Darling stepdaughter turns dominatrix

femdom, male submissive,

If I hadn't gotten lost returning my best friend Tina's crapped out Honda Accord to her, I wouldn't have had the opportunity. Tina lives in a high-class area, not far from us, but for some reason I took a wrong turning and ended up in this dead end street with some older-style houses.

As I delved in the glove box for a street map, I noticed that one old house at the end of the street had a Jaguar E-type parked outside. My stepfather drives one of those and yep – it was his plate. What I wondered, was he doing here? Surely not lost like me.

Stepfather married mom – she's a former model, oh all right, dancer, well OK, stripper – six months ago. But at 40 she's still got a great body, only unfortunately she's not passed on her 36-inch tits to me.

I'm 19 but my boobs are 32, 33 inches at most, but the nipples are – I'm told by a few appreciative boys – very suckable, with lovely large rosy areolae. I've got a tiny waist, a small patch of brown hair on my mons, but the rest down there I shave, good legs, great arse.

And my hair – that's something I have inherited from mom. It's a lustrous brown and it sweeps all the way down to the small of my back, actually, it just strokes across the top of my arse when I'm naked.

I checked the map and found out where I'd gone wrong and was just calling Tina on my mobile to explain I was running a bit late, when I saw the front door of the house outside where pop's car was parked open. I quickly pulled my digital camera from my pocket and started to snap away.

Just inside the doorway, I saw a middle-aged woman in a strict black dress kissing my pop on the cheek. I ducked down behind the wheel and peeped up to see pop glancing up and down the street, then jumping into the E-type and roaring off in what he thinks is a real macho manner, the wanker.

My stepdad is 38 going on 39 with lovely black hair, a well-built body and an attitude that screams "Look how spunky I am for my age". Still, I quite like him.

To this day I don't know how I plucked up the courage, but I got out of Tina's Honda and walked to the door pop had just emerged from.

The stern-looking lady answered the door and I saw that she was extremely attractive in a hard sort of way.

"Hi," I said, as confidently as I could, "I know ladies like you are extremely discreet, but I was just wondering what services you provide?"

The woman glared at me and was about to slam the door in my face when I shouted: "I know you're on the game and I know it's against city ordinances to run a place like this in a residential neighbourhood. Now you don't want me going downtown and talking to the vice squad, do you?"

She looked over my shoulder, searching the street, then pulled the door open: "Come in, can't have you disturbing the neighbourhood with all that shouting."

I walked into an extremely well-appointed home, classy, under-stated. She stepped into a large lounge, sat in an easy chair, crossed an excellent pair of legs encased in gleaming black stockings and lit a cigarette.

"I just want some very basic information on your last client," I said, seating myself on a large leather couch, which must have cost thousands. "Who does he call himself, what services do you give him?"

The woman relaxed and stubbed out her hardly-smoked cigarette. "He calls himself Rob," she told me. I must have looked surprised. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Well, it's his name," I said. She laughed. "With some clients you never can tell. Anyway, he calls himself Rob and the services I provide are some mild flagellation, body worship, cock and ball torture and golden showers. Do you understand what I'm talking about, miss?"

I nodded. "You're a dominatrix."

"Yes, and I go under the name Mistress Victoria and no, that most definitely is not my real name." We both laughed.

"Tell me about the body worship," I asked.

"Breasts, buttocks and pussy," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Do you enjoy it?" I asked.

"That's irrelevant," she smiled. "It's the client who pays his money who's supposed to enjoy it. But yes, Rob, as he calls himself, has a very educated tongue and mouth, so I guess I do."

"And what do you charge him?" I asked.

"He visits me once a week – has done for almost six months now – and I charge him $400 for an hour and a half, $500 if it's two hours and I have to drink a lot of water."

Again I must have looked puzzled. Mistress Victoria grinned: "The golden shower always comes last and I have to produce quite a lot of urine. So I must keep up my liquid intake."

"Six months," I mused, half to her, half to myself. "That's almost exactly when he married mom!"

Mistress Victoria looked indulgently at me. "There are some 'services', to use the word you seem fond of, that many wives simply won't provide. Domination is often one of them."

I got up and walked to the front door, then turned. "Thank-you, Mistress Victoria, you've been very helpful and I will be discreet, trust me." I stepped out into the bright San Diego sunshine, then turned once more: "Oh, and I don't think you'll be seeing my father again."

The woman smiled, rather wistfully, I thought. "No my dear," she said, "I rather thought I wouldn't." And she closed the door gently in my face.

The next day was a Saturday and I lounged about the house in a silver bikini top and matching pair of little silver PVC hotpants. I know it drives Rob mad.

Mom was also dressed like a hooker – a beautiful black bikini bra gleamed on her ample breasts and a tight pair of black PVC hot pants showed the outline of her pussy lips, I swear. Anyone would have thought we had deliberately chosen our outfits together, but we hadn't, honest.

My stepfather, who runs an imported car business – crap like noisy, unreliable Alfa-Romeos and Maseratis – wore a tight-fitting white T-shirt to display his rather nicely chiselled upper body and he had shorts on which revealed strong, muscular thighs.

Mom looked at the San Diego Examiner and announced: "There are a few sales on in town, I think I'll do some retail therapy. Wanna come, Paula?"

I screwed up my face. "No thanks, mom, I've got a slight headache, I think I'll stay home today."

Mom went and got into a light summer dress, kissed me on the cheek, stroked Rob's cheek and announced: "I'll take the Maserati, darling, OK with you?"
"Sure, hon," said my stepfather, "you know I prefer the Jag." And with that, mom stepped out into the heat.

Now was my chance. But although I'd been rehearsing my words since the day before, I still backed away from an immediate confrontation.

Getting up, I stepped in front of Rob, who could not help staring at my prominent pudenda, thrusting at the confines of the little PVC hotpants. He was nearly fuckin' drooling!

"I'm going to do some work in my study, Rob," I announced. "You staying around?"

He looked into my brown eyes and grinned: "Thought I'd do a few laps, then lounge by the pool, Paula."

Suits me fine, I thought, then I went upstairs to the study off my bedroom. I'd already downloaded the pictures I'd taken the afternoon before, of course, now all I had to do was print them out.

I'd already clipped the advertisement for Mistress Victoria I'd found in one of those adult magazines that the local hookers all ply for their trade in. "Mistress Victoria," it read, "Strict, discerning, discreet. I know what you want, you naughty boy" above a mobile phone number.

I'd also downloaded some very – how shall I put this? – tasty pictures of Mistress Victoria from the internet. In several she was showing off a very nice pair of boobs – big nipples!

I printed out the picture of Rob kissing her on the cheek, one of him walking down her front garden steps and one of him getting into the Jag. I was, as they say, well armed!

After I'd freshened up my red toenails, I placed the advert for Mistress Victoria along with the pictures in a large manila envelope. Then I chose a new bikini I'd purchased a few days before. It was basically three thin strips of satin. The two in what was laughingly called a bra, just covered my nipples. The strip over my pussy was just wide enough to cover my little patch of pubic hair on my mons.

I picked up a beach towel, placed it so it covered the manila envelope, and walked out of the house to where Rob was lying, sun bathing on his recliner after his swim. It was a hot San Diego day and his well-muscled figure gleamed a beautiful brown in the sun. He was wearing a thong, revealing his very well-shaped, bronzed buns.

I dropped my towel on another recliner and coughed. He looked up and appeared startled. "Hi Rob," I grinned at him, "how do you like my new bikini?"

"That's a bikini?" he smiled, gazing at my firm young body. "It looks more like three strips of dental floss, my darling daughter."

"Oh, don't be such an old prude, Rob," I replied, deliberately and, I hoped, provocatively, moving my feet wide apart so he could get a good view at my crotch. "All the kids are wearing gear like this nowadays. And look at the back!"

With that I did a slow twirl, to reveal the narrow strip which went between my arse cheeks. "Good heavens, you look like something out of a porno magazine," Rob said, but there was a definite tone of "Yum, yum" in his voice.

"Anyway," I said, facing him again, "you're displaying your buns – and very nice they look, too." He tried to grin bashfully, but it came across as a smirk of satisfaction.

Then I hit him with it.

"Only, daddy dear, I'd have expected more marks on those lovely buns after Mistress Victoria's ministrations!"

He blushed beetroot red, then stammered: "I haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about, Paula."

I was ready for that. "Cut the crap, pop, here's the evidence." And with that I threw the manila envelope onto his recliner. "I know all about your pathetic little perversions – I had an extremely interesting chat yesterday with Mistress Victoria."

Rob was sifting through the pictures, of himself kissing her, getting into the Jag, the pictures I'd printed from her website, the "come on" ad in the adult magazine.

Then he tried to bluff his way out of it. "Look, Paula, I can explain ..."

But I cut him off in mid-sentence. "No you fuckin' can't, daddy dear," I snapped. "Now listen to me and listen fuckin' good."

He was all ears. "No more visits to Mistress Victoria, gottit?"

"Got it," he mumbled, in a monotone.

"From now on the only domme you're going to be visiting is me. Every Wednesday afternoon when mom plays golf with her ex-stripper mates, you will report to my bedroom. Gottit?"

"Yes," he replied, suddenly looking interested.

"I will perform Mistress Victoria's services for you and it will cost you 500 bucks a visit. Gottit?"

"But ..." he started to protest.

"No fuckin' buts," I snapped. "If I have any fuckin' buts from you, you filthy pervert, the evidence goes to mom. And I know that under the pre-nup you signed, she gets half of that poncey fuckin' car dealership you own and half this house."

Rob stood. And I could see that my tongue-lashing was having its effect on him. The randy bastard's cock was thrusting into the black satin of his thong.

"Right," I said, "now we've got that sorted out I'm going up to my bedroom. You will knock on the bedroom door in exactly 10 minutes and ask permission to enter."

"Yes, Paula," he nodded, looking both apprehensive and excited at the same time.

"Now I must have a name – all these dominas have names. Let's see, who can I be?" I paused and pretended to ponder, although I had already worked out exactly who I was going to be.

"Now you're often calling me your darling daughter – darling daughter, hmmm, d-d. I know, I'll be Mistress Didi. How's that?"

"A very nice name," he muttered.

I smiled and added: "For a very nasty person."

To be continued.
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From: anonymous
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