18-year-old lesbian daughter seduces her lonely mother

Incest stories, 18-year-old lesbian daughter seduces her lonely mother. Witnessing my Mom falling so deeply into despair was the most painful thing I’d ever done. I wished with all my heart that I knew what to do to help her climb back out and find some happiness.

She was a sweet woman and a great mother who deserved far better. She’d been there for me my entire life. She’d been strict with me when I needed it, but never with anger. Every day of my life, whether I was behaving or misbehaving that day, I knew she loved me. She convinced me I was special.

When I’d been five and thrown a mammoth tantrum over something incredibly important that I don’t even remember anymore, she’d carried me up to my room, still crying and struggling and calling her names, and explained through my hysteria she was declaring a time out. I was to remain in my room until I had spent ninety continuous minutes with no loud noises. Any fresh outbursts and I would start over. She then quietly locked me in and went back downstairs while I continued caterwauling. When I finally calmed down and had completed thirty minutes of silence, she brought me a brownie, saying, “Well done, sweetheart, carry on.” When I’d reached an hour, she brought me another. When I’d completed the whole ninety minutes, she came in, gave me a big hug and kisses all over my face, tickled me until I giggled, and took me out for ice cream! That was my very last tantrum, ever.


In my freshman year of high school, when she’d grounded me for toilet papering the house of a girl who’d been bullying me, our evenings were spent together watching TV or playing Scrabble until she released me from ‘the joint’ a week early for good behaviour, and started taking me to Karate class. A couple months later my bully ambushed me again, but ended up with cause to apologise.

I could tell you dozens of stories about times she’d acted effectively to correct my behaviour, then did everything she could to resolve the situation that had caused me to act out in the first place. Even though I wasn’t always the sweet angel she said I was, she’d never struck me or done anything to me out of anger. Not once in eighteen years!

When I was sad, she offered me her shoulder and her ear and long cuddles. When I was angry, she asked me sympathetic questions and listened for as long as I needed and never offered suggestions until I’d talked myself out and asked for them. When I was good, she just loved me and made me feel like the most wonderful girl in the world.

Whenever I misbehaved, she’d never tell my father, knowing he would spank my bare bottom with his belt until he saw blood, like all his brothers did to their children, no matter their gender or age. Thanks to my Mom, he’d never once found cause.

My father, the asshole that he was, had left Mom on December first for a woman only four years older than me… four fucking years!

It had completely crushed Mom. Seeing her like that completely crushed me.

Mom was forty-two and had never had a job, since she’d married my father at eighteen. For the first several years of her marriage she’d insisted on going for a degree in English and had obtained her Bachelor’s diploma two months before giving birth to my older brother, but had never had a job. Instead, she’d always been a stay-at-home mom for Conner and me.

Dad made lots of money as a stockbroker and insisted his wife shouldn’t work.

Mom stayed home in a comfortable house, in many ways a stereotypical 1950s housewife.

Now that she was divorced, Mom had no idea what to do with herself. Thanks to his money and connections, Dad had achieved an amazingly quick divorce: he’d wanted to retire and start traveling ASAP with his cradle-robbed sexpot. He’d easily gotten the divorce because Mom was too disheartened to put up much of a fight, and anyway why fight to keep a man who no longer loved you, but he didn’t get everything he wanted. Thanks to a perceptive judge money wouldn’t ever be a problem for Mom, but she felt cast adrift: what was she for?

Conner, my brother, was at college.

I was in my senior year of high school and would be leaving for college in less than a year.

I knew empty nest syndrome was going to hit her really hard. Dad, Conner and I had always been her entire life.

The heartless bastard I used to call Dad had abandoned her… and me, but I didn’t give a fuck, I was glad he was gone. He’d abandoned her during the holiday season, which only made him a bigger dick than I’d already thought he was.

He was one of the reasons I was a lesbian.

Oh sure, sexual attraction was the main one, but my hatred for the way my dad had treated Mom my entire life had generalised itself into a very early dislike for men, thus boys, and at eighteen I was definitely one hundred percent lesbian. He didn’t make me into a lesbian, but he sure made it easier for me to accept that any great love in my life would definitely be wearing a skirt. Or wearing a whatever; you know what I mean.

Mom didn’t know I was lez.

I was perceived by Mom and by most people who knew me as a sweet, shy, nerdy young woman. I was far from that, but I didn’t mind letting most people think I was. Shy around boys vs couldn’t care less about boys didn’t look so different from the outside. Either way I wasn’t dating any, or even flirting.

Few, besides my best friend and partner in crime Amanda, a still in the closet athlete Brittany (I knew where her closet was and visited her there regularly), a neighbour Mrs. Benson, a teacher Mrs. Walker, and a few other trusted souls had any clue that I was a lesbian.

I hadn’t originally planned on seducing my Mom, but one thing led to another and… well… here’s the story of the craziest life-altering Valentine’s Day ever.


I came home from school, and although she smiled resolutely as she greeted me, it was obvious Mom had been crying… again… and it broke my heart… again.

I asked the stupid question, “Are you okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine, honey,” she answered like she always did, as she wiped away some streaks of evidence to the contrary, attempting to be casual. Today was Valentine’s Day and it was her first one since Dad had left two months ago. She was obviously feeling extra sad she was alone on the Day of Love, while her ex was drinking Mai Tais on the beaches of Hawaii with his new slutfriend (something we’d learned from Facebook pictures).

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, so I sat across the corner from her and looked into her eyes gently. “Mom, you know you can talk to me,” I said, letting her know I loved her and wasn’t buying any bull crap about her feeling fine. “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. And he left me, too.”

This seemed to make Mom even sadder.

“I know, honey,” she nodded. “It’s just that… I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”

Mom, your troubles are my troubles, too,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “After all the things you’ve done for me my whole life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“It’s just… I don’t know, I’m still in denial mode,” Mom said.

I smiled, “I’ve moved on to angry mode.”

“I think I’m in a lot of modes,” she laughed. “Denial, anger, frustration…”

“Frustration?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, quickly pulling her hands away and moving to the kitchen counter. I followed, of course.

“You can’t confide something you feel and then not explain,” I protested, always hating when people did that.

“It’s just personal, honey,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

“Personal, shmersonal! Mom, you can tell me anything,” I offered.

“It’s just…” she began and paused.

“It’s just what?” I asked.

“I feel like such a failure,” she admitted, although I could tell that wasn’t what she really meant.

I pulled Mom into a hug and said, “Mom, you’re not a failure. Dad is. He’s a failure as a husband and as a father.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom said, bursting into tears again.

“You deserve better than Dad,” I conditioned. “He treated you like a slave.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she wailed through her tears.

“All you did was love your children and get older,” I told her. “You’re better off without him. We are better off without him. Dad is an asshole!”

“Hannah!” Mom gasped.

Mom, he is, and he always has been!” I insisted.

“Hannah, please don’t speak about….”

I interrupted, now angry not only at him, but at my mom for trying to defend him, “Mom, be thankful he’s gone! He was a terrible insensitive husband and a useless father. It’s only thanks to you he was never a child-beater, too!”

“Hannah, it was never that black and white,” she continued to defend him.

Mom, ENOUGH!” I shouted, slamming my palm onto the counter, a technique my father had often used to silence Mom.

She looked at me in shock as I took control, took her hand, and led her to the couch.

Mom, no more defending him,” I lectured, not holding back my anger. “He’s an unfaithful, insensitive, arrogant prick of a man and we both deserve better,” I ranted so vehemently I could feel my face turning red.

“But he’s your father,” Mom pointed out.

“He’s my sperm donor,” I corrected. “No more, no less. Well, actually far less. Any damn fool can ejaculate in a cunt.”

“Hannah, language,” Mom scolded, swearing not something I usually did in front of my mother or she in front of me.

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized much more softly, putting my hand on her nylon-clad leg. “I just hate how he still makes you feel worthless. You’re a special woman, and you deserve to be treated like a goddess.”

“Oh, Hannah,” she smiled, suddenly near tears of a different kind. “I needed to hear that.”

Mom, you’re a beautiful woman inside and out,” I continued, a sweet idea popping into my head. Maybe I could help her out of this funk!

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