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She looks at me, then rolls her eyes and stares at the ceiling. Both hands rest on her exposed hips where the tight black dress is slit up the side. The skin from her lower hips to her armpits is visible. Under the bright studio lighting, the dress is almost sheer. The thin black strap of her g-string cuts across the open space. She keeps fidgeting with the dress, trying to pull it lower, but she can barely get the fabric past her upper thighs. On top she's given up, simply coming to terms with the fact that the club dress exposes ample cleavage while also giving the camera a view of her tanned underboob. There's a large oval cutout around her breasts, with a piece of fake leather across the middle to hold everything in place. She's tried crossing her arms across her chest, but then remembers how much of her hips are exposed by the dress.
"This is fucking ridiculous," says my mom.
I adjust one of the cameras, then make sure the lighting works. "This is the product," I say dismissively.
She taps her stilettos. I move one of the lights to better illuminate her makeup painted face. She did an excellent job on her face, with gold glittering eyeshadow, fake lashes, and purple lipstick. With an HD camera we'll still be able to see the wrinkles around her eyes and a little bit of the middle-age sag setting into her cheeks, but overall the makeup is effective. Mom's brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail and gelled into place. My favorite accessory are the two ridiculously large hoop earrings which touch her shoulders when she stands straight.
"You're a sick fucking perv," says my mom. There's real venom in her voice.
"I don't know what you mean. Is something sexual going on?" I ask with a shrug. "Doesn't this fit with the channel's theme?" I say. I speak casually, ignoring her aggression. She'd agreed to the situation--I have zero reservations. I see this as nothing more than the natural next evolution in our strained relationship.
My mother has had me on every social media you can imagine since I was old enough to hold a tennis racket. When dad died, I was shipped from tennis academy to tennis academy, being raised mostly by coaches and nannies. Even summers, when I got old enough, were spent at tennis camp. To give mom credit, it all paid off. By sixteen I was internationally ranked and making enough money from social media, tournaments, and sponsorships, to not work again until I was thirty if I wanted. Still, it was incredibly annoying.
"Alright let's run a few tests," I say. "Look at the camera and say 'Welcome to Man of the House'."
Mom looks at the camera with her mouth clenched. She says the greeting to her first video, but you can feel the hatred coming through. Mom looks annoyed, although I assume the facial expressions are just masking the deep shame.
I shake my head and tell her to try again. "Mom, the channel is all about being feminine and enticing. Your fans want to learn how to be welcoming towards the men in their lives," I say with a smile. I act like I see nothing wrong with the situation: what's the problem with filming my mom dressed as a bimbo club slut?
"Go fuck yourself," she says.
I shake my head and tap the camera. "Well, if that's how you really feel, then I guess I'm done with tennis. I thought we could be a real power family here," I say. "But, if you think I should quit tennis too, that's fine."
Mom flutters her eyes and grips her mouth tighter. There was the truth that had gotten mom into this situation: two months ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I'd told her I was done with tennis, and that I was taking all the money. We'd shared the proceeds of my career every since dad died. The idea that I wouldn't always be her golden tennis star shook mom to the core, and that's how we ended up here, having mom start her own subscriber based social media business called 'Man of the House'. It's got a good hook, I think. It's a video channel and social media pages dedicated to teaching women thirty and above how to be sexy, feminine, submissive and desirable to the man in their life.
"Do it again," I say. The camera traces the curve of mom's exposed hips, lingers on her cleavage, and then gets to a close up of her face. Mom claps her hands and with her brightest smile welcomes everyone to the channel.
Three weeks ago, after mom's constant begging for me not to quit, we made this deal. I said I'd continue to compete in tennis, and continue to promote myself on all my social media platforms, if I got to run her subscriber based platform. Since then, she's been even more of an absolute bitch as we got ready for the first video.
"Ok, great. Remember Didim Escort I can edit a lot so we can do multiple takes for whatever you refuse to get right the first time," I say.
She looks away, shame rising red in her cheeks. Mom is forty-one, with a slim and tone body, round ass, and perky tits, all maintained by rigorous excercise and plastic surgery. Her plump lips and clean skin are both silicone and makeup. Sure, the effects of forty-years are starting to show--she doesn't look like she's twenty--but Mom has maintained her attractiveness.
Is it weird to talk about my mom this way? I don't know--to me she's always just been that mean bitch I had to listen to. In my eyes a mom is just an older woman with power. Something I've found to be a dangerous combination.
"Ok, let's finally do this," I say. "Hands need to be where I can see the g-string and your tits," I say.
"Are you fucking serious?" she snaps.
I give her a hard stare. "What's this channel about?" I ask.
"How to serve the man of the house," she says in a mocking tone.
"Right, so the first segment of this video is how to dress for the man of the house. Don't you want your viewers to learn?" I ask.
Mom gives me a cold, disgusted look. "Fuck you," she says.
Again, I throw up my hands as if I don't understand her frustration. "I thought you wanted to make this video channel. If not, it's fine, but then let's stop. The channel is about being appealing to the man of the house," I say. She looks down at the floor. There's no answer from mom so I try again. "I can turn this cameras off, I don't care. But I'm done with tennis then. For real. To sell this product you need to be bubbly, energetic, and obedient. Can you do that?" I ask.
For a moment, there's a level of dull hatred in mom's eyes that is almost frightening. Then, she gives a big smile and tilts her head playfully. Mom uncrosses her arms from her chest and slides them down the front of her thighs. Her tits press aggresively against their container. "I'm just here to follow directions," she says. Her eyes are filled with fury and she can barely keep from grinding her teeth.
I motion for mom to start and she dives into the intro. "Hi everyone! I'm so excited you came to my channel. Today's video is a 101 on how to properly treat the man of your house," she says while pointing a manicured fingernail at the camera. "Modern feminism has us all so unhappy, and yet you look on social media and see these so-called thots living wonderful, happy lives. If you're a woman of a certain age, I'm here to show you how to make that wondrous life your own."
Mom licks her lips and then starts in on the next section. I told her we'd just keep filming and then I could edit later.
"Ok, first," she says, and then her voice breaks. Mom looks away and I can see tears starting to form. I hope she doesn't ruin her makeup.
She breathes out hard and shakes her hands. "Please don't make me do this," she says. Her voice is almost a whisper. She's pleading for her dignity. "This outfit is so fucking degrading." Mom pauses again and turns to me with her mouth shaking. "I'm dressed like a whore. Please, I'm your mother," she says.
The sound of her knees shaking fills the room. "I really don't get what you mean. You're dressed in a fairly normal outfit, one I can find on hundreds of websites. You're not even close to naked or in lingerie. I mean, I'm just trying to help you build a brand," I say. Silence stretches between us until mom nods her head. "Great, so now pull the g-string straps higher. We really want them riding up on your hips."
Mom's lower lip trembles. Then, she follows the direction, hooking her fingers under the g-string straps and pulling. The thin black straps sit high on her hips, then arch downwards towards the curve of her ass.
"Good. Now, describe how your dressed and why."
She takes a deep breath and steadies her shaking body. "So, to be the woman your man dreams of, the type of woman who properly serves the man of the house, you need to dress the part." Mom motions to her own outfit. I instruct her to spin and she does so, the lights giving the camera an opportunity to see her g-string through the dress. The thin fabric has ridden up to just below her ass cheeks.
Mom gets that same pleading look in her eyes. "Please let me stop. My ass is going to fall out and I feel like my tits are on display," she says. Her voice breaks slightly, the utter embarassment making her cheeks flush.
"That's good. You should tell them that. Just be excited about it," I say.
Her eyes are wide and pleading. I remind her about the Didim Escort Bayan channel's purpose. "You don't want to lie to your subscribers. If club dresses ride up and expose your ass, you should let the women know that so they can plan accordingly," I say.
Her face shows disgust--she's a forty-one year old woman being sexualized by her son. Her position as a mother and the respect she should have garnered with age have been totally disregarded. She's just another internet thot.
"Around the house, I like to wear outfits like this because I know it appeals to the man of the house. I.." she pauses and puts her fist to her mouth. She's whispering to herself with her eyes shut. Then, mom straightens up and shakes out her whole body. The fake smile gets plastered across her face. "I want the man of the house to know that I'm here to support him, so having my tits looking nice." She pushes her tits together and smiles at the camera. "And letting him have a little peek of my ass." She turns while she talks and at the same time pulls down the dress.
"We need to redo that turn," I say immediately.
She stares at me with pure loathing. Mom opens her mouth, then grits her teeth. "You sick fucking little pervert. You're going to make your mother show off her ass on camera? I'm not going to make myself out to be a slut," she says. Her voice is raised like she's trying to grab the last ounce of parental authority.
"Like I already said, your subscribers want to learn from you. If your ass is exposed, that's something to explain. I don't know where all this stuff about being a slut came from," I say. I look around the room with genuine confusion. "I don't see anything sexual happening. Do you? That would be a bit strange since you agreed to this project," I say, feigning as if I'm struggling to understand the contempt in her eyes.
Her stare is unflinching. Then she shakes her head. "No, of course not. There's nothing sexual about any of this," she says.
Mom grips her fists tightly, then repeats the line about showing off her ass. She takes a deep breath and turns. "Hold there," I say. The bottom of her tanned butt cheeks are showing beneath the dress. The camera just captures the curve where the two cheeks start to meet. I make her stay like that for thirty seconds, just standing there in high heels with the tease of her ass cheeks on display.
"Great. So the next scene is you going around showing how you keep the house for a man," I say.
First, I have her walk to the kitchen. I follow behind, keeping the camera on her ass. The dress rises higher and as she tries to pull it down I yell at her to keep her hands away. Mom groans. Her lips are quivering again and now there are definitely tears in her eyes, but I keep the camera on her ass as the cheeks slowly come into view. The dress has come up high enough that the camera catches the black string between her round ass cheeks.
"Now face the camera and tell them what's next," I say.
Mom looks like she wants to flee. Her eyes are downcast and she's biting her lip to keep from trembling. She keeps knocking her fists against her bare thighs. "Please just leave me alone. Don't make me do anymore. I can't. It's too humiliating. I feel so cheap and used," she says.
"Candi," I say. Mom's name is Candace-Jane. She goes by Jane almost everywhere, but I thought Candi was a more appropriate name for our new arrangement. "The women watching want to know how to be a good housewife," I say.
Her eyes bore into the camera. There's a few moments where I think she might quit, that I've actually pushed her to a breaking point. The thought is nice--it means no more tennis bullshit. Alas, Mom, or Candi, turns on the fake smile.
"Something really important for taking care of the Man of the House is anticipating his needs. It's stressful being a man, and when he comes home, he shouldn't have to worry about his next meal or a cold drink. Home is a place where a man's needs should be met," says mom. The smile fades as soon as she's done speaking. Her face is a horrified, almost blank mask.
Mom gets me a drink and a plate of food from the refrigerator. I tell her to stay in the kitchen while I take a seat on the couch. My plan is to shoot some of the segments with me present, but with almost my entire body obscured. I position the camera so it's in a POV style, with my legs visible. I'm wearing blue sweatpants and no shoes as I wait on the couch.
I hear mom giving herself more pep talks in the kitchen, then she strolls in holding a plate in one hand and the glass in the other. I have the camera focused on her exposed hips, watching Escort Didim the tight g-string dig into her skin as she walks.
"Ok, we're going to do the walk a few more times," I say. My plan is to edit a bunch of the clips together as a collage. I make mom do the walk six times, filming her tits, thighs, hips, and face. "We need to do your face again," I say.
Mom scrunches up her face. "Why?"
"You look too blank and angry. Remember, these women are learning how to be sexual and fun for their man," I say.
She repeats the walk. I film her plump parted lips, the smoldering look in her glittering eyes, and then, amazingly, mom's tongue just slightly licks her upper lip.
"Good enough?" she asks. She's standing next to me with the plate of food and drink. I tell her it was fine then instruct her to do the next segment.
Mom pops her hip and gives a big, sensual smile to the camera. "When my man comes home, I want him to feel appreciated. It's important to thank the man of the house for all he does," she says.
I watch as she leans forward, pressing her tits together so that edge of her areola's start to show, and places the food and drink on a tray. "Thank you for all you do," she says into the camera.
Again, her eyes immediately go dead and her lips set into a hard straight line. "That was so much better, Candi," I say. "That's the type of attitude that will help your subscribers learn."
"Fuck off," she whispers.
There's no point in acknowledging her anger. "Ready for the final segment?" I ask.
Her eyes drift to the ceiling. She's tapping her stilettos and shaking her head, all in an effort to keep from crying. Mom's hands keep fidgeting with the g-string and the strap across her breast. It's a vain attempt to assert some control.
"Please don't make me do the last segment," mom whispers. She can't even look at me while she talks.
I blink as if I don't understand her concern. "Well, we'd just have to do it for another video I think. It's a really crucial 101 move for this feminine idea your selling," I say. I pat the seat next to me on the couch. Mom sits and I turn on another camera that faces the couch. In the shot, you can see mom in her nearly sheer dress. I adjust so I'm laying horizontal with my feet on mom's lap. She looks away and crosses her hands across her chest.
"We'll start like this so we can say that this is the wrong way. Then you'll get in the correct position," I say.
The camera has a shot of mom from her knees up, with my bare feet resting in her lap. She's biting her lip and looking away while she shakes her head. "Ready?" I ask.
She doesn't respond as she turns to the camera. Mom uncrosses her arms and then slowly, rests her hands on my feet. "Start when you're ready, Candi," I say.
A huge breath of air comes out of mom's mouth. "Something I absolutely love to do for the man of the house is give foot rubs. It's a totally non-sexual act, that still let's your alpha male know how you feel. While some women do offer to rub their man's feet, doing it in this position," mom motions to how we're seated, "while staring off at the television is not what I'm talking about."
At this point in the video I'm going to do a hard cut, but in the moment mom just sits there staring off into space. I'm about to say something when she stands up, walks over to where I'm seated, and gets down on her knees. She leans forward with her fingers perched on the floor between her thighs. I take my feet off the couch and swing them to right in front of mom.
"The proper way to give the alpha in your household a foot rub, is down on your knees in front of him. This way, he knows you're totally focused on the foot rub. You're creating much more connection," Candi says. I produce a bottle of lotion from my pocket and hand it to my mom. There's no words exchanged. She lathers up her hands and then gets to work on the bottom of my right foot. The camera does a close up of her hands working the arch of my foot, then sliding up to the toes. Mom strokes each toe, pulling slightly, then works her hands back down the sides to my heel. She presses with her thumbs into the center of my foot.
I use another camera to capture a POV view--mom on her knees at my feet. I'll cut the shots together in the final product.
"Depending on your man, this can be a silent activity, or maybe he watches his favorite show, or it can even be a time where he listens to your day," she says. Mom takes my left foot and starts stroking with long, gliding fingers. She twirls around my big toe then works her way up and down the arch in rhythmic pumps.
"The key is to just ask your man how he likes it," says mom.
I let her massage my feet for another ten minutes before ending the shoot. I stand up when we're done, but mom just sits there, staring at the floor. Her eyes are blank and empty.
"This is going to be great, Candi," I say.