Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Summary: 18-year-old lesbian daughter slyly seduces her lonely mother.
Note 1: This is a Valentines’ Day 2018 Contest Story, so please vote.
Thanks to: Tex Beethoven, Robert, Black Rand, thor_p and Wayne for editing.
Witnessing my Mom falling so deeply into despair was the most painful thing I’d ever done. I wished with all my heart that I knew what to do to help her climb back out and find some happiness.
She was a sweet woman and a great mother who deserved far better. She’d been there for me my entire life. She’d been strict with me when I needed it, but never with anger. Every day of my life, whether I was behaving or misbehaving that day, I knew she loved me. She convinced me I was special.
When I’d been five and thrown a mammoth tantrum over something incredibly important that I don’t even remember anymore, she’d carried me up to my room, still crying and struggling and calling her names, and explained through my hysteria she was declaring a time out. I was to remain in my room until I had spent ninety continuous minutes with no loud noises. Any fresh outbursts and I would start over. She then quietly locked me in and went back downstairs while I continued caterwauling. When I finally calmed down and had completed thirty minutes of silence, she brought me a brownie, saying, “Well done, sweetheart, carry on.” When I’d reached an hour, she brought me another. When I’d completed the whole ninety minutes, she came in, gave me a big hug and kisses all over my face, tickled me until I giggled, and took me out for ice cream! That was my very last tantrum, ever.
In my freshman year of high school, when she’d grounded me for toilet papering the house of a girl who’d been bullying me, our evenings were spent together watching TV or playing Scrabble until she released me from ‘the joint’ a week early for good behaviour, and started taking me to Karate class. A couple months later my bully ambushed me again, but ended up with cause to apologise.
I could tell you dozens of stories about times she’d acted effectively to correct my behaviour, then did everything she could to resolve the situation that had caused me to act out in the first place. Even though I wasn’t always the sweet angel she said I was, she’d never struck me or done anything to me out of anger. Not once in eighteen years!
When I was sad, she offered me her shoulder and her ear and long cuddles. When I was angry, she asked me sympathetic questions and listened for as long as I needed and never offered suggestions until I’d talked myself out and asked for them. When I was good, she just loved me and made me feel like the most wonderful girl in the world.
Whenever I misbehaved, she’d never tell my father, knowing he would spank my bare bottom with his belt until he saw blood, like all his brothers did to their children, no matter their gender or age. Thanks to my Mom, he’d never once found cause.
My father, the asshole that he was, had left Mom on December first for a woman only four years older than me… four fucking years!
It had completely crushed Mom. Seeing her like that completely crushed me.
Mom was forty-two and had never had a job, since she’d married my father at eighteen. For the first several years of her marriage she’d insisted on going for a degree in English and had obtained her Bachelor’s diploma two months before giving birth to my older brother, but had never had a job. Instead, she’d always been a stay-at-home mom for Conner and me.
Dad made lots of money as a stockbroker and insisted his wife shouldn’t work.
Mom stayed home in a comfortable house, in many ways a stereotypical 1950s housewife.
Now that she was divorced, Mom had no idea what to do with herself. Thanks to his money and connections, Dad had achieved an amazingly quick divorce: he’d wanted to retire and start traveling ASAP with his cradle-robbed sexpot. He’d easily gotten the divorce because Mom was too disheartened to put up much of a fight, and anyway why fight to keep a man who no longer loved you, but he didn’t get everything he wanted. Thanks to a perceptive judge money wouldn’t ever be a problem for Mom, but she felt cast adrift: what was she for?
Conner, my brother, was at college.
I was in my senior year of high school and would be leaving for college in less than a year.
I knew empty nest syndrome was going to hit her really hard. Dad, Conner and I had always been her entire life.
The heartless bastard I used to call Dad had abandoned her… and me, but I didn’t give a fuck, I was glad he was gone. He’d abandoned her during the holiday season, which only made him a bigger dick than I’d already thought he was.
He was one of the reasons I was a lesbian.
Oh sure, sexual attraction was the main one, but my hatred for the way my dad had treated Mom my entire life had generalised itself into a very early dislike for men, thus boys, and at eighteen I was casino şirketleri definitely one hundred percent lesbian. He didn’t make me into a lesbian, but he sure made it easier for me to accept that any great love in my life would definitely be wearing a skirt. Or wearing a whatever; you know what I mean.
Mom didn’t know I was lez.
I was perceived by Mom and by most people who knew me as a sweet, shy, nerdy young woman. I was far from that, but I didn’t mind letting most people think I was. Shy around boys vs couldn’t care less about boys didn’t look so different from the outside. Either way I wasn’t dating any, or even flirting.
Few, besides my best friend and partner in crime Amanda, a still in the closet athlete Brittany (I knew where her closet was and visited her there regularly), a neighbour Mrs. Benson, a teacher Mrs. Walker, and a few other trusted souls had any clue that I was a lesbian.
I hadn’t originally planned on seducing my Mom, but one thing led to another and… well… here’s the story of the craziest life-altering Valentine’s Day ever.
I came home from school, and although she smiled resolutely as she greeted me, it was obvious Mom had been crying… again… and it broke my heart… again.
I asked the stupid question, “Are you okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine, honey,” she answered like she always did, as she wiped away some streaks of evidence to the contrary, attempting to be casual. Today was Valentine’s Day and it was her first one since Dad had left two months ago. She was obviously feeling extra sad she was alone on the Day of Love, while her ex was drinking Mai Tais on the beaches of Hawaii with his new slutfriend (something we’d learned from Facebook pictures).
She was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, so I sat across the corner from her and looked into her eyes gently. “Mom, you know you can talk to me,” I said, letting her know I loved her and wasn’t buying any bull crap about her feeling fine. “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. And he left me, too.”
This seemed to make Mom even sadder.
“I know, honey,” she nodded. “It’s just that… I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”
“Mom, your troubles are my troubles, too,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “After all the things you’ve done for me my whole life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“It’s just… I don’t know, I’m still in denial mode,” Mom said.
I smiled, “I’ve moved on to angry mode.”
“I think I’m in a lot of modes,” she laughed. “Denial, anger, frustration…”
“Frustration?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said, quickly pulling her hands away and moving to the kitchen counter. I followed, of course.
“You can’t confide something you feel and then not explain,” I protested, always hating when people did that.
“It’s just personal, honey,” she said, avoiding eye contact.
“Personal, shmersonal! Mom, you can tell me anything,” I offered.
“It’s just…” she began and paused.
“It’s just what?” I asked.
“I feel like such a failure,” she admitted, although I could tell that wasn’t what she really meant.
I pulled Mom into a hug and said, “Mom, you’re not a failure. Dad is. He’s a failure as a husband and as a father.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom said, bursting into tears again.
“You deserve better than Dad,” I conditioned. “He treated you like a slave.”
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she wailed through her tears.
“All you did was love your children and get older,” I told her. “You’re better off without him. We are better off without him. Dad is an asshole!”
“Hannah!” Mom gasped.
“Mom, he is, and he always has been!” I insisted.
“Hannah, please don’t speak about….”
I interrupted, now angry not only at him, but at my mom for trying to defend him, “Mom, be thankful he’s gone! He was a terrible insensitive husband and a useless father. It’s only thanks to you he was never a child-beater, too!”
“Hannah, it was never that black and white,” she continued to defend him.
“Mom, ENOUGH!” I shouted, slamming my palm onto the counter, a technique my father had often used to silence Mom.
She looked at me in shock as I took control, took her hand, and led her to the couch.
“Mom, no more defending him,” I lectured, not holding back my anger. “He’s an unfaithful, insensitive, arrogant prick of a man and we both deserve better,” I ranted so vehemently I could feel my face turning red.
“But he’s your father,” Mom pointed out.
“He’s my sperm donor,” I corrected. “No more, no less. Well, actually far less. Any damn fool can ejaculate in a cunt.”
“Hannah, language,” Mom scolded, swearing not something I usually did in front of my mother or she in front of me.
“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized much more softly, putting my hand on her nylon-clad leg. “I just hate how he still makes you feel worthless. You’re a special woman, and you deserve to be treated like a goddess.”
“Oh, Hannah,” she smiled, suddenly near tears casino firmaları of a different kind. “I needed to hear that.”
“Mom, you’re a beautiful woman inside and out,” I continued, a sweet idea popping into my head. Maybe I could help her out of this funk!
“Thank you, honey,” she said, enjoying the compliments, noticing my hand slithering at a snail’s pace up her thigh.
“Where do you get these nylons; they’re super soft,” I said, knowing they were real sheer silk and not some cheap brand.
“Some girls spend their money on shoes, I spend mine on nylons,” she replied, seeming to be comfortable with the fact I was gently caressing her legs.
“Good choice,” I approved. “They’re as soft as silk and really make your lovely legs stand out.”
“Thank you, honey,” she smiled again. “Your father never seemed to notice.”
“His loss,” I said, moving my hand ever so slightly under her dress to discover she was actually wearing stockings and a garter. “Mom!” I asked, surprised. “This is some lovely stuff! Who are you wearing it for?”
“Myself,” she answered with a shy smile, allowing me to lift up her dress enough to admire her black lace garter.
I took her hands, pulled her up off the sofa and dropped to my knees.
Did part of me want to bury my face in my mother’s pussy?
God, yes. I wanted it badly and I knew she needed it badly, but a slow seduction was much better for a potential long-term goal.
Mom asked, surprised as she looked down at me, “Hannah, what are you doing?”
“Just taking a look at this lovely garter,” I dissembled, which was partly true. I was also doing hygiene recon to see if my Mom was shaved.
“Oh, I bought it online. I buy all my nylons and lingerie online,” she answered, and stood there like a sexy mannequin as I traced my hand over the garter belt, resisting the temptation to touch her cute black panties… which looked like a thong.
“Are you wearing a thong?”
“Thongs are all I own,” she admitted.
“Mom, you are a complete enigma,” I said, as I took the risk and flicked my hands around to her ass to grab the thong and tug it out of, then snap it back into her ass.
“Hannah!” she gasped, moving away slightly.
“Sorry,” I apologized again. “It’s just something we do in the change room to girls in thongs.”
“Really?” She asked.
“Yep,” I nodded. “Guys whip towels at each other’s asses and we tug thongs.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I literally have no idea,” I answered, which was true. So was the fact that we did indeed tug thongs. It was a tradition, but no one seemed to know where it started.
“Weird,” she said, although she didn’t move away from me.
“Do you have any more of these sheer nylons?” I asked, an idea of how to seduce my mother slowly blossoming in my head.
“Quite a few,” she laughed. “It’s my shopping addiction.”
“Can I try on a pair?” I asked, standing up. “All I wear are these cheap ones.”
“Sure,” she nodded, so I took her hand.
“Let’s go try some now,” I said.
“Now?” she asked.
“I can’t think of a better way to cheer a girl up than by trying on clothes,” I pointed out.
“Well, okay,” she said, following me, even though she was trying to process how clothes were going to cheer her up.
I said, “Nothing cheers me up more than shopping, and shopping in my mom’s closet seems like the ultimate.”
“What do I get out of this?” she asked playfully, catching the mood.
“I have some fashionable stuff you can try on,” I said, deciding I was going to play Barbie with my mom.
“Hey!” she objected as she realized I was being critical of her fashion choices.
“You dress like a housewife,” I pointed out.
“I am a housewife,” she countered. “Or was, anyway.”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “But as I’m learning this very afternoon, looks can be deceiving.”
“How so?” she asked, as she went to her dresser drawer and pulled out a few pairs of stockings, still in the package.
“Well, underneath your prissy mother-goes-to-market clothes, you’re wearing some very sexy lingerie,” I pointed out.
“I like wearing lace bras, garters and stockings underneath,” she said. “They make me feel sexy.”
“They make you look sexy, too, I imagine,” I complimented, “let’s see,” as I reached around her and unzipped her dress.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I want to see your lingerie,” I explained. “Did you say lace bra?”
“But I’m your mother,” she protested.
“We’re both adults, Mom,” I reminded her. “I see girls completely naked almost every day.” I withheld the part where we were naked so they could lick me and vice versa.
“I guess,” she responded tentatively.
When she didn’t move away, I slipped the dress off her shoulders and down her torso to her hips. Stepping a foot back for a better view, I unveiled her sexy lingerie, and gasped, a little overdramatically I suppose, “Holy shit, Mom! You have an amazing body!”
“Hannah!” she reproved güvenilir casino me, although clearly appreciating the compliment.
“Seriously,” I continued, knowing flattery worked wonders, and that was doubly true for insecure women, at least from my experience. “Your body is better than most high school girls’.”
“You’re being silly,” she responded, but didn’t move away as I finally dropped her dress to the floor.
Taking a slight risk, I quickly unclasped her bra.
“Hannah!” she repeated, again surprised by my boldness.
I ignored her protests as I tossed her bra onto the floor and quickly cupped her big, firm breasts. As she stood there shocked, I told her, “I got your eyes and your hair, but not these.”
“Hannah, I…” she began, but I interrupted her.
“Seriously, your breasts are huge, and mine are so small,” I said, pouting, as I jerked my sweater off. “See?”
“You’re not wearing a bra,” she pointed out, surprised.
Truth was I’d left it at Amanda’s after a quickie 69 after school, but that information could remain hidden a little while longer as I continued my slow seduction. I played self-insecurity as I replied, cupping my pitiful 34B breasts, “I don’t need any bra for these.”
“Honey, trust me: yours are the perfect size,” she said.
“How so?” I asked, even though I wasn’t really insecure about my breasts. Truth was, they were almost the perfect size: not too big, not too small; as Goldilocks would say, they were just right.
She cupped her own tits and said, growing more comfortable about her semi-nudity with me, “These mommas are back breakers.”
“I can imagine,” I nodded, knowing that was true for Elle, a big breasted chubby but dirty girl who had first introduced me to the world of pussy munching at camp.
“You have an amazing body, too,” she complimented.
“Thanks,” I smiled, enjoying compliments myself. After a pause I asked, as I walked to the bed where the packages all were, “So can I try on a pair of these fancy nylons?”
“Go ahead, honey,” she offered.
I looked at the wide array of packages. I laughed, “You like variety.”
“I do,” she nodded, as I gazed at the variety of colors that included black, beige, mocha, white, tan, navy and red. “I treat my hosiery like I do my jewelry, as an accessory to enhance the entire package.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I approved, as I removed my skirt to reveal I also was not wearing panties, and I had a pair of thigh highs on.
“You’re deceiving, too,” she said with a smirk.
“Like mother, like daughter,” I quipped, sliding one thigh high off my leg.
“Do you usually go without panties?” she asked, not accusingly, just curiously.
“Sometimes,” I shrugged. “You?” I asked.
“Just thongs,” she answered.
“You should try commando; it’s quite liberating,” I encouraged, “and in the winter you can feel Jack Frost nipping at your… you know,” as I removed my second thigh high.
“And since when did you start wearing thigh highs?” Mom asked.
“Blame Amanda,” I answered, who was my best friend and the one I messed around with the most. She said she liked quick access to my pussy when she wanted a quick snack, and that was often (at lunchtime in the bathroom, in the car, at her house and even once in an empty movie theatre). Amanda said I had the sweetest pussy she’d ever tasted (something several girls had said to me) and thus she had a second home between my legs. I now wondered if my yummy pussy taste was hereditary.
“Blame her why?” Mom asked, as I selected the mocha pair, which was my favourite color: it really enhanced my rather pale legs.
“She convinced me they were sexier and more comfortable than pantyhose,” I answered.
“I can’t argue with that,” Mom nodded, before adding, as I rolled up the first stocking in my hands, “but there is nothing sexier than stockings with a garter-belt.”
As I began putting the first stocking on my foot, I smiled, getting turned on by the sight of my mother in only a thong, garter and stockings, “You’re wonderful proof of that statement.”
“Oh, thanks,” Mom blushed.
“God, these feel so sexy,” I said, in awe of how much softer they were than my usual nylons.
“I know, it’s the only kind I wear now,” she replied.
As I pulled the stocking up my leg, I said, feigning incompetence, “Shoot, I’m going to need a garter-belt for these.”
“Give me a second,” she offered, going to her drawer. She shuffled through it for a second before returning with a red one. “This one is a great contrast with the mocha stockings. They really set each other off.”
“You’re a lingerie guru,” I joked, as I took the garter, something I’d never worn before.
I strapped it around my waist, then decided to try and accelerate the seduction I planned on completing today. “Can you help me with this Mom?” I asked, standing up.
“Sure, honey,” she said, dropping to her knees in front of me… which made me damp and I felt a slight gush leak out of me.
She clasped the first clasp onto the stocking as she explained, “Always take your time fastening the clasps.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said, my body trembling at her fingers and at the subtle touch of her breath unintentionally tickling my thigh.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32