Miss Grant replied with an ice cold glare. “Ah, you may not be a dog, but from now on I am your Mistress. You will address me thus. You …” She grazed the underside of Meg's chin with her finely manicured fingernails, as she tilted Meg's head. “You are my pet. Sometimes pets are disobedient and need training. I can see I'm going to have to teach you about obedience.”
Miss Grant stopped for a moment, and then continued. “We should lay some ground rules here. What will you refer to me as?”
Meg's eyes dropped. “Mistress.”
“That's right. Mistress. And I shall refer to you as my pet. From time to time, my pet will require a punishment for disobeying. She will accept this, readily. I am a good Mistress, however, everything must be consensual, and if the punishment becomes to much to bear any more, my pet will advise me of this with one code word. Do you understand?
“Then we must decide on this word. What shall it be?”
“May it be traffic light signals, Mistress?” Meg stared at the floor and waited.
“I like that idea pet, and of course it is on green right now isn't it?”
Miss Grant snatched up her crop again, and whipped open Meg's shirt completely, buttons falling from it and flying through the air, until they spun to a halt, resting on the wooden floor.
Beneath the shirt she was without bra, and the pale flesh of Meg's breasts stood pert, with nipples pink and proud before her Mistress.
“Pet!” Miss Grant slapped Meg's breasts, until they jiggled wildly. Her areola puffed up and the pink hue of her nipples deepened, as they hardened. “Green?” asked Miss Grant.
“Bright green Mistress.”