Yes, My Darling Daughter! Read online

  Pierre le Valle

  Yes, My Darling Daughter!

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Look. Phil, someone has to take Jane in hand soon or she'll be coming home one night pregnant!”

  “Well, you're her mother-you do something.”

  “What can I do-apart from telling her the facts of life? She knows about the birds and the bees-I saw to that. But this is different; she hangs around coffee bars with those leather-jacketed little spivs who are only after one thing when it comes to girls. How can I start telling her about how to prevent babies coming along? That would be almost sanctioning her going to bed with them.”

  “They don't bother looking for a bed nowadays- straddle 'em across their bikes with their drawers off! Maybe that's why they have so many crack-ups-lose control when they shoot their loads!”

  “Phil! Don't be horrible! You're taking this far too lightly-and you may be joking, but that's the worst thing that could happen.”

  “Now you surely can't expect me to go into detail with her about what they expect her to let them do between her legs!”

  “Oh, you're impossible! You don't help at all, do you? You should forbid her…”

  “Forbid her to do what? Go out? She's going on sixteen, you know. What can I say to her? I don't know how girls of her age think. Tell you what-why don't you ask your lesbian friend?”

  Suddenly, my heart was hammering wildly and I was immediately thrown on to the defensive. What had he meant by that?

  “My-my lesbian friend? I haven't any…”

  “Come off it, Rita! Don't try to kid me you're such a sweet innocent that you haven't noticed. If Stella Chambers isn't a lesbian, then I'll eat my own cock- with chips!” My husband cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “It wouldn't surprise me if she had hot pants for you! You're still quite a tasty dish, even if you are getting on, now!”

  I let my breath out slowly and tried hard not to look relieved. He was joking.

  “I'm only thirty-five,” I pouted. “And you have a perfectly filthy mind! Just because Stella isn't married, doesn't mean she's that way inclined. I think she's very feminine.”

  “Oh, she's got a very fair figure-lovely pair of tits on her, at that. But there are certain signs you can't miss: the way she looks at other women-even at you, sometimes. Then she had that irritating expression of hers.” He pulled a face. “'Oh, men,'“ he mimicked, “'they're all the same!' ”

  “Maybe she's right! Anyway — I'm sure she's not like that.”

  “I'm sure she is! Look at the way she's always diving in here-it's for sure it's not to see me! If I were you, I'd wear tin drawers when I went over to her place. What can you possibly find to talk about with a woman like that?”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “Oh, she's all right, I suppose-I'd like her a lot better if she was normal, though.”

  “I'll bet you would!”

  “Now who has a filthy mind? So you admit she isn't normal, then?”

  “I'm admitting nothing and, anyway, we're getting off the subject. If we don't do something about it soon, we're going to have Jane coming home here either pregnant or worse!”

  “I suppose you're right; I must say I didn't particularly like the idea of her going around with that type of creep. I'll try and think of something.”

  “And I might take you up on your suggestion of asking Stella's advice; she'd be on the outside looking in and sometimes that…”

  “Sh-can it! Here's Jane.” He looked at his watch. “She's not so late tonight, either-only just after ten.” Phil struck his pipe back in his mouth, picked up the paper and relaxed back in his favourite chair.

  Our daughter came into the living-room, complete with jeans, “stylish” unkempt hair-do and long-strapped bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Hi, mom, hi, pop.”

  “Jane, this isn't America and we're not Americans- is English considered old-hat in your set?”

  “No-you're just more with it when you have an American vocabulary.”

  “There, you see, Rita? She can still pronounce words like 'vocabulary!' She can't be too far gone!”

  “Have you been talking about me? Well you can carry on, because I'm off to bed-I'm bushed!”

  “So long as she's not something else,” murmured Phil, for my ears only.

  I watched our tall, blonde daughter as she went towards the door. She was going to be a lovely woman; Even at fifteen, she showed evidence that she was going to be full in the breasts, like me-already, she boasted a 35-22-34 figure. Another three inches on that bosom of hers and she'd have caught me up. Her bottom and legs were filling out and losing that “little girl” fatness around her hips. If only she would do something with her hair and stop plastering that horrible black muck around her eyes, which reminded one of the earlier horror films of Dracula and Frankenstein. She paused at the door and looked back at us.

  “G'night.” And she went out.

  “You hungry, Phil?” I got out of my chair.

  “Yes-but not for food!” He ogled my breasts as I leaned over his chair.

  “You're incorrigible!” I ruffled his hair affectionately. “And I'm tired.”

  “Always some excuse! I'm rationed to about four pokes a year, now-if you're not careful, it'll dose up altogether on you!”

  “You're exaggerating! Why we did it…let me see…”

  “There you are-you can't remember! I'll tell you- it was damn near a.math ago!”

  “Surely not as long as that!”

  “Longer-it was a couple of days after your period when we did it, and you've just finished another one, haven't you?”

  I blushed. For some reason I couldn't account for, I always felt embarrassed when he mentioned my periods-even after being married to him for nearly seventeen years! I nodded.

  “Men! That's all they think about!”

  “That sounds just like Stella. You'd better be careful-she might have you round to her way of thinking. While I might be able to understand your not feeling like sex much-though I can remember a time, not so very long ago, when you used to almost beg for it-I'd be very annoyed if you started using up all your energy on satisfying the sexual needs of a lesbian, while I was on worse than iron rations!”

  I turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Do you want anything to eat?”

  “No, thanks-hot milk will do.”

  I mixed two beakers, gave him his and picked up the book I'd been reading.

  “Well, I'm off to bed.”

  “OK. I won't be long. And remember what I said about Stella-it wouldn't surprise me if she tried to get your pants off you one of these days, so watch it!”

  I went upstairs with my face burning and a chill feeling in the pit of my stomach. She might try to get my pants off me, he had said. That was the trouble-she already had! My mind had been in a turmoil for the past few months over it. Phil was quite right-I was satisfying her sexual needs; my own, too, while I was at it. I hadn't realised I'd cut Phil down so drastically on his “ration.” The funny part was, Phil had just about hit the nail on the head with his expression “get my pants off me.” She had literally done just that.

  We had known Stella for a few years, since she had taken a house at the end of our road. She had picked Jane up in her car several times either going or coming from school and Jane had asked her in to meet us eventually; we had been friends ever since.

  I liked her as a person, although I knew there had to be something the matter with her sex life, living on her own like that. She was a year younger than I and very attractive, with that fascinating combination of almost blue-Mack hair and very fair skin, and, as Phil had observed, she had a lovely pair of breasts —
we measured our busts together once, and she topped my 38 by an inch.

  Our friendship had run on ordinary lines until a short time ago. We had made a habit of once a week driving out to a lovely old pub for a meal and a quiet drink, as Phil always put in one late night at his office.

  On the night of my “seduction,” I think Stella must have had quite a few drinks before we started out; she was in a talkative and confiding mood and feeling rather sorry for herself. She suggested we leave early and go back to her place-I had an idea she wanted to unburden herself. She did!

  I learned why she had never married-she had tried having a man and, although she had not found it unpleasant-even achieving orgasm-she had wondered if it was worth attaching herself to a husband for the rest of her life. Then she had tried having sex with another woman and had liked it even more, so-she had single. Since then, she had found her satisfaction with various other females with her own inclinations.

  Since living near us, she had found it less frequently and used to make regular trips into town to spent a night with a lesbian friend of some years' standing; apparently this one had now formed another attachment and Stella was out in the cold.

  We both had quite a lot more to drink, then, and it hadn't seemed so terribly wrong when she started playfully kissing me and telling me what a lovely figure I had. Then we had talked about our measurements and that was when she had got out a tape. Having learned what her sexual preferences were, I know I should have called a halt when she suggested we strip to the waist and compare the size of our bosoms, but what with the drinks and feeling sorry for her. I agreed. Besides, I must confess to feeling a sort of excited fascination about the whole scene.

  We stripped. She was wearing a blouse, so all she had to do was take it off and follow it with her bra and she was naked to the waist; I had a rather tight dress on, so the only way to bare my own breasts was to take it right off. After I had removed my bra, I stood only in my panties, shoes and stockings, with a single waist-strap suspender-belt.

  We both took stock of each other, then. She had those lovely big white breasts, with large pale nipples that look so sensitive-I found they were, too, later-and a surprisingly tapering waist compared to the size of her bosom. Her eyes were on me, too-hotly. Not only my bare breasts, but the rest of my scantily-clad body. I began to realise I hadn't made a very wise move in agreeing to the measuring. I picked the tape up wishing to get the whole thing over with.

  I measured her, touching her flesh as little as possible, then submitting to being measured by her. She took about twice as long as I did and I had my bosoms touched, stroked, pressed and practically squeezed before she arrived at the figure of 38 against her 39.

  I bent quickly to pick up my bra and then she was behind me, arms round me, hands cupping my breasts. I tried to wriggle away, but she held on, a good grip on both my breasts, squeezing them until they almost hurt. I felt hers, firm and warm, nipples poking stiffly into my back; she was kissing the back of my neck, murmuring into my ear, telling me how lovely I was begging me to let her make love to me.

  I struggled at first, then gave it up and finally stood quietly in her clasp, allowing the kisses and breast squeezing, hoping she would come to her senses if she found she was getting no reaction.

  But, God help me, my own body let me down-my nipples began to rise under her stroking palm; she felt it immediately and stroked the harder.

  “Let me, darling.” she was whispering. “Please let me love you. See-your titties want me to! I need it so badly, it's been so long-just a little loving. There's no harm in it and no one will know. You'll be quite safe with me-no babies! Say you will-please?”

  On and on she went, while I stood there, those caressing hands on my breasts. I could have pulled away, then. I know; put my things on and left. Then I considered the results-a long friendship broken and one lonely girl with very hurt feelings. I was reluctant to have that happen-besides. I liked the girl and our little evenings out. I had one other reason, though I wouldn't admit it even to myself at the time-she had built up an intense erotic excitement in me. I looked down at myself in my tight, flimsy panties; at the two hands fondling my breasts, then looked up quickly, as shame flooded through me. I was roused, in spite of myself. Me, a married woman with a fifteen year-old daughter! Had anyone told me an hour or two earlier that this could happen, I would have laughed at such a fantastic impossibility.

  Yet, there I stood, half naked, docilely allowing another half naked woman fondle me in a way which should have been the sole prerogative of my husband. What was worse-it was doing things to me that only Phil had ever aroused. I was even finding pleasure in the warm, stiff-nippled breasts pressing into my back.

  The fondling hands at my breasts were concentrating on my nipples now, which had become huge as they always did when I was thoroughly roused. I stood there with my arms at my sides, bra dangling by the strap from one hand, looking down at the long caressing fingers pulling at my suffused nipples.

  I knew it wasn't in me to stop her now-I no longer wanted to-and when she pressed me back hard against her breasts and whispered to me, asking if I wanted her, I nodded, beaten.

  She almost squealed her delighted triumph, driving the breath from my body with her exuberant hug. For a moment, her excitement had got the better of her. She threw herself on her knees in front of me and hugged my thighs. She looked up at me, then, her fingers going to the waist of my panties.

  “May I, darling?” she breathed.

  Face hot with shame and passion mixed, I nodded again, not daring to look at her. My panties were dragged half-way down my legs then and her hot mouth was nuzzling at the tops of my thighs, her arms round my hips. I stood shaking as she knelt at my feet, mouth foraging amongst the hairs at the base of my stomach.

  She got a grip on herself then-I think this was as unexpected to her as it was to me-and rose to her feet. She kissed me lingeringly on the lips and her arm went about my waist.

  “Let's go into my bedroom, Rita-more comfy there.” Her voice sounded as shaky as I felt.

  I allowed her to lead me into the bedroom hobbling, on account of the panties still hanging about my thighs. There, I was gently pushed back on to the bed, suspenders unfastened shoes taken off, stockings carefully rolled down my legs and suspender-belt removed. I lay then with my hands covering my face as she looked down at me.

  I heard the whisper of garments and opened my eyes to see her swiftly stripping off the rest of her own clothing. She soon stood naked; she had a gorgeous body-full, ripe and startlingly white against the blackness of her hair.

  Then she was lying beside me, lulling my fears with the soft warmth of her body and soothing murmurs. I began to lose my identity as Mrs. Rita Young, consciously pushing it from my mind, now, as desire overcame all scruples.

  Hands sought me intimately; I lay back with closed eyes as one of my nipples was drawn into the moist softness of her mouth, whimpered-as her fingers insinuated themselves between my thighs.

  Sensation flared in my loins as a finger-tip slowly stroked along the folded lips of my sex and then slipped inside. My legs splayed open of themselves as she fondled me.

  She began to kiss her way down my body, over my quivering stomach and lower; her breath blew warmly between my thighs, I opened them wider to her, bottom rising off the bed, lifting my pelvis towards her face, wanting to give myself to her. She took me!

  I looked down as she slid from the bed, going on to her knees between my legs, gazing upwards at my open sex, almost in worship. I stifled the temporary stab of embarrassment at having another woman-or anyone, for that matter, except Phil — look at me there, especially with such hot eyes.

  Her arms went under my thighs, hands clasping my bottom. Then I felt the wonder of her mouth, pressed open, against my abandoned vulva. If I hadn't been lost before I was then.

  She began to suck on me, her tongue licking up and down the slit all the time, lingering at my clitoris. I had never known anything like it,
the sensation was fantastic!

  Moaning, I found myself rubbing my cunny against her mouth. Phil pokes fun, sometimes, at the size of my clitoris-he says it's like a miniature penis. Stella found it and licked at it until she had it erect and stiff and was actually able to suck it between her lips.

  I nearly went mad, then; locking my legs over her back, I reached down and clasped her head, forcing her face hard against me. My head swam as the electric shocks of orgasm began to shoot up from my loins. She sensed it and lowered her mouth to the entrance of my vagina, forcing sobs of ecstasy from me as she sucked hard, drawing the spend from my body.

  Afterwards, she left me alone for a while, giving me time to sort out my confused thoughts. By that time, however. I was past caring; I had slipped over the edge, as it were, having erased from my mind, temporarily, at least, the fact that I was, till then, a happily married woman with a teenage daughter. I had given myself to a lesbian and found the erotic sensations she had roused in me quite shattering.