Authors Note:
This was loosely inspired by “Cassie and Kayla” by Ignoble, published back in 2017 by Ignoble. The original got stuck in my head for weeks. I mostly borrowed their names and a night in a hotel, but I want to give credit where credit is to for the inspiration. I tried reaching out to Ignoble but never heard back.
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I used to be a normal suburban mom. Husband, career, community. I even went to church believed about half of it.
But that was before the glow after practice. Before the secret smiles when no one could see. Before she didn’t look away.
Before match week.
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Twenty years with Shawn. It was ninety-eight degrees the June day we said, “I do,” and meant it. When the sun came up the next morning, the sheets and our bodies were so wet I swear the honeymoon suite had climbed to a hundred and twelve.
I was twenty-two. He wasn’t my first. He was my best. He still is, in the ways that count on paper. He knows just the place to put his mouth, every filthy sentence that makes my thighs shake, every slow drag of his tongue that makes me feral.
I can still do the same to him. A whisper against his ear. One finger. My mouth. I can make his knees buckle.
Those nights used to be daily. Then a few times a week. Then a couple of times a month. Now they are occasions. Planned. Special. It’s still earth shattering when we get there. We just don’t get there much.
Kayla arrived when I was twenty-four. We thought we were getting sugar and spice. Instead she was skinned knees, a ponytail that never stayed put, and the occasional shove she gave some boy who’d picked on a friend. A September birthday meant she was always a little bigger, a little faster, and a little sharper than the rest of the room. Her father’s mind. My attitude.
For a long time she was all arms and mostly legs. Gangly, if you wanted to be unkind. It took years for the rest of her to catch up.
The last couple of years, it has. Breathtaking doesn’t do it justice.
I noticed it the way you notice it’s fall. Not all in one day, but then you realize everything is bright, crisp, and golden. The way the volleyball uniform hugged her now tight body. The way she walked out of the gym with damp hair and flushed cheeks that reminded me of soft sighs and low moans. The way she started holding my gaze a half-second longer than a daughter is supposed to and her mother shouldn’t return.
I told myself I was proud. I was. I am.
What I didn’t tell myself out loud was that the nights sharing cookie dough and one spoon left me buzzing. The way she casually dried herself with a towel in my doorway after asking me for moisturizer made my face flushed. That goodnight kisses at the corner of my mouth made my pulse flutter.
That I was counting the days until we would be in a far-off city with no one else in the room.
Shawn didn’t wonder why I offered to take the whole week, and I didn’t volunteer the reason. Kayla didn’t ask why the hotel confirmation showed one king instead of two queens. She just looked at the email over my shoulder, touched my neck softly and whispered, “That sounds fun.”
Match week wasn’t the beginning. It was the end of the pretending.
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A Thursday.
Practice had run long. I was already home, bedroom door half-open, fastening my bra with a dress at my hips, dressing for some office dinner Shawn had on the calendar. She walked in without knocking, gym bag still on her shoulder, uniform still on, hair damp at the temples.
“Mom, have you seen…”
She stopped. I stopped.
Startled, I let go of the bra. I wasn’t indecent, but my tits were on display. We just looked at each other. The kind of look that lasts one beat too long. And then another.
She should have backed out. I should have turned, or laughed, or said knock next time.
Neither of us did.
Her eyes dropped. Not far. Not long. Then they came back to my face like she’d decided something and wasn’t going to say it.
“Never mind,” she said. Soft.
She left. The door didn’t quite close.
I picked the bra up and finished getting dressed like a woman who had not enjoyed the look in her daughter’s eyes when she saw me half naked.
I stood there until I heard the hall shower go on. I don’t think I imagined the moans coming from the shower.
A Saturday morning.
A pass in the hallway. I was walking down the hall with a stack of folded towels. She was headed the other way. We both stopped so we wouldn’t collide. There was plenty of room to pass. We didn’t use it. Her shoulder brushed mine. I leaned into it a little. She smelled like my shampoo. That was new.
In the laundry room two nights later, I was pulling her uniform out of the dryer. She reached past me for a sock and her wrist touched the inside of my forearm. She left it there a second too long, then took the sock like that was all she’d come for.
A Tuesday evening.
She came up behind me at the sink, reached around for a glass, and her chest met my back. Accidental if you wanted it to be. I moved enough to feel her hard nipples brush against. The water kept running until Shawn came in from the garage.
Two weeks before.
She walked in and announced, “I told Coach I’m sharing a room with you.”
The night before.
I saw her put something white and satiny into her gym bag and raised an eyebrow when she caught me looking.
“What?” she said and smiled enigmatically. “I may want to look girly one night.”
The wine-colored gown I’d bought for a weekend away with Shawn went into my suitcase.
We didn’t talk about either slinky thing again until she was wearing hers, and I was wearing mine. It was night two, and her taste had already been on my lips for an entire day.
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Kayla rode the team bus. I followed in Shawn’s Suburban. The drive could have been 10 minutes or 10 hours. My mind was anywhere but the road.
At a red light, I realized my right hand was between my thighs and my jeans were damp. I jerked it back and white-knuckled the wheel until I pulled into the hotel garage.
It was almost nine o’clock when we got upstairs. Kayla dropped her gym bag at the foot of the kingsized bed.
“I’m sticky after being on that bus,”she said without preamble. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
She didn’t open the bag for a change of clothes. She didn’t close the door behind her either.
I’d like to say I hesitated, that I sat on the edge of the mattress and had a decent argument with myself. I didn’t. I stripped down, put on the plush hotel robe with nothing under it. I didn’t tie it. I wanted her to look. I mussed my hair in a way I imagined might look sexy and waited.
I was on the phone with Shawn when she came out, steam at her back. Shoulders damp, hair not, as if she didn’t want to waste time. Steam billowed behind her. Wrapped in a towel.
She stopped by the side of the bed, held my gaze, and smiled.
I lied to her father while I mentally peeled her towel away..
“Well, wouldn’t you know it, there was a mixup. We have to share a bed, but I think it’ll be ok.”
The lamp on her side dimmed. From the corner of my eye, I watched long, smooth legs slide under a pure white duvet. She tossed the towel to the floor..
“OK, honey, well, it’s late. Love you, too. We’ll call after the first match.”
I ended the call. The phone hit the carpet. Kayla watched me as the robe fell on top of it.
Her eyes never left mine as I crawled onto the bed. When I touched her face, her breath stopped.
“Kayla,” I whispered. “Baby.”
I pressed my lips to hers. An instant. The smallest brush of my tongue against lips I wasn’t supposed to taste.
“Mom?”
The little lift at the end was the last door. I couldn’t have stepped back through it.
I didn’t, and she would not have let me. Her hands found my face. Her mouth closed on mine.
It was tender for two seconds. Lovely for two more. Hungry and desperate and insatiable for the next two hours.
Her fingers found the back of my neck first, then my hair, and then she pulled. Not hard, but sure. Confident. She’d made up her mind, and what she wanted to claim me with another kiss. She opened her mouth and slid her tongue against mine, and I made a sound I didn’t recognize. She swallowed it.
“Mom,” she said against my lips, not a question but a declaration.
“Baby,” I moaned. “My baby.”
I kissed her deeper, harder. I wanted slow, but Kayla – my Kayla – wasn’t going to settle for slow, not after the way we’d edged ourselves to this moment for weeks.
My hand slid from her cheek to her throat, and then further. I squeezed a breast, caught a nipple between my fingers long enough for a pinch and a sharp intake of breath from Kayla, and then let my hand go where it belonged. She spread her thighs without being asked. When I found her – hot, soaked – I was the one who moaned. Kayla just fucked my mouth with her tongue.
I dragged the sheet down, and there she was. Bare. Drenched. Eighteen and wanton and my daughter. In the lamplight, the inside of her thighs was shiny from wetness.
I’d never licked a woman. I’d never wanted to until now. And I wanted to feast. I kissed her collarbone, her throat, her shoulder. I dragged my tongue over one breast and didn’t stop. I’d worship those later. I wanted her pussy.
My tongue found her without further preamble, clumsy and desperate.
“Fuck,” she moan. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Language,” I said. We’re both smart asses. She laughed and pushed my head down.
“My mom is eating my cunt and giving me shit for cussing,” she said breathlessly.
That word, from my daughter’s mouth. Shawn has always known the words that turn me to jelly.
She did it better.
She cried out when I attacked her again. She bucked her hips, and I held her down, and my nose teased her clit as I tonguefucked her. Sweet, tangy, and 18. Mine.
She chanted mom, like she was leading a cheer. When I slid two fingers into her she screamed, “Oh my fucking God,” and then she lost the words. I fucked her with my hand and sucked her clit and she came so fast and so hard and so wet it startled both of us. Her body seized. Her thighs clamped around my head. She sobbed.
I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t stop.
“Another,” I managed to grunt. “Again. Cum. You cum again for me.”
That’s when the athlete showed up. She flipped us like it was nothing, and suddenly I wasn’t in control. She ground down on my face, drowning me, crushing me, and if I had died from suffocation, it was the only fucking heaven I needed.
She used me. She used my face to fuck herself. My mouth and tongue couldn’t catch up, so I grabbed her ass and let her milk every bit of pleasure she needed from the friction. Warm, wet liquid bathed my face, and she screamed again. Later she told me it was the first time she’d squirted. It wouldn’t be the last time that week.
I don’t know how long it was before she caught her breath. Not long I suppose. But she could have parked her cunt right there for the next hour, and I wouldn’t have moved a muscle.
She finally slid down until her pussy clenched around my thigh and mine was pushed against hers. She rocked, gyrating her hips and licking my face clean, shoved her tongue in my mouth. I sucked it and my fingers dug into her tight teen ass. She pulled my hair hard enough to sting and swallowed the wince I made.
“I can make you cum this way,” she said, the way she’d come into the kitchen when she was eight and announced she could ride without handlebars.
She was right, and I think I blacked out for a few seconds.
When I came to, she was squeezing my tits and kissing my neck. I turned my head. Our mouths met, and I was lost.
I came back into my body in pieces. Her thigh was still slick against mine. My face was wet. My own taste and hers mixed so thoroughly I couldn’t tell who belonged to what. She was smiling against my lips like she’d just proven a point.
“Told you,” she whispered.
“Cocky,” I managed.
“You like it.”
I did. God help me, I did.
“I loved it,” I admitted, then kissed her softly. “I love you.”
She laughed.
“Yeah, I kind of figured that out when you fucked me with your mouth,” she said.
“You’re a brat,” I replied, not meaning it.
“But I taste good, don’t I,” she shot back.
“Like nothing I’ve ever tasted,” I said. “I want to taste you again.”
“Not until I taste you,” she replied. “You want your baby to eat your cunt, mommy?”
“My God, the mouth on you,” I said in mock horror.
“You mean, my mouth on you,” she giggled and started her journey south.
Unlike me, she spent long minutes on my tits, kneading, squeezing, pinching, biting, and sucking. I was already panting and bucking my hips, eager for contact. She kissed my belly. She tickled my thighs with light touches of her fingers. She went tantalizingly close to my slit. When she was between my thighs, she spread my legs apart, and I felt a long, slow, languid lick from my hole to my clit. Electricity shot through my body.
Then she ate me. She was messy and noisy and deliciously depraved. She pressed her nose to my mound, her tongue working in greedy little flicks, two fingers sliding into me. She teased my other hole with the pad of a thumb. I jerked and wondered where she’d learned that. In minutes, I was wailing her name and begging her to stop.
I would have killed her if she did.
I came in waves. Peaking and crashing and peaking again. I tried to squirm off and she laughed into my cunt and pinned me to the bed until the sobs started and the tears came. She scrambled up and looked 18 again because she thought I was already regretting what we’d done. It took burying my tongue in her mouth to prove otherwise.
I held her. We kissed, soft and slow and long this time. We whispered “I love you” over and over, until her hand went between my legs again, and she got me off with just her fingers while whispering the filthiest things I’d ever heard in my ear. It sounded like a symphony.
