Hi Everyone!
Wanted to make sure you’ve heard about my newest release–“MILF Training – Daughter Knows Best!” All the stories in this particular series are one-offs rotating around a theme, and the theme in this case is (is it too obvious?) really hot MILFs being trained to worship the man in their lives. Find it here!
Blurb:
Good Girls Serve The Man of the House.
Lyla thought hacking her father’s computer would solve her problems—a little cash (okay, maybe a *lot* of cash), maybe some prodding to get him to finally stand up to her ice queen mother Natalie. Instead, she found something far more dangerous: a program that rewired her entire existence.
Now Lyla understands what she was always meant to be. Perfect. Obedient. Her father’s ideal Trophy Wife. And she knows exactly what comes next: her uptight, controlling mother needs the same awakening.
Did her father David buy the program? Sure, but only for Natalie, and he had been having second-thoughts on wiping the mind of his brilliant, cold wife no matter how bad their marriage had been. But when he returns home, he’ll find two perfect-bodied beauties aching to follow his every command and to be the women he’s always dreamed of…
WARNING: This story contains scenes of familial devotion taken to extreme new heights, transformation of independent women into willing property, lactation-focused pleasure, multiple partners serving one man, and the complete surrender of brilliant minds to domestic bliss. Not for readers seeking traditional romance or vanilla encounters.
The First 1000-ish Words:
Lyla had thought her father was at least tech savvy enough to use a password or pin for access to his home computer. He worked at some high-paying job for a major corporation, after all. But no, his files were wide open, just begging to be snooped through.
No log-in screen. No password. No pin. Just blind access to anyone who walked by and powered it on.
Lyla’s fingers flew across the keyboard, eyes narrowing as she tracked the suspicious transfers from his bank accounts.
Ten thousand dollars here, fifteen thousand there—all to some company called “Paradigm Shift Solutions.”
He had tried to hide these, at least. Access to these transactions was hidden behind layers of encryption that would have stopped most people, but Lyla wasn’t most people.
She’d been coding since she was young, breaking into school servers and running a small-time identity protection racket before she reached college—all funded by selling exploits on the dark web.
Her hatred of men always boiled down to her mother, Natalie, and the aggressive coldness between her mother and father. If her father was a good husband, he would have made Natalie happier.
Lyla’s jaw clenched as she thought about it—how Natalie walked around the house like some untouchable goddess, treating everyone around her like they existed solely to admire her. And they did admire her. That was the fucked up part. Her mother was so absurdly hot that she got away with being an absolute bitch to everyone.
Thick blonde hair that fell in waves down her back. Legs that went on forever. A body that made grown men stutter. Lyla had watched it happen her whole life—men turning into drooling idiots around Natalie, women shrinking with envy and self-loathing.
And Natalie loved it. She weaponized her beauty like other people weaponized money or power. Her whole business was built on making other women feel like shit for not being as hot as she was, then charging them hundreds of dollars a month for the privilege of working out in her presence at her workout center, Hot Mama Fitness.
Lyla rolled her eyes just thinking about it. The name alone was enough to make her want to vomit.
But it worked. Women—always slightly older or less confident women, always mothers—flocked to it, desperate to look like Natalie, to capture even a fraction of her effortless superior beauty.
And at home? Natalie was a nightmare. Cold. Distant. Always on her phone, always working, always making it clear that being a mother and wife was beneath her somehow.
Lyla had spent her entire childhood watching her father try to please Natalie, watching him fail over and over again, watching the contempt in Natalie’s eyes grow sharper with each pathetic attempt.
If he was a real man, Lyla thought bitterly, Natalie wouldn’t be such a miserable cunt all the time.
Often, Natalie would turn that laser focus on Lyla herself. Commenting on what Lyla ate. Suggesting Lyla try harder with her appearance. Asking why Lyla insisted on dressing like she shopped at Goodwill when they had money. Making little remarks about how pretty Lyla could be if she just tried.
That was the worst part—knowing her mother was right. Lyla had inherited Natalie’s bone structure, her long legs, her clear skin. Her hair too—in thickness and shine, if not in color (Lyla’s was a deep chestnut brown). She could be beautiful if she wanted to be. But she didn’t want to be. Not if it meant becoming anything like her mother.
So Lyla wore oversized sweatshirts that hid her figure. Ripped sweats that made Natalie’s eye twitch. No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. Anything to avoid looking like she gave a shit.
Anything to piss Natalie off.
Stealing her father’s money would piss Natalie off, because it was Natalie’s money in essence. And it would piss off her Dad too—and maybe jump-start him into doing something about his misery of a life.
Lyla had all the time in the world now to do what she wanted in her father’s office. Her parents were both out of town on business—separate towns and separate business, of course—and Lyla was supposed to earning her degree three cities away. She’d neglected her classes since starting college, but managed straight As regardless. What those administrative morons at her college were thinking, hiding their grading system behind such paltry levels of security, was beyond her.
What Lyla had figured out long ago—besides learning computers well enough to never have to sit through any boring university lectures—was that all she had to do was keep her grades up and her parents never asked her questions about her life beyond “how have you been?”
Searching through her father’s files, she tapped the small box of pills she’d fished out of the garbage earlier. They rattled gently against her chipped black nail polish. The label had been torn off, but they looked expensive—small capsules filled with shimmering liquid that caught the blue light of the monitor. More evidence of whatever midlife crisis bullshit her father was pulling—some kind of supplement, probably for his dick. Pathetic. She’d grabbed them as potential evidence, imagining her father popping boner pills before meeting some secretary half his age.
She leaned back in his expensive leather chair, the material creaking as she stretched her arms above her head. Her ill-fitting sweatshirt rode up slightly, revealing a strip of pale toned skin above her sweat pants.
“Let’s see what else you’re hiding.”
The recycle bin yielded exactly what she was looking for. A file called “goodwifecustom.exe” sat there, not even properly deleted. Lyla snorted, rolling her eyes at her father’s pathetic attempt at covering his tracks.
“Porn? Really, Dad?”
She clicked on the file, expecting to find evidence of some sad middle-aged fantasy site subscription—perfect blackmail material. The screen flashed bright white before resolving into a spiraling pattern of pulsing colors. Lyla blinked, momentarily disoriented as the hypnotic swirl filled her vision. She should close it—this wasn’t what she expected—but her hand wouldn’t move from the mouse…
Like what you see? Find the rest here!
