As Instructed

by Eva

Note: this is fiction strictly for adults only.

To be honest I don't know how I truly feel about kissing my daughter and making love to her. It wasn't my decision, you understand. I was only doing what I was told to do.

Part of me – the loving mother side of me – says this is an awful and terrible thing to do to an eight year old girl. If I heard of anyone else doing this to their own child I'd be appalled and outraged too. And I worry about it so much. I mean, if anyone knew... I suppose all hell would break loose. As it is, the hell's in me, worrying about it all.

But when I see my little girl all ready for sex, when I've followed my instructions, well... I get some funny, deep sensations. Sensations I couldn't live without if I was really honest with myself. You know the type of thing – a burning itch down between my legs, a tremble of excitement in the pit of my stomach and a desire to rub my hard, proud clit to a pulp.

Yes, sometimes I get angry at what I have to do to my child. But that doesn't mean I don't get excited about what I do to Eliza. It doesn't mean I don't get wet between my legs when I do it, or think about it. I do think about it a lot. I get ashamed about my feelings and desires to make love to my daughter, make her all helpless with excitement. I love to see her pleading eyes, hear her aroused sighs and gasps.

Every so often I decide that this can't go on. I can't go on making love to Eliza. I tell myself it isn't right; a mother does not do this to her own daughter. A mother doesn't even do it to anyone else's child, let alone her own.

But then, as much as I tell myself that I also can't help it. It isn't down to me after all. And then, whenever I doubt any of this, late at night when I can put my hands between my legs and play with myself, my thoughts always go to little Eliza with her little legs apart.

God and do I ever frig myself hard! Rubbing with one hand while holding my cunt lips open with the other. Nothing sophisticated or elegant, just raw jilling, basic animal stuff. Getting off in the quickest way possible, the smell of my arousal filling the room.

It's even more so when my husband Ken is fucking me. Lying there all supine and 'eager', I can't help thinking of Eliza all naked, on her bed, looking up at me with those big, blue eyes. Ken thinks when I cum while he's on top of me it's all because he's good at fucking me. He isn't, but I'd hate to disabuse him of that notion. Some things are worth peace in the marital bed, and saying "Oh, darling that was wonderful!" is one of them.

My husband's not too good at screwing, despite what he thinks. I get my excitement as he humps away by thinking of Eliza kissing me, feeling my boobs and between my legs. Sometimes – and this is really perverted – I think of my little girl naked at the side of the bed, watching Ken screw me. So I lie there as my husband grinds away and imagine Eliza all smiles, standing next to the bed, just silently watching me and her dad as I reach out and finger her, helping her to cum while I pretend I am enjoying what he does to me.

The fantasy is even better when I think how I'd undressed Eliza earlier, telling her why she was naked, why she had to watch me have sex. How I'd kiss her tenderly before I got ready, putting on my suspenders and stockings – not to thrill Ken (though it does) but so I feel good, enjoying the way my daughter is watching me.

You see, I want Eliza to like seeing me in nice underwear. Well, slut-like underwear. The stuff you wear when you want to advertise you are having sex, or thinking about it. I want her to appreciate that high heels and black stockings and plunge bras are good and desirable. That it's something she will want to wear one day. When she's older of course. I mean, she's only eight. Not sure anyone makes sexy lingerie for kids this young, but they should. Matching mummy and daughter underwear with black lace and satin straps, for when we have sex. Something we can peel off each other, as part of the game.

Every so often I get Eliza to sit next to me, when the house is ours, and open my blouse and unzip my skirt so she can see me in my underwear. I love it when my daughter feels me up through my lace bra, or strokes my legs in my nylons, or rubs the soft, smooth crotch of my knickers. I adore it when she purrs as she does it all to me.

And then if I am on my own I remember everything I've done to my daughter, licking her between her little open legs. my tongue going up into that soft, hairless little cunt of hers. Well, when I am not feeling outraged at what I am, what I have become. Angry at what I have done to her.

I should think of Nina when I play with myself. I know she'd be angry if she thought she didn't turn me on enough.

But if you know about my lover (and I have every reason to suspect a good few females in this town know her all too well), you know what she wants. If I don't do what she says then... Well, I'd rather not think about it. If you don't know her, let me just say she's one strong woman in bed.

When I married Ken ten years ago, I knew my new sister-in-law was crazy for women. Women like me, she tells me when we are in bed. Respectable, married, suburban females – ordinary in a good way. Better still if they are pliant. That's the word she used, as in compliant. I can bend and adjust and accept, both mentally and physically. I can do what I'm told, what I'm ordered to do. Lick this, suck that, tongue me here. Now there. Faster, slower. Stop, start. I had just thought she would leave me alone then, but I was wrong. A bitch like me gets used to being wrong.

I get called 'Bitch' and 'Whore' and 'Cunt' and 'Fuck piece' when I am in bed with Nina Anything Nina can think of calling me, and I never cease to be amazed at the depth and perversity of her imagination. My sister-in-law began to control me – because control was what it was – at the wedding reception, less than an hour after I was married. It was almost as if she was waiting for me to become part of her family. Fall into her web, more like.

She kissed me that day, with me still in my white gown, her hand up the folds of my dress, feeling my wet, aching pussy. I couldn't believe how swiftly I submitted to her, how I let her handle the slit I believed was for my new husband. There was a new meaning for "I will" because I was saying it to Nina, saying I will do whatever you want. Oh yes, it wasn't right out of the blue: I had broken off my engagement to Ken over a year before our wedding, and Nina had been my comfort. Comfort and joy, making love to me like he never could for four months. But perhaps it was my guilt, what I was doing, or simply Nina's manipulation, that Ken and I got back together. But by then of course Nina had her fangs in me. I was hers, and she enjoyed me being hers when I was supposedly someone else's.

She even liked me to finger her with my left hand, so she could see the light glint on the engagement ring I wore again. Glint on my wedding ring now. I suppose, looking back, she really wanted me to marry Ken because it was even more perverted she had her brother's wife exactly where and how she wanted. Do this, worship that, make your whole life mine.

When I got pregnant, I asked – begged – Nina to relent. But my swelling belly, my growing tits, seemed to inflame her more. She delighted in making love to a pregnant woman, loved wiping her sopping wet cunt on my belly. And when Eliza was born, she told me that when my daughter was old enough she would be part of our special life. I wept and pleaded but she ignored me. I was hers and I had to do as I was told. I had no choice.

For seven years I didn't touch Eliza. I tried to put it behind me, what she'd said. I began to hope that Nina had forgotten, that I was being such a good lover, so eager to please my sister-in-law any way she wanted, she would leave Eliza alone. But she hadn't forgotten: she never does. On my daughter's eighth birthday, Nina gave me a present to give Eliza: a slim pink vibrator. I was to introduce the child to the ways of mother-daughter lesbianism. I was not allowed to fail.

So for six months I carefully, gently and lovingly introduced my daughter to sex with me. Eliza had been so shocked, so intrigued the first time I gave her an open mouth kiss. She had been puzzled when I asked her to touch my tits, pinch my nipples. She was astonished when I touched her little slit, and almost fainted when I slipped my forefinger into that delicate little virgin hole.

Eliza cried and begged me not to kiss her sex, lick her bottom hole, and refused to kiss and lick mine. But she did, slowly and surely, come round to the fact it was enjoyable, that this is what mummies and daughters did in secret. It was what we did alone, and soon she was eager for me. All I had to do was keep it from Ken, and make sure Nina knew I was succeeding.

Oh yes, and fight the revulsion and anger in me. Between masturbating and playing with myself, when I'm not having sex with my little girl. Or Nina for that matter, for she gets the biggest orgasms when I lap at her cunt while telling her how what I have just been doing to Eliza, how I used and loved my daughter. I hate myself and I can't get enough of it all.

Yes, I am torn.

I am more torn now, or will be soon. On the very edge of falling apart, in fact. You see, Nina has asked – make that demanded – that I must prepare Eliza for sex with her. Not me. Eliza is to replace me as Nina's pliant, eager lover. My task will be to prepare my daughter and then leave her with her aunt, waiting in bed, for her to do what she wants to her little niece.

Nina will not be as gentle or as understanding as I am, I know. She will grind her wet cunt into my daughter's face, demand the child laps and eats and drinks and sucks and does whatever my sister-in-law thinks is fun. Nina will do it relentlessly, dominating and using and laughing as she does.

For dear sweet pretty Eliza it will be a rude awakening to the hard side of sapphic love. She will be hurt and astonished and tearful at first but she will learn.

For me, it will be liberation of a kind. I will no longer be required to be the serving wench of Nina's lustful desires. I will be free from the guilt of what I do to my daughter, and I will miss it so much. But I know I will be truly torn then: knowing my daughter is doing things to Nina. Knowing I cannot touch Eliza any more, that Nina doesn't want me any more to service her.

That is Nina's plan: for me to become redundant for them both. Of course, I will have my sister-in-law's full permission to masturbate and play with myself and cum as I think of my daughter, how she kisses and licks and sucks. That much I know so well. But I will not be in the room when they have sex, not even allowed in the house. I can instead go to some place – perhaps visit a prostitute, some old hag as Nina will permit – and get the old woman to beat me for what I have done, bringing myself off as I remember all the sex I have had with my daughter.

Paying to be thrashed and cumming as I fantasise about being allowed to stand at the side of the bed and watch my daughter kiss and fondle her aunt. In my fantasy I would be standing there, fingering myself, hoping every so often Eliza will give me a smile and a look to say she misses me too. Just a little smile before she has to put those little lips on the woman's hairy cunt and eat Nina to her demanding satisfaction, her pretty eight-year old face covered in Nina's juices.

As I used to, and as little Eliza will. Exactly as instructed.

The end