Deciding to help her, “Mom, you do know I’m a lesbian, right?”
“I, um, no,” she responded, still in shock.
“I blame my sperm donor,” I continued. “I saw how he treated someone as wonderful as you, extrapolated a little, and have never really been interested in boys.”
“That never occurred to me at all,” Mom said, still processing.
“What, that I like girls?” I asked, avoiding saying something crude like I love licking pussy.
“Yeah,” she nodded, even as she again glanced ever so briefly at my ripe, juicy pussy. I was pretty sure she really liked what she saw, but didn’t want me to know that.
“I’m sorry to just spring this on you! Are you okay with it?” I asked, suddenly feeling slightly vulnerable. I always assumed Mom would be okay with it; she wasn’t judgmental at all, but her obvious and continuing confusion had me feeling insecure.
“Oh, honey,” she said, coming over and giving me a big reassuring hug, her large breasts pressing deliciously against mine, “of course I am.”
I hugged her back, feeling good again about where we were, and therefore returning to my focus of seducing her, “I tried guys a couple times, but I never got off from them.”
“Tell me about it!” she laughed.
“Girls,” I smiled, “on the other hand, get me off every time.”
“Hannah!” she said.
“Often multiple times,” I added, offering sly glimpses of the perks of a woman between her legs.
I noticed her nipples were rock hard, just like mine. I thought of her reluctance, not so much to admire my pussy, but instead to let me see that she was drawn to my pussy. Rather than seducing her, was it my job today simply to awaken something in her that was already very close to the surface? Instead of needing to overcome her reluctance, did I just need to make it okay for her to pursue desires that were already there?
“Oh, to be young again,” she sighed.
“Mom, you’re only forty-two,” I pointed out, taking her hand, “and we’re about to make you look even younger.”
“Good luck,” my mostly naked mother retorted as she followed me into my room.
I ordered, as I let go of her hand, “Wait here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she responded with a cute smile, which made me wonder if she was secretly submissive.
I knew a couple gals who were, and they always tried to hide it from the world, while also trying to offer sly hints to the receptive, like calling me Ms. Hannah (my first MILF, the town librarian, had first piqued my interest that way).
“Good girl,” I responded, giving her the response she would crave if she was submissive, knowing from experience that good submissives need constant approval to shine.
Neither Amanda nor I were really submissive, although each of us could either take control or be the pet. If anything, I was more in charge than Amanda, if only because she craved my pussy 24/7.
I grabbed a plaid skirt and a white blouse that I knew would be too tight for her, and brought them over to her.
“You want me to dress like a schoolgirl?” she questioned, arching an eyebrow.
“You’re my Barbie Mom and you’ll wear whatever I tell you to,” I replied, taking control, “Is that clear, Barbie Mom?”