Celine sits before the vanity, counting the strokes as she brushes her hair. Her nightgown hangs off her frame loosely, prioritizing comfort, but the frills on the hems provide comfort, reminding her of the simpler times when she was a little girl.
Tomorrow she turns 21. Tomorrow, she becomes queen and can finally provide her Mama a break from bearing the crown’s weight for so many years.
Inhaling deeply, Celine soothes herself with the fact that her cherished friends, Nina and Prince Dakota, will be there, alongside her younger sisters, Avaline and Brigidine. Her younger sisters will never bear the crown, but they’ll forever be princesses and well-loved.
All her life Celine has been preparing for that moment. Her countless lessons, sandwiched between outings with other nobility, alongside charity work to grow accustomed to the people she will lead, strengthened her. As she grew older, Ingrid allowed her to sit in meetings and debate.
She supported the ideas that would nurture the kingdom and shot down what was unfeasible. She was Celine’s guide, but now that she’s stepping down, Celine’s safety net went along with her.
Her stomach flutters with butterflies. Though Celine has achieved 100 brush strokes, she continues to brush her hair, relying on repetitive motions to calm her anxiety. She needs to be awake early, but she can’t sleep if there’s too much nervous energy in her system.
A quick knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. Melody? One of her sisters?
“In a second!” Celine calls, rising from her seat. She smooths her dress and crosses the room in a few strides. She had grown to be the same height as Ingrid, who was a tall regal woman. Nostalgia strikes, and as Celine passes through, she recalls how much bigger everything used to be.
She swings the door open. Ingrid, dressed in a bathrobe and hair damp, smiles at her. She carries a present — a pink box with a red bow. Her maternal glow cocoons Celine in the safety her mother never fails to provide. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
“Not at all, Mama,” Celine answers as her mother steps in. She closes the door.
The moniker is restricted for private use. Growing up meant using adult terms like ‘mother,’ but Celine misses the freedom of childhood, where her language only limited curse words and rudeness. “What brings you here?”
“I wanted to check up on you,” Ingrid answers, traveling to Celine’s queen-sized bed. Royalty deserves royalty, after all. She places the present box on the nightstand. Her fingers dance across the frame, feeling its smooth ornamental grooves.
“I’m fine,” Celine replies, befuddled. “I don’t want to seem rude, but you also need to wake up early tomorrow, Mama. Is it really okay to sacrifice sleep just to check up on me?”
Ingrid chuckles. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I remember my coronation and how nerve-wracking it was, so I wanted to make sure you were well. I also wanted to give my sunflower a surprise.”
Celine’s interest is piqued. She drifts to her bed and takes a seat beside her mother. Her heart thuds in her chest, audible, and the fragrance of her mother’s floral wafts to her. From her proximity, she can feel the heat from the shower. “I like surprises.”
“I know you do,” Ingrid hums, twisting her body so that she’s facing Celine. She cups the side of Celine’s face and brushes Celine’s lower lip with her thumb. “That’s why you’ll enjoy this one. It will help your nerves.”
Leaning forward, Ingrid slides her lips against Celine’s. Her lips are plush and smooth. Her tongue easily bypasses Celine’s defenses, and Celine releases a brittle moan as her mother’s tongue caresses her own.
The kiss is slow and sweet, yet passionate. Their lips glide against each other’s effortlessly. Ingrid had taught her well and Celine practiced a lot with Nina.
Celine’s heart swells that even though her mother hadn’t given her this brand of affection for a while, due to the bustle of preparing for her coronation, they’re still as compatible as ever.
Celine barely notices Ingrid dragging her to the center of the bed and pushing her onto her back, entranced by how her mother sucks and nips her lower lip just right, and how Ingrid’s hand, cupping the back of Celine’s neck, keeps her tethered.
When Ingrid draws back, a string of saliva connects them. Ingrid licks her lips, popping it. Her eyes are hooded, cloudy with lust, and Celine breathes heavily through her nose. Proud that she’s provoked such a reaction from her mother.
“Mama?” Celine questions through the pool of heat welling in her lower abdomen.
“It’s going to be okay, sunflower. Let me take care of you.”
With a quick kiss to Celine’s temple, Ingrid tugs the hem of Celine’s nightgown over her head. Celine raises her arms, aiding the process, and she’s left bared entirely before her mother. Hairless, except for the thatch of strawberry blonde curls between her legs.
“You’ve treated me so good throughout the years, Celine,” Ingrid says as she trails a series of open-mouthed kisses down Celine’s swan-like neck. The saliva glistens beneath the white light from a lamp in the corner of the room. Celine shivers at the cool aftermath — air nibbling her damp skin. “It’s Mama’s turn to spoil you.”
“You already spoil me so much,” Celine chokes when Ingrid peppers kisses Celine's breasts. She drags her tongue against Celine’s pebbled nipple, infusing Celine with pleasure.
Hot, she feels so hot. From her aching core to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her head swims, as if with helium from a balloon at a carnival, and she immediately brings her knuckles to her lips to stifle her moans.
Ingrid carefully pushes Celine’s hand away from her mouth. “No need to quiet yourself, sunflower.”
“But what if someone hears?” Celine flushes at the thought, embarrassment rolling in her chest.
“They’d be happy to know that you’re feeling good,” Ingrid soothes. “You’re going to be 21. These activities are normal for someone of your age. Especially one who’s so stressed.”
“I’m not stressed,” Celine objects. “I’m worried.”
“Those are perfectly natural feelings. After this, you won’t be stressed. I promise.”
“Pinky promise?” Celine asks, stretching her pinky.
She’s an adult, but at one point she was seven and ten, and those ages don’t simply disappear. All the years she experienced fit within her like a matryoshka, but it’s only around Ingrid that Celine feels safe expressing that.
“Pinky promise,” Ingrid confirms. She links her own pinky with Celine’s and presses her thumb against Celine’s, stamping the promise. “No more distractions, okay? We both need to be awake early.”
Okay, Mama seeks to slip between her teeth, but they’re filtered by Ingrid lavishing Celine’s breasts with so much attention that she thinks she might cry.
She loves her Mama so much. She’s so lucky to have been born to her. Yes, royalty is a burden, but Ingrid gave her so much love and care, nurturing Celine like the flower she calls her. She supported Celine after wicked Prince Acheron hurt her so much when she was only seven and allowed Celine to take her revenge the second she hit 18.
It was the best birthday present she ever received. The ability to punish the man who traumatized her and took her innocence. The ability to avenge the vulnerable child she was before.
Swelling with adoration, Celine is brought out of her musings when Ingrid’s fingers brush her clitoris. “Oh!”
“You’re so wet,” Ingrid chuckles as if she isn’t making Celine clutch the bed sheets tightly. Celine’s heels dig into the smooth, cool fabric, seeking purchase, but she finds none. “I found the nose of your kitty,” she teases.
Celine flushes, cheeks blooming with color. “I was just a little girl, Mama. I didn’t know better.”
“You were adorable. You knew the right amount and were perfect,” Ingrid says. Her fingers trace Celine’s glistening slit, passing through curly hair to slide her fingers into Celine’s sopping wet cunt. “And you’re still perfect.”
Ingrid pumps her fingers, forcing Celine’s words back down her throat as moans and blind pleasure consume her. What would she say? That Ingrid is perfect too?
Ingrid is, but Celine can’t formulate the words. They’re trapped in her vibrating larynx, unable to cobble up the appropriate syllable in proper order to express her love for her mother. How can she not love Ingrid? Who has been there for her throughout her entire life?
“I…” Celine tries in spite of the saliva accumulating in her mouth. Drool dribbles down her chin, but Celine can’t muster the strength to wipe it away, clutching the bedsheets with an unfound intensity. It keeps her tethered. She wants to be fully present. She wants to experience all her mother gives her with a clear mind. “I…”
“I love you too, sunflower,” Ingrid replies.
Then Celine’s mind goes blank.
Ingrid’s mouth latches onto her clit, making Celine’s eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. Ingrid sucks the nub viciously, making Celine burn all over as if doused in fire. Ingrid is still fingering, hitting that special spot inside.
Celine arches her back, unable to hold back a wail as pleasure attacks her from all angles.
It feels so good. Impossibly good. Ingrid flicks her tongue rapidly, caressing Celine’s clit with the muscle, and Celine knows those flicks. She’s performed them herself, after all.
“Alphabet technique?” Celine pants, recalling the first time she ate her mother’s pussy. She stopped using the alphabet technique afterward, having memorized the strokes to make her mother feel the best, but it remains a treasured memory. After all, her mother trusted her enough to let her touch her at such a young age.
“Variety is good,” Ingrid hums. She swipes her tongue in a repeated motion, making Celine’s mind go back. “You like the same letters as me. You really are my daughter.”
“Was there ever any doubt, Mama?”
“Not a single one,” Ingrid hums.
Ingrid switches her fingers and tongue, delving deep into Celine’s cunt and tasting her, broad strokes digging through her soft, tight, insides. Tasting her essence.
“You’re such a good girl,” Ingrid croons, massaging Celine’s clit. “And you taste so good as well.”
The pleasure builds higher and higher, and Celine doesn’t know how much she can take anymore. Her legs tremble and her breathing grows heavier. She tries to regulate it, but it feels too good for her to do anything more than accept it.
“Mama, I’m gonna — “ Celine cries.
Then the pleasure stops.
Ingrid withdraws her fingers and removes her tongue from Celine’s dripping cunt.
Celine’s brows furrow as she pants, clarity striking her like a hammer against an anvil. The tendrils of pleasure evade her, sucked into a black hole, and she’s left unsatisfied. Her body aches for more, blood in her veins slamming against vascular walls in search of that pleasure, but Ingrid is sitting on her heels with a sly smile.
“Mama?” Celine asks. “Why did you stop?”
“Do you remember the Golden Rule?” Ingrid questions instead. She brushes a sweaty strand of Celine’s strawberry-blonde hair off of her forehead and tucks it behind an ear, which is losing its red hot color.
“Treat others the way you want to be treated?” Celine hesitantly answers.
As a child, that was her moral compass. It nurtured honesty and understanding and even now as an adult, Celine keeps it in the back of her mind when interacting with her subjects. Be kind. Be understanding. Be honest. Be firm.
Ingrid nods, a strand of her own hair falling forward. “If you make me come hard enough to squirt, Celine, I’ll give you an even bigger reward.”
Celine’s eyes slide to the present box on the bedside table. It’s smaller than a watermelon but is a decent size. The wrapper, now that Celine looks closer at it, is holographic — shining and reflecting the white light emitting from the corner of the room.
“Is it — “
“Why don’t you come and find out?”
Celine nods firmly. She pounces, crushing her lips against her mother’s pliant mouth. Ingrid releases a soft ‘oh’, clearly not expecting Celine’s exuberance, but Celine likes presents. Adores them.
And she especially loves gifts from her Mama.
Lapping at her mother’s mouth, seeking to gorge herself with whatever fluids her mother allows, Celine deftly unties her mother’s bathrobe. Ingrid shivers against Celine’s tongue, presumably at the shock of cold air.
Celine’s hands brush against Ingrid’s clit, eliciting a moan as sweet as syrup. But that’s for later. For now, she needs to build her Mama up to the pleasure she’ll receive.
Pressing a series of open-mouthed kisses down her mother’s neck and collarbone, Celine latches onto a nipple and sucks. Her other hand toys with Ingrid’s other breast — soft and large. Celine wants to sink into them.
She pinches and twists the other nipple. Lightly, because Ingrid’s sensitivity matches her own, and drunkenly absorbs her mother’s moans. She’s begging for more, she’s thanking Celine for being such a good girl and —
A warm splash of sweet milk hits Celine’s tongue.
It’s been so long since she last drank her mother’s milk. Celine suckles harder, seeking exquisite flavor and nourishment. She’s so lucky that her mother still lactates, especially considering that all of her daughters are past the infant stage.
And she’s so lucky that Ingrid is sharing the milk with her rather than Avaline and Brigidine.
“You taste so good, Mama,” Celine groans, peering through the corner of her eyes. A bead of milk is pooled at her mother’s other nipple, dampening her fingers in that delicious fluid. Celine laps at Ingrid’s breast like a dog, refusing to waste a single bit of her Mama. “I wonder how much better you’ll taste down there.”
“You’ll find out — oh!” Ingrid exclaims as Celine’s hand abandons her breast to plunge into her soaked pussy. Easily, she sheaths herself up to her knuckle, which digs into the sensitive skin neat Ingrid’s taint.
Celine twists and turns her wrist until Ingrid breaks into a sharp moan, interrupting her symphony of pleasure. There it is. That’s the special spot.
Pistoning her wrist, Celine strikes that spot over and over again. She leans back briefly to examine her work — Ingrid’s drooling pussy clamped around her fingers. Her mother’s heaving breasts, which drip milk. Her mother’s parted mouth, dribbling saliva down her chin, and her quivering eyelids, which are fluttered shut. A flush has wrapped around Ingrid like a scarf, dusting her face and shoulders with pink.
Celine doesn’t know what to taste at first, but Ingrid’s pussy calls her name, velvet, wet heat throbbing against Celine’s hungry fingers.
Licking her lips, Celine dives down. She drags her tongue across Ingrid’s slit, tasting her juices, exploding her tastebuds with tang, then sucks on Ingrid’s clit. Wrapping her lips against the sacred bundle of nerves, Celine swipes the specific set of letters she learned as a child. Ingrid’s back arches, toes curling and leg shaking.
Celine viciously alternates. Her mouth and chin are damp with her mother’s fluids, but she craves more — the curiosity of the present box reduced to a dull ache in the back of her head as she consumes Ingrid, lost in the pleasure of providing pleasure.
Celine’s pussy throb, but she can’t pay it any mind, so absorbed in making her mother feel the best she possibly can. It’s once her fingers and jaw begin to ache that Ingrid’s moans reach the peak of her crescendo.
Clear fluid spurts from her pussy like a fountain. A delicate arch flies over Celine’s head and splashes onto Celine’s back. Celine recalls the first time she made her mother squirt as an eight-year-old child. Her chest grows arm.
Panting, Ingrid’s shaking leg subsides. Her eyelids slowly open, heavy from exhaustion, and she opens her arms. “Do you mind if we take a break, sunflower? My stamina isn’t what it used to be.”
Celine wishes she could massage her sore tongue, but alternating between rubbing her wrist and jaw is a good enough alternative. “Of course, Mama.”
“I saved a lot of milk for you because it’s your special day,” Ingrid says, gesturing to her still-leaking breasts. “Avaline and Brigidine whined, but a coronation is a once-in-a-lifetime experience so I wanted to spoil you the best I could.”
Warmth flutters in Celine’s chest — the beat of a butterfly’s wings dusting her heart. “Mama, you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Ingrid says firmly. “Now come here. Let’s take a rest for a bit.”
Crawling over, Celine curls up at her mother’s side. So close to her mother’s nipple, the bead of milk is like a pearl against a pink flower petal. Swallowing down the saliva that had accumulated in excitement, Celine dips her head and attaches her lips.
Leisurely, she suckles. Ingrid’s hand is in her hair, stroking her scalp with manicured fingers. Her maternal touch allows Celine’s eyes to drift shut.
Their heavy breathing evens out as if they’re napping cats. But there is an electric awareness of each other, where even brushing against Ingrid’s arm sends sparks throughout her entire body. The pulse between Celine’s legs remains constant, not faltering even when one breast runs out of milk and she transfers to the next one.
But she remains patient. She trusts her Mama. It’ll be worth it.
When there’s no more milk, Ingrid disconnects her hand from Celine’s hair, making Celine whine at the loss of contact. She was so comfortable. So safe, as if she were a child again. “Mama?”
Ingrid crawls across the bed and nicks the present box off the bedside table. She places it before Celine, who rises up to sit on her heels. “Open it whenever you’re ready.”
Without a second thought, Celine tears into it like a raptor, sending shreds of paper flying. When the box is reduced to its cardboard exterior, Celine digs her thumb into the gap between the edges and yanks. Peering in, she gasps.
It’s a pink strap-on dildo, but rather than being connected by a belt, a portion is meant to be inserted into the cunt of the person who’s doing the labor. Who’s doing the fucking.
“Mama?” Celine questions, tilting her head. She’s heard of these types of sex toys from Nina, who uses them with Prince Dakota, but Celine has never seen one in person before.
“Don’t worry, sunflower. It’ll feel good. I promise,” Ingrid says. She nestles herself between Celine’s legs. “Just let me take care of you. I’ll do it once I put this inside myself.”
Celine bites her lip, excited, and leans back. She watches her mother’s fingers plunge into her own cunt, knuckle deep, as she stretches herself. The sex toy is moderately sized, but Celine would hate for either of them to be in pain from moving too quickly.
Fluid drips down the inside of Ingrid’s thighs, dribbling down onto the bed sheet. It’s so damp, but Celine doesn’t mind because it’s a product of her and her mother’s lovemaking.
Finally, Ingrid inserts the sex toy into herself. She bites her lips as it glides in, but it’s an effortless endeavor. Once it’s inside completely, Ingrid releases a sigh. It hangs between her legs like an actual cock.
Celine extends her hand and strokes it, marveling at its smoothness. It lacks the typical veins of the real cocks Celine has seen in dirty magazines, but its bright color makes it more charming.
Celine’s thoughts are interrupted by her mother’s hands trailing up her legs. She giggled briefly as a ticklish spot is brushed, but it is swallowed by a gasp when Ingrid’s fingers glide into her cunt.
Celine’s eyes flutter shut and she allows the pleasure to wash her. This is what she wants. Her Mama’s hands on her. Her Mama’s hands inside of her.
Too quickly, the hands retract. But quickly it’s replaced by something bigger.
Celine whimpers at the initial intrusion. It hurts and she’s being stretched, but Ingrid murmurs sweet nothings to her, and Celine allows herself to relax. All she needs to do is trust her Mama and everything will be okay.
After an agonizing second, Ingrid is sheathed entirely into her. “How does it feel, sunflower?”
“Full,” Celine answers breathlessly, amazed that she could take something of that size. She’s always been pleasured by fingers and mouths, so a strap-on dildo is more than she expected. “Very full.”
(She refuses to count Prince Acheron. Those memories have been buried and she’s already enacted his revenge on her. He can’t hurt her. Not with his touch and not with the trauma he forced upon her.)
“It’s going to feel better than full,” Ingrid says. “I promise.”
She hooks Celine’s legs over her shoulders and begins to rock her hips. Celine gasps. It’s so deep inside her. As Ingrid thrusts into her, the sweet special spot is located. A moan crawls out of Celine’s throat, hesitant, but when Ingrid slams into her, harder than before, Celine loses herself.
An emptiness that she didn’t know existed was filled and supplemented with her mother’s love for her. Celine’s toes curl as she pants, clutching the bedsheets once more and digging her nails into the fabric.
Her breasts bounce with each thrust, but so do Ingrid’s. Celine is hypnotized by the swaying motion. She wishes she could grab them and toy with Ingrid’s nipples. Make her Mama feel even a margin of her own pleasure, but she’s barely clinging on, too wrapped up in her mother fucking her.
“Mama,” Celine manages, mouth sticky with saliva and the remnants of her mother’s milk. “Mama, Mama, Mama — “
“Let it out, sunflower,” Ingrid murmurs between her own moans. The portion of the strap-on dildo inside of her must be rubbing against her own special spot. Otherwise, her eyes wouldn’t be hazy with a similar pleasure. “Let Mama make you feel good.”
That snips the last of Celine’s control. Syllables she rarely recognizes jump free, using her tongue as a springboard as Celine does her best to focus on the pleasure. Focus on the moment.
It’s her last day as a princess and she’s receiving royal treatment.
“I love you, Mama,” she babbles, eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head when Ingrid squeezes a hand between Celine’s thighs to stroke her clit. Drooling, she can’t even muster the power to swallow. “You’re my everything. I — “
But the words devolve into a greater, louder mash of syllables as Celine’s crescendo reaches a boiling point. Her entire body is warm as if struck with fever, but it’s merely pleasure coursing through her veins. From her core to her very head, to the tips of her finger and toes.
Celine is drowning in love.
She barely recognizes the spurt of clear fluid emerging from her cunt. She squirted, just like Mama, but rather than stopping or slowing down, Ingrid thrusts into her fast and harder. Going deeper than imaginable.
“Don’t think we’re done yet, sweetie,” Ingrid chuckles. “We’re barely getting started.”
Celine pants, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. She’s already made her mother orgasm and orgasmed herself. She’s expected to keep going?
“Don’t give me that look, sunflower. Women can orgasm multiple times in one sitting. This is my present to you,” Ingrid says, thumb rubbing more circles onto Celine’s throbbing clit. “You’ll always be my little girl. My little princess. So let me spoil you.”
“Okay, Mama,” Celine chokes, overrun with pleasure. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Orgasm after orgasm, their lovemaking session continues until Celine’s eyelids droop shut. She never wants the moment to end. She wants to be wrapped in her mother’s arms and have beautiful things whispered to her and have their souls intertwined forever, but her body demands rest.
Exhausted, Ingrid pulls out. The strap slides out of Celine, then her, easily.
Pressing a kiss to Celine’s forehead, Ingrid gazes at her daughter. The path of a queen is not an easy one, but she knows that Celine will do an excellent job as long as she remains firm in her beliefs and has the support of her loved ones.
Placing the sex toy back in the box, Ingrid drifts back to her room, too tired to bother showering again.
Hours later, Celine wakes up sore and sticky. Her coronation is soon, but rather than feeling dread, Celine smiles. Her anxiety is gone, replaced with excitement and gratitude.
Her Mama is there for her and will continue to be there for her. Forever and ever.
Their next lovemaking session will be even better.