The Mother Tracie Deserves Ch 28

THE LAST TIME

I was filled with a confused mess of emotions as my stepdaughter sat on my lap, facing me. Painfully gorgeous in her smocked crop top and short wrap skirt, she had grown a lot since the first time I met her when she was just six years old. At that first meeting, and countless times since I became her mother, Tracie had sat on my lap, many of those times as a playful surprise, and it always made me laugh in delight.

But this time, things were different. She wasn't a little girl anymore, she was a beautiful - let's face it, sexy - young lady. And I wasn't laughing; in fact, her weight on my legs felt like a frightening trap. I tried to keep myself from crying as I looked at the brown shipping box she had put in my hands.

She said, "I think you're going to love it."

I looked at her skeptically, but she just smiled and said, "Come on, open it."

The packing tape was already cut open. I lifted the cardboard flaps to see what was inside. There was a colorful package with words I couldn't process - or didn't want to: something to do with horseback riding? Walking a dog?

Strap-On Harness Set.

Then I realized the picture on the package was no animal, but a thick, veiny dildo.

My eyes opened so wide they hurt. I looked up from the box to my daughter's face. I said, "Honey, no."

"Mom, yes." She opened the package and pulled out the toy phallus.

My head buzzed in shock. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but I was too stunned. "Tracie, what on Earth do you expect me to do with that?"

"What we both want, Mom."

My mouth went dry and I tried to swallow. I felt like I must be in a dream; this couldn't be real.

"Tracie, I don't even... Th- There's no way."

"Yes there is."

"No. Absolutely not. My god, honey, I have to draw a line."

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm not letting you do that. We need to do this. You need to do this."

Hot tingles spread over me. I rubbed my forehead. "So you're blackmailing me again?"

She said, "Mom, remember when you brought me to my first swimming lesson, and I was so terrified about getting in the water? And you knelt down to my height, and you took my hands and looked me in my eyes, and you told me I could do it?"

I did remember.

She went on, "No one else could have done that, but I trusted you. Something about you, Mom, something in your eyes, in your touch, made me feel that I

could

do it, even if I was really scared to. And so what happened?"

I mumbled, "We could hardly keep you out of that pool all summer."

"That's right, because once I got over my nerves - once you helped me get over them - I loved it so much, I never wanted to stop. So don't think about this as blackmail. Just think of it as I'm helping you get past your fear. Because I love you."

I looked at the sex toy in her hand, tilting between us. I grumbled, "This isn't how you love someone, Tracie."

"At least I'm willing to take a chance."

I heard the firmness in my stepdaughter's voice, but still searched her eyes for some hope of getting out of this. I said, "You've got to be kidding. I've never used one of those, Tracie."

"And you think I have?"

We both looked at the big silicone penis. She turned it slowly, showing the ridges and bumps molded into it.

She said, "Take it." She put the dildo in my hand.

"Tracie, my god. I-"

"That's enough, Mom." She got off my legs and said, "Go wash it off." That strong, bossy blackmail tone was back in her voice.

I stared at her in disbelief. As the seconds ticked past, I realized she was not joking and was not relenting. If anything, I thought I saw a twinkle of anticipation in her eye, like when she was a little girl watching me take fresh-baked cookies out of the oven.

My shoulders slumped. Of course, I had to do whatever she told me. I felt once again that weird consolation: I didn't have a choice.

The dildo was surprisingly heavy. I looked to her and risked one more protest, "Honey, are you-"

She groaned in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom, I'm sure. Go. The directions say to use dish soap. And don't take too long."

I wanted to cry. But I just heaved a shaky sigh and clambered stupidly off Tracie's bed, a giant cock in my hand. Walking out of her bedroom, I glanced back at my teenage taskmaster. In a normal household, I would have been delighted to see her dressed up so cute in a room so tidy. But this wasn't a normal household.

I started toward the kitchen. Back on the hallway wall was the framed picture of Tracie and me. I had gotten the glass repaired, but it seemed our relationship was still fractured. I was still in my daughter's control.

At the kitchen sink, I started the water pouring and dribbled dish soap onto the dildo. I washed it, feeling like I was giving the dumb thing a hand-job.

Here I was, still in my clothes from the office, pumping my sudsy fist on the silicone dick. I thought about other moms in the neighborhood - Jenny, for instance, Emma's mother. They lived only a few minutes' walk away. Our girls had grown up together. Jenny and I had been mothers together.

Jenny was probably in her own kitchen at that same moment, making dinner for her family, waiting for her teenage daughter to come home from work at the grocery store. When Emma got there, they would probably talk about normal, decent things, like Emma's new job, or school, or the volleyball team.

I wasn't living in that world anymore - and hadn't been for a while.

Jenny and other moms I knew - the women of countless school events, kids' birthday parties, and neighborhood gossip sessions; women whom for years I had been comfortable as one of them - they would be washing dinner dishes this evening like sane people. But me, I was washing my stepdaughter's sex toy.

I rinsed the dildo and stuck it in the drying rack beside the sink, pointing up. It curved to one side under its own rubbery weight. I watched beads of water trickle down its thick, glossy shaft.

I couldn't believe what was happening. I didn't dare wonder how Tracie intended to use the massive thing.

Moments later, I was back at my daughter's bedroom door. Tracie was at her dresser, her back to me. Both she and her room looked like picture-perfect models of suburban heaven. But I was standing there with a heavy, washed-off cock in my hand. I questioned whether my life was real or some twisted hallucination.

I saw she was fiddling with her phone, and fear seized through my body. I said, "Please don't tell me we're making another video."

She turned to look back at me. "No, Mom. It's not about that. Not anymore." She tapped her phone and soft, relaxing music started playing. Then she set her phone flat on her dresser, confirming she wasn't pointing its camera at us.

Smiling and looking like nothing more than a happy high-schooler, Tracie crossed the room and took me into a big hug, nearly making me drop the dildo. Holding me tight, she whispered in my ear like she was confiding in me, "I'm so excited!"

I stood rigid.

She looked at me and said, "Come on, Mom. Don't look so sad."

I just pressed my lips tight together.

Don't tell a slave how to feel about being a slave,

I thought.

Lightheartedly, Tracie said, "I know why you're so freaked out."

"Should be fairly obvious."

She gestured around her room. "It's because you can actually see the carpet in here!"

Under different circumstances, I would have laughed. It was unfair how charming Tracie could be.

She said, "It's crazy to see my room so clean, isn't it? But don't worry, I can make it a little more normal-looking."

With a flourish, my stepdaughter pulled her crop top up over her head and tossed it onto the floor. Giggling, she shrugged her shoulders and twisted side to side coquettishly, showing me her perfect teen breasts. The sight made my stomach tighten.

"Tracie..." I pulled my eyes from her.

"Still too clean?" She peeled off her wrap skirt and dropped it on the carpet too. She said, "There we go. Starting to get messy in here again. More 'normal,' huh?"

It was disturbing to see my girl standing in the middle of her bedroom, nude except for some shockingly sexy panties.

She saw me looking at them. She stroked the painted-on fabric and said, "Do you like these?"

I mumbled, "I, uh, have never seen those before."

She turned, showing them to me. She wanted me to look at her, to see how the panties showed off her butt. "I bought them for today. For you."

I swallowed.

Her teenage voice grew more seductive. "I want to be pretty for you, Mom." She stroked her hands up and down her flawless torso. She looked down at her body as she touched it, glancing up at me, trying to arouse me.

At that moment, my daughter's beauty felt like a curse on me. I couldn't be blamed for admiring how attractive she was, but the more I looked, the guiltier I felt. Was it guilt? I didn't even know how I felt anymore.

With the stride of a dancer, Tracie stepped up close to me. She was all but naked; I was fully dressed in my office attire. I could smell her special perfume on her, the luxurious scent I had given her a couple years before, for her seventeenth birthday - her first "mature" fragrance. Had she worn it intentionally to soften my reaction, to remind me of how much affection we had always had, as mother and daughter?

As she stood so close, I could feel the heat of her skin through the air. I tried to ignore how my body reacted to hers.

She took the dildo from me and said, "Mom, listen. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But I'm hoping and praying you're going to like this. I'm betting my heart you will."

"Oh my gosh, Tracie..." That added a new layer for my anxious mind to worry about: breaking my girl's heart. I said, "Honey, please do not bet your heart on me. Not for this."

"Too late," she said. "I can't help it, Mom. And neither can you."

It was cruel how adorable she could sound while she reminded me she was blackmailing me again. I swallowed and said flatly, "I have to do what you want."

Tracie set the dildo on the bed and stood face-to-face with me, acting very gentle and loving. She said, "I know you want this too. And it's okay if you won't say it."

She lifted my hand up between us, making me feel like a puppet. Knowing my role, I held it there while she loosened the button at my cuff. Then she kissed my fingers.

My lip started trembling.

She raised my other hand and did the same.

I sucked in a deep breath as Tracie took both my wrists and placed my hands on her bare chest. She sighed as she slid my palms over her smooth torso. Now my hands were trembling too.

As she made me caress her, she said, "It's okay to be scared, Mom. You taught me that. Courage is when you're scared, but you do it anyway. Please just trust me." She looked hard into my eyes and said, "We can do this."

My stepdaughter parked my hands on her sleek hips and put her fingers to my button-down blouse. Starting from my collar, she slowly unbuttoned her way down the satin front. I tried to deny the sensations I felt when her fingers touched me, releasing buttons at my upper chest, between my breasts, and lower.

Her eyes locked on her task like she was unwrapping a precious gift. She carefully opened my top down to where it tucked in at my belt. Her beauty and gentleness were hypnotic. But I forced myself to remember that this was blackmail, to remember how wrong it was for her to undress me, and for me to hold her smooth hips as she stood before me, topless. But I didn't dare move my hands from where she'd placed them.

I gasped when she tugged my shirttails up out of my pants. Something flickered through me. I told myself it was fear. I reminded myself how helpless I was.

Tracie freed the bottom shirt buttons and said, "You always look so good in your work clothes."

By force of habit, I whispered, "Thank you."

Tracie fingered the satin and said, "Can I tell you a secret? So many times, I've thought about undressing you like this." She looked into my eyes and bit her lip as she slipped the blouse completely off me, dropping it to her bedroom floor.

My body tingled as the charged air of my daughter's bedroom touched my exposed skin. My heart pumped. I watched my girl unbuckle my belt. My belly clenched.

I realized I was holding my stomach in. Even when I should have been wishing for escape, I wanted to look thinner for Tracie as she undressed me. It didn't help my self-esteem to see my teenage athlete's perfect body on full display just inches from mine.

She knelt down on the carpet in front of me, and suddenly I didn't know what to do with my hands, now that they weren't resting on Tracie's firm hips.

My stepdaughter gripped my pants. I sucked in a nervous breath as she pulled them down to my ankles. Her gaze traveled up her unwrapped gift, to my face. She said, "I love your body, Mom." As she knelt there, she slid her hands up my now-bare legs.

I shivered and said, "I-I didn't realize it was so cold in this house. How about I go turn the thermostat up?"

Smiling up at me, she said, "I promise you'll be warm soon." She gently pulled up on my ankle.

I lifted that foot, and then the other, so she could remove my pants completely and drop them to the side.

Tracie stood up, close enough to kiss. She said, "Don't you want to take my panties off?"

I blocked my mind from answering that question. I just did what I was told, telling myself I had no choice.

I hesitated as long as the threat of blackmail would let me. Then, I reached around my daughter's lithe torso, finding on her back the waistband of her eye-popping new panties. It unsettled me that a girl her age would even have such sexy lingerie, let alone that she was wearing it for me, let alone making me take them off. Tracie stroked my shoulders as I peeled the waistband halfway down her round, firm butt. I couldn't avoid touching her skin - it was unbelievably smooth, and so alive.

To take my daughter's panties the rest of the way off, I knelt down on the carpet, clenching my jaw. Just when I hooked my fingers into them, she began softly playing with my hair. I paused. Every second, I prayed she would say,

That's enough, Mom. I was just testing you.

But she said nothing, though I thought I heard her whimper. I looked up, trying to ignore her incredible breasts, and saw her nervously biting her fingernail. She smiled awkwardly and whispered, "Do it."

I swallowed and tugged Tracie's panties down her long, shapely legs.

She lifted each foot to allow me to pull her panties away. I tossed them toward the growing mess of our clothes on the floor.

There now, inches from my face, once again, was my stepdaughter's uncovered pussy. I couldn't ignore it, I couldn't escape it, and this time I couldn't even be drunk to help deal with it.

Tracie pressed gently on the back of my head, bringing my forehead to her pubic mound. Her young bush bristled in my eyebrows. An electric current sizzled through me, through the whole room. Part of it was my anger and humiliation; part of it was something else, something I dared not understand. There was a fresh but familiar scent, or was it just the memory of one?

Tracie said, "Thanks. Stand up, okay?"

I did, thanking god, but again feeling like a puppet. I refused to look at her now nude body.

She said, "Turn around, please."

I did as commanded, trying to avoid thinking, grateful to turn away from her exquisite, bewildering beauty.

Tracie kissed my bare shoulder, which lit up all my nerves. Her fingertips stroked over my shoulders and my back. Then, I felt my bra straps tighten as she worked to unhook them.

"No," I blurted. "Please. Please let me keep it on."

For a long moment, Tracie didn't react. But then she let go, leaving my bra on me. I breathed in relief over this small victory.

But still, I was standing in my daughter's bedroom in nothing but my bra and panties, and she was standing right behind me, as naked as the day she was born. Trembling, I tried hard to suppress any feelings or thoughts about it.

It doesn't matter,

I told myself.

This doesn't count. I don't have a choice. I'm just a slave.

Tracie's arms wrapped around me. She said, "This isn't so bad, is it, Mom?"

I cleared my throat nervously, feeling her breasts on my back, skin-to-skin. I said, "Just... Just tell me what to do."

She took a deep sniff of my hair, then said, "Okay." She climbed onto her bed and reached into the box again. I watched her glowing, youthful skin; her fit physique. As upset as I was, my stepdaughter did look fantastic nude. It was hard to look away.

My trance broke when she pulled a mess of straps out of the package and handed it to me, saying, "Put this on."

My stomach dropped. I shook my head in disbelief, even as I took the harness from her. Unwillingly, I tried to untangle the straps and figure out how the thing was worn.

Tracie watched, rocking on the bed, saying, "Oh my god, this is going to be awesome." She touched her body, which didn't help me concentrate at all.

I was distracted and my hands were shaking. Finally I muttered, "Honey... I can't figure this out."

She looked closely at the twisted straps. "Kind of complicated, huh?"

"I don't even know how it's supposed to go," I complained bitterly.

"Okay, calm down, Mom. We don't need to rush."

She looked intensely at the package to see how the strap-on was to be worn. Something about her eager focus reminded me of Christmas morning when she was eight years old. We had bought her a big dollhouse that required lots of assembly. She insisted on putting the whole thing together herself, right then and there. The look on her face now was much the same; the "gift" in question was very, very different.

While she worked on the harness, I closed my eyes tight and tried to think nothing. It didn't help that the music playing was so pretty.

"Oh, wait," Tracie said. "Maybe it goes like this."

I opened my eyes to see her kneeling upright on her bed, straight and tall, fiddling with the strap-on harness. Her knees were spread apart, forming a perfect triangle between her bed and her bush. Her powerful pose and naked beauty weakened me. To focus on anything besides my daughter's stunning body, I looked around the room.

I focused on her shelf of sports trophies; on her dresser, where the candle's flame flickered; on her vanity desk, where she had set her math book and the laptop her father had bought her for school; on the corner of the room where she had made the colorful pile of her favorite stuffed animals.

All these normal, everyday sights of a girl's bedroom upset me more, considering what was happening.

"Yes!" Tracie said. She had finally worked out the straps. She scrambled off the bed to kneel on the floor, naked in front of me. She held the contraption near my feet, stretched between her hands like a cat's cradle, that old-fashioned game I had taught her with a loop of yarn when she was little.

"Okay," she said. "Step in."

Reluctantly, I did.

She pulled the harness up my legs to my pelvis. She said, "Hold it for a sec."

I held the loose straps to my hips. I grimaced when Tracie decided to take a moment to kiss tenderly up my belly, and stroke her hands up my legs. Shivers shot through me, like torture, even making me wish we could just get on with the sex toy - anything but such sensual lover's touches.

Tracie looked up at me, but I avoided meeting her gaze. Can you believe I was actually thankful when she turned to get the dildo? But I cringed when she inserted the absurd thing from the inside of the harness, through the metal ring hanging in front of my pubic bone. As she attached my fake penis, I twitched at her hand rustling my pubic hair through my panties. This was getting too real!

Tracie was fascinated with her new toy. I closed my eyes, starting to feel light-headed. I felt her tighten the straps on me, shifting everything snugly into place. Feeling insane, I almost laughed at the bizarre weight of a big cock hanging out in front of me.