AFTERNOON SURPRISE_(0) free porn video

It was a typical British summer – which is to say: cold, dreary, windy and rain, rain, rain. There had been a short spell of bright days in early April, but since then the sun had hardly shown its face and every weekend had been miserably dull and wet. Everyone was getting depressed and irritable, and it was affecting the mood at work. We had just had the second of the May bank holiday weekends, which had done its best to surpass all previous records for rainfall. And then, of course, as the nation went despondently back to work on Tuesday, the clouds parted, and by that evening there was a clear blue sky with a gentle breeze and warm sunshine.

The next day, Wednesday, was even nicer, and by lunchtime I had had more than enough. The advantage of owning your own business is that you can set the rules – and, sometimes, change them. I pondered for a moment, and then stood and looked at myself in the floor-length wardrobe mirror in my office suite. I am thirty-seven years old and looking good on it, as everyone agrees – I diet carefully and work out on exercise machines at my home, and so have kept my waist slim and my legs trim. I have always had a good figure, inherited from my mother’s Italian family – fully-rounded 30D breasts that hardly droop at all, a flat stomach, trim hips and a jutting ass with no cellulite or flab. I have a smooth pink complexion, pouty lips, clear grey eyes and dark hair with a fringe and centre-parting that falls straight down to my upper breasts.

About eight years ago, I founded my own company, and it has prospered – we have a niche product, an established reputation and a secure market share. About twenty people work for me, just over half of them on the production side and the others in the sales and accounts sections. Things were going well with the business, and I decided we could afford a little indulgence – especially, I thought, as it could be considered as an investment in improved staff morale. I took another look out of the window at the cloudless blue sky, reached for my office intercom, and pressed the button that would let me make an announcement to all of my staff at once.

‘OK, folks’, I said cheerfully, ‘I’m as fed up with this bloody summer as you are – and now the sun finally comes out, right after the holiday weekend! So, I’m closing for today right now, you can all get on home and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts!’ I heard a ‘whoopee’ of delight from Muriel, my PA and secretary, in the outer office, and more faintly this being echoed from around our small building.

So I had the cosy feeling of having done a good deed – but it was far from unselfish. For I was thinking about my lover, and the chance – the first one of the year – for a carefree 69 on the lawn grass in the balmy sunshine ... Jesus, that was making my panties damp with anticipation. Yes, I’m a lesbian, and have known that since my early twenties (before then, I thought I was bisexual, and sometimes tried to have boyfriends, which generally turned out disastrously). My thoughts lingered on my sweet delectable partner, and I couldn’t wait to get home to her. Katrina and I have been living together for nearly three years now, and I love her to bits. She is thirty-two, five years younger than me, and her parents are from Latvia. Katrina was born and raised in suburban London, but sometimes her upbringing leaves a delightful trace of Eastern Europe in her accent or the way she phrases some expressions, and her face is a very attractive mixture of Slavic cheekbones and soft brown eyes, framed by Scandinavian straight blonde hair.

It had influenced me in my decision to close early that it was a Wednesday. Katrina is a schoolteacher: she teaches physics and mathematics (smart cookie that she is) at a secondary school, to pupils aged eleven to fourteen – little demons, she calls them, but with a note of affection as well as frustration in her voice. However, on Wednesday afternoons there are no lessons so that sports can be played, and Katrina is not involved in any of the coaching so she comes home at lunchtime and works in peace and quiet on her marking or lesson plans ... and this meant that she and I could be together this afternoon – if I left now, I would be home hours earlier than my usual 6.00 p.m. With my tits stiffening in anticipation, I rubbed my thighs together and gave a soft moan from the effects on my pussy, as I quickly finished a final email and switched off my computer.

I was the last to leave the building, setting the alarm and locking the glass front doors securely behind me. My employees were scattering happily to their cars, eager to get home to their loved ones and enjoy this unexpected bonus time in the hot sunshine. I remember that, as I walked to my own vehicle, I watched them with fond amusement and idly thought: ‘I hope none of them gets an unpleasant surprise because they get home early!’

Oh, what irony! What hubris!! Never for one second did I dream that such a thing could happen to me!

I climbed into my smart white Mercedes sports car, and quickly drove the three miles to my home. With the money my business has made, a few years ago I bought a large and elegant house, built in the 1920s, which is well secluded in quite extensive tree-lined grounds. Deciding to keep to my plan of surprising Katrina, I left the car halfway down the drive, so that the scrunch of the gravel under the tyres would not herald my arrival.

I let myself in quietly through the front door, my imagination playing with images of my sexy lover lazing on one of the sun loungers on the large paved patio that overlooks the rear garden … wearing one of her so skimpy, so tempting bikinis, little scraps of cloth with tie strings that just beg to be pulled undone … perhaps topless, sprawled almost naked with just the tiny thong bikini panties, her cute pert breasts turned up to the sunshine … maybe her nipples hard as she remembered our passionate lovemaking of the previous night … and I would creep quietly up behind her, put my hands over her eyes … or perhaps her tits! … and whisper throatily in her ear: ‘Guess who’s home?’

Lost in this pleasant daydream, I slipped into the hall, and put my bag and suit jacket down on one of the chairs. Only then were my illusions shattered, and the anticipatory smile was wiped from my face. From the upstairs master bedroom came the shrill cries of a woman being taken to the brink of ecstasy, and with a heart suddenly turned to cold ice and a bilious churning in my stomach, I recognised at once that it was Katrina’s voice screaming and shrieking:

‘Fuck me!! Aaarggh – oh shit, take me, NOW! Do me, fuck me! Oh-god, ohgod-ohgod-ohGOD-oh-fucking-Christ, FUCK ME, FUCK ME NOW!!

I gave a kind of choked gasp, my knees almost gave way, and I clutched at the bottom of the stair-rail for support. My lover, my gorgeous sexy pussy-babe, was cheating on me – she was having sex with another woman, in my own house, in our own bed!

I was too stunned, too utterly betrayed, to feel any anger – I just felt washed out, hollowed out, empty inside like a shell. And yet, I had to know, I had to see it with my own eyes, and I was pulled up the stairs by a magnetic force that I was powerless to resist. I was so shaken that I moved slowly, and made almost no sound as I climbed breathlessly to the first floor landing – not that they would have heard, given the uninhibited shrieks and yells echoing from the bedroom.

Its door was three-quarters open, and as I reached it I saw an amazing sight which riveted me to the spot. There were two figures on the mattress of our large king-size bed, with their backs towards me. Katrina was kneeling in the centre of the bed, doubled over at the waist, and from my angle I could see that her mouth was open, her eyes were half-closed, and her face was beaded with sweat and pressed down onto the sheet. My first shock was that she was in tight bondage: her ankles were fixed to a spreader bar, stretching them about three feet apart, and her wrists were strapped into leather handcuffs next to them, pulling her arms straight backwards and flat on the mattress. This had the effect of thrusting her ass high into the air, where her cunt was spread wide open and vulnerable. There were also ropes around her upper arms which were pulled taut to the top corners of the bed, and her bondage was completed by two more ropes stretching from her ankles to the bottom corners – so that she was pinned in the middle of the mattress, unable to move in any direction. Katrina was almost naked, but her wanton abandon was highlighted by her only garments – a slutty pair of scarlet fishnet stockings and the black and red satin bordello-style garter belt to which they were attached.

My second shock was by far the greater: the woman wearing a strap-on dildo and forcefully ramming it into my partner’s gaping vagina was instantly recognisable to me, even from the back – the athletic jut of her pert buttocks, the assured set of her head and shoulders, her long straight black hair … it was not a woman at all, but Chloe – my sixteen-year-old daughter!!

For a moment, I was turned to stone, transfixed by this unbelievable sight … thinking vaguely that perhaps this was a dream, or a nightmare, yet knowing that it was not. My young daughter was fucking my lover, she and my lover were into bondage, and from the verve and energy which they were giving it, they had done this plenty of times before! I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears as my daughter reached over Katrina’s back, grabbed a handful of her dishevelled and sweaty blonde hair, and jerked her head back and upwards. With her dildo deep inside my lover’s cunt, Chloe viciously slapped Katrina on the ass several times, and then reached underneath to pull and twist the older woman’s pendulously swinging nipples. All the time, a stream of sexual profanity and dominance poured from my sweet daughter’s lips:

‘You fuckin’ Latvian lezzie, you fuckin’ whore, you’re gonna get fucked so hard, oh yeah bitch! You fuckin’ dyke slut, you’re my cunt-bitch now, you’re my fuck-toy, you slutty Slav cow! You’ll do what I tell you, bitch! You’ll cum when I make you, cunt! Take it – take it now, pussy-slut, FUCKING – TAKE – IT – NOW!! COME FOR ME NOW, YOU CUNT – CUM, NOW!!!

And my sixteen-year-old daughter grasped the hips of my sobbing lover, swung her own butt backwards, and then slammed her pelvis forward with even more venomous force than before, piercing the ribbed nine-inch plastic cock almost up to Katrina’s womb. My eastern European babe gave the most ear-splitting shriek of sexual submission, and her whole body visibly quaked in the throes of a convulsive, volcanic orgasm. She subsided slowly, bubbling gasps coming from a mouth that was pressed into the damp sweaty sheet, interspersed with deep moans as an after-shockwave of mini-orgasms exploded in her vagina.

Chloe looked down at the woman who was more than twice her own age, and almost gloated in her complete command and dominance over her mature body. She shook Katrina’s head by the hair a couple of times, and slapped her again on the ass – I could see from the red glow on the Latvian woman’s butt that she had already taken quite a beating there. Then, with an almost contemptuous lack of consideration, she roughly jerked the strap-on backwards out of Katrina’s pussy, causing the older woman to give a despairing wail as another burst of orgasms exploded in her over-fucked cunt, leaving her utterly spent and almost fainting.

Chloe swung off the bed and turned to face where I was framed in the doorway – stricken, appalled, mesmerised, and (yes, I admit it) also partly aroused, my pussy tingling strangely. My daughter did not seem in the least surprised to see me – I didn’t know for how long she had been aware of my presence, but clearly for some time, and it had not made her pause for a second in her sexual ravishing of my adored lover. She stood with her legs apart and arms akimbo, wearing her smart black leather boots, a pair of black hold-ups, and the strap-on dildo (in fact, looking quite the budding dominatrix), her maturing breasts naked and their large nipples fully aroused.

My daughter looked at me boldly, not a trace of guilt or regret in her expression, and with a slight smile she drawled:

‘Well, well … guess who’s home?’

It wasn’t at all how I had imagined that it would be said.

I just stared at her, open-mouthed. My daughter reached backwards, and with deft expertise undid the buckles on the leather cuffs that bound Katrina’s ankles and wrists to the spreader bar. Swiftly, my pretty blonde lover sat up on the bed, rubbing her ankles where the bondage had chafed. She had the grace to look a little shocked and apprehensive, but she was sheltered behind my imposing and aggressive daughter’s back, and this gave her the confidence to toss her head, settling her hair behind her, and then to look me in the eye – no excuse, no apology was being offered from this quarter either.

This was my third shock, and it hit me like a blow to the solar plexus, winding me and draining all my energy. With a sobbing gasp I slid to my knees, and was only prevented from falling over entirely by the support of the door frame.

Chloe stretched luxuriantly, which thrust her young but impressive breasts even more visibly outwards. I couldn’t speak, my mouth was dry and my throat had clenched closed, and I gazed up at my daughter imploringly from my position in front of her feet. That was enough, enough of a stimulus for her to take things further, to seize the moment. She wasn’t high on some drug (which at that moment I half-feared, but also half-hoped – for it would provide a rational explanation and excuse for her sexual rampage), but she was high on lust, on hormones and adrenalin, and most of all on the headiest of all potions – power.

‘Well now, Momma’s home’, Chloe drawled, and then with the speed of a striking snake she lunged forwards and grabbed me by the hair. ‘You shouldn’t come sneakin’ up on people like that, naughty Mummy! You’re a very bad, bad Mummy!’

Whatever I could have imagined she might say, it wasn’t that – the effrontery of the girl just amazed me, it literally took my breath away. She and my lover had been cheating on me behind my back, and far from her showing any remorse at my distress, it seemed that the fault was mine for coming home early and catching them in flagrante! Before I could start to put those sentiments into words, Chloe yanked sharply and painfully on my hair, jerking my head up so that I was looking her straight in the eyes. I could see that she was swept away by the heady pleasure of sexual dominance, that she was riding on the crest of a wave and there would be no stopping her now, and suddenly I felt a cold stab of fear as to what might be in store – for one thing I know about by daughter: she never does anything by halves.

Chloe laughed richly. With a quick glance at Katrina, who was making no move to help me, my daughter added: ‘Momma needs a lesson, Momma needs to learn her place!’ Then she turned partly back towards my lover, and in a harsher tone, with a crisp note of absolute command that I had never heard from her before, she added: ‘… doesn’t she, Katrina-fuck, you slutty cunt? Doesn’t the bitch need a lesson, my pussy-slave?’

And then my final shock was the greatest of them all, for my partner, a handsome mature blonde and a successful professional schoolteacher, scrambled off the mattress like a naughty child and fell humbly to her knees at the side of my sixteen-year-old daughter. I could hardly believe what I was seeing – and then hearing, for with her eyes downcast in meek and absolute submission, Katrina hastened to agree:

‘Oh, yes, Miss Chloe … oh yes, Mistress, let’s do her … please, let’s do her!’

I managed a weak cry of protest, beginning ‘What the fuck d’ya think you’re …’ when I was halted by a sweeping smack across the face from my own daughter – whom I had never struck once in her whole life, nor had she ever hit me until this astonishing moment. I gave a terrified yelp and fell over sideways, and what little power of resistance I might have been able to muster was blown to shreds.

Chloe grasped me roughly by the upper arm, and after she gave Katrina a sharp look, my lover hastened to seize me on the other side. They hauled me unceremoniously to my feet – I lost one of my shoes at this point – and then they yanked me forwards with considerable force, flinging me face downwards across the sweaty and cum-streaked bedsheet.

I made a half-hearted attempt to rise up, but with the honed reactions of a sportswoman and the lithe suppleness of a teenager, Chloe jumped onto the mattress and straddled my back, her knees on either side of me and her weight holding me down. Swiftly, before I had a chance to realise what she was doing, she twisted my arms behind me and strapped them into a pair of the handcuffs from which Katrina had just been released. As soon as my wrists were secured, Chloe rolled me onto my back, so that my arms were trapped beneath me.

‘What, what the fuck is ...’ was as much as I managed plaintively to stammer, before she gave me another hard slap across the face, and then a backhand the other way that left me breathless and dazed.

My daughter leaned over me, and I couldn’t help my own lesbian nature – my eyes were inexorably drawn to the high pointy jut of her breasts (like me, she was an early developer and already a big girl in the bust department) and the erect nipples at their peaks, and my pussy flushed hot and wet at the sight of the alluring naked teen-girl flesh suspended above me. Her eyes gleamed as she noted my look and my reaction, and her lip curled in triumph.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At this point, I should explain a little more about us, and Chloe most of all. She was the unexpected consequence of my final attempt at a straight boyfriend, in my last months at university. He was a nice guy, and handsome too – I had the body, the charm and the vivacity to attract any male that I set my sights on (and most females, too). He was tall and athletically built, and played on the wing for the college rugby team. However, the affair only lasted a few weeks, as once again I inexplicably cooled on it as rapidly as I had begun it, turning moody and easily upset, and after the night of graduation ball we went our separate ways with few regrets. Then, about six weeks later, I discovered that I was pregnant – quite a surprise, as we had used contraceptives, but, y’know, they don’t always work!

I had no desire for marriage or to burden him with the responsibilities of a fatherhood that he had never intended, and so I did not tell him. Almost as much of a surprise as the pregnancy was my fierce desire to have the baby, and to bring it up on my own. My parents and my sister helped with some of the childcare when Chloe was little and I was getting established in a career, but before long I could afford a good daytime nursery, and the arrangements got easier when she started school. During those first few years, I had little time or energy for a sex life, but some casual one-night stands with other young businesswomen who hit on me at conventions or in hotel bars convinced me that lesbianism was my true nature, and with relief I dropped the idea of looking for a male partner – who would have been hard enough to find, now that I had a child in tow.

When Chloe was about seven, I began quite a long and passionate affair with my immediate boss, a striking American redhead in her late thirties who lusted after my ripe curves, and broke her lifetime rule of never seducing anyone who worked for her. We kept it completely secret, and met only at her house after work and on some Sundays, when Chloe was with her grandparents or her aunt and cousins. My boss admired my business skills as well as my bedroom ones, and she boosted my confidence and gave me valuable advice. It was at her encouragement that I left the large international company that we both worked for, and struck out on my own – she even provided part of my start-up capital. It was also part of our plan that when I was independent, we could be more open about our relationship and live together, but just as we were looking for a house to buy, the company gave her a big promotion which required her to move back to the head office in Atlanta. It was far too good an offer to refuse, although we both sadly knew that it meant the parting of the ways.

After that, I put myself about on the lesbian club scene, and got quite a bit of action – I was still in my early thirties, knew how to dress to show my full breasts and taut ass to eye-catching effect, and now I had the personal and sexual confidence to carry it off. It was fun for a while, and I had some amazing fucks, but always at a hotel or the other woman’s home, and I never brought anyone home. But, you know, one tires of that rootlessness after a while, and I was ready for something more stable when a good friend of mine – a lesbian herself, though curiously we had never fucked each other – hosted an all-female dinner party, and Katrina was one of the other guests.

We hit it off straight away, sharing opinions and laughing at each other’s jokes, our eyes dancing with pleasure at finding someone so attractive and so totally on the same wavelength. It was almost an unspoken assumption that we would leave together, would go somewhere and make love – and I do mean make love, not just have sex. To my surprise, as we stood in the street beside our cars (mine sleek, expensive and sporty; hers small, old and rather shabby), I suddenly said: ‘Follow me, come back to my place ... stay the night with me, please.’ Her face broke into a stunning radiant smile, as it did again an hour later as she spread her legs wide apart on the white silk sheets of my bed, and my tongue slid into her crack as we ate each other out in a long, languid and deeply satisfying 69.

She was still sleeping peacefully in my arms when I awoke on the Sunday morning, and I left her under the duvet as I pulled on my robe and went down to the kitchen. Chloe was there – it was about 10.00 a.m. – reading the newspaper with the solemnity of a thirteen-year-old on the brink of flowering into a young woman. I wasn’t at all sure how to handle this – she knew nothing of my previous liaisons or my sexual orientation, and I didn’t want to alarm or upset her.

‘Umm, err ... Chloe, love, umm ... there’s someone staying over ... err, a friend ... I hope you don’t mind, she’ll be down for breakfast in a while, I guess ...’ I trailed off. I needn’t have worried: Chloe put down the book reviews section, gazed at me with bright interest, and then gave quite an adult peal of laughter.

‘Oh, Mum! Finally, you’ve brought someone home – I thought you never would! Are you happy? I hope she’s good in bed!’

I gasped, and my shock must have been transparent. Chloe looked at me with wry amusement, as if she was the mother and I the daughter.

‘Mum, of course I know you’re a lesbian, I mean its obvious – well, it is to me, anyway! It’s fine by me, really and truly, I’ve known for years, and it’s OK. I hope she’s nice, and she can stay and make you happy.’

I admit that I cried a bit with relief and happiness, and my thirteen-year-old daughter – who was already an inch or so taller than me – gave me a cuddle and a tissue to wipe my nose. And that is how things began, three years ago, and very soon Katrina’s visits developed into staying for the whole of each weekend, not having to hide that she was sleeping with me (though we tried not to be too noisy, at least until we were sure that Chloe was asleep), and then, after about six months, she gave up her own rather dingy rented flat, and moved in properly. We were a stable, happy lesbian couple ... or so I had thought until this day.

For what happened next, you have to be able to picture Chloe. Her father’s build came out in her height, but she also inherited his reflexes and supple athletic grace. When this was merged with my family’s womanly curves, smooth clear skin, pouty lips and lustrous long dark hair, the result was a stunning package of beauty and strength. Chloe’s breasts began to take shape around the time that I met Katrina, and by the age of sixteen they had developed into needing the support of a 28C bra, whilst her ass was just to die for. My daughter was not only a stunning example of youthful femininity, but she was also a keen sportswoman – she enjoyed athletics and swimming, but most of all she excelled at the vigorously physical and competitive team games of hockey and lacrosse; in fact she was the school captain of the latter team, and was leading it to the top of the local league table. She was now about four inches taller than me, and her lithe frame was also much stronger from her regular workouts on the exercise machines which were installed in our small gymnasium.

Before this, I had scarcely given a thought to Chloe’s sexuality – after all, she was only sixteen. I think I had just assumed that she would be ‘normally’ heterosexual, and had been grateful that she had shown no interest so far in dating or staying out late, and appeared to be quite fully occupied with her school work and her active sporting life. In fact, despite clearly being well-known and popular at school, she seemed to like her privacy, and almost the only person who she invited to our house was her long-time best friend, Abigail. I had certainly never tried to influence Chloe in a lesbian direction – not because I was in any way ashamed of my sexuality, but because it was up to her to find her own path. I was simply overwhelmed by the discovery that my daughter was an active, rampant lesbian – aggressive and domineering, and far more assured and experienced than I was even at the age of twenty-five, never mind at sixteen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As I lay on my back on the bed, my arms trapped and pinned beneath me, I felt bewildered and disoriented. My little world had literally turned upside down, in a reversal as great as the fact that my daughter was squatting on my pelvis, with the hard plastic rod of her strap-on cock lying flat on my skirt front. She rested her hands on my shoulders for a moment, giving a clear unspoken instruction not to wriggle or resist, and then I felt the first cold wash of fear as her hands trailed downwards onto my chest, to scoop around my breasts and squeeze them.

My mouth opened to make some kind of protest, but before I could gather the breath, Chloe made another lightning move. Her hands moved from my breasts to grip my elegant silk shirt, and then with a convulsive heave she tore it open, sending the small pearl-shaped buttons scattering across the room like grapeshot. I gave a shriek as my daughter stripped it away to each side and tugged it partly off my shoulders. Her hands went back to my breasts, gripping them much harder through the flimsy lace of the lightweight, soft fabric summer bra that I was wearing. Chloe hooked her finger into the linking band between the two breast cups, and then with a feral grin she gave it a vicious tug downwards and back up again.

This had the effect of flipping my heavy breasts out from the shelter of the bra and into the open air, and Chloe pounced on them like a tigress. I gave a disbelieving scream of shock – immediately followed by another of real pain – as she gripped both of my nipples, and gave them a hard pinch and then a twist in opposite directions. My body bucked under her, and I swear that the heaving struggles of my pelvis against her crotch turned on my daughter-dyke even more. She laughed gleefully at my futile struggles, and twisted my nipples back the other way, which was more than twice as painful. I gave a whimpering sob, and tears trickled from the corners of my eyes – tears of pain, of shame and of fear.

With my hands tied and pinned under my back, I was utterly defenceless against her strength, and we both knew it. The truth is that any mother-daughter relationship is a churning maelstrom of love and hate, spiced with generous flavourings of envy, jealousy and possessiveness – and in our case, where there had only and always been just the two of us, the polarities were still more highly charged. However much affection there is, there is also rivalry and friction – it is a power relationship, and in these few life-changing moments the power passed irrevocably from me to my daughter, so profoundly that the transfer was almost physically visible. I gazed up at her from my prone and humbled position, feeling deeply uncertain of my future role and place, my lips trembling and fear showing in my eyes.

My lesbian hawk of a daughter drank it down like heady wine, and with a wicked glint in her eye she slapped my quivering mounds of breast-flesh several times, sending a sharp jolt through me that was followed by an even more shocking sensitivity and warmth. Chloe twisted round to glance behind her, to where Katrina still knelt on the floor, her eyes saucer-shaped as saw her mature lover taken down and broken by her own teenage daughter – the young woman who, one Wednesday two months previously, when they had been alone together in the house, had taken Katrina in a sudden sexual assault that had been three-quarters rape and only one-quarter seduction, overpowering her and then fucking her into a cosmic-scale climax. My Latvian lady had kept secret the ensuing two-hour lesbian bondage marathon which had blown her mind, and the regular sex sessions that had followed every week since, so that now she was my nubile daughter’s willing pleasure-toy and abject pussy-slave – and I had suspected nothing of this.

Chloe shifted forwards so that her crotch was now pressing down on my chest, in fact quite deliberately trapping and crushing one of my nipples against the base of the strap-on, which now lay solid and threatening in the valley of my cleavage. Then, in a haughty tone, she instructed Katrina to remove my skirt and panties. Hearing this, I tried to heave my daughter aside, but she was more than ready for such a move, and with gleeful joy she rode me as if I was a bucking bronco, grinding her pussy down against my breast. My efforts were feeble enough, in truth, and I desisted when after a few moments she slapped my face again and curtly ordered me to ‘Lie still, Mommy-bitch! There’s a good Momma-pussy – you’re getting what’s coming to you, no point in fighting it!’

Completely in thrall to my dominatrix of a daughter, Katrina eagerly fumbled for the waist button and side zip of my silver grey pencil skirt, and then she tugged it away from my hips, down my legs, and flung it away behind her. For a moment, both she and my daughter gazed at my delicately feminine low-rise string panties, a flimsy lace concoction that matched my bra. Chloe reached one long arm around behind her and roughly pulled the gusset of the panties aside, revealing my Venus mound – I keep my pussy area shaven, with a patch of trimmed brown hair above. I was appalled and ashamed to realise that my labia had enlarged and parted, and that warm moist juice was leaking from my vagina. Surely ... surely, I could not be aroused by my plight, by having my daughter in sexual command of me ... no, it couldn’t be that.

Chloe ran a finger down my slit, which parted moistly for her, and with a laugh of vindication she probed my wetness before flicking her fingernails sharply against my clitoris. It was like an electric shock, and I yelped with surprise, pain and ... yes, it had to be admitted, pleasure. I could not look my daughter in the face as she towered above me, and in my shame I twisted my head away to the side.

‘Get rid of her fucking panties, you lazy bitch!’ she snapped curtly at Katrina, who again hastened to comply with her mistress’s commands – and I realised now where the chain of authority in my household really lay. In a moment, despite my futile kicks, my panties were yanked down to my knees, stripped over my ankles and tossed aside.

Chloe’s next instructions were even more alarming, but I was her helpless prisoner and could do nothing to protect myself. Katrina was told to fasten leather cuffs to my ankles, and then to use the strong bondage rope to strap my feet to each leg of the bed. Next, Katrina was instructed to wind the cord five times around each of my thighs, just above the knee, and to use two other lengths to tie these off to each side as well – pulling firmly on the ropes so that I was stretched wide apart, almost painfully so. Then, again obediently following orders, she passed a rope in a loop around my chest, across my upper breasts and under my armpits, and fixed this to the bed frame on either side. I was now securely bound in place, and Chloe no longer had to hold me down – freeing her to take whatever action she so desired.

I had never been in bondage before, not ever – from whatever chance, it had just never arisen with any of my previous lovers, even in the steamiest of one-night-stand pickups. It was strange to feel so restricted, to be forced to be open and utterly vulnerable, and it gave me a sense of weak lassitude. I could understand now how slaves obeyed their masters, and the fatalism that overtakes you when you are unable to take any independent action of your own.

Chloe slid smoothly backwards down my naked torso, which was now slick with sweat – mostly from fear, but some, yes, some from sexual arousal. The huge plastic strap-on cock that she was wearing – which I didn’t recognise, it wasn’t one of mine, it looked far larger, nastier and meaner than the ones I use – slid heavily over my pelvis, scraped down my pubic slit, and thudded ominously onto the mattress, just an inch from my trembling vagina and pointed straight at its puckered pink opening like a huge battering ram. A surge of fear at what this implied enabled me to grasp for a shred of my former authority, and I began to protest:

‘Chloe! No, no – you can’t!! You mustn’t do tha– ’

SLAP!

She backhanded me contemptuously across my face, splitting my upper lip and making a thin trickle of blood run into my mouth. Her violence literally stunned me, halting me abruptly in mid-word. Her eyes narrowed, and she hissed fiercely:

‘You don’t ever tell me what to do with your cunt, lezzie-Mommie! Don’t you EVER!!’

Then her mood instantly flipped back to its former gleeful lust, and with a predatory smile she placed one finger across my mouth in the universal sign for silence.

‘Good pussy-Moms are seen and not heard! Or, rather,’ and here she laughed richly at her own humour, ‘they’re fucked and not heard!’ Then she added, as if reflecting: ‘though I suppose gasping and moaning and begging is allowed – and aloud!’ and she laughed again at her pun.

Before I could gather my scattered wits, my daughter leant forwards, sucked hard on one of my nipples, and then – as I moaned with shame at my instant erogenous response, with my tit hardening like concrete – she nipped it painfully with her teeth. My resulting scream of shock and anguish revved her up again, and she took my chin in a firm grip, forcing me to look at her.

‘Time for Mommy-bitch’s first lesson!’ she declared, and then added: ‘Lesson number one – your cunt gets used only when I say, and how I say!’

Kneeling between my spread thighs, my sixteen-year-old daughter teased the very tip of her dildo up and down my slit, ending by nudging it up against the nub of my clitoris. I was powerless to prevent its intrusion, as she slid about half an inch of its tip into the gap between my highly-sensitised inner labia. The delicate, almost tickling pressure from this vanguard was an enticing promise of what as about to happen, and, despite my dismay at my lover’s betrayal and my shock of discovering that my daughter was a dyke, shivers of expectation coursed through my body, making me tremble and my nipples harden into steely points.

I remember wondering in amazement at Chloe’s dexterity with the strap-on. How could my young daughter have become so expert a lesbian lover? It just wasn’t possible to have so much command and control at her age, even if she had been doing Katrina – and, I realised, maybe some others – on a regular basis. It could not be from experience – so it must be instinct, and I wondered with pride about my marvellous offspring, who had such natural Sapphic skills.

‘You like it, don’t you, Mommie dearest’, she cooed, pleased with being the cause of my visible arousal.

‘Mmmm ... oooohh, aaahh! Yes, oh ... oh-oh-oh, yes!’ I admitted, panting and moaning.

‘Beg for it!’ she demanded imperiously; ‘I know you want it – so beg for it, bitch, beg me to do you, Mum!’

I tried to resist, but the sensuous ripples from her slow stroking of my labia with the tip of the dildo was just too much of a sensory overload. It washed away my shame and, in my restraints, I lost all restraint. I jerked and shuddered in the strict confines of my bondage, my senses magnified by my constricted helpless vulnerability, and I surrendered totally.

‘Fuck me, Chloe ... ooh, please, darling daughter, take me ... aah, Christ, I need a fuck, please, please!’ I gabbled with increasing desperation, as she tantalisingly slid the dildo just another half inch further into me, scraping it along my vaginal walls and sending every nerve-ending into a frenzy.

‘Louder!’ she demanded, ‘I want Katrina to hear you beg for it, Mommie-cunt, you’re such a lezzie slut!’

I was on fire, and yet chilled by the chasm that was opening up in front of me. Was I really asking my own daughter to fuck me, to be my lesbian dom, to take me in incestuous intercourse. Oh, God, yes – yes, I was, I just couldn’t hold back! I was desperate with desire, desperate with a need which I had never known that I had – a hunger to be taken, to be a captive in bondage, to be coerced and violated. She might be more than twenty years younger than me, and my own flesh and blood, but this Amazon queen had made me her prisoner, her pleasure-slave, and I just had to have her take me ... take me hard, take me without mercy.

‘PLEASE, I’m begging you, Chloe, oh! for pity’s sake, please please FUCK me!’ I shrieked, all inhibitions gone; ‘Please take me, fuck me hard – I want you to, I need it so bad! Fuck me, Chloe, FUCK YOUR MOMMA, FUCK YOUR MOM RIGHT NOW!!’

And she did – before I could draw another breath, her hips thrust forward with all the force that she used to muscle aside opposing players on the hockey field, and the dildo slammed into my hole like a missile with a nuclear warhead. I howled at the savage intrusion, and again when she pulled back roughly and then rammed it in even harder, making a yet deeper penetration. Chloe began a vicious pumping rhythm, fucking me just as I had seen her doing to Katrina. The latter watched avidly, occasionally reaching across to grasp one of my breasts and squeeze its nipple.

I couldn’t believe it, just couldn’t believe it! I was being taken in bondage by my own teenage daughter, and my lover was her subservient slave, and was helping her to do it.

Chloe rammed the plastic cock into me so hard and so deep, I really though it would split me apart and come out the other side. The effects were a revelation to me, bondage virgin that I was. I squirmed and thrashed on the bed, as far as the mere inch or two of give in my ropes would permit – and the restrictions upon my response only served to make the whole experience even more sexually overwhelming. It was as if there was an inverse ratio – the more constrained that I was in my ropes, the more it magnified my sexual receptivity and the power of my orgasm. Yes, to my utter disbelief, my daughter was fucking me to a climax – her huge dildo was excavating my vaginal passage to unknown depths, and rasping across my clit in the process. Inevitably, my body responded to these physical stimuli, and my hips began to rock and, despite my bondage, to try to thrust back in reciprocal rhythm with Chloe’s pounding penetrations.

The orgasm built inexorably, and as Chloe detected my response she gave a whooping, cowgirl-style holler, and – which I would not have believed possible – increased the pace and power of her thrusts. I know that I began to say things – dirty, degrading things, pathetic pleas to be taken, to be fucked, to be used, even to be raped – but this was like a backing soundtrack to the creaking of the mattress springs and the pulsing of blood in my ears. The last straw was when Chloe reached again for my tits, giving them yet another pinching twist and turn, and my scream of pain became lost in the howling hurricane of the longest, deepest, most exhilarating orgasm that I had ever known.

In its wake, I lay limp in my bondage, sweat-soaked, with bruised lips and face, aching tits and a burning tenderness in my pussy, from which cum-juice seeped onto my upper thighs and the soiled sheet underneath me. I was gasping like a landed fish, and in truth I was almost as much out of my natural element as it would have been.

Chloe withdrew the huge plastic phallus from my vagina – I must admit, far more considerately than she had done with poor Katrina earlier. She climbed off the mattress and stood at the side of the bed, level with my head. I gazed upwards in wonder as she unbuckled the strap-on and then stood looking down at me, magnificently Amazonian in her black boots and hold-ups, and nothing else. Her thighs were smooth bronzed columns, and her Venus mound was thrust out above me like the prow of a Viking longship. My eyes travelled from the swelling curve of her smoothly-shaven slit, up her flat stomach to the twin pyramids of her breasts, and my cunt glowed with an inner warmth as it throbbed with mingled pain and desire.

I thought that she might untie me, but my daughter was far from finished with me. She had me just where she wanted, completely at her mercy, and she certainly wasn’t done yet. She still had plenty of energy, and plenty of ideas as well. The first of these was to order Katrina forwards into the space between my knees and instruct her to start licking and fingering my sticky sopping pussy. Soon I was crying out brokenly in a second spine-shaking orgasm, but that was only the prelude.

‘Give my slutty Mom a pussy-whipping, Katrina’, ordered my daughter.

My eyes bulged – what did she mean, what could this be? I started to voice a protest, but Chloe reached over and grasped my chin, and her warning shake of the head reduced me to silence. I soon discovered what she was referring to, as Katrina stopped in mid-suck of my cunt, rocked back on her heels, and then slapped my tender pussy hard with the flat of her hand. My squeal of protest was due more to surprise than soreness, but when she followed up with three more stinging slaps, that soon changed. After a spell of this treatment, I was whimpering from pain, from humiliation – and from the tremendous sexual charge which it was giving me.

Just as I thought it would be too much to endure, I felt the delicate but insistent pressure of Katrina’s tongue – soothing, soft and wet. She licked around my mound, along my opening, and then inside my vagina. However, I was foolish to relax – for, after a few seconds of this satisfying oral attention, and without the slightest warning, Katrina administered a further series of smacks right on my cunt. I cried out in protest, and began to plead with her to stop – but I was wasting my breath, as she ignored me completely. This treatment of alternating sucking and slapping continued inexorably, and its effect was amazingly arousing – the random unpredictability of the punishment adding to my already heightened state of sexual tension. My pussy was now so tender that the slaps were sending electric jolts right through me, and so sensitive that the penetrations of her squirming tongue were driving me wild. In combination, they raised me on a tidal wave of sexual anguish which mounted and mounted, until at last it broke in an pulverising orgasmic cascade that left me breathless and dizzy.

Chloe had watched all of this intently, whilst administering sharp slaps of her own to Katrina’s outthrust ass during the spells when my traitorous lover was eating me out. These made Katrina gasp or yelp right into my vagina, where the sound was muffled by my flesh but its effect was transmitted with vibrating intensity. After I climaxed, Chloe seized Katrina by the hair and shoved her away to the side, where she sprawled on the floor. Once again my daughter stood over my prone and pinioned form, looking down at me with a lustful gleam in her eyes. It was clear that she was not finished with my re-education yet, not by a long way.

‘Mommie-mine, sweet Mommie-mine’, she cooed in an approximation of a little girl’s voice. It was an expression she had often used as a child, fierce even then in her possessive ownership of her one parent. She still came out with it from time to time – but as she said it this time, there was a new tone in her voice, a new look in her eye. I swallowed, trepidation making me bite my lips – for the phrase had a whole different meaning now, now that she had stripped me, bound me, fucked me, and shattered all my powers of resistance. I lay there, naked and spread-eagled, my cunt gaping open with the wet juices of my orgasms, and curiously it was in that moment and with that phrase that she truly broke me and made me into her submissive.

I licked my lips as strangely satisfying feelings of release mingled with anticipation and – yes, I’ll admit it – arousal. I was more turned on by what she had done to me and more excited by my bound predicament than previously I would ever have believed was possible. I ran my tongue along my lips, my nipples hardened in stiff erection, and I tried to arch my hips and spread my pussy even further open.

All this my dominatrix daughter observed, and she ran her hands over my breasts and stomach and down to my cunt, parting the labia with one hand and sticking two fingers of the other into me with one fluid motion, sinking them home right up to the knuckles. I gasped and moaned with pleasure, and even fluttered my eyelashes at her seductively. I was completely captured and conquered, and had fallen without reservation under my teenage daughter’s bewitching sexual spell.

‘Mommie-mine’, she purred like a contented lioness; ‘Mommie-all-mine!’

Chloe glanced over at Katrina, who offered no protest at this confiscation of her lover. In fact, she seemed to be transported with delight at the concept that I was now – like her – Chloe’s fuck-slave – and furthermore, as the newest conquest, that I was inferior to her in status.

‘Good little Katrina-cunt’, my daughter said with approval; ‘kiss my ass, you blonde slut – show me who’s your mistress, lick me good!’ And she waggled her shapely butt provocatively at my lover, who immediately scrambled to do her bidding, kissing her asshole and then lapping eagerly all around it. However, when Katrina’s tongue strayed to the base of Chloe’s slit, this earned a sharp backhanded slap across the face that tumbled the 32 year-old onto her back.

‘Naughty, naughty Katrina!’ scolded my daughter. ‘You know the rules, you Latvian lezzie slut – you’ll eat my pussy when I tell you to, bitch, and only then!’

Katrina was abjectly contrite, and crawled on her stomach to kiss Chloe’s feet, apologising profusely for her error. My daughter gazed down with undisguised satisfaction at the sexy mature woman who was abasing herself before her mistress. Chloe placed her feet apart, and in a softer voice said:

‘OK, I forgive you this time – so, eat me now, you whore, eat my cunt and make me cum all over your face!

My daughter stood leaning backwards against the bedroom wall, with her pelvis thrust out in front. Katrina knelt between Chloe’s legs, and squirmed her tongue into the teenager’s tight twat. As she devoted all of her energies to sexually servicing my daughter, the latter took hold of a clump of the blonde woman’s hair, making a kind of instant pony-tail, and used this to push Katrina’s face even more firmly into her cunt – and then she gazed at me boldly over the my traitorous lover’s eagerly bobbing head.

It was a stunningly erotic sight, not just of passionate lesbian lovemaking but also of proud strong youth dominating submissive ripe maturity. It affected me deeply, going right to subconscious longings and needs that I had been quite unaware of. I gazed avidly at every motion, attuned to every whimper of desire that escaped from Katrina’s muffled mouth. I was intensely aware of the sway of my daughter’s hips, the tension rippling in her stomach muscles, and the increased tempo of her pants for breath, and – most of all – the twin peaks of her nipples on her jutting breasts. In her turn, Chloe was watching me like a hawk, and after a moment she let go of Katrina’s hair and lifted both hands to cup her own breasts, pointing them towards me like the twin barrels of a shotgun, and then massaging them and pulling on her own tits.

I found the spectacle of Katrina performing cunnilingus on my daughter incredibly arousing, and my body responded. I strained in my bondage, jerking my pelvis upwards and opening my thighs as wide as I could force them, and jiggling my breasts in the air. The frustration of being so turned on and yet unable to touch my pussy or tits was maddening, and it became a vicious circle that stoked the flames of my lust even higher. I began to buck up and down, to moan and to plead, and my daughter laughed in triumphal vindication at seeing me reduced to the being the wanton mindless puppet of my erogenous zones. Then Chloe’s nostrils flared and she gave a sharp cry as she came, but almost at once she pulled Katrina’s head away from her sopping pussy, and gestured towards me.

‘Slutty Mommie is getting off on watching you suck me – the dirty dyke cow! You know what to do – stake her, and strap her!’

‘Oooh, yes – yes, Mistress!!’ cried Katrina happily, clapping her hands together in childish approval. I swallowed, wondering apprehensively what these ominous terms might mean – and I soon found out! Katrina crossed to the chest of drawers in which she kept her clothes, particularly her nightdresses and her lingerie, and in a moment she returned with a large and wide vibrator which I had never seen before – it was a mean-looking machine, black and covered with knobs and ridges. She switched it on to a high-speed but random setting, and then – to chorus of squeals and half-hearted protests from me – pushed it slowly but surely all the way into my pussy, so that only the base remained visible. And then, in order to prevent me from pushing it out by contracting my vaginal muscles, or it just slipping out due to my extraordinary wetness and looseness, she wrapped a criss-cross of the bondage rope around my pelvis – pulling it tight so that it cut across my pussy, biting deeply between the soft lips of my labia, and so holding the vibrator in place as it did its devilish work deep inside me.

I began to groan and shudder from the effects of the electric dildo, as it pulsated and rubbed against my vaginal walls. Soon its effects were becoming impossible to contain, and I began to squirm in my bonds, gasping and shrieking in alternation as the vibrator randomly changed its rhythm and frequency. Sweat ran from my face and beaded my breasts, as I watched Katrina resume her eating-out of my teenage daughter’s cunt. The visual stimulus combined with the physical abrasions from the vibrator, and suddenly I went through the glass ceiling and into a whole new stratosphere of sexual arousal. I jerked and sobbed in my captivity, until with an ululating scream I orgasmed with explosive force and throbbing intensity. Completely blown away, I collapsed limply – feeling utterly used, totally violated and yet also incredibly sexually satisfied. For the first time ever in my life, I had been taken to my limits – and now that I knew them, I embraced them.

Chloe had watched all of this with vivid intensity, drinking in my helpless wild thrashings and shudderings whilst Katrina’s mouth ate eagerly at her pussy. I was sure that she had come at least once from my lover’s oral attentions, but beyond a flaring of her nostrils and a tightening of her lips, my Amazonian daughter had given no other visible or audible sign of this. Now she pulled Katrina’s head away from between her thighs, though more gently than the last time. She stooped over my kneeling lover and kissed her quite tenderly on the lips, but then reached lower to seize her nipples and give them each a sharp twist in opposite directions. Katrina’s eyes bulged and she gave a high-pitched shriek, falling over backwards and clutching desperately at her bruised tits. However, she lay supine on her back as Chloe stepped over her, and she made no other protest, instead gazing up in awe at my daughter in the way that slave regards her owner. Without a backward glance at the woman who was clearly so entirely in her thrall, Chloe came to the end of the bed and gazed down at her other mature prize.

‘Not bad, Mummy – not bad at all’, she said smugly; ‘actually, you’re really not a bad Mum ...’ and she trailed a hand languidly up to one of my breasts, cupping and caressing it, ‘... in fact, you’re quite hot, really quite a sexy Mommie-babe, aren’t you?’

I was taken aback by this change of tone, and quite flattered – I mean, any mature lesbian would like to be called hot by a sexy teen, even though it felt quite weird to hear such praise from the lips of my own daughter. I didn’t know what to say, but I must have looked pleased, and I guess subconsciously I preened a little bit, thrusting my breasts up higher and wiggling my hips.

‘Mmmm’, murmured my daughter in appreciation, laughter twinkling in her eyes and around her lips, ‘yeah, not fucking bad, you dirty slut!’

Then she came to a decision, giving a peal of laughter and declaring:

‘It’s Mothers’ Day! And look – I’m bringing you breakfast in bed, and it’s your favourite too, Mom – I know you love to eat pussy, so here you are!’

With that, my daughter climbed onto the bed and straddled above my shoulders. She reached between her own legs and with two fingers spread apart the sweet pink lips of her labia. Before I could say anything – for I was too confused to know what I thought – she dropped her pussy smack onto my lips. Her inner thighs had my head in a vice-like grip so that I had no chance to turn aside, even if I had wanted to. But did I?

Well, pussy is pussy, and I’m a rampant lesbian for whom cunt-eating is one of life’s great pleasures, so I barely hesitated. I thrust my tongue into my own daughter’s vagina, and lapped and sucked and poked and thrust for all I was worth – which is quite a bit (and I don’t mean the money in the bank!), for I’ve had years of experience and, as Katrina would testify, I’m a cunnilingus expert. I think I managed to surprise Chloe with my dexterity and my understanding of how to vary the rhythm and texture, when to make my tongue soft and soothing, and when to rasp its rough edge along her vaginal walls or across her clitoris.

Within a few moments, I had the satisfaction of hearing Chloe’s breathing change pitch, becoming more ragged as she started to gasp. I could feel little tremors run through her pelvis and thighs, and I’ll admit to a certain glow of pride, the kind a craftsman has in a job well done, even though somewhere locked away in a padded cell in the back of my mind, my conscience (always a weak thing) was jumping up and down and hollering: ‘it’s your daughter – you’re fucking your own daughter, you disgusting incestuous bitch – it’s your sixteen-year-old daughter, you mother-fucker!’ Which was a bit off the mark, I felt – if my conscience was gonna call anyone a mother-fucker, that epithet should certainly be aimed at Chloe! I tuned out my annoying conscience, and nuzzled my lips even deeper into my daughter’s private parts, exulting in the taste of her sweet teenage juices as they dribbled onto my face.

Above, and unseen by me, for in my position I could not see any higher than her tummy-button, Chloe’s eyes had closed and a glazed expression had come over her face. She had been stroking her nipples, but now with a sharp command she instructed Katrina to stand behind her. Leaning her back against the pillow of my Latvian lover’s chest, she ordered the blonde to reach around and massage her breasts, whilst she continued spasmodically to pull on her own tits.

The crescendo came suddenly – as it so often does to the young, and here my years of experience told over my daughter. She gave a series of harsh barking yelps, ground her cunt hard down on me – bruising my lips and for a moment almost suffocating me – then her thigh muscles went rigid, her back arched, and with a moaning cry she orgasmed, and a flood of sticky juices squirted from my daughter’s cunt onto my face. Chloe gasped, leaning back upon Katrina for support to steady herself, and I took a deep satisfaction from knowing that I had serviced her truly well, giving her a sexual charge maybe nearly as big as the ones she had just been dealing me.

As I lay there, fucked almost to exhaustion, bound and captive, with my legs stretched wide apart and my daughter’s pussy-juices streaked across my face, I knew that my relationship with Chloe had changed profoundly and permanently. Our roles had been reversed – now I would be at her beck and call, seeking her approval and waiting for her permission. I would be her servant, and more – her slave, her slut, her whore. Far from troubling or vexing me, the prospect thrilled me to my innermost core, and I was eager to submit to it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So that is how it happened, how in one afternoon I went from being top dog to bottom bitch in my own house. And I am the bottom, a natural bottom – it turned out that I am even more of a lesbian submissive than Katrina, in fact she now doms me quite a lot ... but, of course, only when Chloe gives her permission to use me that way!

Now we have a new order of things. I am still the cool autocratic businesswoman at work, decisive and even ruthless – my strong side comes out there even more, as if to balance my role as a sex-slave in my personal life. In fact, I am now even more successful in business, and the company is expanding and making more money than ever. But when I leave work, as soon as I enter through the front door of the house, all that falls away like a role that I have been acting on the stage. If only my competitors, or my employees, could see what happens next ... but then, they never will!

When I walk into the hall, the first thing that I must do is to take off all of my smart business-woman clothes, folding them neatly onto the chair in the corner. All that I am allowed to keep on are my shoes and my traditional-style stockings with their suspender belt, all of which Chloe will have picked out on the previous evening and ordered me to wear. Everything else comes off, including my bra and – if I have actually been allowed to wear any – my panties. Then I take up my position, kneeling submissively on the floor near the foot of the staircase, my arms behind me and my knees several inches apart, so that my breasts and cunt are visible, and I wait.

Sometimes Chloe and Katrina will leave me there for an hour or more – particularly if Chloe is taking Katrina for a hard bondage fuck-ride in the bedroom, and as I wait down below I can hear the moans and shrieks of their lovemaking, and my tits go painfully hard and my pussy seeps with juices – but I am not allowed to touch myself, if I break that rule and give in to temptation, then I will be truly punished for it (and so, of course, quite often I do, and they will stroll down the stairs hand-in-hand and naked, to find me writhing on my back on the hall floor, three fingers of one hand rammed into my pussy and the other hand frotting my clit or squeezing my tits, and Chloe will be furious and give me a severe caning and probably a vicious anal fuck-rape).

Generally, they don’t leave me there for too long, because they want to use their slut-slave. One or both of them will saunter into the hall, and give me my orders and my outfit for the evening. Sometimes it is really slutty lingerie, such as quarter-cup bras that push my big breasts out for anyone to take and use (or abuse, more usually) together with split open-crotch panties, or it might be a lurid lilac-and-black-lace teddy, or a scarlet tight-laced corset bustier with a whore’s fishnet stockings and four inch heels, and so on. However, their favourite item is a very skimpy maid’s uniform of a tight little black dress with a plunging neckline and a lace-trimmed bottom hem that barely covers my cunt, with on top of this a little white belt and apron, and a perky little lace cap to pin to my hair – God knows what porno mail-order firm they got it from, it is quite obscene and I feel a total slut when I am wearing it ... and so, of course, it thrills me to the core when I see it has been laid out for me to put on!

Another frequent item is a harness of thin leather straps and bright silver chains which frames around my naked breasts and leaves my cunt open and exposed for use; it has a leather waist band to which my wrist cuffs can easily be fixed. At other times I might be trussed into a criss-cross of bondage rope, with a length of cord pulled tight into my pussy – this has amazing effects with every movement that I make. If I am lucky, the vibrator will be rammed into me first, and the cords twisted cruelly tight between my legs to hold it firmly in place. I will have to perform all of the evening chores with its randomly-set churning sending pulsating waves of arousal coursing through my body.

Once, when I was roped up like this, the vibrator made me come with a sudden shattering force just as I was bringing the soup bowl to the table to serve Chloe’s and Katrina’s dinner, and I collapsed, splashing some of the soup onto Chloe’s dress. She was furious, and I was at once dragged down to the basement,