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Momentum 

“


The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. 
Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing 
for the things it has forbidden to itself."




Oscar Wilde

It had been several weeks since Melanie had so completely lost control of herself and the first few days following it had been… uncomfortable for her to say the least.

At first Becky had been quiet and withdrawn, timid almost, watching her mother out of the corner of her eyes when she came into a room and Melanie wondered if Becky was waiting for her to break down in another sweat covered, naked banshee, screaming her pleasure without so much as an ounce of restraint.

Melanie had spoken to Daniel about this, her words thick with shame and worry, but he had said she had to wait for Becky to make the first move, to ask the first question or simply to decide to forget what she had seen and carry on as if nothing had happened.

‘Either way, she’ll do something or say something that will tell you she’s ready to deal with what she saw. Don’t push her or try and accommodate her any more than you would normally. Business as usual in the Jessop household is what’s needed.’

‘You think so?’ Melanie had asked, unconvinced.

‘Iknowso, and so do you when it comes down to it.’ He had paused.‘Can you do that for me? Business as usual?’

Melanie had nodded, unsure but knowing all she could do was trust him. He’d led her so far along the path she found she belonged on and never let her put a foot wrong when she had placed her faith in him. She had no reason to doubt him and he was right; carry on, nothing to see here –that was the way to go.

And that was what she had done and before too long, Becky had got out of her bed one night (Daniel had said to let her sleep where she wanted until something changed) and come to her mother’s room, pointedly knocking and waiting to be called in before she opened the door.

And they had The Talk, as Melanie thought of it and though it started with the tentative fumblings of a child trying to express her feelings to a parent who hung on her every word, when Becky had eventually left and gone back to her own room, Melanie thought both of them were a lot more settled in their minds.

The next night, Becky had asked if she could sleep with her mommy and Melanie, with a dry mouth and a racing pulse, had said she could.

And when Becky was asleep she had again tugged the girls nightie off and tucked her warm, naked flesh against her own.

They both slept well.

‘Start to lay some very basic ground rules,’ Daniel had told her and she did with an almost unconscious willingness, doing before thinking about the practicalities or consequences of these things.

First was that when Becky came to the bedroom she took her nightie off. If she left, she could put it back on again. Simple enough and easily enforced, with an often naked or scantily dressed Melanie offering an‘uh-uh, you know the rules’ to send the girl away. Initially Becky left the room (Don’t call her back, Daniel had said) but that had quickly given way to pouting protests which in turn led to a huffy, heavy sigh and a reluctant stripping.

Now, though, Becky simply lifted her nightie up and off over her head and laid it on the chest of drawers by the door before joining her mother on top of the bed. Sometimes they talked, sometimes Becky watched something on the computer or played a game and sometimes she sat quietly to the side while her mother talked to Daniel.

‘Now we change the rule,’ Daniel had told her.

‘What rule, master?’ Melanie had asked.

‘The‘business as usual’ one,’ he replied.‘We change it to ‘act as if’ and, for a little while, we’re going to act as if she;s not there.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Melanie had replied.

‘Are you wet for me, slave?’ Daniel asked and Melanie had understood.

The thought of openly touching herself while Becky was around had long appealed to a base, animal part of her sexuality in ways Melanie had never suspected, and merely picturing Becky’s wide, blue eyes watching her was enough to turn her cunt into so much liquid mush.

But thought was one thing; theory was another entirely. Though Becky had seen her mother in the deepest throes of an all consuming passion, Melanie didn’t really feel like she had chosen for it to happen. She had gone there willingly enough, but the memory of it still amazed her as much as it aroused her. It was as if it happened to someone else or been a dream, perhaps. It had an edge of unreality to it, as if half of her knew and remembered driving the big toy in and out of her body while her daughter watched in shocked confusion, but the other half of her rejected such memories as painful and best forgotten because she should never have done such a thing to her own child.

But she had and she knew it and all she had by way of an excuse to hide her actions behind was to cling onto the idea that she hadn’t had a choice, that she had been manipulated and seduced somehow, that it wasn’t really her fault it had happened. And in the time since, Melanie had clung to that idea like a drowning man clings to a life ring.

And now Daniel was pushing her there again and Melanie knew, without a doubt that she would go there again, would go there willingly. But what she also knew, and what both aroused and appalled her, was that she wanted to, that she ached to that she neededto. For him or for her, she didn’t know, but she suspected it was both.

Where is this coming from? she thought to herself as the excited, enthralled anticipation began to build up inside her again. She cast a sideways glance at Becky who was beside her on the bed, lying on her front playing a game on Melanie’s iPhone with brow-furrowing concentration. She seemed to see her anew, as if she’d never really looked before, or at least never looked with such predatory eyes.

Becky was, Melanie almost saw for the first time, a very beautiful little girl. She still carried a little puppy-fat, but it gave her a pleasing solidity, a fullness… Melanie’s head groped for the right word and realised it was ‘ripe’. Becky was ripe, like a fruit on the branch, ready to be plucked before it fell to the ground where, Melanie knew, it would quickly spoil and go to waste. That word, ripe, sent another shiver of heat through Melanie and she found her eyes caressing her daughter in a way that was both vaguely unsettling and yet utterly appropriate somehow.

Becky lay there oblivious, her lower legs raised up and back, feet crossed and bouncing slightly. She followed the curve of her daughter’s thighs, their fullness, their ripeness, over the sweet curving swell of her ass and along her back. Melanie’s eyes continued their slow, contemplative way along Becky’s body, seeing the smooth perfection of her skin, the graceful, wonderful proportions of her, the way her long, blonde hair seemed to flow around the sides of her neck with perfect indifference.

From her angle she saw that Becky was absent-mindedly chewing on a few strands of her hair, mouth gently working as her fingers played over the surface of Melanie’s phone. She watched those lips move, the tongue occasionally flicking over them and she seemed to see it in slow motion, soft-focus. Melanie felt her own tongue slide across her lips, felt the predatory need grow hotter and harder.

Jesus, where is this coming from? she thought to herself and found that she didn’t much care. It was there, this urgent, covetous need, and it was real. In truth, it felt more real than anything else Melanie had felt for a long time.

Is it more real than my love for her?

And that gave her pause. That seemed to dim the fires a little. Melanie felt an increasingly familiar shame douse her passions like a bucket of water on a fire and guilt rose like smoke.

It’s neither more or less real. It’s just the truth. The truth is that this ismy love for her, and she didn’t really know, or care, where that thought had so suddenly and confidently come from. As quickly as they had been doused, her passions blazed fresh inside her.

I ache for this, Melanie admitted to herself. I ache for her.

‘Are you wet for me?’ he had asked her.

She could feel the growing wet heat between her thighs. ‘Yes, master. I’m wet for you,’she replied and thrilled at doing so.

And she saw that those words caught Becky’s attention, saw her ears seem to twitch almost, her face turn just a fraction. She stiffened for a second and then seemed to slowly relax again, eyes and attention seemingly fixed on the game at the expense of everything and everyone else.

‘Act as if, my girl,’ Daniel reminded her softly.

Melanie smiled and looked with knowing eyes into the camera.

‘I’d love to,’ she purred.

And Melanie changed. She felt it in a way, an almost physical shift within her, neither mental nor physical but somehow spiritual. Later, talking to Daniel, she compared it to something escaping it’s cage, like an animal, a beast, that had been pacing and restless for a lifetime.

‘And now it’s out,’ she told him. ‘Now it’s got the run of the place.’

‘Where do you think it will go?’ Daniel had asked her and she had looked into the glass eye and said, matter of factly,‘I think it’ll go where you lead it.’

That first night, Daniel had led her to simply forget Becky was with her on the bed. The little girl froze when she heard her mother begin to let go of her reserve, her master’s voice in her head, her hands on her body, stroking, pinching and exploring. She tried to ignore it all, tried to pretend it wasn’t real, memories of her mother’s screaming, frantic gasps of pleasure and pain that had mingled so completely they were inseparable.

But then Melanie had gone deeper, begun writhing and shifting as the exstacy increased, Becky still trying to block it out, still trying not to look in case her mother had again turned into the woman that so terrified her that night.

But then, as if Melanie fingering herself with utter abandon wasn’t enough and if her clenching and thrusting on top of that still wasn’t, Melanie’s gasps and grunts began to be replaced by words that Becky heard loud and clear.

‘Yes, master. I will. I know. I know she does,’ Melanie had said and then given a short, breathless laugh. ‘God yes. I’d love that’ There was another short pause and a small, thoughtful sigh.‘You sure? You want me to say that? Ears are wagging..’

And then...

‘...Well if you don’t, my love, nor do I.’

Becky listened as her mother drove her fingers hard in and out of her cunt, heard the wet sound of flesh on flesh, heard her speak.

‘I want to fuck her for you, master,’ said Melanie in a choked, trembling voice, the words sounding unsure and timid. Becky said nothing.

‘I want her... pussy. Her cunt. I want to.. to taste her and...’ Melanie trailed off, the passion and feverish desire in her voice joined by anguish and uncertainty. ‘I can’t,’she whispered urgently, but her fingers didn’t stop their industrious work. ‘I can’t say that, master. She’s my daughter. Please. How can I say that? How can you want me to? I don’t-‘

Melanie stopped talking, almost stopped moving apart from a slow, almost meditative stroking of her clit. She nodded and the tear that rolled down her cheek was as slow and heavy as the fire’s that began to burn incandescent within her as the uncaged beast was led by it’s master to embrace it’s purpose.

‘Most of all I want to feel her between my legs, feel her tongue and mouth and fingers on me. I want to... to hold her there... by the hair. Dragging... pulling her... tight... against me...’Melanie’s voice trailed away but there was no uncertainty now, no anguish.

‘God I’d fucking loveyou to watch that, master. I’d love to show you what I want to do for you... with you. I’d... oh God! God! Yes! I’d finger her... her... for you... Yes! I’d suck her little clit until she screamedfor us... Until shebegged me to.. to stop...’

Becky closed her eyes and wished it would stop, wished it would go quiet. Her heart pounded and her chin trembled a little as she bit it back.

Melanie gave a throaty, sordid chuckle, thick with heavy, stupid lust. ‘Yeah, maybe she would. Maybe... Yes. Maybe... Master, please can I come? Please? Please can I come? Oh God!’

Another of those brief pauses, Melanie obviously listening to her master and Becky wondered how much of this was from him and how much from her. Part of her knew it didn’t matter, not really, but she still wanted to know, still wanted to ask.

Do you love me mommy? Do you still love me? Will you hurt me?

‘Because... because she might be like me. She might be a slut. A f-f-fucking whore, a toy. Yes! A fucktoy. She might be... Wouldn’t... be surprised. Maybe, yes,’ and Melanie was taking great ragged gasps of breath, lost and loving the feeling.

‘Are you going to be a good fucktoy for me, baby?’Melanie asked aloud to herself in a tight, brittle voice that Becky heard perfectly well, as she sort of knew she was meant to. ‘Are you going to show your mummy how much you love her? How much you want... to make her... happy... Thank you, master... Thank you...

And she came, hard and loud and without a thought for the frightened, tensed form of her naked daughter.

The next time something like that happened again a few nights later , Becky had been in her room, door closed. She hadn’t slept with her mommy since creeping away the last time she talked to him. That night she heard them talk briefly, the walls rendering their voices little more than muffles. But then her mother had approached, opened the door without knowing and looked at her daughter with a flushed face and slightly teary eyes.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’re sleeping with me tonight.’

Becky got to her feet and walked unhappily towards her mother who flicked the strap on her nightie.

‘You know better, Becky,’ she said and, yes, Becky did but she wished she didn’t. She tugged it off, tossed it on her bed and left the room with Melanie.

It was a few hours before either of them got to sleep.

This went on for a while, sometimes twice a day, sometimes not. Sometimes her mother dressed and got made-up and sometimes not. She masturbated, sometimes hard and sometimes soft, her orgasms intense but not always tinged with that edge of ferocity, of hungry intensity, that made Becky wince and want to hide. Those nights, where here pleasure came with a slow, shuddering intensity that left Melanie shaking but not hoarse with screaming.

In Becky’s new, evolving reality, those were the good nights. Those were the nights where she didn’t feel the need to cry.

Soon enough, it wasn’t enough for Becky to just be there, laying on the bed naked trying to ignore what was going on behind her. Before long, Daniel talked Melanie into showing her daughter what was happening and making sure she saw it.

‘If she gets off the bed and goes to leave, bring her back. If she won’t look but keeps turning her head, tell her to watch. Start with telling her softly, encouraging her to do what you want. If that doesn’t work, roll out the anger and disappointment or say how hurt you are that she won’t look. Make her feel guilty for hurting your feelings.’

‘Yes, master,’ Melanie had replied with the look of the acolyte in her eyes. Part of her was dimly aware of how fast this was accelerating now, how much momentum was building and how much impetus was pushing her ever onward and downward.

‘But if she still won’t do as we want, then she will have to be punished until she does. ‘

And Melanie had smiled.

Gentle encouragement and the odd sharp voice had been enough to keep Becky where she was put and looking at what they wanted her to look at.

She would be told to kneel between her mothers wide ankles, thighs together, back straight, small hands on the tops of her thighs, fingers with the tell-tale sign of lightly chewed nails spread out over them.

And from that position, she would watch as her mother fucked herself, sometimes with fingers, sometimes with a toy. She would watch as Melanie put clamps on her nipples as her sopping wet cunt was penetrated with a passion that varied between deep need and manic arousal. And she would listen as her mother talked to Daniel, saying how much she wanted to fuck Becky, how much she wanted to train her and break her and shape her. Becky heard that she was the perfect age for training, that she might be a slave and a good one or that maybe she would be a whore, a cocksucking whore at that.

She knew what most of these things were and they all scared her.

The first time Melanie spanked Becky was because Becky wouldn’t kneel behind her mother, wouldn’t look between Melanie’s spread legs as she forced a large, red plug into her ass. What she had to watch wasn’t the problem for Becky but her mother’s agonised gasps and cries as she tried, repeatedly, to get her body to accept the toy were too much. When Melanie had collapsed forward, almost sobbing with the effort and eye-watering pain of forcing her anus to accept the plug, Becky had simply got off the bed and run to her room. The slam of the door seemed to shake the whole house.

‘Bring her back, lay her on the bed and spank her. I want you to spank her hard and fast and tell her she is not to leave the room without permission. Do it now, slave,’ Daniel told her in a flat, precise voice. ‘She cannot be allowed to treat her mother with such disrespect.’

And Melanie had done precisely that. Becky hadn’t simply followed her mother back but instead sat there dumbly shaking her head, face buried in the fur of her favourite bear. Her mother had asked then demanded then screamed for Becky to do as she was told. Becky simply shook her head mutely.

So Daniel got to watch as Melanie dragged Becky back by her hair, almost lifting the little girl off her feet as she tried to keep up. The bed bounced a little as the little girl was thrown across it and then Melanie was sat alongside her hauling the child over her lap right in front of the beady eye of the camera. Melanie slipped the headset back on before raising her hand and bringing it down with sharp intent. The impact echoed flat and dull across the room.

‘You you will not leave this room without permission, Becky. Do you understand me?’

And each word was punctuated by one of those flat, hard smacks and by the third one Becky was wailing in pain and confusion.

‘Tell her she’s an ungrateful whore,’ Daniel suggested darkly.

Melanie smiled with wolfish approval at the camera.

‘You’re an ungrateful fuckingwhore, Becky Jessop! Do you hear me?’

And Becky had screamed in pain, crying out that yes she heard, she was sorry and please stop, mommy, please stop.

‘Say it, Becky. What are you? Say it!’

‘I’m a... I’m a whore.... mommy. I’m a – a– a whore. I’m sorry mommy. I’m sorry! Please...’

When Melanie stopped, two things had changed. The first was that Becky’s ass was a mess of crimson hand marks, overlapping into an angry, vivid blush that stood out even more against the pale, unmarked skin around it.

And the second thing that changed was that Becky, red-eyed and with her small body hitching with frightened sobs, did not look away when she was put back in her place and again sat watching her mother violating herself for a distant voice.

And once she had been punished once, it was easier for Melanie to do it again, easier for her to find reason to do it again and the pleasure she felt just grew and grew. The first time had felt glorious to Melanie, just exquisitely and undeniably right, like she’d finally scratched an itch that had been tormenting her for years. And like any itch, the more you scratch it, the better it feels to do so.

If Becky forgot to strip, Melanie slapped her thighs. If she got distracted watching what ever she’d been told to watch, Melanie yelled at her and sometimes flicked her hard little nipples and sometimes gripped her by the chin and shook her head as she admonished her daughter.

The night Melanie had sat on the edge of the bed, fucking herself once more with the big, fat dildo she so loved, with Becky knelt on the floor, face just inches away from the point where the toy was almost entirely withdrawn from Melanie’s sucking, wet cunt, was the first time Melanie slapped her daughter round the face, though it would not be the last. When Melanie came, with her usual splashy abandon, some of her pussy juice splattered onto Becky’s intent face. The girl had made a face, given a sudden‘eww’ as she wiped a hand across her face, nose wrinkled, eyes squeezed shut and turned away.

‘You going to let her get away with that?’ Daniel had asked.

Melanie didn’t even reply. She started with Becky’s ass and thighs, briefly delivered a few full palm slaps to her flat chest and then slapped her child, hard and fast, front and back, across the face. The last one sent the little girl to the floor where she just lay there, sobbing and hitching.

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