AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hadn't originally planned a second part, but a reader convinced me more was needed, and when I began to think about it, it just created itself, practically. Thanks for the inspiration, Cassidy. Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading, and civil comments welcome.
PART TWO – The next morning, and how it is now.
I padded on bare feet through the silent kitchen. Dad was out already, playing golf I think; I had heard him stirring around the house. I'd stayed quiet in my bed, closing my eyes every time he passed my door in the hallway, in case he looked in on me, terrified of seeing him, of what had happened, of what might happen. I made a pot of coffee, careful to be very quiet lest I wake my mother. I was afraid to face her, too.
I eyed the tall chair at the breakfast nook and considered it. But no, I knew my ass was too sore for that. The immediate searing pain had dissipated soon after the spanking had stopped last night, but it was still very sore; I had checked it in the mirror in my room before coming downstairs. Still red, and some bruising, including a few shaped like Dad's spread fingers. I touched the flesh gingerly, stroking my fingers over the thin satin pajama shorts I wore, remembering. My pussy leaked as the memories flooded through me. My clit still throbbed, despite feeling raw from all the rubbing I had done last night. And while I was taking inventory, that thing under my tongue was sore, too, from stretching across my lower teeth. Remembering what I had done with my tongue made me flush with dread and excitement.
Embarrassment took me, and I blushed to my toes, I think. My skin prickled it got so hot. I tried to process what had happened- no, WHY it had happened. God, I was so ashamed, and terrified of my body's craving, my mental weakness and surrender. Everything had turned so quickly. I had gotten careless in my voyeurism, and I had paid the price.
And God help me, I had wallowed in the payment. One moment I was watching their game and the next moment I was in it, the center of it, Mom scolding, Dad punishing. And me; submitting.
The coffee finished brewing and I made a cup, turning to look longingly at the chair, and leaned against the counter instead. I nearly spilled my coffee when I sprung off; even that was too much for my tender ass cheeks. I sighed, and stood, and sipped. And while I was still alone, I considered.
Eventually, I knew, Mom would come downstairs. What then? Would she pretend it didn't happen? Would we chat politely, as mother and daughter, ignoring the elephant in the room as I fought to deny my throbbing clit and leaking cunt? Would she punish me again, driving the lesson home?
Or would she give me what I really deserved? What I wanted, I admitted to myself, tightening my grip on my coffee mug. My body suddenly felt like it might fly away from me, exploding in a body sized tremor, and I held the cup for safety, as though it were an anchor to keep me grounded. Would she use me, talk down to me, make me do things? Would she see through my resistance, as she had last night, see the real me inside, the me that wanted and desired and needed?
A girl can dream.
Lost in my thoughts, I nearly leaped out of my skin when I heard her voice.
"Good morning, Jules."
I felt a little of the coffee splash over the side of the mug, running across my gripping fingers. I looked down to see a few caramel colored drops on the floor near my bare feet. In the cup, the coffee rippled in circles inside the cup as I trembled, and I struggled for breath as I tried to steady my nerves, staring at the cup, my hair hanging in my face. My world shrunk to the rippling coffee, the warm cup, my shaking hands. And under my long, loose tee shirt, my nipples hardened and jutted from my breasts and my crotch was on fire, liquid spilling from me. I thought I could smell my arousal over the coffee scent.
"Well? Nothing to say?"
I couldn't turn to face her, couldn't look up; frozen to the spot, my head down.
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked, and I heard her move behind me, and I inhaled sharply as she neared, but she passed and sat in one of the tall chairs. "Get me a coffee, if you've got nothing to say." It would be this way; then.
A wave of relief swept thought me at the chance of something to do, an activity to distract me, and the opportunity to do as she ordered. I put my own coffee on the counter and prepared a mug for her; when it was done I carried it carefully to the table and set it down before her, never looking up, not looking at her, afraid of what I would feel if my eyes met hers. I stepped back from the table, but she grabbed my forearm and held me.
I froze.
"I said good morning, Julianne," she stated firmly. Her fingers were warm and tight on my arm.
"G- G- good morning," I managed. "Mom," I added.
"Come here," she said, pulling me by my arm as I shuffled closer, heat spreading from my pussy through my body. Oh, please, please, I thought. Please don't. Oh, please, do. Her hand released me and moved to the side of my head. "Look at me, Julianne," she whispered, but there was no gentleness in her words.
I lifted my head, and her hand brushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind an ear. My eyes travelled up to see her face, looking at mine, evaluating and assessing.
"You're far too pretty to hide your face," she said. There was only a little tenderness in her voice, but it was enough to touch me, and I melted with her admiration. "Don't ever hide it from me, understand?" My eyes met hers and I felt myself falling into them, seeing the look on her face, the recognition, the KNOWING I had seen last night. "I want to be able to see your face, always," she said. Then her fingers twined themselves in the hair at my temple and I watched her eyes brighten and darken at the same time as her fingers tightened, gripping my hair, and then she was pulling my head to her. I gasped for breath as she pulled me to her, and my eyes closed as I felt her lips on mine, her tongue pressing into my mouth, taking my kiss from me.
And I gave it to her. Oh, I kissed her, I tasted her toothpaste, felt her wet tongue against mine, dancing and teasing, exploring my mouth, delving into my desire and inhaling my willing submission to her. I heard a moan and realized it was my own, and I struggled for breath as I salivated on her lips, my mouth as wet as my pussy. I felt her lips form a smile on mine, and I knew that she knew. She had me.
And I wanted her to. Wanted her to know me, to have me for her own.
"I always want to see your pretty face," she repeated. "At my breast, sucking my nipples," she added hotly, kissing my cheek, my neck, my ear. "I want to see it between my legs, stare into your eyes as you lick me," she whispered adoringly, "I want to see it with your mouth stuffed with your father's cock, eyes desperate and pleading as he chokes you," she added, raining kisses on me. Her hand was in my hair, stroking. "I want to see your eyes open as you cum for me."
My entire body trembled, and I moaned.
She pushed me back sternly, and sneered. "You slut," she spit, "kissing your own mother." The hand that was in my hair went quickly between my legs and pressed the loose fabric between my wet labia, forcing into me. "God, you're on fire, you disgusting cunt," she admonished, her words making me quiver. Her fingers burrowed inside me, stopped only by the crotch of my pajama shorts, her upturned palm pressing my clit, and I stood there, looking at her and trembling as an orgasm grew inside me, threatening to explode. Then she pulled away, leaving me hanging on the edge, panting with desire.
She picked up her coffee cup and sipped. "Do it yourself, cunt," she said, and sipped again. I froze and stared at her. She put the cup down and angled her head at me. "Well? Are you deaf? Get busy; get your fingers in your pussy and make yourself cum, now!"
My mouth opened in shock, but my hands were already between my legs, one slipping inside the waistband as the other pulled them down, and I stood there as she watched me, my pajama shorts at the bottom of my thighs as one hand held my pussy open and the other pushed two fingers inside, the juices spilling out. My eyes were locked on her; she watched as I fingered my cunt at her command, and I breathed heavily, panting at my weakness, my willingness. I gasped as the heel of my hand pressed against my clit, and moaned loudly as the fingers forced themselves deeper inside. I watched my mother as her eyes narrowed and left my face and stared at my hands, busy at my pussy. My hard little button surged against my hand. My mother was staring at my bared cunt, and I felt shame rush through me as I did her bidding.
