I could barely remember my father. Mom says he left us when I was just five but, as far as I was concerned, it had always been just me and her.

So many of my early memories of her were lovely hugs and kisses which I absolutely adored. Looking back we seemed to spend most evenings cuddled up together in front of the TV or reading. I do remember that I was always fascinated by her lovely bosoms, so soft and warm and comforting.

When I was about thirteen, and just starting to get some breasts of my own, she gave me a talk about men and women and babies. I didn’t like the sound of getting naked with a boy, all rough and angular and hard, not soft and curvy like Mom. I got quite interested in where his thingy, or penis as Mom called it, would go. I’d known I had a hole down there but not really why. With the surety of youth, I decided that if I didn’t like boys I’d never need to know and forgot all about it.

When I was a little older, fourteen I think, Mom caught me wriggling about and fiddling ‘down there’. It was far from the first time and I was sure it was naughty but sometimes I felt so ‘itchy’ and I just had to have a little ‘scratch’.

At first, I thought I was in trouble but she told me how it was all right if I touched myself, how it was natural and beautiful, but only in private. Now that I knew it was OK I began to do it lots more. Only in my room of course. Mostly.

Now I felt I could explore properly I didn’t look back. Everything down there felt so good and I even got a mirror so I could see what stuff looked like. I discovered how good it felt when I pushed a finger up inside myself and then the magic little button at the top that seemed to be where all the really good feelings came from.

I’d play with myself before going to sleep and loved the way it made me feel all trembly and wonderful. I was sure that there was more though, something that I got closer and closer to but couldn’t quite reach.

It wasn’t long after that that our cuddles changed for me. I would eagerly look for glimpses of her lovely boobs and snuggle my face into them, getting tingles between my legs as I did.

Then it was always Mom’s breasts that were in my mind as my little fingers explored my pussy at night, making my heart flutter and my breaths come so fast.

Lying in bed one night, touching myself, and thinking about Mom, there was a peal of thunder. When I was little I’d hated thunder and lightning and I used to run to Mommy. I had an idea. It was a naughty idea but much too tempting to resist.

I tried to remember the fear that I’d felt back then, and built it up inside me until a few tears started to well up in my eyes. Then I went to Mom’s room. She was sitting up in bed reading and looked all concerned when she saw me.

“Are you OK baby?” she asked. I shook my head a little.

“Can I sleep with you, Mommy?” I asked, making my voice all small and scared.

“Of course you can sweetie,” she replied, pulling the covers back and patting the bed beside her.

Being so close to her with just our thin nightgowns between us made me very, very excited as I began to get all trembly.

“Oh baby, I thought you were over all this,” she said softly and hugged me to her tightly so that my face was pressed against the softness of her breast. I’d never seen it before but, without her bra covering it, there was her nipple and it was all hard. I knew what nipples were for and my lips were almost itching, wanting to lick and suck on it. I was in heaven and my pussy was going mad. I pressed it against her leg and just lay there for ages and ages while the storm raged outside, light-headed and utterly blissful.

In the morning I woke up and for a second I thought it was still a dream. Mom was lying on her back and I was tight against her with a leg thrown over hers. She was still fast asleep and my hand was shaking as I tentatively took hold of the covers between us. I lifted them a little and it was enough to see that her nighty had ridden up in the night and was up around her waist.

I checked again and she was still asleep so, as gently as I could, I lifted them a little more. I could see between her legs! I could see her pussy! I don’t think I’d ever been so excited and I couldn’t breathe properly.

She had lots of fluffy hair making it look so soft and pretty but I could see lovely fleshy lips in the middle, so much bigger than mine. They looked so beautiful and I desperately wanted to touch them but I knew I couldn’t, so I just lay there with my pussy throbbing away, trying to commit each lovely fold to memory.

In the end, the urge to touch myself was just too much for me and I slipped out of her bed and hurried back to my own room. With the door safely shut I lifted my nighty and was amazed to see how wet my pussy was. That had never happened before and I was a little bit worried. I touched it with a fingertip and then lifted it to my nose. It smelled so absolutely lovely that I couldn’t resist licking it to see if it tasted as good as it smelled, and I grinned to myself as I found out that it did.

I kept dipping my fingers between my pussy lips and then licking them until I was all slippery down there and the feelings were just amazing. All the time I was imagining that it was Mom’s fingers touching me and that it was Mom I was tasting. I was so, so close and then, as I spread my legs wide, a finger touched my bum-hole for the first time and it felt amazing. As I rubbed it the dirty thought entered my head how incredible it would feel if Mommy licked it for me, and then it happened! It was the best thing in the world! Better than chocolate! Better than ice cream! I thought I might burst I was so full up with complete joy.

Afterward, I felt so relaxed and limp, but the tingling in my pussy was still there and I just wanted to do it again and again and again! But then Mommy called me down for breakfast so I had to go.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her after that and dreaming about her as well. In my dreams, I’d be kissing those lovely pussy lips of hers and she would kiss mine. Or I would take that amazing long nipple into my mouth and suck on it while my hands caressed the beautiful curvy softness of her breasts.

I’d wake up wet and I prayed for another storm so that we could be nearly naked together again.

During the day I’d watch her obsessively, desperate for any glimpses down her blouse or up her skirt into the exciting shadows between her legs. If I got lucky I would sneak away and masturbate furtively but very happily.

It was a horribly long time before there was another storm and I was over fifteen by that time.

I ran to her room but she sent me away, “You’re a big girl now. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

I was desolate. Why did she do that? I lay awake for hours, wracking my mind, trying to work out what I’d done wrong. Could she know how I felt about her? Didn’t she love me anymore?

The next morning I went to her room early and lay on the covers, holding her. She woke up and cuddled me.

“Are you OK sweetie?”

“Am I a nasty girl Mommy?” I asked. She held me tighter and chuckled.

“Why would you say that? You’re not nasty, you’re sweet and lovely and beautiful.” She held me, and my face was against her soft breast and my lips were brushing against her nipple. The tingling in my pussy was intense. I was a nasty girl and I knew it, but I simply couldn’t help myself.

As I got older the cuddles got less and less frequent and I came to realize that my fantasies were just that: fantasies. Having said that they also became more focused and wicked: I would gaze lovingly at her bottom, encased in a pair of stretch jeans, and imagine snuggling my face between those firm cheeks and driving her crazy with my tongue in her asshole. Or her, discovering my secret desires, spanking me, and then fingering me until I came. Mostly though, I dreamed of sixty-nining with her, tasting her heady fragrant juices that her dirty panties had only hinted at, while her tongue snaked into my vagina and she sucked on my clit.

When I was about eighteen I began to seek out other girls that liked girls. The ones that appealed to me most were always older than me. Often they were one-night stands and the sex was always good but somehow the girls were never quite what I was looking for.

Being with other girls didn’t change the way I felt about Mom though. I regularly looked at porn and read erotic stories, always seeking out mother-and-daughter themes, and I would masturbate frantically at the good ones.

Then I met Helena. I say met, in fact, she kind of swept me off my feet at a lesbian bar. The sex was awesome, so much so that the weekend was not enough and we both called in sick on the Monday so that we could stay in bed together for another whole day.

Initially, she claimed to be twenty-five but she soon confessed that she was actually a lot closer to thirty. She was funny and beautiful and so, so sexy. She was a little taller than me and curvier, more Mom’s build really, and with long dirty blonde hair like her. I must confess it was her breasts that first caught my eye when I met her: so full and soft looking with large areolae and nipples that hardened at the slightest provocation.

She had her own apartment and I moved in with her after we’d been dating for about three weeks. I knew it was serious when she asked to meet Mom and I didn’t start making excuses the way that I usually did. We went round for Sunday lunch and, to my great relief, they really hit it off. After that Sunday lunches with the three of us became a regular thing.

Deep down though I knew that there was still something missing. When I was alone I still trawled the internet to satisfy what I became to think of as the nasty girl inside me. I even reached out to some of the authors, encouraging them to write more of the type that I liked and suggesting some of my own favorite fantasies as storylines.

I felt guilty for betraying Helena. But it wasn’t long before I was back for more.

Then one day I fucked up. I went to the loo and left my computer on with one of the story sites on the screen. When I came out Helena was sitting there staring at the screen. She looked up at me with a confused expression on her face. My heart was pounding in my chest and I had a horrible sick feeling in my stomach: would she hate me? Would she leave me?!

“My, you are a bad girl, aren’t you?” was all she said and in kind of a fond way.

“No,” I whispered, moving to her side.

“No?” she asked, obviously amused.

“No, I’m a nasty girl.” She looked confused until I nodded towards the website and she saw that ‘Nasty Girl’ was the username that I’d chosen.

“Oh, I see,” she said and opened the list of my favorited stories.

I cringed when she opened the one where a girl is abused by older girls until she can only reach climax during anal sex. The mother finds that the only way to wean her daughter off the girls is to satisfy her anally herself.

She read it all the way through and then closed the lid of the computer and stood up and kissed me softly on the lips. The relief was huge, enormous, almost a physical thing, and I sank down into a chair.

“I’m just going shopping,” she said cheerily. “See you later.”

She was gone quite a long while, and I was beginning to get worried when she came in the door carrying several bags. I looked quizzically at them but she just winked at me.

“It’s a surprise,” she said enigmatically and took them into our room.

I paced around the apartment, unable to settle, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what she was up to.

It was a little over an hour later when I heard a call from her, “Nasty girl, can you come in here please?!”

When I opened the door it felt as though my heart had stopped and I couldn’t catch my breath. Standing there was my mom, or at least my mom as she’d been when I was a little girl. The hair, the clothes, the makeup, the perfume.

“Mommy.” It just slipped out, barely a whisper and Helena smiled, obviously delighted.

She was wearing a skirt suit. It wasn’t a particularly sexy outfit: it was almost identical to one that Mom wore when she needed to be smart, but I felt my clit throb and peek out of its hood and I was already wet.

“Have you been looking at Mommy’s breasts?” she asked softly, cupping and stroking them lovingly.

“Yes Mommy, I’m sorry Mommy.”

“And have you been peeking up Mommy’s skirt?” As she asked as she inched her tight skirt up her thighs until I could see the tops of her stockings.

I nodded and my head sank to my chest but my eyes stayed glued to her bare thighs.

“You know what happens to nasty girls don’t you?” she asked, sitting down on the dressing table stool and patting her lap.

This wasn’t somewhere that Helena and I had gone before and my chest felt tight at the prospect. Timidly I went over to her and lay on her lap.

The first blow was a shock. It was much harder than I’d been expecting and I let out an involuntary cry. She landed two more and then stroked my bottom softly over my thin skirt. My cheeks were tingling like mad and were now super-sensitive, and her soft touch sent shivers up and down me.

“Are you going to be a brave girl for Mommy?” she asked. I nodded. “Good girl,” she said softly and I trembled as I felt her fingers on the hem of my skirt. She lifted it agonizingly slowly, dragging the material over my quivering ass.

The cool air was blissful on my burning skin and she dragged a fingernail lightly over my butt and then into the gap between, grazing over my pussy lips through my panties.