Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 10: Daughter

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 afterwards 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 again 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. "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 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."