The Boyfriend's Dad(38)
“Holy hell, Carla, that’s what—the fourth or fifth?” McDonald asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Tamera heard her mother gasp. “I lost count and all interest in keeping track. I just want your cock in me, and nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” Eddie suddenly said in a loud voice. “How about a different cock, at least? How about mine?”
Tamera couldn’t believe what she was hearing from her own boyfriend, Eddie! Horrified, she looked first at him, then at her mother. Her mother jerked upright, her own mouth wide and her eyes like those of an owl’s as she stared at the two teenagers in the doorway. Her legs were in such a way that her thinly matted pubic triangle glistened wickedly in the light, McDonald’s cum a pearlescent contrast to her smoothly glistening skin and blonde silk curls. More semen trickled slowly from her flooded vaginal lips as she spread them open with her legs.
“Wha…!” she started to say, and then her eyes locked in helpless disbelief on her daughter. “Oh my God! Tamera!”
“Mother!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Carla’s mind shattered as she recognized her daughter standing in the doorway with the son of the man’s whose penis had just exploded up inside her. She tried to speak, but her jaw moved up and down soundlessly as she locked her tearstained eyes on her daughter’s shocked features, and she staggered to her knees on the bed in mute supplication, more tears of abasement streaming down her face, her skin blanched the color of death itself.
“Ohhhh God,” she mewled helplessly. “Ohhhh, I wish I was dead!”
Tamera gazed at her mother, seeing with pitying eyes her breasts which she had once suckled for milk, at the taut belly which had once held her, at the blonde triangle of pubic hair which had once painfully split wide to give her life. She couldn’t hate her own mother; no matter what she was doing, she couldn’t hate her flesh and blood. “Mother…” She started forward, tears in her eyes as well, her arms opening in a show of affection and strength. “Mother…” she cried.
“Darling, please, stay away from me. I’m… no good. I’m not fit to be your mother. Don’t call me that. Call me a whore.”
“No,” the young girl moaned. A strange, hot tingling was being stirred in her loins. “No, don’t say that, because that makes me one, too.” She stared at the naked, rosy-hued skin and the scarlet-tipped nipples, the alabaster breasts still heaving and swaying, and at the pubic mound with their much used vaginal lips and semen-covered cuntal hole, and then she looked down at herself. She was clothed—but it was as if she saw through her clothes and at the way she’d looked only a short while before at Jason’s house. She saw both her mother and herself naked—and saw naked truth as well. “No, if you’re a whore, then so am I…”
“Tamera, I… don’t understand what you’re saying! You’re my daughter! But you’re not like me!”
“Oh yes, I am, Mother,” Tamera said, coming still closer. “When I first saw you, I called you an animal. But Eddie said that’s right, and that you looked as I had with him between my legs! And he was right! You see, I just finished being fucked by two boys at the same time!”
“No!” Carla swallowed hard, trying to clear the stupor in her brain, for her daughter’s words struck fire in her belly. She remembered the pictures on the table in the livingroom, the lewd scenes of her daughter in the throes of passion and excitement, and the reason which had prompted her to lower her own barriers of morality. “Stop it, stop what you’re telling me,” she whimpered, covering her ears with her hands. “You’re only fifteen, and were taken advantage of. I should have been able to control myself!”
“But I don’t want to control myself, Mother,” Tamera said, climbing on the bed. “Don’t you see? We’re alike, you and I. I wasn’t taken advantage of, not after I learned to enjoy sex. We’re one and the same, and I want you to love me, forgive me as I forgive you and love you.”
“Oh, Tamera!” her mother wailed, and suddenly she and her daughter were in one another’s arms, hugging each other as tightly as they could, attempting to bridge the gap between them. “There’s nothing to forgive…” She murmured into Tamera’s hair, stroking her quivering back, and now all of her false ideas crumbled like crystal glass—for she had to admit that fifteen or no, Tamera wasn’t a baby any longer, that she was, as she’d said, a woman, able to react and respond to the same sexual drives as her mother.