Threeview

 

 

 

Rosalind snapped her cellphone shut.  It was all she could do to keep from jumping out of her skin.  She was showing a house to a client but had needed to excuse herself momentarily to “check in”.  Her daughter Cindy required that she check for messages every thirty minutes.  The anticipation Rosalind suffered each time she did so was dreadful.  Sometimes, the instructions she received were worse.  This afternoon, however, there were no instructions for “Rosy”, as Cindy had recently renamed her. 

 

For a woman like her, who had built up quite an impressive real estate career as Rosalind, the requirement that she begin to use “Rosy” as her name was humiliating.  Everything had to be changed, from her business cards, name tag, phone messages, and even the name on her door at work.  Cindy had checked to make sure all traces of “Rosalind” were gone. 

 

Along with the new name had come a new look.  It was a look that Rosalind (she still thought of herself as Rosalind) would likely never become accustomed to.  She was a platinum blonde now, and was required to wear false fingernails and keep them painted bright red.  Her toenails were kept painted a matching shade, and her lipstick coordinated as well. 

 

Cindy had taken all of her shoes and had replaced them with “fuck me” pumps she had ordered on the internet.  Today, Rosalind was wearing the black pair, and her feet hurt.  Her feet always hurt, it seemed.  Except when she was caring for the pool or doing yardwork, she was required to wear the pumps.  Cindy had even purchased a pair that could be locked on, and had made Rosalind sleep with them on her feet every night.   

 

Rosalind gave up much of her clothing to her daughter, as well.  She had no idea where it all ended up – probably at a thrift store somewhere.  Cindy had then taken her mother shopping for new clothes which Rosalind had paid dearly for, thanks to her half dozen credit cards.  Rosalind knew Cindy chose clothing for her that made her feel uncomfortable, but she had said that there was never going to be a way for her to forget what she had done.   Rosalind understood the motivation for making her wear such slutty clothes, she just wished her professional life had been left out of it.  So far, though, she had not suffered a drop in her sales.  In fact, things were going a little better.

 

Today, along with the black, five inch heels, Cindy had chosen a very short grey pleated skirt and white oxford blouse.  That’s it.  No bra to support her amble breasts, and no panties.  There were the large, hoop earrings and the gold chain necklace.  The earrings only helped her look more like a hooker, and the necklace fit tightly around the base of her neck.  It was literally a heavy gold chain that she could no longer remove.  Cindy called it her “collar”. 

 

Rosalind had needed to make a lot of adjustments to her behavior thanks to her “new look”.  She could never lead a client up stairs at a showing, or it would be obvious that she wore no panties.  There had been times when she was sure male clients were exhibiting false politeness by inviting her to proceed ahead of them.  In a few cases they had insisted.  She was sure they had seen her piercings, based on the awkwardness of their behavior on the higher floor. 

 

Although Cindy always chose tight, low-cut blouses, it was easier to keep her nipple piercings concealed.  This was mainly due to the fact that Rosalind’s large nipples seemed always to be hard these days, and the tenting of the material stretched over them tended to obscure the shape of the rings Cindy had made Rosalind have installed.  They could not be removed, either. 

 

There was no way to conceal the tongue stud.  Of course Rosalind was way to old to have a tongue stud, and she was sure that everyone who knew her thought she was going through some sort of mid-life crisis.  She certainly was in a crisis that she had no clue how to escape from, but it had nothing to do with her age.

 

What troubled her the most about the bottomless pit of shit that she had gotten herself into was the fact that her pussy was constantly wet and her nipples were perpetually hard.  She wanted sex all the time, and she almost never got any satisfaction.  Even her sexual life had been stolen by her daughter, to be used to control and manipulate her.

 

She had to admit to herself that she had gotten herself into what seemed like a permanent problem.  Cindy had been drumming it into her head every day for the last two months that she deserved whatever she had coming.  Rosalind now believed that. 

 

She still loved her daughter and wanted the best for her.  Rosalind admired how ruthlessly efficient Cindy had been in taking over.  She admired strong women, and knew someday Cindy would be successful in business. 

 

She was very regretful over the “incident” not only because of what it had done to her, but because of what it had done to Amy.  The poor girl had been blackmailed by Cindy and was now her personal servant whenever Cindy chose to use her.  Rosalind enjoyed no higher status.  In fact, she was treated even more poorly than was Amy.  This was because Cindy rightfully blamed her for seducing the young teenage neighbor girl.  Cindy was still disgusted by both of them, but held a special contempt for her mom. 

 

Rosalind would never forget that afternoon.  It was horrible, jus the thought of it.  Looking back at it now, Rosalind knew she had no right to be angry with Cindy for videotaping her with Amy.  Her daughter’s plans for the day had changed and she came home rather than going to the beach.  Seeing her mom having sex with a girl that had been her best childhood friend must have been a terrible shock to Cindy.  Videotaping it was nothing more than a rational decision to make the best of a bizarre and distressing circumstance.  Cindy had been devious enough to know that the video would give her a lot of leverage against her mom, and even against Amy.  

 

She recalled the screaming back and forth through Cindy’s bedroom door, the look of panic on Amy’s face, the tears, the pleading.  Cindy had run with the camera into her room and locked the door behind her.  Rosalind had known that if she didn’t get that camera off her daughter, the video could be loaded onto Cindy’s computer and any control Rosalind had left over her would be lost.  She had chased Cindy to her room, and knew now that had frightened her.  It only made the situation worse. 

 

What Rosalind feared had happened.  Cindy had screamed through the door that the video was on her computer, and had threatened to send it to the owner of the real estate agency that Rosalind worked for.  Then she threatened to email stills of it to Amy’s mom, the school, and the police.  Rosalind knew she was screwed, and knew she had no choice but to agree to anything and everything her daughter suggested.  Otherwise, her life as she knew it was over.  Rosalind knew that day that her life would be forever changed.  She could not have known to what degree it would be changed, though.

 

Cindy had drawn up contracts for Rosalind and Amy, and passed them under her bedroom door.  They were simple, stating only that each agreed to obey any and every command that Cindy gave them, indefinitely, or face the ramifications of their “sick and disgusting acts”.  Rosalind signed more quickly than did Amy.  Rosalind had more of a sense of what would be lost if Cindy sent out that video.  She knew Cindy would be just as happy to live with her father down San Diego than to be stuck there with her mom.  She would sell her down the river without any hesitation.  Rosalind signed and pushed the document back under the door.  It was that or jail.

 

Amy had questions, though.  They were questions that Cindy would not answer.  Although only two or three minutes passed between the time that Rosalind signed her contract and Amy signed hers, it was a tension-filled time.  All Cindy would say from behind her door was “sign it or suffer the consequences”.  Amy was very confused.

 

Rosalind remembered how relieved she was that Amy had not simply run home, but she knew that would be difficult with her clothes locked in Cindy’s room.  It was inconceivable that Amy would run home to her mom in the little hot pink bikini. 

 

Once she had the contracts, and had scanned them into her computer, Cindy wasted no time in testing out her newfound authority.  Before she would open the door, she wanted for Amy to tie her mom’s hands behind her back.  She gave instructions to Amy as to  where to find some clothesline and exactly how to tie her mom’s wrists together.  Cindy did not want to risk a physical confrontation with her mother. 

 

When Rosalind had been tied, Cindy had come out.  Rosalind had never seen such an expression of pure contempt on anyone’s face that was so distinct as Cindy’s that day.  Cindy spit in her face, and pulled her hair until she was kneeling on the floor.  She slapped Amy several times, then tied her wrists behind her back. 

 

A few minutes later Rosalind found herself licking Amy’s pussy so that Cindy could take closeup pictures with her digital camera.  Then, Cindy had Amy lick her mom’s pussy for the camera.  The closeups reinforced the dire circumstances that Rosalind and Amy found themselves in.  Cindy had probably known that the orginal video did not show Amy well enough to convict her mom, but she had been sure to take care of that with the closeups.  She angled each shot so that both their faces were in it, and had made sure there were no facial expressions that conveyed anything but pure pleasure.  Once she loaded them on her computer and was confident she had all the insurance she needed, she untied them and spent the afternoon being catered to in every way. 

 

Rosalind knew, when she was painting Cindy’s toenails by the pool and Amy was brushing Cindy’s hair, that her daughter’s mind was working overtime to uncover all the opportunities that lay open to her.  She could see it in her eyes, up until the point that Cindy decided they both had a rule never to look her in the eyes again.  By the end of the afternoon there were dozens of rules, and there would be dozens more in the coming weeks.  Rosalind’s life had become almost nothing but rules.  Rules and unfulfilled lust. 

 

The day after the incident was the one that really exposed for Rosalind where things were going.  Cindy had made her sleep on the couch, and had told her to have breakfast made by nine o’clock, then to awaken Cindy and invite her to breakfast in a “polite manner”. 

 

When Rosalind awoke on the couch she spent a few minutes wishing away what had happened, hoping it was just a nightmare.  She knew better, though.   It was with some trepidation that she lightly knocked on Cindy’s bedroom door and called out, “Cindy.  Breakfast is ready!”.  She put a tone of cheefulness in her voice in the hope that it would convey a sense of reconciliation.  Maybe they could patch things up and everything could go back to normal. 

 

Only after several tries did Rosalind discover that Cindy had slept in her bed the night before.  The door was open, so Rosalind entered and gently nudged Cindy on the arm.  “Cindy.  Breakfast is ready!”

 

Cindy rolled over slowly.  In a groggy voice, she said, “You will call me Miss Cindy from now on, and you will never touch me without my permission.  What time is it?”

 

Somewhat taken aback, Rosalind replied that it was seven minutes after nine.

 

“You dumb fucking bitch.”, Cindy muttered.  “I told you nine o’clock.  Bring me my fucking breakfast.”

 

While Cindy ate her breakfast in bed, Rosalind followed her instructions to call Amy.     “Call your teenage lover and tell her to get her ass over here.”, Cindy had told her. 

 

When Amy arrived, they were told to dump everything in Rosalind’s dresser drawers on the floor of the bedroom.  Rosalind was mortified when her collection of vibrators spilled out.  They then had to transfer Cindy’s things from her dresser to her mother’s.  First, though, Cindy made Amy dress in the little pink bikini, but told her to keep her shoes and socks on.  She would need them.  Rosalind was told to remove her nightgown and to work naked. 

 

Rosalind was very humiliated throughout that morning.  Now, such humiliation was almost a daily circumstance of her life.  She and Amy completed the transfer of Cindy’s things to Rosalind’s bedroom, then assisted Cindy in determining what clothing would be kept and what would be taken away from her mom’s closet.  They rearranged the furniture in the living room to better suit Cindy’s taste.  They cooked and served her lunch.  Amy had to give her a backrub while Rosalind massaged her feet.   Cindy made Rosalind give up her bank account numbers, credit cards, email passwords, and cellphone message code.  She even took Rosalind’s car – the Mercedes, “allowing” Rosalind to “use” her older Toyota.  Cindy would be turning sixteen in three months, and she didn’t want the Mercedes to be driven until then.

 

Rosalind never knew what happened between Cindy and Amy while she was gone.  Cindy sent her out to buy beer and some groceries wearing an athletic bra, a skimpy pair of workout shorts, and her Adidas.  Since she hadn’t specified where she had to shop, Rosalind drove some distance to a grocery store other than the one she normally shopped in.  It would be horrible to run into anyone she knew dressed like that. 

 

When she returned, Amy was naked and her ass was striped.  Her eyes were puffy as though she had been crying.  When Rosalind attempted to ask what had happened, another rule was instated.  She was not allowed to speak to Cindy without first being spoken to.  It was then that her daughter had started referring to her as “Rosy”, and to Amy as “C.L.”.  “C.L.” was short for cunt licker. 

 

A week later Cindy had made Rosalind take her and Amy to a tattoo parlor.  She posed as Amy’s mom, signing the authorization for her to get a nice girly tatoo above her ass.

It was a fairly elaborate, and expensive, tatoo that would be clearly visible above the hip hugging clothes that Cindy had purchased for Amy with Rosalind’s credit cards.  It had been difficult for Amy to tell the artist what she wanted, but she had successfully blamed her nervousness on the fact that it would be her first tattoo.  In fancy script, centered inside the scrollwork design of the tattoo, was the word “Cuntlicker”.  The tattooist asked “mom” if she was sure it was okay.  Rosalind had replied that she was glad her daughter was in touch with her sexuality and that she was mature enough to make her own decisions. 

 

Rosalind continued to be fearful that Amy’s mother would see the tattoo.  Amy had been spending so much time at her house that she was sure Mrs. Townsend would suspect that either she or Cindy had a role in the permanent disfiguration of her daughter. 

 

Rosalind had become the designated driver for all of Cindy’s friends.  She picked them up from and delivered them to all of their crazy parties.  She had to buy alcohol for them whenever they asked Cindy to get some, and she had even “hosted” several parties at her house (she was beginning to think of her home as Cindy’s by now).  Cindy had required that she dress like a teenager and serve all of her friends just as if they were all adults that she had invited over.  

 

When she wasn’t catering to the needs of Cindy or her growing network of friends, Rosalind was working, cleaning and maintaining the house and cars, or working out.  Cindy had put her on a strict diet and exercise routine that had caused her to lose fifteen pounds and had toned her up quite nicely. 

 

As for sex, it seemed as though it was a thing of the past.  At least as far as sex with another woman, or even a man, was concerned.  She was constantly horny.  She was sure that was part of Cindy’s plan.  There was no doubt that she was more attentive to her daughter’s needs when she was needful.  Cindy had rewarded her only three times since the incident.  Each event was dreadully humiliating but unbelievably satisfying at the same time. 

 

Her first orgasm had come a full month after the “incident”, when Cindy had her hump the center console in the Toyota.  Had it been in the garage it might not have been such a traumatic experience.  Unfortunately it was in broad daylight in the Walmart parking lot.  To make matters even worse, C.L. had been sent along to record the event on video so that Cindy could verify that it had happened.  The orgasm had been mind blowing, but the fear of getting caught was so strong that she had to hump the console for what seemed like an hour before getting to the point where she could cum.  The actual duration of the tape was less than five minutes.  Cindy laughed and laughed when she watched it. 

 

Rosalind’s second orgasm had been accidental.  Cindy had chosen a clit hood piercing for her mom.  It was a unique piercing that involved a fishook-shaped gold pendant that would maintain almost constant contact against her clit.  It actually extended downward slightly, then curled up and in.  The ball on the end held her clit hood open and rubbed directly against her clit.  It, too, had been a permanent change that she had learned to live with. 

 

As horny as she was at the time, it was inevitable that she would cum as the technician was trying to manipulate her clit hood into the best position for the piercing.  It was just awful to be completely unable to control herself.  Cindy made her tip the girl fifty dollars for her trouble, then took Rosalind home and whipped her for fifteen minutes for having an unauthorized orgasm.

 

The third orgasm was just last week, when Cindy had made her take one of her vibrators to work.  With her office door open, she had been required to fuck herself with the vibrator until she came.  Fortunately she was not seen.  Her desk faced the door so her body was concealed from the waist down, and she was able to do it at lunchtime when the office was nearly empty.  She was required to take pictures of herself as she used the vibrator and send them to Cindy’s cellphone so that her daughter could verify that she was following her instructions in real time.  Then, she had to call her daughter to thank her for allowing her to cum.

 

Cindy had determined that she could not trust her not to touch herself, especially at night when Cindy was sleeping.  So, she had designed a “window box” for her mother to sleep in.  Rosalind had a cabinetmaker build the box and install it in Cindy’s old room just in front of her window.  It was topped by cushions, and could open for “storage”.   The craftsman had drilled holes in it for safety in the event a toddler fell into it.  It was sized so that Rosalind could lay in it with only an inch or two to spare on either side of her shoulders and at her head and feet.  A thin foam pad was cut to size.  Each night at bed time (which for Rosy was nine o’clock) she was put into the box on her back.  Cindy would then put wrist cuffs on her and secure them to the sides of the box.  The same was done with her ankles.  In this way Rosy was kept from touching herself in any way.  The lid always came down with a loud bang.  There had been times when Cindy had put her into the box simply to be rid of her, with instructions not to make a sound.  On more than one occasion Rosalind had been forced to listen to Cindy and her latest boyfriend fucking in the next room.

 

The only entertainment Rosalind was allowed was whatever she picked up while working around the house.  She could listen to Cindy’s TV shows or her music, but knew better than to be caught watching the TV herself.  Cindy required her to pick up porno DVDs every weekend, so that Cindy could torment her by making her watch them for hours on end.  It was fairly routine on weekends for Rosalind to fall asleep in her box to the sounds of sex emanating from the TV in her “new” room. 

 

She sometimes seemed to make it through each workday on autopilot.  She could function well enough to make sales, but her preoccupation with sex and the requirement to check in every thirty minutes took her mind away from her job. 

 

“Rosy, are you okay?”

 

She shook her head, as thought to clear it of cobwebs.  “Sure.”, she purred, smiling at Mr. Jacobson.   They had just finished looking at a beautiful four bedroom home, and were standing next to Cindy’s Toyota in the driveway.  It was hot, and she was sweating.

 

She glanced up at him.  He was staring at her breasts.  He was an older man, and not all that attractive.  But, she would fuck him if she could.  She glanced furtively at her watch.  She had to check in again. 

 

“I’m sorry.  What did you say, Ted?”, she asked.  “I really have to return a call.”

 

“I said I wanted to look at a few more properties with you.  Do you have the time?”

 

“Oh!  Sure!  Let me just step over here and make this call, okay?  I have an hour before my next appointment, so we can…”

 

“Go ahead Rosy.  Make your call.”, he said jovially, watching her backside as she stepped daintily down the driveway.

 

She flipped the phone open and accessed her text messages.  Miss Cindy had instructions for her.  Oh, God! 

 

“Get your fingers in your cunt NOW.  Call me immediately and I might let you cum.”