Chapter Thirty
“That’s disgusting!”
The revulsion in my daughter Isobel’s phone-crackled voice would have been comical if my news hadn’t been so serious. Having made the decision to come clean and let the world know about my pregnancy, I had steeled myself to make the first confessional call to the person I believed was most likely to react badly.
I had called several times during that Sunday in July, exactly a week after Pete and I had returned home from our Manchester adventure, without success. It had been late in the evening before I finally reached her; now I wondered whether it had been a good idea after all.
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” I protested angrily. “It’s a natural process.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” she backed off quickly. “But for a woman in her fifties to be pregnant…”
She couldn’t find the words to finish her sentence.
“I’m only just in my fifties,” I protested. “And I know it’s unusual…” I began.
“You can say that again.”
“I know it’s unusual,” I repeated doggedly. “And it wasn’t planned…”
“I should hope not.”
“But your Dad and I are determined to see it through. If nature allows.”
“How the Hell did it happen?” she asked, still astonished.
“The same way it happened when you thought you were pregnant, I imagine,” I replied sarcastically. “Though in my case, not on camera.”
That was a cruel dig; my daughter’s current single status was the direct result of the circulation of a video of her and a previous boyfriend having sex. That relationship had come to an abrupt end when Izzy had publicly cheated on him after a University ball. She had tried to form a relationship with her seducer but he lived hours away and had himself dumped her as soon as the video file had dropped into his inbox.
It was particularly unfair of me to use this against my daughter because another video existed; one of me being fucked by a lover too but only my husband and I knew this.
Anyway, Izzy’s hypocrisy deserved some punishment.
To her credit, she immediately backtracked and her tone became more conciliatory.
“Why couldn’t you be grumpy and menopausal like everyone else’s Mum?” she asked in an exasperated voice.
“I don’t know but I’m not. Your Grandma was the same,” I told her in as close to a normal voice as I could manage. “Her menopause came very late indeed. I’m sorry to disappoint you; it’s supposed to be a good thing.”
There was a pause in which Izzy seemed to be rationalising all I had said.
“When are you due?” she asked quietly.
“December.”
“Not at Christmas, please!”
“Only if she’s late.”
“She? You know it’s a girl?”
“We’re pretty sure but you can never be certain.”
There was a long pause. I sipped my coffee.
“Just a minute!” she said, puzzled. “I thought Dad had the snip years ago?”
I had wondered if my daughter knew about this and if so, how long it would take for her to make the connection. She had been very quick off the mark even for her. Fortunately, Pete and I had prepared our response but this was the first time either of us had used it.
“It must have failed,” I frowned, my own face beginning to glow pink. “They do sometimes, especially those done a long time ago.
Izzy snorted but seemed to accept this unsubstantiated statement as a simple fact. Our medical friends would not be so easy to convince.
“So, I’m going to be Auntie Isobel by Christmas,” she stated dully.
“No, Izzy,” I said slowly and clearly. “You’re going to have a baby sister.”
“Oh God,” she said in unconscious repetition of her new soubriquet. “Thanks a bunch, Mum!”
There was no adequate response to this so I remained silent. There was a long pause.
“How long have you known about it?” Izzy eventually asked after she had drawn a deep breath.
“Quite a while,” I said ambiguously.
In fact, it was in trying to deal with my daughter’s own pregnancy scare several months ago that my own condition had been accidentally revealed, but I didn’t want her to know this.
“And you didn’t think to tell us?” she demanded.
“I thought it would come to an end of its own accord,” I told her. “As you said so brutally, I’m in my fifties. If it did end naturally then nobody ever needed to know. You’re the first person I’ve called with the news.”
“So why are you telling me now? What’s changed?” she asked.
“I’m past the danger zone,” I replied honestly. “From now on it’s more likely that the baby will be born than I’ll lose it.”
“I suppose,” Izzy replied vaguely. “How does Dad feel about it?”
“He’s a bit anxious just like I am.”
“I’ll bet he is!”
“But,” I persisted. “He’s okay about it overall.”
“Huh!” she snorted again.
“Besides, by the time we come back from holiday, you’ll be able to tell. I’m already showing a bit and my tummy will be too big to hide by then.”
“Oh God, Mum!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “My own mother with a baby bump!”
“Don’t get too self-righteous, Isobel Barker,” I scolded. “It could easily have been you, remember?”
***
Since my husband Pete and I had decided to let my unplanned pregnancy go as far as nature allowed, I had been dreading this conversation more than any other and had put it off as long as I possibly could. Now, in mid-July and with the curvature of my belly so obvious that even my self-obsessed daughter couldn’t miss it, I had decided to bite the bullet and tell her on my own terms.
As Izzy was still at University at least four hours’ drive away, those terms involved a telephone conversation rather than the face-to-face heart-to-heart we would usually have had.
Isobel, the youngest of our three children; our rather unjustifiably self-righteous twenty-year-old daughter did not know that the baby growing in my belly was in fact only her half-sister. She did not know that her mother had actually been knocked up during a one-night stand with Darren, the twenty-nine-year-old Personal Trainer at our sports club and ex-lover of my closest friend Julie. But I knew that this lack of knowledge would not stop her adopting the outraged tone I had just encountered.
Izzy was also unaware of my affair with Tony, her best friend’s father and one of our closest family friends. It had started early the previous November and, although now definitely over, had been the catalyst from which all our current troubles dated.
Tony had seduced me one Friday afternoon after he and I had unexpectedly met on the train coming home from London. I had been writing one of my erotic stories at the time, one in which he featured as a model for the lead character, so I was already in a state of considerable arousal when he sat down in the seat opposite me.
After ninety minutes of talk and two large glasses of wine, he had driven me home from the station. In my confused state, I had failed to remove his hands from my bottom as he gave me his usual ‘farewell fondle’ and the rest was now history.
Tony had taken immediate advantage of the unexpected opportunity and, in a blitzkrieg of moves so rapid and professionally executed that I didn’t realise what was happening, had proceeded to seduce me in the hallway, strip me in the lounge, fuck me on the carpet and inseminate me copiously, all within no more than ten minutes.
I had then lost my mind as well as my morals and embarked on a passionate affair with him. After a month of meeting in secret, I had confessed my infidelity to my husband in a fit of guilt one night. Although Pete had been urging me to take a lover for several years, it was still a shock for him to learn that I had finally done what he had said he wanted and had been sleeping with a close friend for a full month.
The shock nearly ended our marriage on the spot but to his credit and my surprise, Pete eventually agreed that the affair could continue subject to a few conditions.
I of course, broke all of those conditions, falling madly in love with Tony, seeing him in secret, planning to leave Pete for him and lying to my husband freely until the inevitable happened; I was caught out.
The painful scene that followed resulted in my husband and I temporarily separating.
It was during this brief separation that I had become pregnant.
Against all the odds, conception had occurred during a tipsy, one-night stand with the young man in his dirty, rumpled bed in his squalid, untidy bedroom in the house he shared with his friend and work colleague Will. Darren had inseminated me at least four times during the full night we had spent together, delivering the best sex I had known in my life up till then.
Protection of any kind hadn’t occurred to me; if it had occurred to Darren, he had ignored it.
A few weeks later, Isobel had arrived home believing that she might be pregnant by her ex-boyfriend so we had performed several home tests. Purely by accident, these had revealed that although my daughter wasn’t pregnant, I was!
For several months Pete and I had vacillated about what to do. With our lifelong commitments to medicine, neither of us believed in abortion but for a long time, that seemed the only possible solution. It was only when we saw the baby moving during an ultrasound scan that we both said out loud that which we had only been thinking; that the only option either of us would accept was to let my pregnancy continue as long as nature intended.
Given my age, statistically, this would not be long. Of course, nature being the fickle, capricious creature she is, statistics meant nothing. My pregnancy was going very smoothly, my baby was healthy and it looked like Pete and I would be having a fourth child at the age of fifty-two.
It had taken a full week after our first true Hot Wife – Cuckold weekend for my husband and me to decide that going public about our impending fourth attempt at parenthood was now the only option. In truth it had taken all that time for my mind to tune in to reality generally, it and my body having been taken to a new and bewildering plane of physical pleasure by Adam, the male half of an attractive escort couple in Manchester.
Fulfilling his deepest fantasy at last, Pete had watched as I, his pregnant wife of over twenty-five years, had been fucked in every position I had imagined and several that had never crossed my mind. He had seen me reach orgasm many times, heard me yell, scream, beg to be impregnated and even profess love for the stranger to whose cock I had become temporarily enslaved.
He had even watched as for the first time in my life, I had first endured then whole-heartedly enjoyed having anal sex.
Now, a week later, the hickeys my lover had deliberately left on my neck and boob had faded almost to nothing, the post-coital, post-orgasmic euphoria was only a very pleasant memory and it was time to face reality again.
In this case, the reality involved letting first my family, then work, then our friends know that against all probability, I was about to become a mother again.
At that moment, the terrors of having another baby were far less daunting than the reactions I had just received and expected to receive over the next few weeks.
***
“How did she take it?” Pete asked as I joined him in bed a little later that evening.
“Better than I thought she might.”
“Are you going to tell the boys?”
“I won’t need to. Izzy will have told them both by morning.”
He took a deep breath.
“So, now the cat’s officially out of the bag. We’d better think who else to tell and when. Better get our story together now.”
“I suppose so,” I agreed without enthusiasm. “There are going to be a few raised eyebrows around here!”
Pete rolled towards me and planted a kiss on my nose.
“We can handle it,” he smiled. “If we stick together and stick to our story, we’ll be okay.”
My heart swelled with love; sometimes I genuinely believed I did not deserve to have a husband like Pete. Few men would even contemplate staying with a cheating wife who was pregnant by another man. Fewer still would agree to bring up that child as their own.
Pete moved closer, the look on his face changing as it so often did from one of love to one of lust, his hand beginning to stroke the small but distinctive swell of my belly then rising to my boobs where he caressed their swollen globes gently through my night dress.
“Careful,” I winced. “They’re a bit sore!”
“Sorry, Pen! They’re definitely bigger though,” he smiled admiringly.
“You prefer them bigger?”
“It makes a nice change,” he grinned.
It did indeed make a change; my boobs had been so tiny throughout my life that most of the time, I hadn’t needed to wear a bra other than in the gym or when, like now, I had been pregnant. Even then, the best I had managed was to partly fill a B cup. But even the smallest boobs can sag so as age and gravity had taken their toll, some ongoing support had become a necessity. Those days, I wore bras most of the time.
Pete’s hand moved from my globes to my nipples. They had become larger, darker and much more sensitive but my husband’s touch was light and the pleasure was very noticeable.
I sighed as the man I loved caressed my boobs then slipped his hand downwards towards the re-grown, greying triangle at my groin. There was no mistaking what he wanted; I would not even try to resist. A moment later, I felt the hem of my night dress being raised beneath the duvet and the touch of warm fingers on my bared belly.
“Does it feel like his baby?” Pete asked quietly as he stroked the gradually-stretching skin of my bump.
“I’m not sure. It certainly feels different,” I answered.
“Different from any of my kids?”
“It’s too long ago to remember exactly,” I smiled as his fingers began to toy with the tight curls of my pubic hair. “But it’s definitely not the same.”
“I wonder if you feel different too,” he pondered with a cheeky grin.
“Different where?” I asked, knowing full well what my husband meant
“Inside, of course,” he frowned.
I sighed a mock-sigh.
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
Pete’s body rose on his strong arms; my legs parted willingly as he mounted me, his coarse hairy thighs pressing against the soft inside of mine.
“No foreplay tonight?” I joked.
“You can have as much after play as you want,” Pete smiled as he rubbed the tip of his erect cock up and down my slit. “But right now, you’re going to be fucked by your husband. Christ, you’re wet tonight, Penn.”
“I seem to be like that all the time these days,” I confessed. “I’m getting through a lot of knickers.”
That was indeed the truth. I had been an easy lay for Pete throughout all but the last weeks of my pregnancy with Isobel but this time round, I seemed to be semi-aroused all the time. Carrying spare panties in my handbag had been obligatory for weeks.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Pete grinned, finding his target between my thighs.
I shivered in anticipation as I felt my puffy lips being carefully parted and the smooth rounded end of his long, slender cock began to enter my vagina.
“Perhaps we should keep you knocked-up all the time,” he hissed as he slipped easily into my welcoming body.
“Barefoot and pregnant?” I suggested, feeling my vagina encircling his long, thin shaft.
“Pregnant maybe; barefoot absolutely not!” he grinned cheekily, wriggling his hips to ease his way into my welcoming body. “I prefer the finer things in life!”
I smiled up at my handsome husband as he sank the last few inches into my unresisting body. His pubic hair ground roughly against the freshly-regrown covering on my mound. He paused for a moment, our eyes on each other’s. There was a look of love and something close to adoration on his face that made my heart ache.
For a few seconds, the thought that I did not deserve this amazing man filled my mind, but then Pete slowly pulled back and began to thrust in and out of my vagina in slow, easy, unhurried strokes and all my attention became focussed between my thighs.
Though pregnancy had undoubtedly heightened my sensitivity, I knew from the beginning that for me, this copulation would not end in orgasm. There would be no climax on Pete’s cock that night but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a great deal of closeness and pleasure to be had while trying.
I stroked his well-defined shoulders and arms as the man I loved and had borne three children made love to me, the woman who had sworn to be faithful only to him but who was now carrying the child of another man. I looked up into the reassuring, familiar features of his handsome, lined face and at the short greying hair surrounding it as his hips slapped rhythmically against my inner thighs.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
Since giving birth to our three children, my vagina had become much looser. I had torn badly when Isobel was born which had made the situation even worse. Pete’s cock was long and slim so for many years, it had been difficult to create enough tightness in the right places no matter how assiduously I worked on my pelvic floor exercises.
Until the previous November, my vagina had known only that one penis for over twenty-five years. Though there had been a few close calls during that time, none had resulted in full-scale infidelity. However, in the nine months since I was finally seduced by Tony, the number of men who had fucked me had risen to five.
All had been different; all had been exciting; all had provided the orgasms that my husband and I between us had failed to deliver. One had provided what to this day remains the most intense sexual experience of my life.
At the same time, Pete had spent one single night in bed with one other woman. That woman, my closest female friend, had hinted strongly that his performance in her bed had been impressive. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had even compared him favourably to her erstwhile lover Darren, the twenty-nine-year-old personal trainer who had seduced me and gone on to father the child now growing in my belly.
I tightened down as hard as I could, closing my eyes and clamping down on my husband’s shaft as tightly as my baby-stretched muscles would allow.
“That’s great, Penn!” Pete smiled broadly, his thrusting quickening.
I held the tension as long as I could, released it for a second then tightened again.
“Wow that feels good,” came the pleasing response.
I tightened hard again, then tilted my pelvis forwards, pressing my clitoris against my husband’s fast-moving shaft as it stimulated my vagina in new and exciting places.
“Mmm! Do that again!” Pete growled.
I tightened hard once more; my arousal surged, bringing tingles of pleasure to my loins but still not enough to reach orgasm. I resigned myself to this fact and concentrated on gaining as much pleasure as possible from the remaining moments of our liaison.
There weren’t many moments in which to do this. As had happened before, the unfamiliar tightness of my vagina was bringing my husband to climax very quickly indeed.
‘Slap-slap-slap-slap!’
Pete’s rhythm grew faster and faster though his thrusts were still controlled for fear of pummelling the baby whose head was merely millimetres from the head of Pete’s cock as he bottomed out inside me.
‘Slap-slap-slap-slap!’
As it had for the last few weeks, his caution, though no doubt wise, was preventing both of us from enjoying our copulations as much as we wanted and needed. Add to that the recent, feral memories of our first and only night with Adam and Eve, the Manchester escort couple and you had a recipe for bedroom disappointment.
“One more time, Penn!” Pete croaked as his strokes became rapid and erratic.
I tightened down one last time as hard as I could, raking his shoulders with my fingernails and wrapping my legs around his strong thighs.
“Yes! Yes! YESSS!”
And then he began to cum. With the tip of his cock barely an inch away from the inverted head of my illegitimate baby, my husband began to fill his unfaithful wife’s vagina with semen.
As I felt the warm, thick fluid being spread over the sealed entrance to my womb, the fear that I was now ruined as far as normal sex was concerned flooded into my mind once again. Though he might never truly satisfy me in bed again, I concentrated on the immense love I unquestionably felt for the extraordinary man whose body was throbbing and pulsing inside mine.
The man who was the father of all my children. At least, all those born so far.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Is it true, Mum?”
The voice of Josh, my oldest son sounded terribly serious down the phone early the next morning. Izzy must indeed have done what I had predicted and told her brothers immediately. Being Monday and a work day, we were up early and getting dressed, a fact not made any easier by my body which was reminding me in the way it knew best that a small creature was growing inside it.
I was feeling very sick.
Pete was in the shower so I had answered the phone next to the bed, wondering which of our remaining children would be the first to call in disbelief. The sound of Josh’s voice came as no surprise; he would have been awake for some time and was on his way to work if the sound of trains in the background was anything to go by.
Confident and independent, I hadn’t seen my oldest child in the flesh for nearly two months though we had spoken many times on the phone. He and his girlfriend lived together in a rented flat in London and had been deeply involved in their careers since leaving University three years ago. He seldom came north to visit.
“Is what true?” I asked disingenuously, rather annoyed at his aggressive tone.
“What Izzy just told me; that you’re pregnant. Is it true?”
I took a deep breath. It had started; the wave of questions, challenges and disbelief that Pete and I had been dreading was about to begin in earnest.
“Yes, it’s true, Josh,” I replied quietly.
“Jesus, Mum,” he exclaimed though it sounded more in genuine shock than in horror.
“I know.”
I couldn’t think what else to say. There was a brief silence.
“How far gone are you?” he asked.
“She’s due in December,” I added.
“She? Izzy didn’t tell me that.”
“We can’t be completely sure, but chances are it’s a girl. Are you shocked?”
“You could say that,” he gasped. “I thought you were too…”
His voice sensibly faded before he had uttered the dreaded word. I filled in the gap for him.
“Too old?”
”No! Well, yes,” he corrected himself honestly.
“To be honest, it was quite a surprise to me too,” I confessed, more kindly than I had with Izzy. “But your Grandma had an even later menopause.”
Either he didn’t know about his Dad’s vasectomy or he hadn’t yet made the connection. I was pleased not to have to lie to my firstborn son and strictly speaking, hadn’t yet done so. Okay, I had let him come to his own erroneous conclusions but that wasn’t the same as actually lying, was it?
That was what I tried to convince myself anyway.
“Was it an accident?” he asked. “How did it happen?”
For a moment I wondered how many sons had ever asked their mothers whether they had got pregnant deliberately. But Josh wasn’t as malicious as his sister could be, so I answered him as directly as I dared.
“It wasn’t planned.”
“How does Dad feel about it?”
“We’re both apprehensive and it will be strange to have a baby in the house again but we’re pretty confident we can handle it. We did okay with you three, didn’t we?”
There was an ironic laugh down the phone. A feeling of relief came over me. If Josh could laugh, then at least one of our children might be, if not on our side, at least not actively hostile.
“Are you upset about it? Having another sister?” I asked, hoping for further reassurance.
“It’s one hell of a shock, Mum,” his voice sounded shocked too. “But give me time; I guess can probably live with it.” His words were making me feel a little better, but then he added. “I’m going to have a few distractions of my own.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
My son Joshua paused just as his father would have done.
“I mean that a few months after becoming a Mum again, you’re going to be a Grandma too!”
My mouth dropped wide open. It was still open as Pete entered the bedroom a few moments later.
“What’s wrong, Penn? Are you okay?”
I raised my head and stared at him, phone still in my hand, completely stunned.
***
If you can think of a more disorienting start to a week than mine, you have my deepest sympathy. I was distracted as I drove to work, missing my turning and having to go around the block twice. Even the busy banality of a hospital on a Monday morning couldn’t keep the thoughts out of my mind for more than a few minutes and, as lunchtime approached, my tummy was as full of butterflies as it was of baby.
A Grandmother and a new mother at the same time? At least the Devil has a sense of humour!
As part of our plan to ‘go public’, I had arranged to have a sandwich with the Head of Research – notionally my Boss but actually a long-term friend too. Ten years older than me, Sandra and I had worked together for over fifteen years on and off, ever since she had originally recruited me.
The unspoken plan was that when she retired, I would take over her role. The news I had to impart that lunchtime would have quite an impact on those plans.
“You’re what?” she gasped, eyes wide, her hands on her mouth.
“It’s true,” I blushed.
“I thought…” she began unimaginatively then paused.
“I suppose I thought so too,” I conceded.
“And you’re going to have it?”
I nodded.
“Have her,” I corrected. “We think it’s as girl and yes, if nature allows, she’ll be born in December.”
“How did Pete take it?”
“He’s okay. We’re both a bit anxious but…”
As expected, my scandalised friend wanted to know all the details about how this miraculous event had taken place. She got the party-line of failed vasectomy coupled with late menopause. I could see the skepticism written all over her face but I dug in my heels and insisted.
“So what about here?” she eventually asked, clearly frustrated with my reticence. “Are you going to stop working?”
“I don’t want to,” I told her honestly. “I was going to ask for maternity leave like all the other Mums do.”
“How long for? What about your research?”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll need but it could be the full year,” I sighed. “Maybe I can work part-time while I’m off but it all depends how I am physically and how the baby is.”
“How’s it going so far?”
I laughed ironically.
“As smoothly as any of the others,” I frowned. “The baby’s normal and my blood pressure’s fine. Apart from a bit of sickness, I’m fit as a fiddle despite my age.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
I smiled.
“So, I need to plan to be without you; maybe for a whole year?” Sandie asked.
I sighed and shrugged.
“I’m sorry to let you down. You’ll have to cover my students; it will be hard to get anyone else in my field.”
She put her hand on my arm and smiled.
“Don’t worry! Don’t even think about it. It’ll be a pleasure.”
“What?”
“I’m sick to death of having to worry about the poor millennials and the next generation’s angst. It’ll be a pleasure to do it. You show those ungrateful snowflakes what a real woman can do. I’m proud of you, Penny!”
She meant to show real support and I loved her for it, but mostly all I could see was an added layer of expectation and pressure that I really didn’t need.
“You’ve got a couple of weeks off now, right?”
She was right. In all the fuss over Manchester and my pregnancy, I had all but forgotten the summer holiday in France that Pete and I were due to take in only a week’s time.
“Well just make sure you enjoy it. Relax and don’t worry about us here. By the time you come back, I’ll have all the maternity paperwork done and we’ll be ready to plan your workload around the baby.”
“That’s really nice of you, Sandie…” I began.
“Not a bit of it. You’re my best researcher and an old friend. Besides, now’s the time for we older women to stick together.”
Tears began to well up in my eyes. Whether this was hormones or sentimentality I don’t know but the emotions were very hard to control.
“But perhaps you and I need to have a talk about birth control afterwards, eh?”
I laughed out loud then cried a little more, but it felt good. Another box had been ticked; my secret was well and truly out.
The wheels were beginning to turn.
***
“I always liked Sandie,” Pete said sincerely as we lay in bed that night.
“She just took it in her stride,” I replied. “I couldn’t believe it. And as for her attitude towards the young researchers…”
“I have the same problem,” Pete said. “It’s not like when I was newly qualified. Now we have to watch working hours, time off, holiday entitlement, maternity leave, paternity leave, study leave… it just goes on and on.”
We read our books for a few minutes before he turned towards me again.
“I’m beginning to sound like a Grumpy Old Man already,” he grinned.
I smiled back. He always had but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Are you ready to be a Grandma as well as a new Mum?” he asked.
“I’m not really ready to be either,” I replied. “I was just getting used to…”
“Being a Hot Wife?” he completed my sentence for me. “Or being faithful again?”
I gave him a sharp look, wondering if he was beginning to feel resentful about the prospect of bringing up another man’s child. But I saw nothing untoward in his expression.
“Is that part of our lives over now? I asked.
“I bloody well hope not,” Pete grinned. “After Manchester, I’ve got a real taste of what that kind of life could be like.”
He leaned over and kissed me, rubbing his palm over my baby bump.
“And from what I saw, you won’t be in too much of a hurry to give it up either.”
“Don’t embarrass me, Pete,” I blushed, but did not argue.
He was right; having had a taste of what great sex really could be like, the idea I might never experience it again was inconceivable.
“So, we’ll try and build it into our lives, whether we’re being a couple, a family or Grandparents,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
I snuggled up to him by way of eager agreement. He kissed the top of my head and stroked my bump a little longer.
“It used to be common,” he said after a while.
“What was?”
“I mean in Victorian and Edwardian times it wasn’t at all unusual for mothers and daughters to have babies at the same time. My Great Aunt Jean and my Uncle Fred were only two years apart. Her mother was his Grandmother.”
“It might have escaped your notice that those times ended a long time ago,” I replied bitterly. “The only places it happens now in on the sink estates where the mother is fifteen years old, the Grandmother is thirty and there are no men in either household.”
It wasn’t true and I knew it but I was unsettled. Just what I was unsettled about I couldn’t really say; maybe it was my hormones playing with my mind as part of the pregnancy.
“Josh is about the same age I was when we had him,” Pete added reasonably. “Besides, it’s not really any of our business.”
Sometimes my husband’s calm nature could be infuriating. It was even more infuriating when he was right. He held out his arm and I snuggled closer to his strong, reassuring frame under the duvet. It usually helped me relax and it began to work this time too.
“I felt a flutter today,” I whispered once I had calmed down a bit.
“Really?” Pete asked excitedly.
“Mmm. Just a little one but it was definitely there.”
“Can I feel?”
I pulled up my night dress and felt my husband’s gentle hands exploring the small bulge in my belly.
“I can’t feel anything,” he sounded disappointed.
Pete lowered his head and placed his right ear against my bare tummy.
“There! Did you get it?” I asked, feeling the tiniest flutter again.
“Yes! At least I think I did.”
He waited a minute or so with his ear on my belly then gave up, rose in bed and kissed me on the lips again.
“We are doing the right thing, Penn,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “Having the baby, I mean.”
“I suppose so,” I replied. “But it’s going to be tougher than we imagine. We’re twice the age we were first time round.”
“But three times as experienced,” he rightly added. “We’ll be okay. Goodnight, Penn!”
“’Night!” I replied.
Pete’s breathing became slow and deep within minutes but I lay awake in the darkness for some time, worrying. Pete had sounded clear and certain that everything would be okay with our new baby but I wasn’t anywhere near as sure.
Whatever my amazing husband might say now, how he would feel when the baby was born and he was faced with the reality of having to bring up another man’s child for at least eighteen years could be very different.
Having to see every day the walking, talking evidence of his wife’s infidelity and stupidity might be very different. Having to face the doubts, questions and suspicions of our friends and family would put pressures on us both that we were only seeing the first glimpses of
Would either or both of us crack under those pressures? Only time would tell. Meanwhile, we had our last holiday to enjoy as a couple before we became a young family again and domestically, all hell broke loose!
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Bouchon!”
Two weeks later, the sign over the motorway sneered at us as we stared miserably at the exhaust pipes of the ocean of cars in front of us. Yes, it was bright; yes, it was sunny; yes, it was the South of France but for a woman whose bladder was getting smaller by the day, being stuck in a French traffic jam was hell on earth.
We had both been looking forward to the holiday for months.
Our daughter Izzy had come home from University for the summer vacation and was working in a local shop. Apart from escaping from the disapproving atmosphere that, thanks to her presence, permeated our house, we were very much aware that it might be our last chance to have a romantic break as a couple before the baby was born and we became a family with a young child again.
In the past, we had enjoyed breaks in the South of France both as a couple and as a family; it was one of the places we both loved best in the world. Pete had pushed the boat out, booking a large, three-bedroom gite with a private pool to give the two of us some privacy and luxury.
There were plenty of excellent restaurants nearby and as many ancient monuments as a visitor could hope for. The sun was warm, the pool was cool and the food was excellent.
Pete had insisted on driving us down to Provence for our summer holiday, spending a night en route in the historic town of Troyes. At least that had been the plan; when we had actually tried to book, the only room available had been in a budget hotel by the airport. Instead of strolling through the romantic streets of the old city, we had spent the evening in a large chain restaurant surrounded by large, noisy families from many European countries all on their way to the sea and the sun.
Being France though, the food had been more than tolerable and the evening had passed pleasantly. It would have passed even more pleasantly had I been allowed a glass or two of wine, but alcohol was definitely off the menu for the middle-aged woman with the still-small-but-now-unmistakeable baby bump.
Fortunately, we reached our holiday home just after lunch the next day and all the stresses of the journey had evaporated. Pete unpacked while I lay down on the sofa for half an hour then the two of us walked the short distance into the village and bought the necessaries for our dinner that evening.
After returning to the gite, we pulled on our swimming costumes and passed a quiet, companionable hour in the pool. That was immediately been followed by a light but pleasant dinner which I really enjoyed cooking and an equally pleasant hour in bed upstairs.
Up till that day, the more my belly swelled, the less attractive I felt but perversely, the more Pete seemed to desire me in bed. His obvious attraction and instinctive arousal at the sight of my increasing baby bump were so obviously both powerful and genuine that even my battered self-confidence could not avoid taking a giant leap forward.
After paying a solid twenty minutes of oral attention to my boobs and between my legs on both sides, Pete had pushed me onto my back then mounted and fucked me like a man possessed. As a result, our first copulation had been brief but intense.
The second round that followed half an hour later was much longer, much more controlled and for me at least, much more pleasurable.
As usual, I had not reached orgasm on my husband’s familiar, slim cock but I had come closer to climax than normal and anyway, I was still tingling from the stream of surprisingly powerful orgasms his mouth and tongue had brought a short while before.
After a promising beginning, the holiday had become better and better. The ancient but recently-restored gite was everything we had hoped it would be and the pool was sheer bliss in the heat. With its all-concealing garden wall, I even started swimming and sunbathing in my sole remaining bikini rather than my over-tight one-piece costume despite the bulging tummy now clearly visible between its bra and panties.
“You’ve not looked this sexy in a long time,” Pete told me on so many occasions even I eventually began to believe him. “Don’t you dare wrap that towel round your tummy!”
This semi-naked, semi-public exposure of the results of my infidelity had driven my husband to still greater efforts in the bedroom. A week into the holiday we had made love every day, sometimes in the mornings, usually in the evening and with a few post-pool afternoon copulations thrown in for good measure.
We had even had our first successful anal sex. I get a thrill writing about it even now. Taking lessons from Adam’s technique, the position in which he had penetrated me and with the liberal use of lubricant, Pete’s long, slim cock had finally entered my rectum unaided at eleven-thirty on Wednesday evening.
It was nothing less than a revelation. Though the combination of Pete’s slim tool and my loosening vagina had long since failed to deliver the climaxes I desperately desired, now it was no longer unexplored territory, the dimensions of his cock and the tightness of my near-virgin anus were an almost-perfect match.
Once the shock of penetration had passed, my body adjusted to the unfamiliar presence far more quickly than it had to Adam’s thick shaft. Within a dozen strokes, Pete had me panting and gasping for breath; within two minutes, I was face down on the mattress, my legs spread, my body shaking uncontrollably with the first of many orgasms I was to enjoy that night.
Though successful, our improvised anal technique had been inexperienced and unsophisticated; we had both been sore the next morning, so it was a couple of days before we repeated the experience. When it eventually took place, this second anal copulation had been even more successful, making me cry out my husband’s name in ecstasy as he reached his own climax and, in one of the longest ejaculations I could remember, filled my rectum with his semen.
From there, the holiday had gone from strength to strength both romantically and sexually.
Emboldened by Pete’s obvious delight in my condition, knowing there was no one we knew close by and with a powerful need to keep my growing body cool in the Provencal heat, I had felt confident enough to wear the kind of short sundresses I had worn when we had first been together.
Well, perhaps they were a little longer than in my twenties but the amount of thigh they exposed was more than I had shown in decades.
Apart from a tightness around the tummy, I had been very pleasantly surprised how my fifty-one-year-old body could look in such a garment. Okay, my legs weren’t what they had been when I had first been pregnant all those years ago but they were no less slim and apart from the bump, I had put on very little weight.
Sadly, my face had more lines than it used to and the darkness in my hair came out of a bottle these days but as Pete said, pregnancy had softened my complexion and had made my hair glossier than it had been in years. So, with the slightly uneasy feeling that I was mutton dressed as lamb, I had thrown caution to the winds and gone out dressed as I had dressed when I was first pregnant, over twenty-five years ago.
Together and often holding hands, we visited markets, villages, bars, restaurants, marinas and ancient ruins. Although at first, I was very conscious that the slightest lapse of concentration might display my knickers to the watching world, I had nonetheless gone ahead and soon began to enjoy the frisson of risk, safe in the knowledge that no-one we knew was anywhere nearby.
We went to the seaside, to the lavender fields, to local fetes and fireworks. I had forgotten how much I loved the way my husband looked when he was really relaxed. Away from the demands of his work and with the decisions about our future made, Pete seemed at least ten years younger than he had only a week before.
With the unfairness of life, his greying hair simply made him look more rugged or distinguished, depending on what he was wearing. The tailored tee and polo shirts he usually wore showed off his gym-toned chest and arms delightfully but it was the way his thigh-length shorts displayed his tight buttocks and well-formed thighs that made my heart thump in my chest.
The pangs of jealousy that flashed through me when I saw other women my age and younger giving him a second, then a third good look were disturbing but no more than I deserved.
Sometimes when I looked at him and lay beneath him, I could not imagine why I had ever wanted another man in my bed. Then I would remember the weekend in Manchester and the answer would become obvious, as would the damp patch in my knickers that invariably followed such vivid memories.
Occasionally, I wondered if I had dreamed the last nine months but then I would catch sight of myself reflected in a shop window, see the swelling in my belly and reality would flood back into me.
Now, a week into our fortnight break, we were stuck in traffic again. This time, returning from a daytrip to visit the ancient papal city of Avignon. I stared out of the window and tried not to think of the full bladder being slowly squeezed by the weight of the baby above it.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked as we crawled forwards in the traffic.
“I could do with the loo,” I replied, fidgeting in my seat.
“How bad?” he asked.
“Bad!”
“There’s an exit ahead,” he smiled. “Let’s go and have dinner there and let all this lot clear a bit.”
“I’m hardly dressed for dinner, Pete,” I protested, indicating the over-tight, under-length dress I was wearing.
Pete had persuaded me to wear it on the basis that in Avignon absolutely no-one would know us. It had given both of us a sexual thrill throughout the day’s visit, but the slightest misjudged movement would reveal my white knickers to the watching world.
“I know,” he shrugged. “But we can’t sit in this queue all day, can we? Not with you needing a pee every twenty minutes.”
It was nowhere near that often but Pete was right; I would just have to take extra care.
We drove down the hard shoulder, attracting the anger and envy of other trapped motorists then pulled off at the next exit.
***
“Was it this good with Julie?”
The question was a surprise, even though it was me who had asked it. Perhaps I was just thinking aloud; perhaps it had been subconsciously on my mind for a long time, perhaps my pregnancy was making me feel insecure but as Pete and I lay together in bed on our last night on holiday, our bodies like two spoons in a drawer, post-orgasmic aftershocks pulsing through me, the dreamy words came unbidden.
“I can’t believe you asked that!”
My husband’s voice was sharp, as if shocked. And so he might be given I had just asked about the sex he had enjoyed with my closest female friend during what I believed to be his only act of infidelity in the whole of our relationship.
“I mean is she better at.. doing it than I am?”
The tables really were turned. When our Hot Wife relationship had started it had been Pete who was constantly asking how his size and performance in bed compared with those of my lovers. Now that we had discovered anal sex and I could be all but stupefied by the orgasms it produced, a new, powerful and unfamiliar element of sexual and emotional insecurity on my part was making its presence felt on a regular basis.
Its emergence was no doubt helped by the feelings of vulnerability all pregnant women feel at some time but having spent most of the last year sleeping with men other than my husband, in my case, it felt doubly unnerving.
“There’s no way I’m going to answer that,” Pete mumbled into the back of my head. “There’s no answer that won’t get me into big trouble.”
Although it had been a one-night encounter, my friend had dropped hints a few times that my husband’s performance in her bed had been impressive. I knew for a fact she had introduced him to the pleasures of anal sex; pleasures that had just rendered me a helpless, quivering wreck so it wasn’t entirely surprising that my dazed mind had wandered in her direction.
“Pete I…” I protested.
“It was a mistake on both our parts,” he said quietly. “I admit it was pleasant while it was happening but afterwards, we both knew it wasn’t right.”
“Was it just pleasant?” I whined.
“Okay, it was very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed. Does that satisfy you?” he frowned.
It didn’t of course; in fact, it made things much worse but having started the conversation I couldn’t stop myself however painful it was.
“She told me you were good,” I said quietly as if not really wanting to hear myself.
“That’s nice of her,” Pete replied, equally quietly.
“Did you make her cum?”
“Penny!”
“Come on Pete. I tell you everything. It’s only fair!”
He frowned then took a deep breath.
“Okay then; it looked like it she came,” he said. “Several times. But she might have been faking it. Girls sometimes do, I understand.”
The look on his face was at least a half-serious accusation.
“Does she cum easily? Does she cum hard?”
“For God’s sake, Penn!”
“Please, Pete. I’ve told you all about me.”
He took a deep breath.
“Yes, she cums easily and hard,” he sighed. “But she has a bit of a head start.”
I frowned.
“What sort of head start?”
He took another deep breath.
“You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she’s got a bit of mechanical assistant.”
“A vibrator you mean?” I suggested.
“No. I mean she’s got a piercing,” he said slowly.
“Where?”
“Down there,” he looked embarrassed.
This was a real shock.
“Where down there?” I demanded.
“Through her hood.”
“Christ! Really?”
“Really!”
This was almost as amazing news as her having left her husband for her twenty-nine-year-old Personal Trainer all those months ago. Despite Julie being my closest female friend, I had had no idea she had been so bold or, if I’m honest, so slutty.
“What’s it like?” I demanded, stunned.
“It’s like a gold bar with a ball on each end,” Pete told me.
“How big is it?”
Pete held his fingers about half an inch apart.
“Which way does it go; side to side?”
Pete shook his head.
“From top to bottom.”
“Wow!”
“That’s what I thought,” Pete said guiltily.
There was a long pause before I asked.
“Do men find that sort of thing sexy?”
“I suppose it’s sexy in itself,” Pete replied thoughtfully. “But it’s what it signifies that’s most important.”
I leaned closer and looked hard at my embarrassed husband.
“Go on!”
“Well it kind of suggests that the girl is really into sex; recreational sex too, not deep, meaningful relationships.”
“And…?” I prompted.
“And that she’s a bit of a slut – or at least that she can be dirty when she wants to.”
“And that turns you on?”
“I’m only human,” he admitted.
I lay back on the pillow, my head spinning. This was a revelation indeed. For a few minutes, I let the thoughts run round and round in my mind.
“Do you fantasise about her?” I eventually asked.
“Penny!”
“Do you?” I insisted.
There was a pause.
“I mostly fantasise about you and your lovers, but I suppose sometimes I do think about her,” he admitted.
“Huh!” I snorted, grossly unfairly given my own history.
“But remember; whatever she and I did, it’s you I love,” he insisted.
I rolled over and kissed him hard on the lips. Pete recoiled in surprise.
“What was that for?” he asked with a grin.
“You were wrong,” I murmured in reply.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that’s about the only answer that won’t get you into trouble!”
“Good!” he grinned back.
I slid my hand down his chest and across his flat stomach and found what I expected to find.
“You’re hard again already!” I said accusingly.
“I can’t deny it when it’s in your hand.”
“Is that because you’ve been thinking of her?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s very hard too,” I told him truthfully. “Even by your standards.”
“If you say so.”
“Do I make you as hard as she does?”
“Penny!”
“Tell me, Pete,” I insisted, squeezing his shaft even tighter.
“Okay… you make me even harder! Will that do?”
“Prove it!”
“Penny!”
“Prove it, Pete; fuck me like you fucked her!”
“What if it hurts?”
“I don’t care!”
And I didn’t care. I didn’t care when he rolled me onto my front, my belly crushed against the rumpled sheet. I didn’t care when he rose over me, spreading my legs wide with his knees. I didn’t care when he pulled my arms back and held my hands at the small of my back.
I made no objection when the head of his cock stabbed clumsily at my slit from behind, battering my clitoris as it sought eagerly for my entrance. Instead, I raised and tilted my hips as much as Pete’s oppressive weight on my back would allow until my vagina was presented in a way he could penetrate freely.
And penetrate he did! With a force that drove me physically up the bed and forced my face into the pillow, Pete slammed his long sim cock deep into my recently-used body with the power and energy of a man half his age.
And, slut as I am, I was in a position to know this first hand!
There was no love in our copulation; no meeting of minds or souls. The raw sexual energy released was both exciting and frightening at the same time, reminding me why I had fallen for this amazing man so many years ago.
Driven by our combined lust, Pete dominated me completely, his thrusts hard, deep and irresistible. Helpless beneath my husband, I gave myself to him completely, amazed and delighted that I could still evoke such passion in the man I loved.
I made no objection when he pulled himself out of my vagina and forced himself into my rectum, though the lack of lubrication made the penetration painful. I did not react when I felt the pressure of his forearm on my shoulders, pinning me down as his thrusts grew faster and faster and his climax approached.
There was too much discomfort for me to reach orgasm myself, but the sensations were extraordinary. Knowing I was experiencing what my closest female friend had experienced during my husband’s only night of infidelity was such an intense pleasure in itself that in a dazed way, I began to understand something of the pleasure my husband had derived from my own cheating.
“Going. To. Cum!” Pete growled in the height of his passion.
“Do it!” I croaked, pleased that the discomfort emanating from my ravaged anus might soon end.
“Where. Do you. Want it?”
Knowing my overwhelming predilection for full-on vaginal insemination, Pete was not too far gone to ask. But this time it was different; what I wanted was to know what Julie knew; to experience what she had experienced.
“Cum. Where you. Came in her,” I panted in time with the rhythm of his thrusts.
There were barely seconds to wonder where that might be before Pete’s climax fell upon him and, as I had imagined, he began to ejaculate deep in my rectum. The force of his final, uncontrolled thrusts drove me hard into the mattress, the thicker base of his shaft grinding hard against my sensitive anus but once again, I did not care.
For what seemed an age, Pete’s cock throbbed and pulsed in my rectum, filling my back passage with his seedless semen as the full weight of his masculine body pressed me into the bed. But eventually, the throbbing came to an end, he released my pinned wrists and took more of his weight on his arms and knees.
“Christ!” he exclaimed.
There was nothing I could think of to say, but I could feel his erection beginning to soften inside me.
“Are you okay, Penn?”
I nodded as he slowly and carefully pulled his cock from my body then rolled onto his back alongside me. I rolled from my front to my back, wincing a little as my buttocks closed on my violated anus.
“Did it hurt?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Sorry. But you did say you wanted to know…”
“What you and Julie did? I know.”
“Well, that was it! Well, part of it.”
Right then I didn’t want to know what the rest was. The thought that another woman could bring so much passion from my husband was alarming enough. I should have been more careful what I wished for.
“But it’s not going to happen again,” he insisted. “However good it felt, it was a mistake. It’s you I love.”
As I lay there, pregnant and with Pete’s semen beginning to ooze from my bottom, that was some comfort.
“Now we’d better get some sleep,” he added. “We’ve got a tough week ahead.”
“Hmm?”
“Think about it! The rumours will have been flying while we’ve been away. By the time we arrive home tomorrow, everyone will have heard you’re pregnant, a dozen different stories will be circulating about how it happened and all facts will have gone out of the window. We’ll have to try and get on with our lives with all this going on around us.”
He was right, though the rumours wouldn’t be anything like as outrageous as the truth, they would still be hard to deal with. There was only one response I could make.
“Shit! You’re right!”
