He patted them appreciatively, cutting her off as she’d begun yet another tirade when he’d stopped paying attention to her mouth. “These are really great boobs, Morgz. My compliments to the good doctor. Though I guess I already tipped him, didn’t I.”
“What? Your father left me in charge of money, you little shit. Now you and your little trollop here can march right out of my room while I get dressed and decide how you’re going to be punished.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll go ahead and handle the punishments myself, if it’s all the same to you, bitch.” He tugged down her pants; her panties, equally unflattering, joined the bra on the ground. She had been the recipient of a nice bikini wax, he noted, and she even had a little black heart tattooed beside her pussy. He fingered it—the tattoo, that is—and she trembled.
“What? This is my house, young man and I will not be talked to like this or touched like—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth; her eyes bulged in shock and outrage. “One more word out of you, Morgan, and I will find a ball-gag and chain it to your fucking face, you got me?” He removed his hand; she didn’t make a peep.
“Now here’s what’s going to happen. This week—and whenever I’m around—this is my room. I let you sleep in it when I’m gone. If I have girls over, that’s my business, and you’ll stay the hell out of the way. Since your job is being my care-taker, that means when I’m here, you are my servant. You’ll cook my meals, wash my clothes and my dishes, make my bed, tidy my house—and it is my house now—and obey me instantly whenever I tell you to do something.”
He paused to give her the chance to fuck up by breaking her silence; she didn’t. “If at any time you hesitate to obey me, or show me the slightest bit of sass or defiance, I am going to… well hell, why tell you when I can show you.”
DJ opened the curtains, revealing little in the dark of evening. Still, he knew that this window was visible to half the neighborhood and anyone walking or driving by. He shoved Morgan roughly over in front of the window, then bent her over at the waist with her ass facing out. He then proceeded to spank the living shit out of her.
He’d intended to do a nice round ten swats, but he stopped counting in the teens somewhere. Morgan wailed and pleaded for him to stop, her ass burning red and knees shaking so hard that a good portion of her weight was supported by DJ’s grip on her hair. Brittney turned up the TV volume, frowning at this woman who was too stupid to do what she was told. Didn’t she know there were consequences for being a bad girl?
He let go of her and she collapsed to her hands and knees, quivering and catching her breath. “And next time, we’ll do that on the front lawn, so the whole neighborhood can see you being spanked like the bitch you are. Do it again after that… and I’ll do that to Lauren, then I’ll do it to you. Do you understand?”
Morgan rose to her knees, but no higher, eyes sullenly on the ground. “I understand.”
“I understand…?”
“I understand… sir?” she said, experimentally.
“That’s better. Now you’ve been a shitty mother, but maybe you’ll make a decent hostess. Which means if you do or say anything to upset or insult me or my guests, especially Brittney here, I will wreck your fucking life. Do I need to be more specific than that, or do you get me?”
“No sir. I understand, sir. I’m sorry, miss. It won’t happen again. Please forgive me.”
Brittney flushed with pleasure at his sticking up for her—it really was too easy—and quietly pardoned Morgan. DJ helped her to her feet, but her eyes stayed on the ground, wary of making eye contact with her step-son. “Good. Now if you have questions that pertain to me or my instructions, ask; otherwise, get dressed and get to work on dinner, bitch.”
Morgan wasted no time gathering up some of her clothes from where he’d dumped them. “Are you… are you going to have sex with me sir?” She addressed the question meekly to the floor.
“Do you want me to? You’re not ugly; you could probably talk me into it if you wanted.”
“No, sir. I… I was hoping you wouldn’t, actually.”
He laughed. “Well good. I don’t intend to—not that I’m saying I won’t put that T&A you spent so much of my money on to use for me if I need money or favors, but I got better prospects.” Brittney giggled.
“Oh. Oh God.” She tugged her pants back on. “And, um, what will we tell Lauren?”
“Tell her about what?”
“About me being your… servant. Sir.”
He shrugged. “Tell her whatever you want. You’re the mother here—act like it, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir. I’ll get right on dinner. Sir.” She hustled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
It was some hours later before Lauren came back. DJ muted the TV and eavesdropped on their conversation with a grin on his face.
“So what did you do? Did you kick out that little skank?”
“Sweetie, look… we’ve been awfully hard on DJ. He and I had a talk, and I’ve… decided to be a little nicer to him. See if maybe we can make things better between us.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? He fucked that prostitute in your bed! He… did stuff, to Brianne! And sit down, damnit, I can’t talk to you when you’re standing over me.”
“I, um, I’d just rather stand.” DJ tried to stifle his laughter at the thought of Morgan’s tender butt so it didn’t carry to the living room. “And Brittney isn’t a prostitute—she’s a very, um, nice young woman. Come on, how many times have you said DJ needs to find himself a girlfriend? Now he has one, and you want him to get rid of her.”
“There’s no way he… fine, whatever. Tell me you at least grounded him for that bullshit with your clothes.”
Morgan, who had spent much of the evening re-folding her wardrobe and putting in the weightroom (after dinner, and dishes, and drawing a warm bubble bath for Brittney), calmly explained that as part of their reconciliation, she was letting him use her room. After all, he had a guest, and the cot wouldn’t fit both of them.
After that, Lauren stalked down her room and slammed her door hard enough to shake every wall in the house.
DJ slept like a baby that night.
The next day, he got a text from an unknown number; it turned out to be Brianne, asking if she could borrow Brittney for the day while her parents were out of town. DJ agreed and dropped her off, instructing her to make him proud and have a good time. Brittney was pouty about it—after all, she wasn’t really even all that bi and Brianne was more or less a stranger—but he just reminded her of how proud he was of her and how he couldn’t wait to see her again that night, and she went along with it.
Yesterday’s unseasonably warm weather had lingered, so DJ opted to hang out by the pool most of the day, reading for classes and luxuriating in the pampering his step-mom was doling out. Morgan got him the occasional drink, made sure his floatie was fully inflated, and—just to make her nervous—clad in a skimpy black and white striped bikini top with hip-hugging shorts over the bottoms. It was early afternoon when Lauren showed up, and Jody was once again with her, dressed today in a white t-shirt and boring athletic shorts. (Happily, he could see through her shirt that she wore a bikini beneath it.)
“Beat it, dork,” Lauren said. “Pool’s ours for the afternoon.”