For bashful, chaise and, of course, kitten.
*
I realized not too long ago that I had my mind controlled for most of my life. It's amazing how it can happen, how you can let it happen and how much time can go by before you realize the truth. But it's not just me. There are a lot of people who've gone through the same thing, people who didn't realize who they really were, what they could do, what made them happy. Some unfortunate ones never find out. I was lucky enough to have someone snap me out of it. It only took 23 years but I'm finally free of the control of my mother.
My mother was, without a doubt, a stunning woman. She had no trouble getting the attention of men. She had much trouble avoiding it. She was tall leggy and gifted with a d-cup. A natural sparkling blue-eyed, blonde with locks of hair the fell over her shoulders, her face was that of an angel surrounded by clouds. The problem with this was that no man could get past what she looked like. She had a brain inside her head, though she was not a genius she had thoughts and ideas that deserved to be heard. Though she would often voice them, few people would listen. She couldn't hold down a job for very long not because of incompetence or experience but because a boss or co-workers would eventually become enamored and force her to leave to save the harassment. She couldn't even model because she was luscious rather than skinny and her breasts were too large. And she refused to strip. She had many stalkers. She had many suitors guised as friends waiting for that moment when she'd realize that they were just what she needed. And the competition was not restricted to men. As a result, my mom's best friends were the ones she grew up with, the ones that were "accustomed to her face".
She dated many men. Again she could not stay with just one because he would inevitably become jealous and the relationship would become strained. She was hit more than once during a jealous rage. Her marriage to my father was not one of love but of necessity. Mario Gambini was not a handsome man; average height and belly that hung a ways over his belt and a quickly receding hairline. He was not a charming man; "fuck" and "cunt" and "motherfucker" were his most common words after "forgetaboutit." But he was a powerful man and a rich man; owning several legitimate businesses as well as being "in the family." With her funds depleted, debts growing and the knowledge that taking any job meant having to deal with the advances of several coworkers if she meant to keep it, mom made the decision to sell herself to one man. His position and influence would keep his friends and coworkers at bay. That meant she would only have to deal with flirtatious talk. She gave him her body and he gave her a more normal life. The happy ending she finally got was not from falling in love. It was from having me.
She told me how much she cried for joy the day I was born. I was named Elizabeth but that quickly became Liz. The women on my father's side of the family called me Eliza.
That I would suffer the same fate as her was, of course, mom's biggest fear. She was happy the first ten years of my life when boys were not really another sex as far as I was concerned, but by the time I was twelve it was obvious to everyone that, despite my straight black Italian hair, I had more of my mom's looks than my dad's. Mom did her best to cover that up. My hair was always cut short. I had more pants than dresses. Make-up was only allowed on special occasions. The only problem was I was beginning to blossom, and since I was getting my mom's breasts it was became increasingly difficult to hide that. I spent many years in bras that were too small. They squeezed my tits into my chest making me seem smaller and I was only too happy at the end of each day to get out of them. I found it curious that while I did this and accepted it as common practice I was privy to conversations about push-up bras and low-cut dresses to emphasize breasts rather than de-emphasize them. I asked my mom one day about it and she told me that some girls are vain and immoral and wish only to attract men with their bodies and not their personalities. Those types of girls become whores. Well, I didn't want to become a whore so I covered myself up as best as I could while still trying to look presentable. You may think that all this would have caused many boys not to even notice me but I was my mother's daughter. After mom had seen the attention I would get when she came to pick me up after school, I ended up in an all-girls catholic high school. It's ironic that that was where I lost my virginity but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
Sex became of great interest to me by the age of eighteen. I'd seen movies (no, not porns) and thought it must the most wonderful thing in the world: a man and a woman expressing their love for each other in the throes of passion, what could be better? I had this image in my head of what it would be like my first time. My fantasy husband never had a face but he had a great body and his kisses left me breathless. I could feel him against me pumping slowly, erotically. I ran my hands along his muscular frame as I looked up at him from the bed. The scenes changed; the bed, a bearskin rug, a private park. But we always made love missionary style. That's what lovers do! God I was naive!
Ever walk in on your parents doing it? Well, under the best of circumstances it leaves you unnerved. For me it shattered so many walls of my perfect little world, it's a wonder I didn't have to go into therapy. It was fairly early one evening and my parents expected me to be glued to the TV for at least another hour, but I was beat that day and so I went upstairs to say good-night to them. I wasn't trying to be quiet or sneaky or anything like that but I got to the top of the stairs and heard dad making little grunts. At first I thought he was crying, but dad never cries and I knew he'd be mad at me if I walked in on him and caught him crying. So I peaked in the bedroom door and saw something I'd never seen before. Mom was on her knees in front of dad. She was naked and his pants were around his ankles. She held his penis in her hands and was sucking on it like a lollypop. Dad continued to grunt and I wasn't sure if she was hurting him or not until he spoke.
"That's it, slut." He said. I couldn't believe he used that word with my mother. "Show me how much you appreciate what I give you."
Her face bobbed closer to him as she took more of his penis in her mouth. More moans escaped his mouth as his head rolled back from her efforts. I stood there mesmerized by the scene. Dad's hand fell and grabbed the back of mom's head and pushed her face in harder with each thrust. Little squeals escaped her throat and I thought she might be choking but the sounds only made dad move her head faster.
"God, you're such a great cock-sucker, bitch!" he swore and then yanked her by the hair to her feet, well, almost. Mom is almost a head taller than dad so she was slightly bent over when he had her up. He didn't keep her up long though. Twisting her around, he bent her over the bed and then shoved his penis in her from behind. I'd never seen that position before and I thought he put it in her butt. I let out a gasp but it was covered up by my mom's own one.
"But this is how I like to fuck my whore!" dad exclaimed as he started shoving his hips forward in an unsteady rhythm. Mom braced herself on the bed and let him take her. Her golden locks poured over her back and face. I couldn't see her expression but I felt that she wasn't enjoying herself. That is until dad hit her.
The slap on her ass was loud and her head jerked up. He continued to pump and for the first time she pushed back against him a little. He slapped her again and then again and her head began to roll slowly. Then he hit her really hard. I thought she would have screamed and stopped him but what she said stunned me. "Yes!"
Dad continued to spank her as he thrust and now she pushed back with equal vigor. She moaned and said, "Yes!" again and then "Harder!"
I couldn't believe my ears. Harder? Why would anyone want to be spanked harder?
"Oh yeah, you like that, don't you, slut?" dad said, his hand slamming into her now bright red bum.
"Yes!" mom exclaimed
"And what do you say?" dad asked, hitting her again.
"Thank you!" she cried. Dad grabbed her ass, digging his nails in and stopped moving.
Mom squealed in pain and frustration, trying to push back into him and get the rhythm going again.
"What was that, cunt?" dad asked.
Mom writhed for a moment and then seemed to realize something. "Thank you, sir!" She called out. With that, dad resumed his work again.
"Don't forget your place, cunt!" he said.
