Peggy's Girl finale (Patreon)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3355664/chapters/9304896

Mistress Peggy told her to strip and Angie did, immediately, without question. Her clothes felt horrid anyway. As soon as Mistress Peggy eyed them, Angie had known they wouldn’t do, and they’d felt dirty and overwarm and ugly. Her bare skin felt so much better. She knew it pleased Mistress Peggy.

Mistress Peggy told her to kneel next. Angie did, wondering if Mistress Peggy would have her kiss her, taste her, like she had Dottie NO. NO. She would kneel, all she would do was kneel. She knew Mistress Peggy hadn’t wanted her to do that with Dottie, she hadn’t wanted to either (so why had she done it) and now she would only do what Mistress Peggy wanted.

Her hands were bound behind her back. Her ankles were held by a spreader bar, forcing her to kneel with her knees apart. Every rope felt good; the metal cuffs around her calves were right.

Then Peggy went around her apartment, finding a framed picture on the mantelpiece. Her and Angie, snapped by a stranger when they’d visited the Statue of Liberty. Peggy picked it up and carried it to the kneeling, naked Angie.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Her voice was so soft, not like Mistress Peggy’s at all, more like the other Peggy—the one that Angie had hurt, that she’d betrayed…

“It means so much to me, Mistress, I’m so sorry…”

Peggy crouched down, putting the picture face-up between Angie’s spread knees. Angie keened. She just needed Peggy to hit her, hurt her. That was what would make her feel better. The ropes and the nakedness were fine, but that would be perfect.

“Please punish me?”

“I’m giving you what you deserve,” Peggy said.

Then she left Angie, and Angie knew why. She was too broken to even punish, too bad to ever fix, too disgusting for her beautiful Mistress. Peggy walked into the next room, the little kitchen of Angie’s little apartment. A cabinet squeaked open; the tap flowed. Peggy returned with a tall glass of cool water. She crouched in front of Angie and Angie could’ve cried… she was being given a second chance.

“Drink this,” Peggy said, and held the glass to Angie’s mouth. Angie eagerly drank as Peggy tilted it up, the water flowing between her lips and right down her throat.

Then Peggy put the empty glass down next to the picture frame and got up. She turned on the radio. She found the evening paper on the kitchen table and sat down to read it, as Angie knelt there, naked, tied, feeling the chill of the water that had gone down her throat fade.

The radio played. Peggy turned the pages of her paper. Angie stayed in place, trying to be as still as possible. She listened to the music, wishing it weren’t so loud—maybe Peggy would give her an order and she wouldn’t hear it. But Peggy never spoke. The radio went from one song to another, all of it just static to Angie, something between her and what Peggy had to say to her.

Finally, Peggy finished her paper. It’d been a good forty-five minutes—she’d done the crossword puzzle. She stood, folding the paper back up, going to the waste bin to dump it, then returning to Angie. Angie stared up at her, trying to convey in her obedient silence, with only her red-rimmed eyes, how sorry she was, how she was worthless and pathetic and crude and she knew it, knew she wasn’t worthy of Peggy…

Peggy bent down, interrupting Angie’s train of thought as she saw briefly down the cleavage of Peggy’s blouse—something else she didn’t deserve and something else that wasn’t punishment—she picked up the glass and returned to the kitchen. A squeak as she twisted the dial, then the tap ran. Sloshing water as it filled the glass. Peggy returned. A full glass of cool, clear water.

“Drink,” Peggy said, and held the glass to Angie’s mouth. Angie drank, though not very fast—she was not thirsty and she could feel the first tingling need to urinate. And though she obeyed, it wasn’t fast enough for Peggy’s liking. She tipped the glass at a sharper angle, forcing Angie to drink faster and still making water spill onto Angie’s face, leaving her sputtering.

Peggy waited for her to finish, then used her sleeve to wipe Angie’s chin and jaw. Then she left again. Angie could’ve sobbed, sure she had displeased Peggy. Peggy totally ignored her, going to Angie’s small bookcase, picking out a lurid paperback—Angie felt so embarrassed—then returned to her chair and cracking it open. The radio droned on; it sounded distorted to Angie’s ears, wrong. So wrong not to be Peggy’s voice.

As the pages turned—all Angie could think about were Peggy’s slender fingers, holding that dumb book as they’d once held Angie—Angie felt her need to pee grow. The pressure in her belly began as a small finger pressing on her from within, then grew, pushing insistently at her urethra.

She tried to concentrate on Peggy’s fingers, the pages she was turning—the book too far away for her to read. She just had to kneel there and think about how much she wanted Peggy, how she needed her, and still her eyes wandered to the bathroom. She could ignore her aching knees and the soreness in her shoulders from her arms being tied in place, but the bathroom… if she could just have one minute to relieve herself…

Peggy seemed to sense her fraying. She laid the book down on the arm of her chair and rose. Going back to Angie.

Angie knew she shouldn’t speak out of turn, but—“Mistress, may I use the bathroom?” she asked, immediately biting her lip after.

Peggy shook her head. “No. You have to stay there. It’s only been two hours.”

Angie nodded obediently. Yes. Of course.

Peggy left. Taking the empty glass with her. She disappeared into the kitchen. “But if you have to piss, go right ahead.”

The sound of the tap turning on was like a slap to the face. The flowing water resonated in Angie’s full belly and when she jittered and fidgeted, trying to reorient herself so the need wasn’t so pressing, she could hear the water sloshing around inside her.

Peggy returned. Her glass full. “Drink,” she said once more as she put the cool cusp of the glass to Angie’s lips. Tilted it. The water gathering at Angie’s teeth, prying at them, until Angie opened her mouth and let the water inside. She couldn’t make herself swallow for a moment, and her body was ripped by a sob as the water overflowed her open mouth, running down her naked body, over her sensitive nipples. She made herself swallow, swallow, swallow. Her bladder screamed at her as more water escaped from her mouth—so hard to try to swallow it when she was also desperately holding in her urine.

Now Peggy left, without a sound of either satisfaction or displeasure. She returned to her chair, returned to her book, and Angie looked down desperately at the picture between her knees. Miraculously, none of the water she’d spilled had fallen on it. It was still perfect—clear, unbroken glass over Angie and Peggy, best friends, partners, lovers, standing together in their perfect love for each other.

The seconds dragged on, the steady push on her bladder seeming to grow firmer and firmer, but she wouldn’t pee, she wouldn’t! Not in front of Peggy, not with that beautiful photograph right underneath her. She let herself move around. She let herself whimper. Anything so long as she didn’t pee. She felt Peggy’s eyes on her; her mistress turning away from her book to look over at Angie. Angie knew from the look in her eyes how red her face must be.

Peggy set the book down. She got up. She walked next to Angie. Stood over her. “You have to pee, Angie. You must.”

“I need… bathroom,” Angie said, shocked and ashamed of how her voice cracked.

“No. Right here. Right now.”

Angie shook her head. “Take the picture away—I don’t wanna—don’t wanna—“

Peggy knelt down across her. She reached out gently, stroking Angie’s thighs efficiently but without relish. Angie moaned—so good to be touched, to feel anything but the hardwood under her knees and the ropes around her wrists—but it was breaking her concentration, keeping her from focusing on holding her urine in.

“It’s alright, Angie. You don’t have to. Just let go.” Peggy’s hands moved up to the sides of Angie’s abdomen, holding her so wonderfully, her thumbs stroking at Angie’s stomach. But Angie’s bladder was so full and she had to try so hard to keep it from emptying and so as much as she wanted Peggy’s touch, she squirmed away from it. Tried to. Peggy wouldn’t let her go. Her hands kept their firm grip. Her thumbs kept caressing Angie, such a subtle touch, so insubstantial, but her concentration was cracking, shattering…

“Please, no—“ Angie moaned, feeling herself go but refusing to believe it—she could still get to the bathroom if Peggy would just let her, would just—“It’s too much, you’re too much…”

Through the coolness of her nudity and the water that’d spilled on her, Angie felt the warm rush of urine escaping her, running down her thighs, onto the floor—onto the picture of them together. She sobbed, humiliation mingling with relief, and Peggy held her as she just kept going, she couldn’t stop, not until she was kneeling in a puddle of her own shame.

“Why’d you do that?” Peggy asked, again not Angie’s mistress, but her everything. Best friend. Lover. Wife.

Angie cried, shaking her head, the hateful warmth not leaving her thighs and legs. “Because I’m awful! I’m just a horrible… a waste of space… I’m so sorry, Peg…”

“You did it because I forced you to,” Peggy said, easily reaching behind Angie and undoing her bonds. The spreader bar was next. “I made you kneel here. I put the picture under you. I made you drink. I wouldn’t let you use the bathroom.”

“No, no, I should’ve—I should’ve held it in—“

Peggy forced Angie to look at her. “I wasn’t going to let you go. Not until you’d urinated. It’s not your fault, Angie. You had no choice. I didn’t leave you a choice, and neither did Dottie.”

Angie only cried harder, shaking her head like she could throw herself out of her own skull, escape from behind the eyes of what a horrible person she was. “I should’ve been stronger. For you. She had you prisoner and I believed you would—if I had only known, I could’ve helped—“

“You could’ve been killed, just as easily. You had no way of knowing Dottie wasn’t exactly who she said she was, and no way of knowing that letter wasn’t real. She’s a master manipulator, Angie. She’s trained to be. Now, do you trust me?”

Angie forced herself to nod, even if she wanted to keep shaking her head, keep denying the kind words she didn’t deserve. “I trust you.”

“And do you love me?”

Angie ground to a halt. “I don’t deserve—“

“Do you love me?”

More tears. She couldn’t stop their flow any more than she could anything else. “Yes.”

“Then when I say I don’t hold you accountable—that I don’t blame you for anything that happened—will you accept that? Or do you think I’m wrong?”

Angie just sniffled. Peggy just looked at her, seeing that she’d pushed hard enough. She picked Angie up, her arms and legs limp and unresponsive, but still trying to go along with Peggy as she helped her to the bathroom. To the tub. Peggy turned the showerhead on and let Angie lie under the spray, the heat of her shame replaced with warm, soothing water in all her aches and dirtiness. Then Peggy picked up a towel and left. Mopped up the urine, wiped off the picture. Brought it into the bathroom and wetted another towel, wiping the glass off, then drying it. She showed it to Angie.

“See? It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Angie sobbed in earnest, limbs wrapping in on herself, and Peggy climbed into the tub with her, holding her as the tears had their way with her. Eventually, she brushed Angie off with a washcloth. The tears still came. Peggy put the plug in, changed the water from the showerhead to the faucet, filling the tub with warm, clean water. She held Angie—fully dressed, door open—as the water continued to soothe her. To leave no doubt that she was clean of all sin and regrets.

“You still want me?” Angie asked at last, her voice hoarse from the tears, but no longer shaking with them.

“Always.”

“Then I guess… I guess I can’t be that bad.”

“No. Not bad at all.”

***

After the water grew cold, Angie let Peggy dry her off. She collapsed atop the bed and slept soundly, only staying awake long enough to feel Peggy’s hand stroking her back as she drifted off. The towels went into the washing machine, followed by Peggy’s wet clothes.

The picture went back up on the mantel, to watch over the two women as Peggy climbed into bed with Angie. Even in her sleep, Angie nestled against Peggy. And finally, Peggy too felt right.