The Mother Tracie Deserves Ch. 07

TEEN BOSS

Tracie had always been a strong-willed girl. We'd had our share of clashes over the years, like any mother and daughter. But that horrifying video of what I did to her changed everything. Now, I had less of a teenage stepdaughter, and more of an in-house drill sergeant.

Every morning, she would come in my bedroom at six o'clock sharp and flip on the bright overhead light. She'd say in a stern voice, "Wake up, Mom. You've got five minutes to get downstairs. You're going to do fifteen minutes on the treadmill again today, faster than yesterday. Tomorrow we're going up to twenty."

After my morning workout, she'd order me to shower, dress, and do my hair and makeup. She said, "For months I couldn't have any friends over here because you were always drunk and looked a mess. From now on, if anyone comes over, you and the house will look respectable."

Before she left for school each day, my daughter gave me a list of tasks to keep me busy until she got home. She had me cleaning the house from the basement to the garage; doing the laundry, grocery shopping, and yard work; picking up her room (which was always a mess!); scrubbing the tiles in the shower and kitchen; paying bills, changing bed sheets, looking for a new job, and making dinner every evening. The most important task, though, was always the same: stay sober.

I'll tell you, the first few days were rough! I'm pretty sure I was going through alcohol withdrawal, which really woke me up to how bad my drinking had gotten. Besides the shakes and nausea, I was constantly nervous.

I didn't know if the nervousness was a side-effect of quitting booze or from the blackmail. Probably both. Tracie accepted no excuses. She kept me hopping non-stop.

When I was drinking, I didn't even know what day it was, but now I watched the clock like a hawk. Each day, I was desperate to have everything in order before my stepdaughter got home from school. My heart would pound between two forty-five and three o'clock, when one of Tracie's friends' cars pulled up in the driveway to drop her off.

And when she entered the house, the first thing she did was look hard into my eyes to see if I appeared sober, then put her nose to my face and smell my breath to make sure there was no alcohol on it. Then she checked to make sure I had done all my assigned tasks for the day. She kept the checklist on her phone. She wasn't fooling around.

Despite how sick I felt at the beginning, I didn't dare fool around either. I was seriously scared of my daughter.

After a week or so, I was no longer shaky or nauseous, and I felt I had performed my assigned tasks well. But while we sat together one night eating the dinner I had made, I was still nervous. I said, "So Tracie, I'm doing so much better. Honestly, you really helped me by forcing me to get myself back together."

She stared at me, chewing her food with an unreadable poker face.

I swallowed and said, "So, um, thanks, honey. I'm really feeling pretty good, so... Shouldn't we get rid of that video?"

She laughed. "Oh Mom, we've barely gotten started."

That weekend, my hard-nosed teenage boss made me take her to her favorite stores to buy her clothes, shoes, makeup, and whatever else she wanted. The most expensive item was her new phone. She insisted on the model with the best camera.

She probably would have asked for more, except she knew that all those purchases were going straight onto a credit card until I found a job.

MOTHER'S DAY WORKOUT

In addition to the treadmill "warm-up" Tracie put me through first thing every morning, she started me as her workout partner in the evenings. Four days a week, either right after school or sometime after dinner, she took me down to the basement.

My stepdaughter had been working out with various sports teams for years, so she had no problem directing me through push-ups, lunges, planking, sit-ups, squats, weights and everything else you could think of. It was hard! And there was no escaping it, because Tracie exercised right beside me.

I had been a little bit sporty in my younger years, but never so much as her, and it had been a long time for me. Whatever I was able to do, my athlete daughter did ten times as much. She was a good coach, though. She was patient with me and satisfied as long as I gave a real effort.

One Sunday evening after dinner, I got ready for our workout. I put on sweatpants and an old t-shirt like I usually wore for my new exercise regimen.

Tracie popped into my room and said, "Nope, nope. Enough of looking like a shlub, Mom, even for workouts."

"Well, honey, I'm just going to get all sweaty. And I don't really have anything else."

"Do you think I forgot what day it is?"

I smiled and bit my lip.

She said, "Happy Mother's Day!" She handed me a gift-wrapped box and gave me a big hug.

Of course I loved it, and hugged her back. But I felt a pang of guilt. "Thank you, angel. The wrapping paper is so pretty. But I don't deserve much, after forgetting your birthday."

"Well, anyway, I got you some things. Check it out." She watched me open my present. Inside were several small pieces of material.

"Thank you so much, sweetheart. What are these?"

"A couple sports bras, a tank top, and some bike shorts." She happily spread them out on my bed.

"Those are for me?" I asked.

"Duh! For Mother's Day."

"Oh, kitten, this is so thoughtful of you. But... that stuff is for, like, young girls like you, isn't it?"

My daughter rolled her eyes. "Mom, quit acting like you're some old, fat hag. You have a good body and you need to start acting like it. Now try these on. Let's make sure they fit."

"Thank you so much, Tracie, but you don't need to spend money on all this."

"Well, I used your credit card."

I didn't dare object. Tracie had taken control of my credit card as much as she had taken control of the rest of my life. But after that first flurry of shopping for her, she hadn't used it for anything frivolous. It touched me that the exception she made was a gift for me.

I said, "This is very nice, baby. But honestly, I don't care what I look like in the basement."

"Well, Mom, I care. I'm the one who has to look at you, and I want you looking nice. You're not going to start giving me attitude about this, right?" She pointed at the new things on the bed. The look in her eyes was dead serious. She wasn't asking me to try them on. She was telling me.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll try them on. Thanks for getting them. That was very sweet of you." I swallowed nervously as Tracie laid out the bike shorts, tank top, and sports bra she wanted me to wear. I wondered how I was even going to get into those tiny things.

I pulled off my baggy sweatpants and picked up the tiny shorts.

I had never worn bike shorts before. I said, "You sure these are a good size for me? They're so small."

"Yeah, but they're very stretchy," Tracie said. I noticed she was looking at my legs. "And they're supposed to be kind of tight, you know, like the compression shorts we wear for volleyball. Put them on."

With some effort, I tugged the shorts up my legs. They certainly did compress things!

She asked, "They feel good?"

"Yeah, I guess." I straightened the waist band. "Pretty snug."

"They look good. Nice booty, Mom."

I forced a chuckle.

Tracie said, "Now the bra."

I felt weird. My stepdaughter had certainly seen me change clothes over the years, but it was different now. For one thing, she was ordering me around, and enjoying it. She reclined back on my bed with a little smile, relaxing against my pillows with her hands behind her head, elbows out. She seemed to be looking less at the new clothes she had bought me and more at my body.

Maybe I was imagining things, but I thought her smile got a little bigger when I pulled off my t-shirt. I turned my back to her. I unhooked the bra I had on, set it on the dresser, and covered my boobs with one arm as I tried to turn the sports bra the right way.

"Mom, why are you acting so bashful? We're all adults here now, aren't we?"

"I guess so," I said. Still, I kept my back to her as I worked my way into the stretchy little sports bra and adjusted my boobs in it.

I felt like I was in a bikini. Knowing Tracie was watching me, and wanting to show appreciation, I turned around to show her how her gifts looked on me, holding my arms out to the sides like I was on stage. "Well?"

"Very nice," she said. "How does it feel?"

I nodded. "Pretty good. Certainly keeps stuff in place nice and tight."

"Well that's the point," Tracie said. "Girls with no boobs don't even need a bra to work out. But we've got more stuff bouncing around." She grabbed her breasts and I sniffed a laugh.

She said, "Your boobs look great in that. Try on this gray one." With her foot, she pushed another sports bra toward me on the bed. "While we're at it."

"Well, if it's the same size," I said, "I'm sure it'll fit."

"I want to see you in it, Mom. Put it on." She lifted the bra on her toes toward me.

"Oh, okay..." I took the bra dangling from her raised foot. Tracie settled back to watch.

I turned away from her again and peeled off the first sports bra, tossing it on the dresser. As I readied the next bra, I felt especially naked and exposed. I could sense my daughter's eyes on me. I saw in the mirror above my dresser that she was watching my reflection, and I could swear she was focused on my bare chest. I forced myself to not freak out. I got into the gray sports bra as fast as I could.

Was Tracie trying to humiliate me? Or was she just enjoying playing with me like a dress-up doll? Or was it all in my mind? I swallowed and tried not to think about it.

She said, "That one fits you good too. I'm so glad I got the right sizes. See, Mom, you have a nice body. You look good. Now you can put on the tank top over it."

"Thanks," I said, trying to smile. "Not very warm, though. Especially once we're down in the basement."

"I'll get you warmed up," she said. "I promise."

My stepdaughter made good on her promise. Once again, she pushed me through a seriously challenging workout. It was impossible to keep up with her, but I did what I could. And I definitely wasn't complaining about being cold. Halfway through, I tossed aside my tank top because I was steaming hot.

After the long set of exercises, Tracie chugged some water and offered me the bottle. I sat on the weight bench drinking, thankful we were done. But I was wrong.

"Okay, Mom, we're going to do some yoga." She positioned a couple mats on the basement floor.

"Now?" I said, still sweating and breathing hard.

"Yeah."

I didn't have the option to refuse. But I said, "I don't know how to do any of that yoga stuff, honey."

"I'm going to teach you. Coach had this yoga instructor come to a bunch of practices. It's good for flexibility and strength, and it's low-impact. So, come here. Start out on your hands and knees."

"Okay," I said uncertainly. I got on all fours on the mat.

Tracie said, "This is called the Balancing Table pose." She demonstrated in front of me, starting on her hands and knees, then reaching forward with one arm and stretching out her opposite leg behind her. "See?"

I tried to copy her. I felt like a fool at first. I had no idea what I was doing. It was harder than I expected.

She came over to help me. "Here, Mom, try to keep your back flat." She placed her hand on my spine, and then her other underneath on my belly. Her hands were warm as she gently corrected my posture.

Then she stroked along my outstretched arm. She said, "Straighten your elbow. Good. Hold your arm parallel to the floor."

My body's reaction to her hands reminded me how long it had been since anyone had touched me in any way.

She turned my hand and said, "Point your thumb up. Yeah, like that. And take slow, deep breaths."

I faced the floor, trying to hold steady, realizing how heavy my raised arm and leg were. I breathed as instructed.

Tracie moved behind me. My slow breathing was interrupted by a little gasp when my daughter took hold of my hips. She squeezed, saying, "You need to tilt your pelvis this way, square to the floor."

Her hands were strong. I rotated my hips for her.

"That's good," she said. "So, try to stretch in a long, straight line from your fingers all the way through to your toes."

Tracie's hands stroked slowly over my butt and along my raised leg to my foot. "Nice and straight," she said. "Are you feeling it?"

I gulped. "Yes."

Her hands moved slowly back up my bare leg. After months of drunken neglect, I was glad Tracie had made me start taking better care of myself, including shaving my legs, which I had just done that morning. It struck me as odd that I was glad I shaved my legs for my stepdaughter.

Her hands slid smoothly up my calf, past my knee toward my bottom. I had gone untouched for so long, even this innocent exercise was sending tingles up my spine - and other places.

Letting myself get aroused was totally inappropriate, obviously. I tried to focus on the pose, and on having a nice bonding experience with my girl.

Tracie leaned over me and continued to press on my body, adjusting it into the correct shape. "There you go," she said. "Good."

"This is hard," I said, trying to keep my limbs level and balanced. I was heating up and starting to tremble.

"That's okay. You're doing good. Just ten more seconds... Breathe in slow... Breathe out slow... Okay, now, switch to the other arm and leg."

I repeated the pose with the opposite limbs. Once again, my daughter patiently molded my body into the right posture.

It was impossible not to feel some physical excitement from her hands caressing my skin. I told myself I was probably just feeling tingly from having such a hard workout. The challenge of holding the pose was a good distraction.

"Fifteen seconds," Tracie said. "How do your glutes feel?"

I realized my stepdaughter was rubbing my butt through my tight, new bike shorts. I stammered, "Um... uh... Glutes are good, I think." It was hard keeping my focus while she kept feeling my buns.

She counted down, "Three, two, one. Okay, you can lower your arm and leg back to Table position."

I returned to my hands and knees. "Whew," I said. "It's harder than it looks, huh?"

Tracie was now somewhere by my feet. She said, "Just stay in this position. Keep your spine straight, neck straight. Point your nose down between your hands."

Even that position was challenging me now. I wanted to just lay down flat on the floor. I said, "I don't know how you do it all, Tracie. I guess I'm really out of shape."

"You still look pretty good, Mom. Which is saying something, since you've been such a slug the last year. But you've always had a nice body."

I couldn't argue with the slug part. "Thanks," I said.

"We'll get you back into runway shape," Tracie said. "The world needs more hot women."

I laughed. "Well, baby, I think that's more your job these days than mine."

"Shh," she said. "Focus on a straight spine." She was on her knees behind me, straddling my lower legs on the mat. She smoothed her hands in long, slow strokes on my back, from my hips to my shoulders, up and down, up and down. I felt her pelvis pressing into my butt.

I said, "Is this, like, a two-person pose?"

"Shh, just relax and focus on your breathing."

I tried. Tracie's body was warm on my bottom. I wondered if the girls on the volleyball team did yoga together this way. That thought certainly didn't help my focus. I tried to inhale and exhale steady and slow. My breathing fell into sync with my stepdaughter's caressing hands. As she stroked down my back, I inhaled; as she stroked up toward my shoulders, I breathed out.

She whispered approvingly, "There you go."

I shivered with goose bumps when she lightly dragged her fingernails down my back. "Does that feel good?" she asked.

"Yes."

Her hands kept moving in wide, circular strokes over my back. I grew more comfortable with Tracie's hips pressing into my butt. My body relaxed as I breathed. The less I questioned my daughter's touches, the more I enjoyed them. Her hands glided down my ribs to my hips, then over my bike shorts down to my knees, then back up along my sides.

I was less surprised than you might think when my stepdaughter laid on my back. It added some challenge to the Table pose, but not too much. I felt strong under her warm weight.

Tracie stroked my arms. Her mouth was close to my ear. "Does this feel nice, Mom?"

I whispered, "Yes." I was soothed by our closeness, which had been missing for too long. I kept my pose under her proudly. It was if my daughter's touch made me stronger.

Tracie's hands kept moving over me, from my arms, down my ribs, then reaching underneath. My bare belly twitched at the touch of her smooth fingers. I bit my lip and tried not to overreact.

She said, "I love your nice flat tummy."

I said, "Not quite so flat lately. I've put on a few-"

"Shh, enough of that negative talk." She continued to caress my belly. Her loving touch actually did make me feel less fat.

In a buttery smooth voice, she said, "Don't you know you've always been one of the hottest moms around? Since the first day we met, I've always thought you were so beautiful."

Before I could thank her, my mind flipped in confusion. What I felt couldn't be happening.

Through the new sports bra she had bought me, my stepdaughter was full-on massaging my breasts. And she wasn't stopping.

My mouth fell open and my eyes rolled up in my head. It was so unexpected - and felt so good. I didn't know how to react. Was this yoga? Is this what her coach had the girls do at team practices?

As her hands gripped my boobs, I felt my daughter kiss my shoulder. It wasn't a quick, cute kiss, but a long, warm one. That's what shocked me to scramble out from under her.

"Tracie, my god, what's happening right now?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what I think! I'm trying not to think what I'm thinking. But whatever just happened, that- that- that's just- no!" I covered my chest with my arms.

Tracie's mouth hung open. "Are you serious right now, Mom?"

"What? Me? Are you serious? Tracie, we can't do that!"

My stepdaughter's surprise turned to anger. "Really? You acted very different on my birthday."

That stopped my breath. "Tracie, no, please. That doesn't count. You know I was black-out drunk. I had no idea what I was doing. This- this- this isn't something we can do. Mothers and daughters don't-"

"Oh, so, wait. When you're a drunken mess, you can't get enough of me. But when I want to do something, I'm a bad person?"

"Well, I'm not drunk now. Are you?"

"Yeah, Mom, I'm the drunk here. I'm the one on video sucking your tits."

"I'm so sorry that happened, Tracie, but that was just the alcohol. We can't-"

"Just the alcohol? Really? Fine, whatever, Mom. You are such a hypocrite, I can't believe it! Just go upstairs."

"Honey-"

"LEAVE!"

I rushed up the stairs so fast I nearly tripped. My mind was a mess of upset feelings too jumbled and confusing to understand. And I was scared to figure them out.