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Darla waited in the sitting room, ostensibly reading a novel, but the simple truth was she was waiting for her daughter. Like a sniper lying low for the perfect angle, Darla was a champion of waiting, and in the end she always got what it was she wanted. Perched in the window seat, the imposingly tall and wide skunk could see all of her front yard and the street beyond her hedges. Even with a sticky, clumpy snow falling heavy enough to turn the neighborhood into a postcard-perfect winter wonderland, Darla could see with wicked clarity the comings and goings of the street.

The skunk had been waiting for nearly an hour when a silver Honda Civic pulled into her driveway. A smile spread across her face, pulling aged lines taut, adding life to a face more frigid than the winter air outside. She put down her novel without marking the place; she remembered where she was in books, bookmarks being tools for the inattentive reader. Standing from the cushioned seat, Darla straightened her sweater - heavy, cream-hued, quite fashionable - and adjusted the pearls around her neck.

A middle-aged divorcee, Darla's lavish style did nothing to particularly show or hide her bottom-heavy figure; and whether or not Darla had frequent flings with younger adults, only the skunk knew. Darla staunchly believed a woman was only as good as her ability to keep a secret.

Darla opened the front door and a rush of tantalizingly warm air swirled snow about the frail and leggy figure of Margot - Darla's daughter, not that anyone could tell they were related, and let alone by blood.

"Margot Karz-Sheehan, don't just stand there, come inside," Darla urged, stepping to the side and holding the door like an impatient usher.

The moment Margot was inside, all five shivering feet of her, Darla shut the door and locked it. Margot began to paw at the clumps of melting snow in her light fur but Darla, with deceptive strength in her narrow fingers, clutched Margot's wrist. "Not on my carpet, Margot. In the kitchen please."

"Hello to you too, mom," said Margot tartly. She walked into the kitchen, her mother following closely, ever the helicopter parent. "Look, mom, before you say anything-"

"I'm not saying anything, nothing at all," Darla interrupted. "No I-told-you-so. You already know what you did was foolish."

Margot said nothing but stared into her mother's frigid blue eyes as if searching for meaning in them. In a miserable tone threatening tears, "Please, can't you be supportive for once?"

The skunk sighed. It was a long-suffering sigh, the sigh of a mother beleaguered by her daughter's idiot flights of fancy far too often to count. And as she looked at Margot now for the first time in six months, she saw her divorced husband in the girl more than ever. Not simply because Margot was entirely a deer to which Darla's only contributions were silvery locks of hair and blue eyes, but because Margot sported now the same pitiful (in fact, pathetic) look her ex-husband had on the day she had served him the divorce papers. Weak blood in the Sheehans, but blood was blood and Darla would not simply turn out her daughter in her hour of need. After all, it wasn't as if she could expect her ex-husband to care for her in his mobile home.

"Of course, dear," cooed Darla, and she put arms around Margot in a delicate hug. Her great frame eclipsed the small doe. Margot remained stiff against her, not unlike a cadaver by the chill and stillness of her body. "There there," tutted Darla. A perfunctory kiss on the forehead, then a matching squeeze. "There, there."

Margot allowed herself to thaw against her mother - but Darla had never been particularly warm in the emotional sense, and now was certainly no exception. The doe nuzzled into her mother, partly for the purpose of warming herself, but in the gesture was some dutiful daughterly love. Against the advice of an inner voice, warning her she would regret showing weakness, Margot mewled: "You were right, mom..."

"Well, of course I was," Darla tutted, and chuckled in what was meant to be a warm, forgiving way; Margot took it as the sarcastic backhand it seemed to be. "Donovan was simply no good for you. Really, a nurse. Real men aren't nurses; they work to become doctors. You can do so much better."

The deer groaned. She clung to her mother, squeezing with frail arms on Darla's thick frame as if hoping to break ribs. "There's nothing wrong with Donovan," she huffed.

"Oh, my little Margot," sighed Darla, bushy brush of a tail swishing and swaying, its fluffy bulk nearly as wide as her torso. She ran a paw down her daughter's back, a perfunctory backrub to match the perfunctory kiss and perfunctory hug. The gestures were mechanical and the doe saw them as such, but in such close proximity to her mother, Margot noticed something more nuanced: she smelled the scent of her mother.

Darla's smell was not new to Margot. In the same way that the skunk's appearance and the sound of her voice were familiar, so was her identifying musk - but half a year away from her made the little differences apparent. Without realizing it, Margot examined her mother like a stranger would, and only then did the skunk's thick musk become apparent. Margot realized as she freed herself from her mother's dispassionate hug that the entire home sported this smell, a fragrant musk just below the surface, masked but not particularly dulled by pine-scented cleaning products and florid air fresheners.

Darla, after a moment of reveling in the discomfort on her daughter's features, placed paws on burly hips and asked sharply, "And what is the matter now, Margot? You look as if you're offended."

"I-, I'm just tired, I guess, can I go and-?"

The skunk waved off her daughter. "Of course, Margot. Go and rest. Your room is just the way you left it, for better or worse." She turned to leave - and Margot looked pointedly at her behind, heart-shaped curves in designer jeans coupled with rich musk enough to make Margot question her tenuous heterosexuality. A thought which was horrible and depraved slapped the doe. Donovan and her utter disinterest in his chiseled elk form was shunted from her mind. Now only budding fantasies of a darkly incestuous nature were there, taking hold and spreading like insidious vines.

"Actually-, actually, mom, do you need any help? Around the house? Any way I can make myself useful?" Margot asked shakily, feeling transparent in her goal to be as close to her mother as possible.

A smile crept across Darla's snout as she turned to face her daughter again. Now with several feet between them, she seemed not so massive, but still she was as mighty as a god in Margot's thoughts. "Oh, Margot, since when did you want to help your mother around the house?" She chuckled and shook her head, folded her arms, pushed up her breasts somewhat without realizing it. Much like her hips, her breasts were thick, matronly things which demanded attention. "I suppose I could use a little bit of help. Do you remember how to wash laundry?"

"Laundry, sure," Margot said quickly. "I'll-, um, I'll get right on that."

Darla smiled. She leaned low, kissed Margot on the cheek, and turned. So close was she that the scent of her body - of her rear in particular - was easily noticed now that Margot's nose was tuned to its musk. "I'll leave you to it, dear."

If there was one thing Darla did well besides emotional abuse, it was housekeeping. Margot knew she need not go looking for laundry on the bedroom floor, and indeed, a quick glance into the master bedroom showed the floor to be spotless, cream-hued carpet without imperfection. Margot trotted down to the basement quickly, carrying the hamper.

Though the furnace thrummed in the corner, the basement was every bit of fifteen degrees colder than the first floor. As she loaded the washing machine from the laundry hamper, she thought back to all the times she had asked her father why the basement was so cold. He never could explain why.

As she tossed her mother's laundry into the drum of the washer, Margot came across a single pair of panties: lacy and green for a younger woman but plus-sized for a wide-hipped MILF. Margot glanced at the steps to the first floor, checking for the reproachful gaze of her mother - for Darla did so love to observe, acting more as a predatory supervisor than a mother. But the skunk was not there. Margot hastily shoved she panties into her hip pocket. In went the socks and brassieres, then a measure of soap, then she closed the lid on the filling drum.

On her way up to her old room, she passed by Darla seated in the den before the crackling fireplace. She was reading one of her novels - detective novels were Darla's guilty pleasure. She looked up at Margot and flashed a loveless smile.

"Margot, I thought I might make some spaghetti - your old favorite. Wouldn't you enjoy that?"

"Um, sure," the doe said, nodding. "But-, um, I think I'm going to go upstairs and just lie down..."

Darla's icy eyes turned down to the pages of her book. "I suppose I'll finish the laundry, then. Thank you for doing the easy part."

Margot huffed, started to protest, but a clash of lust and hate threatened to lock her mind up completely. She turned and she left, bounding up the carpeted stairs two at a time.

Her room had indeed scarcely changed: the sheets had been swapped from a floral spring pattern to rather somber winter hues, yet otherwise her room was the same right down to the hairbrush she had left on her nightstand the night she left to move in with Donovan.

The doe closed her door and slipped into bed. She writhed, whining, huffing as she pulled the panties out of her pocket like a teenage boy hastily unfurling a porno magazine. Instead of creases and dogears, this smutty contraband was wrinkled and soft. She brought the fabric to her snout and inhaled, and the rush of skunk musk which hit her nostrils was appallingly potent. Her mind raced with the implications of it all; and she wondered also if the smell was really so arousing or if she was simply turned on by the taboo.

Margot let go of the panties long enough to shimmy out of her jeans. They were still around her ankles when she began masturbating and snorting the panties with equal vigor. It was the inside of the seat she was smelling. The scent of her mother's pussy did nothing for her, but Darla's anal musk was a thrill. In the fabric also was the earthy stink of sweat, and indeed, sweat had long since stained the fabric, somewhat paling its green fabric. All of this Margot snuffled with tender nostrils as her fingers tweaked and prodded, digging deep into her pussy, fingering the button of her clitoris like ringing a doorbell.

"Oh-, oh god, smells so good," Margot moaned into the vile panties. As she smelled their days-old reek, a fantasy started to coalesce: her mother's broad ass spread before her, ripe and swampy. Margot would bury her nose into the skunk's anus, rim plump and pink, well-trained and eager to express its powerful musk. These thoughts made Margot's legs twist inward and her muscles tense. Her eyes drifted shut and she pushed into the last stretch of her furious masturbation. Six months with Donovan had given her zero orgasms. The need to cum had long been unbearable.

The door creaked open gently and Margot, beset by panic, tried pointlessly to yank up her jeans. But Darla had already seen her with jeans and panties around her ankles. That in itself would mean judgmental looks for days. But Darla's eyes lighted on the familiar green panties lying on the bed. As beautiful and frigid as an ice sculpture, her face betrayed nothing but Margot could see the confusion in her mother's eyes. That subtle look of shock, the brief loss of control proved almost as gratifying as the smell of the panties.

"Margot," said Darla, aghast. "I was just coming up to see if you needed another blanket, and-." She shook her head. "So this is what it comes to. My daughter is a degenerate."

The doe sat with her jeans yanked up crookedly to her knees. Her hands covered her soaked sex, but by then masturbation was the furthest idea from her mind. She looked down at the carpeted floor and began to stammer and cry.

Darla entered with a grim expression. Her feet moved in a whisper on the carpet. "Do you realize what people would say if this were to get out? It's simply unacceptable. It's bad enough you couldn't make things work with Donovan, male nurse or not - but to be attracted to your own mother..."

"I'm sorry," Margot bleated, snuffling. "It was just-, it was the smell-," pleaded the doe, as if pinpointing the object of her incestuous lust would somehow improve the situation.

The sound of Darla unzipping her jeans caused Margot to look up so quickly that the sound might as well have been a gun cocking. Her reddened eyes were at odds with her somewhat gape-mouthed, stunned expression. Darla showed only a hint of a smirk as she lowered her jeans, then her panties, this pair an eggshell white. Even in winter, Darla was a woman of considerable perspiration, and her panties clung to the swampy crevice of her ass crack. The fabric appeared dark with sweat when she peeled them down.

Darla said as she stepped out of her bottoms, "I suppose the only way to get this out of your system is to simply let you have it. Your father never would eat ass. Something tells me my degenerate daughter will."

"Mother," said Margot. When she tried to speak further, her jaws worked soundlessly.

The skunk, perhaps five paces away, looked over her shoulder at her shamefaced daughter. With plush tail high, broad ass bared without shame, Darla venomously said: "Come and eat my ass, Margot. Since you wish to do it so desperately that you'd steal my dirty panties like some imbecile frat boy."

It took the doe three clumsy tries to get off the bed. Her first attempt was with legs as shaky as the day she had learned to walk, and her second hamstrung by jeans and panties pulled up around her knees in a shameful rush. It was with bottoms removed, albeit legs still quaking that Margot maneuvered herself behind her mother. She brought her face close to Darla's crack. Sweat shone in fur as plush and white as cloud fluff; but the smell was thick, vulgar, of enough potency that Margot's nose wrinkled.

"If this is the pace you took with Donovan, no wonder your relationship failed so quickly," clucked Darla - smirking, always smirking.

"I'm-, uh, I'm sorry," Margot mumbled, feeling an inch tall in Darla's presence.

The doe's hands found Darla's hips, and she realized how broad and burly her mother truly was. Her nose touched the crack and she shuddered at what could only be called a stink of sweat and musk. Margot's snout glided on slippery, greasy sweat and when the shock of her mother's raw smell lessened, Margot was stricken by the ease with which her snout pushed into her mother's crack. As the stench of musk filled her head, she began to feel as if her mother's ass existed just for her to sniff and savor.

"Finally," Darla huffed. "I must be honest, I'm simply not surprised by this development. You always were such an odd girl. I suppose most of it is my own fault. I could've been more strict and it might have curbed these urges... I should have known the kind of deviant you'd turn out to be. I really should have known."

For once in her life, Margot was immune to her mother's passive rebukes. Her eyelids fluttered, eyeballs rolling back with the dopey bliss of a heroin addict shooting up. Wetness dribbled from her sex, renewed by the scent and the taboo. Then her nostrils finally touched the rim of Darla's anus, and the doe shuddered, felt a pleasure she had never experienced before. From her mother's asshole, Margot snuffled and snorted without a care in the world for what mother had to say. Darla's rim was nowhere near as trained or plump as Margot had imagined, being in fact a very snug and modest starfish, but the rich skunk stink it expressed was potent.

Darla savored Margot's hungry snorts and sucks with a wry smirk - an expression well-suited to her lovely, cold face, just like her smoldering glares. Idly she pushed her rump back, then said with mild wonder, "How is a mother to cope with such a gutterbrained child? This cannot leave these walls. Simply unacceptable to even consider."

"Mhm," Margot agreed, hands now roaming, sliding over Darla's plump thighs. Pleasure burned in her loins like a wildfire; she had never heard a credible story of a woman achieving hands-free orgasm, only dubious claims on internet forums, but moments of hungry snuffles made the doe a firm believer in the no-touch squirt. She needed only to smell the fragrant bouquet that was her domineering mother's anus to come close to an orgasm.

Darla's eyes roamed around her daughter's room, scanning over the posters of prettyboy rock singers, over shelves of books and movies and figurines. Margot had been barely a woman when she left for Donovan's embrace; her immaturity was apparent in her decorations and in the childish way she masturbated, like a pubescent boy squirreling away dirty pictures under his mattress. It was with a sigh, a long-suffering note of exasperation, that Darla palmed the back of Margot's head and forcefully pulled her in deeper. There was no room to actually sink further, but the doe's nostrils crushed against Darla's anus, and the scent this pressure expressed made the girl shudder, mewling with pleasure.

The dreadful smugness in her smirk reaffirmed by Margot's degeneracy, Darla allowed herself to enjoy this act. A woman who could twist anything to fit any narrative, Darla would have made a fine lawyer, a finer conspiracy theorist. She told herself that, because her daughter had inconvenienced and disappointed her so, she was owed some pleasure in recompense. And with that, she had absolved herself of guilt for partaking in incest. She said with all the disdain she could pack into so few words, "Are you nearly finished, Margot?"

The doe gave no answer. She heard, she understood - but the answer was no, and she teetered so precariously on the edge that she wished to waste no time with words. She pushed her nose into her mother's asshole, inside of it, opening its rim and coaxing a rare gasp from the bitch skunk. Margot could not appreciate this small victory over mother's dominion, however. She was close, trembling, inhaling lungfuls of vulgar musk. Sweat wetted her cheeks, warmed her, imbued her fur with the scent of fat ass often sat upon for long periods of time. Her fingers did not caress, but possessively gripped burly thighs, as if out of fear Darla would pull away and deprive her moments before climax could occur.

"Margot," said Darla, sounding a touch impressed by her daughter's dirty hunger. She herself had grown wet and she touched herself with both paws, fingers scratching through the plush white puff of her bush to tease the plump lips of her sex. A shiver as imperceptible as a feather's weight ran through her body; and around her daughter's quivering, snuffling nose, her anus clenched and released as if giving the kisses Darla never dispensed during Margot's childhood.

From deep inside of Margot's petite body rose a shuddering moan voiced against the thick, ripe peach of her mother's vulva. Her kneeling legs buckled and only her arms held her to Darla, around whose thighs she clung like a convict gripping the bars of her cell. Her nose plucked itself free of Darla's convulsing rim yet she stayed close, snuffling in shallow spasms as orgasm wracked her body.

Colorless but strongly-scented fluid spurted from between the doe's thighs. A whimpering moan escaped her. She nosed into her mother's ripe pucker, then kissed its clenching rim, tonguing it shallowly. Then her arms failed in the same fashion her legs already had and she fell onto her back, the somewhat hollow second-story floor lending a dramatic thud to her landing.

Darla smartly turned and gazed down at her daughter, smirk in full force, bottomless body no less intimidating to the doe than the fully-clothed Darla was. It was difficult not to smirk at the state of the doe: on her back, knees bent, legs splayed like an invitation to every boy in the neighborhood. Her demure cunt was obnoxiously wet; and a darkened spot in the carpet, which Darla never once mistook for urine, made the doe's climax evident.

"I cannot believe my own daughter is such a degenerate," remarked Darla. Now she placed her paws upon her formidable hips, and she asked as she glowered with frigid eyes, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The doe, with cheeks feeling so hot they might combust and body reeling from an orgasm so intense that she had briefly worried the contractions might turn her inside-out, looked at the ceiling and not at her stolid mother. She bit her lip, tentatively brushed her loins. A shudder raced through her body and she quickly pulled her fingers away as though her loins were painfully hot to the touch.

"Just-, just for one minute, mother," Margot said, voice quavering. "Please, just stop, let me process this..."

"Let you process this," snorted Darla. "My own daughter squirting like a fountain after catching a whiff of her mother's anus, and you can think only of yourself. Well, I suppose I'm to blame for that kind of selfish thinking. Perhaps I can be a teensy bit selfish myself." At this, Margot raised her head to glance at her mother. Darla, willfully or not, ignored this significant look and continued: "And with that said, I'm going to be a bit selfish right now."

Margot had no fight in her, not even a feeble protest. Her climax had hit her like a truck, breaking her down and leaving her exhausted. Darla's broad ass, white in the center and black on the edges, resembled an oversized Oreo as it drooped closer and closer to Margot's prone face. The doe accepted her responsibility as a chair, though she touched her mother, caressing the curves, sliding digits through pubes conditioned so thoughtfully as to be as smooth as the hair atop her head.

For the second time, Margot was entrenched in her mother's musk. Darla wriggled down, allowing her cheeks to part around her daughter's snout; and Margot nosed into the pucker, snuffling again, the hot itch in her loins coming back again.

Margot fondled her mother freely, giving a touch far more loving than any Darla had ever given her. Over broad hips, mature cunt, softened pubic hair. Under the sweater, across mild paunch, cupping heavy milkers restrained by eggshell-white brassiere cups.

Lowly, always with acrimonious judgment in her tone, Darla said, "Your touch is better than your father's ever was." Her smirk faltered for a moment but her sexuality only thickened. She lifted off the sweater, reached back, unclasped her bra. Heavy black-and-white tits spilled free, pink nipples pierced with golden rings in a saucy attempt to reclaim a bit of youth, creamy pearls adding aged refinement to a vulgar display.

Darla ground against her daughter, dragging the crevice of her ass crack along the doe's nose and snout. Her pussylips, plump and hot, smeared into Margot's nostrils. Margot snuffled and shuddered, finding vaginal musk not nearly as alluring yet still something to savor - scents of forbidden pleasures. She palmed her mother's tits, marveling at the rings she never knew decorated her mother's nipples. Even with her proclivity towards incestuous facesitting, Darla continued to surprise the doe.

Margot slurped the pink, somewhat distended folds of her mother's cunt. Never before had she eaten pussy but the vulgar, somewhat fishy reek and the oddly salted flavor called to her. Still with nose in her mother's asshole, which clenched and smooched in loving ways, Margot lapped at the skunk's twat. Soon Darla herself, once fairly passive, reached over her soft bush and spread her folds. From her opened cunt came what seemed a humid yawn, skunk musk thick on its breath. Margot, snuffling anus and vagina, dug her tongue into the pink. Darla's shuddering moan gratified the doe endlessly.

"You are-," Darla shuddered, but forced herself to regain composure, "very good at cunnilingus, Margot. I suppose I can tolerate a lesbian daughter. Yes, I suppose I can live with these little trysts, so long as they keep you from playing panty thief..."

As she spoke, as she justified her indulgence, Darla reached down to her daughter's loins and tickled the folds, causing Margot's thighs to snap together. It was no defense against Darla who simply wormed in her fingers, and she said as she tickled the button of her daughter's clitoris, "Your father was utterly clueless in all matters vaginal. He thought pinching my clitoris was good foreplay."

With a delicacy Margot had never expected from her brute of a mother, Darla finessed the nub of her clitoris. Gradually, like a flower unfolding to catch nourishing sunlight, Margot's legs parted. Gradually Darla quickened her manipulations, remaining gentle but working faster, faster. Rarely she dipped fingers into her daughter's sex. Mostly it was the clitoris - masturbating her daughter the way she masturbated herself, with or without the magic wand vibrator which occupied the top shelf of her dresser.

Margot trembled. A second orgasm, so soon, when she still lazed in afterglow; it was both alluring and off-putting, like dessert atop a gluttonous dinner, but then mother always did make her uncomfortable. The pleasure was impossible to deny and so was the skunk's scent, so rich and foul and full. Margot lapped, slurped the skunk's pussy. She fingered her mother, and there came an awkward, taboo feeling as she plunged her fingers knuckle-deep in the same canal she had emerged wailing from some twenty years ago. The strangeness, the wrongness made her wet. She slipped out her fingers and they dripped with Darla's juices; Margot sucked them clean and shuddered at the bouquet of female flavors and pleasures she currently experienced. It was too much, an assault on the senses and the psyche.

Darla, masturbating for two. Her clitoris in one set of fingers, Margot's in the other, working both buttons ferociously but still with knowing, feminine care. As Darla grew close to orgasm, she did not become stiff and mousy as her daughter did: Darla clenched, Darla grunted, Darla planted her feet and mashed her smelly ass against her daughter's snout. Her anus partially enveloped Margot's nose again, and this time the skunk pressed down harder, forcing the doe's black nose inside. Margot snuffled and struggled, hands now gripping Darla's broad ass, but the skunk was steadfast.

"Stay put," hissed Darla in the tone which always indicated forthcoming discipline.

Instinctively Margot was cowed but her pleasure still ran high, the taboo lust nearly hot enough to boil out of her skin. She smelled Darla desperately because there was no choice. Her mouth could draw breath but her mother's enormous ass demanded attention. Margot snorted anal musk as fresh, as untainted as it could possibly be, and her tongue lolled, pleasurable delirium whisking her away as a second, improbably stronger orgasm struck her like lightning. She gripped Darla's ass savagely enough that the skunk grunted. Her legs kicked, her body tightened, and she squirted again.

Darla watched as clear, but musk-rich fluid jetted from her daughter's sex. Rather than a smirk, she wore a grin. Never once had she made her husband ejaculate with such ferocity. Now she worked her own sex, fingering her cunt, finessing her clitoris. Margot's snout felt nice plugging the pucker of her asshole. It was not as nice as the plugs she sometimes used, but the snuffling and the fact that it was her daughter's nose made up for the minor discomfort. Her anus clenched and relaxed rhythmically, nothing Darla could easily control, but waves of pleasure raced through her body each time her anal muscles squeezed.

"My daughter, such a degenerate," tutted Darla, fingering, finessing, clenching. She threw back her head, uttering a low and rather mannish moan. Her frigid eyes were closed but her cold face was no less a menace.

As powerfully as Margot had done twice, Darla came, and her plugging fingers were coated with a vulgar juice reeking strongly of skunk sex. With her climax her anus wrenched upon Margot's snorting nose, and its glands were expressed, filling Margot's head with more motherly musk than she could process. The doe softly shook, her legs twisting inward, giving her a dainty pigeon-toed look.

Darla rode out her climax with little fanfare. Abruptly she lifted herself, pulling her anus off of her daughter's snout. Her rim was mildly gaped, somewhat swollen - finally the pucker Margot had imagined when all of this mess first began.

Wordlessly, Darla dressed: panties, then bra, then sweater, then jeans, finally pulling the pearls out over her sweater's collar. She walked to the bed and picked up the dirty panties. Catching the prone doe's gaze, Darla said, "Do not let me catch you smelling my underwear again."

Shamefaced, "Sorry. I'm so sorry, mom."

"It's all right," said Darla with a touch of humility in her voice. She beckoned Margot to stand, helped her with a paw on the elbow. With her bottomless daughter upright albeit on shaky legs, Darla planted a kiss so deep, so wet and full of tongue, that Margot shuddered and nearly lost her quivering legs again.

Darla's smirk returned. She winked. "You smell good, at the very least." She turned, started to leave. In the doorway she paused. "Why don't you get dressed, Margot? Come downstairs. I'll make that spaghetti, and we'll have a nice dinner."

Shaken, blushing, Margot felt love for her mother as she never had before. Lust intermingled with it, and she wanted to go again, to bury her face in her mother's musky crack. She settled for a nod and Darla left.

"Love you, mom," muttered Margot at the empty doorway.