Chapter 7: The Rest of the Afternoon

“Better than I have for quite some time,” She stated. “You’ve dressed me more conservatively than I typically do, but it’s nice to dress for comfort instead of trying to attract someone.”

“Yeah, you’ve basically been a call girl for the last three years,” I said brutally. It was time to begin to break her. “That ends now. I will break you down and remodel you into someone my father and I can love again. You can count on that, Mandy.” I stared at her steelily. “You will start now. Strip and assume the same position I told you to make this morning.”

“Carina!” Mum protested shrilly. “I am your mother! I will not act like that in front of you!”

Mum was too bruised for me to punish her physically, but I could still use mental and emotional manipulation to bring her to heel. “You will, Mandy, or I will put you over my knee and spank your ass with the rolling pin like I had to do to Dad several times until he learned to obey me.”

“Carina!” Mum screeched.

“Mistress!” I said firmly.

“I will not call you ‘Mistress’!” Mum denied.

“Three choices, Mandy. One: You call me Mistress. Two: I get the rolling pin and whale you saggy ass until you call me Mistress. Three: I throw your scrawny body onto the streets, and after several days of being beaten and raped, your come crawling back and call me Mistress. Did you hear the common thread, Mandy? In each of your three choices, you call me Mistress. So, which choice will you make?”

Mum stood looking at me fearfully, with tears welling in her eyes. I steeled my resolve, crossed my arms and stared her down, tapping my toe. She still didn’t move, so I unfolded my arms and stepped towards the door. “The rolling pin it is, then.”

“No!” Mum blanched. She reluctantly peeled her dress off her shoulders and stepped out of it. She started to get onto her hands and knees, hoping I’d let it pass, but there was no way I was letting it.

“Pantyhose, bra and panties, too,” I demanded impatiently.

“Please, Carina, don’t do this,” Mum pleaded.

“Mistress!” I roared. “It’s strip, get the rolling pin, or get the fuck out of my house. Which do you choose?”

Mum sniffled, but I saw an apparent contradiction when she removed her bra. Her nipples were crinkly hard with sexual excitement. Then, when she removed her pantyhose, her panties were damp with her arousal. So damp that they’d soaked through into an obvious wet patch. She hesitantly got on her hands and knees, placed her forehead on her forearm and reached between her legs. I grinned when I saw her fingers appear and part her pussy lips, exposing her tight entrance. Arousal oozed from her pussy even though she denied her excitement.

I knelt behind her and ran my fingers over her bony body with its sagging skin. Doing that wasn’t particularly sexual, but it was getting Mum used to me touching her erotically. Leaning over her back, I cupped her deflated jugs and lightly rolled her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. They responded by stiffening further, and I could hear Mum’s breath catch.

“If you turn out to be some use to Dad and me,” I informed her. “I’ll fly you to Melbourne and get these fixed for you. But I’m thinking of making you my little bimbo, so I think that I’ll ask the surgeon to give you at least a G-cup. Maybe even more. What do you think, Mum? Would you like some balloon-like tits on your chest? I bet that plenty of men would want to buy you pretty things if you did.”

“No,” Mum moaned despite the heat coming off her pussy, which I could feel because I had my pussy pressed against her bare ass. “That would be too big and will hurt my back.”

I moved back and pulled my skirt up. Then I lowered my panties and pushed my lasered-bare pussy against her ass. Mum gulped when she felt my heat against her ass, but then she unawarely wriggled her ass, trying to feel it better. “Yeah, but I like the idea of my mother having big bimbo tits and being my obedient little slave, so I’ll probably get Marcus, that’s the cosmetic surgeon, to give you them anyway. Probably some hip inserts to give you a bimbo ass, too.”

“No, Ca ... Mistress, please. I don’t want to be your slave or a bimbo.”

I moved back and pulled my panties up and my dress down. Then, I fingered Mum’s clit as I explored her flabby ass with my other hand. “Do you want to cum, Mum?” I cheekily asked, thinking, ‘You may not want to be those things, but you will be both!’

“No!” Mum denied, even though she was shuddering and on the cusp of an orgasm. “I’m your mother, for goodness sake. I do not want my daughter touching my bits, let alone making me cum!”

I didn’t respond, but when I rimmed her asshole with my thumb, she orgasmed anyway. “That’s a good start, Mandy,” I told her. “Remember, those are always your choices. Deny and disobey me, and I’ll punish you either physically or emotionally. But do as I want you to, and I will reward you. Get dressed and do your makeup, Mandy. My girlfriend will be here soon, and you wouldn’t want to embarrass me.”

I stalked out and called Peter, my hairstylist, and asked for an appointment for the following week. It had to be after 4:00 p.m. to give me time to get home from uni, pick Mum up, and drive to his salon.

Tasha arrived about an hour later. She had her own key and the alarm codes if no one was home, so she let herself in and found me in the kitchen making dinner. Because I know exuberant PDAs make her uncomfortable, I squealed like an excited teenage girl seeing her favourite boy band member, ran across the kitchen, and leapt into her arms.

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” Tasha muttered as I rained kisses over her face. Still, she held my ass and ground her jeans-covered pussy against my barely covered one, so all good. “Watcha making?” She asked after letting me down when I wriggled.

“Broiled chicken breasts and white rice,” I lied because I knew she needed way more than that. Tasha was in the midst of her winter fitness program. She was running nearly a hundred kilometres a week and going to the gym four to five times a week as well. She needed lots of red meat and dark green vegetables to get the protein and iron she needed to rebuild damaged muscle and ensure she didn’t become anaemic.

“That doesn’t look much like chicken,” Tasha observed, poking the meat I’d sliced into slivers.