CW: boundaries and limits discussed off-page, consensual imprisonment, taken-as-read consent, tears

She sent me one of those “kink” checklists. Something I’d perused, briefly, with glazed eyes and both excitement and disgust before. But this one was far more in-depth. I answered honestly. Why not?

I juddered nervously in the foyer of our building Friday evening. Both hands on the handles of my purse, held in front of my stomach in a nervous double-clench. Consistently leaning back on one heel, then rocking forward again. Looking (and feeling) like a mess. 

She finally breezed out of the elevator. Nodding at me briefly and briskly as she streamed by me, tote on her elbow. I worked to catch up with her. Following her to the parking garage, nearly panting already.

I always took the train, I’d never been in the garage before. Following her, heart-pounding and dry-mouthed. I sort of hoped it would start right away– though I didn’t imagine she was the sort of woman for a quickie in the car. 

She remotely started it, which gave me the opportunity to open the driver’s-side door for her. Taking her purse from her hand, and then crossing behind the back of the car to get in on the passenger side. Throwing my own purse into the footwell beneath my feet, and holding hers on my lap.

We drove in silence, her radio on a quiet new’s station. I shivered in my seat, waiting for direction or at least for her to look at me. We traveled further downtown, along the main avenues with businesses, which surprised me a little. Pulling into a parking space on the street, the only things around were retail, some restaurants and the like.

Perhaps she intended dinner first.

I hopped out, opening her door again, handing her her purse. She snapped at me again, pointing down the street and I trotted to follow her.

Of course, I’d dressed nicer than usual, but it was still a work day so hardly in anything sexy, exactly. Black fit and flare, a pair of fish mouth pumps that she’d once approvingly said she’d had a pair like. We looked like a badly matched pair– her in a black suit, black patent heels. She looked about nine feet tall this evening. 

I generally kept my hair wrapped– today in a black scarf. Not for religious reasons, not any more, but simply because it was easier, and I did like how it looked. She glanced back at me, as I hurried along, feeling like a Pomeranian trotting after her master.

“How long is your hair?” she asked. 

“A little past my shoulders,” I panted, trying to keep up.

I almost overshot our destination, she turned quite suddenly toward a glass door, and I skittered to a halt about a foot in front of her. She grabbed my elbow, leading me back through the doorway. I could have melted for joy over the contact.

But in the way she always managed to set me back on my heels I was confounded, for a moment by finding myself in a salon. Definitely one of the sort of chichi one’s downtown– nothing I’d ever been to before. I did my own nails, trimmed my own hair.

“Byrd for 6,” she said to the lovely, purple-haired girl at the desk.

“Hello again, Ms. Byrd!” Purple chirped. “You’re back earlier than usual for your monthly–”

“Ah, sorry to disappoint Chels,” Ms. Byrd smiled. “This is actually for Bea, and we are doing a total tear-down.” 

“Oh, right!” Chels said. They must have discussed this before. “Come on back,” she said to me.

I followed numbly behind Purple Chels to what was clearly the “nails” section of the salon. Pedicure chairs and the like. 

“Just a sec!” Chels said, pointing me to a chair. 

I sat in it shaking. Not upset but excited and terribly ignorant of what was going on. Another girl came over with one of those plastic caddies of tools.

“What’re we doing?” she asked me cheerfully.

I turned, big-eyed and stupid to Ms. Byrd.

“Pedicure, manicure. No acrylics, cut her nails a lot shorter. I know she likes those stilettos, but go down to a ladylike almond, will you? And uh… that red 1249, for both toes and fingers,” Ms. Byrd said.

“Oookay,” the nail girl said, slightly hesitant and then smiling when she saw me smiling, folding my hands in my lap. I settled my feet into the bath below me, looking back up at Ms. Byrd.

“I’m going to go consult with Chels about your hair,” she said to me. “Behave.”

“Will do!” I said.

I didn’t mind my nails being shorter. Already sort of thinking about how some things would be easier now, because of the lack of length. And it didn’t look bad at all. She’d picked exactly the right red for me. It had been years since I had anything other than white on my toes and I decided it looked sexy indeed. And I hadn’t had a pedicure since my senior prom– I always just did my own. Her work was a lot better than mine.

Slotted into those little rubber sandals I was sent off to the ‘hair’ side of things. Ms. Byrd was already sitting back in the lobby, reading a book. I stopped by briefly showing off my nails with a little flounce. She gave a quick nod of approval and then waved me toward Chels.

“Go off,” she said. 

I sat in the chair, while Chels wrapped the usual apron over me.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” Chels said to me. I reached behind the back of my neck to undo my scarf and let my hair fall down. Puffy, sort of dishwater and coarse.

“All right, we’re going to do a trim, then dye–” (Dye!) “Then set, then we’ll quick do your makeup and you’re all done!” she said.

“Mhmm,” I said dumbly.

It really was just a trim. I couldn’t tell from the noxious mixture in a plastic bowl what color was being applied. Sat around for about twenty minutes under that stink before it was rinsed out. Head back, I still couldn’t tell what color I was any more.

Once I started to get blow dried though, I could see I’d gone a platinum blond. I couldn’t help it, sort of frisking in the mirror at myself. I’d never dyed my hair before. Never even thought to. Looking decidedly glamorous and false now. 

Chels set my hair into what she called hot rollers– they certainly seemed so. And then a third girl came over and did my makeup with such professional rapidity I was set awhirl again.

“I’m supposed to ask you if you think you’ll be able to recreate this look accurately,” the girl said, snapping gum as she asked.

I peered closer into the mirror. Pretty simple– white veil over eyelid, thin black cat’s eye, well-lined red lip. I looked up at her and nodded, she snapped gum and told me what color red lipstick to buy. 

Hot rollers removed, leaving wide, bouncy curls around my face. Looking like a vintage star. Or a blowup sex doll.

“Good?” I asked Ms. Byrd, nervous indeed. She set her finger into the book she was reading, letting it come closed and glanced up at me. Stood up so I did a smooth, slow turn-about for her.

“Beautiful work,” she said. Obviously not about me so much as what had been done to me. “Sit,” she directed then. Going back up to the counter to settle up. I could tell from the effusive ‘thanks’ from the girls that she was tipping handsomely.

And then I was trotting back after her toward the car.

I itched to drop down the sun visor and look in the mirror again, but kept still. Hands on her purse to stop it from sliding around.

“We’ll get back to my place and have dinner,” she said, after ten minutes of silence, making me jump in the passenger seat. “And we’ll talk about what your weekend looks like.”

Her apartment was all poured concrete, eggplant purple and black leather. Of course sleek and stylish just like she was. Going into her black and concrete kitchen.

“Can you cook?” she asked, opening up her refrigerator.

“Yes ma’am, I can,” I said, standing hesitantly beside a tall countertop. “I can cook tonight if–”

“Not tonight, but yes, starting tomorrow you’ll cook for me,” she said, turning back and forth several times, pulling out simple food. Crudite and the like. A bottle of wine for her, a bottle of sparkling water for me.

“I assume you don’t drink,” she said, indicating the water with a lazy finger.

“No ma’am,” I said. 

“Good,” she said. “Any allergies or anything I ought to know about?”

“No, ma’am,” I repeated.

“Sit,” she said impatiently.

So I did, falling gracelessly onto a black leather stool at the kitchen island. She poured water for me, and then a few sips of wine for herself. Pushing a plate of cut fruit at me. Leaving the room and returning with her personal laptop.

Opening that up and then looking up at me over the edge of the screen. The kitchen was just lit by her under-counter lights– warm and white. Now she was lit from underneath by the screen in front of her. Making her look lovelier and far, far more dangerous.

“I put together a list of rules after our dinner,” she said, making sure she had my eyes. “We’ll discuss it right now. If adjustments need to be made, or if we simply desire to make them, I can adjust them right now. By the end of dinner, we’ll have this finalized. I’ll print it out for you, and post it up in several places in the house so you can’t claim you’ve ‘forgotten’ or ‘misunderstood’ after the fact.” 

“Mhmm,” I murmured.

“Something a little more understanding and enthusiastic than muttering, please,” she said, eyes still heavily fastened on mine.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“You may have guessed from our detour to the salon that I have an interest in controlling you, especially how you look. You seemed amenable, what do you think of that?” she asked.

“I like it quite a bit ma’am,” I said.

“You like how you look or you like the control?”

I ducked my head and before she made a noise of disapprobation I looked up again.

“I like how I look,” I said slowly. “No one would ever say you lack taste. But moreso, I liked the control. I liked what you turned me into… But more I like that you turned me into something for you.”

“Mhmm,” she said, scrolling through the document in front of her. “In that case; I’ll start with the easy rules. You’ll wear clothes for the entirety of the weekend unless otherwise directed. Showers, obviously, not included. You won’t wear underwear, although you will wear stockings, a garter belt and a bra. But I should have easy access to your genitals, although I should never see you nude. Further, you’ll wear what I dictate. I’ve done some light shopping. After you get undressed tonight, I don’t want to see you in the clothes you’re wearing now– only the things I’ve decided on. You’ll never be barefoot. If for some reason I ask you to remove your shoes, or you’re showering, you should still be standing on your toes. Your heels, and the soles of your feet should not ever touch any floor in my house.” 

“Yes ma’am,” I gasped, thighs clenching.

“Harder rules,” she said. “And here’s where I need you to speak up if you hear an impossibility, or something that makes you even slightly uncomfortable.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said more firmly this time. Knowing any hesitance or discomfort would stop her. And I didn’t want to hear any pause in the rules. This was better than my wildest masturbatory fantasies.

“After we have dinner tonight, you will not sit on any of my furniture. I have one low stool for you to sit on, occasionally. Otherwise, you sit beside me, at my feet. Unless otherwise directed, of course. You are not allowed on any chairs, couches, tabletops, or any other place a person might sit.”

“Oh yes,” I said, shifting again. My face was bloomingly red and I could feel my pulse between my legs. “May I ask–?”

“You may ask as many questions as you need to fully understand what your position is this weekend,” she said, sounding magnanimous.

“Your bed?” I asked.

“Absolutely not,” she laughed, her usual low and smokey laugh that had captivated me from the first. “Other plans for you there. We’ll discuss that afterward. Continuing, you’ll wear your hair and your makeup as you’re currently wearing. You’ll get up and do it like this each morning you’re with me. You set a safeword with me and you use it, understand?”

“Understood!”

“You might end up cuffed, or hooded, as I see fit. You will not leave this house, you will not even cross the threshold of the door, until our time is up. You do not answer your phone, you do no work whatsoever. You can send out whatever messages you need to to assure people of your safety, and do an ‘away from office’ message this evening but that is all. I’ve considered a good deal of activities I’d like to undertake with you, based on your answers from the survey, but that doesn’t mean you can’t put a stop to things– and vice versa. I expect you to maintain my boundaries with respect and discretion.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Let’s take a quick tour of your prison, shall we?” she said, refilling her glass and sliding off the stool she was sitting on. I hopped up, giddy as hell to be doing this but trying to keep a somber demeanor to please her.

She didn’t have a huge apartment, though the rooms themselves were big. An open dining/living room that looked over the spacious kitchen. Off to one side was what I was guessing was the “public” bathroom. A room that was clearly her office. Similarly black and leather, decked out in several screens. Then her enormous bedroom, free-standing fireplace, and king sized bed. An ensuite bathroom that had a soaking tub, and her things in it– clearly the bathroom she actually used. 

Then I saw the cage.

The size of a dog kennel– but for an enormous dog. Black bars with a black padlock, hanging open on the door. Inside there was a black cushion, a fluffy looking comforter folded on the top of the cage and a pillow. 

“That’s where you’ll sleep, my dear,” she said, pointing imperiously toward the cage while I stood frozen staring at it. “And I’ll sleep in my bed.”

I still stood staring, hands twining around themselves at my waist. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” I said, nodding dumbly.

“Good girl,” she said. “I thought you might like that. Come see your side of the closet.” 

I followed after her, practically tripping in my shoes, all of me tingly and useless. There were four coat hangers shoved onto the far left side of her walk-in closet. Four dresses. One red, one white, one black, one light pink. Nearly all the same. Two silk looking, two shirtwaist. The black and the red were silk, the white and pink were cotton. All swing style. Matching petticoats hung from pant’s hangers beside each dress. Down on the floor was a hat box, filled with new packages of the aforementioned stockings and garter belts. Also to match. One pair of black pumps, one white. 

“Get on your knees,” she said. I fell to them so quickly she snorted in amusement. “In the box in front of you are your pajamas. Red tonight.”

I reached through the box of lingerie, eventually pulling out the red set she had demanded. A babydoll set, ruffled with little shorties and a tie neck. 

“Slippers beside it,” she said. I pulled out a pair of white mules, trimmed in fur, the heel higher than a vintage pair would be. 

“You can go change,” she said haughtily, seeing me frozen on my knees, still grasping the pajamas.

“Sleep in my makeup or–?” I asked her.

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” she said, smiling which made my heart leap. “No, clean up. There’s a matching headband on my sink to go with your pajamas.”

I stayed on my knees, crawling to her bathroom. She gave a derisive little slow clap from behind me. I looked over my own shoulder at her.

“No, lovely, continue please,” she said, smiling.

So I did, crawling across the plush eggplant carpet of her room toward her black tile bathroom. 

Feeling sexier than I ever had in my life, even in the silly, almost kiddish pajamas. The shorts rode up high on my thigh, ruffles outlining the curve of my ass, where buttock met thigh. The tie neck made my breasts look enormous, I thought. Nothing like her taut, elegant chest. The shoes were absurdly sexy, I thought. I took my time, making sure my face was actually clean. Pushed the knotted bow headband over my hair and then fluffed out the curls. Unused to the smell of hairspray on myself.

Went back out to her and dropped to my knees again. She was sitting at a vanity table, brushing out her hair. I could have died, watching her rub cream into her long neck in upward motions. Her hair, loose from its usual pins. Her hair wasn’t long, just to her chin, thick and silky and gorgeous. She usually kept it swept off her cheeks with pins in a harsh portrait that I loved. But now she was all wound down from the day.

I crawled over to her, and then knelt beside her. Relaxing into whatever it was we were doing. Surreptitiously sniffing her nightly routine. She was still dressed, though she’d discarded her jacket, likely hung neatly back up. Her blouse, which had been buttoned to the throat, was now unbuttoned to the middle of her chest. Exposing the slim front closure of her black bra. Not needing an underwire like me, just slips of silk. She turned around on her stool, gesturing at me.

“Stand up, let me see how I did on my shopping,” she said. 

I did, giving her another turn, a bouncy curtsy and a twist of my ankle to show off the shoes.

She reached out, grabbing a hard handful of my right buttock, giving me a jiggle.

“Shorter than I thought they’d be,” she said. I shivered, thinking she was unhappy or that this was more nudity than she wanted. “You’ve been hiding such lovely long legs in your modest a-line skirts. And keeping such an absolutely… biteable ass out-of-sight.”

I wriggled happily, feeling like her fingers were bruising my ass. 

She leaned forward, until she was only an inch from my hip. I could smell her night cream, the hydrating lotion she’d put in her hair. A hundred times worse was feeling her breath on my skin below the ruffle. She was near enough I could almost feel her bottom lip on me. Or at least I imagined I did. Because I’d been picturing her lips on me so often. I’d daydream about using her lips as a place to nap, so full and gorgeous and plush. 

She shocked me when she snapped her chin out, sinking her teeth into my ass. Wetting the bottoms of the pajamas, biting and biting until I almost thought I’d lose a piece of me between her teeth. At first, I gasped. But then I couldn’t help it, sliding into a low moan. I overstepped then, resting my hand on the side of her face, cupping my pinkie under her working jaw. Not to move her, but just to feel her doing it. She was warm to the touch, her cheek a little warmer than the rest of her. Perhaps she’d begun to flush too. 

She let me go, sitting back up slowly. Running one trim dark nail over the spot her lower set of teeth had left. Making it tingle and sting. 

“Mhmm,” she murmured. “Biteable.”

“Thank you,” I sighed.

She moved quickly again, enough to startle me and make me back up. Snapping a hand between my thighs, index finger sliding slightly under the hem of the shorts. Withdrawing her hand and holding it up to the round bulbs of her vanity.

“Are you wet?” she questioned. 

Of course I was. I’d felt it sliding down my thighs, but hadn’t realized I’d been exposed. Looking down I saw the insides of my legs shone back under the white lights around the mirror. And her hand was slick too.

“Um,” I said. 

She laughed at me again, low, slow, smokey and mean. Thrusting her hand at me.

“Clean up your mess, you little slut,” she said, still laughing. I shifted in the mules, wetter by the second and unsure of how to proceed. Finally leaning forward and lapping at her fingers. At first, rather unhappy to be doing so. I’d never tasted myself, never had an interest in it. But I did like licking at her hand (I’d like to lick at more of her!)

“Do you not like that, sweetheart?” she asked, cruelty draining from her. I looked up at her from the palm of her hand, eyelashes fluttering against my eyebrows, tip of tongue resting on her middle finger. Once again, unsure of how to answer. She raised her eyebrows impatiently.

“I like getting my tongue on you,” I said quietly. “I’ll take that however you give it to me.”

She smiled, standing up. Not stepping back to do so, so nearly the whole lengths of our bodies made contact. Noticing, more surely this time, how much taller she was than myself. 

“Get me undressed,” she said. 

I flew to do so, happily, keeping my head down and my eyes on my task. Finishing unbuttoning her blouse, folding it over my arm. Pants. Falling back down to my knees to roll down her trouser socks and then to unzip the ankle boots she was wearing. Lifting her foot to rest on my knee as I did it.

“Look at you,” she said, still gentle. But I knew whatever she said next would probably hurt. “You’re practically drooling.”

“Impossible to not, while I’m at your feet, ma’am,” I said. Even her feet were perfect! The same polish color, elegant and feminine. 

“Mm,” she said, tapping her chin. “I sleep soundly… I’ll have to make sure you’re not tempted to touch yourself after I turn out the lights.” 

“Oh, ma’am, no I wouldn’t!” I said. “Unless you gave me leave to–”

“But I don’t trust you,” she purred. “I can see, and smell how aroused you are and I am quite sure you’ll indulge if you’re not kept in line.”

I shut up. She was wrong. If she told me to never masturbate again, I wouldn’t. But I wasn’t going to argue.

She turned back around to her vanity, sliding open a drawer. Withdrawing what I thought was boxing mitts. She sat back on her stool, gesturing toward me.

“Hands,” she said.

I held them out, floating over her knees. She strapped me into the mitts. I was right, they were padded, fingers held in a relaxed claw inside of the black leather. There were buckled cuffs at the wrists, through which delicate silver padlocks hung. She locked those, and she stood up, as I watched her unmoving. Putting the key into the drawer of her nightstand.

“All right,” she yawned. “Come here.” She stood at the cage, which was at the foot of her bed. If she were to sit up against her headboard, she’d see me easily, though I likely wouldn’t be able to see her from the inside, just the base of the bed itself. 

She swung open the door at the side. I crawled from the vanity to the cage, and then slowly crawled in. She swatted gently at my backside, hurrying me in. Handing me the blanket and pillow from the top, also gently. I turned back around when she swung the door shut.

I wouldn’t be able to stretch out totally prone, but I could lay flat with my knees just a little bent. I could comfortably lay in the fetal position on my side with neither my feet, nor the crown of my head touching bars. I couldn’t sit up entirely upright, but I only had to bow my head in order to sit flat on my butt or cross-legged. I held the comforter and pillow to my chest, staring at her agape. 

“All right?” she asked.

I nodded, she sighed.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“If you need out, you call me,” she said. “You’re not a dog, don’t piss in the kennel. If you get scared, if you get uncomfortable, you call my name. That means even if I’m asleep, and you need to get out, what do you do?”

“Call your name,  ma’am,” I said.

“Right!” she said, smiling once more like I’d answered a tough question.

She crouched then, locking the padlock on the little side door, making me shiver and shake. She stood up, and I watched her through the black bars. Putting that key on top of the nightstand. 

Then she walked out. Returning with her newly-filled glass of wine, and what looked like a boxer's athletic water bottle to me. She set the water bottle on the floor by the side of the cage. Poking the longer-than-usual straw through the bars.

“Drink,” she directed. I slithered down onto the floor of the cage, noting the doggy-type mattress at the bottom, and sipped like a hamster at the cool water. Delightful.

She turned down most of the lights, leaving me in near blackness. She had a small gooseneck lamp over her bed though. She settled in, fluffing up her blankets and pillows, and reading a book quietly, sipping her wine.

I could hear the pages turning, and the sound of her drinking, though I couldn’t see any of it. 

Finally, I started getting comfortable myself. Putting the pillow down on top of the mattress, fluffing out the comforter over myself. Shivering, but not from cold. Just total overload. I laid down on my side– my usual sleeping position– facing her bed. Kind of paffing the mitts against the bars, getting used to them. Horny in a riotous, violent way I’d never been before. Viciously aware of the seam of the sleep shorts between my legs, and how tender my nipples felt, even only touching silky material. Wishing so, so badly I was in bed with her.

I was laying with my eyes closed when I heard the shush of her bedding. I opened my eyes to see if she was turning out the light. But no, she was laying on her belly now, facing the end of the bed. Elbows on the mattress, chin propped on her knuckles, staring down at me in the cage. Looking peaceful and happy with the situation.

“You look lovely and comfortable down there,” she said, still smiling.

“Comfortable, ma’am, yes,” I squeaked. She was only a few feet away from me now and I felt so silly and pettish behind the bars.

“Are you still dripping girl-honey?” she asked mildly.

“Um,” I said, stupidly. But shifting wildly under the blanket, making her laugh.

“Show me,” she said.

I paused, deciding how. Kicking off the blanket, and shifting incredibly awkwardly. Kneeling up, head far bent, spreading my knees across the mattress.

“Your thighs might be a little sticky,” she said thoughtfully. “But show me better.”

I paused again, trying to figure out how. Spreading my legs even further open, thighs shuddering now with the exertion. Pushing the stupid, confounding mitt over my pubic bone, and after several tries managing to shove the shorts to one side. Exposing my pubis to her. Leaning back now, to better show her… well, everything.

Everything clenched, forcing more juice to slide out. Which made me whimper pitifully. 

“Poor little thing,” she said, sarcastically pouting. Sitting up now, her legs over the end of the bed, her toes just touching the carpet. Spreading her own legs, showing me the little triangle of black lace between them. “Stay… just like that.”

I cried out though when she reached under the waistband of her underwear. Clearly touching herself. She didn’t move, just staring at me, one eyebrow cocked. I was driven mad just seeing the outline of her knuckles under the lace, fingers so obviously poised over her clitoris.

“Ma’am,” I gasped. “I could do it for you. Please I’d love to do it for you, let me do it for you. I–”

“Shut up,” she said scornfully.

My mouth slammed shut so quickly my teeth felt like they rattled in my skull.

She started touching herself then, moving slowly though. I watched the rhythmic movement of her knuckles through her underwear, feeling like I was losing my mind. Trying hard to hold the position, legs shaking. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” she said, low. “Tell me what you want.”

“Let me make you come!” I said, hearing the whine and wishing it wasn’t there. “I’ll do it any way you want just so long as you let me do it! Hand or mouth or anything please I… God, please let me. You look so good, I’ve wanted it for so long. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll be so well-behaved. I won’t ask for anything else if you’ll only let me. I’ll be so good for you, any way you want me, any way you need it just tell me and I’ll–”

She groaned then, and I moaned in response. Knowing she’d come. She chuckled at me, panting. My stupid clit thrummed, feeling inches longer than usual. Vagina clenching uselessly on emptiness. Gut practically aching with want. Sliding off the end of the bed, sitting cross legged in front of me, she thrust her hand through the bars.

“Clean up your mess,” she repeated.

I groaned miserably but leaned forward. Cleaning that up far more enthusiastically. Her fingers were soaked– she’d drenched herself and that made everything far worse. She reached through with her free hand, caressing my face while I licked her endlessly. The tenderness made everything feel impossible, and I felt tears gathering. Just completely overwhelmed. 

She stood up, and looking down through the top of the cage at me, commanded me to “settle down.” I lay back down, legs still shaking, but grateful to bring them back together. My hips ached from keeping my legs spread for so long. Feeling disgusting, however, the shorts sticking to me wetly. She walked away and I watched her, whimpering again as she slid out of her underwear, tossing them toward the hamper in her bathroom. She must have been uncomfortably wet too. Showing me only the strong curve of her ass briefly before sliding into a clean pair of underwear. Going back to her bed, flicking off the light.

“Ma’am?”

“Are you all right, my pretty little slut?” she asked, sounding a little concerned and very present.

“Oh, yes ma’am,” I said, sniffling. “But I might cry a little. I’m not upset, and I don’t need anything. I’m just very tired and overwhelmed.”

“All right, honey,” she said gently. “Remember what I said though.”

“I’ll call you if I need you,” I promised, tears already sliding down my cheeks. Not weeping, just leaking. “I just didn’t want to upset you if you heard me.”

“Good night, you pretty little slut,” she said, sounding tired and happy.

“Good night, ma’am,” I said, pathetically.