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She remembered some things. It got harder and harder each day, but she still remembered. There was a time when she wasn’t so pretty. She wasn’t soft and plush back then. She had been hard and firm. . . tall and broad. Something else was between a thick thighs then, something long and dangly. Now there was a mound in it’s place that got warm and moist when she touched it. New parts of her wiggled and jiggled every time she moved or took a breath. It tickled sometimes, especially in the delicate lingerie she always wore. Mistress insisted that she always look pretty and wear nice things. It never occurred to her to argue with mistress - after all, they they felt so nice against her skin and Mistress always seemed to play with her more when she looked her best.
She remembered having a different name. Mistress called her Wendy, often whispering it in her ear and making her feel fuzzy and warm. All her worries would melt away when Mistress did so, so she liked being Wendy for her. But her old name was beyond her, taken away so she could be Wendy forever. Somehow, it seemed right to be Wendy.
The faintest memories were of a time before she lived with Mistress in her lovely home. She used to work just like Mistress did, but now she sat around each day while the maids waited on her every need. While Mistress was away, the girls would pamper Wendy with scented bubble baths and rich-tasting sweets. They would tease her voluptuous curves as they bathed her to keep the pretty thing in a fog of lust. By the time Mistress got home, Wendy would be willing to attend to her every need. Of course she would be waiting for her in the parlor, adorned with shiny baubles and wrapped in intimate finery.
Yes, Wendy remembered things . . . but she liked that she was remembering less and less with each passing day.