Love Mother Love Daughter

***All characters are over 18 ***

I consider myself to be a pretty good person. I've never cheated on any of my boyfriends. I've never led any guys on, unless I had some genuine feelings for them. And I've never stolen someone else's boyfriend.

Well, except once. And that time was pretty bad.

I'll start by saying that when I was in high school, I was pretty rebellious. My mom worked all the time, and I guess her way of coping with that, along with being a single parent, was to try to tighten the leash on me as much as possible. It wasn't that big of a deal during middle school, but all that changed in high school.

I'm a pretty petite girl, only around 5'1" and a hundred pounds, but by high school I was getting plenty of attention anyway. I've ran track since middle school, and I've got a slight, taut little frame to match, with a slender waist and hips and legs. I've got long wavy hair that's the color of caramel and bright, amber eyes to match. My chest is curvy-but-not-too-curvy, a perky pair of tits that go along with my ample but tight butt. It wasn't long before I realized the reason why boys were fighting to sit next me to in class, or jumping to offer me rides home from school. And, like any other red-blooded teenage girl, I loved every minute of it. I loved being sexy, I loved flirting. I loved leaning forward just enough for my blouse to dip down and my bra and perky tits to peek out the top. I loved wearing a skirt and then carefully crossing and uncrossing my legs every class. I loved bending over at the hip instead of the knees to pick up something I dropped, showing off the curve of my firm ass and slender figure as I rose oh-so-slowly up.

How could my mom blame me for doing everything I could to keep all the boys' attention? I would flounce down the stairs before breakfast in a frilled white miniskirt that fluttered in the air with every step I took, showing off my dainty thighs and just a slight preview of my panties underneath – but my mom would send me back up to my room to change before I could leave for school. Or I would try to go on a date in a little dress that hugged my slender frame, showing off the little inward arc of my dainty waist and offering just a teasing peek of my teenage tits. But by the time he showed up, my mom would have forced me to switch into a regular shirt and jeans. I wasn't allowed to go to parties unless someone's parents were chaperoning – which were the worst ones, of course. I was forbidden to date any guys unless they met her first. Every part of my life was controlled by Mom. I hated every minute of it, and I defied her at every opportunity. I got caught a few times, sneaking back into the house or going to a party when I said I was at the library, and each time she discovered my disobedience we would shout and scream at each other for hours on end. So, when it came time to leave for college, it's safe to say I was looking forward to a little more personal space.

My freshman year was like most others – I spent it partying, drinking, and hooking up when I was drunk enough to get over the anxiety. When the year was over, and I headed home for the summer, I considered myself much more mature than when I had left. After all, at the ripe age of 19, I was finally an adult, who had lived on her own for a year and deserved to be treated like it.

Mom didn't agree. The first night home I tried to go out with some friends, and she was at the door, shaking her head.

"You can't go out tonight, Ashley."

"Why not?" I tossed my wavy hair over my shoulder, feeling it tickle my back as it settled.

"It's a weekday. Don't you remember? You can only use the car on weekends. And anyway, it's almost 11. You have to be back every night by midnight."

"Are you kidding me?" I shrieked. "I've still got a CURFEW? I'm nineteen, for fuck's sake, not nine! I'm a college student, mom! Don't you know how many times I've been out past midnight during the school year??"

"It doesn't matter!" She yelled back. "When you're in my house, it's my rules!"

"I can't believe this! Are you ever going to let me have any fun?"

"Well, at the rate you're going, maybe not!"

It was just like being back in high school. Only this time, it was even worse; I had just spent a year in freedom, glorious and parent-free, and now being back with my mom's same, overbearing rules was too much to bear. I raged upstairs and slammed the door, so mad that tears were pooling in my eyes. I pounded my blanket, I kicked the mattress, I screamed into the pillows. And I swore that night that I would get back at my mother, somehow, in some way that would make her regret ever being so unfair to me.

For the first few days, I pouted and sulked, unable to come up with a sufficient act of revenge. But late one night, I was awoken by a soft pounding under my bed.

To get to my mom's bedroom, you have to walk through two hallways and up a flight of stairs, but in actuality I sleep just ten or so feet above her, separated only by my floor and her ceiling. For the last year or so, Mom had been dating a guy named Mark. He was doing pretty well as a higher-level guy for a remodeling company, and even though he was nearing forty, just like my mom, he didn't look it; his body was as fit as the athletes at my college: six feet tall, trim and sleek with muscle. His suntanned skin gleamed in the sun, a sign of his hard, chiseling work each day in the sun, rippling with his strength – every girl's dream. He had short, dark brown hair that he kept in a buzz cut, and a well-shaped face with sharp features and a pair of piercing, brown eyes. It wasn't hard to see why my mom swooned over him; I had never been attracted to Mark, of course, since he was twice my age, but I understood what Mom saw in him.

Now, as I lay quietly in my bed, I heard a soft

thump-thump-thump

under my bed. It was rhythmic, like someone beating a drum, and seemed to be near the wall behind my bedpost. "What the hell…" I muttered, and with a sleepy yawn I slipped out my bed and crouched on the floor, listening even more intently.

"….oh….oh…yes…"

I gasped. The muffled moans were coming from my mother! I suddenly realized that she and Mark were fucking, that she was wailing and crying out in pleasure as he plunged into her. I had never ever heard my mom wail like this – not the demanding, proper woman I saw each day but a woman flushed with lust and pleasure, her screams and wails completely unrestrained, completely wild.

Thump-thump-thump.

I suddenly realized that the pounding was the headboard, slamming into the wall, over and over; Mark was pounding my mom so hard that the entire bed was shaking and rocking. I had heard that same rocking many times in the dorm; it even happened a couple times in my own room after a long party. But I never imagined I would hear it coming from my mom's room.

I clambered back into my bed, ready to cringe and plug my ears. But suddenly, as if by divine revelation, a thought came into my head. This was it.

This was the way I would get back at my mom.

I'm going to steal Mark from her.

It was perfect; so terribly cruel, so sneaky, so absolutely unexpected and wrong. Every woman worries about some other girl stealing her man – but the last person she expects is her own daughter. I suddenly began laughing out loud, alone in my dark room, just thinking about it.

"…oh…yes…Mark…yes…" Mom's moans were still audible through my floor as I grinned to myself, quickly falling asleep once more.

***

Only a few days later, my mom made an announcement; she was redoing our roof. She had always wanted to replace the ugly red stone on top, and Mark had said that he could get her a huge discount if she went through his remodeling company. And – she announced happily – that meant that Mark would also be around the house a lot more, since he would be the main guy working on it.

"So Mark will be around starting tomorrow. I need you to be here in case he needs help getting into the house or finding something, okay?"

"Sure, whatever," I said. "I mean, you aren't letting me use the car anyway, right?"

"Well," my mom huffed. "You weren't back home last Saturday until 12:10. I kept track. So I suppose that's right, you won't be using the car at all this week."

I glared at my mom's back as she headed out the door for work. Every single day living with her made me angrier. Tomorrow Mark was coming, I told myself, and as soon as he got here I would set about getting my revenge.

By the time Mark let himself into the house, I was already stretched out on our deck chair on the lawn with my magazine and sunglasses. My bikini was red and skimpy. The skinny bottom tied around the sides, with strings dangling down my slim hips, tickling my legs. The halter triangle top just barely covered my tits, the flimsy strings barely a fingernail wide, the bow-ties around my neck and back so long that they dangled all the way down to my slim waist, accentuating just how easy it was to grab them and, with one pull, send my tiny top fluttering to the ground. I smiled sweetly at Mark as he wandered outside with his ladder and toolbox in tow, and he offered a harmless wave back.

"Sorry," I said, "I didn't know you'd be working out here. I'm not in the way, am I?"

"Nah," he replied, setting up the ladder. "It's fine."

"Good," I beamed at him. "You're already starting the roof?"

"Oh, no. I'm just taking measurements today. It won't be long."

Damn.

"Oh. Well, okay. Don't work too hard!"

He chuckled. "I'll do my best."

I stretched out on my back on the deck chair, falling silent. My slim, runner's legs stretched out in front of me, smooth and bare, the strings of my bikini bottom dangling across my skin; my slender waist was framed by the two patches of red cloth, the only covering on my entire body. I raised my arms and placed them behind my head, so that Mark had an unobstructed view of my entire figure, the curves of my hips and my chest, the lithe slope of my little waist and slender legs. I was spread out for him to admire – a young, petite college student, innocently sunbathing right in front of him.

But each time, when I snuck a glance from behind my sunglasses, Mark was carefully focused on the roof, perched on his ladder, spreading out his tape measure, scribbling in a notepad, his face deliberately turned away from me. An obedient boyfriend to my mom – a good guy, refusing to check out a girl half his age. But I was better.

With a soft, casual sigh, I turned onto my stomach, my firm ass now visible as it poked out from the tiny bottom, my hair spilling across the chair. I reached behind me and lightly fingered the flimsy strings around my neck and back. As easily as if untying a shoelace, I gave them each a light pull, and loosened my bikini top, letting the ties droop down across the chair. Mark glanced over then – finally! His eyes quickly swept over the sight of my bare, slim back. There was just one triangle-shaped patch of red on my bare body, drawing his gaze to my ass. I smiled up at him.

"I hate tan lines," I commented innocently. "Don't you?"

"Mmm," he grunted, and quickly turned back to the roof. I grinned to myself, and lay my head across my crossed hands. Carelessly, nonchalantly, I curled one leg up in the air, idly rocking my foot in circles in the air before letting it plop back down on the chair, making sure to spread my legs slightly wider than before.

Just think about what's in between these little legs, Mark…just think about it!

Suddenly, I heard clanks, and raised my head to see Mark quickly descending the ladder, then heading indoors.

"Finished already?" I asked hurriedly.

"Not quite," he said, in a voice that sounded as if he wished he was. "I think I'm just going to grab a beer." He vanished inside.

Alone now, I let out a sigh. Now what? Wait until he comes back out, then ask him to rub sunscreen on my back?

No…that's too obvious. He'll probably come up with some excuse to go back in.

I had to follow him inside. I raised myself up on my hands and knees, ready to roll off the chair and scamper after him, when I suddenly realized that my naked tits were now out in the open, the untied bikini top spread uselessly across the chair. I quickly clamped the two cups back over my chest. I had completely forgotten that I had untied the top, but now I grinned.

Even better!

I trotted into the kitchen to see Mark standing by the refrigerator, very slowly drinking a beer. As soon as I wandered in, he turned to look at me, then instantly swung his head back to the fridge, his eyes staring aimlessly at the handle. I could barely contain my giggle – he was trying so hard not to stare at me! I was barefoot now, my untied hair draped down my back, my nimble hips swinging as I walked, the wiry ties flopping against my bare thighs with each step. I had both hands over my chest, clinging the untied top to my perky tits, so that the material sagged against my fingers. The long, loose ties dangled over my arms and my stomach, just another reminder that my hands across my chest were the only thing keeping the flimsy material over my teenage boobs.

"Too sunny?" he asked, still staring at the fridge, trying for harmless small talk.

"Yep," I said, wandering up to the counter next to where he was standing. He was a full foot taller than me, his muscular frame towering over my petite body. "I don't want to get burned. Spending an hour rubbing lotion on my back is no fun!" I watched as his eyes flickered down towards my slim, bare body, risking a single glance before turning back away.

"Good call," he said to the wall. "You're using sunscreen, aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" I replied. "I'm not a child, you know. Hey, maybe I'll have a drink too. Can you grab the tequila?"

Mark nodded and quickly opened the fridge, glad to have something to do. "Hey, wait a minute…you're not legal yet."

I laughed and gave him a sly grin. "Well…you won't tattle on me, will you?"

Mark grinned back. "I guess not. But you better be good. Not too much for you."

"Oh, Mark," I leaned against the counter, letting my caramel hair fall across my bare shoulders, still clinging the loose top to my chest with both hands. "You haven't seen me being bad. Not yet."

Mark chuckled and for a second he was grinning widely back. But a second later his face lost all of its charm and he quickly turned away, frowning now at the floor. He gave a huff and a shrug. He wasn't comfortable flirting with his girlfriend's teenage daughter – even flirting as innocent as this. "Here's the tequila," he said.

"Thanks." I gave him a sweet smile, but he was already turning away again. "Can you get the margarita mix too? It's in the cabinet behind you."

One by one, I directed him to all the ingredients, and he placed them all on the counter in front of me, along with the blender. "Mind mixing it for me?" I asked him sweetly.

"Huh?"

"Come on, Mark!" I pouted up at him, then glanced down at my chest, where I was still dutifully clinging my undone swimsuit to my chest. "I mean…my hands are pretty busy right now, wouldn't you say?"

He took the bait. His gaze swung down from my pouting face to my perky tits, one hand over each sloping hill, barely covered by the flimsy, loose red material. A second later he quickly looked down at the counter, and began piling the ingredients into the blender. "Yeah," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Of course, no problem." I smiled innocently as I watched him hurriedly stuff ice and pour triple sec into the blender, as if he was racing to finish it as quickly as possible. It was such a mischievous thrill, teasing him without him even realizing I was doing it, watching him fight his wholesome struggle, refusing to be attracted to his girlfriend's daughter, to a petite college student half his age.

When he was done, he handed me the glass, his eyes focused very deliberately on my face, safely away from ogling any part of my barely-covered body. "Okay, Ashley. One margarita, ice-cold. I've got to get back to work."

"Okay." I grinned at him, appearing ready to accept the glass obediently. But I wasn't quite done with him yet. Watching him the entire time, I carefully made a struggle of taking the glass from him. First, I reached out with my right hand, but then let out an embarrassed, soft squeal as the right cup of my bikini top started to droop down, revealing more and more of my naked, firm tit. I quickly clutched my hand back to my chest, catching the cloth cup just in time, tugging it back up over my curves. Then, I carefully rearranged my left hand so that I was precariously holding up both cups with one hand, my fingers just barely clinging the material to my chest. I reached out again, but with another squeal returned the hand to my chest, as the cups once again threatened to sag too far off my tits.

It was shameless, I know. But I couldn't help it! Each time, I watched eagerly as his eyes uncontrollably shifted down, automatically drawn to my chest, so close to his sight, half a second away from revealing my little nipples before I caught the falling suit. Finally, I smiled at Mark and offered a half-embarrassed, half-amused laugh. "A little help?"

He laughed too, despite his discomfort, and made to set the cup down on the counter in front of me. But I leaned forward instead, and slightly parted my lips, my tongue sneaking out to just barely lick the lower one. My eyes pleaded sweetly at him.

He couldn't resist. He raised the ice-cold glass to my mouth, and I tilted my head slightly and gently wrapped my lips around the rim, sipping the cool liquid, swallowing oh-so-slowly. The kitchen was silent as he watched me drink, from the glass in his hand, my soft, wet gulps the only sound made by the two of us. Finally, I pulled back, and ran my tongue carefully over each lip, smacking them with a delighted smiled. For a moment, his dark brown eyes were right on my amber ones, and I could see a slight flicker in them, something stirring in him, from watching me lean forward, arching in my half-undone bikini, my soft lips parted, gulping down the drink he was feeding to me. For that moment, I stared back at him, all innocence and ignorance, a sweet smile on my wet mouth. At last, he tore his eyes away.

"Uh…you know what, Ashley? Tell your mom I forgot I have to call a friend. It's his..birthday, you know." Without even waiting for an answer he turned and started to head for the door.

"Wait!" I said, giggling. He stopped and turned towards me, looking nervous as I stepped forward, still clutching the bikini to my chest.

"Don't you need your tools?"

"Oh…uh…" he hesitated. "No, it's fine. I'll be leaving them here between days anyway." And then he was out the door.

"See ya!" I called out to the closed door, and finally, I couldn't help collapsing into a fit of proud giggles.

***

Two weeks later, Mark had started on the reroofing, and was working on the east side of the house. My room and bathroom are on that side, and they're set up side by side, so that each has one window – the bedroom's big, the bathroom's small and narrow – that faces to the east. It was Saturday morning, and after lazing around I had finally decided to shower and start my day. I had just stepped out, wet and dripping, my long, soaked hair draped across my shoulders and back, when I saw a flash of moment outside the bathroom window. I had drawn the blinds and opened it half-way to let the steam out, and now, as I wrapped a towel around my petite body, I realized that Mark was working just a few feet outside, set up on his ladder as he hammered away.