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By: btraven



This story started as an experiment. It was to be tribute to a great erotic author who posted to usenet under the name Dierdre (hence the name of my main character). Alas, she is no longer active. Her stories were frequently terse with a minimum of description but intensely erotic because the reader was left to fill in the details in his/her mind. The brain, of course, is the real sex organ. This story was supposed to be my attempt to capture her style. I failed miserable, either because I was not technically good enough to match her styling or because I could not find my voice in her words. Regardless, I ended up re-writing the story in a style more suitable to me. Still, this story is quite different my usual. It has a first-person narrator, a young woman of 19. And i was quite an experience for me as a writer to try to see the world through the eyes of a 19 year old woman. And I know it sounds absurd but I have to say that after I had completed this story I was half in love with this young lady. Hope you enjoy the result ... 

(c) Copyright 2002, Bernhard Traven

"You have to accept the fact that part of the sizzle of sex comes from the danger of sex. You can be overpowered." - Camille Paglia

"I was making love to the wife the other night but things just weren't working out. So, I asked her: you having trouble thinking about someone else too?" - R. Dangerfield

Mother didn't look up as I joined her at the kitchen table; so, I decided to take advantage of the lull by helping myself to a small stack of pancakes. I was already pouring the syrup before Mother finally spoke.

"What time did you come home last night?"

I finished pouring the syrup before replying. "Don't know. 11-12. you were asleep."

"I was awake. And it was 2:40 last night."

"Yeah, maybe it was later", I mumbled between bites.

"I was getting worried. I was going to call the hospitals in the area."

I put down my fork, and met mother's eyes. "I'm not a child, you know. I'm 19." 

"Deirdre, as long as you live under my roof, you _will_ obey my rules."

"Look ... I was just studying with Kevin."

"Kevin, hmmm. The guy's a geek. You can do a lot better - a lot better. You're an attractive young lady. But look how you dress. You wear nothing but blue jeans. You dress like a boy. When was the last time you put on a dress, wore some makeup ..."

"...Kevin likes me the way I am," I shouted. "I don't have to look like some Miss Priss around him."

"Yes ... I'm sure he respects your mind ... as long as you give him what he wants." 

I pushed the chair back hard enough to bang against the cabinet to my back, and rose to my feet.

"And maybe," I said with a grin, "Dad wouldn't have left if you had gave him what he wanted."

"You keep your father out of this", she hissed back. "It's not my fault he took up with some slut! You're stepping over the line, young lady."

I turned and stomped away. 

"Wait," she shouted at my back, "You haven't finished your breakfast ..."

"... I just lost my appetite, Mother."

It wasn't until I was stopped at a light two blocks from the university that I discovered that my bookbag was not there. Damn it. Now I was going to have to go back home, be late for class, and confront Mother and her barbs again. Double damn. And it was a Monday! When the light changed, I swung the car into a wide U turn to the noisy accompaniment of several angry honks to my rear.

There was a black Mercedes parked in the driveway with a faded Gore/Leiberman sticker on the bumper. It could only belong to Mrs. Douglas - a neighbor and friend of Mother's. She and Mother had been spending a lot of time together lately - probably commiserating over their mutual divorces. For some reason I've always felt uneasy around Mrs. Douglas. I doubt that she said more than 5 words to me over the years but was something about her that gave me the creeps. Maybe it was disapproving stares she gave me as she looked me over, or, maybe, her snobbish attitude. But maybe the real reason was that she was too much like Mother! 

I heard voices from the kitchen as I tiptoed through the living room.

"Suntan. And it's sheer-to-waist, Marilyn. With body contouring," I heard Mrs. Douglas say.

I giggled silently at the thought of a couple of middle-aged women having nothing more profound to discuss than their pantyhose. Knowing mother, I guess that shouldn't have surprised me!

I grabbed my bookbag, and glanced into the kitchen as I passed. I stopped dead in my tracks with my mouth open.

Mrs. Douglas sat at the kitchen table in the same seat I had occupied only half-an-hour earlier while Mother sat in her same seat directly across the table.

There was nothing unusual about any of this - except that Mrs. Douglas had her skirt hiked up to her waist. She ran her hands lovingly down her long legs. "So-oo smooth, Marilyn." 

Mother's eyes were glazed over. She said nothing.

"Come here and have a look." 

When Mother rose from her chair I was afraid she had seen me standing there. But her eyes never left Mrs. Douglas - or, actually Mrs. Douglas's long legs - as she walked around the table toward Mrs. Douglas.

Mrs. Douglas smiled slyly at Mother. "Enjoying the view?" Mrs. Douglas's index finger traced her inner leg started at the calf upwards toward her inner thigh.

Mrs. Douglas's finger trailed further upward until it rested against the cotton panel of her pantyhose. Her finger moved, slowly at first, but soon fell into a frenzied oscillating rhythm. Mrs. Douglas closed her eyes for a moment, and, then, opened them. 

Mother stood there transfixed. I couldn't believe she wasn't doing anything. She stood there while another woman was fingering herself - in my chair!

"Would you like to touch, Marilyn," said Mrs. Douglas in a tone normally used when addressing a youngster. 

Mother said nothing. She looked drugged. But she bent down and reached her hand toward Mrs. Douglas! What was going on?

Mother's hand reached for Mrs. Douglas's nylon-covered thigh. But just before her palm touched the silky material, Mrs. Douglas grabbed mother's hand at the wrist.

"No, Marilyn. You know it's not going to be that easy." With her other hand Mrs. Douglas was still working her crotch.

"Ple..ase," Mother said weakly. Mrs. Douglas let go of Mother's hand.

"Take off the robe, Marilyn. You know the rules."

Mother looked confused.

"Take off the robe, Marilyn," Mrs. Douglas repeated more slowly.

Mother opened her robe and let it drop to the floor. She was totally naked! I know she was wearing this same robe earlier this morning, but I could swear she had worn a blue nightgown underneath. Although totally disgusted, I still looked on in clinical facination at the scene before me. I had not seen my mother completely naked since I was a little girl. Although mother had always prided herself on her looks I could see (with some inner amusement) that the years were catching up with her. Those extra stubbon pounds that she frequently had bemoaned lately padded her tummy, thighs and definitely her butt! Her breasts, which were always large for her frame now hung pendulously as if bowed in submission to the years of oppressive gravity. Mother had always teased me about my lack of endowment but at least I won't be playing ping pong with my breasts in 20 years!

These spiteful thoughts danced through my head as if my mind was trying to protect itself from the emotional overload of what I was witnessing. My own mother was standing naked in our kitchen in front of a another woman. Mother stood there with her head lowered. Her dark brown bush was trimmed in a bikini cut although I had not seen her in a bikini in years. (And seeing the weight gain I'm not surprised!) I never saw her so vulnerable as she stood before Mrs. Douglas with a quivering lip and glimmer of anticipation in her glassy eyes.

Some unseen signal must have passed between them as Mother slowly positioned herself on the floor on all fours. She arched her back slightly, which pushed her bare butt upward toward Mrs. Douglas. I couldn't read them -- couldn't understand the emotions that were silently being exchanged. It was like flipping idly to a channel showing a soap opera in a foreign language. I could see Mother's back rising and falling with each breath.

Mrs. Douglas reached for something on the kitchen table. I was a wooden paddle. I felt a white-hot flash of rage when I recognized it! It was originally a toy of mine when I was 9 or 10. Although the paddle's usefulness as a toy soon ended after a few weeks when the rubber ball became detached, Mother had found another use for it. Dad never touched me, but Mother would occassionally paddle my behind when I was acting up. Don't get me wrong! Mother was not really abusive or anything, (other than her mouth!). Mother and I were not always on the best of terms, but I probably deserved most of what I got. The occasional spanking didn't hurt as much as the humiliation I felt by being spanked by something that had once been my toy. I had not seen the paddle since the spanking had stopped several years ago. But here it was; and I could even make out the fadded "DEE DEE" on the paddle written with a child's scrawl in blue ink.

"No. Please. Not like this," said Mother in a tiny voice.

"No?" said Mrs. Douglas. She reached down and ran her fingers through Mother's recently permed hair. Mother said nothing as she continued resting on all fours. "We don't have to do anything," purred Mrs. Douglas.

"We don't have to do anything at all," Mrs. Douglas repeated as she let her open palm gently trail down Mother's spine. "... if you don't want to." 

Mother gasped as Mrs. Douglas's hand found her bare butt.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" I noticed for the first time the light pink marks on mother's bottom. They looked like welts! 

Mrs. Douglas's hand slowly caressed the rounded curves of Mother's fleshy butt. "Still sore from the last time, poor baby. Or is it really pain you're feeling?"

"You can tell me to stop at anytime. I'll respect your wishes." Mother let out a low, long moan as Mrs. Douglas's fingertips trailed the crack of Mother's ass. With her other hand, Mrs. Douglas reached under Mother to grasp Mother's left breast, which hung distended with all the graceful beauty of an old tom turkey's waddle. Mrs. Douglas pinced the light brown nipple between her fingers and pulled downward, which caused the elongated breast to stretch even further toward the floor. Mother made another gutteral sound, louder this time, that seemed to come from deep within her somewhere. Mother's moan while on all fours coupled with the Mrs. Douglas pulling on Mother's tit reminded me of someone milking a fat and stupid cow.

Mother's mouth was slack. Without saying a word Mother lowered her head until her chin was pressed against the kitchen floor. Mother's hair, a chemical wonder of tawny blond with golden highlights, fell over her face. Her new posture pushed her butt up higher against Mrs. Douglas's hand. 

"Well, I guess I have my answer, Marilyn," said Mrs. Douglas as brought the paddle down hard.  Mother's butt jiggled in the aftermath of the blow.

My knees felt rubbery. I openly gasped but the sound was covered by the slap of the paddle and Mother's loud moan.

  Mrs. Douglas swung the paddle in angry downward arcs again and again.  I was facinated but disgusted. The paddle seemed to bounce off Mother's bare butt. Mother moaned hoarsly with each blow but made no effort to protect herself. On the contrary, her thighs opened further -- whether involuntary under the pressure of the swats or not, I do not know -- exposing a dark thash of public hair.

  I was concerned now about whether this 'game' would do real damage. Did I really want to play the caring daughter who saves her mother from -- what? Some sick and disgusting game played by a couple of pathetic middle-aged divorcees with way too much time on their hands? God, I just wanted out of this nightmare and back into the world of sanity.

  As if some hidden signal passed between them, Mrs. Douglas put the paddle down. Mother made pitiful little whimpering sounds as she crawled to Mrs. Douglas. Mother took Mrs. Douglas' big toe in both hands and placed it in her mouth! She started making loud, sloppy sucking sounds like a baby nursing on her mother's nipple.

Mrs. Douglas put her other leg onto mother's shoulder and slipped her hand into the waistband of her pantyhose. I could see the outline of Mrs. Douglas's finger under the sheer dark nylon grobing like a blood-engorged worm probing the dark mysteries of new and strangly fertile soil.

Mother stopped sucking and ran her tongue along Mrs. Douglas's inner leg. When Mother reached Mrs. Douglas's inner thigh, Mrs. Douglas wrapped both her long, silky legs around Mother's head. Mother stared directly into Mrs. Douglas's cotton crotch panel, and, then, looked up at Mrs. Douglas questioningly. 

"Use your teeth, bitch. You know how."

Mother head dove into Mrs. Douglas crotch with the same frenzied determination of a dog after its favorite bone. I could a white flash of teeth as Mother's head bobbed up and down between Mrs. Douglas's legs. 

Mrs. Douglas smirked and unhurriedly unbuttoned the front of her silk-print blouse, exposing a lacy half-cup brassiere. There was a small blue tattoo on her right breast that I could not quite make out just near the cleavage line. She wraped both of her long stockinged legs Mother's head and ground her pelvis into Mother's face. Mother made muffled animal sounds as she continued to try to rip into the nylon. 

There was a tearing sound. I saw a patch of reddish curls in a rip along the cotton panel. Mother took a ragged side of the rip in her teeth and whipped her head back and forth, back and forth, until Mother's head finally emerged from between Mrs. Douglas's legs. In her mouth was her prize - the white cotton panel edged with the remants of dark nylon. Mother let the panel drop from her mouth to the floor and looked up proudly at Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas pat Mother on the head and, then, gently nudged Mother's head downward toward the darkness between her legs.

I ran out of the house and had to lean against my Chevy to catch my breath. My tires squealed loudly as I sped away. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. Mother and Mrs. Douglas? How could this be? A car honked behind me. I looked up and saw that the light was already green. I pulled my hand from between my legs. What had I been doing? As I pressed on the accelerator I found myself squirming in my seat. I was very wet. And very confused.

All eyes looked toward me as I entered the classroom 10 minutes late. 

"Glad you could honor us with your presence, Ms. Fields," said Dr. Schoeder with a droll look. There was scattered titters from around the room. Having a good laugh, I guess, on the girl who ruined the grading curve for them on the midterm last week. 

I just smiled sheepishly, and quickly looked over the classroom. I spotted Kevin toward the center of the classroom. He turned, and our eyes met briefly. I smiled at him, and he returned one of those silly grins. I looked for a vacant next to him but there were none. He hadn't saved me a seat! Kevin just shrugged and looked back at Dr. Shroeder. He can be so thoughtless sometimes.

I found a seat in the last row, and mumbled apologies as stepped past others to get to it. 

I couldn't concentrate on the lecture. My mind kept wandering back to the scene in the kitchen. Mother. Did she really put her tongue into Mrs. Douglas's ... she fought the thoughts back from her mind. I looked up to see Dr. Schroeder scrawl something on the blackboard. What was he talking about? Nothing was clicking. I scanned the room and found the back of Kevin's head. He wasn't watching Dr. Schroeder either. I followed his gaze and found him staring at a girl two seats over. I think her name was Valerie but I didn't know her well. She was a pretty blond, but I looked closer and saw what Kevin was really gawking at. Valerie's eyes were watching Dr. Schroeder; and she was probably oblivious to the fact that her mini was hiked way up her thigh until the dark band at the top of her pantyhose was exposed. I glanced around and saw at least three other guys stealing glances at Valerie. My thoughts went back to the episode in the kitchen. What was this facination with pantyhose?

"I don't believe you didn't even save my a seat this morning!" I said as I pushed the piles of papers and the empty pizza box to one-side of Kevin's roommate's unmade bed so I could sit down.

Kevin's roommate, Bob, was out for the evening, which gave us the opportunity to study together undisturbed.

"Stop busting my balls 'bout it already, Dee Dee. I told you I couldn't hold the seat anymo'. Why were you late, anyway?"

"Never mind about that," I shot back a little too quickly. "I just wish you'd think of me sometimes."

"Hey, thinkin' 'bout cha all the time, Dee." He put his arm around me, and kissed my cheek.

"Do you, really?"

"Sho'." he said as his lips nuzzled my ear. I felt electric fingers dancing down my spine. He cupped my breast.

"Stop that." I said as I brushed his hand away.

His hand found my breast again. He twisted my nipple through my bra.

"I said stop, Kevin. I getting upset."

"Let ze Luv God show you ze path to ecstasy, bah-bee! You kin tell ze Luv God ta stop anything. Heh-heh. Ze Luv God'll respect yur wishes. Heh-heh," he whispered in my ear as he continued to maul my breast. 

 I slapped Kevin so hard I left a red imprint of my hand on his cheek. His glasses were unbroken, but probably loosened at the joint where Kevin had previously done a makeshift repair with an old bandaid.

Kevin squinted at me myoptically and, then, pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Hey... what's gotten into you. It's not like this is our, heh-heh, first time or anything."

"I'm not really in the mood right now, Kev. The're a lot of things happening at home."

"Your old lady? She's a bi..." He caught himself when he caught my look. He looked sheepishly back at me. "Hey, Dee, why doncha jus' move out."

"Things are difficult. I would _really_ not like to discuss it right now."

"OK. OK. Don't hit me! heh-heh. I'm a bleeder!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. I laughed.

He hestitantly reached out and put his arm around me. "Sorry, Kev. Maybe, I'm just a little sensitive."

He pulled his arm away quickly and held it protectively at his side. "Oh, yeah. heh-heh. Yeah, I get you. You doan hafta hit me over the head wid a ton a bricks. Heh-heh. Wrong time of the month. Flyin' the red flag. Heh-heh. Yeah. Listen, it's kinda late. Heh-heh. Maybe call it a night?"

"No, its nothing like that." I smiled and reached for his hand, and squeezed.

"No!?" His face brightened.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios, then. You FDSing or sumbin'?"

I laughed. "No, I'm not P-M-Sing, Kev. No... It's just that ... that. Ah, can I ask you something?"

"Sho' ... Any ding... sweet stuff ..." He said as he moved closer toward me with a sly glance.

I raised up my palm. "I'm serious, Kevin. Do you ..." I looked into his eyes. "...love me for who am I am?"

"Yeah, sho'... All da way, babykins," he said as he put his arm around my shoulder. 

"Do you like the way I dress?"

"Fer sho', yeah ..." I could feel his hand creeping over to my breast.

"I saw you looking at Valerie in class."

"Valerie, the redhead with the big knockers? Yeah, heh-heh, you see I can heh-heh 'splain..."

"No. The blond. The one whose legs you were gawking at?"

"Oh .. yeah, her. Heh-heh. See, I was just comparing lecture notes and ..."

"Stop". I placed a finger over his lips. "Tell me ... do you like the way she dresses?"


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"Yeah. She's nice looking, sure. heh-heh" He looked at me and, then, added quickly, "But heh-heh not as foxy as you, of course."

"Kevin, I want the truth. Do men have a thing for ... pantyhose."

"Pantyhose? Yeah, sho'. They're nice."

"I know about things like stocking and garterbelts - but why pantyhose? Their so - so ... utilitarian!"

"Sure, they're nice, sho'. Heh-heh. Yeah, man. They can float my boat."

"But I don't wear pantyhose."

"Hey, you one foxy babe. Heh-heh. You doan hafta wear anythin' a tall!" He reached for the button on my blouse.

"Stop that." I shooed his hand away. "Would you like me to wear pantyhose?"

Kevin's eyes widdened. "You gettin' ma motor runnin', for sure, Sweetcheeks."

"But I thought you loved me the way I was?"

"Yeah, yeah. heh-heh. yeah." He shrugging his shoulders in resignation. "Listen, Dee why don't we just ... you know?"

"Do you think I look like a boy, Kevin?"

He reached for my breast. "Not where it counts, heh-heh."

I pulled away and stood up.

"Hey, where ya goin'?"

"I'm calling it a night, Kevin."

I heard his voice trailing off behind me as I walked down the stairs. "Hey, Dee, howcha doin' on dat literature paper. I gotta haf it by Friday. Professor A-Hole says dat I need an A on da paper to bring up my average to a D!" I didn't reply.

The house was dark when I got home. I checked the time. 1:35a. 

A dread came over. I didn't know what to expect. What if that superdyke was still here? Or what if I found something even worse?

Quietly I tiptoed up the stairs. I could hears noises as I reached the top the stairs. No! Carefully I walked up to her open bedroom door. As I peered into the dark room I saw the sheet rise and fall in an easy rhythm with each of Mother's raspy snores. I had to take a step into the room to verify if she was alone in the bed. I stood there motionless over Mother's sleeping form for a few minutes without really feeling or thinking anything. She seemed so peaceful. Maybe dreaming.   

I opened the refrigerator, looked inside, and, then, looked around the kitchen. It was was enveloped in shadows created from light of the open refrigerator door. I thought back on what had taken place here early this morning. It seemed so long ago - if it happened at all. Did I just imagine everything?

I turned on the light under the cabinets. The light was enough to make out the kitchen around her. The table was cleared of dishes from this morning. A framed message in needlepoint on the wall closest to the table read 'Marilyn's Kitchen' in an ornate script. Everything looked so normal, so usual. Could those things have actually happened here. She looked at the chair Mrs. Douglas had sat in this morning. My chair!

Had it really happened here? I looked around. An idea suddenly occurred to me; and I removed the lid to the trash basket and peered inside. I removed contents carefully, placing old coffee filters, spoiled tomatoes, and potato' shavings in the kitchen sink. Underneath were newspapers. I removed the papers and finally saw the brown fabric bunched in the corner. I reached in and held the translucent material up to the light. Pantyhose. I opened the pantyhose up. My heart jumped a beat as I saw the open crotch. The crotch was torn badly as if it had been - chewed. I searched the trash can further and saw what I was looking for under a banana peel. The white cotton crotch panel had pieces of nylon at the edges. I thought of Mother holding this piece of fabric in her mouth like a dog. I brought it up to my nose. It smelled earthy, like a litter of new puppies. The smell of a woman. The smell of a woman in heat. It was intoxicating.

I put the garbage back, being very careful to arrange the pantyhose exactly the way I found it. I discovered, though, I had forgotten to replace the moist cotton panel. My sweaty hand clenched it tightly.

I found the paddle immediately on top of the refrigerator. I ran my palm again its smooth wooden surface. It felt electric to the touch. Mother always kept it handy on top of the refrigerator - when she used to use it on me. On me!

I still clutched the smelly cotton panel in my fist as I laid the paddle down on the table and sat down -- on my chair. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as I sat in the darkness. I felt so alone in the shadows until I caught the comforting sight Mr. and Mrs. Farmer. I smiled. There, on one end of table neatly arranged around of stack of napkins, were a handpainted porcelain salt and pepper set -- a farmer and his pretty country wife. It was a present from Dad to Mother during happier times when we first moved to this house from a city apartment. 7 years old at the time, I immediately called them Mr. and Mrs. Farmer. Mother and Dad would play along with my imaginary conversations with the procelain farm family. They were a ready topic for conversation during family meals: "Mr. and Mrs. Farmer love ice cream because it comes from the milk made from their cow."

"But Mr. and Mrs. Farmer didn't really like broccoli because they wouldn't grow something so yucky, would they?"

But Dad patted my hair, commenting gently, "But, Dee Dee, Mr. and Mrs. Farmer want you to grow up strong." "I'm a girl, Daddy. I'm not 'posed to have big mus-kills." "Dee Dee, you don't need muscles to be strong. I want you to grow up into a strong young lady who can stand up for yourself." I had visions of Dee Dee as a mighty Power Puff Girl. "Neato!" I flexed a little girl bicep to Daddy. And we both laughed together. But then I asked, "Then, why did Mr. and Mrs. Farmer make brocoli so yucky?" Daddy smiled. "We all need some yuckies in life, Dee, in order to grow stronger." "But why, Daddy, do ..." "...just eat your brocoli. It's getting cold. OK?", said Mommy impatiently. 

That little 7 year girl would have many private conversations. "Mr. and Mrs. Farmer were in love with each just like you, Mommy and Daddy", I would say. And Mother and Dad would kiss affectionately in response. "And Mr. and Mrs. Farmer loved their little girl so much. Heaps and heaps and forever keeps."

And a few years later a 10 year old little girl would talk to Mr. and Mrs. Farmer: "You still love each other, don't you, Mrs. and Mrs. Farmer? Even if Mommy and Daddy argue so much? ...and you still love your little girl, don't you?"

Six months later is the worse day of my life. I grab Daddy's arm with dear life as he walks toward the front door with a suitcase in each hand. "I want to go with you, Daddy. Please. Don't leave me." "Dee Dee ..." Daddy's eyes, a steel gray, were full of pain. "... I don't want to leave but it is the best for all of us. Sometimes things are ...". His eyes searched above as if looking for an answer. "... complicated between grown-ups."

"Why can't I go with you instead of staying with Mommy?"

"Sweetie ... this is so hard for me." For the first time that I can recall I saw Daddy's eyes grow moist. "I'll explain someday. I need you to bestrong. Can you do that for do that for Daddy?" "Daddy! Please! Please don't leave me. Please! ..."

I stood there with tears streaming down my face in the open doorway, and watched as Daddy's car drive away. I must have stood there outside the door for hours hoping that I would see Daddy returning. Mother finally had to threaten me with the paddle to get me to come back inside.

I found myself back in the darkened kitchen. My eyes welled up with tears. 

Both of my hands were folded tightly in my lap. I was hot, sweaty. Unconfortable. My jeans felt too tight.

I swear the next thing I knew I heard a snap and the smooth metallic sound of a zipper being undone as my fingers opened my jeans. The coolness so felt good. Blessed relief from the pressure.

I felt my abdomen for the familar water bloating but felt only usual my flat tummy. I wasn't realy surpised because I knew that I should have at least another two weeks before it was my time again. My hand felt good, though, resting on the clammy flesh. Oddly, comforting.

But there was a itching. An irritant, somewhere inside. I slipped my hand down inside the top of my panties. Everything felt normal. I moved my hand down further. My fingers encountered that soft furry feel that always reminded me of the silky touch of a pet bunny I once had. I pushed my hand further south of the border.

Normally, I did like not touch myself there unless to take care of business. I didn't even care for Kevin or my one other boyfriend from high school to play around much there. It's not a prude or anything; they were cool with it. Sex was fine but I just wasn't especially comfortable with manual stimulation of clumsy and probably unwashed hands groping around down there. Anyway, I gave them what they wanted; and I didn't have any complaints.

I suspected yet another yeast infection. I had my last outbreak about 2 months ago. When I touched my outer lips I jerked back immediately in white-hot pain!

God. It was so much worse that any prior infection. Electricity shoot down my pelvis. I gulped for air. I felt beads of sweat bead on my forehead. When had this started? My hand was covered with a sheen of moisture. And I felt my body quivering.

I put my hand back gently, tentatively. But when my hand touched the soreness again, the feeling was somehow different. There was a spreading warmth through my lower body. Oh, God. I could feel my nipples stiffen. I bit down hard on my lower lip. Is this how it felt? Was I turned on all day, or did I just become aroused.

I leaned forward on the chair. I moved my other free hand downward but discovered that the sticky piece of cotton was still balled up in my hand. I lifted it up, and held it under my nose.

Oh, fuck... The musky smell overwhelm me. I heard myself moaning. Was it just biology? Pheromones? The scent of a woman in heat? I wasn't attracted to other women. Certainly not that dyke who was with Mother who I didn't like -- even before this morning. I was straight. I had boyfriends. I had a healthy sex life...

I took another whiff. God. That thick animal odor cut right through me. Ohhhh. With no apparent conscious effort my index finger entered the folds of my pussy. When I touched my button, my sweet button, I heard myself moaning loudly. 

My fingers played with that little nubbin, my hot spot. Images flooded my mind ... the purple-red knob of Kevin's cock ... anonymous cocks penetrating me ... fucking me. Tongues lapping at me, Kevin somehow morphing into Matt Damon. My fingers stroked harder at my clit. My hot spot that was now the center of my existence. I could now smell that same tell-tale musk coming from me. The scent of a woman in heat. The scent of a woman in control. I saw a brief fleeting image of Daddy. No! My mind fought back and Daddy was replaced by Kevin with an impossibly long cock and a sheepish grin. I could hear my fingers making squishing sounds as they continued kneading my clit.

I hiked up my tee-shirt and slid one hand up my bra. My nipple felt raw and achy, my breasts swollen. I pinched the nipple hard as made other hand continued their frenzied teasing of my delicious button. Images flashed faster, becoming of kaleidoscope of quivering flesh. Uhhhhhh ....

In my mind I saw Mother bareassed on the floor, hungrily lapping at Mrs. Douglas's pussy. My hips jerked up and down, causing the wooden chair under me to inch forward on the ceramic tiles. In a fever-vision I now saw Mother's with her face buried in my lap. Oh ... God I could feel her now. I tried desperately to fight that vision. Replace it with something safer. God. Her tongue. She submitted to me and dominated me at the same time with the wondeful tongue. Mommy. Another image flashed. A large bald-headed man with a gold earring was mounting me. Mounting his bitch. The sweat glistened off the tar-black skin of his muscular back as he faded away ... Mother's eyes egged me on, daring me to cum as her tongue darted expertly at my sore clit. Oh, God. My sweet bitch knew just I needed -- and what she wanted. I could feel my toes curling. Oh .. oh ... No! Not yet! Oh .. oh .. ahhhh ...

My body spasmed, and I collapsed like a ragdoll and fell to the cold tile floor of that dark, still kitchen.

The next morning I awoke early to the familar whistling of a cardinal outside my opem bedroom window. The air was moist, smelling of freshly turned soil and that green, verdant smell of new life. I stood up on steady feet. I felt fully rested, so alive. Everything was right with the world.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 7:03AM. That was about an hour earlier than my usual waking time. What had actually happened last night? Yesterday morning? Was it a dream? I glanced downward and was reassured that I was dressed in my usual conformable nightshirt. My fingers quickly verified that I was also wearing a pair of cotton panties. Whatever happened, it behind me now. Yesterday's news. I was now living in the here and now.

I started to make my bed. But when I fluffed my down pillow, something fell to the ground. I picked it up. The cotton panel. It looked like a rag with tattered (chewed!, a voice whispered in my head) threads of nylons at the edges. The cotton had acquired a yellowish color that I had not noticed before.

I brought it up to my face. No. I knew I had to stop. Now. I had to seize control before - before what? I moment later I breathed it in deeply. That deep rutting smell was still there but was definitely fainter. Like yesterday's fleeting memories ... But I quickly put down my hand before I could change my mind. I glanced momentarily at the wastebasket under my computer desk. No. Mother sometimes emptied it. It would be better to put it back with the kitchen garbage but there was no safe way to do that now. Mother was likely already downstairs. Finally, I slipped it inside the soft folds of my pillow. It would be safe there until I could safely dispose of it. Later.

I took cleansing shower that I ran as hot as I could bear. When I stepped out of the tub I was just a pink shadow in the mirror until I wiped down the steamed-up mirror with the end of my towel.

God. Was that really me? I cupped my right breast. I didn't get Mother's genes but they had definitely filled out this past year. My hips had also widened, I thought to myself, as I turned my bottom toward the mirror. There were still traces of that slender little girl in my outline but I had filled out enough to give me a slight hourglass figure. With facination I saw the light pink nipple start to stiffen at my touch.

Curves. When had this happened? It shouldn't be a complete surprise that I might still be growing at nineteen. I was a late bloomer, Daddy had remarked to me on my last visit at Christmas. At the time I had disregarded his comment as kindness on his part at the time but maybe I have changed some.

I didn't spend much time prissing myself in front of the mirror or comparing myself to all the other empty-headed bimbettes out there. I already had a boyfriend. And he liked me just the way I was. But did I really know him, a voice said in my mind. Did I really know myself? Maybe I never spend much time before the mirror because I was afraid that the person looking back at me might have been someone I didn't know. 

But maybe I now ready to know that person, I thought, as I picked out my clothes for the day. I slipped on a satin pair of panties and a lacy Bali bra that I worn a single time to wedding several months earlier. The dress was a peach spring dress with a scoop-neck that I hadn't worn since my cousin's graduation a year ago. The dress, though, not a mini, was on the short side when I last wore it. But I must have grown some, because the dress now barely reaches mid-thigh. I looked at myself in the mirror as I applied lip gloss. Even my bra, a 34B demi-cup, felt snugger. I had barely showed a hint of cleavage in this dress only a few months ago. I remember replying in anger at Mother's suggestion that I wear some padding. Now, I thought as I arched my back in front of the mirror, I have real boobs peeking out of the dress. I looked at myself again and an image popped into my head. With my short blond pageboy (I hated fussing with long hair) and my slim build an image popped into my head. A younger Cameron Diaz? Yeah ... right, I replied to myself.

But who was this new person? What would Kevin think? Would he like the new image, or would he morn the lost of old blue-jeaned babe? I thought he would like it, but there was so much I didn't know then.

And what would Mother think, a voice whispered in back of my mind. I let that last question hang in the air unanswered.

I rummaged for several minutes in the back of my lingerie drawer but all I could find were two old pairs of pantyhose full of runs that I hadn't worn in ages. Damn.

I knew by the smell of eggs that Mother was already downstairs preparing breakfast as I entered Mother's room and opened a dresser drawer. I sorted through several pairs of pantyhose until I found what I was looked for: offblack, seamed - and sheer to waist. Control top as well - although I hardly needed that particular feature. My hands shook as I rolled them up my legs. I barely recognized myself as I looked at myself from Mother's bedroom mirror. The pantyhose felt cool and so smooth. I couldn't get over the tingly feeling of the nylon against me. It was electric. Like a second skin that enhanced my own. My fingers glided up my legs until they lingered at the junction of my legs. Even through the double layer of the cotton panel of the stockings and my panties I could feel the inner heat within. 

An idea came to me. I couldn't! No! But I found myself rolling down the pantyhose and stripping off my panties. My legs were weak as I rolled the pantyhose back on. I almost came as I felt the pantyhose pressed tightly against my bare and very wet crotch. I was flushed. Was I taking things too far now. What would Kevin say? Was I ready to present this side of myself?

Mother didn't look up as I sat down at the breakfast table. 

She turned from the stove. "How do you want your e... what in the world happened to you?"

"I decided to try something new." 

"Well... It's an improvement. Certainly."

"Maybe you were right, Mother. About how I dress and all."

"Aren't you going to school today?"

"Yeah, I'm going. Don't you like my new image? You've always told me I dress like a boy."

"Well, I'm just surprised. That's all. I'm take aback." Mother had a pensive look as she scooped coffee into the coffee filter. She looked up suddenly at me with a smirk. "New boyfriend, right? I knew it! I knew you'd dump that loser and find ..."

"... Kevin and I are still together."

"What then ...?"

"Oh, I've just decided to start taking control of things in my life." I smiled openly. "And I've had a good teacher."

"Who?"

"You, Mother, of course. I've seen how you take control." I grinned widely.

Mother creased her forehead in puzzlement, started to mumble something but turned around to start the coffee maker.

Throughout breakfast Mother said little but I caught her sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking. 

I finally met her eyes as she glanced over as she put a forkful of eggs to her mouth. I could tell she tried to look away but she knew she was now caught in my stare.

None of us said anything. I could hear the clock on the wall now ticking loudly as Mother nervously got up to reach for the coffee pot.

Later I would re-play this scene in the kitchen over and over in my mind in order to try to understand what had taken place. It was these few pregnant moments, I had decided, that were the turning point of what was to be. I had not planned anything that morning. Honestly. Certainly, I took some glee in the mind-games I had played with Mother but I intended nothing else. Really. Maybe it was Mother's deer-caught-in-the-headlights reaction to me when I caught her staring. Maybe it was the uncharacteristic vulnerability that she exposed to me. But I believe it was more than that. Something unseen has passed between us that morning in the kitchen.




Control Top



"I didn't know y-you had pantyhose like that?" Mother finally said.

"Like them?"

I crossed my legs, (which caused my hem to rise up to the danger point!) and smiled at Mom as she poured herself some coffee.

"They're all yours, Mom."

"Mine...?"

"Yes. The pantyhose. I borrowed them. Hope you don't mind." I lifted my dress to my waist.

"Ah, Deirdre, D-don't you think you should wear panties underneath? You can see everything ..."

"Mother, you're overflowing."

"W-what?"

"The coffee, Mother, you're spilling it."

She followed my glance to the table where her coffee was overflowing from her cup.

"God. What am I thinking?"

"Exactly, Mother." With the dress still lifted to my waist, I opened my thighs and stretched out my legs.

"Come here, Mother." Mother was nervously wiping the spill with a rag.

"What?"

"Come here, Mother," I repeated, more firmly than before.

She stood before me. I lifted my legs toward her, and smiled.

"Take off your robe, Mother." I heard myself say. Did I know what I was doing?

I really expected her to tell I was out of my head. And she would have right that account. But without saying a word Mother untied her robe with what seemed to be deliberate slowness. For a moment I felt a white-hot flush of panic in my bowels at the sudden thought that she might actually be naked under that robe. God. I wasn't ready for that. Yet.

As she spread open the terry-cloth robe I exhaled with relief as I saw the blue nightgown underneath. How far would this go?, I thought to myself. I swear I didn't know even then.

Without taking her eyes off me she stripped the robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her nightgown was a blue cotton that went to mid-thigh. Nothing outrageous: it was a sensible, functional nightgown for a middle-aged mother. It was her heavy breasts, though, that distorted the simple straight lines of garment, making it more than the plain garb of a hausfrau. 

Mother stood there looking at me expectantly. I could clearly make out the outline of her nipples. They were stiff. I had to stop now. I had made my point -- whatever that point actually was. The mind-fuck had now gone too far. I wanted to retreat back into my role as the rebellious daughter and trade barbs with her over the kitchen table. Life here with Mother was miserable but it was tolerable. There was safety in the routine, comfort in the familiar.

I watched Mother's blue-grey eyes. They weren't watching me. I still had the hem of my dress hiked up; and Mother's eyes were staring directly at the crotch of my pantyhose. 

It doesn't come as easily as porn describes. You cannot shed inhibitions as easily as clothing. Fantasy does not always play as well when it hits the big screen of reality. Words do not always crystallize outside of their medium. The language of dreams does not always translate into the language of the flesh. In the end we stand alone with our secret desires, our drives, and our hungers against a lifetime of conditioning. We are left with our own choices. It is the sum of those choices that make us human. And it is by these choices that we are ultimately judged. 

The pantyhose felt too clingy. The control top felt like it was digging into my waist. I was sweaty. I squirmed my butt on the wooden chair to get confortable. When I looked upward I saw that I had opened my thighs wider toward Mother's stare.

I felt so wet. And so ashamed. She said nothing but there was something different: an imperceptible change in her expression. I saw the slight smirk in the curl of her lips, that knowing look in her haunted eyes. She was laughing at me. She was telling me that she was the one who was actually in control. I was the one squirming helplessly in my own moistness as she stood over me, laughing at my pathetic attempt at playing her game.

God damn bitch. I hated her. And hated what she had turned me into.

It was the brewing anger within me that finally pushed me to take the next step. I expected my voice to crack with rage and frustration but I heard myself clear and strong. "Do I have to tell you everything, Mother? The nightgown, too."

Mother hestitated for a moment. I had called her bluff, I thought. She didn't expect me to continue with her sick game. It would end now and I would declare victory.

But Mother grabbed the hem of her nightgown and pulled upward. Her pendulous breasts flopped into view. For a moment her head was hidden and her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to remove the nightgown over her head. Her areola were light brown, and were more distorted that the neat rounded circles of my own as if the sheer girth of her breasts had over time stretched her nipples out of shape. Mother let the nightgown fall the tile floor and returned her stare at me.

She wore a pair of light blue panties that had matched well with the nightgown now crumpled in a ball at her feet. The soft curve of her white tummy hung slightly over the waistband. Her hips were wide, generous. A real woman's hips. And I could now smell Mother.

I didn't know if I could go further. God help me. What have I done? But I couldn't turn back. Here was my mother naked except for a pair of cotton panties. She leaned slightly to one side and rested her arm against her hip. Her boobs hung low. She looked at me with a mix of impatient and boredom. 

I bit my lip and ran my palm nervously against the smooth nylon at my thigh. Mother shifted her body weight to the other hip and continued to stare at me expectantly.

That bitch. Couldn't she just strip off the panties? She wanted to humiliate me, bring me down to the gutter she wallowed in. She was forcing me to tell her what I wanted. Bitch. Wanted me to beg. She couldn't just go ahead and do it herself. Nothing -- nothing ever changed with Mother.

"Goddamnit! Take off the fucking panties," I said through clenched teeth.

My anger boiled over as she continued to look at me with her bovine eyes.

"... o-or -- or ..." Goddamnit! I sounded so pathetic. I paused for a moment and tried to control my erupting anger.

"... Or do I have to rip them off ... of you!" This last part did not ring true to my ears. I sounded like I was reading dialog out of a poor-written Harlequin. But however contrived my words sounded as I stammered them my anger was pure. Righteous. And I swear I would really have ripped those panties off.

Motherdidn't appear to be intimidated. I have to give her _that_ much. Maybe she sensed the real emotions or maybe she had now achieved her own silent victory by finally manipulating me. Regardless, without taking her haunted eyes from me she hooked a thumb at the waistband on each side of hip and yanked downward, over her wide thighs and onto the floor. 

There had been so much tension, so much confusion and anguish to get to this point. And in the end the feverous tension is ended by the simple discarding of a single piece of underwear.

I swallowed. Here she was. My mother bare -- stripped of everything. Stripped of all pretenses. This was the second time in 24 hours that I had seen her completely naked. But this time was different. I exhaled loudly. She had stripped for me. She had stripped herself naked for me -- as if for her lover. Lover? I felt beads of sweat on my forehead. Lover? Is that what was this was coming to?

God... I wasn't like _that_. I wasn't ready? This was just some mind game we were playing with each other. Sick, yes. But my relationship with Mother was always disfunctional. 

It had to end here. She made me do it. Didn't she? Bitch. Game over, girlfriend. I wish I had a camera. Stripping naked for your own daughter, you perv. I could rub her nose into this anytime I wanted. I can always hold this over her head. And if I wanted I could go live with Dad or find my own apartment. I didn't owe her anything.

But was I fooling myself?, I thought, as I realized I was still sitting here with my dress hiked up and my thighs spread. My mother was totally naked in front of me -- her flesh just inches away.

Could I just call this off? Did I want to go ahead? Why didn't Mother at least say something? That little button between my legs was itching. It was maddening. I couldn't just touch myself with her standing there.

"Goddamn it, Mother ..." I was in agony am I squirmed in that hard wooden chair. "Say something ... already."

My finger pressed at the smooth crotch of my pantyhose. I inhaled sharply. But I yanked my hand away when I realized what I was doing in front of Mother.

She was smiling. 

"You ... bitch!"

And as before it was my anger that pushed me into action. Anger blinds out the weaker emotions of fear and uncertainty, and cleanses the mind. A thought came to me, and I reached over to the seat of the empty chair on the adjacent side of the table. Without taking my eyes off of her, my hand traced the surface of the seat. 

"You'll never guess what I found."

Mother looked at me with confused eyes.

I held up the paddle. "Remember this?"

I was now grinning widely.

Mother looked me in the eye. She bit the bottom of her lip and Mother covered her breasts protectively with both arms. She looked at me with haunted, confused eyes.

"Dierdre ... please." she finally said in a barely audible voice.

I waved the paddle playfully in the air.

"How did you ...?"

I pointed toward the floor with the side of the paddle.

"No ... please ..."

"It's too late for that, Mother."

Again I gestured with the paddle. 

Mother went down on all fours. Her big, rounded ass was in front of me. I saw the fainted DEE DEE scrawled in blue ink on the paddle. In my mind's eye I saw it tatooed across her big fat butt.

Mother turned her head to see me from behind her. Her eyes showed fear mixed with something else. Hunger.

"Don't ..." she said weakly.

"Life's a bitch, Mother. But that Bitch is in heat."

When Mother put her face toward the floor and presented her big bare butt to me, I knew what I had to do. And it was the most natural thing in the world.

 The first slap of the paddle wasn't very hard. I was afraid of hurting Mother. I didn't know Mother very well then.

When another slap didn't follow immediately, Mother turned her head behind her to look at me. Her eyes said it all.

The second slap hit Mother's left buttock with a satisfying wack. Her rounded cheek quivered so nicely. Oh, God. It felt so good.

The third slap was applied hard to the right cheek followed quickly by another blow to the left cheek. After a while I lost count. When I finally stopped my wrist ached and Mother's white butt was flushed with a pretty pink color.

Mother crawled to me and started licking my toes through the pantyhose. I giggled when she put my big toe in her mouth. It tickled! But I felt the heat growing within me.

Mother worked herself up my leg, leaving a moist snail-trail. When she finally reached my crotch she looked up at me questioning eyes. Mother was quite the tease.

"Use your teeth, Mother. Use your teeth." I wrapped my legs around her head and held her tightly.

When she first started biting at the pantyhose I nearly fell out of the chair as I felt her teeth at my crotch. But other than a few stray pubic hairs trapped between a mouthful of nylon Mother was careful. At this moment I found that I trusted this wonderful woman completely. Even if she was a bitch.

After Mother finally tore open the crotch, I didn't need to instruct her any further. She knew exactly what to do.

I shrieked when Mother's tongue finally entered me.

END

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

Chiapas, Mexico October 2002

I am thrilled to read any feedback -- even negative! Since this story was quite different for me I am particularly interested if it worked for anyone else. If, by chance, you did actually enjoy this story I would appreciate you taking the time to vote below. Just click the mouse in the rightmost circle next to the "5" (just kidding :-) -- please give your honest rating) below and press "Submit Vote".