Gee – Thanks Mom! by BDLong

Gee, Thanks Mom!by BD Long

(f/f/F/dogs, beast, bondage, cons/non-cons, coercion, reluctance, teen, incest, interracial)

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I should be honest up front. My family is wealthy. I don’t like to think of us as super-duper rich, but I’ve never had to worry about a thing in my life, so maybe we are. It’s nice, but sometimes it can make things awkward, especially when trying to make new friends. Take the house, for example. It was my first year in university, and my parents insisted that, instead of living in the communal dorms like a normal student, I take over the family “cottage” that sat nestled in the hills overlooking the town. I put “cottage” in quotes because it was actually a house. Despite my separation from campus, I had managed to make a friend, Miriam, and had been to her family’s house, which actually looked like a cottage compared to my new home.

Ostensibly, my parents put me in the cottage because, although not famous, my family name was known in certain circles, and they were concerned that other students or staff might try to take advantage of that fact. I’m not stupid, though. My isolation was to keep me away from the common riffraff, especially boys. After university, the plan was obviously to marry me off to the son of another wealthy family. I had seen it happen to family friends, male and female, and the thought of it happening to me made my skin crawl.

Luckily, my parents placed no restrictions on my female friendships, which was why Miriam was riding in the passenger seat of the sedan as we pulled into the car stable on the south side of the house. As she climbed out of the car, the large steel gate at the front of the property creaked, and she watched it close.

“Come on,” I said, embarrassed. Her family home had bars on the windows and doors to keep people out. Mine had a half-ton steel gate in front and a seven-foot high brick wall all the way around its two acres, and if I hadn’t had a car, I would’ve thought they were meant to keep me in.

She turned and looked at me with her dark brown eyes, but I refused to meet them. This had been a bad idea. More than anything, I wanted Miriam to see me as just another girl, but bringing her to the cottage had shattered that illusion in an instant. I turned and walked down the pathway that led from the side of the house to the rear entrance. I used the front entrance as little as I could because there was no real good place to put one’s shoes in the front foyer. There was also a silver-and-crystal chandelier that I wanted to avoid. The gate had been enough for now.

As we approached the back door, I felt Miriam’s eyes on me, and I turned my head briefly enough to catch her quickly looking away. Had she been checking me out? I almost tripped over my own feet. Was that what this was all about to her? I hoped not. I’d hate to disappoint her. I didn’t feel like I was her type.

Looking at my reflection in the French doors, I saw a skinny blonde girl dressed in an internationally preppy style. A light blue blazer covered a white cotton blouse, and a brown tweed skirt rested its hem just above my knees. For October, it was unseasonably warm, and the blazer had been a bit much. I had opted for white tennis shoes, even though they didn’t really match my outfit as well as I’d have liked, because I had left the house only to pick up Miriam. And, speak of the devil, I caught her checking out my butt again in the reflection. But what was there to check out? I mean, I’m not flat on either side, but I’m not particularly well endowed either. Oddly, I’d never felt self-conscious about my body until now.

Maybe that was because Miriam is rather well built. She’s no cartoon, but as I got the door open and turned around to kick my shoes off in the entryway, I found myself stealing a quick envious glance at her and hoping she wouldn’t notice. Her skin was the color of hot cocoa, and her black hair, unlike mine which was straight and stopped just above my shoulders, fell down to her shoulder blades and had been knit into dreadlocks and decorated with cowrie shells that clicked together in rhythm as she moved. She had a single gold ring in one nostril and a few that climbed up each ear.

She wore a surplus army jacket three sizes too big and open in the front, under which was an aqua tank top that popped against her darker skin. Her black jeans were ripped at the knees, though I couldn’t tell whether this was by design. Her tank was tucked into her jeans, and revealed more meat than I had, but also more muscle. Miriam also had faded black army boots, that she struggled with only when the laces became tangled. She bent over briefly, and I inadvertently caught a glimpse of her cleavage. I didn’t feel excited by the view, but I didn’t feel nothing, either. Weird, I thought, and turned away before she saw me looking.

“You can put your bag by the door,” I said heading further into the house and hanging a right into the kitchen. “We’ll take it upstairs later when I give you a tour. Want something to drink?”

“Uh… sure,” she said, setting her bag down and following me.

I was already rooting around in the refrigerator by the time she entered. She sat on one of the stools at the kitchen’s center island. “Don’t get too comfortable,” I said. “We’re going outside.”

“We are?” she said, uncertainty—and, oh my god, was that irritation?—in her voice.

“I mean,” I stammered. “We can. Go outside, that is. If you want.”

Miriam laughed, and I blushed. I was already confused, and now it felt like she was making fun of me. “Whatever, girl,” she said. “It’s fine. It’s your home.”

“What do you want to drink?” I said, trying to change the subject. “I’ve got water, juice, wine (rosé and white), and beer.”

Miriam laughed again. “Your parents let you drink?”

“Not as such,” I said. “I just don’t think they care either way.”

“Mine don’t let us,” she said, “so I don’t really know anything about it. I’ll have what you’re having, I guess.”

I pulled two beers from the fridge and turned around. Miriam’s face didn’t have the mocking look I expected, so I relaxed a bit. “Let’s go,” I said.

“You look like you need to relax before we start studying,” she said.

Yeah. That was the reason she was here. I was so preoccupied I had almost forgotten. “That’s the idea,” I said.

I led Miriam through the rear section of the house and out the northeast door, and I heard her gasp. Right. Of course. I waved her onward and led her down the narrow path to the pool area. The large flat paving stones were cool and smooth against my bare feet and felt amazing in the late October heat.

The pool area, surrounded by a short picket fence meant to keep animals out, was mostly open to the elements, and a half-dozen long chairs lay around the long edges of the rectangular pool. At the northeast corner, farthest from the house, was a hot tub, partially enclosed by a wooden gazebo, the walls of which had obviously been built so that anything happening in the hot tub was hidden from the house. I had long ago convinced myself that whatever shenanigans my parents had gotten up to had been a long time ago, and that the tub had been cleaned many times over since then. Because that was what had happened. It had to.

“Jesus,” Miriam said.

“I know,” I said.

She laughed again.

“Why do you keep laughing?” I asked, wincing as I realized how much I probably sounded like an unfeeling robot.

“You, Dee,” she said, calling me by the short version of my name, Daniella, she had been using since the first day we met. “You’re all wound up and shit about your house. You embarrassed?”

“A little,” I said, sitting on a long chair and putting my beer on my knee. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Hell no!” she said, still laughing, still smiling. And then she frowned and looked at her bottle.

I offered my hand, and she handed her bottle back to me. In a trick I’d learned in boarding school, I braced both bottles against each other at the caps and popped both of them off simultaneously. As I handed hers back to her, she grinned.

“What?” I said.

“I just figured,” she said. “You know…” I shrugged. “You know,” she tried again. “The way you look … and how, um, awkward you can be around the other art kids. I figured you were super preppy. Just don’t see a lot of girls do shit like that. It’s, like, you’re a different person almost. Isn’t what I expected, is all.”

“Good,” I said, trying unsuccessfully not to blush.

For a while after that, we were quiet. There was a lot to unpack from that conversation, and I think we both just took some time to think and relax. She was right—about my awkwardness, at least. I really wasn’t comfortable around the other students in the art program. Probably because they were all meant to be there. I was just taking art history as a general education requirement. My parents, Mother in particular, would never brook any dallying in the arts. But that wasn’t the only reason I felt like an outsider. The cliché would be to say that these were the people my parents warned me about, but they had never done that. They hadn’t bothered, probably out of the presumption that they needn’t have. These were the people my family referred to in the lowest possible terms, and every time I was around them, I could hear in my head the words spoken around the dinner table. And yet, I envied the other students.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost jumped when Miriam set down her beer, stood, and went to sit next to the pool. Rolling up her pant legs, she stuck her bare feet in the water and sighed. I went to join her, and when I stuck my feet in the pool, I knew her sigh had been one of relief.

“This is nice,” she said softly and laid herself down on the pool deck.