Dominated By My Daughter 1

Dominated by My Daughter

By Susan Greenway

[This story features bodily functions and involves significant discipline. There are also references to wearing soiled underwear. If any of these subjects offend you, please read no further. All characters are over 18.]

When I think about how my daughter came to have disciplinary authority over me, her mother, none of the usual issues that you hear about when this happens apply this time. I didn't forget to pick her up after school, or get her to school late for her exam, or get stopped for speeding and/or driving under the influence.

It turned out that although I had imposed non-physical punishments when I felt she had misbehaved, I am at heart a submissive, turned on by being dominated. Since my fantasy was to be taken charge of by another woman, my 19-year-old daughter, already working while attending college, was the perfect person to fulfill what was my dream.

I realized all this one day when I found myself apologizing to her for forgetting her birthday. When she asked me rather snippily if there was some reason this had happened, I surprised myself by my silent but blushing response.

"Grace," I said, "I need someone to be in charge of me. If there would be someone who did that--and who would remind me of things I need to be aware of and do, I'd function far better."

"Would this include disciplining you when you fail to do the things you should be doing?" she asked, still not sure of how I might respond.

"Yes, Grace," I said without emotion. "It may sound strange, but I still recall once when we had just married, that your father was really annoyed because I had neglected to have his shirts laundered, and he just took me across his knee and spanked me good and hard."

"You'd be willing to subject yourself to my spanking you?" she followed up, wanting to make sure I was not pulling a number on her.

"Yes," I responded, "I would. Just the thought of that happening arouses me and also makes me want to do what I should so that I avoid being disciplined, but I know I will fall short and thus expect to have my panties lowered for punishment."

My husband--her father--is hardly ever home these days. It's not that he and I have drifted apart, it's that his work has him travelling a huge amount of the time--we've become accustomed to seeing him at lengthy intervals. Until I mentioned the shirts incident to her, I suspect she thought he had never spanked me, which may be why I now feel such a need to be taken charge of by her.

After that conversation, she told me that she was assuming the role I clearly desired her to play. She would keep track of how I met the expectations she had set. She emphasized that we would have a time every Friday where she and I would discuss my behavior and my performance for the preceding week.

Since Grace was attending college, we agreed that I bore primary responsibility for maintaining the order and cleanliness of the house, doing the shopping, and preparing meals. She would inform me when she expected to be otherwise engaged and would thus miss meals.

We then discussed my clothing and behavior. It clearly was her intention to exercise her authority in specifying in detail how I should dress. She said that she expected me to wear short skirts rather than pants or pantsuits. I also would have to wear full brief panties, preferably white. Unannounced panty inspections would be conducted, with punishments to follow in the event of failure.

At our first Friday discussion of her behavior that week, Grace went through what she felt were deficiencies in my conduct. There were unwashed dishes left in the sink on several evenings. I knew that when she conducted the first unannounced panty inspection, I was wearing panties that clearly had been worn the previous day. She added in a deprecating tone that there were several kinds of stains in them.

Personal hygiene was a priority, she stressed, and because there were obvious pee and poo stains, I would be made to present my privates--yes, my vulva and anal areas!--for further inspection. She saw my face turn red with her announcement of this severe indignity I would now suffer.

I immediately stood, however, and lifted my skirt. She could see that I had put on clean white panties, which she lowered by pulling down from the waistband. They were taken about halfway down my thighs. She next had me spread my legs lewdly and then perform a true act of submission: holding my labia open for vaginal and vulval inspection.

Closer scrutiny showed that I had clearly wiped my vulva after urinating and there were no pee stains in the gusset of my panties. There was a trace of brown, however, toward the rear of the gusset and she had me bend forward and hold my bottom cheeks apart. She then put a plastic glove on her hand and, for the first time, someone other than me inserted her forefinger into my anus.

When she withdrew it, she examined her gloved finger and saw some more traces of brown on the glove. She embarrassingly told me that I was expected to clean my anal area, including pressing toilet tissue or a cloth into my anus so that any remaining fecal matter would be picked up. She asked me if I needed to use the toilet.

I had to reply, shamefacedly, that I did. When she asked me what I needed to use the toilet to do, I answered quietly that I needed to make a doody and pee. She said I could use the toilet now but that she would accompany me, adding that I could leave my panties where they were on my thighs.

When we reached the bathroom, I sat on the toilet and asked if I could go ahead and pee. She said I could, and a loud stream emanated from my peehole emerging from my vulval slit. I said her finger had stimulated my system and that I would like to be able now to defecate.

Grace said that I would now have to turn round on the toilet so she could see me making my doody. I grimaced but did what I was told. She said she found it very arousing to watch as my little hole pooched out and a large brown sausage slowly emerged. It was bumpy and hurt coming out of my anal opening.

After it dropped into the toilet, she had me stand so she could view it. It was big--about 2 in. thick and 10 in. in length. She told me to sit back down and wipe myself. I knew I must show her the toilet tissue after each wipe. The first one had lots of poo on it and some yellow from where I rubbed my urethral opening.

"Any kind of stain in your panties will mean a spanking for you, missy," Grace announced very firmly.

When we returned to my bedroom, she told me that if on any Friday, it turned out that I had been naughty enough during the week to require disciplining, I would have to wear a punishment uniform. I would wear this for the next day, too, even if we had visitors in the house.

My punishment uniform was a noticeably short white skirt that barely covered my bottom. Instead of regular panties, I would wear a pair of pink pettipants under my skirt. They looked like bloomers to me. The outfit was completed with a Peter Pan-collared blouse, a white training bra, little white socks, and brown Mary Jane shoes.

She had obviously given some thought to this project in the event that it actually became real, which it now had.

"I will not tolerate any bad behavior from you," Grace lectured me. "If need be, you will lose the privilege of wearing panties and will be put into diapers. We can also find a crib for you to be put in to sleep as a further degree of punishment. And I will have a pair of pajamas with a dropseat so it will be easy to spank you if you are naughty at night."

For now, I was quite pleased that I was allowed to remain each night in my own bed. Grace gave me a sheet where I would make an entry every time I peed or defecated. I had to describe the length, thickness, firmness, and color of my bowel movement, as well as the color and volume of my pee.

Grace asked me when I had my last period and when my next one was due. I told her I had one two weeks before and would have one in another two weeks. My face became red as I went on to tell her that at age 49, I had begun perimenopause. This meant that my periods would become scantier and irregular until I entered full menopause, when they would cease entirely.

She followed up by asking what kind of protection I used for my period.

I was blushing again because no one had ever asked me these kinds of questions except for a gynecologist. I told her that as my periods became less lengthy and less frequent, I was starting to use the new period panties that allowed me to go without a tampon, pad, or menstrual cup.

"I think it's time for your weekly maintenance spanking, Mom," Grace told me. "This one will also be for your omissions in keeping yourself and the house clean and tidy," she added. Then she sat herself in an armless chair and patted her skirted lap in a clear sign for me to lay across her tweed skirt.

I assumed this ignominious position and felt that my bottom must be sticking up and looking huge to her. She did not waste time on any further discussion as she began spanking me. Her spanks were hard ones right from the beginning. She alternated cheeks but then spank one cheek about six times in a row. I was hurting. Then I felt her run her finger down my anal crack and through the furrow between my legs.

"You're quite wet down there," Grace observed with a slight grin. "I suppose being spanked is in some way a turn-on for you. If that's right, just let me know and I'll spank you more often and harder."

"No, dear," I responded warily. "I can't help it if my body responds to stimulation. I just think of you staring at my privates and then rubbing me there and I get all aroused. All of this turns me on, for better or worse," I felt compelled to respond.

Grace now took a long, thin butt plug from her handbag. It was thin enough, so it went into my anal opening easily, but I definitely was constantly aware of it being in there. I suddenly found I now was terribly frightened that it might slip out into my panties. I asked Grace if that was something she'd punish me for, since I couldn't really hold it in.

"Oh, but you can hold it in, Mom," she remarked cattily. "You hold it in the way you hold your doody in, so you don't poop your panties."

As if that weren't humiliating enough, a few minutes later, Grace's friend Valerie came by. Grace didn't hesitate to explain to her that I was wearing my punishment clothing because I had "been a bad girl today."

"Bad girl?" Valerie asked as if she weren't aware that Grace had mentioned to her how she now was my dominatrix.

"Yes," Grace said assuredly, "Mom needs to be humiliated, and she gets her rocks off--when she is allowed to do that--from being spanked and dominated in general."

Valerie grinned widely and whispered into Grace's ear.

"Oh, of course, Val," Grace now said. "You may discipline Mom in any way you'd like."

I trembled at what might be in store for me next. I didn't get any calmer when I saw Valerie take a small graphite rod out of her large handbag.

"I've found this to be just the right size to fit into my handbag and be there when I'm called on to use it on naughty bottoms," Valerie observed. She summarily told me in no uncertain terms to stand in front of her as she wielded her rod.

Valerie lifted my little punishment skirt and drew down the humiliating pink bloomers. She took a look at my pubic triangle and remarked to Grace, "So you've allowed her to keep her fuzz down there?"

Grace laughed and said, "She's so out of fashion that I just love looking at her bared in front. I'm thinking of alternating her punishment undies--those bloomers--with some wonderfully tight little panties that would put her cameltoe on constant display."

I felt my vagina oozing fluid from my arousal by these comments. Valerie told me to bend over her lap; she then grasped the end of the plug sticking out of my bottom and yanked it out of my anus. That really didn't hurt, possibly because the removal was accomplished so quickly that the plug pulled a sheen of my doody out with it.

"Oh, Grace," Valerie cried in her own excitement at this ultimate humiliation I was suffering, "do look at the poopoo that came out during my extraction of your plug. What a lovely shade of light brown!"

She told me now to open my mouth as she inserted the soiled plug into my open mouth. As I'd never before tasted my own poo, by my choice or forced by others, it was a shock--even though I've heard your own doesn't stink, this tasted foul, and I somehow managed not to spit it out or vomit.

Valerie then began applying her little rod to my bare bottom. It hurt like hell. I'd not ever been caned before and this was as close as I'd gotten. I suspected Grace had definite plans to introduce me to that scary implement though, and soon.

I felt a constant sting now from my bottom as Valerie kept firing her rod on my buttocks. But I felt even worse listening to Valerie describe how she dominated her own mother.

"My mother had always treated me terribly," she told Grace, who might now say I'd been a bad mom but who knew I didn't begin to compare with those like Valerie's mother, whom I didn't even know.

"I didn't get my period until I was 15," she continued, "and I was a real doofus since she had never mentioned that I would start menstruating one day. I felt some wetness in my panties and when I went to the girls' room at high school, I almost panicked until I realized that this was my first period."

"I told her when I got home and she got out an old Kotex belt that I think she had worn when growing up," Valerie explained to Grace. "She showed me how to attach a tabbed napkin to it and pull it up between my thighs to go between my legs and catch the 'flow' coming out of my pussy. I knew right away that this sucked because the napkin didn't stay where it should, so my panties got plenty of my menstrual fluid in the crotch and some of it came out the sides and stained my skirt or my slacks, yecch!"

"My best girlfriend was truly nice about it and showed me how to stick a Tampax in my hooha," Valerie said with a red face from relating all this stuff to Grace with me as a necessarily interested bystander. "I've used them ever since and I don't think much about it anymore because I always have a tampon or two in my handbag."

Grace agreed that periods were no fun and asked me to discuss my menstrual situation. I blushed deeply and said I was of an age where my periods were getting farther apart and scantier. I confessed that the worst part was not always knowing when even my diminished flow would occur.

"She's a perfect woman to use the new period panties because they clearly are strong enough to take her smaller amount of fluid," Valerie opined as my face grew redder. "Grace, get her some Thinx or Design Comfort: the first are expensive but they work well; the second are flimsier but get her the maxi leakproof ones and they'll keep her covered."

A day later, Grace came home carrying a small package. She insisted that I watch her open it. She did that and removed what looked like a small elastic belt. Suddenly, I realized what it was: an old Kotex belt like the one Valerie's mom had given her to use during her first period.

"Valerie was kind enough to give me this for you to wear during your periods," Grace informed me. "She has a thing about them and has managed to get hold of a few from women her mom's age. She also knows how to find tabbed sanitary napkins as they used to call them and gave me some of those for you."

"Thanks, Grace, and thank Val for me, please," I responded with as much sincerity as I could muster. "I do think the period panties--the Thinx, for example--might be better, but I'll do what you say, dear."

"I think the way you're behaving means you need a little spanky time, Mom," Grace snapped, "so let's have that skirt up and your panties down right now."

I of course complied and was now across my daughter's lap. This was getting to be something that was happening increasingly frequently.

Grace began spanking me and gradually delivered stronger spanks. She would let her finger move down between my legs now and then. This led to her commenting on how wet I'd become down there. She would also finger my bottom-hole and sometimes, she'd feel the tip of my impending bowel movement inside. It was hard for me to get past the excruciating embarrassment I would feel when her finger touched the tip of my doody like that. It did make me get wetter, though.

Once when Grace's finger touched my poo inside my rectum, she decided that I should now squat and have my movement right there on the floor. This was a supreme humiliation for me. I squatted as I felt my doody slide out of my asshole and then fall off on the newspaper Grace had thoughtfully set down beneath me.

The whole experience made me feel like a pet. Grace was little by little removing what I'd never thought of as privileges: like using a toilet to piss or poop. I felt even worse when my next period arrived. Grace told me I would not be permitted to use tampons or even maxipads or liners. She helped me put on and adjust the elastic Kotex belt and then attached a fresh tabbed napkin front and back.

I felt like I was wearing a diaper, but one which shifted, so I never knew if I might bleed onto my panties or even my skirt or slacks. Grace told me that Val had said that some women didn't wear panties when they used the belt, so she suggested that I should try going without panties. I didn't like this but that was the way it was going to be. If the napkin slipped, I'd bleed right out from between my legs onto the floor, a chair in which I was sitting, or in bed.

For the first day, Grace would have me lift my skirt so she could see if my sanitary napkin had shifted. If my napkin had shifted and exposed my vaginal opening, Grace said I had earned a whipping of my naughty pussy. She made me spread my legs and hold my labia open. Then she would use a small soft whip between my legs and labia. She didn't hit hard, but it was so embarrassing and also hurt.

Grace had acquired a toilet seat mounted on four metal legs from a medical supply store. She now started to have me lie on my back under the seat before she would sit on it, and I was staring up into her crotch. Without any warning, her urethra might open and release a stream of hot pee into my open mouth. Grace's pee was very pungent in the morning but less so later on. Soon I was in my servile position when she let out a few farts into my face.

I watched as her little anal opening pooched as a large movement slowly emerged and eventually dropped on my face. It was medium brown in color and thick. It smelled horrible. Grace didn't make me take it into my mouth, but she let it stay on my face for a while. Then I was told to toss it into the toilet after wrapping it in toilet tissue to pick it up. I was then ordered to lick her clean between her legs from her urethral opening back to her messy anus.

Later that day, Grace told me she had a date that night. I was not told anything about her date and when the doorbell rang, she told me to go to my room. I was on my own for several hours and later that evening, Grace returned. She had had a few drinks.

"Yes, Mom, I had a great time and a royal fucking," she boasted. "I'm going to sit down here and pull down my panties so you can receive the cream from my pussy."

I got on my knees as I faced her pretty shaved pussy. Then she spread her legs, and I quickly got my mouth on her pussy as the cream from her fucking--her juices mixed with his cum, I supposed--began to stream from her hole. I thought that I had sunk to a new lower level--I was now cleaning my daughter's pussy with my tongue after she had been fucked. It did arouse me greatly and I felt totally wet down between my own legs.