This one may push close to the edges of some preferences. Everyone is over 18, but there are a mother and daughter in it. For those that might make feel uncomfortable - I'm sorry. It isn't intentional.
The rest? Well, it's partly an itchy set of fingers, and partly a passing wave to world-building. Because there's what could be taken as a reference to STONED LOVE - F4A. But it can also be seen as stand-alone :-).
Is it erotic? That's a reader decision :-). So here's TOP TO BOTTOM - over to y'all.
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TOP TO BOTTOM
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I pull into the garage, and wait while the automatic door closes behind me. It’s been a long day at the hospital, and I’m glad to be home.
Well, almost home.
So I wait for the door to close, and I get out of the car. I unbutton my shirt, I take it off and I put it in the cabinet. The cabinet’s got a big label on it saying ‘Tools’, but that’s just in case anyone looks into the garage when the doors open, and because a label saying ‘things my Owner doesn’t let me wear in the house’ would look kind of strange. Then I reach back, unclip my bra and take it off. It would be a bit obvious at the hospital if I didn’t wear one, even if I am the Head of Psych. As I take it off, my nipples stiffen. It’s not because of the breeze in the garage, because there isn’t one. But they stiffen anyway, like they always do. Then I unzip my skirt, slide it down my stockinged and gartered legs, and step out of it. Of course, I’m not wearing panties. A missing bra, people might notice and ask questions we don’t want asked. Panties? No. I can be properly naked under my skirt, like you ordered me to be. The hospital Director tried to tell me I had to wear pants and not a skirt, and I told him I was the Head of Psych, and I had two Stanleys and a Bowis, and if he wanted to try to tell me what to wear, maybe I should call that nice man from UCLA Medical who wanted me to go talk to him? The Director decided he had some urgent appointment to go to, which was lucky. The idea of driving the LA Freeway every day was no fun at all. Anyway, I got to keep my skirt, and he got to go fuck himself. The memory makes me smile as I slip off the hospital flats and put on my heels. I’m up to four inches now, and they feel – right.
I’m still smiling as I buckle the cuffs round my ankles, and the other set round my wrists. My throat feels bare, but I know you’ll take care of that soon.
Then I straighten, my nipples so very hard and my cunt already wet – and I open the door into the house, my back straight and my breasts full and properly offered to you. And in case you’re busy, I call – ‘honey, I’m home!’ And you come out of the kitchen. You come out of the kitchen, and you look at me, and you smile, and you say ‘did you have a good day at work, Cunt?’ And I wonder how many thirty nine year old mothers would smile as broad as I know I’m smiling if their nineteen year old daughter called them Cunt – and I know, for the who-knows-how-many-eth time, I don’t give a damn. Because that’s what I am. Your Cunt. Your Slut. And if I have two Doctorates, one in Clinical Psych and one in Geriatric, and I’m at the top of my fucking profession, so a Hospital Director runs away with his tail between his fucking legs if I even hint I might leave – that’s just where I want to be. And if when I come home, I’m not at the top of my profession anymore, because I’m a bottom – that’s where I fucking want to be as well. And if you’re my daughter, and my top as well Mistress? Then what does that matter? My Doctorates may be in Psych, but I know that whole incest thing was mostly just a mix of really good and really bad genetics back in the day, and it’s not like we’re going to have kids. And I smile even wider as you lift my collar off the hook near the door and lock it round my throat – and even wider as you take my leash and pull on it.
I was always your father’s Cunt, even in high school. While other guys were trying to work out how to get their hands up their first girl’s skirt, he was marking my more than willing ass and tits with his belt, and I was taking his cock anywhere he wanted to put it. Of course, we didn’t tell folks that part of us, but we were always ‘us’. Nobody was surprised when we got married just as soon as I turned nineteen. Folks said it was sweet. Sweet. Riiight. They never knew I was standing there in my wedding dress, beaming because my ass was striped from the riding crop your father had used on me. They never knew the cute lace choker I was wearing was just camo for the steel collar it was sewn on to. And they never knew I only really wanted to get married so I could stand up in front of all of them all, and promise to obey you. He had me, I had my collar, and a year later, we had you. We had you, and whatever people think people like us, people like your father, are like – he never ever laid a finger on you. Life was great.
Nineteen years your father owned me. I still cry, just sometimes. Like I know you do too.
When he fell ill, I know he’d intended to pass me to a new owner. But the illness took him too quickly. His nervous system started to fail him, and I could see the fear in his eyes at being trapped, still living, in a dead shell. One day he called us to the hospital. There was a woman standing in the corner. She locked the door, then opened her shirt and took her tits out, standing with her hands on her head. And she never flinched while my Master told you what I was, and how he’d found your porn stash, and he knew what you were too. He told you how you’d have to take care and ownership of me, and how I could help you learn what that meant. I was more than a little surprised you took it so calmly – but Master told me it wasn’t exactly news to you. He’d seen enough similarities in you to his own preferences that he’d talked with you about things in general, especially since he’d had to give in to the Doctors. And so I knelt at my new owner’s feet, and I promised to serve you, and I opened my mouth, and my Master told you to spit in it and make me swallow, so I could feel yours. And you did. And not long after, he was gone. Not from the disease, though that would have taken him in time. But because there’d been a failure in his life-support. And I knew there’d been human hands behind that failure – hands that had saved your father the terror he’d faced. And I’d have done it, but I knew he’d been protecting me to the end, and I knew I owed the woman in the corner a debt I’d never be able to repay.
And your father was gone, but we were us – or we would be. Because we both had some lessons to learn.
The first thing was to change my status. Under your supervision, we went through my wardrobe. We separated my clothes into things I was allowed to keep, and things I had to throw out. Then we moved all my things out of what had been my bedroom and into your smaller room. And you moved into the main bedroom. And I knew you would have to get comfortable with me exposing myself to you, so I started wearing more revealing clothing round the house. Like sheerer shirts, to show my bra and draw attention to my offered breasts. I started off with contrasting, but opaque bras. So a black full coverage under a sheer white silk shirt. Or a white bra under a black or grey see-through top. Then I upped the ante. I bought a range of lacy bras. They scratched sometimes, especially on my nipples. But that had its own advantages – my nipples were harder a lot more of the time, and more obvious. And the flesh of my breasts showed through well, with the redder points of those same hard nipples. I wore shorter skirts, with lace panties to match whatever bra I had on, and heels, to emphasise my legs, and you’re your eyes up to my butt and the cleft of my thighs. And I made sure I bent and stretched a lot, with a straight back and legs, so my skirts rode up and my panties showed whenever I could.
At first, you were embarrassed. You tried to look anywhere but at me, at my breasts, at my ass. But we talked, and I told you my breasts were yours to look at – or to touch, or to do anything you wanted to. And that my ass was yours to enjoy, and that some of that meant looking at it, and some of it would mean hurting it. And you said you’d never hurt me, and I said I really hoped you did, because that was part of being a Cunt, giving your Owner pleasure from their freedom to hurt you. And that I would need to be punished sometimes for failing to learn, or to obey. And that you should hurt me just as much as you liked and as often as you liked, whether as part of my training, or as discipline, or just for your pleasure. And I opened my shirt, and I took my tits out of my bra and I asked you to please smack them as hard as you could, so I could show you I could take it, and you could enjoy it. And at first you only play-tapped, but I got down on my knees and I begged you to hurt me, to smack my breasts. And finally you hit my left breast really hard – and I cried out, and you stopped. But I begged you to hit me again, and you started smacking my tits, left and right, and I saw it. The smile, the fixed eyes – and I knew. It was going to be OK.
So I asked if you’d liked it, liked hitting me. And you blushed, and you said yes, you’d liked hitting me. And we talked for a while about the pleasure an Owner can take from hurting a Slave. The sounds of a hand or a strap or a whip hitting flesh. The moans and yelps and sobs and even screams of a suffering Slave, and how it was OK for an Owner to like hearing those sounds, to like making them happen. And you told me how it was kind of cool for you to see me kneel to you , to lift up my breasts and beg you to hurt me, and to know I would accept it. Not your mother accepting it, but your Slave. And I smiled, and I said it was like that for the Slave too. To be able to let go so much, to let someone else have that power over you, that ownership, and to know you existed only to serve them and please them, and that they would make all your decisions for you and all you had to do was to submit and to obey. And that was the first time you put me over your knee, and lifted my skirt up, and took down my panties, and spanked me so much and so hard I cried, with tears of mixed pain and love for my new Owner.
And when you’d finished spanking me, I said thank you, and I asked if you would like to kiss me, so I could kiss you to show I meant it. And you blushed, but you said yes, you’d like to kiss me. And you told me to lie on the couch, with my head in your lap, so you could take control of the kiss, take control of me. And I lay down on the couch. My panties were still down round the tops of my thighs, where you’d pulled them to spank me. So I tugged my skirt up, to show my pussy. I told you I bet guys had tried to touch your cunt when they kissed you . And you blushed again, and said ‘sure’. So I lay my head in your lap, the warmth of your cunt under me, and I took your hand, and I opened my legs, stretching my panties between my thighs, and I put your hand, my daughter’s hand – my Owner’s hand - on my cunt. And I licked my lips, slowly, and I asked you if you’d ever touched a girl’s pussy. And I took your finger, and I ran it along the length of my slit. And I felt your hand under my head, lifting me, and your head came down, and you licked my open lips. And I kept my mouth open under yours, because it was your right to control the kiss. And you pressed your lips on mine, nibbling me with your teeth. And your finger stiffened a little, and I spread my legs wider for you, and the tip of your finger probed between my pussy lips. And your lips moved on mine, and your tongue pushed into my mouth, and I moaned round it. And your tongue licked mine, and you moaned as well, your finger pushing hard between my labia. And I wished you would finger fuck me. But I knew you weren’t ready for that yet, so I moaned into your mouth, and I felt your lips whisper ‘Good girl.' And I almost came right then. So I moaned some more, and you whispered ‘Tongue, baby. Be a good girl and give me your tongue.’ And I pushed my tongue into your mouth as you fingered my cunt, and my hips lifted, welcoming your finger into my Slave slit. And your finger slid deeper into my cunt, and came out wet. And you lifted your hand, and you ran your wet finger over my lips, and you kissed me again, licking my juice off my lips. Then your mouth took control of mine, and you tongued me and bit me –and kissed me like an Owner should. Then you looked at me, and you were smiling. And you cupped my cunt, and you said 'Good girl, darling. Very, very good girl.'
So we moved on, and I started to wear a loose robe in the house, and I made sure it fell open at times when you were near, so it exposed my bra or my panties. Then one day, you told me to wear stockings, and a garter, and high heels, but that I wasn’t allowed to wear a bra or panties any more in the house. And when my robe fell open, you would look at my tits, at my ass and my pussy, and you would smile. And then you told me I wasn’t allowed to wear the robe any more – and I knew the balance of mother-daughter was changing, and in the best way possible.
And from then it was you, my daughter, my owner who decided what I should wear to the hospital. Each day you would lay it out for me, and I would dress under your supervision. Even in the vanilla world, you preferred me to be no less revealing than I had to be. So you dressed me in shorter skirts, in lower cut necklines and always in stockings and a garter. I was allowed to wear a bra, but panties were forbidden.
And one day you said you didn't in any way mind my age, and that I was very attractive, but that there were a couple of girls whose mouths you'd like to spit in at school. And that let us have a conversation about monogamy. Because I asked you if you liked boys and girls, or just girls, or only me as a girl and really preferred boys. And you said you’d always assumed you’d be into boys, or, you grinned, boys would be into you, but that owning me had shown you you really liked girls. But not girls-as-girlfriends. That what was really good was a girl as your personal Slut, your Cunt. So I asked if you wanted a harem. I explained it wasn't an issue for a Slave if its owner fucked other people. Your father had. He'd make me stand in a corner, naked, with my hands on my head while he took some girl to bed. Or he'd have me join them, so he could enjoy two women together, or to watch us fuck each other. And as your Slave, if you wanted more than one girl in the house, if you wanted someone younger to play with, or another older woman to put me with, that was something it was perfectly OK for an Owner to expect of a Slave. And you kissed me, and you said you’d like to watch me fuck another girl. And that was the first night you used a cane on me. Not because you were angry, but because, you told me, you were pleased with me and you wanted to hurt me very severely as a reward. And as you whipped my ass, I sobbed my thanks and my promise of eternal devotion to you and your pleasure – and I meant every word.
And that was a year ago – and I meant it then, and I mean it now. And as you pull on my leash, as I bend over your knee for my first evening spanking – as your hand falls hard onto my ass – I know it’s true.
I’m home.