Mother

7 - Learning Curve

Vote?  Enjoy.

-January 22, xxxxx  xx-

Mucus.  Filth and grime. Gritty, everything is gritty.  It’s always gritty, deal with it.  I will deal with it.  Mucus, there’s always mucus.  I can’t get rid of it, maybe I don’t want to.  The dirt is cool today, wet, it’s not normally wet, but it must have rained recently to be so.  Outside, yes I’m outside.  I don’t get to be outside often, but she let me out today.  In fact she let me go quite far today.  I don’t normally go this far, but today is okay.

There must be a reason why we are so far from home.  Home.  I can’t believe I called it that.  That place is worse than hell.  She does things, terrible things, yet I’m still here.  Sadly I’m still here.  I stay low to the ground and keep my face nearly touching the mud.  Mine wants me like this or there’s punishment.  I don’t like punishment, it’s never good.  She says if I’m low I can’t see what they are doing, it’s for my protection.  I think she just wants to humiliate me, and it works very well. 

I exhale slowly, I can see my breath.  It must be cold out, but I can’t feel anything.  Muddy rags cover my body and are twice as heavy as they normally are.  This is probably because they are wet, but I can’t feel that either.  As of late I haven’t felt much of anything.  Maybe she did something to maybe, maybe I’m finally broken.  I keep my head close to the wet ground and shift my eyes up.  It hurts to look up like this, but it’s the only way I can get a glimpse of what’s going on without getting scolded. 

There are trees around us, lots of trees, we’re in a forest.  For some reason I can’t quite remember the journey here, only that we are here.  This happens a lot, lapses in memory.  I hate them, or at least I think I do.  Maybe it’s good I forget, maybe it’s not.  She’s in front of me, her back is arched and she’s wearing at least two fur coats.  She smells like mold and dirt as much as I do and the coats have probably never been washed.  Two coats, it’s not that cold… is it?  The fungus on her face has grown considerably and started sprouting white pussy gunk from them.  She often takes that gunk and throws it into her brews. 

There are three other people here besides my keeper.  That’s two more than the last time we had visitors.  The last time, I was so innocent then, I was so unknowing.  So much has changed since then, I’ve grown so much with Mine, she’s taken good care of me, changed me, trained me.  I would never consider leaving her side, she is my everything.

One of the other three I know.  It’s the pretty one with the scales.  She’s wearing a black dress, her skin is clean, and she doesn’t even have the proper attire for the chilly weather.  She’s sexy, I just want to jump on her and shove dirt down her bra, I want to cover her in filth and fuck her silly.  I can’t.  Mine won’t let me, she’d never let me.

Two more.  One doesn’t look like she’s from around here.  Her skin is full of color and she has red lips which contrast with her thin black coat.  She’s wearing boots but doesn’t seem comfortable in them and has orange hair that’s so curly it froths up in a neat ball on her head.  Her jaw is wide and she looks to have some punch on those arms of hers.  Russian.  She’s Russian, that or Eastern Europe.  Either way she’s not from around here, not at all.

The last one is old, very old.  Mine appears old due to the filth but I’ve discerned she can’t be more than forty or fifty.  This one looks ancient.  Unlike the tall strong European this one is only four feet tall, has a wooden cane, and wears a single long robe of sorts with a hood and large sleeves.  If we were comparing garb to see who’s the most witch of the witches she’d win first prize, literally resembling every single cliché a witch could have.  Old, cane, robe, I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman has a crackly voice, is missing eye and even has a pet raven.