Few mums, I am sure, have gone through being put in their places as readily as I did. Fewer still must have liked it. If you ask me, my daughter has done me the greatest favour by subjugating me; for with that, I have realized the true purpose of a mother's being, and that is to ensure that her daughter always get the best man available. If that means her husband... so be it.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. My name is Heather, but nowadays, I go by the name that my daughter rechristened me with - 'bitch.' I live with my pregnant daughter and her father, who, incidentally, is my legal husband. Our house is a large farm north of Arkansas, within and still not within, the most idyllic state in the USA. Around fifty miles from our house is a town, twenty miles on the other side, a college - in fact, my college. That old building deserves a mention for that is where everything, in a way, started for me and my way of living.

Twenty years ago, when I was just eighteen, some of my friends discovered that I lived on a farm. To cut a long story short, pretty soon, my family's barn became a regular party hangout for the groups from college - both the seniors and the freshers. My parents, who were the only other inhabitants of the farm, agreed to let this be our 'outlet' so long as we did nothing to upset anything. Dad warned me specifically that any damage would be paid out of my pocket.

One wild night, after more than three continuous hours of partying and flirting, most of the crowd had gone their ways. Only a handful of people remained, some of the wildest in the group. A guy called Hank or Fank or something decided to liven up the thin population and went for some fireworks. Unfortunately, in his drunk state, he managed to burn up a whole bale of hay.

Dad was furious.

As soon as he put out the fire, my Dad stormed towards me. I cowered back, trembling with fear at the thought of physical punishment. Dad was a strong guy, used to handling the vast farm by himself, and his slaps, said the voice of experience, would be the equivalent of twenty horses' hooves crashing into your face at the same time. I tried to put on my most innocent expression, but nothing worked - Dad motioned for the rest of the gang to get out, and before he had finished, the place was deserted but for me, Dad and Mom. Silently, Dad closed the doors of the barn.

"I've had enough of you, you slut," he roared. "You are worse than a sow in heat." I looked at Mom for a reprieve, but she shrugged. I wasn't worth the trouble of opposing Dad, the action told me. Grin and bear it.

If you can grin and bear it when your father tears your clothes apart, piece by piece, be my guest. When Dad stripped me naked in front of my mother, I protested. He just slapped me once, and I didn't offer any resistane again. Mom did not utter a single word of protest as Dad tore my clothes into shreds, beyond any human repair. He grabbed me by my hair and pushed me into another bale of hay. I watched helplessly as he took off his pants and jumped on top of me, crushing my naked body with his. He mauled me with his hands, with grips like steel that I struggled, or made like I struggled, to get clear of.

Then, right in front of my mother, Dad raped me. He fucked me until my pussy was raw, then teased me until I begged him to stop, and then, literally fucked the skin off my cunt. By the time he was finished, Mom had watched him rape me thrice, leaving me a bloody and torn and totally defeated self. Wordlessly, she followed her naked husband out of the barn and into the house. I slept with the pigs that night.

The next day, Dad raped me again. Over the next couple of months, he would rape me at any time of the day that he saw fit - during breakfast, during lunch, even during Mass. Gradually, we started to spend every Sunday together, drawing flak for our obvious indiscretion. On one of the rare occasions that we were in Church, the priest even mentioned Lot and his daughters and asked for divine forgiveness for them and people like them. After Mass was over, Dad carried me over his shoulders to the back of our old pickup where he fucked me in front of everyone. It was his act of defiance.

After a while, though, the interest in merely raping me wore off. It was around this time that Mom, of all people, suggested the idea of him tying me up before fucking. Dad liked the idea so much that for a week, he had me bound hand and foot and naked and paraded me around the house. By this time, I had stopped college, and the fact that I was home almost full time caused Dad to take a few precautions - like tying me up behind his tractor or hanging me by my hands from a big tree so that I would not go out. And during every break, he would come to me and screw me hard.

With Mom, he was gentle. With me, he was an animal. And my parents made sure that I was aware of it, always.

Before I got pregnant by him, though, he died of an accident. I was heartbroken, but Mom moved in with her brother a week after the funeral. I never heard from her again. Never wanted to.

It was around this time that I met Martin. He was a strong guy, having lived off the land for generations until a land-grabbing company threw him out of his hometown. We had sex on the very first night, and realized we were meant for each other. Martin was always the macho sort, and he immediately perceived my lack of power. My tendency to place myself at his disposal and his teostosteronal inclinations to dominate his females saw us tying the knot at the very same Church where Dad had fucked me earlier. At our wedding, he made me wear a hooker's dress, handcuffing my hands behind my back, and when he was asked to kiss the bride, he shoved me aside and kissed the bridesmaid instead. And he dragged me by my hair over the threshold.

For over a year, we played master and slave, king and servant. He would tie me up with a chain across my breasts and fuck me while tugging hard at the chain. He would tie my legs to stones and fuck me until I thought he would tear off my legs. He would tie my hands to cactii and with a baseball handle as his second cock, fuck me in both holes. At night, after dinner, he would make me bend down in front of our visitors and ask them to spank me if there was any fault in cooking. And after they had gone, he would pour hot wax onto my nipples and take me from behind...

And then, Monica was born. It was only after my pregnancy was confirmed that my husband and I actually made love. Her birth settled us, and abruptly, almost overnight, we became the perfect couple. My humiliations stopped and Martin became a gentleman, on and off the bed. For the next eighteen years, we were, as the statistics say, the ideal cross-section of American family life. Martin and I could never have any other children, but it seemed to us that Monica would be enough. Martin and I always slept with each other.

Until the day Monica turned eighteen...

In our family, we had established a tradition that the birthday eve would be spent by just the three of us looking at the clock. At precisely the stroke of twelve, cheers would be sung, presents opened and nostalgia refreshed. This year promised to be no exception, and in all technicality, it wasn't. The only difference was that the clebrations for my daughter's birthday did not end there. She had unwrapped her presents - a ticket to the town's hottest fashion show on my behalf, and a very slinky, one-piece nighty that her father had bought for her. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I realized how much skin the design showed - and at how much more interesting it would be for Martin to look at his daughter than at his wife. I was green that he hadn't bought something like that for me.

My thoughts were broken by a tentative sound from my daughter. Her father was by her side, and a look at her eyes told me that this was going to be grave topic, something that caused even my normally neutral husband to take sides. His gift was draped over her right arm, and she had linked her left through her father's arms. They looked like a guilty couple. But the expression on Monica's face was not guilt, it was the face of uncertainty, and her eyes had the cold flame of conviction in them.

"Mom," she began, "We have something to tell you." It was 'we', not 'I', not 'Dad', but 'we.' For some reason, memories of my Dad taking me almost two decades ago flashed before my eyes, even though I had not thought of those incidents in months. Unaware of the swirling in my mind, Monica continued. "You see, Dad and I are - we are - oh shit, here goes - Dad and I have the hots for each other, and you are the only thing that's in our way."

She paused for a moment, apparently deciding the words for the next phase of the conversation. I tried to break in with a "What do you mean?" but I had hardly opened my mouth when she shot me a hard look. "Don't interrupt me," she said fiercely. "You will listen to what I have to say, and then, you may speak your piece. If you can't accept that, you can leave this house right now." I looked at Martin, but he just shrugged when Monica pointed towards the door. I nodded, motioning for her to continue...

As if my acquisence was irrelevant, Monica continued, "For the last two years, I have been waiting for the moment I could tell Dad how I felt about him. How everytime I thought of him, my pussy would turn sogging wet. How my nipples would get hard everytime I thought of him teasing them. For two years, I have watched the two of you with enough jealousy to kick you out of this house myself. The only thing that kept me from doing that was that you were, after all, my mother. You had me eighteen years ago, and in spite of the fact that we hardly get along nowadays, I love you for the love you have been giving me. But I am afraid my love - my lust - for Daddy is stronger than anything else I've ever felt.

"Moreover, I thought you might be able to adjust to the new arrangement.

"To put it simply, Mom, there's going to be a - let's say, change of guard. The husband you cherish, the man you shared your life with for nearly twenty years, the man who is my father, is going to leave you for me. I am going to take your place beside him, as his wife, lover and partner. Simply put, Mom, I am moving in with Daddy and you are moving out!"

The last statement was delivered with such confidence that I had no doubt she was serious. These two were not pulling my leg with a joke, and I was sure that Martin wouldn't have a word in defence on my behalf. It was two against one, obviously unwinnable odds. I was under no impression of success.

"It's upto you," Monica offered sternly, "To decide whether you want to live with us or move out of this house. But keep this in mind - this house can't stand two mistresses, and I am not going to back out now. So even if you do decide to stay on, remember that at the most, you are going to be our servant - a slave, if you want the right word. We will treat you as we please, so rough and unfair that you might even regret that decision, but be warned that if you go to the authorities, we will testify that YOU raped me eight years ago - on top of rape, it's paedophilia. Your life will be finished. So if you don't like our little affair, get out and never come back.

"If you stay here, you will never again get to sleep with Dad, you will never again have any of the control you had till now, and you will take orders from us and execute them without failure. You will be my bitch, you lousy lay of a mother!"

Then she turned to her father, throwing her arms around him. The two lovers beamed at each other and kissed passionately in front of me. Martin swept her off her feet literally and carried her to the bedroom that had so far been ours. The bedroom that was no longer mine. Like newlyweds, they giggled all the way to the room, when all sounds turned to squeals and moans. They left the door open, either by accident or by design - the latter to let me know what I would have to endure if I stayed.

Whatever the case, I knew what was happening by the sounds they made as if I was in the room itself. For the better part of an hour, the two of them kissed, moaned, licked, sucked and groped each other to loud sounds of pleasure. Judging by the sounds, I surmised that Monica had come at least four times, within fifteen minutes. After that, I lost track of time and the academics of their frenzied loving. Animal moans filled the entire house as the two finally consummated their lusty union.

It was only when they had finished that I found the resources to think. I hadn't moved an inch since I sat, and the sounds had been so distracting that even when I closed my eyes, erotic thoughts of their naked bodies plunging towards each other in rhythm was the only thing that came to mind. I decided to stay - my only excuse is that my submissive nature finally came to the front, placing myself at the feet of my daughter, my mistress. I was going back nineteen years of marriage to that same shameless slut who let her husband treat her as he pleased. The only difference was that with him would be my daughter to dominate me.

Abruptly, Monica came out of the room. She was wearing just her panties, her breasts being decorated with so many teeth-marks that I had a fleeting thought as to how Martin had covered so much space in so little time. Her nipples looked like they were ready to burst open, swollen and hard to the point of appearing explosive. On the other hand, her thighs and legs looked virginal, as if her father had never ventured below her belt. Only the mixture of sperm and female cum trailing down her legs spoke otherwise.

Martin followed. He hadn't bothered with any underwear, and his erection was like a proud salute to the beauty that was just in front of him. He placed his arms on her waist and pulled her close to him, her ass on a collision course with his dick. Monica started to protest, but withdrew silently into her father's embrace. Her eyes rolled over with lust for a moment, and then turned towards me with a look that was both challenging and contemptuous. Her father stood quietly behind her, trailing his hands along the contours of her body until she stopped him with her hands.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "If you don't stop now, we will never get to ask Mom her decision... Be a good boy and we will be back in that wonderful bed in a minute - be bad, and we will have to push Mom off that sofa and make love there." Martin stopped all movement, but his hands were still very close to her snatch. Monica grinned as her father's fingers lightly brushed against her sparse pubic hair. "And no naughty stuff! Mom, so what have you decided?"