Let Me Be Yours

By the time my mom gets home, it's

super

late. I'm still up, putting the finishing touches on one of the coding assignments for my college classes. The front door creaks open, and I hear the click-clack of her high heels against the hardwood floor. Her footsteps trace a path to the living room, and I hear the clatter of her slipping her shoes off and dumping them on the floor. Then there's a muffled thump as she flops against the couch.

My mom's always worked long hours. She's an executive for one of the city's biggest companies, and since she's so important, it always seems like there's a new emergency for her to fix. But lately she's been getting back later and later, and she's been too exhausted to do anything but sleep on her days off.

I pause my homework and get up from my computer. She's probably already asleep, but I'm worried about her and I want to check on her.

I creep out into the living room, my bare feet silent against the cold, hard floor. Our house is huge--it's practically a mansion, all for just my mom and me. I don't have any siblings, and my dad left when I was really little. It's always been just me and mom. Honestly, I like it that way. I feel like she's my queen and I'm her princess, and we're just living together in our castle.

The living room is spacious, with a vaulted ceiling and plenty of plush couches and armchairs. My mom is sprawled across the couch, already asleep.

She's

insanely

pretty, even when she's sleeping. Her body is curvy and elegant, with an honest-to-god hourglass figure, even at her age. She seriously could have been a model if she hadn't gone into business. Her hair is a natural blonde, but she keeps it cut short, very professional-looking. And she's a

goddess

at doing makeup. Her eyes are winged with purple and her lips are a pretty dark violet. Even after a long day, it hasn't smudged.

I'm nowhere near as pretty as her. My hair is a dirty blonde, and I usually just tie it up in a messy bun. I've got big thick glasses, and I guess you could say I'm kind of, uh,

bottom heavy.

Which is a polite way of saying my butt is

way

too big for a girl as scrawny as me. I can't do makeup at all, and I'm a bit pasty from spending so much time in front of the computer.

But enough about me. I want to keep admiring my mom.

Right now she's dressed in her work clothes: a pencil skirt and a smart blazer with a white blouse underneath. Her legs are clad only in pantyhose, and her feet are dangling off the edge of the couch.

Her chest gently rises and falls. Just looking at her makes my heart tremble.

I get to live like a spoiled little princess all thanks to her hard work. She buys me video games, lets me live in this awesome house, and even got me a computer to use for college and for gaming with my friends. She even still finds time to take me out on dates sometimes, and we go out to fancy restaurants or watch plays together.

I love her so much. It almost hurts.

I just wish there was something I could do for her! She's working herself to the bone all to make me happy. And I don't do anything but sit around in my underwear, code, and play games.

I kneel on the carpet next to her sleeping form and take her hand.

"Hey, mama..."

Her eyes flicker open. When she sees my face, a gentle smile touches her lips.

"Hey, Lizzie-bug. How was your day?"

"Fine. Homework's almost done. Probably going to play some games online with Jenna afterward. How are you?"

"Oh, you know. Long day."

"Yeah... Do you, um, want something to eat?" I ask. It's the only thing I can think of to do for her. "I could fix up some snacks or something. Maybe we could watch a movie together?"

My mom smiles. "Aww, Lizzie. You're such an angel. But I think... I think I just need to rest. Ugh. Everything hurts..."

"That's okay. If you want, I could give you a back rub? Or a foot massage?"

I don't think I said anything weird, but my mom's cheeks turn bright red. "A massage? Oh, no, sweetie, I couldn't ask you to do that..."

"No, I really want to! Here, just lie back..."

I reach out to touch her feet. But as soon as my fingers brush her toes, my mom pulls away from me.

"A-actually sweetie, I think I should just go to bed. You're such a darling. But I don't want to keep you up."

"I was going to stay up anyway," I say. "It's okay, mom. If you don't want a massage I could, um..."

"I think I should just go to bed," my mom says. "I'm really worn out. Sorry, sweetie. Goodnight."

She slowly stands up from the couch. I reach out to try to take her hand, but she pulls it away from me. And as she disappears into the darkness of her bedroom, she doesn't even look back at me. I slouch, letting out a long, sad sigh.

Why doesn't she want to be around me?

I know she's tired. And I hate feeling like a bratty baby demanding my mom's attention.

But I miss her. I really do.

We used to spend

so

much time together. After dad left, she was my best friend. Literally. I've always been a quiet girl. I liked video games and spending time on the internet

way

too much, and it was hard for me to make friends. But my mom never acted like there was anything weird about me. She'd sit with me while I played games, and we'd talk about everything: her night classes, my day at school, life, our dreams, whatever came to our minds. Later in the evening she'd make dinner, then we'd read together on the couch or watch a movie. It just felt so right, being with her.

Now I barely see her. It doesn't seem like she wants to be around me at all. Why?

Is it my fault? Maybe she's embarrassed that I'm still living at home at nineteen. But I don't want to leave! I want to keep being close to my mama...

I stand up when I hear my mom sink into bed. I guess it's gonna be another lonely night. Up in my room, I blitz through the rest of my homework. Then I fire up a game and curl into a sad little ball in my chair.

"You sure you're okay?" my friend Jenna asks. We're playing a co-op shooter game. Usually I'm actually really good at games like this, but tonight I just keep getting wrecked. I'm not talking much on the mic either, so Jenna can definitely tell something's up.

"I guess. Just stupid life problems, you know."

"C'mon tell meee," she whines.

"Okay. But you can't laugh."

"I won't!" she promises.

I sigh and admit it: "I miss my mom."

"Huh? Don't you two live together?"

"We do, but..." I explain the situation as best as I can. Jenna listens to the whole thing, occasionally popping out from behind cover to shoot an enemy I missed.

"Aw. I bet she's really going through it," Jenna says.

"I know. They work her so hard."

"No. There's no way that's all it is. It's weird that she didn't want you to massage her. Like, I would

kill

to have someone rub my feet after a long day at work. It sounds like something's freaking her out."

"Do you think

I'm

freaking her out?"

"I dunno. Did you forget to shower again?"

"I'm...

pretty

sure I showered?" I say. "Maybe it's been a few days."

Hesitantly, I sniff my armpits. They're not

bad,

but there's definitely a bit of funk on me.

"Okay, okay. I'll make sure I shower tomorrow," I say. "But I still don't think that's it."

"Hmm. It's weird. Your mom's

such

a badass. Like, she's hot, she's a career woman, she's rich..."

"Could you please not call my mom hot?"

"You talk about how hot she is all the time!" Jenna complains.

"Well

yeah.

I'm allowed to!" I say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how weird they are. But whatever. Yes, my mom's hot! But it's weird when Jenna says she is, for some reason. It makes my chest feel all prickly.

"I wonder if she's lonely," Jenna says.

"Lonely? But she has me."

"Sure. But you're her daughter. She's been single since your dad left, right?"

Now that she mentions it, I realize she's right. Mom never dated anyone while she was looking after me. It was always me, me, me...

I loved getting all of that attention from her. It meant the world to me, especially when I was a sad, confused teenager. Having a mom I genuinely loved, who I could always look forward to spending time with, who really felt like my best friend in the world, who understood me and supported me--that was all I ever wanted.

She

was all I ever wanted.

But did she have to give up on love, all for me?

The thought makes me feel shameful and greedy. And worse than that... it makes me jealous.

My mom wants someone else? Am I not enough?

"Liz?" Jenna says. "Are you still there?"

"I... I think I'm gonna go," I say. I log out of the game and collapse in bed. My body and my brain are both exhausted. But I can't sleep. A fiery, slimy jealous feeling is spreading through my chest. Does my mom really want someone else?

That shouldn't bother me! She's allowed to date. I

want

her to date and be happy.

But... but why won't this feeling go away?

It's hard for me to focus on class the next day. My mom is already at work by the time I wake up. So after I rush through all my homework, I spend a lot of the day just wandering around the empty house. I pull out my phone, and I think about texting her

"I miss you."

But that sounds so clingy! I don't want to bother her.

She's working so hard, all for me.

I should do something for her, right? But I'm pretty much useless. Outside of video games, coding, and maybe a tiny bit of drawing, I'm not very good at much of anything. I slump down on the couch, feeling dejected. I let out a long, pathetic sigh. And when I breathe in, I can smell the faint wisps of my mom's perfume still on the upholstery. Mixed in with the perfume smell is a slightly sweaty, sweet, human smell. The scent of

her.

I breathe in deep lungfuls of it, and a trill goes down my spine.

I stretch out on the couch, thinking about her warm body lying here. It makes me feel closer to her. I wish we were lying together right now.

Mama...

My phone buzzes and I jump up, face red. What was I just doing!? I was sniffing my mom's scent on the couch! What kind of freak am I? Am I

that

desperate for her? That was almost...

It was almost sexual.

I push the thoughts out of my head. I'm just lonely and the wires are getting crossed. Obviously I don't feel

that

way about my mom. That would be... that would just be wrong, right? My body's just going a little haywire.

I need to distract myself. I check my phone to see who texted me. A big part of me hopes I'll see a message from mom. Even if it's just a text letting me know that she'll be home late, it would be nice to know she's thinking of me.

But it's from Jenna.

"Hey! You doing okay?"

she asks.

"Yeah,"

I send back.

"Just feeling bad."

"About your mom?"

My cheeks are blazing with embarrassment. But I tell her the truth.

"Yes. I don't know what to do."

"Maybe do something nice for her? Like a surprise?"

"I thought of that. But I suck. What can I do?"

"Try and make her dinner!"

Jenna says.

"She'll love it!"

"I can't cook :("

"If you can write code, you can cook! I'll send you some tutorials. What kind of food does she like?"

"She loves Chinese food, especially if it has broccoli and red peppers in it. Fried noodles are her favorite. And she really likes extra spicy stuff."

"Haha, it's so cute that you know all her favorite stuff!"

Jenna says.

"She's so lucky to have you."

"You really think so!?"

I ask.

"For sure! I never cook for my mom lol. We don't really get along. You're super lucky! Now here. Follow these tutorials. Even

you

can't screw this up!"

...yes, I absolutely can.

It's the middle of the night, and I've been fighting for my life in the kitchen for the past two hours. I started cooking late, because I wanted dinner to be ready right when my mom got home. She's been getting back at midnight most nights, and I want to surprise her with a freshly cooked meal of her favorite food.

But it turns out that Jenna overestimated me. I am a

terrible

cook. I'm clumsy, I get distracted easily, and I keep adding too much or too little of each ingredient. Even when I try to follow the recipe exactly as written, I keep screwing stuff up! I've made three batches of fried noodles now, and they've all turned out bad.

Right now it is

sweltering

in the kitchen from the stove's heat, and I'm drenched with sweat from stress and exertion. Piles of vegetable scraps and half-cooked noodles surround me, along with an absolute mess from when the pot boiled over earlier.

I need to get this right. If my mom comes home to a mess and no food, she'll probably just feel even worse.

Okay, Liz. Time to get serious!

I'm dying from the heat, though. I don't want my mom to come home and find me all sweaty and gross. So I get a kinda stupid idea.

I slide my shorts down my legs, then pull my t-shirt up and over my head. I toss my clothes onto the counter, leaving myself clad only in a pair of plain gray panties that are stretched tightly to fit my plump rear. My chest is totally bare, but I'm pretty flat, so my small tits don't really get in the way. If I had honkers like my mom, though, they'd be swinging all over the place while I cooked...

W-wait, why am I thinking about my mom's boobs? I need to focus!

I slip a tiny pink apron on and tie it around my waist, just so hot oil doesn't splatter my almost-naked body. Then I tie my hair back and get to work.

I did! I really did it!

After twenty minutes of fiendish chopping, frying, and measuring seasonings, I finally produce a skillet full of fresh fried noodles that smell and taste incredible. There's plenty of broccoli and peppers, and I added some sriracha sauce to make it extra spicy. It's just how mom likes it.

And just as I'm setting the food on the table, I hear the front door open. My mom's heels clack along the floor, marking her steps as she heads toward the kitchen.

"Hey mom!" I call out. "I made dinner!"

"Oh, Lizzie-bear! That's so swe--"

She steps into the kitchen and her eyes lock onto me. And that's when I realize that, oops, I forgot to get dressed again. I'm standing in the middle of the kitchen in just an apron and panties.

And I shouldn't feel embarrassed, right? Like it's my mom! Even if she sees me half-naked, it's not like it's the first time she's seen my body. But there's this

look

in her eye. She doesn't look at me like I'm her useless, ditzy daughter that she just caught in an embarrassing predicament. She full-on stares at me like...

...like I'm doing something really naughty.

Her cheeks go bright red immediately.

"Oh, um, s-sorry sweetie," shestammers. "I already ate, and... very tired, so..."

She tears her eyes away from me like she's scared to look at my body.

"...just going to bed. I'll take leftovers with me tomorrow! Sorry, Lizzie-bear..."

"Wait! Mom, wait!"

She doesn't listen. She turns and heads right to her room, shutting the door behind her. I'm left alone, surrounded by all of my hard work. I just stand there for a moment, numb. And then my eyes start to burn with tears.

Okay, fine! She doesn't have time for me. Whatever. I can eat by myself!

I load up a plate with noodles and carry it up to my room, where I collapse miserably into my own bed and eat a sad, lonesome dinner.

It's late now, and I still can't sleep.

My empty plate is sitting on my desk, and I'm just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I haven't bothered to get dressed, so I'm just in my panties now. My skin feels gross and sticky from all the dried sweat. I feel awful. I'm sad that my dinner plan didn't work out, I'm worried about my mom, I'm jealous and angry that she barely even looked at the food I made, and honestly I'm still kinda thrown off by that

look

she gave me. Does my body gross her out that much?

I just feel terrible and depressed. And so I decide to do the only thing I like doing when I feel terrible and depressed.

I start to masturbate.

I don't feel like going through the effort to pull up porn on my computer. So I just shove my hand into my panties and start stroking my petals. But I'm not all that wet, and it doesn't really feel very good.

Ugh.

I slip my hand out of my underwear and sit up. There's no point in trying, I can already tell I won't be able to cum. Even though I could really use it. At this rate, I'll just end up sitting in bed and feeling miserable all night.

I'm just about to resign myself to a miserable night when I hear soft footsteps downstairs. That must be mom! Maybe she's hungry now after all. Or maybe I can talk to her, at least. I jump up from my bed and slip on a bathrobe over my nearly nude body. Then I open the door to my room and creep downstairs.

As I approach the kitchen, I hear my mom's voice. She's whispering something under her breath. I can't really make it out, so I creep a little closer. I pray that the floorboards won't creak underneath my feet. I know I shouldn't be spying on her like this. But knowing I'll get to just admire her for a moment fills my heart with a thrumming excitement that I can't ignore. So I slink right up to the kitchen doorway and strain my ears until I hear my mom's voice.

"Mmmmmmm... ah...

" she breathes in deeply, then exhales, like she's smelling a fancy perfume or something.

"Oh God, mmmmmmm... Lizzie..."

W-wait what?

The way she said my name, she was practically moaning!

"Lizzie... mmmmmmnnnnn... you smell so

good...

ah~"

I recognize the tiny gasp that escapes her lips. It's the same one that

I

make, when I'm stroking myself right up to the edge of orgasming and I start soaking the fabric of my panties. Is my mom seriously doing

that

in our kitchen? That's so dirty!

...

If she's doing

that,

then why is she moaning

my

name!?

Unless...

No. No way, no way, no way!

I must have heard her wrong, or something. There's just no way!

"Mmmm... oh fuck, Lizzie... oh, Lizzie~"

No, that's totally my name! Oh my God. She's... she's thinking of

me.

My mom's thinking of me while she masturbates! The realization courses through me, filling my body with a hot, sticky, twisting feeling. I should be grossed out, right? That's so wrong! My own mom is

horny

for me! But...

...but if she's horny for me, that means she's thinking of me. It means she

wants

me!

The thought fills me with a giddy, perverted joy. I feel like I'm going crazy! I have to know. Just a peak. I have to know...

I peer around the corner.

My mom is standing in the middle of the kitchen, bent over the edge of the marble countertop. She has my shorts and my shirt--the same clothes that got soaked with my sweat while I was cooking--balled up in her hands, and her face is buried in the cloth. She breathes in deeply, sighing and gasping into the fabric as she inhales my scent.

"Lizzie-bear! Oh, my sweet little thing... I love you, I love you... mmmmm..."

She's wearing only a thin, almost see-through pink nightgown. And her panties are down around her ankles. She's bent over the counter, so that her plump rear is up in the air. Her butt is just as thick as mine, but hers is toned and plush while mine is just squishy. I can see her hips bucking and gyrating as she humps the counter, rubbing her pussy against the slick marble. A thin stream of clear juices is dripping from the counter's edge.

I meant for this to just be a glance. But I can't look away.