Penny's Promiscuity - 10 - Daughter's Distress free porn video

It was a Monday in early February and it was England so of course, it was raining.

I sat at my desk in my office and watched rivers of cold water run down the clouded glass of the window as I ate my lunch without enthusiasm. In an attempt to maintain my new, slimmer figure for my lover the ‘New Me’ had dispensed with sandwiches and cafeteria food so instead, I was tucking as best I could into a pre-made salad guaranteed to be less than 300 calories.

It tasted as delicious you would expect a three hundred calorie salad to taste but I told myself that it was worth all the effort, as were my evening runs and visits to the gym. Now my husband wasn’t the only man to see me naked on a regular basis, I had to make sure my body didn’t let me down.

At the age of fifty-one, this was an uphill struggle. I threw the half-finished meal into the bin and leaned back in my chair, the empty lunchtime office giving me a rare moment to reflect on how things were going.

I had to admit, so far our new lifestyle had suited me very well. It had never crossed my mind that having a regular lover could bring such an exciting new dimension to my life and the fact that my husband Peter knew, encouraged and apparently enjoyed my having sex with another man made it all delightful if rather surreal.

It’s extraordinary what we humans can call ‘normal’ if we want to. Pete and I were only a couple of months into this new and exciting way of living but already the way in which we talked and behaved had changed without any conscious decision on our part. We now discussed my infidelity freely and openly when we were alone and used both the ‘f’ and ‘c’ word routinely in normal conversation between the two of us - something I would have thought impossible only a few months ago.

The idea behind our new lifestyle had been that I should spend every Thursday evening on a ‘date night’ with my lover, Tony. What we did on those nights was up to us, as long as I told my husband honestly all the intimate details – if he wanted to know, of course. I also had to allow him free, unrestricted access to my body immediately after the date including, if he wanted, what had rapidly become his favourite sexual activity – ‘eating the creampie’ between my thighs.

I must confess, at first I had found the idea of my husband wanting to lick another man’s semen from my vulva to be completely incomprehensible and, to be even more honest, quite disgusting. But one look at the obvious delight he was getting from the experience quite reconciled me to it and, as I say, it had already become a fixture in our lives.

The fact that my husband is remarkably good at oral sex certainly helped me come to terms with this!

The fact that my now hairless pussy multiplied the sensations his mouth provided helped even more!

On the subject of pussies, although I had always hated the teenage American word, now that my own vulva was devoid of hair, the name seemed to fit much better so I had begun to use it both with my husband and with Tony.

As a bit of advice to my female readers, though, if you feel like ‘going bare down there’ yourself, I would strongly recommend having it professionally waxed rather than a do-it-yourself shave. Although the shaving itself is unquestionably arousing, the stubble grows back really quickly. Once you start shaving, you have to be prepared to do it every couple of days – every day you think you might have a visitor down there!

As I sat back in my chair wishing I could have a proper lunch and wondering when next to shave my pussy, little did I realise that I was about to enter perhaps the most difficult period of my entire married life; a period that almost brought my twenty-plus year relationship to an end.

*

Although our new lifestyle was less than three months old, my husband appeared to have already factored my ongoing infidelity into his life. There had been a few problems but we were overcoming them, the principal one being that Pete no longer referred to Tony by name and clearly resented the way his best friend had seduced me, his wife. A month before I had confessed and it had all become ‘official’.

There had been several occasions I had to remind him that without his continued urgings, I would probably never have committed adultery at all, let alone taken an ongoing lover. To be fair, when reminded, Pete accepted some of the responsibility for my initial adultery but would then remind me in turn that our bedroom fantasies had been based on my having multiple lovers and being fucked while he watched. Neither of these had yet happened; the implication being that I was getting the lion’s share of the benefit our new lifestyle was providing.

Although I hadn’t liked being told this, in truth Pete was quite right; he was being very patient over my continuing affair with Tony. Right then I was getting what I really wanted in bed; incredible, mind-altering sex with a handsome man on a very regular basis.

My fantasy had come true in full but Pete was getting only part of his. I guessed my husband’s forbearance would not last forever so I would have to take some steps soon to give him what he really wanted too.

Meanwhile, my relationship with Tony was beginning to become a lot more complicated.

Life with families being what it is, our planned regular Thursday fuck-dates hadn’t always been possible so we had met on a few other days too, including a Saturday morning when I should have been in the gym. The sex continued to be wonderful, though; if anything it had become even better recently. Our minds and bodies were tuning in to each other’s nicely and we were both learning what pleased the other most.

Indeed since New Year, the physical side of the relationship had soared. The presence of our kids at home over the festive period had been something of a frustration and the long message-sex we had enjoyed on an almost daily basis had been nowhere near adequate. Both Tony and I had been keen to get into our regular hands-on bed sessions once again as soon as possible.

Our houses finally empty of kids, our fucking had resumed in earnest it was immediately apparent that we had both done a bit of festive season research into new sexual possibilities. As a result, we had had a lot of fun over the last month. My ageing joints still ached from having been twisted into unfamiliar contortions but it was what my trainer at the gym would have called a ‘good pain’. It certainly made the memories much more vivid

When I had told my husband that Tony and I were planning to try new positions, all he had asked was that it would always end with Tony ejaculating inside me at least once so he could still eat his creampie afterwards.

I was happy to oblige; as I have said before, in my view the only way for sex ever to finish is with a good, copious insemination of my still-fertile female body.

Pete also asked that I tried to remember what positions we used and which worked best so I had done as promised and had been amused to see another blue charm waiting on my pillow as I went to bed after my first January date.

Three charms more had followed over the following weeks. I looked at the increasingly heavy bracelet that now seldom left my wrist, not realising how much heavier and how much more colourful it was to become over the coming year. I smiled every time I looked at it. Pete was a genius; as a choice of present for a new Hotwife, it could hardly have been better. Our new lifestyle seemed to be suiting us and the year ahead looked bright and promising.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Looking back, I should have known it would happen. I had certainly known about the risk but had been too involved in my sex life to do anything about it. Every single one of my online cuckold friends had warned me about it too so there was no excuse.

In my defence, having never cheated on my husband before, I was inexperienced in the ways of the adulterer and even more naive in the ways of the ‘Hotwife’ so would always have been prone to making rookie errors.

Even so, with my researches and advice from my online friends, I should have been more prepared than I was.

*

“Please Penny!” the message from Tony on my secret mobile phone read. “I can’t wait that long.”

“I know I’m sorry but I have to be here for her,” I reluctantly replied. “You know what she’s like.”

The ‘she’ in question was my daughter Isobel – Izzy for short who had come home unexpectedly mid-week, announcing that she planned to stay three nights and would return to her student flat on Saturday.

I had missed her terribly since she went off to University so her visit had come as a very pleasant surprise but it had also put a stop on the ‘Official Hotwife’ date with Tony which had been planned for Thursday night. Tony was naturally disappointed and from a sex point of view, so was I; it meant that there would be nearly two full weeks between our fuck-dates but we both knew where my priorities must lie, especially because I was anxious about the reason for my daughter coming home suddenly in the middle of term.

Izzy was twenty years old and a second-year student at a Russell Group University a good four hours’ drive away. She was tall like me, but darker skinned and with long almost jet black hair that reached well below her shoulders. Always very sporty, she was a thinner than me to point of being skinny with extraordinarily long legs which she tended to show off wearing skirts which were much too short. Unfortunately, she had inherited my tiny boobs too but overall was a strikingly pretty girl.

The train journey home was long and, as with all British trains, was very expensive so an unscheduled visit was a rare event. Add to that the fact that Izzy was a highly conscientious student who almost never skipped lectures and a clear message was received by both Pete and me: something was wrong.

A mother’s instinct to look after her children overcomes all others so, despite an increasing desire for sex with Tony that was becoming increasingly difficult to control, there was no question that I would postpone our Official Date to be there for our daughter.

“When will she arrive?” Tony’s message asked.

“Her train’s due at six. I’m picking her up on my way home from work.”

“When does she go back?” the question buzzed on my secret phone.

“Saturday morning,” I replied.

“Can’t we fix a date for the weekend when she’s gone? We could cover a lot of ground in an hour, Mrs. Sexy Barker.”

I smiled; Tony had started to call me by my married name a lot more often. He knew it sent a thrill through me, highlighting the illicit nature of our extra-marital relationship.

“Pete won’t like it,” I typed quickly. “We’re out on Saturday night and with my parents Sunday afternoon.”

“Can’t you make another exception? It worked last time!”

“I don’t know. It’s not what I agreed with Pete.”

“Please, Penny. Just an hour? Doesn’t your pretty pink pussy want to meet my thick cock again?”

She most certainly did; I could feel myself lubricating just thinking about it.

“Maybe!” I teased.

“Doesn’t she want to feel my tongue on her freshly shaved lips?”

She wanted that too; oral sex had moved onto a new plane since I had shaved my vulva at New Year and acquired my first ever bare ‘pussy’.

“That’s possible too,” I replied.

“And doesn’t your belly want to feel my cum inside? Doesn’t it want me to make another baby in you?”

Oh God! He’d hit the spot! Even though I most certainly didn’t want another child and Tony’s vasectomy made it impossible anyway, the mere thought of a man’s semen actually creating new life in my womb sent a shiver of arousal through me.

“When are you free?” I typed.

“Any time you want me,” came the immediate reply.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I messaged back. “Got to go now; Pete’s around.”

“Bye Penny. I love you!”

“I love you too,” I typed before tucking the illicit mobile into my handbag and going back to folding the washing before Pete entered the room.

*

The ‘exception’ Tony was referring to had occurred the previous week. According to my agreement with Pete, it shouldn’t have happened but I had felt as if I had had no choice.

The first Friday in February had been the three-month anniversary of the start of my affair with Tony. Three months since I had abandoned the monogamous life I had lived for more than twenty years and had first cheated on my husband. So much had happened since then that it was hard to believe it was only twelve short weeks since I had first been seduced, stripped and fucked on our lounge carpet but the calendar didn’t lie.

To mark this momentous event Tony and I had wanted to have a romantic dinner together followed by a night in an even more romantic hotel. It would be the first time he and I had spent a whole night together and the thought of not having to rush home after sex, waking up next to each other and perhaps even enjoying the sweetest of early morning copulations was making my heart beat faster.

It was having an effect on other parts of me too every time I thought about it.

The problem was that, according to our agreement, Pete had to consent to this new form of infidelity and I didn’t think he would. Despite having accepted my continuing to have sex with Tony, Pete still resented the way in which it had all started. Tony had been one of his closest friends and yet he had seduced me at a time when I was very much in a normal, faithful marriage.

It was too much to expect my husband to accept us celebrating this betrayal with another, deeper form of infidelity and yet Tony had been putting me under increasing pressure to go away with him for the night - with or without Pete’s agreement.

Okay, if I’m honest, the pressure was coming from within me at least as much as it was from Tony; a romantic overnight stay was something I desperately wanted too. As the days had passed and the anniversary grew closer, the desire had grown stronger, my scruples had gradually fallen away and the unthinkable had become a bit more thinkable each day.

It took a while for the logic to develop and when it did, it was warped but it went like this: if I asked my husband to let me spend a night away with my lover and he refused, I would have to say no to Tony and that would be that. I wouldn’t go directly against Pete’s clearly stated will.

However, my sex-fuddled mind reasoned, if I didn’t ask Pete at all he couldn’t say no. So if I slept overnight with Tony without asking, I wouldn’t be going directly against him, would I? And if he never found out it had happened, all could still be well. What Pete didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, right?

It was a weak, self-serving argument but I was a weak, selfish person so, with some unease, I had lied to my husband, telling him I had to attend a full day conference in London and stay overnight in a hotel.

It was a mistake; another in a line of mistakes in fact but it raised no eyebrows. Attending conferences all over the world was a fundamental part of my job. I had then lied to Tony too, telling him Pete had agreed to our overnight stay after all and the whole thing was arranged.

*

It’s worth a quick word about conferences here because they have featured heavily in my professional life and were going to play an even more important role in the future too.

In essence, the British National Health Service loves conferences. While the NHS itself might be short of cash, the Pharmaceutical industry most certainly isn’t and even these days splashes it around in ways it thinks will best influence doctors to prescribe the latest and most profitable drugs and devices.

Pharmaceutical industry funds find their way into research such as mine, into special interest groups in different disciplines, into networking and of course, into conferences. I myself was a regular speaker at conferences all over the world, earning fees both for my hospital and personally but the latter were mostly confined to rather generous expenses.

Conferences can be a superb vehicle by which best practice can be disseminated around the medical world, bringing together the best minds and most eager students in a single place to interact. They can vary from one-day presentations for a handful of attendees to week long international get-togethers in smart hotels with fine dining, entertainment, outings and plenty of time to get to know each other.

And that is where the problems start. Doctors and Medical Researchers are no different from any other members of society when it comes to consuming free food and drink and behaving badly as a result. In some respects, we are probably worse as our jobs bring us closer to the human body than most. If you are new to the conference scene it takes a day or so to understand the dynamic going on beneath the surface but in essence, attendees who would like a little guilt-free, no-strings sex seek out other like-minded individuals during the networking sessions with a view to hooking up later in the evening.

Don’t be shocked – this happens in every industry in every country and is unavoidable. Marital status is no barrier either to the seducer or the seduced and there is an unwritten but well-observed attitude that ‘what happens at conference, stays at conference’.

Of course, human nature being what it is, the overwhelming dynamic is of older, experienced men preying on younger, naive girls but the reverse and every other combination is also true. Several well-respected Professors to my certain knowledge had Conference Wives – women they routinely slept with while away but never at any other times. Almost all of these men and women were married.

I myself had been forced to repel attempts at seduction for a number of years. I had managed to retain my fidelity, though not without a few close calls. Interestingly, though the assaults of my marriage vows had been most frequent when I was younger, now I was in my fifties for some reason they had started again.

*

The conference to which I had pretended to be invited wasn’t one of those. It was a regular one-day event in a London hotel at which I had spoken several times before and which would rouse no suspicion. The opportunity for anyone even to try and seduce me would be close to zero so Pete had no reason to feel uneasy about my absence or its apparent short notice and had waved me goodbye as my taxi had headed off down the driveway very early on Friday morning.

Of course having dropped me off at the railway station with my overnight bag, I had not boarded a train; instead, I had waited a few minutes for Tony to arrive in his car and whisk me away to the countryside.

As we sped northwards along the busy roads the weather was dreary; cold and overcast. I shrugged and smiled; I didn’t expect to get outside much, not when there was a roaring fire, good food, fine wine and a large four-poster bed to be enjoyed.

As it happened, I was wrong. The weather cheered up, the skies cleared, the sun put in an unexpected appearance and there was enough time to enjoy the hotel’s ground and nearby countryside as well as fuck ourselves half senseless.

The hotel was everything I had hoped; romantic, small, secluded and a good fifty miles away from our homes, carefully chosen to minimise the chances of being seen by anyone we knew. Despite only being there for a little over twenty-four hours, it was a wonderful break with hot baths, a warm swimming pool, crisp white sheets and, after a hot, sweaty beginning, plenty of slow, unhurried sex.

Signing in as Tony’s wife sent another illicit thrill through me.

Our first copulation took place within minutes of arriving in our room; certainly before anything had been unpacked and was as hot, violent and passion-filled as any in our entire relationship. In order to maintain the fiction of going to a conference, I had deliberately dressed in the business suit I had worn when Tony had first seduced me.

Underneath, however, instead of the elderly tights and large white cotton knickers he had disposed of so easily, I was wearing the last pair of lacy silk panties from my husband’s Hotwife Christmas present. Add to that a matching lace bra, black stockings, and a suspender belt and I felt as sexy as could be.

Tony clearly felt the same; once my skirt had been unceremoniously removed and my pussy comprehensively fingered, he didn’t bother stripping my upper body at all. Instead, he simply lifted my left leg around his waist, pulled the gusset of my panties roughly to one side and entered me as I stood with my back to the wall in the room’s tiny hallway.

Despite copious lubrication, the roughness of his penetration and the awkward angle made the first half dozen strokes painful. But what a pain! Coming from beneath, Tony’s short, thick cock stretched my entrance in a new direction entirely, but more importantly, the angle of my body, impaled on his hips and with my shoulders against the wall, rasped the head of his cock directly over my g-spot.

As he began to fuck me hard, his strong legs lifting me bodily with every thrust, I thought the top of my head would blow off! The breeding frenzy hit hard and immediately; it’s fortunate that the rooms either side of ours were unoccupied at the time or there would certainly have been complaints about the noises I was making, my whole body being rammed over and over against the wall while I wailed my love and lust into the emptiness of the room.

As Tony’s hard thrusts became erratic and he growled his lust into my ear, I could feel his first ejaculation approaching and my body prepared itself to receive a man’s seed once again. Indeed as his cock began to throb and his semen began to spurt inside me, my vagina went into spasm, clenching onto his shaft over and over again, as if milking every last drop of baby-making fluid from his body.

Once the immediate pressure of lust over, we had calmed down, showered away the sweat and mess, dressed more casually and walked in the hotel’s grounds for an hour before drifting along to the river, hand in hand.

It was sweet, romantic, loving and, though I didn’t realise it at the time, entirely the wrong thing for the future of my marriage.

Later we returned to our room and made love a second time but more slowly and much more lovingly. I looked deep into Tony’s dark, dreamy brown eyes as he finally filled my body with his seedless semen, feeling myself opening completely for this wonderful, handsome man.

We kissed in the moonlight on Friday night, dined intimately in the corner of the restaurant then retired to bed where sleep simply wasn’t an option.

When we woke, tired and sore on Saturday morning we had a delicious breakfast then walked the grounds again hand in hand, throwing sticks into the river together and doing all the romantic things a loved-up couple would normally have done before returning to our room one last time, tearing off each other’s clothes and fucking like jack rabbits on the soft white mattress.

I had been very nervous about waking up next to Tony on Saturday; at fifty-one, my morning face wasn’t the way to see me at my best but, as I found out, waking to Tony’s tired eyes and half-grown beard wasn’t great either.

Fortunately, this hadn’t interfered with our early morning lovemaking, though the rough stubble on his chin had made both my face and hairless vulva embarrassingly pink and sore. I can’t remember what excuse I made for the redness when I arrived home that afternoon pretending to have just returned from the big city by train.

Pete had been a little surprised just how open my vagina was when he had mounted me on Saturday evening after we had come home from the theatre but he had long ago stopped expecting tightness down there and in the end enjoyed reaching that little bit deeper inside me than usual.

So my little lies had escaped discovery and a good time had been enjoyed by all.

Unfortunately, this had made the next lie that much easier to tell.

*

Valentine’s Day wasn’t far away; only two weeks after this first, highly illicit overnight hotel break. Emboldened by the apparent success of the lies I had told and oblivious to the risk, both Tony and I were keen to repeat the performance even if it couldn’t be on the day itself.

Having got away with my first fabrication, lying to my husband a second time hadn’t been anywhere near as daunting so I had already told him that the company which had run the previous conference had asked me to take part in another session. Consequently, I would be away again overnight shortly after Valentine’s Day.

Between these two highly unofficial overnight stays was supposed to be my next Official Hotwife evening with Tony. It had been set for Thursday night. As before, Pete was content for it to happen; he was even going to drive me to my lover’s apartment and pick my soiled self up afterward in the expectation of enjoying his favourite creampie in our bed.

After my initial revulsion, I had grown to love those creampies too; they reminded me that I had just been properly inseminated as a real, fertile woman should be. What’s more; my husband’s skills at oral sex on my newly-hairless pussy were world class.

But Izzy’s unexpected return home had put paid to that plan, leaving Tony and me facing a gap of at least two full weeks between fuck-dates, something neither of us relished.

Tony was clearly hoping that I would find a way to be with him in that unwanted gap. Despite having lied to my husband successfully twice, I still had qualms about doing it a third time so soon afterwards so despite desperately wanting to be with my lover, I hadn’t yet made any promises.

Meanwhile, I had my distressed daughter to deal with.

*

No amount of weak smiling could conceal the unhappiness that Izzy’s body language broadcast as she crossed the station concourse to where I stood waiting just after six o’clock that Wednesday evening. The poor girl clearly had something on her mind - and it was a big something.

Prone to fiery tempers, I knew better than to try and force out of her whatever it was she needed to talk through; it was always best to let her decide for herself if and when the moment was right. Instead, as we drove the short distance from the station to our home, I tried to act as if nothing was amiss, asking simple, motherly questions about the journey and whether she had managed to have lunch.

This innocent chat managed to fill the time it took to get home. When we arrived, Izzy took her bag straight up to her room while I made that most universal of remedies: tea. She spent rather a long time upstairs; long enough for me to begin to get worried but as I started to climb the stairs with a teacup in my hand, she emerged from the bathroom, red-eyed and runny-nosed.

She had clearly been crying but from the way she took herself quickly back into her room calling out that she would be down in a minute, she didn’t want me to know this.

I returned to the kitchen and waited. A few minutes later Izzy entered the room in her pyjamas though it was barely past seven o’clock and perched on a tall stool at the breakfast bar. I didn’t need the psychology training I had done at University all those years ago to understand this as comfort-seeking behaviour.

As I began preparing the evening meal, again I kept the conversation light, asking about her course, her forthcoming exams, her flat and her housemates. Izzy answered readily enough but there was no bounce in her voice. It wasn’t until I asked her about her boyfriend Steve that I elicited anything close to a strong reaction.

“Why do you ask?” she demanded. “Has he called you? What did he say?”

This was such a strange question that I felt I had to find out more.

“Of course not,” I assured her. “Why would Steve call me? Is everything still all right between you?”

Izzy seemed about to reply when the front door opened and her father came into the house.

“Daddy!”

Always a Daddy’s girl, Izzy positively rushed from her stool to greet him in the hallway, hugging him tightly and receiving a bear hug in return. The two of them joined me in the kitchen, the teacups were replaced with tall glasses of wine and the conversation returned to banal but reassuring subjects again.

*

“She needs to talk about something,” I said to Pete as we lay in bed late that night. “I think it’s Steve.”

“I wondered that,” he agreed. “Even I can tell there’s something going on, no matter how she tries to hide it. What are you both doing tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a full day at work,” I told him. “Izzy says she’s brought some work home to do too; there are a couple of assignments due in soon.”

“It’s not like her to miss lectures, though,” he voiced my own thoughts. “It must be important.”

I thought for a moment.

“Would you mind going to the gym straight from work tomorrow?” I asked. “It’d give us a couple of hours alone. Maybe she’ll feel more able to talk if it’s just the two of us.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll aim to be home after eight. Just let me know if you need me to stay out longer.”

I smiled then asked the second most important question on my mind.

“And you’re okay about next Friday? The conference? Staying overnight?”

Pete leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Of course. I just hope they’re giving you plenty of expenses,” he yawned as he turned off the light.

I lay in the darkness later, listening to my husband’s slow, deep breaths.

I knew it was wrong; I knew I shouldn’t have lied to him about the conference but it was Valentine’s Day after all. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t already know Tony and I were fucking.

It wasn’t really that bad a lie… was it?

*

The following day passed slowly, my mind filled with three problems; a trace of guilt about my forthcoming overnight treat with Tony; the need we both had to meet and fuck in the interim ten days but most importantly, the problems my daughter might currently have in her life.

When I arrived home, Pete’s car was absent and Izzy had made a start on dinner; at least she had opened the wine and appeared to be a good glass and a half ahead of me. I’ve never been able to hold my wine well and Izzy isn’t much better so we were both distinctly tipsy by seven-thirty when the meal looked close to being ready.

We had chatted about the normal things Mums and daughters talk about but the more we talked, the more I became sure there was an important subject waiting to reach the surface and that it involved her boyfriend, a person I had grown to like well.

Izzy and Steve had got together in her first term at University. They had met through one of the many sports clubs they both belonged to. Steve was a year older than Izzy but on the same course; tall, sporty like her, bright and good looking. Pete and I had both liked him straight away; no small feat when a father meets the boy who he’s fairly sure is fucking his only daughter.

The two had been inseparable ever since. They had celebrated their first anniversary before Christmas and had looked set to go the distance, staying together throughout their University careers. Indeed they had talked openly about getting a flat together in London once they had both graduated.

The thought that their relationship had in some way become damaged was unsettling but the closer we got to the heart of the matter, the more agitated Izzy became so I backed off with my questions. It wasn’t until we had opened the second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that the truth began to emerge.

The two of them had broken up. It had been very recent, it had been very painful and they were no longer even on speaking terms. Not surprisingly, Izzy was very distressed indeed and didn’t know what to do but when I tried to get to the reason behind the break-up, she was remarkably reticent.

“We just fell out, that’s all,” she told me angrily when I came close to overstepping the invisible mark.

“What about?” I pressed her.

“It’s complicated,” came the predictable, inadequate reply.

“I can’t really help you if you don’t tell me what happened, Izzy,” I said a little patronisingly.

“What makes you think I need help?” she asked, her chin stuck out in childish pique.

“Because you’re here,” I smiled. “You wouldn’t have come home if you didn’t want help.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“I meant, the fact that you came all this way tells me you’re unhappy. I want you to feel better by the time you go back on Saturday.”

“If I go back on Saturday,” she grumbled.

I was taken aback.

“Why wouldn’t you go back? I thought you loved it there.”

“I did love it there,” she protested. “I just don’t think I can face it. Face him”

“Face Steve?” I was aghast. She nodded.

“Izzy! What on earth happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Has he hurt you?” She shook her head. “Have you had a row?”

“You have to talk to someone to have a row,” she grunted.

“You’re not even speaking?” I asked. She shook her head again.

“Oh my God, Izzy. What happened? Has he slept with someone else? I asked, horrified at the prospect of my little girl being hurt.

Izzy couldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she looked at the floor and her shoulders sank.

“No Mum,” she mumbled. “He didn't. I did!”

My mouth literally fell open in astonishment.

“Izzy!”

My daughter burst into floods of tears.

“I knew you’d be angry!” she wailed, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

I followed, arriving just in time to see her bedroom door slam shut but I wasn’t going to be closed out now; I simply opened it and walked straight in. Our lovely, pretty daughter was lying face down on the bed, her body rocking slowly as she sobbed. I perched next to her, stroking her long black hair and made ‘there there’ noises as I let her emotions subside.

Eventually, the crying slowed and she rolled onto her side. I stroked her pink, tear-stained cheek.

“If you want to tell me, I have as long as you need,” I said softly. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. I can’t have you feeling as bad as this.”

“It does matter Mum,” she sobbed. “I’ve ruined everything! Everything!”

“Wait a minute,” I said quietly, standing up and slipping out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a box of tissues, a wet bath flannel and two very large glasses of white wine.

I’m not sure which of these worked best but after all three remedies had been applied, some form of calm had been restored and, once three-quarters of both wine glasses had been emptied, the story started to emerge.

And it was the old, old story.

Izzy and Steve had planned to go to the Students’ Union Ball together the previous weekend but had had a lover’s tiff during the afternoon. The cause of the fall-out had been trivial as usual – something to do with Steve paying one of her flatmates too much attention - but it had turned the atmosphere sour and resulted in Steve stomping off, saying she could go to the ball on her own if she wanted but he was going to the pub with his rugby club friends.

Angry and resentful, Izzy had decided to show him who was the boss and had given Steve’s ticket to her friend Lauren. The two of them had gone to the Ball together; their dresses had been short, their legs bare despite it being February and their alcohol consumption heavy.

Still angry with Steve, Izzy had drunk too much and when Lauren’s boyfriend had arrived with a couple of his friends, the two of them had joined the group on the dance floor.

An hour’s dancing and several vodka shots later Izzy had found herself being edged out of the group by one of the boys, a good-looking, well-built hockey player called Simon. He said he was from North London and was visiting a friend from home for the weekend. The Ball had been an unexpected bonus.

He had paid Izzy a lot of attention, flattering her and basically chatting her up.

The two of them had danced for another half hour before he took her to the bar for a cold drink and a cool-down. In the relative quiet they had talked animatedly for a long time, having yet more drinks before Izzy realised that her friend Lauren was nowhere to be seen. Simon told her Lauren had gone back to her boyfriend’s flat which was where he was staying too. Why didn’t he walk her round to make sure she was safe?

Of course, the walk which began innocently soon moved to holding hands, then to walking arm in arm, then to a pause in the darkness between streetlights for a long, lingering kiss.

Reading between the lines, it seems that things began to get out of hand from there on. From the few details she did provide, I gathered that Simon had given her a comprehensive fondling and fingering in the street, arousing her to such an extent that when they eventually did reach the flat, they had fallen into Lauren’s boyfriend’s bedroom and had fucked each other wildly all the rest of the night.

And she didn’t even know his surname.

Of course, it couldn’t have been a worse choice of location; everyone in the flat knew both her and Steve and could hear with their own ears what was going on behind the closed door.

“They all heard us, Mum. They heard me! Everyone in the flat heard me.”

“Oh sweetheart,” I said, putting my arm around her and hugging her.

“When I woke up in the morning I was still in Lauren’s boyfriend’s room. Simon was still there too and we were both naked. It was awful. Everyone in the flat knew I was supposed to be Steve’s girlfriend and they all knew I had cheated on him all night. I just cried and cried.”

“What did Simon say?”

“He was horrified. He said he didn’t know I was already in a relationship or he wouldn’t have tried to get with me.”

“Is that true?”

“Lauren says it is. She says he’s a really nice guy too. But it gets worse.”

“Tell me,” I said, hugging her closer.

“I wanted to go home straight away. It took ages to find all my clothes and my phone and when I did find it there was a text message from Steve calling me a filthy cheating slut and dumping me on the spot.”

“That’s terrible!”

“One of the boys in the flat must have told him I was there,” she hissed angrily.

I didn’t say anything; in my opinion, it was far more likely that a girl had told Steve; a girl who wanted to move in on my daughter’s now-ex boyfriend.

“I haven’t heard a word from him since. But that’s not the worst thing.”

It sounded pretty bad to me.

“Mum, they’ve been calling me names all week. Not to my face but I’ve heard them talking.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“What names?” She looked down at her feet.

“Izzy-Oh-God!”

“What?”

“It’s what I kept shouting when... when we were doing it. Lauren says I kept wailing Oh God! Oh God! She heard it all; I’m so ashamed.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

I was indeed sorry and could empathise with her. I had acquired a nickname at school for similar though not identical reasons. The name had stuck throughout my life too. Clearly being noisy during sex was something that ran in the family.

“Steve found out straight away. He hasn’t answered his phone and every time I went round to his flat they just kept saying he isn’t in.”

“Have you heard from Simon?” I asked.

She started to cry again.

“No, nothing. Lauren says he went back to London. She says he liked me a lot but when he found out I already had a boyfriend he thought he’d better leave me alone. Oh, Mum! He thinks I’m a slut too! What else can he think?”

“Izzy, please...” I began.

“Perhaps they’re right, Mum. Perhaps I am a slut. How can I go back to Uni now?”

There was a long pause while I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Did you use protection?” I asked, being sensible and adult with my daughter in a way I had not been when my own seduction had taken place.

She shook her head. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“Are you still on the pill?”

She nodded.

“Then for safety’s sake, we’d better get you tested in case you’ve picked up something nasty.”

She began to object.

“Sweetheart it’s only common sense, and you can do it anonymously.” I named a clinic I knew through work. It was in a different town so no-one would recognise either of us. “We could go on Saturday morning before you catch the train.”

Izzy nodded her acquiescence.

My God! Life was getting complicated!

*

Unsurprisingly there was a strained atmosphere over dinner; Izzy had pleaded for me not to tell her father so I gave Pete a very expurgated version when we were talking in bed later that evening. I told him that she and Steve had broken up and that there wasn’t much chance of them getting back together.

Pete didn’t need to know that neither his wife nor his daughter could be trusted to keep their knickers on.

*

The next day was very busy at work. Being Thursday it would have been the day of my next Official Date with Tony but Izzy’s continued presence and her distress made this impossible. This was a disappointment to both Tony and me. Perversely, it also seemed to be a disappointment for my husband too; Pete was distinctly restive during the evening.

When I got home from work, Izzy was in a slightly better frame of mind having unloaded some of her troubles onto me the night before. She had spent the day on her assignments and had gone for a run but when I asked if she had heard from anyone at Uni, she shook her head and frowned.

Dinner was a little more light-hearted. Pete did his best to reassure her that there were plenty more fish in the sea (though thank God he didn’t use that phrase) but of course, knowing the real reason for their break-up, this was of little help.

Friday was equally busy at work but this time when I came home I was greeted by a much brighter, more enthusiastic daughter than the one I had left in her pyjamas that morning.

“Come on then,” I teased her as I filled the kettle in the kitchen. “What’s happened?”

“He called! He called me this afternoon!”

Izzy was positively bounding around the room. After her previous demeanour, it was a delight for a mother to see.

“He’s forgiven you? You’re getting back with Steve? I’m so pleased.”

“No Mum; not Steve! I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” She looked genuinely upset about this but there was still something making her happier. “Besides, Steve’s already slept with Lauren, can you believe that? The sneaky, underhand cow!”

I congratulated myself on my perception; it must have been Izzy’s so-called friend Lauren who had told Steve about her one-night-stand so she could move in on him herself. So much for girls not being predictable!

But Izzy was bubbling with excitement.

“No, Steve didn’t call, Simon did! He messaged me after lunch and then called. We talked for more than an hour. He says he got my number from Lauren but didn’t want to call straight away in case I was trying to get back with Steve. When he heard about Steve and Lauren, he knew it was definitely all over so he called me straight away.”

This did indeed sound like good news.

“He wants to see me again, Mum! He says we have more in common than any girl he’s ever met and please can we get together again. He wants to come and visit on Sunday! I’ve got to get back to Uni tomorrow.”

“But he lives in London,” I protested.

“I know! But he’s prepared to come all that way just to see me again. And stay overnight.”

I was amazed just how quickly my daughter had reassessed and re-calibrated her life. If Simon wanted to see her again, knowing she had just cheated on her last boyfriend, then she must have made quite an impression on him.

Some things never changed, I reflected. Even in my day the one thing that could lose a girl her reputation as a slut was the acquisition of a steady boyfriend. And the more good-looking, the better. In Izzy’s case, the boy concerned was the one she had cheated with which made things even more fortunate. Steve’s sleeping with Lauren in revenge merely put the icing on the cake; the story could be told in a way that suggested our daughter wasn’t a slut, she had simply moved on from her old boyfriend. They both had.

Only a handful of people would know the truth. At least, I thought wryly, they already knew that the sex was good – and what she was likely to shout in bed!

*

It wasn’t possible for Pete to understand the reason why his daughter was so much happier without letting him know the full story so we agreed to tell him that Izzy had been asked out by another boy she had recently met.

This seemed to satisfy his curiosity; as long as his sweet, innocent daughter was happy, he was happy and Friday night’s dinner was bright and cheerful.

Izzy was still full of energy when she woke early on Saturday morning and packed for the journey back to University. We still went to the clinic; you can’t; be too careful but given the good news about Simon, it seemed unlikely there would be a problem – and so it eventually proved to our joint relief.

Pete had to go to work so at ten-thirty I dropped Izzy off at the railway station, hugging and kissing her as if she was leaving forever. I had dressed in my gym kit of black Capri tights, a pink vest top, white socks and trainers with a tracksuit top to keep me warm.

I genuinely had every intention of going straight to the gym for an hour’s intensive workout – maybe even take in a class - but fate decided otherwise.

“I can’t tell you how much you helped, Mum,” she said, her voice trembling as we hugged alongside the car.

“Just be careful,” I told her, trying not to sound too scolding. “You’ve had a lucky escape.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I’m still shocked at myself. I expect they’ll get bored of that silly name quickly.”

I didn’t disabuse her of that belief but in my case, the nickname was still in use decades later.

“Are you still upset about Steve?” I asked.

“A bit, and I’m still ashamed of what I did but sleeping with Lauren so soon afterwards changes things.”

I was amazed at how easily my daughter could brush off the fact that it was she who had cheated so publically on her long term boyfriend. Whatever Steve had done afterwards had been the result of severe provocation. Or had the whole thing been planned by Lauren all along?

The thought reminded me of my own situation in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. By arranging secret assignations with Tony I was lying to my husband, but was I cheating on him too? Surely not; he already knew Tony and I were fucking so where was the harm?

Whatever the answer, it wasn’t enough to make me want to change the plans we had in place. Tony and I would still have our overnight Valentine’s Day fuck-fest.

I felt strangely empty a few minutes later as Izzy waved and walked into the station, her bag slung over her shoulder. She really was a remarkably pretty girl, I thought. I wasn’t at all surprised so many boys wanted to bed her.

The thought of bed made me think of Tony. What was it with the women in our family? Could none of us be satisfied by a single lover? And were we all that easy to get into bed? My daughter seemed to have put up no more resistance than I had but at least she had the excuse of being drunk.

I wondered what Simon looked like; what the pair of them would have looked like as they fucked, Izzy’s skinny legs parted wide with a young male bottom rising and falling in between. I wondered what her voice had sounded like, wailing loud enough to give her a nickname as well as a reputation. I wondered what Tony and I looked like in comparison, my fifty-year-old legs spread equally wide to receive his short, thick cock in my over-sized vagina.

Stop it, Penny! Don’t go down that road.

But it was impossible; the mere memory of my original seduction had already started the process of arousal in my body. My nipples were hardening and I could feel the warm glow in my vulva – my hairless pussy that announced the production of those oh-so-necessary juices.

Suddenly I knew what I wanted. My qualms about Pete evaporated in a surge of lust. All I knew was that I had to have Tony’s thick, stumpy cock in my well-used cunt again, stretching my inner lips as tightly as they had ever been stretched before filling my married body with thick, sticky semen.

Suddenly nothing else mattered. Almost without conscious thought, I pulled my secret phone out of my sports bag and dialled the only number in its memory.

“Hello Mrs. Sexy Barker,” Tony’s voice was low and made me shiver.

“Hello,” I replied. “Are you busy?”

“I’m out but I could be anywhere you wanted me to be.”

“I’m free for the next hour or so,” I said meaningfully. “Are you?”

“For you, anything. But I thought Izzy...”

“I’ve just put her on the train,” I interrupted. “I was on my way to the gym but I thought a different kind of exercise might be nice. Your name sprang to mind.”

“What about Pete?”

“He’s at work. What he doesn’t know...”

“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

I drove slowly but directly to Tony’s apartment, parking my car around the corner to make it less obvious I was there. His car arrived a few minutes later; I gave him five minutes to get upstairs and be ready for me before pressing the bell at the main door.

Seconds later a buzzing sound told me it was unlocked; I pushed it open and slowly climbed the stairs.

Minutes later Tony was fucking me unceremoniously, doggy-style on the lounge carpet with the Saturday sports preview playing on the TV throughout the whole messy session. My thighs were sore; it had taken a lot more force to rid me of my close-fitting gym tights than it had been to remove my knickers and my sports bra was still resolutely in place on my tiny boobs, preventing them swinging as Tony thrust himself forcefully into me from behind.

The bizarre combination of banality and adultery was surprisingly arousing.

The beast within me must have thought so too because the breeding frenzy struck hard and fast. Almost before the team lists could be put on screen, I was begging Tony once again to knock-up my cheating cunt and put a baby in me there and then.

Though no longer physically possible thank to Tony’s vasectomy, the feral cries of a woman in heat helped spur both of us to a very pleasant mutual climax.

We lay on the rug afterwards, panting and sweating as my body began to absorb the ropes of Tony’s semen it had just gratefully received. I leaned back against his chest, feeling the reassurance of his long, slim body against mine, his warm breath on the back of my neck as his hands toyed with my sides and tummy.

It felt... perfect!

*

I sneaked into our house afterwards. Pete had come home and was working in the study so he didn’t get the chance to see his sweaty, semen-encrusted wife running upstairs and into the shower where she washed the sticky evidence of cheating from her body.

The idea of feeling guilty never occurred to me.