SEPTEMBER 22nd, 2026 10PM CET

I'm restless. Like I've never been restless before. I'm incredibly horny. But I resist. I will not masturbate. I haven't cum in more than a week. And I've been able to not approach my erotic zones all through the past 7 or 8 days.

I've called Claudia this morning. Telling her I wanted to meet her. As soon as possible. Some days ago I read parts of a lengthy story, written by the most depraved perverted woman who's fantasies I've ever read. That Ella's story made me understand something about myself. Not that I wanted to live the same vile, filthy experiences she was depincting so realistically. But something about the boundaries I had defined with Supriya and Jacqueline. That I now was comprehending those hard limits were in fact silly remnants of my own old self. And that if I really wanted to commit myself to them I should forget about limits and leave it up to them. As long as I didn’t make clear to them I wanted to lay my fate and future in their hands, I was letting them down... and that that was precisely what Jacqueline told me about a year and a half ago... I expected from her, Claudia, to treat me in such a manner I would be forced to tell the truth about what I really craved and wanted to share and offer to her, to Supriya and eventually to Jacqueline who is my destination.

I'm not restless about what Claudia intends to do, how she will do it and how she will communicate all of it to my other Mistresses. I'm restless because I can't wait to commence the final stretch of my path. As a submissive, as a totally commited subservient, obedient, humble and dutiful servant of them.

I'm restless because I'm so horny my panties are already soaked in the morning before I arrive at work.

Elise, my 18 years old daughter is amazed. She's bewildered. But since a couple of weeks she knows all too well that her nympomaniac mindset and urges have gone too far. Claudia and I made that quite clear to her. We taught her a painful lesson and we delighted in giving it to her. She did too, don't worry. We're no childrapists.

Anyhow, Elise, has stopped being a child when she mastered the skills of a seductress years ago. Right now, she's laying next to me. Reading on our other tablet and stealthily trying to see what I'm typing. I've told her, over and over again, I'll let her read it once it's ready for posting online and only after I've filled her in on a few details about myself, her mother.

I need to fill her in about the depths and extent of the relationships I have with two women she's gotten to know as they've both been visiting us. She's aware I have regular sex with both. She's conscious of the reasons for me to visit them a number of times per year during weekends, sometimes extended weekends, when I'm off to London or Germany. What she doesn't know is the level of my worship for both of them, the kinks they make me do.

Elise and I have no secrets for one another, but she knows there are certain aspects of life, and sexual fulfillment, that aren't easy to explain to a teenager. Even if that teenager already enjoyed more sex and partners than most adults wished they'd had by the time they live in a care center at the age of 80 or more.

Elise knows about bondage, she knows about S&M, at least a part of it. She doesn't quite understand Dominance/submission. She can't really get her youthful, passionate, lovely head around it. Even if she's witness to the recent evolution of her cousin Eve and even after she was an assistant, so to speak, in helping Eve cross that threshold separating her shy girlishness from her true self: a young woman finding her inner strength in her submissiveness towards a dominant lady, three times her age. Enter Claudia, once again.

Claudia is my neighbor.

She's a psychologist/psychotherapist. She occasionally works with people sent to her by the academic hospitals in Ghent or Louvain. Over the past 18 years I know she's dealt with cases spanning from 'simple' marital problems, over anxiety in teenagers and young to middle aged women, to gender fluid and transgender people. Ninety five percent of Claudia's clients are female. Biological or other. Claudia hates the term patient, claiming that most of the time her clients' minds already contain their own cure.

The remaining five percent of Claudia's visitors are men. They usually don't come more than once or twice. Braveness to face one's self is not often found in the male gender.

Aside from being a psychologist, Claudia has other skills. Skills one doesn't acquire during higher education. Some of Claudia's clients seek such skills. Some want advice to control their own urges. Some seek to define their inner selves.

I've known Claudia since I moved in after marrying my now ex. The biological father of Elise. Or as we call him: the inseminator. Some might find this term as an invitation to calling me 'the inseminated".

But that's not how it works for us, Elise and me.

His only worth is that he produced the sperm cell that inseminated one of my egg cells as a result of which my body held, loved and nurtured my baby in my uterus for 9 months. Then my daughter pushed and crawled her way through my stretched and slightly tearing vagina to greet, meet and awe the world. She's never stopped doing that, with her excited, pretty face and her slender, seductive lite body.

I digress. Will happen again.

Claudia, and Maurice her husband, never liked my ex. Ever since he bought this house a few years before he decided to take the condom off his, not very impressive, cock in the parking lot outside the municipal, multipurpose, hall while he was fucking me and ended up spraying his cum in my unprotected womb. I was 17, he was 24 and for a while he looked like a man. Until I cursed him when I felt his sperm spurt in my pussy.

I digress again. What can I say? My mind travels in all directions all at once, every time.

Claudia almost immediately took a liking to me. As she told me later.

Once I delivered Elise, the walls I had erected around my inner self came crashing down. Those mental defences, shielding my youthful self from a forced, uncaring, marriage and an impeding motherhood, built brick by brick made from hardened love for my unborn child, cemented by an early motherly love growing on a daily basis with the fetus in me becoming recognizable as a tiny little baby, a mini human.

I had surrounded the core of my being with a wide ditch filled with rippling water, each undulation representing a happy childhood memory.

Once I gave birth every fortification I built in my 18 years old mind was knocked down, dismantled... some of the destruction I even did myself.

I was diagnosed with postpartum depression.

The therapist I saw for a while dug into my past. Snooping around in my recollections of my youth. Sniffing at my memories of my first sexual experiments. Like the doctor plays, typically organised by my older sister.

I managed to steer her away from the unusual composition of my family and our relationship with the family next-doors. Which had and still has an equally unusual makeup. And certainly I didn't mention the unorthodox relationship between the ten of us together. Or make that eleven as my younger sister's biological mom joined us after a few years.

How could I, an 18 years old, explain to a 24 years old, professionally trained, woman that we, the girls, felt that our family (or families) was just normal? We knew very well that other families had 1 mom, 1 dad and kids. Kids usually made by tht mom and tht dad. Not by moms and dads. But we didn’t feel special. There was, in our mind, nothing out of the ordinary with how we all dealt with nudity or acts of passion and pleasure.

Anyhow I digress again.

What she did manage to accomplish was that I started blaming my parents. For the situation I ended up in. And at the time I still struggled to understand why my dad was so adamant I marry the POS that fucked me into an unwanted motherhood.

I started blaming my baby.

Until one morning Elise was laying on my arm. Suckling my teats. I looked at her little face. Filled with contentment. Like one often sees when a cat is laying, slumbering in the shades under a bush on a sunny summer day. Elise's little fat arm stretched out and her baby fat tiny fingers came resting on the upperside of the breast she was feeding on.

Then it struck me. We, arrogant pathetic humans, are just animals. Animals who are supposed to procreate to ensure the future of our species. Procreation means sex.

We are made to believe we are distinct from (the other) animals because we have consciousness, cognition. Which I've always doubted as the most defining separating feature between us and the rest of the animal kingdom on Earth.

At that moment, when my little child was caressing my breast, I realised that what set us apart from other species is that we managed to separate sex from procreation. We learned to use sex for many different reasons. To the point even that reproduction became almost accessory.

My parents hadn't been wrong. They were absolutely right.

You think I'm digressing again? I suggest you think again.

That same day I returned to my therapist and she told me she wanted me to talk a bit more about my sisters. And I sort of lost my temper then. I think I even asked her if it turned her on, hearing me talk about our juvenile games. If she got aroused by listening to me talk about how we touched each other between the legs. I think I hurt her. But I know I didn't care. Because my mind was clear: I would do anything to give my daughter the life she deserved.

I guess I slammed the front door on my way out. Whether I did so or not, doesn't matter. But once I was on the pavement, walking to my car, I thought "OK, Annabelle, now what?". Because I was still depressed, easily tired, unconcentrated, often grieving as if a beloved one just died.

With hindsight I now realise that that beloved one was me. The youthful me. The teenage me. Because that girl had left the building to make room for the new me, the one who was a mother, the one without a compass.

Obviously I could count on my sisters and my other sisters. All five of them. But.... I didn’t want to count on my parents. I didn't want to talk to them.

My outburst at the therapist was because she intruded in the private lifes of my juvenile sisters and mine. Yet the poisonous seeds she had planted in my mind about my parents were still active.

As I arrived home I crossed our garden, a heavy plane's engines sending heavy soundwaves down as it was approaching the airport not so far from where I lived and still do. The strong vibrations made me feel heavy in my chest. My mind was clouded. Obscured. Then I saw those tiny thick fingers again in my mind. My little Elise caressing my breast. Acknowledging she knew I was her mommy. Reminding me she used to be part of me.

As I opened the narrow gate, leading me into our neighbors' garden, tears were slowly dripping from my cheeks. I didn't really notice them until I saw Claudia sitting on the porch. Holding Elise against her. Seemingly talking to her in a soothing, loving tone. Claudia. Who was always more than delighted to babysit when I had to go out.

I stopped and watched her. Then in her mid thirties. A tall woman. Strong, straight posture, often haughty, stern at times, always supportive, steady. I can't describe what I felt back then. My memory probably distorted by all those years in between that moment and now.

But one element, I'm still sure, was in that blend of feelings: deep appreciation for the person she was.

She noticed me only when I was at the door of the veranda, and saw I had been weeping.

As I sat down in front of her and Elise was laying on my chest, she said calmly but decisively "Let me help you Annabelle, I'll do it free of charge because I like you and because you're the only one that can give your daughter the chance to have a good life. Do let me help you ".

I think I just whispered something like "I'm so lost " or something less poetic. But I guess that what I just wrote sort of reflects well how I felt.

What I am certain about is that Claudia stood next to me, bent forward, holding her hand around the back of my head and giving a kiss on top of my head, saying "you’ll find your way again. you're almost there".

SEPTEMBER 23rd, 2026 2AM.

Elise is fast asleep.

She had two solid orgasms. One from my fingers. Fingerspitzengefhl is important when playing with the delicate folds of a teenage pussy.

The second one I gave her with my tongue, teeth and lips and after a while my fingers, exploring her still clenching slit and fuckhole as she came down from her first cum.

....

My daughter tastes delicious and her pussy drools tremendously. I still have her taste in my mouth as I write this. I love to hear her gentle moans as I suckle on her pussylips. One then the other. When moving from the left to the right, i pause to explore the inside of her entry with my tongue. I know how it feels when she tonguefucks me, I assume I return her the same favor and excitement.

Some people might think mother-daughter sex is incest. I think as long as there's no cock involved it's not incest. Honestly. Throughout history women have always been giving pleasure to one another. Why? Because it's too fucking easy for most males to cum.

When I do those motions for a while, occasionally licking through the crease between her thighs and her pelvis. Licking just over her clit hood, I know she's building up towards a climax. I want to make it a memorable one.

I don't have to use my fingers yet. We know each other's bodies. Lovers. Co-conspirators. Mother and daughter. Slut and nymph.

I start to lick from her perineum up to her clit and down again. Passing her drooling hole, scoping up her now sticky thick gooey vaginal juices. On occasion sliding my tongue over her spasming sphincter. Hearing her breath deeply in and out. Her hand on my head.

I lick her opening, fetching as much as possible of her cuntmilk into my mouth with the tip of my tongue, the way a cat drinks water from a bowl.

Elise's pussy is my bowl, I want to be her cat. I realise, again, my submissiveness and my cravings for perversions done to me (in real life or as suggested by either one of my Ladies or in my fantasies) are opposite sides of the same coin. They go hand in hand. I suddenly wished my daughter would be torturing me. Claiming me. It sounds counterintuitive since just a couple of weeks ago Claudia and me were just doing that to Elise. But that morning session was totally different from my usual position in life, at least when my Ladies are involved.

I'm a bottom, a submissive slut, a willing target for their punishments, a tool to still their desires to dominate, a toy they can play with. Even break me if they wanted to, while they're excerting their power over me.

Such is now my state of mind.

When I've gathered enough lubricant from my daughter s cuntal cavity, I slide upwards to her face. She knows my intention and stretches her legs, splayed wide open. While moving my body over hers I make sure my heavy breasts and protruding nipples make constant contact with her. Both my teats sliding over her inner thighs while I kiss her belly with closed lips, not wanting to waist her precious nectar in my mouth. Moving slightly to my left so that my right breast slides over her drenched cunt, pressing against it. The slow movement wets my tit, I wish her delicious fluids soak through my skin and that my mammary tissue is marinated with my daughter's taste and scent. The same breasts that fed her 18 years ago.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if I had another newborn now. A babygirl suckling on my teats, tasting a hint of the vagina of her older sister mixed with my mothermilk.

My right erected nub now sliding through her spread labia, caressing her sensitive clit.

As my hard nipples rub over her abdomen, aiming for Elise's pink sherries adorning her deliciously taut breasts, she raises her head slightly to look me in the eyes. She whispers "I love you mommy". I smile, keeping my lips sealed together. I'm sure my eyes burn with the same passionate love as hers. My daughter, my companion, my partner, my equal, my darling, my lover. I know it's hard for her to not being allowed to return the same pleasure as I have been giving her these past days.

When my mouth descends slowly to hers, she parts her lips wetting them with her pointed tongue which has given me so much pleasure, lapping at my heated vulva, licking my butt hole, penetrating it, wetting it's insides so she can easily slide her slender fingers in it.

Her tongue that loves to clean my urethra after I've released my bladder. She's not as perverted as I am. Not yet. But I'm certain that once I would confess to her I would love her to dominate me, her depravity will bypass mine in a few years time or sooner than that.

I stick out my tongue between my tightly closed lips using it to lick her open mouth, her own tongue trying to meet mine. She tastes herself on it.

I move up, just a few centimetres and purse my lips. Pushing out drops of her honeydew mixed with my saliva. She catches each with the flat of her tongue, then raising it's pointed tip to catch the threads of gooey substance hanging off my lips.

Drop by tiny drop, glob by glob I let the contents of my mouth's cavity drip into hers. I see it pooling on my lover's tongue then sliding backwards or sideways.

When everything I had to offer is now in my daughter's delectable mouth I descend again on her blushing face. Her breath is deep, filling her longs with the scent of what I gave her. Our kiss is passionate, devouring each others lips and tongue. We mix the bodily fluids in her mouth. After a minute or two she swallows, her eyes closing briefly. Then she grabs the top of my head while raising her knees again.

"Finish me, mommy. Eat me. Make me squirt in your mouth."

While moving my head back towards her furnace I linger a while to suck her erect teats.

Suddenly she pushes hard on my head. "Stop teasing me, slut. Make me fucking cum. Now!".

Her hoarse commanding tone gives me goosebumps all over my body. My own horniness peaks. I'm so aroused that if I would touch my clit for a few seconds I would cum. I have to bite my tongue in order not to say "Yes, Mistress". It's too soon for that. I feel it's not up to me to let my sweet little darling know what I wish for.

When I finally reach her pussy which is spreading its delightful and intoxicating fragrance, I immediatly start licking, flicking, teasing her clit with the tip of my tongue, I feel her tense. I'm holding her butt cheeks. I like to feel it when she tenses them up. It's an excellent sensor to know how close she is. Teasing her clit. Then going down and up again. Savoring the difference between her initial wetness and the much fuller taste and texture as she gets closer.

I want to reward her for calling me a slut. It's not impossible she's forgotten it by tomorrow morning. If so, I'll remind her of it.

I let her balance on the edge for a while. The longer I can enjoy playing with her sensitive pussy the harder she'll cum. The more likely she'll squirt. If that happens I want to catch as much of her fluids as possible. But that's my secondary goal, my primary aim being to stretch her orgasmic bliss for as long as possible. I want to retain my position in the top three of her pussy-pleasers rating. I know she keeps a mental list of all the female lovers she's had and still has.

I concentrate on her tight bumhole. Still virgin I'm sure. I'm licking over it, spreading her own cuntal excretions over it, adding my own saliva to it. I wasn't planning on using my fingers initially but now I want to make her squirm and squirt. I want to sleep afterwards with my sweetheart's juices spread over my face.

I extend my tongue as Elise is lifting her ass up from the bed, revealing a wet spot where her buttocks rested. She's so moist in her cunt it keeps trickling down her perineum and spreading over the insides of her butt cheeks as well as through her asscrack. I feel so much love and passion for her at that point. Thankfulness also for the fact that exactly this pretty young lady with her kinky mind has picked me to be her mother.

I push the tip of my tongue inside her asshole. Elise has laid her hands underneath her cheeks and is trying to pull them open. She's inviting me to explore the most intimate entry into her body. I manage to get about one centimeter inside her burning hot sphincter. Elise moans and lifts her butt higher. Moving slowly up and down. Everything about her tells me she's lost in ecstasy and excitement.

I press very hard and get another centimeter of my tongue in her, twisting it up and down. The walls of her sphincter pressing my tongue into a tube. My tongue is already feeling some cramps from pleasuring her pussy and from the vigorous kissing we just did.

When she moans "put a finger inside my ass, mommy. Fuck me with a finger" I'm actually thankful as my tongue will be able to rest sufficiently by the time I decide to let her cum. I pull my index finger through her sticky overflowing slit and then gently pushing the tip of it to her winking shitter, making sure my fingernail doesn't touch the wrinkles of it.

I know a lot of writers, mostly men, on this site and others revel in painal. But I think, no I'm even certain about it, that pain should be avoided as much as possible when penetrating an ass. To put that into context: I'd rather have the skin and flesh of my buttocks torn open by the tip of a long bullwhip leaving bleeding lashes than me having to hurt or damage a woman's anal entrance.

Dripping saliva on my index finger I push Elise's hole downwards, making room for my nail to enter the little pit formed by the pressure. Then I slowly slide my finger inside of her. Her whimpers telling me all I need to know.

Slowly I push my finger in and out of her hot canal. I scope up more of her own fluids to keep my finger slippery. Once the tension in her bumhole eases a bit, i bend my middlefinger so I can coat it with the sticky mixture of Elise's lubrication and my saliva. Pulling back my index until just the tip of it remains inside her entrance I push the tip of my middle finger underneath it. Slowly and gently i push a second finger inside of her. Her squeal is one of delight not of pain or discomfort. Knowing her, I'm sure that once she's been fucked anally be a cock or a strapon she'll be addicted to being buggered in her bum. For now she'll have to do with the fingers of her female lovers.

I think it's time to send her over the edge. As I return my lips to her glistening crevasse, I stick the index of my other hand in her slick, pulsing pussy. It takes a bit of struggling to position my body in such a way I can fingerfuck both her holes while allowing my tongue to circle her extended clit. Mine is bigger than hers, but her clit hood is drawn back enough to expose her hypersensitive button.

As I start teasing the immediate surrounding areas of her clit I easily slip two fingers between the walls of her vagina. She's so wet and slippery there's hardly any pressure there. Occasionally I curl up my middlefinger to slide it over her G-spot. Each time resulting in a soft "Ahhh" from my sexy girl's mouth. I sometimes lift my head just enough to see her lying there with her eyes closed, blushing with little beads of sweat under her hairline on her forehead.

I wished I had two heads and four hands so I could combine my treatment of her pussy and ass with kissing her with open mouth, our tongues intertwined and breathing in the moans her throat produce. And while doing that, I would knead her tits and squeeze her erected nipples.

I plan there and then to have Nicole, my sister-in-law, to join me in pleasuring my sweetheart. I know they've been playing with each other. Like Elise says, whenever she sets her sights on a woman or a girl, eventually she gets her.

Sometimes with unwanted side effects, like being so open and honest about her intentions with one of her teachers that I got called in for a raw conversation with the school's principal, who came close to the point of calling my daughter a whore. Back then I should have brought a strapon with me, rip the dress off of that bitch's overweight body and fuck her brains out while twisting the nipples on her big, fat udders until she pleaded for mercy. After which I would have forced the dildo into her ass and ram the shit of her. Nice thought, I must admit myself.

My daughter's cunt is so well practiced in receiving cocks, I need to put a third finger in her drooling pussy hole to stretch her just enough for her to feel the pressure. I'm sure sooner or later she'll ask me or another one of her lovers to fist her. I hope she doesn't do so too soon. I've fisted my mom often, before I left the house, and thus I know that once a woman starts to get hooked on such penetrations her hole takes quite some time to get back to a semblance of tightness.

Now pushing as deep as my fingers allow I fingerfuck my delirious daughter in both her holes. Her moans get louder, rhythmic. I alternate flicking my tongue over her oversensitive clit, then rubbing her G-spot while pushing the tips of my fingers in her ass upwards giving the internal canal of both her nether entries a sweet massage.

Looking up at her face I notice her eyes are wide open, her eyeballs flicking around in all directions. If I'm not mistaken that's about how I looked those few times I've been in subspace. If that's true, I didn’t know such was even possible with some more or less vanilla sex. Whatever is going on in her body and mind I think it's best I give her the release she's desperately waiting for.

I dive my mouth to her burning slit, moving my lips over the top of her vulva making a tight seal over her clit and urethra. In a flash I hope she releases some pee when she cums. She's tasted and then drank mine, why wouldn't I want to do the same for her.

Some people may think drinking the piss from someone else is incredibly dirty, foul, depraved. Some like it just because they believe it's a show of depravity and therefore they like to experience it. For me it's a sign of two different things, two distinct feelings. In the case of my daughter it is a proof of our intimacy and mutual love. Receiving, tasting and then swallowing her piss would be a sign I love her immensely and she would learn to see it as a gift to me, her lover. In the context of my relationship with my Ladies, drinking their pee is an act of submission and devotion. Each time one of them offers it to me I drop everything (unless I am immobilized) and open my waiting, thirsty mouth.

I think it is possible that the day will come when one of my Mistresses points at someone who is a complete stranger to me and orders me to beg that person to piss on or in me. It's possible. And when such will happen then I'll know she or they know my depravity is deeper than they thought before.

Pressing my lips tightly around my precious daughter's cunt I flick my tongue over her clit. Her pussy and ass squeeze my fingers which are slowly, lovingly fucking her. Her moans have morphed into a series of short Aah's and Ooh's. I think she's unable to control anything her body does, including her vocal cords.

Alternating flicking her clitoris with caressing her G-spot I feel and see how her very slender body is tensing up more and more. She has released her grip on her buttocks instead clawing at them with her long fingers. My hand gets squeezed between them. I'm unable to move my fingers in or out of her butt hole. Instead I keep bending my knuckles inside of her, mainly upwards to increase the pressure on the fingers of my other hand in her pussy.

We're both sweating. My own cunt is releasing so much of it's sticky slime I can feel it running down on the insides of my thighs as I'm sitting bent over on my knees. I imagine how we would look to an observer. Elise laying down, immobilized by her passion and excitement. Me kneeling next to her, my head deeply bowed in a posture that can only resemble that of a pious woman worshipping the angel laying splayed on the altar of our mutual love and devotion to one another.

I sense she's right there on the edge of an enormous cliff. I know that instead of falling off from it, plunging to her death, laying broken on the beach below, her body caressed by gently breaking and foaming waves, covering her corpse with loving caring soft strokes, she will soar off into the sky, breaking through the puffy clouds above, reaching the outer rim of the atmosphere. It'll be my task to guide and hold her as she comes down from her high.

I think I've let her suffer long enough the bliss her own body and her loving mother is given her. I increase the rhythm of my tongue near and on her clitoris as well as the pressure and intensity with which I rub her G-spot and the movements of my fingers in both her sensitive cavities.

Elise sucks in an enormous volume of air, her pelvis and chest raised above the bed, her hands on my wrist, her fingernails digging in my skin.

The "Aaaaaahhh" with which she expels that same air, goes up in volume and frequency, reaching a high pitched squeal that nearly hurts my ears. My hand fucking her pussy gets soaked in her juices. I don’t remove my fingers, but I know she's squirting. Yes, my young lover is squirting. Am I proud of myself that I brought her to this level of excitement? Not at all. I'm happy for her. Proud of her actually. She's a natural in enjoying her own sexuality.

Again and again she does this, her chest held high. I can't see it, as I don't stop my ministrations of her anus and cunt. I want to hear more of her, letting her explode over and over again. Her pelvis starts rocking up and down, riding a series of waves only she can see and feel. I'm so deeply in love with this young woman my eyes fill with tears of joy as I hear her squeal and moan, her body squirming to empty itself from the built-up excitement.

Over and over again she bucks her hips, the muscles in her thighs tensing, her buttocks hardening almost like two pieces of rock between which my hand is pressed as if it's squeezed by a glowing hot bench vice. The fingers of both my hands keep massaging the insides of her pleasure orifices.

It's not for the first time that I think that human female anatomy is made exactly for that: to provide excitement, delight. Primarily to the woman or girl herself. Secondary to her lover. The only thing nature could have done better is that the majority of the lovers of women are males. And, unfortunately, most males lack the stamina (or the interest) to stimulate our pleasure centers to the point we really reap the peaks of their potential. I know... some readers will say "Ah but girl you never been fucked by me"... or "white pussy needs BBC, lots of it" etc etc... Guys, do you really believe I have the time to explore the entire globe in search of the perfect fucker or abuser of my entrances?

I enjoy her shrieks, her moans, her inaudible babbling sounds, the way her body tenses, releases as she slides down from the crest of one wave, only to reach the rise of the next one. Then the entire process repeats itself. My hands, my fingers ache, my tongue gets tired, exhausted. Still, I can't stop smiling with my lips sealed tightly around her clit and urethra.

And then, a minute or so into Elise riding the waves of her ecstasy I feel it. A tiny spurt of warm tangy liquid hitting the side and underside of my tongue that is flicking and circling her clitoris. Elise, in the grips of her prolonged orgasm is loosing control of her bladder, the muscles in her peetube probably overexcited. I swallow, assuming more will follow. And indeed there's more. Sometimes just some trickles, other moments a stronger squirt.

In that moment. When my young teenage lover, probably unbeknownst to her self, released her bladder in an attempt to release the pressure and excitement in her entire climaxing body, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure rolling through her, squashing her, making her tumble around, not knowing where is up and where is down, I take her pee as a reward. My prize for having brought her to, probably, her highest peak of sexual delight so far.

The tension in her muscles starts decreasing gradually. I have no idea how long she has already been orgasming. It surely is minutes. Maybe five, possibly ten. I know it is time to decrease the stimulations I am giving her. I lift my mouth from her pussy and stop the movements of my fingers in her ass. I keep moving my fingers in and out of her pussy, but at a very slow pace. In fact just massaging the walls of her vagina as they are still having spasms.

I gently remove my fingers from her butt. Not pulling them out in one single move, but in a rocking way. Out and a bit in again. Moving them out in a slow process. Her butt is the only place she could feel a bit of pain if I'm not careful. The ecstasy she just felt shouldn't end in pain, not the slightest bit of it. Not her, my pretty kinky daughter-lover. I want her descent from the peaks she just scaled to be as soft as possible.

Once my fingers finally slide out of her tight sphincter I see there are traces of stool on them. That's a problem. Very soon I want to caress her still shaking body with my lips and both hands. "Well then" I think "I caused all this, lets finish it appropriately". So yeah, what's a bit of stool compared to my daughter's comfort.

Hence, albeit slightly reluctant, I put my fingers in my mouth and start sucking and licking them clean. The taste isn't actually as bad as I thought. Obviously I've tasted some tiny traces of it, when licking or penetrating a butt hole. But this is different, this is a sample I dug out of the mine where my daughter's shit is waiting to be released.

Earthy, musky, tangy but not like utterly disgusting. Not that it is something I want to get addicted to... but at least I don't throw up either. Collecting as much saliva as I can produce I swallow it all down. I realise in that moment, my body had been used as a conveyor belt for her waste for nine months. Now I am just repeating the same, but via a different, longer route.

Once I think my fingers are clean enough, sucking and squishing saliva on the tips to release as much as possible of what's stuck underneath the tips of my fingernails, I then wipe them off on the bedsheets.

I start whispering to her, as soft and warm as I can. Pulling my fingers from her slimy pussy, releasing blobs of her goo. I caress her belly, her thighs. Saying things like "you're so pretty, so sweet, so soft. I love you so much. My heart is filled with love for you my sweet girl"... caressing her all the time. Sliding up. On my side. Slipping my leg between hers. Feeling the heat of her body, the tremors still rolling through her, like gentle little earthquakes.

I kiss her upper body. Her chest, the side of her breast. Lifting her left arm and laying it around my neck, over my side. Kissing her neck. her pretty mouth. Licking away the drool she has spilled while she forgot to swallow when the orgasm hit her.

She is breathing deeply. Her eyes closed. Occasionally a whimper escaping her slightly parted lips.

I stare at her face. So immensely proud of her. The person she has become. Always full of joy... well most of the time. (OK, nearly) continuously in for fun, to make people have fun. feel relaxed, feel pleasant. For her, life is meant to be a sequence of moments of laughter, joy, games.

Everything can be turned into something exciting, worth doing. Looking at her, I am not her mother. I am one of her most frequent lovers, probably her best friend, her confidant, her companion... in this part of her life. I know that one day I won't be able to be this present in her life.

She's breathing heavily, her body sometimes still trembling. She sighs. Then she sighs deeply and opens her eyes. Looking at me. "Wow, mom, that was something. Oh my. I've never felt this before... I love you so much mommy".

"I love you too, sweetheart. You are the prettiest, sexiest girl I know".

And we kiss. Gently rolling and twisting our tongues. She must be tasting the remnants of her juices in her mouth, but she doesn't break our kiss. She's just holding my head close to her.

"Mom... did I pee while I was cumming?".

"Yes, my love, you did. I was prepared for it... and thirsty too in fact".

"Wow mommy... you're such a horny kinky woman... Oh, I think I called you 'slut' I think... is it?"

"You did indeed".

"I hope you're not upset?"

"Not at all... I liked it. I nearly came when you called me that... you can call me names when we play. I'm used to be called names".

Elise looks at me for a while, investigating my face, my eyes, my smiling mouth. I see her thinking, trying to figure out what my hidden persona is all about. Finally she seems to have made up her mind about what type of specimen I am and says in a deterministic way: "You are such a horny bitch, mom. I love you".

...

I want to come back on the therapist I insulted 18 years ago. Once I was in therapy at Claudia's, she suggested I called that young woman to apologize and maybe look for a way I could make make it up to her.

So, a month into therapy with Claudia, a couple of weeks after she started 'extended' therapy - meaning she helped me discover my submissive side... my submissive core - I called said therapist.

As she picked up the phone I said "Hi Maartje, it's Annabelle [...], remember me? I was following therapy with you about a month ago until I insulted you and left on my high horse".

It didn't take her more than five seconds to respond "Yes, yes, Annabelle! Oh my, thanks for calling me... how are you? Are you feeling better? Is there anything I can do to help?"

I was struck by a her willingness to still offer me assistance. Not a word about what I threw at her, verbally.

"Oo. I'm doing much better, thank you for asking. And for offering me your help... you're not offended by what I said to you? I mean, I was pretty nasty with you, wasn't I?".

"Oh, that... no not at all offended... It actually gave me the impression you were starting to get out of the abyss you found yourself in... and you don't want to know what others have been yelling at me... not at all offended, not at all. I'm happy to hear you're doing better".

"Still. I wanted to call you to apologize. I felt it was the right to do".

"Apologies accepted".

"Great. The other thing I wanted to say... In fact I would like to make mends with you. I know you're saying you didn't feel insulted, so it's more for my own peace of mind".

"OK. I'm listening ".

"What about I take you out for dinner in say... about a month or so. Not as therapist/client obviously but just two acquaintances spending an evening out together ".

"Really? Oh my, that's the first time a former patient of mine wants to take me out... Of course. Yes, sounds great. What do you propose?"

"Great! I'll look for a cozy restaurant and then call back to propose a few dates..".

"About every day of the week is fine by me, Annabelle. I don't have to take someone else into account. You choose and let me know".

What followed might be part of something else I write....