Like Mother, Like Daughter
By wbill_99_1999



Jill gave a contented sigh; it had been a perfect late summer's day. She sat
on her patio in the evening light and surveyed the garden. The roses had been
good this year, the greenfly absent and just enough rain to keep the roses
blooming. The shadows were lengthening and there was just enough light to make
out the individual trees at the end of the garden.

The big back lawn was empty, except for Rachel, her daughter. Jill chuckled to
herself and shook her head - like mother, like daughter she thought. Rachel
was straddling the boy next door, pinning him in a schoolgirl pin, and had
been doing so for the last hour. At the age of 15 she was a slightly chubby
girl with a pretty face and long dark hair which she flicked back from her
face from time to time as she rode her victim. At the moment there was very
little movement from either victim or victor; Rachel was seated high on the
boys chest with his arms pinned in the crook of her legs and her hands on her
hips. Jill loved the way her shoulders slumped when she did this. The appeal
for her as a spectator was in the angles that her daughter's body made as she
sat on her victim: it was like having an appealing piece of sculpture in the
garden. She chuckled to herself again. It had started with a scuffle over a
ball and then developed into a fight. The boy had no idea how strong Rachel
was and how she could manipulate situations like this to her advantage. Her
daughter was a brown belt at Judo and as she had explained to her mother, 'I
use it to attack - not defend'. Jill realised that she didn't even know the
boy's name, but that didn't matter really. He and his family, or rather he and
his father - there appeared to be no mother - had only moved in only two or
three months ago and she had hardly spoken more than a brief 'good morning' to
either of them.

Out on the lawn, there was a sudden movement. The boy had started to buck and
kick his legs; Rachel spread her knees and leaned forward to avoid the
threshing limbs. She rode out the upheaval expertly. Jill smiled again. The
boy had tried that earlier in the straddling - without success; Rachel had
merely captured his legs and locked them under her arms, bending forward until
the resistance had stopped. This had been followed by the torture phase;
Rachel had placed her knees on his biceps and slid them to and fro accompanied
by much yelling [from the boy] and much giggling [from Rachel]. This was
followed by a face sit and a bit of rib tickling, which had also caused a lot
of noise and killed any further serious resistance. Mind you, she had to work
hard initially to subdue the boy, her arms had kept the boys wrists pinned to
the grass, with his arms under her shins for some time until his strength
ebbed away and she could sit upright. It had been easy to then lock the arms
in the crook of her legs and leave her own arms free for whatever. Jill was
impressed at her daughter's patience. Not for her the quick victory and an
early submission; there was a process that had to be undertaken - a ritual
almost, with the end result the subjugation of the male that made any further
conquests easier. Meanwhile the figures on the lawn had stopped moving again;
Rachel's legs had closed and her thighs were again clamped tightly around the
boys head. Sitting upright, she folded her arms and flicked her hair back from
her face.

Jill leant back against her cushion. Rachel brought all her boyfriends home
and Jill had become quite used to them being dealt to on the back lawn -
'Rachel's Arena' she called it. She looked forward to these sessions immensely
and always made sure that she was home if possible. There had been about 3
victims this year and the lovely thing was, male pride being what it is, that
none of the boys had warned the others about it.

It was also intriguing that, apart from one boy, they all returned for more.

It had been like that that when Jill was young too. Most of the boys in her
neighbourhood were in her thrall and at a secret place in the woods near her
home; Jill introduced them to the joys of the schoolgirl pin. Like Rachel, she
had learned Judo when she was a young teen, but it was means only to an end.
The Judo-gi annoyed her immensely and once she had gained her green belt, she
felt that she had enough skills to assist her in the real objective - boy
straddling. She had learned a few leg sweeps and a basic hip throw and also a
few debilitating holds to kill resistance - the arm bar was a favourite and
with her strong legs and plump thighs, the head scissor or the body scissor
was sufficient to put her in control. If you really wanted to capture their
minds, then a surreptitious tickle or rub of their groin usually did the
trick. But you had to do the hard work first; it was no use trying to straddle
someone straight up. They had to realise that if they did escape from the
straddle, then Jill was certain to recapture them and re-apply those holds
that caused them so much pain. So escape was then viewed as futile.

Her mind drifted back to notable conquests over the years; top of the "hit
parade" was the rebarbative Barry. She had lured him to her forest lair, when
she was eighteen years old and there she had dealt to him - how she had dealt
to him. Jill had made it last all one afternoon; she had broken him with a
head scissors and when she mounted him to begin the straddling, he had a
pleading look on his face that had sent shivers through her body.

Her sitting lasted most of the afternoon; the tight satin shorts that she
habitually wore always made her thighs look immense and it was this
intimidation that made most males realise that they were no match for her. How
she had straddled that afternoon! She had tortured him for long periods, her
fertile imagination devising all sorts of torments that she filed away for
future use. She had, for the first time, orgasm after orgasm as she worked on
him, and with amazement realised that only one of these had involved sitting
on his face, which normally was her main means of gratification. Barry had
cried, shrieked, pleaded and begged but she was indomitable and that afternoon
in that sylvan glade she had finally learned that her motivation was sexual
after all. It was the start of her real domination career. To complete the
humiliation, when she finally released him, she had picked him up in a
fireman's carry and took him back to the road, where she dumped him sobbing on
the grass verge and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

Jill had always been strong. It was in her genes: her mother had always been
the one who had opened stubborn lids on jars and wielded the axe to chop wood.
Neither of them were big women but they had full breasted figures, wide
shoulders and powerful thighs with shapely legs. Their raven hair was also a
feature and all these characteristics had been handed on to Rachel. Jill was
not sure whether her mother was a straddler, but once, when she was mounted
contentedly astride a victim on their back lawn, her mother had stopped and
looked for some time with a definite glint in her eye - perhaps she had been
recalling past triumphs.

Jill's reverie continued. There had also been Roger, another notable conquest.
They had met on a beach and there, in some sand hills, away from prying eyes
they had fought. He was a challenge for Jill, as he was a bit taller than her
and had a good physique. As usual she had goaded him into fighting; her usual
method was to modestly allude to how strong she was and just give a little
hint here and there of her conquests. It was usually the boy who made the
first move with a statement such as 'no girl could do that to me'. Once that
had been uttered, the outcome was inevitable - they would fight. Roger was
strong, but he had no idea how to wrestle; Jill had managed to trip him and
after a tense struggle on the ground, whilst they rolled over and over, Jill
had managed to apply a grapevine, and with her leg and thigh strength she had
soon made him yelp. Propped up on her arms, she kept the hold for some time
and staring down into his face, noticed for the first time the defiance that
had blazed in his eyes was now tinged with a little fear. Releasing the
grapevine, she moved up his body. Predictably, he raised his hips in an
attempt to unseat her and with the speed of a striking snake, she lashed her
legs around his midriff and falling sideways, locked her ankles to complete
the body scissors.

Resting on one elbow, she poured on the power. Roger threshed and squirmed,
moaning loudly, his feet beating a tattoo on the sand. She had held there for
some time before she broke him. He was having difficulty breathing and his
abdomen had gone to mush under Jill's thighs. She had unlocked her legs and
knelt beside him, contemplating his red face and the marks that her legs had
made across his belly. Jill remembered that she had been wearing her black
bikini - modest by today's standards - and she had adjusted her pants before
giving a contented sigh and mounting her throne. It's funny, she thought, how
little details from so long ago still stick in your mind. She had straddled
Roger and sat high on his chest, pinning his arms under her shins and clamping
her formidable thighs around his head. He had to look at her, his head was
held in a vice.

It was at that stage, Jill remembered, that she gave her little speech. It was
basically an explanation of how things would proceed from then on. There would
be some torture, not continuous, but little "outbreaks" as Jill described
them, there would be lots of humiliation and an explanation of the word
"submit", on which, Jill was totally hung up and would have to be repeated
time and time again by the helpless male. The main thing that she emphasised
was the length of time that she would be keeping him there. It was then that
the look of fear in their eyes would intensify and there would usually be a
desperate attempt to escape. It was never successful; Jill always rode them
expertly, spreading her knees wide for balance, while they exhausted their
energy, eventually subsiding back to the ground again, securely pinned. That
little speech was always so effective. Jill used to practise it in her
bedroom, trying different voice inflections and gestures; the tone sometimes
dulcet and reasonable, sometimes harsh and threatening. It was after the
speech that the first of her orgasms had usually occurred; not that her victim
knew - he perhaps may have seen her bite her bottom lip and if he was staring
intently, noticed that her eyes were a little glazed, but that was all.

Roger's beating had stayed in Jill's memory for another reason too. After some
of her standard torture routines had produced a satisfactory amount of noise
from her victim, Jill, on a whim, had sat up and whirling around suddenly, sat
on Roger's face, facing his feet. Wriggling around a little to get
comfortable, she pinned his arms back under her shins. She was amazed to see
that he had a very impressive erection which was straining the front of his
blue swim shorts; Jill had been intrigued, he was obviously excited about what
was happening to him. She reached out and ran her index finger up and down the
length of his shaft; there was a muffled groan from under her and Roger
ejaculated violently, the stain spreading quickly across his shorts and
leaking out from under the waist band. The sight did for her and Jill came as
well, her face becoming slack with passion and she pinched her nipples
violently. Shortly after, resuming her normal position on his upper chest,
Jill realised that she had not really understood about men. In future she was
going to have to ask more questions before the fights began - to find out what
motivated them and then vary her routines to suit. Yes, she remembered Roger
with a great deal of affection. That had started her on a real journey of pain
and pleasure.

The passing parade of faces continued. The young man who had insulted her in
the park; she had pinned him for ages whilst dozens of people stopped to
watch. One woman had got her address and sent some flowers, congratulating her
on behalf of women everywhere. There was the middle aged uncle who had been
dealt to at a family barbeque - his wife had showered her with kisses and then
asked for some straddling lessons. Jill's first husband, Rachel's father,
after a very chaste engagement, found out on his wedding night what lay in
store for him. She had carried him over the threshold of their hotel room and
after taking off her wedding dress to reveal a black leather corset with no
crotch, she had tossed him over her hip onto the bed, where he remained on his
back for the rest of the night. She had introduced him to the delights of
cunnilingus and had ridden his cock until the poor man had cried "no more".
No, my dear, she had told him, the proper term is "I submit". They had a great
marriage after that. He held Jill in awe, and made sure that he was
surreptitiously watching when she fought. Her reputation had spread through
certain circles and she often received assignments from women who wanted
sundry boyfriends, husbands etc given "correctional" training. There were
discreet enquiries too, from male submissives who wanted to sample the
delights of her powerful thighs and ample derriere. All this provided a nice
source of supplementary income, but now, at the mature age of 52, Jill had
ceased these activities in favour of providing occasional special treats for
herself. Like tomorrow night for instance; that nice man at the garden centre,
obviously widowed, as she was, and who looked at her hungrily when she went to
shop. He had summoned up enough courage to ask her out for drinks and dinner.
Well, we'll see, she thought.

Jill stretched and yawned. Down on the lawn Rachel had climbed off the boy
next door, and offering her hand, pulled him to his feet. It was now almost
too dark to see. Rachel led the boy proudly across the lawn towards the house;
he was stumbling slightly and as they drew near, Jill could see that Rachel
had applied a cunning finger grip on him. The Police call it the 'come along'
hold. Her impressive chest thrust out proudly, Rachel led him across the
patio. Jill smiled at her, she was so like she had been at that age; the long
dark hair; the creamy complexion; the tight black shorts, which showed off her
powerful, firm, young thighs; the cheeky grin. The look on Rachel's face was
sheer pride as she led her victim inside the house. The boy, snivelling
slightly, looked firmly at the ground.

That's the way, that's the way, thought Jill. A man should look exactly like
that after a straddling. She had seen it so many times, boys, young men, older
men - anyone who had spent time under the body of a dominating girl or woman.
Jill wondered what his name was - she hoped Rachel knew; to her mind it wasn't
right to straddle someone without knowing their name. Besides, how could you
give your "speech from the throne" as it were, without using the victims name
several times during the course of it? The humiliation was more personal when
you used the name. She thought about that boy from next door: I wonder if
there is a "Mrs Next Door"? If there isn't perhaps I should invite the boy and
his father over for tea. Just fancy, we might have them both pinned on the
back lawn, now wouldn't that be something, we could even swap partners for a
while. Jill strolled off the patio on to the lawn and walked along the side of
the house - this is wrong, I'm being nosy, she thought.

The light was on in Rachel's bedroom. Jill strolled up the window. The drapes
were pulled, but there was a small chink in the curtains: Jill pressed her
face to the window and looked in. The boy was stretched out on the bed naked,
his knees up and a small pillow wedged under his buttocks. Rachel, also naked
was sitting on his face, her hips undulating slowly. Jill watched the play of
the muscles in her back and hips as she moved; a feeling of pride swept over
her. Like mother, like daughter - what more could a mother ask for.