Chapter 2

On Thursday, I was in the tree with a book when the SUV next door got home. I’d actually fallen asleep until I heard the garage door opening. Since I had a thumb drive with lots of videos and still photos, I continued to leave the cameras in the house. I could still have them set up in fifteen minutes if something new happened. I won’t say it was getting boring watching two beautiful, naked females, but I hadn’t seen anything new lately. Today was more of the same. Daughter Bitch secured Mother Bitch and whipped her with the flogger. I’d done some research on BDSM on the internet in the last couple of weeks. I wondered why they used the same script each time instead of mixing it up by using different things beside the flogger, crop, and clothespins.

Daughter Bitch had left to pick Pam up and Mother Bitch had just stood up after her masturbation session when a gnat flew up my nose and made me sneeze. I knew I was busted when she spun and glared at the tree, and then stormed into her house. Barely two minutes later, she barged through our side gate wearing a long T-shirt. From the way her breasts moved beneath it, I knew she hadn’t put on anything else.

“You fucking, perverted, peeping Tom,” she hissed at me through clenched teeth as soon as she climbed the ladder far enough that her head cleared the floor of the treehouse.

“Perverted?” I asked incredulously. “I come up here every summer afternoon to enjoy the quiet and cool, and to read; I’ve been doing it for several years. Now I have to put up with you and your daughter whipping and fucking each other,” I shot back. She paled so badly I thought she might pass out.

“What will it take for you to keep quiet about it?” she asked nervously.

-----.-----

I need to interrupt for a second and explain something. When my mind is intent on something, I tend to assume people around me know what I’m thinking and talking about. I also tend to say things that make perfect sense to me, but can be taken more than one way if you don’t know what I’m thinking about.

-----.-----

“What the hell do you think I want?” I answered angrily.

“Pam thinks you’re different, but you’re just like all the other assholes out there. All you want is somewhere to stick your dick. Fine, let’s get this over,” she answered angrily and whipped her T-shirt off. I was right, nothing underneath.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I gasped, although I must admit that my eyes were taking in every inch of the gorgeous body less than two feet from me.

“You want to fuck me, so fuck me,” she hissed angrily.

“Whoa, that’s not what I meant,” I gasped, grabbing her shirt, and tossing it back to her. “I meant that I wanted you to treat the people in the neighborhood with more respect.”

She was stunned and made no move to put her shirt back on--not that I intended to complain.

“That’s all?” she asked incredulously.

“I admit to being a pervert--I am a guy, after all. And yes, I’ve watched you for some time now. The three of you are incredibly beautiful, but I would never force a woman to do something like that,” I explained.

She saw that my eyes were wandering over her body, shrugged, and dropped the shirt again. “Do you promise never to tell anyone?” she almost begged.

“I have no intentions of telling anyone. I realize that what you are doing is considered wrong, but you and your daughter seem to be very close and you both seem to enjoy it. If I thought one of you was being forced to do something, I would have said something to someone a long time ago,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she sobbed, reaching for me and hugging me around the neck. I have to admit, the feel of her large, naked breasts pressed against my bare chest began an uncomfortable reaction, even though I’d just fertilized the lawn a couple of minutes before I sneezed. I held her while she continued crying for a minute. “I guess I better hurry home,” she said as she finally pulled back. “Thank you,” she said softly.

She started down the ladder, then stopped and climbed back up so her head was visible again. “You don’t need to stop watching. Knowing that you’re watching will make me even more excited,” she purred. She smiled when she saw the lump in my pants. I was still sitting there some time later, stunned, wondering what the hell just happened when the SUV got back.

For the next race, I went to Pam’s house to escort her to Mrs. Grimes’ house. Her sister answered the door and started ragging on me but her mother cut her off. “That will be enough, Karen,” she said. Karen stared at her mother in amazement.

“Thank you,” I told the mother. “We’ll be right across the street. Feel free to come over if you’d like to watch the race,” I offered. She thanked me for the offer but declined. “The race should be about three or four hours,” I told her, getting a tiny nod of appreciation in return.

This time, Pam settled between my legs as soon as we sat down. Mrs. Grimes gave me one of her smiles of approval when Pam wasn’t looking. Today, each time Pam reached for the chips, she made sure that her breasts moved beneath my hands, hands I had purposely clasped around her stomach. Even though I could tell she wore a bra, her hard nipples were clearly evident, and she didn’t seem to be embarrassed by it. The fact that her butt was pressed against my erection may have made her less self-conscious about it.

Even though Pam was clinging to my arm when I walked her home, her mother smiled at me when Pam went inside.

“I know I don’t need to tell you to treat that girl right. She’s got a bad situation at home to deal with,” Mrs. Grimes said as we continued on to my house for dinner. When I walked Mrs. Grimes home later, there were raised voices coming from the Bitches’ house.

When I finished with my lawns Monday, Pam was again sitting on the wall forlornly. “My bitch of a mother still won’t let me date. She won’t even let me group date,” she cried. I held her until the tears stopped, mentally debating the wisdom of getting involved. It was evident that the family was dysfunctional; mothers and daughters don’t normally have a sexual relationship, especially one involving whipping and other elements of BDSM, even after the daughter is raped.

Once Pam went back inside, I went online to do more research on BDSM. I barely managed to clear my browser history and all other evidence of the sites I visited before Mom got home. “Girl troubles?” Mom asked me at dinner. My mind was still digesting the things I read online.

“I’m trying to figure out why Mrs. Walker won’t let Pam date. I know Pam’s older sister was raped, and I know Mrs. Walker wants to protect Pam, but she has to let Pam date while she still lives at home so she can guide her rather than wait until she moves away to college and has absolutely no experience with guys,” I complained.

“I’m impressed,” Mom commented, “but how’s that going to convince Mrs. Walker to let Pam date?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “That’s what I’m preoccupied with,” I explained.

I was halfway through the lawns Tuesday when it hit me. I finished the lawns and showered quickly when I got home before doing some more research on the web. Finally, I went next door and sat on the porch waiting for the SUV to return from taking Pam to her friend’s house. Mrs. Walker was surprised to see me. “Can we talk?” I asked. She agreed, but I could tell that my presence unnerved her. She sent Karen ahead to the pool and sat with me in the living room.

I explained what I told my mother about the danger to Pam if she didn’t get to date in high school.

“I appreciate your possibly selfish attempt to get me to let Pam date, but my mind is made up, this conversation is over,” she answered, standing up to emphasize her point. I had been afraid that my attempt would fail, probably even sure of it. I still had to try because my next gambit was much more dangerous.

“I didn’t say we were finished. Sit ... back ... down,” I commanded. Her body froze in place like happens in cartoons. When she looked back at me, her look was half-angry and half ... hopeful?

“What did you say,” she growled challengingly.

“You heard me,” I answered her challenge, “but I have changed my mind... kneel,” I commanded, pointing to a spot on the floor between us. Her body was doing what I said, but I could see an inner conflict. “Now!” I raised my voice.

Her body looked like her legs gave out as she dropped to her knees. Her shoulders were slumped and she was looking at the ground directly in front of her. I couldn’t believe it worked. Motion in the doorway caught my eye. “Get in here Karen, now,” I barked. Several seconds later, Karen entered the room fearfully. “Your mother told you to go out to the pool,” I said angrily.

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked timidly.

“And yet, here you are. Do you always disobey?” I asked crossly.

“No, sir,” she answered, her voice quivering.

“You wanted to be here, so kneel next to your mother,” I commanded. I hadn’t planned on both of them being here, but Karen knelt right next to her mother and reached her hand out tentatively to find her mother’s hand. Both of them relaxed when they knew I saw the action and didn’t say anything.

“I had hoped to speak with your mother about you when you didn’t have to hear,” I told Karen. “If you want to stay and listen, you may. If you want to leave, go to your room, close the door, and sit on your bed until your mother comes for you,” I ordered. Karen looked back and forth between her mother and me. When her mother gave her a nod, she rose and left, looking back into the room almost longingly before going to her room.

“I’m not trying to be unreasonable. I know that I can never understand what Karen went through, but imprisoning Pam seems to be a bit overboard,” I said.

She was in tears, and her answer was punctuated by sobs. I knelt in front of her and held her while she struggled to explain. The rapist had been her husband, Karen’s father. He had been the dominant one in their relationship and treated her like shit. Most of the time, she liked the way he treated her. There had been a few times she felt he went too far, times when he hurt her badly, but overall, she was satisfied with their relationship.

The night before Karen’s fifteenth birthday, Karen came home from her date with her hair and clothing disheveled and her father locked her in her room. Mrs. Walker woke up in the morning to screaming coming from Karen’s room and discovered her husband raping Karen. He claimed she was going to be a slut like her mother so he was going to train her properly. He didn’t see the softball bat that his wife hit him in the head with. By the time he regained consciousness, the police had arrived. He died in prison six months later, a victim of jailhouse justice.

Karen was torn up because she knew what he did was wrong, but admitted that she enjoyed being forced. Now she felt guilty because she had enjoyed it.

“I’m sorry,” I said emotionally, stroking Mrs. Walker’s face gently. “Being betrayed by a spouse or parent must be a terrible thing and I see why you are so bitter,” I told her. It was an hour later before she was cried out.

“I’m sorry, I only wanted you to reconsider letting Pam date,” I said as I helped her stand up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, almost panicked when I started for the door.

“You can’t just leave us like this,” she started crying again.

“Like what?” I asked, turning back towards her. She lunged at me and clung to my legs. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had someone dominate me?” she began crying again. “I’ve been like an addict without a fix. In addition, I’ve had to be strong for Karen. She only dealt with his physical domination briefly, but he’d been dominating her mentally for years,” she explained through the tears.

“You want me to dominate you?” I asked, stunned.

“I need you, and so does Karen,” she sobbed. “Imagine how lost you would have been if you lost both parents and had to deal with everything yourself,” she cried.

“That’s why the two of you alternate being handcuffed,” I said. She nodded. “This shoots the shit out of my hopes to date Pam,” I sighed.

“I can’t imagine that she will be interested in even talking to me considering the things I saw the two of you doing together,” I explained when her look told me she didn’t understand my comment.

“If I do this, you will need to keep in mind that I have almost no clue what I’m doing,” I warned her.

“We can help by telling you what we expect and the types of things we enjoy,” she suggested hopefully.

“What, you don’t like the idea of doing a mother and daughter?” she teased when I sighed a deep sigh.

“I don’t like the idea of forcing any woman to do anything,” I answered.

“Is it forcing if you’re telling us to do what we really want to do? It would be more like enabling us or providing us what we need than forcing us,” she said.

“On three conditions,” I told her. She looked even more hopeful.

“First, Karen has to agree without you coercing her.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she assured me.

“Second, you have to tell Pam about all of this tonight.”

“What? She’ll hate me,” she protested.

“I think you will find that your daughter is much more mature and understanding than you give her credit for. Besides, even though she isn’t going to want to date me, I don’t want her to hate me and think I’m forcing you into something,” I explained.

“Okay,” she agreed dejectedly.

“The third is the hardest; I have to explain it to my mother,” I sighed.

“What? You can’t tell her,” she gasped, panicked.

“If I don’t tell her, she’s going to figure it out sooner or later, and I don’t think she’ll be very reasonable if she finds out by herself,” I explained. She started crying again.

“Stop crying and wash your face off. Then bring Karen to me,” I commanded. It was as if I flicked a switch. Instantly she was on her feet and moving, although she was still fearful.

Several minutes later, she returned with Karen nervously following her. Despite what Mrs. Walker told me, I was surprised at the eagerness with which Karen agreed that she wanted me to dominate her. I warned her about my other two conditions. “I’ll help you tell Pam,” she told her mother, her voice showing a surprising amount of strength in her offer.

“And I assume my mother will want to talk with you tonight after I tell her. Call me when you’ve told Pam, and be ready to come over tonight sometime between 6:00 and 7:30,” I told Mrs. Walker.

“Fuck, fuck, and double fuck,” I sighed mentally kicking myself as I walked home. I had no idea how upset my mother would be tonight, but knew I was right that she would be far more upset if--no, when--she found about it on her own.

I was surprised to find Pam at my front door half an hour before Mom got home. “I understand you talked to my mother today, trying to get her to let me date,” she said.

“And stirred up a hornet’s nest doing it,” I sighed.

“I also understand that you’ve been watching us by the pool,” she added, almost smirking.

“I’m sorry, it was pretty selfish of me. Would it help any if I told you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?” I asked.

“Probably not ... but it won’t hurt anything,” she answered, almost laughing.

“You’re taking this well,” I said.

She shrugged. “I’ve known about Karen and my mother for three years. I didn’t say anything because I figured they were trying to protect my tender psyche. I guessed that they were trying to comfort and support each other. I was too young to understand everything that happened back then, but I knew it was bad,” she answered.

“I can help you find a couple of nice guys to date,” I offered.

“I thought you wanted to date me,” she answered, sounding hurt.

“I can’t imagine that you’d want to date me knowing what your mother, sister, and I might be doing,” I answered gloomily.

She hugged me and rested her forehead against mine. “You have agreed to help my mother and sister without laughing at them or treating them like freaks. I know what your body will be doing, but I don’t think this will be joining,” she said as she touched over my heart.

“Besides,” she chuckled, “I intend to watch and get some first-hand sex education. Plus, you owe me seeing you naked,” she jibed. We hugged for several minutes before I had to finish getting dinner ready. Mom would know something was up when she saw dinner ready, but we needed the time tonight for talking--or for her screaming at me--or whatever.

“Problem?” Mom asked when she noticed dinner was ready.

“We need to talk tonight,” I sighed.

“It has nothing to do with police, pregnancy, property damage, or pissed off neighbors,” I added when she looked worried.

“That doesn’t leave much,” she teased.

We were halfway through dinner when she asked, “Does this have anything to do with the websites you’ve been visiting this week?”

I know my face paled. I was sure I’d hidden everything.

“Relax, I’m not upset about them, just curious,” she said.

“How?” I gasped. She seemed to think it was funny.

“Brian, I have to leave you home alone. I feel terribly guilty about it and worry that something bad will happen. Two years ago, I tried checking the computer to see what web sites you were visiting. There was nothing in the browser history, and there were no cookies. I knew you visited some sites because I watched you doing research for a school report and saw the pages you printed.

“I said something to a friend at work and she came over one Saturday morning while you were mowing lawns. She agreed that you did a thorough job of erasing everything. She complimented me on how smart you were. Then she suggested a program that she installed the following Saturday. Now, every time you visit a web site, I get a notification and a link to the site. I also get copies of your e-mail and chats.

“I don’t read the ones from your friends, just the ones from people whose names I don’t recognize. Besides, I was more upset thinking that you weren’t visiting porn sites than upset at seeing the ones you do visit,” she explained, blushing nearly as bad as I was. “At least there weren’t any mother/son sites,” she chuckled. I thought my face would spontaneously combust. Either that, or I’d burst a blood vessel.

“What does this problem have to do with BDSM?” she asked. I wondered if my face would be permanently red after tonight.

“I tried to help someone and ended up getting in deeper than I expected,” I said. The fact that she looked more curious than irate helped convince me to continue.

I explained about seeing Mrs. Walker being led out to the pool on a leash, cuffed to the chaise lounge, and whipped, but claimed it was another woman, not her daughter.

“And you’re sure she wasn’t being forced?” Mom asked cautiously.

“Positive, they did other stuff, too,” I replied.

“Other stuff?” Mom asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, stuff I’m not about to explain to my mother,” I answered.

“Aaaaahhhhh, two women having sex,” Mom deduced.

I was still waiting, even praying, for the spontaneous combustion to put me out of my misery. I explained about trying unsuccessfully to convince Mrs. Walker to let Pam date, and then trying to be dominant to get her to agree. Finally, I explained about Karen not staying outside when her mother told her to, about Karen’s father raping her, and about Mrs. Walker’s plea for me to continue dominating both of them.

“Both of them?” Mom asked. I nodded. “Pam, too?” she wondered.

“Not that I’ve seen any indication of,” I told her.

“What’s Pam going to think about this?” Mom asked.

“I insisted that her mom explain everything to her, figuring that she’d want nothing to do with me. She surprised me and came over before you got home and was happy that I was trying to help her mother and sister. I don’t know if she’ll still be happy if theory becomes practice, but I caused the problem and it’s my responsibility to deal with it,” I sighed.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now you tell me how badly I screwed up, and then whether or not you’ll let me try to deal with it,” I answered.

“There’s no sense in telling you something you already know,” she smiled knowingly. “As for the other, I’d like to talk to them, first.”

“I told them you would,” I said looking at the clock. I called the Walker home and told Mrs. Walker that Mom wanted to talk to her before making her decision. The front doorbell rang three minutes later. Mom took a very nervous Mrs. Walker and Karen to her room and shut the door. Pam and I sat on the couch.

It was nearly an hour later when they came out of the room. Pam and I were still on the couch talking. No, really, we were talking. All three women had been crying. “I assume that you’ll be out late tonight so you may spend the night,” Mom said calmly. She laughed when my jaw dropped, walked over, and closed my mouth. “You may only be sixteen, but you’ve behaved like an adult for a couple of years now so I intend to treat you like one,” she said. After kissing the top of my head, she shooed me out of the house.