"I'll tell you something, Mom," she said quietly, taking the first plunge, "when I used to come home from dates, and I'd been well, petting or necking or something, you know…" Lani looked at her mother and saw she was listening, "… sometimes I'd go up to my bedroom and I'd be so… so frustrated, like you must have been, that I… I would play with myself. And it would help, and most of the time I'd cum, too, and it would relax me. And I somehow always felt bad about it, but… but I think now that… that maybe you did that too, huh?"
There was a pause, and then Ann heard herself whispering, "I did… I've done it before when I've gotten so hot I had to have relief."
"Did… did you ever use a handle of a hairbrush or something like that?"
"Oh, never… only my fingers." Dizzy with her confessions, Ann first stared at her hands as if seeing them for the first time, then down at her softly hair covered vagina which had felt their touch so often.
Lani gazed with an electrifying intensity at the same soft pubic mound where her mother was looking… and her breath caught in her lungs. She was unable to take her eyes off her mother's displayed sexuality, where she'd seen Bob's cock slide in and out, from which had spurted his overflowing sperm, and which now in her imaginings she dreamed of fingers whipping back and forth, over and over…
She stared enamored for some unknown, unthinking reason, and though she had seen other nipples and breasts and vaginas of other girls, she'd never reacted this way before. It was because her mother was her own flesh and blood, and she was instinctively attracted to the womb which had produced her; there, so close that she could touch it, softly protected by the curve of one firm, soft thigh and the slightly puffy cuntal lips. Her own genitals began to tingle in response to her words and thoughts…
"I used to use that yellow hairbrush you gave me for Christmas when I was ten," Lani murmured in a fevered hush. "Then, when I was older, one of my friends showed me a vibrator, a round, candle-shaped one made of plastic and that ran on batteries. They're cheap, and when I used it, it reminded me of a man's cock…"
Ann swallowed hard, agitated by her daughter's immodest talk – of her own perverted admissions. She had always been so ashamed of having used her fingers to curtail the hunger of her unrequited sex drive, and the thought had never occurred to her to use anything else as a stimulus. Her stomach was a thousand butterflies, her breath seemed to grow harder to draw into her lungs, and she realized with a wrenching guilt feeling that as Lani talked about what she did with that vibrator, her hips were beginning to quiver and her breasts were actually throbbing in response to her own daughter's immoral practices.
"… I bought one at the drug store," Lani droned on mesmerically, lost in her memories and staring openly at her mother's now trembling vagina. "I'd sit on my bed in my room and read a text for homework, and when the urge would hit me, I'd turn on the little vibrator and run it up and down the crotchband of my panties. I'd let it play there, buzzing and tickling like crazy until I couldn't stand it any longer, and then I'd push my panties aside with the tip of it and spread my legs on the bed and slide it up and down my open pussy. When I felt my orgasm nearly there, I'd throw the book aside and jam the round, smooth tip of the vibrator up inside my cunt as far as it would go… and I'd squeeze it and squeeze it and squeeze it…"
"Land, don't…" Ann moaned, a deep wetness pervading her responding cunt, and little droplets of unwanted desire began to form on the golden pubic hair covering her slowly swelling vaginal lips. She groaned and inwardly fought off her sexual chemistry, clenching her inner thighs together. "Don't go on like that. You're only disturbing yourself."
The girl swung her gaze to her mother's face. "Are we bad for doing that? Tell me, Mother… are we wicked to masturbate?"
Ann had always considered herself so, but under the necessity to answer her daughter, she realized that the only thing wicked about masturbation was the guilt she had for so long attached to the act. "No, no Lani. We're women, with women's drives and needs. We're only human."
Lani was sitting on the cot, now, and Ann focused her loving eyes on the curves of her daughter's lithe young body, its tiny, firm nipples and pear-shaped breasts, and the way her inner thighs were pressed around her vagina. Wisps of yellow pubic hair, still soaked with dried male sperm, peeked from between her closed inner thighs, and as Ann looked at her daughter adoringly, she began to regard Lani not as a child any longer. She was a woman, having had men and received pleasure, and there was no use denying the fact that they both had committed the same immoral transgressions of the flesh. Their transgressions seemed to tie them together more closely, closer than just friends, for there were still the filial ties, and things were a little less terrifying for the two of them as together they smiled tentatively at each other.
Lani looked down and spread her legs. She looked past her tiny hardening nipples and white breasts to her pubic mound, with its thin, pink slit and curly blonde hair. She placed a tentative finger at her cuntal valley, opening the coral smooth flesh to view.
"You're not revolted by me then?" she asked softly. "You're not just saying this to make me feel better, and all the while you're nauseated by the sight of me? You still love me… after all this?"
"More, darling," Ann said fervently. "More than ever." She sat up and then got an idea, and quickly she padded across to a table in the corner of the cabin, and took a damp wash cloth from the side of a bowl of water Lani used to wash herself in the mornings. "Here," she said, coming back and lying on the cot. "Just to show you what I feel, I'll wash you off, just as if you were a baby again, needing changing."
"I'd like that, Mother," Lani said, and obediently stretched out on the coverlet. She looked down her body at her mother, and then up along her mother's firm, lithe body which lay stretched out on the cot alongside her, at the rounded beauty of her breasts and buttocks, and the way that her close, hair-covered cunt was tantalizing the smoldering fire in her belly. She stared at her mother's vagina, trembling, unable to stop the lewd thoughts in her head as she saw the hair-fringed, soft pink lips glint and the hint of her clitoris peek from its folds. God, my mother has a beautiful cunt… I wonder if she thinks I've got a beautiful one too…
Ann smiled at her teenager's face and then looked down past the slender column of Lani's throat, across her smooth, tanned shoulders, down her sides and breasts, down to where her hips swelled from the slimness of her youthful waist. Ann drank in the loveliness of her creation, admired her child's naked belly and legs, and then turned her attention to Lani's velvet-smooth thighs, which for some reason were now slightly trembling under their dried coating of Moses' hours old sperm.
"Open your thighs a little more, darling," Ann said, and found that her chest was suddenly constricted and her throat tight. An inexplicable sensation tickled Ann's stomach, as if she was anticipatorily excited by her daughter's cunt. She couldn't understand it, any more than she had been able to explain any of the other happenings of the last few hours, and could only try to clear her head of the unwanted stimulations. With a soft moaning hiss, Lani rolled her legs aside, and Ann gasped at the enticing sight of her tender, pink vaginal slit with its fleshy lips a reddish color as if swelling with desire, and her blonde pubic hair matted with the dried juices of her most recent fucking.
Ann took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and quiveringly, she raised the washcloth up to her daughter's wet, soft vaginal slit and stroked it back and forth.
"Ohhhh," Lani moaned, and spasmed suddenly from the delicious contact. Although she tried to stop herself from reacting openly to her mother's touches, telling herself that it was wrong, her cunt tingled with every cleansing stroke of the warm, rough-edged cloth.