The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club

by Amanda Clover

  The text is followed immediately by a slow, heavy pounding on my front door. I look up the stairs out of the basement workout room. I have my auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and I am wearing workout leggings and a tight, cross-backed athletic tank with a sports bra. I am also drenched in sweat from almost forty minutes of aerobics. Not exactly how I would like to look when I welcome visitors, but these visitors aren't exactly welcome.

  The pounding comes again. I look down at my phone, at that damned photo, and I know I can’t delay this. I go bounding up the stairs. I can see a smallish person moving on the other side of the stained glass frame inserts around the door. They’re trying to look inside, but the glass is too dark. Well, they’re small, so at least I know it’s not some big biker guy.

  I take a deep breath and open the door. A short, curvy brunette stands on the other side. She’s gorgeous, with her breasts lifted and enhanced by a corseted top and her shapely legs on display beneath a short skirt. She smiles sweetly at me and flutters the dark lashes over her brown eyes.

  “Melora,” I say.

  I know Melora Acosta from Sofia's junior high school crew. The two girls were close friends at the time, but had some sort of falling out that I was never very clear about. I think Sofia might have stolen Melora’s boyfriend. Sofia is my daughter, so it wasn't like I was going to take Melora's side. I know that it spoiled Sofia’s friendship with Melora. I had not seen the beautiful teenager at any of Sofia’s pool parties in years.

  “Mrs. Brody!” She grins as if this is the happiest day of her life. “May I come in?”

  “I suppose you had better,” I say, reluctantly stepping back from the door.

  Melora brushes past me, her dark hair smelling like flowers as she steps into our lovely foyer. She gravitates naturally to the white leather couches I so recently defiled with one of my teen lovers. She smoothes her skirt as she sits without being invited.

  “We need to talk, Mrs. Brody." He smile twists into something cruel. "Or are you going by your maiden name now that your ex-husband is screwing your daughter?”

  “Mrs. Brody is fine,” I say, unwilling to tell Melora to refer to me as Lindsay. “Are your parents still living in that mansion on the Palm Coast?”

  “My dad lives there. My mother ran away with our hot Spanish butler and lives in Barcelona. I visited her last summer.”

  “How nice.” I sit down on the edge of the chair across from her. “Why are you sending me pictures of Sofia?”

  “I just sent you one picture. I have so many more.” She holds up her phone and flicks through several pictures of Tyler and Sofia embracing passionately. “Enough to prove that your daughter and her father are sharing something a little more than a father/daughter relationship.”

  “She is an adult and he is her stepfather,” I correct.

  “That might matter to the police. Do you think it’s going to matter if I tell her friends?”

  Fear tightens in my guts. When I speak, I smile and try not to let on how shaken I am.

  “She’s done at high school. She’s going off to college in two weeks.”

  “Oh, is she? You mean Sandy State?” Melora’s smile is wide and mean. “Me too. Along with most of Sofia’s friends. She’s going to have a hard enough time dealing with that pregnancy during her freshman year. How do you think she’ll do if everyone knows Tyler is the father?”

  “How did you know that?” I hiss.

  She giggles.

  “I didn’t, until you just confirmed it.” Her smile turns to a mocking frown of sympathy. “Aw, don’t feel bad that I tricked you, Mrs. Brody. I have a lot more material to blackmail you with.”

  “So you want money? Your family is worth ten times what I’m worth, Melora.”

  “The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club,” she says. She flicks through some more pictures and holds up a shot of Vince’s house in the woods. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t know about it. After all, you’re one of the founding members.”

  “What do you want?” I growl through clenched teeth.

  Her mocking expression hardens and goes cold. She stares into my eyes.

  “Take off your clothes, Mrs. Brody.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.” She uncrosses her shapely legs and sits forward. “Take off all your clothes, Mrs. Brody, or I am going to start by sending these photos to every single one of Sofia’s friends.”

  “You wouldn’t.” I am almost shaking with anger.

  “Not only would I do it,” she laughs, “but I would go after you next. How about a list of all those teenage girls you’ve been fucking? I always suspected you were a dyke, Mrs. Brody, but I never knew you had a taste for girls my age.”

  I want to smack the phone out of her hands. Instead, I bite back my anger and keep my mouth shut.

  “I can see how much you hate me.” She raises her phone and snaps a picture. “Preserved for posterity. But now, Mrs. Brody, it’s time for you to get naked.”

  “No, I won’t do it,” I say.

  “I’m just going to take a few pictures of you. It will be completely painless. After all, you should be used to getting naked for teenage girls with your naughty little club.”

  “No,” I growl.

  She stands up from her chair.

  “You will do it, right now, or I will send my photos to all of your daughter’s friends. Is that what you want, bitch? Because if you say ‘no’ to me one more time I am sending them.” She holds up her phone with her finger near the send button of a mass text. “Last chance, Mrs. Brody. Take off your clothes.”

  I look at her pretty face, so smug I want to slap the smile off it. My will to resist grows stronger. Who does this bitch think she is, walking into my house and threatening my family? My gaze follows her shoulder to her outstretched arm and her arm to her hand, which holds the phone with her thumb poised above the send button.

  My will to resist crumbles. I know taking off my clothes for this bitch is only going to give her more ammunition to blackmail me, but I don’t have a choice. She really could ruin Sofia’s happiness with the press of a button. The fear leaves me and is replaced with acceptance. I have to do whatever Malora tells me to do. I have to do it for my daughter.

  “Alright,” I say, my shoulders slumping. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

  “Now, Mrs. Brody,” she says, her tone changing. “Show me what you have under that cute little midlife crisis aerobics outfit.”

  My tight sweat-wicking top clings to my abs as I pull it up and over my head. My gray sports bra is doing its best to contain my large breasts. I toss the sweaty workout tank over my head and dry my hands on my thighs.

  “Look at those,” laughs Maloria. She snaps a picture of me. “Please continue, Mrs. Brody. Show me what those big ‘mommy tits’ look like.”

  She circles part way around me and takes another picture. If my face wasn’t already red from working out and being pissed off, it would turn another shade of red as she takes a third photo, this time close up on my big ass in the leggings.

  “Look at that white girl booty,” she says. “I don’t remember you having a butt that big. You must do a lot of sitting.”

  “Fuck you, Malora,” I mutter.

  “Now, now, play nice.” She prods a fingertip against the side of my breast. “Take this off.”

  I stare murder at her as I grab the sports bra in both hands and work it off and over my tits. My breasts bounce free, seemingly too large to be contained by the sports bra. My pale mounds are marked in several places with red lines from the inner seams of the bra. My fat nipples are fully aroused by the adrenaline and the anger.

  “Oh, yes!” laughs Malora. “They’re huge!”

  She snaps photos of my tits from several different angles. I scowl at the camera with each photo. She ignores my anger and continues photographing me.

  “Look at those thick nipples. I bet you breastfed, didn’t you? My mom has thick nipples like that, even bi
gger areolas, and she said she got them from nursing me and my brothers.”

  “I think you’ve seen enough,” I say, covering my breasts with my arm.

  “Oh, no,” she laughs. She grabs my arm and yanks it roughly down. My breasts jiggle from the movement and she lets out another annoying giggle. “You’re taking all of it off for me. The sneakers and the leggings too.”

  I bend over to untie my shoes and Malora walks up behind me and smacks my ass. I yelp in surprise and my head jerks up. She saunters away, aiming her camera at me.

  “Proceed,” she commands.

  I untie my shoes and kick them off. I’m much more hesitant with the leggings. I can feel Melora’s gaze on me, her phone raised to snap pictures as I bend over and peel the tight leggings off my round ass. The waistband is so tight that it cinches my cheeks as I pull it beneath them, lifting them like corseted cleavage.

  “Ooooh,” she purrs and teases her fingertips over the tops of my ass cheeks. “Show it all to me.”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” I growl.

  I pull the leggings all the way off. I’m only wearing a thong. Malora’s camera clicks again and again and she isn’t shy about touching me. She spreads my ass and laughs as she snaps pictures. A moment later, she holds her phone up so I can see the humiliating photo of my spread ass and the pink wrinkle of my asshole threaded by the back of my thong.

  “Look at that juicy asshole,” she laughs. “How many dildos have been shoved up inside it? Do you like your teens to strap one on and fuck it?”

  “I’m usually on top,” I say.

  “Oh, of course you are,” she laughs. “Mommy likes to be in charge of her little teens, doesn’t she? I bet you wish you could grab me by the hair and bend me over this couch.”

  She poses with her elbows on the back of the couch and her firm ass thrust back. She wiggles her dark skirt from side to side, reaches back, and lifts it up the backs of her golden thighs, showing off her round ass in purple and pink satin panties.

  “Would you spank me or fuck me?” She asks in a mocking tone.

  Melora is infuriatingly attractive. Her mocking pose and lewd question succeeds in sending a throb of lust through my pussy.

  “Both,” I snap. “I would spank your ass and then I would hate fuck you with a strap-on.”

  She drops her skirt back over her sexy ass and stands up from her vulnerable pose. She turns to me, a triumphant smile on her face.

  “It’s too bad I’m the one holding all the cards, isn’t it, Mrs. Brody?” She reaches out to stroke a lock of hair from my face. I jerk away from her touch. “There’s one thing I haven’t seen yet. Not really. Sit down on the couch and spread your legs. Show me your pussy, Mrs. Brody.”

  “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

  “Never!” she laughs. “Now do it! Show me your mommy pussy.”

  I walk over to the couch opposite Melora, aware that she is watching the way I move, the way my ass jiggles a little and my tits bounce. I do my best not to be ashamed of my body. I’ve been naked with so many girls over the past few weeks that I thought I was over my body image issues, but I feel them severely in front of Melora’s harsh gaze.

  “You can insult me for my desires,” I say, sitting down on the couch and covering my pussy with my hand, “but you wouldn’t be taking such pleasure in this if you didn’t share them at least a little.”

  Her smile dies. She brings up her camera and starts taking pictures of me again.

  “Move your hand and stop trying to cover up,” she snaps.

  I do as she says, exposing my shaved pussy to her, but I feel emboldened by her reaction.

  “Did I hit a nerve, Melora?” She gets closer and takes pictures between my spread thighs. My fleshy outer lips, my delicate inner folds, my glistening pink all splayed for her camera.

  “Stop talking,” she snaps.

  “Maybe you are using this stuff with Sofia as an excuse. Maybe you’ve always been attracted to me, to my body.”

  I tease a fat nipple with my fingers. I give her my lustiest look as she brings up her phone and snaps more pictures. But I see her expression, I see I might have misjudged Melora; her cruel smile is back.

  “I think it’s so adorable that you were wearing that workout number when you answered the door. It’s sweet that you keep trying, Mrs. Brody, but you’re never losing that fat ass or that chubbiness around the waist.”

  My face goes red as she snaps more photos.

  “I’m not attracted to you. I like women my own age. Hot girls.” She giggles and puts one foot up on the couch. Her skirt rides up her toned thighs. She looks into my eyes as she slides her skirt higher and higher until my face is only inches from the tight gusset of her panties. I can see the shape of her mound and the indentation of her groove. “There’s nothing wrong with being a dirty mommy dyke. Admit it.”

  She holds up her camera. I hear a “ding” and I think she is shooting a video.

  “Tell me you want this,” she says, running her hand over her mound. “Admit that you’re a pussy-sucking lesbo. Tell the people watching how much you love teenagers.”

  It’s an admission I only recently came to terms with in my own head. I’m okay with it now, I’m not ashamed of my attraction to eighteen and nineteen year old girls, but saying it for this bitch’s camera is another matter. Tears well in my eyes as I stare up at the camera lens on Malora’s phone. I blink the tears away before they spill out of my eyes.

  “I’m… I’m a pussy-sucking lesbo,” I say in a stumbling monotone.

  “Louuuuuder,” taunts Melora. “Say it to me like you’re proud of it, Mrs. Brody.”

  “I love teenagers. I love to lick their pussies! I’m a lesbian.”

  “A dirty fucking dyke?” She thrusts her hips, pushing her panty-clad mound closer to my face.

  “A dirty fucking dyke,” I spit back.

  “Tell me how much you want to lick this pussy,” she says. “You want to see it? Here, look at it.”

  She curls a finger into the front of her panties and pulls them aside. Her pussy is immaculate pink, her outer labia almost as delicate as the pink petals of her inner folds. Her groove is lightly glistening. Her sweet musk fills my nostrils. Her clit stands out from its hood atop her opening. A neat, trimmed triangle of black hair points to her pussy.

  I exhale in a ragged sigh and look from her beautiful pussy to the camera.

  “I want it, Melora. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Mmmmmmm.” She leans her shoulders back and cocks her hips forward. She keeps her phone’s camera aimed at me, but she slides the fingers of her other hand into my hair and grabs tight. “Right now, I want you to lick. You can do that, can’t youoohhhhhhhh…”

  I need only the invitation. I surrender to the submissive desire that Melora’s domineering has built in me. I bury my tongue in her hot pussy. Her slick petals part before my thrusting tongue and I drive my lewd tongue-kiss deep into her clutching teenage channel. I resist the urge to put my hands on her, thinking that might provoke her anger.

  “That’s a good dyke,” she moans. “Isn’t that the sweetest pussy you’ve ever tasted?”

  “NNnnnnhnnn,” I agree, my tongue relentless, slipping over her folds, inside her, and flicking over the fleshy bead of her clit. She is sweet, her body perfumed with a soft, subtle floral scent that mingles with the scent of her arousal. The juice of her ripe peach spills into my mouth and down my throat, spurring my lust.

  “Such a good mommy,” she laughs, thrusting her hips and fucking against my tongue. “You look so much prettier with my honey all over your face.”

  She tightens her grip on my hair and holds my head still as she fucks her slippery pussy against my chin and tongue. She spreads her nectar all over my lips, brush her folds over my nose, my tongue, and back down to my chin. I stare up at her, keeping my tongue out to caress her with each stroke.

  “That’s right, you like being used, I can tell,” she purrs. “I’m going to
use that pretty mommy face to cum. Mmmmmm…”

  She suddenly pushes me back onto the couch, forcing me to sprawl back on the leather as she climbs atop my face. She drops her pussy over my mouth and this time I dare to reach back and grab her firm ass with both hands. I get a grunt of surprise from her, but no punishment. She rides my face like a cowgirl, her sexy body bouncing above me and her hips thrusting her hot groove against my eager tongue.

  “That’s it,” she gasps. “That’s it. I can tell you have… oooooo… a lot of practice licking teenage pussies. Suck it now, dyke slut. Suck that clit. YESSSS!”

  I suck loudly and feverishly beat my tongue against her straining clit. She whines with growing pleasure, her thighs locking tight against my head as she holds her pussy almost still. My lips pop, slurp wetly, and my tongue relentlessly laps at that bud.

  “Ohhhhh!” she gasps and falls forward, riding my tongue as her orgasm throbs through her teenage body. I can feel each contraction. I can taste it in the warm flow of her juices that pour into my mouth.

  She catches her breath before dismounting from my sweaty, cum-smeared face. The camera is finally gone as she sits down beside me on the couch. I sit up and she puts her long legs over my lap. I wipe her drooling cum from my lips and chin.

  There’s that evil smile again, paired now with a heavy-lidded, post-orgasmic bliss in her brown eyes. She teases one of my nipples with her fingertips.

  “How often does your club meet?” she asks.

  “Weekly,” I reply.

  “Good. You’re going to take me this weekend.”

  “That’s not how it works. Mothers swap their daughters with the other pairs. That means your mother has to join and you said she’s in Barcelona.”

  “I will fill in for Sofia.” She pinches and lightly twists my nipple. “And you will tell her to have the flu or something this weekend.”

  “Even if I do that, and I’m not saying I will, you will have to swap with another woman. That means you will have sex with another woman my age. Whoever is scheduled this weekend to swap with me.”

  “No,” she says. “I have someone in particular I want you to swap with and you’re going to make it happen or everything is going public. Not just the stuff that hurts Sofia, but the stuff that hurts you.”