Chapters Burying the Lead Chapter 4
Gwen could tell Peter was grumbling as he dragged her into the room she shared with Harriet.
The two girls had once slept separately, but when their cousin moved in the decision had been made that the young boy needed his privacy. Now there was only one queen bed between the daughters of the house, but their two sides were diametrically opposed in every way, with Gwen’s being neat and tidy, her sheets made as best as her mouth could manage, while Harriet’s side was littered with toys and her covers so askew that even her nightstrap was hanging out on the floor, its buckle open like jaws trying to snatch someone’s ankles and pull them in for a nap.
Gwen was distracted enough by the mess that she almost stepped on a piece of paper. “Pete, if that’s what I think it is, Dad is gonna flip.”
Peter bent down to pick up the childish painting, a mess of shaky lines and splotches. “You worry too much, it’s going to give you wrinkles. I saw her using her mouth.”
Gwen had to admit that took most of the edge off. “How did she get into Mom’s painting supplies though? Kids aren’t supposed to—
“That’s enough. If I’m gonna be chewed out by anyone in this house it’s not going to be a girl. Here, do you need to pee?”
Gwen could only nod shyly, and follow the pull of her leash toward the adjoining bathroom.
“I’m sorry I was late, I know it always puts you in a bad mood when you have to hold it.” He lifted her dress skirt up and wrapped the leash around her as an extra belt to keep all the pleated fabric out of the way, exposing her legs in their white stockings. An easy slip of the finger in her underwear, and a tug downward meant Gwen was clear to sit on the toilet to do her business while Peter searched for more disposable towelettes.
Any attempt to tell her cousin his apology missed the mark by a country mile was undercut by the trickling sound of her going, while he stood there waiting to wipe. Gwen knew plenty of girls could just kick off a shoe, lay some toilet paper on the seat, and clean themselves, but not Ford girls. Not the Cartwrights. They were a family of good Christian values, and that meant they didn’t stoop to that level.
As the trickles and plops came to a stop and Peter lent a hand to wipe her, Gwen had to remember the old childhood joke: that a grown girl was too pure to make a mark on paper— from either end. That’s what boys are for.
Crude, but it got to the point.
Cleaned up, Gwen watched as the boy peeled and applied a panty liner. “Hey, I don’t need that yet.”
But he didn’t even hesitate, “The calendar tracker says you do, and you remember what happened last time you said ‘no’?”
Her shoulders tightened, sinking forward even as her legs remained spread. “That was three years ago…”
“Yeah, and I’m the one who got the belt when you were sent home with stains. No ‘buts.’” Peter grumbled, pulling her panties up and ending any debate. “Let’s go get you ready.”
He was almost pulling her along by the time they got to the girls’ walk-in closet, even though she was just as eager to get this over with and escape with the boy downstairs.
Thing is, Peter’s methods were fast and rough and careless, the polar opposite of the way her Dad used to keep her dressed and bathed, making sure she never felt embarrassed or rushed. He still gave her that every birthday — that and a real spa appointment for her and her Mom to have some one on one time too — but he was far too busy these days keeping the roof over their heads to do all that himself for three women. Harriet’s birth had all but guaranteed the family would need help eventually, with no sons around to pick up the slack. Her Mom had done her part for the first four or five years, but the privileges and allowances of motherhood always ran out about the time shoelaces needed to be tied, buckles clasped, and buttons fastened.
And so she instead felt Peter’s hands unfastening the buttons down her back with a tug and pull each time, yanking then unbuckling the waistleash before letting it drop to the floor.
It’s like he knew she would have to get on her knees and pick it up later, but just didn’t care!
Peter cared about his own neck though, and Charlie had said what he would do if the boy dawdled. He pulled off her navy uniform as soon as he could, and in an instant Gwen was shivering: dressed in nothing more than her hobble, stockings, panties, bra, and an hourglass girdle that took her already-slim figure in the direction more modern fashions said it should be. The tiny gold cross hanging from her neck trembled with her. Gwen was practically naked!
“Pick an outfit while I look for those fancy granny panties your Dad bought you.” Peter said, leaving her to rummage through her dresser drawers.
“They are not granny panties!” She had to rebut to save face, though if she was being honest he was right on the money. Just a few years prior, when talk of promises and marriage had started to become more than talk — as innocent invites to the school dance on their answering machine gave way to less innocent requests for her escort, and finally even some proposals — her Dad had ordered a pair of ill-fitting high briefs for ‘protecting her propriety’.
“You know I don’t really need them…” she muttered, running her bare shoulder through the hanging outfits like a boy flipped through comic book pages with his thumb. There were a few school uniform sets she wouldn’t need anymore, formal and casual dresses, her Sunday best, and then some ensembles pre-picked by her Mom; blouses with skirts and the most elegant waist belts too…
She paused to ponder and continued her point. “Charlie doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. He’s a school chaperone, there are dozens of girls without ‘protection’ under his guidance every day.”
“Yeah well, your Dad said, didn’t he?” Peter returned with the wrinkly underwear, its hemlines lined with steel cable and made of some untearable woven material. “And I don’t trust this guy. He just waltzed right in here and—”
“You don’t even know how to waltz!” Gwen laughed, but her little cousin just paused for a moment, and looked up from his current job between her legs.
“No backtalk.”
He resumed his task, and before long Gwen was not only tightly secured from any improper premarital advances or penetration, but also wrapped in her choice of outfit, #11: a white blouse, cornflower blue summer skirt, and a matching cardigan. This time a braided leather belt and leash pulled her back toward the bathroom for a quick touchup to the face and hair, before guiding her descent back to the living room, where Harriet jumped on the couch in glee and Charlie tried to save face and keep his jaw off the floor.
It was old-fashioned, but Charlie already had the permission slip in-hand, signed and faxed by Mr. Cartwright to give to Peter in exchange for Gwen’s leash, after which her cousin promptly folded the paper and slipped it into her cardigan’s breast pocket, patting it for safekeeping one-too-many times.
It was only as she turned toward the door and her afternoon out that she felt a tug on her hips, and a whimper. “I -anna go on the date too!” Harriet begged, her teeth biting, pulling on her big sister’s skirt. Peter tried to pull her off but it only made it worse!
Gwen shrieked, the fabrics getting tugged and ruined, but Charlie calmly knelt in front of the younger Cartwright girl and grabbed her by the shoulders, eliciting enough of a gasp to release her jaws of death. “It’s okay, your sister and I aren’t going on a date-date… yet.” He gave Gwen an eye. “This is just a friend-date. An adult boy and girl friend-date with other adults. Not so fun. I’m sure if we start having enough date-dates then I can plan something you’ll like too, and then you’ll definitely be invited, okay?”
Gwen had to admit a moment of disappointment might’ve shown on her face when he said ‘friend,’ before she realized he was putting the prospect of dating in her hands. He was an old-fashioned romantic after all.
Harriet eventually nodded, acquiescing to let them go and not make a fuss. Charlie held up his finger and told her it was a ‘pinky promise’ and she kissed it lightly like you do. Gwen had to admire him for the pact, he was really good with her sister, and Peter saw it too.
“And if we don’t end up going on a real date-date, you can take it up with your sister!” he laughed as he pulled Gwen out the door and down to the neighborhood strip…
If you enjoy this alternate history and its skewed lens, go read the original series, Thorns and Roses by CelestialSecrets’!