Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Kinky_Becky

Mom knew something was up when she called me that evening. I was even a bigger wreck than the night before, and she had to repeat everything she said three or four times.

“Sweetie, I’ll be home in the morning. I know you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you over the phone, but can you hold out until then?”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry, okay? Just tell me one thing, that no matter what, you’ll always love me.”

“Oh baby girl, how can you even ask me that? I love you. I’ll always love you. Nothing, absolutely nothing will ever change that. Understand?”

“Yes, Momma.”

She laughed. “You better! I don’t want to have to put you across my knee.”

The thought of getting spanked by my mother had always struck fear in me. I’m not sure why, because she’d never done it. This time, just imagining it sent a little surge of current straight through me, starting in my ear and rushing to my clit. I almost moaned. Fortunately, I was able to hold back.

“Did you hear me? I said, I don’t want to have to put you across my knee.”

“I heard you, Momma,” I said, my voice quivering. “Sorry, it just shocked me.”

“Oh, now… you know I could never hurt you,” she replied, her voice filled with love and concern.

“I know, Momma. I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dinner didn’t go so well that night. My brothers were their typical asinine selves. They complained about having to spend the whole day outside so I could get the house cleaned up special for Mom, insisting that it looked exactly as it did when they left. I yelled at them, called them ungrateful little bastards.

I knew I was an emotional wreck, and I also knew why. I couldn’t wait for Mom to get home, yet at the same time I dreaded it. Having gone for what seemed like a week without sleep, I crashed on the couch, not waking up until my little brother turned on the television to watch cartoons.

“Mom’s home,” he said.

“Where?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“She just pulled up.”

I looked at the clock. It was only 10:00; she had to have left early. I walked outside, still in my bare feet, to help her unload the car. As usual, my lazy brothers didn’t lift a finger, or even come out to welcome Mom home.

“You made it early,” I said, greeting her with a hug. For the first time, I was aware of her breasts against mine as we embraced.

“Yeah, an extra day was more than enough. I don’t get to spend enough time with the boys as it is.”

I knew she was lying. She was worried about me. Dallas was only a three hour drive, so she must have left around seven. It meant she didn’t get to sleep in. It also meant that she didn’t get to enjoy Allison before she left.

After helping Mom in with the bags, we sat in her room talking, putting her clothes away. I listened as she lied to me about the conference, how it was boring and about the made up people she supposedly met. She even told me about a few of the lectures she supposedly attended.

I just smiled, hanging on every word. I guess there was a small part of me that felt lied to, but I completely understood. Allison and Cindy were her secret life that I so desperately wanted to be a part of. I knew she felt compelled to keep that from me, from everyone she knew and loved, and I knew why. It was the same reason I had felt the need to keep my sexuality from her. No, that’s not entirely accurate. Hers was a much bigger secret, and she had far more to lose. Soon, she’d know her secret was out, that it was safe with me, and there was no reason for these silly little fibs.

By the time we finished, the boys were long gone and we had the house to ourselves. Of course she brought up my “girl troubles.” I told her I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, but she’d be the first to know when I was.

Mom’s so wonderful. That’s all it took for her to drop the subject, and soon she was asking me if I wanted to go shopping. I knew that it was just a distraction, the perfect distraction. She always knew exactly what to say and do, like she had her own private Mom Manual.

So rather than worry about how Mom was going to react when she checked her mail, we spent the next several hours at the mall, trying on clothes, testing perfumes, and eating ice cream.

The next day, she woke us up early, dragging my brothers out of bed kicking and screaming. She didn’t even let us know where we were going until she pulled into the Fun Center. My brothers stopped their whining as soon as they saw the sign. That’s just how she was, and how they were.

She made every effort to spend time with us, to give us every bit of herself that she could. I guess my brothers were just too young to appreciate that. I’m sure they saw her much the same as I saw Dad, like she’d abandoned them. She hadn’t, of course. But she came home when they were in bed. I cooked for them, cleaned for them, made sure they did their homework. It wasn’t her fault; it was Dad’s fault. Still, I was old enough and mature enough to understand that, and they weren’t. So when they grabbed their tokens and ran off for the go-cart track, she understood, and so did I.

I grabbed Mom’s hand and followed them, leading her over to the fence so we could watch. As they raced around the track, trying to run each other off the course, my mother and I just laughed, talking about trivial things. And when the boys had finally grown tired of racing, we took them inside for pizza, and even got in a few games of putt-putt golf and some video games before they wanted to race again. Then it was off to the batting cages. It was a wonderful day, filled with fun for the whole family.

The next morning, Mom was back to work and the boys were back at the pool. I went to the bulletin boards, but being alone, I just couldn’t focus. It was Monday, and I knew the post office would be open. I wasn’t sure if they had delivered my letter to her box yet, or if she’d checked her mail or not, but there was a chance.

That chance kept me on edge the entire day, so rather than waste my time, I spent it cleaning. Sure, I cleaned every day — well, most every day — but I never cleaned like this. The house was sparkling by the time I was done.

I made my mother’s favorite for dinner — jambalaya, to go with boiled crawfish that I picked up at a nearby restaurant. It’s one of our favorites when in season, and back then crawfish were extremely cheap.

After dinner, which everyone loved, we all sat out back on the patio and relaxed. I’d even gotten her a six-pack. After the boys left to take their showers and head off to bed, Mom and I cleaned up, and then sat in the living room sipping our beers. We didn’t talk about work, or school, or boys, we just talked.

I’d spent the whole day worried about her coming home, trying to keep busy to keep myself from obsessing about her. Yet when she came home, I felt at ease. She was just my mother, nothing more, nothing less, the best parent in the world.

“Time for bed,” she sighed as she stood up.

I hugged her tightly, knowing that I’d be just as worried the next morning, worried this might be the last time she’d hug me. She turned out the light as I was walking down the hall toward the bedrooms, then followed behind me. As I turned and opened my bedroom door, she stopped me.

“Hey, I thought you were going to bed,” she asked, puzzled.

“I am, silly… are you so drunk you don’t remember where my room is?”

“No… I just thought you wanted to sleep with me tonight,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.

I looked back at my mother, incredulously. She had read my letter; she knew. But when? I’d been with her every moment since she had gotten home. Even when she went to pee, I followed her into the bathroom, sitting on the sink to continue our chat like always. She had to have read it before she got home.

My God! Mom had known the entire time, yet maintained the façade of ignorance. From the minute she walked through the door she knew of my wicked intentions, yet maintained a strictly parental role.

That was just it. She was my mother; I was her daughter. Nothing was going to change that, absolutely nothing. Becoming my lover would do nothing to negate her roles as mother, as best friend, as confidant — it only enhanced those roles.

For once, I felt at ease. I knew everything was going to be wonderful. And without a shred of apprehension, I followed my mother into her room and locked the door behind me.

“Baby girl, I am so sorry I never told you the truth about everything. I didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t think you’d understand.” My mother’s voice quivered as she spoke, a tear forming at the corner of her eye.

“Mom, you don’t owe me any explanation. You did what you thought you had to. I’m just glad that you found Allison and Cindy, and that you didn’t allow your fear to keep you from your own happiness. I don’t want to be a barrier to that anymore. Live your life for you, not for us. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”

“I loved your photos. I made myself come twice in the car on the way home.”

My head spun to hear her say that. “Wh-when did you read the letter?” I stammered out.

“I picked it up on my way to work, but I didn’t read it until I got off,” she giggled. “And oh, my, did I ever get off! I thought it was a letter from Allison; you sneaky little devil. But I’d just left her house on Saturday. At the very least I expected something huge, something she was afraid to tell me while I was there. I was worried all day, so much so that I couldn’t even concentrate on my patients.

“Anyway, as soon as I was in the car, I pulled around to an empty part of the parking lot and opened it up. I have to admit that what I read made me cry. I felt so happy, so proud. But those pictures, my dear sweet Rebecca! My God, you had me coming so hard. I don’t know why you didn’t smell it when I stepped into the house.”

“If you think my pictures made you come hard, just wait until the real me gets hold of you,” I whispered to her. My mother’s sweet words had transformed the smoldering love I held deep in my heart into a roaring inferno. I don’t want to call it lust, because that sounds so dirty. I don’t mind dirty at all, but there was nothing dirty about the way I felt. It felt absolutely pure, unbridled, uncontrollable.

Slowly, I inched forward, reaching behind my mother’s back, pulling her to me. Our lips met in a soft, gentle caress. I let my hand slide lower, feeling the rough fabric of her nurse’s uniform, that thick polyester crap. I hated it, but because it was coming between me and my mother’s naked body.

Frustrated, my fingers met at her waistband, untying the knot. In my haste, I only made it worse. Giggling, my mother took over. “Here, let me help you. You’re like your father, trying to unhook a bra.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She was absolutely right, though, and I realized that I needed to slow down. As she worked on the knot, I slid my hands under her scrub top, caressing the soft flesh of her back until I felt the bottom edge of her bra. I worked my way over to the clasp, popping it open with a snap of my fingers.

We kissed again, and it quickly became much more forceful, yet still soft and passionate. I felt her tongue slip inside my mouth. As our tongues danced, my hand caressed her shoulders, feeling them shift as she continued to work on the knot my clumsy fingers had created. I’m not sure why her shoulders turned me on so much. I guess every part of her turned me on right then.

“Shit!” she groaned, backing away to focus more on the knot. “Not tonight. No fucking way are you doing this to me tonight!” she cried out. Walking over to her dresser, she opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. She looked almost angry as she cut through the strings, then tossed the scissors aside and then shoved her pants down to her ankles.

Only then did I realize that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

She raised her scrub top over her head and pulled off her bra, leaving her naked, exposed.

I had seen my mother naked countless times. Despite my love for the female body, I’d never seen her this way. I always considered her beautiful, in fact gorgeous, even at 42. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. It was too dark to see them, but she had the most alluring green eyes, eyes that pierced through you. Her lips were full and accentuated with her lipstick, which was now barely detectable. She stood 5’6”, a good four inches taller than I am. It meant that I always had to look up to her, which I would have done regardless of her physical stature. Her breasts were heavy, two full C-cups that offered the most comforting place to lay your head at night. A lifetime of 12-hour shifts had kept Mom fit and trim, her narrow waist tapering to her hips in soft, succulent curves. My eyes trailed inward from that point until I was staring at her slit, which opened invitingly as she stepped toward me.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, baby girl,” she whispered as she pulled my nightshirt over my head. For years, I slept in one of my dad’s shirts. Initially, I did it because I wanted to feel close to him. For the past couple of years, I just did it because it looked and felt so damned sexy. This one was a football jersey, Troy Aikman’s if I recall correctly. I had gotten it for my dad the previous Christmas, but confiscated it immediately for my own use. Honestly, I thought more about Troy than I ever did about my father, but with my mother bearing down on me, it was time for the top to go.

I loved the way the polyester tickled me as my mother raised the jersey over my head. My nipples were so hard, like pencil erasers — and not little ones, more like the size of the big pencils we used in kindergarten. Each hole of that jersey seemed to grab onto my goose-pimpled flesh, like tiny fingernails flicking across the skin.

I heard her gasp when she realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It always thrilled me, talking to my mom with practically nothing on, like I was getting away with something — but hearing her excitement right then pushed me over the edge, and I came. Not a big one, but I could definitely feel the spasms, as well as my juices flowing.

“Naughty girl,” my mother hissed into my ear.

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you go to work commando?”

“Of course not. It’s just that, after what those pictures did to me, I had to have something to clean up with.”

“So where are they?” I inquired.

“They’re under my car seat. I couldn’t put them back on, and I sure wasn’t going to carry them into the house while they were that wet… practically dripping!”

“Dripping? Oh, come on,” I replied incredulously.

In response, my mother just stared at me, not even blinking, for what seemed like an eternity. “Just wait,” she said breathlessly.

With that, my mother pushed me back onto her bed. It was still made, and the roughness of the bedspread felt like sandpaper compared to my mother’s smooth flesh. She lay on top of me, her warm body pressed into mine, pinning me to the very bed she’d shared with my father, where she cradled me in her arms when I had a bad dream — where I very likely was conceived. That thought sent shivers through me.

Once again, my mother kissed me, but there was nothing motherly about it. This was a kiss of unadulterated passion and lust. As our lips pressed firmly together, our tongues united in a passionate embrace. I had loved my mother my entire life, and now I was showing her just how much, in a way I had never fathomed until a week ago.

A burning fire grew deep in my chest. Initially, it felt wonderful, like my heart burning with love. But that smoldering warmth intensified until I felt my entire body would burst into flame. I had forgotten to breathe. In my lustful state, concentrating so intensely on my mother, on how soft her succulent lips felt on mine, on how her nipples poked so deliciously into my breasts, on how divinely her nails dug into my flesh as she gripped my ass, that I actually forgot to breathe.

I could have kissed my mother like that all night; it was pure bliss. Mom wasn’t as easily satisfied. She began slowly kissing and licking down my body. I knew where she was heading, and I felt like a five-year-old with attention deficit disorder waiting for Christmas. Each kiss was a delicious torture. I wanted to scream, to grip her head in my hands and push her down where I wanted her to be, to beg her to fuck me. But this was my mother, who I loved and adored like no other, so I resisted, love overpowering my lust.

Finally, I felt her warm breath on my navel, her tongue flicking across it. Then lower, at my waist, until at last, I felt her sticky breath on my inflamed clit. She was panting, and my sex throbbed each time the warm air caressed it, only to chill over between, like tiny ocean waves lapping at me. I longed to feel something else though, something more concrete. I bent my knees and spread my hips invitingly, trying desperately to encourage my mother, to guide her where I needed her most.

“Oh, Momma, kiss me.”

I don’t know why I used that word. For some reason, I couldn’t talk dirty to Mom. I loved her. I wanted her. She was my lover, but she was also my mother. For the first time I saw how our roles could impact our relationship. I felt so conflicted. I wanted to talk dirty; it’s such a huge part of my sexuality, but I didn’t want to disrespect her.

I made the decision then and there. She had already proven that she will always be my mother, that our passion for one another would never change that. I was bound and determined to do the same.

“Do you see how fuckin’ wet my pussy is for you, Momma?” I asked her. “It’s fuckin’ dripping for you. Lick me. Taste me. Taste your little girl’s pussy,” I begged, bucking my hips upward toward her mouth.

A sinister grin spread across her face. It held a curious mixture of lust and pride. I’d never seen that look before, not on her, not on anyone — but I liked it, and knew I wanted to see it a lot more often. “Yes, baby girl,” she crooned. “I can see it. I can smell it. And I can’t wait to taste you.”

With that she leaned in, her soft tongue parting my labia, its wet warmth sending vibrations through my entire body.

“Oh, fuck! That’s it. Suck my clit, Mommy. Feel how hot it is for you, how much you turn me on.”

My knees clapped together, trapping my mother’s head between my thighs. Each time I clenched them again, my clit pulsated, like a thousand tiny orgasms flooding through me. I reached down, gripping her hair in my hands, squeezing the soft strands between my fingers. I relaxed my thighs, then tightened them again, those pulsations in my clit growing stronger each time. My impending orgasm mounted, closer and closer, each surge feeling like the next would be the last.

“Suck it!” I hissed. “Suck it like it’s a little cock. Put your lips around it and suck my clit.”

Each filthy word pushed me higher and higher. I kept anticipating the fall, waiting to go over that edge and fall hard into the throes of ecstasy.

“Oh Momma, suck me. Oh fuck, I’m gonna come for you. Your dirty little slut daughter is gonna come in your fuckin’ mouth.”

My mother didn’t miss a beat. Like an expert, she continued to suck me, her tongue in perfect position over my little nub. All the hair pulling, name calling, and hip bucking in the world couldn’t sway Mom from her task. Just like always, she was right there when I needed her, exactly where I needed her.

That’s when I felt it. Somehow gently, yet forcefully, my mother eased two fingers inside my cunt. It wasn’t very far, but she curled them upward, and that set off a trigger in me like no other. There was something there, some magical little button tucked away inside me, and my mother was able to find in seconds what I hadn’t known existed in all my eighteen years.

The orgasm that coursed through me at that moment was indescribable. Until that moment, I thought I knew what sex, what coming was all about. How wrong I was! Oh, I’d had orgasms, but they were mere tremors on the Richter scale of love. This thing was a fucking twelve. I don’t know how we even stayed on the bed. I don’t know why my brothers weren’t barging into the room, wondering what tornado had just touched down in Mom’s bedroom. And as soon as that climax was over, another one was taking its place.

There was no more dirty talk. It was all I could do to breathe. My lungs were starving for air, despite my panting. My mouth and throat were so dry I wouldn’t have been able to talk anyway. Still, Mom didn’t stop. She continued that torrid onslaught — not just on my clit, hell, I could have tolerated that, but on that glorious internal button that she found with such ease. My body twisted and contorted in ways that a carny would have envied, yet her fingers never wavered from that spot. Masterfully, she maintained the perfect pressure, the perfect speed, the perfect everything. It was like she was made for me, like I was made for her.

When my finally body shut down, no longer able to supply the needed energy to continue, my mother withdrew. Slowly, she kissed her way back up my spent body, curling up next to me, cuddling me like so many times before, unlike so many times before. I leaned back against her, my head resting on her natural pillows. Part of me wanted to nestle up to her and fall asleep — a very small part of me.

The much larger part wanted to make her feel the same way. I was so thankful she was my mother. I knew my lack of experience precluded me from performing to her high standard. With anyone else, I would have felt inadequate, but this was my mother, and I knew that she would never judge me.

My mother’s warm hand and gentle caresses produced a comforting, yet rejuvenating effect. As my motor functions restored, I began kissing her — first between her breasts, kissing the beads of sweat that decorated her cleavage like specks of glitter, all the while inhaling the sweet aroma of her perfume.

I kissed my way down, gradually working my way to the foot of the bed. As I lowered my body to the mattress, her legs splayed open, beckoning me.

Her pussy looked exceedingly inviting, like somewhere I had been before, some place I desperately wanted to return to. Her labia were swollen, splayed open in the shape of cutest, sexiest little heart, her little button adorning the top like the tip of Cupid’s arrow. This was all framed by black wispy curls, trimmed neatly like a freshly mowed lawn. I could even see little droplets of moisture in her pubes, like early morning dew. She was absolutely beautiful.

I was mere inches away from her sex. I gently slid my fingers up through the slit, playing in her wetness, the smoothness of her flesh contrasting sharply with her coarse hairs. The pouty lips begged for attention; I pushed them aside, watching her swollen nubbin poke out prominently, proudly.

The heady aroma of my mother’s cunt filled my nostrils. It was the first time I ever smelled another woman; I never got close enough to Jennifer’s sex to smell it. It was a delightful fragrance, one that intoxicated me with lust.

For some reason, I was nervous. I’d licked my own juices from my hand hundreds of times. I knew this was my mother, who would love and adore me no matter how amateurish I was at cunnilingus. Still, for some reason, I was scared. I wanted it, oh God how I wanted to taste my mother, to pleasure her even a fraction as well as she had pleasured me. Still, I knew I was at a crossroads, and I was about to journey down the road, not only of lesbianism, but of incest.

As I lowered my lips over her clit, I felt her labia engulf my cheeks. It felt like her pussy was eating me, even as I was eating it, like it was kissing me back, and I found it incredibly erotic. Her clit was huge. As I sucked it into my mouth, it felt as if I was sucking on the tip of my little finger, and I could swear I felt it growing by the second. Wrapping my lips around it, I flicked my tongue across the tip, just as countless erotic stories had described. It was all I had to go on, that and the example my mother had just provided.

Those fears, those nerves, were quickly squelched. As I teased her, I felt my mother’s hands caressing my scalp, weaving her delicate fingers through my hair. When I hit a particularly sensitive spot, she moaned, her hips bucking wildly.

I quickly learned what she liked best, getting the most profound responses by squeezing her clit gently between my lips, licking around it in tiny circles rather than directly on it, flicking my tongue across her labia, and pressing firmly on her clitoral hood with my upper lip.

Easing lower, I slipped my tongue inside her. That seemed to set her off.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Oh, you sweet angel. Put that beautiful tongue inside me, baby. Fuck your momma with it. Oh fuck, yes. Push your tongue into my pussy. Yes, yes! Oh, baby, I love that. Oh, you sweet baby girl,” she whimpered.

I beamed with pride. Honestly, she said a lot more, but her thighs kept clamping down over my ears so I didn’t catch it all. Still, I could have listened to her all day, and likely could have climaxed again without any further stimulation.

I loved the way she talked to me — not just the words, but how she said them, the tone in her voice, everything. Whenever I masturbated, I always had to hold it in. I wanted to scream out, to say the dirty thoughts that permeated my mind out loud. But with brothers in the next room, I didn’t dare utter a peep, and even when I was home alone, I held it in. For once, I got to experience another lover saying what I was thinking, what she was thinking. I felt so connected to her. I imagined every word she said, visualizing it. I pictured my tongue as a huge cock, delving deep inside her sex, tasting her, feeling her, pleasuring her to orgasm.

I knew I had teased Mom long enough when I felt her pull away, lifting her hips further off the mattress and pushing my head lower. I knew immediately what she wanted; apparently we had the same kinky genes. My heartbeat seemed to flutter in my chest. It just seemed so dirty, yet so fucking hot. The thought turned me on, but I was always sure that I was unique in that category. Now, I knew I wasn’t alone.

With my eyes fixated on my mother’s beautiful face, I gently ran my tongue across her rosebud. She shuddered, short, deep gasps causing her lovely breasts to quiver. All that captured air came pouring out in the sweetest moan, as I stiffened up my tongue and pressed it firmly inside her, feeling the wrinkly flesh open up around me.

I watched with pride as my mother raised her hand to her mouth, biting down on the thick fleshy pad of her palm. I knew it well. I did it the same thing regularly when I was having a particularly wonderful orgasm and didn’t want to announce it to the entire house. It was so erotic watching my mother do it, like watching myself. I marveled at how similar we were.

I continued to lick her, my nose pressed against her wet pussy. She wasn’t quite as vocal, but her whimpers and pants encouraged me. I worked my way back up, the tip of my nose massaging her clit as I pressed my tongue back inside her cunt. I delved as deeply into her as I could, not so much for her pleasure as my own. I wanted to taste her. Little droplets of juice had been dripping down her crack, soaking the sheets, and I didn’t want to waste a drop of my mother’s honey.

As I licked my way back up to her clitoris, I slipped my three fingers inside her. Remembering what she’d done to me, I curled my fingers upward, feeling for anything different, watching my mother closely for any evidence of that internal button. When my fingers brushed along this one spongy spot, nowhere near as deep as I thought, she let out this guttural moan, her stomach stretched taut. Gently, I traced tiny circles around it as I took my mother’s clit into my mouth. As I did, my mother’s legs draped over my shoulders, her heels locking in the small of my back, pulling me into her. Soon, those heels were digging into me, using them for leverage as she rocked her hips, grinding into my mouth. Her hips gradually became more and more animated. Needing more leverage, my mom planted her heels back into the mattress, lifting her ass up high. No longer was I able to gently stroke her. No, her hips were rocking violently, thrusting back against the three fingers I had buried deep inside her. She held my mouth to her pussy, essentially fucking my lips with her oversized clit.

“Oh shit, baby, I’m going to fucking come. Oh my baby girl, oh, make me come, make your mommy come all over your pretty little face. Make mommy your little slut. Make me your dirty whore.”

I was coming on my own accord. Not because I was touching myself, but simply because I was making my mother climax. I couldn’t help but notice that she wanted to be my slut, my whore, while I couldn’t help but feel like hers. It made me feel so close to her, so intimately connected. We wanted the same things, had the same thoughts, even felt the same way.

As she started to come, my mother reached down between us, pushing my tongue out of the way as she rubbed her own clit. I must admit that it hurt my feelings a little, thinking I wasn’t doing it quite right and she had to take over. Still, that thought was fleeting, as a million new thoughts raced through my mind, watching my mother pleasuring herself. Here was a person’s most intimate activity, and she was sharing it with me. How lovely!

As I thought that, little raindrops fell onto my cheeks, my forearms, my breasts. I knew we were inside, but that’s what it felt like. That’s when I realized what my mother was doing; she was squirting on me!

Her hand blurred across her clit as this throaty cry ascending from her lungs. She released both simultaneously, a shriek filling my ears as she brought her hand up to her lips, sucking them clean of her nectar. Even in the moonlight it was clearly visible. Her pussy was dripping. Every inch of her, from her navel to her knees, was completely soaked, as was my face and chest. I understood then why my mother’s panties were still in her car. Part of me wanted to retrieve them and suck every drop from them. If I didn’t have a fresh mess in front of me to clean up, I may very well have done just that.

“Oh, Rebecca, that was amazing,” Mom sighed as I licked her clean. “I love you so much; don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t, Mom,” I paused, then continued, “and I love you too, every bit as much.”

Kissing my way back up her torso, I nestled in her chest, then reached back behind me to pull the sheets and blankets over us. I kissed my mother goodnight — just a normal mother-daughter kiss goodnight — well, except that I could taste myself on her lips.

I slept that night better than I had in years, knowing our relationship was secure, knowing my mother was happy, and that I had found the lover of my dreams.

The End