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Chapter Text

Matt and I divorced a year ago. It wasn’t nasty or anything; we’d just had enough arguments to realize how different our expectations for each other and for our lives had become. I wanted to have at least one or two more children, while Matt was acting more and more like our having Evie—who was five at the time—was already a concession on his part. Not that he didn’t love her, but it seemed like fatherhood didn’t quite fit into his big career plan anymore.

Things came to a head when he told me he wanted us to move to Malaysia so he could become a VP at his company’s office in Kuala Lumpur. The timing was terrible; Evie was two months into kindergarten and still adjusting, and I hadn’t been at my real estate firm for much longer than that. So after a very long discussion, Matt and I agreed that it was time to end things, and that he should go to Kuala Lumpur without us. At least he was okay with chipping in enough child support that Evie and I didn’t have to move to a smaller apartment, and I didn’t have to take a second job.

I filed for divorce. But like a lot of divorced women with kids, I kept Matt’s name, Vanderberg, so that I would have the same last name as Evie.

To be sure, these were all life-changing events. But honestly, Matt had spent so much time at work in the months leading up to our divorce that life without him wasn’t that much different from life with him. So my daughter and I quickly settled into our new routine, our new normal.

Little did I know that “normal” was about to fly right out the window. And it was never coming back.

***

Living in Boulder, Colorado pretty much guarantees a cold and snowy winter every year. But I didn’t mind that. The city keeps the streets plowed, and living in an apartment meant that I had no driveway to shovel. Evie loved all the things kids love about winter: snow angels, snowmen, snowball fights, and sledding. And one thing we both loved about winter was lighting our apartment’s little gas fireplace and cozying up together under a blanket on the sofa while we watched something on TV and sipped hot chocolate or apple cider. 

Which is exactly what we were doing that Friday evening. It had been Evie’s turn to pick the movie (thanks to this arrangement, I knew more about colorful little horses than any adult should have to), and we were snuggled up side by side. Then, as she sometimes did, Evie climbed onto my lap. I was wearing my favorite pink silk pajamas under a fuzzy white robe; Evie had on her baby-blue flannel PJs.

She didn’t center herself in my lap as usual, though. Instead, she wriggled her cute, chubby little bottom against my thigh.

You need to understand that at that moment, I didn’t perceive anything sexual in Evie’s behavior. I couldn’t imagine my five-year-old daughter having such feelings beyond a child’s usual curiosity. Nor, I might add, did I expect myself to have any kind of sexual feelings for her.

She turned sideways to the TV and leaned against me, laying her head on my breasts, then chuckled happily. Again, I saw nothing sexual in it. My breasts are soft and warm, and I was sure they just made a comfy pillow for her head.

But then Evie spoke.

“Mommy?” she said, tugging at the lapel of my robe. “Will you take your clothes off?”

I blinked and looked down at her. “You want me to take off my robe?”

Her face was still against my chest as she nodded. “Uh-huh. And…and your jammies.”

I was floored. I stared at Evie for a moment before I asked, “Why do you want me to do that?”

I thought maybe it was just curiosity. We didn’t shower together (mostly because she preferred baths), so Evie had never gotten a good look at me naked.

“‘Cause you have the nicest boobies in the whole world.”

I don’t know what answer I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that one. How do you respond when your five-year-old daughter compliments your breasts?

Most parents would say that I should have responded by saying that breasts are private. Also, that you shouldn’t say anything to a woman about her breasts even if you are saying something nice. And for a brief moment, I thought about giving her that kind of answer.

But I didn’t. My curiosity about why my daughter was interested in my breasts got the better of me. So did some other feelings I wasn’t quite ready to put a name to yet.

So I said, “Okay, sweetie.”

Evie got off my lap and watched me. I blushed a little at having those big baby-blue eyes glued to my chest as I stood up and took off my robe.

It wasn’t too warm in the room, but I was oblivious to the temperature. I was just looking at Evie’s face, dying to know what was going through her mind.

“That too?” she asked, pointing at my pink pajama top. “Please?”

You’d think I would have drawn the line there. Nope. Instead, I pulled the top off and absently left it hanging over the arm of the sofa.

Now, standing bare-breasted in front of my daughter, I looked at her face. Her eyes were fixed on my breasts as if they were the most wondrous thing she had ever seen. Her lips were parted, and I could see her little chest rising and falling rapidly. Strangest of all, she had a red flush that started at her cheeks and ran down her neck, then spread over her upper chest. Even in the dim light, the redness was obvious on her pale skin. And that’s when it finally hit me.

My God, I thought. She’s horny.

In that moment, I felt a lot of things: confused and concerned, certainly, but also flattered…and aroused. I mean, I considered myself an attractive woman, but I never could have imagined that a five-year-old—a five-year-old girl, no less—could become physically aroused by the sight of me. And that thought, along with the fact that at that moment my horny little girl looked like the sexiest human being of any age that I’d ever seen, suddenly had me feeling very warm between my thighs.

Of course, I was the adult in the room. The parent in the room. I had to be responsible, instead of giving into my new and depraved urges. Which meant that I had to put a stop to this somehow. So I asked Evie a question—one that seemed so reasonable that I could easily tell myself that it had come from a place of parental concern and not from my rising lust.

“Sweetie,” I said, “tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

I could see her struggling to find the words. Imagine being five years old and trying to explain what sexual arousal feels like when you probably haven’t even felt it before.

“I…” she started, “I wanna- I wanna do things with you.”

That warmth between my thighs grew. “What kind of things?”

“I, I dunno, I wanna…touch you. All over.” Her voice took on a slightly desperate whine as she added, “Everywhere. But, but ‘specially your boobies.”

Without a second’s thought, I said softly, “You can touch my boobies, sweetheart.”

She reached her hands up slowly, cautiously, but also with anticipation. Then her open hands landed gently on my breasts, her palms over my nipples.

“Ohhhhhh,” she murmured. 

She squeezed them just a little and gasped. “They’re so soft, Mommy.”

“Yes, baby,” I replied. “That’s one of the best things about breasts; they’re very soft.” 

I couldn’t believe I was saying this to my own child. Or to a child, period. I’ve known since I was ten that I swing both ways, but I had never realized until that moment that I also swung…low, I guess? I mean, towards children. Or at least my child. Wow, everything I say about it now just makes it sound worse.

In any case, Evie seemed to take my response as permission to feel me up to her heart’s content. She squeezed my breasts some more, then rubbed her palms over them in circles, which made my nipples start to enlarge. I kind of hoped she wouldn’t notice that, but of course she noticed almost immediately and focused her attention on my nipples. First, she rubbed them with her chubby fingers. Then she squeezed them—first tentatively, then hard.

“Ow!” I cried, sounding like a parrot squawking. “Be gentle, baby.”

Evie looked at me, slightly aghast. She obviously hadn’t meant to hurt me.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said contritely.

I was about to say something like “It’s okay” when she leaned her head forward and kissed one of my nipples, then the other.

In that moment, I suppressed a lot of reactions: a gasp of surprise, a startled twitch, and most of all the urge to grab my daughter’s head and keep it right there at my breast. Because the touch of those small, soft, perfect lips on my nipples was excruciating pleasure.

“Do they feel better, Mommy?” Evie asked.

If I had to point to one moment from that night as the moment when my relationship with Evie changed forever, it would be that one. Because as of then, I wasn’t sure if I could live another day without feeling Evie’s soft, loving lips on my nipples.

“Yes, baby,” I gasped. “Please kiss them more.”

I’ll never forget how excited she looked when I said that. Or how, when she resumed kissing my nipples, the kissing soon turned to sucking. But not the way she had when she was a baby. It was more like she wanted to know my breast more thoroughly and intimately than she could with her hands alone, and having my nipple in her mouth and feeling it all over with her lips was her way of doing that.

The sucking gave way to tonguing. Evie was swirling her tongue around and around my nipple, and I swear it felt better than any time anyone had ever done that for me before. I knew that she wasn’t doing it because she knew I liked it—at least, I don’t think so. She was doing it because it felt good to her. Which is why she kept going and going for I don’t even know how long, taking breaks only long enough to switch to my other breast and make the sensations even more powerful.

I don’t know how long she would have kept doing it. But eventually, I had to stop her—not because it didn’t feel wonderful, but because I was being overcome by the same instinct she was.

“Sweetheart,” I said, panting, “if you take off your PJ top, I can do the same thing for you.”

Evie was panting, too, which perhaps is why she didn’t speak but just nodded rapidly and then peeled off her pajama top. Being a bit chubby, Evie had very small, breast-like mounds. Seeing these, and how lovely her little pink nipples looked against her pale skin, I briefly wondered whether I truly hadn’t noticed before how sexy her chest was, or whether I had simply not allowed myself to register the thought.

I lifted Evie off my lap and lay her on her back on the sofa. She even raised her chest a bit, offering me her little breasts. I lowered my head to one of them and kissed one of her stiff pink nipples. Evie sucked in a breath, then let it out in a happy sigh. So I kissed her nipple again, then the other one.

Like Evie, I soon escalated my pleasuring from kissing to sucking. And like Evie, I was doing it at least as much for my own pleasure as for hers. I’d always liked the sweet smell of Evie’s skin, but I’d never realized how much I liked the taste of it. And the way her small nipples grew erect in my mouth like a grown woman’s would was achingly arousing. 

Soon, she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I had one hand on her leg, just above her knee, and I could feel heat radiating from between her thighs.

I can’t stop here, I thought. It would be cruel to get her this aroused and then just leave her this way. I have to do more.

Did I really have Evie’s best interests at heart, or was I just rationalizing my own desire to go further with her? In hindsight, probably both.

I raised my head from Evie’s chest and said breathily, “Sweetheart, would you like it if we both took all our clothes off?”

She lifted her head, and those blue eyes were locked on my face as she replied, “Yes, Mommy.”

We both stood up. I was going to take the rest of my clothes off first, but to my surprise, Evie shoved her PJ bottoms and undies down fast, bending all the way forward to get them down to her ankles. She stepped out of them with one foot, and when they got caught on the ankle of her other leg, she shook it and kicked them off.

I had just hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my pajama bottoms and underwear to push them down, but I paused for a moment to look at my beautiful, naked daughter. I loved her pale skin, her chubby little pre-breasts, her slightly pudgy belly, her smooth thighs, and her puffy, hairless pussy, which was a slightly darker pink than her nipples. Then I pushed my pajama bottoms and panties down and stepped out of them. Seeing Evie looking intently at my naked body, I gave her a moment to take it all in before I spoke.

“Now,” I said, “lie back down on the sofa, and I’ll make you feel very nice.”

My naked little girl didn’t hesitate. She clambered back up onto the sofa, flipped over onto her back, and looked at me expectantly.

I knelt down by the sofa and kissed her gently on the lips. Then I kissed my way down her neck—not lingering too long because of how horny we both were—and then her chest, where I kissed her on both nipples before devoting my attention to sucking one of them. But this time, instead of fingering her other nipple, I moved my hand down her warm stomach and onto her chubby thigh.

The moment I slid my hand to the inside of that thigh, Evie opened her legs a little. I don’t know if she had guessed what I was about to do, or if some instinct was compelling her to give my hand access to that hot place there.

At the same time, I put my other hand between my own thighs. Putting a finger on my clit and a finger on hers, I rubbed both at the same slow pace.

“Haaaahhhhhh…” Evie moaned. I got the idea that she hadn’t yet figured out on her own how nice touching her love button could be. Not that I had expected her to; most girls of my generation hadn’t learned how to do that until at least their early teens, when they read about it online or something.

“Yes, baby,” I said, starting to pant again, “that feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” Evie breathed.

I rubbed both our clits a little faster. I had never actually done this before; I had stimulated another woman’s clit, sometimes while she stimulated mine, but I’d never taken care of both clits at once. Not that it was difficult; my finger on Evie’s love-button just had to make smaller circles than the finger on my own.

So I didn’t really have to concentrate much on what I was doing. Which meant that I could look at Evie, whose eyes were closed and whose lips were parted in an expression of erotic pleasure that I had never imagined I would see on a child’s face, let alone my child’s face. Her small, pale chest was heaving, and her hips squirmed and writhed a little, as though she were trying to increase the contact between her little bald pussy and my finger.

And then there were the sounds she made: high-pitched whimpers and whines that sounded both childlike and incredibly sexual. These were punctuated with gasps accompanied by little shivers whenever her pleasure spiked. 

Seeing and hearing my very young daughter’s pleasure was the most erotic experience of my life up to that point. So I rubbed her clit faster, and sure enough, the whimpering and whining were replaced by moaning and gasping. Which of course made this activity even more erotic for me, and made me rub her clit even faster.

Evie screamed high and loud, and her whole body convulsed like crazy. Under any other circumstances, I would have thought she was having an epileptic seizure. But knowing that she was having an orgasm, a real orgasm that I gave her, had me convulsing and screaming, too.

The moment my climax finished, I rolled onto my side and held Evie tight while we both panted for breath. 

“That was…wonderful…baby…” I managed. 

I wanted to make sure Evie knew that what had just happened was a good thing. Once I got my breath back, I explained further.

“What we both just had,” I said, “is called an orgasm.” Then, realizing that “orgasm” probably wasn’t the easiest word for a child to say or remember, I added, “People also call it ‘cumming.’ Which sounds like coming, like in ‘coming and going,’ but it means having that great feeling we both just had.”

“Woooow…” Evie murmured.

Looking at her face, I could see that Evie was at war with herself. She clearly wanted to do more, but she was getting very sleepy. I wasn’t surprised, given that her normal bedtime had been more than half an hour earlier. Even I was starting to feel drowsy; all this excitement had worn me out.

I pulled her close to me, letting her lay her head on my bare breast and giving her a way to rest without ending our special activities all together.

“Go to sleep now, sweetheart,” I said.

She went out like a light.

Chapter Text

In my mind, there is a world where what happened that Friday night was an outlier, an exception, an incredibly unlikely one-time fluke. In that world, Evie and I woke up the next morning and chose to act like it had never happened, or else I sat Evie down and had a long, serious talk with her about bodies and boundaries and growing up, ending in a mutual understanding that what we had done the previous night would never happen again.

But even if there had been a chance of my living in such a world, I blew it the very next day.

It was Saturday morning. Evie had a playdate scheduled with a friend, and before we left the apartment, I told Evie that she couldn’t talk about what had happened the night before. The weird thing was, I didn’t even get to the part where I explained why she couldn’t tell before she spoke.

“I know, Mommy,” Evie said. “It’s a secret. A you-and-me secret. It’ll be ruined if we tell.”

I was about to tell her that I was glad she understood when she got up on tiptoe, the way she does when she wants to kiss me on the cheek. I leaned my cheek down to her, and she kissed it—but she also put her hand on my breast and squeezed. When I straightened up and looked at her, she grinned.

That was where I could have ended it. Where we could have had that big talk. But instead, I just took her hand, led her out the apartment door, and drove her to her playdate.

***

There was one other thing I did—not necessarily on purpose—that ensured that our sexual activities would continue: That night, I again sat down with her on the sofa to watch TV. Children are ritualistic in the sense that when the circumstances are the same as before, they tend to have the same expectations and behave in the same way.

As usual, while we were watching some family-friendly sitcom, Evie climbed onto my lap and pulled the fuzzy blanket over the both of us. But then, not at all as usual, she reached her arms under the blanket and pulled her pajama top up and off before leaning her bare back against my front. She turned and raised her head to look at me.

“Would you touch me?” she asked.

I hesitated. I had thought that maybe what happened the night before—and that morning—was just Evie satisfying her youthful curiosity, and that things between us would now continue on as normal. Clearly, I hadn’t fully understood my daughter’s motivations. Or maybe, I thought, I had willfully misunderstood them.

Regardless, the thought of fondling Evie’s sweet little breasts and nipples was making me feel warm between my thighs. Which was not helping me make the rational parental decision to put a stop to this.

But it wasn’t just lust that was driving my decision-making right then. It was also the feeling I was having that this was a new, but very real, way to show Evie my love for her. And, therefore, that refusing her request might make her feel unloved, or at least like my love for her had limits. I never wanted her to feel that way, ever.

So, my voice a little scratchy, I said, “Okay, love.” Then I put my hands on her bare chest and started to fondle her.

Touching her that way felt every bit as good as it had the previous night. I loved the softness of her little breasts; I couldn’t think of them as anything but breasts now, not least because they actually seemed to be swelling a little as I felt them up. And her nipples were stiffening the way mine always did when I was horny.

Like the previous night, I couldn’t resist playing with her nipples. But this time, I didn’t just finger them. I pinched them gently, then rolled them just as gently between my fingers—the things I like my lover to do with my own nipples. Her little pink buds got even stiffer, and Evie moaned as I kept on touching her.

On my lap, I could feel heat radiating from between her chubby thighs. And I realized that not only did I not want to stop touching her this way, I wanted to take it farther.

“Honey,” I said, “I can feel you moving around in my lap. Do you want to take your pajama bottoms off, too?”

She turned her head and looked up at me like I had just given her the most brilliant idea she’d ever heard. Then she became a tiny tempest in my lap as she shoved her pajama bottoms down and then kicked them off her ankles.

Now fully naked, Evie leaned back against me and opened her legs. I didn’t know whether she just had some instinct to expose her hot little noonie—that’s what we called her pussy—or whether she was wordlessly asking me to touch it, but I knew she would like it if I did, so I went for it.

I reached one finger down to touch her plump little slit, and I nearly gasped. I’d felt the heat from it, but I’d had no idea she was so wet. Or that she could even get wet. And as I started feeling up her puffy little pussy, her wetness and her lack of pubic hair allowed my fingers to slide over it easily.

Sliding my whole hand down between Evie’s thighs, I cupped her bald pussy in my hand. It was so hot and wet and alive…and sexual. This wasn’t a simple slit that would develop into a real pussy years from now; this was already the real thing.

Evie began to squirm again, and I realized that she was trying to work her noonie against my hand. So I squeezed it, then pushed a finger between her puffy, incredibly slick folds. Evie moaned.

My God, I thought. It’s like she was made for sex, even at this age.

That thought put two ideas in my head. I immediately acted on the first one and ran my index fingertip up to the top of her pussy and found her clit. 

Slowly, I began to rub it in little circles, like I had the night before. Evie sucked in a breath, then moaned again.

I kept rubbing. Evie was still squirming, but it didn’t seem intentional; it was more like she had no words for the pleasure she was feeling and had to express it with her body instead. Which I suppose was the literal truth.

Soon, she was panting for breath. And after another minute, she began whimpering and whining, too. It wasn’t hard to interpret that: She wanted more, but she didn’t know what she wanted more of, let alone how to ask for it.

So I kept rubbing, and at the same time I used my other hand to squeeze and massage one of her little breasts, and then to pinch and roll her erect nipple between my fingers. And once I was doing that, I only needed to rub her clit the slightest bit faster to make her pant louder and louder and then scream like absolute crazy as she had the second orgasm of her life.

When she finished cumming, she sat panting on my lap. Like the night before, I was amazed that this little girl could have, not only an orgasm, but such a powerful one. 

Now I had a dilemma. My daughter was sated, but I was still horny as hell. Yet I didn’t want to tell Evie to pleasure me, because I was worried about the whole misusing-my-parental-power thing. Then it turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry.

“Mommy,” Evie said, catching her breath, “can I kiss your boobies again?”

Instantly, I went from merely painfully horny to horny beyond all reason. “Yes, please, baby, kiss them.”

I then realized that I was still wearing my nightgown. I would have to stand up to take it off, which gave me an idea.

“Let’s go to my room,” I said. “We’ll have more space on my bed.”

“Okay!”

We got up and went into my bedroom, where I immediately pulled off my nightgown and tossed it onto my dressing-table chair so that I was naked except for my panties. Evie smiled when she saw my breasts.

“Your boobies are so nice, Mommy.”

“Sweetheart,” I replied, “right now, call them tits, or titties. It makes me feel sexy.”

“Okay! Can I suck on your titties?”

“Of course, baby.”

I lay down on the bed, and Evie immediately climbed onto it and then onto me. She gave each of my nipples a kiss, then focused in on one, licking and sucking it. Closing my eyes and soaking in the pleasure, I reached down and fondled Evie’s chubby bottom as she sucked.

God, I thought, I love touching her. I can’t believe I ever thought about ending this, because I never want it to end.

I moved my hand lower, between her thighs, and again felt the heat of her pussy. Straddling my thigh as she was, she was in the wrong position for me to rub her clit, but there was another option: I ran my finger up and down between the simple folds of her puffy pussy.

We carried on like that for a while, and it was lovely. But neither of us was going to get off that way. Besides, now that I knew my five-year-old daughter was an extremely sexual being, there was something I wanted to teach her.

“Sweetie,” I said, “do you want to learn how to rub your clit? I mean, the little button on your noonie that I rubbed for you earlier?”

She took her mouth off my nipple and raised her head to look at my face. Then she nodded and replied, “Uh-huh.”

For boys, masturbation is simple: pull up, pull down, repeat. So they can usually figure it out on their own. Young girls, on the other hand, may not realize that they even have a clitoris, let alone have any idea what to do with it. So long ago, when I was a preteen, I had promised myself that if I ever had a daughter, I’d make sure that she knew how to pleasure herself when she was old enough. Of course, at the time, I thought my hypothetical daughter would be eleven or so when the subject came up, and that maybe I’d buy her a book or show her a website that she’d be too embarrassed to seek out for herself and that would explain female masturbation and everything else about female puberty. It never occurred to me that my daughter would need masturbation tips long before she reached puberty. Or that I, instead of letting her read up on the subject on her own, would want to give her hands-on instruction. (Yes, pun intended. No, I won’t quit my day job.)

I had Evie lie down next to me, her head at the level of my crotch so she could get a good look as I touched myself.

“This is my clitoris,” I said, pointing. “See how it’s right here at the top of my noonie? Yours is in the same place. See if you can find it.”

Evie turned over onto her back and spread her legs. She didn’t have much trouble putting her finger in the right spot. I suppose my having fingered her to orgasm twice made it easy for her to remember where my finger had been.

“Now, just move your finger around in a little circle,” I said. “Like this.”

She raised her head to look as I slowly rubbed my clit. Then she put her head back down and rubbed her own clit. I could tell by the way her lips parted a little that she was doing it right.

“There you go,” I said.

We lay there mutually masturbating for about a minute. Then Evie stopped and looked at me.

“I like it better when you do it.”

I knew she didn’t just mean that I had better technique. She meant that she wanted my hands on her. And so did I.

“Here,” I said, rolling onto my side to face her. “Keep rubbing your clit, and I’ll play with the rest of your cute little body for a bit.”

Evie put her head back down. I scootched down on the bed to put my face by her chest. Then I took her stiff little nipple into my mouth.

“Mmmmm…” Evie moaned.

As I sucked her nipple rhythmically, I reached over and played with the other nipple for a minute, getting it just as stiff as the one in my mouth. Then I put that hand flat on her chest and slid it down over her stomach and then over her small hand where it continued diddling her clit. Finally, I moved my hand down to her slick, chubby labia. I worked my fingertip between them and slid it down to find her entrance. 

I took my mouth off her nipple and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted.

“Sweetheart,” I murmured, “have you ever pushed anything inside your noonie before? Like your finger?”

“Uh-huh…” she replied. 

“Did you like it?”

“Uh-huh…”

I didn’t want to hurt her, so instead of trying to push in, I just pressed my fingertip against her opening. Thankfully, I was keeping my nails short at the time.

It opened just a little. But more importantly, I heard Evie gasp, and I could tell that it was not surprise, but excitement. I raised my face from her chest and put it by her ear, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair before I spoke.

“Baby,” I murmured, “do you want me to put my finger inside you? In your noonie?”

With a single, resolute nod, Evie gasped, “Uh-huh.”

I pushed the tip of my finger into her, and she gasped again, louder. I could tell just by looking at her face that the gasp was all excitement and not pain, so I pushed in a little deeper, and she gasped again.

So I started finger-fucking her slowly. I think I remember putting my finger inside myself at that age and liking it, but I don’t remember it feeling half as good as it obviously felt to Evie. She was panting in time with the movement of my finger, and she even began moving her hips a little at that same rhythm.

My God, I thought. My daughter was born to fuck. Literally born for it.

I finger-fucked her faster and faster. She moaned and whined and squirmed, her little body wanting more and more. I was so excited to see her react that way that I rubbed my clit at the same pace. And before I knew it, we were both crying out in ecstasy.

***

Over the week that followed, one thing that became clear to me was that I was as much in love with Evie’s little breasts as she was with my big ones. I felt her up every single day, often multiple times a day. We’d long had a tradition of my giving her a kiss once we got inside the apartment after I brought her home from school, but now that kiss was on the lips instead of the cheek. And then, after I helped her out of her winter jacket and then her sweater, I would kiss her again and touch her little breasts through the fabric of her turtleneck. (We did other things too, of course, usually in the evenings, but I’ll get to those.)

That Saturday morning, when the weather was dreary and I knew neither of us had anything to do outside of the house, I said to Evie over breakfast, “How about we have a topless day?”

Evie’s forehead scrunched up a little. “What’s a topless day?”

“A day when neither one of us wears anything from the waist up all day, at least as long as we’re at home,” I explained.

“Okay!” Evie cried. She was out of her chair and had her pajama top off before I could even blink.

I stood up and shrugged off my robe. I was only wearing panties underneath. Evie gazed up at my bare tits, grinning.

“And there’s another part of topless day,” I said. “Each of us gets to do whatever we want with the other one’s titties—play with them, suck them, whatever you feel like doing. And the other one can’t say no for the whole day.”

As I said this, I already had in mind what I wanted to do with Evie’s little breasts. But even though I was the one making the rules, I had nothing on Evie when it came to taking advantage of them. I had barely even finished speaking when Evie scrambled up to stand on her chair, grabbed my left tit with both hands, and started sucking it with immense gusto.

I was about to shout, “Whoa!”, but I held my tongue. I couldn’t break the rule I had just set.

She sucked my nipple vigorously, moving her head around as though she were trying to do it from every angle. I could actually feel my nipple grow hard between her lips, and as soon as it did, she put her whole mouth around it and licked it hungrily.

I, of course, did nothing to discourage her—I couldn’t, after all. But I did take advantage of her elevated position to reach down and fondle her little titties and squeeze her nipples, which were already stiff with arousal. Naturally, my attentions made her suck, lick, and tongue my breast with even greater enthusiasm.

Soon, I was so aroused that I grabbed the waistband of Evie’s pajama bottoms and yanked them down to her ankles. She stepped her feet wide enough apart that I could push my finger into her little pussy. That made her moan around my breast, but it didn’t make her stop licking and sucking.

Never in my life had I gotten so horny so quickly. I took my other hand off of Evie’s breast and thrust it into my panties so that I could rub my clit as energetically as I was finger-fucking my daughter’s pussy. Evie moaned even louder around my breast and sucked it feverishly in that same rhythm. And then it was only seconds before we both cried out “Aaaaah!” as we came, Evie clutching my body hard. Which I was glad of moments later when I realized that it had probably saved her from falling off the chair.

“Now,” I panted, “let’s finish…our oatmeal…before it…gets cold…”

Evie looked a little disappointed to go from orgasmic bliss to something as ordinary as breakfast. But her face brightened when I added, “Then we can take a bath.” 

***

During that week, I had stopped merely giving Evie baths and started taking baths with her. My bathtub was big enough for both of us, so we would go into the bathroom, close the door to keep the heat in, and start the water running. Then we would take off our clothes, each of us not taking our eyes off the other for more than a second or two.

Our bath that morning was much like the others. I got in first, then helped Evie climb into the tub and onto my lap, facing away from me. Then I grabbed the shampoo and washed her hair. Which wasn’t sexy in and of itself, but I couldn’t resist talking dirty to her while I cleaned her.

“Are you still horny?” I asked teasingly.

“Maaaybe,” she replied just as teasingly.

“Well, maybe I am too. Let’s rinse your hair out, and we’ll see what happens after that.”

She bent forward, and I used a little blue bucket that we kept by the tub to rinse the shampoo from her hair. Then I grabbed the bar of soap from its dish on the wall by the edge of the tub and lathered up my hands. Evie wriggled a bit in my lap; she knew what was coming.

I reached my soapy hands around her and began to touch, squeeze, and fondle her little breasts. One thing she and I particularly enjoyed was when I would put my thumbs above her breasts and my fingers beneath them and then gently squeeze them together until my digits met and slowly pulled away from her chest, simultaneously tugging and squeezing her soapy nipples until they slipped from my fingers. I did that over and over again, delighting in how stiff her nipples became.

“Oooooh, Mommy…” she moaned, rubbing her thighs together under the water as she had done every previous time.

I kept this up for minute after minute, only stopping when my hands started to cramp from the repetitive motion.

“Want it to be your turn now?” I asked.

Evie didn’t say anything. She just stood up in the tub (with me holding her waist in case she slipped), turned around, and straddled my lap. Even in the warm bathwater, I could feel the heat of her bald pussy against my belly. 

She grabbed the bar of soap from its dish. But instead of lathering her hands, she used it directly on my breasts. Needless to say, she was very thorough, almost obsessively moving the soap and her hands over and over my boobs. I just loved the way her small hands felt on my big tits.

She put the soap away and narrowed her focus to my nipples. She circled them with her fingertips, then pinched and pulled them gently like I had done with hers. It felt a little like she was milking me like a cow—a thought that, I’ll admit, turned me enough to make me want to take things farther. So while she played with my nipples, I reached down between her chubby thighs and played with her pussy. She moaned but kept doing what she was doing.

After a minute of this play, I had another idea. A bigger idea.

“Let’s dry off and go to my bedroom,” I said, withdrawing my hand from between her legs. “There’s an even more fun thing we can do there.”

Evie looked a bit doubtful that anything could be more fun than having her pussy played with while she played with my tits at the same time. Nonetheless, she said “Okay,” and let me help her out of the tub. Then we toweled off and went to my bed. 

“Now that you’re all clean,” I said, “there’s something I can do that I think you’ll like. It’s like what I’ve been doing with your noonie—your pussy—except instead of my finger, I’m going to use my tongue.”

The look on her face was almost comical. It was like I had just told Evie that I was going to repair the washing machine with a herring, and she was utterly confused as to how that would work but eager to see me try it.

“So just lie down on the bed,” I went on, “and open your legs nice and wide.”

She eagerly complied. I looked at her puffy, bald, cute little pussy and smiled lustily. Then I lay down on my stomach, put my head between my little girl’s pale thighs, and started licking her clit.

“Oh,” she said, a soft exclamation. “Oh. Ohhhhh…” 

She wriggled and writhed a bit as I continued tonguing her clit. When I switched to using my fingertip on her clit while I pushed my tongue into her hole, she writhed even more. 

Soon, her soft thighs were hugging my face, and her noises and movements of pleasure were growing louder and louder. I put some icing on the cake by reaching up to fondle one of her little titties, and then she went from moaning and whimpering to screaming as she came. The sound was so high and loud that I was glad her thighs were clamped around my ears. 

When her screaming was over and her thigh-hold on my head loosened, I rose up and looked at her.

“Did you like that, baby?” I asked unnecessarily.

“Uh-huh…” Evie panted.

Of course, all of that was just the beginning of Topless Day. After our bath and Evie’s introduction to pussy-eating, we washed the breakfast dishes together, and Evie shamelessly ogled my naked tits the whole time. Then we sat down for a few minutes to watch the weather report while casually feeling each other up.

After that, I had to do a little work on my laptop, so I told Evie she could watch cartoons for a while. She did, but periodically she would pause them and come into the bedroom to play with my bare tits for a minute or two before returning to her show. Of course, I gave as good as I got: When I finished with work, Evie was still deep in her cartoons, so I put her on my lap on the sofa and felt her up for almost ten minutes. As soon as her show ended, I carried her to the bedroom and taught her how to finger-fuck me. We gave each other three orgasms each before we were tired and hungry for lunch.

We sat across from each other at the kitchen table as we ate our sandwiches so we could look at each other’s boobs. I actually gave her a cushion to sit on so that her chest would be above the level of the table.

Of course, we didn’t go to bed that night until I ate her out a couple more times. But I didn’t try to teach her to reciprocate. Not because I didn’t like the idea of Evie’s sweet little tongue on or in my pussy, but just because teaching cunnilingus to a five-year-old seemed like a heavier lift than I was ready for that day.

There were other things I wasn’t ready for, too. As I would soon find out.