Kevin lay semi-spooned over Alex as she finished her story.

“Unfair!” he exclaimed with mock outrage. “You can’t just drop a bomb like Clayton plowing your mom, and then stop. Keep going, you bitch.”

“Now be nice,” Alex admonished.

Kevin popped up to get water for them. He filled two glasses then carried them into the bedroom, handing Alex hers. “You recovered pretty fast from... all the ick,” he said. “Do you suppose running Phil off gave you an advantage.”

Alex sat back against the headboard feet pulled up protectively.

“That was only part of it. Jane, my therapist, first thought I was in denial about it. But denial usually leads to repression or self destructive behavior like drug abuse, religious zealotry, cutting or whoring around.”

“Whoring around sounds okay.”

“Different kind of whoring, smartass” she said. “I guess successfully confronting, then exiling Phil together put Clayton in my deepest trust circle. So my first time was both special and safe, psychologically. I don’t think you have... porn level sex as a pseudo-virgin without establishing trust first.”

“Yeah, going from virgin to sex bomb in one hour... seems a little unbelievable.”

“But it happened. Mom’s a medical scientist, essentially, and so are her parents. I assimilated modest behavior from friends but my folks never saddled me with that ‘sex is a sin’ and ‘girls are temptresses’ crap. I’d been masturbating forever, remember. And Clayton was super hot and experienced to boot, making it that much easier.”

Kevin touched her arm reassuringly. She smiled sweetly at him, so he decided to push for more information about Clayton.

“So.. Back to Clayton and your mom...” He hoped his eagerness wasn’t off putting.

After placing her empty glass on the bedside table, Alex hugged her arms around her raised legs giving Kevin an apprehensive look. “I’m not sure I can talk about all that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kevin said neutrally. “I know your mom fucked your kind-of-boyfriend, the rest is just details, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… I’ve never told anyone about that summer except it in the most vague terms. Some pretty... crazy ‘details’ happened and most people wouldn’t understand.”

“How bad could it be, it’s not like you fucked her,” Kevin said incredulously.

Alex said nothing and held her face blank.

“You didn’t...” he began. Alex maintained a direct gaze not denying it, waiting for a reaction.

Kevin’s mouth dropped open and his cock instantly sprang to life, “OMG! You fucked your...?”

“You’re not disgusted,” she said.

“My cock and I are dying to know more,” he said, pointing downward.

Alex unfolded arms and extended legs in relief. She deliberately looked at Kevin and spread her legs. Kevin took the cue and fell between them, placing his face directly above her rapidly heating pussy.

“Let me help you relax so you can tell the tale,” he said gently placing his mouth over her pussy and probing between labia with his tongue.

“Nice,” she hissed. “Ok, I’ll start with... Halloween.”

Kevin bit down gently on her, Halloween was a long time from summer, and he wanted to hear about events of the summer.

“Relax, Halloween is fun, too.”

Alex’s Story:
Clayton marked boundaries for our relationship clearly right from the first day. He neither shunned me nor sought me out outside of study. Our naked study sessions remained private.  Neither of us gravitated to sentimentality or public displays of affection, even though we kissed and hugged frequently at home. I naturally followed his lead, quite possibly my first indication of a submissive bent.

But, back to Halloween.

Out of the blue Andy, a cute acquaintance from English, invited me to McMillan’s Halloween. Last year McMillan’s party was the talk of school. It had been unchaperoned, full of college kids and generally a riot of sex and scandal. It was claimed several cheerleaders had blown everybody. Naturally, expectations were high for this year’s party.

I’d been fucking Clayton for weeks and I wanted to try other waters. Plus, my social status needed  improvement, so I accepted. I agreed to meet Andy in front of the McMillan’s at Ten, they lived within walking distance of home. He was going as a prisoner from alcatraz. I scrambled for an idea and chose Catholic School Girl because I had an old tartan skirt and saddle shoes. Andy intimated awkwardly that he thought I’d make a sexy school girl. I didn’t burst his bubble. I’d look like a high school kid at a party.

October in San Francisco can be super hot or cold. This was a warm one, which made wearing a skirt easier to bare. Dressing up, I stepped out of my room and bumped into Mom who was also dressing up for Halloween party herself. She balked at my chosen outfit.

“Oh honey, enough with the slumming,” she declared dragging me into her room in front of her  full length mirror. She stood next to me as we examined our reflections. The contrast between the two reflected women startled me. Mom was hot, I was... in a school uniform.

Mom’s devastating ensemble consisted simply of a pair of brown leather calf-high stiletto boots, blue tights, a cropped white blouse tied together beneath her ample cleavage and a tiny black suede vest. This was all topped off with a plumed hat and a red silk sash tied around her waist below her flat midriff. Her unsupported tits, barely hidden by the unbuttoned shirt, clamoured for attention but her beautiful face drew the eye more. Intellectually, I always recognized mom was a Betty but she shunned makeup as a rule, and wore it lightly when she did put it on. Tonight she was decked out.

“Wow Mom... you’re gorgeous. I look like a potato,” Mom always dressed up for Halloween and attended parties. Had she always dressed like this?

“Thanks sweetie. Don’t be hard on yourself,” she lied. “You’ve got the right idea, just poor execution. First rule of a successful Halloween, Honey. Dress like the hooker version of... Whatever.”

“Mom!”

“Well, it’s true,” she admitted poking her chin up at the mirror image of me. I could smell wine on her breath. A bottle of something red and a full glass rested on her dresser. Her schedule and ethics prevented frequent drinking. I’d rarely seen her drink more than a cocktail, but she’d downed half the bottle. Apparently, wine emboldened her.

“Halloween is the best! On no other day can a woman dress up over-the-top sexy without recrimination. It’s the one day I don’t have to act like I have a stick up my ass.”

My eyes bugged out on stems. Emboldened indeed. I liked tipsy mom.

I turned to consider each mirror image of us. We looked like before and after pictures. Before Girl’s dumpy grey plaid skirt and hose did nothing to distract the eye from her flattish chest. Her face was fresh, even pretty, but looked homely compared to After Girl. After Girl was older, sophisticated, assured, and dressed to stop traffic.

“Mom. did you get a boob job?” I asked.

“Nope, these are natural,” she said matter of factly.

“So mine could get that big?” I asked hopefully.

“Probably not sweetie. You’re my height now, I’d guess you’re done flowering, too.” She hugged me comfortingly, then whispered in my ears, “be glad they’re smaller, these things are a pain in the neck in surgery. Good for picking up men, tho.”

“Is that the plan? Are you ‘picking up men’?”

“Definitely,” she admitted.

Mom turned and looked me over, shaking her head. “I suppose you plan the opposite.” 

I sputtered. Mom lifted my skirt and huffed in disgust. 

“No daughter of mine is going out looking like that. Get in the bathroom. Strip completely, wet your hair and get that makeup off your face.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, leaving abruptly.

I followed her directions not knowing it would change my life, forever.

--

I finished toweling off as she walked in with a large, dusty shoe box, the phone, and an empty wine glass. She dropped the box and kicked off the lid, handing me the glass. I dropped the towel and stood in front of my mother naked for the first time in years. I blushed from embarrassment.

“You need to relax. Pour some wine and have a small sip. Take time to taste before you swallow.” I blushed redder at the double entendre. The wine numbed my tongue but somehow I tasted spice with a fruity aftertaste. I exhaled deeply, relaxing. A few more relaxed breaths centered me. I felt turned on.

Mom made a call. “Maggie, I need another hour. Can you pick me up and 10:15?... Ok, and can we drop Alex over at her party at...” she looked at me, I mouthed the address, “...uh, in the Castro? And do you still have that pink wig from... yeah, please do.”

“Now look at yourself in the mirror, you look better naked than with those baggy clothes on. Clothes accent beauty, if applied correctly, but otherwise they obscure it.” I looked at my mirror self. I wasn’t so sure.

“First things first: your hair, then your face.” Mom was all business, rubbing gel into my cropped black hair, roughing it up and then blow drying it quickly. She plucked my eyebrows first, which irritated like fuck, but made me hot as I recalled grooming with Clayton.

“You and Clayton are makeover artists, I guess,” I said remembering how skilled he was with a razor.

“What’s Clayton been making over?” she asked giving me a look.

“Oh... Uh,” I scrambled for something. I ran a hand through my cropped hair. “He trimmed my hair down.” 

“I’m sure he did,” she said smugly looking at my bald pussy. Did she suspect? I hid my embarrassment with a sip of wine. “Is he a good lay?”

“Pffttt,” I managed to keep the spray of wine in my cup. “Mom!”

“Yes, then.”

I looked at her. My pussy flushed with heat again. I took a drink and finally decided to come clean. “Yes, Mom. He’s fantastic, and not just with a razor.”

“But you’re not going out with him tonight.”

“We’re not dating. I don’t even know if he’s going to this party or if he’s bringing a date.” I said it matter of factly. I really did like him, but somehow felt no jealousy.

“Being careful, tho?” She meant more than condoms. I nodded solemnly.

“I suppose, I’m obligated to say something cliche to make it clear I don’t approve or to make you feel guilty for forcing me to examine my parenting style,” she said, looking at me seriously, tweezes inches from my eyes. “But I trust you to play safely and carefully. Really, I couldn’t ask for more.” 

She resumed plucking, the serious moment over. The rest of the makeover was a blur of motion and rushed makeup tips. She prohibited glances in the mirror. Once my face was “complete”, as she put it, she pulled items out of drawers and her closet.

First on was a pair of semi-transparent white silk stockings she folded down twice to below mid-thigh. She secured the hem lines at the fronts with little pink bow-shaped hair pins from her drawers. Clean nail polish in small doses secured the folds invisibly around my thighs.

She threw white thongs at me, then rummaged in the closet until she found pink tartan skirt very different from the grey beast I discarded in her bathroom. I put both articles on. My pussy flushing again as I snugged the thong against it. The skirt covered an area from an inch below my navel down to three inches above the thigh-highs. Even topless, I felt more naked below the belt line than above.

Retrieving my discarded white oxford shirt and a pair of scissors from the bathroom, she began working on my top. She sheared off the sleeves and put the oxford on me. Then she cut away the material below my breasts except for two long pieces near the center. She used them to fold a hem into the bottom of the shirt, then tied them together into a knot below my breasts, now our tops were almost identical. She found a black cardigan to put over the mangled top, then stood back examining me critically.

“You need less cardigan. I’ll be right back, no peaking in the mirror. Instead, put on the shoes and walk around in them,” she said leaving.

The dusty box contained a pair of black patent leather mary janes with four inch heels. I’d only ever worn two or three inch heels. They were stable platforms, however, so I quickly adjusted.

She brought back double sided tape. Pulling off the cardigan she laid it flat on the floor and applied the tape in two vertical lines which would intersect where my nipples would be if I’d had it on. She cut along the length of the tape, removing the buttons and about two inches of vertical cloth. Finally she folded the material over, effectively creating a hem out of double sided tape. She put it back on me and examined her work.

The cardigan would not close anymore. An eight inch gap running up from waistline to collar exposed my midriff, knotted oxford and cleavage, such as it was. Mom, pulled the collar over the cardigan and nodded once. She spent a few minute safety pinning the hem of the shirt and the top of the cardigan under the oxford collar.

“Done.” She pointed to the mirror, “You may look.”

“Wow, Mom. That is unbelievable.”

The mary janes elongated my legs by about five inches. Pink bows at the top of shortened stockings drew the eye to soft white thigh, daring the viewer to lift a brief pink tartan skirt to see what lay beneath. My pussy quivered at the thought. The mutilated oxford bisected a flat expanse of abdomen and chest, hiding my small perky breasts. Makeup enlarge my green eyes. Slimmed eyebrows made me look like a woman instead of a cute girl. Lip gloss coated my lips with a translucent shine.

“Wish we could do something about this,” I waved around my smallish chest.

“Shut up, and look at what is going right. You are sixteen with a long life ahead of you. Spend your time perfecting what you have instead of pining for what you don’t.”

“Wow, Mom you should write a book,” I said sarcastically.

“Seriously, you have more going for you than most. You are beautiful even without the makeup. Your skin is flawless and white, no acne or ruddy complexion. You have legs ‘up to here’, no cellulite, and a flat stomach. You’ve got cute breasts hiding demurely in there. And best of all, you have a brain to make them all work for you.”

Mom’s intensity washed through me. Mentally, I repeated her words, ‘spend time perfecting what you have,’ hoping to remember them, wisdom hard won.

She turned me to face her, the mirror on my left. “Now an asset you seem unaware of judging my what you wear day to day. Turn your head and look in the mirror.”

“What do you see?” I searched for what she meant. The heels that lifted and sculpted my calves noticeably, also accented my butt. The skirt flared out behind me in contrast to how it hung flat in front of me.

“My ass?”

“Yes, sweetie,” she condescended then turned me away from the mirror. “Now look over your shoulder.” The skirt barely covered my ass cheeks. My two deep dimples peaked out over the skirt top.

“Oh, I my dimples are showing.”

“That my dear, is the kind of ass Prince writes lyrics about. And the dimples...,” she shook her head silently pursing her lips.

Perversely, I felt more naked in this getup then before I put it on.

--

“Okay now, down stairs,” she pointed. “I have instructions for you and not a lot of time. And don’t spill the wine!” Half the glass remained. Walking in heels down stairs challenged me but I made it.

Once downstairs, Mom directed me to sit and stand in various places. With each new arrangement she would coach me.

“Sit on the edge of the seat with back straight and your legs closed in front of you. The heels will put your knees above the waist, accenting their length and slender beauty. Never sit back, not in that skirt and those heels. You will be vulnerable reclined and look awkward getting up. Stand with one leg straight and knee locked, drop the other hip putting its bent leg in front of you with arms akimbo. The stance accents everything and clears space around you. Think about what people are looking at when you move. If you don’t know how to move, just relax and do what comes naturally.”

The commands, instructions and advice continued at a rapid pace. I was getting hotter and hotter as I moved from position to position, like I was a fashion model. Finally she said something that blew my mind. “There is no time now, but take time to pose in a mirror. You have the looks, learn to use them at all times.”

“Mom, that’s funny coming from you. Half the time you’re in scrubs and no makeup.”

“Oh, sweetie, Do you think for a second I’m not aware what I look like? What message do you think I’m sending when I’m dressed like that?”

I thought for a minute. Mom always projected confidence when she left for work. Even after losing a fight with Phil, she’d always leave for work like a different person. “You project competence and seriousness.”

“Close enough. And it’s no accident. People find it hard to take a pretty face seriously even if they’re attracted to it. I wear just the right amount of makeup, stand and walk and talk to project authority.”

Finally she handed me a black sequined clutch with a strap. Inside was a key to the house, twenty dollars, a tiny box of tiny Altoids, my cell phone, the lip gloss, three condoms, a tiny bottle of lube and a long piece of green plastic.

“Mom, I’m not really that kind of girl,” I said, blushing at the prophylactics. Well, I was thinking of making Andy’s night but three seemed excessive.

“Don’t make me slap you. A good girl is always prepared and that bag has everything you need except tampons and ID,” she said. “Now, carefully pull the scalpel out.

I...