The Duchess' Mother Ch. 06

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

I awoke screaming.

At least, I felt myself scream as I jolted upright. If any noise came out it drowned beneath the sound of my mother's throat being violated, still echoing off the walls of my skull. The image had etched itself deep. As my eyes darted around the pitch black room, every dark, empty corner held shadows recreating that moment--shapes and figures engaged in ruthless, one-sided pleasure, a cruel laugh echoing with each thrust and gag while my heartbeat felt a hair's breadth from cracking ribs.

Arms enveloped me. I fought, only relenting when a soft and sweet voice pierced the chaos in my head. "Hush, love. You're safe. Mama's got you," it whispered, muffled and distant but slowly growing nearer as the nightmare faded.

"M-Mama," I mewled.

"It's okay. It's okay, Addie, just breathe."

"You're-- You-- I-I thought-- I mean, I saw..."

Mom shushed me again. "Easy, darling. You were dreaming, that's all. I'm here."

Dreaming? Dreaming... Just dreaming. Dreaming of horrid, fiendish things but dreaming nonetheless. Like most dreams the details were fast fading, sounds and sights and scents retreating into the deeper pits of my subconscious. Then I drew back enough to see my mother's face and the image of those lips wrapped around another woman's stiff, pulsating dick swiftly returned.

She cupped my cheeks with either hand. "Feeling better?"

I nodded weakly. Plumbing her pharynx with six inches of meat would have felt evenmorebetter, but-- No, no. No. I buried my face into the crook of Mom's neck.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No," I answered too quickly. "Er, not right now. Maybe later."

She didn't argue, just continued holding me close and stroking my head. A twinge of guilt roiled in my gut. It would have been nice to confidently say I hoped 'later' never came and that the dream might soon be forgotten, but I couldn't. I clung to the memory. I savored it, however sickening. While Mom held me close and tried to soothe it away, I couldn't help but revel in all I'd seen, from her servitude to the devilish thing looking out from inside that mirror.

Then I realized something.

"Uh, Mom?"

She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, unknowingly confirming my suspicion. "Yes?"

"Why are your fingers wet?"

In the dark of our room, my mother's blush shone bright.

"Shit," I mumbled.

Mom sighed. "Don't worry. Nothing was going to happen, anyway."

"But we-- Can you still not...?"

"Not by myself." She let out a frustrated breath and threw herself back onto the bed. "It isn't your fault, though. You showed me how to feel things I never thought possible. But, perhaps I'm simply not meant to--"

I pressed a finger to her lips. "Don't say that. You deserve every pleasure this world has to offer."

"I don't--"

"You do." My hand alighted on her knee and all my own troubles dissipated. What mattered most was the woman in front of me, not whatever perversion of her existed in my brain. After a breath to calm myself, I said, "Do you remember the first time I was asked to write an official missive? It was some tax thing, I think, meant for Count Hydri. Hyrdi? Something like that."

"Count Hyndri," Mom eventually said. "You were only eight."

"Hyndri! Hells, fuck that miserable cunt. Anyway, yeah. Hawley walked up while I was playing out in one of the gardens, handed me a quill, and said 'you've some arrears to collect'."

A stifled laugh came from where she lay. "You didn't have a clue what that meant."

"Nope! But I spent hours trying to scribble down something that sounded official before you found me hiding in the kitchen pantry, crying." I paused, sliding the hand halfway up her thigh. "Do you remember what you told me?"

She said nothing.

"I do. You said, 'There are people who love you more than life itself. Never feel shame asking for help, but--"

"--only in assuming you'll never need it," Mom finished quietly. "I remember. My father told me that."

"Good advice, isn't it?"

Bringing her knees together, she said, "I'm not sure how he'd feel being quoted in this context."

"Since when do we care how Grandpa feels?"

"He was a good man, Addie."

I frowned and crossed my arms. "Wasn't he hanged for torching a cathedral?"

"Good," Mom replied. "Not perfect." After a moment of silence, she exhaled and propped herself up against the headboard. "Just say what you're thinking."

"You know what I'm thinking! And I'm thinking I shouldn't have to beg you to let me help. I love you more than life, Mom; ask me."

Silence strung thick between us. In the past, I would have assumed I'd overstepped. My mind would have been tripping over itself trying to figure out what to say, how to say it or whether to say anything at all, but at this point I knew better. Hungover, horny, fresh off the heels of a too-vivid dream--it didn't matter. I knew Mom wanted this and I knew she knew I knew. But if it was going to happen, this time the woman had to ask.

"So, what?" She shifted slightly. "You want me to let you help again?"

"I want you towantmy help."

A long pause. A breath in, hesitation, then she exhaled. "It's probably close to dawn. We have to be at the Altar, remember?"

"Won't take me long," I replied.

Mom snorted. "Someone's cocky."

"It didn't take long last time."

And again, silence. It still didn't shake my confidence. Quietly, she said, "Fine."

My hand slid lower.

"I need your help, Addie," Mom finally admitted. "I...wantit."

"Want what?"

She huffed, sitting up. "Really?"

I smiled. "Really."

"Hells below, this girl..." Grumbling, my mother rose to her knees and shuffled closer until her face was close enough to see clearly in the dark. She locked eyes with me, took my hand and said, "I want you to make me come, darling."

"There! Was that-- was that so...Fuck." I'd suspected her words might have some effect, yet still found myself unprepared for how quickly she undid me. "S-sorry. Ahem. Sorry."

Mom threw up her hands, crying, "You've got to be fucking kidding me!Again?"

"I'm sorry!"

"You're rubbing it in my face, now. You realize that, right?"

Oh, if only. Wiping the sweat from my face, I said, "It isn't on purpose."

"Sure, sure, enough talking. Just finger me already, godsdammit."

She didn't need to tell me twice. I reached for the sash of her robe, but found bare skin. "Wait, are you already naked?"

"Thought I'd save you the trouble," Mom replied.

Trouble. Right. She didn't need to know how disappointing that was. Still, that meant the most beautiful person in the world was bare-skinned and within arms' reach. My already outstretched hands came to rest on her hips. So many places they could go: back, around the soft curve of her ass; up, over waist and ribs to cup breasts I couldn't see but imagined perfectly; down, down toward the damp and fragrant cradle of my life. Neck, face, belly, feet--anything would have satisfied me.

But Mama's wish was mine to grant, so down my hands went.

"So much for a 'one-time-thing'," she sighed. Her breath hitched as my fingertips grazed from outer to inner thigh.

"Still strictly professional, though. Right?"

"Mmm, mhmm. Y-yeah." Mom released a trembling exhale. Leaning in, she rested her forehead on my shoulder and her palms on the small of my back. "Professional..."

I combed through her bush, gave it the gentlest of tugs. "And still no dallying?"

"Well, m-m-maybe just a... a tiny..."

"Just a tiny bit?"

She nodded.

With a kiss on my mother's cheek, I let one hand meander while the other teased around her labia. When I drew near, she'd tense. Away, she'd shiver and relax. Near, her mouth fell open and breathed hot air over my skin. Away, her hips twitched impatiently. I kept my rhythm slow and steady, never giving quite as much as she wanted but never forcing her to wait for long. Just long enough to feel her teeth sink lightly into my neck. Her fingers curled, nails sharp against my back. I felt Mom's nipples stiffen as we pressed closer, our bodies fitting snug like lost pieces of a puzzle finally reunited.

I brushed my lips against her ear. "Like this?"

She replied with a mousy little squeak and nodded again.

What a sweet thing my mother was. Eager, yet so, so timid. I still struggled to reconcile that with the woman I'd always known, fearless and sure. In fantasies she'd ravish me. In reality, Mom always seemed to wind up quivering in my arms, whimpering whenever her clit received the scarcest degree of attention. Had she always been so shy in bed? Or was that version a special treat for her only daughter? That she might reserve such a vulnerable part of herself for me sent shivers over every inch of my body.

Such a wonderful woman deserved a treat of her own, no?

"You know," I began, "it'd be nice to see your face."

A purr rumbled deep within her chest.

"That would help me know if I'm doing well."

"You... a-are..."

I grinned. Nice to hear, but I had designs for something nicer. "Come on, please? Show me those pretty eyes, Mama."

She grumbled again, shifting slightly.

I could already picture her frustrated pout. Unfortunately, 'picturing' it wasn't quite what I had in mind, so I gingerly thread the fingers of one hand through her hair and tilted my mother's head back, saying, "Ther-r-re she is. It's selfish to hide something so beautiful, don't you think?"

Mom wouldn't look at me, but the corners of her lips curled upwards.

"That's okay, though. I'm selfish too, sometimes. Like now."

She hadn't time to speak before I made my move, stealing a kiss and finally guiding two fingers between her soft, silken petals. She yipped, tensed, eyes widening and cunt clenching at the same time. The hands on my back slid up and around and for a moment she pushed against me as if frantic to pull away, but then her posture loosened. Her palms relaxed against my chest. She drove her lower half forward, swallowing my fingers to the knuckle while her tongue began to explore, tangling with mine in a way that set my brain ablaze.

Mom broke the kiss with a gasp. Hips still rolling and lips still stretched around my fingers, she looked at me, dumbfounded.

"Busy day," I reminded her. "Figured we wouldn't have time for a proper lesson. Two birds, yeah?"

"Two birds..." she mumbled.

"Mhmm. You don't mind, do--"

My mother pounced. She silenced me with another kiss and drove me to my back, her thrusts growing harder, faster. Black hair cascaded down around my face, a curtain to hide our indiscretion from the world. Gone was the demure woman of five minutes prior; gone were her reservations, at the very least. I'd only just begun to feel something other piss-drunk but Mom seemed even more voracious now than last night, holding me against the bed whilst she used my hand like a convenient dildo and never once affording me a sip of air.

Eventually, my lungs ran dry. Only a moment before she'd been mine and now I was fully at her mercy, the loyal and ever-present source of pleasure I'd lately dreamt of becoming. I only needed to hope the woman wouldn't let me asphyxiate pinned beneath her naked body. And if she did... Well, suffocation had never sounded so agreeable. There were far worse fates a duchess could meet.

As my thoughts turned fuzzy and my body started jerking, I felt her legs tighten around my waist. Mom thrust down a final time. Her pussy engulfed far more than two fingers as she sank low enough to sit on my lap, then a flood wet warmth spread over my belly and groin. Despite lungs screaming for air and the pain of an almost-certainly sprained wrist, I smiled.

It'd be this way every time, wouldn't it? The feeling of knowing that I'd gotten my mother off continued to rival my own orgasms. It was even better, truly; everything was better with her.

She smiled too, lips still locked with mine while she rode out the last of her jitters. Then, finally and disappointingly, she withdrew. I sucked in an air-starved breath. Through blurred vision, I saw the outline of Mom's figure sitting atop me with head tilted back, hands on her thighs, chest rising and falling in a slow and labored rhythm. Her slick, sticky vagina drooled down my hand.

Pleasant as all that was, though, something else felt even better. I propped myself up on one elbow, crying, "Mom!"

"Mm... O-oh, Addie?"

"You did it!"

Mom fell silent. Her hands trailed down to my stomach, stopping when they touched her fluids. "Huh? Oh, I did it again. Sorry, let's get you cleaned up."

"No, I mean youdid it!You came!"

She stared at the sticky mess between us a moment longer. Meekly, "Well, only because of you."

"Sure, but I just laid there!" I flopped back again. "That was all you, Mom."

"You think so?"

"I know so. And by the way, that was... Hells, what can I even say? That was fucking incredible."

She giggled, the sound sweet as candy to my ears. Tilting her head and running both hands through her hair, Mom said, "Itfeltfucking incredible." She took another deep breath and released it with a sigh. "When you kissed me, I-- I don't know. It did something. It felt like you'd yanked me out of my own head."

"I'll be sure to remember that," I replied. My fingers idly traced patterns across her thighs.

My mother laughed again. She leaned in for another and I eagerly obliged. Every kiss we shared felt more sincere than the last, but this one was exceptionally tender, disarmingly genuine, with neither pretense nor even an ounce of educational value to be gleaned. It simply was what it was: a sweet, balmy kiss between two people who loved one another. Who we were didn't matter.

"So," Mom said, pulling away and drumming her fingers on my chest. "Ready for round two?"

She didn't even wait for a yes.

"Water, please."

The old woman grunted, nodded and turned to hobble toward the far end of the bar.

"Er, actually, do you have milk?"

She looked back. "Milk?"

"Yeah. You know, like..." I trailed off, tugging a pair of invisible udders.

"I know what milk is," the bartender replied flatly. She changed course and headed for a door behind the counter. Pushing it open a crack, she hollered, "Nera! Milk!"

I twisted on my stool and leaned back against the bar. There were fewer patrons than last night--only two others besides myself, both sitting and chatting at a table by the front entrance. The first suggestions of sunlight shone through the glass door. It'd be dawn soon and I wasn't of any mind to burn another day waiting, but Mom still hadn't come up from the cellar. How long did it take that woman to clean herself up?

We hadn't talked much, yet. 'Round two' ended with another mess and almost immediately after we hurried to ready ourselves. I hurried, anyway. I'd always been slow in the mornings but today Mom was even slower, barely pulling panties on by the time I stood waiting at the door. She'd told me to go upstairs. I thought nothing of it, though after twenty-something minutes with no sign of her, doubts began blooming. Should we have talked? Had something happened that I didn't notice? Had I done something wrong?

Coaxing out her orgasms gave me nothing but confidence. Sitting alone not long after did just the opposite.

"Milk?"

My loins felt suddenly tighter, my pulse faster. I spun back around.

"For you?" the barmaid asked.

Her. My tongue refused to form words. She sounded different than I remembered--more playful and far less cruel--though everything else seemed identical. Pale skin, an oddly familiar face, blonde hair, a full and weighty pair of tits barely contained by bodice and blouse--only one thing had yet to be confirmed.

She cleared her throat. "Hello?"

"H-hey, hi. Sorry." I tore my gaze from her clothed groin. "What did you say?"

"You ordered the milk?" she said, smiling.

"Okay."

"That was a question."

"Huh? Oh, r-right, yes. I ordered milk, yeah."

Hefting a jug and glass up from under the counter, she filled my drink to the brim and pushed it towards me. "One cold milk for one pretty customer."

Pretty...? I'd never heard that from anyone besides my mother. The men trying to court me never even used the word; hearing it now scrambled my thoughts. Instead of trying to respond, I picked up the glass to nurse and hide behind.

"Bet you're quite the mama's girl, huh?" she asked.

I nearly choked. "Pardon?"

"Sorry. Milk joke. Forget I said anything."

Snorting, I replied, "Might've ordered something else if I'd known I was going to get this much shit."

As the barmaid snickered, I couldn't help but stare. The image of her buried to the hilt in my mom's mouth refused to leave me be, even normal as she seemed now. And the sounds--Hells, the sounds they made together. Choking and crying never stirred so much in me. I felt myself growing hot at the thought, struggling to decide which side of that fantasy suited me best. On the one hand, I'd long felt like I was born to be used. On the other, something about reducing another person to nothing more than a begging, gagging, cum-soaked--

"So, how'd I do?"

I blinked, shook my head. "What do you mean?"

"The milk, silly," she said, rolling her eyes. "Is it good?"

"I guess. Wait, are you saying this is your...?"

"Relax. Just another milk joke," the barmaid replied, laughing again.

"Oh. Uh, of course." I set the glass down lightly. "You've got a lot of milk jokes."

For the first time, she actually paused before responding. Discomfort crept over her expression. "Heard 'em a lot growin' up, I guess."

"Really? Where in the Hells did you grow up?"

A smirk flickered across her face. In that instant I saw the woman of my nightmares, a cruel and lascivious thing wrapped up in a sweet little lie of a girl. Then it vanished and I realized how absurdly unfair a judgement that was. She said, "Not in a palace, that's for damned sure."

"I... see." Taking another sip, I did my best to adopt the least regal posture I could. Shoulders forward, back hunched, head low--everything Hawley regularly corrected me on. "I'm sorry."

The barmaid narrowed her eyes. "For what?"

"I'm sorry you were treated like that. Hopefully things are a little better, now?"

She didn't say anything, just grabbed a rag to silently wipe down the bartop.

Congratulations Adrienne, you did it again. That was the fastest I'd ever killed a conversation. To be fair, though, I had no idea how I managed to fuck this one up. It seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed like what Mom would say, which tended to be right. Perhaps my voice simply sounded that unpleasant. Compared to hers, definitely; the stranger's crisp, rhythmic twang was impossible not to like.

And to think, she called me pretty. I took a long, sad drink of my milk.

"They are," she suddenly said, setting the rag down and looking up at me. Her green-eyed gaze bored holes to the core of my soul. "Here's hopin' things get even better, yeah?"

Huh. I blamed myself too soon, for once. Raising my glass, I said, "Here's hoping."

The barmaid grinned, snatched it from my hand, took a drink and grimaced. Handing it back, "Ugh. Mine's better."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. Want some?"

Before I could respond--thank the gods--Mom stealthily sidled up and rested her elbow on the bartop. She appeared much too radiant to be fresh from a dank, dilapidated cellar, yet here she was, immaculately put together and making my own disheveled self look even worse. Bright-eyed and beaming, she reached out to toy with a lock of my hair. "Miss me, darling?"

"About fucking time," I replied.

"Aw, it's adorable when you pretend to be angry with me." She pinched my cheek and downed most of my milk in one gulp. She winced, swallowing hard. "Hey, does your throat hurt?"