Carol stood silently at the open door to her husband's den, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Dressed only in her threadbare, faded cotton dress, she stared downward, the streaks of mascara from her silent tears only partially obscured by the stringy, tangled dirty blonde hair falling over her face.

Carol absent-mindedly studied the position of her feet, ensuring they were exactly shoulder-width apart and that tips of her toes were aligned with, but not touching, the threshold between the highly polished hardwood hall floor and the deep, plush carpet of her husband's den. She'd never seen carpet so thick and luxurious, and wondered what it would feel like under her bare feet. A useless thought, she knew; this was one room in the entire house she was forbidden to enter, not even to clean it. Her husband had a maid - a free woman who did so for money - to take care of that.

"What is it?" her husband demanded, not even looking up from his computer screen.

"Sir, my period has started," Carol sobbed, no longer caring about the streaks in mascara. She'd not be wearing makeup after today, anyway.

"Fine," was the terse response. "Get your things moved and get her ready for me."

"Yes, Sir," she responded automatically at the command, bowing her head submissively before backing away from the door. Carols's husband heard the loud sobs as the tears flowed freely now, unhampered by the dread of having had made the announcement.

While her husband returned to his work, Carol slowly trudged down to the end of the hall, still crying softly as she opened a door and entered what she always thought of as "the girl's" part of the house. She instinctively removed her dress and let it drop on the floor. Clothing, such as it was, was not permitted to be worn by females in this part of the house.

Unlike the rest of the residence, this area was never seen by anyone, not even the guests at her husband's frequent parties. Even her husband rarely ventured past the heavy, ornate door; she could count on one hand the number of times he'd visited this part of the house in the fifteen years they'd lived here.

The appearance of this wing of the house seemed more suited to a sharecropper's shanty than the mansion in which it was situated. Bare, untreated floors that had not seen as much as a broom in nearly two years, and dingy walls that hadn't been painted in longer than Carol had been alive were only the beginning. The entire wing was not only unheated, but unventilated, the windows permanently welded shut and shuttered over from the inside. From the outside, pastel colored draperies hung behind the glass panes, hiding the heavy metal covers from view. The air was permeated with the smell of dirty, urine, and unwashed, well-used female bodies.

She glanced at her daughter, sleeping restlessly on the homemade mattress, their only semblance of furniture they had. Made from old, second-hand blankets and filled with crumpled newspaper, straw, animal hair and whatever else Carol had been able to scrounge, it had been their only bed since her daughter's birth. She saw with little real interest the evidence of the abuse her daughter had received the night before: dried semen between her thighs, welts across her belly and tits from a whip or belt, and a large bruise on the side of her face, apparently from someone's fist. Carol glanced upward, noticing the blinking red light on the security camera firmly affixed to the ceiling, reminding herself that her husband could be watching at that very moment, and even if he wasn't, the recorder was cataloging her every movement.

Taking another look around, her eyes focused on the bathroom entrance, examining the screw holes where hinges had once held a door. Mildew grew unhampered along the dirty tile walls and under the peeling linoleum floor. On one wall, a filthy open shower stall, with an ancient garden hose attached to the spigot. A thick black ring ran around the inside of the seatless toilet. The bowl was empty, Carol realized; Tina must have flushed it recently. She'd have to find out exactly when; they were only allowed to flush their shared toilet once each day.

Carol wondered when she would next be permitted to disinfect the bathroom; the last time was nearly a year ago. A bout of illness affected both females, rendering them useless to their Owner. He'd had to resort to hiring a slut to tend to his needs. After Carol had become well, she'd been rented to a pimp, so she could earn back what her Owner had needlessly spent on the temporary replacement.

Then it struck her, and the tears began anew. She always knew this day would come, but the implications never really hit home. until now - her first menstrual period after her thirtieth birthday. She was to be displaced in her husband's bed by her own daughter, just as she had done to her own mother over 16 years before. While she would continue to feel the oftentimes painful bliss of sex, it would never again be with the man to whom she was wed. It wasn't that she would suffer from a lack of sex; the truth, in fact, would probably be just the opposite. Her husband would undoubtedly loan, and probably even rent, her body to friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even total strangers. She'd probably end up getting used more now than ever in her life. At least that was the way it was for her own mother; a seemingly endless round of orgies and abuse sessions, until she was finally sold to a breeder.

Sold. That would happen to Carol, too, but not for some time. Tina's baby girl had to be born first. She might end up as a wealthy person's housemaid, or maybe a sex slave in some Asian brothel. Neither of these most hopeful of options were likely, however. There was little demand for 40-something sex slaves. People who could afford such luxuries usually preferred young slaves, without stretch marks and saggy tits. She knew she'd probably end up in a BDSM brothel, or at best, a labor slave somewhere, probably doing the backbreaking harvesting migrant workers once performed. And when she was deemed unfit for even that work... well, her organs might still be worth something.

Whatever happens, will happen, Carol thought silently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Just like the rest of her life, she had no control over the future. Right now, she had a job to do, and she needed to maintain some semblance of control.

"Tina?" she whispered quietly, looking down at her 14 year old daughter laying exhausted on the filthy mattress. "It's time. You need to get yourself ready."

"Mama?" the young girl looked at her inquisitively for a moment before she understood. "Oh, Mama!" she cried, painfully raising her body from the floor and reaching to embrace her mother.

"It'll be all right, little one," Carol whispered, using the same diminutive as her own mother did, under the same circumstances nearly 17 years earlier. "Your life is going to change now. You're the woman of the house." The tears flowed freely from both females now. "He really is a good man; just do your best to please him."

"Oh, Mama," the younger girl wailed, "I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can, and you will!" the older woman said, grabbing her daughter forcefully by the shoulders. "You can and you will, just like I had to, and just like your own daughter will when her time comes!'

"But I'm not ready!" the girl complained, crying so forcefully that her words were barely understandable.

"Yes, you are, Tina. You're as ready... more ready... than I was. Look at me!" she demanded when her daughter tried to cover her face. The girl looked up into her mother's eyes.

"How long have men been fucking you?" she asked pointedly. Women in this household weren't permitted to talk about sex in anything but the most obscenely graphic terms.

"I was eleven, Mama. You know that. You licked me until I was wet, guided Daddy's cock into me, and then watched while I cleaned it off with my mouth when he was done."

"And you've been sucking cocks yourself since you were what, eight years old?"

"Yes, Mama," Tina answered, for some unknown reason finding the admission of this simple statement of fact embarrassing.

"And since then, how many times have boys and men used you?"

"I don't know, Mama. Maybe a couple of hundred. There were eight just last night, Mama." Carol looked down at her daughter's bruised, cum-covered body and nodded her head.

"Don't you think it would be easier to please one man, to know what he likes and doesn't like, rather than having to figure out someone new every time? Or a group, like last night?"

"Yes, Mama, I suppose," she replied, wiping the back of her hand under her nose.

"Think about it, sweetheart," Carol implored. "You've always been obedient, but sometimes obedience isn't enough. Sometimes a man just expects you to do what he wants, without having to tell you. Take my word for it, it's much easier to have just one person to figure out. Lord knows, I was beaten regularly back when I was doing orgies. So were you, from the looks of it?" her mother stated inquisitively.

"Yes, Mama. Daddy rented me out to eight college guys yesterday afternoon. I accidently scraped my teeth across one's cock when his buddy started fucking me in the ass."

"I take it they weren't pleased?" Carol grinned knowingly. They often joked after such incidents, but both knew the seriousness of making mistakes like that.

"No, Mama, and neither was Father when he found out. The college guys beat me, but when Father saw the marks and asked me what happened, I had to tell. He gave them their money back, and then took me to The Club. They gave me to Ralphie, and said they're going to sell the video."

"The Club" was a very exclusive facility catering to those into the BDSM lifestyle. "Ralphie" was the club's pig, 300 pounds of pile-driving, girl-fucking pork. Carol shuddered to think of Ralphie burrowing himself into her daughter's warm cunt, remembering the time she was forced to do the same thing for Ralphie's grandfather.