10 comments/ 79325 views/ 28 favorites Dad is Mommy By: Darkinside Editor's Note: this story contains male-to-female transsexual content. If this is not something you want to read, please stop now. * Leslie waited impatiently on the taxi line with her bags. She had been patient for the two years since she'd made up her mind and began plotting this move; now that she was here, and so close, she was getting anxious. She hadn't seen her Dad in eight years since her parents had divorced when she was ten. And now here she was, in his city, and she was only a cab ride away. She hoped he wouldn't be disappointed at seeing her, and she felt a last twinge of guilt at not telling him she was coming. But she buried that feeling under the relief at being out from under her mother's bitter and hostile control. He had kept in touch with her after she had moved across the country with her mother after the divorce, but her mother had won sole custody, and he wasn't allowed to visit. And her mother took every opportunity to remind her of that, from the very beginning. She called him vile names, called him a pervert, a freak. Leslie never understood why her mother couldn't see that children see themselves as a part of their parents, and that if her mother thought her Dad was a freak, then she must have thought that her daughter was half a freak, too. It had crushed her when she was younger, and inhibited her as she grew; the verbal abuse, the constant anger, the bitter regret that her mother carried with her, and spread to all around her. She had withdrawn, made friends slowly in their new city, and had poor social skills born of a low self image. It was only these last two years that she had emerged from her shell, making some friends, mostly with the wild kids. The only bright spot had been the letters from her Dad. A first he had sent them to her Aunt, her dad's sister, and she would give them to Leslie when she visited, and would help her write back to him. Of course, her mother had found them, and blew a fit, and then Aunt Kelly wasn't allowed to come by anymore. But Diana was fourteen then, and was passing friends with the girl next door, and her dad would sent the letters there, to Leslie's friend, and their correspondence continued. And oh, what letters they were! He would tell her of his life and his adventures; of the places he'd seen and visited, and of the friends he'd met. He spoke quite frequently of the many ladies he'd met, and how wonderful they were, how well they dressed, and the fun times they had going out together. And every letter he would tell her how much he loved her, and how sorry he was that they couldn't be together; that he missed her, and that he wanted her to visit if she ever got the opportunity. At age sixteen she began looking at colleges. Her grades were spectacular, and she got a full ride at several prestigious schools. But she wanted to take a year off, she told her mother, see the world, travel the country. She had saved quite a bit from her waitressing job, and convinced her mother that after graduation she would make plans to travel. But secretly she planned to leave right after her eighteenth birthday, and the day after her party, after her mom went to work, she had called the cab for the train station. And now here she was, come to see her Dad, after eight long years of letters. She hoped he would be as excited as she was. As the cab rounded the corner onto his street, she sat forward, craning her neck, trying to pick out his house. Was it the blue one? No, he wouldn't live there, She scanned the numbers, trying to estimate as the cab slowed. This one? The white one? No? There? The yellow one with the small porch; it was wonderful! She just knew that she was going to be happy here, and she knew that her Dad was going to love having her here, together again after so long. She paid the cabbie, and took her bags from the curb, and trudged under their weight to the front door. It was Saturday afternoon; she had planned it so she wouldn't arrive while he was at work. She hoped he was home as she nervously pressed the doorbell and waited. What if he wasn't here? What if he had gone on one of his adventures, visiting friends in another city? She shifted anxiously from one foot to the other until her heart leaped when she heard the lock turn. The door opened and a tall, blonde woman was there. "Oh, hi," she said demurely, a little disappointed that her Dad hadn't rushed out and hugged her. "I'm Leslie, I'm Harry's daughter-" she managed before the woman charged through the door and swept her into her arms in a strong bear hug. "Leslie!" the woman exclaimed in a sultry voice, and then lifted her off her feet, and spun her around, saying her name over and over. Leslie was confounded and overwhelmed by the emotional welcome, and wondered, as the woman set her back down, if this was one of her father's lady friends. "Let me look at you," she said, holding her at arm's length by her shoulders. "All grown up! What a fine, wonderful young woman you turned out to be! I knew it! I always knew! God, how I've missed you!" And at those words, she looked, and saw. The woman WAS her father! * She woke up on the couch with a cold towel on her forehead. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the face of the blonde woman who had greeted her. And then she remembered it was her father! She blinked rapidly, and struggled to sit up, but he held her down. "No, easy, baby; rest," he soothed in his woman's voice, and smiled as she relaxed back into the couch. "You passed out, I guess," the face observing her said. The woman's face. "I guess I kind of surprised you." "Dad?" she asked. She had not been prepared for this. "You're -- you're a woman?" Her head swam again and she felt her field of vision narrowing. "Breathe, Leslie; breathe baby," the woman's voice called to her through the fog, and then the shroud of unconsciousness receded, and she felt her breath catching, and then drew a deep breath, and another, and her vision cleared as her brain kicked back into operational levels. "What -- what's going on --" she sputtered, "What are you- why are you dressed like that?" "I'm sorry, honey, I never meant to hurt you." Leslie watched the woman's face soften, becoming sad, and she felt the love and caring she remembered from childhood, the emotions from his letters, and she knew it was him. But it was a HER! She saw a smile creep into the face then, gentle and understanding, and then her father stood and scooted her into the back of the couch, and sat on the edge, next to her, tucking her foot underneath herself in a very ladylike way. He gently stoked her arm. "I've wanted to tell you for so long," he said, his woman's voice steeped in emotion. "I can't even tell you how many letters I've torn up and thrown away over the years." She smiled wistfully down at her, and Leslie had a fleeting impression that she was seeing him as a woman, although she knew he was still her father. "I dreamed of the day that I would invite you here, that I would show you the real me, the woman I am now." She turned suddenly sad. "I never wanted it like this; I'm so sorry, Leslie." "It's all right," she said, stopping short at calling him Daddy. "Are you sure, sweetie?" She thought about it for a minute before answering. It was an important question. Was she okay with the idea that her father lived full-time as a woman? She'd be staying with him; she couldn't very well go back home, and she didn't want to. She thought back to all the letters he'd written, the emotion he had conveyed, and realized he had been a woman all that time. She looked at him, his woman's body, his woman's face. All the love she had felt, all the love he had for her, all that time; it was there, inside, as she had always known it would be. It was the reason she had come here. "Yeah, Dad," she said, sitting up and kissing his cheek. Her cheek. "I'm sure." They hugged, and she sat back. And she surveyed the woman sitting next to her, her elegance, her poise. She was pretty, and looked comfortable with herself. "But I'm a little jealous," she grinned. "You're a lot prettier than I imagined." She felt herself relax into the couch, then struggled to sit up next to her father, and took his delicate, womanly hands in her own, remembering holding them when she was younger, how much larger than her own the slender fingers had been. "I figured I'd be the pretty one in the house!" she blurted, and laughed, as she would with a girlfriend. "But I've got some competition!" Her father smiled lightly and brushed a lock of hair from Leslie's face, tucking it behind her ear. "You're beautiful, Leslie. You've grown into a lovely young woman." It was a few weeks later, while they were eating dinner, that Leslie asked the question. She had settled in, and they had become accustomed to having each other around; he, getting used to having someone else in the house, and having his daughter there, she, getting used to a new city, and new house, and growing less resistant to the idea of her father as a woman. A bigger adjustment, however, was the concept of having a female influence living in the same house who was not hostile and bitter, who was supportive and loving and caring, and uncritical. She had no doubt that her mother loved her, but her bitterness and regret was always close to the surface, and she made no bones about blaming her father for everything wrong in her life, even after all the years that had passed. Having her father here, as a woman, and sharing his house; well, she had thought frequently over the last week, it felt just so right. Like it was the life with her mother she had always wanted, but never had. Harriet, that was the name she used now, had been living as a woman since her Mom had split and taken Leslie across the country, she learned over the long late-night conversations. He's begun wearing women's undergarments while they were still married, and eventually began dressing as a woman in private. Harriet had explained that Leslie's mom had been tolerant at first, but soon lost patience when she saw it was not just a phase of kink. It was what had broken them up, she sadly reminisced, and regretted that they couldn't come to a solution that would keep them together. After the split, he had moved, began living full time as a woman, changed her name and her job, and had been happily living as Harriet ever since. His revelation of their lives together when she was young put a new perspective on the names her mother had called her father, and she felt a better understanding of her mother's situation, although she still could not reconcile how she held on to that hostility for so long. But now, here was a woman who loved her, and welcomed her, and was happy with herself, and with Leslie. She had begun thinking of her as a woman, not just seeing her as one. When she thought of things her dad said to her, she used the feminine 'she' in her mind. But it wasn't just getting used to her dad being a woman; it was their connection together, their bond with each other, their acceptance of the other's life and wants and needs. She felt a real sense of belonging here, a sense that she was home, and loved. She'd considered asking the question several times, but had backed off, telling herself it was silly, or too soon. Looking across the table at the lovely woman across from her, and knowing the feelings they had shared for each other, her comfort level finally reached a point where she felt it was appropriate to ask. She took a sip of her wine, and rested her hands on the table. "Dad," she said plainly, "can I call you Mom?" She watched as the face across from her showed surprise, and then broke into a wide, welcoming smile. "Leslie, sweetie," she replied, standing and coming around the table, "I would love that!" She scooted down next to Leslie, demurely keeping her legs together in her skirt, and took her hands in her own. "You know your mother loves you, Leslie, and I could never replace her; would never want to." "I know," she agreed. "But I think I would feel better calling you Mom. You know, 'cause you are a woman, right?" She explained, as she had said so many times in her letters, what life was like with her mother, and expressed how wonderful it felt to be living with a woman, her father, who was supportive and loving, and not afraid to show it. "Your Mother is a good person, and I'm sorry every day that I hurt her, and that she couldn't find a way out of her anger, I really am," she told her daughter, taking her hands in her own, and stroking them. "I'm sorry I did that to you, too, making you live like that for so long," she said. She leaned in and kissed her daughter's head. "I would love if you called me Mom." They hugged, and they finished dinner, and Leslie was very, very happy. A month later it was full summer, and Leslie was working full time at a job she had landed, and their lives had taken on all the aspects of regular routine during the week. They saw each other in the morning as they each got ready for work, and again at night, as they ate dinner. They shared the house chores, went shopping on the weekends, and did the things that Moms and Daughters do together. This weekend Harriet called a break during breakfast. "I think," she told her daughter, "that it's too nice a day to spend it in the mall." They had finished eating and were sipping the remains of the coffee. "What do you say to a day in the sun? Just us girls?" Leslie readily agreed, and after cleaning up they showered and separated to prepare themselves for a long, easy day of sun worship and lazy lounging. Leslie went to her bedroom, formerly the guest bedroom, and selected a bikini before hitting the shower. She shaved her legs and trimmed her small patch of hair above her mound, shaving the rest as she always did. Before getting dressed she rubbed sunscreen all over, then slipped her black bikini on, and checked herself in the mirror. Satisfied that she looked good, she wrapped herself in a cover, grabbed a book and her mp3 player from the bedside table, and headed for poolside. She had come out first, so she pulled two lounge chairs together and pointed them towards the sun before settling herself on one in her sunglasses. She slipped the cover off and settled back, inserting the earbuds, and opened the book. It was a mindless romance novel, not too hard to read with the music playing softly in her ears. She was about two pages in when a shadow stepped across her. She looked up, and was astounded. Her Mom wore a more conservative two-piece suit, but it did little to hide the sexy woman's body. Harriett's breasts were firm and high, perfectly shaped and proportionate to her frame, with a generous cleavage exposed. Leslie's eyes scanned down her mom's torso, seeing the lithe midsection devoid of hair, leading to a bathing suit bottom that was a little larger than her own, rising higher and covering more. Her legs were slender and firm; solid from exercise, and shone sleek and sexy with a coating of sunscreen. When her eyes travelled back up she noticed the bulge in her crotch, and was suddenly taken by the recollection that there was a penis there, tucked firmly between her mother's legs. She shook away the image and raised her face to her mom's, lifting a hand above her eyes and squinting. "Wow, Mom," she blurted, "you are pretty hot for an older lady!" She was amused to see her blush at the compliment and moved to sit on the adjacent chair, disguising her reaction. "Why, thank you, Les," Harriett replied, settling into the lounge and extending her legs. "But watch it with the 'older' thing, okay?" "You got it," she replied, her book turned upside down in her lap as she watched her mom shuffle herself, settling into a comfortable prone position. "I just-" she began, stuttering. "Well, I just wanted to say you're a good looking woman ... I mean, you look good, but I didn't realize HOW good." Her mom turned her head and looked at her, shielding her own eyes from the sun, and squinting at her daughter. "You look great; you're body is ... wow. Fabulous." "Thank you, sweetie," Harriett replied. They settled back in silence for a time, absorbing the sun, and Leslie felt the warming rays soothing her to sleep, and she felt herself drifting off. * She felt herself being shaken lightly and opened her eyes to see Harriet there, her hand on her shoulder. "What?" she asked. "You've been out for a while; you should probably turn over," she advised. "Even with the sunscreen, you could burn," she told her daughter. "Thanks, mom," she said, and worked herself onto her stomach, adjusting the back of the chair to lay it flat. She turned her head to the side, facing Harriett as she lay down, and reached behind her to undo her top, exposing her back. She wanted to avoid the strap mark. Dropping the small strings to her sides, she rested her head on her forearm. "Was I out long?" "About an hour," Harriett replied absent-mindedly, her attention buried on the book she was reading. After a pause, she added softly. "You were dreaming. And talking." Leslie saw an amused smile creep into her mother's face. Flashes of her dream came to her then, non-specific, but she knew it had been sexual, and she felt her pussy, wet and ready, remembering her stimulation better than her brain, and she flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, my God," she muttered, "what did I say?" "Nothing understandable," Harriett said nonchalantly, still looking into her book. "It was just sounds, mostly." Leslie bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, grateful that she hadn't uttered anything specific; the remaining impressions of her dream played inside her eyes like afterimages of the sun, and they were steamy and dirty. Once again she felt the tingle and moisture of arousal, and she was mortified to feel this in front of her parent. But the thought of sex brought a question to her that she had not previously considered. She opened one eye and trained it on her mom. "Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked without preamble. Her mother's head lifted almost imperceptibly, but Leslie saw her eyes lose their focus and drift above the book, looking at the pool. "Excuse me?" she asked, and pretended to read. Leslie could see from her face that she was avoiding answering. "You heard me," Leslie teased, her voice a little lower. "Do you? Have a boyfriend?" Eager now, and taking a child's delight in making her parent uncomfortable, she rose up on an elbow to goad her mother. "You're an attractive woman," she said, "a hottie, actually," she added, "but I don't see you date." Harriett turned the book down in her lap and heaved a sigh. Leslie watched as her mother prepared her answer. She watched the tiny beads of sweat glistening like diamonds on the tops of her breasts, reflecting the sunlight as her chest rose and fell with the intake of air. But her face remained forward, not looking to her. "I am not gay," she finally stated, and there was a sense of patient irritation in her voice. Leslie felt admonished by the correction, and her hand went to her mouth in surprised horror. "Oh, my God," she gushed, "I just thought ... oh, Christ, I'm sorry..." she stammered out. "You know, I see you as a woman, you know, and I've met some of your friends, the ones you hang out with." She chuckled softly. "You know they don't pull it off as well as you do." She saw a smirk on Harriett's face. "I'm blessed with a slight frame, and, uh-m, more delicate features," she said. "But those aren't dates, then, when you go out?" Still looking forward, Harriett explained, "No, we have common interests, and we hang out together," she said wistfully. "Oh, like girl's night?" "I guess so, yes." "But you're not gay, so," she paused. "You're straight? But a woman?" She was struggling to fit the pieces into her regular frame of reference, and failing. "Do you have a girlfriend? Do you go out and meet women?" Dad is Mommy Harriett turned then, to face Leslie, her face now conveying patience and a need to explain, for as she turned her mouth dropped open and Leslie saw her eyebrow lift over her sunglasses. She turned her gaze, avoiding looking at Leslie. "Les, cover yourself, your ..." she stammered. "you're hanging out, sweetie." In her eagerness she had lifted up on one elbow, Leslie realized, and her bikini top lay on the lounge chair. She looked down to see her tits exposed, and realized that in her comfort with only another woman present, she hadn't cared. She moved to pull her suit up, and then, seeing the discomfort she'd caused, stayed her hand and rolled further on her side. "It's just us girls, you know," she said, glancing around the yard at the high fences and trees that effectively blocked the view from the surrounding houses. "No one can see us, Mom." She watched, amused as Harriett tried to avoid looking at her, and failing. She saw her mom's eyes darting this way and that, but always returning to her chest. "They're just boobs; we both have 'em," she teased, "although yours are nicer, I think," she added with a grin. "Leslie, stop it!" Harriett hissed, but with and uncomfortably amused smirk. Back home Leslie had often sunbathed topless with her girlfriends, when they knew prying eyes were not around. "No, really," she continued, enjoying the torment she caused, "You have really nice ones. They're perfect." In a sudden impulse, she blurted. "Can I see them?" "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not showing you my breasts." "Aww, c'mon, Mom," she goaded, and sat upright on the chair, swinging her legs to the side facing her Mother. "Give the girls a little freedom!" She felt her own breasts hanging unfettered on her chest, and noticed a slight tightening in her nipples. "Come on, I showed you mine. Look," she said, pushing her shoulders back and goading, "look at me. Look at my boobs." "Leslie, I'm your father," Harriett sputtered. "No, you're not," she said, reaching out and touching her mother's arm. "You're my Mom, now, and it's just us girls, and I showed you mine," she said with a false pout. "Now let's see 'em, come on!" It took a few more minutes of urging and encouragement, before Harriett heaved a sigh of resignation. "Fine," she said, swinging her legs to the side, her knees almost touching Leslie's. She paused a moment, and Leslie saw Harriett's eyes run over the front of her body, finally taking in the sight of her bare breasts. She felt a momentary urge to cover herself, but swept it aside as her mother reached behind her back and unclipped her top. Her hands moved to behind her neck and the top hung loosely for a second, and then she pulled the strap over her head. Leslie stared at the most perfect set of breasts she had ever seen. Her own were nice, and she was proud of her youthful, full mounds and dark, small nipples, but there, in front of her now, was a pair of boob perfection. Not overly large, as many fakes often seemed, but perfectly proportioned to Harriett's slender frame. Not too far apart, not too close together, perfectly spaced to create natural cleavage; nipples perfectly shaped, spaced and pointing correctly, not cross-eyed or off to the sides or into the air. The taut flesh, stretched by the implants, appeared youthful and soft, with just the beginnings of a tan line. Not a hair in sight, as it should be for a beautiful woman's breasts. "Wow," she whispered in awe, "Mom, they're ... they're perfect!" "Thank you," Harriett replied, "they'd better be, for what they cost!" "I'm not kidding," Leslie gushed, "holy shit, they really are nice ones." She tore her gaze away and looked into Harriett's face. "How do they feel? Can I touch them?" She felt a moment of embarrassment at asking. "I've never seen, you know..." "Fakes?" "Showroom, I'd say," she grinned. "I've seen other girls, you know, in the locker room at school, and, you know..." she hesitated, "parties and stuff." "Lelsie, what kind of parties do you go to?" Harriet said with feigned horror. "Stop, it's not like that," she defended, then added with exaggerated false emphasis, "just drunken orgies!" They laughed at her joke, sharing the moment. "Seriously, you know, girls flashing and stuff." She dropped her eyes, and looked at Harriet's breasts. "I touched a few, you know, grabbing and goofing around." Her eyes came back up to Harriet's, bright and eager. "I did kiss a girl, once." Harriett brought a hand to her mouth in feigned shock. "Leslie! TMI, dear!" "It was just a goof, Mom," she confessed. "We were drinking at a party, and girls were flashing and all, and I was behind this girl, Elsa, and she pulled her top off, and everyone was cheering, and I reached around her and grabbed her tits," she said, grinning. "And everyone cheered more, you know, and then Elsa turned her head and kissed me," she said, lower, and added. "And we made out for a minute!" "Seriously, Les, too much information," Harriet advised with a smile. "It was just party fun, Mom, I didn't go full lesbo, or nothing," Leslie smirked. Her eyes dropped to her mother's bare breasts again. "Yours are nicer than Elsa's, that's for sure." She suddenly reached out across the gap between them and cupped a breast in her hand, giving a little heft and squeeze. Harriet pulled back, mouth open in surprise, but not revulsion. "Oh, they feel nice!" "Not as nice as your natural ones," Harriet said, leaning back out of Leslie's reach. "As nice as Elsa's?" Her posture, leaning back on her hands, while intended to keep herself out of reach, served to thrust her chest forward, presenting her breasts proudly. "Gee, I dunno," Leslie said slyly, and slipped of the lounge chair quickly, dropping to her knees and reaching out with both hands, grasping her mother's breasts. Harriet tried to pull back but was as far back as she could go without falling off the chair. Leslie's fingers wrapped around the fleshy globes, feeling the solid heft of the enhancements under the softer flesh. She squeezed lightly, then more firmly, and then stroked in a light circle down the side and underneath. "M-mm, much nicer than Elsa's, Mom," she admired. She snickered and tweaked the nipples, and felt the hardness in her fingers for the brief second of contact. She caught her breath and felt her own nipples respond in kind. 'Leslie!" Harriet warned. "Stop it!" Leslie's hands had already released her mother's nipples, and she giggled. "What, I didn't do it right?" she smirked, and Harriet laughed with her. "They feel incredible; very nice. Almost real." She put her shoulders back and cupped her own breasts. "Here, check out mine," she offered, and presented her breasts, her nipples hard and jutting out, crinkled and brown. Harriet sat motionless for a second, still leaning back on her hands, and her eyes on her daughters breasts, and then sat forward and reached for her. "It's just us girls, right?" she quipped, and tenderly caressed the youthful full mounds. Leslie felt the delicate fingers caressing her breasts, and she released them to her mother's hands. She closed her eyes as the hands enveloped her breasts, and then stroked the skin across the tops, down the outsides, and underneath, touching the sensitive area beneath them. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the touch, and then the fingertips moved to her nipples, circling them, stimulating the tiny bumps in her areola, increasing their erection before pinching lightly, and pulling them. Her eyes opened as a thrill of stimulation shot through her chest, and she looked down to see her mother's painted fingernails on either side of her rosy buds, pulling them to points and making cones of her breasts. "Did Elsa do that to you? Harriet asked. "No," she squeaked, remembering the illicit thrill of grasping the other girl's breasts, "but I wish she had," she whispered. "I thought you didn't go lesbo?" Harriet reminded her with a grin. "Hey, just 'cause you visit a foreign country doesn't mean you live there!" she laughed. "Well," Harriet replied, "I visited this country," she said, spreading her arms and thrusting her chest out, "and I liked it so much I moved here!" Leslie laughed, and reached for the ample breasts again, this time going directly for the nipples, and giving them the same treatment she'd received. She tingled a little as she felt the stiff nipple give way beneath her fingertips, twisting a little as she pinched and pulled. She was still on her knees between the chairs and the lovely mounds were level with her face. She felt a twinge of shame at teasing her mother this way, but the desire sparked by her drunken impulse with Elsa inspired her. She tweaked a little harder, knowing the feeling she was creating. She was touching another woman's breasts, and they felt great. But this was her mother... She leaned in and suddenly took a nipple into her mouth, sucking it, pinching it lightly between her teeth. She heard a slight moan as she tickled the nub with her tongue as she held it in her teeth, and she felt arousal sweep through her body, making her shudder with excitement. She leaned in further, bracing her elbows on her mother's knees, her forearms dangling down. One hand rested on a smooth shaved thigh; the other brushed her stomach, and... She pulled back and looked at her hand resting on the bikini bottom, feeling the bulge. Another shuddering impulse gripped her and she froze, feeling the hard shaft. Her body tingled, her pussy began to drool and her nipples hardened to rocks. She raised her head and looked into her mother's eyes. Harriet gazed down at her with hunger burning through half-lidded eyes, her lips pursed. "Oh, Leslie, don't," she whispered as Leslie slipped her fingertips in the elastic waistband. "Please, Mommy," Leslie pleaded, "I want to suck your cock." She pulled the waistband out and down and her mother's erect shaft sprang from its confinement, standing straight up in her lap, inches below Leslie's face. She leaned closer, unable to resist the throbbing pillar of flesh, and felt the heat emanating from her parent's groin. She shifted her upper body, closer and lower, her eyes raised to the elegant female features looking down at her from between the swell of perfect breasts. She raised her hands to the succulent globes of flesh, her thumb and fingers grasping the nipples as she lowered her head. Her tongue slipped out and touched the spongy head, stroking a languorous circle around it. She moved closer and touched it with her lips as she tugged the nipples in her hands and was rewarded with a subtle moan from above her. "Oh-h, Leslie, sweetie," Harriet cooed, "you shouldn't." "I want to, Mommy," She took the head into her mouth and swirled her tongue on the underside, then pulled off with a luscious wet pop. "I want to so bad." Her hands slipped from her mother's breasts and slid down her taut stomach to the base of her cock, squeezing the shaft, then moving to the bikini bottoms scrunched below. She opened her mouth and took half the length inside as she tugged on the fabric, feeling her mother's hips lift and her legs pull together. She sucked slowly off the shaft and leaned back, pulling the stretchy fabric down and off, tossing them to the side, then pushing the legs apart to return to her goal. She stared at it, seeing the bulging veins and the taut skin, the pubic area completely hairless and smooth. Large bulbs floated up and down in the loose sack of skin below, and Leslie moved one hand to cup them, feeling the heat and the heft of them as the other hand stroked fingers at the base of the shaft, pushing a fat drop of cum from the tip. Her breath caught as she saw it emerge, bulging from the small hole, and watched it grow and expand, and finally drip slowly down the crease. She leaned forward and touched it with the tip of her tongue and pulled back, stretching the clear liquid on a string, then swiping it fully into her mouth. She tasted it and swooned with the heady sensation. Still cupping the ball sack, she opened and swallowed as much as she could handle, pointing the shaft to her face with her other hand and pushing the head to the back of her mouth. She stretched her lips out and down, reaching almost three-quarters of the way to the base, and sucked her cheeks in as she enjoyed the hard shaft in her mouth, filling her wet sensuous cavity. She bathed it with her tongue as she held it inside, feeling the heat, the thin skin sliding over the stiff shaft, the round head pushing into the back of her mouth, just at her tolerance level. Then she slowly, slowly pulled back, until only the tip was in her mouth, drooling on it as she let it emerge. She opened her lips with the head resting on her flattened tongue, and allowed saliva to drip down the shaft to her hand at the base. She rubbed the spit-slicked head across her lips and cheeks as she heard the feminine growls of pleasure from above. She answered with a grunt of her own, sliding her hand up the shaft, using her saliva as lubricant to stroke the shaft. Then she opened her mouth and her lips met her fingers and thumb, and created a wet slick channel, and began fucking the cock with a combination of mouth and hand. As she began bobbing her head up and down she heard the escalating moans of encouragement, and thrilled that she was giving as much pleasure as she was getting from the forbidden activity. Once her father, now her mother; in all aspects but the lovely hard shaft in her mouth and hand, throbbing and pulsing as she stroked it lovingly. She pulled off and looked up to see her mother's dark eyes staring down at her with love and devotion and acceptance. "Oh, Mom," Leslie said, "I love you." "I love you too, dear." Harriet whispered in return. Leslie grinned. "And I love your cock, Mom." She saw the glossed lips spread into a grin to match her own, and returned to the object of her desire with enthusiasm. She took it back in her mouth, stroking with tongue, lips and hand, and felt her mother's hips lift in response, pulsing the cock into her mouth. She increased the suction and speed, then; she imagined the ending, feeling the hot semen bursting from the tip as the shaft pulsed, hearing her mother cry out as the slick reward filled her mouth, and she worked more diligently, spurred by the imminent climax. She began humming as she sucked, adding the vibration of her throat to the stimulation of her hand and mouth, and was rewarded with additional pulses and slight pumps. She frantically stroked up and down, pushing her limits, feeling the bulbous head bounce gently at the entrance of her throat. Her mouth filled with saliva, and she drooled it down the shaft, coating her fingers, feeling it leaking down her chin. She wanted it, could sense it now. It would happen soon, she could hear it in the voice above her, the voiced that welcomed her, loved her; the mother she had always wanted. She felt hands at the back of her head, and heard the warning. "Oh, Leslie, here it comes," came the gasping words, "I'm going to cum, you're making me cum!" She glanced up, blinking her eyes, seeing the tight expression of immediacy on the face above her, watching her. She trembled with anticipation and locked her lips around the head, stroking the slick shaft, feeling it swell, and pulse. And then it jerked, and she felt the pump in her hand, followed a second later by a flood of thick semen jetting out into her mouth. She moaned as it was followed by a second, and third, giant blasts, filling her mouth with the hot, salty and sharp flavor, bathing her tongue, filling her mouth. She stroked slowly now, coaxing the remainders, feeling the pulses in the shaft ease, and slow, and finally stop. She looked up and smiled a little with the cockhead still in her mouth, and some of the thick goo slipped out the corners of her lips, and she tightened back up around the cock. She sucked until she felt the legs squeezing her begin to relax, and the hand slipped from her head. She pulled back and looked up, leaning her head back to show her reward, before gulping several times, swallowing the heated slick load. She was still stroking her mother's cock, feeling the edge come off the hardness; still full and extended, it began to recede. She licked the remaining drip from the head and looked up again. Her mother looked down at her with admiration and warmth. "I am so glad you moved out here to live with me, Leslie," she said, stroking her girl's hair. Leslie struggled to her feet on stiff legs, and climbed into her mother's lap, draping an arm over her shoulder, and tucking her head into the bare shoulder. "You're the mother I've always dreamed of," she whispered. "I just KNEW I'd be happier here!"