The Seduction Of Lindsay

The Seduction Of Lindsay

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


A bored MILF seduces the eighteen year old daughter of her long time rival, with suprising consequences.


A bored MILF seduces the eighteen year old daughter of her long time rival, with suprising consequences.


Submitted: November 25, 2010

A A A | A A A


Submitted: November 25, 2010



It's Sunday morning and I'm in the house alone. My daughter, Cathy, is staying over with friends after a night clubbing in town. Keith left early, off to the coast to indulge a passion for sea angling. Alan and Pete picked him up at 7:00 a.m. Before he left he brought me breakfast in bed accompanied by the never-ending wad that is the Sunday paper.

When I'm on my own like this I rarely leave the bedroom until midday. It's my favorite room, my sanctuary; I love it in here, so light and spacious. The double aspect means the room is always bright and I can wander from one window to the other and enjoy the view that either offers. From one I can see way down the valley to the river; the other displays a panorama of forest and hills in the distance. Our new en-suite is a joy, and there's a separate dressing room. Everything a girl requires, really.

I spend most of the morning propped up in bed skimming through the supplements. Once I’m bored with the financial pages, had my fill of political speculation and gorged on celebrity gossip, I masturbate. We have a 32” flat-screen at the foot of the bed, which can be cleverly lowered away when not in use. There’s a DVD player too, into which I place a disc from Keith’s collection. We keep all the mucky stuff locked away in a special draw in the dressing room: my toys, the DVDs, some VHS tapes of Keith and me we made when younger, and Polaroid’s from the Stone Age. Today I chose to watch an amateur MILF being double plugged by her husband’s two friends while he sits and watches. It makes me wish Keith had asked Alan and Pete up when they called for him this morning. He says he'd like to watch me with another guy; so, I'm sure he wouldn't mind watching me being enjoyed by two.

I'm well into it when my mobile rings. Should I ignore it? Best not, it might be important. I pause and reach over to the bedside table. I pick up. It’s Cathy calling.

When I start to talk I realize I’m slightly breathless. “Hello sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Hi Mum. Yeah, cool. I’m at Lauren’s.”

“Will you be home for tea?”

“Not sure yet, we haven’t decided what we'll be doing tonight. I’ll text later and let you know.

“Did you have a good night?”

“That's why I phoned.... Listen, Mum, I was supposed to be going to the pictures with Lindsay this afternoon, but that is most definitely not going to happen now. If she comes around... tell the little sicko I don’t ever want to see her again. You are so right about that family.”

"Why, Cathy, what on earth’s the matter?”

“God, Mum--you wouldn't believe it; Little Miss Sunday School tried hitting on me last night. I still can't get my head round it. Lindsay Lane. Wow. To think... she actually thought I would.... Yuck. How tragic is she.”

“Oh, Darling, don’t say that, you get on so well. Perhaps you got it wrong. Were you both drunk?”

“The fuck I got it wrong. Just tell her to stay away from me. End of.”

When she's gone I think it’s not often Cathy uses bad language in front of me, Lindsay must have pissed her off big time. I know it's perverse but a warm delicious glee spread through my body. I think, “So, Lindsay Lane is a wannabe dyke. God, her mother would go postal if she knew her sweet little daughter had a hankering for pussy.”

Lindsay’s mother, Tricia Lane, god how I hate that woman. Why? Because she makes knowing the minutia of this village her business. Everything that happens in this sad little Stepford community of ours is of the utmost importance to her. She has a finger in every pie: a stalwart of the local amateur dramatic society; chairman of the PTA; sings in St Matthew’s choir and sits on the Parish Council. That's just for starters; I won’t catalogue her entire social calendar. Only to mention the big one, the one that really pisses me off. She’s now secretary of The Wanton-On-The-World Golf Club. This irks me the most; it's buried under my skin and itches like mad. She doesn’t even play golf for-fucks-sake. Whilst me, who has been a member for fifteen years, and is out on the links every Saturday, is regarded as a joke for even having put my name up. I comfort myself with the knowledge that she only got the post because she lets Council Leader Harold Smithers fuck her every Tuesday afternoon. So, of course, he put in a good word for her.

Our rivalry started in sixth form; I suppose I should be over her treachery by now, but I don't find it easy to forgive and forget. I can be a real cow. She was Patricia Molineaux back then. Summer 1990 had been my happiest so far, but by Christmas my world had collapsed, when she stole Trevor away from me. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I was so very much in love with him. Someone so gorgeous had never looked at me before. Not only good looking, but he was smart and attentive too. When we first got together I just couldn't believe he'd chosen me; I was tall and willowy, still wore glasses, and hadn’t yet learned how to make the best of myself. But still, in spite me being an ugly duckling, Trevor asked me out. He told me he was drawn to me because I was articulate, and looked at things differently than most of the other girls my age. He said I made him laugh, that I was fun to be with and that he loved me. He soon fell out of love, though, when Tricia Molineaux fluttered her eyelashes and wiggled her arse at him.

It all blew up between us when the college drama group chose to produce the play I submitted for the competition they ran. They needed a fresh work to stage the following year. Something to do with school inspections and students producing original works of art. It was just adolescent scribbling, but I spent weeks on it and people seemed to like what I came up with. Tricia also entered a work, which obviously didn't come up to scratch.

Back then she was pretty much the same as now, a social butterfly. She thought she could write something and everyone would fall at her feet. But I had a way with words; she was stupid to have gone up against me. When I notched up that small victory it became her mission to destroy me socially. Which wasn’t too hard, I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular. Hell hath no fury and all that. She wanted revenge, and unlike me, didn't have the patience to serve it cold.

I have to admit, she was a beauty back then, and I can hardly blame Trevor for being enticed. A month later they were an item; still are. I see them at village functions. I smile and am polite and do the mandatory small talk, it makes life easier.

Where was I? Oh yes, DVDs. Did I say watching women making out is another of my Sunday morning pastimes? No? Well, I often do. I have loads of real experiences with women but I still enjoy watching girl on girl footage. As well as being one hell of a turn on I also pick up tips.

I’ve made love to many women, but when it comes to Sapphic love I was a late starter. It was Keith who encouraged me, I’d never thought much about it before. It was the usual guy thing; he wanted to see me with another woman, like all blokes did. To give me a taste of what he said I was missing out on he put on a Lesbian sex DVD. It didn't do much for me at first, but I went along. At least I was sure of a good fuck after. But after a few such sessions, with him touching me up while we watched, I started to enjoy myself. I suppose for most women lesbian sex is an acquired taste, like oysters or Guinness.

Eventually his grooming me paid off. In spite of myself, I started looking at women more and more; in the streets and pubs, appraising them, wondering what it would be like with all the different types I came across. For example, if I found myself standing behind some cute thing in the Tesco checkout queue I'd stand real close, my nipples practically poking her back. So close I could feel her body heat, smell the female animal beneath her scent. I oh-so wanted to touch beautiful strange women. Sometimes I worried about myself, worried I might be overcome with lust and do or say something rash. I do have strong sexual urges; it can be like a rodeo trying to control them.

But my days as lesbo-Tesco-stalker were numbered. A few months on and I found myself in bed with Mandy, a colleague from work. I don't normally mix work and pleasure, but she was leaving to take up a post down south the following week. So I thought, what the hell, she isn’t going to be around much longer. With no messy complications at work to worry about I threw caution to the wind.

It was her goodbye night out with the girls from the firm where I work as an accountant. We gave her our usual send off, a night on the town, drunk and raucous. By the end of the evening I was alone with Mandy back at her flat. I can't remember all the details but soon we were in bed together making love. That was nine years ago, I was twenty-eight at the time. Mandy lives in Cornwall now, we phone each other from time to time, and exchange emails. Every September I travel down to visit. We're still good friends all these years on.

Since then I've had a fair few women, but never a girl under twenty-one. Young girls always seem a little vacuous to me. Sure they can be pretty and have marvelous toned bodies, but for me sex is not all about looks. I tell a lie, I couldn’t tongue any old dog. But to have an attractive mature woman give herself to me…well, it’s a kind of victory, a one up on them. When I make a woman cum I feel they've capitulated to me. I go for strong women, women who know themselves and women who think they’re straight. It makes the chase all the more exciting. Today I’m wondering if seducing a teenage girl may be even more of a challenge. I start to hope Lindsay does call in this afternoon. In fact, I'll be very disappointed if she doesn't.

I go back to my Rabbit, but instead of watching porn I turn the screen off and close my eyes and imagine I'm in bed with Lindsay Lane. She is the sweetest thing, but I think, do I like sweet? We'll have to see. Afterwards, I muse that perhaps I'll get to like silly college girls after all. It's hard for me to reconcile the real Lindsay with the little fantasy slut I've just turned her into in my mind. She's always seemed such a mousy little thing whenever Cathy's brought her into the kitchen. On her best behavior I suppose, mummy wouldn't want her letting the side down.

I take a shower. Afterwards I dry myself and look in the mirror. Mr. Cavandish did a good job on my tits; they're substantial, without being blatant; shapely and natural, not the balloons some of the older porn stars sport. I’m glad I had them done; they make me feel more like a woman. Often when I touch them I can't believe they're mine. I can very nearly make myself cum just by stroking them and thinking stuff. I wonder if Lindsay will like them.

I choose my clothes with care, just in case she does call. I don’t want to scare the poor girl, best play it down. She’s not a guy. I take out a short loose summery dress and lay it on the bed. I moisturize my long legs before slipping it on. As an afterthought, I take my panties back off.

Even now men tell me I’m a stunner. I find it hard to believe when I look in the mirror in the morning, but slap and the magic dust erase fine lines, hide the blemishes. I spend an hour at my dresser; it takes hard work to look this good without letting on you’ve made the effort. "Dah-dah." I scrutinize my reflection; not bad, not bad at all, for a thirty-seven year old. Then it's earrings and ankle chain. Finally, a dab of Le Bateleur, my favorite scent.

I conjure a prawn salad for lunch. As I eat I smile to myself and think, a taste of what's to come. Afterwards, it’s a chapter from The Big Book of Lesbian Erotica, to while away the time and get me in the mood. At 2:30 the door bell rings and my pussy tingles. I get up and walk to the hall, before opening the front door a final look in the mirror. I’m perfect; she won’t know what hit her.

“Hi Lindsay, come in.” Already I'm excited, not just by the look of the girl, but the whole seduction thing. I haven't seen her for a few months; she's been away over the summer, staying with relations in France. Now I have her standing just inches from me I realize how very cute she is. I tell myself how strange it is you can know someone for years but as soon as you've decided on them as a sexual object they become something completely other. For a split second she stands looking at me as if wondering what to do next. I wait and watch her. She looks very young to my jaded eyes, and I realize how completely dishonorable my intentions are. I know I should be ashamed of what I'm planning, but to be completely honest, I'm not.

“Hi, Mrs. Bradley.” She smiles weakly as she steps past me, leaving a slipstream of shower-time fragrances in her wake. I inhale and take in her scent.

“Go into the lounge, Lindsay. Would you like a drink? Pepsi, tea, coffee?

“Just water, please.”

I bring Lindsay her water. She's on the sofa, I sit down opposite on an armchair. I don’t want to spook her by getting close; not just yet.

“How’s your mother?”

“Oh, she's fine, busy in the garden when I left.”

“I don't know how she manages to find time for all her activities.”

Lindsay doesn't answer, just sits and sips her drink, occasionally glancing at the door. She's looking for Cathy, I suppose. This might be hard work, I think.

"You'll be off to University in September, won't you? What's it you're studying?"

"Psychology.... At Exeter."

I think, what is it with young girls and psychology? If they’re hoping to get insights into their own pathetic little psyches, they won't.

I tell her, “I did Psychology at uni; you’ll find it interesting."

"I thought you were an accountant."

" I am. I changed courses half-way through."

"Oh, you said it was interesting."

"Well, it was, just that... after doing all the statistics the course entails I realized I loved working with numbers more."


She's beginning to fidget, to look around. I suppose she wonders where my daughter is and why I'm having this conversation with her. I never usually say much to Cathy’s friends. In fact, I don't think I've ever said more than hi or goodbye to Lindsay, since she became a teenager.

Eventually she asks, “Where’s Cathy? Is she in her room? Should I go up?”

I think this is where it gets tricky, best to come straight out with it. “Cathy's not home. She phoned earlier and asked me to talk to you about last night.” I watch her flush; it spreads upward from her neck and soon her face looks like a poached lobster. I press my advantage. "I thought I'd get your take on what happened. You're such good friends; I don’t want to see you fall out. She sounded real mad with you."

“Oh, god, what did she say?"

"What do you think she said?"

"I feel so stupid, I got really drunk. I’m not sure if we argued… or what. It's all a blur.” She sips her water some more.

“Tell me what you do remember.”

“Not a lot, really. It was Clare's 18th last week and a few of us went out clubbing, a sort of belated celebration, just us girls. It was brilliant, but I can’t remember much about the end of the night. Just Cathy holding me up on the way to the taxi rank, and us both getting out of the cab at my house. But this morning she was gone.”

“She told me you tried to get it on with her. Did you?" I wait for a response, but she looks too shocked to speak, so I push it and repeat myself. "Well...did you?”

“Oh, god, no, I wouldn’t.... I mean, I didn’t. Oh, I can’t remember. When I woke up I had this feeling I'd done something really, really stupid. And this morning, when I found she’d gone, I knew something bad must have happened between us. Oh Shit. What must she think? I'm so embarrassed that she told you." She hides her face with her hands.

“If you explain to me how you feel, I could maybe talk with Cathy for you. Perhaps she misunderstood.”

“Oh would you? I don’t want to fall out with her; I want us to still be friends."

She leans forward, her arms folded resting on her bare knees. She looks clean and fresh, no makeup, wide eyed and hopeful now. I imagine stroking the inside of her long, smooth, cappuccino thighs, and French kissing her mouth. It's wide and full of small white teeth. Her lips are naturally engorged, overripe. God I'd pay thousands to get my lips to look like hers. I can imagine people saying her mouth is too wide for her face, but I think it’s sensual and capable of small miracles.

She's saying, "I like Cathy so much, we’ve hung out more these last few months, and she's helped me with my math; It’s been a struggle keeping up. I just get these feelings for her.” As she talks strands of her baby-fine hair fall across the corners of her eyes. She brushes them aside with her fingers.

I ask her, “What kind of feelings?”

“Nothing heavy, I just feel I want to hold her…show her I care.”

She seems more relaxed. I decide to up the ante.

“Have you ever made love to a girl, Lindsay?”

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head emphatically.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I often get feelings for my women friends, it’s only natural if you really care for someone.”

“Well...not properly... There was one time, when I was younger…I had a friend…. We used to touch sometimes.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“It felt nice, but scary.”


"Yeah, like not knowing how far we should go...and what to do. Or worrying if anyone would ever find out."

"How far did you go?"

"Not very, just kissing and holding."

"What about boys? You were an item with Josh Harrison a while ago, weren't you?"

"Oh, that finished ages ago."

"So, what do you like best: boys or girls?"

"I've not really done it with a girl... in the way I used to with Josh, so can't say."

"Would you like to go the whole way with a girl, like you did with Josh?

"I think about it a lot. Have you ever made love to another woman, Mrs. Bradley?"

"I might."

"I once heard Mummy say to Dad, that you and Mr. Bradley were swingers."

"No, we're not swingers, Lindsay. Your mother has a vivid imagination. I do like women, though. They're so nice to look at...and soft to touch. Don't you think?"

"I think I'd better go, I shouldn't be telling you this stuff."

"Why not?"

"I'm not used to you being like this with me."

"I'm showing you a different side of me. I'm a complex woman. Does it bother you?"

"Yes, it does. The way you look at me and the things you're saying. You're Cathy's mum, it's not right."

"I'm only paying you the attention you deserve. Beautiful girls like you deserve all they can get."

"Are you coming on to me Mrs. Bradley?"

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"To be honest, you're making me nervous. I've never had a woman look at you're doing now."

"How am I looking at you, Lindsay"

"As if you’re undressing me... like men do."

"Would you mind if I did undress you?"

She does not answer, but I can tell she's thinking about it. I can see her breathing’s heavier; her breasts are rising and falling beneath her top, and her nostrils flared slightly.

I realize things are in the balance, and the girl needs to be reassured, but I only have lies. "Lindsay, I know what it's like to be young and have feelings like those you're experiencing now. I was lucky...I had an older girlfriend who taught me not to be afraid of the urges I felt.”

"That's how I am... afraid about how I feel. I wish I had a friend who understood and who I could talk to. You were so lucky to have one."

"I could be your friend, Lindsay."

"You're an old friend of Mum and Dad, it wouldn't seem right."

"Let me worry about what's right. Anyhow, I’m not that close to your mum. I won't breathe a word about anything you tell me. I'm discreet. You can trust me totally."

"I don't know. I think I'd better go."

She stands up and says, "I let Cathy borrow one of my tops, it's probably in her room. Do you mind if I go and fetch it, before I leave?" Her tone has changed; she’s no longer the reluctant guest behaving well for her friend’s mother. She straightens her skirt, pushes back her hair. Her gaze fixes me.

"Of course. I’ll show you."

"You don't have to, I know the way."

"I want to." I think this is my last chance. Upstairs is good.

I'm on the stairs in front of her, knowing that as she follows me up she can't help but see my lack of underwear. I take the stairs slowly, putting a wiggle into my movement as I ascend and wonder if she is looking up my dress. I'm sure she is, she can't help to. When I reach the top step I turn quickly and catch her gaze glued to my arse. She looks away, embarrassed to be caught out.

"This is Cathy’s room," I say.

"I know."

She goes in and I stand by the door and watch. She opens my daughter’s wardrobe and works her way along the clothes until she has what she's looking for. "Here it is," she says, holding up a smock top for me to see. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice."

"It's my favorite. I couldn't leave it behind."

I see her looking round the room. She has a wistful look about her, as if she's saying goodbye to Cathy herself. "I’ve always loved coming over here, Mrs. Bradley. Cathy's room is nice. Your entire house is so beautiful. You have taste. Not like Mummy, her taste in decor is so cheesy."

"Ah, thank you Lindsay, how nice of you to say so. We like it. You've never seen my room though, have you? It's my favorite part of the entire house. Would you like a look before you go?"

"Okay then."

"It's this way." I take her hand and lead her to my sanctuary.

When I open the door we find the room bathed in summer sunlight, the afternoon heat that's accumulated there envelops us. I leave Lindsay on the threshold and go to open the sash windows, to let in cooling air. Outside I hear a gentle breeze moving through our one Beech Tree. While I busy myself she tells me how much she likes the room. I return to her and take both of her hands in mine and walk backwards, drawing her further into my lair. My eyes are fixed on hers and I see she is near capitulating to me.

When we are face to face near the bed I say, "You've become an extremely attractive young woman, Lindsay. Did you know that?"

"Guys tell me so, but it sounds nicer you saying it."

"You are. One of the sexiest young girls I have ever seen. I want to touch you. To see if you feel as nice as you look. Would you mind so much if I did?"

"It depends." She cast her gaze down and asks, ""Where?"

"What if I touch you here? "I reach down, placing my right hand on her leg just above the knee, then I'm lifting her skirt and stroking the inside of her thigh. I've never felt skin so smooth. My cunt starts to moisten, inside me something is churning.

"There is nice," Lindsay says.

"And here?" I say, my hand now between her legs rubbing the crotch of her panties.

She becomes silent and has closed her eyes. She spreads her legs nicely apart for me, her toes pointing inwards, arms dangling limp by her side. I run the fingers of my other hand through her hair; it's so fine that I feel I could blow it all away with one puff. My right hand continues to massage between her legs. I want to kiss those swollen lips of hers but I'm rationing myself, savoring every moment of her teenage deliciousness.

She starts to twist under my touch, I'm not sure if she’s excited or agitated. I ask, "Do you want me stop?"

"Uh-uh,” Says Lindsay, and shakes her head from side to side.

"You like it don't you, Lindsay? Is this what you wanted from Cathy?"

"For so long."

"Tell me what you would have done with Cathy last night, if she'd let you."

I hear her mumble something. I tell her, "I can't hear you, come closer.... In my ear." I pull her to me. She's limp and seems near to fainting. I support her at the shoulders with one hand as I continue to work between her legs with the other. "Tell me again." Her breath is hot against my cheek.

She breathes her words into my ear, telling me, "I’d hold her and kiss her with my tongue lick he pussy and suck her tits. Oh god, I really want her, but she won't. She won’t."

My lips brush her ear while I tell her, "Lindsay Lane, does your mother know what a dirty sweet little lesbo-tramp you are?" I kiss her neck below her ear, and then I bite her neck gently.

"Uh-Uh." She mutters while I savor her flesh. "She mustn’t know, please don't tell her. You won’t, will you?"

In my mind I imagine Tricia Lane on the chair in the corner, bound and gagged and forced to watch me seducing her daughter.

"I'm not taking advantage, am I Lindsay?"

"Uh-uh. I want to." She sighs heavily. "So much."

"Good, I'm glad. I’m going to show you things you have not even imagined. First, I want you to take off all your clothes."

"You do it,” Lindsay whispers.

"No, I want to watch you undress yourself." I move away and sit down on the edge of the bed.

My eyes maraud her body as she undresses. First, she reaches round to undo her skirt and allows it to drop around her ankles, then pulls her top over her head and lets it fall too. Her hair is a mess; she brushes wayward strands from her face. All this she does as if in a dream.

"And the rest."

She wriggles out of her panties, loosens her bras and allows it to fall away; finally she kicks off her jazz-softs. Naked, she stands self-consciously looking at the assorted garments at her feet. I feel my heart pounding: I realize how young she is and that she’s naked just for me. I think of all the gorgeous women I've made love to in the past and how not one of them can compare to the bloom of Lindsay’s young beauty. Her skin is unflawed, perfectly smooth; it radiates youth and life. Gravity has yet to get the better of her breasts, they are poised and slightly upturned, her nipples, small, pink and fresh. Stunned by her perfection my head is somersaulting. I sit and stare, gloating on what I’ve achieved in the half-hour since she rang my doorbell. I think of her mother at home, probably in the garden attending to the herbaceous borders, having no idea her teenage daughter is standing naked before me about to be ravished.

"Are you nervous, Lindsay?"

"No, excited. I've never…felt like this before. I so want you."

I stand and go to her. I arrange her disheveled hair, as if she were my doll. “Look what a mess you’ve made of yourself,” I say.

I fetch a brush from my dresser and run it through the downy flyaway strands. I want to touch her all over but am pacing myself. This has to last. I intend to have every inch of her, I will be thorough, no part of her will escape my attention. As I brush, she purrs pussycat quiet.

When I've done brushing, I tell her to stay exactly as she is. Her back is to me as I return the brush to its place on the dresser. Then with one easy movement I unzip the back of my dress and let it slide down. I look back at the girl and she's still where I left her. "Lindsay," I call. She turns and I can tell she is taken aback to see me naked. "Do you like my breasts? Come here and touch them if you like. Do you want to?" I run the back of my knuckles over my nipples while awaiting her answer. She says nothing but walks over to me. She is apprehensive about touching them. She seems to prepare herself before taking them both in her palms, fingers splaying upwards.

"They're so big, and heavy. They're wicked."

My voice is hoarse, almost a whisper. "I'm glad you like them. You can taste them if you like. Go on, suck them hard."

And she does, like a starving thing. She licks and sucks one after the other, then presses her face into my cleavage, moving her head from side to side. Her slobber makes them slippery. I imagine she's feeding from me, that she now belongs to me, is mine to do with whatever I wish. I rest my cheek against the top of her head and softly kiss her hair, while below she is lost and feverish between my tits. She is causing such gorgeous waves of pleasure to wash through me; a delicious yearning gnaws in my guts. My cunt's gagging for attention.

"See how nice that was; for you and for me."

I pull her up from my breasts and look into her eyes. They're filled with excitement and lust. She's on fire. I think it marvelous to see a young girl so aroused. I decide I’ve waited long enough; it's time to taste her outrageous lips. First I lick them gently, worming my tongue between them, drawing it from corner to corner. They're plump and spongy, I want to bite down, and so I give a tight nibble to the bottom one. Her breath is sweet gum scented. I wrap her in my arms and press her to me hard and we become lost to each other in our kissing.

She's so young, sweet and fresh that I think of something I have never done before, something I have only ever seen the girls in porn do. I've never rimmed or been rimmed. I decide Lindsay looks and smell so pure and untainted she would taste good even there.

I whisper, "Lindsay, you smell lovely and clean. Are you really clean…everywhere?"

She can hardly talk but manages to ask, "Why?"

"I need to know."

"I showered before."

"Good." We kiss again.

I lead her by the hand to the bed, and indicate where she is to sit. With both hands I take hold of her shoulders, guiding and pushing her back and turning her so she is lying on her front. When I’ve parted her legs I'm immediately down on her, kissing her smooth butt cheeks. I lick all over, every one of her pores oozes freshness and life. Eventually I run my tongue the length of her crack. The softness of her skins still amazes me. I begin to nuzzle my face into her, my tongue licking her back hole. She wriggles and gasps, "Oh. Oh...what are you doing? You mustn’t. god. Mrs. Bradley, please! But she doesn't tell me to stop.

My tongue is flickering over her tiny dark hole. I burrow and lick. The tip wants to penetrate her, and I feel the pucker beneath it. It is so tight; nothing has made the journey in this direction before. I feel her give way to my pressure, but anatomy prevents deeper exploration, so I circumscribe her, my saliva filling her tiny crater. Then I jab continually at her.

It’s hard to contain my excitement; I think my head might explode with desire. She starts to writhe, then giggle, then moans, then giggles again, and wriggles some more. My arms are under her belly, seeking her clit from the front. I continue to lick her arse while I have both hands under her; I finger her cunt and rub her clit. She's shaken by a rocking orgasm and squeals out loud. I feel pleased with myself, but beneath my smugness my own need for her attention rages.

While she regains her composure I rest my head on her most curvaceous buttocks. With my finger I touch where my tongue has been and feel my saliva sticky in her crack, I insert my index finger and gently massage her. After, I turn her over carefully gauging her reaction.

"I can't believe... I've just let you….“ She searches for words. “do what you did.” She’s finding it difficult to speak."

"Was it nice?"

"Oh yes. No one never even tried that before. Thank you." She indicates she wants to be kissed, and I oblige. She has lost all traces of self-consciousness; she kisses with abandon, no longer unsure.

"I have more for you, Lindsay." I reach into my draw and retrieve the large strap-on dildo I placed there earlier. "Put this on," I tell her.

"Wow! Let me feel it. I’ve never touched one before, only seen pictures. How does it go on?”

"I'll show you."

I help her into the contraption. She kneels on the bed while I adjust it to fit her. Its texture is quite realistic. When it's on it protrudes blatantly from her groin.

I tell her, “Now, there's a knack to these things. Take it slowly at firsts, until you get the feel of what it can do. You’ll soon see."

I lie back and spread my legs ever so wide.

She touches the dildo, but before she can insert it into me she burst into giggles. I mock scold her "Lindsay, please. This is serious."

"Sorry." She tries to keep a straight face but can't help herself and laughs even louder. “I'm sorry, it looks so silly."

"Don’t look. Close your eyes and come here." She does and I guide her to me. She is smiling broadly with eyes tight closed.

Soon she has found her rhythm and is fucking me like a young stud. I marvel at her pelvic thrusts, she has energy and skill. She goes on and on, is breathing fast but shows no sign of wavering. No other woman who’s ever used a strap-on with me has shown such athletic prowess. Then I remember Lindsay swims competitively, she's an athlete, and it shows. I moan to let her know I appreciate her energy, occasionally she’s far too vigorous and hurts me and I cry out.

I can’t cum just by penetration, I have to have attention to my clit. I indicate that I wish her to leave off the fucking me. She’s reluctant to dismount, but does. I tell her to lick me.

With the dildo still attached, she's down between my legs. I guide her head with my hands, giving subtle pressure and adjustments to let her know when she has it just right. When she seems to know what she's doing I allow her free reign. She works my clit beautifully; I can feel her chin pressing into my sloppy opening. I try to hold off, but she is too much for me and I shudder violently and cum hard pressing myself in her face.

I'm up by her side again, holding her in my arms. I feel protective now: she's such a lovely little thing. I stroke her hair and peck at her cheeks.

"Did you know this would happen," she asks. "Did you plan it?"

"I thought it might. I hoped it would."

"How long have you wanted to make love to me?"

"Since I found out you like girls: Today."

"Really?" She seems genuinely surprised. Even hurt, I imagine.

"Sorry, but yes. I don't make habit of lusting after my daughter's friends. Does it bother you?"

"I've had a crush on you since forever. I thought you might have felt some interest in me."

“You were too young…and surely I would seem like an old boot to you?"

“You would never seem old to me. You're so sophisticated and I love how tall and elegant you are, how composed you always seem. The clothes and makeup you wear. You're so beautiful and confident, you know who you are."

"Really? Since before today?" I sit up and look at her, to gauge her, to make sure she isn't being facetious."

"Yes, really." She sits up too and looks in my eyes with need and tenderness. I kiss her with love.

We come apart and she says, "Could I have a drink please?"

I open my bedside cabinet and take out one of the bottles of spring water I keep there.

"Here." I hand it to her.


"Last night, when I was drunk, I confessed to Cathy that I'd got a crush on you."

"You what?" Now I'm the one taken by surprise. "What did she say?"

"She already knew that I thought you were gorgeous, but she didn't know just how much I was obsessed with you. She was sweet about it and said she'd arrange something for me. She told me you were into women too.”

"The fuck she did. She doesn't know anything about my sexuality."

"She does, has known for years. Last night she told me all about you. She knows about that Mandy woman in Cornwall.” She teases, “Mrs. Bradley, you really should log off properly when you've used the family PC to check your emails."

Something collapses inside me.

She continues, "So when Cathy rings me at lunch time today and says if I come over here this afternoon I might have a pleasant surprise, well, I thought I'd come over and see what she'd arranged. She wouldn’t say what she'd come up with though. "She's so wicked, that daughter of yours, Mrs. Bradley. You must be proud."

Now it's me asking, "Oh god, what does Cathy think of me?"

"You're her Mum. She loves you. Being bi is no big deal. Most girls are these days. Even Cathy has dabbled."

I say, "God, Lindsay Lane, you're a bloody good little actress."

We laugh, fall back and make love again and loose ourselves to each other. We are slow and gentle now. It’s in a different way now that I'm making love to her, as a person, not just a bundle of cute flesh. I realize you don’t have to be older to be a strong sassy female. She’s exactly the kind I’ve always gone for: intelligent and feisty, knows exactly what she wants and not afraid to go for it. All in a gorgeous girlie, butter-wouldn’t melt, package.

We made love on three more occasions before she went off to university, in the fall. Last week Ireceived an email from her promising a visit when she's home at Christmas.

“What about Cathy?" You ask. Well, it took me a while to come to terms with her part in it all. I was dreading seeing her that evening, but she didn't say anything to embarrass me. Just like her mum, she's discreet. It was as if nothing had happened. She never mentioned my sexuality or Lindsay. We carry on being mum and daughter.

And Tricia Lane? Well, who has the last laugh now? Now, when I see her, I go to that place inside myself where I can relive the time I had my face buried between her daughter's peach buttock cheeks. Revenge is sweet, and very much best served cold.

© Copyright 2018 Flaneur. All rights reserved.

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