Penny's Promiscuity - 13 - Fickle Freedom free porn video

My second day of freedom started a little more promisingly than the first, but only a little. I had enjoyed more sleep than the night before: the cold had woken me only once, forcing me to slide under the duvet and I had passed the night in relative calm. But as the alarm clock beeped alongside my head and I opened my eyes, the reality of the situation rushed in on me again.

I was alone in the silent house. My husband Pete had left me because I had lied to him about seeing Tony, the only lover I had ever had; the man who months earlier had seduced me and with whom I had started a passionate affair. Our separation might be forever; it might only be for a fortnight but at that moment he had gone and there was no guarantee he would return.

When, after a month of illicit sex I had confessed my infidelity to my husband, Pete had eventually agreed to it continuing and the two of us having a Hotwife-Cuckold relationship. But that did not mean I had carte blanche to sleep with anyone, anytime; my husband was supposed to agree who I slept with and when. I was not supposed to see or fuck Tony without my husband’s consent.

It was a matter of trust; trust which I had broken.

Most importantly, I was not supposed to see any one man frequently enough to form a relationship that could threaten to our twenty-year-plus marriage. This I had done with a vengeance too; Tony and I had fallen deeply in love. Indeed our relationship had become so deep that during a recent, highly-illicit overnight stay in a country house hotel, we had openly discussed how I should leave my husband, move in with Tony and perhaps even marry him once he was divorced from his estranged and equally unfaithful wife Julie.

Even this deceit could have remained secret if I had been less naïve and more careful.

On the terrible Sunday only two days before, my period had prevented us making love so to ease his frustration I had given Tony one of my rare blowjobs, swallowing his cum afterwards – an even rarer event. I had then come home to my husband pretending to have been to the gym. Pete had smelled Tony’s semen on my breath, tasted it in my mouth as he kissed me and the truth of my deceit had come out.

When he found out the extent of my illicit relationship and the frequency with which I had been deceiving him, my Pete had been angry and hurt, announcing that he needed time and space away from me to decide what he wanted to do.

He had moved out of our house that very day and into the Duty Consultant’s apartment at the hospital where he planned to stay there for the whole of the coming week. After that he would go to Geneva for a week-long conference, an event infamous for its nightly bed-hopping, leaving me ‘free and single’ for two whole weeks.

During that period I could do whatever I wanted with whoever I wanted to decide which of the men in my life I wanted to be with. If I wanted, for two whole weeks I could live with Tony full time as his wife; just we had dreamed about during our romantic nights away to be sure that the decision I made was the one I really meant.

Of course, at the same time my husband would be deciding whether he could remain married to his lying, cheating wife at all, whatever decision I might make.

When he returned from Geneva, if we both wanted to get back together then we would try to make our marriage work again. If either of us was in any way uncertain, separation and divorce would follow.

To reinforce the gravity of the situation, he had insisted we both handed back our wedding rings. The apparent lightness of my ringless hand and the paleness of the finger where it used to lie were unsettling me greatly.

To my considerable unease, far from being delighted that his professed dream could come true, my lover Tony had been strange and distant. Instead of moving straight into his apartment, falling into his welcoming arms and then into his bed as I had imagined, we had not been together at all since Pete had walked out.

It wasn’t Tony’s fault; his daughter had come home, he had told me. She was staying in his apartment while she recovered from boyfriend trouble and might be there all week. Obviously, her presence made it impossible for me to play the role of her father’s wife, but Tony had missed our coffee date the next evening too, sending an excuse at the last moment after I had got myself all dressed to please him.

I had even shaved the Little Pink Pussy that he loved so much in the hope that we might at least get one quick fuck in the back of my car as we had when our affair was brand new.

The idea had been a failure. As a result, my first two nights of freedom had been spent alone in a large, empty house, writing erotic stories on my laptop; putting into the lives of my characters all the sexual excitement that was so obviously and painfully missing from my own.

Late that night I had been forced to resort to my first masturbation in decades to obtain any form of release from the powerful sexual arousal my writing so often produced. I had felt dirty and ashamed when I woke that Tuesday morning, naked apart from my bra, my fingers and thighs a sticky, strong-smelling mess of dried vaginal juices.

Thank God work was busy again, making time pass quickly, barely giving me few moments to think about either of the two men in my life. During those rare moments, I called and texted Tony half a dozen times to try and arrange a date. But he didn’t answer. As the day progressed, the messages I left degenerated from being warm and sexy highly explicit before finally sounding desperate.

I texted him before and after going to the gym too, but still he didn’t reply.

That evening I ate alone, drank most of a bottle of dry white wine, spent several hours writing angrily and frantically then went to bed, aroused and frustrated.

*

I rose very early on Wednesday morning after a third night alone. Still feeling ashamed, I had resisted the urge to masturbate the night before or use the secret vibrator that lay secretly in a shoe box at the bottom of my closet. I suspected that my willpower wouldn’t hold out for long.

The unexpected and unwanted pause in my sex life had given me time alone – horribly alone - but strangely had continued to give my writing an impetus it had badly needed. Since my affair had begun and physical pleasures had overtaken literary ones, I had published little and my readers were beginning to drift away.

I badly needed the distraction too, otherwise my early waking would give me even more time to contemplate my position and to wonder what both my husband and my lover were doing, both of which I dreaded.

Why hadn’t Tony replied to my messages? Was his phone broken? Lost? I had called his land line too but couldn’t leave a message in case his daughter Hannah picked it up. Had she found out about us? Was that what was preventing Tony from coming to me, the woman he had said so often that he loved? That he wanted to marry?

The woman whose current marriage was teetering in the brink because of him?

I wondered what Pete had done the last three nights. Had he found someone to take my place in the narrow single bed in the Duty Consultant’s apartment? After all, he believed me to have been living as my lover’s wife for the last three days, free to make love with him as long and as often as we wanted.

Why wouldn’t he find a replacement for his lying, cheating wife?

The thought of Pete in the arms of another woman was almost too painful to bear. How he had managed to tolerate my rampant infidelity for the last months was beyond me. The mere thought that my husband might be with another woman, holding her hand, kissing her as he had kissed me, fondling her boobs as he had fondled mine was agony. And when I pictured him showing her the wonderful bodily pleasures that his mouth and tongue could deliver and, worst of all, penetrating her with his long, thin cock before filling her vagina with the semen that only my body had known for so many years, the images could and did reduce me to tears.

The sun was only just showing signs of rising as I walked downstairs in my pyjamas and filled the kettle. There were at least two hours to kill before I could contemplate going to work so in desperation, I returned to my laptop and began writing again with a vengeance.

I had always written better in the early hours; over the last two days alone I had finished and published another chapter of my ongoing story and started at least three new projects in different genres as the muse took me.

I had also picked up my stalled correspondence with several of my online friends. I didn’t dare tell any of them how bad things had now become. The closest I came was telling with Richard about my plan to spend a week as Tony’s wife. Richard had been very unenthusiastic; telling me that his own wife Barbara had once come very close to leaving him and their two kids after one of her many affairs had become a bit too emotionally involved.

Richard had insisted that the only safe way of being a Hotwife was to have a larger number of very short term lovers rather than an ongoing affair, a view wholeheartedly endorsed by most of my online correspondents.

When it came to cuckolding your husband there was, they insisted, safety in numbers for all concerned.

I had known this all along so why in God’s name hadn’t I listened?

It says a lot about my friends’ common sense, even more about my own stubborn nature and more than a little about Tony’s sexual prowess in bed that I had ignored this advice completely, carried on with my affair with him alone and had now ended up with the real prospect of my twenty-plus-year-old marriage breaking up.

Fortunately, the responses to my other stories were still coming in which helped me feel better about at least one aspect of my life. The trolls who habitually plagued all my postings were backing off a little; they could still hurt me but the messages that came in from my admirers more than made up for that hurt.

I took advantage of every minute to write more and more, trying to block out the terrible thoughts that were spinning around my head, drinking mug after mug of hot tea until it was finally time to getting showered, dressed and try go to work as if nothing had changed.

But as I looked at my bare ring finger and thought of my empty bed, I knew everything had changed.

*

The morning passed slowly. No messages arrived from Pete; this I had expected but the complete absence of communication from the man who had said many times that he loved me was not expected at all.

What problems could his daughter possibly have to demand so much of his attention he couldn’t send me even a single message?

Still, I consoled myself, there was well over a week of freedom left. Once Hannah had gone back to University and I had moved into his apartment there was plenty of time to find out what being his wife was like. A warm glow came over me as I imagined how it would feel to fall asleep in his arms, my body full of his sweet semen; to wake up next to his long, strong frame and make soft, caring love in the morning sunlight, our bodies merging into one.

Unable to contain myself, at eleven o’clock I called Tony on my secret phone. He didn’t answer so I left a message asking him to call back; to tell me he still loved me; to reassure me that he still wanted me as he had so often said.

By the time I drove home that evening there had still been no reply.

I knew it was foolish but on the way to my house I took a detour, driving past Tony’s apartment block. It was a stupid, schoolgirl thing to do; whether he was there or not I would still be upset and had no idea what I might do in any event but I drove there nonetheless.

Tony’s car was in its usual parking place; whether that knowledge alone would have made me feel better or worse I will never know because to my horror, parked right next to it was a small family car I recognised immediately as Julie’s.

This could only mean one thing; my lover and his estranged wife were in the same apartment together.

I felt sick, my stomach churning with anxiety as I wondered what was happening.

Were they having a row? Were they standing shouting, each blaming the other for the breakdown of their marriage? Was he telling her he wanted a divorce so he could marry me? Were they waving papers at each other, planning a hard, vindictive separation that would reduce them both to paupers and alienate their kids forever?

Or had they become reconciled; the two of them in bed together having make-up sex the like of which I could only dream of? Were they fucking wildly on the bed on which he had fucked me so hard so many times? Had he already left me for her, the woman who had borne his children? Was the reason he hadn’t communicated with me that he was too pussy-whipped even to think about me?

Did he not care about me now? Had I jeopardised my marriage for nothing?

A kind of madness took over. I parked my car a few yards away on a road that gave me a clear view of their apartment and for the next few hours I sat in my car, staring at the car park waiting. It grew dark; the lights in Tony’s apartment glowed in the lounge but to my relief, not in the bedroom.

What were they doing in there? What was I doing there? What was my husband doing?

Thoughts about my husband Pete began to force their way into my consciousness. As I sat there in the cold car, was at work? Was he having a drink with his colleagues? Was he in alone the Duty Consultant’s bedroom?

Or was there a full figured female form alongside him; beneath him, making love with him? Had I already lost him?

The pain was enough to drive a woman crazy and for a few hours that’s what I was; insanely jealous of both the men in my life, neither of whom seemed to want me.

It was nearly ten o’clock when I saw Julie return to her car. Her eyes looked red as if she had been crying but I couldn’t be sure. Her clothes were rumpled; she was walking stiffly too. I told myself there could be many reasons for this but my mind focussed on only one.

A bolt of pain flashed through me as images of my best friend in bed with my lover filled my mind. It wasn’t right! It was me Tony loved now, not her! She was the one who had cheated on him; the one whose very public affair had broken their marriage.

She drove away. For a while I sat and stared at the apartment’s glowing windows; the place where my fidelity to my husband had been utterly destroyed; the place where the man I loved had told me he loved me and wanted me so many times.

The lights in the apartment remained on for another half hour before the windows went black.

I drove home, hit the white wine hard on an empty stomach and spent an angry hour writing cruel, unpleasant paragraphs that I knew would never get published but which gradually turned my fury into monstrous arousal.

When I went to bed, my secret vibrator followed me.

In the morning its batteries were flat.

*

I woke the next morning determined; determined to find out what was going on with my lover; determined to get a grip on my life; determined not to become the crazed, jealous woman I had been in my car the previous evening.

To my surprise, the electric phallus had done its job well. As I was still very much alone, only the spiders had heard the drone of the motor and the orgasmic wails that had filled the bedroom for nearly an hour after I had turned off the lights. This was something of a blessing. When finally I could take no more of its relentless stimulation I had fallen into a deep sleep, only waking when the alarm sounded loudly in my ears.

My head was a bit fuzzy from the wine but I felt rather better than I deserved. I showered, dressed and went to work, still very conscious of my ringless finger but with a plan in my mind.

Once at my desk, I got my head down and worked hard all morning, trying to keep thoughts of both the men in my life out of my mind. There were no messages from either of them which helped my efforts but this time I didn’t send any either, trying to retain what little remained of my dignity.

The morning passed quickly. Once again, there was no time for lunch.

On Thursdays I spent the afternoon in a University hospital in a nearby city, supervising PhD students and planning the clinical trials that my specialism frequently required. It would be an even better distraction than the morning’s work had been and I was looking forward to a change of scene.

As I drove away from the hospital I saw my husband’s Porsche in the Consultants’ Car Park, low, sleek and green. A wave of emotion washed over me and I had to fight to stop the painful images of him with another woman returning. The woman didn’t have a name or a face; it was bad enough that she might exist at all.

For a moment I thought about calling him; asking how he was; searching for clues as to whether my place in his bed had already been filled. But that way led to madness, I told myself. Keep your eyes on the road and concentrate!

It was hard, but for the rest of the day, that’s exactly what I did. Fortunately, there was a lot to be done at the University and I was kept busy all day, missing lunch again as well as breakfast. It was close to seven o’clock before I was back in my car, driving northwards towards home - towards my empty home.

Tired and in the darkness, the destructive thoughts began to come back but by then I was too worn out to stop them. I turned on the radio for some uplifting music. The world was conspiring against me; within fifteen minutes, special songs from both my marriage and my affair had been played making my chest tight and my eyes sting with the beginnings of tears.

Instead of being liberating, my four days of freedom had been terrible and I was less than half way through Pete’s absence – if he came back to me at all.

Right then my husband did not want me and my lover had abandoned me.

Had I already lost them both? I had to know! I had to find out if it was all too late.

*

It was seven-thirty in the evening when I parked my SUV around the corner from Julie’s house. I didn’t want to pull up outside the house and give her time either to make up a story or to hide, pretending she wasn’t there. I had no idea what I was going to say but I knew I had to be there, if nothing else to look into her eyes and see what was now there.

It was absurd; Julie had told me openly that she wanted to get back with her husband and as far as I knew she did not know about our affair so why did I feel so angry and betrayed? If I had cause for anger, surely it was with Tony or even myself.

As I rounded the corner on foot, I saw her car in the driveway. She must be home. Checking my make-up and hair in the rear view mirror, I took a deep breath, climbed out of the car, walked up to the front door and, after a long pause to gather my courage, pressed the bell.

Nothing happened. I pressed it again, longer and harder.

“Darren!” I exclaimed.

The door was opened by a tall, very fit, very attractive man in his late twenties; a man I recognised immediately as Darren, a Personal Trainer from the Sports Club to which we had all once belonged. He had instructed me on a handful of occasions; certainly often enough to recognise me after only a moment’s hesitation.

He was also Julie’s supposedly former live-in lover. He looked surprised to see me; surprised and embarrassed to see anyone in fact.

“Hi Penny,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” I replied, for a moment taken off guard. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

He shrugged sulkily, “I’m picking up a few things.”

So it was true; Julie and he had indeed parted ways. I had suspected my friend was trying to keep her lover on a string so she wouldn’t be left without male company if her husband wouldn’t have her back. It seemed I had been wronged.

“Is Jules in?” I asked. He shook his head.

“She went out ten minutes ago.”

”And left you to pack your bags?” I asked.

It was an unnecessarily nasty thing to have said but I blamed him for having seduced my friend and broken up their marriage. The fact that this had left Tony free to have an affair with me did not soften my attitude but then hypocrisy is a flaw in most of us.

When I saw the almost childlike look of hurt on his face I was taken aback immediately regretted it. That was more the look of an injured child than cold, hard womaniser.

“Sorry,” I apologised. “That was bitchy of me.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled sheepishly. “The truth is I waited round the corner in my car until she left before going in to get my stuff. I still have my key.”

“Are things between you that bad?” I asked, beginning to feel sorry for the boy despite the mayhem e had caused.

“Not really,” he replied. “But she was dressed up really nice and had some guy with her. I thought I should keep a low profile, know what I mean?”

This was a disappointment. Given what I had seen the previous night, my first thought was that she had somehow managed to persuade Tony to talk about the reconciliation she seemed so to want so much. I felt bad again; she had asked me to help and I had done nothing.

But Darren had called the man ‘some guy’. If Julie had been with her husband he most certainly would not have used such a vague description. Intrigued, I asked if he knew who the man was.

“I’ve seen him before at the Club. I don’t know his name,” he told me. “They went off in his car; dark green Nine - Eleven. Very nice.”

I stood stunned. The only man I knew who drove a dark green Porsche was my own husband. But in a city the size of ours there must be lots of green Porsches. Still, a feeling of unease passed through me.

“Are you okay?” Darren asked solicitously.

“What? Yes of course. I haven’t eaten today, that’s all,” I told him, hoping that was the only reason I had to feel that way.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

I most certainly did; that house had been my friend’s love nest for the past year. I was very keen to see whether there were any signs of her very public infidelity. But I couldn’t let her former lover see my nosiness so I just shrugged and followed him into the house.

Apart from the absence of Tony’s coat on the rack and his boots on the mat, it felt exactly the same but far from being reassuring, that seemed to make it oddly spooky. Before their split, Pete and I had been in Julie and Tony’s house on almost a weekly basis, with and without our kids. Since Tony had walked out, I had been there only a handful of times and my husband not at all. It felt as if I was walking into a past that could never be re-visited.

“Coffee?” Darren asked politely, leading me past the large lounge, study and into the designer kitchen they had installed only a few years ago.

“Please,” I replied, wishing there was something stronger.

With the current broken state of their marriage and the precarious position of my own, the happy memories brought a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.

“So how are you?” I asked, forcing myself to be cheerful on the outside, however I felt inside. “Not working tonight?”

He shook his head, a frown on his rather handsome face as he made the hot drinks.

“I’ve got the evening off.”

“Seeing Debbie later?” I asked nosily, referring to the young female trainer who was rumoured to be his recently acquired bed partner.

“She’s booked up till ten,” he smiled, thereby confirming the truth of the first rumour. “It’s good money for her but... you know. She’ll be too tired when she gets home and...” he began then stopped abruptly when he realised what he was about to say.

The disappointment on his face at the prospect of her being too tired for sex was almost comical. I laughed; he really was still young inside however many birthdays he had had. I was revising my image of him as the big bad seducer very rapidly.

“And I suppose your other girlfriends are with their husbands,” I said blandly, emboldened by this revelation and wanting to test the other rumour; that he had moved onto another older, married woman already.

“Right,” he nodded without thinking then realised what he had done and immediately tried to back-track. “I mean they both...” he stopped abruptly.

I burst out laughing.

“Don’t worry, Darren. I’m Jules’ oldest friend, remember? I’m unshockable.”

This last statement was not entirely true. Apart from being shocked at Julie’s apparent sexual appetite and preference for anal sex, Darren had just let slip that he had more than one married woman on the go. This was news indeed. In normal circumstance I would have shared this gossip with Julie immediately but circumstances had not been normal for a long time.

“So what did this bloke look like,” I asked.

For the next twenty minutes, I tried surreptitiously to grill Darren about the man with whom my friend had driven off. The boy seemed uninterested and hadn’t noticed much but I heard nothing to suggest it wasn’t my husband and his car.

What I did hear was the conversation of a rather straightforward, fairly guileless young man who worked hard – admittedly mostly on his own body about which he was apparently obsessed. His conversation was shallow but relaxed and it want long before a second coffee had been made and I was able to direct the flow towards the subject I was really interested in – my best friend and her husband.

Darren appeared to have no scruples at all about sleeping with married women or having more than one girlfriend at the same time. He seemed bemused but delighted that so many women of all ages found him attractive enough to sleep with – he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth - and tried his best to accommodate them.

Julie had been no exception; when he suggested innocently that she had almost forced herself on him I found it hard to disbelieve him. Although in no way indiscreet, from the way he talked it also seemed that although Julie had not been his sole bed partner during their affair, she had been the least well concealed. In fact, Darren had once wondered whether she had deliberately made sure that people knew she was sleeping with him.

Before I realised it an hour had passed and my tummy was rumbling loudly, must to my embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I blushed. “I haven’t eaten today.”

He seemed shocked.

“You really should look after your blood sugar,” he scolded. “You can’t reach peak performance without it.”

I smiled. The idea of my amateur gym sessions requiring maximum nutrition was laughable.

“What do you suggest?” I asked

“There’s a pub down the road,” Darren replied. “You could get a tuna salad or something.”

Why not? I thought. There was no chance of talking to Julie that evening now. Every meal I had eaten since Pete left had been on my own. It would make a very nice change to have some company.

“Only if you come too!” I grinned cheekily. “My treat!”

Half an hour later we were sitting in a pleasant but down market pub ten minutes’ drive from Julie’s house. It was clean but a bit shabby; the risk of bumping into any of my sophisticated, middle-class friends was very low indeed but I felt relaxed and safe. We had chosen our food from the menu, ordered at the bar then taken our drinks to a corner table away from the growing crowd of drinkers to carry on our chat.

It was, I realised, the first normal conversation of more than two minutes I had had with anyone at all since Pete had walked out.

The white wine was barely drinkable but my standards have never been too high and I persevered, asking plenty of questions to keep the chat going while we waited for our food to arrive. Darren was good company and talked in a light, entertaining way as long as the subject was exercise, sport or himself.

The subject of me arose seldom but this suited me well; I wanted to forget about my currently disastrous relationships for a while, not share them with a boy I hardly knew, however pleasant the evening undeniably had become.

By the time he had eagerly told me his life plans - to reach Assistant Manager at the Sports Club then open his own dedicated body building gym – both his pint glass and my wine glass were empty. I slipped him a twenty pound note and, like a gentleman, Darren went to the bar for refills.

As he returned, so our food arrived too. I was very pleased at this; the large glass of wine I had drunk on an empty stomach was making me light headed already.

The food was at best average but at the prices they charged I couldn’t complain. In the presence of a gym coach as young and attractive as Darren, I had felt obliged to go for the healthy option of a rather flavourless tuna salad instead of the fish and chips I really wanted. Darren had ordered a large steak, medium rare, claiming that his exercise regime demanded a constant stream of high quality protein.

I teased him about this, feeling more comfortable as the second glass of wine came to an end and the third arrived, asking if he needed steak so badly when he was paying for his own food. He looked at me, hurt. For a moment I wondered whether I had really injured his pride but then I noticed the twinkle in his eye.

I laughed and prodded him in the ribs. This resulted in him prodding me back. A rather childish and giggly game of touch-touch ensued during which I got to feel the impressively firm muscles of his six pack stomach and he discovered the full extent of my tiny boobs.

Thank God we were in a concealed corner of the bar.

When the silly game was over I noticed his hand remained on my thigh. I didn’t move it away and for a while we chatted about other things Darren enjoyed; cars, football and of course, girls. He was surprisingly discreet about the latter; having tricked him into revealing he was sleeping with two married women as well as his girlfriend, he was wary about revealing anything further so on that front I remained frustratingly ignorant.

When Darren returned to his seat with coffees for us both, the sides of our legs were touching. I seemed to have slid along the seat a little so there was less room for him. I was pleased to feel his hand slip back into its previous place on my thigh. By the time the coffees had been finished, his fingers had raised the hem of my skirt and weren’t far from touching my knickers under the table.

I didn’t stop him.

After three glasses of wine for me and three pints of lager for Darren, driving home was out of the question. Indeed for me, walking in a straight line had become surprisingly problematic as I discovered when paying the bill and swaying my way back from the Ladies’ Room.

I was even less stable when we left the pub and the cool outside air hit me in the face. Fortunately for us a taxi pulled into the car park just as we passed through the pub’s flaking red-painted door. Its two passengers hopped out and began to pay so Darren and I jumped into the back before it could pull away, both of us giggling.

“Where to?” the driver asked cheerfully.

I looked at Darren who returned my rather misty but meaningful gaze with a smile and raised eyebrows

“My place?” he asked.

My tummy filled with butterflies. Even in my slightly inebriated state, I could tell that an unexpected watershed had just been reached. I knew full well what would inevitably happen if I said yes and went back to Darren’s shared house with him. I looked at myself; at my sensible work clothes, at my middle aged reflection in the car’s window. How could he possibly fancy a woman old enough to be his mother?

But then I looked at the pale band on my third finger where my wedding ring used to be and knew equally well that I was going to let it happen; that I wanted it to happen; perhaps even needed it to happen. If Darren wanted to have me, he could have me!

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Mercer Road,” Darren told the driver.

As the taxi sped through the dark streets, my tummy buzzed with excitement as, hidden from view, Darren’s hand worked its way up my thigh and under my skirt, lifting the hem until the dark upper parts of my tights were exposed and his fingers brushed against the nylon-covered gusset of my boring work knickers.

It was madness again; Penny Parker PhD, a fifty-one year-old mother of three and an internationally renowned scientist was being groped and fondled in the back of a cheap mini-cab on her way to the shared house of a twenty-nine year old boy.

And she was loving it.

The cab pulled into a road of terraced houses and, on Darren’s instructions, pulled to a halt outside the end property. The street was as down market as the pub but at least there was no litter or broken down cars. Darren helped me rather unsteadily from the back seat. I paid the driver then, my hand in his, led me through the front door and into the house he had told me he shared with two other young men.

My mind knew this was a bad idea but right then my body was in charge.

Darren led me into the low lit hallway in which a racing bike leaned against the wall. The door to a fairly new fitted kitchen stood open on my right and the half-open entrance to a bright, warm lounge was on the left.

“Only me!” he shouted, presumably to his friends.

I silently prayed that I wouldn’t have to meet his two housemates but it was okay; there was no reply. Darren kept hold of my hand and immediately led me up the narrow stairs to a small landing off which three doors opened. The middle of these stood half open revealing a surprisingly bright and clean bathroom which made me feel a little happier. Then Darren opened the door on the left.

“In here,” he said proudly. “Welcome to my place.”

With a little trepidation and a lot of excited anticipation, I walked through the door and into the young man’ lair. Despite my tipsiness, my middle aged, maternal eyes couldn’t help noticing the unmade bed, the dirty gym clothes strewn randomly around the floor and my nose couldn’t miss the stale smell of ageing damp sports towels. It was an aroma I had known in my own sons’ bedrooms for many years.

For a moment the squalid reality of the situation hit me. For a moment I wanted to escape; to run away to the safety of my home, but then I remembered what was waiting for me there.

Nothing. And no-one.

Then all such thoughts simply disappeared. I heard Darren closing the door behind me and heard the click of the lock. My chest went tight in anticipation. Then I felt the first touch of his youthful hands on my middle-aged body and the touch of his lips on mine…

The world went into a spin as my work clothes were clumsily but effectively stripped away, the young man’s hands making short work of their buttons and zips, consigning them to the floor where they joined the tangle all around us.

Our mouths melted into each other, tongues deep in each other’s mouths, kissing with a passion that took me back to my teens. Within moments my shirt was gone; my skirt was around my ankles, and the clasp of my bra had been unfastened, leaving my tiny boobs free for the touch of his hands.

Darren’s strong fingers kneaded and twisted my pale globes more firmly than I had known for years; making me wince in surprise. It had hurt but I had loved the pain. Suddenly I knew what I wanted; to be fucked and fucked hard; without love; without sensitivity; nothing that might remind me of my broken relationships. I wanted pure, unadulterated sex, unclouded by any emotion but lust.

Driven by this lust I began to strip him in return, pulling his polo shirt up and over his head. With his height this was tricky but with a little untangling and giggling I managed to free his arms. Darren finished the job quickly, tearing the rest of the shirt from his shoulders and pulling his jeans off leaving him only in boxer shorts and, ludicrously, pale white socks.

I literally gasped as he posed like a body builder before me; showing off the most impressive physique I had ever been close to; powerful muscles, flat stomach, bulging biceps and shoulders, lean powerful legs.

And a bulge in his boxers that made me stare.

I was still staring as I fell to my knees in front of him, still in my pale work knickers and dark tights, raised my fingers to his waistband and swallowed nervously. I looked up into his young, surprisingly innocent-looking eyes and slowly lowered his boxers to his knees.

The erect cock that sprang to immediate attention only inches from my face was impressive; not as long as my husband’s snake, not as thick as Tony’s ugly stubby appendage, it was as close to being a thing of beauty as the male organ can ever get – which I’m afraid isn’t very close.

I took it in my fingers and toyed with it, running my fingertips up and down its length before taking it in my fist and pumping my hand up and down.

“Mmmm! Penny that’s good!” Darren moaned softly above me.

He moaned louder and longer when I licked and sucked its smooth, rounded head and when I took it deep into my mouth, his hands were in my hair and his hips were moving slowly back and forth as the sighs of pleasure filled the room.

I truly believe that the blowjob I delivered that night was the best of my life, before or since. Something about Darren brought out both the mother and the whore in me; I really cared what he thought about my prowess in bed; I really wanted to make him feel good; to enjoy his time with me.

I felt almost abandoned when he pulled himself away and his cock fell from my lips. But then he took my hands in his, raised me to my feet, kissed me long, deep and slowly for a long time before slowly lowering me to the unmade bed.

I looked up at my Adonis as he loomed over me, his hands making short work of my ugly tights and knickers, leaving me naked and vulnerable under his powerful body. He mounted the bed, lowered his body until his hips brushed against mine and the heat of his chest brushed against my painfully erect nipples.

Looking deep into his eyes, I reached down between my thighs, took his rock-hard shaft in my hand and slowly directed its smooth, swollen end into my well-prepared body.

As Darren’s twenty-nine year old cock slipped smoothly and easily into the welcoming over-sized vagina through which three children now almost his age had been born, nothing else in the world mattered at all.

Nothing Pete or Tony had done compared with the sheer youthful energy with which Darren fucked me that night. His technique was crude; foreplay had hardly featured but I didn’t care; my body was ready for him without it. He didn’t need to be expert; he didn’t even need to be good. He certainly didn’t need to tell me he loved me; all Darren needed was to be young and to want me that night despite the thirty year difference in our ages.

And he did want me, that much was certain. As I felt his shaft sliding past my loose, lubricated entrance and my body began to fill with his, I dimly wondered how many other women had lain in the same place, in the same position, offering themselves in the same brazen manner and feeling the same wonderful sensations in their bellies.

To my astonishment I didn’t care; I was almost keen to join his long list of conquests; eager to add my married name to the notches on his bedpost. But as his shaft penetrated deeper and deeper into my vagina, those thoughts became vague and unformed. And when that long, thick shaft had buried itself so deep in my body that I could feel its end forcing my cervix into my belly, I was a lost cause.

I had not been in bed with a twenty-nine year old boy since my husband had been that age. I had never been in bed with a boy for whom physical prowess was a career as well as a pleasure. I had no concept of the energy and enthusiasm with which I was to be fucked that night or the way my body would respond.

The first orgasm struck within two dozen strokes of Darren’s cock, making me squeal as much in surprise as in pleasure. The second came so soon after that the two merged into one long convulsive spasm, beginning deep between my thighs and spreading outwards like the mushroom cloud from an atom bomb.

The breeding frenzy overwhelmed me as soon as my breath returned, wrapping my arms around his powerful, gym-strengthened shoulders and my legs round his thighs – thighs which seemed tireless as they drove his hips forwards and his shaft pistoned in and out of my body.

I wailed my wanton lust into the stale air of the room, begging him not to stop; to fuck me deeper, harder, faster. He obliged with a crude smile on his boyish face, the wet slapping sound of two bodies colliding joined by the loud creaking of the springs on a cheap bed.

If I had thought sex with Tony was the best I could get, it only served to show how inexperienced I really was. As Darren’s thrusts grew faster and less controlled and his first climax approached I began to call his name in my frenzy, begging him to cum inside me, to fill me with his seed and, yes, even to make a baby in my married belly.

When his tension broke, his body went into spasm and his ejaculation began to fill my middle aged body with youthful semen, my surrender was complete. Raking his arms and shoulders with my fingers, grabbing his buttocks and pulling them hard into me; wrapping my skinny legs around his thighs to hold him in my body forever, I knew I would never be the same again.

It was simply incredible. Our first fuck had not lasted long but as I lay alongside him on the dirty sheets, my body full of his sperm it felt as if my life had been changed.

But the night had only just begun.

Until that evening, all my lovers had been my own age; I had forgotten how quickly a much younger man’s body could recover after ejaculation and how long he could last in bed. The first sticky pool of Darren’s semen could hardly have settled against my cervix before his cock had hardened again and his body was rising over mine.

My mind dulled by the combined effects of alcohol, lust and post-orgasmic daze, I lost count of the number of times that boy fucked my skinny, middle aged body that night. I remember being on all fours at one time, I remember the bitter taste of my own juices on his smooth head as I took it into my mouth. I remember him trying and failing to take my anal virginity – the sharp pain was enough to bring that memory back vividly.

I remember falling asleep on him, totally exhausted, his hard cock still being thrust into my sore, gaping pussy.

Poor Darren; at the end it must have felt like he was fucking a corpse.

*

It was the early Friday sun shining through his cheap, thin curtains that woke me the following morning. When I opened my eyes, saw the squalid surroundings, the muscular young man in bed next to me and realised just how foolish I had been, the shame began to wash over me.

To my surprise, there was guilt too. Although I was, as my husband had insisted, free as a bird and could sleep with anyone I wanted, I should still have let my brain drive my body not the other way round, as appeared to have happened.

I turned to the sleeping form on my left. The boy looked beautiful, I had to confess; toned, fit, strong, attractive and, it appeared, completely without scruples where married women were concerned.

But I couldn’t put the blame on him; if anyone had precipitated the night’s sexual athletics it was me. Darren had been pleasingly keen to have access to my body – that of a woman old enough to be his mother – but I could not in all honestly say that he had in any way been forced to seduce me.

And when we were in bed together it had been simply amazing. If I thought sex with Tony had been good, a night of copulation with a man half his age had opened my eyes wide and my thighs wider! I no longer wondered why Julie had let their apparently ill-matched relationship go on so long; the evidence was there in my stiff, aching and rather sore body.

Were all young men like this? I had forgotten just how much energy a man in his twenties could have!

I reached down between my legs; my lower belly and upper thighs were a sticky, smelly mess. Just how much semen could a young man produce? And how often? I ran my fingers along my sore slit and over my pubic mound.

Oh God! In my misery, I hadn’t shaved my pussy since my aborted date with Tony on Monday and there was a distinct covering of stubble over most of my vulva. My face burned with embarrassment. At least it hadn’t have put my young lover off much, not if the state of my body was anything to go by.

I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, at the cobwebs and dust that filled the yellowing corners and at the peeling wallpaper over the curtain rail. There was a low smell of damp beneath the odour of unwashed clothes too. It really was a squalid place in which to have spent the night with a new lover but Darren’s performance had dominating my senses so completely that at the time it hadn’t mattered.

In daylight the next day, it all looked much less exciting. I wondered whether Julie had spent many nights in Darren’s bed. It explained why he had moved into her family house. I wondered what my colleagues at work would think if they knew their boss had been fucked by a boy not much more than half her age in a bed that hadn’t seen clean sheets for many weeks.

My colleagues! Oh shit! It was Friday and I had to go to work!

I looked at my watch. Seven thirty. Shit!

If I left straightaway there might just be time to get home, wash, change and get to work in time for the morning’s first meeting. Going to my office with the smell of recent sex on my body was unthinkable so I rolled out of bed and began to pull on those pieces of clothing I could find amongst the chaos on the bedroom floor.

My body ached from Darren’s over-energetic assault, my stubbly pussy was once more pink from overuse but I had to get out of there quickly. Darren’s slow, regular breathing hardly faltered as I dressed. I was pleased; the last thing I wanted was a morning after encounter with my latest seducer – and I wasn’t entirely sure I would be able to resist if he offered one more fuck ‘for the road’.

As my hand reached for the bedroom door, a feeling of dread washed over me. I had squealed and wailed throughout the night, calling out with every penetration; every insemination; every climax, however, small or large – and there had been many.

Darren shared the house with two other young men. If they had been home there was no conceivable way they would not have heard. One was another trainer at the gym who I knew by sight if not by name.

A cold fear passed through me along with horrible memories from my youth. Was I about to take the ‘walk of shame’ through Darren’s shared house? To leave with his friends watching his latest conquest sneaking away, knowing she was married and old enough to be his mother?

Was I about to acquire a similar nickname to my daughter who was now known at University as ‘Izzy-Oh-God’ following her orgasmic exclamations?

Could I escape without being seen or recognised? And if I did, would Darren kiss-and-tell anyway?

There was no choice; the longer I waited, the more likely I was to be spotted. I had to take the risk. Tiptoeing to the door I turned the handle then, taking one last look at my beautiful sleeping fuck-buddy, I opened the door and slipped into the corridor outside.

I could hear a radio playing in a nearby bedroom. The door was closed so I tiptoed past and begin to descend the stairs in my bare feet. When I reached the tiny hallway, I could hear the familiar sounds of the BBC news coming from the kitchen. Someone must be preparing breakfast, I thought. They would be occupied; if I took another few steps perhaps I could open the front door and make my escape unseen.

I took another quick look into the room but could see no-one. I slipped my shoes on, walked silently to the front door, turned the handle and pulled.

It didn’t open. I turned the handle the other way and pulled. That didn’t work either.

“You need the key to open it,” came a voice from behind me.

I span round to find a tall young man standing in the kitchen doorway. He was perhaps a few years younger than Darren, bare-chested, bare footed and wearing jeans.

“Oh… um… “ I stammered.

There was no possible way he could fail to understand my presence in his house. I began to panic.

“I’ve… I’ve got to get to work,” I began.

“No problem,” he smiled knowingly, reaching past me and putting a key in the lock. He turned it, there was a click and the door opened a crack.

“Do you need a lift? I could drop you off,” he offered cheerfully. ”I’m Will by the way.”

The thought of being in a confined space with one young man when my body must have reeked of all the sex I had just had with another was too much.

“My car’s round the corner,” I lied. “But thanks anyway, Will.”

“Anytime,” he replied, watching me with a broad smile as I finally escaped into the fresh air.

Once out of the house I walked down the driveway as calmly as I could, my knees trembling with nerves. When I reached the road I turned right then as soon as I was out of sight of the house I stopped and took a deep breath. Had I really got away with it? It was too early to tell.

I was shaking like a leaf as I walked quickly along to the corner. There to my relief I found a bus stop with a Number Nine approaching.

*

For the first time in fifteen years I was late for work that morning. The bus journey to back to Julie’s to collect my car followed by the drive home had taken much longer than I had expected. I dashed upstairs and into the shower to wash the sticky evidence of fornication from my body only to find as I dried myself in front of the mirror that Darren had given me three large hickeys, two on the base of my neck, one higher up.

I was horrified! Darren’s housemate Will couldn’t possibly have missed them.

The first two could be hidden by a judicious choice of top but, short of wearing a headscarf, the third would be clearly visible to anyone who saw me. I cursed Darren for marking me as if we had been at a teenage disco and then cursed myself for being stupid enough to let it happen. At my age I should have known better.

I used more concealer that morning than I had since my spotty teenage days, thanking God that although it was large, the hickey wasn’t too dark in colour. The bags under my eyes needed attention too so I was well behind time as I drove through the thick traffic and struggled to find a parking place.

It was well past nine when I finally arrived at my desk to find I was already late for my first meeting but as I apologised and took my place at the table, settled into my seat and felt the aches and soreness my night’s adventure had produced, a warm glow of satisfied feminine contentment passed through me.

When I thought of the reason for my unusual tardiness, felt the warm glow in my belly and wondered what my colleagues would think if they knew I had just rushed in from my first one night stand in thirty years, I couldn’t prevent a broad smile appearing on my fifty-one year old face.

The warm glow continued throughout the day and into the evening, returning with a vengeance as I sat at my dressing table, removing my make-up and looking with a perverse pride at the three hickeys on my neck as if they were trophies.

Knowing I had been free to do this crazy thing; that my absent husband could and would voice no objection to what I had done made all the difference.

To my amazement, the continued risk of discovery and exposure by Darren’s housemates served only to heighten the thrill that rippled through me.

In love or not, none of my encounters with Tony had made me fill like this.

An extraordinary thought struck me; was this what my husband had wanted all along?