Control Top

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

"Like them?"

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

"They're all yours, Mom."

"Mine...?"

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

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

"Mother, you're overflowing."

"W-what?"

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

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

"God. What am I thinking?"

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was smiling.

"You ... bitch!"

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

"You'll never guess what I found."

Mother looked at me with confused eyes.

I held up the paddle. "Remember this?"

I was now grinning widely.

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

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

I waved the paddle playfully in the air.

"How did you ...?"

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

"No ... please ..."

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

Again I gestured with the paddle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrieked when Mother's tongue finally entered me.

END

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Chiapas, Mexico October 2002

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