Karen was afraid.
Afraid she’d bite her tongue off.
So she bit the top of the mattress
As the cane struck the large vibrator in her ass.
As the cane struck the weights clamped to her pussy.
As the cane was shoved into her pussy.
Driven back and forth.
Searing the inside of her pussy.
Released the mattress.
Heard a laugh.
And knew it was Vicki.
It had to be Vicki.
Because that would hurt the most.
An hour and a half earlier …
Stared at Emma’s feet.
She didn’t want to be slapped again.
“Does your husband still fuck you?” Emma asked.
“Ms. Emma. Yes, Ms. Emma.” Karen had quickly learned the correct form.
“Ms. Emma. About … about a couple of months, Ms. Emma. Once every couple of months, Ms. Emma.”
“Whose pussy is that?”
“Ms. Emma. It’s your pussy, Ms. Emma.”
“Your husband will not fuck it.”
My life is so many broken pieces now, Karen thought.
“Ms. Emma. Yes, Ms. Emma. My husband will not fuck it, Ms. Emma.”
Karen felt a hysterical laugh within her soul. How could I — anyhow — ever explain to him why it’s shaved now?
“And my mother will no longer lick it. Unless I say.”
“Ms. Emma. Yes, Ms. Emma. Your mother will no longer lick it, Ms. Emma. Unless you say, Ms. Emma.”
“Ms. Emma. Yes, Ms. Emma. It’s yours, Ms. Emma.”
“Fucking right,” Emma said.
Then she grinned and added:
Emma laughed and looked across the room at her mother Vicki.
Also naked. Also kneeling.
Face in a corner.
Emma leaned back on the sofa.
Pulled up her denim skirt.
“Take off my panties,” she said. “Beg for my pussy.”
“Ms. Emma. Yes, Ms. Emma.”
With trembling hands, Karen removed the panties.
With a trembling voice, she began to beg.
Three days earlier, after lunch …
Vicki shut the door. Walking down the hall, she called out her daughter’s name.
Maybe Emma wasn’t home.
She turned into the living room.
Put her purse on the coffee table.
Walked to the chair.
A kitchen chair.
In the middle of the living room.
Emma was home.
Draped over the back of the chair was Emma’s thin, black leather strap.
Vicki stood in front of the chair.
Unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.
Pulled her jeans and panties down to her knees.
She bent forward and gripped the arms of the chair.
About 20 minutes later, she heard footsteps. Coming down the stairs. Coming down the hall.
The 19-year-old walked into the living room eating an apple. Wearing just a black “True Blood” T-shirt and a gray cotton thong.
“Yes or no?” Emma asked.
“Well … neither,” Vicki said. “It was like a maybe.”
Emma put the apple down. Beside Vicki’s purse.
“Maybe means no,” she said.
And picked up the strap.
She walked around her mother. Ran a fingernail across her mother’s bare and lifted ass. Raised the strap.
Stopped when she heard Vicki mutter.
“What was that?” Emma snapped.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. It was nothing.” A slight tremble in Vicki’s voice.
“What. Was. That.”
Steel in Emma’s voice.
” I just said … I just said …” Vicki had to force the words out. “Just said it wasn’t. It wasn’t a no. A maybe. She might. I … I … I think she will.”
“I thought we talked about your smart mouth,” Emma said.
“Take your jeans and panties off. I’m going to do your pussy, too.”
About an hour earlier, during lunch …
“Don’t say no.”
Karen opened her eyes. Looked across the restaurant table at her friend.
“Uhmm … I’m sorry,” Karen said. “What?”
“Don’t say no,” Vicki repeated. “Think about it, baby. It … it doesn’t have to end.”
Karen closed her eyes again.
She couldn’t help it.
The feeling …
Of Vicki’s bare foot. The soft sole of Vicki’s bare foot.
Up Karen’s pants leg.
Rubbing across her calf.
It was dreamy.
“Think about it a little more,” Vicki said. “Please, baby.”
Karen opened her eyes.
Was caught by Vicki’s eyes.
Vicki’s dreamy blue eyes.
“I need your pussy, baby. Don’t say no.”
Karen ached. In confusion. In need. In fear.
She leaned forward and whispered.
“She’s your daughter. I just … just can’t. I can’t get my mind past that. Your own daughter. It’s just so wrong.”
“I know, baby,” Vicki said. “That’s part of it. I told you. It’s bad. Shameful. And so hot, baby.”
Vicki took Karen’s hands in hers.
“If you don’t, it’s over,” Vicki said. “Us. No more you and me. Oh, baby. I hate it, but that’s the truth.”
Spoke in a most matter-of-fact way.
“Besides, you have to understand. She stopped being my daughter when she made me her slave.”
Five days earlier …
“I feel so weak,” Karen said.
Vicki reached around and slapped her lover’s pussy again.
And several more times.
They were on Vicki’s bed.
Vicki sat with her back against the headboard. Legs stretched out. Karen sat between Vicki’s legs. Her knees spread and lying over Vicki’s thighs.
“Lord,” Karen said, “Don’t stop.”
“Emma does this to me almost every day,” Vicki said.
“Vicki, please. I don’t …”
“I know. I know. You don’t want to hear it.”
Vicki rubbed Karen’s clit. Slowly at first. Picking up the pace until Karen was bouncing, cursing and gasping.
Vicki stopped rubbing.
Slapped Karen to orgasam.
“OH! FUCKING! FUCKING! GOD!” Karen screamed.
Vicki wrapped her arms around her lover. Felt her tremble. Fight for breath.
Vicki whispered in Karen’s ear.
“You have to hear it, baby. My daughter spanks my pussy. That’s just the way it is. She spanks it and sometimes she whips it.”
Karen started to squirm. Vicki held tight.
“It’s the difference between discipline and punishment,” Vicki said. “I like the discipline. I need it. But I hate the punishment. And she’s going to punish me. When I tell her about us.”
Karen stiffened. She turned. Looked back at Vicki. Her voice cracked with alarm. “Tell her?”
“Yes,” Vicki said. “I have to.”
“Why? God. Why?”
“She owns me. This pussy you like so much. It’s hers. So I have to tell her. And when I do, she’ll punish me. Punish it. Because another woman’s lips have been on it. Another tongue … inside it.”
Karen pulled out of Vicki’s arms. Turned to face her. “What will she do?” Karen asked.
“Nothing she hasn’t done before. But, baby, I won’t be able to see you again. Be with you again. She’ll forbid it.”
“Oh no.” Karen felt a coldness. A slight but quickly expanding emptiness. To lose what had taken so long to find.
“Yes,” Vicki said. “She will. No more us. No more us, baby.”
Vicki wiped a tear from Karen’s eye. And said, “Unless.”
Karen blinked out more tears. “Unless what?” she asked.
“Unless she owns you, too.”
That same day, earlier …
Karen got off the bed.
Put on her panties.
As she was snapping her bra …
Vicki slithered off the bed.
Pulled Karen’s panties down.
Just a little.
Just enough to get her tongue into Karen’s ass.
She licked slowly.
Then stiffened her tongue.
Listened to Karen’s moans.
Pressed the side of her face against Karen’s ass.
“Don’t leave, baby. Don’t leave upset. Let’s talk some more.”
She pulled Karen’s panties further down.
Bit Karen’s ass.
“Let’s fuck some more.”
That same day, a few minutes earlier …
Vicki and Karen sat side-by-side on Vicki’s bed.
They had fucked for hours.
But for the past hour …
Vicki had talked.
And Karen had listened.
“More than anything,” Vicki said, “it’s the shame. I like it. I crave it. I’m sorry, baby. Don’t hate me.”
Karen didn’t know what to say.
She doubted she could speak even if she did know.
Her unexpected, but long-wished for lesbian lover.
Was having sex with her own daughter.
Was — as Vicki described it — a “sex slave” to her own daughter.
Blackmailed and abused by Emma after mother and daughter had been separately seduced by a woman named Mrs. Kort.
“She had dark, soulful eyes and an even darker soul,” Vicki said.
She had convinced Vicki and Emma to fuck each other.
“And she ruled us,” Vicki said.
“Taught Emma everything she knows,” Vicki said.
And Vicki had laughed.
“And she taught me,” Vicki said. “Taught me that sex is sex. Fucking is fucking. Love is something else. You can love who you … fuck. Or fuck just to fuck. Because you want it. Need it. I know. It’s shameful what I do. What I let Emma do to me, what I let her make me do.”
Vicki let out a deep breath.
“And the shame makes me wet.”
She put an arm around Karen.
“I’m sorry I’m so flawed,” Vicki said. “You deserve better.”
Vicki kissed Karen’s cheek.
“And you deserve the truth. That’s why I told you. Fucking you is great. Great. But, baby, it’s more than that.”
Vicki smiled, and said …
“Fucking is fucking. But you are that something else. You are … love. My love. I love you, baby. Don’t hate me.”
A few minutes later she whispered, “I should go.”
And looked around for her panties.
A week earlier, late in the evening…
“That’s very impolite,” Vicki said.
Karen froze. “What?” she asked. “What did I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do, baby.”
“What? Tell me.”
“It’s very impolite to fuck your lover’s ass without playing with her clit.”
She rode the dildo deeper into Vicki. And reached for her clit.
“Do me, baby. Hard, baby. Hard,” Vicki said. “Good, yes. Fuck. You’re fucking my ass good, baby. It’s hard to believe this is your … oh fuck yes! — your first time using … using — fuck! — a strap-on. Fuck!.”
Hard to believe, Karen thought.
Yes. It’s all so hard to believe.
So lucky. So wonderful. So very lucky.
That same evening, earlier …
Karen stared up at Vicki’s pussy.
As her own pussy felt the touch of Vicki’s tongue.
And Karen’s body flooded with joy.
As she licked the lips of Vicki’s pussy.
Then plunged her tongue in.
In such a wonderful way.
Her first lesbian 69.
As wonderful …
As it seemed.
On all those Internet clips she secretly watched.
The day before, early in the afternoon…
A black garter belt. Black fishnet stockings. Black heels.
So many days. Lonely days.
Her husband at work. Kids at school.
She lay in bed. Touching herself.
Imaging the forbidden.
A woman who always wore a black garter belt. Black fishnet stockings. Black heels.
Vicki said she was going to get the wine.
When she returned, she was holding the bottle and two glasses.
And wearing a black garter belt. Black fishnet stockings. Black heels.
Nothing but a black garter belt. Black fishnet stockings. Black heels.
Vicki walked over.
Sat the wine and glasses down.
“Maybe I should have asked,” the vision from Karen’s fantasies said.
She reached out.
“No need now.”
She touched Karen’s cheek.
“Your eyes say yes.”
Fifty-five minutes earlier …
“Oh, Vicki. Hi.”
“Something to do.”
“It does seem like an excuse sometimes.”
“How’s the family?”
“Fine. Fine. And … uhm … Emma?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry. How’s Emma?”
“Girls that age. I know. My Hannah’s the same.”
“Listen, Karen. I’m glad I ran into someone I know.”
“How about a break. You know I live close to here. And … well … I joined this wine club. I don’t think it’s wrong to have a glass in the afternoon, as long as …”
“You’re not drinking alone. I know what you mean.”
“Sure. What harm can it do?”
Eight days earlier …
“I’m bored,” Emma said.
Bitch, Vicki thought.
You have me — your own mother — on the bed, on my hands and knees, naked, clamps on my nipples, chains from the clamps chained to the head rail stretching my tits out, clamps on my cunt, chains from those clamps chained to the foot rail stretching my poor pussy lips out.
And you’re whipping me with that fucking strap.
And you’re bored.
You’re a fucking bitch.
That’s what Vicki thought.
“I’m sorry,” is what she said.
“I want to do it,” Emma said.
“Stupid slave. What we talked about.”
“I don’t …”
“You’ll do it or you’ll pay.”
“Well,” Vicki said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll try.”
The strap lashed her ass.
She screamed. Lurched forward, causing agony to her pussy lips. Jerked back, setting fire to her nipples.
“You’ll do it,” Emma said.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll do it,” Vicki said.
“Yes. You will.”
“Can you tell me why?” Vicki asked. “Why Karen? She’s … I’ll do it … but it could be, uhm, tough. She’s married. Has four kids.”
“That’s why,” Emma said.
She whipped her mother’s ass a few more times.
And said …
“A husband. Four kids. Including that stuck-up bitch Hannah.”
Emma put down the strap and opened a drawer in the dresser.
“She has a long way to fall,” Emma said. “And when she hits bottom — naked, shaved, on her knees, licking my pussy and eating my ass — she won’t be able to climb back up.”
Emma took a butt plug out of the drawer.
“She’ll have no choice but to help us do Hannah.”
The young monster snarled.
“I hate that stuck-up bitch.”