I gasped.
Mom gasped too. “Miranda, not here!” gazing around at all the people within earshot.
Ellie added fuel, “Wine bottle, hey Miranda? Good to know.”
Miranda shrugged, turned to me and said, “That was the night your mother became my Mistress.”
Ellie shook her head. “I can’t fucking believe you didn’t come to me, Alexis.”
Mom apologized, “It wasn’t planned, Mistr….” She suddenly froze when she realized what she’d almost said.
“Go ahead, Alexis, say the words your body and mind are dying to say,” Ellie ordered, moving closer to her.
I grabbed Mom’s hand and pulled her away toward the front entrance.
Ellie called out, “It’s only a matter of time Alexis, you know you’re mine.”
Mom was trembling when we got outside. “I won’t last the weekend, Curtis. Now that she knows I’m playing with girls again she’ll be relentless.”
“Do you want to submit to her, Mom?” I asked, trying to be caring under the bizarre circumstances.
“Yes! No! I don’t know,” she answered, frustrated.
“Tell me about Cancun,” I instructed.
“It was a crazy night,” Mom said, shaking her head even as her eyes lit up at the memory.
“That good?” I questioned.
“Depends how you look at it,” Mom shrugged.
“Tell me,” I ordered.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Mom said, grabbing my hand as if we were a May-December couple, which in Vegas wasn’t that out of the ordinary. In truth, we had a complex relationship. When I asserted myself I could order her to do anything I wished: could humiliate her, call her filthy names, give her facials, you name it and she loved it; but when she chose she could switch at the drop of a hat and be my loving, nurturing, assertive Mother again. So even as she was leading me down the Strip, she also began obediently narrating one of the most extreme and embarrassing nights of her life from her college days when she had been Ellie’s willing sex slave.
The first night in Cancun I met a guy at the bar and ended up back at his hotel where we had sex. It was my first time with a guy since I’d submitted to Ellie and when I returned to the hotel the next morning she was furious. She ranted: “This trip was about you and me Alexis, not about you being a fucking skank.”
I apologized profusely, feeling overwhelming guilt as if I had cheated on her, which I had. Any sexual activity whatsoever, even including a quiet masturbation session alone was considered cheating if I didn’t have my Mistress’ specific permission. But a few drinks with a hot hunky guy and his promise to me, “Once we’re alone I’ll do anything you say, Mistress… anything!” had gone completely to my head. He’d kept his promise and the night had been empowering and fabulous! But now it was time to pay. In a way I didn’t even mind: I loved being degraded and punished by my impetuous Mistress. The look of fury on her face only enhanced my delicious guilt and made me willing to do anything I could to make her happy.
I remember her saying, “You need to be punished don’t you, my pet.”
I eagerly agreed, happy just to see her anger fade and inwardly looking forward to my humiliation.