I Trained Camila’s Mother Until She Became Mine

Beatriz ignored everything I told her. She was lost in a limbo of pleasure, enjoying every thrust of my silicone cock, oblivious to my words. At a certain point I stopped, pulled out of her, and stripped completely naked.

I grabbed her by the hair and told her it was time for her to work. I sat on the edge of the bed and positioned her head between my legs so she could start eating my pussy.

She no longer hesitated the way she had the first few times. She did it without reservations, licking from bottom to top, pausing at my clit, trying to catch it with her lips and toy with it using her tongue. She was learning, and I liked learning more than anything else.

But in one careless move she bit me. The pain drove me out of my mind.

I shoved her and she fell to the floor. There, lying face down, I started reminding her who was in charge.

—You’re a wild bitch —I told her, grabbing the belt again—. And now you’re going to get what you deserve.

I lashed her ass until it was almost purple. The leather hissed before each impact, and she counted the blows with her body, hunching her shoulders, clenching her teeth. But she no longer screamed the way she had at the beginning. Something in the way she endured had changed: she was no longer a woman suffering punishment, but a submissive waiting for the next strike.

Her resistance was giving way little by little, and I wasn’t going to stop until I had her completely under my control.

I want her hungry, obedient, mine.

I wanted to turn her into the perfect submissive. All of that would take time, but I was willing to give it to her. During the sessions we had taken photos and videos of her, insurance in case she ever got it into her head to rebel. Beatriz was a very respected woman in her neighborhood and at her job, and that worked in my favor.

***

We still had a few days before going back to the bar. The place was still closed, being repaired after the storm that had torn half the roof off, so we had plenty of time.

That afternoon I found Camila in the kitchen and asked her if we were still going ahead with the idea of staying in the house and continuing to train her mother. She looked at me for a second before answering.

—Yes —she said—, but on one condition. Don’t humiliate her in front of the neighbors or anyone from outside. She’s still my mother.

I stroked her cheek and agreed to it. Then, in a sweet voice, I asked for something in return.

—Then you’re also going to accept one condition of mine. Your mother will do everything I ask of her, without you intervening.

Camila lowered her gaze. I gave her a tender kiss at the corner of her lips, then another, longer one, and by the time she pulled away from me, she had already accepted.

—Deal —she murmured against my mouth.

***

I started with the domination game as soon as we finished talking. Between spankings and oral sex sessions, I gave her no rest. I also tried anal penetration, where she remained resistant, and every time she tightened up I punished her with a couple of lashes. We went on like that for hours, her learning to obey, me learning how far I could push her.

We stopped to eat something around noon. While Beatriz caught her breath in a corner, it occurred to me that we needed supplies. I told Camila we’d leave her for a while and go to the hardware store in the center.

We bought ropes, hooks of different kinds, some screw-in ones and others to screw into the wall. My idea was to be able to tie her up properly, leave her exposed and with no way out. I also took some small clamps, some fishing weights, and other items I chose calmly, imagining what each one would be used for.

Camila pushed the cart in silence. Every so often she glanced sideways at me, caught between guilt and a curiosity she still wouldn’t fully admit. I knew that mix turned her on just as much as it did me; I could tell by the way she bit her lip every time I picked up a rope to measure its thickness.

—Isn’t that too much? —she asked near the checkout, in a low voice.

—It’s exactly what we need —I answered—. You stay calm and leave the rest to me.

On the way back home we stopped at a store that sold pet food and accessories. I thought about it for a moment and laughed to myself.

—Why not? —I told Camila—. If she’s going to be our little dog, she might as well have her things.

We went in and I bought a collar with a chain, a metal bowl, and an ID tag. At the counter they asked what name they should engrave. I said it without hesitation.

—Nala.

***

We returned home with the bags and started dressing our new puppy. I fastened the collar around her neck, clipped on the chain, and hung the tag with the engraved name.

—From now on your name is Nala —I told her, lifting her chin so she would look at me—. Remember that name well. I don’t want to have to say it to you again.

Beatriz swallowed and nodded in silence. Something in her eyes had already changed.

Then we carried the hardware store items into the bedroom. We screwed hooks into the wall, hung up the ropes, laid the clamps and weights out on a shelf. She watched in amazement as we transformed the room that had been hers, but she didn’t dare say a word.

It was strange seeing her like that, standing in the middle of her own bedroom while it disappeared piece by piece. I moved the dresser with the family photos out into the hallway. I replaced the table lamp with a colder, more direct light. Where there had once been a respected adult woman, now there rose a space designed for a single function: obedience.

When we were done, I leaned in and whispered in her ear.

—This is your new room, Nala. Get used to it.

It was a lot for her, I knew that. The neat family bedroom was turning into something like a dungeon, and she was watching it come to life wall by wall without being able to stop it.

***

Nala stayed standing in a corner, dressed only in the collar and chain, her arms crossed over her chest as if she could still protect herself from something. I went toward her, took the chain, and guided her to the bed.

—Time to work —I told her.

I undressed and made a single gesture, pointing at my sex. She understood immediately. She settled between my legs and dedicated herself to the task with a surrender she hadn’t shown the first times. There was no resistance anymore, no biting. She put all her attention into pleasing me, and that brought me to a tremendous orgasm, long and intense, one of those that leave you floating in bed for a while.

When I came back to myself, I still had my doubts. I didn’t know what she would do if we left her alone. I called Camila and asked what she thought.

—I’ll take her into the kitchen with me —she suggested—. We’ll make lunch together. If she tries to run off or grabs the phone to ask for help, I’ll tell you right away.

It seemed like a good idea to me. I handed her the chain and watched them leave together, daughter in front and mother behind, submissive, barefoot, with Nala’s tag swinging against her chest.

***

I stayed in the room finishing up the setup. I hung the last rope, tested that the hooks would hold the weight, and sorted the clamps by size. The minutes went by and I kept my attention on the door, waiting for Camila to appear and tell me her mother had tried something.

From downstairs came the sounds of the kitchen: water running, the clatter of a pot against the stove, the muffled voices of the two of them. For a moment I wondered what a mother and daughter would say with a chain between them. Then I stopped thinking about it. My job was to build the dungeon; Camila’s was to make sure the bitch didn’t bite the wrong hand.

Half an hour passed. More, even. And then all at once I heard Camila calling me from below.

The worst, I thought. I went down the stairs two at a time.

But no. Lunch was ready, steaming on the table, and Beatriz —Nala— still had the collar on, docile, waiting by the wall. Camila smiled at me from the kitchen, proud of her mother and a little proud of herself.

When we sat down, the bitch made as if to pull up a chair and sit with us. I stopped her with a look.

—Bitches don’t sit at the table —I told her—. You stay standing beside us, silent, until we’re done. Then you eat, clear the plates, and wash everything.

Beatriz remained standing next to my chair, her hands at her sides and her head slightly bowed. The collar gleamed under the kitchen light and the tag with her new name rose and fell with her breathing. Camila chewed slowly, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, not daring to defend her because she had accepted my condition and was following it.

We ate without hurry. Every so often I fed Nala a piece of bread by hand, the way you give food to a pet, and she took it between her lips, careful not to brush my fingers with her teeth. She had learned the lesson from the bite; she wouldn’t repeat it.

—And one more thing —I added, bringing the fork to my mouth—. From today on I’m reducing your food portions. A well-behaved little dog doesn’t need that much.

Nala didn’t answer. She only nodded in silence, just as I had taught her. And as I watched her standing there, waiting for the leftovers from her own table, I knew the training was going in the right direction. It wouldn’t be long before she stopped missing the woman she had been.