Blanche and Claire

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

Blanche felt herself blush from her cheeks down to her toes when she saw the book that her daughter, Claire was holding. It was the journal Claire had given to her several months earlier, on the occasion of Blanche's 65th birthday. Claire had offered it as a gift of support for her mother's stated desire to pursue a dream of becoming an author. It was meant to chronicle story ideas, character sketches and plot outlines for future literary masterworks. Blanche had struggled for weeks to use it for just that purpose. She had failed. Between its leather covers, Blanche had soiled the sheets with her most private fantasies and perverse sexual thoughts.

Blanche had spent a week house and puppy sitting for her daughter and son in law. She had failed to pack the book into her case when the couple returned. For three days, since discovering that it was missing, panic had been her constant companion. The call from Claire, advising her that the journal had been found, overfilled the elder woman with more anxiety than relief. The fear of losing her book of secrets was nothing compared to the terror she felt if it should be read by anyone. Though she was not religiously inclined, she did utter a silent oath when Claire called to announce that the book had been found. "Dear god," she prayed, "please don't let her read a single sentence." It was a flushed and flustered Blanche who stood now at her daughter's front door.

"Sampson got hold of it," Claire explained, indicating the ragged and torn bottom corners of the book. "We caught him chewing at it in his bed the other night."

"It's my own fault for not paying closer attention to him." Blanche reached for the book, but Claire did not offer it up.

"You were probably busy at other things, Mum. Come in and have some tea with me. We could use a good talk."

Blanche felt her knees buckle. Claire had never before called her mother, "mum" in actual conversation. It was an expression reserved for the daughters Blanche had created in her journal. In that world, a proper mum was not only permitted, but also expected to be submissive and available to her adult sons and daughters. "I really can't stay, Claire. I've errands to run." Blanche had chosen flight over fight. Her desperate hope was to retrieve the wretched item, flee from the house and put enough distance of time between this moment and the inevitable talk to dull the shock of Claire's discovery about her own mother's secret lusts.

Claire quickly closed the door behind her mother, cutting off the woman's retreat. "Come in and sit down, Mum. You have a good bit of explaining to do." Claire tapped the top cover of the journal to emphasize the nature of their pending talk.

The tone now wielded by her daughter, coupled with her own shame overwhelmed the elder woman's will to resist. "I didn't mean for anyone to see those scribbles, Claire...least of all you. They're just rambling thoughts. They're wicked and horrible wanderings of mine." Claire did not respond to her mother's repentant outpouring. She directed the woman to sit on an oversized ottoman, which had been moved from its normal place on the far side of the room to a spot only a few feet in front of the sofa. A trembling Blanche complied. She continued to plead with her daughter to give the book back, or to burn it outright and to forgive her for the perverted thoughts she'd written down.

Claire stood for a bit, towering over her petite and slender mother. What she wanted was to sit beside the overwhelmed woman, to put her arms about her and reassure her that nothing she'd read of her mother's secret desires would dislodge her affection or diminish her respect. What she wanted was pushed aside, to make room for what she felt certain was needed.

It took several minutes before Blanche exhausted her supply of apologies and her energy. When she was finally silent, Claire went to the sofa and sat. The skirt Claire had chosen to wear for their talk rode up, past her mid-thigh when she sat. Deliberately she reclined, letting her legs remain parted, in a most unladylike pose. The skirt was stretched just enough to permit Blanche glimpses between her daughter's legs and catch flashes of the white gusset of her knickers. Blanche felt a most disturbing trickle of arousal leak into her own undergarment.

Claire remained deliberately silent for several minutes. The elder woman blushed. She tried to shift her focus, but it was impossible to look into her daughter's eyes. In spite of the impropriety of it, Blanche began to stare underneath her daughter's skirt. When Claire was satisfied that she'd harnessed her mother's attention, she initiated an interrogation of the woman. No question was permitted to go unanswered. Whenever Blanche balked at disclosing intimate details of her marriage, her sexual activity and the nature of her most private fantasies, Claire would close her legs, wait a bit and then issue the command, "answer me, Mum". The whispered reply from Blanche earned a smile from her daughter and a renewed view under the younger woman's skirt. Always, when answering the questions Blanche apologized for revealing to her daughter truths about herself that she knew were indictments of her moral character.

"I'm sorry," Blanche muttered one final time before covering her face and weeping.

Claire's resolve capitulated. She went to her mother, sat beside her, hugged and consoled the woman. When composure had been restored, Claire asked a simple question, with simple gentleness. "Why should you be sorry, Mom?"

It took Blanche a while to answer. "I'm a 65 year old married woman. These desires aren't normal. What would your father do to discover that the woman he's been married to for so many years has such...disturbing...unnatural lusts? What must you think of me?"

"I think the world of you, Mom."

Claire excused herself to go and make tea. She returned within a few minutes, explaining that the kettle was on. She returned to the sofa. Her skirt rode-up a good bit higher than before, when she sat. Her legs stretched the skirt open once more. "Oh my," Blanche whispered when she saw not the gusset of her daughter's knickers on display, but the course, dark pubic curls of her vulva exposed. "That's no way for a lady to sit," Blanche whispered. The reprimand was anemic. Her daughter's reaction was not.

"It's wickedly naughty, isn't it, Mum."

"Please, Claire, don't."

"Don't do what, Mum? You want me to sit like a lady? Do you prefer that?"

"You're teasing me...mocking me."

Claire bolted upright. She leaned close to her mother. "No, Mum, I'd never mock you for having those feelings and thoughts. I do want to tease you, but not in an ugly, reproachful way." Claire leaned back so that her mother could peer between her legs and gaze upon her sex. Blanche was captivated by the assertive behavior of her middle-aged daughter. "Do you know, Mum, my favorite story ideas in your journal were those that involved you being dominated." Claire began to gently open and close her legs, creating a soft draft underneath her skirt. It also caused the lips of her vulva to flex visibly for her mother. "You revisit that theme time and again. Always it's a woman taking charge of you sexually. Can you guess my absolute favorite, Mum?"

Blanches' breathing had become shallow, her gaze fixated on her daughter's exposed sex. She bit her lower lip, and closed her eyes to try and regain composure over her body's reaction. They flew open when she felt her daughter's foot underneath her own skirt, brushing against her legs. Claire's foot pressed against her mother's knees. Blanche imagined that she heard a command from Claire to spread her legs. It was the sort of thing the daughter in her fantasy writing would insist upon. Blanche obeyed.

Claire picked up the journal. It fell open to a pre-selected page. "It isn't yet a story. It's more of a collection of rather graphic details of you getting caught spying on your forty three year old daughter and son in law having sex. I was struck by the jittery lettering as you describe being taken over your daughter's naked lap and disciplined with a hairbrush for your behavior. I was absolutely stunned to read how carefully you described that hairbrush. It's as though you were detailing the aspects of a lover rather than an instrument of punishment. You wrote that while you were house-sitting for us didn't you, Mum?"

Blanche could not answer. She was slipping into another dimension of arousal. It was too primal a state of existence to permit actual discourse. Her breathing had grown rapid and shallow. Claire extended her left leg. Her toes began to press against the crotch of Blanche's undergarments. "Your description matches the brush on my dressing table in exact detail," Claire observed. "Were you just speculating that the round handle would fit inside you? You don't assign any names to the characters, but apparently the daughter's first initial is 'C'. Your description of C's vulva, vagina and clitoris is both crude and exquisite, Mummy. Not much is revealed about the husband's appendage beyond how wonderfully wide it stretches your middle-aged daughter during sex, leaving her dilated for several minutes afterwards."

Blanche began to press her pelvis forward, increasing the pressure of Claire's foot against her crotch. She moaned when the toes were used to force the fabric of the undergarments into her slit. If not for the thin, but constricting material, her vagina would have been violated. Claire tried to overwhelm the fabric, but it would not yield. Abruptly, with an oath of frustration, Claire withdrew her foot.

"This is maddening," Claire exclaimed. "Take down your knickers and those damned pantyhose."

"This is wrong, Claire...this is unnatural and wicked."

"Don't you dare defy me, Mum. I don't want anymore lady-like behavior out of you. You need to be taught that a bare bottom date with my hairbrush is a privilege that must be earned. From this moment on I expect you to make yourself available to me without argument. Now get those undergarments out of my way."

Blanche stood. She lifted the hem of her dress. The battle between propriety and desire clouded her judgment. "Please, Claire, don't make me do this."

Claire closed her legs completely. "You need to decide right now, whether to remain my mom or become my mum? Choose to remain my mother and we'll never revisit any of this or the things you've written about. Your secrets will remain just exactly that. If you become my mummy, I'll discipline you when you've earned it...and you'll earn it by sexually submitting to me however, whenever and wherever I desire." Claire stood, pulling the hem of her skirt to a proper place. "I'll go and make us tea. You've got just that amount of time to decide whether to be my mom or my mum."

Blanche was left to decide which direction to set her moral compass.