The kitchen smelled like Sunday roast even though it was Wednesday. Peggy Sue had been cooking since dawn—pot roast with carrots and potatoes, yeast rolls rising under a damp towel, pecan pie cooling on the window ledge. She liked the ritual of it. Liked having her hands busy while her mind went where it wanted.
Linda sat at the table in her modest blouse and long skirt, Bible open, highlighter in hand. Eighteen as of last month. Still sleeping in the same twin bed she’d had at twelve. Still praying over every meal like God was taking attendance.
Peggy Sue watched her from the stove.
“You want more tea, baby?”
Linda nodded without looking up. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
Peggy Sue poured. Her fingers brushed Linda’s as she set the glass down. Linda flinched the way she always did when anyone touched her longer than a second. Peggy Sue didn’t move her hand right away.
“You’re jumping out of your skin lately,” she said. “Something on your mind?”
Linda closed the Bible. “Just… thinking about purity. About keeping myself for marriage. Pastor talked about it again on Sunday.”
Peggy Sue leaned a hip against the counter. She was forty-two, still built like the woman who’d married Linda’s father ten years ago—full hips, heavy breasts that strained her blouse when she reached, dark hair going silver at the temples. She didn’t dress like a church widow. She dressed like a woman who knew what her body could do.
“Purity’s a pretty word,” she said. “Doesn’t always mean what they tell you it means.”
Linda’s cheeks colored. “Mama—”
“I’m not your mama by blood. You know that.” Peggy Sue pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Your daddy’s been gone three years. It’s just us in this house. You don’t have to call me that if it makes you nervous.”
“It doesn’t make me nervous.” Linda’s voice was small. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint the Lord.”
Peggy Sue smiled, slow. “The Lord’s not sitting at this table, Linda. I am.”
She stood again and walked behind Linda’s chair. Her hands settled on the girl’s shoulders. Linda went rigid.
“You’re tense as a fence post. Let me work that out.”
Peggy Sue’s thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of Linda’s neck. The girl made a tiny sound she tried to swallow.
“That’s it. Breathe.”
Linda’s breath came shallow. Peggy Sue worked lower, over the blades of her shoulders, then down the sides of her spine through the thin cotton of the blouse. When her hands reached the small of Linda’s back, she let them rest there.
“You’ve never been touched like this, have you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Not even by a boy?”
Linda shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t think about boys that way.”
Peggy Sue’s laugh was low. “I know you don’t.”
She slid her hands around Linda’s waist and pulled the chair back from the table with a scrape. Linda gasped. Peggy Sue turned her so they were facing each other, then sank to her knees on the kitchen linoleum.
“Mama—”
“Hush.” Peggy Sue’s palms ran up Linda’s calves, over the thick stockings, to the hem of the long skirt. “You’ve been sitting in this kitchen every night reading scripture and pretending you don’t feel anything between your legs. I’ve watched you. I’ve heard you in the shower when you think I’m asleep.”
Linda’s face burned. “That’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me in my own kitchen.” Peggy Sue pushed the skirt up to mid-thigh. “You’re eighteen. You’re wet right now and you don’t even know what to do with it.”
Linda’s thighs pressed together. Peggy Sue pried them apart with both hands and looked up.
“Open.”
The word landed like a command. Linda’s knees parted an inch. Then another.
Peggy Sue pushed the skirt the rest of the way up and hooked her fingers in the waistband of the plain white cotton panties. She dragged them down Linda’s legs and off her feet. Linda’s hands flew to cover herself.
Peggy Sue caught her wrists and pinned them to the sides of the chair.
“No. You keep those hands where I put them. You don’t hide from me.”
Linda’s chest rose and fell fast. Her sex was bare, a neat dark triangle, the lips already slick. Peggy Sue leaned in and breathed on her.
“Religious little virgin,” she murmured. “Saving it for a husband who’ll fumble around for thirty seconds and leave you wondering what the fuss was about. I’m going to show you what the fuss is about.”
She licked a long stripe up the center of Linda’s cunt.
Linda cried out—high, shocked, the sound bouncing off the cabinets. Her hips jerked. Peggy Sue held her thighs open and did it again, slower, flattening her tongue, tasting the salt-sweet of a girl who’d never had anyone’s mouth on her.
“Mama—Peggy—please—”
“Please what? Stop? Or keep going?”
Linda’s answer was a broken whimper.
Peggy Sue sucked her clit into her mouth and worked it with the flat of her tongue. Linda’s head fell back. Her hands stayed where they’d been put, knuckles white on the chair arms. The Bible sat forgotten on the table.
Peggy Sue ate her with patience. She wasn’t in a hurry. She licked until Linda’s thighs shook, until the girl’s breathing turned into little sobs, until the first orgasm hit her like a slap—sudden, messy, her whole body seizing. Peggy Sue didn’t stop. She kept her mouth on her through it, then through the oversensitive twitching after, until Linda tried to close her legs and Peggy Sue wouldn’t let her.
“That’s one,” Peggy Sue said against her. “You’re going to give me more.”
She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and pulled Linda up by the wrists. The girl’s legs barely held. Peggy Sue steered her to the kitchen island, bent her over it, and yanked the skirt up over her ass.
“Stay.”
Linda stayed. Cheek to the cool granite, ass presented, dripping down her inner thighs.
Peggy Sue opened the junk drawer and took out the wooden spoon she used for stirring gravy. She tested the weight of it.
“You ever been spanked?”
“When I was little. For sassing.”
“This isn’t for sassing.” Peggy Sue rubbed the flat of the spoon over Linda’s ass. “This is because I want to see you pink. Because I want you to feel it tomorrow when you sit in church. Because you’re mine and I decide what happens to this body now.”
The first smack landed sharp. Linda yelped. The second came harder. Peggy Sue worked both cheeks in a steady rhythm—not brutal, but firm, the kind of spanking that built heat instead of just sting. Linda’s ass bloomed red. She started pushing back into it after the tenth stroke, hips rolling without permission.
“There she is,” Peggy Sue said. “The girl under all that scripture. She likes it.”
She dropped the spoon on the counter and unbuttoned her own blouse. Her bra came off next. Heavy breasts spilled free. She pressed herself against Linda’s back, nipples dragging over the girl’s blouse, and reached around to cup Linda’s tits through the fabric.
“These are going to be in my mouth later. Everything is going to be in my mouth later.”
She turned Linda around, hiked her onto the island so she sat on the edge, and stepped between her legs. Peggy Sue’s skirt came off. She wasn’t wearing panties. Her cunt was shaved, swollen, already wet from watching.
“Look at me.”
Linda looked. Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown.
“You’re going to eat me,” Peggy Sue said. “Right here. First time you’ve ever had a woman on your tongue. You’re going to learn how I like it.”
She guided Linda’s head down. The girl hesitated only a second, then her mouth opened. Peggy Sue groaned when the first clumsy lick landed.
“Slower. Use the flat of your tongue. There—fuck—yes. Suck when I tell you.”
Linda learned fast. She was a good student; she’d always been a good student. Peggy Sue fucked her face in short rolls of her hips, one hand in Linda’s hair, the other bracing on the island. When she came she did it quiet, a long shudder, thighs clamping around Linda’s ears.
She pulled the girl up by the hair and kissed her, tasting herself on Linda’s mouth.
“Good girl. My good girl.”
They ended up on the kitchen floor. Peggy Sue on her back on the rug by the sink, Linda straddling her thigh, grinding because she couldn’t stop herself. Peggy Sue reached up and pinched Linda’s nipples through the blouse until the girl cried out and came again, soaking Peggy Sue’s leg.
After, Peggy Sue held her. Linda’s face was wet. Not just from sweat.
“I don’t know what I am now,” Linda whispered.
“You’re mine,” Peggy Sue said. “That’s what you are. You can still read your Bible. You can still go to church. But when you come home, you come home to this kitchen and you come home to me. You don’t touch yourself unless I say. You don’t come unless I say. You keep that cunt for me.”
Linda nodded against her chest.
Peggy Sue kissed the top of her head. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours, Mama.”
Peggy Sue smiled into her hair. The pot roast was going to burn. She didn’t care.
That night they didn’t make it to a bed. Peggy Sue took her again against the refrigerator, one of Linda’s legs hooked over her arm, two fingers buried to the last knuckle while she talked filth against the girl’s ear—how tight she was, how she was going to stretch her on a strap next weekend, how she was going to make her wear a plug to Sunday service under that long skirt.
Linda came so hard she bit Peggy Sue’s shoulder.
In the morning Linda made coffee in the same kitchen, cheeks still pink from the night before, sitting carefully on the wooden chair. Peggy Sue came up behind her, slipped a hand under the skirt, and found her already wet.
“Good girl,” she said. “Breakfast first. Then we start again.”
Linda closed her eyes and whispered amen like it was the only prayer she had left.
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