I am naked, my arms bound wrist to shoulder, my legs heel to ass, I essentially can rest and walk only on my knees and elbows; I'm effectively what you call "bitch-suited". The sleeves are a custom job, which only my boyfriend Grant has the key to. Ditto with the hood locked in place to a collar around my neck with a leash attachment.

I wear a black bondage hood with a panel gag sealing my boyfriend's, Grant's musty skidmarked underwear in my mouth. I currently have my gaze locked straight ahead to the desk leg I'm leashed to, because my captor decrees it. Not that I didn't try to argue, but she used the wicked riding crop my stupid, irresponsible boyfriend Grant left to discipline me, whipping my bare black butt into submission. My naked dark rear is under the firm control of a girl half my age.

Who is she? My half-white, half black daughter, Latoya Miller. Long haired, coffee skinned, wearing designer jeans and a Capri top. Currently listening to Candace Owens, turned up loud, just to rub in our current power imbalance. I fucking hate that grating bitch and Latoya knows it, but as she lounges in my desk chair, her feet up insolently by my computer, her dominance is clearly established in this moment.

Who am I? Cori Miller, proud, liberal black woman, forty years young, outspoken writer and blogger. Only I'm not so proud at the moment, as I have to stare straight ahead at the desk leg my offspring tethered me to, if my gaze wanders off left or right, the little bitch savagely strikes my middle-aged but still firm black butt.

How did I get to be here? Well, I have a thing for white guys, that's no secret, as my mixed race progeny attests. What I do like to keep secret is I also like to submit in BDSM games to white guys. a lot. I have plenty of the looks left I passed on to my daughter; glossy black hair with just a touch of gray, sexy round ass and figure to die for I maintain with religious exercise, and a still pretty face with a view barely visible crows feet at the eyes.

To sum up, I have plenty of guys willing to satisfy my desires. The latest being that annoying honkey asshole, Grant.

As much as I love how well he tops me, I hate his bad habit of tying me up and leaving me for hours and hours. Afterwards I forcefully confront him and he promises never to do it again. I act like a total pushover, let him tie me up again and ...guess what, boys and girls? He fucking does it again.

Which is why I'm in my current predicament. See, I got excited at the fantasy of Grant whipping me around my own home, barking commands at me while I stumped around helpless in a bitch suit. I told him about my fantasy, and he was eager to oblige.

The only issue, due to our work schedules, the only time we had was the Friday early afternoon before, Latoya and I's, Mother daughter bonding weekend. So we had a few hours to play, but he couldn't just abandon me, Latoya had a house key, she just couldn't see me in a bitchsuit. No, problem, he agreed not to abandon me tied up anymore, right?

It was a great two hours, him whipping me around the house while I stumped on all fours, dripping wet. Then he tethered me to an eyehook he'd installed at waist level in the foyer, Five feet from the door.

I had a bad feeling he was going to abandon me, again. I raised my head and started mmmphing desperately at him to come back. He simply ignored me and walked out the door. The Fucker! He knew my daughter was coming over for the weekend...surely he'd be back before then! Right?

A weird thing happened while I thought about my Latoya seeing me like this, I began to feel a little hot. It was my worst nightmare, but that submissive part of me wondered what would happen if my black butt got handed to my daughter on a silver platter, effectively she wins are battle of wills by default...would it be so bad?

Then I heard a click in the lock, and realized I didn't want to find out for real! Please let that be Grant, oh please, be Grant!

Then the door swings open and my beautiful mulatto daughter stands their, gaping at me wide eyed, gasping like a landed fish.

Finally, she finds her voice. "Oh, my God, mom, did someone do this to you? Are they still in the house?" She starts reaching in her purse for her pepper spray as I eye her pleasingly, hoping I can get her to ungag me, so I can direct her to the bolt cutters in my toolbox to cut the locks.

Then her phone buzzes, and she reflexively pulls it out and answers it. She looks shocked, Then shouts "Grant, you bastard, what did you do to my mom! I'm going to-"

Even without the phone being on speaker, I hear Grant's command voice "Just shut up and listen for a minute, Sweetness! I'm going to send you a few files, I suggest you watch it before you do anything rash."

I hear her phone buzz and she looks at the file he sent her. She starts fumbling for the headphones in her purse, then gives me a look that's less concerned then calculating. I believe in freedom of belief, I let her listen to her conservative crap when she announced her political affiliation at fourteen, I just made her wear head phones so I was spared that crap.

Except she knows there's nothing I can do at the moment, so she stops fumbling and turns up the volume on her phone while she watches what my asshole boyfriend sent her. It's worse then I feared, that bastard audio recorded me begging to be walked by him in a bitchsuit.

She looks even more shocked then when she thought I was a victim, looking at me with an unreadable expression. Then she opens the next file, and I know by Grant's shouted commands and my mmmphing and moaning it's him walking me in the bitch suit. LaToya's eye's are wide at first, obviously he sent her video, probably used his phone, the prick. Then her demeanor changes.

She starts out by giggling, then looking at me with an arrogant smirk. Then she has to pause the video several times so she can belly laugh. One time she almost composes herself, then looks at me glowering at her with a mixture of anger and desperation, and starts laughing again, uproariously. I'm grateful my skin is dark, or I'd have a red flush all over my body at being an object of my daughter's mirth.

Finally, mercifully, the stupid video ends. Still laughing, she says "Okay, Grant, that was hilarious, but go ahead and tell me where the key for her locks are so I can free her."

She looks like she's listening for a moment, then she puts the phone on speaker. "Well, girls, I have the only keys, and some stuff came up I need to take care of right away. I can't unlock her immediately, and a sub in bondage needs someone to be in charge and look after her, so she doesn't hurt herself. Are you up to it, Mistress Latoya?"

She gives me an evil smile that makes my heart sink. "I think I can handle it, Master Grant." He says "Good girl, sweetness, I knew I could count on you to take care of your mom while I conduct my business. I'm going to hang up and text you some instructions to make handling her easier."

I desperately try to catch her eyes, begging silently to be ungagged. We can just cut the fucker's locks! Don't do this to me Latoya, please! You don't really want to Domme me, do you?

She just gives me that look of wicked glee, and I swear she starts ogling my bare black ass and breasts with sordid desire. Then I hear the buzz of a text. She looks behind me, then walks behind me to retrieve something. I fear I know what it is. My fears are proved right when she walks back into my line of sight.

She holds the riding crop in her right, gently but firmly tapping it on her left palm. "Mistress Latoya" she says speculatively, "I like how that sounds. What about you sla-mom?"