Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 16: Shocks

The vast majority of escorts were female but after an hour or two of investigation I had found a handful of straight men and even a handful of escort couples whose existence I hadn't even suspected but who were definitely out there, advertising online.

Once I had decoded a bit more of the jargon I realised that the MFM scenarios being offered were almost exactly the kind of thing Pete and I had fantasised about. I suspected their usual trade was MFF or MFMF (I was really getting into the language by then) but after steeling myself and setting up yet another fake email address I sent messages asking more questions.

Two couples in particular looked simply gorgeous and the cost, though expensive, wasn't insanely high for people on our incomes. They were both based in Manchester which was far enough away for the risk of meeting friends or acquaintances to be low, but close enough to be manageable for an hour or two's liaison.

What was most compelling was that it didn't mean publishing our identities on any of the swingers or dating websites or any other places where someone too close to home might have see it and recognised us. No-one needed to know our names at all or even see a photograph of either of us, let alone be able to download one.

Gradually I realised that, however unlikely it sounded, this might be just the compromise we needed.

What was even more important was that my husband Pete couldn't possibly see a paid escort as a threat to our relationship. Even better; all of them assumed that both husband and wife would be part of whatever happened so he would undoubtedly get to watch whatever happened. He might even get to join in of he wanted.

Emboldened, I investigated further.

The male halves of the two couples I had found were either 29 or 45 years old and in their pictures looked 'seriously fit', as my daughter Izzy would have said. The younger man was black, which gave me a thrill that a middle aged, liberal, middle class woman with background like mine should certainly not have felt!

I had started getting excited just thinking about it but of course needed much more research and it would be a difficult idea to break to my husband.

I smiled broadly when I thought of Pete and how much our lives had changed in such a short time.

How had he known that having a lover would feel so good for me and bring me so much pleasure?

How did he have the strength of character to let me sleep with another man and yet still love me?

If I dared talked to him about it, could our future adventures bring my husband at least as much pleasure as the past had given me?

Maybe, just maybe I had found a way they could! If only I could find the right moment to broach the subject.

***

Just then I heard the sound of the upstairs lavatory flushing. Pete was awake! I closed my secret email account quickly then slipped my laptop into my briefcase. By the time my husband entered the kitchen I was reading a professional journal and the kettle was boiling.

He ignored them both, took me by the hand and silently led me upstairs to the bedroom. Already highly aroused by my online findings and wicked thoughts of the future, I followed obediently as a good wife should.

An hour later, we were lying side by side in bed panting, my hand in his. Once again, the things I had done during my overnight stay in Darren's bed had been explored in the minutest of detail. Many of them had been hotly and enthusiastically re-enacted too. As a result, my knees were scuffed, my thighs were sticky, my tummy felt as if it had been punched and a large dark patch was developing beneath my right nipple.

Alongside me, Pete's face was sweaty, his flaccid cock was an angry red colour and his mouth and chin were covered in a combination of his semen and my juices.

My own face and chest were flushed pink from multiple tongue-induced orgasms.

I felt exhausted, sexy and desired. At least some good had come out of our brief separation.

***

I felt very happy for the rest of the day; indeed for the next few days. Life was as it should be once again. From the outside and with each other we were a normal couple; eating together, talking, working, making love a lot more frequently than most of my friends did with their husbands.

Only in private did I behave differently. This would have been obvious from my early morning researches had there been anyone there to observe the intensity with which I searched the net and corresponded with my online friends.

Although the logic seemed clearer and clearer to me, I was by no means sure how Pete would react to my idea but I knew I had to find out soon.

***

"Prostitutes? Are you out of your mind Penny?"

My husband's shocked voice rang around the kitchen the following Wednesday evening. After three more days of investigation and a great deal of correspondence with my online friends, I had finally plucked up the courage to tell my husband the idea and had decided to strike while the iron was hot and before my courage failed.

His initial reaction, though strong, was like mine had been; disbelief along with a certain amount of revulsion. Fortunately I had been prepared for this so didn't react in any way likely to inflame the situation.

"They're not prostitutes in the way you're thinking," I said calmly. "They're couples who enjoy sex with other people. That's a big difference."

"But they get paid for sex," he insisted.

"That's true," I admitted. "But we can afford it and think of the risks we would be avoiding."

"Like what?"

"Well, they're professionals. They do this all the time; there'd be no danger of anyone getting emotionally involved. They wouldn't need to know our real names or even where we come from. We could stop any time and just walk away with nothing but a bill to pay."

"Hmmm!"

Pete seemed to be taking my suggestion seriously but was unusually hard to read.

"And they're good at it too, if their reviews are to be believed," I added.

"They have reviews?" Pete asked, amazed. "Like on Amazon?"

"Well, yes. A bit like that," I smiled. "Have a look yourself. It's just an idea and I know it's off the wall but, well, it seems to answer most of the worries we've had."

Pete looked very doubtful.

"Look. I've saved a couple of websites in favourites," I said, moving to the computer and clicking on the top right hand corner of the screen. "I'm going for a run. Have a look while I'm out. Take your time. If you don't like the idea then we'll think of something else."

As I crossed to the door, Pete was staring at the computer screen as if it was an unexploded bomb. It was time to deliver what I hoped would be the killer line.

"And of course they're used to people being in the room when they're fucking. There'd be no problem at all if you wanted to watch or join in. It's what they do!"

I left the room, changed and spent the next half hour in my running tights and vest, pounding the pavements around our house, wondering as I ran what was going through my husband's mind. When I returned home I found Pete in the kitchen, laying the table for dinner. He didn't mention anything about my idea so I didn't raise it with him. But when I checked the pc's browsing history early the following morning, I found he had not only visited the sites I had marked, but a number of others too.

I smiled inwardly; the future was beginning to look interesting.

Little did I realise that one of the worst, most complicated periods of my life was just about interfere with my plans in ways I hadn't even dreamed of.

***

It all began the following evening. I was home alone having just returned from a long, tiring day at work and was just beginning to cook myself something to eat when to my surprise I heard a key being inserted in the front door.

I started, puzzled; Pete was working late at the hospital that night and wouldn't be home until eleven o'clock. I wasn't expecting any other visitors and besides, a stranger would have had to ring the buzzer at the front gate to be let in.

I put down the tea towel I was holding and walked through to the hall; the place where months ago my first ever act of infidelity had begun to find a familiar figure standing on the rug.

"Hi Mum!"

"Izzy!" I exclaimed, surprised.

My daughter Izzy stood just inside the front door with her backpack over her shoulder and a look on her face that made my heart sink. It was a look I knew only too well; something was wrong again and it was the kind of thing that only a mother could help with.

"What are you doing home?" I asked. "I mean, it's lovely to see you but I wasn't expecting to..."

"Don't ask, Mum," she frowned.

Izzy knew full well that her response would make me do just that; ask. The fact that she had made the four hour train journey home without even calling to tell me she was coming gave me a clue as to the seriousness with which she viewed the issue. It gave no clue as to its nature but if her past history was anything to go by, it would involve boys.

"Come through to the kitchen. I'll put the kettle on. Unless you'd prefer a glass of wine..."

I smiled encouragingly though I could have done without my daughter's love troubles at that moment. The future of my own relationship with her father needed all my attention. Izzy reacted strangely, shuddering visibly. I was puzzled; the idea of wine had never had a negative effect on her before -- very far from it!

"I'd better stick to tea," she said enigmatically.

I knew better than to press her for more; when Izzy wanted to talk she would talk.

"So how's the course? How's Simon?" I asked as casually as I could.

"Okay," she replied though from her tone of voice that was not the whole truth.

Izzy was studying at a top rated University in a coastal city a good five hours' drive away from our home. Academically very bright, she was doing well on her course and until recently had been in a long term relationship with Steve, another student at the same school.

That relationship had come to an abrupt end a couple of months earlier when, after a foolish row with her boyfriend, she had gone to a University Ball without him. There she had met other friends, allowed herself to get drunk and, in an alarming parallel with her mother's fall from grace, had been rather easily seduced and bedded by a young man she had only just met.

Simon, her seducer was apparently a very good-looking boy, a friend-of-a-friend who had been visiting for the weekend. Once he had gained entrance to my daughter's knickers, the two of them had spent the whole night fucking noisily in her friend's flat, much to the amusement of the half dozen other occupants who had heard her every orgasmic squeal.

As a result she had been immediately dumped by her boyfriend and had acquired the nickname Izzy-Oh-God, an unfortunate epithet that so far appeared to have stuck.

Luckily for her, Simon hadn't just seen Izzy as a one night stand and had been making great efforts to keep their relationship going. Apart from being extremely fond of each other, forming a stable relationship with him was the only thing that could repair the damage to Izzy's current reputation as a slut; a reputation not entirely undeserved and which Steve was doing his best to promote.

"Is Dad home?" she eventually asked once she had sipped her tea.

"He's on lates tonight," I told her.

Izzy looked relieved.

"Mum I need to talk to you," she began falteringly.

My goodness this was quick! Normally we would have to go through an hour or more of awkward, trivial small talk before my daughter got round to the issue that was on her mind. I shivered when I remembered her last home visit; when she had told me about her break-up with Steve and silently prayed that her new relationship with Simon was still sound.

"I thought you might," I smiled as reassuringly as I could. "What is it?"

Izzy swivelled on the tall stool, almost unable to look me in the eye.

"I... I think... I think I might be pregnant," she said in a hushed voice I could hardly hear.

"Izzy!" I exclaimed.

"Please don't be angry," she pleaded, breaking into tears.

"Of course I'm not angry," I said, taking her trembling body into my arms and hugging her close.

For a long time I held her, feeling her sobs against my inadequate bosom, wishing I was more the earth mother type when my children needed me.

"Why do you think that?" I asked when her tears had subsided.

"I... I missed a period. Or I think I did," she mumbled tearfully. "And now I'm late for the next one."

"How late?"

"A week."

"Oh Izzy!"

I murmured over and over as my twenty-year-old daughter sobbed into my flat chest again. In her current state, there was nothing to do but stand there, holding and hugging her until she had calmed down and a more coherent conversation could be had.

After a long time, Izzy's tears slowed. I made us both another cup of tea then moved my stool close to hers and waited for the story to begin.

"Are you sure you missed your last period?" I asked.

"I think so. I'm not certain; you know what mine are like."

I did indeed know. My daughter had unfortunately inherited her mother's erratic, unreliable menstrual cycle.

"I wasn't sure then. But now I'm late for the next one so..." she stopped there.

"It's okay. I understand," I said in my most reassuring motherly voice. "Have you done a test?"

She nodded. "Twice."

"And you're still not sure?" I asked, surprised.

As a medical scientist, I knew the modern tests were very reliable indeed.

"It was inconclusive both times," Izzy explained.

"You poor thing," was all I could say, holding her close again as she snuffled into my shoulder.

"Do you know how it might have happened?" I asked when she had recovered at little. "I thought you were on the pill. You told me you were."

"I thought I was too," she laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe I forgot. Maybe I missed a couple. I was on antibiotics for a week too," she added. "They made me sick."

I nodded; all these were possible causes of failed birth control. It was most likely that she would never know -- if she really was pregnant, that was.

"Does Simon know?" I asked.

Izzy looked into my face, her red eyed and tear stained cheeks hard for a mother to see.

"That's the whole problem, Mum. The timing's wrong. It can't be Simon's. If I'm really pregnant, it can only be Steve's baby."

This was even worse news. Steve was her previous boyfriend. Having dumped her by phone while she was actually still in the process of cheating on him, he had almost immediately been snapped up by my daughter's former friend Lauren. I still strongly suspected it was Lauren who had let Steve know about Izzy's cheating; she had always wanted to get her hooks into him.

Steve would most certainly not want to have anything to do with a pregnant, cheating ex-girlfriend and to be fair, I couldn't really blame him.

"Are you sure you did the test properly?" I asked. "I mean, you followed the instructions to the letter?"

Izzy nodded.

"I think so. There's no-one I dare talk to about it at Uni. That's why I came home. I did a test just before lunch yesterday. When it came up inconclusive too I just had to come home."

This rang a warning bell; it was a very long time since I had used a pregnancy test but both my memory and my medical training told me that they would best be done first thing in the morning. Given her personality, it was entirely probable that Izzy had been so keen to know the result that she hadn't followed the instructions properly.

"Of course," I said, stroking her long dark hair. "We'll go to the all night pharmacy now and buy a pack of tests, not just one. Then we'll try again together. Between us we'll make sure we do it right, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Mum."

"And we'll make sure your Dad doesn't find out, right?"

Izzy gulped.

"Oh God. I couldn't bear it if Dad knew."

I could have told her that her father was a great deal more relaxed and understanding than she gave him credit for but there was no point. Pete still didn't know how she and Steve had broken up. I didn't want him to know that neither his wife nor his daughter could be trusted to keep their knickers on when an opportunity to drop them arose.

***

"Shh! She'll hear us!"

Pete's amused voice mumbled into my pubic hair as he tongued my slit with the expertise I adored while an unknown number of his fingers worked their way beneath his chin and into my oversized vagina.

"I don't care! I don't care!" I giggled, my fingers entangling themselves in his greying hair. "Oh God YES!"

In truth, the carefully designed layout of our large house made it very unlikely that Izzy would be able to overhear anything at all that went on in her parents' bedroom but even the thought of discovery was making our encounter feel more risky and consequently even more exciting - for me at least.

My daughter's news and possible predicament should alone have made the idea of sex unappealing but to my shame it was having the opposite effect. By the time my husband and I were alone in our bedroom, I was much more aroused than a possible Grandmother-to-be should ever feel.

Despite Izzy's very welcome presence and knowing nothing about her possible pregnancy, Pete must have sensed my increased arousal during dinner because the look in his eye was unmistakeable. I had vowed that, as we tried to put the trust back into our marriage, I would never refuse him my body so, as we went to bed shortly after eleven o'clock, there could only be one possible outcome.

Ten minutes later my vagina was battered and oozing semen from our first copulation but having as usual, failed to reach orgasm from my husband's slender cock, Pete was 'finishing me off' with hands and mouth, using well-honed skills that had never yet failed to deliver the goods.

Already sensitised by his repeated if ultimately ineffective thrusts, my vulva was alive with the heat of arousal and a much-desired and massive orgasm was approaching fast.

"I can taste my cum inside you," Pete growled into my groin.

"Mmmmm!" I moaned as his fingers began to stretch my entrance. "Is is good?"

"It's good!" he replied, his voice coarse with passion as he concentrated on his wonderful work, his face buried in my groin. "But it would... be even better... if it was... from someone else!"

"From Darren?" I whispered as his tongue lapped the special, neglected place just above the hood of my clitoris.

"Darren's cum... would be good," Pete mumbled into my slit.

"Does your cum taste different from HIS cum?" I hissed, taking the risk of mentioning my previous lover Tony whose semen Pete had licked from my body many times. "Ahhhhhhyyyeeessss!"

There was a pause while my husband's tongue lapped along the creases at the top of both my thighs as if searching out every last drop of the pale, sticky fluid. My hips twitched involuntarily against his face.

"I don't want to remember HIS cum," Pete looked up into my eyes, his jaw shiny with goo. "I want to taste new cum inside you." His head descended again.

"Mmmmm! That's sooo good!"

I moaned as the flat of his tongue was drawn upwards across the underside of my diamond-hard clitoris and his fingers curled inside me in search of my g-spot.

"I want... to see you... being filled with cum!" he hummed into my re-grown pubic hair. "I want to see you... cum so hard you scream!"

I wasn't far from that point now, I thought as Pete's fingers began the short, fast jerking movements behind my pubic bone that were guaranteed to bring my world to a massive, choking climax. His mouth left my slit to give his arms and hand a better angle from which to finger-fuck me.

"I want to see you being fucked hard! I want to see your unfaithful cunt filled with cock!" he growled as his wrist moved up and down faster and faster.