tagIncest/TabooKatie Loves Her Mom

Katie Loves Her Mom

byMaryAnderson©

I could hear my daughter charging up the stairs. That was not unusual, she charged almost everywhere. She had been out late the night before, her eighteenth birthday, with friends and had been downstairs chatting with Ryan, her father and my husband, while he prepared omelets for breakfast. Ryan, who was used to our daughter's seemingly inexplicable impulses, was not surprised when she bolted from the kitchen when he mentioned that I was upstairs breaking down the beds.

My daughter was on the stairs when I pulled the sheets from her bed and out popped a small white vibrator. My first thought was that it looked like mine; my second thought -- it took a moment to sink in -- was that it was mine. That's when Katie plowed into the room and saw me staring at it.

She's a bright girl. She instantly understood the situation. She gave me her biggest widest smile, the one that says, "Just me being me," which almost always works. In a lilting, questioning tone, she said, "I guess I'm busted."

Just then my husband called from downstairs, "Breakfast is ready."

I handed Katie the sheets, "Put these in the washer. You and I will have a conversation later." I returned the vibrator to my bedroom and headed downstairs.

Katie was sheepish at breakfast and, in an obvious play to my goodwill, volunteered to help me clean the house. It was while she and I were upstairs making beds that I had the chance to ask: "How long has this been going on?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"About six weeks. I heard you using it when Dad was in San Francisco. You seemed to be enjoying yourself a lot more than I do when I use my fingers. So the next day I borrowed it when I got home from school. It was a heck of a lot better than my fingers; it was better than the clumsy high school boys. I figured after the party last night I'd be plenty horny, so I borrowed it yesterday afternoon. I figured with Dad in town you wouldn't notice."

My anger over her using my vibrator was temporarily superceded by my anger over her listening to me masturbate.

"Katie, you shouldn't be spying on me!"

She looked genuinely hurt.

"Mom, it's not fair to blame me for that. It was the night Dad was out of town and you and I watched a movie. I was falling asleep on the couch so you put a blanket over me, kissed me goodnight, and went upstairs. I'm not sure how long I was asleep, but when I woke up you were at the bottom of the stairs and talking to Dad with that thing was between your legs. I couldn't hear what you guys were saying, but it didn't take a lot of imagination. What was I supposed to do? Say excuse me and leave?"

I remembered the evening. I had gone upstairs to masturbate, but missed my husband. I went back downstairs to fetch the phone and called Ryan. He was as randy as I was. We immediately started describing what we'd do to each other when he got back and, impatient, I stopped on the stairs. I knew my daughter was in the next room, but figured she was asleep.

My face turned bright red. "No, you did the right thing. My bad."

"Well Mom, you seemed to enjoy it so much I decided to borrow it. The damn thing is addicting." It was then that Katie noticed my flushed face. "Don't get all discombobulated Mom. You two are cool."

"I didn't think parents could be cool."

"Well, cool for parents. You and Dad are so much in love. Most of my friends' parents barely acknowledge each other's existence, you and Dad still light up when the other enters the room. Living in the same house with the two of you its kinda hard not to notice you can't keep your hands off each other. Like I said, it's kinda cool."

"Well, good. Now I'll be completely self-conscious."

* * * *

I was twenty-one when I met my husband at Georgia Tech's campus bookstore. I was about to graduate; he was an assistant professor in the metallurgy department. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was seeing an assortment of party guys. The kind of guys who'd take me out dancing to the break of dawn and screw me in the parking lot as the sun came up. Ryan came across as studious, thoughtful, stable, and a bit nerdy. He seemed like a nice balance. I gave him my phone number.

Two hours later my phone rang.

"Lois, I figured this was the shortest socially acceptable amount of time I could wait before calling." He wasn't playing hard to get.

He asked me to lunch. Then he asked me to lunch again. After awhile he got a Tuesday night spot. Then, even, a regular weekend date. My girlfriends were a bit confused; he was neither hunk nor party animal and, by our standards, he was old. I made some facile excuses - he made enough money to treat a girl right - but the fact was that he was growing on me.

Part of it was that he treated me so well. My good time Charlie's might cancel a date at the last minute, show up two hours late, or start flirting with the nearest blonde when I was in the bathroom. Ryan opened doors for me, pulled out my chair, and showed up with flowers instead of cheap wine to see how fast he could get me drunk. Part of it was that he didn't compete. None of the other guys wanted to be my steady, but they all wanted to out do each other. They wanted to hear they were the best looking or best dancer or most fun or best fuck. He didn't. He never asked about the other guys. Years later I asked him about it.

"Babe," he told me, "I couldn't compete with those guys' looks and I didn't want to compete with them playing the bad boy. All I could be was the best me. And I had this weird sort of belief that if I was, it would all work out."

And part of it was that he adored me. Girls like to be adored.

He was the obvious candidate to go to my graduation and meet the parents. At dinner he was deferential and charming. My mother developed an instant crush on him. Afterwards he walked me back to my place and gave me my graduation gift. I was stunned. It was a beautiful antique broach, inlaid with pearl.

"My god, it's lovely. Where did you get it?"

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"You and I were at an antique shop in Chamblee about two months ago. It was in the display case. You raved about it. When we stopped at Mona's," my favorite Lebanese restaurant, "on the way home I excused myself, called the shop, and asked the owner to set it aside. I came back the following day and bought it."

That night I did something I'd had thought impossible when he and I had chatted at the bookstore months earlier. I invited him into my bedroom and we became lovers. And, it turned out, he was fucking fantastic. He started with a long back and front rub that had me dripping wet. He made patient, expert, love to my breasts with his tongue and lips while using his fingers to bring me off. He held me through that orgasm, ran his fingers over my body until I was ready to go again, and then used his mouth until, rutting in need, I came all over his face. After I recovered from that he sucked each of my toes before kissing and licking up my body. When he reached my face his lips toyed with mine, the passion building, and then in the midst of a mind-bending, deeply sensual sexy loving kiss, he entered me.

Somehow, I didn't expect him to be as big as he was. His was not the largest I'd known, but it was healthy. At first he just let it sit inside me, occasionally jerking it with his muscles while kissing my face, breasts, mouth, ears, nose, and neck until, despite the late hour and the bevy of orgasms I'd already experienced, I craved his cock. He seemed to know when I was ready and began to fuck me, slow and steady. Soon I was digging my fingernails in his back, moaning, loving the feel of his lean body on mine, his chest against my swollen breasts.

When the time was right he pulled out, rolled me over, and stood me on my knees. I was desperate to have him back inside me. He fitted the head of his dick to me and slipped only it inside. The muscles at the entrance of my vagina flexed open and close, working over the crown of his cock. After several minutes he took my hips in his hands and eased the rest of the way inside me. I had never felt anything so sensual.

As my cunt yielded to his magnificent cock he talked to me: "Babe, I've been waiting for this moment for months, longing for it, dreaming about it. But you are even tighter, softer, wetter, sweeter that I imagined. It's like your pussy is sucking me inside. Your sweet cunt makes my dick feel so good, like it was built for my cock."

He was in no hurry; he savored the sensations my body brought him. Having already been brought off several times, I was also relaxed, loving just having him inside me. I just let myself go, gobbling up the jolts of electric pleasure pouring from my cunt and lapping like waves through my body. I should have been exhausted, we had already stayed up late with my parents and had been in bed together for what seemed like hours, but it was as if my mind was in semi-twilight, too tired to think critically, open to all that was happening to me.

I dropped my head down to the bed, looking back. I cold see his testicles swing back and forth and feel then slap against me. "Ummm...ohhhh...uhhhh...," I started whimpering. I needed to be fucked. "Ahhhhhh...fuck...more, fuck me more...," I moaned

He picked up the pace. I rested my head on my hands, my bottom in the air, the bed swinging in harmony with our movements. I would have doubted I had another orgasm in me, but it was now clear he was on his way to finding it.

He also stumbled on to one my secrets, I like a little dirty talk.

"More. You want more? You like my dick? Do you want me to dick you?"

"Yes please...uhhhhmmmm..., oh god yes."

"Do you like my dick, baby? Is it filling up your hot tight twat? Do you like the way I dick you? I know my dick likes your wet hot pussy."

"Uuhhhmmm...oh my god...ahhhhh...I like it...oh my...this feels soooo good..., dick me, dick me."

Holding me around the waist, he started thrusting hard. His motions were short, leaving most of his cock buried within me. I was incredibly turned on. I didn't understand how he could keep going. My other lovers would have blown their cookies by now, but he kept pounding me. There was an aching feeling in me, building, growing, and then, suddenly and explosively, I came. It started in my vagina, but the waves of pleasure quickly radiated through my body, going on and on, spreading throughout me and consuming my entire being like rivulets endlessly echoing back and forth across the surface of a pond.

As I, impaled on his hard cock, quivered and shook, he divined when I was at my peak and pushed hard into me, half-shouting, half-grunting, "Oh fuck yessssss...I am cumming! Ahhhhhhhhhhh..."

It took me awhile to become oriented to something other than my own electric pleasure, but when I did I found our two sweaty naked bodies, both sucking in air, intertwined and laying in bed together. His leg was draped across mine and I rested my head on his chest. He folded his arms around me and we slept. I was awakened the next morning by my lover, a smile on his face and a cup of coffee, an absolute necessity in my universe, in his hand. He remembered exactly how much sugar and cream I liked. He hustled me up so we wouldn't be late meeting my parents for breakfast. When he left the table, ostensibly to go to the boy's room but in reality to pick up the tab, my parents peppered me with questions, mostly about why I'd been hiding this guy from them. For the first time in my life the fact that my parents approved of a boyfriend seemed important.

We walked my parents back to their car to say goodbye and then hurried back to my house and spent the day in bed. I can't say I fell in love with him or decided to marry him that day, but the other boyfriends quickly fell away. I moved in with him that fall when I started law school at Emory University. We married over Christmas and Katie was conceived shortly thereafter, being born before the year was out. Through my years in law school he was always supportive and when, after two years of practice I decided the law was not for me, he supported my decision to return to school to get a masters degree in social work.

Sex was cental to our relationship. Although neither of us objected to a quickie, sex was not normally something we did in a hurried burst at the end of the day; it was something to which we devoted an afternoon. He was my shaman, able to read my body, to know exactly how to touch me, how to keep me riding on the edge of an orgasm or, push me over.

Not that our marriage had been perfect. There had been difficult times in our marriage, starting at the beginning. He had wanted a big family and I was unable to conceive after Katie. If he resented it, I never knew it. Katie was right, I loved my husband and blessed my good fortune daily. He seemed to feel the same way. His sharp intake of breath whenever he saw me naked let me know he appreciated the hours I spent in the gym. At 5 feet 6 inches tall, I had managed to keep my weight between 115 and 120 pounds. My moderate B's matched my curvy figure and after years of trying to get my butt hard and tight I had finally given up and accepted my husband's assurance that he liked a little wiggle in my walk. My straight blond hair (okay brown, I dye it), complemented my pale white skin, which is the perfect palette for make-up. As to facial features, I have hazel eyes, good cheekbones, and a wide mouth. However, I think my lips, which are especially large and round, are my best feature.

As to my husband, his daily five mile runs and willingness to let me make all grooming and dressing decisions meant that, in his late forties, he was a better looking man then when I met him.

To top off the fairy tale, we even did quite well. My practice was solid and Ryan a full professor. He had become one of leading experts in his field and was often retained as an expert witness in metal failure cases. It kept him away, which was bad, but paid extremely well, which was good.

* * * *

I drove my husband to the airport on Monday morning; he was going to spend several days in Maine on a case. He had offered to drive himself, but I was free and I thought it would be nice to see him off. I also had an ulterior motive. There was a sex shop near the airport and with my husband leaving town I would need a vibrator. I couldn't quite bring myself to use the one my daughter had been pressing into her sex. I was also considering getting Katie one. Buying your daughter a sex toy wasn't exactly normal, but I had been a horny teenaged girl and knew the importance of finding a way to satisfy yourself. I also recalled her comment about clumsy teen-aged boys. It was best to provide an alternative.

After dropping my husband off and donning big sunglasses and a sweatshirt, I entered the "adult emporium." It was pretty seedy and I thought it best to obscure my identity. The clerk gave me a good long look, commented that I must be a really lonely lady if I needed two of these things, and offered to show me how they worked. I politely turned him down and left.

When Katie got home from school I presented her with the vibrator and the caution it might be best that we not tell her father. She jumped in my arms, kissed me, and headed upstairs for her bedroom. She went to a friend's house, came home, and headed upstairs. She ate dinner and headed upstairs. She did her homework in the den, but took two breaks to head upstairs. The image of my daughter cumming as she jammed the vibrator against her vagina and clit was getting to me. I got jumpy waiting for Ryan's phone call and when it finally came, my daughter was fully aware why I hustled to my room.

Day two of the vibrator regime was like day one. In the morning I had to threaten Katie to get her hands out of her crotch and her butt out of bed. That evening Katie made no effort to excuse her frequent trips to her room. The image of my daughter on her bed bringing herself to climax after climax had me in a constant state of arousal. The phone sex with my husband that night was intense. If he was wondering what was going on, he did not ask.

Day three promised to be tougher, my husband was being deposed that day and expected to be working late. There would be no phone sex. When Katie asked if I wanted to watch "Like Water for Chocolate," a 1992 Mexican film, I agreed. It turned out she was cheating a bit, the novel was assigned reading in her literature class. If you haven't seen the film or read the book, I strongly recommend them. The issue that particular night, however, was not their quality, it was their content: they don't make many movies this romantic.

Upon their first meeting fifteen year old Tita and Pedro fell instantly, passionately, deeply, in love. Tita's mother refused to allow them to marry, citing a family tradition that required the youngest daughter to remain unwed and care for the mother. The mother offered instead her oldest daughter, whom Pedro married so he could be near Tita. Their unrequited longing, however, was too much and eventually Tita has a breakdown and was nursed back to health by a kindly doctor, whom she agreed to marry. When she returned home to attend her mother's funeral, however, she met Pedro and they finally consummated their love. Upon her return home she confessed her infidelity to the doctor, who reluctantly agreed to end the engagement.

Twenty years later, his wife having died, Pedro found Tita after a long search and, his passion undiminished, asked her to marry him. They made love on the spot, igniting their own long pent-up passions too quickly and Pedro died in the midst of a sensuous orgasm. Her lover dead, Tita took her own life, burning down the family ranch in the process.

Katie and I watched, transfixed. Katie was also openly aroused; one hand had drifted to her breasts to stroke her erect nipples and the other under the blanket to her sex. With about half an hour to go she paused the film, ran upstairs, and returned with our vibrators. She handed me mine and turned hers on. It, and her hand, disappeared under her blanket.

Her response was instantaneous. "Ahhh..."

"Katie!"

"Sorry Mom, so sexy, I can't help myself. Want me to go upstairs?"

Propriety demanded I turn off the movie, we go to our respective bedrooms, bring ourselves off, and return to watch the end of the film. But at the moment propriety didn't seem to matter. What mattered was the swamp of lust between my legs. Upstairs, I reasoned, each of us would know exactly what the other was doing, would hear the other's moans, and would meet back in the hallway aglow in post-orgasmic blush; the only difference would be that there would be a wall between us.

"Go ahead baby, but keep this between us."

"Right Mom."

My daughter turned the movie back on and brought the device to her pussy. She did not immediately try to bring herself off, but carefully escalated the pleasure between her legs in harmony with the film's increasing passion. The pleasure radiating from her face and her soft moans quickly overcame my will power and I switched on my vibrator and ran it down my labia to the wet lips of my pussy. Mimicking Katie, I calmly, deliberately, took my time, wringing every possible sensation from my sex. As the movie ended Katie and I came together.

We picked up a few things and headed for bed. I brought my phone with me, hoping Ryan was up late and would call. Unfortunately, imagining the prurient conversation I intended to have with my husband only served to incite the burning between my legs and I was quickly too aroused to wait. I switched the vibrator on, imagining Pedro crawling between my legs, and was quickly moving towards an orgasm which I hoped would bring sleep. I was trying to keep my groans low enough so my daughter wouldn't hear when she burst through the door and threw herself on my bed.

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byMaryAnderson© 6 comments/ 187436 views/ 256 favorites

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