Threeview

By Lorddare

 

Amy really liked the wine.  Mrs. Dalton was so cool, to let her hang out and sip wine on the deck with her.  Amy had been Mrs. Denton’s daughter’s best friend, until Cindy had fallen in with an older crowd.  Amy had been hurt by that, but Mrs. Dalton seemed to understand and had been making Amy feel more than welcome in her home any time she wanted to come over. 

 

Amy had been coming over often.  As she slowly sipped her third glass of Reisling, she thought about how Mrs. Dalton almost seemed like an older sister.  It wasn’t like hanging out with a mom, that much was for sure.

 

The awkwardness she had felt earlier had melted away with her second glass of wine.  Mrs. Dalton had mentioned the previous day that she planned to lay out in the sun for part of the afternoon.  If Amy wanted to come over, she was welcome to. 

 

Mrs. Dalton hadn’t approved of the nice, navy blue one-piece swimming suit that Amy’s mother had bought her just after school was out for the summer.  “You’re too young to be covering up all of that beautiful skin, Amy!”, she had said, wagging her finger as though Amy had done something wrong.  Before Amy knew it, she was in Cindy’s room, trying on a skimpy little string bikini.

 

Mrs. Dalton made a big deal out of how great it looked on her, which made Amy feel good, even though she knew better.  Cindy was quite a bit smaller than her, so both the bottoms and the top were a bit tight.  Amy was kind of proud of herself.  It had taken a lot of courage on her part to walk out of Cindy’s bedroom in the little pink bikini, knowing Mrs. Dalton was waiting in the hallway to see her in it.  It had made her feel funny, but it was the good kind of funny feeling that always came upon her when she was around Mrs. Dalton. 

 

“There’s only one small problem, Amy.”, Mrs. Dalton had said in a concerned tone.  “Boys just don’t like to see hair down there.”  Just thinking about that moment brought back the very same shortness of breath and strange anticipation that Amy had felt at the time.  She had been stunned and embarrassed at the same time.  Looking down to where Mrs. Dalton was pointing, she saw that a little tuft of her red pubic hair extended above the top of the bikini bottoms.  She had carefully tucked all of her hair under the bottoms, but just walking out of the room had apparently been enough to expose some of it. 

 

Mrs. Dalton had grasped her by her wrist, as though she were a little girl, and pulled her into the bathroom.  She quickly produced a small pair of hair shears and a razor.  She handed them to Amy, then placed a can of shaving gel on the vanity.  “You’re not a little girl anymore, Amy.  You’ll need to start grooming down there.”  Mrs. Dalton smiled warmly, patting Amy on her bottom before pulling the door closed behind her as she stepped out of the bathroom. 

 

Amy didn’t know what to do.  She was deeply ashamed, but her heart was racing and she felt so much tingling going on throughout her body that she wished it would last a while.  When she pushed the bikini bottoms down over her thighs, her nipples hardened into the tough little eraser-like nubs that she loved to pinch and twist in her “private moments”.  Amy looked at herself in the mirror.  She hated that her skin was so white, so it was good that Mrs. Dalton was encouraging her to tan.  She hated her freckles and her small breasts, too.  Amy ran her hand over her hard, flat tummy.  She did a lot of running and a lot of crunches, so she was in good shape.  Even though her mom would not let her wear hip hugger jeans, she wanted to be ready for that look when and if the opportunity arose.  Wearing a bikini rather than her one-piece was cool because everyone could see her washboard abs. 

 

Amy hated her breasts because, so far, they hadn’t really become breasts.  There was enough there to justify wearing a bra, but she could easily go without one if it weren’t for her oversize nipples.  She loved her nipples, but hated that she had to worry so much about them showing.  They even poked through some of her bras to the point that it was sometimes obvious in school that they were hard.  She had a good butt.  At least she thought so.  She thought her butt looked like Jessica Simpson’s – nice and round, but firm.  She turned to see what her butt looked like in the bikini.  After pulling the bottoms back up she was happy to see that she looked good.  The bottoms barely covered half her ass, but she knew that’s the way it was supposed to be with a little bikini. 

 

She pushed the bottoms back down, determined to take care of her pubic hair problem.  What should she do, though?  Just trim it a bit on the edges?  It was long and bushy.  Should she shorten it, too?  She pulled the bottoms back up in front to see if her hair pushed out on the thin pink fabric.  It did.  Anyone could see from the side that she had a lot of hair down there, even if it were trimmed around the edges.  She traced her fingers along the sides and across the top, getting a sense of where the outside boundaries of her trim job should be. 

 

Amy pushed the bottoms down, then stepped out of them.  She couldn’t have all that hair falling down into them.  How would she manage that, she wondered.  She couldn’t just let all the clippings fall onto Mrs. Denton’s bathroom floor.  That would be nasty.  The vanity was just the right height that she could get her crotch up over the corner of it if she stood on the tips of her toes.  Maybe if she straddled the vanity like that, and leaned forward a bit, most of it would just fall on top of the vanity.  Then she could sweep it off into her hand or something, and flush it or something.  She thought she would try that, and found that the vanity was just a touch higher than she thought.  The cold marble top pushed hard up against her pussy, and her toes barely touched the floor.  God, it felt good. 

 

She decided to indulge her nipples for just a second, and pulled the little top up over ther small breasts.  A fleeting thought passed through her mind just as she grasped each nipple in her fingers.  That though was that maybe she should lock the door…but Mrs. Dalton wouldn’t barge in, and locking the door while she might be waiting just outside would show that she was insecure or something, and…

 

It seemed to Amy that in that split second of her life everything caved in on her all at once.  She had just taken hold of her nipples and might have been gyrating her hips just a bit on the top of the countertop when the bathroom door knob turned and Mrs. Dalton poked her head in.  There was no pretending that she was scratching an itch or had somehow innocently gotten into that position.  Amy froze, petrified. 

 

Mrs. Dalton’s expression did not change at all.  Amy expected her to be horrified and to freak out.  Instead, Mrs. Dalton smiled warmly, looking at Amy’s reflection in the mirror as though she were looking at a shiny new car or something.  Amy felt really strange then.  She still didn’t know what to do.  “I had no idea you were such a hottie, Amy!”

 

Her face flooded with blood at the comment, and Amy found her throat constricting to the point that she could barely utter a sound.  She began to stutter.  It had been two years since she had stuttered.  She could not believe she had been so dumb.  There she was, almost completely naked, straddling  the corner of the vanity and pinching her nipples while Mrs. Dalton watched approvingly.  “Have you thought about getting your navel pierced?”

 

“Um.”  Amy bit her lower lip.  It was something she did when she wanted to avoid stuttering.  It slowed her down and helped her concentrate on her words.  “Y-y-y-y…”

 

Mrs. Dalton had stepped fully into the room then, and was standing next to Amy, still looking at her through the mirror.  Her voice was soft and gentle when she said,  “You sure have grown up, Amy Townsend.”

 

Amy felt her wrists being gently guided down from her breasts to the small of her back.  Mrs. Denton held them there with her left hand.  She passed her right hand over Amy’s abs.  “How many crunches do you have to do to get a set of abs like these?”, Mrs. Dalton asked.

 

To Amy it sounded as though she was really interested in knowing the answer, which was a comfort.  Maybe holding her hands behind her back wasn’t such a big deal.  It did make her back arch a bit and for some reason seemed to increase the pressure on her pussy.  She knew her nipples were visibly hardening even beyond where they were as she pinched them.  She could not help but allow a sigh to escape her lips.  “Um…I, I, I, I do about, th, th, threehundredanight.”, she blurted, happy to have been able to say something.

 

“Good for you.”, Mrs. Denton answered in a soothing voice, still softly stroking Amy’s midsection.  Her hand was roaming lower and higher than it had been.  “You really don’t show it off at all, do you?”

 

“N, nnnn, no.  My Mmmmom…”

 

“I know, honey.”, Mrs. Dalton said condescendingly, hugging Amy around her waist.  “Your mom is a bit of a square.  Now let’s get you trimmed up!”

 

Amy expected the brief ordeal to end at that point.  She thought Mrs. Dalton would walk out and everything would be okay.  That was not what happened, though.  

 

Mrs. Dalton again clasped Amy’s wrists together and, placing her right hand firmly against Amy’s tummy, she guided her down off the corner of the vanity.  Amy was ashamed when Mrs. Dalton noticed that the area she was straddling was wet.  “You are a sexy little thing.”, Mrs. Dalton purred directly into Amy’s ear.  It gave her goosebumps.

 

“Now, let’s ease you down onto the toilet and I’ll show you how to do it properly.”

 

Mrs. Dalton had stepped between Amy’s legs as she eased her down onto the toilet, so there was no chance for Amy to preserve her modesty.  Now, though, Mrs. Dalton was pushing her knees widely apart.  Amy gasped.  She was lost, barely able to control herself.  Before she knew it, Mrs. Dalton was clipping away at her pussy hair with the shears, letting it drop in clumps onto the floor.  She didn’t seem to be just evening it up, or trimming around the edges, she was carefully cutting it all down to a very short length.  Her fingers were all around Amy’s pussy, causing her to both relish the experience and be horrified by it.  The only sound in the room other than the short, quick clipping of the scissors was Amy’s labored breathing.  She was afraid she might hyperventilate.  No one had ever touched her there before.

 

“We’re almost there, honey.  Just scoot forward a bit for me.”, Mrs. Dalton instructed, pulling Amy forward until her pussy was off the edge of the toilet lid.  The neighbor lady took the can of shaving gel and squirted a glob of it onto her left hand.  She spread it lazily over Amy’s pussy, all the way back to her butt, which made her even more uncomfortable.   Amy was scared.  What was happening?

 

“Wh, wh, what…”

 

“Oh, relax girl!  You didn’t know pussy hair was a thing of the past?  Nobody has pussy hair anymore.”

 

Mrs. Denton was slowly dragging the razor over Amy’s most tender parts now, denuding her of all traces of hair.  It made Amy feel even more naked as the coolness of the shaving gel was replaced by the coolness of the slight movement of air against her bare skin.  She could even feel Mrs. Dalton’s breath on her pussy.   “After this all we’ll need to do to get you into the modern world is to get your belly pierced, and maybe a tattoo.”

 

Just as Mrs. Dalton was finishing, she seemed to accidentally drag her finger up along the inside of Amy’s pussy.  This was while she was wiping her off with a damp wash cloth.  Amy was electrified by it, and her whole body tensed.  Mrs. Dalton casually licked the finger off, “Mmmm.  How sweet.”, she cooed.  Amy’s breathing had finally started to stabilize when it appeared the strange ordeal was nearing it’s end, but now she was back to gasping for breath again.  There was nothing innocent or accidental about Mrs. Dalton’s tasting her pussy juice!  But, why were her nipples tingling, and why was her pussy so wet?

 

Mrs. Dalton pulled her to her feet, which she found she was not so steady on at first, and slowly spun her around a few times to look her over.  Amy felt like some sort of farm show animal, being looked over by the 4H judge.  All the pussy juice that had been building up began to flow out and down her thighs.  After four complete turns of her body, Mrs. Dalton leaned down and gave Amy a quick kiss on her lips.  It was just a peck, but…

 

“I’ll see you on the deck.”, was all Mrs. Dalton had said before leaving Amy to put the little bikini on.  At last she had a chance to get her breath back, but the brief time alone did nothing to help her feelings of lust, shame, and humiliation to sort themselves out.  She felt as though she were on auto pilot, pulling the skimpy bikini bottoms up over her hips.  She relished the feel of the smooth spandex blend against her hairless pussy.  It felt as though it was clinging to her like a second skin.  She could clearly see the outline of her swollen pussy lips in the bright pink triangle that barely covered her.    The top was too small as well, and her nipples had a mind of their own.  She tried as best she could to think about wild horses or going camping or riding the school bus, so that her nipples could get back to normal.  Nothing worked.  She was concerned that if she waited too long she might be visited again.  She considered it an act of bravery to step out of that bathroom with nothing on but the little bikini.  Mrs. Dalton had seen her naked, but somehow she felt sexier now.

 

She found Mrs. Dalton relaxing on her chaise lounge on the deck, sipping a glass of red wine.  The only other lounge chair on the deck had been pulled very close to the one Mrs. Dalton was on, and a glass of wine was resting on a small plastic table to the left of it.  Surely that was not for her. 

 

Mrs. Dalton looked really good in her bikini.  For a lady as old as Mrs. Dalton, she had a killer body.  She was already tanned.  She had always seemed to keep a dark tan.  She really was pretty. 

 

Amy knew she was blushing as she took her place next to Mrs. Dalton. 

 

“You look great!”, Mrs. Denton exclaimed.  “Have some wine, girl!”

 

Amy really didn’t think she should accept any wine.  What if her mother smelled it on her breath when she got home?  On the other hand, she had never had a glass of wine and had always been curious to know what it tasted like.  It was early, also.  Maybe she could borrow some breath mints and everything would be fine.  She took a sip.  “Thanks.”, she said breathlessly. 

 

“Shouldn’t you say, “Thank you Ma’am?”, Mrs. Dalton asked quietly.

 

“Oh.  Yyyyes.   Thank you Ma’am.”, Amy answered pleasantly.  Mrs. Dalton reached over and patted her softly on her thigh.  “Good girl.”, she said.  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, (Amy couldn’t decide in her confusion) Mrs. Dalton didn’t remove her hand from Amy’s thigh.  Instead, she left it  there, resting just inches from Amy’s newly bald pussy.

 

Amy knew she was drinking her wine much too quickly.  She must have finished it in five minutes, only to be told by Mrs. Dalton to fetch the bottle from the refrigerator.  When she returned with the bottle, she refilled Mrs. Dalton’s wine glass, then her own.  Even though she told herself to take it easy, her nervousness again got the better of her and she found herself drinking the wine as though it were coolaid.  She was turned on and repelled by the fact that Mrs. Dalton had put her hand back on her thigh, without any sort of pretense or excuse.  Now, feeling the buzz slowly creep over her, Amy felt as though she was being thought of as a possession.  It bothered her that it didn’t seem to bother her. 

 

Time seemed to pass ever so slowly.  The alcohol may have been eroding Amy’s inhibitions but it had done nothing for her anxiety.  Her nipples were so hard.  She just wanted to squeeze them a little.  She knew her pussy was wet, and wondered whether the bikini bottoms were giving her away.  They were more than tight enough, she just didn’t know whether the fabric darkened when it got damp.  She shifted her bottom a little, repositioning herself just slightly on the chair.  She felt as though she was being devious, because her intention was to see what Mrs. Dalton would do with her hand.  It was with some satisfaction that Amy found Mrs. Dalton slightly caressing her thigh.  Because Amy had moved closer to her, the caresses were just above the inner part of her thigh.  She parted her legs very, very slowly.  She was sure she had done it so slowly that Mrs. Dalton couldn’t have noticed. 

 

Now, though, Amy was focusing on the slow rhythym of Mrs. Dalton’s caresses.  This was what they meant by sensuous, she thought.  She had always assumed her first sensuous moment would happen with a boy. 

 

Mrs. Dalton finally spoke again when Amy was halfway through her third glass of wine.  She sighed deeply.  “Do you know what would turn me on more than anything else in the world right now, Amy?”

 

Amy swallowed a larger than normal gulp of the wine.  “No Ma’am.”

 

“I would just relish the chance to see you taste yourself, girl.  Will you do that for me?  It would be soooooo hot!”

 

Amy found herself completely frozen.  She still held the wine glass to her lips.  She was so taken aback by the question that she seemed not to be able to make her brain function.  It could not be that she had been asked to do what she thought she had heard.  It could not be.

 

She looked down at her thigh, and how Mrs. Dalton’s left hand so skillfully massaged her there.  She listened intently to the deep breathing of her hostess, and saw how Mrs. Dalton’s chest was rising as a result of her labored breathing.  She saw how hard the nipples were and knew Mrs. Dalton was turned on.  She replayed the question as she sipped the wine, licking her lips and trying to get all of the information sorted out. 

 

Mrs. Dalton’s hand had moved distinctly over Amy’s inner right thigh.  Without any thought at all, Amy spread her legs wider.  She licked her lips again.  Holding the glass to her lips with her right hand, she haltingly moved her left hand down over her tummy, until her fingers touched the top of the bikini bottoms.  She paused momentarily, telling herself that the more she thought about things the worse it would be.  She desperately wanted to touch herself.  Her pussy was so hot and so wet, and she loved how it tasted.  She was drunk.  Of course she wouldn’t do a thing like this if she were sober.  She was drunk and out of control.  She would do it.  She had been seduced.  The neighbor lady, it was her fault.  Amy had fallen under her influence, and the wine…

 

She pushed her fingers under the waistband and directly down over her smooth pussy.  Some of the wine spilled on her upper chest, but she didn’t care.  The two middle fingers of her left hand were pushed firmly down between her lips.  She gasped as her hand brushed against her hardened clit.  She just wanted to…

 

“Mmmm.  You’re so hot, Amy.”, Mrs. Dalton cooed.  Amy could see out of the corner of her eye  that she was pinching her right nipple.  She dared not look at Mrs. Dalton, she was afraid of what might happen if she did.  She could not even bring herself to speak in reply to the compliment.  Her pussy was so wet. 

 

Mrs. Dalton was fumbling with something.  Amy soon realized it was her cellphone.  She had flipped it open.  It seemed a strange time to be making a call, or checking messages.  It dawned on Amy much too late that Mrs. Dalton had just taken a picture of her, there on the chaise lounge with her hand between her legs.  “Oh, God!”, Amy thought.  She didn’t know what to do, but she did know that she didn’t want to stop pleasuring herself.  It was so dirty, what she was doing.  Nobody had ever watched her masturbate before.  Mrs. Dalton was taking more pictures.  Now she was standing up.

 

“Push those bottoms down just a bit, girl.”, Mrs. Dalton ordered.  Her voice was still very much full of desire, but it was clear to Amy that she was not going to take “no” for an answer.  Amy was not sure that there was a “no” in her at the moment.  When she withdrew her hand from beneath the bikini bottoms her fingers glistened brightly in the sun.  She raised her hips and pushed the bottoms down over her thighs. 

 

“Good girl.”  Mrs. Dalton had positioned herself at the bottom of the chaise, and was looking directly down on Amy.  She was carefully positioning the phone.  “Get those fingers back in there for me, baby.”, she said.

 

Amy went back to work on her hungry pussy, closing her eyes to block out everything but the wonderful sensations she was feeling.   She was so bad, to be here, doing this.  She was allowing pictures to be taken of her, like she was a dirty whore or something.  She was a bitch, a bitch in heat.   Her pussy was so hot, her nipples so very hard…

 

“Push your top up, Amy.  I want to see those pretty breasts.”

 

Without thinking, Amy responded instantly.  She did not remove her fingers from her sopping pussy, though.  She simply pushed the cups up over her small breasts and began rolling her nipples between the quick fingers of her right hand.   She could not help but gasp.  Her desire was rising faster than she had ever known. 

 

“That’s it.  Very sexy.  Now lick your lips and look up at me.”

 

Amy did as she was told.  She had never felt as though she were on autopilot before.  Now, she seemed to be nothing more than a puppet, reacting to whatever instruction she was given.  Her face flushed when she looked up at Mrs. Dalton.  She knew she was wicked now.  There was no denying how bad she was.  She was playing with her pussy and her nipples in front of the neighbor lady, who was taking pictures of her.  She licked her lips slowly, seductively.  She had seen it done in the movies and knew just how to look like that herself.  Now she felt it, and understood what it was like to want someone to see her as desireable.  She wanted Mrs. Dalton to see that she was sexy.  She wanted to please her.  Mrs. Dalton was beautiful.  Amy wanted to…touch, lick, fondle, caress…Mrs. Dalton. 

 

Mrs. Dalton must have sensed her desire, because she stepped over to Amy’s side and knelt down.  She quickly leaned over and kissed Amy full on her lips.  Amy relished her first kiss, feeling waves of strange emotions wash over her.  Mrs. Dalton’s tongue pushed insistently past her lips and teeth, and was now swirling around the inside of her mouth, exploring.  Amy could still hear the faint clicking of the camera phone, and understood that Mrs. Dalton must be taking pictures of their kiss.  Her breathing quickened.   She wondered if it was possible for her heart to explode.  It was beating very rapidly, but seemed to be beating so hard that she thought she might be able to hear it if she were in a quiet room.   The kiss seemed to go on forever, and yet it ended much too soon.   Mrs. Dalton leaned back, then stood slowly, leaving Amy hungry for more kissing.  She would never forget that first kiss, she knew.  Never.  It was…fantastic!

Mrs. Dalton snapped the cellphone shut.  “You are such a slut!”, she announced.

 

Amy was taken aback.  Mrs. Dalton sounded angry, or at least upset somehow.  Why would she be upset?  Amy had done everything she suggested.  Mrs. Dalton had been so sweet to her, so…loving. 

 

Amy didn’t want to look.  She could see that Mrs. Dalton was pushing her bikini bottoms down.  She didn’t want to look.  Her pussy felt so good, and her nipples were so hard, but how could she avoid being distracted by such a thing?  What was…

 

Mrs. Dalton was stepping over her now, straddling Amy’s chaise lounge.  Amy continued to play with herself even while Mrs. Dalton’s pussy presented itself directly above her.   Amy could smell her, and could see by the wetness that she was hot.  Amy opened her mouth, accepting the neighbor lady’s pussy as it came down onto her face.   “Oh, God.”, Amy thought.  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

 

Mrs. Dalton tasted different than Amy’s own flavor.  She hadn’t ever thought of it, but supposed it was normal for girls to taste different from one another.  She wasn’t so much licking Mrs. Dalton’s pussy as maybe providing something for it to rub against.  Amy pushed her tongue out to lap at the sopping gash each time it passed over, but Mrs. Dalton was rotating her hips so fast that there was no chance for Amy to control the pleasure she might give.  She could still hear the camera clicking.

 

Mrs. Dalton was using Amy’s face so roughly now that Amy was gasping to breath properly.  She had grasped Amy’s hair at the back of her head and had pulled her face even more tightly into the desperate, thrusting pussy.  Amy’s moans mixed with Mrs. Dalton’s as the sexy neighbor lady concentrated on rubbing herself over Amy’s chin, mouth, and nose.  Amy slipped a finger into her pussy and was fucking herself while stroking her clit with her thumb.  She had never felt such desire, it was so…

 

Mrs. Dalton stopped suddenly.  So suddenly that it alarmed Amy.  “Oh my God!”, Mrs. Dalton screamed in a voice that communicated both fear and anger.  “What the fuck are you doing home Cindy!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.”