The Memory Remains
Chapter 12: A Mother’s Touch
So many times in my life everything has been washed over by a glaze of feelings like helplessness, vulnerability, and absolute weakness. Having both of my mothers hold me doesn’t make the feelings going through my head leave me, but it feels . . . right. Lida was never there to hold me when I was young, and even if her absence wasn’t crippling when I was a child, my body remembers yearning for this feeling.
Not having a father never used to bother me as much as people seemed to think it should have. When I was really young it did, but as the years went on it got a lot easier to tell myself that my “father” ran out on us . . .
“Shhh . . . It’s okay my precious little Lucia . . . It’s okay my precious little Lucia . . . You’re all right, Susan is all right, I’m all right . . . We can spend some time just you and I, connecting, learning even more about each other than you already learned about me through that drink . . . There’s so much to discuss . . .” Lida’s voice is dripping with love and concern, some inflection of it makes a deep part of me respond in a way I can’t explain even to myself.
Not long ago, that voice was coming from my—her own lips—and it was impossible not to know just how deeply she loved me even before I was born. Until then, she’d felt nothing in her life really had any meaning at all. She’d failed every other lover but Susan, she’d failed as a woman by making those rods, she’d failed her legacy as a LaSilvas . . .
Just what that legacy holds or what it implies wasn’t clear, she hadn’t been thinking of that at the time, so I don’t know the details but to her I, Susan, and that legacy were the three most important things in all of existence.
Feeling that about myself, even if it was through Lida’s perspective and Lida’s thoughts, was a strangely alien feeling.
“There’s not much to know about me, not really . . . But I . . .” I reach up with my arm and rub the snot and tears from my face . . . onto the arm of the beautiful robe. “I am forgetful, and I have a tendency to be just good enough at something to raise expectations, and then falter when it’s most important that I not, and . . .”
Susan tightens her hold on me, slowly stroking my hair with a soft sigh. “And you’re very self depreciating. You always have been, and it’s for no good reason. Don’t worry about the robe sweetie. It was something I got for you that I was going to send you for your birthday.”
Lida’s eyes perk up, and slowly her lips curve into a playfully mischievous grin I’ve seen in far too many mirrors. “Of course! My little Lucia has a very special birthday coming up, no? You know, the twenty fifth year of a monarch’s reign is called their silver jubilee? I was never fond of the word jubilee, though I am fond of jubilation. Either way my little dear, we are going to make that day a special one . . .”
My cheeks feel like they used to feel when they would turn that familiar dark silver tone. It’s a blush, but calling it that feels far too simple. My mind is still reeling from having been Lida’s mind. She thinks in such a different way. Even in her head I don’t think she’s fond of speaking in a more casual tone.
Maybe it’s not so much that she speaks in a way that isn’t casual, because to her it is. Just to her, things are so much more complex, there’s so much more on a metaphysical level, so many things she follows that I don’t even understand, that there’s no other way for her to exist.
Knowing that however does nothing to stop or lessen the burning in my cheeks.
“Lida . . . Mom . . . It’s really not that important. So I’ll be turning twenty five. I’m not a monarch, right? And shouldn’t this be one of those times where you’re both supposed to stop, stare at me, and rattle on about how you can’t believe you have a daughter my age?” Slowly I look between my mothers, and sigh as I relax a little more against the couch. “Shouldn’t that have some effect on you? Even though . . . You know . . . Lida, I don’t want to sound suspicious or mean, but you don’t look much different than you did in that mirror . . .”
With a laugh, my brunette mother slides her long fingers through her hair and fluffs it up afterwards. It’s an elegant gesture, but calling anything about her anything less than elegant would be a sign of jealousy or dishonesty. “That is because, my precious little Lucia, I am a witch, just like you. We witches do not age in normal ways . . .”
Susan grins and reaches over me to thread her own fingers through Lida’s hair before giving it just enough of a tug to make Lida’s eyes hood for a fraction of a moment. “Could you tone it down a bit sweetheart? You don’t need to lay it on so thick for your own daughter!”
Lida huffs in a playfully indignant way before rolling her eyes. “My dear sweet Susan, I am not laying on anything thick! Well . . . Perhaps just a little . . .” Lida’s voice shifts from the very model of self confidence to slightly worried and apologetic in a flash. It’s like watching her turn from the aristocrat to the girl who realizes she looks silly dressed up as her mother—especially with the poor attempt at makeup. “I’m sorry Lucia, I suppose I am acting a bit like a caricature of myself, aren’t I?”
“Oh, I think that’s genetic!” Grinning, my lips press to her forehead before pulling back. “I used to be a genuine rooftop dwelling super heroine right down to the one color suit that if worn for any other reason besides Halloween would be ridiculous. Whenever I had that suit on, I just had to talk like a comic book . . . Might be something I got from you.”
Silver eyes twinkling and very faintly glowing, a trait I could have never noticed about myself if I ever had it, Lida pulls back to get a better look at me. Very slowly, appraisingly and adoringly she slides her fingertips over my forehead, the curve of my cheekbones, and down along the curve of my chin. “It’s hard to believe that you’re real . . . I don’t mean to be too intense Lucia, but . . . You know, you were there in that moment. Never in my life has anything meant half as much to me as you did, as you do . . . And she stole it from me. I never even got to see you outside of Susan’s womb . . . Now here I am, and here you are . . . and even though I wasn’t able to raise you, you’re still my precious little Lucia . . .”
Susan pulls away and stands, gently petting Lida’s hair as sparkling tears fill her silver eyes. “Not that I don’t want to be with either of the two of you, but the moment you’re sharing seems like it might be better just you two . . .”
My witch mother’s eyes quiver as she looks up to Susan, and I can see just how deep they really understand each other. Susan always seemed like she was missing half of herself while I was growing up, and now I know why. They’re part of each other in a way that’s physical. Tearing them apart made both of them that much less whole.
All of the times Susan just sat down and cried made perfect sense.
“Of course . . . Just some time with just Luc- . . . Your mother told me you generally go by Sarah, I could call you that if Lucia distresses you, but I’d much rather call you Lucia. I know that I agreed with your mother in naming you Sarah, but Lucia just feels more meaningful.” Her eyes glisten and glow, and I can’t help but wonder why if she has silver eyes, that her hair isn’t silver to match. Why is her skin perfectly pale with that Italian twinge as opposed to shining silver like mine was?
“Lucia is fine, mom . . . It’s more than fine. I normally go by Silver anyway, even if that really isn’t applicable anymore. If it didn’t hurt to be called that in some sick twisted way, I would insist on that first, so . . . call me Lucia.” Lida’s eyes instantly brighten, and even though she doesn’t look happy exactly, she looks happy that I’m fine with that.
Susan strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head before nodding solemnly. “All right, I’m going to go make you two some fancy coffee. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night for the two of you. When it’s done, I’m going to do some reading. I found the most delightful book full of short stories about a woman named ‘Rose’ and, I’m already loving it. It may be difficult to tear me away from it once I start, but if anyone could do it . . .”
Lida and Susan share a look that a daughter should not see her parents sharing. Pure sizzling passion courses in both of their expressions, and if I wasn’t there then they might be on the couch making me a little sister. “Of course, Susan . . . You and your romances . . .”
After they share a laugh, Susan steps off into the kitchen, and Lida leans closer to me again, staring into my eyes. “Thank you, Lucia. Such beautiful brown eyes . . . Your mother told me that they used to be silver . . . What happened . . .?”
My whole body tenses, and my eyes snap closed tight. I have to tell her about Yanuka. I have to tell her about Yanta, and how she shoved that rod into my head, a rod that I’m sure my mother invented. I have to tell her that maybe, just maybe, her fear that one of those damned witches made my mind weak to being lead around was justified. I sure as hell have been lead around by plenty of mental leashes.
“What happened . . .? Well . . . For awhile, I was an employee of a company named Chronos. It was a great place. My room was like the presidential suite of the ritziest hotel on earth—or that was how it felt anyway. I had my own master bathroom, a fridge, you name it, it was there . . .” Just talking about it makes my lip quiver. I need to explain this fully, and not hide any details. I need to be honest. I need to embrace the truth of my experiences.
Lida senses my pause, hell, she sees it, and reaches out to caress one of my hands ever so softly with her thumb across the back. “It’s okay my little girl . . . you’re safe now. Do you want me to hold you? You look so fragile right now, and I want you to feel safe . . .”
Slowly I nod, and without a word more Lida’s long slender arms wrap around me, one hand rising up to very slowly caress the hair along my neck. For some reason the touch feels familiar in a visceral way, and I nestle into her neck, closing my eyes and inhaling my mother’s scent. I never got to smell this before, I never should have formed a bond with it, but it feels so deeply important to my identity, to my existence, and so instantly soothing.
Her black hair falls around my face as she continues to caress and stroke, her other hand tenderly keeping me against her from the small of my back. My arms wrap around her in response, and I nestle anew against her before faintly sighing and taking a deep breath to start telling the rest of my story.
“Any way, at Chronos . . . It wasn’t a normal job. Before I took that job, I’d been a waitress. After it, I . . .” Saying it makes it sound so much worse than it was. Do I have Stockholm’s Syndrome, or was it really not as bad as it sounds? “I was a recruiter. Using my sparks, I controlled women into joining our organization. It was a supers for hire company, mercenary work, and I was a recruiter. I was recruited by an agent named Dust, another named Pink, and the CEO herself, Jesse Colloten, better known as . . . The Lady.”
Lida doesn’t stiffen. There’s no sudden shock. Even if Yanta and her are related, at least Lida and The Lady aren’t. If there was bad blood between them . . . I don’t know whose side I would be on.
“This was after I was, well, trying at the super heroine gig for about a year. Maybe a bit more. Then, after I’d been working for The Lady for what already had started to feel like forever, two girls disappeared, and I was sent to find out what happened. To make a very long story short, I ended up kidnapped by a red haired witch named Yanta . . . Who shoved a rod into my head. I ended up breaking free, and frying her mind with so many sparks her mind melted . . .”
This time, Lida stiffens. She stiffens, and she half pulls me closer, and half loosens her hold. She knows I know she made those rods. She knows its her fault Yanta shoved one through one ear to have it submerge in my brain and make all of my mind resonate with a single, absolutely lovely thought. Truly, it was lovely, far too lovely, but that was the problem. “Lucia, I . . . I’m so sorry . . . If I knew a Nesatealia would use an obedience rod on my own daughter, I . . .”
Her voice sounds choked with tears, so I pull back, but only enough to look into her eyes. They already look silver in a way that would look red if she were anyone else. Tears have started to slide down her face. I can almost forgive her, almost . . .
“Lida . . . I gave one of my own friends to The Lady. We weren’t exceptionally close, but I betrayed her trust. The Lady didn’t hurt her, she gave her to me as a pet cat slave, but . . . She never hurt her. I did. When I asked her how she felt, she told me she felt betrayed. But . . . The story isn’t over. I was still Silver by that point . . .
“But about a year after that, I’d started going on heroine patrols again, for my own sake, and . . . Well . . . There’s a long story about me being turned in a cow, but we can get into that later. I ended up getting ‘rescued’ from a woman who bought me from an auction for a lot of money by Dust, and a mysterious woman. Dust told me that The Lady and Pink were away on business, and my kitty, Silhouette, needed her brain worked on. By this point, I was . . . Sort of free from The Lady’s brainwashing, but I didn’t really want to be, but I knew, I knew something was wrong . . . Things seemed too, off . . .”
The Domina has to remain a secret to her. Somehow, the LaSilvas legacy is tethered very tightly to having that silver energy. If Lida knows that there’s a me out there who can still spark, then . . . She might be above abandoning me for her, but with how fragile I really do feel right now, I can’t afford to take that risk, not yet.
“And I was right. That other woman . . . That other woman, was Yanuka. I traded my silver sparks for my friends and my own freedom. Chronos was taken down because I accidentally let slip the secret during a moment of weakness. Now I’m just vulnerable and powerless, vulnerable probably because of that witch before I was born, and my enemies will find me sooner or later . . . Being a super heroine and a mind controlling recruiter agent for Chronos could earn a girl a lot of friends and . . . That’s why I’m just plain little Sarah LaSilvas. That’s why I’m a disappointment to our legacy. . .”
“Oh no, no Lucia . . .” Her arms wrap around me tighter, and she starts to rock. Whether it’s to soothe her or me, I’m not sure, but I hope it’s working. “You did the honorable thing, the right thing . . . You freed what mattered. I don’t know how but . . . There has to be a way for you to get your silver back . . . and if not . . . The Legacy be damned. You’re my daughter, you’re . . . You’re more important than any Legacy.”
By the tone of her own voice, I can tell that those words are a shock to her. She never thought she would be saying that to herself about anything, much less to me about me. The Legacy, I want to ask more about it, but it feels inappropriate, it feels in poor taste.
Everything feels in poor taste.
“You, are the most important thing in the world, Lucia. You’ll always be Silver, always. Giving up your powers to help save your friends . . .” Slowly Lida leans back, and her hand cups my cheek, rubbing away some of my own tears as they start to slide down my face quicker and quicker even as I manage to stay silent. “You’re a very brave woman, Lucia . . . You need to see that . . . Let me help you see that . . .”
Some deep part of me twists as she whispers those words, and leans closer to me again. Her nose brushes against the side of my own, and the touch sends a quiver from the tip of my nose all the way down to the base of my spine. The closeness of her lips to mine, the pure taboo of it, of kissing my own mother with my other mother in just the next room making us both something so we can stay up longer, kiss longer, maybe pull her into the kiss with us . . .
A red flag goes off in my mind, and something about this suddenly feels wrong. She’s my mother, she has a wife, and she’s my mother! The arousal isn’t because of anything that Mind Bore gave me either. Lida is gorgeous, her voice has just enough of an accent I can’t quite place, and her fingertips against my skin . . .
It’s impossible not to moan, and my lips melt so naturally into hers when she starts to turn her face. I can taste the faintest bit of silver on her lips, and at that taste, I press harder against her. More than anything I want to feel her sizzle everything away in a blaze of pure silver sparks. I want to feel my own mother melting away my mind and turning me into hers, even if just for this one moment just for this one eternity shared in a temporary forever.
Her fingertips slide down along my face to my neck, and each fingertip lightly sizzles on the way down. Her lips sweetly sizzle more as they press and melt against mine. Every small part of her body feels so good as it melts and presses against mine, and it feels like a feeling I always knew but somehow had forgotten with time.
Her other hand moves down and clutches me tightly to her at the small of my back, and her fingertips dance just faintly along where my spine sits under the robe. Each little touch has just enough of a spark to make my eyes flutter and roll. Within moments my lips aren’t able to stay solid in the kiss against hers and my whole body quivers against hers.
As our lips part, her lips press to my forehead, and tingles slide right in to my mind. Silver arcs dance across my vision as her fingers dance along my back, tracing intricate patterns that feel like shapes I should know.
“You, are my daughter . . . You are precious . . . Say it sweetheart . . . I know you can feel the tingles the silver can give . . . And if I have to use that gift to help you realize the truth . . .” Her lips rub against mine as they shudder limply, and whisper ever so faintly, but not too faint for me to not be able to hear. “Witches are a different than mortals . . . Trying to pounce on Susan would be a bad thing, but you and I . . . We’re different . . .”
My toes curl, and shudders flow out over my body. One of her hands slides forward, and begins working at the buttons of her blouse. If she’d been wearing it before or not, I don’t know, but with her magic, she might be able to have changed it . . . It doesn’t matter.
She’s right, I can feel it, I can feel it sizzling inside of me. It feels different than it’s ever felt before, being controlled, or the silver. Somehow both feel so much more loving, so much more firm while being so gentle. I feel helpless, and all of my thoughts start to slow in the most perfect way . . . Everything slowing down, everything so sweet, so tender so . . . My mother’s blouse open, and revealed are her perfect breasts, just slightly smaller than mine, shaped almost the same, with hard, yearning silver nipples.
Not silver everywhere, but she’s silver there, and knowing that makes my lips quiver with some deep hunger I never knew I had. Small tingles move across the surface of her breasts, little sparkles that all eventually melt into her nipples and make her quiver.
Slowly her back arches towards me as one of her hands threads in the back of my hair, more of those tingles melting right into me through my scalp. Everything besides her silver nipples feel so far away. This is where I’m supposed to be. This is what I’m supposed to do. Submit to my mother, feel my lips wrap around her nipple, feel . . .
One moment its a thought, a fantasy, and the next it’s a reality. My lips wrap so tightly around her silver flesh, half from desire and half from the sparks. Each spark that touches my lips makes me moan and suckle harder, like the rooting instinct for a baby only deeper, more helpless, more passionate, more about unbridled helpless lust. Each moment my body feels more covered with sparks as I feel them melt into me through my lips and sizzle over me, coating me, wrapping me up, making my whole body shake as I moan around her nipple.
“Nnnn . . . That’s a good girl, Lucia . . . Suckle . . . Mmmm suckle, and feel how much I love you . . . Feel how safe you are at my breast . . . Nothing else needs to matter right now—just my flesh and yours. Time isn’t even moving for anyone but us . . . We’re removed from that. Nothings too much for my little Lucia . . . Nothing . . .”
My hips roll towards her as my eyes melt half open, watching the rising and falling of her breasts as I suckle. The sparkles grow stronger and stronger as they shudder through me, all feeling like they’re lacing along my spine. It feels so maternal bt so hot at the same time, especially as her hand starts to slowly rub over my breast from outside of the robe. My nipples feel so crystal hard, so aching for hr touch, for anything, but jut suckling obediently feels better than anything else. Nothing else exists beside my mother and I, besides the sparks sizzling into me from her nipple, sizzling into me and wiping everything away . . .
Her fingers don’t stop sending the sparks in through my neck, but they feel so much weaker than mine. Not just lesser, but weaker, softer . . . But they’re my mothers, and that’s what matters. The compulsions from Mind Bore don’t matter. This isn’t about that, this is about obeying my mother’s desire. This is bonding in a way we never got to before. The sparkles are sizzling her deeper into my mind, making her a part of who I am deeper than anything else . . . Just being her Lucia . . . and it makes me feel so wet . . .
“That’s it . . . Feel our connection grow my little girl . . . So you can feel just how special you are . . . How little you’ve failed anyone . . . How proud I am of you . . . My sweet little Lucia . . .” between the tingles, and the feeling of her nipple making me so fuzzy and hot, I actually believe her. It tingles so deeply into my brain, there’s no way I could not. I’m precious, the legacy could be damned, to her, to my mommy, I’m special no matter what . . .
Slowly, delicately, her other hand slides down my body and cups the small of my back. My whole body melts more against her, and slowly her fingertips continue to trace along the curve of my body until they stroke over the flesh of my ass through the soft robe. “So proud of your strength of spirit . . . strength of heart . . . how beautiful you’ve become . . .”
And I feel so beautiful, so very beautiful, with her hands touching me, and my lips wrapped around her perfect nipple. The silver flesh has a taste to it that only grows better and better, holding more and more and more of my attention each and every moment . . .
Her fingers slide down and then up the robe, and trace thin lines up the insides of my thighs in ways that make me press closer to her and spread my legs to press into her touch. Every little touch is so perfectly planned and perfectly executed, and my mewls of pleasure feel like they make her sparks flare up around my lips. “And obedient . . . an important thing for a daughter to be to her mother . . . Obedient, subservient . . . You’re free to live your own life, but you know who knows best, don’t you . . .?”
Frantically I try to moan a yes, but my lips are trapped around her nipple and I never want to pull them off. I just want to suckle, want to lick, want to nibble, want to taste all of those silver sparks that make me more and more helpless to my mommy who always knows what’s best, always knows what’s best . . .
“Such a good girl . . . such a very good girl . . . Now . . . I’m going to give you a harder spark, a much harder spark . . . And when you wake up, this was just between you and I—not to be shared with your other mother, or anyone else . . . Just us . . . So you can know how precious you are . . . Understood . . .?”
Struggling past the flesh between my lips anew I mewl, feeling my wetness clench around her fingers at how sweet and tender her voice sounds. Our little secret, our precious bond that I’ll be able to feel any time I close my eyes and try . . . a bond with my witchy mommy . . .
Her nipple suddenly feels so much warmer, and yet my lips only clamp tighter shut as a spark strong as the small ones I used to make before swarms into me. Normally I could easily resist these, always could before but . . . it’s from my mommy, so I obey exactly what she wanted that sparkle to do, and fall asleep for her, to wake up pretending nothing happened while time stood still . . .