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Subject: {ASSM} Untitled Story (Ff+ inc)
Date: Wed, 23 May 2001 23:10:04 -0400
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Feedback and criticism is actively welcomed. I'm not done with
this, yet. :)
-- Just You Hush Now
just_hush_now@hotmail.com
- - -
Hey, you dirty old/young man. Yeah, you, reading this. You can
just stop now, because I don't think you're going to understand
this. This is about something you're probably not even aware of,
much less care about. Go look at some nudie pictures and whack
off, or something. Play golf. Go do whatever you boys do.
But if you're a woman... Particularly if you're married, and even
moreso if you have kids... Read on, sugar. My story is for you.
Because you're probably like me. Well, like I used to be.
I had always been the sort of woman who bought the story about
life that women have drilled into us, day after day.
You've heard it all before. The old, familiar chorus: You're
entitled to have it all. Work at it, and your marriage will be
fulfilling. Give it your passion, and you'll have a successful
career. Sacrifice yourself, and your children will give you
lasting joy. Oh, and make sure you exercise and eat right and get
enough sleep, and don't forget time for the church and community,
too. And you should smile and be happy and fuck your husband and
enjoy grocery shopping.
And all the time, you're dying inside.
Never mind that we all share the secret knowledge that this story
is full of contradictions. Like you, I still took the bait.
Yeah, hook, line and sinker.
So when I changed jobs every couple of years after college, I told
myself it was because I hadn't found my passion yet. Then I met
Larry and I thought, "Oh, phew, don't have to worry much about
that - I have a Relationship, now." And then a few years later,
when my marriage turned comfortable and staid, I told myself it
was just because we were settling down and maturing.
Like you, I got good at pretending.
The worst part about this scam is that it tells you to lose your
soul. The real kicker is when you have kids. By then, you've
invested too much in the Myth to take the loss and bail out. So
you push onwards, burying yourself down deep so you can't hear the
screams for mercy and light.
If you buy the Myth, I was a good Mom. I did the right things.
Gave up the right things. Said the right things. Gritted my
teeth and pretended.
I was a Good Mother.
Was.
- - -
I sat on the couch in my undies and a long tshirt, listening to
the birds outside and the hum of the ceiling fan. I'd been
reading page seventy-eight of my novel for half an hour,
unsuccessfully.
Susan and Lisa had gone off right after breakfast to swim out to
the island, leaving me alone with Lena in the cottage. Lena was
the oldest. She had been my daughter's friend for about two years.
Susan had met her in dance class. They had been inseparable for a
year or so afterwards, although their friendship had faded a bit
lately. Susan wasn't too forthcoming about it, but I think it was
because Lena was going to high school in the fall. I'm sure Susan
had been hurt by the distance, but they were still friends. And
when Lena had agreed to come on our summer-long vacation in the
woods, Susan had been thrilled.
On the other hand, I had been dreading it. With good reason, too.
Now that "us girls" were all set up in the cottage, I had been
struggling with this itchy little voice in my head for about a
week and a half. It was the voice of Wickedness. Of Evil. Or so
I thought. Now, I realize it was the woman down deep inside me,
the one I'd buried long ago. Only she'd been down there so long
in the dark, she was a little crazy.
The voice had gotten much stronger since vacation started. Ten
days felt like an eternity, already, and I had the whole summer
ahead of me. For ten days I had been pushing awful, horrendous,
obscene thoughts aside, trying to keep busy with wholesome, normal
activities.
I pretended, like I had been doing my whole adult life. Even
though I felt like I was losing it.
But this morning was different. I sat on the couch, trying to
read, feeling the heat of the day starting to rise. The cicadas
were already buzzing away incessantly. It was going to be a
scorcher. And I couldn't stop thinking that I was all alone with
poor little Lena. If she had only known the vile thoughts
creeping through the dark corners of my brain. "Allll alone..."
the little voice hummed smugly.
Lena was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back
on a big pillow propped up against the TV stand. Her nose was
buried in a book. She was wearing a white tshirt with a picture
of one of those annoying, faddish boy bands on it, and a pair of
white cotton boxers.
If you had been looking closely at me, you might have guessed at
the pitched battle raging inside me. My heart rate ticked upwards,
minute by minute, and my breath got more and more shallow. The
flush rose slowly into my cheeks. This stupid novel just wasn't
cutting it. I snuck a long sidelong glance at her, and my pussy
surged. "Ohhhhhh, God... I want to look at her," I thought.
God, how wicked... how wicked.
Her long, tan legs were bent at the knees, propping up her elbows.
She had shoulder-length auburn hair, a dash of freckles, and big,
luminous green eyes.
Of the three girls, Lena had the most adolescent shyness and
awkwardness. She was the most coltish - that rare, fleeting time
when the girl isn't a girl, but isn't quite a teenager yet.
She was also the most developed. She'd hit puberty about a year
before she met my daughter, and since I'd known her, her breasts
had grown quite quickly. But they were still small and
tender. They evoked womanhood, without possessing it. And unlike
Susan, she had already developed full hips, and the curve of her
ass matched. She was budding, fast. I could almost feel her
sexuality bubbling just below the surface, untouched, unknown,
full of endless potential.
For ten days around Lena, the most grotesque desires welled up so
strongly that I couldn't just brush them aside. I had to
acknowledge them, even as I choked them back down. With Susan and
Diane, these dangerous thoughts were quieter. But not with Lena.
And at that moment, despite myself, I let myself stare at her out
of the corner of my eye. She had an incredible body. The tension
knotted tighter in my stomach. My pussy surged higher still. I
could feel it high up in my body, like a voice calling from a long
way away. That high thin song of desire fluttered and rose inside
me as I looked at her.
Her knees were about a foot or so apart, and her boxers had ridden
up a bit as she slouched on the big pillow. The effect was
electric - the thin white fabric of her boxers outlined the lips
of her vagina, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. They
were so snug on her cu...
The word had slipped through my mind, against my will... Her cunt.
I said the word to myself in my head. "Her cunt." I wasn't
breathing. I felt a trickle of sweat leak out from my armpit and
run down my side.
Lena always wore tight clothes. Images of her flipped through my
mind like a slideshow. Form-fitting jeans, tight at the creases.
Spandex shorts, cupping her swelling ass cheeks. That tight
little floral bikini. Her pert little bottom peeking out from
under her thin, snug panties as she sat down with my daughter at
the breakfast table.
Then I stared, noting how perfectly the boxer seams ran up Lena's
crotch. They left her mound split in half, lips seeming large and
swollen, protruding from either side of the cotton seam. I'd never
seen cuntlips so large, so luscious, so on display, as if just for
me. And I'd never been quite so derailed by such a small moment in
time. But believe me, I was a fuckin' train wreck.
Over the shriek of twisting metal and busting glass that only I
could hear, I heard the smug, wicked voice. "She'll never look the
same again," it teased.
I knew it was right. I wouldn't be able to look into Lena's face
without imagining her pussy lips, plump and thick, hidden under
her clothes. I imagined her panties, cool, silken and smooth,
caressing her mound. And I imagined the crease of a pair of
pantyhose splitting her down the middle, dividing her lips into
two puffy halves. My derailment was complete.
God forgive me, I stared right at her cunt.
Finally my body remembered to breathe. And my breath kept coming
in short, ragged little gasps. I tried to control it, telling
myself, "Stop staring at her, you pig." But I kept staring.
"God, what the fuck is wrong with me?" I wondered to myself. And
then, staring insanely between Lena's open legs, I knew there was
no way to put the engine back on the line. I wanted to see her
naked cunt. I wanted it so bad.
The high, thin song tingling inside me had become a keening wail.
I was lubricating furiously. I tried to gasp quietly, but my
heart was thudding like crazy, my mouth was dry, and sweat was
dripping from my armpits in hot, guilty rivulets.
And then, without thinking, without considering the consequences,
or the destination, or even the risks, I croaked out words that
would change my life forever.
I sucked in the world, in a single breath. I consumed it. And
then I looked over at her and very carefully put a totally fake,
surprised little smile on my face.
Looking at her, I breathed the world out. "Oh, I almost forgot,
Lena!" I tried to keep my voice from quavering. She lowered her
book and looked at me.
"What, Mrs. Anderson?"
I sat up, facing her. "Well, hon, this is a little bit
embarrassing, but..."
I put on another face - this one was a mild motherly
embarrassment. "My doctor visit yesterday? That was, well, the
gynecologist. And, this is a little personal..."
She smiled slightly, reassuring me that she was mature and worldly
about such "women's things".
I continued, "Well, I have a bit of an infection. Um, a vaginal
infection. And the doctor said I'm already basically over it.
But, that..." I paused, putting on another face. This mask was
sheepish and yet still responsible, matter-of-fact, and motherly.
"Well, it's still a bit contagious. And she knows all you girls
are visiting. And she said this bug or virus or whatever can be
passed though clothing. Underwear, actually, and other things
that come into contact with the vulva."
I paused and added thoughtfully, "I guess since we use the same
washing machine."
I shrugged, blushing artlessly now. Not because I was embarrassed
talking about vaginal infections and underwear, though. Because
of what I was about to do.
"And, she said the best thing is for us all to go with as little
contact from clothing on our, um, privates - vaginas - for at
least a month."
That got her. Lena blushed and sat forward, blinking. "What?"
I nodded, "Yeah, I know. It's a little, well, embarrassing, huh?"
She grinned, blushing enough to match my own red face. "Ahm, yeah,
you could say so." A thin metallic giggle scraped past her lips.
"So, anyway," I pushed onward now, the snowball running down the
hill, getting bigger and bigger. "She said that whenever we're
not in a social situation - you know - at home - that we should go
without undies. Or even shorts. Or pants."
I swallowed. My tongue felt huge, dead, and swollen, like a
sponge in my mouth, soaking up all the saliva. "So, well,
um... I'm going to go round up all the undies and shorts and
stuff, and put them in the laundry."
I stood up, trying to gauge her reaction without staring at her
like an idiot. "I guess we'll leave them all in the laundry for a
few days, and..." I swallowed again. Mouth bone dry.
"You should take off your boxers, Lena. Do you want to get your
things for me, or should I just collect it all from your drawers?"
She sat with her mouth slightly agape for a moment, her eyes
tracking me as I stepped toward the door into the kitchen. I
think she was waiting for me to tell her it was a joke. Then she
snapped her book shut and put it aside.
"Um, ok, I'll just bring them to you in the laundry room," she
said weakly.
Turning on my heel, relief and fear washed over me. I gritted my
teeth and fought back the urge to look back over my shoulder, to
see her taking off her underwear. Or calling the police.
"...Taking off her underwear..." echoed in my head. The hallway
seemed to lurch side to side with nauseating slowness as I walked
through the house. "...Calling the police..." echoed again.
"My God, what am I doing?" I whispered to myself. Then there was
the echo in my mind again, "She's taking off her underwear..." I
watched my own body, as if removed from it, as I woodenly got a
blue plastic laundry basket from the hall closet, and went into
the girls' room.
Every part of my body felt leaden and heavy. Except the huge,
seething knot of fear in my stomach. And my cunt... even though I
was consciously blocking out the raging hunger I could feel there.
"She's taking off her underwear," whispered the voice inside me.
I went through their room slowly, like a sleepwalker, my lips
pursed, breath curling raggedly in and out of my nose, and my
heart beating in great resounding thuds. "She's taking off her
underwear," the voice insinuated over and over again. With
shaking hands, I put all of their shorts, pants, panties, boxers,
pajama bottoms and swimsuits into the basket. It was full.
On the way down the narrow wooden stairs to the basement the words
suddenly echoed more stridently. "She's taking off her
underwear!"
I stumbled and almost fell. Clutching the basket and the handrail,
I steadied myself. I felt so dizzy. Weak.
The basement had the solemn stillness of a tomb. The dust danced
in the morning sunlight slanting through the little half-windows
near the basement ceiling. I paused at the foot of the stairs,
reeling. The cool musty basement smell wrapped around me, and I
took a big, deep breath, trying to get control.
I rounded the corner, and on top of the washing machine I saw the
boxers Lena had on, rolled into a little wad. I slowly exhaled,
trembling like a leaf. I picked them up and held them up in front
of me. Lena's panties.
"She took off her underwear," the voice sighed. And then it
added, "For you."
An low, involuntary, plaintive groan started in the back of my
throat. Just a few moments ago, her warm, young cunt had been so
snugly squeezed in these panties. The thought was like a physical
weight on my body, pushing the groan up out from my diaphragm
against my will.
I stifled the groan, and looked back across the basement to make
sure - absolutely sure - that she had gone back upstairs. I
turned them inside out, and with the blood rushing in my ears, and
swelling my cunt, I held the crotch to my nose.
I breathed her in.
I was delirious.
I closed my eyes and gave in, and heard my own raspy whisper:
"Lena's cunt."
I couldn't resist saying those words again. It was so deliciously
wicked. "Lena's sweet little cunt."
I breathed her deeper, drawing in as much of the sweet, clean,
musky scent of her body - her cunt - as I could. I could feel my
clit pulsing in time with my heart.
"God, what am I doing?" I asked again. "This is so fucking
wrong. What am I doing?"
But, I put her boxers in the basket of girls' clothes and put my
trembling hand onto the cool white metal washing machine. I
forced myself to breathe more slowly.
I had never been so aroused, so wet, so hot. Even back in my
first exploratory sexual experiences, fresh with the neon glow of
newly discovered nerve endings, I had never been this aroused.
Nothing compared. Not my first fuck. Not my first orgasm. Not
the first time Larry's brother Hank had flogged me until I came.
Nothing.
This was the most delirious, most delicious, most wicked thing in
the world. This henious act was the most intensely exciting thing
I had ever done, and my cunt was seeping with my excitement. My
nipples were crinkled up rock hard, poking out like little
erupting volcanoes, tenting my tshirt. I could feel my wetness
soaking into the gusset of my panties.
Looking down at the jumble of clothes, I decided to hide them. I
wasn't going to go back, now. Nobody - not Susan, Lena or Diane -
was going to detour me. Not now.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, stepped out
of them, and dropped them onto the pile. And then I hid them,
basket and all, in a old, dusty cardboard box near the furnace.
I bit my lip fought back an incredible surge of guilt when I saw
the magic marker label on the side of the box: "Good Will".
Something - somebody - already knew what I was doing. But I
didn't turn back.
Climbing the stairs, I felt the swish of cool basement air on my
cunt. God, I was soaked.
As my foot hit the top stair, I heard the itchy little voice in my
mind again. "Bare-naked girl pussy," it whispered.
It was vile. Evil. Wicked beyond comprehension. And yet my cunt
was throbbing and clenching like an alien, animal thing, grafted
onto my real body. It was hungry for more wickedness. And I was
going to feed it.
- - -
I wonder if you believe me. Sometimes I can't even believe it
myself. It all seems so sudden. So unlike me. Freakish.
I don't know why it all happened to me, and there's no one
specific thing I can point to and say, "That did it!" Instead,
the Myth unraveled in pieces, bit by bit.
There had been alot of crap going on in my life. Alot of stuff
that didn't seem to fit the Myth. After 11 years of marriage, I
found out that Larry had been cheating on me. For years.
I won't bore you with the details, but it took me a solid year to
decide that it was too late to blow the bolts, and it would be too
much work to start all over. So, I decided to stay with him. I
made up just one rule, though: he had to tell me everything.
And he did. But, the more he told me, the more I didn't really
give a shit about him, or our relationship. Clearly he never gave
a shit about it. Why should I? Eventually, he became just a
paycheck to me. A comfortable facade.
I think this was the first time I really started to see the Myth,
even though I couldn't see the whole thing.
One consequence was that I just didn't want him to touch me any
more. Not like it was any great loss. Sex had been the source of
friction for us for years, even though I pretended it was fine.
In some ways, knowing he was getting fucked on the side made it
easier for me. I felt free.
About a year after I layed down the new law with Larry, I began an
intense and increasingly kinky relationship with Larry's older
brother Hank. One-by-one in short order, Hank exposed all my
hang-ups and preconceptions about myself. And especially about my
sexuality.
A little more of the Myth was unraveling.
But it was still all pretty "normal". Our games were nothing like
what I was about to do. I was just kinky. Hell, I wasn't even
that kinky. I was still getting used to the idea of being kinky.
And I still believed in most of the Myth.
That brings us to last December. The "family Christmas" was a
freakshow, as you might guess. All kinds of barely contained
tensions and emotions, threatening to blow out like a bald tire on
a semi. I called it off with Hank on Christmas Eve. He got
shitfaced and passed out on the couch. Woke up at 3am puking.
Have you ever opened presents in a room that smelled like vomit?
Anyhow, with all this going on with me and Larry and then Hank, it
was fairly easy to slip into casual denial, and pretend to not
notice my attraction to my daughter's friends. And to my
daughter.
But around Susan's twelfth birthday, three things were converging:
firstly I had grown much more comfortable and confident in my
kinkiness; secondly Susan got her first period, and had started
the changes from a child's to woman's body; and thirdly, Susan had
begun to display some of the common coyness and inhibitions, that
grow like cancer as the un-conscious child turns into an all too
self-conscious teenager.
My desire to sexually explore the child-woman flowering in my home
grew, but I denied it. I buried it way down deep, under tons of
earth and rock - along with the rest of me. I was still clinging
to the Myth, even though it was coming apart in my fingers.
Feeling a tingle in your pussy while your daughter and her friends
romp around in their teeny weeny little bathing suits is
definitely not part of the Myth. But I kept right on believing
while Rome burned.
Until April, when things changed even more. But I'll tell you
more about that later.
- - -
I puttered in the kitchen for a few minutes, my breath ragged and
my cunt seething. There was a little window over the sink that
looked out on the enclosed porch. It took me two or three minutes
to work up the courage to even look out there at Lena.
And there she was, still reading her book. Only now she was lying
stomach-down on the floor, with the big pillow under her upper
body, and the book open in front of her. Her knees were open and
her feet together, up in the air behind her.
I couldn't breathe.
My vantage point was to the side and behind her, and her long,
thin, dancers' legs were displayed perfectly to me. And if I
moved over to the door between the kitchen and the porch, I would
be directly behind her. With a totally exposed view of her little
pussy.
I held my breath as I stood there, washing plates and cups,
feeling my cunt open and swell.
My heart thudding in my chest, I dried my hands, and then pulled
my tshirt up above my waist, exposing my ass and cunt. I spread
my legs wide open, knowing that even if she looked over at me, she
couldn't see anything because of the wall between us.
I let the water keep running into the sink, hoping the splashing
sound would cover my gasps. And I ran my fingers down to my open,
wet, raging cunt.
My entire mons was wet. My outer lips were slick with my own
juice. And I could feel how hard my clit was.
I stood there, my legs obscenely wide apart, teasing my clit with
the fingernail of my index finger, flicking it back and forth.
Each time, I gasped out loud.
"Bare-naked girl pussy," the voice whispered to me. Flick.
"Open legs. Open cunt for you to see," it insinuated. Flick.
I was on the edge of a huge, mind blowing, screaming orgasm. I
could feel it building like a July thunderstorm, opressive and
heavy and inevitable. I felt out of control.
And I wanted it. I wanted to be wicked, and I was doing it. I
felt my hips flip forward, thrusting my open cunt at her, and then
the voice - but not just a voice - more like a way of being -
welled up from inside me, overwhelming me. I felt both drowned
and liberated, numb and yet every fiber of my being singing with
joy. I pulled my tshirt off and dropped it on the floor, and took
a long step back from the sink.
Standing there in the kitchen, completely naked, my legs wide
open, I stared at Lena and began to masturbate savagely.
I hoped that she would look. I ached desperately for her to see.
I yanked hard on both nipples, rolling them and pinching them
cruelly, and between ragged breaths I whispered, "Show me your
cunt, Lena."
My own cunt spasmed like a car battery had been hooked up to it.
The words tumbled out in a thin, irregular hiss. "Show
Mrs. Anderson your little cunt, your assss, your pretty little
titssss."
I felt my orgasm writhing inside me, coiled like a pulsing
incandescent serpent, poised to paralyze me with its acid venom of
release. I was plunging two fingers in and out of my cunt,
frantically humping them with my whole body, staring at the ripe,
taut, virgin young woman not fifteen feet from me.
God help me, I was loving it.
Just as I was about to explode in the biggest orgasm of my life, I
heard Diane and Susan coming in. "Sssshiiiiit," I hissed, lunging
for my tshirt. I somehow managed to yank it over my head and cover
my ass just as they walked in.
- - -
It was late that afternoon before I finally was done with all the
positioning, spinning, and careful probing to find out if this
insane scheme was going to work.
And it looked like it would. After some shock, and some
hesitancy, and a bunch of questions, they had all bought it.
In retrospect, I think it was luck that Susan and Diane walked in
right then. I think I would have screamed my head off cumming if
they hadn't, and that definitely would have fucked things up.
Instead, it gave me time to back off a little, and use my head.
God, the waiting was torture, though. It meant I had time to
think about what I was doing. I had time to stare down deep into
the pit of guilt and shame. I still can't believe I had the guts
to actually go through with it. At first, I was sure that all
three of them could see right through me - like my thoughts were
being broadcast out loud.
But by four o'clock, they were all down at the water, butt naked,
splashing around with lunatic energy. And I was alone again.
"What the fuck am I doing?" I whispered to myself.
I was still wearing the tshirt I'd had on this morning. And my
fingers still stank of my cunt.
After a couple of minutes of watching them down at the water, I
knew they'd be there awhile. And I felt the heat return with a
vengeance. Time to cum!
I was through the door of my bedroom ten seconds later, with a
nice fat dildo buried in my cunt up to the hilt.
I fucked myself wildly with it, and came almost immediately. A
whopper.
Then I settled down to give myself a nice, long, slow fuck, taking
my time. I basted in the afternoon heat, sweating and moaning,
with my ass plugged and a vibrator on my clit.
I took my sweet time, letting myself indulge what seemed like
horrific fantasies about three prancing, pantiless young women.
My cunt jumped and twitched every time I admitted to myself that
Susan was one of them. I even admitted to myself that I wanted
desperately to see her body, just like Diane's and Lena's. But as
yet, my "monstrous" fantasies were just about looking, not
touching.
I heard the three of them returning just as that next orgasm was
crashing over me. I'd been fucking, teasing, tweaking and
dreaming for over an hour, and once that second orgasm started, it
broke over me in unstoppable waves.
And for the first time I can ever remember, I didn't stop myself
from screaming as I came, even though Susan was in the house.
In fact, I yelled even louder. I wanted all three of them to
hear.
I layed there afterwards in a drained stupor, listening to them.
They were giggling. I don't know if it was because of the "no
panties" rule, or because they'd heard me cum like the derailed
freight train I had turned into.
Then I started to cry.
I felt so worthless, so utterly ashamed and low and filthy. I was
unworthy of being Susan's mother. I felt so completely alone -
and I felt I deserved that abandonment.
I cried myself out after a half hour or so. A few minutes later,
I cleaned up and washed my face in the bathroom. And as I left
the bathroom, I looked up and saw my sweet little girl headed down
the hall toward me. Naked. In all her glory.
I felt my cunt clench, and with all my will, I forced myself to
look at her face - into her beautiful, clear, trusting eyes.
"Uh, Mom are you ok?" She seemed wary? Or was it concern? Was I
imagining it? It felt like my grip on reality was slipping. One
thing was sure - they'd heard me cumming. And then the guilt and
shame burned away in an instant, replaced with irresistable heat.
"Oh, yeah, honey. I'm just fine, Susan." She smiled, and as she
turned to go to the bathroom, I let her have it. I let it all
hang out. It was so hard to, and yet, God, I felt free!
"I was just masturbating, and came really hard, that's all."
Zing... there it goes. I watched her face as she stopped short
and looked back at me. Shock. Embarrassment. Curiosity.
"Uhmm. Ok, Mom. I... was just a little worried."
"You should be worried, Susan, honey," said the little voice in my
head. And I blinked back fresh tears of shame because I was so
aroused by it.
- - -
How can I describe the transformation I was beginning? There's
this old saying - Zen, I think:
Those who know cannot say.
Those who speak do not know.
I'll try anyway. That night as I crawled into bed, I felt more
alone than I have ever felt in my life.
Not just alone.
I mean gone. Obliterated. Even if someone understood, if someone
could have read my mind, I still would have been alone.
I curled into a tight, knotted ball of guilt and started to cry.
I cryed quietly and carefully, overwhelmed with this strange
feeling of combined isolation and freedom. I kept mumbling to
myself, "Why?"
Why did I want this?
Why was I choosing it?
Why did it make me feel this way?
Why, God?
Susan was the product of my life's work, in some ways. I'd never
been very good at much of anything, even before Larry and I met.
He was making good money, and when I got pregnant, I left my job
at the insurance company. Not that I liked what I was doing,
anyway. The Myth really fucks us over on that one. No win
situation.
But I was a pretty good mother. And now it was thirteen years
later. How can I sum up in simple terms what those thirteen years
of work, joy, pain, tears, worrying, more work, more worrying and
more joy mean? Susan was my only child.
So why I was aching to defile her? I wanted things that were too
awful to think, let alone speak, or even do.
"But why?" I pleaded through my tears. There was no answer.
I don't know how long cried before I fell asleep. When I woke up
it was pitch black. The moon hadn't come up yet, and there was a
shallow ribbon of anemic grey light coming in from under my door.
I got up, crossed the hall, flipped on the bathroom light and
peed. It was a sticky hot night.
Standing over the sink, I splashed some cool water on my face. I
looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes still smarting from the
bright light.
I started to cry again, feeling so lost. Feeling such loss.
I watched my tears roll down my cheeks, doubly ashamed. Because I
wasn't going to stop. I wanted more.
- - -
Sybil, one of my pervert friends, tells it like this:
When you first enter depravity you think you're all alone.
The only pervert in the entire world. Nobody could possibly
understand.
It's all about trust. And you can hardly trust yourself.
Shit, you just chucked your whole life over your shoulder -
how can you trust others? Especially your victims.
So you go slow.
Well, I was terrified. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a
scheme. But I knew that the voice - my desire - was implacable.
And though I loved Susan with all my being, I couldn't stop. I
didn't want to stop, either. So I took things slow, to start.
As it turns out, I didn't have to encourage nudity much - the lack
of undies seemed to inspire it naturally. And I began a regular
regime of noisy, obvious masturbation, treating myself to
screaming orgasms two or three times a day. I gave full voice to
my ecstacy, and everyone in the house knew how fucking great it
was to cum.
As for me, the next couple of weeks were like being immersed in
wickedness, all the time.
By the end of June, I was able to openly stare at their smooth,
tight bodies, any time I could stand to. The delights for my
senses were endless. My daughter's tanlined little A-cup boobs,
slick with suntan lotion. Lena's sprawled-open legs, with her
pudgy pink cuntlips and wispy new pubic hair exposed for my eyes
to feast on. The impossibly small, puckered mouth of Diane's
asshole, inviting me to violate it as she lay on the floor,
watching TV.
I was aroused from the moment I woke up until the moment I went to
sleep. I swear to God, I squished every time I took a step. By
ten a.m. every morning, I was already holding back an orgasm, just
from being around them.
About two weeks after P-Day (Panties Day? Pussy Day? Pervert
Day? I dunno... it just sounds right), I took another step. The
Myth was beginning to disintegrate right before my eyes. It felt
like I was the one disintegrating, though.
Susan and I had to go into town to get some groceries. Lena and
Diane declined to go, since it would be a short trip. And I
insisted that Susan go without panties.
It took some convincing, but I finally prevailed on her, but only
after she demanded that she could wear shorts. I was worrying if
I'd pushed too hard. It was tough to separate out what was just
normal rising teenage rebellion, and what might be the beginning
of the end of my world.
My daughter Susan was a slender reed of a girl with long straight
sandy hair marked with sun-bleached strands. She was petite and
slim, maybe even a bit bony. She didn't wear clothes - they hung
on her, bent briefly by a small bosom and just slightly angled
hips.
Even though she was more the child than woman, as I walked behind
her to the car, I had to suck in my breath. She wasn't as womanly
as Lena was, yet, but she was a gorgeous little thing. I watched
her still-too-flat hips jink from side to side, knowing that she
was going to grow into a gorgeous, willowy woman. And the thought
of defiling her now, while she was young, vulnerable and
inexperienced was making me so aroused I felt dizzy.
Yes, my own daughter.
It was a thirty minute ride to the nearest "real" grocery store,
through some winding mountains. We drove along with the windows
down, sweltering in the heat, chatting about nothing. Gradually,
over the first ten minutes of ride, I slowly spread my legs and
pulled up my skirt to expose my cunt.
Susan didn't notice right away. I waited until she glanced over,
and then a few more moments until she looked a second time.
As she did, I sighed, and rocked my hips foward, pushing my cunt
out, opening it up. I was already wet.
When she looked again, she protested, "Mommmm..."
"What?" I looked over at her. The wind was whipping and tugging
at her long sandy hair. For a moment, it was seven or eight years
earlier, and an image of my sweet daughter as a little girl
flashed through my mind. Such a vivacious, good-hearted girl.
Her eyes hadn't changed at all. A long curved blade of guilt
sliced into my gut.
"Mom, what if someone sees you?"
"Honey, you shouldn't be so concerned about what other people
think," I replied, gritting my teeth and banishing the image.
I paused, battling myself momentarily, and then added thoughtfully
"Anyhow, I love to masturbate. I feels great. Fucking great, in
fact."
She blushed and looked out her window.
Now for the hook: "Have you tried it, Susan?"
"Mom..." She rolled her eyes. But she was blushing more.
"Have you, Susan?"
"Mom, come on." I could tell that she had.
I let my free hand drop into my lap, and slid a finger down along
my cuntlips, feathering up and down over them. Touching my clit
ever so lightly. It was hard and throbbing already.
I looked over at her, and said, "It's great, isn't it."
She looked away, still blushing madly. "I guess so."
"It's ok, Susan. I want you to know just how normal it is.
Everybody - and I mean everybody - does it all the time."
I paused. No reaction. She was looking ahead, but I knew she was
watching my hand in her peripheral vision.
"Have you cum before, Susan? I mean, have you ever had an
orgasm?"
She chewed her lip nervously for a second, and then said, "Uhm,
no."
I let it go at that for a few minutes and we drove in silence.
Then, I pulled off on a little dirt road, and a few moments later,
into a sheltered cul-de-sac at the edge of a forest.
"Pee break," I announced.
I squatted a few yards into the trees, pulled my skirt up over my
waist, and spread my legs wide. Facing her. I waited until she
was looking, and then pissed.
She looked away. God, it was so wonderfully wicked to embarrass
her. Under my breath I murmured, "Look how wet you've made
Mommy's cunt, Susan."
"You better go, too, honey," I called out to her. She hesitated,
but then got out. I could see the wheels turning in her head. I
finished up, just as she squatted down a couple of trees over and
pulled down her shorts.
I went over and squatted in front of her again. She was looking
at the ground. "Mom..." she protested, in that whining,
impatient, annoying way that only your child can.
My heart in my throat, I spread my knees wide, right in front of
my daughter, not two feet from her. Then I put one hand on each
of her knees, and slowly spread her open, too. She didn't resist,
but she stared a hole into the ground.
The moment was incredible. The tension between us was crackling.
I was way, way across the line, and she knew it, on some level.
A cold iron bowling ball of fear settled into my stomach, but my
cunt opened and lubricated wildly. I wanted so desperately to eat
her alive, to consume her.
But I wore my mask of benign motherhood. I was the good, liberated
mother who helps her child wake up to her own sexuality. In that
"right", enlightened, responsible and appropriate way. I was an
actress playing the part of Mother. But underneath...
What a fucking lie! I ached to abuse her, to use her like a toy
for my wickedness.
But Hell, I had been pretending my whole life. The Myth is all
about pretending. I could get used to pretending this way, too.
"Susan, it's ok. Let me show you, honey," I offered gently. She
said nothing, still boring a hole into the ground with her gaze.
I stared at my only sweet daughter's open cunt, and began to
masturbate for her. After a few moments, she looked up at my
sloppy-wet pussy. She didn't look away.
In my head, the voice was celebrating: "Susan's watching me play
with my cunt!" I was absolutely on fire, and my cunt puffed up
and opened for her as I delicately teased it.
"Go ahead and pee, Suz," I said.
"But Mom..." she complained.
"Go on, Suz, it's ok."
Looking away, she whined, "God, this is so embarrassing, Mom."
I didn't say anything. And after a few seconds she pissed, right
in front of me, in a ragged stream of daughter-pee. After the
stream had dwindled to a trickle and then just a golden drop
clinging to one of her inner lips, I realized that I had been
holding my breath the whole time.
"See, honey, how I'm getting wet," I gasped at her. God, I was
ready to cum already.
"Do what I'm doing, Susan," I coaxed.
And I groaned out loud when I saw her thin little fingers drop to
her cunt, and her fingertip probing at her clit.
"Yesss, that's it, baby. That's your clit." I pulled open my
labia and caught my throbbing clit between the 'Y' of my index and
middle finger. I pulled it away from my vulva to show her.
I hissed louder, "Sssee mine, honey?"
She was staring at it, alright. Staring right at her Evil
Mommie's hard, throbbing clit. I almost lost it.
I pulled back my clit hood to show her more. "See how it hides up
here?"
She nodded, and mimicked with her own clit, pulling back the hood
to show me her pink, cocooned clit. "Ooooh, Susssan," I cooed.
My own lovely, sweet daughter was showing me her clitoris. Her
gaping cunt flushed deep coral for me, and I could see that she
was wet. It was overwhelming.
I plunged two fingers into my slick hole, and spread my wetness
over my clit. I repeated the motion again and again until she
started doing the same. As her fingers drew her girl juice up
over her clit, she let out a little moan.
"Oh, honey, that feels good, doesn't it?" I moaned back at her.
She closed her eyes, and started to frig her clit in earnest. I
was sure of one thing - I wasn't going to let her back into the
car until she came. I knew if she came - came hard - she would
have to conquer her own desire for pleasure to resist more of my
perversions.
And it wasn't long before she was moaning and whimpering with
every breath, her fingers dancing over her clit in time with her
moans. I was entranced. It was like watching the birth of an
angel. Her face was totally flushed, and a fine sheen of
perspiration covered her. A drop of sweat was forming on her top
lip, and I fought back the urge to cover her mouth with my lips,
and taste her sweat.
The roaring lust in my ears drowned every other thought out as
Susan's fingers mimicked mine. I wasn't Mom. I wasn't Guilty. I
wasn't Perverse. I was Sex. I was Hunger. I was Lust.
I led her through my most common masturbation pattern. First,
lots of light clit teasing - circles and then bottom-to-top
strokes. Then two fingers into my hole, and slow, gentle fucking.
And when I can feel my orgasm building, I switch to fast,
aggressive clit rubbing, with the pads of two fingers.
She came for her Wicked Mother, with a muffled squeal. She
half-stood as the orgasm gripped her - almost like it hurt. And
then she convulsed three or four more times while holding her
breath, a gorgeous anguished grunt seeping from her nose with each
wave.
Then I came explosively as she watched, with both hands on my
cunt. I screamed, "Oh, God, Sussssan!" as I peaked. But I held
back enough to watch her reaction as I said it. And all I saw was
blue sky.
We didn't say much for the rest of the trip. Her discomfort was
palpable. But that was ok. As long as she wasn't going to fuck
things all up, she could be as uncomfortable with it as she
wanted. Besides, she was just an inexperienced young woman. I
didn't expect her - or even want her - to roll her hips, lick her
lips, and moan like a whore. Not like me. Not on our first date,
anyway.
A few minutes before we got back to the cabin, I pushed for
more. I couldn't stop. Like a zombie in a B-grade horror movie,
the woman I'd shot and buried for the sake of the Myth was back,
and hungry for life.
"I want you to show Diane and Lena, too, Suz. You're all old
enough for it, now."
She looked at me with her head cocked to one side, and raised her
eyebrows for a sec, considering it.
"Uh, ok, Mom," she nodded.
"And, hon, if you have trouble, or need some advice, or want to
ask any questions, you know you can. The same for the girls."
She nodded again. "Ok, Mom."
Then I gave her a mock-conspiritorial nudge with my elbow, and
added, "There's gonna be a quiz th' day after tomorrow, ya know."
She giggled.
I felt a little of the tension leak away. I was feeling very
cautious, but all the signs seemed to be right.
- - -
It was 2pm. I had already cum four times.
Funny thing about all this. The more I did it, the easier it
got. Not just cumming. Although, there was no doubt that I was
cumming more easily - almost glibly - than I had ever before in my
life.
I mean all of it. The night after I'd masturbated for Susan, I
cried myself to sleep as I'd done each night since P-Day. But the
next morning, I felt light. Feather-light.
I floated through the whole day, animated and laughing and
frothy. It was incredible. I felt like a new woman.
Well, sort of.
I wouldn't say that I felt at ease with everything. My appetite
had grown. And that still made me nervous. I had begun to admit
new thoughts - new desires - to myself, and they were searing hot,
and burned me every time I touched them. But the next couple of
days were different than the ones before I watched Susan cum.
And at 2pm, after four sweaty, hot, screaming orgasms, I felt a
wild euphoria. Just like that goofy, funny, not-yet-drunk buzz
you get after two-and-a-half glasses of wine.
"God, Mrs. Anderson, are you ok?" Diane teased me as I wobbled
out onto the porch.
I had just fucked myself to a long, shaking, agonizing orgasm in
the kitchen, just a few feet from Diane, using a small yellow
summer squash that I hadn't put into the salad at lunch.
Yeah, you could say I was getting a little bolder.
I flopped into the white wicker chair with the skin-sticky plastic
cushions next to the TV. Diane didn't look up.
I burbled, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Diane."
In all honesty, I had never liked Diane too much. Her parents
were wealthy, and they spoiled her. Which was no end of pain in
my ass, because Susan was always playing "keeping up with the
Jonses". Of the three, she was given the most to being shy,
reserved, and even sullen at times. She also seemed to me to be
the most manipulative. But none of that really mattered. It was
vacation, right? I thought she'd loosen up a bit. Back when I
was actually thinking straight.
She was already Lena's height, even though she was about two years
younger. Like her mother, she was a bit on the heavy side. I
guess that's not totally fair. She was just a bit curvy - mostly
leftover baby fat that she would probably lose as puberty
accelerated. Diane's most redeeming features were her mouth and
her ass.
Her mouth was a work of unparalleled beauty. She had very, very
full, pouting lips, which always seemed to be engaged in something
oral. Gum, lipstick, food, chewing on pens, you name it. It was
annoying, but it was worth it. Those lips were fantastic. They
made me ache.
Even at Diane's age, even before she'd been menstruating more than
a few months, she had a perfectly gorgeous, full, round, pert
bottom. The kind that men love. She got stares, even now.
I was a little bit jealous, actually. But I consoled myself
thinking that she'd put on weight as she got through puberty, and
end up like her mother with a big butt. Heh, heh. Serves her
right, little snot.
I pulled my heels up into the chair next to my ass, and spread my
knees open wide, letting my thighs and calves settle on the high
armrests. I was naked. Flushed and sweaty from my cum, I was
still having little aftershocks of pleasure. My nipples had
softened a bit, but they were still hot and swollen. And my cunt
was ripe, open, and slick.
When Diane finally looked over at me, her reaction made my pussy
surge with renewed excitement. She opened her jaw, noiselessly,
staring at me.
Because I'd very deliberately shoved that chubby yellow squash
deep into my cunt, and left it there. A couple inches of the
tapered end were sticking out of my distended cunt. I felt very,
very full. Stretched around it.
There it was, poking out of my like a yellow construction
cunt-handle. Diane stared at it slackjawed. And suddenly my
breath was gone, and I heard the hurricane roar of lust rising in
my ears.
My voice thick and low with my surging arousal, I said to her,
"I'm more than fine, hon."
The words seem to reach her as if underwater. In slow motion, her
lips closed, and she uttered only, "Oh, goodness." As if she'd
seen something otherwise banal but momentarily interesting. Like
a hot air balloon on cloudless day - perfectly natural, but a bit
unexpected.
The seconds stretched out, heavy and tense. She stared at my
cunt. At the squash sticking out of my hole. I gasped for air,
unable to catch my breath, as my body caught fire.
The squash actually inched its way ever so slightly deeper into my
cunt as I relaxed, arousal washing over me in tidal waves of
liquid heat. As it slipped in, I couldn't suppress a breathless,
"Ohhh, oh, it's going in deeper, Diane."
I sat, hyperventilating, wondering what to do next. I wasn't sure
what I wanted.
Well, that's not entirely true. What I wanted was to exploit her
body and mind, ruthlessly. But I didn't know where or how to
start. I didn't know if I wanted to want that. And I wasn't sure
I could do it, or should do it.
So I sat and tried to catch my runaway breath, watching her with
lust-laden, half-lidded eyes. My gaze roamed hungrily from her
budding breasts to her pink thighs. My fingers found my nipples
of their own accord, and I began to gently tweak and pull them,
teasing them back into crisp, pulsing hardness.
Then, she looked into my eyes. Oh, God, she looked into my
eyes. And you can't imagine the exquisite swirl of emotions I saw
there. Fear. Surprise. Curiosity. Arousal. Confusion.
Anticipation. Embarrassment.
Such shining, stunning, genuine naivete. It was like a big fat
"fuck me over" sign. An invitation to abuse. It incensed me.
As her gaze locked with mine, I moaned out loud, unabashedly, an
animal guttural moan, right at her. Right in her face.
She gulped, color flooding her cheeks.
And something happened, again. I don't know if it was because she
was the youngest. Or if it was because it was Diane. Or if I was
just ready for it. But instead of entreating, and instead of
dancing around things, using deceit and subterfuge, I demanded.
"Come here, Diane," I told her.
The rosy glow of shame dropped from her cheeks, replaced with pale
anxiety. But she stood and walked over to me, stopping a couple
of feet in front of my splayed-open legs.
"Kneel."
She did. Her hands fluttered nervously behind her back like caged
birds.
She was now kneeling between my open legs, and my cunt was level
with the middle of her torso.
"Look at my cunt, Diane." The poor, innocent, helpless little
lamb did what I told her. And what a sight it must have been.
My hungry maw of a cunt had swallowed another whole inch of the
squash. Only a thumb's length remained.
"Open your mouth, Diane." She did, her eyes anxiously darting up
to me.
"Now put your mouth around the squash, bite down on it good..." I
had to pause to catch my breath. I was breathing so fast and
shallow I thought I might pass out. "...And pull it out of my
cunt with your mouth."
Diane, the first real victim of my perversion, did what she was
told. As if by magic. Without hysterics. Without protest.
Without recrimination or anger. She just did it. Without even
hesitating.
Can you even fathom the incredible blast of sheer, unadulterated,
raw power I felt? The rush was like being hit across the back of
the skull with a two-by-four. A silent supernova of plasma power,
injected into your whole being, everywhere at once.
Diane opened her pretty, perty, pouty mouth, leaned over, and put
it around the end of the squash. Her nose was smooshed firmly
against my throbbing, aching clit. She bit down on the squash,
and slowly leaned back.
The podgy, plump little squash eased from my hole, but with
resistance. I was stretched wide around it, the fattest part
already inside me. And as Diane pulled, my cunt opened and
enlarged to accomodate its width. Her face was quite literally
right in my cunt. We both watched my hungry, implacable
pussy-mouth open wide, a glistening python's unhinged jaw.
She finally pulled it all the way out, and she sat back on her
heels with the shining, slick squash still in her mouth. My
vagina was open wide, gaping langorously. I was so stretched and
empty, now, that you could see inside me, into the fantastic pink
cavern of my vagina.
I filled myself with three fingers, and began fingerfucking
myself, inches from Diane's saucer eyes. "Stand up," I told her.
Again, the power rippled through me as she silently obeyed.
And then, staring at her curvy girlie-almost-teen body with its
traces of baby fat, and the hints of womanhood, I knew what I
wanted.
"Lick it all over. Lick it clean."
And I called out loud, groaning with impossible, flawless pleasure
when Diane took the slick yellow squash from her mouth, and began
to lick it like an ice cream. "All over, lick it," I hissed
again, pistoning my fingers in and out of my cunt.
She greedily slurped at it, with surprising fervor, her eyes
alternately flicking from my cunt to the squash to my face.
I rolled my right nipple with one hand, and groaned involuntarily
with every breath, my cunt grasping and slobbering on my fingers.
"Now spread. Your. Legs." I gasped at her.
"Oh God," I moaned even louder as she obeyed.
"Now. Put it in you. The small end." I almost shouted it,
feeling a firestorm-orgasm mushrooming inside me.
And when she pushed that yellow thing into her beautiful
almost-hairless cunt, I came, screaming, thrusting my pussy and my
whole body up out of the chair at her.
- - -
Feedback and criticism is actively welcomed. I'm not done with
this, yet. :)
-- Just You Hush Now
just_hush_now@hotmail.com
- - -
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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