Chapter Thirty-Five
The next two weeks simply flew by. Preparing for a prolonged absence from work took a great deal of my time, energy and attention, both of which, given my noticeably increasing size and constant tiredness, were already in short supply.
Putting the discovery of my daughter’s video clips behind me was difficult. There was no way I could possibly let Pete know he had apparently fathered a cock-sucking slut, so I had to keep the knowledge very much to myself. Images of what I had seen flashed through my mind at inconvenient moments, bringing back even more inconvenient memories of myself with Darren and Will, the latter also having been recorded on video.
Interestingly, Tony did not feature in these memories at all.
Pete of course, suffered the consequences of having a wife in an even greater state of arousal than before.
I have to say that, with only the two of us at home, he looked after me like a Princess, spoiling me rotten, taking me to dinner and servicing my unreasonable sexual demands with considerable thoroughness. My gym visits had been curtailed, partly because of a fear of losing the baby at my age, but mostly because I had no desire to come face to face with either Darren or Will in my current condition.
As far as I knew, Darren had no idea I was even pregnant, let alone that he was about to become a father. Will’s attempt at blackmail had been neutralised through Mutually Assured Destruction but if he ever guessed the truth about my baby’s father, the recordings I held secretly and online might not be enough to keep him in a harmless position.
And of course, there was the deep, barely recognised fear that in my state of permanent sexual arousal, I might weaken, do something really stupid and end up being fucked by either or both of them again so for all of these reasons, the sports club was out of bounds for me.
It was a terrible waste of a subscription but I’m sure I’m not the first person to join a gym then not use it. Instead I went for runs and walks then, as my belly grew larger, for swims in the municipal pool.
Still, the increasingly vivid memories of being impregnated by Darren, my beautiful, olive-gold skinned seducer during the full night I spent in his horrible, dirty bed were put to good use. That and my growing collection of vibrators and other toys on the few occasions when Pete was either unable to assist me with my needs or when, despite his best efforts, I remained unsatisfied.
On the subject of size, by the end of August, it was clear to everyone that this time round, things were going to be different, belly-wise. Tall and skinny, with all my previous pregnancies my bump had remained small and almost unnoticeable until the last few weeks before the birth. For the first few months, it looked like this baby was going to follow a similar pattern but with a full twelve weeks to go, I suddenly began to ‘show’ more and more.
It started with a general feeling that my clothes were getting tight. Then the car’s seat seemed too close to the steering wheel again. I put it back a bit more to find that my arms seemed to have grown shorter. In the shower too, it was becoming harder and harder to see my feet so one Saturday afternoon, with Pete and with a heavy heart, I accepted the inevitable and went clothes shopping.
To my delight, things had changed a lot over the last twenty-odd years. Rather than being an inconvenience, being pregnant was now considered a social event to be flaunted. A whole array of shops both in the high street and online now offered expectant mothers of any age, everything from loose, floaty dresses to dungarees and close-fitting cocktail dresses.
There was a host of underwear too from the expected huge knickers through swimming costumes for camels to sexy lingerie in case either the mother-to-be or her partner needed help in the arousal department.
In my case, this was the last thing I needed; Pete was becoming exhausted by my demands but so far had kept his end up (so to speak) admirably.
We returned home with my arms full of bags, changed over my wardrobe and my condition ceased to be a rumour. From the Monday onwards, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind; Penny Barker was officially pregnant and getting more so every week.
Amongst all the problems caused by a swelling belly and shrinking bladder, there were some advantages in being seen as a Mum-to-be once again. Doors were held open for me more than before, colleagues were more polite and respectful and much more prepared to run errands at work.
In the street and in shops too, strangers let me pass in the crush more often, or reached things down from shelves for me, or let me into queues ahead of them; something that wouldn’t have happened only a week before when my condition was much less obvious.
But what surprised and delighted me most was that my badly-neglected, secret writing became a joy once again.
Always an early riser, I had been used to enjoying an hour or two alone every morning while my husband slept the sleep of the just. I had used that time to maximum advantage, writing and publishing my erotic stories or responding to the steady stream of reader’s messages that always followed the publication of a new story or a new episode.
My rapidly-shrinking bladder was now making its presence felt by waking me even earlier, driving me first to the bathroom then, with no hope of going back to sleep, downstairs to the kitchen and my laptop long before six o’clock.
A mug of tea alongside and in a constant state of arousal, the words simply flowed from me for at least an hour every day – much more at weekends. New stories came to me – many based on real life tales from my readers. I added chapters to some of my existing, longer works too.
But what surprised me most was the darkness of some of the more extreme ideas that forced themselves upon me; themes I had never dreamed would cross my mind, let alone make me feel inspired to write. Some were based on events in my past, others on things I had seen or read online.
Some seemed to come from a place deep in my psyche that I am reluctant even to explore.
Whatever their source, I began to create the outlines of stories based on these themes and to my surprise, found my own arousal soaring as I typed. The more detail I built into the narrative the more darkness appeared until I found myself rubbing my crotch against the towel on which I routinely sat when writing.
On one occasion I even reached orgasm through writing and rubbing alone, biting the thick part of my thumb hard as I came to prevent the noises waking my sleeping husband upstairs.
Some of these themes are too dark to detail here, but the excitement as I wrote them was intense and very satisfying. Some of these stories were eventually published under other pen names. One or two were placed on entirely different sites where more extreme ideas are considered acceptable and expected.
Sadly, the trolls continued to object even to the milder stories. For reasons I have never understood, they take particular exception to anything involving infidelity published under the heading of ‘Loving Wives’, even though the sites themselves insist this is where such stories belong.
Surely common sense would suggest that if a reader hates stories involving infidelity or cuckolding, a story announcing itself as precisely that should be avoided. Or am I being too simplistic?
And they say we women are hard to understand!
Still for a full two weeks, Pete and I were a couple again, in our own house, working on our own, slightly battered relationship, watching what would soon be our fourth child growing in my belly, and basically being happy.
Such times are precious but seldom last.
***
Isobel arrived home late on Saturday afternoon. Pete was playing golf with some friends from work when the shared taxi dropped her off then rolled out of our driveway to delivery its tired, no doubt hung-over and much more subdued contents to their various homes.
I watched it leave from the landing window then descended to the hall to greet my daughter, my heart thumping and my belly rumbling with nerves, not knowing what kind of reception I would receive but determined to get it out in the open straight away.
To that end, I had chosen the most obviously maternity dress I in my collection; a dress I was nowhere near bog enough to need yet but which would put my condition unavoidably in my judgemental daughter’s face from the start.
As I descended the stairs and entered the hallway Izzy looked up to greet me and my heart missed a beat.
“Hi Mum!” she called out cheerfully.
I was taken aback. Where was the grumpy body language I had come to expect? Where was the emotional upset, overt anger, barely concealed resentment or more often, all three at once? Where was the acidic comment about my choice of clothing?
“Izzy! Are you okay?” I asked anxiously, puzzled.
“Of course, I’m okay,” she grinned. “You’re looking good Mum.”
“I’m looking big,” I frowned, perplexed. “But thanks. Did you have a good time?”
“I had an amazing time Mum,” she beamed, running over and giving me a big hug and a kiss. “It was a great holiday – one of the very best!
“Want a cup of tea?”
“Please. Can you bring it up? I’ve got to go and unpack; we’re meeting in town at nine. You don’t mind giving me a lift in, do you?”
And with that whirlwind of arrival, Isobel and her luggage disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom. I heard the door close firmly.
Taking a deep breath and thanking whatever force of nature that had turned my spitting viper of a daughter into a human being again, I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.
The first danger had passed; Izzy was too wrapped up in her own world to worry about me and mine. At least she was for the moment; if anything went wrong in that world of hers, she would be back in mine in an instant.
But for now, I could relax a little as I made the tea, feeling considerably relieved.
Izzy was crossing the landing towards the bathroom when I reached the top of the stairs, ten minutes later. She was naked apart from a rather too-small towel wrapped around her body. When she saw me she made to cover herself with the material but quickly realised it was far too small so gave up and wrapped the towel around her waist, leaving herself bare-chested.
She needn’t have worried; with her tiny boobs, the need for support was negligible and besides, I had seen them many times before. If she was trying to hide herself from me, it must have been for another reason.
What I did notice was a complete absence of white lines in her upper body tan. She must have been sunbathing topless for most of the time. Her nipples had gone very dark too which would tend to support this theory.
Still, having done much the same myself in France, I had no cause to complain about that. What I had not done in France was acquire the clearly-defined and very visible bite mark alongside her left nipple. I tried hard not to stare, but Izzy must have seen my flitting eyes because she brought her arms close to her chest and half turned away from me.
“Here’s your tea,” I smiled, pretending not to have noticed.
“Can you put it in the bedroom please Mum? I’m going into the shower.”
“Of course! You can tell me all the details when you’re dressed.”
I pushed open the bedroom door and entered my daughter’s room. It was, as expected, a mess with dirty holiday clothes strewn all over the bed and the floor. I glanced guiltily at her laptop which appeared exactly as I had left it, then placed the hot mug on a coaster on the desk alongside.
Sounds of flowing water came through the half-open bathroom door. With Izzy temporarily occupied, the temptation to be nosy was too great and too short lived to be missed. As silently as I could, I quickly looked over the mayhem of clothing looking for anything new, interesting or incriminating.
It was an outrageous breach of my daughter’s privacy but I told myself I had her best interests at heart. Most of what I found was predictable; plenty of dirty knickers, sun cream-infused T-shirts and wraps and one very short yellow dress that still smelled faintly of alcohol and vomit.
I did find a new, thong bikini bottom I hadn’t seen before and which bore a label in Spanish. I had never seen so small a piece of clothing in my life. The tiny triangle at the front told me that Izzy must have continued to shave off her pubic hair or else at least half of it would have been clearly visible around it.
The top half of this remarkable attire was nowhere to be found.
Half hidden under her enormous toilet bag I found the jumbo pack of condoms. The half-dozen left meant that a staggering eighteen had apparently been used. I told myself that the other girls might have used some of Izzy’s stash then, when on reflection that seemed unlikely, consoled myself with the thought that she had at least had the sense to use one every time.
I could do without another pregnancy scare!
I returned to the kitchen and began to get the evening meal ready, wondering once again about my daughter’s sex life. As if cheating on her long-term boyfriend wasn’t enough, I could now add the making of sex tapes, sunbathing at least topless and apparently spectacular quantities of copulation with boy or boys she could only have met days or even hours before.
Okay, my own sex life had taken an unexpected turn recently but Izzy’s behaviour must have started long before Tony first seduced me. Could it have been in her and my genes all along?
“Don’t set for me Mum. We’re eating out tonight.”
I was setting the table for three when I heard the voice behind me. I turned to find Izzy dressed stunningly in her shortest blue cocktail dress and highest heels, her hair brushed until it shone; her make-up a good deal heavier than usual.
“Sorry. I should have said before,” she added.
“Who’s we?” I asked, slightly annoyed though the food would not be wasted.
“Oh, friends from the holiday,” she replied in a manner that suggested there was more to learn.
“I’m surprised you’re not fed up with each other after all that time together.”
There was a pause while Izzy thought a few things out.
“Actually Mum, it’s not just the girls. We met a group of boys out there too.”
Now I understood. Holiday romances were common but usually didn’t survive the holiday. Usually this was because the participants lived too far away from each other. But in this case, they were planning to meet almost immediately.
“You mean boys from round here?” I asked.
“I know. It’s crazy isn’t it? After going all that way, on the third night we met a group of boys from here in one of the clubs.”
“Did you know any of them?”
She blushed then said quietly.
“One of them was Jack!”
“Jack?” I exclaimed in surprise.
I was taken aback. Jack was Tony and Julie’s son. When the kids were younger, we had gone on holiday together often and had been to each other’s houses countless times until he and Julie had separated. We had been more like one big family for many years, but then the kids had grown up and gone to University, and things had calmed down.
Then of course, Tony and Julie had separated, she had started her affair with Darren and the rest was a shameful history. That history had included Tony seducing me and fucking me for several months before dumping me, a process that also included my husband Pete having a one-night stand with Julie.
I felt breathless just thinking about it.
Isobel knew nothing about this complexity, so I had to fight hard to keep my expression blank.
“He was with three friends from Uni. He’s going back in September.”
“You haven’t seen him for a while, have you?” I asked.
“Not since we went to the Snowdome,” she agreed.
My affair with Jack’s father had been new then; I had been far too wrapped up in my own affair to notice any change in the interaction between Izzy and her long-term friend. I sighed; so much water had passed under the bridge since then.
“The boys were great fun to be with; we kind of stuck together for the rest of the fortnight,” she continued enthusiastically.
“And you all got on well?”
“Ye-es,”
From her sudden change in tone and the sheepish look on her face, I could see there was more to tell.
“From the expression on your face, would I be right in thinking you got on very well with one particular boy, Isobel?”
I asked in the teasing voice I had used with my daughter all her life. She blushed, knocking years off her age.
“Well, yes I did,” she confessed. “Jack and I sort of… got together.
“You and Jack?” I exclaimed, amazed. “You do mean THE Jack; the Jack you’ve known all your life?”
She nodded.
“Yes Mum, I got with that Jack!”
“Got with? You mean you…?”
She nodded again, a little more confidently.
“Neither of us saw it coming. It just sort of started naturally. But once it had started, it was really great. He’s amazing Mum. We kind of stayed together the whole holiday and yes Mum, we did use condoms.”
“Isobel!”
I sounded shocked but it was my turn to blush. Izzy had read my mind exactly.
“I know. I wasn’t expecting it either but we’re kind of a couple now.” She fidgeted. “Actually, to be honest I’m just meeting him tonight, not the others. It’s our first date now we’re back home.”
“But you always said he was immature. He’s younger than you and…”
“I know what I said but things change Mum! He’s grown up so much in the last year. I noticed it when we went to the Snowdome at Christmas but I wasn’t sure. Being with him in Spain made me realise we were made for each other.”
Given my daughter’s recent inglorious history with boys, I thought this statement was very premature but of course, I didn’t say anything. Instead I stood and listened while she listed the best things she knew about the boy I considered almost a son, but who had apparently just become my daughter’s lover.
“Okay, he’s a year younger than me but that doesn’t matter now we’re older. He’s got an amazing body, Mum. He’s funny, he’s generous, he’s a great dancer and…”
Her eyes were bright as she spoke, her voice soft, her body language screaming out how very smitten she was with her new boyfriend. Unknown to Izzy, the all-too-obvious hardening of her braless nipples under her over-tight top was screaming out how good the physical side of their new relationship had been too.
“The girls were a bit cross with me. They said pairing up that quickly would spoil the fun for everyone. But I think it was mostly envy. I know for a fact that Emily had fancied him for years. The others told me…”
As Izzy extolled even more of the virtues of the new boy in her life and in her bed, all I could think of was the two of them playing in the garden of the Yorkshire cottage in which was had spent our first holiday as a group. The youngest of all five kids, both Jack and Izzy had been only seven and eight years old at the time and had played like brother and sister.
The thought of the two of them grown up and having sex together was hard to get my mind around. In a strange way, it felt wrong; almost like incest.
But since then of course, I had been fucked by Jack’s father more times than I could count, and my husband Pete had stuck his cock in Jack’s Mum’s anus at least once too so who was I to pass judgement?
Still, it did make me feel a more than a bit uncomfortable.
“He’s clever and ambitious and hard-working and gorgeous and caring and sexy and fun and great in…”
She went on. She was probably about to tell me how good in bed he was too but wisely stopped short when she realised it was her mother she was talking to.
“I’d better get going,” she eventually said, looking at her watch.
“Do you need that lift?” I asked, nodding towards all the food preparations around me.
“No thanks Mum. He’s on his way now in his Mum’s car. I just got a message. Got to run. Bye for now!”
And with that, my daughter dashed from the room. A moment later I saw her positively skipping down the driveway to the gates where a small red car was pulling up.
A car I recognised well; his mother’s.
***
“Do you think they’re sleeping together?” Pete asked, astounded when I gave him the news over pre-dinner drinks.
“Who knows,” I replied disingenuously, not wanting to upset my husband with my eighteen-missing-condom discovery. “They’re adults now.”
“But Jack? Izzy and Jack?” he went on as I had done. “I always thought they were like brother and sister.”
“Apparently no longer,” I said. “It seems our two families are getting closer all the time.”
Pete blushed momentarily at the unintended reminder of our mutual infidelities.
“What does Julie think about it?” he asked.
“I haven’t seen her since I heard the news,” I replied.
“Have you anything fixed?”
“I’ll send her a message, but I know she’s away on holiday now.”
“On her own?” he asked, surprised.
“She’s gone on one of those singles holidays,” I winked in reply. “With a friend from work.”
“Aren’t those the kind of holidays where women…” Pete began but I stopped him.
“If she’s lucky, yes they are!” I smiled as innocently as I could.
The last thing I wanted was for Pete to start remembering what he and Julie had got up to in bed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
For the next few weeks, all progressed even better than I had hoped. Izzy continued to be pleasant, though I saw little of her with her job and her new boyfriend in the picture. That relationship seemed to be going smoothly too, but it felt very strange the first few times a boy I had known from the age of four slept overnight in my daughter’s bed.
Izzy tried to be quiet, but it’s not in her nature. Izzy-Oh-God made her presence felt on several occasions and there was no mistaking the thumping sounds and muffled squealing that came through the walls at an impressive frequency.
Jack must be fitter than I had thought.
At work, my friend and Boss Sandie had put the wheels in motion to find maternity cover for me from early December – now confirmed as my due date. Pete was playing the role of the expectant father to perfection, a role he knew and which suited him well, given we had already been through it three times before.
Even my day in London baby shopping with Samantha, my delightful, also-pregnant daughter-in-law went well. We had hit Oxford Street fairly hard, despite the intimidating prices and enjoyed a slap-up lunch in Fortnum and Mason before she put me back on my train northwards.
The day felt so normal, I even managed to forget that I would be a Grandmother for the first time, only weeks after becoming a mother for the fourth.
It was mid-September before I could meet my longstanding and closest friend Julie for coffee and our usual catch-up chat.
“Well what a turn up!”
Julie began, diving straight into the conversation as soon as the niceties of admiring my rather substantial baby bump had been completed. I had to agree; my tummy had swollen so much that maternity clothes were now a necessity rather than a choice.
She lowered herself into the chair opposite mine at our kitchen table one Saturday morning. From her clothes and the state of her hair and face, she had just come from a hard session in the gym, which made me feel even more guilty for having avoided exercise yet again.
In public, I blamed my now-unconcealable baby bump. In private, I know I was being lazy.
What was worse was that she looked amazing. China-doll pretty, her slim, compact body looked even tighter and more athletic, her figure enhanced by the skin-tight lycra tights and sleeveless top she wore.
It wasn’t hard to understand what Darren and my husband had seen in her.
“What’s a turn-up?” I grinned as she sorted out her handbag and shopping bags.
“The kids of course! Jack and Izzy an item; who would have guessed that?”
“Not me,” I agreed. “It’s a bit out of left field but seems to be working okay so far. What do the others think?”
Julie pulled a face.
“They aren’t happy at all, but I told them it’s none of their business.”
“What about their Dad?” I asked, a little warily.
“He’s in no position to comment, is he? It’s not as if it’s the first sexual relationship between our two families.”
A shiver went down my spine at her unexpectedly bitter words. I leaned forward anxiously.
“No-one else knows about him and me, do they?” I hissed anxiously.
“Not as far as I know,” Julie replied with confidence. “Just as they don’t know about me and Pete.”
It was very unusual for our very temporary partner-swap even to be alluded to, let alone overtly mentioned. I suspect we were both a bit shocked it had come to the surface to suddenly because we both quickly sought a new subject.
“How’s the pregnancy going?” Julie asked.
We sipped our coffee and for a quarter of an hour we talked about the problems of a woman being pregnant in her fifties. Memories from both our pasts of aching backs, swelling ankles and putting on weight were brought out, along with a good few funny, self-deprecating stories from us both.
After the mixed reactions I was getting from work colleagues and some friends, it was good to be with someone who was unequivocally on my side.
Eventually we returned to Izzy and Jack and their new relationship. From the slightly awkward way she brought the conversation back to it, I could tell there was something still to come out.
“He’s over the moon of course,” Julie said with a smile. “He’s been in love with Izzy since they were tiny. For him it’s like a dream come true but…”
“But?” I prompted, wondering what the problem might be.
“Can I be honest with you Penny?”
“Of course!”
We knew enough about each other not to hold anything back. Though it remained unsaid, each of us knew enough secrets to cause mayhem for the other. I suppose it was another example of the Mutually Assured Destruction that my life was increasingly made of.
“Jack isn’t… wasn’t very experienced sexually. Oh, I know he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s never been very confident with girls. And he’s only nineteen remember.”
With his height and figure, I had forgotten that Jack was the youngest of all our children. Yes, given Izzy’s age he would still only be nineteen.
“He might even have been…” she hesitated before continuing. “A virgin before the holiday.”
“Did he tell you that?” I asked, amazed. “I can’t imagine either of my boys being so honest.”
“He used to tell me everything,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “But all that changed when I left Tony. Jack’s okay about the separation now, but he doesn’t tell me many secrets anymore.”
“Well, he’s certainly not a virgin now,” I sighed.
“That’s just it. I think he’s a bit shocked at… “Julie looked very awkward. “Well, Izzy’s the sort of girl who throws herself into something whole-heartedly, isn’t she Penny?”
That was the understatement of the week, but I didn’t say anything. I thought about the eighteen missing-presumed-used condoms in Izzy’s packing and began to understand.
“There’s no easy way to say this, Penny; Izzy’s got him wrapped around her little finger. Oh, she’s not doing anything wrong at all, but she’s much more experienced than him…”
I could tell there was more to come.
“Can I be really honest with you Penny?”
“You know you can,” I replied, though not without trepidation.
“Well,” she hesitated. “Jack’s worried she’ll dump him because he doesn’t know how to keep up with her demands. He doesn’t say it straight out, but I gather she’s a bit of a tiger in bed, Penny!”
“Jules!” I exclaimed, pretending to be shocked.
Julie looked at me with an expression that said she could guess where my daughter had acquired this sexual athleticism. For a moment I wondered just how much detail she had managed to learn of my affair with her soon-to-be-ex-husband.
“Oh, I know there’s not much you can do,” she continued after a moment’s awkward pause. “But Jack’s head over heels in love with her. He’s been in love with Izzy most of his life and now this has happened, he’s desperate to make it work. He’s worried she’ll get fed up of his lack of experience and dump him. I just don’t want him to be hurt.”
I understood. No mother wants her child to be hurt or upset. I felt the same about all three of my children and, knowing Jack and Izzy’s personalities, in this case I could easily understand why my friend was anxious.
“I’ll do what I can,” I reassured her. “But they’re adults and there’s not much I can do…”
I left the words hanging before continuing.
“But right now, she seems to have fallen just as badly for him as he has for her.”
“Really?” Julie asked, obviously relieved.
“Really Jules. You should hear her going on about how wonderful he is.”
My friend looked very relieved.
“I’m sorry to have told you all that,” she said quietly. “But I had to get it off my chest.”
“Don’t’ worry. After all that’s happened, I think you and I can talk about pretty much anything, don’t you?”
She nodded, blushing slightly though in my book it was me who had the most to be embarrassed about.
“Penny, Jack’s so pussy-whipped right now he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going!”
There was a pause while we both worked out what was wrong with what she had just said.
Julie got the joke first and stared at me, her eyes wide open. Then I got it and we both dissolved in fits of giggles.
***
“It’s no good Penny,” Pete gasped, pausing in his thrusts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my lower back. “I’m so shagged out I can’t even make myself cum now, let alone you.”
I frowned, looking at my disappointed face in mirror on the closet door. On all fours on the bedroom rug, it wasn’t the most dignified position to be seen in, especially with my growing boobs and swollen belly hanging down beneath me. But the frustration of having been brought so close to orgasm by my husband’s long, slim cock but denied that final push over the edge into proper climax, was almost intolerable.
Positioned doggystyle behind me, his cock still in my rather capacious vagina, Pete had done his very best but my advancing pregnancy and the constant state of arousal that had accompanied it for many months were now making me harder than ever to satisfy.
It was our second encounter within the hour, the first having led to a rather messy insemination long before my arousal had approached climax. At fifty-two, Pete’s refractory period wasn’t what it had been in our early days, so attempting a second copulation so soon had always been a risk.
The fact that he had managed an erection at all was tribute to his stamina and fitness. The fact that it was fading after doing only three-quarters of the job was tragic, at least for me.
In some ways it would have been kinder to have abandoned the idea before the second penetration had brought me so close to the edge, but it was too late now; there I was, on the brink of orgasm with my partner unable to take me those last crucial few paces.
“Please Pete,” I begged. “Can’t you fuck me anymore? I’m sooo clooose!”
I watched his face in the mirror as he looked down at his groin and shook his head.
“I’m losing it Penn. Sorry.”
Disappointment filled my head and heart. Pete must have seen my reflected expression too because he patted my well-displayed buttocks playfully.
“Get on your back,” he grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I carefully manoeuvred my growing body first onto my feet then with Pete’s help, onto the bed. I could see his cock, long and dark but far too soft to do the job that was needed in my vagina.
“Lie back and spread those thighs,” he grinned. “Let the dog see the rabbit.”
I did as he instructed, propping myself up on the pillows with my back against the padded headboard then watched as my husband climbed onto the bed between my open legs.
Pete shuffled forwards toward me, his eyes fixed on the messy prize between my upper thighs.
“I think we need them a bit wider,” he grinned, taking me by the keens and opening my thighs as wide as they could comfortably go.
It was clear now what his intentions were, and they made me very happy. Pete’s technique in terms of penetrative sex might not always work for me but his cunnilingual skills were first class.
“I don’t get many creampies these days,” he said with mock sadness. “I wonder if my own will taste different now you’re up the duff.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” I replied archly.
Pete lowered his head to my groin and planed a single kiss on my pubic bone, just above the soft, sparse, curly triangle that had regrown. I could feel the heat of his body between my knees and the warmth of his breath on my still tingling vulva.
I felt his lips on me again, then the touch of his tongue, first toying and tangling with the curls between my thighs then tentatively parting the puffy pink lips below.
Then he began to lick me, first in long, slow strokes from the open base of my slit upwards across my inner lips to the small, hard nub of my clitoris.
My husband knew his stuff; it was working.
“Hhhhhhhh,” I breathed noisily, my hips writhing under his tongue.
Pete licked me more firmly, dipping the tip of his tongue into my hot passage, my juices flowing more freely, their slightly sour, slightly metallic aroma filling my nostrils and making me half dizzy with lust.
“God! You’re good at this,” I sighed.
“I’m pleased you think so!”
Pete mumbled his reply into my damp mound before turning his attention entirely to my clitoris, now as hard and swollen as it could be, no doubt protruding from under its hood and sticking out between my puffy lips.
He sucked it into his mouth, his sharp teeth grating against its tender underside.
“Jesus!”
The shock made me gasp out loud, my hips bucking hard against my husband’s face, grinding my pubic hair against his lips and nose. Apparently unhurt and unfazed by the force of my reaction, Pete lapped at me eagerly, his tongue plunging deep into my deepest passage, then running the full length of my slit as if seeking out every last drop of my increasingly-pungent secretions.
“Oh God!” I gasped again.
My thighs closed tightly and instinctively against the sides of my husband’s head, ramming my vulva into his face so firmly that I’m sure he could barely breathe before they fell helplessly apart again.
He did it again with a similar result then, before I could react, he struck a third time. The fourth followed so soon after that my body had no chance to recover; the fifth followed hard on its heels and I was away.
Judging his pace to perfection, Pete tongued me with all the considerable expertise he possessed, each confident stroke building on the last, driving my arousal higher and higher by the second. With no time even to breathe, my chest became tight, my legs became loose and a familiar, much loved warm glow began to form behind my pubic bone.
The glow grew larger and more intense, Pete’s tongue now exclusively on my clitoris, working its tip under the hood then running underneath its tiny shaft with its flat, slightly rough upper surface.
“Jesus Christ!”
The warm glow grew hotter and hotter and larger and larger, filling my lower belly, pressing against the base of my chest, squeezing my already-tiny bladder.
It was then I felt the first finger sliding smoothly and easily into me. With his hand under his chin, Pete insinuated first one, then a second finger between my wet, flapping lips and into the mouth of my vagina.
It felt good, but as readers will remember, after three babies and two tears during childbirth, my vagina isn’t as tight as once it was. While Pete’s fingers were a welcome presence in my body, the sensations they were bringing were far from intense.
Sensing this, Pete began to move his hand inside me, twisting from left to right and back as if searching for something. I felt a third finger join the first two and immediately the sensations soared, my entrance tighter around my husband’s knuckles.
Pete’s hand twisted again. I could feel myself opening wider, my tight inner lips giving up more of their elasticity. I felt the heat of his palm against my mound and sensed rather than felt his fingers curling inside me until his fingertips rested against my g-spot.
The he began to work, mouth, tongue and fingers in perfect harmony, all focussed on my groin.
The effect was nearly instant. I began to cum as hard as I could remember cumming, cock or no cock. As Pete’s fingers crudely stimulated my hidden secret place, his tongue played its part on my clitoris.
“MMMMMMMM!”
The force of my ogasm was frightening. No words can properly describe it just as no words would come out of mouth when it was all happening.
Pete’s finger-fucking was rough and almost violent but my god, it was effective. Soon my body was flexing and rolling too wildly for his face to remaining on my clitoris in safety. He move into position higher up my body and put all his strength and energy into fucking me with his hand.
I could feel my fluids running freely down my bottom as my whole body begin to tremble and shake. Unable to speak or breath, my tummy contracted as far as my bump would allow, my legs flexed wildly, the hot pressure on my bladder reached an unbearable pain, my hips bucked hard against the fingers that were so deep inside them…
Though already painfully tight, I felt the pace of Pete’s fucking slow, then a fourth and final finger being forced part-way into my vagina alongside the others.
If two fingers were too little for pleasure, the mere thought of four fingers was too much for comfort.
“OwwwWWW!”
I wailed into the half-darkness of the room as my husband’s arm rose and fell in a blur, dragging his fingers over my g-spot over and over again. My head span, my breath came only in gulps and the desire to pee became almost irresistible.
But still Pete wouldn’t stop; he wouldn’t even slow his pace. The sounds of his hand in my vagina grew louder and louder and wetter and wetter as the ball of heat grew larger and hotter.
Then to my stunned amazement, something entirely new and completely unexpected happened.
The heat behind my pubic bone grew white hot, then surged at lightning speed down the inside of my thighs and through my vulva and into my bottom.
A huge, final surge of something that was either intense pleasure or agonising pain shot through my loins. Then, clearly visible despite my baby bump, a jet of clear fluid spurted from somewhere deep between my legs, shot upwards towards my knees then splashed all over my husband’s chest and arm.
Oh my God! For the first time in my fifty-one years, I had squirted! Penny Barker PhD had reached a squirting orgasm on her husband’s fingers.
But no sooner had I had these thoughts than my body took over again, writhing and bucking against the hand that was brining such intense and complicated sensations.
I never wanted it to stop. I desperately wanted it to stop.
I wanted my body to return to something like my control; I never wanted to be in control again.
But whatever I wanted was irrelevant; the choice was no longer mine.
Taken aback but undeterred, Pete continued to finger me hard, his hand a mere blur over my vulva, his fingers thrust even deeper into my vagina, rasping away at my g-spot.
Within seconds, the hot ball behind my pubic bone had grown to a painful level again and another, stronger jet of fluid short from me. This time Pete managed to avoid being in the firing line; whatever the fluid was, it sprayed across the duvet cover and soaked into the bed.
“Cumming…I’m Cumming… Oh Jesus!”
My back flexed, my legs shook as her my was driven violently against the hand within it. My fingers flew to Pete’s hand in a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to push it away from me then, when that failed, I grabbed at his arms, face and hair, pushing him away, then pulling him back again.
Two, three, four waves of orgasm washed through my pregnant frame before Pete finally decided I had endured or enjoyed enough his finger fucking slowed to a halt.
There was a pause while we both took stock of what had just happened. Though his thrusting had stopped, at least two of Pete’s fingers were still inside me as I lay panting and staring up at him adoringly.
“No more,” I begged. “Fuck me if you want but please, no more orgasms!”
My body was still shaking as Pete’s hand left my vagina, leaving it feeling battered and empty. With me incapable of movement, he wriggled up the bed until his erection was above my red raw vulva.
He smiled down at me, struggling to get the angle right over my swollen belly, then with some considerable care, slipped his erect cock into my soaking wet, badly stretched vagina.
I barely felt it enter. So numbed was I by his fingers and by the many climaxes he had inflicted on me, my vagina barely registered Pete’s cock on its way into its depths. It wasn’t until his pubic hair ground against my sore outer lips that I felt anything significant, and that was painful enough to make me wince.
“Sorry,” Pete smiled wryly. “I’ve roughed you up a bit.”
“It’s okay,” I sighed, my head still spinning. “But you’d better finish off soon.”
“Your wish is my command, Hot Wife Penny,” he grinned. “But it might get worse before it gets better.”
Good to his word, Pete’s thrusts began slowly and smoothly but, with my vagina loose around his shaft, the sensations were clearly not enough to bring him release. He began to thrust harder, moving his hips to change the angle and try to rub against my entrance in the hope of finding resistance.
I clamped down on his as hard as my baby-laden pelvic flor would allow, with some success; Pete began to moan and grunt as his own arousal rose.
But it was still not enough. With a sigh of resignation, I knew there was only one option. I felt too tired to do it properly but leaving my husband unsatisfied would not have been fair.
Pushing Pete away until his cock slipped from my vagina, I rolled uncomfortably onto my front, my upper body proposed on two pillows to protect my baby, my bottom stuck up into the air.
It took my husband moment to realise what I intended but when he did understand, a note of delight entered his voice.
“Are you sure Penn?”
“You need it,” I replied without real enthusiasm.
“But it might hurt…” he began.
“Just get on with it before I change my mind.”
Pete needed no second bidding. Using his sticky, smelly fingers, he wiped a goodly amount of lubricating juices from around my vulva and spread them over my puckered anus. I shivered as his fingers touched the tightly closed sphincter.
There was a shuffling behind me then strong hands spread my skinny legs almost painfully wide. I could feel the heat of Pete’s body behind mine then a single finger being rubbed along the crack between my buttocks.
I shuddered in expectation, partly of pain, partly of pleasure.
Then the single finger was pushed through my sphincter and into my rectum. It was uncomfortable but not painful. Nonetheless, my body instinctively tried to expel the invader, pushing at it as if trying to move my bowels. Expecting this, Pete held his hand firm, pressing deeper into me, twisting his finger from left to right as he had twisted his hand in my vagina and thrusting it in and out.
I could feel the urge to push reducing but the finger still felt huge.
A short while later Pete withdrew his finger from my rectum and mounted me from behind. I could feel the heat of his body against my back and thighs as he forced my legs so wide apart that my hips hurt. Then I felt the head of his cock being pressed against my anus, resting there a moment, then being thrust hard against the muscular ring of my sphincter.
It hurt! I sank my teeth into the white cotton beneath me. Despite the slenderness of Pete’s cock, the shortage of lubrication was obvious.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked.
“Just do it Pete,” I mumbled into the pillow.
Pete drew back a little. I felt his finger dipping into my vagina once again then running over, around an inside my anus. This time it entered more smoothly and the pain was less.
I could feel his round cockhead resting in the cleft between my buttocks as his finger probed deeper and deeper into my rectum. Then, without warning, Pete pulled his finger out and before my sphincter could close, thrust the head of his cock through.
“Ooof!”
I gasped as I felt him enter me, my bottom closing as tightly around his shaft as it could. It felt huge and alien as before. My body tried instinctively to expel the invading phallus, but Pete held himself steady, gripping my hips hard until the spasm had passed.
“Jesus! You’re tight tonight, Penn!” he hissed.
Panting from the shock, I said nothing but tried hard to relax, hoping my anus would relax too. After a few moments deep breathing, Pete must have felt the tightness around his cock lessen because very slowly and gingerly, he began to rock back and forth inside me.
It felt strange, but not unpleasant. I began to relax more and soon felt Pete’s movements growing stronger and more forceful.
“That’s better,” he hissed with satisfaction, his thrusts now deeper and finding a slow rhythm.
It felt better too. Though still inexperienced, I was no longer a complete stranger to anal sex, my final virginity having been taken by Adam, the male half of the escort couple we had met with in Manchester earlier in the year.
Adam had been an expert, taking me so carefully that I had actually enjoyed my anal defloration and had even derived some pleasure from the few and rather less expert sessions that had taken place with Pete since then.
In fact, the stirrings in my lower belly and the base of my slit suggested I was going to get more than a little pleasure – of rather brutal in nature – from this penetration too.
‘Slup! Slup! Slup! Slup!’
Pete’s strokes were now strong, regular and getting deeper. I could feel my body opening up for him, the tightness in my anus fading fast.
‘Slup! Slup! Slup! Slup!’
The sound of my rectum being fucked wasn’t pretty, lacking the wetness that goes with a full-on vaginal hammering but its crude, feral nature made my chest tighten and my baby-filled belly rumble with butterflies.
‘Slup! Slup! Slup! Slup!’
Pete’s pace was increasing quickly. Even with my limited experience I knew that the unfamiliar grip around his shaft coupled with minimum lubrication was likely to bring my husband to climax much faster than my over-sized vagina.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” Pete began to grunt as he thrust himself forcefully in and out of my rectum.
Now fully yielded, it offered little or no resistance to his repeated penetrations; the pain was trivial, the pleasure building quickly. Anal sex isn’t for every woman, but for me it was like discovering sex for the first time all over again.
‘Slup! Slup! Slup! Slup!’
If anyone had told me a year before that in only a few months’ time I would be on my knees, face down on the bed, a baby in my belly while my husband fucked me in the arse, I would have thought them crazy. And yet there I was, not only doing all those things, but getting physical and emotional pleasure from them too.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”
I could feel Pete’s shaft as it passed through my dilated sphincter, stimulating what felt like every one of the nerves that ended on or around that now-fully-dilated circle of muscle. My rectum open wide, Pete’s thrusts were now completely unresisted, his hips and upper thighs colliding with the underside of my buttocks every time he bottomed out inside me, the paper thin membrane separating my vagina from my rectum feeling the brunt of his assault too.
The strong, newly discovered pleasure mounted and mounted. I rasied my face from the pillow and waile into the half darkness
“Oooowwww! Oh God! Oh God!”
“Ugh-Ugh-Ugh-Ugh!”
Pete’s thrust were reaching the short, sharp stage which promised an imminent ejaculation. Suddenly I knew what I wanted.
“Spank me!” I pleaded.
“What?”
“Spank me! Fucking spank me!”
My voice was loud and angry. In all my life I had never either wanted or asked to be spanked in mid-fuck but right there and then, it was all I wanted in the world.
“Christ Pete! Spank me now!”
Smack!
Pete’s right hand fell onto my right buttock. I barely felt it.
“Harder! Harder!” I croaked.
‘SMACK! SMACK!’
“YES!”
Oh God! It felt amazing. The sharp slapping sound followed by the sting right across my right buttock made both my vagina and anus tighten sharply.
“Jeez!” Pete exclaimed as my anus gripped his cock hard.
“Again!” I begged. “Harder!”
‘SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!’
Pete’s hand fell first on my right buttock again then on my left. The pain was exquisite; no wonder Izzy loved being spanked during sex. Why hadn’t I thought of this years ago?
‘SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!’ ‘SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!’
“OHMYGODYESSSS!”
It wasn’t a full anal orgasm that hit me as Pete began to ejaculate in my rectum, but the intensity of pleasure wasn’t far off. As my husband’s body went into spasm, his cock began to throb and pulse and ropes of sperm-free semen began to spurt into the darkness of my colon, my entire body was wracked with waves of uncontrollable sensation.
Part pain, part pleasure, part pain again, my entire being was completely engulfed and my mind sent into a tailspin. I fell forward onto the bed, crushing my baby bump into the mattress. Pete following me, his cock still embedded in my body, falling as I fell until he was lying full length on my back.
The motion pulled his cock unceremoniously from me, making me yelp with a combination of pain, surprise and disappointment at being abandoned. The sudden noise shocked us both, bringing our copulation to an abrupt end.
Pete rolled quickly off my back and lay alongside me. Still face down, exhausted, with my bottom gaping and already feeling empty inside, speech was beyond me.
“Wow! Jesus Penn; that was amazing!”
Pete’s face was alight with joy as he looked across at me, his chest heaving as he panted for breath.
“You were amazing You ARE amazing!” he added, seeing that for the moment at least, nothing comprehensible was going to come from me.
We lay silently side by side for a long time, recovering our breath, smiling and giggling at what we had just done. Two fifty-something, responsible adults having just behaved like lust-driven teens.
“Are you okay?” Pete eventually asked softly. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” I assured him, my voice still unstable. “It was nice.”
“All of it?”
“All of it,” I assured him.
There was a long pause.
“Why the spanking?” Pete asked quietly. “I mean, it was great fun, but you’ve never asked me to do that before.”
“I…” I began but of course couldn’t possibly let my husband know that the idea had come from watching his daughter being fucked by her ex-boyfriend on video.
“It just seemed a good idea at the time,” I replied, silently praying Pete wouldn’t press me for any more details. “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked quickly to try and prevent him doing so.
Pete thought for a moment.
“Partly watching you in Manchester,” he relied. “And Julie’s a good teacher so…”
I didn’t want to think of my husband fucking my best friend’s rectum, so I interrupted before he could go into any disturbing details.
“I meant the fingering. You’ve never made me do that before.”
Pete seemed a little unconfutable; embarrassed. Though after all he had just done to me, God alone knew why.
“I… I saw it online. Actually, I watched a video about it. How to do it, sort of thing.”
“You were watching porn online?” I asked, surprised.
Pete seemed to read this as criticism though with my record, that would have been extraordinary hypocrisy.
“Not porn exactly,” Pete insisted. “Well, it was on a porn site, but it was more like an instructional video.”
“It showed you how to make me squirt?”
“It showed a man making a woman squirt and explaining what he was doing. It looked amazing Penn. The woman looked… well, like you did. Shocked but really happy.”
I was certainly both of those, though my anus would be sore in the morning.
“And you thought I would like to feel it too?”
“You’ve been getting harder and harder to satisfy these days,” Pete said resignedly. “I never was that good at making you cum, so I thought I’d better learn some new techniques before…”
“Before?”
There was a long pause.
“Before you found someone else who can. Again.”
“You’re feeling that insecure?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “I mean we all know my cock is too small for your cunt and you’re carrying another man’s baby now so…”
“Pete, I…”
“I know Penn. And I’m not going back on any of it. I’m happy to raise your baby as if he or she was mine. I’m even happy for you to go on seeing other men eventually.”
“But I haven’t…”
“I know Penny; in some ways that’s the worst part. However insecure I might feel now, a large part of me is pleased you had the affair. Part of me loves the fact that you’ve been knocked up by a good-looking young man. The truth is, I still love thinking of you being fucked by other men with bigger cocks who can make you cum in a way I can’t. I still want you to cheat on me again and I definitely want to watch you doing it.”
This was an unusual outburst for my husband both in length and subject. I could do nothing but listen intently to his words.
“So, what do we do?” I asked. “I’m fifty-one, about to become a Grandmother and I’m up the duff. I can’t see a queue of young men waiting to provide you with a floorshow.”
“I suppose there’s nothing else for it,” he sighed, a twinkle in his eye. “Either we call Darren to come and meet his baby and give you a repeat performance or…”
At that moment, the thought of having my baby’s gorgeous father with his olive-gild skin fuck me as comprehensively as he had the first time, had more than a little appeal. But I knew Pete was joking so I played the game.
“Or…?” I asked archly.
“Or we need another trip to Manchester!”
“Pete!” I exclaimed, amazed. “Are you serious?”
“I’m deadly serious,” he replied. “It was the most erotic experience of my entire life. Why wouldn’t I want to do it again?”
“You really ARE serious!” I gasped.
“Too right I am,” he said, looking me in the eye. “And we’d better make it soon before either you die of sexual frustration or I have a heart attack, Penny Barker.”
