Nandita To Nandini
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Two DiariesChapter 5: There’s No Place Like Home, And Thank God free porn video
Amanda’s diary:
Dear diary,
What a day. I’m nervous, and excited, and happy, and worried and ... and ... and ... Should I write it? I almost feel like it will spoil it. Come on, Amanda, don’t be silly. I think Fiona likes me! Really, really likes me. Like, for real, properly likes me. All that stuff about being her pet--yeah, it sounds really weird, I know--and taking care of me, I’m starting to get it now, and I think she’s serious. Still not sure how to feel about it but ... Ok, calm down, Amanda ... This is how it went.
I had a wonderful sleep in Fiona’s bed. I had been having a little trouble with that at home, but though I wasn’t sure I liked it at first, being cuddled and held so tightly I could hardly move seemed to help me settle down. I dimly heard Fiona calling my name, and slowly woke up, feeling lazy, warm and safe in her arms. I felt her hand cupping my face and, still not fully awake, felt uninhibited enough to give her fingers a little kiss. At least she didn’t seem to mind.
As usual, as soon as I opened my mouth I started putting my foot in it. I told Fiona how well I slept with her, which made it sound, well, a little explicit. She giggled like it was nothing, though, and said it was the same for her. Then she got up and asked me for help with something. Of course I wanted to help her, after everything she’d done for me.
She picked up a pair of pretty noticeably crusty socks from under her bed. They looked like the ones she had worn the day before. Then she told me she wanted to know if they were too smelly for her to wear, or they needed a wash. I was a bit flustered because ... I really didn’t want her to know I like feet. I mean, that was so embarrassing. What if she thought I was a freak, or she found me creepy? Nobody liked feet, much less their smell, except me, apparently. Her explanation was a little hard to believe, too. It was obvious those socks needed a wash. Still, she had given me an excuse to smell them. I froze for a bit, looking at them, stammered for a while, and felt her hold the back of my head with the palm of her hand as she soothed me. Then the most amazing thing happened.
She pressed her dirty sock on my face, lightly rubbing it over my nose, making it clear if I wouldn’t make my mind about it, she would decide for me. It made me feel so weak and helpless in her hands, I had to close my eyes because I couldn’t bear looking at her. I felt safe, though. She was being firm but somehow kind to me. She didn’t seem mean, hateful or cruel; just demanding and resolute. As she commanded me to sniff, my knees shook with excitement and confusion, and my body reacted automatically, obeying her words. I took a long, deep breath with my nose, as she thoroughly wiped different parts of her dirty, crusty and very smelly sock on it, and I barely managed not to sigh or moan as I let the air out. Her sock had a powerful, musky smell, which somehow reminded me of her, and all I wanted was to dive into it and breathe it in over and over until it filled me completely.
Then she asked me whether it was clean enough, and the spell broke a little. I realised I was being held, and forced to smell a worn, unwashed sock by someone I hoped would one day respect me. It made me feel so humiliated. I had given in so easily to her, and I hadn’t even made token resistance. I began to get worried about Fiona’s opinion of me, and whether she would think I was disgusting or pathetic for letting her do that to me. I gave her a bit of a diplomatic response--in all honesty, those socks needed a wash really badly--and began to wriggle a little, hoping she’d let me go and I could put it all behind me.
She wouldn’t let me though. She insisted I smell the other one, too, in spite of my protests. To be fair to her, I didn’t really say no as such, just said there wasn’t a point to it, but she told me to be good and do it for her, and I just couldn’t refuse. I took another breath in, and felt my desire to submit and obey her increase. Her socks had such an intriguing smell, I wanted to breathe it in again and again until I penetrated their mystery, but though her voice seemed to be getting more playful and she seemed to be enjoying herself, forcing me to do this contrived, degrading task for her, I didn’t want to take it too far, so I just told her they both smelled the same.
She asked a few questions, demanding to know if one smelled more than the other, and teasing me about making me do it all over again to make sure. I whined a little, secretly hoping she would. Instead, she asked me if I would be embarrassed if she wore those socks, and I told her the truth: she was so amazing I could never be embarrassed about her. To my disappointment, she didn’t make me smell her socks further, but I did get a hug, a little kiss on my forehead, and a playful comment about me smelling like her feet which made me blush. Goodness, how could I be such a silly goose? I asked her if she was serious, and of course she was only teasing. It worked, too. Got me all flustered.
I thought that was that, but then she casually told me to put her socks on for her, handing them to me and giving me little choice about it. I pointed out she wasn’t going to wash them after all. At least I wanted her to know I was onto her, even if I was too meek to do anything about it other than making that little remark after the fact. I knelt at her feet, containing my desire to smell her socks again, and rolled them up for her. I thought if she was playful, I could be too, and treated it a bit like a parent dressing a child, asking her if she was all comfy and cosy. She went along and wondered, in a bratty, demanding tone, why I didn’t give them a little kiss, too. Fortunately, the childish mood I’d got into helped, so I made a silly remark and stuck my tongue out at her. Yeah, I know, so mature. At least I didn’t totally embarrassed myself by kissing her feet, though. Who knows how she would have reacted.
Carried away by the silly mood we seemed to be in, I got up, pulled her by the ear, and pretended to be a little kid myself, skipping and demanding her breakfast. She played along and we moved to the kitchen, leaving the dangers and temptations of discarded footwear behind. I felt both a little disappointed and relieved about that. There, I felt more in my element. Whatever else people said about me, and they’d said a lot, I could cook. I was so happy to do that for Fiona, even if my own breakfast was just cereal. I usually didn’t feel much of an urge to eat heavy food in the morning, but Fiona was a lot more active than me and probably needed it to keep her going through the day. She was quite appreciative of it, too, which made a difference. My parents always took it for granted.
Then I got a text and everything started going wrong.
“Mandy, I know we told you that you could stay there but we need you here by noon. They need our reports tomorrow and we couldn’t finish them on time, so we’re going to be doing overtime next week. We need you to do meals until Wednesday at least. Sorry. I know you’re disappointed, sweetie, but it’s just this time. Maybe this will cheer you up though: Clara’s coming to a concert next Friday and she’ll stay with us for the weekend! Isn’t that great? Love, Mum.”
Goddamnit. Why was my life such a mess? Yes, Mum, just this time, like you said every single time before. And Clara was coming, too. I felt my breakfast trying to come back up from fear and anxiety. Wasn’t it enough that I had to meet them in summer and new year? I had a lot of practice hiding my dislike for my cousins, though, after they taught me that lesson when I was twelve, so I was pretty sure Fiona didn’t pick up on how terrified I was.
I had to tell her about it, and I felt guilty for springing this on her. That’s why I was so short with her. I knew she had the right to expect better of me, but there wasn’t anything I could do: I wasn’t in control. She kept pointing out how unreasonable my parents were and it just made me annoyed with her for having everything. What the hell did she know?
She asked if she could come with me, and I didn’t want to tell her I wouldn’t have a second of free time until the chores got done. She surprised me by offering to help, but it just made me feel worse, like our family was such a mess we needed my friend from school to get our things in order.
If she was willing to help with chores, though, she had to like me, at least a little. If I could stay with her for the weekend, I might be able to avoid Clara. Sure, she would punish me for that in new year, but they’d always find something to punish me for, anyway. I didn’t want to feel unsafe in my own home, like she could come any time she wanted. It was one of the hardest things I had done, but I overcame my shyness and fear of rejection, and asked Fiona--begged, really--if I could come to visit her the next weekend. I was so afraid she’d show contempt or disapproval my hands were shaking.
She said no. It was just as I feared. No-one would ever care about me.
Sure, she had an excuse. Everyone had an excuse. Kira had asked her. Didn’t she know I needed her more? Didn’t she know it was an emergency? No, she didn’t know, because I couldn’t--wouldn’t--tell her. I lashed out like a brat, and I was afraid she was going to destroy me with her words, or worse, do something like what she had done to Eve, but she took a long breath and calmly responded, telling me I could come the weekend after and that she loved my company. She was kinder to me than I deserved, showing she perhaps did care, but it wouldn’t do me any good anyway.
I tried telling her about my cousin. I really tried. The words just wouldn’t come out though. As I opened my mouth to speak I felt my throat closing in panic. I had tried telling people a handful of times, and they had always made me regret it. It didn’t matter anyway, no-one ever believed me. A part of me was also afraid that, if I told Fiona, she would get involved. I couldn’t bear the thought of my cousins hurting her. Of course, another possibility was she wouldn’t care, or would think I deserved it, and that would hurt too.
I found the entire thing unbearable so I suggested we do our homework. If I went home with them unfinished there would be no end of complaining from my parents, and they might even forbid me to visit Fiona again. I always tried to prepare homework in advance as much as possible, to cope with unforeseen surprises like this one, so I was ready pretty quickly, unlike Fiona, who was thorough and had left things to the last moment, knowing she was in control of her fucking life. She saw that I was bored, and gave me a laptop to entertain myself with while she finished.
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