A mother-daughter talk (Part 1)
Mother? Yes, Tiffi? I wanted to talk to you about … about that … you know, what you asked Mrs. Kort to do to you. Last time. That. Oh. Ok. What, ah, do you want to … want to know? Why did you want it? Didn’t it hurt? I mean, I know it hurt. You were like crying and stuff. Didn’t you know? Yes, I knew. And it hurt. But I knew Mrs. Kort knew what she was...
A mother-daughter talk (Part 2)
No. I was asking because, you know, because … I want to do it. Tiffi sweetie. You … you shouldn’t. Your, ah, pussy is much more tender, and … well, it’s more than just how it feels, ah, physically, I guess you’d say. And I really don’t think … emotionally, for you. I mean that … That emotionally I’m not the submissive type? Yes. ...
Keep your head down
She jerked her head up and hissed I slapped her pussy again and said, “Stop with all the drama and get your fucking tongue back on your daughter’s clit.” She wisely said, “Yes, Mrs. Kort.”
A necessary correction
Your mother and I will take turns. You’ll be given encouragement. And forgiveness. But you will be spanked. Into the late hours. Let’s begin. “Yes, Mrs. Kort.”
The Gentlewomen's Club
I need to calm down. I need to remember that the whole reason I see Mrs. Rosenberg, that I obey Mrs. Rosenberg, is to stay humble — to not let the power I have over the mothers and daughters I corrupt in turn corrupt me. But, goddamn! Having to occasionally service one of Mrs. Rosenberg’s “old dear friends” is one thing. But this? A “Gentlewomen’s...
A young woman orders her mother to bed, rips off her mother’s panties, spanks her mother’s ass raw and eats her mother’s pussy to five shuddering climaxes. Is there really someone out there that can make this happen? Yes. Mrs. Kort.
Had to be said
“Linda, you know I love you for who you are.” “Yes, Mrs. Kort.” “So stop wearing your daughter’s panties, my dear. You just don’t have the ass for it.” “Yes, Mrs. Kort.”
Always once during my relationship with a mother and daughter I let the mother take control of her daughter for a day. I love seeing what form the often-neglected mother’s pent-up jealousy takes. Ever after that day the mother asks for another day like that day. I say, “No.” She says, “Yes, Mrs. Kort.”