The Adventures of a Slut Mommie

Chapter 1: How It Began.

 

 

This story includes incestuous acts between mother and son, mother and daughter and father and daughter. If this is not for you, please read no further.

 

As I typically do, I will plead for you, the reader, to constructively write your comments, negative or positive, and vote for this story as you see fit.

 

 

Hey, all. My name is Kate Muggleton, an Australian girl of mixed origin living in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. My story, or the story I’m allowed to tell you, begins on my eighteenth birthday. On that day, my parents Mark and Elizabeth, as they typically do, forgot my birthday. Pissed off and horny, I allowed my boyfriend, John Muggleton, to take my virginity. As luck would have it, John made me pregnant even though I was on the pill.

 

Mine was the typical ‘shotgun wedding’. My daddy confronted John’s daddy and demanded that since his son had ‘degraded’ his daughter and impregnated her, he (his son) must marry me immediately, or he (my dad) would point his shotgun at his (John’s) balls and blow them off.

 

My family, well, shall we say, is a loving one. Daddy took my eldest sister’s virginity on the night of her eighteenth birthday and repeated that effort with my middle sister on hers. Therefore, I was the first of his daughters that didn’t lose her virginity to his rampantly erect less than 6-inch cock. Not that either of them complained.

 

Dad has conditioned the three of us, and Mom, to immediately submit to his every whim. If my Dad said ‘Jump’, we four would immediately leap into the air. So, when he commanded me to marry John, I did so without equivocation or complaint.

 

I’m getting ahead of myself here, so let me describe myself and my family. As I write, I am thirty-eight years old. My handsome, tall, muscular son, Tommy, is nineteen and already under contract with The Brisbane Lions. My daughter, Krissy, turned eighteen less than a week before this story began and is a mini-me. Tall, voluptuous, and beautiful, with a refreshing innocence, she, unawarely, has many young men panting after her. However, if I become unvigilant, I suspect she will seduce her daddy.

 

My husband, John, was captain of his school’s First Thirteen Rugby League team, school captain and dux (valedictorian). Combining intellect with muscle and good looks, John cut a swathe through the female students, inducing many, including me, to surrender their hymen to his vigorously thrusting cock. After marrying my sexy ass, John completed his studies. A Master’s in Business graduate, John joined Pepperstone Australia as a trainee stockbroker. Swiftly proving his acumen, John was quickly promoted to team lead. When John received his promotion, my gorgeous ass never had to work another day in its life.

 

You want to know, don’t you? Okay. But, remember, this is my story to tell as I see fit, so I may exaggerate a little. I’m taller than my daughter, 183 cm (6-foot) to her 178 cm (5-foot, ten.) Heavier, 75 kg, compared to her 72 (159 lbs) with bigger breasts, 16 Double-D against 14 C. I measure 36-25-36 to my daughter’s 34-22-35. With my wavy, jet-black hair over brown eyes and tanned complexion, I’m often confused with Mariska Hargitay. I live a life of luxuriousness, decadence and boredom. My sole purpose in life is to look good on my husband’s arm as he attends corporate and social events around the globe.

 

I was often complimented for my looks and figure during my teenage years. Thinking I could make a career as a model or actress, I made an appointment to see an agent from Vivien’s Modelling Agency. Kara, the agent, watched me walk into her office with her head shaking. “Girl, you are too much woman to make it as an actress or model,” she told me. “Too beautiful, too tall, too voluptuous, and your gorgeous boobs are too big. Men will lust for you but fear to approach you, and other women will detest you on sight because you’re too much for them to compete against.

 

“I’m sorry, girl,” she continued. “But the only acting or modelling you could successfully do is in porn. They’d love your exaggerated assets there, and you’d be the most watched star only weeks after your first appearance. But, my dear, if that’s the career you wish to choose, then I am unable to help. And, given what I said before, I don’t think modelling or acting is for you. Girl, you use your luscious assets to trap yourself a rich man, then you keep your figure and face looking as good as it is now and hold on to that man as tightly as you can.”

 

Lovely, right? Of course, I left without saying a word, but I thought her advice was sound.

 

I know that my husband takes many women in casual affairs. A man in his position is expected to, and it doesn’t bother me in the least as my father had numerous illicit affairs, and, as my sisters are, I’m conditioned to accept them as the price I pay to be the wife of a rich, successful man.

 

So, readers, that is my origins. Now you ask —how did I become a ‘slut mommie’? Let me tell you. In my teens, I had one vice. As is typical with girls as pretty as I am but who detest exercise, I took up smoking. Hungry? Smoke a fag. Desiring soft drink or sweet snack? Puff on a cigarette. Horny but unable to masturbate? Fag away. John hated that I smoked, and as I closed in on forty, I feared he’d use my ‘ashtray breath’ as an excuse to leave me. Therefore, I investigated ways to quit that enabled me to maintain my weight.

 

You see, my mother is an attractive woman. But at over 90 kg (200 lbs), she is a proverbial whale. Without cigarettes to help my food cravings, I knew I’d be as big as she. If I grew to that size, my marriage would be doomed. John already had many women younger and better looking than me flirting with him, so why would he remain married to someone who had ‘let themselves go’?

 

After investigating alternatives, I chose hypnotherapy as my best chance of breaking my tobacco addiction without replacing it with a food one. I selected Edgar Fontaine in East Brisbane as the therapist to help me. His web page was slick and professional, and his profile photo showed a devilishly handsome man with a tailored goatee.

 

A Google review showed a higher than 4.5 rating and many glowing recommendations. Calling the listed number, I told the cultured sounding woman what I needed the appointment for and took the next available slot. My appointment was for 2.30 pm the following day. Nervous, I worked through my yoga and Pilates regimes before going to bed. John was away with work again, so I slept the night alone.

 

“Mom!” My handsome son called early the next morning as he knocked and opened my door.

 

Shaken from a deep sleep, I unhurriedly sat up, and the sheet and quilt fell from my full and proud breasts. “What?” I mumbled, my voice slurred with sleep.

 

My son’s eyes jumped to saucers as his mouth fell open and his tongue touched suddenly dry lips. “Your fitness trainer’s here for your session, Mom,” he spluttered, not averting his eyes from my firm breasts.

 

“What? Oh,” I replied, my brain slowly grinding into gear as I stretched and yawned, lifting my D-cups higher. My addled mind forgetting I‘d be naked before my son, I swung my feet out of bed and stood up. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” I mumbled as I bent over, showing my sexy ass to my son, and opened a drawer searching for my exercise gear. Tommy didn’t move. Turning to face him, I realised he’d taken his cock in his hand as his gaze wandered lustfully over my luscious figure. Somehow, his lustful gaze didn’t put me off. Instead, I felt that familiar tingle between my thighs when I saw a man I desired. Typically, Tommy’s dad.

 

“Tommy?” He didn’t move other than to begin stroking his cock. “Tommy?” I asked again. I saw a dark wet spot on his sweatpants, and the tingle between my legs intensified. “Tommy!” I almost shouted, knowing I had to get him out of my room before I fell to my knees and nuzzled his hard cock.

 

“What?” Tommy replied, dragging his eyes from my breasts and hairy pussy and looking at my eyes.

 

With a slight smile, as I tried to prevent a sensual shiver, I repeated, “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.” I couldn’t stop myself from stretching luxuriantly, my breasts lifting as my smooth tummy tightened for my son’s viewing pleasure.

 

“Gaaawwwd,” Tommy moaned before stuttering, “W-w-w-will d-do,” and closing my door.

 

Swiftly dressing, I glared at my image in the mirror and admonished myself, ‘Kate Ashley Muggleton, what the fuck are you doing teasing your son? You’ll be lucky if he ever talks to you again after that!” However, as I rebuked my image, I remembered my son’s tightly gripped cock salaciously poking its precum leaking head at my nakedness, and my left hand pinched my nipple as my right fingers found my clit.

 

Lightly tripping down the stairs, I greeted Patrick, my trainer, and brightly said, “Hi, Patrick. What torture do you have planned for me today?”

 

A panting, sweaty hour later, Patrick patted my bum familiarly and said, “Good work, Kate. Now if you just ease up on the amount of wine you drink, we’ll get you down to 70 kg in no time.”

 

Laughing gaily, I pecked his lips and replied, “That’s not happening, but I appreciate the sentiment, and I’ll see you in two days.”

 

“Kate?” Patrick said as I walked up the stairs. When I stopped and turned back, he added, “If you insist on wearing white exercise gear, please don’t get angry if I’m erect because your pussy and nipples show.”

 

Looking down, I blushed as I saw that Patrick was right. My nipples and slit were delineated clearly through my sweaty outfit. “Sorry, Patrick,” I muttered. “I didn’t realise that happened.”

 

“Only when you wear white, Kate,” the young man said. “And, Kate?” I looked at him again in time to see him blush enough to match mine and add, “I’m not complaining. So, if you want to wear white again, please do.” Then he turned and swiftly left.

 

Stunned, that old familiar tingle found its way between my legs again as I watched the door close. However, when I lay on the bed after my shower, intending to masturbate the tingle away, visions of Tommy unknowingly playing with his cock as he ogled my luscious form kept intruding into my fantasies.

 

Worse, as I tried to fantasise about Patrick being overwhelmed by my nearly naked body and taking me on the exercise mat, his face morphed, and I saw Tommy clenched in rictus and grunting as he came inside my tight pussy, and I orgasmed harder than I had for months.

 

Feeling shaky and disgusted with myself, I rolled off the bed and entered my en suite to clean my sticky pussy. Leaning on my braced hands, I looked at my reflection and lied to myself. ‘It’s only a fantasy, Kate. It’s not real, and you’re okay because you’re his mom, and you would never do that.’ But, even standing as I was, my mind saw my son pulling his sweatpants down and taking his package in his hand again, holding it exposed for my eyes instead of hidden in his pants. And I saw myself kneel and guide it into my mouth.

 

Even though I didn’t touch myself, I shuddered and orgasmed as I imagined sucking my son’s cock, his handsome face smiling down at my submissively upturned one. ‘Lawd, Kate?’ I wondered. ‘When was the last time you came without being touched? When you were a teenager, maybe? What has gotten into you?’

 

Shaking myself, I changed for my appointment with the therapist. Feeling horny and a little slutty I took out my dark red skater dress and put it on sans bra and panties. I’d need to be careful as I sat for the therapist as the deep vee of the dress tended to gape open as I sat, exposing my full, beautifully rounded breasts. It also rode up when sitting, showing my curvy buttocks. But, because Dad insisted, I tended to sit with my back straight and knees firmly pressed together wherever I was, so I was confident I wouldn’t slump and show him my assets.

 

Putting my gold 4-inch heeled pumps on, I lit what I hoped was my last cigarette and walked downstairs. Drawing the delicious smoke into my lungs, I sexily blew it out as I thought of Patrick’s comment, only to find Tommy sitting at the breakfast bar watching me.

 

Not thinking, he blurted, “Fuck, that’s sexy, Mom!” Then his face fell, and he blushed and looked at the ground. “Fuck! You idiot!” He mumbled. “Why did you say that aloud?”

 

Pleased by my son’s praise, I touched his cheek and huskily replied, “Thanks for the compliment, Tommy. I’m glad you liked it.” Then, I bounced so my tits would jiggle.

 

Face flaming, Tommy took my hand and made me turn slowly before him, “Phhuuwwweeeeet-Phheeew,” he wolf-whistled. “Man, Mom, you look gorgeous! Got a hot date for lunch?” He teased.

 

“Your daddy’s the only man for me,” I replied primly, then blushed as I realised I was flirting with my son. “I’ve got an appointment with a hypnotherapist to help me quit smoking if you must know!” I add huffily, trying to cover my flirtatious behaviour.

 

Walking to my sunset red Audi A3, my hips swinging and dress hem bouncing, I added an extra sway to my hips, hoping my son watched. Getting in the car, I smiled as I saw his flushed face staring at me from the door. But on the way to East Brisbane, the guilt set in. Looking at myself in the rearview mirror, I asked, ‘Kate Ashley Muggleton, you dirty slut, what has gotten into you? First, you flash your tits at your son, then purposefully bend over so he can see your ass and pussy, and then you flirt with him as if you were a giggly teenager.’

 

I’m lonely, I admitted to myself. John is away so much, and even when he’s home, he’s hardly ever around. It’s all work, work, work for him. The only time he’s with me is when he needs arm candy for a function or event. If he’s not at work, he’s in his office downstairs, banging away on his computer. He’s short with me, short with the kids, and when was the last time we made love? I couldn’t remember. But I knew part of what happened with Tommy was because a man, any man, had looked at me as an attractive woman, and I’d responded gratefully. Not only lonely but horny, I admitted.

 

Pulling into The Fontaine Clinic’s premises, I parked and bounced jauntily into the reception. “Kate Muggleton to see Mister Fontaine,” I gushed at the receptionist, already dying to light another fag.

 

The receptionist, Liz Donnelly, by her name tag, was a mid-thirties, blonde, severe-looking woman with the most enormous knockers I’d ever seen. Seriously, I’m a Double-D, and mine looked like A-cups against her watermelon-sized tits. Dressed in a white button-up blouse that her massive melons strained against and a navy blue pencil skirt, she glared at me disapprovingly and said, “Take a seat, Ms Muggleton. The therapist will be with you shortly.”

 

Summarily dismissed, I sat and waited to be called. Twenty minutes later, well after my appointment time, Mister Fontaine exited his clinic room and escorted a slightly dazed, scantily dressed young woman to the receptionist’s desk.

 

“Maggie.” He told her authoritatively. “We’ve almost got this prescription pill addiction of yours licked. I think one, maybe two more appointments, and you’ll be ready to return to work. Make an appointment for the same time next week, and we’ll continue working on it. In the meantime, when you feel the need for oxycodone, don’t fight it. Instead, relax, remember what we did together, and let the processes I put in place work.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Maggie dully answered before turning and walking out.

 

Turning to me, Edgar grinned and rubbed his hands together and what I can only call predatory eyes swept over my fine figure before he hid them behind a feigned professional smile. “Ahh, Mrs Muggleton, I presume? Welcome to my clinic. You need help to quit smoking, I understand?”

 

Why I didn’t immediately walk out, I’m not sure. I feared this man, and my instincts screamed that he was untrustworthy. However, as my father and husband are, Edgar was a dominant, suave, confident man who commanded my obedience, so I submissively stood, with my eyes lowered, and followed him into his treatment room.

 

“Lie on my couch, Kate. I presume I can call you that, Mrs Muggleton? The less formality there is between us, the easier these sessions will go.” At my nod, Edgar continued. “Some questions first, Kate. How long have you been smoking?” Most of my adult life, I admitted. Twenty-plus years. “How many packs a day?” Not packs, cigarettes. Less than twenty unless I’m stressed or partying. “And then?” I chain smoke until I fall asleep or pass out drunk, I embarrassingly confess.

 

“Do you like to smoke?” Hell, yes. It stifles my hunger cravings and is a successful seduction tool. Blowing smoke sexily into the air or playing with an unlit cigarette as if it were a man’s tool as I coquettishly glance up at them is a sure-fire way of ensuring their total attention. Not that I’ve ever followed through and allowed my flirtations to be consummated.

 

“Not what I need to know, but I’m curious. You’ve remained faithful to your husband?” Yes. John has been the only man ever to share my bed. “And he to you?” My blush probably gave away my lie, but I answered, As far as I’m aware. “What did I hope to achieve from these sessions? A reduction in the number of cigarettes per day or complete cold turkey?” Complete cold turkey, of course. “Did I realise a nicotine addiction was harder to break than a heroin one?” No. Really? “Yes.” Shit! “Was I prepared to do as he asked to break my addiction?” What did that mean? I asked, my fears returning.

 

“Only that I will implant key phrases and behaviours into your psyche that will stop you from lighting a smoke, but they won’t work unless you willingly accept them as they’re given.” Okay. It appears that if I’m not willing to follow the process, I shouldn’t begin? “Correct.” I’m willing to do as you ask. “I will not work with you without your commitment. Will you commit to following my process?” Yes. “Swear that to me!” ‘WTF?’ I thought, but said, I swear I will follow your process, Edgar.

 

“Good girl, I’m ready to begin, are you?” What do I need to do? Smiling, Edgar took a pendant on a thick gold chain out of his jacket pocket. “Hold your head still but follow the swinging pendant with your eyes. Then I want you to relax and listen to my voice.” Edgar set the pendant to swinging and following his instruction, I kept still but allowed my eyes to flick back and forth, following the pendant’s path. “Breathing through your nose slowly and deeply, you feel your body getting heavier, sleepier. Your eyelids flutter, and you find it difficult to keep them open. You’re tired, more tired than you’ve ever felt before. Following my voice down …”

 

That was the last I remember until I heard, “… three!” My eyes fluttering open, I looked up at Mister Fontaine as he pushed the pendant back into his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I seemed to fall asleep there. What do I need to do to begin?”

 

Smiling, Edgar replied, “Your first session is done, Kate. And a very successful one it was, too. I’m very pleased with the outcome, as you should be.”

 

Was his predatory smile back? Why did I feel, I don’t know, dirty? Dirty as if I’d done some dark misdeed that I now feared would be uncovered? However, I smiled submissively at the cultured, dominant man before me and said, “So, I’m cured of my nicotine addiction? No more cigarettes for me?”

 

Edgar tipped his head back and laughed, “Oh, heavens no! I’ve planted the roots of your recovery, but they sit in shallow soil now. It will take at least another three sessions for me to grow them sufficiently for their effects to become permanent. You are lucky, however, as your submissive nature means my suggestions take root sooner and more profoundly than most, so four sessions instead of the typical six or seven should do it.”

 

Disappointed, I moued, “You mean I’ll still smoke?”

 

“I’ve set your appointments a fortnight apart, Kate,” Edgar explained. “However, I think before you’ve returned for your second one, you will have begun smoking again. You may start again before your third, but your addiction should completely disappear after the fourth. Whether I’m successful at curing your addiction or not will depend on you removing yourself from any stressful situations you find yourself in and avoiding any parties until I’ve cured your addiction.”

 

‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ I thought. ‘John is back for a week after next week, then gone for two more after that, so there won’t be any corporate dos that he’ll need me to be eye candy for, and with him gone, stress won’t be part of my life.’

 

Nodding, I asked if we were done for the day and, at his permission, followed him back to the reception area. “Slut!” Edgar muttered as I passed him. My hips bucked as my pussy instantly flooded with arousal. I’m sorry? I asked, ignoring my suddenly wanting pussy. What did you say? “Nothing, Mrs Muggleton,” the therapist denied. “I didn’t say a word.” Turning to his receptionist, Edgar said, “Mrs Muggleton needs three more appointments booked, each approximately two weeks apart and for the same duration as this one. Arrange those with her, please.”

 

He moved past me and muttered, “Slut.” as he turned into the hallway to his rooms. Biting my lip to prevent a moan as my hips shuddered, I asked Sorry? What did you say? Edgar looked toward me as if I were hearing things and politely said, “I’m sorry, Kate. Occasionally, when I plant a suggestion under deep hypnosis, the patient will think they hear my voice, even though I haven’t uttered a word. However, this effect will be short-lived, so don’t concern yourself. Slut” Did you just call me a slut? I protested behind an overwhelming desire to orgasm. “No, Kate. As if I would call anyone that!”

 

Edgar walked away as I stared, wondering if his words were true. Was I hearing things? Was the voice I heard only in my mind, or was the therapist using a post-hypnotic suggestion to cause me to react sexually to being called slut? I couldn’t seem to follow that thought because, as I tried, my mind wandered off to more mundane subjects.

 

“Ahem,” the receptionist interrupted my thoughts. “For today’s consultation and set up, the fee is $350, Ms Muggleton. Subsequent appointments are $280. Would you prefer to pay for all four upfront? If you do, we offer a 15% reduction on the total cost. Slut.”

 

Barely stifling a moan of desire, I agreed to pay the total amount, with the discount, for the four appointments and took out my credit card. Paying the asked amount, I put my card away, arranged my three further appointments, and walked from the clinic.

 

As I turned to leave, I heard, “Slut!” and barely held my composure as my arousal fluids flowed from my pussy and down my inner thighs. Somehow, I contained myself until I sat in my Audi. But once seated, I could stand no more, and I ripped my dress above my flaring hips and stuffed two fingers in my pussy. Finding my clitoris with my thumb, I twirled it around and exploded into an extreme orgasm, my hips bucking and thrusting as my fluids poured onto the car seat.

 

‘Wtf?’ I thought as I started my car and drove home. As I drove, a strange smell kept wafting into my nostrils. ‘Not semen,’ I decided. ‘Pussy juice? Not mine, however!’ I had no idea but decided that everything I felt, thought I’d heard, and smelt must have been part of what Mister Fontaine had done to cure my nicotine addiction, and I decided not to worry about it.

 

Only my daughter, Krissy, was home when I returned. John, of course, wouldn’t be home until late Friday week, and I guessed Tommy would have been at footy training. Wearing nothing but a tank top that barely covered her C-cups and a tiny thong, Krissy sat on a stool at the kitchen bench with her left leg bent and her foot tucked under her right buttock. Sitting like that stretched my daughter’s panties tight across her pudenda and pulled them to the side. The right side of Krissy’s pussy lips peered past her thong, and her slit and clit sat there, clearly defined by her clinging underwear.

 

I stared, I couldn’t help myself. Krissy, a smaller version of myself at the same age, had a sweet innocent air and wouldn’t have even contemplated how lewd her stance looked to a casual observer. Strangely, that tingly feeling reappeared as I gazed at her defined clit.

 

Looking up from reading her newsfeed on her phone, Krissy said, “Hey, Mom. How did your hypnotherapy appointment go?”

 

“Well, I haven’t had a smoke since then,” I kidded.

 

Laughing, Krissy stood and crossed to me. Kissing my cheek, her firm, young, braless breasts pushing against mine, causing that tingly feeling to intensify and settle higher than ‘between my legs’, she said, “I hope it works, Mom. Smoking is like the worst thing you can do, and I know Dad hates it, so you must stop.”

 

“I know, baby,” I replied, hoping she couldn’t smell my arousal. “I’m giving it my best shot to quit this time, okay?”

 

Smiling happily, my daughter, innocently hugging me, cupped my ass over my dress and smiled before saying, “No panties? You slut!”

 

I moaned. Dammit, I couldn’t help it! When my gorgeous daughter held my ass cheeks and said, ‘slut’, my arousal peaked, and I came! Wtf is wrong with me?

 

Looking at me wonderingly, Krissy sniffed before disbelievingly asking, “Mom? Did you just have an orgasm when I said ‘slut’?”

 

Trembling as I tried to prevent myself from climaxing again, I tried to remain calm as I sternly replied, “What? Krissy! What kind of thing is that to ask your mom?”

 

“Never mind,” Krissy mumbled, forced into the daughter role by my stern response. “Sorry.”

 

I didn’t want my daughter upset with me because she’d correctly identified my response and I couldn’t deal with it, so I cupped her curvy ass, squeezed it, and said, “At least one of us has panties on.”

 

“Yeah, Mom,” Krissy teased back. “Only one slut allowed in the house at a time.”

 

Even though I bit my lip, my moan was unmistakable. Eyes widening, Krissy was about to say something, but I quickly shook my head and mumbled, “Leg cramp from too much exercise this morning. Now, my little tart, go put some pants and a top on before Tommy comes home. You don’t want him to see you dressed like this.”

 

Reluctantly letting her questions die, my daughter sashayed up the stairs, heading for her room. Following so I could change into something less revealing, I couldn’t help from watching Krissy’s ass as she swayed up the stairs, that ‘faint tingling between my thighs’, now a raging furnace, settled on my pussy.

 

Barely getting to my bedroom without cumming, I dropped my dress to the floor, leapt on the bed, and thrust two fingers into my gushing pussy as my thumb found my button. I badly wanted to orgasm to images of my husband, or at least Patrick, but the twin thoughts I kept having were of kneeling before my son and daughter. Tommy, with his sweatpants pulled below his balls and his thick, precum leaking cock held in his hand, pointed at me, and my daughter dressed in what she wore when I came home, holding a handful of my hair as she pulled her panty’s gusset aside and forced my mouth onto her soaking slit.

 

Stifling my orgasm screams, I came many times as I lay thrashing on my bed, images of my children’s genitals pressed into my mouth, playing salaciously through my fevered mind. Coming down from my final climax, I thought, ‘That therapist did something to me. Best, Kate-girl, you stay away from that clinic and find another way to quit smoking.’ However, even as that thought passed through my mind, I felt it curl up and die. Replaced with Edgar’s cultured voice saying, “You need what I offer, Kate. I will set you free, and not only from your nicotine addiction. You will return, as you must return.”

 

In a trance, my eyes staring blankly as my fingers absently thrust in and out of my pussy, I answered, “Yes, Sir.”

 

There was a loud knock on my door, and Tommy banged through it, holding his brand-new Nikon D780 DLSR camera. His face flushed happily, Tommy gushed, “Hey, Mom. The new memory card for my …” His voice ground to a halt, and a whole new reason to blush first whitened, then flushed his face. Staring at my luscious, exposed form, my son ventured, “Mom? What are you … Never mind. Sorry!”

 

Tommy’s hand found his groin again as he slowly backed out of my room, his eyes glued to where my fingers continued to pump into my dripping pussy. As soon as the door shut, my eyes rolled back and the loudest orgasm I ever remember having crashed over me, causing me to pull my pillow over my face to muffle the sound.

 

Staggering to the en suite, I wet a cloth and washed my messy pussy clean, studiously avoiding looking at my reflection. Eventually, pussy clean, I leaned on my hands and stared miserably into my image’s eyes. Kate, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now? Masturbating to images of your naked children? Fantasies of having oral sex with them? Continuing to pleasure yourself as your son watched? What the fuck is the matter with you?” Of course, my reflection didn’t answer. But I knew Mister Edgar Fontaine, Hypnotherapist, had planted a post-hypnotic suggestion in my subconscious, and my body responded to it despite my conscious mind’s revulsion.

 

But as I stared, that realisation floated away on so many ephemeral wings, and I rejoiced that I hadn’t felt even one pang for a cigarette and felt grateful to Mister Fontaine, with my lower parts feeling warm and squishy now I thought positively about him.

 

Realising I’d have to confront my son and deal with my embarrassment, I dressed conservatively in a loose sweatsuit and made my way downstairs, barely noticing I hadn’t put panties or a bra on. Tommy sat at our breakfast bar, looking through the photos he’d taken.

 

Hearing me, he looked up and smiled, “Hey, Mom,” He said, his handsome face melting my heart.

 

His eyes fell to my gently bouncing breasts, and I realised I was purposefully strutting so they’d jiggle for him. Embarrassed but trying not to show it, I tousled his long black hair and whispered, “Sorry about earlier. I was missing your father.” We both knew I lied, but Tommy was gracious enough to accept my excuse. “What did you want to tell me?” I asked.

 

Blushing redder than I was, Tommy replied, “It was my fault, Mom. That’s twice now that I’ve bowled into your room without waiting for you to invite me and caught you …” Tommy’s voice faded to an embarrassed titter.

 

Unable to meet my son’s eyes, I mumbled, “If I don’t want you kids to enter, I need to start locking my door.”

 

“You’re hot naked, Mom,” Tommy mumbled back as his cock stretched and rose in his pants. “Well, you’re hot always, but you’re really hot when you’re naked.”

 

‘Kate, you’re flirting with your son again,’ my guilty conscience told me. Looking down, I realised that I was. My right hand rested on my son’s thigh, close to his swelling erection, as my hard nipples brushed against his upper arm. Nonchalantly moving further away, I smiled gratefully and said, “Thank you, Tommy. It’s nice to know someone still appreciates this old broad.” As I regretfully removed my hand from his thigh (what I really wanted to do was take his cock in my hand), I repeated, “What did you come into my room to tell me?”

 

“Aww, Mom,” My son said sweetly. “You’re not that old, and lots of guys appreciate your looks and figure. All my teammates agree you’re the hottest Mom in the place.”

 

“You’re a terrible liar, my son,” I admonished him as I softly touched his cheek with my fingertip before remembering that was another flirtatious move. “But I like your lies. Now, what was so urgent that you banged into my room for?”

 

Blushing as he remembered what he saw, Tommy answered, “The new expanded memory card for my camera arrived today. I hoped you’d let me take your photo a few hundred times and perhaps video you to see how much extra space I have.”

 

“You don’t need me to do that, surely?” I pointed out. “Anyone would do.”

 

Embarrassedly looking at his feet, Tommy muttered, “I want to be a professional photographer if my footy career doesn’t pan out, Mom. So I need someone I can pose to practise on. I don’t want just anyone to see them in case the photos are shit. Would you help me, please?”

 

Well, that seemed harmless, and Krissy had said she was staying at a friend’s for the night, so there was only him and me at home. Therefore no one would see my embarrassment at being posed, so I said, “Sure. Why not? Do you want to start now? Is how I’m dressed okay?”

 

Tommy shook his head, his face blushing even redder, and said, “Can I show you where, Mom?”

 

“As long as it’s not outside, it’s okay, Tommy. Wherever you need me, okay?”

 

Shaking his head, Tommy insisted I follow him into the garage. He opened the door, and I saw he’d moved two of the cars out of the way, then set his motorbike on a fixed stand so it was stable, then created a beach set around it, complete with studio lights, sand, buckets, a beach umbrella and an inflatable plastic ball.

 

“Wow!” I acknowledged. “Very artistic, but, Tommy, you’d better ensure this is all gone by Friday when your dad gets home because he’ll freak, right?”

 

“It’s all good, Mom,” Tommy reassured me. “The sand’s on a tarp, so me and the other members of our photography group will pull the corners in, keeping the sand in the middle, then toss it in the back of Sam’s ute.”

 

“Okay, where do you want me?”

 

“Kicking his foot back and forth, Tommy shyly said, “Mom, it’s a beach scene. Do you think you could wear your bikini?”

 

I blinked but thought, ‘Kate, your son has seen you in a bikini many times, so why are you concerned now?’ so I replied, “Umm, okay. I’ll go and change.”

 

Almost inaudibly, his face flaming, but his thick cock straining against the front of his shorts, my son whispered, “The tiny, white, string one, Mom, please. The one you bought to wear for Dad when he took you to Tahiti.”

 

I couldn’t. Well, I could, but I shouldn’t. The fact that thinking about photographing me dressed in that item had my son sexually excited told me it would be wrong. But that old familiar tingle was settling into a greater warmth a little higher again, so, with a tentative smile, I stuttered, “T-Tommy, are y-you s-s-s-sure that’s a good idea? I was only thirty when I wore that for your father.”

 

“You’re in better shape now than you were then, Mom,” My son answered, suddenly confident because he knew I’d do it.

 

“I’ll do it,” I acceded. “But, Tommy, I …” embarrassment poured over me again, and I strangled out, “I need to, umm, remove, umm, … you know.” I finished lamely.

 

“Oh!” Tommy gasped, understanding what I meant. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Embarrassing, otherwise. I’ll wait for you out here, Mom. I’ll take a few pictures of various things and try to get the light settings right.”

 

I returned to my en suite and wet my pussy with a face cloth, then squirting a lavish amount of John’s shaving foam onto my hands, I spread it over my pubic area, pussy lips, and along my perineum, then, as my fingers touched my hairy little starfish, I shrugged and thought, ‘Yup. May as well clean that up, too’. So I added some foam there, too.

 

 

Shaving carefully, I removed all the hair from my panty area. The first time I had done that since returning from Tahiti. When I completed the task, I bent over to try and see if I’d missed anything. Of course, I couldn’t see my little ring, and I worried it would look silly if it still had hair when the rest of me was clean-shaven, so I found my hand mirror, squatted, and held it to inspect my ass. I’d never seen my pucker hole before, and I found looking at it quite stimulating, so I wonderingly reached between my legs to touch it.

 

“Unghh,” I grunted as my pussy spasmed at the exoticness of the feeling as it seemed so nastily erotic. Testing, I dipped my index finger into my pussy, to wet it, then rimmed my little starfish again. “Ohhh,” I moaned, feeling sexy, nasty, and oh so horny!

 

Of course, that’s precisely when Krissy banged on the door and stormed in, swearing about how catty her former (as of the five-minute drive from Alexis’ place to ours) best friend was and how so many girls her age were such bitches!

 

Stumbling to a stop, my daughter’s eyes grew wide as she saw what I was doing. “Mom? What on earth are you doing?” She gasped, then covered her mouth, shocked.

 

Lawd, I must have looked a sight! Squatting, my generous bosom squeezed between my lasciviously spread thighs, a mirror held in one hand and the index finger of my other exploring my tiny brown ring.

 

Mortified, I huffed, “If you damned kids would stop barging through my door before I tell you to enter, you’d stop catching me in compromising positions!” Then I exhaled, “Ohhh, nooo!” Realising I’d just admitted that her brother had caught me similarly exposed.

 

Helping me to stand, Krissy asked, “What’s gotten over you, Mom? You’re acting strange!”

 

I tried to tell my daughter that I thought the therapist had planted something in my subconscious. But as I formed the words, they burst into those pretty ephemeral wings and flew away again, replaced by a flash of me groaning with pleasure as Liz’s overly large melons pressed against my upper thighs as she suckled on my naked breasts. That ‘little tingle’ was now a raging furnace in my wet pussy. As I stood, my hardened nipples brushed across my daughter’s, and an unbidden moan escaped my lips.

 

Krissy looked hungrily at my mouth, and I shivered with anticipation mixed with fear thinking she would kiss me. After a long moment, she thought better of it, let go of my upper arms and said, “So, Mom, what were you doing?”

 

Trying for haughty, I gave my daughter what I hoped was a withering stare and lied, “If you must know, I was preparing myself to wear my white string bikini as a treat for your father when he comes home next Friday.”

 

“Okay, Mom,” Krissy said doubtfully. “But that’s ten days away, so you’d need to do it again before Dad is home. Otherwise, the whole area will be stubble and horrible to touch.”

 

Still trying to be haughty, I tried, “And you know this, how?”

 

Unselfconsciously, Krissy lifted her short skirt and pulled the front of her bikini brief down. “Everyone goes hairless these days, Mom,” she told me. “I wax mine every two weeks to ensure I remain as smooth as a baby’s botty down there. If you’d asked, I would have done it for you.”

 

“I did not know that, Krissy,” I said. Staring at her thick clitoris and trying hard not to bite my bottom lip as the tingles began again.

 

Krissy let go of her panties and let her skirt drop. I barely stopped a disappointed groan that I couldn’t see her exposed clit any more. Trying to get a grip, I internally growled at myself, ‘Kate, Kate, Kate! Stop this crap! You’re not a lesbian, so why are you lusting over your daughter?’

 

Suddenly, my daughter’s brow furrowed, “Okay, Mom,” she said. “If you were checking to ensure you’d got all the hair around and on your pussy, why were you playing with your ass?”

 

“I wasn’t!” I defended. “Just checking that I’d cleaned the hair off there, too.”

 

“Hmm,” Krissy hummed before delivering the knockout blow. “Then why has Tommy set up a beach set in the garage? It looks like you are preparing to model for him, Mom. Are you?”

 

‘Kate, Kate, Kate,’ I exasperatedly chided myself. ‘You shouldn’t tell lies because you suck at them!’ Ashamed at my subterfuge, I nodded and replied, “Yes.”

 

Brightening into a broad smile, my daughter said, “Well, why didn’t you just say so? You’re a hot mommie, Mommie, so you should pose for pictures. May I pose with you? Oh, please say yes. It’ll be so much fun!”

 

How could I say no? What a hypocrite that would make me. It’s okay for Tommy’s mother to strip to almost naked and pose for his camera, but not his sister? So, forcing a smile on my face, my innards in turmoil, I said, “Sure, baby. Have you got a suitable bikini to wear?”

 

Krissy’s face fell, “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “No. I only have the conservative black one-piece you bought me last year.”

 

I grinned, “Do you remember that gorgeous, revealing black one-piece you admired but were too shy to buy?” Krissy nodded. Taking it out of my drawer, I handed it to her and said, “I may have bought it. You know, just in case you changed your mind.”

 

“Mom!” Krissy delightedly squealed, the first ‘o’ and second ‘m’ drawn way out. “It’s perfect!”

 

Eagerly stripping, Krissy handed the outfit back to me and asked me to help her into it. The suit was virtually two pieces held together by several gold-plated rings. The bottom barely covered my daughter’s pudenda before splaying across to her hips, then becoming three golden O rings that connected to the top and a thin strip that went around her back, barely above her glutes, with an even narrower strip dipped between Krissy’s ass cheeks to rejoin the rest of the bottom.

 

The top piece consisted of two thin strips in a bow around her neck, spreading to two thin bands barely covering her areolae, then minimally below my daughter’s globes, they connected to the three rings.

 

Krissy looked as sexy as all hell in this outfit, but I thought her breasts could be better displayed, so without thinking, I undid the bow, cupped and lifted her left breast into the position I wanted, then retied the bow before cupping and lifting her right breast to match. Looking at my daughter’s lusciously curved body deliciously displayed in my full-length mirror, the raging furnace inside my pussy threatened to explode. Unwittingly, as my desire flamed, I slid my hands back inside the suit’s cups and began stroking and tweaking Krissy’s nipples.

 

Leaning against me, Krissy’s head tilted back, and she moaned, “Mom? What are you doing?”

 

Unaware of what I was doing, I absently continued circling and stroking my daughter’s areolae. My eyes were distant, and seeing nothing but flickered images of a naked, hugely breasted blonde woman lying between my lewdly splayed legs lapping at my pussy as I held her head and thrust my hips. In my vision, I groaned as a seemingly unending orgasm made me shudder and twitch.

 

“Mom?” Krissy panted, an orgasm near.

 

Not answering as my mind flickered … image: as I recline on the couch, slender, long, red nailed manicured fingers lift my dress above my head and cast it aside, … my right hand slid across her curved tummy … flicker: image: soft, feminine hands cup my swelling mounds and thumbs strum my nipples … inside her suit’s bottom … flicker: image: Pouting, bright red lipstick covered lips descend onto my right nipple, and suckle then bite, … and onto her clit. … Flicker: image: My eyes open, and I see Edgar Fontaine laughing as I orgasm on his secretary’s tongue. I try to protest, but his deep, compelling voice says, “Sleep.”

 

“Mom!” My daughter yelped as I fingered her button.

 

Krissy’s sudden yelp cleared my mind, and I looked down, horrified at what I was doing. My left hand cupped my daughter’s breast, strumming her nipple with my thumb as my right delved inside her swimsuit bottom and slowly circled her clit. Stepping hurriedly back, my hands leaving her lush body, I burst into tears, hating myself and what I’d become.

 

Touching my shoulder, Krissy said, “Mom?” I couldn’t look at her. “Mom?” She asked again. Then when I still didn’t answer, she said, “It’s okay, Mommie, I liked it. Your hands felt good on me. I was shocked, is all, but now I’m only sorry I didn’t let you make me cum.”

 

My suppressed sniffles turned to sobs which became great, heaving blubbers. Turning, I lowered my head onto my daughter’s shoulder as if I were the child needing her mother’s help and affection and wept, “I’m so sorry, Krissy. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that you look so beautiful and desirable, and I wanted to make you feel good.”

 

“You did make me feel good, Mom,” Krissy soothed as she kissed my cheek and hugged me close, her warm breasts pressing to mine, and despite everything, that tingle reappeared. Then Krissy hitched twice as she tried to speak again. “Mom, look at me, please.” Unwillingly, I lifted my teary face to see her. “I’m still a virgin, Mom. You petting me as you did, was my very first makeout session where I let anyone get to second base. I want to, Mom. Oh, Lawd, do I want to! But I’m scared I’ll get pregnant on my first time like you did. I’m too young to have a baby, Mom.”

 

“You’re on the pill, baby,” I reassured her. “You shouldn’t get pregnant when you find the right guy to make love to.”

 

“You shouldn’t have, either, Mom,” my daughter pointed out. “Yet, here we are.”

 

“I have no regrets,” I swiftly said. “You, Tommy, and your dad are my life, and I’m proud of my life.” But I wondered if that was now true. I’d already done one despicable thing, molested my daughter, and my urges were already pleading with me to do more.

 

Tommy knocked on the door, “You guys almost ready?” He called through the door. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

 

“Give us another ten minutes,” Krissy answered for me. “We need to do our makeup.”

 

Of course, makeup and other ‘feminine things’ are a mystery to most males, so my son accepted Krissy’s statement without question.

 

“Come on, Mom,” my daughter said, dragging me into the en suite. “You need to wash your pretty face, and then we’ll get you made up.” Krissy opened my makeup case and took out moisturiser, eyeliner, mascara and an eyebrow pencil. Once I’d cleaned my face, she expertly smoothed the moisturiser into my skin, outlined my eyes with a thick charcoal pencil, shaded my already dark eyebrows to black and applied mascara until my lashes arced beautifully from my lids.

 

Finishing my look with mahogany lipstick, she asked, “Where’s that string bikini Tommy wants you to wear?” Only then did I realise I’d been naked with her the whole time. Krissy had to have smelt my arousal and noticed my pointy hard nipples.

 

I retrieved it from the drawer where it had lain next to the one Krissy wore and shimmied the bottoms up my thighs, realising I’d put some weight on since I last wore it. Krissy laughed and undid the bows on its sides so I could work it into place. I had a similar problem with the top. My breasts were heavier and fuller than when I was thirty, plus they sagged more. ‘Maybe I should follow Patrick’s suggestion and lay off the wine.’ I muttered to myself.

 

“Thank gawd, Mom, but you and I will never be one of those skinny salad eating bitches,” my daughter said as she reassured me she thought my fuller figure was sexier. “However, you are a gorgeous MILF, and all my friend’s brothers agree you’re the hottest there is. Tommy, too, probably.”

 

Krissy returned the favour of adjusting my swimsuit to display my breasts correctly, including cupping them and playing with my nipples. Fortunately, we faced away from the mirror, so she didn’t see the longing arousal displayed on my expressive face. However, I protested how Krissy had adjusted my bikini bottom. She’d pulled it so tight that my slit, clit and entrance (camel toe) lewdly showed. The thin piece of material was barely wider than my slit, to begin with, so pulling the ties until it outlined everything was too much, I thought.

 

I moved my hands to undo the side bows and release the tension, but my daughter hissed, “Don’t you dare change that. Camel toes are hot, Mommie. Tommy will shit when he sees yours.”

 

“It is not my intention to turn your brother on, baby girl,” I haughtily told her as I tried to undo the ties, only to have my hands slapped again.

 

“Too late,” Krissy muttered. “As soon as he saw me after he caught you masturbating, he told me how hot you were and how he wished you weren’t his mother so he could fuck you."

 

I caught little more than snippets of my daughter’s mutterings, so I asked, “I didn’t catch that, Krissy. What did you say?”

 

“Never mind, Mom,” she airily replied. “Leave your bottoms as they are, and let’s go see what Tommy wants us to do.”

 

Shrugging, I opened the wardrobe, took out my white pumps with the 7-inch heels and slipped them on my feet. Looking downcast, my daughter said, “Oh, Mom, those look sexy. Shame that I don’t have a matching black pair.”

 

Grinning, I reached in, pulled out my 7-inch black pair, handed them to her, and said, “Luckily, I do!”

 

I had to teach my daughter how to walk down the stairs in heels (turn your hips to the side and place your foot parallel to the step, not ninety degrees to), but reaching the bottom, we hip-swayed across the drive and into our four car garage, where my son waited.

 

Peering into the viewfinder of his camera, Tommy bitched, “Took you long enough! I’ve been waiting an hour.”

 

Flipping into ‘mom’ mode, I replied evenly, “Tommy, neither your sister nor I, have to pose for you. So, improve your attitude, or we’re going inside to change into something less revealing and be damned with your photos.”

 

“Sorry, Mom,” my son immediately said. “It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to this all day, and I’m feeling impatient, okay?”

 

“Tommy,” I growled, now in full Mom mode. “I’m hearing ‘I want, I want’. When did that ever work out for you?”

 

Finally pulling his eyes away from his viewfinder, Tommy looked us over and gasped, “Oh, my Lawd! Krissy, I … I don’t know what to say. Sis, you look, you know, hot. As in, ‘red hot bitch’! And Mom, I mean… Wow!”

 

Which was fair enough. My tiny string bikini covered little and left much displayed, so, yeah, ‘Wow!’ covered it!

 

“Where do you want us?” I asked, wanting to get this show on the road so I could lie on my bed and think about my day.

 

Furiously thinking, my son said, “One at a time, at first. Mom, lean against my bike and place your hands behind your back. One on the tank and one on the seat, then look to your left and smile as if you know a secret no one else knows.”

 

I took up Tommy’s requested pose and tried my best to look suitably amused as I looked to the left.

 

“Look up, Mom,” Tommy requested. But the first thing I noticed was that the camera’s lens appeared to be pointing at my breasts, not my face.

 

“Tommy? Are you taking pictures of your mother’s breasts?” I asked.

 

Blushing, my son denied it. However, I saw the zoom lens wind back in before he took another photo. Tommy moved me through various poses, most of which were typically modest poses you’d expect for a motorcycle magazine or an ad for a brand of motorcycle. Only a few were even remotely erotic, like when he asked me to sit on the motorcycle seat’s edge with my knees spread wide, then lean back on my hands and toss my hair.

 

Strangely, posing for the more erotic photos in front of my handsome son and eagerly watching daughter made that tingle reappear, and I worried my arousal would soak through my bikini bottom and show.

 

Deciding he’d taken enough of me for now, Tommy posed his sister through a series of similar shots. I was happily unhappy if that makes sense. I hadn’t been sure of my son’s motives when he first asked me to pose as I suspected he wanted to see more of me as I was earlier today when he had twice walked in on me, so I was grateful Tommy posed me innocently. However, the insistent tingling, as it rose to settle on my clit and vulva, insisted I wanted to show my children more. I wanted Tommy to lose all sense of himself and unknowingly take his thick cock in his hand again as he stared at my barely covered slit.

 

As my little button throbbed, I realised I wanted my daughter to see my sexily displayed body and desire it. I wanted to knead and squeeze her perfectly formed breasts as her virtually untouched nipples hardened in my fingers. I desired to feel my hand glide across her smooth stomach and mound until my questing fingers found her virginally pure clitoris, and as her arousal grew and wetness formed under my stroking fingers, play with it. Overcome by the sexy, illicit, incestuous images playing through my fevered mind, I leaned back against my Audi’s door and climaxed.

 

I could not stifle my moan and saw my son turn toward me. Then, from a million miles away, I hear Tommy say, “Oh, wow, Mom! That is so sexy!” He took the camera off its tripod and swivelled around, the camera clicking as he captured what he saw.

 

I looked down to see what my son was so eagerly capturing. As I’d feared, my wetness had made my bikini bottom translucent, and my flushed, almost brown clit showed clearly. “Tommy, no!” I pleaded. “You shouldn’t be taking pictures of your mother’s pussy.” But my protest sounded weak, even to me, and as Tommy, squatting, duck walked closer, I widened my feet and spread my knees, letting myself lower so my knees flexed and the firm muscles in my calves and thighs popped.

 

“Perfect, Mom,” Tommy complimented. “You’re getting into it now.” He moved a couple of steps further back and stood. “Fold your left arm across your tummy and cup your right breast, Mom,” Tommy instructed. As I obeyed, I heard, “Good. Yes. Just like that. Now slide your right hand down your stomach until your middle finger is just inside the top of your bikini.”

 

‘Kate,’ my conscious pleaded. ‘Stop this. Stop it right now before you go too far. You always go too far, Kate. That’s what got you pregnant in the first place. If you’d kept your damned knickers on, you wouldn’t be here now.’

 

But then my daughter gushed, “Oh Gawd, Mom! You look amazing! Way sexier than any model posed like this I’ve ever seen. Oh, man! I’m so jelly of how you look!” And I paid no more heed to that whining inner voice.

 

Wanting to please my kids, I brought my heels together, squatted down with my back against the car’s door, and spread my knees as wide as possible. Looking to the left and up, I ran my left fingers into my luscious locks and lifted them so they cascaded over my neck and right shoulder. Then affecting a pouting, demure look, I placed the dark red painted fingernail on my right index finger between my sexily smiling, lush lips and lightly bit it.

 

“Hot, Mom,” my son crooned as he lay on the floor and zoomed in on my barely covered vagina. “You’re so hot. Oh, my lawd, are you hot!” Tommy’s praise and enthusiasm had my conscience quelled, so I offered no complaint as he moved the camera close to my pussy and snapped away. Standing, Tommy turned to his sister and said, “Sit between Mom’s legs and lean back against her with your head just under her boobs.”

 

Krissy sat where he asked. “Now lift and spread your knees like Mom has hers. Yeah, sis. That’s it, like that. Good. Wrap your arms outside your knees and grab your shins, holding your knees as wide as possible. Sexy, Krissy,” Tommy mumbles. “You look very sexy for the camera. Mom, toss your head back and shake it so your hair falls naturally around your neck and shoulders as it typically does. Oh, that’s beautiful. I’ve always loved your hair, Mom.”

 

Tommy’s complimentary, praiseful words had me on the edge, and I feared that my daughter could feel my wet arousal pressing against her mid back as she leaned against me. But worse was I knew that in my current state, I’d do anything Tommy asked.

 

Trying to be casual, Tommy moved from the floor where he’d been as intently snapping Krissy’s barely covered pussy as he had mine, stood and said, “Krissy, tilt your head back and look up at Mom. Yes, good, like that, yeah.” Then he gulped and apprehensively said, “Mom, bend your left elbow below Krissy’s boobs and cup her right breast.”

 

Watching my son’s hooded eyes and large package throb in his trousers, I couldn’t help but do as he asked. But as the furnace in my pussy raged, I wanted to go further, so when he said, “Good, Mom, Krissy. Oh, my Gawd, you two look sexy together. Mom, slide your hand slowly down Krissy’s tummy and stop with your fingertips just short of her mound.” I did, but before he could give the next instruction, I slid my left hand inside Krissy’s swimsuit cups and softly stroked my fingers over her nipple.

 

“Mooom,” my daughter sighed and kissed under my chin as my fingers delicately played with her stiff breast nubs.

 

Tommy was speechless and had stopped taking photos. Instead, he watched my sensual display, his mouth agape and dick throbbing. As I’d fantasised, my son’s hand unawarely found his big, erect package and gripped it firmly.

 

About to orgasm, I gritted my teeth and forced my voice to sound normal. “Tommy, you’ve stopped taking pictures.”

 

“Oh,” my son said, releasing his cock and looking into the viewfinder. The clicks of photos being taken resumed. When I heard the tell-tale clicks, I smiled coquettishly at him as I slid my fingers inside Krissy’s swimsuit bottom and onto her button.

 

Krissy sighed luxuriantly, turned her head and kissed my jaw. As I stroked, my daughter’s sighs changed to pants, and I was sure she was about to climax. But before she popped over the edge, Tommy grabbed his trouser front again and groaned, “Oh, shit!” A dark wet spot swiftly grew where he held. Embarrassed, he shot “Sorry’ back over his shoulder and ran from the garage.

 

Brought out of my trance-like state by his leaving, I looked down and realised what I was doing. Snatching my hands back, I pushed Krissy aside and stood up. “Oh, my Gawd! Oh, my Gawd!” I gasped. “Krissy, I’m so sorry! I, I, oh Lawd, what have I done? Forgive me, please!” I hurried out of the garage after my fleeing son, tears streaming down my face.

 

Locking the door, I flung myself onto the bed and pushed my mortified, guilty face into my pillow as I cried and cried, terrified that my daughter could never forgive me. Unable to find solace, I ignored the knocks on my door as I stared at the ceiling, wondering if it wouldn’t be better just to die.

 

“Mom,” Tommy called after trying the door. Holding the pillow over my face so he wouldn’t hear my tears, I didn’t answer. “Mom?” He called again. “You okay?”

 

I didn’t, couldn’t answer. I was a ‘bad mommie’. One of those you see on the news from time to time being led away in handcuffs as Child Services gathered her abused children. I don’t know how long I lay there staring at the ceiling hating myself, before my daughter knocked on the door, insisting I let her in.

 

With my red eyes refusing to meet her big brown ones, I opened the door and let Krissy past me before I shut and locked the door again. Turning, I threw myself on the bed, pushed my tear-streaked, mortified face into the pillow, and waited for my daughter to rightfully condemn me.

 

“Whatever is the matter, Mommie?” Krissy asked. “Are you embarrassed because Tommy came looking at us playing model for him? That’s silly, as even Tommy has nothing to be embarrassed about. Young men have those kinds of accidents all the time.”

 

I wondered, ‘Why isn’t she upset with what I did? I molested her in front of her brother. Her mother, who should always have her back and be there for her regardless, felt her up and played with her genitals as her brother took pictures. What kind of pervert does that make me? ‘An incestuous one’, my guilty conscience informed me.’

 

“I did it again, Krissy,” I wailed. “Felt you up and played with you. I’m disgusting, and you should be disgusted with me. I’m sorry, baby, but when you’re close, I can’t seem to stop myself. I’ll understand if you hate me forever because I deserve it.”

 

Krissy took hold of my head and forced me to face her. She kissed my lips softly and said, “I don’t hate you, Mom. I liked what you were doing and was about to cum, but that damned Tommy interrupted me. I swear, if I don’t get to orgasm next time I’m that close, I will scream!”

 

Unable to believe my ears, I asked, “You’re not angry with me?”

 

“You were making me feel good, Mom. Why would I be angry with you for doing that?”

 

Blushing darkly red, I answered, “Because I’m your mother, and I was … was .. well, you know. Playing with your, umm, bits. I shouldn’t be doing that as it’s not right.”

 

Smiling, my daughter softly kissed me again and said, “Well, Mom, I liked it, so there’s nothing to worry about. So wash your pretty face and come downstairs, and I’ll reheat the stir-fry I made for dinner.”

 

Grateful for my reprieve, I took off my bikini, washed my face, and put eye drops in to remove their bloodshot appearance. Satisfied that I looked respectable, I refused to look into my haunted eyes in the mirror, put my bra, panties and baggy sweatsuit on and walked to the kitchen.

 

Tommy and Krissy stood together in front of Tommy’s laptop, flicking through our photos. Looking up, Krissy saw me, smiled and gestured for me to join them before enthusiastically gushing, “You have to see these, Mom. Tommy is such a good photographer because we look hot. As in ‘damn girl! Yo is one hot bitch!’”

 

My son looked at me shyly, hoping for my approval, and my heart melted. Krissy was right, and he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Little missteps like his were common at his age. So I tousled his hair and kissed his cheek lightly before saying, “Show me, baby boy. Show me how good you made your poor old mother look.”

 

Tommy flicked through the images, and I’ll admit that Krissy was correct. We looked hot, especially in the ones together. There was a sultry sexiness to those far closer to erotic than pornographic. It was like we knew the other was a sensually beautiful woman, and although we weren’t sexually attracted to each other, we found the other’s form arousing.

 

Tommy came to the last picture he’d downloaded. “Where are the others?” I demanded. What others? “Don’t play coy with me, Tommy. You know what others,” I growled. Honestly, I don’t, Mom. What others? Holding my hand out, I said, “Then you won’t mind me downloading these pics onto my computer, so hand me your memory card, and I will.”

 

Blushing guiltily, Tommy reluctantly pressed some buttons, and the rest of the pictures from his camera opened in thumbnails across the screen. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Trying to make out what I saw from the thumbnails, I began opening pictures that revealed close-ups of my barely covered pussy from all angles, my blatant arousal and thick clit clear for all to see. Full screens show an opaquely covered nipple in high-definition, its hardened excitement evident. Worse, there were many close-ups of his sister’s nearly naked slit and nipples as well.

 

“Just what do you plan to do with these, young man?” I asked levelly.

 

Krissy giggled, “Masturbate to them, Mom. What do you think he’s going to do? But, Tommy, you wouldn’t show these to anyone else, would you?”

 

Tommy shook his head vehemently, “These are only in their raw form,” he explained. “Over the next few days, I’ll select the ones I like most and then run them through various filters until they are absolutely pristine. I’ll show you the ones I want to publish on our photography group’s website, and if you approve, post them there.”

 

“And the ones of your sister’s and my barely covered genitals?”

 

Blushing guiltily again, my son admitted they were for his personal ‘fap folder’—images to troll through as he masturbated.

 

I opened my mouth to growl that he shouldn’t be masturbating over his sister and me, then, with a guilty blush, remembered my teenage fantasies of being deflowered by my father. Twenty years later, it still hurt to think he’d gleefully taken my sister’s cherries on their birthdays but forgot mine completely.

 

My face flaming, I said, “Ensure they’re coded and password protected on your computer, Tommy. I don’t want them falling into the wrong hands and making their way to the internet. Oh,” I added as I remembered. “Keep them off the cloud, too. Too many others have had their private pics hacked from there.”

 

I ate the dinner my daughter had prepared, then sat with her and Tommy as we watched some lame movie I don’t even remember the name of. Tommy seemed to like it as he laughed happily at the cornily delivered lines and canned laughter. Krissy sat pressed closely against me and kept trying to insert her hand between my thighs. Even though my familiar tingle turned into a blazing inferno in my groin, I held her hand in mine and ignored her attempts.

 

Later, alone in my bed as I typically am, I dreamed as I slept. But my dream changed —flicker: image: My eyes open, and I see Edgar Fontaine laughing as I orgasm on his secretary’s tongue. I try to protest, but his deep, compelling voice says, “Sleep.”. … Trying to escape my dream, I rolled. … flicker: image: An intensely flavoured pussy lowers onto my lips as, helpless, I try to move. … Mewling, I threw a hand up in protest. … flicker: image: my knees lewdly spread as lusciously full, red-painted lips descend onto my pussy. “Cunt”, I hear Edgar correct. … Whimpering, I woke up.

 

Scared and weeping, I tried to remember my dream because it seemed to tell me something important. But it burst into ephemeral wings under my examination, and as my eyes became vacant. I heard, “Everything is as it should be, Kate. You will return, as you must return.”

 

Trying to shake off my dream, I got up, threw my robe over my shoulders, and headed for the kitchen, planning to make milk cocoa to help me sleep. John prefers I sleep naked with him, but I have a ‘Woolworth’s bladder’ and need to pee regularly. My husband complains if I turn the en suite’s light on to use the facilities in there, so I usually slip out the door and use the main bathroom.

 

I keep a long black contrast lace cross-over nightgown hanging behind the door to slip on in case one of the kids are up as I don’t want to terrorise them with my naked body. Tonight, because I was cold and alone, I’d worn it to bed. John likes this nightie because although it falls to my shins, it has side splits to my shapely hips, and as I walk, vast expanses of my calves and toned inner thighs show.

 

Bent over the bench and resting on my elbows, I stared into the abyss I felt had opened before me and sipped my hot chocolate. My tall, handsome son slipped up behind me and pressed himself against my bottom and lay on my back as his arms innocently wrapped around my tummy. “You okay, Mom?” he asked sweetly as he hugged me. “Can’t you sleep?”

 

“I had a nightmare, baby boy,” I explained, feeling my son’s cock harden and lengthen against my firm buttocks. I wasn’t concerned about his swelling erection because I knew unfortunate erections at inopportune times were common for teenage boys. But Tommy’s hands slid up my tummy, and he brushed them lightly across the inner globes of my luscious breasts. Trying not to moan with desire, I asked, “What are you doing, Tommy?”

 

Kissing the nape of my neck and making me shudder, my son cupped my breasts and gently kneaded. “I want you to feel good, Mommie,” he whispered as his thumbs rubbed softly over my nipples. “You seem so sad and lonely, Mom, and it breaks my heart. Please, relax and let me make you feel good.”

 

I wanted to stand and demand he let me go. I wanted to rant at him about touching his mother inappropriately, and I knew I should resist. But I did none of those things. Instead, I moaned like a wanton slut (my arousal intensified when I heard my inner voice say ‘slut’) and pushed my sexy ass back at my son’s hard-on.

 

Tommy’s shaking hands (‘Is he a virgin?’ I wondered. ‘Surely not, as he’s brought home several girlfriends.) gripped my thick nipples and gently twisted. (‘Okay, that’s too assured to be something he hasn’t done before.’) Releasing my left breast, Tommy leant down and gripped my nightgown’s hem. Moving back to give himself room, my son slowly lifted my gown, exposing my firm, shapely ass.

 

Holding my gown above my hips, Tommy moved his right hand off my breast. I heard a rustling sound that I assumed was his sweatpants hitting the floor, then felt the head of my son’s throbbingly erect cock prodding near my entrance. ‘Kate.’ My guilty conscience nervously said. ‘You’re about to let your son slip his cock into your vagina. Are you sure that’s what you want?’ Reaching behind my bottom, I grasped my son’s thick cock, and guided the head into my pussy.

 

But when Tommy slid home, the guilts hit. Pushing on his hip, I pleaded, “No, Tommy, please. I’m your mother. You mustn’t do this with me.”

 

“Yes, I must, Mom,” Tommy groaned as he pumped back and forth, his beautiful cock bottoming out in my slick pussy.

 

“Please, Tommy,” I begged. “Incest is wrong, baby boy. Besides, Krissy is upstairs, and she’ll hear.”

 

Tommy’s fingers stroked and tweaked my sensitive nipples, and he stroked harder. “Incest may be wrong, Mommie,” he groaned as he kneaded my luscious breasts and twisted my nipples more firmly and pumped quickly into my gushing pussy. “But loving the most beautiful woman I know isn’t. But, Mom, I know you want to be my gorgeous little Mommie slut, so relax and enjoy my cock in your tight pussy.”

 

“Oh, Laaaaaaaawwwwwdddddddd,” I moaned when he said ‘slut’ and the furnace in my ‘little Mommie slut’ pussy exploded. Moaning and shuddering, I launched into orgasm, and my arousal poured from my vagina, bathing my son’s balls.

 

“You’re so sexy, Mom,” my darling boy said, then groaned. I felt his cock expand and stiffen, then spray its fluids into my ragingly hot vagina. Cumming with every semen blast into my pussy, I grunted and moaned until I felt my son shudder and then relax onto my back. His pumping hips slowly stopped, and Tommy sighed, then said, “You’re so beautiful, Mom. I’m glad I finally made love to you. I’ve wanted to since puberty.”

 

As my son’s love washed over me, I felt an overwhelming desire to please him in return for loving me so well. Pushing back to make a gap, I turned and sunk to my knees. Ignoring the cum covering his cock, I guided it into my mouth and began milking him as I bobbed up and down on his large cock. ‘Bigger than his father’s, I thought as my mouth stretched to fit him in.

 

I may have sucked exactly one cock (my husband’s, Tommy’s father's.) before tonight, but I’ve sucked it dozens if not hundreds if not thousands of times, so I know my way around a cock.

 

Tommy was longer and thicker than his father, but John’s dick was long enough to hit my gag reflex when he shoved it into my mouth, and I’d learned how to swallow so as not to retch if a cock hit it. Therefore, when my son lost control, grabbed my head, and forced his dick as deep into my sucking mouth as possible, I smiled submissively up at him, swallowed, and let his cock slide over my tonsils.

 

“Oh, Gawd, my little Mommie slut,” My son moaned. “You’re the best cock sucker I’ve ever had.” With that, Tommy erupted inside my slurping, sucking mouth, filling it with his cum. When Tommy said, ‘my little Mommie slut’, my pussy spasmed, and fluids poured from me as came.

 

My handsome, muscular son lifted me to my feet, kissed my cum messy mouth and said, “Go back to bed and sleep, Mommy. If your nightmare returns, come and snuggle close to me.”

 

Smiling because I knew I’d sleep well now, I cupped my son’s balls, bent over, and kissed the tip of his cock, “Thank you, baby boy,” I said. “Mommie is okay now, and I’ll see you in the morning.

 

Chapter 2: Camera Slut.

 

Hi readers. Kate Muggleton again. Let me continue my story so you can understand how and why I became a slut mommie.

 

Earlier, towards the end of the first part of my story, I’d been unable to resist my son’s advances and succumbed to my baser desires by surrendering my willing pussy for him to cum in. My son made me feel sexy and desirable for the first time in many months, and I wanted to show him my appreciation. So after he came inside me, I knelt submissively and sucked on his gorgeous cock until he orgasmed into my mouth.

 

Giving oral sex is something I enjoy immensely, but until that night when Tommy climaxed and called me ‘his little Mommie slut, I’d never before orgasmed as I gave head. Therefore, as we walked back to my room, I wondered why being called ‘slut’ was turning me on so much.

 

It never had previously, although other than the occasional boneheaded, small-dicked tosser shouting it out his car window at me as I strutted down a street, no one had used that word when referencing me.

 

‘Was it just the naughtiness of the word?’ I wondered. ‘Kate,’ I told myself. ‘You’ve masturbated while fantasising about being a willing slut for dominant men many times, so it’s probably only your subconscious mixing Tommy saying it with your fantasy, and you’re reacting—nothing to worry about there.’

 

Thinking furiously as I climbed the stairs, I became aware that my son deliberately walked behind me so he could watch my sexy ass sway and added a little bounce to my step. As I walked, I thought, ‘The hypnotherapist has implanted the word slut into my psyche as a trigger for sexual arousal.’ Determined to do something about it, I decided to call his office as soon as they opened.

 

I reached my door and was about to enter when Tommy placed his hand on my ass and asked, “Mom? Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?”

 

As his large hands caressed my curvy bottom, a new tingling began between my thighs, and I thought, ‘Lawd, do I want that!’ But, instead, I turned towards him and sternly said, “No, Tommy. What we did downstairs can never happen again. It was wrong. You were wrong to start it, and I was wrong to let you. This one time has to be our dirty little secret that we hide forever, okay?” But when I turned, Tommy’s hand caressed my vulva, and even to me, my voice sounded breathy with sexual excitement.

“If you say so, Mom,” Tommy agreed, but his sure hands cupped my large, firm breasts, and his thumbs stroked enticingly across my hardened nipples. “If you no longer wish to be my beautiful, little Mommie slut, say so now, and I’ll stop, okay?”

 

Summoning the last shreds of my willpower, I backed through the door and closed it. Turning, I sank to the floor and leaned against it. Then, pulling my feet up to my luscious bottom, I spread my knees and pushed two fingers into my sopping pussy. Then, when I found my clit with my thumb, I groaned as a shattering orgasm raced through me. Chuckling, Tommy said, “Goodnight, Mom. If you’re unable to sleep, come and lie with me.”

 

Peeling off my sodden nightie, I stumbled to the bed and gratefully fell in. ‘Sleep will make things better,’ I thought as I fell into an undisturbed slumber.

 

By morning, I felt so guilty about what I’d done that I lay in bed until I heard Tommy leave. After showering, I went downstairs to get breakfast. My daughter, much as she’d been when I got home the previous night, sat at the breakfast bar. This morning, she wore a pink, skimpy, V-necked teddy that didn’t reach her tiny matching thong and exposed her cute belly button. Combined, they left all but her nipples and slit uncovered.

 

Teasing, I said, “Nice view, Krissy.”

 

Looking down and smiling, my daughter replied, “Do you think so, Mom? Maybe I’ll loan it to you for when Dad comes home next week.”

 

“It barely covers your 16-Cs,” I pointed out. “It’ll never fit over my Double-Ds.”

 

Taking it off, her delicious breasts bouncing softly, Krissy said, “Sure it will, see? It undoes at the front so that you can loosen it off.” She undid the laces holding the cups closed, then added, “Here, now you put it on.”

 

My mouth dry, I stared at my daughter’s lusciously displayed breasts, unaware of anything but the tingling between my legs as I watched their slow lift and fall as she breathed. Krissy lifted the teddy again to indicate I should put it on, and after dragging my eyes off my daughter’s naked bosom, I took it. Then, taking my sweat top off, I pulled it over my head and, after a struggle, got it positioned over my large breasts. “I’m not sure the laces are long enough,” my daughter giggled as she tried to tie them together.

 

Finally making a tiny bow, Krissy stepped back and said, “Oh, wow, Mom! That is so sexy!” She stepped out of her thong and handed it to me. Pulling on my sweatpants so they fell to the floor and exposed my pantyless ass, she added, “Here, put these on so you can check how you look.”

 

Trying not to stare at my daughter’s sensually naked body and intensely aware that the gusset of her thong was warm and damp, I wriggled her thong up my shapely thighs and settled it over my recently shaved pussy. They were at least a size too small and clung to my vulva like a second skin, emphasising my pussy’s assets better than being naked would.

 

Krissy held my upper arm and guided me into the foyer, where I’d placed a full-length mirror to check my appearance before going out. Looking at my reflection, with my big, firm breasts threatening to burst out of my top and my clit and slit clearly defined, I gasped, “I can’t wear these, Krissy! I look almost pornographic!”

 

“Yeah, you can, Mom,” my daughter giggled. “Stroll into your room wearing this, and Dad is either going to shit, have a heart attack, or cum on the spot!”
 

Krissy stood behind me, staring at my lush form in the mirror. Almost dreamily, she moved closer and pressed her hard, naked nipples against my back. Stretching her hands around my tummy, Krissy kissed the nape of my neck as she hugged me. After several soft kisses as I shivered and bit my lower lip, she sensuously slid her hands under the teddy onto my tightly held breasts.

 

Trying not to moan as the tingle moved higher and settled wet and squishy in my yearning pussy, I forced myself to be calm and quietly asked, “Krissy? What are you doing?”

 

Lightly biting where my neck and shoulder meet, my all-time favourite erogenous zone, my daughter purred, “Shh, Mommie, I’m making you feel good as you did me yesterday, is all.”

 

Fighting off the desire for her to continue, one incestuous interlude with one of my kids was one too many, I shook my shoulders and broke free of her embrace and growled, “Krissy Ann Muggleton, that’s enough!” Angry at myself but taking it out on her, I added, “It is as inappropriate for you to do that to me as it was for me to do it to you yesterday.”

 

Because I’d forced her back into the Mom/daughter role, tears filled my daughter’s expressive, big brown eyes, and she sniffed, blushed embarrassedly, and looked at the ground. Holding her fingers with her other hand, she lifted her heel off the ground and submissively twisted her knee back and forth. “Sorry, Mom,” she said contritely. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

Knowing I’d made a mess of something I could have handled better, I took her in my arms and softly kissed her ‘bee stung’ lips. “No, baby girl,” I apologised. “It’s I that’s sorry. I liked what you were doing. Too much, maybe. That’s why I panicked and yelled at you.”

 

Looking shyly up at me through her eyelashes, Krissy asked, “I made you feel good, Mom? Did you have that same squishy feeling I get in my tummy when I’m about to cum?”

 

Flushing red with embarrassment, I giggled nervously and replied, “Well, it’s a little lower than my tummy, if you know what I mean. But yes, honey. You made me feel squishy.”

 

Grinning happily, my daughter bounced on her toes, causing her lush C-cups to jiggle enticingly, and clapped her hands. “Do you think it’s the same with women and men, Mom?” She innocently asked. “If I had a boyfriend and kissed him where I kissed you, would he get squishy, too?”

 

Giggling, I answered, “No, honey. If you did that to your boyfriend, he’d get very stiff instead!”

 

Suddenly realising we stood in front of a door with clear glass panels on either side, she was naked, and I almost so, Krissy matched my giggle, then said, “Oh, my Gawd! Look at us flashing the neighbours and anyone on the street! Anyone seeing us would think we’re nothing but sluts!”

 

My body reacted to that word instantly, and with a low growl, I shuddered and orgasmed.

 

Somewhere in the distance, I heard Krissy saying, “Oh, my, Gawd, Mom! Are you okay? Mom? Mom? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

 

Realising that I’d slumped to the ground with the intensity of my climax, I scrambled to my feet. Knowing I needed help, I tried to tell Krissy of my suspicions about what Edgar Fontaine had done to me, but my mind drifted away as I sagged back onto the floor. As my mind went blank, I saw, … flicker: image: my knees lewdly spread as lusciously full, red-painted lips descend onto my pussy. “Cunt”, I hear Edgar correct … “Krissy, I’m okay,” I mumble as … flicker: image: red painted lips surround my clitoris and a long, manicured, red-nailed finger slides into my pu – cunt … “You’re not okay, Mom,” my daughter desperately says as she tries … flicker: image: Liz’s probing finger finds my G-spot, and I moan into her pussy as I climax … to rouse me.

 

“Mom, wake up!” Krissy shouts.

 

My daughter’s shout snapped me out of my reveries. But before I could voice my concerns, Edgar’s face clouded my vision, and I heard myself saying, “I swear I will follow your process”, and my throat closed. Unable to tell Krissy what had happened to me at the clinic, I tried to tell her my current problems, but every time I did, the feeling of lassitude washed over my body again. Concentrating hard, I formed the words to warn my daughter that I was in trouble. But just as I thought I had them held solidly in my mind, they burst as a branch covered in multi-coloured butterflies does when you shake it, and fluttered away on glittering ephemeral wings.

 

The only thought about the subject that I still held was that I needed to cancel my next appointment, but as soon as that played in my head, I saw Edgar’s face and heard, “You will return, as you must return. You need what I offer, Kate. I will set you free, and not only from your nicotine addiction.” The warm, squishy feeling between my thighs was now white hot heat in my pussy. Desperate not to orgasm in front of my daughter again, I stood and ran for my bedroom.

 

Locking the door behind me, I hurried across to the en suite, entered and locked that door, too. Then sitting on the loo, I lifted and spread my knees before pulling the panty’s gusset aside and stuffing two fingers into my slippery with need vagina. Seconds after my thumb found my clitoris, I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming my orgasm to the sky.

 

“Mom?” Krissy called from outside the en suite’s door. Vaguely wondering how she was in my bedroom when I’d locked the door, I gathered my scattered wits and managed, “Yeah?”

 

“Are you okay? She asked.

 

Lying because I couldn’t tell the truth. Not about why I had to run, nor about the trouble I was in, I said, “Yes, baby girl. Your Mommie just thought she was going to puke, so she ran here.”

 

“Referring to yourself in the third person, Mom?” Krissy questioned. “Not cool! Now, what’s really going on?”

 

I hated myself for having to do it, but the only way to stop her unanswerable questions was to make her see me as her Mom first again. So, taking a deep breath, I snapped through the door, “Krissy Ann Muggleton, do not take that tone with me. I am your mother, for goodness sake! Not one of your giddy girlfriends.”

 

There was silence from the other room, and I heard the door close. Sighing, I removed Krissy’s sleepwear, cleaned my pussy, changed into a sundress, and gathered the washing to begin my chores. Krissy was nowhere in sight, which saddened me as I knew I had some fences to mend. Tommy was absent, too, but he’d be at football training and be back around lunchtime. I planned to ensure I wasn’t alone with him until I’d seen Edgar, lest I find myself on my knees before him or bent over offering my pussy again.

 

The next few days were ones of uncomfortable silences when my daughter and I were alone together and leering, knowing grins from Tommy every time he thought his sister wasn’t watching. I tried to talk to Krissy many times, but as I opened my mouth, a hurt expression developed on her face, and she’d turned away, rebuffing my attempts.