Uniforms Control Your Mind
by Mr. Scade
Oh, Little Boy
“Oh, the little boy tried to kiss me, did he?” Her voice was like silk. Like calm waters after a storm.
A teenager, no older than seventeen, lay curled in a ball on the floor. He groaned, eyes shut close from pain and embarrassment.
“Little boy pretends to know things he can’t know.”
A whimper this time. She smiled. He stared daggers at her eyes. He told himself he would get his revenge. He promised himself that. That...
“Now, little boy grovels like the dog he is.”
He barked. He didn’t realise he had barked until he heard her laughter. Joyful, intoxicating laughter. It was like hearing Lilith’s giggle. It made his skin prickle all over.
“Wha—” He was cut off, not by a fist to the groin like before, but by those eyes. Those intense eyes. One look and he couldn’t talk.
“No talking, little boy. You’re mine now.”
He shivered. It was a painful shiver, like the one you get when you know something is going to cramp up. But he felt that all over his body. But that was nothing, nothing compared to what he now understood: she was right.
“You’re not going to sneak again, little boy.” A smile that could’ve made Cruella de Vil stare worriedly painted her face.
He realised he liked that smile. It complimented her. It made her… who she really was. He didn’t understand how he knew that. But she was right. Oh God, was she right!
“Because now you’re mine. And you’re going to see me like this all the time,” She straightened, letting her arms go down her black swimsuit. “and you’re going to please me. Aren’t you, little boy?”
He cursed his desire to kiss the beautiful girl that had caught his eyes at the pool. He cursed his forwardness. He cursed his pride. But he could not curse his current situation; she was right.
The words came before he realised what he was saying. They just came out. They needed to.
She had asked a question.
“Yes, Mommy.” He whimpered. Her eyes stared into his. He shivered, not unpleasantly this time.
He had to answer her. He had to. And it felt so good.
“Good,” Mommy said, running a hand over his face, staring into his eyes.
She turned around, rummaged around something he could not see from his position, grovelling like the dog he was. When had he fell to his knees?
She turned around. A click echoed. He felt something around his neck.
“You know it.” She whispered, eyes on his.
“You own me, Mommy.”