I am Beth, divorced mother of a 19-year-old daughter, Sara, who still lives at home with me. I work a secretarial job and she goes to the local community college. When she was young, I was too busy working and taking care of her to think about getting involved and meeting men. Since then, somehow it has never come up. I just never seemed to want to spend the energy to pursue finding a boyfriend, and no one pursued me. I satisfy my ever dwindling sexual needs with some toys I keep in my bed stand.
Sara has always been a pretty responsible girl, and we have stayed close even as she went through her teenage years (though technically she still is one, now that she has finished high school and is in college, I sort of think of her as "grown up"). She is about five-foot-seven and has a lean athletic look, and does play a variety of sports. Her breasts are still small enough that she goes bra-less most of the time. Since it is just the two of us, she does not pay much attention to how she is dressed at home. She often goes around the house in just panties and a tank top. Her nipples will often stick prominently through the fabric. Being mom, I am a little more conservative that way. I pretty much stay dressed around the house, or at least in pj's or a terry cloth robe. It is not as if she has not seen me undressed, or me her, or each other sitting on the toilet on occasion. Nevertheless, neither do we go around naked either. I am a decent looking woman, no model certainly. At five-foot-five, my weight is good at about 125 pounds. While no athlete, I have not let myself go completely soft. I have dark wavy hair, cut generally to just below the shoulders. My breasts are fairly full so they do sag some—I am in my early 40s after all. But I think if I dress well, I can still turn an eye or two.
On this particular Friday evening, it had been a long day, with the boss running me all over the place. I was ready to collapse by the time I left the office for the day and took the bus home. As usual, I have on my secretarial outfit, looking professional, mid thigh tan skirt, tights, matching tan vest, a white silk blouse fairly tight in the bodice, and heels. When I get home I just plop myself down on the sofa, and kick off my heels, leaving my purse dropped just inside the door. We live in a small two bedroom apartment, with our rooms just off the living/dinging room and share the one bathroom. I guess Sara heard me sigh. She came out of her room just as I sat down, in just panties and a tank top, as I mentioned is often the case, asking me how I was. I told her, truthfully, that I was pretty beat. She comes behind the sofa, and starts to rub my neck, something she will do for me on occasion. I just close my eyes, letting out deep breaths. Sara had just recently started taking a class on massage through the local parks and rec, and more often now would offer these neck rubs.
After massaging my shoulders for a few minutes she generally gets back to doing whatever it is she does in her room—her homework, chatting with her friends or whatever it is a girl of her age does. But today she says to me "Would you like me to do your back? I could practice some of what I'm learning in class." I tell her sure. She recommends we go to my room so I can lie down on the bed. I figure, great, I would love a massage. She tells me she will be there in a moment, and I go to my room and collapse on my stomach on the bed.
When she gets in the room, she is holding a bottle of massage oil, a couple of candles, and an extra sheet. She informs me I need to get undressed to do this properly, as she wants to give me a real massage with oil and the full treatment. I am a little hesitant. As I said, it is not like she has not seen me undressed, but we do not hang out naked either. In the end, I figure this is a massage after all, so I get up and start taking my clothes off. Meanwhile she puts the sheet over the bed, turns off the lamps, lights the candles, and puts on some soft relaxing classical music that I have by my CD player.
Once I am undressed, she instructs me to lie down again on my stomach. As I lie down, I notice one of my dildos is sitting right there on my bed stand. I am a little embarrassed, but I am pretty sure she knows I have these toys, and we have had the talk about sex and masturbation. I told her I did it—I wanted her to know it is normal. I have seen that she has some of her own by now, so I figure I really should not be embarrassed. Still, to have it just sitting there... Anyway, she seems oblivious. She places a towel over my rear and another cloth over my face. I feel her get up on the bed and straddle me on my upper thighs. I hear her put the oil on her hands, warming it up by rubbing her hands together. I guess she had also thought to put the heat up, as I notice the temperature in the room rising. She does think of everything, that sweet daughter of mine! Now I feel her hands first touch my bare back, those initial strokes a bit of a shock, yet so soothing. She is working her hands up and down my back, working into my sore spots. She does touch the sides of my breasts as she goes down my sides, yet acts very professional about it. Even though it feels a bit weird to have my daughter touch my breasts, even just the sides, I just give in to the wonderful feeling of her firm strokes caressing my sore tight muscles.
I am now starting to drift off somewhat. The smell of the rose scented oil, the soft music in the background, and these wonderful warm hands soothing my body. I am in heaven. She moves down to my buttocks, and removes the towel. Her hands firmly cup my cheeks, kneading them, which presses my crotch forcefully into the bed. This wakes me up a bit. Now I am feeling a bit more exposed, and I have to admit a little turned on, as her vigorous strokes cause my vulva to rub against the sheets as well as my breasts and nipples, which begin to harden. I am trying to think, this is my daughter, I cannot be reacting this way. And as I am thinking this, she moves down, massaging the insides of my thighs, touching just along the edges of my vagina, heightening these conflicting emotions.
She keeps moving on though, turning around on me, straddling my rear now, as she does my legs. This pushes my pelvis further into the bed, and I can feel myself getting turned on again. I think to myself, thank goodness for the scented candles or my own daughter would be able to detect the musky odor of my arousal! Every stroke of her hands of her now is the sensual touch my body has been deprived of all these years—awaking my skin to the pleasures of the flesh.
Eventually she reaches my feet and toes. All good things must eventually come to an end. Once done there, I feel her lift herself off me. I lie there in bliss, assuming the massage is over, grateful that she has not said a word and is just letting me absorb the feeing of both pure pleasure and relaxation, and yet paradoxically this heightened arousal. Once she leaves, I will slowly pleasure myself, maybe even use that dildo I left on that bed stand.
However, to my surprise, after about a minute, instead of leaving the room, she tells me it is now time to turn over. In part, I am a little disappointed that I will have to postpone satisfying my sexual arousal. I am also afraid she might be able to tell how stimulated her mother has become. My pussy lips are probably moist and slightly engorged, my nipples certainly are. The idea of being that exposed to my daughter is still weird. On the other hand, her caressing strokes have been so wonderful and I do not really want her to stop. Anyway, what reason would I give for not letting her continue—sorry you have gotten me too aroused and I need to pleasure myself? So I do as I am told, I turn over on my back, pretending that nothing is amiss.
She again drapes the cloth over my eyes and the towel over my pelvis. She commands me to lie there a moment and relax while she goes to the bathroom, letting me know she will be right back. I almost fall asleep waiting for her return, I am so relaxed. Then I feel her climbing up on my body again. She straddles my pelvis, our crotches basically touching, with the towel protecting me. She starts with my head, massaging my scalp. Soon she has moved down to my upper chest, just above my breasts, opening me up with her strokes. Her touch again heightens my arousal, mostly a sensual arousal of skin that has been reawakened to a long dormant pleasure. She does my arms next, not missing any part of my body.
Coming back up the arms, she is at my chest again, only this time, she moves down fully over my breasts. She cups them and starts massaging them. I take a quick gasp of breath—a sharp intake. I am having my breasts massaged! By my daughter! I am in a complete state of sensual pleasure. With the cloth over my eyes, in an almost dream state, I do not outwardly react beyond my breathing becoming more audible, only allowing this inward heightened sense of arousal. I am moving again from a just sensual to a sexual feeling of pleasure. My breasts, which spend the day strapped in a bra, are now being caressed and stroked! I have not had anyone but myself touch these breasts in many years! Not only that, but she is sitting with her mound on mine, a thin towel between us. She keeps massaging them, first cupping the whole breasts, then using her fingers, circling inward. Every touch sending lightening bolts of delight through me. When she gets to the nipples, she rolls them between her fingers. At this point, I am feeling high, and in such a dream state, I just give in to the pleasure, and my nipples come fully erect, my juices begin to flow. My arousal in the air, even through aroma of the candles—I am sure she must smell the sexual tension. I have the safety of the cloth over my eyes to hide facing the reality of what is going on. She spends what seems like an eternity on my breasts, my nipples, my belly and chest.
Eventually she moves on, down my belly, and lower toward my mound. She removes the towel from there, moving to massage the insides of my thighs once again, but now with my sexuality fully exposed. Her strokes cause me to open my legs wider, both from her gentle coaxing, and from my own desire. However, rather than moving on down my legs, this time she actually presses her hand against the whole of my mound with her palm, and massages it with soft gentle circles over the full length of my pussy! Now I really am getting drenched, and my clit is responding. There can be no pretense of an innocent massage, or even of slight sexual teasing. A line has been crossed. She obviously knows what she is dong to me. Did she plan this from the beginning? I do not know and no longer care. I just know that I do not want her to stop. I am in pure ecstasy, barely remembering what such pleasure could be like.
She inserts a finger, feeling how lubricated I am. I am now purring and moaning out loud. I want her to know the pleasure she is giving me, my pelvis rising into her hand, my hands gripping the sheets tightly, my face contorted in joy. Just as I imagine this must be the ultimate of what she can do for me, next thing I know she is inserting my dildo into my pussy! I let the cloth fall off my face, to gaze up at my beautiful daughter who is giving such satisfaction to her mother. I see that she is completely naked, realizing that she must have been this way ever since she returned from the bathroom to work on my front. There she is, her nude body on mine, pressing a dildo into her mom's pussy! She is no child, but a full-grown woman in her full sexuality. She is playing now directly with my clitoris. I am moaning in pleasure, smiling up at her. As she pushes the dildo in with faster and harder strokes, I begin to really cry out in ecstasy, her finger never leaving my clitoris, little circles driving it to mounting heights of bliss. Quickly I am on the edge, and it does not take me long to come to a convulsive orgasm, spasming over and over, as she holds the dildo deep in me and cups her palm over my pleasure button, letting these waves pass over me, with her not letting me go.
She is next to me now, kissing me and stroking me, breast to breast, my crotch pressed against hers with our legs entwined. I fall asleep in the arms of my daughter, feeling more fulfilled than I ever have.