Foster Daughter Ch. 03

"Come here," she said, "and show him how you worship me with your tongue."

I bent my head and crawled to my teenage mistress, the girl who a few short days ago had been my foster daughter Rachel, but who I now addressed as Mistress Rachacael. Her long slim brown legs were spread open as she lounged on the sturdy off-white faux-leather recliner that had always been, by unspoken decree, my husband Craig's chair, and in which, before this weekend, she or I always only temporarily sat until he claimed his rights.

Behind me, I heard Craig struggling against his bonds and making furious noises in his throat, but the gag in his mouth was too tight to allow him to articulate anything. I felt almost sorry for him, watching me, his wife by law and under God, crawl on my hands and knees naked to where the eighteen-year-old black girl we had taken in three years ago sat with a lazy, contemptuous smile on her full lips. Her glistening brown pussy was open to the air, although with every movement of my hands and knees across the family room carpet I drew closer to covering it up with my mouth.

I wanted to tell Craig that it was useless to struggle, that he might as well submit, that Mistress Rachacael got whatever she wanted in the end. But I was not permitted to speak unless spoken to, and I knew he would not listen to me anyway.

My tongue reached out and made contact with her divine lips, and everything else faded away from the edges of my consciousness. This was all that mattered, this glorious, juicy pussy, this endless font of sweetness and delight, this treasure with which my mistress had first ensnared me, the hope of which compelled me to obey, the terror of losing access to which spurred me to dare anything no matter how awful. I licked, and savored, her sweetness.

If I could have spared a thought for Craig in that moment, I could only have envied his view: my round ass in the air, my reddish-pink pussy exposed, its juices dribbling down the insides of my thighs at the ecstasy which lay beneath my tongue, while my head bobbed in eager laps between our gorgeous young foster daughter's legs.

"That's right, mommy-slut," cooed Rachacael. "Lick your black daughter's juicy pussy. Bury your face into it like it's the last meal you'll ever get. Whose dirty little fuckslut are you?"

"Yours, Mistress Rachacael," I said obediently, my mouth full of her.

"Whose command will you obey without thinking?"

"Yours, Mistress Rachacael."

"Whose sweet chocolate pussy is the delight of your life, your only reason for living, the cause of you leaving your husband and the church and everything you've ever known behind?"

"Yours, Mistress Rachacael," I said, and couldn't help moaning slightly as my knees weakened. The fact that Craig was watching, helpless to intervene, to punish, to express his displeasure, made me almost as giddy with delight as her taste did; but it wasn't because I had looked forward to it or ever had any idea that it would happen. It was purely because it was her idea, and she was loving this, and anything that made her happy made me doubly or triply so.

Craig was yelling something hoarsely against the gag now -- I thought I could make out the cadence of the word "abomination" -- but I continued to lick placidly, contentedly, paying as little attention to him as I would to to the weather in a distant country. Rachacael had said nothing about making her come, so I did not try: feasting on her sweet warm folds was its own pleasure for me, a necessity I craved more than food or water or air, and if I made her come she would make me stop. So I lapped slowly and lazily, burying my face in her so that I could eke out every drop of moisture from her depths while engaging as little of the friction that would bring her closer to climax as possible.

I heard her sigh contentedly, and my pussy convulsed at the sound, and leaked another dribble down my thighs.

"Now then," she said, in a completely normal and conversational tone. "It's time to open negotiations. Adriana-slut."

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael," said Adriana, from where she stood behind the seat that Craig was tied to, and I heard her attaché case open.

I wondered dimly what negotiations she was talking about, but since she had not seen fit to favor me with that knowledge, I continued to lick her gently, marveling as I did at how soft and velvety her young pussy was, the dark outer lips smooth and slick, and the warm pink inner folds full of all kinds of textures and pockets of sweet juices I could never get enough of swallowing. She must have just shaved, since I could not feel the usual microscopic bristles that rubbed against my nose when I pressed it against her pubic mound, and I felt both oddly disappointed, since that sensation had become so much a part of the ritual of eating her, and touched almost to the point of tears at the thought that she might have done it for my sake.

I felt rather than heard Adriana's approach on the carpet I was kneeling on, and then a rustle of paper as she handed something to my mistress.

"Item number one," said Rachacael, and she sounded like she was reading aloud. "Assets. Craig Kolicki will first waive all rights to the person and property of Karen Kolicki, née Anderson, and then settle 49% of their joint assets on her, preparatory to a filing for divorce."

Craig made a lot of noise at that, but any words he might have meant to communicate were still unintelligible through the gag that was pulling his lips apart.

"Item number two -- calm down, mommy-slut," she added, because my licks had grown more enthusiastic in spite of myself, as the shape of her plan began to come into focus for me -- "Item number two. Living arrangements. The property at----" she named our address---- "will either be transferred to Karen Kolicki, née Anderson, as a result of the 49% asset settlement, or remain the sole property of Craig Kolicki, as determined by negotiation. In either case, Craig Kolicki is no longer to reside with either Karen Kolicki, née Anderson, nor Rachacael Kennedy. An apartment has been selected on a provisional basis by counsel, where either Craig alone or Karen and Rachacael will live until Rachacael's graduation from----" she named her school---- "at which time the question of the property at----" she named our address---- "may be revisited, pursuant to Rachacael's choice in higher education."

Her voice trembled ever so slightly as she read the last words, and I slowed my licking down to a crawl. She and Adriana had been so busy! I was feeling both proud of her and a little awed; surely she had not been able to fit a consultation with a lawyer into the packed weekend schedule that I remembered.

Craig was continuing to grumble, but less enthusiastically, as if he were getting tired; even behind the gag, his voice was sounding hoarse.

"Item number three," Rachacael said, her voice steadier. "An invitation. All previous items can be rendered null and void if----" Craig was suddenly silent with attention---- "if Craig Kolicki will agree to submit to Rachacael Lashawna Midori Kennedy on exactly the same terms that Karen Kolicki, née Anderson, has."

There was a long, stupefied silence, broken only by the soft wet noise of my tongue running up and down her slit. And then Craig burst out in a fresh round of unintelligible but quite unambiguously furious invective, and I could hear the seat he was tied to thump dangerously against the carpet.

Mistress Rachacael sighed, but when she spoke again, her voice had a smile in it. The same malicious smile I remembered from the morning she had converted me.

"Very well," she said. "Mommy-slut, make me come now while he watches."

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

It had only been last Friday afternoon that Rachacael had added Adriana to her harem of sluts, moments after she had made me come only by speaking to me while Adriana fucked my ass with a thick black strap-on, After I ate Adriana out and Adriana ate Mistress Rachacael out, she had sent us to go shower, and although Adriana and I washed each other in my shower in the master bathroom, we refrained from touching each other sexually, more because our mistress had not given us permission to than because we didn't want to.

As Adriana ran her soapy hands up and down my torso, pausing to hold and weigh my breasts in her hands, she looked me in the face, her eyebrows raised in appraisal.

"She's your first, isn't she? Mistress Rachacael." She said the "Mistress" with just the slightest hint of irony in her voice, as though assuring me she could rescind it at any time.

I couldn't help blushing, and nodded.

"How are you feeling about all this?"

I was surprised by the question. Adriana's assured impatience, both on the phone and in person, had seemed to indicate that she didn't care what I was feeling. But I supposed it was different now that we both called Rachacael mistress.

"Happy," I said, surprising myself now with the choice of word. "Grateful. Anxious. Surprised. Scared. And my... bottom hurts."

She grinned wide at that, and I was surprised again to realize that her smile was beautiful. I still had trouble thinking of Adriana herself as beautiful -- almost forty years of desperately striving with diet and exercise to prevent my body from resembling her plump roundness in any way had taken a typical toll on my understanding of beauty -- but the way her smile transformed her face, freeing it from what I had always understood as a lambent scowl, made me realize that maybe there was more to her than I had ever understood. Of course, there had to be: I trusted Rachacael's judgment implicitly, and if Adriana now belonged to her, then Adriana must be almost as good as Rachacael.

"You mean your asshole hurts. Sorry about that," she said, not sounding at all sorry. "You were a bitch to me for three years, though."

I nodded, although really I had only a dim idea of what she meant. I knew, of course, that she had been quietly resistant to Craig and my attempts to turn Rachel (as we had called her) into a model of suburban Christianity, and I had surely implied, or even outright said, that neither the liberal government nor its fat Hispanic representative could stop me from doing what I was sure God wanted. No particular bitchy phrases floated to mind, but that mind had been so thoroughly rearranged by the shock of what Rachacael had done to me that it wasn't surprising that so little of my old self still lingered.

"I am so sorry," I said, as sincerely as I knew how. "I didn't know what I was doing. I'm a changed woman."

Her smile spread again, but I saw a glint of mockery in her eyes, and shivered at the sight. I hoped Rachacael would protect me from anything too awful that Adriana might ever take into her head to do to me.

"She has that effect on people," was all she said. We concluded our shared shower in relative silence, dried off one another's bodies thoroughly with towels and blow-dried one another's hair before going back out to the living room, naked, to wait for our mistress.

Rachacael eventually emerged wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt which was just small enough that her prominent nipples protruded through the fabric. Adriana and I exchanged glances but said nothing as we slid to our knees in her presence.

She nodded. "Good girls."

I heard Adriana's breath catch at that, and knew she was feeling the same exquisite pulse in her nethers that I did at the phrase. I couldn't help smiling a tiny smile at how deeply Rachacael controlled us both.

"Adriana-slut," said Rachacael, regarding us with even calm, "Go back up to mommy-slut's room and retrieve her phone."

Adriana got to her feet, and padded away up the stairs. Rachacael remained looking at me.

"Did you touch each other in the shower?" she asked.

"No, Mistress Rachacael. Only to get clean," I amended quickly.

"Good. Do you crave her pussy?" I hesitated, but knew I had to be honest.

"No, Mistress Rachacael. Not like yours. But I will, if you want me to."

She ran her tongue over her teeth with her mouth still closed, her eyes narrowing as she regarded me.

"I want you to crave every pussy," she said. "Every pussy that is of age," she said quickly, smirking. "You dirty lecherous creep who watches girls in the shower."

I blushed and hung my head, all the more so because Adriana had returned and heard the last words. She held my phone in her hand.

"Mommy-slut, unlock it," said Rachacael. I tapped my passcode on the phone as Adriana held it in front of me.

"Order whatever food you want with whatever app you want," said Rachacael, turning her back to me and stretching. "Mommy-slut, you will authorize any charges."

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael," I said, beginning to feel butterflies. I knew that Craig monitored my account, and I wondered if he might step out into the hallway of his leadership conference to call me about an unusual enough charge. I wondered if I ought to volunteer to make dinner instead, since there was plenty of food in the house. But I looked at my mistress's straight, slim back and knew she would have thought of that and wanted me for other things.

Adriana ordered Thai food, and I put in my password for the payment charge. Then, at a glance from Rachacael, she took her position kneeling next to me.

Rachacael sat on the arm of the couch and looked at us.

"Twenty minutes ago," she said, "I made a post on a particular app inviting any woman within a ten-mile radius over the age of eighteen to come to this address tomorrow and on Sunday in order to be eaten out by the lady of the house." She smirked at my shocked expression as the blood drained from my face.

"Eat well and stay hydrated, mommy-slut," she said. "You're going to be very busy."

The phone rang. Not my phone, the household phone, the landline. I almost started up automatically to answer it, but stopped myself at the last moment, looking at Rachacael questioningly. She looked at the phone with a faintly amused expression, and then strolled over to pick it up.

"Hello," she said. "Kolicki residence." She looked at her fingernails with a bored expression. "She can't come to the phone at the moment, can I take a message? Yes, he left this morning. He'll be back on Tuesday. Of course. I'll tell her."

She hung up and smiled her malicious, taunting smile at me. My heart was pounding. Was that someone taking her up on her insane offer on that mysterious app?

"That was your mother-in-law, mommy-slut," she said. "She wanted to know if you were doing okay. She didn't give me a reason."

I stared at her, feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of my world.

"May I call her back? Mistress Rachacael," I added, to make up for speaking without having been asked a direct question.

"Not yet. After you've had dinner, to steady your nerves." She walked up to me, and bent over to look me in the eyes.

"Listen to me," she said. "This is going to be really hard for you, I know that. But you have to do it if you want to belong to me. I'm not going to make you do anything you can't accomplish."

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael," I said. "Thank you, Mistress Rachacael."

She leaned closer, and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. I felt grateful tears spring to my eyes at the sensation.

"I like it when you thank me," she said softly. "Especially when you don't have to."

She turned away and strolled to the kitchen, where she got all three of us water, and then she and Adriana watched me in amused, curious silence while I drank.

My mind was a whirl. My mother-in-law... I had always been vaguely afraid of Patricia Kolicki. Faultlessly elegant, well-preserved, with shrewd green eyes and slate-gray hair cut sharply along her jawline, thin and graceful in a way that had always made my full bust and rear feel gauche by comparison. She had never been anything but polite to me, but I knew as surely as if she had said it out loud that she had been disappointed with her son when he married me, since my family was less well-off even though we attended the same church, and even more disappointed with me when I failed to give him children.

This call, from out of the blue -- she never called me, as was evident from the fact that she had called the landline. She must not have my cell number. How that was possible, I did not know; Craig had to have given it to his family when he opened the line, if only as an emergency contact, but evidently they thought so little of me that they didn't bother to save it.

It was transparent that she must have somehow, already, caught wind of what was going on in this house this weekend. I couldn't imagine her using any app of the kind that Rachacael would have used to make her post -- about which I was very carefully not thinking, or I might burst into overwhelmed tears -- but somehow, someone who recognized the address must have seen it, and told her. What they told her, what she knew, and what by extension everyone I had ever known must also already know by now, I had no idea. But my former life was crumbling away as simply and irrevocably as sand lapped by the tides. There was nothing left but to continue on the path laid out for me by my mistress.

I finished my drink, and looked up at Rachacael with brimming eyes.

"Are you going to be my brave little mommy-slut?" she said, her words mocking but with genuine affection in her voice.

I nodded.

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael. For you I will."

I heard Adriana's breathing grow slightly heavier at that, and dared a glance at her. She was licking her lips as she stared at Rachacael, obvious hunger in her eyes. Rachacael returned the look, and laughed.

"When I am wearing clothes, Adriana-slut, that means I am not accepting pleasure. If you want to taste me again, you will have to wait until I decide to be naked again."

Adriana lowered her head, still breathing heavily.

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael," she muttered. She glanced at me, and added, with a little smirk, "Thank you, Mistress Rachacael."

Rachacael crowed with laughter at that.

"You conniving little bitch," she said, sounding pleased. "No, sorry, I'm always going to treat you both differently. Every one of my sluts gets her own regimen."

Adriana smiled almost despite herself.

"Can't blame me for trying," she said.

"I don't," agreed Rachacael. She stood up, as a car came to park outside. "I think that's our food," she said, and went to the door.

Adriana and I remained kneeling, naked, in the living room behind her while Rachacael exchanged pleasantries with the person delivering the Thai food. Eventually she closed the door, turned around, and held out the bags to us.

"Come and get it, sluts," she said. "I'll let you sit at the dinner table while we eat."

My knees were feeling stiff and achy as I trotted over to take the bags of food from my teenage mistress' hands. Just the smell of it made me realize how ravenous I was.

Craig was the opposite of an adventurous eater, and Thai food had never been in our regular rotation, so it was with some embarrassment that I devoured the unfamiliar dishes, full of flavors I did not expect in combinations that left me spluttering for more water. Rachacael and Adriana were openly amused at my inexperience and ineptitude, while they ate with the perfect unconcern of long habit. After about half an hour though, I had to admit that the butterflies in my stomach had lessened. Rachacael was always right. I put my napkin on my plate, glanced at the phone, and looked at her questioningly. She nodded.

As I went to go to the phone, she said,

"Adriana-slut, since you want to taste me again so much, you will eat mommy-slut while she talks on the phone."

"Yes, Mistress Rachacael," said Adriana softly, and her chair scraped back from the table.

I turned and looked at Rachacael in horror, but she only raised her eyebrows at me, indicating that I should get on with it. Despairing, I lifted the receiver and dialed my mother-in-law's number, turning around and moving my feet apart in order to give Adriana access to me.