Mother and daughter

From then on, the three of them spent every evening together. The bottle of port collected dust as Paul laid in good wines. He ate the food they bought, but otherwise, the women drifted into financial dependence on him -- just as he wanted. He took them out to dinner several times a week. He paid off Ava's credit card debt ($3000) and later paid both women's health insurance. Every time he splashed out, sexuality radiated off Ava. She found endless new ways to bring herself to his attention: via her voice, through the way her hands moved over her thighs and ass and the edges of her breasts, and through other means that remained mysterious to Paul, but which had their effect.

"You are my women," he'd tell them both. Ava picked up on this right away, often declaring Emily and herself to be "his women," or sometimes, "his girls."

And the bizarre division of sex roles continued: he gave Ava's body many and varied pleasures every night, but always, once she was sated, she would ring her bell, or simply say "bell" and call out for Emily to come and take him for his own satiation. Whenever Paul hinted at a wish for full sex with Ava she became almost prim, referring to Emily as his "girlfriend" -- as though his attentions on herself did not exist.

Emily meanwhile lived up to the title she'd given herself: the queen of service. She stood behind him in the shower, giving hand jobs. He sat on Emily's lap while she did a hand job from behind. At times he sat on her upper chest and neck and flopped his cock on her face, pressing it down on her features when he'd hardened. When he screwed her she lay face up, still and slack, except for her hands around his balls and on the very base of his cock. And the blow jobs continued on demand; perfect except that she could not take him down her throat beyond the mid point of his member. She apologized for this every time, insisting that she would improve until she took him balls deep.

Ava inquired closely about Emily's performance. He soon saw that she was one hundred percent on his side, encouraging his sense of entitlement to demand whatever he wanted from her daughter, while she verbally hammered Emily (in front of him) on her need to please him -- just as she harped at her over the household chores, all of which Emily seemed to do, Cinderella-fashion.

At first he was guilty and hesitant at this one-sidedness with Emily. But, "time on spent me is time wasted," she'd reply, "unless you enjoy it. My only pleasure is in pleasing." He was aroused, but part of him wondered how deep this submission of hers went. He tried to probe now and then, watching her closely. But he couldn't get under the surface of Emily.

Bizarre though it all was, the arrangement answered some deep need in Paul. An emptiness long denied had been revealed and met. Alone and at large for long stretches during the day, he was aware of full contentment, like someone filled with a good meal who passes food halls indifferently. But if their strange relationship met his needs, it also changed him. It was as though some deep part of him had been twisted into a new shape.

His money-making needed only occasional oversight on his laptop; otherwise his time was his own. It was different for the women. Ava had to work, 8am-4pm, five days a week. Emily's studies could be done at home for the most part, but Ava insisted that she was out all day on the campus, as though she did not want her alone with Paul for any length of time.

One day Paul offered to drive Ava to work and collect her afterwards. It pleased her so much that he did it again the next day, and then it somehow became his set daily duty. He did not enjoy the peak hour traffic, but loved her still-growing dependence on him. He loved seeing her smile as she approached the car, seeing her ass sink into the seat, and he loved being enveloped in her perfume and her endless chatter. She warned him off opening the door for her when he picked her up outside her workplace ("people would talk") but he did it religiously when they'd arrived home. Emily meanwhile went to and from campus by bus, with no complaint.

He took them on outings, long and short. Once when looking ahead over a hill at a scenic viewing platform, Ava unconsciously clapped her hands on her buttocks. He told her he loved that gesture -- "so womanly". From then on, she did it often, until it became unconscious.

But one day, broodingly she said, "I'm just a piece of ass for you, aren't I?" In reply, he looked meaningfully at her cleavage. She swatted her hand downwards and turned away, in an embarrassment which was 80% pretense. He guessed that she just wanted to be as deep inside his head as she could, and being his piece of ass was part of that. And he was right, to that extent. But Ava also knew that Paul, like many men, was not in touch with his feelings. She wanted to do his feeling for him -- she wanted him to come to her for his daily fix of emotion, not struggle through to what was really in his heart. And, for his part, he liked the way she talked and talked, flooding him with her feelings about this or that, while his own capacity for independent emotion weakened from lack of exercise.

In some ways it was easy to take Emily for granted, since she abnegated herself so thoroughly. But Ava often drew Paul's attention back to her daughter. Ava talked about Emily right in front of her; at those times the girl was particularly self-annihilating.

"I don't like Emily's red hair," Ava told him one day, as they sat in the lounge room.

"But you have the same hair," he said, opening his hands, stating the obvious. Ava shook her head.

"I can carry it, I can bring it off, she can't. Paul, don't you think red is too loud for her?" She paused. "I think short hair would suit her," she went on. "Nicely cut of course."

"I know what you mean," he said, feeling compromised. It was as though he was stepping down a path Ava laid out for him -- but stepping down it anyway. "But short hair on girls never looks quite feminine to me."

She smiled, reached over and took his hand in hers.

"What a romantic boy you are. Well that's true, and if she had it short there'd be all that silly fussing over her at the hairdressers." In the chair she shifted her whole body his way. "What if she dyed it grey?"

"Like an old woman?" he nearly said, but didn't dare. The knowledge that Emily would acquiesce to their decision, whatever it was, excited him in some way. But grey hair on a 20 year old girl felt shameful -- a travesty. In the end they compromised on dyeing it black. But Ava went with her, managing all the chit-chat with the hairdresser. And Emily came back with grey hair after all. "Ash," as Emily quietly described the colour. In an odd way it did suit her, Paul thought. But later, whenever it turned red at the roots, he thought that her hair took on a strange, disturbing intensity, like a field of lava.

One of the great pleasures shared between Ava and Paul was when he took his "two girls" clothes shopping. Ava was thrilled that he paid for them, thrilled that money was now no object, though he warned her off buying costly items just for the sake of it. But Paul was quietly excited too, seeing Ava and her curves appear in ever-new outfits from the changing rooms: sometimes tasteful; sometimes not, but almost always with raw erotic power; only rarely did he find her choices ridiculous and embarrassing. For her daughter she selected nondescript items. Ava selected all the outfits to try on for herself and Emily, but nothing was purchased without Paul's nod. Emily of course took his authority for granted, but Ava accepted it too -- with a thrill of pleasure, he noticed.

The shop girls were not sure how to take Paul's presence. They were lively when the focus was on Emily, turning to see his reactions; but Emily was limp and almost indifferent, surrendering to Ava for opinions and decisions. When Ava was the one trying on dresses the shop girls blanked Paul out, or, occasionally, gave him a secret, conspiratorial smile of sympathy for being dragged along to watch the old bag's displays. But in the end, there was no disguising that his primary focus was Ava.

Ava soon discovered a consistent theme in what Paul liked most -- clothes that limited movement: off-the-shoulder or Bardot dresses with wrap-around pieces that held in the arms; pencil skirts and dresses without a slit, which enforced short steps. Pants and loose skirts or dresses, he insisted, should only be worn with high heels.

"Women complain you know," Ava said. "When they can't move freely in the clothes. They are sexy, I grant you." She gave him an ironic smile and searching stare, and saw that something important to him was in play.

"What do you like about them?"

"Feminine."

"As in, they make her helpless?"

He leant back.

"Well, her clothes should encourage a man to step forward and help her. But men's clothes and women's clothes mean different things. He wears things that look and feel OK but then he forgets the clothes cos he's doing stuff. A woman's clothes should always interrupt that and bring her focus back on her body. It should always be on her mind."

From then on, all the clothes Ava selected were restrictive in some way. Ava was willing for them to wear what Paul wanted, on one condition: only she, not her daughter, would have curve-hugging numbers, or plunging tops. Emily clothes were therefore more subdued, but just as effective in limiting her movement. Ava watched Paul's reaction to each item they put on. And she saw her hold over him grow ever-stronger.

Ava lost her job in the downsizing she'd long feared. And Emily was still studying, with no part time work to support it. Over drinks that night, Paul told them he wanted to support them both fully. There was no need for Ava to look for other work. Her payout and savings, he said, she should put away untouched. He would give her an allowance for basic weekly needs and she could come to him for all else.

"It's what I want. To support you both. Obviously you can walk away from this arrangement any time. But this is what I want."

"I would feel so dependent on you," Ava said softly.

"Be dependent on me. It's OK. It's more than OK."

Later in the night after several more drinks she said, "I want to be dependent on you."

"A real woman does want to be dependent on a man."

"O Paul. You make me feel so girlish. This is like the happy girlhood I never had."

"Be that girl."

They slipped into the arrangement with remarkable ease. Ava simply stayed home, as though the weekend after final day's work never ended.

Ava's new free time brought changes to her behaviour. Some concerned her daughter. Paul heard Ava's voice raised against Emily: he discovered that, at her mother's insistence, Emily dropped out of her course -- cancelled it altogether. Ava put unprecedented amounts of energy into the subjection of her daughter in other ways too: she was always in her ear about one thing or another. There was a new set to Ava's jaw. Emily was more closed and subservient than ever.

Very gently one day, Ava raised the prospect of his marriage to her daughter. "Don't worry," she added with feeling, "I'll always be here for you." She pointed out that he never even went to his own apartment now, except with his two women in tow.

The thought of marriage raised something cold, dark and hard in him. Marriage meant the closing down of currently infinite options, the end of different life possibilities. But one thing that didn't bother him was their special three-way arrangement; he assumed that would continue. And in truth, he could not now imagine his life without Ava at the centre of it; and he was addicted to the service her daughter emotionlessly provided.

In the end, he told Ava he would need a pre-nup: his capital would remain his own, but in the event of divorce Emily and Ava too would get guaranteed, generous allowances in perpetuity. Ava was surprisingly easy about that. And she took charge of arrangements.

The marriage, at a registry office, exposed their social isolation; the staff had to supply witnesses. Ava's friends, such as they were, had sided with her ex-husband and she'd cut them off entirely. Emily kept to herself, with her mother's encouragement. Paul too had detached from his old friends during his years obsessed with financial gain, and had no liking for the rich people he'd met since then. His father was dead he kept his distance from his siblings and mother. The three had only each other. However, all went well at the ceremony. Emily turned on her quiet gaiety, Paul did not have to feign his attraction to her, and Ava was the perfect, excited mother.

When they returned home Ava had a light in her eyes. She declared that Paul and Emily should "consummate" then and there, and for the first time she insisted on being present.

"Stay clothed," she told her daughter. And asked Paul to take a seat. Unusually, she then attended to Paul herself -- kneeling to unbuckle his belt and remove his pants and shoes. And then for the first time she grabbed his cock herself. He was hard in an instant. "Well come on down," she told Emily, irritably beckoning her to kneel before her husband. The girl obediently went to work with her hands -- one brushed Ava's hand as she withdrew in favour of her daughter. She took his cock in her mouth, managing to get a little further than half way down this time: there had been an improvement.

Ava watched from above, her mouth pressed flat in a hard, impatient line. Then she pushed the back of her daughter's head further down, and down, relentlessly. Emily choked a moment but Ava did not relent. After another moment she pressed the girl's head yet further down -- and down -- tears streamed from Emily's eyes -- but at last she was down to his base, her nose pushing against his flesh. Only then did Ava release her hand, and stand back, arms folded, still watching critically.

When he came, it was all over her face: both eyes, over her hair, over her lips and into her mouth. Added to the tears, her face was a complete mess. But her expression was one of calm equanimity.

"For a happy marriage, start as you mean to go on," Ava said with satisfaction.

That evening before bed Paul held Ava's hips from behind and kissed her neck. It was fairly normal opening gambit before bed. But softly she sent him off, telling him to spend the night with his new wife.

The next night, however, things were back to normal.

The honeymoon took the three of them to Europe. If anyone asked why he'd brought his mother-in-law along, they agreed to describe the trip as a general purpose holiday rather than a honeymoon, and to drop hints that it was funded by Ava, as a way of explaining her presence. Ava herself, who did most of the talking with other tourists, poured out this story. It flowed easily from her lips.

Until now none of them had travelled widely -- the women for lack of funds, Paul due to his preoccupation making money. So, it was all new to them. The south of France possessed charm and a cuisine they'd never dreamt of, and then came Paris, with walks along the Seine to Notre Dame. In Greece Paul beheld the Parthenon in awe, while Ava complained at the crowds and poor quality souvlakis, and Emily said little. Prague was something from a fairytale in the early mornings, until the tourist hordes emerged. But what most entranced them was Venice, with its canals, its endless, high-walled, crooked lanes of stone, its tiny ornate bridges and unchanged Renaissance exteriors.

They discovered that European wait staff in cafés and restaurants were always men, who often tried to flirt with Emily. She gave back smiles like winter sunshine, but Ava, ever-alert, demanded their attention on herself, and if they spoke over her to Emily, she put them in their place at once with a "mind your manners!" At these times Paul would lean back in his seat, meeting no-one's eye.

But Ava too had her admirers, among the older men. Paul discovered he was not in the least jealous. He urged her to live life to full, and have drinks with these men, promising pleasures to come as soon as she returned. Five times she went off for drinks with these gentlemen and twice she stayed the night.

But each time she came back jealous -- wanting exact details of all that Emily and he had done, as though Paul was under suspicion; she became intensely bossy, especially towards Emily; and, as though nervous she'd lost ground, would want Paul's hands on her, his gaze on her, and in private, weepily told him she could not live a day without him now. He was seduced all over again. The men were sent postcards later. That was all, and after each card Ava would smother Paul in affection.