Chapter Text
MomStrong - An Evening at Amanda's Interlude
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Chapter 1 - Playdate
The late afternoon sun slanted across the front of Jane’s two-story home, spilling amber light through the broad windows and setting the dust motes adrift in slow spirals. She had been moving from room to room for the past hour, straightening throw pillows, wiping the kitchen counters, and checking the plate of oatmeal cookies cooling on the stovetop. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and wood polish, a fragrance that made the space feel lived-in, though Jane still thought it never quite felt full.
Upstairs, Annie was bouncing on her bed, singing little songs and calling down questions every few minutes—When are they coming? What’s her name again? Is she nice? Jane answered them all patiently, a smile tugging at her lips as she tightened her bun.
Her phone buzzed once on the hallway table with an old notification from the MomStrong Facebook group. Jane glanced at it and thought back to the first message from Candace, a comment buried in a thread about the lonely hours after the kids had gone to bed. That was only a few months ago, yet it felt like a different life. Their exchanges had started simply—advice, encouragement, the odd joke. But soon it was longer messages, late-night phone calls, laughter that softened the edges of the day. And eventually, something more. Something neither of them had said aloud until recently.
Still, there was a gravity to their bond, one that went deeper than grief or loneliness. Jane knew Candace carried her own weight, just as Jane did, and while neither had spoken of it directly, both understood. A dark secret threaded through their lives, binding them in a way ordinary people could never guess.
The doorbell rang, sharp and clear. Annie shrieked and thundered down the stairs, her socks skidding on the hardwood. Jane followed at a slower pace, her black heels clicking against the floorboards.
When she opened the door, Candace was there with Molly at her side. Candace’s blond hair was caught neatly in a ponytail, her blouse pressed crisp, her blue eyes striking even in the muted autumn light. Molly clutched her hand, a pale blue dress dotted with white flowers swaying in the breeze.
“Hi,” Jane said warmly. For a moment, the women simply looked at each other, their smiles lingering but edged with something unspoken.
Jane crouched slightly, gesturing toward her daughter. “Annie, this is Molly.”
The girls stared at one another, each gripping at the hems of their clothes, suddenly shy in a way that surprised their mothers. Annie gave a small, uncertain wave. Molly pressed her lips together and whispered a soft “hi.”
There was a pause, heavy in its smallness, before Annie muttered, “Do you… want to see my dolls?”
Molly nodded, and the two drifted past the adults into the living room, their small footsteps light against the floor. Within minutes, they had settled on the rug near the coffee table, a row of dolls spread between them. Their voices rose in hesitant play, soft at first, then gradually stronger as the tension eased.
Jane closed the door behind Candace, and for the first time since the bell had rung, the house seemed still again. The smell of cookies lingered, the laughter of children floated in from the living room, and yet beneath it all was that quiet truth—their truth—waiting, as heavy and invisible as ever.
Candace took a seat on the couch and Jane vanished into the kitchen for a quick moment, returning moments later with a tray balanced carefully in her hands—two glasses of white wine, a small plate of cookies, and a folded napkin. She set it down on the low table in front of the couch before settling onto the cushion beside Candace. The couch springs sighed beneath their weight, bringing the two women a little closer than expected.
On the rug by the coffee table, Annie and Molly were arranging dolls in neat rows, deciding in serious tones who would play mother and who would play teacher. Their voices rose and fell with bursts of laughter, a rhythm that filled the house with a comforting hum.
Jane reached for her glass, swirling the wine once before taking a sip. “I’m glad you came,” she said, her voice soft.
Candace’s lips curved into a smile as she accepted her own glass. “I’m glad too. It feels… strange, doesn’t it? After all those nights talking, to actually be sitting here. In person.”
Jane laughed lightly, though her eyes lingered on Candace’s. “Strange, but good.”
For a moment, they simply watched the girls play. Molly was holding up one doll by the arm, making it march stiffly, while Annie scolded it for being late to class. Their laughter bubbled through the room, easy and pure.
Candace reached for a cookie, breaking it in half before nibbling. “These are delicious,” she said. “Did you make them yourself?”
“Of course.” Jane arched a brow with playful pride. “I have a six-year-old to impress, after all.”
“Consider me impressed too,” Candace replied, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.
Their gazes met again, a fraction longer this time. There was warmth in the exchange, but also something steadier, heavier, beneath the surface. Both women felt it—the pull of something more than friendship—yet neither spoke it aloud. Not yet.
Jane shifted slightly closer, their shoulders brushing just enough to notice. She smiled, sipping her wine, letting the comfortable silence stretch between them. In that silence, the sound of the girls’ laughter seemed brighter, filling the room like a cover for whatever waited beneath.
Candace set her glass down, crossing one leg over the other, the faint sheen of her black pantyhose catching the lamplight. Jane’s eyes flicked there for just a second too long before she looked away, reaching for another cookie.
“You know,” Candace said, voice low, “you look even better in person than on those late-night video calls.”
Jane nearly laughed, but it came out softer, warmer. “Flattery already?” She tilted her head, brown eyes bright. “You must be working an angle.”
“Maybe.” Candace sipped her wine slowly, the rim of the glass just grazing her lips. “Or maybe I’m just being honest. That sweater…” Her gaze traveled over Jane’s shoulders, the gentle curve of her figure. “It suits you.”
Jane shifted closer, brushing her knee lightly against Candace’s. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” she admitted, her smile edged with something teasing. “Didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard.”
“You didn’t.” Candace’s eyes lingered, piercing and deliberate. “But if you had… I wouldn’t have minded.”
From the floor, a burst of giggles interrupted them—Annie was making her doll tumble dramatically, Molly clutching her sides with laughter. The mothers both glanced down, smiling automatically, but when their eyes met again, the air between them felt different. Closer.
Jane leaned in, lowering her voice. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said again, but this time there was a weight behind it, an undertone that spoke of more than friendship.
Candace’s lips parted slightly, her smile softer now. “Me too. More than I can say.”
Their shoulders pressed together, not by accident this time. For a moment, neither woman moved away. The clink of dolls on the hardwood, the sound of little voices, filled the silence where words might have been too much.
Jane reached for her glass again, her hand brushing Candace’s. Neither pulled back.
Jane remembered the first time the tone shifted in their conversations late at night—the sudden spark of daring when Candace had teased her about sleeping alone. Words that began playful grew bold, then breathless. The kind of words that left Jane warm under her sheets, phone in hand, reading them over and over until the silence of the house felt less suffocating. It wasn’t something she’d planned, but it had happened, and it had been real.
Now, seeing Candace here, close enough to touch, it was different. Stronger. The way her blue eyes lingered on her, unafraid, made Jane’s chest tighten with want.
And yet, beneath all of it, lay the truth. The one thing neither of them could ever set aside. A dark, festering secret they carried alone, and together. It wasn’t something they had put into words often—it didn’t need to be. Both women knew it. Both felt it. It was a thread binding them, tighter than affection, tighter even than desire.
Candace shifted beside her, their shoulders brushing again, and Jane forced herself to smile as though she hadn’t just slipped into that shadowed thought. Because Candace was here. Because for this moment, it was only laughter, children’s play, and a glass of wine warming her hand.
Candace shifted on the couch, turning toward Jane with a softness in her eyes that made the rest of the room blur. The laughter of their daughters still drifted from the rug, dolls clacking together in play, but to Jane it sounded far away.
Without speaking, Candace leaned in. The kiss she placed on Jane’s cheek was light, almost tentative, but it lingered longer than it should have. Warmth spread through Jane’s skin, racing down her neck and into her chest, quickening her breath.
Her pulse thudded hard in her ears. She caught the faintest trace of perfume, sharp and sweet, and the wine glass trembled slightly in her hand.
Candace didn’t pull away, not fully. Her lips brushed close to Jane’s ear, and in a whisper that carried both fear and longing, she asked, “Are you sure about this? Our next step… it’s a line we can never uncross.”
Jane’s heart was hammering. She turned her head, closing the space between them, and pressed her lips against Candace’s. It was gentle, brief, but certain. Her hand lingered on Candace’s arm, steadying herself as she whispered back, “Yes. I want this. With you. It’s all I’ve thought about since we talked about it.”
For a moment, the world seemed to still—the clink of dolls, the soft patter of the girls’ voices, the faint tick of the clock on the wall—all fading beneath the rush of their shared breath.
Jane pulled back just enough to meet Candace’s gaze, brown eyes locking with blue, both wide with the knowledge of what they had just set into motion.
The secret each held so close to the chest?
Each of them lusted for children. Their children.
The realization didn’t strike like lightning; it settled like sediment, layer upon layer of whispered confessions and shared silences over the months. Both had lost husbands—Jane to a car crash, Candace to divorce—and both had daughters who filled the hollow spaces with laughter that sometimes felt too loud, too bright against the quiet ache. They’d found each other in the dim corners of the internet, in forums where loneliness curdled into something darker, where the word *MomStrong* was a brittle joke between them. Their bond wasn’t just grief or desire. It was the jagged edge of a secret they polished in private: the hunger for their own children’s bodies.
And each mother had been grooming their child for this moment.
Secret touches while sleeping, shared baths, touches, licks—it all led here. Jane’s gaze drifted to Annie, now giggling as Molly pretended to scold a doll. Her daughter’s flushed cheeks, the curve of her small shoulders beneath the thin fabric of her dress—Jane’s throat tightened with a familiar, shameful heat. Candace’s hand found hers on the couch, fingers interlacing. No words needed. The plan had been set weeks ago: a "playdate" for the girls, wine for the mothers, and then the slow, inevitable unfolding.
"I am already wet thinking about it," Candace whispered into Jane's ear.
Jane shivered. Her gaze drifted to the girls on the rug. Annie had her favorite doll, the one with bright red yarn hair, pressed against Molly's cheek as she giggled. Molly's hand rested lightly on Annie's knee. The sight sent a slow, molten heat pooling low in Jane's belly. She squeezed Candace's hand, her thumb tracing circles over the knuckles. "Me too."
The wine sat forgotten on the table. Candace stood first, her movements fluid and deliberate. She smoothed her skirt, then extended a hand to Jane. "Molly," she called, her voice soft but carrying a new, unspoken weight. "Why don't we show Annie and Jane the special game we talked about? The one that makes us feel so close?"
Molly looked up, her blue eyes wide and trusting. She nodded, a small, eager smile playing on her lips. "Okay, Mommy." She scrambled to her feet, her little hand reaching for Annie's. "Come on, Annie. It's a secret game. Just for us and our mommies."
Jane stood up and watched as Molly led Annie to the couch and sat down, the girls' small bodies pressed close together. Candace moved in front of them, a predatory grin spreading on her face as she instructed her daughter, "Molly, lift your dress and take off your panties, show Annie and Jane your kitty."
Molly's small fingers fumbled with the hem of her blue dress, pulling it up to her waist. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her white cotton panties and slid them down her legs, kicking them aside. Her smooth, hairless mound was exposed, pale pink folds glistening slightly in the lamplight. Annie stared, her mouth slightly open, her own hands unconsciously clutching at her overalls.
Jane squeezed her thighs together as she looked down at Molly's perfect little pussy, just as puffy as Annie's bald and sweet, pink slit. Her own daughter was trembling beside her, eyes wide and fixed on Molly's exposed flesh. Candace's voice was a low purr. "Annie, sweetie, why don't you show Molly yours? Then we can play the game properly."
"But mommy said I shouldn't show strangers," Annie protested with a pout, "Only her."
Jane knelt before her daughter, brushing a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "Molly isn't a stranger anymore, sweetheart. She's our special friend." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Remember how good it feels when mommy touches you there? This is like that, but with friends."
Annie hesitated, her small fingers twisting the fabric of her overalls. Across from her, Molly shifted on the couch cushions, spreading her legs wider with a trusting innocence that made Jane's pulse quicken. The lamplight caught the glistening moisture between the child's smooth folds.
"Go on, baby," Jane murmured, her voice thick. She reached out, slowly undoing the metal clasps of Annie's overalls herself. The denim slid down, revealing white cotton panties beneath. Jane hooked her thumbs into the waistband. Annie lifted her hips obediently, letting her mother pull them down past her knees. Her own hairless slit was exposed, pink and delicate, a mirror to Molly's.
Candace made a soft, hungry sound. She sank to her knees beside Jane, her hand trembling as she reached out to trace the outer curve of Molly's thigh. "See how pretty they are?" she breathed, her gaze fixed on the two exposed children. "Just like little flowers."
Jane mirrored her, fingers brushing Annie's inner knee, feeling the child's slight shiver. The air thickened with the scent of wine, children's shampoo, and something darker—musky and sweet. Annie whimpered softly as Jane's fingertip grazed higher, feather-light against her delicate folds. "Mommy..."
"It's okay, sweetheart," Jane murmured, her voice husky. "Just like bath time. Remember how nice it feels?" She leaned in, her breath warm on Annie's skin. Beside them, Candace was already lowering her head, her blonde ponytail swinging as her tongue darted out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe up Molly's glistening slit. Molly gasped, her small hands clutching the couch cushions.
Jane followed without hesitation. Her lips found Annie's little pussy, the taste flooding her senses—clean skin, a hint of childish sweat, and that unique, musky sweetness that always made her dizzy. Annie whimpered, a high-pitched sound that vibrated against Jane's mouth. "Mommy... it tickles..."
Candace moaned softly into Molly's child cunt, her daughter squirming beneath the wet, insistent strokes. "Shh, baby," Candace murmured, lifting her head just enough to speak. "The good feeling will happen soon." Her blue eyes locked with Jane's over the trembling bodies of their daughters. "Enjoying yourself?"
Jane didn't answer with words. Instead, she pressed her tongue deeper into Annie's tight little slit, tasting the faint saltiness, feeling the flutter of her daughter's untouched walls. Annie's small hands tangled in her mother's hair, pulling weakly as Jane's tongue circled her tiny clit. The girl's breath hitched in shallow gasps, her hips lifting unconsciously toward the forbidden warmth.
Spreading Molly's legs wider, Candace went right back to licking her daughter's pussy, her tongue working in slow, wet circles around the child's swollen little clit. Molly's breath came in sharp little gasps, her small fingers twisting in her mother's blonde hair. "Mommy... it feels... funny..." she whimpered, her hips lifting off the couch cushion.
Jane didn't pause. She sucked Annie's tiny clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the sensitive nub until her daughter cried out, a high-pitched sound that echoed in the suddenly too-quiet room. Annie's thighs trembled against Jane's cheeks. "Mommy, please..." she whispered, her voice thick with confused pleasure. Jane slid one hand up under her own daughter's shirt, finding a small, budding nipple beneath the fabric. She pinched it gently, rolling the hardening nub between her fingers as she continued to devour Annie's cunt beside Candace and Molly.
Then Candace pulled away, licking her lips as she looked at Jane, "Want to switch?"
Jane didn't hesitate. She rose from Annie's glistening pussy, her chin wet, and moved toward Molly. The little girl whimpered as Jane's hands spread her thighs wider. Jane lowered her head, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of Molly's arousal before her tongue swept through the child's delicate folds. Molly cried out, her small fingers scrabbling at Jane's hair. her taste was different than Annie's, sweeter, like sun-warmed peaches.
Meanwhile, Candace lowered herself between Annie's legs, her eyes dark with hunger. The little girl trembled, her small hands clutching the couch cushions as Candace's tongue—experienced, deliberate—traced the outer folds of Annie's pussy. Candace moaned softly against Annie's skin, the vibration making the child gasp. "You taste so sweet," Candace murmured, her breath hot, before diving back in with slow, wet strokes that had Annie arching off the cushion.
Jane focused entirely on Molly, her tongue exploring every inch of the child's delicate slit. She lapped at the glistening pinkness, savoring the tangy sweetness, then sucked gently on Molly's tiny clit. Molly cried out, her small body jerking. "It's... too much..." she whimpered, but her legs spread wider, pushing against Jane's shoulders. Jane brought her hand to Molly's little cunt and probed her with a single finger, sliding it easily into the child's slick, tight entrance. Molly gasped, her back arching sharply.
Beside them, Candace had Annie writhing. She alternated between sucking Annie's clit and thrusting her tongue deep into the little girl's pussy. Annie's moans were breathless, punctuated by sharp cries. "Mommy... Candace... please..." she babbled, her fingers twisting in Candace's hair. Candace slid two fingers inside Annie, curling them just right, and Annie came with a sudden, high-pitched wail, her small body shuddering violently. Candace drank deeply, moaning into Annie's cunt as the child trembled.
Molly was not far behind, her small body tightening like a coiled spring as Jane’s tongue flickered over her clit. Jane pressed her finger deeper, feeling the child’s inner walls flutter wildly around her knuckle. Molly’s breath hitched, then shattered into a soft, keening cry as her orgasm washed over her. Jane lapped gently at the trembling slit, savoring the sweet tang of Molly’s release, before pulling back to watch the girl’s chest rise and fall in ragged gasps.
Before Jane could process it all, Candace pulled her in for a kiss, their mouths tasting each other’s daughters. It was hot and desperate, a mingling of salt and sweetness that made Jane’s head spin. Candace’s hands slid under Jane’s sweater, fingers digging into her back as she moaned into her mouth. “God, you taste like her,” she breathed, pulling back just enough to meet Jane’s eyes.
"Should we take this to my bedroom?" Jane asked, biting her lip, the taste of pussy still on her tongue.
Candace nodded, her gaze drifting to the girls. Annie lay panting, her small chest rising and falling rapidly, her pussy glistening wetly. Molly was curled on her side, one hand still between her legs, her eyes half-closed in drowsy satisfaction. "Girls," Candace murmured, her voice thick with arousal. "Come with mommies. We have more special games to play."
To be continued...