carrie."

Carrie's daddy James was kneeling before her, and her brother Chris knelt before their mom Linda.  Each put a slice of the chocolate cake on a ceramic plate and placed it on the floor in front of Carrie's feet.  She was wearing the blue Keds with white stripes and laces required for her cheerleading outfit.

"Carrie, what you'll do next is very symbolic.  You're going to mash up the cake with your feet, and then your brother and father are going to lick your feet clean.  Mash the cake," Linda told her daughter.

Carrie, small and slim and thirteen years old, was devilishly intrigued and smiling as she enthusiastically smooshed the two slices of moist cake under her rubber soles.  She created a pile of dark brown pudding-like remains of cake on the white plate and soiled her pristine sneakers in the process.  She felt a strange tingling feeling in her young pussy as she worked on the dessert.  The pleated blue-and-white skirt she wore as part of her uniform flipped and tremored as her pale white legs drove her tiny sneakered pistoning feet into the warm chocolate mush.

Carrie had light brown hair, very soft and straight, that fell to her shoulders.  Her torso was thin and her breasts only just beginning to develop.  She'd only had her first period a few months before and still had hardly any pubic hair... but she had strong sexual feelings and fantasies.  She felt this current situation locking into place as a fulfillment of her vague late-night dreams.

"Okay, boys," Linda started to order, "Lick your daughter's foot clean, James, and your sister's foot, Christopher."

Carrie giggled and relished with awe the sight of her father licking chocolate cake off the bottom of her sneaker.  Her brother was equally slurping the sole of her opposite shoe.  She merely had to hold her legs up, and her dad and sibling were serving her as if they were slaves.  They slurped and slobbered and fell about themselves to get the proper angles as their tongues worked across her dirty, cake-covered soles and sneaker ridges.  This went on for almost thirty minutes as she and her mother Linda relaxed on the couch and smiled at eachother.

When the sneakers were again clean and white, the family males knelt before the birthday girl.

"Carrie," said the new thirteen-year-old girl's dominant mom, "now, it's time to punish them and let them know that you and I rule this household.  From now on, you will join me in crushing the males of this family, and then your brother will go with you as your slave as you study at the OWQ and beyond.  For your birthday present, your dad has a gift for you, and you will beat him with it.  Then, your brother.  James," Linda now turned to her kneeling naked husband, "go get your present for Carrie."

Carrie watched as her father trod off to the bedroom he shared with Linda and returned with a brightly-wrapped package three feet long and a few inches wide.  There was a black bow decorating it.  She opened it in a rush and found an exquisite whip inside; it was made of tanned leather, braided strands of four feet in length, that wrapped around to meet a thick mahogany handle inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl grips.  The whip itself was a single lash formed of nine separate braided strands that met at the end in a thick knot that held a golden ball a half-inch in diameter that was set with several small diamonds.  A lash from this four-foot singletail would be a formidably painful experience indeed, as this golden ball had solid weight at the end of the whip and the diamonds would act as tiny jeweled spikes to impact flesh harshly.  Carrie took the whip in hand and lovingly caressed it as her father smiled at his thirteen-year-old initiant.

"Now, Christopher," Linda spoke to her kneeling son, "Go get your presents for your sister, and let her open them."

Carrie watched her brother run off to his room, his bare buttocks alluringly pumping, to fetch her birthday presents.  Moments later, he knelt before her with three decorated boxes in his arms.  Carrie selected the first as her mother nodded for her to proceed.  Her father began to lick the soles of her sneakers as she opened the gift.  Her mom had pointed to the sneakers and simply nodded to James to give him the order to lick feet.  Carrie liked the feeling of having her sneakers licked while she opened presents.

She unwrapped this first gift from her brother and found a thick black leather dog-collar and chrome-steel dog chain inside.  "Put it on him," Linda suggested.

Her brother Chris, three years her senior, leaned forward to let Carrie wrap the collar around his neck and secure it tightly.  There was a padlock from which a small silver key hung by a wire loop.  "Lock it on him, then take the key," said Linda, and Carrie did so.  Her brother was now collared and she held the key.  "Put it on your key-ring," Linda directed, and so Carrie did.  She held the end of the leash.

The second of three gifts was presented to her, and Carrie unwrapped the small box.  Inside was a pair of solid, heavy steel handcuffs.  Onto her brother's wrists these went, and another key was added to her collection.

Finally, the third box.  It was larger and heavier and inside was a leather and metal set of shackles that would now go onto her brother's body and be locked into place until she decided to remove them.  This restraint suit was made of extremely heavy carbon-steel, titanium, weathered rawhide with carbon-fiber reinforcements, and stainless-steel overlays.  It allowed her to lock her brother into a suit that barely allowed him to shuffle, restrained him from raising his arms above shoulder level, and prevented running or even fast walking.  There were multiple hooks and loops for full restraint.  A face-cage allowed her to seal his mouth and cover his eyes.  There was one key.  She held it.

"Your brother will wear this from now on, and next school-year, he will be your home-slave while you study," Linda told her daughter.  "Let's put it on him, and then it will be time for birthday spankings."

An hour later, with both of the household males shackled and hanging by their wrists from the ceiling, Linda allowed her newly-initiated daughter Carrie to begin the whippings.

Carrie used her brand-new whip with its golden diamond-studded endpiece to thrash her brother, and then she began to work on the scarred and striped backside of her father.  It was the first night of her dominant life, and it was the first of many hundreds of nights that her daddy James and brother Chris would experience the full weight of her passionate and sadistic cruelty.

It was the gleeful first night of the rest of her happy, fulfilled life.