Bebe Read online

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  Bebe

  By

  Darla Phelps

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2011 © Darla Phelps

  This book may not be reproduced in whole

  or part, by mimeograph or any other means,

  without permission of the author.

  [email protected]

  Other books by Darla Phelps:

  Daddy’s Girl

  De Akeny’s Bride

  Lucy’s Checkup

  Baby Sara

  Pets: Bach’s Story

  Pets: Pani’s Story

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bebe

  “Ungh!” Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Bebe panted against the hot cover of the ottoman and buried her face in the cloth. She grit her teeth, fighting to be quiet.

  “Good girl, good Bebe,” Ma’am said, combing her fingers through the shoulder-length curls of Bebe’s blonde hair. She caressed her head, rubbing soothingly at her shoulders and back as Sir tightened his grip on her hips and pushed himself deeper inside her. He was so much larger than she was, even with copious lubrication he did not pierce her easily, and after two gentle attempts—withdrawing, pressing forward only to withdraw again—the flat of his hand slapped her right buttock.

  “Relax, Bebe,” he chided, and she did. At least, she tried to. She wanted to be good. Sir didn’t often demand this from her, although it seemed to be happening more and more these days.

  He shifted his grip from her hips to her thighs, prizing them wider apart, his thumbs catching the folds of her sex and pulling them open as he pulled himself almost to the point of leaving her completely and then shoved back into her, hard.

  Bebe clutched convulsively at the edge of the ottoman. He was too big for her, filling her almost to the point of pain before the cock sleeve he wore finally butted up against her, limiting how much deeper he could go.

  Ma’am caught her hands. “Good girl. Good girl.”

  “Very good girl,” Sir moaned in agreement and reached for his wife. He pulled Ma’am to him, kissing her passionately over Bebe’s sweating back, then gripped her hips once more and began to ride.

  Long and slow at first, his strokes soon quickened, his hips slapping at her buttocks, the sleeve buffeting the slick mounds of her labia. Bebe grit her teeth to keep back her cries. At least he wasn’t in her bottom this time. Not this time. Not this time.

  It became a mantra that she told herself over and over as his thrusts turned punishing. He slapped her bottom again, first one side and then the other, growling and groaning. He was too deep; she was too full. It was starting to hurt, to burn. Bebe covered her mouth with both hands, fighting to be quiet even as she started to cry.

  Ma’am whispered in her ear, her tone one of praise though Bebe couldn’t understand most of the words. The larger woman stroked her shoulders and her arms before rising over her, her swollen stomach bumping the top of Bebe’s head as she accepted Sir’s hungry, passionate kisses. She opened her nightgown, freeing her heavy breasts for his attention, sighing with pleasure as he took the tip of one in his mouth. And all the while he rode Bebe, battering her smaller body, making her flesh burn in muted protest.

  He caught Bebe’s arm and her collar, choking her as he yanked her back onto his cock with bruising intensity. At a word from Ma’am, he quickly shifted his grip to her shoulders, his claw-tipped fingers digging into her skin as he slammed into her, once and then again, and again, before stiffening with a hard expelled breath. Hot fluid gushed against her womb, and then it was done.

  Sir held himself still inside of her as his breathing slowed and steadied. Ma’am laughed softly. He kissed her one last time, and Bebe shuddered with relief as the length of his softening cock slipped out of her body. Sticky fluid ran down the insides of her thighs, but she held herself still until she felt Sir’s hand ruffle her hair.

  “Up,” he said, patting her hip. He rose, bending to pick up the cushion he’d knelt upon and tossing it back onto the sofa. He took Ma’am’s arm, helping to steady her as she climbed awkwardly to her feet. She laughed again, rubbing her rounded belly with both hands and then the small of her back. In low growling voices, they conversed back and forth, but nothing they said were praises directed at her.

  Pushing slowly back onto her haunches, Bebe picked herself up off the ottoman. She pushed it back out of the middle of the room, next to the chair it companioned so no one would trip over it, and then wordlessly accepted the cock sleeve Sir handed her. The thick buffer of leather was slick and sticky with lubricant and semen. She took it with her to the bathroom, pausing only a moment when Ma’am bent to wrap her arms around Bebe’s narrow shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She then patted Bebe’s bottom and sent her naked down the hall.

  Careful not to close the bathroom door behind her, Bebe washed first the sleeve, leaving it to dry on a towel beside the sink, and then herself. She used cold water, wincing slightly as she pressed the cloth between her legs. It was cool comfort, and it helped to ease the lingering burn.

  Wiping along the inner slope of her thighs, Bebe rinsed the cloth to let it get cold again and then pressed it to her battered sex a second time. She sniffled once, swiping her wrist across her cheeks to brush away any lingering tears, then glanced up guiltily when Sir and Ma’am passed by the open bathroom door.

  “Night-night,” Sir told her, turning the bathroom light off.

  “Night-night,” Bebe softly replied. As they continued on to their bedroom down the hall, she rinsed the cloth out one more time before dropping it in the laundry hamper.

  On quiet bare feet, she padded back out to the now mostly-dark living room and made her way to her cushion by the fireplace. With Sir and Ma’am talking softly in the other room, she crawled under her blanket and lay down to sleep. The fire crackled warm at her back. Eventually the voices down the hall ceased. Cushioning her head on the pillow of one arm, Bebe curled onto her side and closed her eyes.

  She willed the flesh between her legs to stop throbbing and burning, and softly sighed as she told herself once more, at least this time he hadn’t done that to her bottom.

  It was some hours later when Bebe was awakened by a low moan from the bedroom down the hall. Rolling sleepily towards the warming fire, she pulled her thin blanket back up over one shoulder, covered her eyes with one hand to shield them from the waking light and tried to go back to sleep. Moans from the back bedroom weren’t unusual, after all. Especially not at night. But a few minutes later, the moan came back, this time punctuated by a sharp cry, and unlike moans of other nights past, this one did not sound like a moan of pleasure. More it was an expression of supreme discomfort, and that was unusual. So unusual, in fact, that Bebe lifted her head up off her arm.

  Rubbing at her eyes, she turned her face back toward the darkness of the room and listened.

  There it was again, that low groaning sound. And now not only was there moaning, but there was the thump of heavy feet hitting the floor and the shuffling of movement as well.

  Bebe sat up on her pillow, stretching out her bare legs until her feet touched the floor. Although wondering what was going on, she wasn’t quite brave enough to break the rules and leave her cushion in the middle of the night.

  So, she yawned instead, scratching at her naked shoulder, and down the hall, a faint glow of light winked into being as the door suddenly flew open hard enough to smack into the opposing wall. Bebe jumped when Sir came barreling out into the living room, wide eyed and dressed only in his beige sleeping shorts. He slapped at the wall switch to activate the lights, accidentally hitting the temperature control instead and instantly causing the fire behind her to dwindle on the decorative logs until it was barely more than a flicker. He never actually activated the lights and was in too much of
a hurry to stop and bother with it.

  He wasn’t coming to her like that, was he?

  Scrambling to her feet, Bebe shied a few hesitant steps, but stopped when she realized he was headed for the computer. He leaned over the console, tapping rapidly at keys until a face lit up the monitor.

  Sir and whoever sat on the other end of that communication line conversed rapidly back and forth. Sometimes, if Bebe concentrated hard enough, she could pick out a word or two of the hard guttural, growling language that fell so naturally from Sir’s mouth, but today he was talking much too fast for her to follow. By the time he switched the monitor off again, all sleepiness was gone from him, leaving behind only anxious excitement.

  Bebe had no idea what was going on. She nervously tapped the fingers of her hands together and watched as Sir ran back down the hall. Another low grunting moan issued from the distant bedroom. Hesitating, she glanced back at her cushion once. It was night, and she wasn’t allowed to wander the house at night. She tapped her fingers again, but when she heard Ma’am sob out a high-pitched cry of distress, she left her cushion behind to creep as quietly as possible to the opposite end of the living room couch. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound almost deafening her as her hand came to rest tentatively upon the high-cushioned arm. Certain she was going to be caught any second now, she peeked around the corner.

  The lamp on Sir and Ma’am’s bedside table was the only house light on, but through it and the partially ajar door, she watched as Ma’am, dressed in only her nightgown and bathrobe, doubled over on the edge of the bed. She clutched her swollen stomach, panting her way through another gut-wrenching moan.

  Yanking his pants on over his sleeping shorts, Sir dashed from one end of the room to the other, grabbing his identification card from the dresser top, snatching a handful of Ma’am’s clothes from the closet (from the looks of it, two shirts and a dressing jacket), returning to the dresser for his keys, throwing everything into a small carrying case, which stood open on the foot of the bed, only to have to dig through it all just to find his keys again. He threw a shirt for himself over one broad shoulder, followed by his coat and then spun in a full circle before he found his shoes, laying where he always put them at the foot of their huge bed. He shoved his feet into them and dropped to his knees next to Ma’am, his touch gentling instantly as he bent to help her into her slippers.

  Ma’am bared her fangs, throwing back her dark head, her fists clenching over her stomach and tearing at the rumpled bedding as she hissed another long exhaling breath. Sir reached up to touch her face, so careful with his claws as he briefly paused to press his forehead to hers. Ma’am nodded at whatever he whispered, teeth still bared, eyes squeezed shut in pain, and after a quick kiss to her cheek, Sir was back on his feet. He turned in another full circle before he found Ma’am’s coat (lying in plain sight across the foot of the bed) and quickly helped her into it. He looked almost...panicked...and as Bebe peered down that hall at the unfamiliar scene playing out before her, that knot of uncertainty currently twisting at her insides began to blossom into a very real and nameless dread.

  Sir snapped the carrying case shut and shouldered the strap before coming to Ma’am’s side. His arm around her, she stood slowly. Groaning and panting almost constantly, she leaned on him and anything else that came into reach as he helped her down the hall to the living room. As they passed by the couch, Ma’am opened her eyes and looked down at Bebe. Fully expecting to be sent back to her cushion with a scolding—or maybe even worse—Bebe flinched back a step. But Ma’am didn’t scold. Instead, a gentle three-fingered hand skimmed over her forehead, somewhat easing Bebe’s fears as they combed through her golden hair in patting strokes.

  Suddenly noticing her now too, Sir snapped out, “Door, Bebe. Door!”

  Happy not to be in trouble, Bebe scrambled to obey. It took both hands to work the high lock, but by the time Sir and Ma’am made their laboriously slow trek across the floor, she had it standing open for them.

  Naked and scared, Bebe huddled up against the wall, shivering hard enough to make the license on her collar jingle while the warm air of the living room exchanged places with the cool fall night. The rosy tips of her breasts stiffened into tight little peaks. There was barely enough room for Sir and Ma’am to squeeze through the threshold as it was, so she flattened herself even tighter to the wall and held the door full open.

  Neither Sir nor Ma’am praised her for her obedience. No one said, ‘Good girl, Bebe,’ or even petted her good-bye. Instead, not only was Bebe completely ignored, but the carrying case smacked the side of her head as they passed her. She was pretty sure it was done accidentally. Sir never hit her like that. A smack or two across the bottom, yes. When he was really angry, he sometimes used the Bad Bebe hairbrush, but he never hit her in the head.

  Confused more than hurt, Bebe rubbed at her ear until they were outside. Letting go of the door, she crept as close to the threshold as she dared. She watched Sir help Ma’am negotiate the three porch steps (so much more difficult for Bebe’s shorter legs than Ma’am’s) and then lead her down the short, cobbled walkway to the transport car. Neither one so much as glanced back at her over their shoulder. They didn’t even tell her to close the door.

  Bebe tapped the tips of her steepled fingers. Although not supposed to leave the house, she edged a single step out onto the porch. The cold stung the bottoms of her feet and made her body shake, especially when the breeze billowed a little harder around her, whipping her long blonde hair around her face and peppering her skin with goose bumps. But still she stood there, watching as Ma’am was safely tucked into the transport’s passenger seat, moaning all the while.

  Sir dashed around the vehicle, shrugging into his shirt and coat and patting frantically from pocket to pocket as he went. No sooner had he settled behind the pilot’s seat than did he jump out again. He ran back up the walk, and Bebe quickly leapt to get inside, flattening herself to the wall and holding the door open wide. Sir made it as far as the lowest step, only to stop again, slapping at his trousers. He fished the keys from his pocket. Muttering under his breath, he ran back to the transport without so much as a glance in her direction.

  He still hadn’t told her to close the door.

  The vehicle lights switched on a few seconds before he slammed the pilot’s door. The engine whined and then began to hum, the wheels slowly rising up into the undercarriage as the car lifted from the ground. Bebe ventured as far as the threshold again, this time not quite daring enough to step out onto the forbidden porch as the transport drifted backwards down the driveway until it met the commuter rail. It locked into place and she jumped, a subconscious reaction to the flare of the engine as the vehicle shot into motion. Bebe wasn’t in the car and still her stomach gave a sickening lurch of sympathy as it followed the rail into a steep vertical climb straight up into the midnight sky. Theirs mingled with the streaking lights of all the other transports riding the rail so high above the ground, until they vanished from sight.

  Alone, Bebe stood shivering in the doorway, nervously wondering what she should do next. The night was cold, so Bebe backed into the only-slightly warmer living room. After several long, shivering minutes of finger-tapping uncertainty, she eventually decided Sir and Ma’am would probably want her to close the door, too. Maybe even to lock it.

  It took both hands to work the complicated latch, and when she was done, she stood back from the door, wondering how long they might be gone and whether she might not ought to get back on her cushion like she was supposed to.

  Shivering, Bebe fetched her small blanket. Though she knew she wasn’t allowed, she climbed up onto the couch for a closer look at the temperature console. She touched the black keypad with the tip of her finger, but unlike when Sir or Ma’am did it, the thermostat did not reactivate and the flame in the fireplace did not instantly rekindle. Instead, a red light blinked at her twice, beeping in a negative tone before the keypad went black again.

  Disappointed
, Bebe pulled her blanket tighter and climbed back down off the couch.

  What time was it?

  Hugging herself for warmth, she wandered into the kitchen to stare blankly up at the neon glow of the wall clock, situated just above the inset cooker. The small thin strips of light were arranged in incomprehensible dashes and squiggled lines. Not one of the lines matched what she was accustomed to seeing in the mornings when it was time to make Sir’s coffee. They didn’t match the afternoon either, when Ma’am said it was time for shopping, knitting or napping. One of the seven lighted lines looked similar to when the when the sun disappeared behind the house, which usually meant Sir was on his way home from work and the table needed to be set for supper. Except that it was the middle of the night and Sir had only just left. So, obviously that wasn’t right.

  Heaving a sigh, Bebe wandered back out to the dining room, squeezing in behind the table and chairs to stand at the only window in the house low enough for her to see out of without first standing on a stool. In the daylight, she could rest her chin upon the sill and see birds and trees and even glimpse people and objects through the upper windows of the houses across the street. Unfortunately, right now all she could see were shadows in the blackness, transporter lights streaking high, high up in the sky, and the faint winking of the stars.

  Turning her face sideways, she pressed her cheek to the cool glass to catch sight of the upper halo of light from the streetlamp further down the cul-de-sac. Hugging her blanket, Bebe rose onto tiptoes but there was nothing moving around in the darkness underneath. Not even that big male who lived three doors down and who sometimes got put outside at night. She always felt so sorry for him; she never got put outside.

  Bebe studied the night, hoping that Sir and Ma’am might come straight home again, that Ma’am would be better, that life would return to normal and she could go back to sleep. One minute bled into two, and then ten. Her feet began to ache from standing on tiptoes for so long, so Bebe quietly lowered herself to stand flat on the floor again. The house felt very strange, very quiet. Very cold. It wasn’t natural. It made her nervous, especially since she wasn’t accustomed to being left alone. In fact, nothing like this had ever happened to her before, at least not that she could remember. Ma’am was very fond of Bebe, after all, and always took her along whenever she left the house. Even before Sir and Ma’am when she had lived in the Room, she’d always had her mother and siblings to keep her company. At least until the Man came and took her away, giving her to First Ma’am, that kindly old, silver-haired woman who was deaf and almost blind and who tended to drop things, which Bebe would pick up and press back into her withered, shaking, searching hands again.