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Momentum 

“


My soul tasted that heavenly food, 
which gives new appetite while it satiates.


” 
Dante Alighieri

‘How does she taste?’ Daniel whispered and Melanie licked her lips, sampling her daughter like a delicacy.

But the truth was, Becky didn’t taste of very much of anything. There was a slight bittersweet tang to her and the musky scent that seemed to inflame Melanie’s sense, but taste? No, not really, more a lesser version of Melanie's own body, like Becky was her mother but watered down.

And yet the effect it had on Melanie's senses was profound, like a kick of adrenalie. First was the simple truth of what she was doing.

I'm molesting my own child, a wonderous, mervelling voice whispered inside Melanie's head. She felt the softness of her daughter's flesh, the perfect natural smoothness that Melanie could never achieve, despite the best attempts of her beautician.

But hot on the heels of that was why she was molesting Becky. 

I'm doing it because I want to do it, and that was a truth that not too long ago would have seemed as ridiculous as it was repulsive to Melanie. She just wasn't... that... kind of person; a monster, an abuser, a.. pedophile. A part of her wondered where these desires and passions came from, if they had been buried inside her waiting for someone like Daniel to bring them to the surface or if they existed because that's what Daniel wanted. She ran her tongue over the nub of Becky's clit, teasing it, caressing it and Becky shifted at the sensation but stayed silent.

A memory came back to her from nowhere, of when she would breast feed Becky and how, when it was just the two of them, she would gently masturbate at the exqusite feel of Becky's greedy, sucking mouth on her nipple. Melanie would close her eyes, savouring the wonder of milk passing from her body into her precious little girl and almost subconciously her fingers would dig deep into her cunt. Sometimes Melanie just fingered herself, slow and with a deep, intense passion her husband never even came close to in their lovemaking. But sometimes she would push deep inside her cunt and dig her nails in, usually hard enough to draw blood. 

Was I punishing myself? Melanie wondered. 

But before she could give that idea any thought, her mind flashed onto one of the last nights she'd shared a bed with her late husband. There had been a wonderful storm that night, great flashes of lightning and rolling thunder and Melanie had gone to bed early when the power went out. Not long after Becky had joined her, scurrying into the room like a frightened rabbit and burrowing under the duvet to curl up against her mother.

They'd slept a little and then Melanie woke when her husband had began groping between her legs like a man looking for change down the back of the sofa. Showing his usual delicate, he lay behind her, almost spooning, and lifted the thin fabric of her cotton nightie to ruck it up around her waist. She felt the tip of his cock nuzzling between her thighs until he took timself in hand and put the blunt end where it needed to be. Seconds later, Melanie gave a stifled cry as he pushed into her barely moist body. She'd still had her arms around Becky and in the darkness of the room their daughter had gone unnoticed snuggled under the duvet. 

The pain of him driving into her, of her body trying to adapt and provide some lubrication to his short, hard thrusts had made her mind reach out for something to find arousal in. Many things had provided that; actors (and even an actress or two), someone at work once or twice and even just a Generic Good Looking Guy she could conjure inside her head to woo her with roses and chocolates or simply a good, hard fucking, whichever she most needed to fill her head with at the time.

But that night none of the usual cast came to her. That night, she'd focused on Becky and as her husband had taken his pleasure, so Melanie had found hers, gently rolling Becky over onto her back. She lifted the nightie higher still until one of her breasts became bare and then, as a shiver of decadent pleasure coursed through her, she had pushed the nipple to Becky's mouth. In a darkness lit only by the occasional flashes of white from outside, as thunder rumbled from the heavens and as her husband, a man who had less than a year to live so it would turn out, began to fuck her with the slow, steady determination that often made Melanie wonder if sex with her was a pleasure or an obligation to him, she felt Becky's small mouth open and her daughters lips fold around her nipple.

Becky had been nearly three when Melanie had, reluctantly, stopped breastfeeding her and she'd only done that because she'd felt guilty and ashamed at her reasons for wanting to keep it going. But nonetheless her daughter took to the teat again perfectly willingly, sucking and trying to feed, her hot mouth and soft lips even more exqusite than Melanie remembered. There was no sensation of milk flowing between them but it had the desired effect; Melanie got wet and her husband's fucking got less painful.

She kept Becky on her breast even as her husband came inside her. She swapped her to the other nipple as he'd fallen back, gasping. And Becky's mouth was still sucking away with the same earnest determination even when his gentle, rythmic snoring started. In fact she only let Becky stop once both of her nipples were raw and sore and she had cum repeatedly yet almost silently and with a shuddering, muscle straining intensity that left her dizzy.

Only then did she let Becky rest, holding her daughter against her long after the little girl had fallen asleep and listening to the storm outside and the storm inside her head. At some point she slept and the next morning... well, life goes on, said the voice in her head.Sometimes we do strange things and they make us feel uncomfortable and maybe even ashamed, so we lock that part of us away and let it fade and die and life goes on. We pretend those parts of us don't exist, pretend they're not the truth of us, pretend they're not who we are under that mask we have to wear. 

And that's when Melanie accepted that Daniel was the excuse she'd used to let this side of her come out. If this part of her had been locked away inside her head, Daniel was the skeleton key she'd picked the lock with to set it free.

And why did I set it free? Melanie asked herself, and the answers came easily and without a shred of guilt or shame. Why? Because my little girl makes me ache, makes my cunt throb and my mouth water and my nipples hard and my head swim. She did when she was a baby and I masturbated as I fed her from my own body. She did when I used to want to dress her long past when she was able to do it herself, just so I could feel the warm ,soft smoothness of her body. I ached for her when we cuddled and I felt her against me, small and vulnerable and oblivious to the effect she had one me. Every time I kissed her, smelt her, touched her, held her, hugged her, dressed her, undressed her, bathed her, bathed with her, slept naked with her while he was on business, helped her play with my makeup, masturbated while she was in the house, hoping and praying and fearing that she would walk in and catch me.

What are you doing, mommy?

Come here, baby, let me show you...

Melanie's world seemed to tilt with the flood of memories long denied and secrets long buried and truths long ignored.

And why has she always had that effect on me?

Because I'm a pedophile, a child abuser, a child molester, a monster, sick and twisted and depised

But as true and delicious as all of those things are, Melanie realised, they don't mean a thing without me being something else as well...

Melanie lifted her head, lips wet, and gently, smoothly ran her had along Becky's thigh, over her sweet body and up to gently rest against her wide-eyed, timid little girl's cheek.

'I'm mummy to a beautiful little girl named Becky,' she said softly and her eyes shone.

Melanie lowered her head once more but the gentle, tender touch with her mouth soon began to change. First she began to push her tongue gently between the impossibly silky-smooth flesh of her daughter’s pussy and then she pushed it deep into her, feeling the heated, tight flesh of her fuckhole and moaning in sheer delight at it.

Then, without really knowing it, Melanie brought her hand up and, moving her mouth to nuzzle and explore Becky’s small, hard clit, slid her finger into the slick, wet heat of Becky’s pussy. Becky stiffened briefly but Melanie barely noticed and certainly didn’t care. She didn’t care when she pushed her finger harder and deeper, causing Becky to squirm her ass around and give a soft ‘ahhhh’ of pain.

She didn’t notice when, whilst sucking hard on Becky’s tender young clit, the child gave a yelped cry and bucked under her mother’s touch.

Melanie raised her head and turned to look at the camera with heavy, almost drugged eyes. ‘She tastes like a fucktoy,’ she said with a wet-lipped, breathless smile and then lowered her head to feast a little more.

Becky endured this with silent stoicism, her eyes flicking from the camera to her mother to the ceiling to simply being closed. She twitched occasionally, when Melanie hit a sweet or sour spot and Melanie remembered each, returning to them with varied touches and caresses, gauging and learning of her daughter’s reactions.

By the time she lifted from her daughter’s slightly inflamed, spit slick, gaping pussy, Melanie’s eyes had their own stoned look, though for a different reason.

She rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, looking up to the camera with heavy lidded eyes and then reached down and pulled her toy box out from under the bed.

‘On your belly, baby,’ she said to Becky, rummaging for what she wanted. ‘Put a pillow under you and lay over it for me.’

With fear creeping into her eyes, Becky obeyed.

The plug was small and gently tapered to the stocky base but Melanie knew just by looking at Becky’s tight, puckered anus that it would not go in easily.

But it is going in, Melanie thought and was surprised by the cold, hard edge her need had suddenly taken.

She took a tube of KY, partially curled with a tacky crust around the cap, and squirted a curl of it onto the toy itself and on to Becky’s clenched asshole. She used her hand to smooth it all over the toy but only the tips of two fingers to do the same around Becky’s entrance, testing the strength and grip of her daughter with only one finger.

“It’ll go,’ Melanie whispered to herself absent-mindedly, again forgetting the beady glass eye of the camera.

She pressed the tip experimentally against Becky’s anus and the girl instantly tensed, head jerking round to look at Melanie.

‘Mommy?’ Becky asked in a small, timid voice.

‘Shush, baby,’ Melanie chided mildly and pressed harder.

Becky gave a sudden cry of pain at the increased pressure and Melanie saw her ass cheeks clench tighter still.

‘If you don’t relax, Becky, this is going to hurt a lot more,’ she warned, her voice low and flat.

‘It hurts already, mommy,’ Becky replied, small hands reaching round to try and protect herself. Melanie gave a sharp, angry growl, whipped to the toy box and plucked a short length of thin cord. Putting the plug aside, she wrapped the cord round her daughter’s wrists, tied a simple but effective knot and ran the loose end up to the back of Becky’s collar. There she threaded it through the half ring that the tail of the collar tucked under and, pulling Becky’s wrists upwards and clear, tied that off too.

‘That’s put paid to your little games, hasn’t it?’ Melanie demanded and gave Becky a hard slap on her ass cheek. It bloomed instantly red, her palm print clearly visible and, to Melanie, so beautiful it deserved a matching partner and she gave Becky’s other cheek a similar mark. ‘Lovely,’ she said, stroking her hand over the blushed, warm curve of flesh.

She picked the plug up again and returned to the task at hand. Becky, who was sobbing softly from pain and confusion, reacted badly to the renewed pressure, kicking and shrieking as Melanie pushed harder and harder.

The plug was now a couple of inches in and had the same to go again before it was properly in.  Melanie gave another hard, callous push and Becky’s anus seemed to give suddenly, the toy pushing all the way in, the narrow base gripped hard and fast by the body of the screaming, wailing little girl.

‘Good girl, good girl,’ Melanie said, shushing Melanie’s harsh, hitching sobs of pain and humiliation. There were no words, just unintelligible, gasping sobs.

‘I think we’ll leave that in there for a while,’ Melanie said, and kissed her daughter’s peach of a backside. ‘Might even let you sleep in it, if you’re good.’

Melanie turned on her side and pushed a hand between her legs, masturbating with slow, luxuriant enjoyment, her other hand stroking her daughter from top to bottom.

‘Will you be good for me, Becky, or shall I get the bigger plug for your bottom? Would you like that?’

‘Nuh-nuh-no...’ Becky said through the sobs and Melanie instantly crashed a hard hand down across her ass.

‘No, what?’ she demanded.

‘Nuh-nuh-no-muh-mommy. Please. I’m sorry, muh-mommy. Please. I’m sorry,’ and Melanie felt a course of absolute unashamed delight ripple through her like a heat-haze when she saw Becky’s face as the child turned to face her with imploring eyes.

The lipstick was smudged, streaked, some on the bedclothes, some smeared a little way up her cheek, and the mascara and liner had run, giving her red eyes a distraught, shocked look of the victimised.

She looks like she’s been raped, was the first thing that came into Melanie’s head and the thought made her masturbate harder still, her fingers a blur. Soon enough, she will be.

‘I want her to eat my cunt,’ she said aloud to Daniel, who had been silent for long enough that Melanie had only just remembered he was watching.

Unless he’s lost connection , she thought and found the idea amused her. Becky just went on sobbing and struggling against her bindings, Melanie seeing that the collar was pulled tight against her throat which explained the slightly raspy, breathless quality to Becky’s sound.

‘Then make her,’ Daniel replied after a few seconds and Melanie thought, for a second, she heard a dazed, shocked quality to his voice.

Or maybe it’s fear, she thought.

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