How To Write A Short Story
Author: Eric Moffat
SESSION EIGHT
Lucy knocked on my door, but I shook my head—this wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all!
“Mom, let me in,” she said.
“NO!” I yelled, throwing a shoe at the door. “Go away! I don’t have a daughter! I don’t know who you are!”
“Mom, please… you’re scaring me.”
“GO AWAY!” I screamed, throwing the other shoe. It clattered harmlessly off the door, but I didn’t care. There was something seriously wrong with me, and it was freaking me out. First Doug, then Robert, and now me—was our family just going insane? Would we all end up like that?
“No, no, no…” I whispered to myself, looking around the bedroom. My clothes were gone, my closet full of shoes that weren’t mine, and there were long scratches all over my right arm, like somebody had hit cut me. This wasn’t right at all—I didn’t remember any of this!
I turned my head back to the pillow, holding it against my face, sobbing into it. My entire life was turning upside-down, and I couldn’t figure out why. The only thing that I knew for sure was that Lucy wasn’t my daughter—there was no way she could be! I only had two boys!
“Mom…”
“NO!” I looked around for a shoe to throw, but they were all in the closet or by the door. A hand touched my back, and I froze—she had somehow made it in! This wasn’t good, I couldn’t do this anymore, nothing was right, nothing was going right…
“Look at me,” she said. I turned away, so ashamed of myself for thinking that she wasn’t my daughter—but she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. I had never had a girl. And no matter how much I wanted to run away, the only thing I could do was tell myself that I had to stay here, on the bed.
“Mom, look at me.” Against my better judgement, I rolled my head the other way, looking right into the crotch of the girl I thought was my daughter. My mouth instantly started to salivate, eyes watering as I was drawn towards her pubes. Thick and full, I wanted to breathe them in, to lick them, to suck on them and have her spit on me again.
“Mom.” My eyes rose along with my head, and Lucy sat down on the bed, smiling. She stroked my head and my hair, my neck and back, reaching down to my bare ass. When she gently tapped my cheeks, I couldn’t help but whimper—but not in pain. It felt too good to be painful.
Lucy’s hand kept going down, between my thighs. I wanted to close them, but they opened instead. I wanted to be dry, but I was soaking wet. She slipped two fingers inside of me without any problems. Using her other hand, she lifted my chin upwards, and I was forced to look directly into her eyes.
“What’s wrong, pillow-slut?”
“You… you’re… not my d-d-daughter,” I said, sniffling, eyes watering as she removed her fingers, slapping my ass again. This time, it wasn’t so playful, but it felt just as wonderful.
“Yes I am. I’m Lucy, remember?”
“No, no, please, no…”
“Mom, look at me.” She tilted my head backwards, brushing my right eye clear with her thumb, and then the left. Her hand stroked my ass as she continued to smile, caressing my body as it caved to her whims yet again. As my vision cleared, I was drawn into her eyes, deep into the calm, misty waters. I could feel my breath slowing down, relaxing—this was just a bad dream.
Just a bad dream. Nothing else. I loved my daughter. I loved being abused by her. I always had been, and always would be. Nothing else mattered besides making Lucy happy, making her smile, making her cum. I lived to serve, to obey, to do as she commanded.
A bad dream. Just a bad dream. Serve. Obey. Submit. Forever.
When I came-to about an hour later, I found her sitting in the kitchen and reading her phone. I felt so stupid and ashamed; even if it had been just a nightmare, it had been so real. It couldn’t have been, though, and I had lashed out at the one person I wanted to love me.
“Lucy,” I said, breaking the silence. She looked to me, and I felt my heart melt. This beautiful, perfect girl—I would do anything for her. I would serve her, obey her, submit to her. Nothing else mattered but her happiness, her life. I was nothing, and she was everything.
“You feeling better?” she asked, standing up from her chair. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I hung my head, shame filling every inch of chest and shoulders, making them feel very heavy. “I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” she said, pushing a hand down on my head. The weight increased, and I got to my knees, looking up into her smiling face. “I was worried about you, slave.”
“I… I can never apologize enough, Mistress,” I said, lowering my gaze again. “Please… let me serve you. Let me be your worthless slave! I… I want nothing more than to be your pathetic and weak and ugly mother. Please! Just… don’t abandon me.” I sniffed, unable to stop the tears from falling.
“I just want you to love me, Mistress.”
“I would never abandon you, Mom,” she giggled, pushing a foot to my head, tilting it back, making me stare directly into her pussy. It glistened as she used one hand to spread the lips, showing me just how wet she was from hearing me apologize.
Closing her eyes briefly, she sighed as a hot stream of urine hit my forehead. Splashing down over my face, I licked at the drops, swallowing everything that I could, feeling my life begin anew. Washing down the arrogance, taking away the bitchiness, throwing out the horrors of being the one in charge—my place was here, at my Mistress’ feet.
I was baptized in her fluids and I thanked her for it. I sealed my fate as her slave with a kiss to the only lips I ever wanted to please ever again.
“Now, whore.” She released my head, the stench of her piss rising from the floor, reminding me that it was my duty to clean it up with my tongue—a job I loved more than I would ever admit.
“Tell me I’m pretty.”