Enslaved by my Daughter

Enslaved by my Daughter – part 1.

My name is Carrie. I was Cassandra’s daughter, then became her Mistress and Owner. When this actually began a couple of years ago, I directed her to keep a journal of her “journey”.

I’ve had a dominant nature as long as I can remember, and as far as I can tell all of the women in our family are the dominant sort (including mom until now). I don’t mean necessarily acting as sexual Dommes (but I don’t know for sure), just confident and sure of themselves and getting people to do what they wanted them to do. And I have been doing that too since I was young, always “in charge” with my friends and leading what we did. And as my sexual awakening took place, it wasn’t long before I realized I was more attracted to girls than to boys. Currently my best friend Hilary is my slave (but alpha over mom). I don’t remember exactly when this idea of making mom my sub or slave first occurred to me but it was long ago, perhaps when I was 14 or 15, and I’ve been thinking and planning ever since, and now I’ve made it a reality. It actually happened when I turned 18. I think even at the start I intended it to be a long and difficult journey for her and it has been just that. Now she is entirely some other creature than what she was before.

She has followed my direction on this journal and I think what she’s written gives a partial but clear picture of what she became and how it happened to her. Now she is gone and it is time to publish this; to share it with everyone either of us have known, friends, relatives, everyone; to post it for the whole world to read. Eventually the videos and pictures I took to record her progress will be available as well, but first the story.

At a point I had to take over the journal, since she was no longer physically able to do it anymore, but we will get to that in time . . .

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At the beginning . . .

My name is Cassandra. I am keeping this journal at the direction of my daughter Carrie. She says it’s time I informed the world of my status as her slave. She has told me I must tell my story in every detail, from the very beginning. Carrie wants the whole world to see what I’ve become, what she made me into. As you read this it will become clear why I obey her in this, humiliating as it is for me.

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Something happened only a few weeks ago that changed my life, my very existence. And I now feel it will be a permanent change, and that it will be so much deeper than I could have ever imagined. And I’m a little frightened of Carrie now, and what she will do to me. Carrie was graduating from high school, and that was when everything happened. She told me I must start this journal before “that night” and continue making entries whenever she told me I must, and I know that I must do exactly as she directs me or the consequences will be severe.

I am (well, I WAS) a high-achieving professional woman, a successful partner of a medium-sized law firm. I enjoyed my work, I enjoyed the power it gave me, and I enjoyed USING that power. I enjoyed dressing very well and always did, I enjoyed the many friends and professional contacts I have made and I enjoyed the many wonderful things that power and money brought me and I was proud of who I was and what I’d achieved. I am still employed there, but I sense that things there will be changing, as far as my position and status.

I also enjoyed a “secret life” of sexuality and kinky BDSM play (always in a Domme role, just as I was in my real life) and relationships, among some very satisfying vanilla relationships. I was active on the computer, exchanging e-mails (but always discreet and “under cover”) and saving stories, photos and videos (and writing stories) until I accumulated quite a large collection. I often “enjoyed” myself browsing these things and various web sites late at night, and exchanging e-mails with like-minded people. I made sure I was VERY discreet with this. I certainly didn’t want my daughter Carrie ever suspecting this about me. In retrospect, I think at some time she must have accessed my computer and discovered my other life as a Domme. It could explain some of what happened later.

Since my husband and I divorced several years ago, Carrie and I have lived a normal life, successful working mom and young, popular daughter. We were the “model” mom and daughter, that’s how our friends and neighbors all saw us and that’s how I believed it was. I thought I had the very best of both my worlds. Sure, Carrie was often a stubborn, headstrong child, but aren’t they ALL to some degree. Once she was in high school it seemed to get worse, not so much in public but certainly at home, and by the time she was a senior in high school she acted like she was in charge of the house. Of course I didn’t let that happen, so we argued and she sulked, but we always got over it and made up. Outside the house she was always the loving, devoted daughter, impressing all our friends and neighbors with her poise and maturity. But still, more and more often I “gave in” and let her have her way. Now I wonder if she was deliberately leading me into a mindset of having her in authority.

In the few months before her graduation, however, she became just as docile and mellow at home too, and I felt great relief. Perhaps she had grown out of her willfulness I thought. I should say that just before this change in her demeanor we had a dreadful argument, fight really, since I ended up slapping her face. What started it was this:

She had always talked about going to college after she graduated from high school, and had picked a very good school here in the city. Expensive, but I could easily afford it, we were very comfortable financially, and she intended to attend law school as well, and follow in my footsteps as a lawyer. She told me she had decided to take a year off before going and I was soooo angry with her. I gave her all the standard arguments on why this was a bad idea, but she was adamant. We shouted back and forth for several minutes and that’s when I slapped her, HARD, it made tears well up in her eyes and I immediately felt awful and said, “I’m sorry honey, I’m really sorry.” She just gave me a cold stare and replied, “not as sorry as you’re GOING to be mom . . . you’ll regret that”. I knew I’d gone too far, but it couldn’t be undone now. The next day it seemed to be forgotten and she suddenly became the loving daughter again, and we didn’t argue again.

And in my guilt I may have started letting her have “her way” more often, and it seemed natural since she had grown so much more cooperative and understanding. I even told her that I would get her an internship for the year at our firm, and if she decided to go to school after all, leaving it would be no problem. And if she stayed for the whole year it would provide valuable experience and contacts. I had reconciled myself to the idea that she would do as she wished regarding college, and I had no doubt that she would do it when she felt the time was right for her, and that she would do well and be very successful in her life.

She even wanted a video made of us talking together, her “interviewing” me as a style. My niece, Carrie’s cousin was a professional videographer, so Carrie suggested that we have Kelly make the video for us. Carrie said she wanted some “private time” with the Kelly also, to record some of her thoughts about our relationship, and that I should do the same. She said it would make a nice graduation keepsake for both of us. It sounded like a wonderful idea and of course I agreed and we had it done.

She was being so nice lately and her 18th birthday was coming up a few days after her graduation, so I asked her what she wanted as a gift for both big occasions. She just said, “Oh don’t worry mom, I’ve got something in mind, but it might be too much”. Things had been so good between us lately that I told her, “anything you want, Carrie honey, anything, just let me know”. She smiled a wry smile and said, “I know mom, ANYTHING. I’ll let you know, but let’s drop it for now”. “I’m going over to Hil’s now mom”, she said, “I’ll be back later tonight”. “Hil” is Hilary our next door neighbor and Carrie’s best friend. Her mom is a good friend of mine, perhaps my best friend. A little controlling with her daughter I thought, but still very nice with me, a good friend.

For Carrie’s graduation day, she had wanted to have a party at our house and I had agreed. Finally, the big day arrived, and after the ceremony I headed home, assuming that Carrie would soon follow. There were a couple of hours between the ceremony and the party so I had a drink with some other parents I knew before I went back to the house to change and make sure everything was ready, and I was surprised to find Carrie and Hilary already there. Carrie had some tools out, which puzzled me, and when she saw me looking at them she said, “I was just fixing up something here, mom, nothing to be concerned about”. She did help me with things around the house and we were both handy enough with tools that I thought no more about it. “We need to get changed now mom”, she said, then she and Hilary went upstairs to her room. I remembered that I needed to get changed too.

I should tell you that Carrie and I are almost exactly the same size, right down to shoe size. She is an athlete at school and I take pains to stay fit too, so our bodies are almost a matching pair in spite of the 20-year age difference. We’re both 5 foot 11 and I weigh 160 pounds. Carrie is exactly the same height, but with a couple inches more bust and hip, and a couple inches less waist, and she weighs 165. I’m an auburn brunette and she is streaked dark blonde, each with complexions to match the hair color, but other than coloring, we really look a lot alike. I often wish someone would mistake us for sisters instead of mother and daughter, and people do occasionally say something to that effect. And all of the other women in my family have a similar size and look; my 2 sisters are 5 foot 11 and 5 foot 10, my mother is 5 foot 9 and her sister (my aunt) is the same size. And Carrie has some cousins (male and female both) that have the same “look”. I have to say that we are all very fit and attractive (vanity perhaps, but there are too many comments to see it any other way). My mom is 62 and she could pass for my age. And my mother and I have been mistaken for sisters a couple of times too. And my aunt 64, looks almost as young. We all do eat right and exercise, but I’m sure good genetics plays the main role.

Yesterday Carrie had asked me if she could wear some of my clothes for her party, and flattered, I agreed. She and I picked through my closet and she picked a sexy black dress with the hem at mid-thigh (a little short, a little snug, I thought . . . and a bit too revealing . . . always the mom) but she looked absolutely wonderful in it, some black sheer thigh-top stockings and a pair of my black pumps with 5 inch heels. I blushed when she went to pick through my bras and panties, but I didn’t stop her. She looked so good in her (my) outfit that I decided to dress almost exactly the same . . . no problem since I have a lot of really nice clothing. Carrie went back to the main room, and as I dressed I had to laugh at myself. I must have been wishing for the “sisters” look again. Still I go ahead and finish dressing and go out to the main room. Our condo is an “open plan”, and the living area, dining area and kitchen are all in one big space. Cathedral ceilings too, so the room seems huge and it IS very large, the perfect spot for Carrie’s party.

Carrie and Hilary are already dressed and there, standing near one of the sofas. I wonder if I’ve seen Carrie look this way before; so, well “grown up”, so beautiful . . . and I hate to say it of my own daughter, but very SEXY. Hilary is standing right next to Carrie. She is taller than Carrie by a couple of inches, 6 foot or a bit more, and a good bit more “buxom”. But she is an athlete too, and she definitely does NOT look fat or too heavy, just shapely and solid. I suspect she’s much stronger than either Carrie or I, but her body is soft and curvaceously feminine. Her hair is a long, curly red, a “strawberry blonde”. It just hits me that she, too is absolutely beautiful. She is wearing almost exactly the same thing as Carrie, except white in color. But her clothing is all just a little too short, a little too tight, etc. and I wish I could have helped her dress. As I look at her I realize WHY her things are too small, they are MINE too. She and Carrie must have taken them from my closet sometime. Oh well, it’s a big day for them both . . . I won’t spoil it. As I come in they are whispering to each other and they look at me and giggle. I come over to them and ask, “well girls, what’s so funny”? Hilary flushes with embarrassment, but Carrie says, “oh nothing mom, hey . . . I’ve decided what I want for my graduation and birthday gift”. I ask, “what honey”? Carrie says, “you mom”. I don’t understand at first and give her a puzzled, questioning look. She says, “YOU mom”, and with that Hilary throws me down onto the sofa, and straddles my waist pinning my arms and body down. I was right, she IS strong, unfortunately much stronger than I am. I twist and buck and kick my legs wildly as I shout, “GIRLS . . . what the hell is . . . “. I can’t finish what I was saying because just then Carrie presses a folded cloth over my nose and mouth and leans on it hard. I try to twist my head away but she’s strong too, and I smell the chloroform. In a few seconds my struggles weaken and as I’m losing consciousness, the last thing I see is Carrie’s smiling face staring hungrily at me as she says, “my graduation gift is . . . you mom . . . YOU!”

A stinging slap in the face wakes me from my stupor. My head aches from the after-effects of the chloroform. I’m uncomfortable and feel strange, it’s hard to move. As I gain a clearer consciousness I take in my surroundings and my situation. I’m in the living room where the party is being held suspended by my wrists right in the center of the room. I feel tight leather cuffs around my wrists and they feel pressure matched by the tension in my arms. They are pulled up overhead by a hoist hanging from the ceiling of the room. (So THAT’S what they were doing with those tools . . . why didn’t I see anything THEN?) My legs are spread wide apart, making my dress slide up until my thighs are exposed above the tops of my hose, and my pretty black thong threatens to peek out from beneath my dress. I strain to keep my balance because of my heels. I can feel snug leather cuffs around my ankles too. I try to pull my legs together for firmer footing, but I can’t do it. They must have me fastened me this way. I’m SOOOO angry at those girls, and as I start to give them a piece of my mind, I want to say, “YOU GIRLS TURN ME LOOSE RIGHT NOW”! What comes out is, “ewghh ghhhlls urn eee ooss iiigh oww”. My jaw aches because my mouth is clamped open wide by a large ring-gag they’ve inserted and tied tight. I work my tongue trying to push it out. Hilary is standing next to me watching me and she says, “that’s so cute Ms. Bennett, but you should relax . . . your tongue will get tons of exercise later”, and giggles. Carrie comes over right in front of me and stands so close our bodies are touching. She smiles as she looks into my face and says, “thanks mom . . . you are such a great gift”! She reaches around behind me and gives me a sharp, stinging slap on the rear. The pain makes me say, “eeowpp”. “You look great mom, my guests will be so impressed with your gift to me”, she adds.

Just then the doorbell rings and Carrie says, “Hil, will you get that for me”. I’m sure Hilary is much stronger than Carrie PHYSICALLY, and could take her down in minutes, but PSYCHOLOGICALLY Carrie is by far the stronger. She has always been the leader with Hilary, and Hilary the happy, willing follower, always taking orders and doing things for Carrie. Carrie then says, “oh, and Hil, tell Kelly to start recording the video now, right from the start.” Oh no . . . NOOOO . . . not video of this, I thought. I was sure Carrie was going to blackmail me with it later.

“My god”, I’m thinking then, “WHO will be coming”, as I rack my brain trying to remember all the names on the guest list. I let Carrie make it out since I was sure she would know to include all the people I wanted to be there, and just gave it a cursory glance. I don’t continue that thought, this since I know it will ALL be too humiliating for me to deal with . . . but what choice do I have? My eyes well up and tears start to flow down my cheeks. WHAT will happen to me now? The doorbell rings, guests begin to come in, the room fills. I’m so humiliated I just look down at the floor, I can’t, just CAN’T face people this way. I hear the conversation, so many familiar, identifiable voices . . . my god, how could something like this happen to me? Only a couple of hours ago everything was NORMAL . . . and NOW!

I realize the room is filled now . . . I’ve heard the normal party conversations, everyone congratulating Carrie and Hilary and the other new grads here. Then I hear Carrie announcing loudly, “O.K. everyone . . . I’m going to open my BIG gift from mom now”. She stands in front of me again, reaches around grabbing the back of my hair and jerks by head back so I’m forced to look straight ahead. “Mom, you’re embarrassing me in front of my guests, I expect you to keep your head up, make eye contact and thank people who compliment you by nodding your head”. “You’d better do it”, she says, and I feel a burning on my hip and a bolt of electricity course through me. My body shudders in agony and I scream “EEEEEEEE” through my opened mouth. “Sorry mom, but you HAVE to obey me now . . . I hope you won’t make me do that again”, she says as she wipes the flow of fresh tears off my face. As everyone gathers around me I see the “thing” in her hand . . . some sort of tazer or cattle-prod device. My heart is pounding and I still feel the ghost of that intense pain. I know I’ll try to avoid another jolt, whatever it takes.

To be continued . . .