Foster Daughter

"You like watching your little girl shower, don't you, mommy?" I heard her say. I went rigid with outrage, then turned around and went straight to my bedroom, and slammed the door.

Craig stirred and muttered peevishly about making so much noise, and I swallowed. It wouldn't do to wake him up and bother him about Rachel being suddenly, inexplicably sexual. Shaking my head, I locked the door to our room and got ready for bed. Even despite our best efforts, it seemed that the evil stench of Rachel's background and upbringing would never be erased. It was my wifely duty to protect Craig from any sexual suggestion that Rachel might take it into her head to make now that she was a legal adult; thank God it would be easy enough to get him out of the house tomorrow. And then?

There was a cold pit in the center of my stomach as I tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. How long had she planned that little jab? What a disgraceful suggestion! Was she romping crudely through the house now, defacing our pristine little suburban haven with some sort of horrible ghetto lewdness? I strained to hear anything, but there was no sound over Craig's snore.

Maybe it was just a foolish joke, in the worst of taste but ultimately innocent. Maybe I could merely reprove her in the morning, and she would be horrified to realize how hurt I had been.

She had never called me mommy before. I was always "Mrs. Kolicki" or, if she was displeased, "ma'am." And calling herself my little girl! Illogically, but completely sincerely, I felt offended on behalf of the children that Craig had never been able to give me. They would never have been so tasteless, so disrespectful, so cruel.

And I would have trusted them in the shower. Of course, because I would have brought them up properly already so that they didn't need to be watched by the time they were teens. They would have known how to control themselves, like their parents did.

Morning came, and I was filled with so much nervous anxiety about what might happen when I was left alone with Rachel that I fussed over Craig until he snapped at me. Her eyes met mine over the breakfast table, but she only sipped her coffee and bent over a textbook.

She went up to her room before Craig left for the airport, so I took the opportunity to say,

"Maybe you were right, dear. Maybe we should let Rachel fend for herself now. We don't have any legal authority over her, after all."

Craig grunted and looked at me with a frown.

"Where's this coming from?"

I shook my head vaguely. I couldn't repeat her words to him.

"I've just been thinking it over. You always did know best."

He acknowledged the truth of my words with a little lift of his eyebrows, but shook his head.

"We agreed it would be best to let her graduate first," he reminded me. "It's only what, six months." He placed a perfunctory dry kiss on my forehead. "We can tough it out."

And then he opened the door, nodded at me, and left. I watched the car pull away from the driveway with a sinking feeling. It was typical of Craig that he would drive the car to the airport, never once stopping to wonder if I might want to use it. Of course the groceries were bought for the week, and I didn't have any particular errands to run in the next four days, but still. Thoughtless.

I sighed. I supposed it was time to discipline Rachel for her lewd display and crude words last night. I selected a wooden spoon from the counter stand and gave a few experimental swats in the air.

"Eighteen isn't too old to spank," I murmured to myself. "It doesn't matter what the government says."

As I ascended the stairs I kept seeing her again in my head, her brown body, her plump little breasts, her pert nipples, hardly darker than the skin around them, the curly, trimmed patch of hair between her legs. Her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. The naughty smile on her lips. The little laugh I swore I heard as I turned and marched away in righteous fury. Again and again.

But it was still a shock when I got to her room and the door was wide open and she was standing in the middle of the room, entirely naked, as though waiting for me.

"What are you doing?" I screamed. "Put your clothes on at once!"

She raised her chin a little and considered me, something that she used to do at fifteen which had infuriated me, but which I had thought we had cured her of through sharp, consistent discipline.

"No," she said. "I like being naked."

I raised the spoon, my hand shaking in anger.

"You won't like having to bend over my knee and be spanked," I said, and immediately wished I sounded more certain of myself.

"You're not going to spank me," she said coolly. "If you ask me nicely, I'll think about spanking you."

I stared at her, unable to understand what she thought she was playing at. For almost two years she had been pleasant and placid, a model student and an unobtrusive if unenthusiastic presence in the house. It couldn't just be the fraction of a year that meant she was now eighteen and so technically not under our control that had done this.

She stepped swiftly to me, and before I could even react, she wrenched the spoon out of my hand, then snapped it over her knee. She stepped back a pace.

"You like what you see?" she said, in a cajoling voice that I had never heard from her before. She ran her hands up and down her body, caressing her breasts, her waist, her hips, her thighs. "You want to touch it?"

"How dare you say those things to me," I said, my voice quivering with rage and something close to terror. "I am a married woman."

She laughed with real contempt.

"You hate each other," she said. "I saw it in your eyes twenty minutes ago. You need me instead."

Her face grew serious.

"I'm going to tell you how this weekend is going to go now," she said evenly. "Either you turn around and walk out of this house and leave me and him behind forever----"

I gasped in outrage. "You----"

She slapped the broken spoon against her thigh, sounding a sharp smack that cut me off in surprise.

"----Or," she continued, ignoring me, "you drop to your knees right now and eat my pussy and learn what it's like to truly submit."

I stared at her in speechless disbelief. What satanic insanity was this?

"What?" was all I could muster up from the depths of my befuddled, enraged, astonished, disgusted soul.

"You heard me," she said. "Get down on your knees and lick my pussy."

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

I was genuinely licking her pussy now, as she stiffened her legs and pressed against the door, squirming slightly under my tongue. A small part of me was still screaming that I shouldn't be doing this, that it was evil and wrong, that it was better to suffer any humiliation and even to die before engaging in such vile, abhorrent acts. But the part of me that was controlling my motor functions simply craved more of her sweet juices, and would do anything to taste them again, and was only partly satisfied by the slow trickle I was getting now.

"Fuck, I knew you wanted it," she gasped, twisting her fingers in my messy hair. "You could lie to yourself all you wanted, but not to me. I knew you were a dyke as soon as I saw you. I hated you at first for being married to him, for backing him up, for nagging me about my clothes, my hair, leaving things on the floor. But then I realized that it was all because you wanted me so bad, but couldn't let yourself know it. You made any excuse to talk to me, to touch me, to look at me, to study my every action and every expression and every word. You thought it was just in order to train me to be like you, but it was really because you couldn't stop thinking about me." She sighed heavily, and began to gyrate her hips slowly, lazily, against my face. "So I decided that I would have to show you that I could be just as good as he was at making you do things -- no, I could be better. He couldn't make you blow him in a million years. I've had you for half an hour and you're eating my cunt like it's your last meal." She laughed, a little shakily, and her fingers tightened on my hair, and yanked my head away from her crotch. I looked up at her face in surprise, my tongue still thrust out as though seeking that glorious nectar.

"Tell me you want it," she said.

I panted, and my eyes went wide in panic. I needed it. I knew that now. I would need to taste her again for as long as I lived, but I couldn't say it. That would mean she had won, that I had lost, that I was agreeing with her version of events, that I was admitting I had lusted after her for years -- when she was a minor, no less! -- that the self I had known and carefully tended to for almost forty years was a lie. What could this ignorant, immature, ghetto-bred, inferior little whore know about it?

She saw these thoughts flash across my face, frowned in disappointment, and shoved me back into her crotch.

"Keep licking me, then." she said. "But you won't get my cum until you beg for it."

I licked automatically, but her words rang terribly in my ears. To be denied the sweetness, after so long? She had baptized me twice already in her gushing fluids, why did I have to make this terrible admission for a third? And all at once the part of me that was licking began howling in rebellion against the part of me that obstinately insisted it was wrong. Say it, you miserable old fool, you cantankerous bitch, you idiot shrew, my own mind screamed at me. Say you want her juices, say you want her to throw you over her knee and spank you, to slap you, to step on you. Say that you're her slave, that you'll grovel at her feet to be allowed a sniff of her nectar, that you don't deserve to be blessed by her unction but will receive her mercy with tears and gratitude. Against which torrent the feeble refrain of no, no, it's wrong, it's vile, it's sinful, it's unnatural all sounded far off and indistinct, something I had once known but no longer had any use for and so was happy to forget, like the quadratic formula.

I mumbled something guttural around my tongue, into her labial folds.

"What's that, mommy?" she said, but kept pressing me into herself. "Speak up."

"Uhhhh wuuuuh uuuuh," I repeated, slowly but without any more clarity. She rubbed herself against me sharply.

"One more time," she said. Her pussy bucked free of my mouth for a split second.

"I want it!" I shouted, and my mouth was immediately engulfed with her hot moist flesh again, and I lapped as hard and greedily as I could while she jerked in tight, sudden patterns against my tongue. Her hands clenched my hair so hard I could feel her fingernails dig into my scalp. Her thighs clamped tight around my face like an iron vise, and I felt her double over onto my head as she shook.

And the glorious flood gushed forth. I drank it like I had never drunk any water or cola or energy drink before, as though my life depended on it, licking after every drop, continuing to lick even after she drew breath again and regained her balance, licking and licking and licking until she pushed me away with something that was a scream and something that was laughter.

"You don't get to decide when I cum again," she said sternly, but with a smile in her eyes. "It's my gift to you, not your gift to me."

I nodded, licking my lips. I knew that I could look at myself in the mirror, but I did not, just stared at her wondering what would be next.

She opened the door behind her, and stepped aside.

"I made a promise," she said. "You licked your way through me, you are free to leave."

I still lay sprawled on the floor, and shook my head.

"Use your words," she said, not unkindly.

"I don't want to leave," I said.

"What do you want?"

"You."

Her chin went up and she studied me. I felt, for the first time, that I deserved it, and hoped I would meet with her approval.

"Tell me more," was all she said.

"I want your -- your cum," I said, stumbling my way through unfamiliar words. "I want to be your -- your -- I want to be yours."

She kept my gaze, and took a step toward me.

"You will obey me?"

I nodded.

"In words."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Rachel."

"That's not my name."

I was silent. I had never known how to pronounce the name on the form.

"You will call me Miss Kennedy," she said.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I said.

"Stand up."

I scrambled stiffly to my feet.

"Undress."

I unbuttoned my blouse, shimmied down out of my skirt, then looked at her for confirmation. She raised her eyebrows. I reached around to the back and undid my bra. I hadn't realized how painfully my nipples were aching until I released them to the cool air-conditioned house. I hesitated again, but when she nodded I hooked my thumbs into my panties and worked them down. The front clung stickily to my crotch, and the sudden air there too made me realize how much my own pussy begged to be touched. I stepped out of my panties, and looked at her with a little concern, hoping again that I would meet with her approval.

She nodded slowly, circling around me in an appraising manner.

"Not bad," she said. "You will never wear clothes in front of me again."

I blanched.

"What about when Craig----"

"I didn't tell you to ask questions," she snapped, startling me into silence. "I gave you an order."

I nodded, but tears pushed their way to my eyes. How I was going to explain this to Craig I had no idea, much less to anyone else in my life.

She reached out with one hand and just barely grazed a nipple. I gasped, and my entire body quivered.

"Squeeze your own nipples," she said, stepping back a pace.

My hands went to my breasts and I began squeezing between the thumb and forefinger. It was surprisingly pleasant to feel sensation in them after being so long neglected, although the persistent ache in them also became more acute.

"Harder," she said. I squeezed harder, and the pain jumped up sharply, outmatching the pleasure. I felt myself whine.

"Twist them," she said. "Yank on them, Pull them out."

I did my best to obey her, and tears streamed down my cheeks as my nerves screamed in pain. But the roiling heat in my loins only increased, and I could feel drops land on the carpet between my feet.

"That's enough," she said, and I let my nipples go. Perversely enough, my body protested again, begging for the pleasure and the pain it had just complained of.

"Lie down on my bed," she said and I backed up toward the bed. "No, face down."

I turned around and got awkwardly onto the bed, then lay down with my face in the comforter, my head facing away from her. I felt her sit beside me. Her hand brushed my ass cheeks.

"Do you want to come, mommy?" she asked, a hint of mocking babytalk in her voice when she pronounced the last word.

"Yes," I panted into the comforter. She smacked her hand sharply against my ass.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Miss Kennedy."

"Bite down on the comforter," she said. I gathered as much as I could into my mouth and bit down. "Bunch the comforter in your hands and hold onto it." I gathered as much as I could and clutched my hands around the balls of fabric. "Spread your legs open." I did.

Her fingers trailed down my ass cheeks to my thighs, and then slipped beneath to where my hot, wet pussy lay slobbering against the bed.

"Stick your ass in the air," she said. I tried, but my lower back was too stiff. "Push up on your knees," she advised, and eventually I managed to get my ass a few inches into the air, my upper thighs aching from the unfamiliar position.

Two fingers slid into me as easily as though I were made of jelly. I felt a volcanic jolt vibrate throughout my lower body and moaned harshly into the comforter, already soaking with my saliva.

"Eating me out three times made you so fucking hot," said my mistress softly, as she worked her fingers in and out of me with no resistance at all. "You're a horny old slut who loves it when her daughter cums on her face, aren't you?"

I moaned. She jabbed her fingers hard into me, making my loins quake painfully. "Aren't you?" she repeated harshly.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I mumbled around the comforter.

"Good girl." Her strokes became gentle again, but my loins quivered even more at the words than they had at the jab.

"Are you my little fuck doll?" she asked. I said I was. "Are you my little white cunt?" I said I was. "Are you my dyke whore?" I said I was. "Are you my good Christian wife?" I hesitated, and she jabbed hard again.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I sobbed.

"That's right you are. Are you my legal guardian?" I said I was. "Are you my property to use and abuse?" I said I was. "Are you my perverted mommy who spies on me in the shower?" I said I was. "Are you cheating on your husband right now with me, like a disgusting little piggie animal rolling around in her own filth?"

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I choked, "Yes, God, oh yes I am, oh fuck, oh no, I can't stop it."

"Let it out, my dirty little whore," she said, pumping her fingers hard into me. "Come for me, come for your mistress, come for your owner, come for your daughter, come for your ward, come for the girl you stared at with your perverted eyes for three whole years, not daring to even know you wanted her."

I screamed into the comforter, My hips rose of their own accord into the air, thrashing while her fingers hammered mercilessly at my canal. An enormous dam seemed to break within me, and I felt fluid gush from me. I sobbed, certain I had soiled myself.

"That's a good girl," she said again, and my hips quivered even as they descended to the bed again. She stroked my back as I quaked through the aftershocks, sobbing and clutching fistfuls of comforter.

"Look at me," she said at last, once my breathing became somewhat even again.

I twisted my head and saw her gorgeous brown face. How had I not known how beautiful she was, how much I wanted her to kiss me?

"You're mine now, you know that, right?" she said.

I nodded, then remembered.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy."

"And that means you no longer belong to your husband."

I hesitated. She frowned.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy."

"Or to the church."

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I repeated dully. I had no idea how I could disentangle myself from those two institutions. Her graduation was six long months away. If she was going to remain in this house, how could I not?

"I have a plan," she said, in seeming response to my thoughts. "But you will have to trust me that I know what I'm doing. Do you trust me?"

A tiny part of me screamed no, of course not, you're a teenager, I'm more than twice your age, you're insane.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I said. "Thank you, Miss Kennedy."

She looked genuinely touched at the addition. She caressed my face gently with her fingers. I could smell my own strong fluids on them. And then she stood up.

"It's almost time for school," she said. "Do all your chores naked while I'm out. You are not allowed to touch your pussy. But you can take a shower, make yourself comfortable, make sure you get enough calories and hydrate. But be kneeling at the door with your tongue ready to greet me when I come in. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Kennedy," I said. She patted my head, and let me take a moment to myself in her bed while she dressed.

I stared at her amazing body, and felt my loins begin to moisten again. I caught my fingers itching to rub there, and stilled them. Thank God she would be gone while I was prohibited to touch myself, or I would have a hard time obeying. Already I was beginning to miss her sweet taste on my tongue. The taste of the comforter had entirely displaced it.

She slung a backpack over a shoulder and turned around to look at me one more time before she left.

"One more order," she said.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy?"

"Call Adriana and tell her everything we just did."

I stared at her in horror. She smiled brightly, but her eyes widened just enough to impel me to whisper,