by Emma
Chapter Five: Come for Mommy, Little One
“All right, girls,” Miss Ashcroft announced, briskly clapping her hands. “Mommies need some wine and nighttime air, and the space to say cruel and tender things about you where you can’t hear.” She bent to give my cheek the softest of pecks, almost as reassurance that she wouldn’t be too harsh in her gossip. “Be darlings and play nicely, but I want someone crying happy tears when we come back.”
With a kiss lazily blown into the room, she turned and swanned through the patio doors, glass in hand, followed by Miss Evangeline and Miss Rowan in a slow, decadent procession. All three of them were naked, casually so, like goddesses at a garden party run by Circe The scent of lemon verbena and honeysuckle curled through the air, laced unmistakably with sweat and sex.
And in their wake: unsupervised us.
Bunny dropped to all fours with a yip, wriggling her bunny-bottom as she scrambled after the twins, who were already circling her like cute baby wolves. One sniffed at her bottom, the other licked a shiny stripe across her face, and Bunny just giggled, her tongue out and her ass shifting from side to side like it was mulling things over.
“I’m ready!” she yipped, rolling over onto her back and pawing at the air, her legs spread shamelessly.
The dining room exploded with high-pitched arf–arfs and the sound of eager, lolling tongues finding purchase on whatever princess parts they could reach. One of the twins licked messily at Bunny’s pussy, the other straddled her face, lowering her bare slit to Bunny’s parted lips in an act more suggestive of sexual dominance than gratification.
Bunny got right to work, her tongue gliding from the little girl’s clit to her rosebud. I just stood there, frozen, blushing and definitely not breathing.
“Horny little jailbait bitches,” Trouble muttered. “You okay there, new girl?”
I turned. The fourteen-year-old punk princess was lounging against the kitchen island, naked from the waist down, dangling her own red thong from a fingernail. Her glittery MOLEST ME MOMMY tee was the only thing left to cover her body, and Trouble’s eyes were aimed at me.
“I—uh—yes. I’m fine?”
Trouble’s smirk was practically feral. “You don’t look fine. You look like someone trying really hard not to finger her ass while watching three girls tongue-fuck each other on a shag carpet.”
I flinched. I couldn’t help it. This girl scared the stuffing out of me. But oh, my GOD, did she turn me on. I didn’t know whether to turn tail and flee the room, or throw myself at her feet and say Do whatever you want with me.
Trouble prowled closer. “Hey, new girl – ever had someone sniff your pussy just to see what kind of mood you’re in?”
I was frozen, a deer in her predatory punk headlights. She was obviously a bully. And she was getting off on it. I could tell by the way her nipples were stiffening through the tee she wore, becoming increasingly visible with every crude word she spoke.
Trouble leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “I know this is making you wet. I haven’t even touched you, yet here you are, your pussy as creamy as dessert. If I called you a cunt, you’d say, ‘Yes, I am,’ and thank me for it, wouldn’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“That’s not—”
“Ever had a meany big sister pin you down and force her fingers inside you?”
I swallowed hard. I was an only child, but one of my favorite masturbation fantasies was having an older sister to take charge of my life, everything from picking out my clothes to ordering me to go down on her. In my imagination, I always submitted gladly. Could Trouble be that sister? The idea warmed me, made me tingle all over.
She noticed it, too – and her wicked smile deepened. “There she is,” she growled. “There’s the nasty girl, cracking open. You’re trapped inside a kennel, cutie. At Lollipop Lane, you’re just another bitch in heat, with a puppy’s tongue teasing her clit.”
Raising a single finger, Trouble slowly trailed it down between my breasts. Not a rough touch; just enough pressure to make my nipples ache through the fabric.
Before I could stop her, before I even decided if I wanted to stop her, Trouble shoved me back against the island to press her thigh between mine, firm and insistent against my cunny. Her hands caged my hips, her mouth moved to within an inch of mine. “Be honest, little sis,” she murmured, rocking gently against me. “You wanna hump my leg, don’t you? That’s what all you puppy-girls want. Do it. Go on and hump my leg, you little slut…go on… fuck your big sister.”
My hips were already moving before my mind caught up—slowly at first, so maybe I could pretend it wasn’t happening. But my clit was aching from so much teasing and watching other girls be shameless for the pleasure of grown women. There was only so much a girl could take, and I’d hit my limit.
I whimpered, forehead pressed to Trouble’s shoulder, and began to grind into her– quick, desperate little thrusts, working up a friction lewd enough to make me blush, and just right enough to make me keep going. I sensed my bad-girl lover grinning above me, proud of how quickly she’d made me give in.
“That’s it, pup,” Trouble whispered. “Little bitch sister knows what she needs.” She didn’t move, she let me do the work, let me rub and rut and grind into her like a needy mess, her thigh flexing just enough to make me whine, my orgasm coming at me like a tsunami and I wanted it, I needed it, coming like a wildcat in heat humping this cocky fucking punk dyke. My white-knuckled hands gripped her ass, breath escaping my lips in frantic gasps—and then I was coming again, my body jerking in helpless spasms, groaning against her barely concealed breasts while my orgasm pulsed hot and humiliating through my core. Finally, I slumped against her, utterly spent, barely able to stand.
Trouble’s fingers curled under my chin and tilted my face up, peering at me like she was inspecting something precious. Then she kissed me, her tongue sliding inside, a perfect preview of what she could do with it between my legs, inside my bottom. She tasted like vape, cherry lip balm and a hint of pussy that I suspected she’d got from Miss Rowan.
Her mouth was wild and smug, fucking my mouth with a kiss that made it clear she’d completely bested me. And then she pulled back, licked her lips like I was still lingering on her tongue… and spat directly into my open mouth.
“That makes us sisters,” she hissed, “and you a good little bitch in heat.”
And without a flicker of hesitation, she swept one of the salad plates off the counter and let it crash dramatically to the floor, where it shattered.
“Oh, really, Trouble?” From the patio, Miss Rowan’s voice sliced through the air.
“Did I do that?” Trouble stuck out her tongue towards her mother, flipped the rest of us a double-finger salute, and ripped off her shirt, the last bit of clothing she wore. She didn’t even pretend to resist as Miss Rowan strode in, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her up the staircase like a misbehaving kid. “I meant to do that!” she shrieked, laughing all the way.
On the carpet, Bunny moaned quietly as she watched Trouble’s forced exit, wiggling the fingers of one hand to wave goodbye. The twins were licking her cunt and anus, oblivious of all else.
I bent to pick up pieces of the shattered plate. Because that felt like something a sane person might do.
Mind you, by then I was anything but sane. But this was a beautiful, thrilling, soul-cleansing madness I’d hungered for my whole life long without knowing it. And I wanted more.
Bunny pranced toward the stairs, leading the twins with a squeal and a flourish of hands, her bottom jiggling enticingly with every bounce. Miss Evangeline followed with the grace of a wicked ballet mistress, trailing satin ribbons that she’d tied around the throats of her puppygirls. They all ascended upstairs as a giggling, giddy procession of leash-tugs and squealed filth.
Miss Ashcroft and I were left in the soft hush of the now quiet kitchen.
She took a long sip of her wine, then murmured, “Wait for the music…”
From upstairs came a rapid-fire percussion of slaps, followed by high-pitched yips. There was a stifled “Mommy, please!” and something that sounded like “That’s my tushy, sis… ooohh, that’s my TUSHY!” all punctuated by giggles and moans.
Miss Ashcroft smiled almost dreamily as she trailed a manicured hand across her breasts, full and heavy in the evening quiet. She didn’t tweak a nipple for my benefit; there was just the hint of pressure, like a woman remembering her favorite book while feeling the texture of the cover.
“This night,” she said softly, “is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect.”
She turned to me with a precise, carnivorous grace that made me feel like I was already naked even though I wasn’t, not quite. I still wore one of Bunny’s slutty mini-skirts and the too-tight cotton tee. But I ached to be naked, to bare my body, my soul to Miss Ashcroft, the stern, loving mommy I’d always longed for, but never had.
Did she want me to undress for her? I was afraid she might not. .
“Lily.”
“Yes, Miss Ashcroft?”
“Follow me to the lounge.”
I did. Of course I did. Because the air smelled like roses and sex, and there was the sound of little girls as background music. My pussy was tingly, alive with erotic possibilities. God help me, I was already forgetting what it might feel like to not be part of this lust-fueled family.
♡ ⚢ ♡ ⚢ ♡
The fire crackled in secret tongues, the shadows dancing along the walls of the lounge. Miss Ashcroft, still gloriously nude, seated herself in a comfy leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, her posture elegant and feline, her body regal, elegant and entirely, unashamedly perfect.
I sat opposite her, still dressed, still unsure of myself. My nervous hands were pinned between my knees to keep them still. The heat from the fire soaked into my legs. The heat from her soaked into everything else.
She didn’t look at me, just sipped her wine and let the room breathe around us.
And I… I wanted. My body hummed with the all-consuming need I felt. But I didn’t know how to want properly. I longed to reach out, to curl up at her feet, to beg her please, please, without knowing what for…but the words were too shy to let themselves be heard, like kittens afraid to meow.
She glanced over at me then, just the flick of her eyes. “You’re doing so well, Lily.”
I blushed so violently I thought I might burst. “I’m just… sitting here.”
Miss Ashcroft smiled, and it was the kind of smile that could unmake kingdoms. “Exactly. You’re here.” A pause. Another sip. Then she murmured, “Would you like to be useful, Lily?”
My heart pounded. Here it comes.
I nodded.
She still didn’t move. “Then wait. If you want to belong here, you must learn to savor the suspense. Just a little while longer. You’re curious, maybe even afraid. You’re probably wondering why so few mothers make love to their daughters like we do. You’ve noticed how we play with roles that feel too intimate for most. Perhaps you long to ask why we do these things. You want to know why we’ve built this house around our dangerous fantasies, fantasies we make real… fantasies that, if they became known to the wrong people, could land the women in prison – and our girls into foster homes.”
She paused, not for effect, but for emphasis.
“Mind, you, this is not some sex cult… even though sex is part and parcel of it. We’re taking back what once was ours, the power that men would move heaven and earth to deny us. It’s a reclamation of something the world forgot. We live in a male-dominated culture, one that takes softness and twists it, that mocks unabashed need, that punishes yearning. But here on the Lane we are allowed to cherish it. We honor it.”
She looked directly at me then, and I felt my whole self go still under the weight of that gaze.
“When my daughter kisses me like a lover, it isn’t because she’s confused. It’s because she’s found safety. She’s tired of pretending not to want guidance, warmth, approval. She’s choosing to be seen—fully, and without shame. It’s not about genetic biology. It’s about intention. I’m her mother, I give structure, discipline and care. She gives me trust and vulnerability. That… that is love in its perfect form. We don’t blur lines here on the Lane, we draw new ones, with consent and creativity in an eternal marriage to each other. In doing so, we become something freer. Something truer.”
The fire snapped softly as if it, too, was holding its breath.
“I don’t know who I am,” I whispered.
Miss Ashcroft didn’t say anything. She simply tilted her head with that impossibly feline grace, showing not a trace of surprise.
That was when something cracked open inside me, and the words spilled out.
“I’m not—I don’t even know how,” I stammered. “I keep—I always try to be what other people want, right? I dress right, talk right, laugh at the right jokes, and I’m always watching myself like I’m some horrible show I can’t turn off, and I smile when I’m screaming inside, and I try to act like I’ve got it together… but I don’t, Miss Ashcroft. I don’t. I never have.”
My thoughts were pouring forth in a torrent, things I’d never said to anyone, and I couldn’t stop them.
“I used to imagine dying, then maybe people would finally say something nice about me. I’ve never known what it’s like to feel genuine confidence. I hate my body, but I hate even more how much I want people to want it. And I can’t make myself s-stop feeling that way. I need to be wanted. And touched. And told what to do b-by someone who loves me. And I hate that even more, ‘cause what if that makes me weak? Or pathetic? Or-or…or wrong?”
By now I was crying, full-on, sniffling and sobbing..
“And worst of all? I hate myself for pretending I’m not any of that!”
Miss Ashcroft rose with the slow grace of a woman who had never hurried in her life, her wineglass abandoned on the side table, eyes fixed only on me. She crossed the space between us. When she reached me, she didn’t speak—just extended one elegant hand to touch my chin, guiding me to my feet like I was too fragile to grasp.
Together, we both sank down to the plush rug before the fireplace, its texture thick and soft under my knees. The glow of the flames kissed her skin in golden hues. I was still crying uncontrollably, but Miss Ashcroft pulled me close, curling me into her lap like I was something wounded that had come home to heal. My head rested against her thigh, breath shaky, fingers tangling into the weave of the rug.
“Shhh, pretty girl… shhhh…” Her hand slid to the small of my back.
She guided me across her knees, gently positioning me until my bare ass was angled upward, exposed to the firelight. My heart was racing like a hummingbird’s wings.
“Now, Lily,” she murmured, her palm warming my naked skin, “it’s time for you to begin again.”
And then the first sharp, precise smack landed on my bottom. It wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t even hard. It felt almost ceremonial.
I gasped. I knew what she was doing, without any reason to know. I began to cry harder.
“You are precious,” she said, her voice almost a song. “You have worth. Enormous worth.”
Then came the next spank, firm and measured, on the verge of cruelty but not quite.
“This one is for the lies,” she said. Another.
“This one is for the shame.” And another.
Now came a pause to let me breathe. Her hand trailed across my buttocks, those perfectly manicured nails gliding over the heated skin. Then Miss Ashcroft cupped my bottom, soothing away the heat she’d just raised. Her fingers spread my anal cleft just enough for her to caress my tingling star.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Such a darling little bottom you have. So sensitive. So perfect. Made to be pleasured by so many tongues and fingers, so many sisters and aunties, teachers and babysitters, and dozens of new lovers…”
Smack.
“This one,” she said, “is so you never forget you’re mine.”
Suddenly the fingertip of her other hand pressed deep into my anus. It didn’t hurt as much as one might think, but being so abruptly penetrated startled me so much that I burst into waves of fresh tears. And that brought forth a new volley of spanks from Miss Ashcroft.
“Good girl,” she whispered between each strike. “Let it go. Every lie they made you believe, every insult, each little hurt. Cry, my love. Cry for the little girl who was never held.”
I did. The tears came in waves. Each sting of her hand purged shame from me like the soul-killing poison it was, in a cleansing rain of blows that washed me clean.
When it was done, Miss Ashcroft turned me over in her arms like a doll and cradled me against her bare breast. I clung to her, still trembling. I could easily have taken her nipple between my lips, but chose to wait, let this magnificent woman give me the right to love her.
“There you are,” Miss Ashcroft said softly, brushing damp hair from my face. “You’re not lost, dear girl, just waiting for someone to love you properly.” She kissed the tears from my cheeks one by one. “Shhh. You don’t need to be afraid anymore. You’re home now.”
I broke. Fully. Sobbing into the comfort of her breasts. Then my heart soared as she offered a nipple to me. I immediately began licking, then suckling the swollen tip with my eyes closed.
This was a bonding experience like no other. Miss Ashcroft was offering me a new life, a new family, one where I mattered. I’d been on the verge of drowning in my own grief, and she was my salvation.
Miss Ashcroft gathered me to her chest, cooing, humming the same soft lullaby from the drive over. “There, now,” she whispered. “You’ve done so well, my Lily, my love.”
“I love you so much, Mommy…” I called her that without hesitation. It’s what she was. My mommy. I allowed my lips to silently form the words, letting them fill my head, my heart, my soul.
“I love you,” she murmured in reply, then kissed my ear.
♡ ⚢ ♡ ⚢ ♡
We weren’t finished, of course. Far from it.
Miss Ashcroft’s bedroom looked like it had been decorated by a Victorian ghost with a taste for kink and cashmere.
“Come along, little one,” she said, patting the duvet. “This bed doesn’t bite.”
I stood at the edge of the bed like a stray animal who’d wandered into a palace by accident. I was shaking inside, though I did my best to seem calm. My thoughts were a jumble. I’d cried so hard, felt so much, I didn’t even know if I was still me anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, eyes fixed on the floor. “I just… I don’t think I’ll be good at it. At—at making you feel good. I’ve never even kissed a girl, not before tonight. I just…really, really don’t want to let you down…”
There was a soft rustle of sheets and then her hands were on my face, warm and firm and smelling like roses and pussy and love. Miss Ashcroft—Mommy, I reminded myself—tilted my head up until I had no choice but to meet her gaze.
“Oh, my darling little girl,” she said, kissing me deeply. She’d already forgiven me for things I hadn’t even done. “You really thought you had to earn me, didn’t you?”
I nodded, and something inside me winced.
“You don’t have to be good at anything tonight,” she said. “You don’t have to prove you’re worth loving. You already are.”
She took my hand, led me to the bed, and pulled me gently down onto the mattress with her. The blankets were so warm. Her arms were warmer.
“All I want right now is for you to be held, sweetheart. You’ve done enough. Just be a little girl now,” she whispered, lips against my ear. “Let Mommy take care of everything.”
I sank into the bed, going completely limp, my chest rising and falling like waves after a storm. I felt vulnerable in a way I hadn’t known was allowed. And yet, in her presence, I didn’t feel judged at all, but like something precious Mommy intended to care for forever.
She crawled onto the bed beside me, her hand warm and tender against my nipples, my tummy. Her mouth was soft and warm as it traveled along my navel, as if sealing me shut where I’d once been broken.
I gasped when her lips ventured between my legs. Oh, fuck… I couldn’t even think. Her tongue moved like it knew me better than I knew myself, only adoring, as if licking a young girl’s cunny was the entire point of being alive. My body trembled as I whimpered up at the ceiling, helpless under her gentleness.
She didn’t stop. She licked lower, then higher, her lips and tongue perfectly attending all of my pretty little princess parts. I felt kissed in places no one had ever paid attention to, kissed into stillness, into peace.
“Such a good girl,” she murmured between kisses. “Such a delight… I love you, child, I love you so very much…”
I cried once more, but this time the tears weren’t from sadness. In Mommy’s care, I was finally safe to fall apart, utterly and completely.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “Good girl. That’s Mommy’s good girl. Shh, I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You really needed this, didn’t you? To be loved like a daughter and used like a lesbian slut… licked by puppygirls… teased by her wicked big sister… made to come by your new mother.”
I gave a brief nod, not trusting my voice. She kept touching, kept coaxing, her fingers so skillful, her voice the anchor I clung to in the midst of rapture.
“You don’t have to hide anymore,” she said softly. “You don’t have to earn anything here. You can do what you want, Lily. And that’s enough. So let go for me, daughter mine,” she whispered, kissing me deeply, the kiss of a wedding night on a marital bed. “Come for Mommy, little one. Let me taste the love spilling from you…”
My whole body shook, wrung out and teetering on the precipice…and I gave in to my mother’s desire. I broke, I spilled, my orgasm crashing through me like a flash flood, raging and relentless, a wet, gushing release that anointed her lips, her neck, her breasts with my essence; a baptism both depraved and holy.
She moaned like it was the sweetest offering I could have given her, still pleasuring me with her flicking, darting tongue until I collapsed forward – trembling, gasping and wrung out like a washcloth. There was no need to speak… my whole body had confessed. She’d absolved me.
I melted against my mother, and we lay twined together in the damp sheets, my every nerve quieted, every jagged edge smoothed away by what she’d done to me. Miss Ashcroft cradled me in her arms and nuzzled my face, drawing slow, lazy circles between my shoulder blades with a finger. Resting my cheek on her breast, Mommy’s heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath my ear, lulling me. I curled into it, boneless, weightless, utterly undone.
She didn’t speak for a while. Just breathed with me. Just held me.
I felt her fingers comb through my hair. Like she’d done that to me a hundred times and would do it a thousand more. I made a sound—relief, maybe. Security, perhaps. Let’s call it the strange, aching joy of being safe.
“You’re all right now, my love,” she whispered. “And you’re mine.”
Tilting my head back, I peered into her eyes. “Am I really your own little girl, Mommy…?”
“Yes, Lily.” She trailed a fingertip against my rosebud one last time. “Yes, you are.”
I nodded, floating in a happy delirium, tears cooling on my cheeks. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to stay there forever, wrapped in warmth, in the arms, in the care of someone who saw me, knew me for what I was and saw value there.
My birth parents already seemed like a distant memory, part of that old life I no longer wanted or needed. I could barely even picture my former mother’s face any more. Miss Ashcroft had assumed her place, and I’d never been happier.
Mommy kissed me again, and I was quick to respond. Her lips to mine, our tongues entwined.
Then, with a voice so low I felt it in my chest ache, she murmured, “Welcome home, sweetie.”
I was the newest little girl on Lollipop Lane. And I was gonna love it here.
The End