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Message-ID: <47980asstr$1085515804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Laura Alban Hunt, Ch 4 -- Over the Edge {Gina Marie Wylie} (Ff, inc, cons
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Date: Tue, 25 May 2004 16:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Laura Ch 4.rtf" begin>



   ----------------

   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





   The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in setting
age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read this and I'd never
have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can read and enjoy, then you're
old enough to read and enjoy.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





   All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my part.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





   Official stuff: Story codes: teen, inc, Ff, con.





   If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read further
and complain.  Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





   I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if you
remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned discussion welcome.



   Below is my site on ASSTR:

   http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/



   My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:

   http://Storiesonline.net/



   And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:

   http:// www.ewpub.org/



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





   Laura Alban Hunt



   Chapter 4 -- Over The Edge





   What made me do it?  Everything, I thought.  Curiosity, hunger, a total
brain fade.





   I turned my head slightly; Susan's lips caressed mine.  I returned the
pressure and Susan pressed harder still.  I stopped and looked at Susan,
who smiled and lifted her lips to be kissed.  I did kiss her, not quite the
full-scale assault that Gail had launched, but pretty clearly indicating
what I was feeling.  And Susan kissed back, telling me pretty much the same
thing I told Gail.





   After a bit, Susan pulled back, looking up at me.  Her voice was soft,
sweet, husky and dripping with hormones.  ``This afternoon, Jamie was
really mean,'' she told me, snuggling closer.  ``She kept getting me
really, really close, then she wouldn't let me finish.  She said she wanted
me counting the hours and minutes until we could be together again.''





   ``Teasing,'' I said, a small smile on my face.  ``Lovers do it; it's not
as mean as it sounds.''





   ``But I'm so....'' Susan made a frustrated sound, ``horny!''





   ``Me too,'' I whispered, bringing my lips back to hers.  Our tongues
touched and wiggled together.  I remembered Gail reaching for me; I was no
longer capable of reason.  I popped the snap of Susan's jeans as she lay on
my lap, undoing her zipper.  My hand pushed under the waistband of her
panties, finding her clit.  Oh my, how wet Susan was!  And squirming and
moaning as I stroked the strong knob my fingers found.





   Susan moaned and squirmed, her hand coming to press mine deeper.  She
closed her legs and pushed hard; Susan was panting in pain and pleasure. 
It reminded me of how I'd sounded when Susan was born.





   She let out a squeak, then another; her hand prisoning mine, deep inside
her.





   Her breathing slowed, but her hand stayed on mine.  She looked up at me,
and then smiled with just the corners of her mouth.  ``I guess we're really
pervs, eh?''





   ``No, not that,'' I told her.  I kissed her lightly for a second.  "I
don't know what I'd call this, but I don't think many moms have a closer
mother-daughter relationship." I said it with a grin; Susan had an
expression on her face that I didn't recognize.





   ``Mom...'' she paused, pushed down with her hand, pressing my hand once
again against her.  ``For almost a year, I've dreamed about you, about me,
being together like this.''





   A year?  Before 9/11?





   ``You can't imagine how many times I dreamed about kissing you.'' She
leaned close, kissed me on my chest, above the top button of my blouse. 
``Kissing you all over.'' Her hand went to cup one of my breasts. 
``Kissing these.'' I hadn't bothered with a bra, my blouse wasn't much of
an impediment.





   ``Go ahead,'' I whispered.  Part of me was sitting in a corner of my
mind, some of the time gibbering in fear, some of the time filled with
self-loathing.  But it all kept coming back to a feeling inside me that cut
through everything else.  A hard desire, a desire that penetrated and
consumed me, unmoved by fear and loathing.





   Susan started working my blouse buttons; I'm not really sure what
happened in the next few minutes, but I was nude and she was nude, and she
had one of my breasts in both her hands, suckling like a very large baby.
And I had my hands cupped around the firmest bottom I'd ever imagined,
caressing her.





   I'd heard a few times in the high school gym locker room the phrase
'dueling clits.' I'd laughed, considering mine mostly stayed hidden deep
inside a fold of skin.  But it was out and about now, and so was Susan's,
and while they weren't dueling, they did occasionally touch; and that touch
was an orgasm all by itself.





   Then Susan's body convulsed again, and mine rose to meet her, both our
clits rubbing together as if they were tongues.  Then I came, and it was
beautiful, dreamlike and exhilarating, all at once.





   Self-loathing was gone, fear was gone.  Instead calm acceptance that I
loved this, loved the way I felt, before, during and after.





   ``Susan...'' I kissed her again, not so hotly.





   ``Mom...'' she sighed, and I smiled back at her.  ``That was the best,''
she murmured.





   I nodded.  How do you explain to your daughter, what you can't explain
to yourself?  That was the finest orgasm I'd ever had in my life.  Pervs,
Susan had named us.  I'd said no, but the true answer was yes.  And I
wanted her again.  And if Gail had been there, I'd have wanted her too.





   I saw Susan's eyes on me; trusting young eyes.  How could I do this with
my own daughter?  Much less enjoy it more than anything I'd enjoyed in my
life, even the sex that had created her?





   ``Mom,'' Susan smiled, kissed me lightly on my other nipple.  ``First
rule of being a cheerleader: no regrets.  You are the best mom in the
world,'' Susan said confidently, ``even without this.'' She moved her
midsection against mine.  ``With it...'' she giggled, ``beyond compare.''





   She looked at my breasts, then back up at me.  ``There is nothing I'd
rather do now, do later, do tomorrow...  do for next month than to make
love to these.  I can't find the words to tell you how many times I dreamed
about this.''





   ``You have a life ahead of you, Susan,'' I told her soberly, ``a life of
your own.''





   She grinned.  ``Yeah, I know.  But Mom, you have a life too.  Your life
didn't end when Dad's did, I know that.  Mine didn't either.  And it's not
going to end if we make love to each other.''





   ``It would if it came out,'' I said, giving voice to the fear deep
inside me.





   Susan laughed.  ``Mom!  If every teenager who's had sex got caught,
there would be fingers pointing everywhere!  Mom, sex is good, it is. 
Nothing wrong with feeling good!  You have to be careful, you have to be
responsible.  You have to be lots of things.  Most of all, you have to have
faith in people.





   ``Jamie and I have talked a bunch of times about how bogus the rules
are. We can make love to every thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy at school
we want, as many as we want.  Fifteen-year-old boys.  A sixteen-year-old
boy?  He'd better be a fast talker, or he could be in big trouble with just
one of us.  Seventeen?  Toast!  Simply toast.  Over twenty?  They throw the
guy in jail and toss the key into the river!''





   ``Not around here,'' I joked with her, ``no rivers.'' It was pure and
simple tension release; still, both of us laughed.





   ``I can make love to twenty, fifty, a hundred different guys fifteen and
younger, and they don't get in trouble.  A seventeen-year-old, just one, no
matter how many guys you've slept with, he's screwed.  And as goofy as that
is, it's worse if you're gay.  You take potluck, depends on luck alone. 
Mostly, they don't mess with you, but sometimes they use the regular age
rules.  Other times, it doesn't matter, you're a perv, nothing but a perv
and you end up in the system.'' Susan shook her head.  ``That's not a place
I ever want to be.''





   I looked at Susan, contemplating her words.  I had talked to her in
general terms about the birds and bees; I'd told her sex was a bad mistake.
I hadn't said anything about being gay, not a thing.  Yet, it was clear she
had thought about things, probably had talked about them with her friends.
I suspected that included before we moved, as well as after.





   She looked at me, smiled.  ``Mom, never ever will I tell anyone about
you and me.  No hints, no nothing.  Mum's the word.'' She made a zipping
motion across her lips.





   I nodded and Susan went on.  ``Mom, like I said.  You have a life, just
as much as I have a life.  Right now a good part of my life is Jamie.  I
don't think that's going to last very long, but I'm not going to cry over
it.  Jamie wasn't first anyway; you won't be the last, Mom.  I'm not going
to draw lines in the sand about my lovers.  Right now, I don't want to be
with a guy, because the downside is too much for me.  So it's going to be
girls for a while.  Maybe for a long time -- but like I said, no lines in
the sand.





   ``And if I find someone I like, not in the `legal' age range; tough
shit. No lines in the sand.  And if you find someone you like, good!  It's
about time!  You can draw any kinds of lines you want, anywhere you want.''





   She laughed, ``And, oh yeah, I know kids aren't supposed to say it, but
hey, we make mistakes.  If I take up with a real loser, you can tell me to
my face; don't hint, don't beat around the bush.  I don't have to take your
advice, but if I don't and I'm wrong...  you get to say `I told you so.'''
She hugged me tightly.





   I held her eyes, and then I let out a breath.  It's supposed to be wrong
to treat teenagers as equals, but really, what's wrong with it?  Why can't
we be friends?  Adults have friends!  ``Susan, if you want...  if I mess
up...  would you tell me?''





   ``That would be cool,'' Susan said, nodding.





   ``How about a Mom who sleeps with her daughter?''





   ``We were going to sleep?'' she asked innocently; I smiled.  ``Mom,
mothers and daughters...  that doesn't happen very often.  But I think it
happens more often than most people believe.''





   It was kind of an exclamation mark to things.  Right then the phone
rang.





   It was Roger's parents, calling to see how we were doing.  It felt odd
to be sitting nude, talking to them.  Then odder still when Susan pushed me
back on the bed and crawled between my legs and started licking my clit.  I
talked for about a quarter hour, slowly losing my cool.  Finally my
mother-in-law said, ``We're probably keeping you from doing something.''





   ``I was thinking about starting dinner,'' I told her neutrally.





   ``Well, say hello to Susan for us.  We're thinking of maybe coming out
for Memorial Day.''





   ``That would be nice,'' I told her.





   She hung up, and Susan really started to push.  After a few minutes I
came, but she didn't stop, taking me a second time to the mountaintop of
pleasure.





   I reached down, tugged on her hand, bringing her up.  I remembered with
Gail, and I positioned her over my mouth, so I could bring her the same
pleasure she'd brought me.





   Susan's bush consisted of downy hairs on either side of her pussy lips,
and I spread those lips and used my tongue to press inside her.  It didn't
take long to have her wiggling and moaning, until finally she came.





   She slid down, curling up in my arms.  ``Mmmm,'' Susan sighed.





   ``Mmm, hmm,'' I agreed.





   ``Love you,'' Susan said, her eyes vague, almost asleep.





   ``Love you too, sweetie,'' I told her.  We both slept.





   When I awoke, for a moment I just lay in bed, knowing in my heart that
something unique had happened to me.  Sex with Gail had been good, really
good.  Sex with Susan had been, if anything, the best of my life.  What I
wasn't sure was why that was true; sex was, I knew, in large part
psychological.  Had I gotten off because they were girls?  Because they
were young girls?  Because Susan was my daughter?





   I remembered my life with Roger; a life that had included what I had
been sure at the time was a wonderful sex life.  I imagined him now, in my
head, here, kissing me.  Surging into me, particularly after we'd been
mildly teasing each other.  I dwelled on the feeling of his penis in me,
stroking me and stoking my fires.





   Sex with Gail had been different, unmatched for sheer orgasmic pleasure.
Sex with Susan exceeded anything I'd experienced with Roger or Gail.  Susan
had spent a good long time suckling on my breast, as if she were a baby
again.  She pressed her pubes down against mine and I'd come; I'd come a
few times with Roger on top, rubbing me.  It hadn't happened often, because
I had to be careful that it was his penis rubbing me, not my pussy hair. 
If the latter, it chaffed painfully, at least afterward.  When Susan had
rubbed me like that, I'd not worried in the least.  I sighed in pleasure,
remembering.





   Susan moved slightly, her mouth going to my breast again.  No doubt
about it this time, I thought as I enjoyed her ministrations.  This feels
just like when she was a baby, suckling at my breasts; it can't possibly be
that she remembers.  I smiled to myself.  Susan's hands in those days had
spent a lot of time in contact with my breasts, reminding me of a kitten
suckling, little paws kneading the momma cat, both of them purring.





   I remembered the day, weeks after Susan was born, that the doctor told
me that Roger and I could resume lovemaking.  Poor Roger had been horny,
but I'd been beyond horny.  I think that was the shortest time to climax
for either of us in all the years we were together.  I'd let Susan nurse a
little longer than I should have; she liked it and I liked it.  I don't
think Roger ever realized my libido was driven by his daughter sucking my
nipples.





   It had been a long time since I'd thought about nursing Susan, but it
was all coming back now.  I'd known it was arousing; a good way, a really
good way to pass the time while Roger was at work.





   I was, I realized, sidestepping my earlier question.  Sex, age or
daughter?  Maybe all three?  That would make me deliciously wicked.  Linda
had hinted that Gail was a benefit of helping with cheer; she had pretty
much made it clear that Gail wasn't very likely to be the only benefit. 
Gail hadn't said anything about anyone else, but she had talked about
`hungry ones' and that she was one herself.





   Susan's mouth came away from my breast.  ``I could do that all night! 
Oh, does it feel good!'' she laughed.  ``But if I don't get up, I'm going
to wet your bed!''





   I patted her bottom, and she stood next to the bed for a second, looking
down on me.  ``It probably wouldn't hurt to eat something, too,'' I
murmured, looking back at Susan.





   She nodded, and then vanished towards her shower.  I got up, put on a
house robe, went and started melting chicken thighs before I showered too.
We ate a quiet dinner, and then Susan spent a little time on the phone
talking to Jamie, before I finally sent her to bed.  Tomorrow was a school
day after all.





   About ten the next morning the phone rang.  It was a woman asking for
me, a pleasant voice, a little lower pitched than most women.  ``Mrs. 
Hunt, I'm Nancy Howland at the high school, I'm the faculty sponsor and
coach for the Scottsdale cheer team.''





   ``Nice to meet you,'' I told her.





   ``Linda Kellogg told me that you might be interested in helping chaperon
the upcoming cheer retreat weekend.''





   ``Yes, I would be.  My daughter's with Linda's daughter Jamie in eighth
grade; Susan's wanted to go out for cheer since forever.''





   ``Well, going to the retreat doesn't guarantee her a spot on the squad,
but it's a lot easier with an invitation.  We give invitations depending on
performance at the retreat.''





   ``I wish I'd have had a chance to do something like this when I was in
school.  I wanted to be a cheerleader, but I never was accepted.  I'm
really happy to help in any way I can.''





   ``Good, I appreciate it.  Now, however, there is just one little
thing... Actually several things.''





   ``I can imagine there are a few hoops,'' I said neutrally.





   ``There are,'' she agreed.  ``If you could come tomorrow to the school
office, a little before ten, I'll give you some papers to fill out.  You
also have to go down to a Department of Public Safety office and get a
fingerprint card application, get that in process.  It takes a bit longer
than we have before the retreat, but I can get a waiver if you have some
references.''





   I paused, took a deep breath.  ``I'm not trying for sympathy or
anything, but they did background checks on me in New York.'' I paused, and
then spoke the words quietly.  ``My husband worked at the World Trade
Center.'' And they had wanted to be very sure they weren't being ripped off
when it came to paying off.





   There was silence at the other end.  ``I'm glad you and I don't have
something in common,'' her voice was soft.





   Her words were...  almost offensive.  When Nancy spoke though, I stopped
being offended.





   ``My sister was there.  My little sister.  She's a New York City Fire
Department paramedic.  She and I are opposites; I'm tall and thin, she's
short and heavy.  She was carrying someone on her back, while holding up a
corner of a stretcher; they were just across the street when the first
building fell.  It was...  close.''





   ``I glad for her,'' I told the teacher.





   ``My parents hated her job, even before.  At Thanksgiving my sister
really pissed Mom off by saying she was particularly glad she was okay,
because if she'd been killed, she'd have had to spend the rest of eternity
listening to Mom say `I told you that was a no-good job!''' There was a
pause, and then she came back apologetic.  ``I'm sorry, I suppose that's in
really bad taste.''





   ``Ms.  Howland...'' I started.





   ``Nancy, please.''





   ``And I'm Laura.  Nancy, I understand.  Believe me, I understand.  And
you have no idea how glad I am you haven't uttered the word `sorry' or
`sympathy'.''





   ``I did get to it at the end.''





   I laughed, remembering.  ``You did, but that was for the joke.  Really,
it's okay.  Can we change the subject?''





   ``Oh yes!'' she said.  ``I have a zillion things to do during my prep
period.  Tomorrow morning, just before ten?'' she asked.





   ``I'll be there.''





   That afternoon I picked up Susan from Linda's; she promised she'd done
her homework, but it was patently obvious she'd been making love as well. I
told her I was applying to be a chaperone at the retreat; Susan was
enthusiastic.

   
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