Nothing To Be Ashamed Of

Aria's lying on her bed, fingers buried deep between her legs when Katie storms through the door. Both of them freeze. Katie spins on her heel and bolts. Seconds later she knocks like she's supposed to, slips back in, cheeks burning hot. Aria yanks the blanket over her bare thighs, face redder than her mom's. Katie stammers an apology, says she's still figuring this whole mom thing out and promises she'll knock from now on. She tells Aria there’s nothing shameful about touching herself, that it’s normal, healthy, something every woman does. Aria listens, still half-naked and throbbing, and the permission sinks in fast. Katie leaves. Aria doesn’t stay under the covers. Next morning she’s on the kitchen island, shorts around one ankle, grinding two fingers against her swollen clit while coffee brews. That night she spreads out on the living-room couch, hips rolling loud enough for Katie to hear from the hallway. Morning, afternoon, late night—every room, every surface. Katie catches her every time, voice tight with warning, eyes dark with something else. It hits a breaking point when Katie finds Aria once more in her bedroom, legs open, slick coating her inner thighs. Katie shuts the door behind her. “You need more than your own hand.” Aria blinks, breath caught, then Katie crawls up the mattress, knees planted on either side of her daughter’s hips. Aria’s pulse jumps. Dad’s out. The house is quiet. Katie’s mouth finds hers first, tongue pushing deep while fingers tug Aria’s shirt up and cup her small tits. Moans pass back and forth, breath hot. Katie trails kisses down the girl’s belly until her tongue slides between soaked folds and Aria bucks, hands fisted in her mom’s hair. They trade places, Aria licking Katie until both of them glisten. Then Katie climbs on top again, bare cunt pressed tight to Aria’s, and they grind—slick, frantic, hips snapping until their thighs shake and they come hard against each other, juice smearing between them. Maybe now Aria’s hunger will finally settle.