Back From College

Literotic asexstories – Back From College by nested456,nested456 “That’s the last of it.”

My daughter, Grace, was back from college for the Christmas holidays. She’d just taken her final suitcase in. I was happy to have her back. I didn’t want to spend Christmas alone, far too much time over the last few months had been with only myself.

You can tell she’s my daughter although we don’t look alike. I’m of Irish descent, with red hair, pale freckled skin, and green eyes. Her father was Zimbabwean, of the Shona tribe. Very dark, and Grace got a beautiful mix of our genes. She’s close to her dad in skin tone, but with a nose like mine and black yet straight hair.

I know she’s striking, there aren’t many girls who look like her at the college. So I’ve always been worried about boys who’ll just want to try her out because she’s different. Be with her for a night, then settle for someone with the same background as themselves.

She makes herself a coffee and offers one to me. It’s just us, her father joined the Marines after gaining US citizenship, and was one of the last Americans killed in Afghanistan. The eleven years since, we coped by her throwing herself into schoolwork and me throwing myself into my hair salon business.

She goes to her room. I know she likes to talk to her friends for hours. But I’m lonely here. I don’t want my daughter to shut herself off from her mother, I want us to chat, be friends, know each other.

So after about 30 minutes of her in her room, I interrupt.

“Ice cream?”

“Mom, I’m talking.”

“It’s cookie dough.”

I open her door and bring in the ice cream. She’s lying on her bed, chatting. I notice how relaxed she looks. Wearing her University of Michigan t-shirt, as I give the bowl to her she sits up. I notice her nipples through the t-shirt, they’re unsupported. She’s relaxing, there’s no bra.

“Enjoy” I say too fast and close the door as quick as I can.

What the hell is wrong with you?? You’re a mother, her mother. She’s your daughter. Your daughter with developed, full breasts. Yes but your teenage daughter. It wasn’t long ago she left your womb to suckle you.

Stop it. You’re going mad. You’re 42, a widow, a businesswoman, why the hell are you thinking of your daughter’s breasts? They’re not terrible breasts, they’re fine breasts. A testament to their mother’s genes.

I turn on the TV to distract myself. How messed up am I, that I’d admire my own daughter like that? A couple of hours later Grace comes down.

“What’s for dinner?”

“You hungry? I was going to take it easy and order us a pizza.”

“Just one?” she says with a smile somewhat cheeky.

“Not this again. The pineapple debate is the most done to death debate on earth.”

“Actually mom, I’ve changed. Some guys at college ordered one, I was famished and finished a slice. Since then I’ve learned to like it.”

“Ok then pineapple and ham?”

“Sure.”

I open the app and there’s a deal, half price on a single extra large pizza. I order one, enough for us to share. Grace goes back to her room, but in 20 minutes the doorbell rings and she rushes down.

It happens again. I open the door, take the pizza, and as I close I turn round: Grace’s breasts rise and fall as she runs down the stairs.

My God, those tits must taste better than the finest pizza sensuous Italy could produce. If they could be my dessert, I would enjoy them longer than when my girl was a baby and only I could feed her.

See a psychiatrist Siobhan, get some medication. This is totally wrong, illegal, disgusting. But we sit down at the kitchen table to eat. I’m quieter than usual. My wayward thoughts have made me worried I’ll say something dumb. So I stay silent, focusing on food.

Grace notices: “Mom, anything wrong?”

“I’m alright, just nice to see you eating pineapple”.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, of course. What would you like for Christmas?”

“So Simon and the guys are going for a trip to Colorado, skiing, for New Year’s. The plane ticket is all I need.”

“Ok, yeah wow that sounds a lot of fun.”

“Mom you’re acting a bit, I don’t know lost.”

“Sorry, I guess it’s just seeing you grown up. All independent, eating pineapple pizza at college. I’m being silly, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright mom.”

We eat our pizza and get to the last slice. I offer it: “you have it, I got it really for you.”

“Share it?”

We share the slice as evenly as we can. Grace eats one side, I eat the other, until all that’s left is the small triangle bit. It’s in my hand, Grace, clearly hungry, grabs it with her mouth. Then, while still swallowing, she licks some spilled tomato sauce from my palm.

My body gets a shiver, and I shake. Wow, what was that? This girl, my little girl, is bring me to chills.

“More ice cream?” I’m desperate to change the subject, avoid thinking about how she’s affecting me.

“It’s alright mom, that’s enough. If I have too much I won’t be able to move on the ski slopes.”

“OK I’ll clear up.”

“I’ll probably go to bed now. But, thanks for being supportive, I can’t wait to show you my first skiing pictures.”

“Goodnight.”

She heads to bed as I put the pizza box in the recycling. I’m going to bed too, relax, sleep. But once I’ve bought her the ticket. Maybe my daughter needs to go away again, she’s making me think things I mustn’t.

I eventually start drifting off, when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yes.”

“You asleep?”

“Come in.”

Grace opens and sits down at the foot of the bed.

“Mom, I know this is going to sound weird. OK. At college, I haven’t actually been sleeping well. I guess I miss home.”

I sit up, I know this is a serious mother-daughter moment and I must be there for her.

“It’s normal, first time away. So glad to have you back.”

“Thanks, being in my room, I guess I feel like I’m alone in the college dorm. Can I just, stay here a minute?”

“Of course.”

I sit up and hug her tightly. I’m your mother Grace, I’ll forever love you and my thoughts are always towards protecting you.

“I think it’s been a shock today – for me seeing you so grown up.”

“Two inches taller than her mommy,” she says slightly laughing. This hug seems to have relaxed her.

“A whole shoe size bigger than her mommy,” I reply, continuing to try and cheer her.

“Longer hair than her mommy.” I keep my hair shoulder length, she lets hers grow down her back.

Grace releases the hug but stays close, looking at me.

“Prettier face than her mommy,” I tell her. I hope she knows it, she needs to hear it.

“Two cup sizes bigger than her mommy.” It’s a fact. Grace’s breasts are bigger than mine. She’s wearing a different t-shirt to before but her whole bust is far more noticeable than mine’s ever been.

“Boobs that can grab attention much better than her mommy’s.” This is getting weird now, why am I saying this?

“But can’t get a guy to commit to loving her the way her mommy does.” It comes out, and I notice her eyes redden as tears form.

“Oh darling.” I cuddle her tightly again. “Have you been hurt?”

She breaks the hug to open up: “Why am I saying this to you but yeah. I’ve slept with three guys, we used protection don’t worry, my diaphragm is in and I take birth control. But it’s after a couple of dates, they’re so charming you know? I give in, we wake up and as soon as the sun rises they’re out, gone, onto the next girl.”

“Baby I know guys can be so… they take longer than us to become real adults. But your dad was always faithful, I’m sure of that. You’ll find someone who’ll stick with you.”

“Do I look, as some people say, neither here nor there? I feel sometimes like there’s that jungle fever thing, they think I’m wild or something.”

“I’ll tell you when I met your dad, a lot of people were disgusted. Things aren’t perfect now but they’re only going to get more tolerant.”

“Tolerant isn’t enough, I want someone to love me the way my mom does.” She plays with my hair as she says this. “Like if a guy would really look at me, say ‘I love you’ to my eyes.”

She gazes so firm into my eyes as she says this that it’s like she wants me to play the part back. It’s my daughter, she needs true reassurance now. “I love you Grace,” I say what she wants to hear from a man and I feel like I must match the words to actions. So as I finish those words I kiss her lips. Just once, on the lips, and when her husband marries her he’ll do the same.

“And I love you.” Her reply comes too, with a kiss on the lips. But this time there’s more. My mouth was slightly open, she kissed with closed lips but when we met, she opened them and her tongue rested briefly on mine.

I broke the kiss. Why am I kissing my daughter? This is wrong, I should be an adult, responsible, set the boundaries we keep. But she’s lonely, miserable, and a mother has to love her daughter; give her all the affection she deserves.

“Imagine,” I tell her. “The right man comes along and you’re so happy in love. You could be rolling in a meadow, like this.” Playfully I pull her down next to me. We lie there, my arms around hers, like we’re young lovers carefree.

“But we’re not rolling.” She’s right, I pull her onto me, then I roll all the way to the other side of the bed. She smiles her most joyous, brilliant smile and she kisses me. At this point we don’t break. We just let our tongues hold each other, our arms wrap tight around each other, our breasts under our nightclothes long for the other.

“You’re a cool mom. I guess I never realized it before but I’ve wondered, aren’t you lonely too?”

“Yeah since your dad I’ve been alone. I know, it is lonely.”

“Have we got the same problem? Finding someone to trust, someone you know is going to be there.”

“Yeah I guess we have. 18 or 42, you have to deal with the potluck that is the male half.”

“It would be so simple if I could just marry you.” She kisses me on the lips again. I try and laugh it off. “So when you were with dad, how was it with him?”

“He was good, very good.”

“How did he kiss?”

“Like this.” I kiss her how my husband used to kiss me. I run my hands through her hair and down the back of her t-shirt, like he would have done. When I stop, she’s even more curious.

“Did he always want you?”

“Yes he did. But that’s enough for tonight. Why don’t you go to bed? We can visit the refurbished mall tomorrow, check out the ski shop.”

“OK mom. Thanks for hearing me out.”

Grace gets up and goes back to her room. The right thing. The sensible part of my brain broke it off just before we went too far. A kiss, a cuddle, that’s all it was. Me looking after her, a teenage girl with intense emotions. Fine. Let’s agree there was no sexuality, just unconditional love from a mother.

As I try to sleep I put the pillow to both my ears, trying to muffle any thoughts. Sleep, you’ve done your maternal duty. But what if Grace can’t sleep. What if, now she’s alone in her room again, her college experiences are going to again bring her down?

I wait a while. Then get up, creeping as softly as I can. I wait outside her bedroom. If I can just hear some breathing sounds, or gentle snoring I’ll know she’s asleep. And my work is done. Then maybe I should download Tinder or something. Finally look for a new man.

I wait outside her room but I don’t hear anything. She always was a quiet sleeper. OK back to bed. The floor makes a small creak as I walk and I hear a “mom?” coming from her room.

“Sweetie I was just checking you’re asleep.”

“I can’t.”

I open her door, she’s tucked up in bed but clearly awake. “why not baby?” I sit on the side.

“You know, what we talked about? I’m cursed aren’t I, never going to be loved.”

“No baby, you’re loved. You’ll find someone who loves you and will be yours alone.”

“I dunno, I don’t belong. Except to you.” Her eyes again fill with teardrops. “Can you just hold me tonight?”

She moves up and folds the duvet over, gesturing me to come in. She no longer has the t-shirt on, just panties.

“You were warm?”

“Yeah, my room’s always the hottest at night.”

I get in, but I want to still wear my night clothes. This remains a mother caring for her daughter.

She comes close to me, and lies on my left breast, her left arm wrapping my stomach.

“This is what I want,” she says. “You know the guys, they’re pretty selfish. Didn’t really enjoy it. They didn’t do this.” She pulls my right hand to her left nipple and uses my fingers to pinch it.

“They’re not worth it. Your dad always made sure I got pleasure first, if I was too stressed to enjoy it we’d cuddle. That was our rule, we both are in the mood or noone is.”

She pinches her breast with my fingers then lets it go, sits up, and that gorgeous bust, the breasts I’ve been thinking of constantly since early afternoon, they are close enough to kiss.

And I’m ashamed, but my actions are what they are. I kiss each nipple, then take as much breast tissue into my mouth as I can, one at a time. I suck, and suck vigorously, until Grace cries out that it’s enough. Then I let her down.

“A mother can admire her daughter can’t she?”

“As long as you don’t try and steal a future guy away from me.”

“Why would you want that, am I too old and wrinkled for you to just have me?”

“Mom, you’re my sexiness role model.” We kiss again.

“You know, embrace it a little. Us red-haired Irish lasses have that fiery reputation. You can show a guy your wild jungle side.”

“Who says I have one?”

“Yes of course, you were such a good, well-behaved little thing, no wildness there.”

“I was a bit of a brat sometimes.”

“It’s alright you were growing up, you had no dad and often noone who looked like you.”

“But now I stand out.”

“So be fussy, pick the best one.”

“Who even needs to worry about a guy committing? I’ve already got someone to love.” She kisses me with fire and real intensity, like somebody who is to leave earth and has to give that memorable goodbye.

Her hands go to my nightie. I’m wearing just a single item. She pulls it up with such force it tears as it gets stuck between my back and the bed. I wince slightly from the friction, and reflexively sit up. She takes it off and throws it past the door.

“Mom I can’t help it. I know we shouldn’t but… I used to rebel but… I fucking adore you.”

She kisses me again with power and a seeming irrepressible lust. She pushes me back down with her hands behind me. As her kiss stays strong, her long manicured nails dig far into my back. I let out a cry as I feel them cut into my skin.

“Sorry, sorry.” She turns me over. “It’s a bit scratched.”

She kisses each bit of my back where her nails were. It feels soothing, comforting, like she’s reciprocating all the times I had patched up her wounds.

“Remember when you were maybe 6, and smashed into that garage door on your bike? You scraped your shins so bad there was horror movie blood.”

She turns me over again, looking pleased at the memory. “And you kissed me better, you bandaged it and kissed right here.” She kisses my forehead.

“But I didn’t kiss here.” I kiss her right nipple.

“And I kissed you here,” she kisses my left cheek.

“I did too,” I kiss her left cheek.

“Adults can kiss here,” she goes down, kisses my clit then comes back up to kiss my lips.”

“Did yours get kissed?”

“You serious? The guys were totally all about themselves.”

“So my darling daughter’s clitoris is still a virgin.”

“I wonder if poor clit will ever become a woman. She needs initiating.” As she says this, she removes the panties and puts them right in my face.

“Women wash!” I say and we laugh. They don’t smell, but the tension between us is so thick it has to turn to humor. We cuddle hard, us both now fully nude, and our position lets us affectionately kiss each other’s cheek.

I sit up: “Alright, you know this is new to me too. I’ve never been this close to any woman. Let me know how I do.”

I go down, I lick her clit, kiss it, hold it between my tongue and teeth and suck it hard. I squeeze her nipples as I do this. She moans, screams, and I go down. She’s wet, flowing with a moist pussy that’s clearly turned on. I lick inside, trying to bury my tongue as far in as I can. She lets out a cry that tells me my daughter has had her orgasm – maybe indeed her first.

I’m a mother, sacrificial, willing do anything for my kid. But I want to cum myself. So I sit up, keep her legs apart, and I rest my clit on hers. We rub, we hold each other’s breasts as I move my still agile hips to build our motion together.

“Love you mommy.”

“Love you baby girl.”

“Yeah, keep going. Yeah bring me, ahhhh…..”

She cums again, I see her face redden and her tongue lick around her lips. I’m nearly there and I stay in the momentum of this thrusting.

“Show your mommy how good you are.”

“I’m your best girl.”

“I’m a lucky momma.”

“Love you momma. You deserve it momma.”

I let out my own cry and lose all thought in climax. Everything feels perfect in this moment. Society’s judgments go. I love my little girl. Who’s to say that I love her too much? I give her my wealth, my heart, and I give her sexual bliss. It’s all the same Grace, as a mother I exist to cocoon you in love.

I lie back down, and bring my daughter again onto my breast. I stroke her back and kiss her hair.

“Sleep now my darling. Momma loves you, momma cares for you.”

And I feel it. This girl is flesh of my flesh. I’ll adore her forevermore. And damn anyone who says I shouldn’t be this close to her. I’ll love you with my last breath Grace. And whatever you want from me – tickets to Colorado, a listening ear, or passionately intimate sex – that I shall willingly give to you.