Guest Post : The Regular Part Two

 She settled on the red one from the photos—strapless corset-style bustier in deep crimson lace, intricate floral patterns sheer enough to tease skin beneath, boning cinching the waist dramatically before flaring into a tiny ruched mini skirt that ended high on her thighs. Vertical lace-up details down the front exposed glimpses of cleavage and midriff, the fabric clinging like a second skin, emphasizing every curve. She slipped it on, the corset pushing her perky breasts up and together into perfect, overflowing cleavage. In the mirror, she looked sinful—blonde waves tumbling, glossy red lips parted, eyes wide with awe. So beautiful… but maybe I need bigger breasts? To fill it out more, to please Mummy even better. The thought lingered, exciting rather than upsetting.

She hung it carefully for later, then hunted for a bathing suit. A locked cupboard caught her eye—small, ornate, keyhole gleaming. She ran her fingers over it, pulse quickening. What’s inside? Toys? Outfits? Something secret for me? The mystery sent a shiver of arousal through her.
In a lower drawer, she found bikinis and one-pieces. She chose a white one-piece—high-cut legs, deep side cutouts exposing hips and waist, a large oval tummy cutout framing her toned midriff and dangling pink love-heart piercing. The back was completely open, dipping low to just above her ass, the bottom a thong style that nestled between her cheeks like a whisper. It hugged her perky breasts, the fabric thin enough to hint at nipples when wet. She paired it with delicate gold jewelry—anklet, layered necklaces, dangling earrings—and strappy white platform heels.
She oiled her skin slowly in the bedroom mirror, hands gliding over thighs, stomach, breasts, imagining Alana’s hands instead. Then she padded to the garden pool—lush greenery, infinity edge overlooking the city, sun loungers with plush cushions.
Sunbathing had always been her favorite—simple bikini, no fuss. But today she felt different: dolled-up, heels on even by the pool, oiled and shiny, like a glamorous toy on display. Mummy will like this. The thought made her smile as she lay back, closing her eyes. The warmth lulled her; she drifted off.
She woke to sharp manicured nails tracing slow, teasing lines up her inner thighs. Eyes fluttering open, she saw Alana—towering, radiant, bending over her with a predatory smile.
“Mummy… it’s you,” Tara murmured drowsily, voice thick with sleep and need. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Alana’s nails paused at the edge of the swimsuit’s cutout, pressing lightly. “My sweet, sleepy princess,” she purred, voice low and velvet. “Look at you—oiled up, dolled up, waiting for me like the perfect little good girl you are. You make Mummy very proud.”
Tara whimpered softly, arching into the touch.
Alana straightened, eyes gleaming. “We’ve been invited to a party tonight. I want to introduce my princess to my friends. Show them how exquisite you are.”
Tara’s heart sank for a second—she’d hoped for a night just them, tangled in sheets. But then joy bloomed: She wants to show me off. Like I’m hers. Like we’re real. “That sounds lovely, Mummy. It’s like… we’re in a relationship. You want me to meet everyone.” She giggled. “Mia and Sofia are going to freak out when they see my new life.”
Alana’s smile was indulgent. “They will. But tonight, you’re mine to display.” She leaned down, kissing Tara deeply—slow, claiming. When she pulled back: “You’re going to be such a good princess tonight. I can feel it.”
Tara whimpered again, submissive pride flooding her. “Yes, Mummy.”
Upstairs, she expected to slip into the red dress—but on the bed lay something new: a rhinestone-encrusted pink micro-skirt set. The skirt was tiny, barely covering her ass, shimmering with thousands of tiny crystals that caught light like diamonds. Matching bra top—push-up style, barely-there triangles connected by thin straps, also dripping in rhinestones, leaving most of her midriff bare. A matching choker with a heart pendant completed it. Instinctively, Tara knew: This is what Mummy wants. No choice. Only obedience.
She changed, the crystals cool against her skin at first, then warming. In the mirror: long blonde waves cascading, heavy pink eyeshadow and lashes, glossy pink lips, cheeks contoured to perfection. The outfit screamed hyper-feminine bimbo—sparkly, slutty, impossible to ignore. Her perky breasts strained against the bra, the skirt riding high enough to flash with every step. She felt exposed, owned, beautiful.
Downstairs, Alana waited—vision in bright pink: floor-length sparkling gown with a deep plunging neckline, high slit up one leg revealing toned thigh, platinum hair in a dramatic high ponytail, heavy makeup (dramatic winged liner, pink smoky eyes, glossy hot-pink lips), diamonds glittering at her ears and throat. She looked like a goddess queen—powerful, glamorous, untouchable.
Tara nearly melted on the spot. She’s so beautiful. So perfect. I’m under her spell completely. The realization hit like a drug—helpless adoration, total surrender.
Alana’s eyes raked over her, approving. “My sparkling princess. Come here.”
They embraced—bodies pressing, crystals clinking softly. Alana kissed her forehead, then lips, slow and deep.
Then she took Tara’s hand and led her to the waiting car.
The night—and whatever came next—awaited.

Chapter Seven: The Terrace of Goddesses
The drive to the party was short—barely twenty minutes through the winding hills of Beverly Hills—but it felt like floating. The chauffeur-driven car was the same sleek black one from the night before, tinted windows sealing them in a private bubble. Tara and Alana sat in the back, thighs pressed together, fingers interlaced. Tara couldn’t stop touching—stroking Alana’s knuckles, tracing the diamond ring on her finger, needing constant contact.
She asked girly, eager questions in a soft, excited rush. “What are your friends like, Mummy? Are they all as glamorous as you? Do they have partners too? What do they do?” Every few sentences she paused to look up, eyes wide. “You’re so beautiful tonight. That pink gown… it’s like you’re glowing. I can’t stop staring.”
Alana’s smile was indulgent, thumb brushing over Tara’s wrist. “They’re like me—women who know exactly what they want and take it. You’ll see. And thank you, princess. You make Mummy feel very beautiful too.”
Tara giggled, leaning her head on Alana’s shoulder. The city lights blurred past like stars.
They arrived at another sprawling mansion—white stucco, dramatic columns, infinity pool glowing turquoise against the night. Music pulsed faintly from inside. Alana stepped out first, stilettos clicking on the stone drive, then offered her hand. Tara followed half a step behind, fingers still laced with Alana’s, heart hammering. Nervous excitement fluttered in her chest. I want to make Mummy proud. I want them to like me. I want to be perfect for her.
Alana led her through the grand foyer—marble floors, crystal chandeliers—out onto a wide terrace overlooking the city. String lights twinkled overhead; a long table held champagne flutes and silver trays of canapés. Seven women waited there, all impossibly beautiful, all in their late sixties to early seventies, dressed in gowns that screamed money and confidence: jewel tones, sequins, deep plunges, high slits, silk draping over toned bodies. Tara was instantly turned on by them all. This didn’t surprise her now. She was embracing her new found self.
One was Dr. Vivienne Laurent—today in a deep burgundy velvet gown that hugged her statuesque frame, diamond choker at her throat, auburn hair loose in soft waves.
The women turned as Alana approached. They greeted her with warm cheek kisses, gushing compliments—“Darling, you’re radiant tonight!” “That gown is sinful on you!” “Alana, you never age!”—each one lingering in affection, hands brushing arms, shoulders. It was clear: this was a circle of long-time intimates, a sisterhood of power and glamour.
No one acknowledged Tara at first. She stood quietly beside Alana, holding her hand, feeling small and sparkly in her rhinestone pink micro-skirt and bra set. Only Dr. Laurent gave her a subtle, knowing smile—brief eye contact that made Tara’s cheeks flush.
Finally, when the last kiss was exchanged, Alana turned slightly, pulling Tara forward by the hand. Her voice carried, warm but commanding, like velvet over steel.
“Ladies, may I introduce my princess—Tara. She’s new to our world, but already blooming beautifully. Be gentle with her… she’s still learning how exquisite she can be.”
A soft chorus of approving murmurs rippled through the group—“Welcome, darling,” “Oh, she’s lovely,” “Look at that sparkle”—followed by slow, appreciative glances that roamed over Tara’s exposed midriff, the tiny skirt, the way the rhinestones caught the light.
Champagne flutes were pressed into their hands. The group stood in a loose circle, chatting—laughter, gossip, compliments flying. Tara felt the weight of admiring eyes from the older women: lingering on her legs, her cleavage framed by the push-up bra, the way the skirt barely covered her ass. Heat bloomed under her skin. They’re looking at me. Really looking. This is so different from my old life—bars with Mia and Sofia, guys who barely noticed. She liked it. The attention felt like validation, like belonging.
She stayed close to Alana like a well-trained pet—hand in hand when possible, otherwise her fingers resting on Alana’s hip, her lower back, the silk of the gown. When Alana gestured or laughed, Tara’s hand instinctively followed, needing contact, needing to feel Mummy’s goddess energy surrounding her. I can’t be away from her. She’s everything.
A few of the women spoke to her directly—complimenting the outfit (“That pink is divine on you, sweetheart”), asking gentle questions (“How did you meet our Alana?”). One—tall, silver-haired, in emerald satin—tried to draw Tara aside for a private chat, hand light on her elbow. Alana’s arm slid around Tara’s waist immediately, pulling her back with casual possessiveness. “Not yet,” she murmured to the woman, smiling. The woman laughed and stepped back.
But when Dr. Vivienne Laurent approached, Alana released Tara with a gentle squeeze. “Go on, princess. Have a little chat with Vivienne.”
They moved to a quieter corner of the terrace—two cushioned chairs facing the city view. Dr. Laurent sat gracefully, crossing her legs, burgundy velvet whispering. Tara perched beside her, heart racing.
“You were wonderful tonight,” Dr. Laurent said softly. “So poised. So devoted. Do you feel it? The way being near Alana makes everything clearer?”
Tara nodded, voice small. “Yes. I… I need her. When she’s close, I feel safe. Right. Like I’m where I belong.”
Dr. Laurent smiled, eyes warm but knowing. “That’s the awakening we talked about. Your purpose isn’t to chase independence anymore—it’s to shine for her. To be her perfect princess. Every compliment you receive tonight? It’s because you’re hers. Let that sink in. Let it feel good.”
Tara’s cheeks flushed deeper. “It does. It feels… right.”
They spoke quietly for ten minutes—Dr. Laurent reinforcing the affirmations from earlier, gently nudging Tara to voice her devotion aloud. “Say it for me, darling. Who are you?”
“I’m Alana’s princess,” Tara whispered. “My purpose is to please her… to look beautiful for her… to obey her.”
“Good girl,” Dr. Laurent murmured, patting Tara’s hand. “You’re blooming faster than I expected.”
After a couple of hours—tipsy on champagne, laughter echoing—Tara felt floaty, warm, perfectly in place. Alana made their excuses—“We have an early morning, darlings”—and the group kissed cheeks, promised future gatherings. Tara received soft hugs and compliments—“Come back soon, princess,” “You’re a treasure.”
They left hand in hand, Alana leading, Tara following half a step behind, sparkling in pink rhinestones.
In the car, the partition up, privacy absolute, Alana turned to her. “You were fabulous tonight, princess. Every single one of them was impressed. You held yourself beautifully—stayed close, smiled sweetly, let them see how perfect you are for me. What a good girl. My wonderful, sexy, sparkling princess. Mummy is so proud.”
The words hit Tara like champagne bubbles—fizzy, dizzying delight. She felt woozy with joy, eyes glassy. “Thank you, Mummy,” she breathed. “Thank you so much. I just wanted to make you happy. I… I need to worship you. Please, Mummy, let me show you how grateful I am.”
Alana’s smile was slow, predatory, pleased. She cupped Tara’s chin, tilting her face up.
“Soon, princess. Very soon.”
The car glided toward home, the night still young.

Chapter Eight: Worship and Silk Bonds
The door to Alana’s bedroom closed behind them with a soft, final click, sealing the world outside. The room was vast and dimly lit—low amber sconces casting golden pools across white silk sheets, a massive four-poster bed draped in sheer curtains, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering city below. Alana turned to Tara, still in her dramatic pink gown, high ponytail swaying, heavy makeup flawless even after the party. She reached into a small crystal dish on the nightstand and lifted a single white pill between manicured fingers.
“Open, princess,” she murmured.
Tara parted her glossy pink lips obligingly. She didn’t need it—not really. The devotion was already bone-deep, the ache between her thighs constant. But she wanted to please Mummy. She swallowed the pill dry, feeling it slide down her throat like a promise.
The rush came almost instantly—hot, liquid euphoria flooding her veins, every nerve lighting up. Lust sharpened into something primal; her skin felt electric, hypersensitive. She’d never felt sexier—her rhinestone bra and micro-skirt suddenly felt like the perfect offering, her body a canvas made for Alana’s gaze. She stepped closer, eyes glassy, breathing shallow.
Alana cupped Tara’s face with both hands and kissed her—slow at first, lips brushing, tasting champagne and gloss. Then deeper: tongue sliding in, claiming, one hand tangling in Tara’s blonde waves, the other sliding down to grip her ass through the tiny skirt. Tara moaned into her mouth, pressing her body flush, nipples hardening against the rhinestone bra. Alana’s kisses turned possessive—nipping Tara’s lower lip, sucking gently, then harder, leaving it swollen and shiny.
When Alana pulled back, Tara was already trembling.
“Tonight,” Alana whispered against her ear, voice low and commanding, “you worship your goddess. Every inch. Show Mummy how grateful you are.”
Tara sank to her knees without being told—instinct, need, devotion. Alana stepped back, unzipping the side of her pink gown and letting it pool at her feet. Underneath: black lace lingerie—bra that lifted her full breasts, matching thong, garter belt clipped to sheer stockings. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, one stiletto dangling.
“Start here, princess.”
Tara crawled forward, heart pounding. She lifted Alana’s foot gently, cradling it in both hands like something sacred. The black six-inch peep-toe stilettos from the club night were gone; now Alana wore delicate black patent heels with diamond straps. Tara slipped one off slowly, revealing perfectly manicured toes—deep crimson polish, soft arches, skin smooth and warm.
She pressed her lips to the top of Alana’s foot, kissing reverently, then dragged her tongue along the instep—slow, wet, tasting faint salt and expensive lotion. Alana sighed, a low, pleased sound. Tara took the big toe into her mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling around the tip, then along the underside. She moved to the next toe, then the next—sucking, licking, worshipping each one with total focus, eyes locked upward on Alana’s face. Alana’s breath hitched; her free hand stroked Tara’s hair like a pet.
“Good girl,” she purred. “Keep going.”
Tara kissed up the ankle, tracing the diamond strap with her tongue, then higher—along the calf, behind the knee, inner thigh. She nuzzled the lace thong, inhaling Alana’s scent—musk, jasmine, arousal. Alana parted her legs wider; Tara peeled the thong aside and licked—slow, flat strokes along the folds, circling the clit without touching it yet, teasing, adoring. Alana’s fingers tightened in Tara’s hair.
“More,” Alana commanded softly.
Tara obeyed—tongue delving deeper, sucking the clit gently, then harder, humming vibrations against it. Alana’s hips rolled; she moaned low, thighs trembling. Tara worshipped with everything—lips, tongue, soft kisses along the inner thighs, back to the clit—until Alana came with a shuddering gasp, fingers gripping Tara’s scalp, holding her there until the aftershocks faded.
When Alana released her, Tara’s face was slick, lips swollen, eyes dazed with lust and pride.
Alana stood, pulling Tara up by the wrists. “Now we begin your real training, princess.”
She guided Tara to the bed, pushing her gently onto her back. From under the mattress, Alana drew out soft pink silk restraints—wide cuffs lined with velvet, delicate silver chains connecting them. Tara’s breath caught; fear and excitement twisted together.
“Arms above your head,” Alana ordered.
Tara complied instantly. Alana fastened the cuffs around her wrists, securing the chains to the headboard posts. The silk was cool and smooth against her skin, tight enough to remind her she couldn’t pull free, loose enough to feel sensual rather than cruel. Alana moved to Tara’s ankles next—spreading her legs wide, fastening matching cuffs, chaining them to the footboard so Tara was open, exposed, vulnerable.
Alana stepped back, admiring. “Look at my princess—bound, sparkling, dripping for Mummy.”
Tara whimpered, hips shifting uselessly. The restraints heightened everything—the helplessness made her feel smaller, prettier, more owned. The pill amplified it: every brush of air on her skin felt like a caress, every clink of chain like a promise.
Alana climbed onto the bed, straddling Tara’s waist. She leaned down, kissing her deeply—slow, filthy, tongues sliding, tasting herself on Tara’s lips. Then she moved lower: kissing Tara’s throat, sucking marks into her collarbone, then to her breasts—peeling the rhinestone bra down, taking one nipple into her mouth, sucking hard while pinching the other. Tara arched, moaning, wrists tugging against silk.
Alana’s hands roamed—tracing the rhinestone skirt’s hem, sliding under to find Tara soaked. She teased—fingers circling her clit, dipping inside just enough to make Tara beg without words, then pulling away. “Not yet, princess. You come when Mummy says.”
She kissed down Tara’s stomach, nuzzling the dangling love-heart piercing, then lower—spreading Tara’s thighs wider within the restraints. Alana licked once—long, slow—then stopped, blowing cool air over wet folds. Tara cried out, hips bucking.
“Please, Mummy…”
Alana smiled against her thigh. “Beg prettily.”
Tara did—voice breaking, desperate. “Please, Mummy, let me come for you. I need it. I need you. I’m yours—your good girl, your princess. Please…”
Alana rewarded her—tongue plunging deep, fingers sliding inside, curling against that perfect spot while her mouth sucked Tara’s clit in rhythm. The restraints held Tara still, forcing her to take every sensation, every wave. When she came it was shattering—body arching off the bed, chains clinking, cries muffled against Alana’s shoulder as she collapsed forward to kiss her through it.
Alana didn’t stop—kept licking softly through the aftershocks, drawing out every tremor until Tara was a trembling, oversensitive mess.
Finally she rose, unfastening the cuffs one by one—wrists first, kissing the faint red marks, then ankles. She gathered Tara into her arms, pulling her close against her chest.
“My perfect princess,” Alana whispered, stroking her hair. “You did so well tonight.”
Tara nestled in, still buzzing, still owned, whispering against Alana’s skin: “Thank you, Mummy. I love worshipping you.”
Alana kissed her forehead. “And you’ll do it again. And again. Until it’s all you know.”
Tara smiled sleepily, already drifting in the afterglow—safe, adored, bound in more ways than silk.

Chapter Nine: Collar and Gold
Tara woke slowly, sunlight spilling across the silk sheets. Alana was already awake beside her, propped on one elbow, scrolling lazily on her phone. The older woman looked radiant even first thing — platinum hair tousled from sleep, no makeup yet, but still impossibly beautiful. Tara rolled over, pressing her naked body against Alana’s side, nuzzling into her neck like a kitten seeking warmth.
“That was the best night of my life, Mummy,” Tara whispered, voice soft and reverent. “I’m so crazy about you. I hope it isn’t too silly to say… I love you.”
Alana set the phone aside immediately, turning to cup Tara’s face with both hands. Her thumbs stroked Tara’s cheeks gently, eyes warm and knowing.
“Of course it isn’t silly, princess,” she murmured. “Of course you love me. And I love you too — my sweet, perfect girl. You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”
Tara’s heart swelled so big it hurt. Tears pricked her eyes — happy ones. She would do anything for this goddess. Anything at all.
Alana smiled softly. “I have a present for you.”
She reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a small velvet box — hot pink, tied with a thin silver ribbon. Tara sat up excitedly, taking it with trembling fingers. She untied the ribbon, lifted the lid.
Inside lay a bright pink leather collar — soft, supple, just wide enough to look decorative rather than harsh. Tiny silver chains dangled from the O-ring at the front like delicate jewelry. Attached to the ring was a matching pink leather leash, coiled neatly.
Tara stared at it, heart pounding. Loving. Embarrassed. She’d never worn anything like this. Never even imagined it. But the sight of it — pretty, possessive, hers — made her thighs clench.
Alana didn’t speak. She simply took the collar from the box, leaned forward, and fastened it around Tara’s neck. The leather was cool at first, then warmed instantly against her skin. The tiny chains tinkled softly as Alana clipped the leash to the O-ring, letting it drape between Tara’s breasts.
The moment the clasp clicked shut, a sensation rolled through Tara — electric, complete, final. Like a switch flipping. She was ready. Totally, utterly ready to submit. To belong. To be owned.
Alana sat back, eyes dark with approval. “Look at you,” she breathed. “My perfect princess in her collar. You look… exquisite. Like you were made for this.”
Tara touched the leather with trembling fingertips, feeling the O-ring, the chains. She felt beautiful. Marked. Loved. She surged forward, crashing her lips against Alana’s in pure, desperate need.
They kissed passionately — no restraint, no teasing this time. Just raw love and lust. Alana’s hands roamed Tara’s back, pulling her closer. Tara straddled her lap, grinding slowly, moaning into Alana’s mouth. Tongues slid, deep and hungry. Alana sucked Tara’s lower lip, then kissed down her neck, nipping gently at the new collar. Tara arched, offering her throat, whimpering “Mummy” over and over like a prayer.
Alana laid Tara back on the pillows, kissing down her body — slow worship of her own. Lips on collarbone, breasts, stomach, inner thighs. Then between her legs — licking slow, deep, possessive until Tara came hard, crying out “I love you, Mummy” as waves crashed through her. Alana kissed back up, claiming Tara’s mouth again, letting her taste herself. They stayed tangled for long minutes — kissing, touching, whispering love and promises.
Finally Alana pulled back, smiling. “I think we should go shopping today, princess.”
Tara blinked, still dazed. “Shopping? For what?”
Alana traced Tara’s lips with a fingertip. “I think you should see a doctor about some new breasts… and these perfect lips. Bigger, plumper. More bimbo. More you.”
Tara’s cheeks flamed instantly. She shrank a little. “I’m sorry, Mummy… I’m sorry I’m not beautiful enough already. I—”
Alana gathered her close, cuddling her against her chest. “Shh, baby. You are beautiful. You’re perfect. But why not strive to be even better — for me? Plastic is perfect, darling. And you’ll look so much more like the bimbo princess you’re becoming.”
Tara melted into the embrace. “I can’t wait to meet the doctor. I want to be prettier for you, Mummy. I want to be everything you want.”
Alana kissed her forehead. “Good girl.”
Tara chose her outfit carefully — a tight white tube top stretched across her chest, barely containing her breasts, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric. Below it, a tiny pink ruched mini skirt — so short the white thong straps peeked out at the sides and the bottom curve of her ass flashed with every step. Pink high heels, tiny designer bag, and the new pink leather collar proudly around her neck, chains glinting.
She descended the stairs, heart racing. Alana waited in the grand hall — sleek black dress, diamonds at her throat, looking like royalty.
Alana’s eyes lit up. “Oh, princess… look at you.” She walked a slow circle around Tara, drinking her in. “That tube top hugging your breasts, the tiny skirt showing off your thong like a good little bimbo… and the collar. You chose this all on your own, didn’t you? A real bimbo outfit. Mummy is so proud. You’re going to look even more perfect with your new bimbo body.”
Tara blushed crimson, thighs pressing together. “Thank you, Mummy. I… I really like the new me.”
They drove to the doctor — one of the women from the party. Dr. Carmen Valmont. Gorgeous, mature, confident. She wore a fitted white coat over a deep emerald silk blouse (unbuttoned just low enough to show the edge of black lace bra), tailored black pencil skirt hugging her hips, sky-high black patent heels, and a delicate gold chain at her throat. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek chignon, makeup flawless — smoky eyes, bold red lips, cheekbones contoured to perfection. She looked like power and sensuality wrapped in elegance.
When they entered the consultation room, Dr. Valmont rose, smiling warmly. “Tara, darling — so great to see you again. You were glowing at the party the other night, and look at you now… even more radiant. That collar suits you perfectly.”
Tara blushed, feeling a fresh rush of attraction. Two days ago she wouldn’t have found this mature beauty sexy at all. Now she could barely look away — the way the silk blouse clung, the knowing smile, the elegant way she moved. Tara was loving this new life. Loving wanting women. Loving wanting more.
In the consultation room, Dr. Valmont smiled warmly. “Alana’s princess. Let’s make you even more exquisite.”
They discussed sizes together — fuller DDs or maybe Es for the breasts, plump, glossy lips that would make every blowjob look obscene. Tara listened, excited, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please. I want to be perfect for Mummy.”
Appointment booked for a few days later. Tara left buzzing with anticipation.
Back home, she changed into a tiny metallic gold bikini — barely-there triangles connected by thin gold hoops, the bottom a thong that disappeared between her cheeks. It covered almost nothing now; with her new body it would cover even less. She oiled herself slowly in the mirror, loving how shiny and slutty she looked, then padded to the pool.
She lay on the lounger, gold bikini glinting in the sun, drifting off to sleep dreaming of bigger breasts, plumper lips, a perfect bimbo body made for Alana.
She woke to the soft snap of a bondage whip against her thigh — light, teasing, stinging just enough to make her gasp and giggle.
Alana stood over her, whip in hand, eyes dark with promise. “Wake up, princess. You have three hours to get ready. We’re going to a bar tonight.”
Tara sat up, heart racing, smiling shyly. “What will tonight bring, Mummy?”
Alana leaned down, kissing her deeply, then whispered against her lips, playful and teasing:
“Oh, baby… something fun. Something that’ll make you blush even harder than that pretty collar does. But don’t worry — Mummy will take very good care of her little princess. You’ll see.”
Tara shivered in delight. The night waited — and so did her goddess

Chapter Ten: Pink Velvet and Shared Pleasure
Tara slipped upstairs to her princess room, heart still racing from the poolside whip tease. On the bed lay a bright pink latex minidress — glossy, skin-tight, with a deep sweetheart neckline that would push her breasts up and out, thin straps over the shoulders, and a hem so short it barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She showered quickly, oiled her skin until it gleamed, then stepped into the dress. The latex clung like a second skin, molding to every curve, squeaking softly with each movement. She did her makeup extra slutty — heavy pink glitter eyeshadow, long lashes, glossy bubblegum-pink lips, cheeks contoured sharp and high. Blonde waves loose and tousled. The collar already around her neck completed the look — pink leather, silver chains, O-ring glinting.
She descended the stairs, heels clicking. Alana waited in the grand hall — a vision in shimmering silver. The minidress was metallic liquid-silver, low-cut to show deep cleavage, tight across her toned waist, flaring into a short skirt that hugged her hips and ass. Silver strappy heels, diamond choker at her throat, heavy makeup: smoky silver eyes, dramatic winged liner, glossy pale-pink lips, platinum hair in a high, sleek ponytail. Earrings dangled long and sparkling, rings on every finger. She looked like molten moonlight — powerful, glamorous, untouchable.
Alana’s eyes darkened as Tara approached. Without a word, she lifted the pink leash from where it had been coiled on a side table. She stepped close, clipped it to the O-ring on Tara’s collar with a soft click, then tugged gently, pulling Tara flush against her.
“Now the outfit is complete,” Alana purred, voice low and possessive. “My perfect, collared princess.”
Tara’s breath hitched. “You look so sexy, Mummy. I… I wish we could stay home. I’d do anything you wanted. Anything at all.”
Alana’s smile was slow, seductive, dominant. “I know you would, baby,” she murmured, tugging the leash again so Tara’s lips brushed hers. “And you will. But tonight… Mummy wants to show you off first.”
They were driven by the chauffeur to a bar Tara had never heard of — tucked in a quiet corner of West Hollywood, unmarked door, pink neon sign reading simply “Velvet.” Inside it was a plush pink dream: velvet booths in bubblegum and rose, crystal chandeliers dripping light like candy, bar lined with mirrored shelves of glowing bottles. No men in sight. Just beautiful women of all ages — young and tight in micro-dresses, mature and commanding in leather and silk — all dressed sexily, laughing, flirting, owning the space.
Tara felt a flicker of nerves. The collar was obvious — bright pink leather around her neck, leash in Alana’s hand. Being led like this, collared and leashed by a woman old enough to be her grandmother… people would judge, wouldn’t they? Stare? Whisper?
But no one did. Eyes lingered — admiring, hungry, envious. A few smiled knowingly. Tara relaxed, step by step, realizing this was a space where she belonged. No judgment. Only desire.
They ordered drinks — pink cosmos, sweet and strong. Alana kept hold of the leash the whole time, looping it loosely around her wrist. They stood at the bar, chatting softly.
Tara sipped, eyes roaming. “These older women are so beautiful, Mummy. The way they carry themselves… so confident, so sexy.”
Alana smiled, tugging the leash gently. “They are. And look at the younger ones — those slutty outfits, barely covering anything. Delicious, aren’t they?”
Tara nodded, but her gaze kept drifting back to the mature women — silver hair in elegant updos, deep cleavages in satin gowns, knowing smiles, toned bodies that spoke of experience. “I think… I’m mainly attracted to the older ones. They feel… powerful. Like you.”
Alana’s eyes gleamed. “Good girl. You’re learning what you really want.”
A few women said hi as they passed — flirty smiles, compliments on Tara’s dress, the collar. “Love the leash, darling.” “Alana’s got herself a pretty one.” No judgment. Only envy. Tara relaxed completely — another step into total submission.
Tara turned to Alana, shy but bold. “Dance with me, Mummy?”
Alana’s smile turned wicked. “Great idea. But first…”
She pulled another white pill from her clutch, placed it on Tara’s tongue. Tara swallowed greedily. The rush hit fast — lust, euphoria, skin tingling, sexier than ever.
They moved to the dance floor. Alana led Tara by the leash — gentle tugs guiding her through the crowd. Then, for the first time that night, Alana dropped the leash. It dangled between Tara’s breasts — a signal.
Tara understood instantly. She danced freely, sexily — grinding against Alana’s hips, bending at the waist to flash her barely-there thong, hitching the latex dress higher so everyone could see. She pouted her glossy pink lips, ran hands over her body, arched her back. Provocative. Slutty. Perfect. Alana watched, smiling knowingly, tugging the leash occasionally to pull Tara back for a deep kiss.
“I love you, Mummy,” Tara breathed against her lips. “I’m yours.”
Alana whispered back, “I know, princess. Show them.”
Tara didn’t see the look Alana gave the crowd — a subtle nod, an invitation. Several women — mainly older — drifted closer.
First came the silver-haired woman in the black latex catsuit — tall, commanding, thigh-high boots gleaming under the neon. Her lips were blood-red, eyes smoky and predatory. She grabbed the leash, tugged Tara toward her with a firm yank, then kissed her passionately — deep, claiming, tongue invading Tara’s mouth like she already owned it. Tara moaned, hands clutching the woman’s latex-clad waist. The taste of cherry lip gloss and power.
Behind her, a curvy brunette in sheer black mesh dress — mid-60s, heavy makeup, diamonds glittering at her throat — pulled Tara’s dress up higher, fingers tracing the curve of her ass, slipping under the thong to squeeze and tease. Tara whimpered into the kiss, hips rocking.
They guided her to a long velvet sofa in the corner — plush, rose-pink, wide enough for what was coming. They laid her down gently but firmly. The silver-haired woman straddled Tara’s face first — latex creaking as she lowered herself, pussy already wet and demanding. “Lick, pretty girl,” she ordered. Tara obeyed eagerly — tongue swirling, sucking, humming against her clit until the woman came hard, thighs clamping around Tara’s head, a low growl of pleasure.
The brunette took her place next — slower, more sensual. She ground gently at first, then faster, moaning “Good little tongue… just like that.” Tara licked deeper, tasting her, swallowing every drop as she shuddered and came.
A queue formed — mostly older women, all stunning, all wanting.
Next: a statuesque redhead in emerald satin — late 60s, full lips painted deep plum, curves poured into the dress. She straddled Tara facing away, grinding her ass back against Tara’s mouth, demanding rimming. Tara complied — tongue circling, probing, worshipping until the redhead arched and came with a sharp cry.
Then a petite Asian woman in her 70s — silver hair in a sleek bob, wearing a sheer white kimono-style robe that fell open to reveal small, perfect breasts and a shaved pussy. She sat delicately, guiding Tara’s head with gentle fingers in her hair. “Softly, darling… yes… just like that.” Her orgasm was quiet, elegant, a soft sigh as she trembled.
A fifth woman — tall, Black, late 60s, in gold sequined dress that hugged every curve — straddled Tara aggressively, riding her face hard and fast. “Eat it, baby girl,” she growled. Tara did — tongue thrusting deep, lips sucking, until the woman came with a loud, triumphant moan.
More followed — a blonde in leather corset and fishnets, a brunette in red latex, a silver-haired goddess in black velvet. Each one took her turn, grinding, moaning, praising Tara’s tongue, her obedience, her beauty. “Such a good slut.” “Alana’s perfect toy.” “Look at her take it all.” Tara lost count — 11, maybe more — face slick, lips swollen, mind hazy with lust and devotion. Every orgasm she drew from them felt like worship of her goddess by proxy.
Finally Alana came over. She knelt, kissed Tara deeply — slow, filthy, tasting every woman on her lips, her tongue. Tara whimpered, dazed, slick with juices from chin to chest.
“You look so beautiful like this,” Alana whispered, stroking Tara’s cheek. “Covered in them. So obedient. So slutty. Mummy is so proud of you, my perfect little whore.”
Tara blinked up, happy but confused. “I didn’t know you wanted to share me, Mummy…”
Alana smiled, soft but possessive. “Of course I do, princess. You’re too sexy to keep all to myself. My sisters deserve to have fun with my perfect girl too. And you loved it, didn’t you?”
Tara nodded slowly, blushing. “Yes, Mummy… I did.”
Alana kissed her again — slow, deep, claiming. “Good girl. There’s so much more to come.”
Tara lay there, collared, used, adored — and completely, blissfully surrendered.