I went down on her in a growling frenzy, loudly eating my stepdaughter out. I hoped the slobbery lip-smacks and sucking noises would humiliate her. She released my hair and fell back to her elbows on the table, letting slip a groan. Laying back opened her pussy to me even more. I forced one of her strong legs over my shoulder and pushed my face harder into her labia, which turned up to meet my mouth. She moaned as I breathed in deep her intensifying girlish musk.
I was in control now. Tracie grabbed onto the table, knocking over a half-full can of soda. The cold, fizzy puddle spreading on the table made me happy, as did the warm mix of spit and pussy juice dripping off my chin.
The bossy little cat-girl wasn't so tough now. All she could do was gasp and say, "Oh my god."
I was in a no-holds-barred mania between her legs. I ripped the costume's crotch-hole open more, and pulled her teenage pelvis to me, jostling everything on the table. I rubbed my whole lower face into her wet, fattening labia. She was right: I had read that book, and I had learned some things. I pushed her leg off my shoulder to spread her wider, her parted lips vivid pink and shining with our fluids.
A thing I could not have imagined in my life: I wiggled my index finger into the gulping entrance of my daughter's young pussy. It was hot, and tight, but penetration wasn't too hard, because she was soaking wet. I shoved my middle finger inside her too.
"Oh fuck, Mom. Jesus..." My stepdaughter's head fell back. I pumped my two fingers hard and fast inside her, quickly finding her G-spot. I could feel her teen vagina clenching on my fingers. Her clit swelled right up, all the better for me to lick at it mercilessly. I was teaching my little brat that she wasn't in charge of me, I was in charge of her. I could smell her climax on the way.
I said, "Look at me, Tracie."
She lifted her head back up. Her face was twisted in anguish, but I knew she was in no pain. She managed to open her black-winged eyes half-way to see me feeding on her. Her panting mouth opened as I prodded her towards orgasm. At top speed, I relentlessly finger-fucked her - noisy-wet, tight, and hot - and tongued her swollen clit like it was her punishment. My fast-pumping arm muscles were burning and I was breathing like I was running, but I wasn't slowing down.
Tracie's head fell back again and she sighed breathlessly, "Oh sh-shit..." Past her twitching tummy, I saw she was gripping her boob. Her nipple, hard under the thin black nylon, was poking up between her squeezing cat-clawed fingers. I knew from the flexing muscles inside her that she was close.
It struck me that my daughter was the only other person in the world, besides myself, to ever have my fingers inside her. She groaned and her tight canal gripped on my knuckles as I pulled them out of her. I saw how my two digits shined with her fragrant juices.
Before the girl could catch her breath, I rubbed my honey-wet fingers on her clit so fast they were a blur. Within seconds, Tracie was shouting out curse words. Her hips were rocking, the table was squeaking, and she was squealing toward a climax.
She lost control of her body. After months of blackmail, I thought,
Now who's the boss, baby girl?
I kept my fingers flying on her button like I was trying to start a fire, spitting on them to keep them sloppy wet (another trick I'd learned from the book). The swelling of her clit extended under her hood, and I attacked it all with a ferocious, drenched rubbing.
Tracie's moaning grew louder, almost to a shout - but then it caught in her throat. Her whole body started seizing. One of her hands slapped down to the table, landing on a cupcake. She squeezed it tight; green and purple frosting oozed between her fingers.
My fingers didn't slow - I made my stepdaughter grunt through an extended orgasm. As she peaked even higher, I engulfed her pussy in my wide mouth and tongued up her cum like a crazy person, cementing forever in my memory my daughter's taste, and driving her to the point she couldn't take it anymore.
"Ah, fuck, enough!" she wailed, her face twisted like it hurt, her hand pressing on my forehead. I finally stopped. With a fiery excitement inside me, I felt like I had finally won some angry contest.
Tracie laid gasping on the table, between the toppled cups and cans and ruined Halloween treats, making noises like she was in pain. She writhed and flinched, still coming. Her whimpers halted with each spasm of her belly. Her hand was a mess of crushed cupcake. A lock of her hair was soaked in the soda puddle on the table.
For a minute, we just stayed there, both of us panting. I watched her slowly catch her breath, recovering from the merciless climax I had given her. My whole lower face was wet. I wiped my cheeks on her thighs, making the tight, black fabric shine.
Tracie pushed my shoulder with her high-heeled foot. I wobbled back on my knees, remembering how drunk I was. With effort, my stepdaughter slowly got herself up to a sitting posture on the edge of the table, her soda-wet lock of hair dripping. She reached her feet down to the floor and awkwardly slid her butt off the table.
She stood and straightened her belt. Our eyes met briefly, just as I was picking a hair off my tongue. Neither of us said a word - what could possibly be said? My angry sense of victory faded fast.
Tracie brushed past me. I watched her perfect, black-clad figure as she walked slowly to the hall, unsteady on her heels. The smoke-machine fog swirled on the floor around each step. Her long tail bobbed behind her. Her butt was exposed where the rip in her cat-suit crotch had torn up the back. She turned into her bedroom and threw the door shut behind her, leaving me in a frighteningly deep silence.
I covered my mouth with my hand, dumbfounded. My breath smelled of whiskey, and my fingers smelled of my daughter's cum. What on Earth had I just done?
At the moment, I was drunk enough to avoid thinking about it.
Not knowing what else to do, I cleaned up the spilled soda and crushed treats on the dining room table. My mind was blank, and I wanted it that way. I clicked off some lights, unplugged the smoke machine, then wandered impassively toward the bathroom.
I passed my stepdaughter's closed bedroom door. I heard nothing behind it.
I went to the bathroom sink and washed my face. As the water ran, I tried to ignore what I was washing off my cheeks, chin, and mouth. Cupping my hand, I lifted water to my lips and drank, refusing to think about the taste I was swallowing.
I knew the mindless fog in my head was a blessing. Better to not think than to realize things I couldn't explain or accept.
I shuffled to my bed and fell into it. It was a gift that I was able to pass out and sleep before the thoughts began.
