By a mother or lover?

"How did you even get into this thing?" Ms Jay asked… as she attempted to peel one of Stacy's arms free from its clinging, black prison.

They had progressed to the bathroom of her house and set a steaming, bubbly tub of water to fill while this puzzle of undressing was undertaken. Mark must've still been out at the photo studio, leaving the two of them alone to adjust to their new views of each other. The hostess had suggested a bath immediately. Both being rather drenched in sweat and… other bodily fluids from their varied exertions of the day. Stacy had found herself suddenly shy at seeing the beautiful, older woman step out of her own clothing once more; before quite confidently moving on to this task of unwrapping her constricted teenage guest. The girl didn't want to tear that precious outfit any more than it already was… but, feeling those soft hands slip inside with her and start to pry her out… Wouldn't dare complain at any methods they might wish to employ. Her whole body seemed to be tingling after that ride on the motorcycle, and the very presence of Ms Jay, along with the sweet scents of whatever she had put in that bathtub, were intoxicating.

When she was finally free, and had slipped into the scorching embrace of the water. The highschooler was not entirely surprised to hear the other woman climb gracefully in behind her. Stacy lay back without looking, into the naked embrace of her friend's mother. Suddenly she felt so small and young and childlike again… not the sophisticated slut in her eye-gouging outfit at all anymore, but a timid, little flower wrapped up in the petals of a much more majestic bloom.

Ms Jay set to work immediately, running shampooed fingers through the teen's tangled hair and massaging her itching scalp. The process was so intimate and mammalian and mothering. Stacy was immediately lost in memories of how long ago it had been since she and her own mother had really been so close. An aching gap of cold and sensible propriety, punctuated by occasional seething arguments brought a single tear to her eye… Though she wiped it away quickly before Melanie could see. Why on earth did humanity not allow itself such gentle moments together more readily? Unhindered skin against unhindered skin and a sharing of heartbeats as both enjoyed just the simple pleasure of each other's touch. Stacy almost wanted to ask if she could do Ms Jay's hair too, but understood that the moment deserved as little complication as possible… There would be many more opportunities, from here on out.

That was the overarching sense of their time in that bubbling tub together: That something had changed and they had become sisters of a secret. The older woman no longer seemed someone abstract and accessory, the mother of a friend. She was now a friend and fellow human in her own right… complete with all the complicating feelings the ever-amorous teen had for near every such being she grew close to. The self-assessed nymphomaniac could feel the large, soft bosoms she was using as a pillow and felt her own peak in answer. The idea that gender might have little to do with her insatiable lusts had been growing since long before she had first kissed Lydia that previous week. The constant rumours and insinuations she had faced might have held back her own acceptance of that… but there was now no denying that Ms Jay had always held her attention with more than just idolising admiration.

The older woman's hands finished rinsing conditioner from her now silky, smooth mass of brunette sensitivity. They seemed to falter, for a moment… on what all the fates decreed should come next. Ms Jay saw the face of her dear little boy, who loved this alluring creature so. She saw the stern and tutting brows of society at large, who would certainly stamp their feet and decree that you simply did not invite the highschool friend of your very own child to lie naked in a bath with you…

She saw all of those faces and still… couldn't stop those hands descending. One found a budding young breast with pointed nipple already begging to be plucked. One went on still lower to help clean out an opening that had already been filled by who knew how many strangers that day.