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Redesign for Living, Part Three

  • Posted on August 24, 2016 at 2:32 pm

By Sammy

When I got home that night, I was a wreck. Physically, from the best sex of my life, and emotionally, because my little girl was in pain, I was completely in the dark, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Robin was in the living room, watching Follow That Bird on TV.

“You haven’t watched this in years, sweetie.”

“I know. I just feel like Big Bird all blue and singing in the cage.”

My heart melted as I realized there was no way I could possibly share with her tonight what I had learned. I went over to her, pulling her into my arms as I slipped in behind her on the couch.

“Mommy’s here, baby.”

“I know, Mom. You always are.”

“And I always will be.”

We snuggled together, watching the rest of the movie, each doing a poor job of hiding our tears as Big Bird was reunited with his family on Sesame Street. I turned it off and held out my arms. “Ready for bed?”

She harrumphed softly. “Your bed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to sleep with you. Like I used to.”

I chuckled softly. “Guess this is a night of nostalgia.”

She smiled sexily. “Guess so.”

Not needing to be told, I scooped her up in my arms and headed to my bedroom. I dumped her a little hastily and she giggled. I stripped down to my panties, and only my panties — I guess sex emboldens me — and got into bed with her, wrapping her thin, tight frame in my arms.

“You feel so nice, baby,” I breathed on her neck, flashing back to Tegan in the dressing room.

“Mmmm. You too. So warm… and soft.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Everything melts away when I’m with you.”

We lay silently like that for a while, my pussy growing wetter and wetter as my hands kept wandering past the boundaries of where good mothers trod.

“I like the way you’re touching me.”

“Good. ‘Cause I like touching you.”

“You can touch…” I could hear her swallowing. “…underneath if you want.”

“Underneath? Underneath what, baby?” I wanted her to say it.

“Underneath my panties… touch my pussy.” Oh. I didn’t even have to prod that one out of her.

“Are you sure about this, Robin? It’s a big deal. Something we can’t come back from.”

“I’m so sure, Mom… you have no idea.” She sat up in the darkness, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on her flawless form. “I’m so glad it’s you. So happy. It’s just that” — she stumbled — “oh no, I’m ruining it…”

I grasped her shoulders. “No, don’t be silly. You’re not ruining anything. What is it, sweetie?”

“Well, I’ve heard about so many bad things happening to girls I’ve worked with, and that my first time gets to be with you is, well, it’s just so great…” She looked deep into my eyes. “It’s always been you, Mom. I know you saw my writing…about you.” She put her finger up to stop me, which made me squirt just a little. “I wanted you to find it. I wanted you to know all about me. To know what I wanted you to do to me…and to do it.”

My jaw was almost low enough to reach the cum I saw we had both leaked on the sheets.

“But, Mom… you didn’t.”

“Baby…I — I didn’t think you were ready. I wanted you so badly…”

“If I was ready then…imagine how I must feel now.”

I groaned as she rubbed herself against my leg, her sparse pubic hairs soaked in sweat and cum, and I couldn’t wait to drink it from the source. I loved her more in that moment than I ever thought possible, but the tinge for Tegan lingered…what had made her so upset? What did she know? No, I had to put it out of my mind. This night was for my baby girl. It was my dream come true, and she deserved all I could give her. So I kissed her. Softly at first, to let her get used to it, but after a few seconds I began to move gently and she did the same, our tongues coming out to meet as our hands went to each other’s bodies, mine to her slender hips and hers to my generous breasts. My nipples ached for her and she silently complied, knowing just when to pinch, just when to rub. I took her barely-there breasts in my hands and marveled at the comparatively large size of her nipples, long, thick, and pink.

Robin was the one to break our kiss, shoving me down and straddling my waist. “Enough with the emotional shit. I’m gonna fuck ya, bitch.”

We both laughed out loud, before I brought my hand up and slapped her ass.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“I’m still your mother, young lady, and even when we’re fucking I’m to be treated with respect.” Robin looked ashamed. I couldn’t let it go on any longer. “It’s a good thing for you…” she perked up “…that I consider ‘bitch’ a term of endearment. In certain contexts.”

She fell down laughing onto my chest, going straight for my nipples. “That’s asshole jar, you know.” She always knew how to dig in!

“What?! ‘Context’ isn’t asshole.”

“Mom, in the context of having sex, with your daughter, using a word like ‘context’ is total asshole.”

“But it’s because you’re my daughter that I need to establish context.”

“Oh, shut up, bitch!” We fell into another giggle fit, but this one at least, finally, ended up with my nipples in her mouth and my hands cradling her head. As she greedily sucked on my breasts, I laughed a little too loud, again.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing. Just getting a little nostalgia of my own.”

It took her a second to realize what I meant, but she laughed, too, when she did. “Thinking about your baby girl sucking on your titties all over again, huh?”

“Mmm, indeed I am.”

“How long have you thought about me like this?”

“That’s another conversation.”

“‘Kay. I just wanna say I’ve always thought about you like this.”

I sighed. “Damn movies…”

She smacked my left tit — I shrieked. “No! Don’t blame them. This was all me. And now it’s… it’s all us.” She peered up at me, whispered “I love you so much,” and went back to her nursing. Before too long I was urging her downwards, and she eagerly trailed kisses down my belly, pulling my panties down and placing them over her face, taking a deep breath before tossing them over her shoulder.

“You are just full of surprises, young lady.”

“Don’t you know? I’m a prodigy, an ingénue, an IT! girl!”

“Yes, I know. I think I helped to create those little myths.”

“Oh, myths? I’m not a generational talent? Well, I bet I can prove I’m somethin’ else.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“A motherfucker.”

“Oh, my!”

“And you know what we can definitely agree is asshole?”

“…What?” I asked nervously.

“THIS!” — yep, then there was a finger in my asshole. Not deep nor painful but shocking. I smacked her shoulder in protest but was mollified almost immediately as she worked her finger in and out while feasting on my cunt, tugging at the strands of my bush with her teeth and tickling my clit with her nose, seeming to know just how to get me going. Her tongue went inside and deep, widening and tightening, changing shape to hit as many different spots as possible. I was writhing on the bed, grasping sheets with sweaty palms. “Oh, that feels so good… you make Mommy’s pussy feel so good…”

She moaned in approval, apparently not able to take her mouth out of my crotch for even a moment. I came then, hard, creaming all over her small perfect face and watching it pool around her chin and down to the bedspread. I lay back on the mini-mountain of pillows and tried to catch my breath. Robin snuggled in under my arm.

After a few minutes of bliss, she looked up at me.

“Ready for more?”

“Honey, I still couldn’t come again if my life depended on it.”

“No, I mean returning the favor.” She treated me to a toothy grin.

“Are you sure, Robin?”

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Mom. I’ve been ready for a while now.” She played with my nipple. “Remember, the painting…just you and me?”

How dare she bring a real tear to my eye during sex. Ugh. But I grinned through it and placed my palms on her hot thighs. “Okay, sweetie. Lie back.” She made an excited little noise and scurried to the top of the bed, spreading her thin legs wide. I took in her pussy up close for the first time in some years, getting near enough for a few of her sparse pubes to sneak up my nose. She was sticky and smelt heavenly, girl-cum and sweat. I dove in.

“Oh, Mommy, feels so good…” She whimpered, my scalp suddenly spiked with her fingernails, hands spreading through my tresses, making things feel even more primal than they already were. I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, and let my tongue slurp slowly down to her asshole. It puckered invitingly, rim traced with her juices and mine, and I thrust my tongue in. She squirmed under my body, gripping the steel bed frame and humping my face. I gripped her back, pulling her back down hard and flipping her onto her stomach.

“Oooh!” She squealed.

“Hands and knees, young lady.”

“What’re ya gonna do, Moooommmyyyy?” She always gets silly when she’s been up for as long as she had been at that point. But something told me I wouldn’t be putting her to bed for a while yet.

“Mommy’s gonna have some fun with baby’s pussy, and maybe even more with her adorable little butthole.” She groaned in pleasure as I inserted a finger slowly into her little cunny, letting her get used to it bit by bit. She throbbed around me as I wiggled around, gentle yet insistent, feeling her insides quake in time. “Unnnhhhh,” she whimpered, her face hitting the mattress and her ass thrusting up, ripe and ready. I went harder and deeper, reaching her hymen.

“Ready, baby? This might sting.”

“Yamommy…” she barely sighed out.

I pushed past the thin barrier, feeling my fingers get wetter as my daughter let out a shriek. “Mommmmmmy!”

“Shhh, baby…” I rubbed her back in soft circles. “It’ll be better soon.”

She moaned into the mattress. “Well it’s already fucking great!

I laughed and inserted my thumb into her asshole, well-lubed. Small trickles of blood leaked out of her pussy along with dollops of cum, and I licked it all up. It was marvelous. I continued to work both digits in and out, loving how she jumped every time I tried to ‘pinch’ her between my thumb and index finger. She told me later they were all small little orgasms, though none comparing to what happened when she came just then, her mad writhing shaking the bed back and forth. I collapsed on top of her, both struggling to catch our breath, my wet cunt rubbing in-between her legs. I pushed her face into the pillow and continued to grind into her, biting into the back of her neck and creaming all over her ass as she shrieked “Mmmmmmmommy!” and left a small hole in my pillowcase with her teeth, biting and sweating.

I still haven’t swapped that pillowcase with a new one. I doubt I ever will.

After Round 2, Robin put her iPod on shuffle, shoved it in the dock, and we fucked to rhythms I had never considered. You want sex music? Listen to “Reflections” by MisterWives and imagine your daughter’s eyelids fluttering and voice breaking as you nibble her clit between your teeth.

The next morning I knew we had to talk about what to do about the pictures. I told Robin about my conversation with Tegan (definitely not about what we did… yet). She was surprised Derrick was involved, too. We each agreed to discreetly check around on set to see if anyone had heard from him recently, but had little luck by the end of the day. We were about to give up and call the police when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a very pretty young woman in a sharp suit. There was a badge on her lapel.

“Ms. Rose Bell?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

We shook hands. “Ms. Bell, I’m Detective Schneider with the Los Angeles Police Department. Is your daughter Robin Bell?”

“She is.”

“Ma’am, may I come in for a moment?”

. . . . .

Robin was mature and gave the detective and me some time alone.

“I’m here to let you know that we’ve arrested a man who was in possession of pornographic images of your daughter, among other young actresses. It is our understanding he may have been attempting to blackmail some of the girls, and also that you had a past association with him?”

I decided to play dumb. “Who?”

“Derrick Fulton?”

“Yes, he was my daughter’s manager years ago. We… had to let him go.”

“Well, we’re just glad we were able to stop him. He had pictures of a lot of girls. And we’re well on our way through his list of co-conspirators.” She shrugged in weary resignation. “The good thing about blackmailers is that they usually leave a pretty wide trail.”

“Thank you for letting us know, Detective Schneider.”

“Please, call me Debbie. And between us mothers, I understand why you didn’t go to the police first.” I made to interrupt, but she shushed me. “Really, it’s okay. I know the producers got this town by the shorthairs. But I’ve just been made head of a new division intended solely to prosecute Special Victims crimes in Hollywood, and it’s a post I take very seriously.”

I smiled deeply, suppressing tears as she took my hands and continued. “And I told m’self I wasn’t going to do this, but Julie’d kill me if I didn’t. She and I went to see one of your daughter’s big movies a few years ago, the one by the Eastern European fella?” I nodded. “And, well, we loved it. Bawled our darn eyes out. Especially when your little girl was on-screen at the end. The talk my daughter and I had about it afterwards was one of the best we ever had, about anything, and we now make it a habit to go to a movie we’ve never heard of, or a play by a new writer whenever we’re looking for something to do.” She looked nervous all of a sudden, like she wanted to take something back. “And I just wanted to say that, and to say thank you to your daughter.”

Well, I couldn’t hold it back after that. I started bawling myself and threw my arms around Debbie, who understood immediately. What mothers only can.

I called Robin down and Debbie shared the story with her, and three of us had a lovely conversation over iced tea and Caesar salad. We made a plan to get our girls together, the four of us, and see a movie or get lunch. Personally, I was dying to see if Debbie’s daughter had the same irresistible dimples.

By the door, before Debbie left, I couldn’t help asking her one last question. “Debbie… do you know who tipped you off?”

“Sorry, Rose. Completely anonymous. Wish I could help.”

“No problem, Deb. Bye.”

“Goodbye, girls.”

. . . . .

It turned out that after Derrick was blackballed officially in town, he used the considerable dirt he had to get himself a gig as a full-time blackmailer, which occasionally included getting others to dig up dirt for him. This was where Tegan had come in. He had enlisted her help, without her knowledge, in installing a camera in Robin’s shower, by asking her questions about protecting camera equipment from water and installing around pipes. He made it sound like it was for a line of home repair videos he was producing, which made Tegan immediately suspicious, but he gave her a generous tip afterwards and word around the set was he was to be steer-cleared from as much as possible. So she decided not to rattle things.

But before long, he had even Tegan under his thumb, having somehow snaked compromising pictures of her, and said he’d release them unless she kept it up. She thankfully didn’t have to do much besides take pictures, until once when Derrick had her do so before a party he was having, the models a line of young teenage girls in expensive dresses. After the last set, Derrick had asked her to stay for a drink. She refused, and when he tried to coax her inside physically, she ran.

After that, and refusing to attend any more of Derrick’s parties, Tegan had been blackballed herself for any kind of acting gigs and was relegated to low-level PA jobs on which she’d do against her will what she had done freely and with delight for me, the only occasionally consensual photos of young starlets in turn used as more leverage against her, should she ever get an urge to talk.

The three of us had a very tough conversation during which Tegan confessed, in tears, her initially ignorant role, accidentally letting slip that with Derrick’s network of sleazeballs mostly behind bars, she was effectively homeless. We didn’t hesitate before inviting her to move in with us — we had more than enough space than we knew what to do with, and we knew what she did was under extreme duress. She had also turned state’s evidence, and was doing her part to make sure anyone who hurt her wouldn’t hurt anyone else again. And besides, she, Robin, and I still had way too much fun to have.

We all told Danny together, about everything. He was remarkably accepting of our new… relationship, and, as I’m sure only I could tell, more than a little turned on. Which turned me on just a smidge, too.

. . . . .

It was a few years later that I next saw Erik, at one of his regular haunts after a festival gala in Toronto. He beamed when he saw me and cleared out his booth, which had been occupied by a few adoring film students as they all watched something on Turner Classic Movies, with a different muted title on each screen in the bar.

“How have you been?”

“Great, Erik! You? I saw your last movie. Mid-tier, but a hell of an ending.”

“I know, I know. I bought the script for the ending, but half of the rest was shit, and he wouldn’t let me change a word. Smart writers and good lawyers! The death of me!”

We each ordered a drink and he continued gregariously. “What about Robin? I heard about that terrible mess.”

“Yes, but she’s been wonderful. And we actually got a new houseguest out of it. Or family member, really. Another victim of that scumbag’s.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Ful-ton. Did they ever find out who dropped the, how you say, dime?”

I was about to answer his question in earnest before I saw the glint in his eye. “Erik? No…

“The son of a bitch tried to get me in on it. Offered me a piece! Thought I’d want to stick it to the pretty American. What a schmuck.”

“I can’t believe you did that… thank you so much, Erik. We’ll never forget it. I know it must have been tempting, that kind of publicity…”

“Oh Rosie, I am insulted. You should know by now I’m no villain. I only base them on myself in the movies.” We shared a deep laugh.

“Well, while we’re on the subject… Robin’s been finishing up her first solo script and she’s too shy to ask, but… she has eyes on you for the male lead.”

“Oh?” Erik’s lips broadened. “And who is this fellow, whom I assume is a magnetic and transformative figure?”

“A Soviet-era gymnastics instructor who secretly trains an American teenager for the Olympics.” He made to interrupt me. “I know, I know, a sports movie, but Robin wanted to try making something great out of an awkward frame. The materials are top-notch, though — it is a great script, Erik.”

“If any young director could do it, I am sure it is Robin. And greatness is not without precedent in this arena… The Hustler, Huston with Fat City, and Warrior is actually tremendous, the last time Nick — Nolte, you know — and I were here, some drunk co-ed who had just seen it asked him about his Moby-Dick, and Nicky said to her —”

“All right, all right, enough with the goddamn name-dropping already, you’re not on Conan.”

“Oh, that reminds me! I have to call Conan, I left my reading glasses on Miss Julie, that’s his boat, you see, an Ibsen reference, who else but Conan —”

He laughed as I hurled my glass at him, already well on my way to the bar for a fresh one. The employees don’t mind. He’s broken about nine there himself to date, and always leaves a $500 tip when he does.

Two weeks later, he called Robin personally and accepted the part.

Danny said he’s getting tired of comedy, and was thinking of maybe writing a novel about this whole thing. Though, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to extend it to that kind of length. He’s been thinking he might try it out as a short story first, credited to a pseudonym. Something that kinda sounds like his name, but isn’t.

As for Robin, she’s about halfway through production on The Red and the Gold (an irrelevant nod to Stendhal — made her put $100 in the asshole jar for that one). She’s come home anxious and tearful after several nights, though mostly from exhaustion. Her new sister and I are always here to meet her at the door, slowly undress her as we make our way to the bedroom, most often stained khakis, sweaty undershirts, juicy panties saved for last right before we sink into the Jacuzzi and rinse the day’s events off of each other, though one of us is usually a bit more dirty. Tegan often gloats about getting to be home so much earlier than Robin to get to Mommy’s pussy — she has a strong supporting role in the film, and gets to clock off while Robin has to stay and look at dailies and talk with the crew.

I’ll never forget our first time together, the three of us, some weeks after Tegan had moved in. It had been awkward at first, everything awful still fresh in our minds, but as you might have expected, it was Robin who made it happen for real. One autumn afternoon, fresh out of the shower, she strolled towel-only into the living room where Tegan and I were reading on each end of the sectional. Right to the same spot I had so often used as, well, a cum-dump. While thinking of her. She put a leg up, making a show of fudging with a nail on her toe, then suddenly bending forward into the cushion and shaking off her towel, slowly, deliberately. Tegan and I shared a look over Robin’s raised, still-damp ass, and we knew instantly what was happening. We three came together there, in the middle, awkwardly at first, confidently soon after, Tegan and I quickly as naked as my daughter, each half-carrying her, the three of us swapping sloppy kisses as we made our way to my bedroom. Tegan wanted to watch mother and daughter first, rubbing herself as Robin made a show of going down on me, whimpering into my bush like her tongue was coating it for the very first time. It was contagious — I pulled her into me roughly, Tegan’s fingers tweaking my nipple as Robin moved effortlessly, everywhere, exploring wherever Tegan might have wanted to see. Which was everywhere, of course.

Then, as a final homecoming gift, I decided to give Tegan my daughter’s anal virginity. She retrieved her own strap-on, and I made sure my daughter’s ass was slick as slick could be, with juices that, by that point, were comprised of all three of us, from multiple holes at that. Tegan was gentle at first, easing in as my daughter nestled in between my breasts, my hands spreading her cheeks as wide as possible for the thick rubber cock. Robin was soon urging her on, begging “Harder!” to Tegan’s eager thrusts, teeth eventually piercing my areola as she came, wetting the sheets.

We continued into the early hours of the morning, making this first time, more than anything, a permanent etching of all of our bodies into one another’s, in every combination, paced variously for mood and energy. I mean, we wear each other out, but we’re all insatiable. And by now, as far as everyone, including Danny, is concerned, Robin’s blood.

The three of us have had many long conversations about what happened, how we all came together like this, what each of us did, what was okay, what wasn’t. That the same things had been done to the same people by other very bad people who were now in jail renewed all of our belief in the power of consent, even if it made everyone feel a little less than pure. But purging that is why we have art, isn’t it?

I have to wrap it up soon. They’ve just finished shooting the climactic scene between the young gymnast and her coach. Robin says she’s happy with the day’s footage, but I have a feeling the set-ups will be identical tomorrow morning. It’s strange — no one seems to mind doing ninety strenuous takes for a director as long as she has tits and keeps them in scandalous tank tops to go along with her booty shorts. (What can I say? Directing gets her hot.) Rumor has it Daniel Day-Lewis’s agent was on set today, having a look from the nosebleeds. Robin met the handsome Englishman at the same Oscars she first won hers, and she told him he simply had to be in one of her movies once she became a director, because of course that’s what she was going to do. He smiled politely and told her to call him when she had something solid. Robin doesn’t have any new material that I know of, but then, I also know that she never stops working.

Right now, I’m looking at her and Erik, together on the office couch, going through the dailies. They’re laughing, and his head is in her lap, his gray kinks straightening and kinking right back out again. I’m tempted to take out my phone and sneak a stolen moment when they’re not looking, but I manage to control myself.

Some things should be kept off-camera.

THE END