Under His Spell
by Pan
Chapter 4
The next morning, I didn’t get dressed.
My husband had already left for work. Normally I’d be alone in the house, but my daughter was on holidays. I knew she wouldn’t say anything. I knew she wouldn’t object.
I knew that if Ash was happy, she’d be happy.
Perhaps I should have been more surprised when I entered the kitchen to find that Georgia wasn’t dressed either.
I stood there at the doorway for a long time before she noticed me. When she did, she smiled—not a lustful smile; it was obvious that she wasn’t excited by the sight of her mother’s naked body. She was just pleased.
Ash was pleased, so she was pleased.
We stood there for several minutes, just sharing our nudity. Sharing our bodies. I’d seen my daughter naked before, of course, and vice-versa but—ignoring recent events—not for several years. And every time I had, it had been completely innocent; standard mother-daughter bonding.
Now, it was something else.
Now, it was a reminder. A reminder of what we’d done the previous night, a reminder of the taboo experience we never should have had. That no mother and daughter should ever had.
But more than anything, it was a reminder of him.
Ash.
A soft moan left my mouth at the thought, and I felt myself turning red. God, just the thought of my daughter’s boyfriend was enough to make me moan with pleasure. Georgia didn’t say anything, just smiled.
She knew. Of course she knew. She knew everything I’d been through. Perhaps she didn’t know that Ash had watched me fuck her father, but the rest of it. She knew that I’d been touched by her boyfriend, that I’d touched him.
She knew that I’d watched him fuck her the previous night.
Did she know how desperately I’d wished it was me? That I’d have given anything for Ash to touch me again, let alone fuck me. Take me, like he’d taken her.
Of course she did. It was spelled out all over my body. If my facial expression and body language hadn’t made it clear, I bet my smell did.
The smell of my arousal filled the room, tempered only by the smell of Georgia’s. No mother should ever know what her daughter’s arousal smells like, but I did.
Not just smelled. Tasted.
I knew what my daughter looked like when she was turned on. What she tasted like, her juices coating Ash’s dick. And I knew what noises she made when she came, when Ash fucked her. When he came inside her, triggering her own orgasm.
Just like she knew.
Georgia had never watched me get fucked, but she knew what it looked like when I was turned on. When I came.
I shuddered at the thought, but—just like that first evening in the kitchen—I couldn’t tell you if it was disgust or arousal.
We spent the rest of the day naked. Normally Georgia would spend her time in her room, on her phone or her laptop, IM-ing her friends or watching YouTube video. But for whatever reason, she stuck to me like glue.
My daughter and I have always been close. There’s nothing she can’t tell me. But we didn’t speak at all that day.
Instead, we shared in a different kind of closeness: touch.
Perhaps it was just the usual amount of touch. Perhaps I was just hyper-aware of it. But whenever my daughter passed me, whenever she needed to reach past me to grab something, her hand would casually make contact with my skin.
Casually to her, perhaps, but I was hyperaware of it. Every touch, every light graze—every time Georgia’s bare skin rested briefly on mine, I noticed. I noticed her every move, her every breath. At some point, I turned the TV on, but I never watched it.
Neither of us did.
I watched Georgia, and she watched me. Just two naked women, watching each other. She saw me blush, she saw my nipples harden. She saw goosebumps appear on my skin, she saw me tremble.
She watched me as intently as I watched her.
We didn’t go any further than that. Just watching, occasionally touching. I found myself touching her as much as she was touching her—again, I don’t know if it was more than normal. All I knew was that it felt like more. A month ago, if I’d rested my hand on her thigh, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
Now, as my bare hand touched the skin of her inner thigh, I wanted nothing more than to draw patterns on it, to trace my fingers up and down her skin.
To explore. To touch her wetness. Just briefly. Just enough to feel it.
I could hear her breathing. At some points we were so close, I could feel it on my cheek, on my shoulder, on my neck.
But we didn’t go any further than that. And when her father came home, we each went and got dressed. Her in a simple t-shirt and jeans, me in a pair of shorts and a tank top.
The next day was a repeat of the first. As soon as my husband left, both of us were naked. We didn’t discuss it; we didn’t need to. We knew that this was the new normal. The new status quo. That if we were alone, we were naked. It didn’t matter that we were mother and daughter, it didn’t matter that there was no reason for us to be nude, it was a simple fact. There was no shame, it just...was.
Was Georgia touching me more than normal? Surely while we sat and ate lunch, not saying a word, it wasn’t normal for her hand to be on the back of my neck, tracing patterns on my shoulders. Surely she hadn’t always rested a hand on the base of my spine, running her fingers along it, gently caressing her mother’s bare skin, watching her blush.
And just like the day before, I returned the favor. That, I was sure, was new. When my daughter stretched out and lay down on the couch for a catnap, I knew I wouldn’t normally have knelt beside it, strangely desperate to be closer to her.
Even as she slept, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. I couldn’t stop myself from tracing her body, touching her everywhere.
No. Not everywhere. Just...where it was safe.
Where a mother and daughter should touch each other.
I was almost relieved when my husband came home. After an entire day of touching, caressing, occasionally cuddling on the couch, I felt like an elastic band stretched past its breaking point. It was as though tension had been building for two days with no relief.
Putting clothes on didn’t provide relief either, but at least the tension was no longer growing. Building.
Threatening to burst.
That night, I broke my own rule and fucked my husband. It didn’t help, not really. Without Ash watching, without his face at the window...it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t enough.
When my surprised husband finally came inside me, I was just as frustrated as when we’d started. More, perhaps—the last time I’d ridden him, I’d at least had Ash’s face in my mind, his body.
His dick.
But after the two days I’d had, all I could think of was Georgia. Her perfect, naked, teenage body. How her hands had felt on my body, on my skin. How right it had felt to cuddle up with her in bed, even though both of us were naked.
Especially because both of us were naked.
Ash had awoken something in me. A sexual energy that I hadn’t felt in years. When had my marriage become so stale? When had my husband and I agreed to once-a-week sex, so rote and predictable that I could set my watch to it?
My daughter’s boyfriend had lit a fire inside me, one that I somehow knew only he could help with. I’d just fucked my husband in the middle of the week, something I hadn’t done since before Dennis Hopper had been alive, and I felt just as unfulfilled as I had before we started.
But where Ash had lit a sexual fuse, what I felt with Georgia was something else. It wasn’t sexual, not really.
I craved closeness.
Comfort.
I don’t think my husband and I had ever spent even a full day naked around each other. Even in our honeymoon period, it...it just hadn’t been like that.
But for two days now, my daughter and I had shared nudity. Touch. Closeness, without ever needing to speak.
I’d felt seen. Truly seen. It was something I should’ve gotten from my marriage, from a man. Definitely not from my daughter.
But I did. I don’t know why, just that...I had. Georgia had seen me. Seen all of me. She’d seen all of me, and I’d seen all of her, and it had been beautiful.
The sound of my husband’s snoring filled the room. I stared at the ceiling, my mind spinning. Thoughts of Georgia filled it, thoughts that a mother shouldn’t have about her daughter. They were thoughts of her touch. Of her skin. Of her lips.
Did I want my daughter? No. No, that...that would be wrong. I wanted Ash. That, too, was wrong, but at least it made sense. The young man had done something to me that no man had ever been able to.
So what did I want from Georgia?
I wanted sex from Ash. And from my daughter, I wanted...love. Comfort. Closeness. But those weren’t things a mother should want from her daughter. Those were things that a mother should want from her husband. From a man.
Holding my breath, I slipped out of bed. My husband’s cum dripped down my thigh as I crept down the hall to my daughter’s room.
Georgia was asleep. The light was on, casting a soft glow over her body, her hair spread out on the pillow. As I watched, she shifted slightly in her sleep, and perhaps I just saw what I wanted to see, but I swear her hand reached out toward me.
She didn’t wake up when I crawled into the bed and slid my hand under her shirt, across her stomach, over her hip. I traced my fingers down her body, feeling the heat of her body beneath my palm. Then I moved my hand lower, over her leg.
Her leg. Her skin. So soft, so warm.
I pulled her hand to me, kissing it gently. And just like that, she woke up. She opened her eyes and saw me there, staring at her with a hunger in my eyes that she recognized.
She didn’t say a word, she just smiled. I don’t know how, but she knew what I was there for. She knew what I needed.
And as she reached her arms out invitingly, I knew that she was right. She knew me better than anyone else in the world.
More than my husband. More than Ash, even.
Her smile broadened as I fell into her embrace. And a light moan left her mouth as my lips met hers.
I’d never kissed a woman before. I’d never wanted to. But as Georgia’s tongue pressed against mine, I don’t know how I ever lived without it. And as her hands began to explore my body—truly explore it, not the glancing touches of the past two days—my moan grew in volume to match hers.
My hand found her breast, cupping it firmly in my palm, feeling its weight, the smoothness of it. I heard Georgia gasp as I touched her, and I felt myself respond in kind.
She slept naked, of course, and I felt every inch of her skin against mine as I pulled her closer, as I kissed her deeper. As our tongues danced, becoming more passionate and more urgent by the moment, Georgia rolled us onto our sides and pinned me beneath her. Her hand went between us and touched my wetness—still full of her father’s seed—and she slowly slid two fingers inside of me.
I felt her slick fingers slide into my pussy and I was surprised at the sensation. It wasn’t at all like when Ash had done it, but it was different enough that I enjoyed it. Georgia smiled at my reaction and increased the pressure on my clit—hard—as I twitched with pleasure all over her hand.
It was everything I could do not to cry out, to beg for more. Instead, I moaned again, louder this time, as her hand pumped faster. I had only felt like this once before: when her boyfriend had touched me in the kitchen, when Ash had touched me on that fateful day.
That had been the highlight of my sexual life, but it was nothing compared to this. Nothing at all.
I came almost instantly, and Georgia held my body as it spasmed with pleasure. I cried out, gasping for air, trying to get control of myself.
But Georgia was already on top of me again, her hand stroking me, teasing me. I grabbed the back of her head, pulling her down for another kiss, my fingers running through her hair as we both moaned. I knew my husband wouldn’t hear; he was dead to the world after our unexpected mid-week tryst.
That was now the second-most unexpected tryst of the night.
I reached between my daughter’s legs, hesitantly, unsure. She stared into my eyes, encouraging me without words. When I pushed a finger inside of her, he gasped and arched her back, her body tightening around me.
I looked up at her as I did, and for a second I thought she was going to tell me no. That we were wrong and that I had to stop. But then her lips met mine and she kissed me with such passion and intensity that all of my fears were gone.
All of my worries. All of the guilt.
I was afraid I might hurt her, but instead I felt her tighten further, squeezing my finger. I tried to do what she’d done to me, what I knew I wanted, and it wasn’t long before I felt her body tense and shudder as I made my daughter came.
I knew in the morning I’d feel awful. She was my daughter, the girl I’d raised, and yet...I’d just...had sex with her. She was a teenager, my husband was asleep just two rooms over. What we were doing was so, so wrong.
But it had felt good. It had felt so good, and I knew I didn’t want to stop.
We lay there together for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything, just savoring the closeness. Our bare skin pressed together, touching. It felt like heaven.
Georgia’s lips met mine and we shared a long, deep kiss as we both recovered from our climaxes. Her eyes were wide open, and they searched my face as we lay there together. She was smiling: confident. So sure of what she was doing.
What we were doing.
Moving her hand to my mouth, she had me taste my own juices. No, not just mine: her father’s, too. I sucked my husband’s juices off my daughter’s slim fingers, tasting them on her skin. It turned me on even more.
When I was done, when I’d licked my daughter’s hand clean, she moved it between my legs once more. I couldn’t help but gasp when she touched me, her hand sliding in and out of me. Her fingers were slim, but she pushed in deeper.
It didn’t take long before I was panting again, moaning. My daughter didn’t stop though, and soon I was writhing beneath her touch.
And when I was done, she made me cum again. Again and again and again I came, until I couldn’t come anymore. Until I were exhausted and spent.
And that’s when she made me return the favor. She took my mouth and guided it to her breasts, letting my tongue play over her nipple. My hands were shaking as I moved down her body, my tongue tracing the curve of her belly before finding her folds.
There, in her most intimate place, I tasted her for the first time. For the first time from the source, anyway.
I’d never done anything like this before—never thought I’d do something like this before, especially with my daughter!—but it wasn’t hard to learn what pleased her. My daughter was vocal, moaning when she liked something, pushing my head down, urging me to continue.
I discovered what to do by instinct and experience. By watching her reactions and how she responded to my touch. Soon, I had her hips bucking against my face, crying out with each orgasm that shook her.
I don’t know how long I spent with my mouth between my daughter’s thighs, but it felt like hours. Hours and hours of getting Georgia off, making her cum again and again. Just like when I’d gone down on Ash, I felt proud.
She was so young. So sexy. And yet I was the one getting her off. My tongue on her clit, my mouth on her pussy. I was doing that. Her mother.
I felt powerful. Like I could do anything.
Finally, when it seemed she’d had enough, I gently withdrew and moved back up the bed, my hand trailing along her side as I did. Georgia turned and looked at me with a mixture of love and fear in her eyes.
We lay beside each other, breathing heavily, our skin still joined together. Neither of us said a word; we didn’t need to. We knew that what we were doing was wrong, but at the same time...so right.
So right.
Finally, I kissed her on the forehead and pulled away from her body. She was trembling slightly as I did so, and I smiled at her.
I kissed her lips gently before leaving the room, strolling naked back into my bed. I would’ve given anything to spend the entire night with Georgia, with my beautiful daughter, but I knew my husband would be suspicious if he woke up and I wasn’t there.
He was snoring when I slipped into bed beside him. I smiled to myself. I was still throbbing with the greatest pleasure I’d ever felt, the memory of my daughter’s body still fresh in my mind.
I moved into my husband’s embrace, and he wrapped his arms around me. I sighed happily into his shoulder, knowing that even though I smelled like Georgia, he’d never suspect a thing.
He’d never suspect a thing.
* * *