Penny's Promiscuity - 37 To 38 - Sounds Familiar free porn video

Chapter Thirty-seven

Vaginas are made to be fucked by one erect penis not four fingers; their flexible entrances recover quickly after being penetrated by even the largest cock but despite its capacious size, Pete’s forceful fingers had taken mine up to, if not quite beyond its elastic limit.

Anuses of course, aren’t made to be fucked at all. Anuses can take time to recover, especially when their owners didn’t insist on copious amounts of lubrication before allowing their prized ring of muscle to be penetrated and abused, even by a cock as slender as Pete’s.

So it was, that after my husband’s considerable onslaught on both my orifices, I was too sore and battered to let anyone anywhere near my knickers for almost a whole week. Pete might have viewed the break in my sexual demands as a blessed relief, because he didn’t put any pressure on me at all during that time. But then to be honest, most of the recent sexual demands in our house had been made by me anyway.

That was of course, if you didn’t count our daughter Isobel.

With August about to end, she and her new boyfriend Jack were having to face the reality of going to different Universities in different parts of the country, Izzy to begin her final year, Jack to begin his second.

Jack is the youngest son of my best friend Julie and her soon-to-be-ex-husband-and-my-first-extramarital-lover Tony. He and Izzy had been friends all their lives so when she announced that, after an unexpected meeting on holiday, they were now a full-blown couple, I was more than a bit stunned.

Since they had first got together during Izzy’s all-girl fortnight in Torremolinos, I don’t think they had spent a single twenty-four-hour period apart. Sleeping together every night either in her bedroom or in his mother’s house, the two of them had been practically joined at the groin for several weeks, when not at their respective holiday jobs.

How they would react to being so far apart remained to be seen. Izzy had already cried twice at the prospect of being separated and was emotionally unstable most of the time – which in turn, meant she was never far from one of her most spectacular bad moods.

Worse still, Jack’s term started a week before Izzy’s, which meant that she would be home without him for seven full days.

I was dreading it.

The irritability in the house wasn’t being helped by the hot weather that had decided to make its presence felt. British summers are notoriously unreliable and capricious. With my belly now uncontainable by most of my clothes and my ability to keep calm and cool decreasing, the weather chose that moment to raise the temperature into the high seventies or low eighties and whack up the humidity.

I know this is nothing to our friends in the US or Australia, but for a county famous for rain and built largely without air conditioning, it presented a challenge to a pregnant fifty-one-year-old.

With equal caprice, the pregnancy itself was going as well as could possibly be expected. My blood pressure was fine, my ankles weren’t swelling, my skin was beginning to show the healthy glow it had last shown twenty years ago. My tiny boobs were showing signs of coming back to life after decades of inactivity too. Even my hair was joining in on the act with a soft sheen developing.

If it wasn’t for the completely unmissable swelling in my belly, I would have been the healthiest I had been for many years. There was no visible reason why I should not carry my baby to full term.

The most recent scan had revealed no problems with the baby either. She – for we now knew I was carrying another girl – appeared fit and healthy, and within the bounds of development that would be expected.

My husband still said he loved me; everything seemed to be going well for us. So why had I spent the last three nights awake, crying as quietly as I could into my pillow?

The answer was inevitably, doubts; and doubts on a grand scale.

I suppose most soon-to-be-mothers have these feelings. I know I had them when about to give birth to our first child, Josh but for me, seeing my baby’s image on the ultrasound screen, so clearly defined that we could be almost certain of her gender brought reality in on me like a tidal wave.

We were really, actually going to have a baby! Another tiny human being was going to enter our lives.

Up till then, even after the first vague, blurry images of the growing contents of my womb, the whole thing had still been an adventure; an exciting if uncomfortable dream from which we would eventually awake.

It had all been about me too; about the accidental, unfaithful conception; the perils of being pregnant at fifty-one; the problems of fitting my swelling belly into my clothes and yes of course, the need to deal with a massive bay-driven rise in my libido.

Now, knowing I was carrying a girl, a girl who would soon need a name and a life, everything changed.

It wasn’t all about me anymore.

Okay, the thought of going through childbirth again at my age was simply terrifying. Going to clinic was bringing back memories of agonies and indignities I had thought were well in my past but however terrible they would be, they would eventually end.

What would not end was my new daughter – our new daughter, I corrected myself. Pete any my fourth child.

In a short time, there would be another life in the house; a tiny, demanding life that would need my full attention. And there would be no choice; that life would have to get my full attention, come what may.

Pete had been amazing all this time. From the moment he learned that his wife of over twenty-five years had not only been unfaithful for months, she had also been knocked up by a boy young enough to be her son, he had stood by me and my illegitimate child.

But how would he feel when, like me, he realised what this was going to do to us and our life? We were only months away from being Grandparents too, for Christ’s sake!

Now, thanks to me and my rampant, irresponsible infidelity we would be facing at least a year of broken nights, constantly awake and feeding a hungry mouth into the small hours. For at least two years we would be changing nappies – well into our mid-fifties,

And then what? Doing the school run at sixty? Dealing with teenage angst and tantrums well after retirement age? Nursing stressed students through A levels, boyfriend problems and University entrance at the age of seventy?

And Pete would be doing all this knowing that the girl concerned wasn’t even his child.

In the cold light of day – or more likely in the small hours of a Monday morning after very little sleep, with the smell of milk and nappies all around us and a hard week at work awaiting him in only a few hours’ time, might my husband decide it was all too much? That it was time to let his cheating wife lie alone in the metaphorical bed she had made for herself?

Might he not worry that she had only come back to him because her lover had dumped her anyway?

Might he not worry that she would cheat again given the opportunity?

Might he not decide to cut his losses, walk out of the melee she had inflicted on him and into a new life? Possibly even a new life with his only known lover, Julie; the china-doll-pretty friend who had been so complimentary about his performance in bed and who had introduced him to the joys of anal sex when I had been unable or unwilling to perform that act?

“Can’t you sleep?”

Pete’s voice was soft and concerned as it blessedly broke my terrible train of thought.

“It’s three-thirty in the morning, Penn. Are you feeling okay?”

How could I answer that? If I told my husband about my worries, I knew he would reassure me, but would his reassurance be the truth? And how could he possibly know now how he would feel in a year’s time when the baby was born and our lives had been changed irreparably?

“Are we mad Pete?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Having a baby at our age. Are we completely crazy?”

“It’s a bit late to worry about that,” he sighed, rolling over to face me. “We are where we are. There’s no changing our minds now.”

“But she’s going to change everything,” I protested. “Remember what it was like when we had Josh and…”

Once again, I detailed all the practical problems that had been spinning round my mind, getting more and more agitated and tearful with each sentence. For the moment, I kept all the worries about our relationship to myself, but they were still there, bubbling under the surface.

“We’ve done it before, so we know how to do it again, right?” Pete eventually interrupted, holding me close in his strong arms. “We can do this, Penn. You know we can. We’ve done all it three times before and we weren’t too bad at it were we?”.

I shook my head, the tears still flowing as my husband stroked the large swelling in my belly.

“Okay, we’ll be the oldest parents at the school gate, but the gap won’t be anything like as large as is was first time round. Parents are getting older all the time; first timers are in their thirties now and even in their forties. The world has changed.”

He was right, had told me all this many times, but I needed to hear it again.

“As far as being older is concerned; well, we’ll just have to look after ourselves, won’t we? We’ll have to keep as young and fit as we can and try not to think too much like our friends.” He laughed. “I promise not to talk about golf if you promise to keep your cardigans to a minimum and never use curlers.”

I laughed too, despite my tears. Pete had always been able to calm me down and make me laugh. That night I needed it badly.

“And just in case you were worrying,” he continued. “I’m still perfectly happy being her Dad. She’s going to need one and though I say it myself, I’m good at it. It might not have been my sperm that knocked you up but as long as only you and I know this, everything will be fine.”

“Do you think anyone suspects?” I asked.

“I’m sure there are a few suspicious minds,” he replied in the darkness. “We know too many medics for there not to be. But as long as we play our parts, they’ll have nothing to work on and soon enough they’ll move on to other gossip.” He chuckled. “That’s the one thing the NHS is never short of.”

I snuggled up to him, feeling his warm, reassuring body against mine.

“And we’ve both agreed to keep our new sex life going, haven’t we?” he added, his tone of voice slightly hesitant.

“You mean…”

“I mean one thing that mustn’t change is the way our sex life has gone. That’s my one red line, Penn. Okay we’ll be more tired at first but once things have settled down, I want you to be a Hot Wife again. I can live with everything else if you and I can still keep this special part of our relationship going.”

“You still want me to…”

“Yes Penny, I do. It has taken over twenty-five years to get where we are now. It’s been bloody hard getting here too. We’ve been through a lot in the last year. You’ve put me…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been through a lot of pain getting here but we’ve made it this far and are still together. I’m not prepared to go back to where we were before. Once she’s born and you’ve recovered, I want to pick up where we left off.”

He turned to face me in the semi darkness.

“I still want you to fuck other men and I still want to be there when you do it.”

My mind reeled. With so much going on, I hadn’t realised just how important my Hot Wife status had become to my extraordinary husband. Despite the consequences, Pete hadn’t given up on what, after all, had been his fantasy from the beginning and what had perhaps given me the push I had needed to commit my first act of infidelity; the act that had led to where we now were.

“You mean like Manchester?” I asked quietly. “Or …”

“Manchester would be a good start,” he replied. “But it would just be a start.”

There was a long pause while we both took in what had just been said. There was no doubting my husband’s sincerity. He could have brought the whole crazy Hot Wife idea to an end and I would have gone along with him without regret… well without too many regrets.

But he had chosen the opposite path; the path that would lead to yet more adultery.

“Do you feel any better now?” he asked, kissing the top of my head, his voice back to its normal, reassuring tone.

“Thanks,” I replied.

I did feel more reassured but knew better than to imagine it would last for long.

“Then let’s try to get some sleep. I have a long theatre list starting in about five hours’ time.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

As so often happens, in the daylight of a summer morning, the future looked a lot less bleak – even though it was a Monday. Pete’s words had been both reassuring and unsettling. He really did seem to have come to terms with bringing up another man’s child, but the idea of becoming a Hot Wife again was more than a little disturbing.

Memories of the extraordinary pleasure my previous extramarital fuckings had delivered came back with a vengeance, driving me to make heavy daily demands on my husband in the days following, even before my own battered body had fully recovered. With Izzy still at home, we had to be circumspect about where and how we did the various deeds, but with patience and an eye for opportunity, we managed more than the occasional copulation.

Admittedly we had rather more copulations than I enjoyed orgasms, and all of those climaxes were the result if my husband’s mouth rather than his cock, but there was nothing unusual about that.

Unsurprisingly, the night of conception returned to my mind time and again; as Pete hammered his long, slender cock into my vagina, many times my closed eyes saw nothing but Darren’s handsome olive-gold face, muscular chest and iron-flat tummy above my skinny frame.

By mid-September I had lived in a state of near-permanent arousal for too long and was looking forward to the day in a week’s time when our daughter would go back to University and Pete and I could be a couple again.

Both work and my writing were going well too. With only ten weeks to my due date, my tummy was very large. Although I was still supposedly working full-time, I had started to feel tired, so my Boss Sandie had agreed to me reducing my hours at the hospital and working much more from home.

I was still waking early too so had plenty of time to let my imagination run free as far as creativity was concerned.

This had been helped by my readers, a good number of whom seemed to see me as a kind of confessor and had started to share their own fantasies and life stories by message or email.

Although many were clearly fantasies, others had a ring of truth from the beginning. Once I had realised that Pete and I weren’t so unusual; that there was so much real infidelity going on out there all the time, I began to feel better about our own so-called perversions.

I began to martial the various revelations into true stories, working closely with some correspondents whose experiences I found most poignant or most arousing.

Writing had always led to arousal as the towels on which I routinely sat to write could testify, but at this stage of pregnancy it had become extreme. Some days, merely rubbing myself against the rough cloth beneath my bottom could induce minor orgasms as I imagined myself a character in many of the tales I pieced together.

I would be able to do even more this when Izzy went back to university, but until then had the prospect of eight days of bad temper ahead.

Jack was going off to his University that weekend. His Dad – my first and now ex-lover Tony was going to take him and all his kit down by car, after which, the two lovebirds would be separated for who knows how long.

I knew Izzy was very worried how the new love in her life would deal with the many temptations that would inevitably come his way once they were apart. Knowing how badly she had dealt with those same temptations herself, it was hard not to see her discomfort as some form of justice.

Even so, I was not looking forward to having her in a filthy mood for her last week at home; a mood which would no doubt start the following morning when the time came for Jack to leave.

That thought was very much in my mind early that afternoon when my taxi dropped me off at the end of our driveway, having brought me home early from work. Pete had given me a lift in earlier that morning and the buses were at best unreliable, so the Uber had been my only real option.

I had felt very tired all morning and, according to Sandie, I had looked very tired too. She had suggested I took the afternoon off, had a rest at home then read through student papers afterwards or over the weekend if that suited me better.

I had readily agreed and, after filling my briefcase with unmarked essays, headed for home. Once there, I had dropped the briefcase in the study then had put the kettle on and taken myself upstairs to the bedroom.

There I had kicked off my shoes, laid down on the bed fully clothed and immediately fallen asleep without my tea and without even closing the bedroom door properly.

I don’t know how long I slept but I slept deeply, my slumber filled with the strange and erotic dreams that had characterised my nights for so long. As usual, images of Darren, the boy whose sperm had impregnated me filled my mind; of his handsome, olive-gold face inches above mine as his cock reached beyond my vagina, beyond my swollen womb and into the very depths of my soul.

But this time, as his golden body came closer and closer to filling me with his semen once again, the face above me became blurred and a different image began to form in my mind. However much I fought against it, I could not prevent Tony’s strong, older but still handsome face from materialising in my dream.

I could even hear his voice in my ears, dimly at first then growing louder, telling me how he loved me and wanted me. In my dream I replied in kind, promising to give him my body to have his babies.

His familiar voice grew louder still until I became dimly aware of noises around the house as well as in my dream, but in my dozy state I ignored them, rolled onto my other side and returned to sleep.

Sometime after that, my rest was disturbed by the sound of voices again this time definitely in the house rather than merely in my head. I thought of calling out but was still too dozy and my eyes were soon tightly closed once again.

Judging by the shadows in the room and the coolness in the air, it was some time later when I awoke, this time with a start. My head took some time to clear but after a few moments, I became aware of horrifyingly familiar noises coming through the half-open bedroom door.

Creak! Creak! Creak!

Was that bedsprings?

Creak! Creak! Creak!

Oh my God! It was bedsprings; and that could only mean one thing.

“Mmmm. Yesss! That’s niiice!”

My daughter’s slightly woozy, aroused voice was quietly but clearly audible.

Creak! Creak! Creak!

“Oh God Jack! That’s really niiiccee!”

A cold shiver passed through me. My daughter and her boyfriend were having sex. From the direction of the sound, they had to be in her room. If I could hear them this clearly, both her and my bedroom doors must be open.

I looked at the bedside clock. Of course, they wouldn’t expect me home for another hour at least and must have thought they had the whole house to themselves.

Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!

“Mmmm! God that feels good!”

“You are so tight Iz. So fucking tight!”

My brain went into overdrive. Get away now, Penny. Get out of there as fast as you can before you hear too much or they catch you listening.

But how could I get out?

If I could hear them so clearly, even with the obvious distraction of sex, they would be able to hear me. And by the sounds of things, they had been fucking for some time. If they found out I was there, would they really believe I had been so deeply asleep I hadn’t heard them?

Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!

The thought of what Izzy might say if she thought I had listened to the two of them in bed didn’t bear thinking about, but it was already too late to escape without being discovered. What could I do but lie there silently, trying not to hear them and praying they wouldn’t hear or see me?

The longer I waited, the more difficult it would be to explain my presence, but I could see no alternative. For a moment I contemplated waiting for a critical moment in their copulation then crawling on my hands and knees across the landing and down the stairs.

But I was no Royal Marines Commando; I was a highly pregnant fifty-one-year-old woman with a huge belly and an aching back. Besides, my route to the top of the stairs would take me across Izzy’s open bedroom doorway.

“Oh God! Oh God!”

Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God, you’re so good!”

Creak-creak-creak-creak!

The boy’s pace was smooth, steady and measured. There would be no quick fuck here; Jack was preparing to take Izzy all the way on a long, slow, infinitely erotic journey and Izzy-Oh-God was there, desperate to be taken.

Any thoughts I had of their copulation reaching a quick conclusion and them leaving me alone in the house were dashed. This was to be a long, slow fuck; no doubt one of many goodbye fucks that would punctuate their remaining hours together.

“Oh God! You’re SOO thick!”

“And you’re SOO tight!” came the predictable answer.

My position was helpless; there was no way I could escape without them discovering me. All I could do was keep as still and quiet as I could. But if I did that, there was no way I could avoid hearing what was going on merely yards away from where I lay.

“Oh my God! I’ve never been stretched like this before!”

Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Oh God! Oh my God! Oh God Jack, fuck me! Hurt me with your massive cock!”

Izzy’s voice was breathless and increasing in pitch as she became more and more aroused.

Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh my God, fuck me!”

Whatever concerns his mother might have had, they were misplaced. Julie’s nineteen-year-old son seemed to be having no problem at all fucking my twenty-year-old daughter. However inexperienced he might once have been, that was clearly a thing of the past.

Jack clearly knew what he was doing. And he was doing it to Izzy right now in the room right alongside me.

As I had seen on video with my own eyes, Izzy could be energetic and demanding in bed but if my ears were to be believed, she had met her match in this young man. Perhaps the imminence of their separation was playing its part, perhaps he had genetically acquired some of the undoubted skill, stamina that I knew to my shame father possessed.

Perhaps he had even inherited Tony’s short, oh-so-thick cock too. As I lay there not daring to move, memories of how incredible it had felt to have that monstrously thick appendage inside me filled my mind and made my loins go warm and tingly.

“Oh God! Oh God!”

Whatever the cause, in the room across the landing, Pete and my third child was being fucked to within an inch of her short life.

Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

Was that girl capable of saying anything else? She was certainly earning her unfortunately-acquired nickname now.

Creak-creak-creak-creak! Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Oh God! Oh God! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

Izzy-Oh-God was really living up to her nickname!

Creak-creak-creak-creak! Creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Oh God! Oh God! I’m cummmiiinnggg!”

Her voice disappeared, choked into a series of yelps and squeals as my daughter reached an orgasm apparently so intense that despite my crawling embarrassment and awkwardness, made me feel extremely envious.

Creak-creak-creak-creak! Creak-creak-creak-creak!

The creaking continued; the boy’s rhythm unbroken despite all that was no doubt happening beneath him. Izzy’s incoherent noises continued for a few seconds, then disappeared completely. Shortly afterwards, Jack’s thrusts grew faster, their rhythm faltering.

“Ngh! Ngh! Ngh!”

Creak! Creak-creak! Creeaak!

The rhythm was breaking and for the first time, I heard a male voice through the part open door. No words came, but the harsh grunts told me that Jack’s arousal was about to match those of the girl he had just brought to a rather impressive climax.

“Ngh! Ngh! Ngh! Ngh!”

“Creak! Creeaak! Creak-creak-creak!

“Cum in me! Cum in me!”

Above the bedsprings, Izzy’s voice was high and almost desperate. For a moment I wondered what she was seeing, looking up into Jack’s eyes; the eyes she had known almost all her life.

“Cum inside me! Oh God! Cum inside me!”

It was a plea I myself had made many times and to more than one man, lying beneath him, my whole body open wide, alive with arousal, fully prepared and desperate for insemination; maybe even impregnation.

Creak-creak-creak-creak-creak-creak-creak-creak!

“Ngh-Ngh-Ngh-Ngh-Ngh-Ngh-Ngh-Ngh!”

“OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD YEEEESSSS!”

Silence fell. The creaking quickly slowed to a halt and the house was still. My head was spinning, my mind full of images of what had probably just taken place so close to where I lay.

Jack was ejaculating inside my daughter just as his father had inside me, so many times. His semen would be spread across the entrance to her womb just as Tony’s had across mine - the womb from which she had been born.

Jack had brought her to orgasm in her own bedroom just as his father had brought me to orgasm in so many different places. As I lay there silently, despite Tony’s eventual betrayal, it was the good times in our affair that I remembered so very vividly – and there had been plenty of them.

Izzy was in lust and in love with Jack just as I had been with his father, though unlike me, she no doubt realised how far things had gone between them. My own lack of self-understanding had almost led to the end of my marriage. Had I really been prepared to leave Pete for my first lover based solely on sex?

The question was too disturbing to answer honestly.

Creeeaaak!

Was that the sound of a hot, sweating male boy rolling off a skinny spent female frame? Was that heavy breathing I could hear? Was that whispering? That was definitely giggling.

I pictured the two lovers in their post-coital glow, lying in each other’s arms, his fresh semen deep in her vagina, uniting them in the most feral, fundamental way possible.

Whatever his mother believed, Jack had clearly had no difficulty satisfying Isobel on this occasion. Having faked orgasms countless times myself, I could tell there had been nothing false about the cries of pleasure and pleas for insemination I had just heard.

Izzy had been fucked hard and fucked well.

The voices began again, soft and low. Although I couldn’t make out any words, the loving, romantic tone was unmistakeable. There were a few more creaks then the murmurs grew louder.

They were getting out of bed! Oh God! What if they looked into the bedroom and saw me lying there? They wouldn’t believe I hadn’t been listening. The embarrassment would be unbearable.

Could I pretend to be asleep? They wouldn’t believe that either; not after having made so much noise with both doors open!

Could I get out of the house? Not with them both in Izzy’s room. Her door opened straight onto the landing; I would be clearly visible as I sneaked towards the stairs.

“She’ll be back in half an hour,” I heard Izzy’s voice saying, getting closer all the time.

“I’m all hot and sweaty,” came the familiar male voice in response, closer still.

“I’m sticky too,” my daughter replied with a laugh. “I wonder how that happened.”

There was a pause just outside the bedroom door during which the sounds of deep, tongue-twisting kissing could be clearly heard. I knew that the bed on which I was lying wouldn’t be visible through the gap in the door but what if one of them stuck their head around its edge?

However unlikely it was, I couldn’t take the chance. As silently as I could, I rolled towards the edge of the mattress then lowered myself carefully to the carpet, the bed between me and the part-open door.

The mattress had creaked as I moved; I lay on the floor as still as I possibly could.

“Did you hear something?” Izzy’s voice was sharp.

“No, nothing.”

Jack’s voice was muffled, his lips swollen from too much snogging. Despite my ludicrous position on my back on the floor, I found myself wondering why Izzy’s weren’t too. But then I realised it might not have been just her lips he had been kissing and blushed despite myself.

“It sounded like it came from Mum and Dad’s room.”

There was another pause during which I held my breath, amazed that they couldn’t hear my heart beating. The pause seemed to last most of my life, but then I heard the wonderful words in Jack’s so-welcome voice.

“See? Nothing. Now I need a shower, Iz!”

“Will you be okay in there on your own?”

“Do I have to be on my own?” he asked archly. “Part of me seems to want company.”

Oh God! He was getting hard. They were going to do it again.

“The shower’s big enough for both of us,” Izzy hissed. “But we’ll have to be quick. Mum’ll be home soon.”

“I can be as quick as your pretty pink pussy wants,” Jack replied.

“Come on then. Big Boy,”

I heard the bathroom door close and the shower begin to run. Something about what I had heard was making me uneasy but there was no time to think about that now. This was my chance.

Under cover of the noise, I made a break for it, grabbing my shoes, padding out of the bedroom and tiptoeing barefoot down the stairs into the hallway. From there I went into the kitchen, donned my shoes, slipped out of the back door and into the garden where I crossed the lawn and sneaked out through the side gate, gasping as I reached the safety of the road outside.

I stood still, panting. I had escaped, though emotionally not unscathed.

After a few minutes my heart had returned to somewhere near normal and I could think more clearly. I looked at my watch; in ten minutes the bus would go past and I could pretend I had come home on it. I could boldly walk down the driveway and noisily open the door as if arriving for the first time. If they were still doing it, they would have plenty of time to make themselves decent.

It would do. It would have to do.

Meanwhile I needed to keep myself occupied; a trip around the block should do it. I could do with the fresh air and exercise anyway.

My heart was still pounding as I began to walk along the road we had lived on for so many years. It was a warm, pleasant afternoon and it should have been a pleasant walk but the niggle at the back of my mind began to make its presence felt again.

What was it I had heard that was making me so uncomfortable? As if having heard my own daughter being fucked to an impressive orgasm by her boyfriend wasn’t enough discomfort for one afternoon, what else had happened to disturb me even further?

Hearing all that sex had been awkward in the extreme, but that wasn’t it. I ran over Izzy and Jack’s overheard conversation as carefully as I could remember.

Then it hit me. I froze in my stride and a cold wave washed over me.

Jack’s last sentence came front and centre to my mind. Her Pretty Pink Pussy!

Oh my God. The last time I had heard the words Pretty Pink Pussy, they had been describing my own fresh-fucked vagina and had come from the lips of my first ever extramarital lover; Jack’s faithless father, Tony.

*

“Christ Penn! What’s got into you tonight?”

Pete pulled his rapidly softening cock from my still-unsatisfied vagina and rose on his knees behind me. I remained where I was, of all fours on the bed, my belly and tiny boobs hanging downwards. He patted me affectionately on the bottom and I felt a small trickle of spermless semen begin to run down the inside of my thigh.

It was the second time in an hour my husband had cum inside me – not a bad performance for a man in his fifties but I still remained stubbornly some distance away from any form of climax myself.

I had tried hard, tightening my pelvic floor as hard as I could and crying out the names of all my past lovers instead of just Darren, the father of my child (something Pete always found extremely erotic) but although it had been very pleasurable, the goal of a full female climax had not been achieved.

I lowed myself to the sheets, feeling my husband moving alongside me then rolled onto my side, the only position in which my swollen belly now allowed me to rest.

“You’re insatiable,” he smiled as he lay on his back, his face turned towards mine.

“Don’t embarrass me,” I frowned, though it was nothing but the literal truth.

“I thought you’d never cum.”

I hadn’t cum, but I wasn’t going to tell Pete that. My performance in faking that climax instead had been worthy of an Oscar. But then I had had decades of practice in such deceit.

“I’m knackered. Thank God it’s Friday. Thank God Izzy’s not home too.”

Pete was right; we had both been very noisy. Fortunately, Izzy was spending her last night with her boyfriend at his father’s flat before Tony took Jack off to University in the morning. She would be in a filthy mood when she returned but that problem could wait.

We lay together for a long time, me pretending to doze while my mind filled with disturbing thoughts.

“You called out his name tonight,” Pete eventually said quietly.

“Whose name?” I asked disingenuously.

“You know whose,” he replied.

Although he had long ago accepted both my original seduction and the affair that followed, Pete still didn’t like saying Tony’s name out loud.

“Oh him! Did I?” I asked, horrified.

“You know you did Penn. You never do that. Has this Jack and Izzy thing brought it all back?”

“I suppose it has,” I confessed. “In a way. It’s going to, isn’t it?”

There was another of the pauses that our conversations were littered with.

“Do you still fantasise about him?” Pete eventually asked, his voice a little anxious.

“Not really,” I lied.

In truth, since Izzy and Jack had started fucking, I had fantasised about little else. But how could I help it? Tony had been my first ever lover; the man who first seduced me, fucked me and started me on the adulterous path that had led us to the place we now were.

How could the man who had done all that ever be far from my mind?

He also possessed the ugliest, stubbiest, thickest cock I had ever seen – but my God, was he good using it! Even as I lay there next to Pete, memories of the extraordinary feelings and spectacular climaxes that deformed appendage had induced in my formerly faithful body were buzzing through my mind.

“Do you feel like you want to see him again?”

“You know how badly he treated me; how could you think I would want to get back with a man like that?”

I told myself it wasn’t really a lie. I hadn’t actually said I didn’t want to see Tony again; I had just let Pete draw his own conclusion.

“Hmmm!” he said, unconvinced. “I reckon we need to get you fucked senseless again. Make you cum so hard that we drive that philandering bastard right out of your mind.”

“You say the most romantic things,” I smiled.

“I’m not kidding Penn,” Pete insisted. “You nearly left me for him. I can’t have you longing for his cock again. I’m going to make that call tomorrow.”

“What call?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Manchester,” he replied. “While you’re still in a position to enjoy it.”

He rolled away and we lay side by side for a silent minute.

“I love you, Penny Barker,” he eventually said.

“I love you too,” I replied.

Silence fell. I lay awake in the darkness, my mind full of images, my heart full of memories and guilt.

Tony had indeed treated me badly. Having completely conquered me physically, I had fallen for him emotionally too; letting hm fuck me whenever and however he wanted; in love and lust to the point where I had seriously considered leaving my husband for him.

Indeed, I had intended to do exactly that when everything went wrong.

Realising things had become so serious, Tony had immediately run scared, ignoring my calls and messages, abandoning me when I need him most and leaving me, self-respect in tatters, to deal with my badly damaged marriage alone.

The fact that Pete and I were still together was more a testament to my husband’s character than to mine.

According to his wife Julie, this behaviour was something Tony had done many times before with other poor, helpless, seduced, married women. She had chapter and verse available should it be needed for their pending divorce. Knowing all this, there was no way I would fall for him so deeply again.

But that didn’t mean the sex, while it lasted, hadn’t been some of the best in my life.

Hearing my daughter’s ecstatic wailing in bed with his son had brought back vividly my own equally intense, if less noisy reaction to the presence of Tony’s short but monstrously thick cock – the antithesis of my husband’s familiar member - inside my own body.

Perhaps if my first infidelity had been with someone else – someone whose grotesque erection hadn’t stretched me so tightly and made me feel so very good - there wouldn’t have been a second infidelity at all, let alone the affair that almost ended my marriage. Perhaps if Tony had been less predatory and unprincipled, the last year would never have happened.

But he had been predatory and unprincipled, I had succumbed easily to his considerable seductive charms and set in motion the chain of events that in a matter of weeks would result in me giving birth to a child whose father was not my husband.

Perhaps it was my hormones cruelly playing with my mind, but I simply could not prevent my mind filling with vivid images and memories of those first few weeks as an unfaithful wife. Of the secret assignations; of the snatched moments of intimacy; of the sheer pleasure of having that man’s cock inside my middle-aged body.

Of the way he had made me feel those first weeks; young, attractive, sexy; desirable and desired.

If I had known what was to follow, would I still have let him into my knickers that first afternoon after our train journey from London? Even with my belly swollen, I couldn’t put my hand on my heart and say no!

Now my daughter was enjoying the pleasures of Tony’s son inside her body. He had clearly inherited his father’s seductive powers but was Jack also blessed with his father’s extraordinary cock too? From the noises I had heard, Izzy clearly had no complaints.

Deep within me, emotions stirred. From deep physical memory came envy, then intense jealousy. From this potent mix came even more intense arousal. From intense arousal came the unthinkable…

I hardly dared believe that the thought had entered my head, but no matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, there it was, stubborn and unavoidable.

But this was pure insanity. Even if he still wanted her, surely not even Penny Barker, a woman now infamous for her bad sexual decisions, would deliberately let that philandering, inconsiderate, inconstant, unreliable bastard get anywhere near her knickers again?

Surely no woman, pregnant, cock-struck or otherwise could be that stupid!