This is a work of fiction. The events described here did not necessarily happen in real life.
In the first four chapters of this story, I have taken you through a day in which Elaine gets used and humiliated in various ways by complete strangers Chapters 5 and 6 (Training Elaine, Pts 1 & 2) are a prequel, in which I explain how Elaine came to be such a well-trained sub slut. In this chapter, we move on to meet Elaine's mother -- whom I affectionately label Bitch --who also shows potential as a sub slut.
Readers should be forewarned that this chapter involves BDSM and incest. If those are not your thing, read the other chapters.
It's Wednesday morning and I've just finished giving Elaine her morning fuck in my office. "Want to come over tonight?"
"God, I wish I could! But I can't."
"How come?"
"My mother is in town and I have to go over to her place. I'm dreading it."
"Really?"
"She's a bitch. We haven't gotten along in years."
"How so?"
"Well...if you really want to know. She's been a bitch ever since my father left us. She was working in a financial services firm, and she started screwing the rich clients, coming home at all hours or not coming home at all. I basically raised myself from middle school on. She finally manipulated one of them into marrying her. So she had lots of money, but we had fought so much in high school that she didn't give me any help in college -- I had to work to support myself. Rich husband died a year or so ago and left her all his money, so now she lives the life she always wanted to become accustomed to, as a rich bitch Palm Beach socialite. We've barely talked in years."
"So why are you going to see her now?"
"She called me and asked me to come over. I think she's having a guilt attack."
"So tell me more about your father."
"Mmmmm...not much to tell. He was a regional rep for an auto parts chain. Traveled a lot, so he was hardly ever home. And when he was, he spent more time with his buddies at the church than with his family."
"Really religious?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Would you like me to come to your mother's with you, as kind of a buffer?"
"Oh, god! Would you?!"
"Sure. I think I can probably handle rich bitch Palm Beach socialites better than you."
Wednesday p.m.
After work, I drive Elaine to her mother's place. Melva (the rich bitch's given name) occupies a condo in an upscale West End building when she is in town. Her permanent home is an apartment at The Breakers in Palm Beach. She buzzes us in and we take the elevator up to the eighth floor. We knock and are greeted by an almost stereotypical Palm Beach socialite. Slightly taller than Elaine, slender, with streaked bleached blonde hair pulled back at the sides and falling down over her shoulders in back. Expensive gold necklace and diamond earrings, a jewel-encrusted watch, and gold bracelets studded with precious stones on the other wrist. Her visible skin is tanned and taut -- indeed, a little too taut, hinting of a little surgical improvement of this 40+ body. Pink lipstick and eyeshadow. But her most striking feature is her tits. Not that they are especially big, but that they are so visible and stand out so prominently -- the neckline of her silky, floral-print, floor-length gown plunges down to the sash around her waist, allowing a stunning view of not just cleavage, but the sides and bottoms of her tits. No bra. And there has clearly been some surgery here. They stand out firm and proud -- and she is clearly proud of them. There is an awkward silence while I take all this in, Melva tries to figure out who this strange man ogling her is, and Elaine realizes that she needs to introduce me. Finally, she does, and Melva extends her hand in a delicate handshake, then invites us in.
"Can I get you a drink? Elaine, a little white wine? And you...?"
"I'd love a scotch if you have it."
"Is Glenfiddich OK? It's only 10 years old, but it's quite good. I think you will like it." A 10-year-old single-malt Glenfiddich? Damn right, I'll like it!
"That would be great." She pours our drinks and we settle in for small talk -- her travels, our work, the weather. We avoid politics. As Melva segues from her latest trip to Italy to her coming trip to Thailand, I pull my phone from my pocket and pretend to read a text. "Damn. That's Rob. He wants to know if I'm in the office, because he needs some data for a report that's due tomorrow. Looks like I'm going to have to abandon you ladies."
Melva puts up her hand in a please-don't-leave gesture. "Can't you stay a bit longer? We were just getting to know each other!" Elaine gives me a desperate don't-leave-me-with-this-bitch look.
"I really do have to go. He'll be in big trouble if he doesn't get this report in on time." Pause. "Well, actually. The data are in the cloud. If I had a computer, I could download them and send them to him..."
"I have a computer," Melva says brightly, clearly proud to be so tech-forward. "At least, I have a laptop -- would that work?"
"It should. Where is it?"
"It's in the other room," indicating her bedroom. "Would you like me to go get it?"
"No, no. That's fine. I'll just go in there. It should only take a few minutes. You ladies can chat."
I enter the bedroom to find an expensive laptop on a small, very ornate Louis XIV writing table. I look around to be sure I wasn't followed, then extract a flash drive from my pocket and insert it into the machine's USB slot. I open a file and click "run". As the program executes, I idly open Melva's browser and check her browsing history. Oh, my! Bigcocks.com and babesinbondage.com?! This is going to be even more fun than I expected! The program finishes loading, I click "Finish", and remove the flash drive, then return to the living room and reclaim my scotch.