Like Mommy, Like Daughter Ch. 02: Obey

I spent Easter break of my sophomore year at Mariah's mother's house. I'd anticipated a rather placid time, as Mariah had never given any hints that her mother knew of her sexual prowess. But the thought of normality was gone the moment we walked inside.

Mariah's mother was on her knees waiting just inside the door, naked except for white thigh high stockings and a red collar around her neck with a leash attached.

I let out a startled squeak at the sight.

Mariah smiled at both her mother's obedience and her slave's shock. She lifted her heel and her mother, without a word, took it off and began sucking on her daughter's stocking-clad toes.

"Hello, Mommy-slut," Mariah greeted her, amused.

"Welcome home, Queen Mariah," the submissive mother greeted in a barely intelligible mumble, without taking the stocking-clad toes out of her mouth. Only able to see her daughter intermittently since college began almost two years ago, she desperately craved the feelings that utter submission to her daughter brought her.

I watched stunned and in awe. Queen? I thought to myself.

Mariah changed feet and the obedient mother replicated the expected service, taking the other stocking-clad foot between her lips.

Mariah asked, "Does Mommy need to come?"

"Oh God yes, my Queen," the MILF on her knees responded. A text from Mariah a month ago had forbidden her to have an orgasm until her daughter's arrival, which she had obeyed, although with great difficulty.

"You obeyed my order not to come?" Mariah asked, although she knew her mother was her most obedient slave.

"Of course, my Queen," the submissive mother replied.

"You're such a good Mommy-slut," Mariah purred, like she was praising a two-year-old.

"Thank you, my Queen," her mother replied, glancing up to see who was accompanying her daughter. There was always someone accompanying her daughter.

Mariah walked into the living room, seated herself regally on the couch and called out to us. "Sluts, crawl to me."

I fell to my knees immediately and found myself face to face with an older version of my Mistress.

The mother looked into my eyes briefly before wordlessly turning and going to her, or rather to our Mistress.

I followed, and soon we were both at her feet.

Mariah extended her right foot and ordered, "Fuck yourself on my foot, Mommy."

The startled look on Mommy's face told me this was unexpected and new.

Nevertheless, the MILF didn't hesitate as she straddled her daughter's foot and began rubbing her wet cunt on it. She closed her eyes, grabbed her daughter's calf, and began bucking back and forth, rubbing her clit and her sopping wet pussy on her daughter's stocking-clad foot. The orgasm, which had been simmering just below the surface all day with eager anticipation of her daughter's arrival, didn't take long to begin to boil and she obviously knew she was going to erupt soon. Unable to come without the permission of her dominant daughter she begged, "My Queen, may I please come?"

"On your daughter's foot?" Mariah questioned, amused.

"Yes, my Queen," the frantic mother answered, rubbing herself furiously on her daughter's foot, like a dog humping someone's leg.

"What will you do in return for such a privilege?" Mariah queried, lovingly watching her mother so close and so desperate.

"Anything, my Queen," she moaned, although as her daughter's sex slave, I couldn't fathom what 'anything' could entail beyond what she was already committed to do.

"You will pay for me and my pet to travel to Europe this summer?" she asked.

"Of course," the well-off MILF agreed, looking at me curiously as if wondering whether I was the pet being mentioned.

"Come now, Mommy," she ordered.

The volcano of lust erupted, and on cue, the long-awaited orgasm quaked through the obedient mother's body.

I watched in awe at the self-control the mother had and how perfectly the permission given and the resultant orgasm coincided.

No one appeared to be immune to Mariah's seductive power, and Sandra wondered just how far Mariah would go on this occasion.

Once the service started, Sandra felt her phone vibrate. She checked it and saw a text message from Mariah. I am in the front pew, come and join me.

Sandra prayed Mariah would behave herself as she headed into the sanctuary where everyone would see her in her heels, so inappropriate for church, as she walked to the front pew.

When Sandra reached the front, she saw that Mariah was sitting with Lucille and her chunky eighteen-year-old daughter Elly.

Mariah, seeing her sub, patted the open seat next to her as if Sandra were a puppy.

Sandra slid into the pew past Lucille's cold glare, Elly's bored glazed stare into nothing, and finally past her Mistress's smug smile.

For Sandra the next hour was an anxiety-riddled disaster waiting to happen as she kept anticipating being humiliated in some unpredictable fashion in front of the whole congregation. Yet it never occurred, although the low vibrations from the egg in her cunt still kept her edgy throughout the sermon about the risks of reckless ambition. Sandra thought her biggest risk this morning was probably reckless optimism. Who knew what Mariah may have in store for her?

Once the sermon ended and everyone was standing for the last hymn, Mariah whispered in her pet's ear, "Come right now, slut."

The inevitable disastrous order given, Sandra was thankful that at least the hymn was an upbeat one, with two guitars and drums, and that she was standing up. She closed her eyes so anyone who might pay attention to her would think she was deeply into the hymn, but the reality was that she was lost in deep concentration. She was letting go of the control she'd held in check so strongly from the buzzing within her cunt all morning, and allowing, no, encouraging the pleasure to do its thing. The orgasm built instantly as it had been lingering ready to ignite for more than an hour, and as it reared its tumultuous head, Sandra now focused on keeping her mouth closed when the imminent big bang hit. The hymn was nearing the end when she felt the bubble burst and was in such awe by the pleasure the long held back orgasm brought, she couldn't maintain her silence (singing had been out of the question) as she screamed, totally out of character, "Oh my God!" then thinking quickly, followed it with, "Halleluiah!"

Others followed, seeing Sandra's euphoric outburst as a call to God, and the church echoed with praises to their Enlivener.

Mariah smiled to herself, knowing what had really transpired.

Turning to the tightly anal minister's wife once the hymn ended and the congregation began milling about, Mariah asked, "Could we meet for coffee this week sometime? I would love to know more about your church."

"Of course, my dear," Lucille replied, giving the probable wayward soul's hand a warm squeeze.

Sandra was recovering from her intense orgasm and could feel her juices overflowing the thong and running down her legs, but she didn't want to leave to clean herself up. She wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"What day works best for you, Mrs. Light?"

"I insist you call me Lucille, and my schedule is quite flexible. So whatever works best for you, my dear."

"How about Wednesday then?" Mariah asked.

"That will work splendidly," Lucille said, pulling a card out of her purse. "Just give the office a call and we can work out the when and where."

"Thank you very much, Lucille, I look forward to it," Mariah said politely, accepting the card.

Once Lucille and her daughter left, Mariah turned to Sandra and confirmed Sandra's suspicions by saying, "She'll be lots of fun to turn."

"You can't be serious?" Sandra asked, even though she knew Mariah was deadly serious.

"I'll have her on her knees and worshipping my cunt in a month," Mariah predicted.

"That I would love to see," Sandra said, resentful of Lucille's comments earlier today, and jealous at how easily Mariah had won her over.

"Maybe I'll let you have her daughter as a plaything," Mariah teased before changing subjects entirely. "Did you enjoy copping a feel of that sexy redhead?"

"You saw?" Sandra asked.

"Of course," Mariah said, "I was curious how you would accomplish the task. You know she's obviously a domme."

"Really?" Sandra exclaimed. "The thought did occur to me for a moment, but how can you be sure?"

"I guarantee it. It's in her demeanor," Mariah explained.

"How so?" Sandra asked, curious.

"You doubt me?" Mariah asked.

"No," Sandra replied, "now that you mention it, it seems obvious, especially considering how much she reminds me of a younger version of you." She then added, "She even invited me to have lunch with her after the service so she could train me to wear high heels."

"Really?" Mariah said, knowing she was right.

"Yes," Sandra answered, "May I go?"

"You're such an eager little slut," Mariah purred as she surveyed the sanctuary before ordering, "Introduce her to me."

Sandra joked, "I am what you made me. I wonder where she is."

"Aaaah, there she is," Mariah said, beginning to walk in the direction of the beautiful redhead.

Sandra followed behind her Mistress, petrified of the conversation she was about to be a part of.

Carissa was conversing with a friend when she saw Sandra coming her way with some new blonde. She smiled and decided she would have some fun. When Sandra reached her she joked, "Hello again, Sandy. Come to cop another feel?"

Sandra blushed but replied playfully, "Well no, not here."

Carissa laughed, "Minister Light was really on a rant today, wasn't he?"

Sandra agreed. "He always is. I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine who just moved here from California. Mariah Heart, this is Carissa Teller."

Carissa smiled warmly, sizing up the potential fresh meat, "Nice to meet you."

"The feeling is mutual," Mariah returned, ignoring the extended hand and moving in for a hug.

Carissa was surprised, but allowed the close embrace.

Sandra watched the two in what appeared to be no more than a quick harmless embrace, but she knew it was so much more.

Mariah pulled away and said, "So my Sandra tells me you invited her for lunch."

Carissa noted the phrase 'my Sandra' and deduced two things. One, she was right, Sandra was a submissive and two, Mariah was her mistress. Carissa asked, Mariah and not Sandra, "Is she available?"

"Why, yes she is," Mariah answered. "Why don't you and I go outside for a chat?"

"I would love to," Carissa smiled deviously, giving the quiet Sandra a quick, hungry glance.

Sandra watched the two leave, still in awe after hearing their conversation that was all about her as a submissive, as if she wasn't there. She fretted over what the two would be discussing without her and sighed, knowing she was helpless to stop it anyway. All the while the vibrations that were still teasing her cunt were tormenting her with naughty, naughty thoughts. She conversed with other parishioners, just idle chit-chat for a few minutes, before she saw both women returning.

Carissa sauntered over to Sandra with a confidence which immediately told Sandra she knew her dirty little secret.

Mariah watched, and then gave Sandra a subtle nod that commanded whatever Carissa ordered, Sandra was to obey. She held up five outstretched fingers and mouthed the word "Five," indicating this was the fifth punishment.

Carissa said, not giving away anything yet, "Are you ready for lunch, Sandy?"

Sandra replied, "Sure, where would you like to go?"

"My place," Carissa answered, abandoning any pretense they were going to lunch.

Sandra ,without hesitation, now that any uncertainty was gone slipping happily into her role as a good sub, replied, "Yes, Mist... Miss."

"Excellent," Carissa said before adding, "We're going to have so much fun."

Sandra had to agree as she followed Carissa out of church for an afternoon of unpredictable fun, glancing over to Mariah, who was chatting away with the reverend and his wife. Sandra smiled to herself as she wondered if Lucille had any clue of the doorway to her own sin she had just opened.


14. BORN TO BE SPANKED

Carissa lived within walking distance from the church, but Sandra drove them both the short way to yet another unpredictable adventure.

This was not the first time Sandra had been given to another woman for a few hours or even a weekend. There had been many adventures where Sandra was led willingly into the naughty world of kink and submission.

Sandra flashed back to the first time she was given as a gift in her sophomore year:

I came home from school on a Friday, exhausted after taking two midterms. My brain was fried, and I desperately needed some sleep. I crawled into bed for a nap a little after three and had a rejuvenating sleep until being awakened by Mariah.

"Wake up, slut," she instructed.

I groggily opened my eyes and was surprised to see it was already eight fifteen. I yawned and said, "Wow, I really slept."

"Good," Mariah said, before hinting of something naughty, "because I doubt you'll get much more sleep tonight."

"What are your plans for tonight, Mistress?"

"We have separate plans. I have a date tonight, and so do you," Mariah informed me.

"I do?" I asked, still shaking off the cobwebs.

"Well 'date' may be a misleading term. I'm lending you to a friend of mine for the night," she said nonchalantly, as if she were lending a t-shirt to someone.

"You what?" I asked, bolting upright.

"Is there a problem?" Mariah asked in a tone saying there'd better not be.

"No," I held in a sigh, "it's just that I'm really tired after my midterms."

"So is Sheila," Mariah said, "and she still has all the grading to do."

"Who's Sheila?" I asked cautiously.

"Professor Moore," Mariah replied nonchalantly.

"She knows about us?" I asked, mortified. Professor Moore was my Shakespearean Literature professor, who was on a one-year exchange from London. I adored her as a professor.

"She knows I'm a domme and she knows I'm sending over a submissive to be her plaything for a night," Mariah said.

"She doesn't know it's me?" I asked, my head spinning, desperate to find a way out of this.

"She'll know in forty minutes. I left an address on the table and you're to be there at precisely nine o'clock."

"Please, not our Professor," I attempted to wheedle Mariah into being more rational.

"Tonight she isn't your professor but your mistress," Mariah countered casually. "Now get ready to go please her."

I obeyed; knowing the tone of Mariah's last sentence meant the conversation was done. Once I was dressed, I picked up the card and looked back to Mariah, hoping for a last moment reprieve that wasn't forthcoming. I drove to the address, and once I arrived at the typical suburban bungalow, I paused. Every other time I'd been ordered to do something Mariah had been there with me, but flying solo like this was new, uncharted territory.

I looked at the time, sighed, I was a single minute early, and dressed in a black and white checkered skirt, beige thigh highs, a white blouse, and a black jacket. I obeyed the most challenging order from my mistress yet as I walked to the front door. After a brief hesitation... What if I don't obey the order? The thought not taken seriously, I knocked on the door.

A moment later the door opened and I was staring at the startled face of my professor. "Sandra?" she gasped, her English accent making my name sound like 'Sahndrah' so sexy that I began to look forward to what was likely to come.

"Yes, Professor Moore, or rather Mistress Moore if I may call you that. My Mistress Mariah sent me over, and I'll be happy to do whatever you may require of me," I explained, dispelling any doubt about why one of her best students was standing on her doorstep.

"I can't believe it's you," the brunette Brit said.

I felt the urge to prove myself, to reassure the professor, who was clearly taken aback by it being me. But first I had to get us inside, and the professor appeared too stunned to be able to accomplish that on her own. "Professor Moore, may I come in?" slipping back into a student's role for a moment.

"Of course you may Sandra," the professor said absently, still coming to grips with the identity of the submissive plaything Mariah had sent her.

As soon as the door was closed, I fell to my knees and felt a light gush coming out of my cunt as I shifted from respectful to determined in an instant. Looking way up at the flabbergasted older woman's face, I offered again, "I'm here to serve you Mistress Moore."

"Oh my," the Professor said, overwhelmed by the reality of the offer. She nevertheless assumed a horny grin.

Going onto the aggressive for the first time ever I said, "Professor, I've fancied you for a long time. It will be my great pleasure to serve you tonight and I repeat, I'll do anything you wish."

The professor looked down at me apparently seeing a pretty co-ed, who looked completely adorable on her knees, her sweet eyes looking up at her eagerly. "Please call me Sheila, Sandra."

"Yes, Mistress Sheila," Sandra agreed.

Sheila pulled me up from my knees and said, "I wasn't expecting it to be you."

"Who were you expecting?" I asked, suddenly feeling crestfallen that my Professor didn't consider me good enough.

"Honestly?" the older woman asked, showing her own insecurity.

"If you please, ma'am."

"Some dumb blonde bimbo," Professor Moore answered, "not someone as sweet as you."

"You weren't hoping for someone like me?" I asked pitifully, wounded by the disappointment my professor seemed to feel.

The professor urgently tried to rephrase that. She could see it had hurt me. "I meant, my dear, that I didn't expect someone as intelligent and sweet. Trust me, this is a most pleasant surprise."

I felt all warm and gooey inside at hearing the new and improved version of my professor's attitude towards me. Nothing made me happier than being wanted. "Thank you, Mistress Sheila." Sensing Sheila's cautious reserve and knowing what she would have expected from the blonde bimbo she wasn't getting, I took the initiative; I stood up, took my Shakespearean Literature Professor in my arms and kissed her. Not aggressively, I knew my place, but earnestly enough that she'd know I meant it.

The professor was briefly surprised, but opened her mouth for my tender kiss. Her uncertainty and even timidity told me she hadn't been intimate in quite a while, and my willing human contact seemed to warm her completely. She opened her mouth and used her tongue to explore mine. The kiss lasted several minutes, as neither of us wanted it to end, and neither of us knew exactly what to do next.

Finally, it was I who broke the kiss and asked, "Can we go somewhere more comfortable, Mistress?" Interesting I had to remind her of her place above me in the hierarchy. I'd never had to do that with Mariah.

"Of course," the bewildered and horny British woman responded, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs and to her bedroom. "Is this better?" she flirted, gradually becoming comfortable with having a girl, an avowed tart no less, in her house.

"Much better," I flirted back, with a smile dripping with hunger.

Once on the bed, Sheila's curiosity got the better of her. "I have to ask. How did you end up like this?"

I felt comfortable and relaxed with this professor who had never been anything but kind to me, so I joked, "You mean how did I become a submissive lesbian to my roommate?"

"Well yes, I guess that's precisely what I'm asking, although I wouldn't have phrased it quite so boldly. This role doesn't seem to be in your character," the Professor assessed, even as her hand moved to my stocking-clad leg.

I briefly squeezed her hand to reassure her it was welcome where it was before launching into my entire story, at least in essence, and she listened, captivated by each word. But now I had a question for her: "How did I end up here tonight? Not that I'm complaining."

"You mean how did your British Shakespearean Lit prof end up requesting a submissive plaything for the evening?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking," I joked, my hand now settling itself on Sheila's leg.

"Strange story, actually," The older woman mused. "Although I guess somewhat similar to how Mariah started with you. Mariah came into my office after class a few days ago and bluntly asked if I was a dyke. I told her I wasn't even though I am, but she peppered me with reasons why I must be, until I admitted it and then she just said, 'thanks for the information' and left. The next day I requested to see her after class, as I'd barely slept, worrying about our bizarre conversation. She promised to keep my secret and said as a gift, she would send over one of her submissives for the evening on Friday. Initially I refused the offer but she insisted, saying I was her favourite prof and she had the perfect little 'slut' for me, her word. I continued trying to refuse, but she insisted, I finally caved, and here we are."

"She didn't try making you her sub?"

"No."