Yes, My Darling Daughter! Read online

  Guilt and self-recrimination would come later in the outside world; just then, I was completely shut off, in a separate world occupied by only two people — Stella and myself.

  And so I blocked off the disgust I knew I ought to feel and remembered only the ecstasy, ecstasy I wanted to feel again and again, until I was utterly exhausted and sleep would bring the merciful oblivion of non-thought. That might make the shame of my perverted misconduct worth while.

  Stella came back, still quite naked, with a bottle and two glasses; she poured and handed me one.

  “Drink this, darling.” she whispered. “Not mad at me, are you?”

  I took a big swallow, gasped as the fiery brandy burned its way down. I shook my head.

  “I'm not mad at you, Stella,” I whispered back. “I'm not quite sure how I feel, yet-you see-I…I've never done it before.”

  “But it was nice, wasn't it? You liked what I did to you?”

  I shivered as her hand was laid caressingly on my tummy, taking another pull at the brandy before nodding my answer.

  “And I loved doing it.” She smiled knowingly. “Don't feel guilty about it, Rita-anything as wonderful as that can't be too wrong. Besides. I seduced you!”

  Her caresses became bold again; we got rid of our brandy glasses and suddenly, I was no longer just a passive recipient. Eagerly, my arms went round her, my mouth seeing hers; soon, my hands and fingers were exploring her body, which she willingly abandoned to me. I sucked the heated stiffness of her erect nipples into my mouth, my own passion flaring again as I heard her moan. Copying her, I kissed my way down that lovely white body, delighting in the quiver of her belly under my mouth. I stroked her well-fleshed thighs, which at once opened to me.

  And there I was on my knees between her thighs, fascinated eyes on the pink, open gash of her sex, at that moment, looking the most beautiful thing in the world.

  As I approached between her thighs, I caught the female, animal odour of her. It was like a potent aphrodisiac. Moaning with lust myself now, I clasped my arms round her smooth thighs and jammed my mouth tight against the warm, pulpy flesh and sucked- hard. It was inexpert, but very enthusiastic — like a baby blindly finding its mother's nipple.

  I soon had her jiggling her hips up and down, her legs resting on my shoulders. I found her furrow with my tongue and used it as a guide to her clitoris. This drove her wild for a short time, men she went into a spasm, her open quim jerking against my mouth. I got my lips to her vagina and sucked as she had done to me; the warm, salty tang of her discharge tingled pleasantly on my tongue. I sucked on her until she was still and her legs slipped laxly from my shoulders.

  We had lain together for some time after that, until she realised, from the way I was snuggling against her, I was silently begging for similar treatment.

  She held me close and her hand went between my legs, fingers gently frigging; our mouths met and held until, almost unnoticed, another orgasm had crept up on me and I was clutching her tightly as the waves of it washed over me.

  A little later I looked at the only thing I had left on was my watch.

  “Darling, it's going on for eleven; I must go,” I whispered. “Phil will be home.”

  I got off the bed and started to gather my things from the floor. She followed me and got down on her knees, her hands going to my thighs to hold them open.

  “Wait, dear-you can't dress with my cunny in that that-let me…” and she lifted her face to my sex while I stood over her with parted legs. She licked away the fruits of my last orgasm and then reached for her own panties to pat me dry. “There-now let me help you dress.”

  I let her help me get my things on, going back into the other room for my dress. Before I left we had kissed passionately like two lovers and I had waved to her from the gate, feeling full of the joys of a spring love. Then, with every step of the couple of hundred yards home my spirits dropped until the zero mark was reached, coinciding with my closing the front door behind me and Phil's voice called down from our bedroom.

  “Been out on the tiles, darling?”

  I forget what I answered as I stumbled up the stairs and into the bedroom, forcing a bright smile and at the same time hoping desperately he wouldn't have the urge that night. Fortunately, he didn't, but it was a long time before I could sleep and for days afterwards I was troubled and jumpy.

  I avoided seeing Stella for nearly a week, until she came round to see what was wrong. It was morning, about elevenses time and I gave her coffee and told her how I had been feeling ever since that night. She was very understanding, but pointed out that there was no danger-not like going with a man; who, she asked, would suspect two women, near neighbours, being friendly? Neither of us looked remotely like lesbians. We had been friends a long time without anything happening; nobody had suspected us then, so why should they now? We didn't look any different. The discussion had ended on the bed!

  Since that time, we had made love on an average of about twice a week, the dread of being found out growing less and less, the guilt still there, but shoved into the background. Now and again, I would have a bout of self-loathing when I was on my own, but it was forgotten as soon as I lay in Stella's arms. I suppose it's something like an habitual drunkard must feel the morning after a night on the bottle and finding the quickest way to get rid of the feeling was to pull another cork.

  I must be quite honest about one thing, though — Stella's a gorgeous creature and after that first time, I have found no difficulty whatever in forgetting the wrongness of what I was doing in the delights of her lovely body.

  I have had recent doubts about what I am-lesbian or normal woman; I'm fairly certain now that I am bisexual, although I have never before been roused by another woman, and, even though poor Phil has been on “rations,” I can still enjoy having normal intercourse with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Now, as I went into our bedroom, all the shame and guilt came flooding back. Phil's remarks had been far too astute to be ignored; it had never occurred to me that he might have noticed the sort of person Stella was, let alone think of the possibility of her “getting my pants off me.”

  I thought back to the last time we had had sex together; he was right-it was over a month-and that wasn't like me at all. As he said-there were times when I had practically begged for it, stripping slowly in front of him downstairs after Jane had gone to bed, throwing myself on to his lap and wriggling about until he was mad for me, too.

  I had been very thoughtless-from both our points of view; I'd have to do something about it as soon as possible. What would I do if he found out about Stella and I? Could he divorce me and cite her as the corespondent? Whatever he did, I shuddered at the thought of the shame attached. I must give myself to him that night. The trouble was, Stella had had me twice that afternoon and I didn't feel at all like sex right then. Well, I'd just have to force myself.

  Leaving the door ajar and keeping my ears open for his footsteps on the stairs, I undressed quickly, stripping right down to my nothings.

  Rummaging amongst my underthings in the bottom drawer of the dressing-table, I found the little packet of erotic photographs Phil brought home from time to time, which we sometimes used for inspiration when we had one of our “long sessions.”

  Laying them out on top of my things so that I could push the drawer shut if I heard him coming up, I knelt and studied them, picking out what used to be my favourite positions. With my eyes on the lascivious contortions of the men and women in the pictures, I knelt there, with my knees apart and masturbated, goading myself into an erotic fervour to accept my husband.

  I rubbed my clitoris and thrust a finger in and out of myself until I was rewarded with the first trickle of slippery wetness; even so, it was hard work, after the session Stella and I had had that afternoon.

  There was one picture, which had always been one of my favourites (now I knew why) of two girls and a man. One girl knelt astride the man's face, with his mouth to her sex, while the other stra
ddled his loins, impaled on his penis; as their obviously happy quims were being attended to, they were kissing, hands cupping each others breasts.

  I kept my eyes on this one as I frigged myself, trying to get my clitoris to stand up and really take notice. I got a slight reaction and having got things moving down there, briefly rubbed at my nipples to bring them up. However much I might simulate passion with Phil, he would know there was something wrong if my nipples remained soft. I rubbed them, but saw that it would take too long to get them up that way, so I resorted to a little trick I had amused Phil with.

  By getting both hands under each breast in turn, lifting it as far as it would go and bending my head well down, I was just able to get my mouth to the nipple. I did this with both of them, sucking hard and running my tongue over my reluctant teats.

  They were beginning to respond to the treatment, when I heard a door close downstairs and Phil's step on the stairs. I gave each nipple one last, hard suck, wrapped the photos up and shut the drawer.

  I was just picking up my shortie nightie as he came into the bedroom. I could see by the way he looked at my naked body that he wanted me. I couldn't deny him.

  “Think you'll really need that nightie on?”

  I looked at his hot eyes, then dropped my hand, letting the nightie slide from my fingers to the floor.

  “Not unless I want it ripped off me.” I walked slowly towards him, letting my hips and breasts sway sexily. I halted in front of him and smiled up into his eyes. He made a grab for me, but I jumped back out of reach. “You won't need those clothes, either.”

  He began to rip his clothes off like a maniac. I felt sorry as I watched him: it really wasn't fair. In no time at all, he was naked as I and coming for me again. I was about to slip into his arms, when I saw the door out of the corner of my eye.

  “Better close the door and turn the key before we get down to business darling, in case Jane comes along — we don't want to give her any more ideas than she's probably picking up already.”

  He locked the door and I went over to the bed and lay back on it, hands under my head. This was the way he liked it-me lying back passive, with everything exposed for him to do what he wanted. As he came to join me I opened my legs.

  Already, his penis was erect and ready for the fray- I hoped I was. I breathed a sigh of relief when he showed he was in an exploratory mood and started the proceedings by fondling and kissing me. I squirmed and wriggled against him, giving him my mouth and rubbing my breasts hard against his chest, making it nice for him, but chiefly to try and bring myself on.

  He started to suck my nipples, then, and I knew I was saved. With the few sucks I had given them myself and the rough treatment of rubbing them against the hair on his chest, they were already reddening and beginning to swell-even if it was only soreness! He sucked on them until they were the big, hot lumps of dark pink flesh that he loved, then he got between my legs, the hard knob of his penis thumping at my sex.

  I had enough juices flowing to accommodate him. And then I had the oddly unfamiliar sensation of his warm, stiffened flesh gliding up inside me; odd, as I had, in the last few months become more used to the soft mouth and tongue of Stella.

  I gripped him, locking my legs over his thighs, bucking and jerking under him as enthusiastically as I knew how. I began to feel my body really responding at last as he rode me. He stopped once, lifting his upper body away from me and closing his eyes, as he fought to control himself and stave off an orgasm.

  I remembered something else, then, as he began ramming himself into me again. Moaning, I raked my nails down his back and bucked like an unbroken horse under him, jamming my mouth to his. Then I relaxed back for a while, as though temporarily exhausted from an orgasm. In normal bouts, I generally spent three or four times before he unloaded his semen into me, so I felt I had to pretend at least one and hoped I should be able to muster one genuine orgasm.

  On he rode and I came back into the game. He was getting close, now, and I lifted my bottom high off the bed as he gave me each thrust, to let him get well up me. I felt his cock swell inside me, then came the throbs as he pumped sperm into my womb.

  Suddenly I was moaning and juddering under him as my own orgasm hit me-genuine, this time!

  When I lay back the second time, panting, it really was the lassitude of post-orgasm. I had made it, and he seemed thoroughly satisfied when he roiled from me, leaving me to douche and flush away the fruits of our union, in the bathroom.

  I was going to have to be careful in future — he definitely would think the worst, if, after a heavy bout with Stella, he insisted on making love and found me unable to produce even a couple of stiffened nipples. I had always been a good, sexy wife in that respect, and always responsive to the slightest indication of wanting on his part.

  As I got back into bed, his arms went round me, pulling me in close as he murmured drowsily. I snuggled against him as his hand wandered down my back and stroked over my bottom, pressing my pelvis to his.

  I held myself quite still, then, as I felt his cock twitch against my thighs, praying he would drop off to sleep. Sometimes, when he was in the mood, he could take me twice in fairly quick succession, or make it last for half the night. I didn't feel I could cope with either right then. The trouble was, he had always been very fond of my bottom-calls it my sexy bum-and with his hand on it and holding me so close, a twitch of my little finger could start him off.

  I lay there in his arms in the darkness, hardly daring to breathe, until at last, I must have dropped off to sleep, without being called upon to do further battle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following morning I still felt rather weary, rousing only to drink the cup of tea Phil brought up before he went out. I heard his car start up and then dozed off again.

  “Mummy! Mummy!”

  “Huh? What's the matter?”

  “It's nearly ten o'clock. Mrs. Matthews has arrived- she's cleaning up downstairs.”

  I opened my eyes and there was my daughter standing beside the bed, looking down at me, wearing only a pair of pyjama trousers, her young, apple-firm little breasts tilted pertly upwards, the spreading nipples looking very tender and sensitive.

  “Jane-you shouldn't go about the house like that; go and get something on.”

  “What's wrong? There's nobody here to see me-I had the jacket on when I let Mrs. Matthews in.”

  “We'll go and get dressed now.”

  Her face dropped.

  “I was hoping for a little snuggle in bed with you, first. I go back to school next week, don't forget, mummy.” She put on her most pathetic look.

  “Oh, all…” then I almost squeaked as I realised I had nothing on under the bedclothes. “No, wait-fetch me a cup of tea first…”

  It was too late. She had already pulled back the covers and I saw her eyes widen as she looked at my naked body. I pulled my knees up and crossed my hands over my breasts. She giggled.

  “Mummy-you're all bare! What have you been up to?” She dived in beside me.

  I flushed hotly at her words.

  “I–I took my nightie off when you father went out- it was very warm.”

  “If it was that shortie nightie I saw lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, I shouldn't have thought it would make any difference!”

  She was a discerning little minx! But I was quite sure she meant it innocently, although that still didn't save my blushes.

  “Mmm, lovely!” She wriggled up close until my bent knees pressed into her tummy. She put one arm under my shoulder and pulled the covers over us with her free hand. “Do you have to lie all doubled up like that, with those hard knees poking into my tummy?” I straightened my legs just a little.

  “And why are you holding your titties? I let you see mine! Oh, come on, mummy-let's snuggle up all nice and cosy, like we used to.”

  What could I say to her? I straightened my legs right out and dropped my hands from my breasts.

  “Aah-that's much better.”
Both arms went round me, then, and she pressed real close until those firm, sprouting breasts of hers poked into my large, mature globes. “Mmm! Those lovely titties!” She wriggled her own against them. “So big and warm and sort of elasticity!” She hugged me tightly and kissed the side of my neck. “I am lucky to have such a gorgeous mother!”

  She squirmed some more and threw one leg over my thigh. I held my arms around her slim waist, lightly.

  “It's nice of you to say so, Jane, but you shouldn't keep talking about titties the way you do.”

  “Why-what's wrong with titties?”

  “Oh, nothing, I suppose, but you're a big girl now…”

  “What should I call them, then? Breasts? Should I say 'I think your breasts are very beautiful, mother'? Or 'What lovely big tits you ha…' ouch!”