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Julia watched this feed closely. Invisibly she compressed her thighs to feed her own need.
Her lips peeling apart as she lets out an audible gasp. A definite shot of pure pleasure
to her clitoris and yet not enough to make her cum.  She could do that could Julia.
Control her own orgasms as and when. She could deny herself and she could over feed
herself in equal measure. The sign, the mark of a pure unadulterated sadomasochist.  There
was never 'just' sadism in a sadist. There always was also some masochist.
Indeed most if not all sadomasochists travelled both journeys before settling on one.  It
was true to say that the best most advanced and accomplished sadist's had at some
time been masochists. Like they had been through a period of 'training' or
initiation. Like they had known how best to make a masochist suffer because at some point
or other, they had been there themselves. They had been there and done that. They
'knew'. They just knew what was happening inside the mind and the body of the
masochist. Or the slave.  Then there was the fact that no sadist was as accomplished as a
female sadist on a female masochist.  There just was that breadth and depth of knowledge
that women have about each other that makes their brand of cruelty the deepest.  Knowing
which buttons to press and keeping them pressed. Just knowing these things. And not being
swayed by the tears. Or the pleading. Or the begging of the slave.  There was no deeper or
more profound cruelty that one woman could inflict on another.  Male dominants, or male
sadists simply could not, cannot reach those depths, either with female slaves, or male
slaves.  There is something, just something inside the genetic makeup of the female that
makes the impossible possible.  Julia clenching her thighs again, just at the sight of
Helen in her turmoil. And then again as she enjoys the knowledge that she is affecting the
mind of this mother as much as her body.

“Ahhhh Mother, I see you have met Isla. My lover.”

Just as Isla was tugging gently on the leash, just gently encouraging and coaxing Helen
to take a few faltering steps, Rose stepped out of the shadows and into full view. Herself
garbed and clad in that unnatural adult schoolgirl uniform.  It was like Helen had part
walked, part strutted but mostly stumbled into a brick wall that stopped her dead. And
then that little gurgling whimper from the back of her throat. The full realisation. The
full shame. The full guilt. All washing over Helen at the same time. And yet, also and in
spite of that, the sexual need and greed in hyper-amplified state also. It wasn't
like the greed and the shame cancelled that sexual greed and need out. Far far from that
they enhanced it.  In fact, one enhanced and fed the other.  Both became like bristling,
chilling tsunamis down the core of her spine. Making her fully realise her shame and guilt
and yet at the same time, making her realise her hopeless, already deep seated addiction.

“It's ok Mother. I understand.. I more than understand what you are. What you need
and crave for.'