Forced To Watch 2

I

Jennifer, 44, and her daughter, Angela, newly turned 18, stood outside the open entrance to the lingerie store that had just held its grand opening only a week ago. Both of them hesitated. Jennifer, because she had heard about the store from her friends who gossiped about just how risqué all the undergarments in the store were. Angela too had heard about the store. Most of her friends had already been there. This was her first occasion, but she hated to visit it with her mother, knowing what a prude the woman was.

"Do you think," asked Jennifer, who from a distance might be mistaken for ten or even fifteen years younger, with her well-kept and youthful figure, her blond pixie cut with long bangs, and the way she dressed. Raising a teenager had certain benefits, after all. You knew all about the latest fashion, what the kids wore, how they did their hair.

But as you neared her, as you got closer, as you talked to her face to face, then you saw the wrinkles and crow's feet, the lines of care around her eyes, the uncompromising effects of the pull of gravity, that depth of expression in her eyes, that weird mixture of cunning and naïveté, that wary suspicion of the world combined with a hopeful poise suggesting that maybe, maybe the world won't try to bite you in ass today.

"Mom. If we go in, I don't want to hear you complaining about what you see. It's all supposed to be."

She didn't finish the sentence.

Angela resembled her mother, the same long triangle face, at once matter-of-fact and sensual, the same gentle curve of hip, the same modest swell of breasts, the same tallish body at 5'5" or 5'6". But Angela loved her hair, and she kept it in a long, flowing cataract of waving hair with its golden, lustrous sheen.

Both women had, quite by chance, dressed that day in a similar vein and style: short, pastel, thigh-length skirts, and plaid, pastel blouses with short petal sleeves showing off their round, smooth shoulders. Jennifer wore pale blue ballet flats, but Angela had pulled on pink ankle booties.

They both looked so adorable, scrumptious, and Casey had to have them.

"I think you two should go in," Casey said, brushing up against Angela as she spoke.

Jennifer's mouth dropped open, astonished at the young thing looking up at them, her eyes inspecting the stranger who had come up to them.

Such a cute little thing, she couldn't be much more than eighteen, her own Angela's age, bright green eyes, short red-brown hair, freckles sprinkled on her rosy round cheeks, lips full and delicate, doll-like in their pink-lipstick, pursed smile, long lashes that might have been false they were so black and long, warm glowing eyeshadow above her eyes. She wore just about the shortest skirt Jennifer had even seen on girl, red sneakers with dark socks, and a light pink t-shirt, exposing the dimple of a belly button on her midriff, short petals just extending past her shoulders, and a fine silver necklace, tight around her neck like a choker, with two joined hearts hanging in the middle, just below her throat.

II

The girl was so cute, so adorable, really just about the sweetest looking thing anybody could ever hope to see. There didn't seem any point in hesitating anymore. After all, random strangers were encouraging them to enter the store. Besides, the girl kept up such a steady stream of chit-chat, making friends so easily with Angela, Jennifer's heart nearly melted.

It's good to see her make friends so quickly, she thought. I was never that way.

But the store was, well. Her friends had been right. It wasn't risqué so much as outright filthy. Just a step above a common sex toy shop. It even had aisles devoted to all kinds of adult toys, long objects that Jennifer avoided staring at. Mannequins were dressed in outfits approaching the bizarre. Latex, leather, straps with steel buckles and chrome studs.

She picked up a small basket, gave one to Angela, and then picked up another one for herself.

But Casey led them to the soft areas, the silky and satiny areas, and Jennifer found herself relaxing. It wasn't so bad, not really. Not when you thought about the occasions in which such garments would be worn.

"This is your favorite area, isn't it Jennifer?" Casey asked or rather stated. "You just love these kinds of panties, all this sexy lingerie."

Her mind shook its head, and her throat tightened, swallowing dryness. A weird feeling sank in her guts, the pit of her stomach churned. She hated this, she hated everything about this store.

And then her mind relaxed, the nausea disappeared, and she felt happy. Good.

Because she did, she really did like all this sexy lingerie. There was no denying it. She had to admit it.

Although maybe that wasn't something she should be talking about so openly with this, this teenager friend of Angela's.

Lots of crotchless panties, all soft and lacy and very charming.

Demi-bras, cupless bras, negligées so sheer and transparent the only point lay in seduction.

Of course, naturally.

"It's okay to talk about it to me, Jennifer. We've become such good friends in such a short time."

That too was true.

"It's okay to get so turned on watching your daughter and me pick out the sexiest panties for you, all the sexiest lingerie. Angela's just dying to see you in them. Aren't you, Angela? Just stand still, Jennifer, and don't say anything. Just bask in the lust for your daughter, feel the desire for her burn through you."

Angela turned red with embarrassment and quickly avoided her mother's questioning glance.

Jennifer frowned.

Really, she thought, this is outrageous. This just isn't. Right. The way this girl is, the way she talks, the way I. Feel around her. The way she makes me feel. I have to stop this. We have to get out of here. I need to get Angela out of here, away from her. Right now.

But Jennifer didn't move, and she froze in cold horror as she realized her area down there, her privates, her center began to tingle; she observed her body in cold horror as a chill of pleasure, of sexual arousal, spread throughout her body, rising from her. Pussy.

This was so wrong. Something here was so wrong, and a wild panic seized her, but still she did not budge or move.

Casey smiled at her.

She stepped forward and leaned up to whisper in the woman's ear.

"You just want to fuck her, don't you? You just want to show her how a woman makes love to another woman. You just want to her to sit and watch while you show her how to lick my pussy, to lick my hot, wet, dirty cunt."

Jennifere whimpered.

"Hush, pet. No talking. And no whining either."

III

Angela didn't know what to think when the weird girl showed up out of nowhere, bizarrely sticking her nose into their business, telling them how they just needed to go into the store. I mean, she agreed with her. It's just that. You know. Weird.

And the way her mother fell into it all, just went along with whatever the girl said, that was weird. But then Angela stopped thinking how weird everything was, and she instantly turned terrified. That girl wasn't normal. She could make her do things, make Angela do things.

She's taken control of my body, Angela realized, and I can't control myself.

Angela wanted to scream, but Casey whispered into her ear.

"No, no darling. Don't say anything, don't try to run away, just walk beside me and smile. You can do that, can't you sweetheart? Good. We're going to have so much fun together. I know you're scared, but you don't have to be scared. I'm not going to hurt you. Not if you let me control your body, not if you don't try to resist me."

A tiny spasm of pain flared through Angela, tears pooled in her eyes, and she stiffened, the tiniest sound came from her open mouth, a sound that wanted to be a scream. A mere puff of breath.

And then the pain vanished, Casey stood smiling in front of Angela, reaching out to squeeze her hand, and leaning in to kiss her gently on her cheek.

"See? We can be such good friends. I just need to show you something. But I need you to understand that I can only control your body. I can't control how people think or feel. It's my limit, you understand. Just the body, never the mind. And that's why I want to show you what a slut your mother is.

"I need to show you what a lesbian whore your mom is. Your Jennifer. Just a dyke slut at heart who really, really wants to fuck her own daughter. As gross as that all is. So gross."

Casey led Angela, holding her hand as the two walked down the aisles, shoulders bumping into each other so cute and affectionate, two very close friends sharing secrets.

"I bet she's checking out your ass right now. Don't turn around. Turn to me, smile and giggle. Yes. That's it. You're doing so good, so fine. You really know how to act, don't you? Wiggle your butt for your mother, that's a good girl. Just a little wiggle to show her what she's missing out on."

Desperate to pull away, desperate to avoid doing anything the demonic girl ordered her to do, Angela fought back bitter tears as she half-heartedly swung her hips from side to side.

"You can do better than that, can't you? You know how to work your ass don't you? Just think of your mother as some hot guy you want to fuck, some hot guy drooling over your ass, work that thing, Angela, work it real good, show your mother what she wants, let your mother know, let your Jennifer know that you understand what she needs. Unless."

Angela shivered at the threatening tone that final "unless" contained.

Despite her misgivings, despite every brain cell shouting at her how this was so wrong, so wrong, Angela deepened the swing of her ass as she walked in front of her mother.

"That's it, sweetie. Just roll that ass, back and forth, back and forth, like the swing of a pendulum, like a hypnotist's watch moving back and forth, side to side, capturing your mother, enticing your mother, making your Jennifer ache with the hot desire for your sexy body."

Casey stopped at a shelf displaying soft pink and purple crotchless panties.

"Oh, I bet your mother would love to see you in these. Go ahead and get some. No, don't cry, don't cry, just look at me, smile, and giggle. Kiss me on the cheek. Yes. That's it. It's okay to kiss me on the cheek, letting your mother know how hot you are, how affectionate you are, just the sweetest thing, really. Such a hot little daughter, so sweet and affectionate. Kiss me, Angela, kiss me again."

Angela, shaking with fear, terror, self-loathing, anger, and resentment giggled and kissed Casey on the cheek, a trickle of tears dripping from the corners of her darting and trembling eyes.

So sweet.

So adorable.

"Your mother's such a whore, Angela. All she wants to do is fuck you, to lick your sweet pussy, to kiss your sweet and tender breasts, your boobs, your tits, she just wants to kiss your tits, Angela, just to hold and squeeze your soft tits. She's practically drooling over you? God, it's embarrassing. It's. It's. It's sickening, is what it is, disgusting, perverted, and sickening. She's diseased, Angela. Diseased. But she wants you. She wants you so bad.

"Just keep walking, just keep picking out the dirtiest, sluttiest clothes you can think of, don't hesitate. Don't be self-conscious. I'll know."

Casey left Angela's side after squeezing her waist and kissing her cheek, her lips lingering on Angela's soft face, and Angela turned, saw her mother leering at her, and cried inwardly.

IV

Oh my god, Jennifer's mind reeled, shocked by the realization of how attractive Angela had become.

Casey stood next to the woman, drawing Jennifer closer to her, clasping her around her soft waist and leaning up to whisper into the befuddled mother's dazed and overheated mind.

"She turns you on so much. Angela's so sexy, and you feel so excited just being around her, just staring at her, imagining her naked and on her hands and knees in front of you, showing you her ass, her dripping cunt. All women turn you on, all women excite you, but Angela? Angela drives you crazy with lust.

"Women turn you on so much, their curves, their breasts, their tits and boobs, and hips, and thighs. The touch of their calves, and the way the sway when they walk. God, you love women so much, they turn you on so much, don't they Jennifer? All women, but especially Angela, your daughter.

"You want to show her what it's like to make love to a woman. No, you need to show her what it's like to fuck a woman, to lick another woman to orgasm until her thighs are pressing your head like a vice, you love that so much. Tasting hot, dripping pussy, sticking your tongue into the swollen lips of a scalding hot pussy, so engorged and fuckable, so wet and ready for your tongue. God. That turns you on so much.

"Lesbian. You know that now. You've always known it, but hearing that word now, saying that word to yourself, it turns you on, it heats you up, and it drives you crazy. Lesbian. Say it, Jennifer. Say, 'I'm a lesbian, Angela.' Tell your daughter you're gay, tell your daughter you're a lesbian. It's time to come out to your daughter, Jennifer.

"God you're so horny for her, you're dripping down your thighs, your cunt juices are dripping down your legs, and you want to cum so bad. So bad, you're so ready to cum just by looking at your daughter, trying to imagine what she looks like naked, it's your one dream, your one desire, and it lights a fire in your cunt just thinking about it. Say it, Jennifer. Tell your daughter, tell your angel how much of a lesbian slut you are."

Jennifer bit her bottom lip as wave after wave of lust and electric desire flowed through her body, spreading from her raging cunt to her fingertips, the roots of her hair, her toes. Oh god I want to fuck her so bad. I want to taste her so bad. Can I really tell her that? My own daughter.

She felt her pussy tingle, get hot, then get wet, she felt the fluids of her excitement boil over until her juices ran down her thighs, soaking her hose. She wanted touch herself, to slide her fingers in the hot hole of her aching, aching snatch.

"Such an incestuous lesbian slut. Tell her."

Jennifer's lips trembled, but she found the strength to say it, to finally say it to her daughter, beloved angel, her Angela.

"Baby, oh babygirl. I'm such a. I'm so. I'm a lesbian, baby. I'm a --"

"She's a dyke, Angela. It's what your mother's been trying to tell you. She's queer. You can cum now, Jennifer. You can cum, I'll hold you up baby so you can cum in front of your daughter."

Jennifer shuddered, crossed her legs, and collapsed against Casey, holding on to the girl while thrusting her face into her neck, Casey's neck. Overcome by the emotions, the lust, the need, the scent of the girl standing beside her, she poured kiss after kiss onto Casey's neck and ear as one climax after another engulfed her body, wracking her in the ruinous spasm of incestuous orgasms.

"I just want to fuck her so bad," she whispered into Casey's ear, confessing her need.

"I know, baby. I know," Casey replied, holding the woman and caressing her flanks as another orgasm shuddered through her.

"You won't be happy until you can fuck her. Until you can taste her."

Jennifer quailed at the expressed truth, at the awful fullness and weight of the truth.

Oh god.

Casey stared straight into Angela's teary eyes.

"She's a whore, Angela. A dyke whore. And she wants to fuck you so bad."

Angela almost broke down, but the command Casey gave her to stand still held, but she trembled, and her knees buckled. Then, despite Casey's order, Angela collapsed, falling to the tile floor of the lingerie shop.

A few women, young girls and their friends or parents picking out nighties and nylon, turned to look, but their eyes soon went to other things, forgetting and not dallying on the odd trio talking at the end of the aisle of sex toys.

"She wants you to pick out the dildos she's going to fuck you with."

Angela convulsed on the floor, sobbing.

"Oh god, I want to fuck you baby," Jennifer spat out, a weird gurgle of desire, shame, and love, her voice at once husky and filled with affection. "I'm so hot for you."

V

***

A spacious, four-poster bed stood in Jennifer's bedroom, king-size on a frame of polished cherry wood with carved clawed feet. Jennifer insisted on the purchase until finally her husband Rob caved in. Similarly fashioned cherry wood furniture lined the long, tall walls of the bedroom, painted in light apricot. Two armchairs with floral-patterned cushioned seats and polished cherry arms faced the foot of Jennifer's bed, close to the wall opposite.

Jennifer stumbled into her room, dazed with lust, stripping off her clothes, unbuttoning her pastel blouse, dropping her shirt to the floor to quickly reach behind her to unclasp the awful restraining bra.

"She's going to see me," Jennifer thought in her daze. "She's finally going to see me nude. She's going to see my body, she's going to see my tits. My god, I'm going to show her my ass. My cunt. My dirty whore cunt so hot for my own daughter."

Whether the words were hers or not she could no longer say or tell. She had long, long given in to the desire building within her, the overpowering incestuous thoughts filling every cell, every muscle, every tissue of her body. She was such a lesbian, she'd been such a lesbian all her life, and now, now she finally had a chance to make real love to a real woman while her daughter watched.

While her daughter begged to watch.

She'd kicked off her ballet flats the moment she entered the house, and now she pushed her pantyhose to the floor, so sticky with her cunt juices, her nasty cunt juices, her hot pussy secretions, the wonderful, wonderful liquids steaming from her precious hole, her miracle vagina.

And Angela would see it! See all of it!

My god, she can probably even smell me, I'm so turned on. I'm so on fire right now. For her. For Casey. For any woman at all. Such a lesbian. Such a dyke.

She sat on the foot of her bed, and pulled her pantyhose down her legs, slowly, sensually, seductive, hoping desperately that Angela wanted her as much as she wanted Angela, so young, so sexy, so much like her mother.

A lesbian?

Was Angela a queer girl like her mother?

***

When Casey held out her hand to help raise the shuddering teenager off the floor, slowly regaining her composure from her fit of sobbing convulsions, Angela gripped her hand with something like gratitude. If you could gratitude could be shared with hatred.

The emotions swirled in Angela's head, a chaotic storm. But it was her chaotic storm and no one else's.

"I can't shape your thoughts or feelings, Angela. And I can't tell your mother how to think or feel, she's a lesbian, a perverted dyke lusting after her own daughter all by herself. It's all her. She's such a whore, but it's better for you to know that now, with me here to guide you, than later. God only knows what she'd tried to do to you. If I hadn't shown up."

Angela watched her mother half stagger down the aisle of sex toys, dilated eyes fixed on every object shining behind plastic packaging.

"My god. Look at her. She's ready to fuck herself in the aisle. We better go help."

Casey dragged a reluctant Angela behind her.

Jennifer stood in front of long cock shapes in different colors and sizes. Angela watch, horrified, as her mother's gaze lingered over the largest and longest dildos, mused over different vibrator types, and lovingly adored packages of long, strap-on dildos.

"Mom!" Angela whispered.

"Be quiet, Angela," Casey ordered. "Let your mother shop."

Angela stopped speaking, but she shook with rage and fear, the nausea of disgust lurched in the pit of her stomach.

Jennifer picked out a long, thick dildo, colored pink and realistically molded like a man's dick, complete with testicles, oddly flattened at the bottom.