Momscrolling

She is runny, dripping, hyper-sensate.

Mom says, Oh honey.

Just like that, Mom is licking Daughter's pussy skin, licking her prickly pubicules, sucking up little runnels of girl syrup.

Daughter's salt and vinegar coats the insides of Mom's cheeks.

Daughter's clitoris, that freakiest of incest parts, is sweet and almost lime-flavored and Mom is almost thrown off-balance by how easy it is to make her girl flinch and gasp with pleasure.

Mom licks the satin slippery inside folds of Daughter's blonde-haired vulva.

Daughter shudder-laughs, and clamps a girl hand over her mouth to suppress the guffaw of madhouse genital pleasure her pretty Mom is licking into the full length of Daughter's under-carriage.

Mom tongue-pokes Daughter's bitter pink sphincter, too, then draws her tongue like a loaded calligraphy brush up the splayed middle of Daughter, and when she gets to the punky pink prow of her cunt she clamps her lips around Daughter's clitoral hood and loudly vacuum sucks the piss out of it, sending a thundering, pouring, crackling storm of cum-flavored pleasure into Daughter's quaking abdomen.

Daughter says, Ohmygod.

Daughter sees stars.

Mom says, Mm, yummy.

Daughter's pussy is runny.

It is dripping.

Mom suckles at the fragile lobe-like wingtips of Daughter's inner labia, from which fresh juice squeezes sweetly onto her tongue.

Kissing her once each, twice, however many times, treating each labia with an unhinged, yet symmetrical, affection.

Mom knows what Daughter likes because Dad has filmed so prolifically, so passionately, so paternally.

He has taught her.

Suck Daughter's inner labia like: this.

Daughter is crying.

Is she enraptured?

Is she panicking?

Does Daughter know why she is crying?

Daughter is not young enough to be clueless about her feelings.

Not young like a little girl.

But neither does she feel sufficiently grown.

Mom wants Daughter her to climax.

Mom has doomed her to this fate.

Daughter is young enough that she is reeling, helpless-feeling, may even be experiencing trauma as Mom seals her lips (again, sweet heavenly lord above) around her happy young clitoris and starts to suckle hard and to stimulate vigorously with the tip of her tongue inside her mouth (MOM?!).

She feels too young for this.

She wore a training bra until Junior year.

She has only been with Dad, and a number other older men and women, and a slew of other kids about her age.

She still has so many more sexual encounters she wants to have.

Daughter feels unready to toss Mom into the all-consuming fire so soon.

Mom, she realizes now, she had been saving for last.

Alas.

Tonight she is nude.

Her high school girl breasts are perky.

Her nipples are soft and hard.

They are brown and pink and stippled with nipply goosebumps.

They are perfect.

Mom is kissing Daughter's clit.

Stroking her labia.

Mom says, Does this feel good?

Mom is touching herself, too,

Mom is masturbating (?!).

Daughter is lying down on her bare back.

Her bare back arches off the carpet, rhythmically.

Her eyes are not fully closed.

Fully closed is too stimulating.

Her eyes are open, but she is not watching.

She is not listening.

Mom says, Tell me.

Tell me how it feels.

Daughter does not answer.

Mom asks again.

Tell me, does this feel good?

Daughter says, Yes.

Her voice is small.

It is high-pitched.

It is weak.

Daughter is flattening her back.

Daughter is arching her back.

She is not watching.

She is not looking at Mom.

She is hearing her Mom eat her.

She can hear Mom slurping her juices, and "mmm"-ing at the strong, glandular flavors of her.

They are thick and salty.

They are hot and tart.

Mom is fingering herself audibly.

Her fingers are sopping and slippery.

Mom is rubbing her own clit in tight, strenuous circles.

In the dark, by the sodium light of the street lamp, Mom and Daughter glisten with a fresh dew of sweat.

Smell Daughter's sweat.

Smell Mom's lust.

Smell their guilt.

Feel Daughter's fear in Mom's gentle hand, splayed across Daughter's flat, nervous, bunny-like tummy.

The home is silent besides.

Except the air conditioner.

And the refrigerator.

The susurrus of the world, the white noise, is not enough to drown out the sounds they make.

Not enough to cover the stretchy, tacky, black hole feeling of irreversibility.

Incest?

With who?

The sounds they need to make are made into a void that renders them instantly incestuous.

Gosh, is that how they sound?

Daughter is as quiet as she can be, but it is not quiet.

Her body is quivering, rapidly humping, letting her Mom's sturdy little Mom hand, the same one that helped her blow her nose and zip her coat and fix her hair, pleasure her flaxen cunt.

She is not sure if she likes this.

Daughter is so young.

Her body is new to her.

New to Mom.

Mom is old.

Her body is familiar.

Mom is experienced.

Mom knows her own body.

And now she knows Daughter's.

She tastes the vulva she created.

She savors the flesh she helped birth.

Daughter's clit is adorably small.

It is too cute.

Mom says, You are too cute.

Daughter does not respond.

Her eyes are closed.

Her breath is quick.

Her body is a steam engine.

She is sweating profusely.

She can smell her armpit sweat.

Her legs are shaking.

Her own Mom is making her cum.

Her own Mom is why her legs are shaking.

She is breathing faster.

Daughter is gasping.

Mom is sucking on her daughter's clit.

Sucking on her own baby girl's horny pussy.

Mom's tongue is darting between Daughter's outer and inner lips, probing into her entrance, tasting tongue-deep her actual teen interior.

Mom tastes for herself the hottest, pinkest secret a Daughter can keep.

Her mouth is full of Daughter.

Her brain is full of Daughter.

Her daughter is full of Mom.

Mom is appreciating, and appreciating, and appreciating.

Mom feels full-hearted for the first time in months.

Years, maybe.

Mom is feeling lovely.

Her daughter is letting her be the lover she needs to be.

She is allowing to be the mother this situation has all but forced her to be.

She is allowing Mom to be a woman who loves a man who fucks her daughter.

And Mom, for her part, is too.

Mom is letting herself have her girl and eat her too.

Gosh, here is her clit.

She smooches it.

She eats it.

And then she is fucking her.

She is fucking her with her mouth.

She is eating her one-hundred-and-ten percent out.

She is ingesting any and all fluids her child's body produces.

They taste like family.

Mom only better understands the girl she has created, now.

Mom is sucking Daughter's cunt.

Sucking her hard.

It makes obscene noises.

Fingering her.

Eating her.

Loving her.

Mom is eating her like a food she cannot get enough of.

Her daughter.

Mom is touching herself, too.

Rubbing her clit.

Mom's clit is swollen.

It is big.

It is fat.

It is hard.

Mom is touching her clit.

Pulling her dark hood.

Rubbing her bright pink nubbin.

Stroking her clit.

Teasing the glossy, slippery length of her slit.

Finger-fucking herself all of a sudden.

Her fingers are wet and slimy and sticky and messy.

Mom is finger-fucking herself.

While she sucks Daughter.

While she fucks her own kid with her mouth.

Mom is eating Daughter's pussy.

And Mom is finger-fucking herself.

Her hand is wet and slimy and sticky and messy.

Mom is touching herself.

Mom is feeling.

She is loving.

She is adoring.

She is appreciating.

She is enjoying.

She is wanting.

She is needing.

Mom needs.

She needs Daughter.

She needs to be her mother.

She needs to be her lover.

She needs to be her woman.

She needs.

Needs.

Needs.

Daughter is moaning and shuddering.

Daughter claps her hand tight onto Mom's head.

Her legs are flexing.

Her pussy is pulsing.

She is crying.

Is she happy?

Is she sad?

Does Daughter know why she is crying?

Daughter is still crying when Mom has finished.

Mom is kissing Daughter.

On her mouth.

Her nose.

Her ears.

Her neck.

Her chest.

Her shoulders.

Her back.

Her breasts.

Her nipples.

Her belly button.

Her belly.

Her hips.

Her ass.

Her ass cheeks.

Her asshole.

Mom is kissing Daughter everywhere.

All the places Dad has touched, Mom is touching.

Mom is taking Dad's Daughter and making her theirs again.

She is seeing her as brightly as the night is dark.

She hears Daughter crying.

But Mom is not concerned.

This crying is not that kind of crying.

Mom is happy to hear this kind of crying.

Mom is content.

Mom is complete.

Mom is full, so full, in her heart.

Mom is happy again, somehow.

The next morning, Mom wakes up.

She is in bed with Dad.

Mom is sore.

Her mind aches.

Mom is worried.

Dad is still sleeping.

He is snoring.

He is drooling.

Dad is sleeping.

Mom is not.

She is awake.

She is thinking.

She is worrying.

Mom gets out of bed.

Mom walks downstairs.

The stairs creak.

The air is warm.

The air conditioner is off.

The living room is empty.

There is no one in the kitchen.

There is no one on the couch.

There is no one in the backyard.

No one in the yard.

The house is silent.

A neighbor's lawn mower starts up.

Its engine is loud.

Mom knocks softly, bravely, terrified, at Daughter's bedroom door.

Mom waits.

She knocks again.

The neighbor's mower wends slowly, in gradual stripes.

Mom hears footsteps.

Daughter opens the door.

Her eyes are red.

They are puffy.

Daughter is wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms.

She is not wearing a shirt.

Mom sees her girl's tiny, cute breasts.

They are the cutest.

They are the sweetest.

Mom says, Good morning, Dear.

Daughter smiles.

It is a weak smile.

A scared smile.

A confused smile.

It is a sad smile.

It is a hopeful smile.

Daughter is smiling.

Mom says, You look beautiful.

Daughter smiles a bigger smile.

Mom says, Can I come in?

Daughter does not speak.

Daughter nods.

She steps aside.

Daughter and Mom walk into the bedroom.

Daughter's bed is messy.

Her blanket and sheets are rumpled and disheveled and messy.

It smells like sex.

Like Daughter.

Like a young girl.

Like a horny teen.

And like Dad.

It smells like sex and family and home.

Daughter and Mom stand in the center of the room.

It is bright pink inside the room.

Daughter has drawn her curtains, but the sun is so bright, and the curtains are so pink.

Daughter and Mom stand in the middle of the pink room.

The silence is a lot.

Until Daughter speaks.

She says, Do you love me?

And Mom, not hesitating, says, Yes.

Always.

For the rest of my life.

Daughter smiles.

It is a big smile.

Can I ...?

Daughter gestures nervously.

Mom nods.

Daughter hugs Mom.

Mom hugs Daughter.

They are holding each other.

Daughter is not crying.

She is not sad.

She is not scared.

She is not guilty.

She is happy.

Daughter is young again.

Mom touches her bare back.

Daughter's skin is smooth.

Her hair is soft.

Her back is thin.

Her waist is narrow.

Mom feels her daughter's bones.

Her ribs.

Her shoulder blades.

Daughter's skin is thin.

Her muscles are wiry.

Her skin is smooth.

Her body is soft.

Daughter is hugging Mom.

They are less naked than they feel.

Daughter is hugging Mom.

Mom is touching her.

Mom says, I want this to be how we are.

Daughter is silent.

Mom says, I want what you want.

Daughter says, Me too.

Mom surprises herself by smiling.

It is a happy smile.

A hopeful smile.

An excited smile.

A surprised smile.

Daughter is half naked.

Mom is not naked.

The day is warm.

The room is cool.

Mom says, Do you want to ...?

She does not finish the question.

She does not know how to.

How do you ask your daughter if she wants to have sex with you?

What words are there for that?

Daughter smiles.

It is an amused, embarrassed, nervous smile.

But it is not a frightened smile.

It is not a worried smile.

Daughter says, Okay.

Mom is still standing.

She is still holding her daughter.

Daughter is standing.

Daughter is taller than Mom.

Mom says, Do you want me to go get the camera?

Daughter's face is blank.

Mom says, Would that make this less...?

Less what?

Less weird?

Less special?

Less wrong?

Mom does not know how to finish the sentence.

She does not know how to ask her question.

But Daughter does.

She says, Okay.

I think so.

Okay.

Okay.

Mom lets go of Daughter.

Mom says, Wait here.

Don't move.

Wait for me.

Mom gets the nice camera in its heavy rectangular bag.

Mom considers the tripod, too.

Mom shows up back in Daughter's room feeling the strangest mix of feelings.

Mom is ashamed, deeply and dizzyingly.

Mom is excited, her belly full of butterflies.

Mom is in love.

Mom sees her Daughter's nudity so differently.

So much more intimately.

She has seen her before.

But not like this.

Never like this.

Mom sets up the camera.

She does not have to set up the lights.

The sun is already shining.

It is a bright, clear, sunny, beautiful day.

Mom gets the camera ready.

Daughter is watching.

Her eyes are wide.

She is nervous.

Daughter says, Is that on?

Mom says, Yes.

We're on.

She presses 'record.'

Mom looks at Daughter.

At her tiny, cute, pert breasts.

Her nipples are erect.

Her stomach is flat.

Her navel is perfect.

Mom looks at her daughter.

Really looks at her.

Sees her.

She sees.

Mom asks, What do you want me to do?

What can I do?

Daughter is thinking.

She is considering.

She is contemplating.

She is deciding.

What does she want Mom to do?

Daughter thinks.

She says, Can you kiss me?

Kiss my neck.

My ear.

Mom steps forward.

She stands close to her Daughter.

Mom's body is hot.

She is blushing.

The blush covers her body.

Her ears, her cheeks, her neck, her chest, her arms, her shoulders, her back, her stomach, her groin, her legs.

Everywhere, Mom is pink.

Every part.

She is hot.

Mom kisses her daughter.

Kisses her ear.

Kisses her cheek.

Her neck.

Mom is kissing her daughter.

Daughter's body is stiff.

She is rigid.

Her breathing is shallow.

Mom kisses her salty ear.

Her plush cheek.

Her satin neck.

Her pimpled chest.

She kisses her daughter.

She is gentle.

But she is not too gentle.

She is just rough enough to signal to Daughter that this is something earnest and real and okay.

She is careful.

She is loving.

But she is not too loving.

Daughter is surprised when Mom bites her.

Mom is sucking her.

Nibbling her.

Kissing her.

Marking her.

Touching her.

Mom is kissing her neck.

Her ear.

Her cheek.

Her chest.

She is kissing her.

Daughter is gasping.

Gasping and breathing and moaning.

She is trying to be quiet.

But Daughter is moaning.

Mom is biting her.

Licking her.

Kissing her.

Marking her.

Touching her.

Daughter is letting Mom touch her.

Daughter feels special, speechless, and full of more want than she knows what to do with.

Mom is touching her own child's body.

Her fingers do not touch any differently than they always have: like a mother's.

Even as they touch her lips, her breast, her bare hip.

Daughter is shaking.

Shivering.

Daughter says, I love you.

I love you.

Mom kisses her.

On the mouth.

Daughter is breathing.

Heaving.

Breathing.

Mom is touching her.

She is caressing her.

They both stand in angry defiance of gravity.

They whimper against the need to tumble down onto Daughter's messy, incest stinking bed.

Daughter says, I love you.

Mom says, Oh my sweet—.

Mom is kissing her daughter's neck.

She is kissing its full length.

Mom is touching her.

She is feeling her.

Her body.

Her tits.

Her belly.

Her ass.

Her thighs.

Her damp underwear.

Mom is touching Daughter, palpating her.

Daughter's panties are still on.

And Mom is touching her through them.

Mom is rubbing her pussy ever so gently.

Mom is rubbing Daughter how she rubs herself, but better, more fondly.

Lucidly.

Daughter says, Mom?

Mom stops.

She pulls her hand away from her daughter.

She asks, What is it, Dear?

She seems to ask:

What do you want?

How can I help?

How can I love you?

But she asks only, What is it?

Daughter answers, You're still wearing your clothes.

Mom laughs.

It is a relieved, anxious laugh.

Mom says, Well, yeah.

Are you okay with me taking them off?

Daughter is asking Mom if she can undress her, for her, and for the camera.

Is she really doing this?

Is she really asking that?

Is she really offering?

Is this really happening?

Daughter says, You can take my panties off.

I can get naked.

If you want me to.

Do you want me to?

Mom smiles.

It is a big smile.

Wanting and nervous and full.

Mom says, You don't have to.

This is already—.

Daughter cuts Mom off.

Daughter says, No, it's okay.

I like how you look.

Daughter says, When you look, I mean.

Mom smiles.

Daughter removes her panties.

Mom helps.

She becomes naked the way a child does when their parent undresses them.

She is unbearably beautiful.

Mom starts to cry again..

Daughter says, Can I ...?

She points at Mom.

Her clothes.

Daughter wants to undress her.

To take her clothes off.

To get Mom naked.

Mom nods.

She says, Of course, Dear.

Anything you want, that's why I'm here.

That's what I want, Mom says.

She is crying, but she is flooded with every emotion but sadness.

Daughter starts.

She pulls Mom's pajama shirt off.

She does it carefully.

Gently.

Tenderly.

She pulls Mom's arms through the sleeves.

One at a time.

Slowly.

Daughter throws Mom's shirt on the floor.

Mom's tits are exposed.

They are full.

Perky.

Her nipples are hard.

Daughter does not stop to look.

She takes Mom's pajama pants off next.

She is more confident already.

She is not slow.

She is not careful.

Mom has Mom-panties on.

Daughter admires these with a giggle.

Mom hears that giggle and she feels herself melting.

Her daughter is so cute.

Daughter pulls Mom's panties off.

They are white.

Thick.

Stretchy.

Comfortable.

Mom does not wear sexy panties.

Not even for her husband.

She does not need to.

And now Daughter knows this, too.

Knows what Mom's panties look like.

Feel like.

Knows the scent and the warmth of her mother's underwear, the loneliness and stress and sweat.

Daughter throws Mom's underwear on the floor.

With her pajamas.

Mom is naked.

Mom is nude.

Mom is in front of her daughter, letting her see her bare.

Daughter leans back now onto her elbows on her bed.

Daughter's little miss is on display.

Her cunt.

Her slit.

Her fuzzy vulva.

Her pubic hair is a soft, sparse, downy fluff.

It is trimmed neatly.

Mom has not seen her daughter's pubes in broad daylight before.

Not in many years has she so easily and succinctly seen her vulva.

She had used to worry about this girl's body, and what might someday happen to it.

But Mom is sure she means well, today.

Because her child's body is so strikingly, piercingly, achingly, achingly, achingly, achingly beautiful.

The camera is not camera enough to capture it.