Whipped, bound mom

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"That was Martin," said Dorothy Berenson, puffing the phone down. "We're going to spend the weekend with him again." She looked over at her daughter. "Well?"

"Fine," said Kathy. She swung her long legs off the chair and went out of the room.

Dorothy stared after her. Sometimes she was ready to throw the girl out of the house. Kathy had all the vices of an adolescent, and it was driving Dorothy crazy. Not only had Kathy inherited Dorothy's beauty, with her blonde hair and luscious figure, but she insisted on hanging around with boys no matter what Dorothy did or said. That was one reason Dorothy liked to go to Martin's house on the beach. At least Kathy was away from those boys.

Dorothy sighed and walked over to the window. The girl still wouldn't listen to her about men. Dorothy was lucky, or rather clever. She'd insisted on a marriage and then played her poor innocent husband for all she could get. It hadn't been as much as she would have liked, of course, but it kept her comfortable, and at least one wretched man would be paying for his seduction for a great many years yet.

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