The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Her Mother’s Daughter

By Writer345

7. Aftershocks — The dance goes on. Our dance, our tune.

There were loose ends, just a few of them, but then there always are. Am I ashamed of what I did? What do you think? I only began this course of action because I was desperate not to lose my daughter and I had experienced four years of pure hell, you must remember that.

And speaking of hell, Alan turned up that evening, he was full of himself and glowered at me when I answered the door.

“Who is it, Cat?” Sam called from the lounge.

As soon as he heard her voice he tried to push past me.

“Where are you going?” I enquired but did not budge despite the repellent nature of his strong BO.

He stepped back, surprise writ large across his spotty face, he clearly hadn’t expected me to block his path. “I’m going to see my girlfriend and no fucking dyke bitch is going to stop me!”

He started to push me out of the way but suddenly he looked past me and froze.

I was puzzled, but only for a split second until I heard a voice from somewhere behind me: one as cold as ice. “Just what did you call my Mother?”

“Hi babe!” The redoubtable Alan called over my head and tried to sound casual.

Samantha ignored his greeting. “Don’t you dare insult my Mother.” She hissed.

“Waaa?” His eyebrows did a fair impression of two caterpillars mating as he frowned in confusion. Clearly he was only repeating the sort of thing that she’d been saying about me and couldn’t understand why Sam was springing to my defence.

She moved to my side and slipped an arm around my waist. “Well?” She snapped at him.

He stood there for several seconds, his acne-raddled face a picture of shock and surprise as he whined. “Linnie texted me so I’ve just come over to see you... To check that you’re better... Yo take you out for a drink...”

“No!” Sam snapped. “Nobody insults my Mum!”

He took another step back. “But, babe...”

“Get lost, its over!”

“What’s over?” He gasped.

“You are, you dick-head.” My daughter said dismissively as she slammed the door in his face. The viscous streak was still there though it was no longer directed at me.

“But babe, I want to marry you!” He whined through the letterbox.

“Want to marry my ten million quid, more like!” She snapped as she batted the letterbox flap down onto his nicotine-stained fingers.

Suddenly she spun me around, ground her mouth against mine and kissed me passionately. There was a sudden gasp from outside followed by the sound of the letterbox clicking shut.

“That gave him something to think about.” I muttered after she broke the kiss.

She smiled and hugged me. “Alan’s not very good at thinking, still hopefully he’ll get the message.”

Suddenly she released me, grabbed my hand and led me up stairs to our bedroom. It was only natural that Sam had moved into my room temporarily; and it was temporary because within two months we were living in a large bungalow deep in rural Staffordshire.

We are still there ten years later. Sam, myself and our daughter and yes, it was me who carried her obviously. No, my not wanting Sam to gain a set of stretch marks was not the main reason; you see it is logical, if you think about it, I lost my daughter that Saturday afternoon but gained a husband—to me she had become ‘Sam’. The baby came from one of Sam’s eggs so that our little girl really does belong to both of us.

Oh, we’ve had our ups and downs: what married couple doesn’t? But there are many more ‘ups’ than ‘downs’ and not many couples can say that. We even had a special ceremony at the club and I got to wear white, something that I’d always dreamed of but never thought would happen. Sam said that I looked radiant which caused me to go weak at the knees. Yes, she wore white as well—a white trouser-suit so that it was obvious to everyone that I was the bride. It was a lovely ceremony and Maud actually got to give me away away with Milly filling in as ‘best man’.! Sam and I exchanged vows and one of the club members, a Wiccan priestess, called on the Mother-Goddess to bless our union and make it fruitful.

Although we live forty miles away, we are still regulars at “The Fish on a Bicycle” and when we visit ‘aunt’ Linnie babysits for us. We decided that it was a good idea to keep a souvenir from our old life and chose the plump little red-head: Milly gladly turned her for us as a wedding present—that woman is seriously strange!

Linnie is a sort of happy accessory to our relationship and shares the household and family duties just as Sam and I share her ample body. It’s unconventional, I know, but then so is my status as my daughter’s wife.

Well that about wraps everything up—almost! There is still that little green bottle and the mystery envelope to explain away. What? I haven’t mentioned the envelope before? Okay, I’m sorry. Along with the three little bottles of drugs and the instructions on how to administer them, Milly also gave me a sealed envelope that wasn’t to be opened until after Samantha had been ‘turned’. What was in it? Well it was a confession and it read as follows:—

My Dear Caitlyn,

By now you will be happy in your new relationship with Samantha, your daughter which I sincerely hopes works out well for you both.

You may have realised by now that it was unnecessary to turn her into a lesbian because she was one already. She was however in deep denial and all that we did was to force her to confront her true sexuality on several levels. She is indeed Her Mother’s Daughter.

Your good friend,

And the green bottle? What was the odourless and tasteless liquid in it? Milly told me after our wedding. It was just plain water out of the tap. I think that this is an example of “Applied Headology” as the fantasy writer, Terry Pratchett used to say. Either that or its a warning of just how powerful Birmingham tap water actually is!


(or at least, I think that it is, who can say?)