| The Insatiable Holly Brown, Part 4 Like many people, child or adult, the insatiable Holly Brown was indeed insatiable. She was fucking her best friend and her teacher, but suddenly she wanted more. There was her physical Education teacher, Miss Henny, and there was of course her mom. Helen Brown was, like her daughter, beautiful, tall, with raven black hair, and hazel eyes. Helen was divorced with an eleven year old daughter, Holly. She hadn't had sex in so long, that she no longer missed it. She had in fact, developed masturbation to an art form. She could fuck who ever she wanted, for as long as she wanted, and in her fantasies she could do things that she at one time considered perverted. Helen began to notice that her daughter Holly was often wearing nothing more than her pink cotton panties around the house. She also began to notice that Holly would often walk nude from her bedroom to the bathroom when she heard her mother in the hallway. What Helen noticed more though was the strange feeling that she felt in the pit of her stomach when this happened. Good mothers didn't get turned on by their naked daughters; especially straight mothers, but it wasn't Holly's nakedness that was turning Helen on, it was Holly's "Come fuck me attitude" that she seemed to have had since her close friendship with Sarah. Helen admitted to herself that she had not been a very attentive mother since her divorce, and vowed to pay closer attention to her daughter, and her daughter's relationship with her friend Sarah in the future. It was on a Saturday evening while Helen was seated on her sofa, drinking Scotch and Soda, and watching the evening news on TV. Holly came out of her bedroom dressed only in her panties, and kissed her mother goodnight. It was not the first time that Holly had kissed her mother goodnight, but it was also not something that Holly did often lately. But then, her mother had not been particularly affectionate toward her daughter since her divorce. The kiss was not on her mother's cheek as usual, but on her lips. Soft, gentle, and lingering. Helen thought that it was her imagination that she felt Holly's lips come open slightly. Holly was eleven, and Helen was certain that she had no idea of what a French kiss was. Holly, momentarily thinking that she was kissing her teacher or Sarah, caught herself in the nick of time, and didn't begin to suck on her mother's tongue as she had first intended. Helen, who was wearing only a long terry robe, parted her knees to allow Holly to step close enough for her to hug. Helen returned her daughter's kiss, closed mouth, but equally as lingering. "I love you, baby," Helen said in a Scotch soaked whisper, as she gently ran her hands over Holly's naked back. Holly climbed up on her mother's right leg, causing Helen's robe to ride up to mid thigh. Holly began to slowly slide back and forth on her mother's thigh. Helen's hands traveled slowly down Holly's back, slipping her finger's under the waist band of Holly's cotton panties, controling Holly's movements. Holly lifted up off of her mother's thigh, giving her mother room to slip both hands down further and grip both of her buttocks. Holly came back down hard on her mother's thigh, grinding her clitoris into her mother's leg, thrusting faster and faster, her panty crotch leaving a wet trail on her mother's thigh. Helen, losing all control, began bouncing her leg in rhythm with Holly's thrusting. She slid to the edge of the sofa and pulled her daughter closer so that Holly's left leg was pressed hard against her mother's clit. They kissed, Helen sucking on her daughter's tongue, drinking Holly's drool from her gaping mouth, nibbling on Holly's lower lip. Both woman and young girl on the very brink of an orgasm, they stopped, holding the orgasm off, a lesson that Holly had learned from her teacher. Suddenly, Helen knew that this was not the first time that her young daughter had done this, and she also knew that Holly was not taught these things by her twelve-year-old friend, but she didn't care. Her body was taunt with her pending orgasm, and she wanted relief. But not yet, like her daughter, she wanted this to last forever. This was the first time they'd had sex, and no matter how many times they would have sex in the future, it would never again be like the first time. * * * * * When the sun filtered through the bedroom blinds on Sunday morning, a naked Holly Brown was cuddled against her naked mother's back on cum drenched sheets. Warm bodies pressed together front to back, Holly's left arm over her mother's left side, her left hand clutching Helen's breast, the very same breast that she tried so desperately to extract milk from the night before. Helen's eyes blinked open as she tasted her own breath. And then she remembered where she was, and how she had gotten here, and what they had done here. And the guilt washed over her like an ocean wave, threatening to drown her in guilt. Helen wanted to get out of bed and throw up; to pee; to take a shower and wash the guilt from her, but she dare not risk waking Holly. The smell of sex permeated the room, filling her nostrils with the scent of cum, and her guilt lessened. She wanted to once again bury her face between Holly's legs and drink from her, to suck on her clit and labia, and to run her tongue from Holly's vagina to her rectum, licking and probing, sucking and drinking. Helen's overriding guilt was soon replaced with passion, the ache in her heart replaced by a tingle in her pussy as her nipple stiffened under her daughter's touch. Holly had taken several sips of her drink the night before, so Helen hoped that the drinks would keep her from waking up if she moved slowly and carefully. She lifted Holly's hand from her breast, and slowly turned on the bed to face her daughter. She kissed Holly's forehead and her closed eyes, then licked her cheeks and lips, tasting her own dried juices as she did. It had been so long since she tasted herself on her husband's lips, that she had forgotten what she tasted like. Holly's eye lids weighed a ton. She had taken a lot more sips of her mom's drinks then her mom knew about, and now she wished that she hadn't, "`cause" maybe then the room would stop spinning around and she could open her eyes. She tried to open them when she felt her mother begin to lick from her neck to her pussy, but she couldn't manage it, so she simply lay there with her legs spread and enjoyed the tongue bath that her mother was giving her. Terri Breen had done the same things to her, but this was "gooder" because this was her mom, and all her's, but Terri Breen was her teacher, and she had to share Terri Breen with her friend Sarah. Holly's reaction to everything that Helen did was one of familiarity. Every twist, turn and thrust of her body was meant to increase the pressure on just the right spot. She knew when, where and how to guide her mother for maximum effect. She even knew to pull a pillow over face to muffle her cries of passion, so no one could hear. The knowledge that her young daughter had been here and done this before only served to increase Helen's fits of passion. Helen decided to put her theory to the test. She began to trace a wet line with her tongue along the inside of Holly's thigh toward her rectum. As if by remote control, Holly raised both legs, rocked back until her feet were suspended over her head, then reached down to spread her buttocks with both hands, presenting a tight, pink asshole to her mother. Holly began to move her hips in anticipation of what she knew was about to come. Helen wet the tip of her pointing finger and pressed it gently against Holly's puckered asshole, and watched as Holly's sphincter began to pucker then relax, moving her hips, inviting Helen's finger to probe deeply, confirming that Holly had been here and done this before. Helen removed the tip of her finger and sucked on it, licked Holly's sphincter, then drooled saliva onto it before pushing her finger in to the second knuckle. Holly moaned loudly, began to buck her hips as she gripped Helen's wrist with both hands and pulled until Helen's entire finger slipped past her sphincter and entered her bowels. Helen reached down with her free hand and began to masturbate while plunging and thrusting her finger into her daughter's bowels. * * * * * Helen vowed to investigate vigorously to discover her daughter's sexual instructor, if for no other reason than to thank her. To be continued. |