Incest/Taboo Broadmoor's Haughty Headmistress

Michael Sadkins noticed the perplexed look that flashed across Laurie Reynolds' pretty face when she handed him his term paper. A glance at it showed why; there was not a mark on it. Michael looked left and right. His classmates' papers were covered in Professor Havel's tiny, elegant, and always legible handwriting.

Eighty year old Professor Havel, an immigrant from the Czechoslovakia, was old school. In fact, he was pre-old school. Every year his students turned in their final papers on Thursday in writing. He did not want them faxed, sent by e-mail, or twittered; he said he did not understand such things, they were best left to the young.

Every year he returned them on Tuesday, covered in copious notes addressing grammatical and spelling errors, pointing out flaws in logic, suggesting tighter better sentences, questioning the validity of and proposing alternative sources, recommending different ways to organize the material and, without exception, finding something good to say about every paper and every student. Often several pages of typed notes (yes typed, no new-fangled word processor or computer for Professor Havel) would be appended to the paper, sometimes longer than the paper itself. Under Professor Havel's guidance Broadmoor Academy students regularly turned their high school papers into articles published in academic journals. No one could figure out how he did it. Did he not sleep for five days?

Michael flipped to the second page. It, as well as every page after it, was clean as a whistle. Michael was wondering how Professor Havel had overlooked his paper - was that fabulous mind finally slipping - when he arrived at the final page. On it, in Professor Havel's handwriting, in purple ink, was a "D."

Michael Sadkins was Broadmoor's top student. He had a perfect score on the ACT's. He took more than half his classes at near-by Dartmouth University. He had thought his paper, an analysis of the influence of Edmund Burke's political and social conservatism on Moby Dick, was one of his better efforts. More confused then anything else, he waited for the class to leave and approached Professor Havel.

"Sir."

The old man pulled out a handkerchief, which, as always, matched his bow tie, and wiped his brow. He took off his glasses, wiped them with the handkerchief. There were tears in his eyes when he said, in an accent forty-five years in the United States had not erased, "I'm sorry Michael, my wife, the insurance..." His voice broke.

Michael understood. The legend, long confirmed, was that Havel had arrived in the United States married to a woman fifteen years younger than himself, a survivor of a concentration camp. Only one thing exceeded Professor Havel's devotion to his students, his devotion to his wife. Only one thing equaled his devotion to her, her devotion to him. Their home was always open to students and they made sure each student, during his or her years at Broadmoor, was a dinner guest. And boy could Anna Havel cook.

One month earlier she'd been diagnosed with liver cancer. So many students and faculty had lined up to see her that the hospital had to impose special restrictions on visitors. Not a day went by when cards and flowers were not delivered to her room. It was reported that the hideously expensive treatment, thankfully covered by Broadmoor's expansive medial insurance, was working.

"She threatened to fire you, take away the insurance, unless you did this."

Professor Havel was about to answer when Michael held up his hand.

"Please sir, don't say anything. You made the right choice. I know how hard this must have been for you, but you did the right thing. I understand, I got a 'D' because my paper was derivative."

Professor Havel stared, not comprehending.

"Say it sir, say your paper was derivative."

Confusion evident on his face, Professor Havel said, "Your paper was derivative."

"Good, now if you're asked what happened when I approached you about my grade you can say you told me my paper was derivative." Michael placed his hand on the old man's shoulder. "I meant what I said sir, I know how hard this must have been; you did the right thing."

"Thank you Michael."
​

* * * *​

That afternoon Michael Sadkins did what he usually did when mulling a hard question, he hiked through the near-by hills. When he'd arrived at Broadmoor during his sophomore year he'd immediately noticed Kendall Kross; you couldn't miss her. She was brilliant, model-beautiful, and a total fucking bitch. Her mother, Kris, was the school's head mistress. Kris was Kendall on steroids.

The problems didn't start until his junior year, when he found himself the object of the nasty gossip of Kendall and her friends, who ruled Broadmoor's social network. It didn't take long to figure out the problem; his academic performance surpassed Kendall's. Kris had been valedictorian; she was determined her daughter would be also. But it was all manageable. Kendall's bullying had little effect on him. Michael friends and social life centered not on Broadmoor but on Dartmouth.

In determining class rank Dartmouth courses were weighed more heavily than Broadmoor's classes. It was the primary reason Michael's grades were substantially higher then Kendall's, who was a straight "A" student. At the beginning of Michael's senior year Kris proclaimed a retroactive change in school policy; Dartmouth courses would be given no additional weight. Kendall's grades were now within fraction of Michael's. Professor Havel's "D" would move her to the top of the class.
​

* * * *​

For the fourth time that afternoon Kris Kross scrolled through Michael's grades. The old bastard had caved; he'd given Sadkins a "D." For the fourth time that afternoon she tapped the icon for class ranks. Her daughter ranked first; Sadkins had slipped out of the top twenty. She'd struggled to find a way to torpedo his grades without causing a faculty revolt or a student strike; no one would believe the kid could get anything but an "A." Anna Havel's cancer had been a gift. Professor Havel's integrity was beyond question and his distaste for the dictatorial manner in which Kris ran the school well-known. If he gave Sadkins a "D" it might be a cause of wonder, but no one would think it came from her.

Kris had fallen in love with Broadmoor when she'd been a student there. Perennially listed among the nation's best private high schools, it offered prestige and access to the highest levels of society. She decided she never wanted to leave. As a senior she'd induced - while letting him think it was his idea - the school's head master into her bed. When she'd turned up pregnant the doddering old fool had done the right thing, she knew he would; he divorced his wife and married her. He passed away shortly thereafter and, after some battles with his family, she'd secured control of the school and family foundation.

Her thoughts turned to her daughter. Kendall was, if anything, even more beautiful than Kris had been at that age. Slim shoulders and hips, flat belly, five feet ten inches tall, 118 pounds, 32-24-34, "A" cups. An oval face, brown eyes, dark straight hair that hung half-way down her back. Kendall knew who to look out for, herself and her mother, but did not, Kris feared, share Kris' killer instinct. Kendall belittled Sadkins and would certainly have approved of her mother's scheme, but she'd never have devised it on her own.
​

* * * *​

Michael Sadkins was heading out of the hills, back towards the school. The previous summer he'd acquired the means to deal with Kris and her daughter, but had decided not to use it; he'd soon be on to college and the Kross' part of his past. The catty high school bullying would be forgotten and whether he graduated first really didn't matter; he'd been offered full scholarships from all the universities on his list. But now they'd fucked with Professor Havel, the most decent man Michael had ever known. They needed to be stopped.

The previous summer Michael had worked as an intern in the neuro-science lab at Dartmouth, assisting Jan Betz, a visiting researcher from Cal Tech. He was familiar with her work; he was even more familiar with her husband's work. Jon Betz was a legend in the field of behavior modification. There were rumors of a long association with the CIA, rumors that had recently intensified when Betz had unexpectedly retired to devote his time to organic farming.

Among the responsibilities of being Ms. Betz's assistant was sharing her bed, an assignment to which Michael had no objection, the attractive 35 year old had a voracious sexual appetite. And then one night, after she had too much to drink, he learned why her husband had retired. CIA funding for his research into mind control had ended when a Congressional staffer found out about it, but he'd continued the work in secret. As a graduate student, without her knowledge, Jan Betz had been subjected to certain drugs and hypnotic suggestions, which explained both her marriage to a man forty years her senior and her intense sexual needs. Her husband had continued the experiments, taken on more grad students as lovers until the CIA, in an audit of old programs, discovered what he'd done, confiscated the research, and forced him into retirement. What no one knew was that Jan had a copy of all of it.

That night he downloaded the information from her computer, he'd long ago learned her password. The next morning, through a blazing hang over, she recalled only a vague purposeless conversation
​

* * * *​

Making sure the door locked behind her, Kris walked down the stairs of the administration building to her Maserati. During the last two days of the semester Kris had prepared herself for a confrontation with Michael Sadkins. The kid would certainly figure out what happened. But Michael had not even shown a sign of being upset. Was he smart enough to know he was beaten? Was he, in fact, for all his brains, not up to the fight, happy to give up the competition for valedictorian? Maybe he was just a pussy, afraid to face her? Kris liked the thought of having reduced him to impotence.

Her mind turned to the trip to Mexico. She and Kendall would be spending the holidays at a private resort near Tijuana. They'd make a spectacular pair; her daughter with her thin model-like build and she, shorter, a bit heavier, and with a curvy figure: 36-25-36, "C" cups, slim waist, wide hips. Same brown eyes and hair, although Kris kept her's shoulder length. They'd be the subject of many a man's fantasy.

Kendall's Jaguar was in the garage. Kris yelled for her, but there was no response. She was probably wearing headphones, listening to music in her room. Kris knocked on the door, still no response. She opened the door. Her daughter was tied to her bed, bound and gagged.

"Ms. Kross, good of you to join us."

Michael Sadkins was sitting at Kendall's desk, feet up, scrolling through her cell phone

Kris showed no sign of distress; she was used to being in control. Filling her voice with dismissive contempt she said, "What are you doing here?"

"That should be obvious."

"I'm calling the police."

She was reaching into her purse for her phone when she was yanked off her feet, falling hard on the thick expensive rug. A cord was wrapped around her ankles and fixed to the wall. There'd been some kind of trap on the floor. Michael picked up her cell phone.

Adopting a tone of barely controlled anger she said, "You realize there are laws about this. You can't break into people's houses, tie them up. I'll make sure you rot in jail."

"Yes, you do have a lot of influence," Michael answered. "And when you targeted me, well, it was no big deal, I'm moving on, it will pass. But when you went after the old man, Ms. Kross, that was unforgivable."

"What did he tell you?"

"Nothing, he didn't mention you. He told me my paper was derivative. But Ms. Kross, you knew I'd see through it. You wanted me too. It makes it sweeter for you. I'm not sure what you did to him, but for a man with that much integrity, it must have been awful."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Michael didn't answer, but continued to scroll down her phone. Then he seemed to find what he wanted; he got up from the desk.

"Time to tie you up."

He hauled her to her feet. Kris, who had been biding her time, threw a punch - she'd earned a first level black belt in karate - but he effortlessly parried it and sent her sprawling onto a chair. She looked up, surprise and, for the first time, a little fear on her face.

"Judo, eleventh dan," he said.

He tossed her onto the bed next to her daughter. Kris struggled, but he soon had her bound and tied. A gag was inserted in her mouth. He picked up both phones.

"It's amazing what's in these things. You two will be out of commission for the next few days. I'm going to see if there are any communication patterns I need to mimic. See you in a bit."

Kendall and Kris strained at the ties, without effect. They tried forcing the gags from their mouth with the same non-result. Kris could sense rising panic in her daughter, but remained calm and reviewed the situation. They were set to leave for Mexico in the morning, no one would question their disappearance. The resort might wonder where they were, but Kris had paid a deposit; right now Michael could be sending an e-mail canceling the trip or saying they'd be late. The hotel would think nothing of it. Michael would never get away with this, but he could do some damage in the meantime.

For the first time Kris worried.

The sun had long set when Michael reappeared carrying a tray with two hypodermic needles on it. He dabbed alcohol on each woman's arm, gave them an injection, waited several minutes, strapped dog choke collars around their necks, and untied them. Both women felt woozy; they sank down to their hands and knees.

"Time for dinner."

Leashes in hand, Michael headed for the kitchen Kendall followed. Kris, after the choke collar bit into her neck, did the same. Once there Michael ladled food - even in her addled state Kris noted that it smelled wonderful - from a pot onto a plate, then scraped some into two dog bowls. He removed the gags from the women's mouths.

Kris flexed her aching jaw and said, "We are not eating from dog bowls." Her speech was slurred.

Michael was non-plussed. "For the time being, suit yourselves."

Then Kendall, also struggling to speak, said, "Mama, I'm hungry, thirsty, haven't had anything since lunch."

Kris wanted to respond, but was having trouble putting a sentence together. When it finally came out her tone was uncertain, weak. It felt like something was scrambling her brain. She closed her eyes, tried to concentrate, but it did no good. She looked at Kendall; her eyes were dazed and unfocused.

"Those are the drugs I injected you with. They open the mind, break down your defenses. Now be good girls and eat up."

Kendall drank and ate hungrily; Kris still refused.

Michael, with genuine respect in his voice, said, "Ms. Kross you have a strong will." He took hold of their leashes and headed for the living room. The furniture was pushed to the side and two metal frames, built around six foot cushions, were on the floor. Electronic equipment sat on short black metal shelves next to each frame.

"It's got a technical name, but we'll call it the Mind Bender. Now pay close attention: neither of you have permission to orgasm tonight."

Kris didn't know what the fuck Michael was talking about, but had noticed that his grip on the leash had loosened. Although it was difficult - her mind seemed mired in quicksand - she moved back on her knees and lunged at him, but glanced off his legs and fell on her side. He rolled her onto a cushion and strapped her arms and legs to the frame. He did the same to Kendall and then, with a pair of heavy scissors, cut off Kendall's clothes. Kris tried to scream but what came out was an incoherent bellow.

As Kris watched, Michael clamped alligator clips to Kendall's nipples; wires ran from the clips to a black metal box. He connected electrodes to her forehead and took a cardboard box off the shelf, opened it, and placed something between Kendall's legs. It took Kris a moment to accept it, but it was exactly what it appeared to be, a moderate-sized dildo attached to a base. After coating it with lubricant Michael pushed the dildo into Kendall. Kendall pulled back, trying to escape, but was too tightly bound; the thing penetrated her easily. Kris looked to the shelf next to her; the same box was there. Her muddled mind knew real fear.

Michael covered Kendall's eyes with a heavy blindfold, her ears with noise reducing headphones, put cotton in her nostrils and a ball-gag in the mouth. As he did Kris, calling together what remaining focus she could, said, "You're insane."

"We'll find out.

Michael prepared Kris as he had her daughter. By the time he was done Kris couldn't move, speak, see, hear, or smell. She tried to think, figure a way to escape, to save her daughter, but kept losing her train of thought. She tried dredging up her anger, her longing for revenge, but could capture these emotions for only a moment before they dissipated.

And then she heard Michael through the headphones. His voice was harsh, malignant. "Ladies, it's going to be a long night. At times it will be pleasurable, at times painful. There will be times when you are very lonely. There is only one thing you can count on, my voice. It will guide you, comfort you. You will learn from it. All you need to do is listen. If you don't fight it, if you accept it, everything will be fine."

Then there was only Michael's voice. Kris didn't want to hear it; she drowned it out, singing every Beatles song she knew in her head. She had worked her way through Rubber Soul and Revolver when the dildo started to vibrate. She tried not to think about it, sang Let It Be and Hey Jude, but the vibrator kept varying d its speed, distracting her. Soon her pussy throbbed. Turning her focus to her libido, she tried to suppress the sensations. And with her attention diverted to her sex, she heard the voice.

"I am your Master. You belong to me."

"You are a possession; you are Master's property."

"You are dedicated to Master; life is serving Master."

"You crave sex. Your body craves sex. You need sex. "

"You live for your cunt; you are a slut."

"You worship Master."

The voice was absurd. He was a punk kid, not her Master, and she didn't crave sex. Sex was a weapon; her beauty was a weapon. All her life she'd used them to get what she wanted. She'd gained control of Broadmoor through sex. Sex for pleasure, that was for lesser people.

But with her attention on to the voice, the bliss in her cunt grew. She turned her mind back to it, tried to suppress the surging need. She told herself she'd never give in, never submit to this bizarre experiment, but still she was feeling intense pleasure. It must be the drugs, she thought, the drugs were making her body more sensitive, more responsive. But the thought was profitless; she couldn't extinguish the glow in her groin. The dildo was driving her crazy; it knew when to slow, it knew when to increase its pace. It pushed her to the brink of an orgasm, held her there. The voice kept going.

"You love to come; you live to come."

"You crave orgasms."

"Your body belongs to Master."

"You may come only with Master's permission. You will be punished if you come without Master's permission."

"You crave pain. Pain sets you on fire."

Then, abruptly, the vibrations stopped, but the voice kept going. Exhausted, covered in sweat, she didn't have the strength to argue with it.

"You shall obey Master."

"You are Master's slut"

"Your purpose is to serve Master."

"You love cum."

"You are a fuck-toy. Your purpose is to give other's pleasure, to be a sexual servant. Your cunt is always hot."

The dildo started vibrating again. She tried to fight it, but it quickly overwhelmed her effort to control the tingling in her cunt. She was on the verge of an orgasm when the wires on her nipples buzzed to life, electricity surged through her breasts. The pain obliterated the pleasurable sensations burning in her cunt, quashing the incipient orgasm.

And so the night wore on. She drifted in and out of sleep. The voice continued.

"You belong to Master."

"I am your Master; you are Master's slave."

"You may come only with permission. You will be punished it you come without permission. You crave pain. Pain sets your pussy on fire."

"Your daughter belongs to Master You belong to Master. You are Master's slaves, united in service to Master."

"You are a sex-toy. You shall train your body to be the perfect fuck-mate."

"You are cunt, tits, asshole, clit."

"You have no sexual boundaries. Everything - your very daughter - arouses you."

"You are a dripping swollen sopping wet cunt."

"You are a slut. You love sucking cock, you love eating pussy, all sex arouses your slut-body, your whore-mind."

"You are pussy, twat, snatch, box."

Time became meaningless. Over and over the dildo turned on, drove her to the edge of orgasm, then the electricity burned through her body and washed it all away. She was exhausted, her mind addled, but whenever she felt like giving up she thought of Kendall. Kris needed to survive, make it to the morning; she had to rescue her daughter from this madman.

"You live for Master's cock."

"You live for Master's cum."

"You crave Master's cock. You serve it, worship it, can never get enough, it fills your mind, your dreams."

"You are always aroused and horny, always ready to fuck."

"All your holes crave cock."

"You love to suck cock; you love the taste of cum, love the way it slides down you throat."

The dildo started up again; her pussy danced in delight, it was alive, it had a mind of its own. All night she'd gotten closer and closer to an orgasm, rescued only by the searing pain when the electricity pumped into her breasts.

"You may come only with Master's permission. You will be punished it you come without permission."

How would he punish her? How could it be worse than the torture she was already going through? She fought the sweet feelings in her cunt, looked forward to the electricity; it would extinguish the flame burning between her legs. She felt the familiar tingle in her nipples. Soon the electricity would save her. There would be no orgasm, no punishment

"You may come only with Master's permission. You do not have permission. You will be punished it you come without permission."

The electricity stopped. Panic ripped through her mind, she needed the pain to douse the burning need in her cunt. But it was gone and the dildo kept going. Her pussy was swelling, dripping, her pussy was beyond her control.

"You are cunt, tits, asshole, clit."

She was not a cunt; she was a person, a powerful disciplined person.

The dildo picked up speed. Her pussy spasmed.

"You are cunt, tits, asshole, clit."

She started to say, "I am not...," but never finished. Instead her pussy went supernova. Pleasure of a kind and to a degree she'd have thought impossible flooded though her. Even with her arms and legs restrained, she shook and jerked; cream poured from her cunt.

Then it was quiet. She was breathing heavily, her mind floating in a sea of felicity, when the voice started again. "You may come only with Master's permission. You will be punished it you come without permission."

What would her punishment be?
​

* * * *​

Sitting before his computer with a cup of coffee, Michael reviewed the night's data, then knelt by Kendall, freed her nipples, slid the dildo from her pussy, removed the blindfold, headphones, and gag, undid the restraints on her arms and legs. After giving her a few minutes to adjust he helped her to her feet and sent her off to shower and dress.

Wearing sneakers. black leggings, and a white crew top that showed of her flat stomach, Kendall returned while Michael finished studying the data on Kris. Kris, once freed. touched her ear. The headphones were gone, but she still heard the voice. She squinted, focused; Michael was kneeling over her; Kendall next to him Kendall's make-up and hair were perfect, she was dressed impeccably.

Then Kendall said, "Master, how is she?"

"She was bad Kendall; she came without permission. It will be your job to punish her."

Looking sad, she said, "Yes Master."

Kris was exhausted and sleep-deprived, her tits and cunt ached, her body was battered, her mind foggy, she had trouble concentrating, but Kendall's words still rolled through her like a landslide. Kris closed her eyes, turned her powerful intellect inward, began to separate last night from reality and made a resolution; she would pull herself together and fight for her daughter. Michael lifted her to her feet - she could barely control her legs and arms - and tied her to the dining room table. When done Kendall snaked her arm around his waist, kissed his cheek.

"Master, she doesn't understand we are your sluts?"

"Not yet Kendall, but she will soon."

"That's wonderful Master; I love Mama."

"I know you do. In the kitchen there is a small cutting board, shaped like a pig. Please go get it and give your mother ten whacks on her fanny."

"Yes Master."

The spanking was not too hard. It would do no permanent damage and besides a rosy red color, leave no marks. Still it hurt, but Kris had steeled herself; she did not scream; she did not cry; she wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. But as it went on something even more disturbing happening; her pussy throbbed; she heard the voice: "You crave pain. Pain sets your pussy on fire. You crave humiliation and embarrassment, they set your pussy aflame."

She pushed her hips against the table, closed her legs, trying to hide her arousal from Michael.

When she finished Kendall turned into Michael's arms and kissed him, reaching down to stroke his penis though his pants. Kris, who believed in self-control, of being the coolest head in the room, exploded, yanking ineffectively against the ropes, screaming, "You son of a bitch. You are going down for this. I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Kendall, put the ball-gag in your mother's mouth; it's time to suck my cock."

"Yes Master."

Kris, in a combination of horror and disbelief, watched her daughter approach with the gag.

"Kendall don't do this."

"Mama, you don't understand. It's wonderful. When you obey it feels so good. Soon you'll understand, Master says so. Then you'll be happy, just like me." She pushed the ball into her mother's mouth and strapped the tie to her head.

Michael sat in an antique chair. Kendall knelt, unbuckled his pants, pulled them down to his ankles, wrapped her fist around his cock, and started jacking, hard and fast. Whenever jizz leaked from the fuck-knob, Kendall licked it up. After several minutes she opened her mouth and crammed his dick into her face, clamping her lips on its steely stiffness, sucking hard, whimpering with desire. Kris closed her eyes, not wanting to watch her daughter's degradation, but when Kendall moaned Kris peeked and noticed the look of delight on her daughter's face. Kendall seemed desperate for the taste of his cock.

Kendall pulled her face off the shaft, eagerly swirled her tongue around the cock-head, lapped up the oozing cock-juice and, after she'd captured every drop, took him back in her mouth, puckering her cheeks, increasing the suction on his prick. She bobbed her head up and down, fucking her face on his hard-on. Michael curled his fingers in her long dark hair, holding her to his crotch.

"Harder my little slave. Suck it hard!"

Kendall seemed to be in heaven, hypnotized by the taste, size, and meaty feel of Michael's fuck-tool.

It went on and on. Kendall, her hand on the base of his shaft, greedily squeezed and pumped, sucking like she'd be happy to go all day. Michael jabbed his hips forward and Kendall gagged, pulled her head off, and started a frantic hand-job, whipping her fist up and down the throbbing prick. Michael humped his ass off the chair, fucking his dick in Kendall's hand, then said, "Back in your mouth."

Kris, wished she could avert her eyes, but watched in fascination. She noted Kendall's hard nipples outlined in her tight top. Kris forced her eyes closed, but the voice echoed in her skull: "You love to suck cock; you love the taste of cum, you love the way it slides down you throat."

Trying to silence the voice, Kris opened her eyes. Kendall was sucking harder than ever. Her lips slurped on the swollen fuck-tool, coating it with a sheen of saliva, encouraging the hot spunk to pour from the piss slit. With one hand Kendall stroked the thick shaft; the other cradled the ball sac, squeezing and massaging his heavy testicles.

"I'm coming, swallow it all."

Kendall wrapped her lips tightly on him, swoggling and slurping, sliding her tongue over the head, lapping up his oozing spunk. Puckering her cheeks, she sucked hard; her face, flushed crimson, contorted around the cock jammed in her mouth.

Then, suddenly, Michael jerked, groaned, arched his hips, jammed his cock into her throat. His hard-on bucked, shook, and spewed a fountain of thick salty jism. Kendall drank it all down, her throat muscles quivering as she swallowed the milky gushers of cream. Her hand o whipped up and down his prick, coaxing more spunk from his balls. Finally she let it slide from her mouth, leaned her head against his thigh, kissed and licked the deflating prick, cleaning the last traces of jizz.

"I love you Master. I love being your slut."

Michael stroked Kendall's cheek. "You did well Kendall. I bet your Mom didn't know what a good little cocksucker you are."

"No Master, she doesn't know what a slut I can be or about all the boys I've sucked off."

Kris couldn't stop staring at Michael's prick. The kid was hung, his dick handsome and strong, his balls huge. What did he taste like? Fuck, what was wrong with her? Why was she thinking these things? She heard the voice: "You crave Master's cock. You serve it, worship it, can never get enough, it fills your mind, your dreams," then focused and drove it away. Kendall remained on her knees, staring worshipfully at Michael.

"Are you aroused Kendall?"

Kendall slipped a finger into her wet cunt, held it up for Michael to see, and in a voice thick with need said, "Yes Master, I am. I'm always horny, always ready to fuck. I am a fuck-toy, your fuck-toy."

Michael stood, walked over to Kris, removed the ball-gag from Kris' mouth, and said, "And you Ms. Kross, are you horny?"

Kris wanted to lie, found she couldn't, changed the subject. "What have you done to me, to her?"

In the same tone in which the voice had spoken last night, he said, "I'd have thought that was obvious. The drugs I filled you with, the hypnotic suggestions; they'll empty your subconscious, then redefine you. I'm creating a new you, a submissive sex-slave. You'll like it, no freedom, no control, no responsibilities except to obey and please me."

Kris' pussy lips swelled.

"You'll never get away with it."

"Cocks in your mouth, your pussy, your ass; sucking dicks, eating cunts. You and Kendall will be busy little whores."

Kris' skin blushed. She pressed her legs together, trying to get control of herself.

He wasn't fooled. "Don't worry, you'll get the opportunity to satisfy your needs."

"If you think I'm going to suck your cock, you're nuts."

"Oh no Ms. Kross, its time for a little theater. You're going to make love to your daughter. Put on a little show."

Kris had no rule against lesbian love. Women were like men, more amenable to her will after spending time in her bed. She'd squelched the family's opposition to her taking control of the school during a meeting with her sister-in-law. Kris had seduced her, then broken her in a three day debauch. She was now the docile chairperson of the Foundation's Board of Directors.

While Kris' cluttered mind tried to frame a response, Kendall squealed in joy, kissed her mother's cheek, licked her ear, and whispered, "Don't react to what I'm about to say."

Kendall moved to Kris' other ear, nibbled on the lobe. "Play along. I have a plan."

As if in revulsion Kris pulled her head back and with an icy stare said, "And if I refuse, asshole?"

"I spank your daughter until her ass glows in the dark."

"Oh Master, that would be so hot. Could you make Mama eat my cunt after you were done?"

Kris marveled; Kendall had been smarter than she. By pretending to submit she was gaining Michael's trust, making possible their escape.

In a contemptuous voice Kris said, "Okay, but you'll pay for this."

"Good. In honor of our postponed Mexican vacation there'll be a Tequila theme." He untied Kris and gestured to the windowless guest bedroom. "Go wash up, I laid your clothes out."

In the bedroom Kendall, under Michael's admiring eye, casually stripped, turned on the shower, tested the water temperature with her hand, and beckoned her mother to follow. As soon as the shower door closed a look of despair, followed by one of determination, flashed across Kendall's pretty face.

"Mama, I couldn't stand another night hooked to that thing, its done something to me. I keep hearing that voice in my head. I'm all turned on; I feel a nagging desire to obey him. Right now, the idea of making love to you, in front of him, part of me is looking forward to it. It's made me wet."

Kris comforted her daughter, "Me too baby, I feel it too."

"Oh Mama thank gosh, I thought it was just me. Last night I decided I'd do what it said. I figured that was what he was after. I think he thinks I'm under. He told me he'd have to leave tonight, check in with the rest of his world, that he would chain us up. I showed him the metal stair case in the library. He thinks that's a good place. When I was a kid I broke one of its spindles, then screwed it back in place. If the handcuffs me to it can unscrew it; we can escape."

They heard Michael's foot steps. Kris nodded her understanding and

Kendall turned off the water and stuck her head out the shower door. "I'm sorry Master, I forget the towels."

"That's alright Kendall." He handed her four towels; the ladies dried themselves off, got out, did their hair and make-up. On the bed were jeans, tight and with the bottom hem rolled up to mid-calf, and halter tops. Kris' was white, akin to a bikini, attached only in the back. Kendall's gold halter was slightly less revealing; it strapped around her neck and back. High-heeled sandals and festive dangling earrings completed the look. There would be no underwear.

After dressing they joined Michael in the den. He was sitting in a black silk arm chair, a bottle of Tequila, a shaker of salt, some slices of lime, and two glasses at his feet. The ladies sat on the floor and Kendall filled a glass and handed it to her mother, poured one for herself, ran a slice of lime along the back of both their hands, and sprinkled salt on them. Kendall licked the salt from her skin and took a drink. Her mother followed suit. Kendall handed Kris a slice of lime, took one herself, they sucked the juice from them.

Kendall next took her mother's hand in hers, licked the back, licked up each finger, and, one by one, took her mother's fingers into her mouth, sucking on them. As she did she ran her hand over Kris' chest, gliding across her breasts to her stomach, massaging the flat abdomen with her palm, then pushed a finger between Kris' breasts and fiddled with the tie that held the halter together.

It was clear to Kris that this was not the first time her daughter had made love to a woman; Kendall was a bit more of a wild child than she let on. It was also clear that Kris was getting turned on. Not turned-on like she usually did - she only truly enjoyed sex when it was an assertion of authority - but turned-on to her very core. Whatever Michael had done had gotten to her. Kendall was right; they had to escape before they were strapped to that machine again.

Kendall handed her mother another glass of Tequila, licked the back of Kris' hand, sprinkled it with salt, and offered her hand to her mother. Kris licked it, pressing her tongue to her daughter's sweet flesh. Kendall dragged a lime across Kris' upper chest, smearing the juice into her skin. Kris leaned back against the ottoman. Kendall moved in, licked the juice from her mother's chest, pressing her tongue to the flesh in long slow wet sweeps. Kris lost herself in her daughter's talented tongue, it felt so good; it was so sexy.

Kendall, her hand resting on the top button of Kris' jeans, wiped the lime across Kris' toned stomach, then licked up the juice with the flat of her tongue, ending at Kris' belly button. Kendall explored its contours and shape with the tip of her tongue.

Kris closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn't like this, but it felt so good; her body was so sensitive. She heard the voice: "You crave sex. Your body craves sex. You need sex." Moaning, she ran her hand across her daughter's back.

Next, Kendall sat up, dragged the lime across her mother's mouth, then licked her mother's lips. Kendall pressed her mouth to Kris', started slowly, but was soon moving with urgency and need. When the kiss ended the ladies, breathing heavily, stared into each other's eyes. How much of it was real, how much if it was the machine, Kris didn't know, didn't care. She wanted her daughter.

Kris saw Michael, who was quietly watched the performance, in the corner of her eye. Michael nodded his head in approval and Kris heard the voice: "You crave humiliation and embarrassment, they set your pussy aflame." She felt a spark in her cunt.

Kendall brought her mouth to her mother's, they kissed; their tongues played together. Kendall kept their lips slightly apart, making sure Michael could see the horny interaction of their tongues. When Kris realized what her daughter was doing her pussy flared and she slid her hand through her daughter's perfect hair.

Kendall licked Kris' lower lip, then, with a manicured finger, stroked the lip. When Kris' head fell back Kendall licked up her mother's neck with the flat of her tongue, each stroke long and languid. When Kendall stopped Kris leveled her gaze, stared into her child's eyes, then began kissing her daughter with ever growing desire, running her open hand along Kendall's arm and shoulder.

At this sign of her mother's acquiescence Kendall undid the velcro that held Kris' halter top in place, tossed the garment to the side, covered one breast with her hand, squeezing the firm flesh, and dropped her head to the other, kissing and sucking her mother's nipple. Kris' body had never been this alive, been this sensitive. It might be that damn machine and those drugs, but it felt real.

The voice played in her head. "You crave sex. Your body craves sex."

Kendall switched to the other breast, sucking hungrily. Kris dragged her hand over Kendall's arm and upper back, then fondled her free breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers.

Kendall, alternating, made love to her mother's breasts, licked the nipples with the flat of her tongue, teased them with the tip of her tongue, took the areolas into her mouth and worked them with her lips. She reached between Kris' legs and rubbed her pussy through her jeans. Kris covered Kendall's hand with her own, pressing them both against her sex.

Emboldened, Kris reached behind Kendall's neck and pulled apart the velcro holding her daughter's halter in place. In response Kendall arched her spine, took hold of the strap in the middle of her back, pulled it free, and dropped the halter to the floor. Her breasts now free, Kendall got up on her knees, walked forward, placed her hands on the sides of her mother's head, and pulled Kris' open mouth to her chest.​