Chapter 1

My life was to change dramatically when I agreed to house-sit for my mother whilst she took a week’s holiday. My name is Julie and I am 19 and could be considered to be attractive. I have shoulder-length brown hair with a straight fringe. I am slim with average-sized breasts and love to dress to make the best of my body. My mother, on the other hand, is Margaret, though she prefers to be called Maggie.

Looking back now, I suppose that she could be described as a milf, a new word I have discovered along my journey, or should I say our journey. She too has brown shoulder-length hair and is a little plumper and shorter than myself, but at the start of this story, she is divorced from my father, 46, and dresses rather dull and conservatively.

I turned up at her house, letting myself in. I put my bag in her bedroom and went to make a cup of tea. While the kettle was boiling, I took a look in the fridge and freezer, which I found were empty. “Great,” I thought, “no food in the place.” My temper was not helped when I had made my tea and sat at the breakfast bar, where I found a note asking me to do her ironing. When I had finished my tea, I went into the laundry room and saw a pile of ironing that had to be at least three feet high.

I went ballistic, “how dare she make me do her ironing, and not even leave me any food when I was there house-sitting for her as a favour?” However, I did do the ironing, resenting every moment of it. I was then hungry and so braved her local supermarket, which was teaming with people. I hate food shopping at the best of times, but this shop had to be staffed by the slowest staff anywhere. And my mood was again not helped by finding a dent in the door of my car. A dent I wouldn’t have got if the stupid bitch I called my mother had left me with something to eat.

By the time I got back to her place, I was a powder keg of anger. I ate an uninspiring microwave meal and poured myself a large vodka. I thought I would check my Facebook page, so I sat at her computer. After I had checked and chatted with a few friends, I became bored and, not noticing how much vodka I had drunk whilst chatting, I decided to have a look at what my mother had on her computer. I admit I was drunk and still angry, or I would never have been so nosey.

Much of it was normal stuff people kept on their pc, family pics, etc. But hidden inside a folder was another folder labelled “my stuff.” When I clicked on this, I opened a Pandora’s box of my mother’s innermost thoughts and desires.

Never would I have thought she would be so kinky behind that conservative facade. Nor would I have believed that I could be so engrossed and turned on by the thought of my mother reading and looking at what she had in this folder.

Every perversity I could think of, along with a few more I had never known, existed here. But they all had a theme of lesbianism. “Hmmm, I wonder if Mom is a dyke then,” I thought in my uneducated way. It had struck me that Mom had not dated since her divorce, so was this the reason why? I couldn’t really see my mother as a lesbian and had never seen her close with anyone recently; she just seemed to potter on, working part-time in a local shop and staying at home.

Most of the files were stories she had saved, plus some videos. I didn’t look at them too closely at that time, knowing that I had plenty of time to study those at my leisure. However, I decided that if I was to find out if my mother was a practising lesbian, I would need to hack into her emails.

I quickly found her email address on one of the stories I had found, as someone had emailed it to her. I found the login page and would only have to find the password now. I looked around the computer for any pieces of paper, but found none. In an inspired guess, I tried my name with no luck, but when I entered my name with my year of birth, I was ecstatic. There were loads of emails which all appeared to be from women. I soon found from reading through them that she was sharing fantasies with these ladies. One of the most recent ones caught my eye when I looked through her sent mails.

“Dear Mary. Thank you for your message and our last chat, which I found most exciting and erotic. You are so lucky to have found a woman to hold and to love, and I lie in bed wishing that I had the nerve to take a chance and go out and find that special woman. For now, everything I want from life is but a dream. And you must get tired of me saying how much I want to try sapphic love but make no inroads to fulfilling what I feel is my destiny in life. I beat myself up every time I see a beautiful lady in the street or my neighbour, who I think maybe a lesbian, or my own daughter. The things I desire so much but can’t bring myself to try and get closer to in an intimate way. I sometimes think I am going mad; some of the fantasies I have get so extreme. I have no one to talk to about this apart from your good self and a few others here in cyberspace. I really value that, believe me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If it weren’t for you, I think I may have gone mad or killed myself by now. I know that sounds dramatic, but my needs not being met has made me feel so down and depressed. It is only when I read your kind words that I do not lose hope that I will find that special one. All my love as always, Maggie xxxx”

I must admit I cried when I read that the first time, to know Mom was that unhappy and lonely. It was only on the second reading that I picked up that she desired both her neighbour and an older woman who I always called Miss Jones, and myself. I was shocked, turned on, and disgusted within a few minutes. Miss Jones I could just about understand, though she was nearly 60 years old, she was in great shape and dressed very classy, but always in things that made the best of her body. Yes, she had a few lines on her perfectly made-up face, but yes, she was a nice-looking lady. But for my mother to desire me too, that was just too much to take in.

I decided to go to bed, so I printed off one of Mom’s stories by random, stapled it together, and along with the last of my bottle of vodka, went up to Mom’s room. Pulling back the duvet, I found the bed had not been remade with clean bedding as Mom’s nightie was lying there. Too tired to find my nightie, I just stripped off and lay on the bed. I poured a last vodka and began to read the story.

As it happened, it was a lesbian story of an older woman dominating a woman of my mother’s age. Was this where Miss Jones had come into my mother’s mind? I wondered. The older woman had found the lady in a compromising position of bondage and had taken photographs and blackmailed her into becoming her slave. All sorts of punishment and humiliation followed in the story, and I found myself rubbing my pussy at times, sniffing Mom’s scent from her nightie. Once I had finished the story and drank my vodka and brushed my teeth, I found it getting colder in the bedroom. I slipped Mom’s long satin nightie over my head and settled for sleep.

I found I couldn’t sleep. I was tossing and turning all night. The thought that my mother desired me in a sexual way was so exciting, as were some of the other things that I had found on her computer. I could smell Mom on the bedding and the nightie and dreamed that I was making love with my mother and found that I was rubbing my pussy through the nightie. I was gripped by a sudden realisation that I was rubbing my pussy thinking of my mother with the same piece of fabric that my mother rubbed her pussy thinking of me. I came hard, sweating, and immediately felt ashamed of myself. I showered, which helped me feel more sober and returned to bed, sleeping with more erotic thoughts going through my head.

I woke the next morning feeling horny. My vodka hangover added to the sexy dreams I had had during the night. As a naughty idea came into my head, I looked in my mother’s laundry basket and put on a set of her dirty underwear and one of her T-shirts as well as one of my short skirts.

You must understand as you read this that I was not adverse to a bit of girl-on-girl fun. I had played around a little at sixth form college with both students and even one of the lecturers. I was positive at that point that Mom knew nothing of my sapphic adventures, so why had she begun to think of me in a sexual way?

I fixed myself some breakfast and put on a pot of coffee as I felt that I would be sat in front of Mom’s computer for some time. I began by looking at some of the videos she had been watching but found no common thread. It appeared from them that she was interested in most forms of lesbian sex.

The stories she had been reading though did suggest that along with incest, of which there was a high percentage, she also liked to read stories with a theme of domination or humiliation. There were other stories there too which were quite extreme, but I will come back to those later. So if my deductions were correct, my mother was a lesbian submissive slave wannabe.

I discovered how wet the stories were making me when I got up to get another coffee. As I walked back, I saw Miss Jones, my mother’s neighbour, come out of her house to head for the shops. She looked elegant as ever, her feet in three-inch black heels and wearing a tight pencil skirt. In her leather-gloved hand, she held a long cigarette which she brought up to her perfectly bright red lipsticked mouth. She saw me through the window and gave me a wave which I returned. “Mmmmm” I thought, “I can see what Mom sees in her.”

I sat back down at the computer, giving Miss Jones no more thought for the time being. I decided to look more closely at Mom’s emails, printing out all her incoming mails as well as the ones she sent. It took a while, but soon I had them all in order of time and date. I soon discovered that these women Mom was chatting to, she had met in various lesbian chat rooms.

The early mails were much the same, just basic hello, how are you, I am such and such. After a while, there was left a core of three women Mom talked to the most. I sorted these out and concentrated on them. The first lady I chose was referred to all the way through as Mistress S; this was obviously the one Mom was sharing her submissive side with.

Mom discussed how she had always had a repressed submissive side and had always fantasized about giving up all control to another, but throughout her marriage had never had the chance. But now she was free, and getting older, she felt the need to explore these feelings for real. They discussed various punishments and scenarios for roleplays, the dreams Mom had, and how she could find her own mistress. Some of the humiliating things Mom wanted to explore were pretty way out, and in my mind at that time, pretty gross.

The next lady whose emails to Mom I began to read was also a mother. With this woman, Mom was sharing incest fantasies. This really made me feel uncomfortable. Reading how my mother was looking at me as a sexual fantasy was quite unnerving. Of course, at the time, I had never thought of Mom in that way. The idea was so alien. They discussed how they desired their daughters and how they could make things happen, though of all the ideas, I couldn’t remember Mom trying them out on me.

The last lady that I began to read was obviously the one Mom talked to the most by the amount of pages of emails I had in my hand. They also talked of dominance and submission as well as incest. They appeared to be on the same wavelength, but whereas it appeared Mom had not yet had any experience, this other lady had plenty.

This other lady who called herself “Mary” was active as she called it with her daughter, and she also had a mistress. Mary looked like she was really encouraging Mom to live out her fantasies. One set of words jumped out at me when I read “thank you for the pics you sent me of your daughter, I can see why you want to get close to your Julie”. Mom had obviously sent this woman pictures of me, but what bloody pics? I logged back into Mom’s computer and searched for that email.

The photos Mom had taken of me looked like they had been taken with her mobile phone. I can remember the night they were taken as we had gone out for a meal and a drink at an upmarket wine bar. That night, I had been wearing a nice leather dress, a dress as I remembered now, Mom had treated me to on one of our many shopping trips. I shuddered now to think that Mom had bought me this dress and other things with an ulterior motive. And the thought that she knew about the contents of my panty drawer and probably lay in bed dreaming of me in them.

I stood up away from the computer, disturbed by the revelations I had been reading. As I poured out some more coffee, I heard a sound from the computer. I stood in front of it for a second before I realised that as I had been reading that email, the messenger system was open, and my mother had an instant message from Mary, the woman she had sent the pictures of me to. I was frozen; what should I do? As if an unknown hand was pushing me forward, I sat down and clicked on the message.

Mary: “Hello Maggie, how are things? Thought you were going away?”

I stood mesmerized, but again as if my actions were not my own, my hands moved to the keyboard.

Maggie: “Hello Mary, how are you?”

Mary: “I am fine. How are you?”

Maggie: “Good, thanks.”

I knew nothing of talking to this woman and was at a loss to what I should be saying.

Maggie: “What are you up to?”

Mary: “Not a lot, hun, just reading a few stories and seeing who is online.”

Maggie: “Great, same here.”

Mary: “I take it you have not seduced that gorgeous daughter of yours yet?”

Maggie: “Can I tell you a secret, Mary?”

Mary: “Of course, please do tell.”

Maggie: “I am not Maggie; this is her daughter, Julie. Mom is still on her hols, and I have found her dirty secrets.”

I filled Mary in on what had happened for me to find the files and Mom’s emails. She asked me how I felt about it and what I was going to do next. I told her I just didn’t know at that point. Mary began to tell me about herself and her daughter; it began to sound so erotic, and Mary made it sound so loving, sexy, illicit, and taboo. She invited me to switch on the webcam as we talked, and I was soon looking at an attractive lady in her mid-40s.

Seeing Mary on cam reassured me that although what we were talking about could be seen as perverted, the people taking part were just normal everyday people. It made me feel that if I decided to go down this route, I wouldn’t suddenly grow horns. We chatted for quite a while, and I told her about my experiences with other women, and she told me some of her exploits with her daughter and others.

I began to get horny touching myself as I typed. Mary did the same. My pussy started to get wet as Mary took off her top, exposing her breasts to me. I was getting so horny and needed some relief. I kicked myself for not bringing my bag of toys with me, not thinking I started to rub my breasts through my T-shirt as I talked to Mary. I had forgotten to close the curtains and looked up to see Miss Jones waving to me on her way back from the shops, and on her lips, I could see a smile. I managed to wave back, feeling so embarrassed that I had been caught.