Nostrovia!

Then there was the expensive car. Peter's associates in LA had refused to let him drive it directly to their warehouse fearing it had electronic tracking devices, which as it turns out it did, three of them.

His LA associates insisted that they meet on neutral ground to exchange the car, so it couldn't be traced back to their location. That set them back almost an hour as their LA contact's man scanned the Corniche inside a parking structure they knew didn't have surveillance cameras.

This extra bit of drama convinced Peter that if they were going to hijack expensive cars, they needed to acquire one of the electronic devices their LA associates' man had used to debug the car and add it to their kit as well.

Peter recognized that they probably should have spent less time with the women. They should have given themselves at least an extra hour. They should have anticipated that there might be unexpected complications and delays, such as they experienced with car.

And then, finally, Peter decided to do his homework on Mr. Prescott Pretorius before their next trip to LA. Peter's gut told him that the real diamonds had been hidden somewhere else in the house, and probably the stock certificates and bearer bonds too.

Even the brief Google search he had done on Pretorius as he sat waiting for their connecting flight back to Russia revealed that the Afrikaner prick was a highly connected player in the South African diamond industry. Peter knew he errored in not Googling the sonofabitch on Pretorius' own computer at the house soon after they subdues him and his women.

"I'll be seeing you, cocksucker!" mouthed Peter under his breath in Russian as he took another sip of coffee and finished his simit.

"What's that?" asked Arseny turning from his conversation with Pavel.

"Nothing," replied Peter. "I'm just talking to myself, thinking out loud."

Arseny nodded his head and resumed his conversation with Pavel. They were arguing the finer points regarding which of the women had been the better fuck the night before.

Peter's cellphone rang and he was surprised to see that it was LA calling again.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Peter.

"We have a question," said the man. Peter recognized the voice as the tech who swept the Corniche for trackers.

"OK," replied Peter. "What is it."

"I was checking the tracking devices I removed from the car," said the man, "and one of them was pinged by that guy Pretorius."

"Yeah, well it was his car," said Peter somewhat irritated with the call. "What's the point?"

"Well, he seems to have magically pinged it while you said he was drugged and unconscious in the closet. It was right after you left," replied the man. "Are you sure he was out?"

"Yeah, he was out," said Peter defensively. "Besides, if he wasn't out, he would have had the police all over us, if he was tracking his car."

"Well OK, I suppose you're right," conceded the man reluctantly. "And besides, the car is already in a container and on its way."

"Let me know if you find anything else that looks strange," asked Peter, not wanting to take any chances. "I'm glad you're being so thorough. Thanks."

The man had given Peter something else to think about. If that prick Pretorius hadn't swallowed the pills and had been playing dead, why hadn't he called the police. After thinking about it for a couple of minutes, the answer seemed obvious to Peter.

The bastard was going to file an insurance claim on the jewelry. If Peter and his crew had been caught by the police with the paste, he wouldn't have been able to do so. That Afrikaner bastard was actually going to make money off of THEIR robbery!

"Motherfucker!" seethed Peter.

"What?" asked Arseny, sounding alarmed.

"Nothing," said Peter. "Just something I'll deal with later."

~~~~~

"Well ladies, you have both progressed rather nicely," said Dr. Patel enthusiastically, as he continued to delicately examine both Lisbeth and Lauren's breasts with his hands. He had surgically enhanced both women's breasts four weeks earlier and this was their third follow up exam. He was excited because they were his first mother-daughter clients.

"Does that mean we don't have to wear these god-awful bras anymore," asked Lisbeth irritably. She had not wanted to have her breasts enhanced in the first place, and certainly not her daughter's. But Prescott had insisted on it and had coerced them into doing it, threatening them with embarrassing photos and videos.

"Your implants have dropped nicely into place, and they are fluffing beautifully, responded the plastic surgeon proud of his work. "There should be no further need for you to wear the post-surgical bras from now on."

"So we can go braless from now on?" asked Lauren hopefully. Lauren had been more enthusiastic about the idea of having her breasts enhanced than her mother. A couple of her classmates had already had theirs done. For the clique of girls she hung out with, getting a 'boob job' was a sort of rite of passage into adulthood.

Lisbeth listened to the doctor only half-heartedly, as she allowed her mind to wander back and think about how they found themselves in his office in the first place.

For Lisbeth, it was her daughter's enthusiasm that had finally softened her resistance and moved her to relent to her husband's coercion. But the fact that he was blackmailing her with still photos and videos of their night with the Russians was the ultimate motivation, Lisbeth realized.

Prescott had threatened to distribute the provocative images to both she and her daughter's closest friends if they didn't get the boob jobs, as he called them. He had also threatened to use the materials if they didn't accede to his other demands as well.

Her daughter now shared their bed on a nightly basis, and she had become a regular participant in the trysts and orgies with his circle of friends. At this point, both she and her daughter were little more than her husband's concubines, his sex slaves.

Her husband had put the proposition to them rather simply a couple of weeks after the night with the Russians. They would either agree to his sexual demands and continue living in the lavish lifestyle to which they had both become accustomed, or they would be turned out on the street and the photos and videos would find their way to their friends.

"Well, not exactly," Lisbeth heard the doctor reply to her daughter's question, as she refocused on the conversation and away from her own brooding thoughts. "I would recommend that you wear a sports bra or some other sort of bra that doesn't have underwires for at least the next month or so."

"All the time? Like we had to wear these ones?" whined Lauren plaintively.

"No, after another couple of weeks you can start taking them off at night," encouraged Dr. Patel. "But on the bright side, starting immediately, you can go braless for two or three hours at a time."

"So if we go out to dinner and a bra wouldn't be appropriate with the dress we are wearing, we can lose the bras?" asked Lisbeth, rejoining the conversation and wanting to make sure she understood what he was saying.

"Yes, that's right," answered the doctor. "And you can forego the bras in intimate situations, but you need to be careful."

"You mean no rough sex," said Lisbeth sardonically. Lisbeth wasn't going to be coy about the matter. She knew that Patel hung out with her husband's friends, and that he had done the tit jobs on almost all of their wives and mistresses.

"Exactly," replied Dr. Patel. "And if you experience any problems of any sort, call my office right away."

"Thank you doctor," interjected Lauren politely, before pointedly asking, "Are you done examining me yet?"

"Yes, yes of course," sputtered Patel nervously as he removed his hands from the younger woman's breasts, embarrassed, realizing that he had let his hands linger too long.

"So, when do we see you next?" asked Lisbeth, smiling wryly as she enjoyed watching the paunchy fiftyish doctor squirm.

"I'd like to see you both in another four weeks to check on your progress," replied the doctor, having regained his customary poise. "Please see the receptionist on the way out and she'll make an appointment for you."

"So we're done?" asked Lauren expectantly. "And we don't have to put these back on. Right?"

"Yes we are done," said the doctor, smiling, "and no, you can go braless if you wish. But make sure you put your bras back on in two or three hours though. You're still healing."

"Fabulous," replied Lauren as she started to slip the sheer halter she had worn into the office back over her head.

"But remember, be careful," admonished the doctor seriously. "You don't want to do anything to damage your beautiful new breasts."

Dr. Patel turned and looked at his nurse, who was standing next to him as the women put on their matching halters and slipped off the edge of the examination table.

"My nurse will follow you out and she'll provide you with some additional information on the care of your breasts," said Patel. "And she'll also give you some information on the types of bras that would be appropriate for the next few weeks."

"Thank you, doctor," was Lisbeth's perfunctory response as she watched Patel move toward the door.

"Thanks," added Lauren.

"Good day ladies, and good luck with your new breasts," replied the doctor as he nodded to the two women and left the room.

As Lisbeth walked out of the examination room, she was happy to have the unwanted breast enhancement behind her. She had been adamantly against the surgery from the outset and had primarily gone along because of Prescott's blackmail threat.

Now that Prescott had she and her daughter firmly under his thumb, Lisbeth was helpless to shield Lauren from her husband's lustful desires and other demands. Both she and her daughter's lives had changed drastically since the home invasion, and not for the better.

Lisbeth could see that being used as a sex object by a man she hated was taking its toll on her daughter. At the moment, she felt helpless to do anything about it. If he sent the photos and videos to everyone in their circle of friends that would make both of them the objects of continuous gossip, ridicule and scorn.

But that wasn't the only reason Lisbeth agreed to the procedure. Lauren's enthusiasm for having her breasts enhanced had also influenced Lisbeth's decision. Anything that boosted her daughter's self-esteem after the ordeal she had gone through with the Russian's was worth a try as far as Lisbeth was concerned. And if having her breasts enlarged accomplished that, Lisbeth was willing to go along.

Lisbeth knew that her daughter's psyche was fragile at the moment, particularly because her husband's relentless and humiliating sexual demands. What really weighed on Lauren was having to participate in the debauched trysts and orgies with her husband's friends. They were all much older than Lauren and they tended to treat her like a paid whore rather than an equal participant.

But putting that aside, if Lisbeth was completely honest with herself, she also realized that her own self-confidence had needed a boost. She too had been traumatized by the way the Russians had abused her like a common whore, molesting her in ways she had never imagined having to endure.

Taking stock of her appearance in the large mirror in the foyer as they left the doctor's office, Lisbeth had to admit, she liked the new more voluptuous version of herself staring back at her. And she also liked the way men had begun looking at her again with increased, and that helped salve her frayed ego. She hoped the same was true for her daughter.

~~~~~

Since they were both feeling upbeat as they left the doctor's offices, Lisbeth and Lauren decided on the spur of the moment to have lunch nearby and then go shopping. They would look for new clothes that would show off their new breasts in the shops along Rodeo Drive, before returning home. New bras were at the top of their shopping list.

Dr. Patel's office was located among the cluster of plastic surgeon's offices in the triangular wedge where Santa Monica and Wilshire Boulevards met just west of Rodeo Drive. When Lisbeth and Lauren left his offices, they headed to lunch at one of the nearby restaurants and then went shopping along Rodeo before heading north toward The Flats and home.

Since their traumatic encounter with the Russians three months earlier, neither mother or daughter felt particularly safe when they were out in public, either individually or together. Spending most of their time at home hadn't been a conscious decision, but it had reflexively become their normal routine.

When they did go out in public, it was generally together or when Prescott forced them to accompany him so he could show off his two scantily clad fuck toys.

As they sat in the restaurant waiting for their lunch to be served, Lisbeth noticed that her daughter's mood had become subdued again. She had seemed so happy at the doctor's office and that had encouraged Lisbeth.

But now, her daughter seemed to be morose again. Lisbeth sensed there was something troubling her. Over the last few months Lisbeth had watched with alarm as her daughter's easy smile disappeared from her youthful face, and she had watched Lauren's eyes become pools of blue ice, like her own.

Looking at her daughter now across the table was like looking in a mirror. Her daughter too, had become a graceful statue made of cold marble. Lauren's easy smile and youthful joy of life were gone. Gone also was the bounce in her step, replaced by the calculated moves of a runway model who knew she was constantly on display.

Like her mother, Lauren had become a well-kept sex object, reconciled to her new circumstances. And Lisbeth could see the hopeless resignation in her daughter's face, just as she saw it in her own eyes when she looked in a mirror.

"You were so happy a while ago," said Lisbeth, reaching across the table and squeezing her daughter's hand. "Why so glum?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about Abigail, Betsy and Tiffany," replied Lauren sullenly. "They're moving into their apartment on campus today."

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry I couldn't talk Pres into changing his mind," consoled Lisbeth. "There was no moving him on that. He..."

"I know," sighed Lauren. "I scratched his face and kicked him in the eye...and his balls! I get it."

"I'm so sorry, baby," comforted Lisbeth. "Not letting you go to college with your girlfriends was his way of punishing you. He wanted his pound of flesh."

"Yeah, well he is getting his pound of flesh," replied Lauren moodily. "And whenever he wants it too! Both him and his friends!"

"I know, baby," commiserated Lisbeth. "But we just need to hang in there. This won't go on forever. I promise."

"What new horrors does he have planned for tonight," asked Lauren, changing the subject.

"He didn't tell you?" asked Lisbeth, surprised by her daughter's question.

"No," replied Lauren. "He was in a hurry, and he said I should ask you."

"Oh, OK," responded Lisbeth, knowing her daughter wouldn't like what she was about to hear. "Apparently I'm spending the night with the general. His wife is out of town."

"You like him," asked Lauren pointedly. "Don't you?"

"Well―as a matter of fact―yes I do," replied Lisbeth. "He is a good lover, and he treats me well. He's not like your fa―like my husband and his other friends."

"Yeah, I like the gentle way he fucks me too," said Lauren. "He always seems to be able to make me cum."

"I don't know that is something you should be telling your mother," giggled Lisbeth, sensing the absurdity of this mother-daughter conversation.

"Why not," giggled Lauren, "you always make me cum too!"

Mother and daughter smiled at each other over the table as they squeezed each other's hands a bit more tightly.

"And you do the same for me," replied Lisbeth, a bit more seriously. "At least we have each other. Right?"

"Right!" replied Lauren, squeezing her mother's hand again. "But you didn't answer my question. What fresh new horror awaits me tonight?

"Pres wants you to himself tonight," replied Lisbeth, almost apologetically. "Do whatever he wants. Please, baby! I won't be there to run interference for you. Promise me, baby!"

"Don't worry," replied Lauren grimly. "What could he possibly do to me that he hasn't already. He and his friends have used me just like the Russians. What could be worse?"

"I guess you're right, baby," reassured Lisbeth. "But just try not to get him mad. Please!"

"I prom―" Lauren started to say as the waiter dropped their entrees and refilled their wine glasses from the bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé in the wine bucket.

For the remainder of lunch, the two women planned their shopping excursion along Rodeo Drive. Eventually, they agreed that each of them should pick out five or six new outfits to their individual tastes, and that the other would buy the matching outfit as well so they could always be twins when they were out in public together. There was something about dressing as twins that both women found comforting and reassuring. That Pres liked them dressed as a matched set didn't hurt either.

They also decided to stop by Luxe on Camden Drive too, so they could pick out three or four new matching sets of boudoir lingerie. While it bothered them that they were objectifying themselves by wearing such sexy clothing, their vanity still compelled them to be the most desirable women during their group trysts.

~~~~~

The general's driver had picked up Lisbeth an hour ago after they finished dinner. Lauren and her stepfather were alone in the house now.

Pres was already at home when Lisbeth and Lauren got back from shopping and had insisted that they model the new lingerie for him. He had liked one outfit in particular. It was black and had a sort of BDSM vibe to it, but without the garish leather and chains.

The bras circled their breasts with pentagon shaped black straps leaving their lush orbs accessible and hanging free. The matching corset held up the black fishnet stocking on their long shapely legs. Five inch stilettos and crotchless panties completed both women's sexy outfit.

Pres insisted that they both wear the outfit that night. Other than her thigh length jacket, the outfit was all Lisbeth wore when she left for her evening with the general.

Dinner had been a quick affair before Lisbeth left and Pres excused himself to take a shower soon afterward, leaving Lauren to clear the plates and ready herself for the evening alone with the man she despised.

After showering, Lauren did her hair. Like her mother, it was now cut short, falling just below her chin line, with both women wearing it swept back over their ears. As Lauren sat at her dressing table blow drying her hair and coiffing it sexily, the way Pres insisted they wear it, she couldn't help but notice that she was starting to look more like her mother with every passing day.

As she looked at herself, what concerned Lauren wasn't just that she looked like her mother, it was that she was morphing into her mother. Like her mother, she had become a sex toy for wealthy and powerful men. She lived a life of luxury and wanted for nothing, but she had no life of her own anymore―just like her mother.

And just like her mother, she felt trapped and unable to do anything about it, lest she lose the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. For both women, their hedonistic lifestyle was something neither was willing to abandon.

Lauren finished applying her makeup and began attaching her body jewelry. Also like her mother, her nipples and labia were pierced now. Tonight she would wear her Black Onyx jewelry, with the black gemstones hanging from each of her nipples and from her labia. A larger onyx stone would also fill her belly button.