Tuesday Afternoon

I could think of better ways of spending my afternoon. I was supposed to be teaching a science class, but thanks to a colleague's skiing accident, I found myself supervising the senior girls' hockey team. Which included my own dear daughter, Zoë.

Zoë is a talented player, but she has an aggressive streak, which sometimes gets her into trouble. This time she had gone into a tackle much too hard, which had left the other girl limping badly. I had honestly believed my eighteen year old daughter was a mature young woman, instead I realised I had been nurturing a blood-crazed psychopath. So Zoë got to spend the rest of the training session running around the pitch, with her hockey stick held high above her head. I could feel her eyes burning into me, and I knew we were in for some fireworks later.

I made her keep it up until the other girls had gone home.

"Just because you're my mother, it doesn't mean you have to treat me like shit!" she snarled.

"That's right," I replied. "And I don't treat you like shit. I treat you fairly. I would have punished any of the other girls for doing what you did."

Zoë turned her back on me and headed off to the locker-room. I felt a pang of regret, mixed with something else, as I watched her go; her short skirt swung as she walked, barely covering her taut buttocks.

When I got to the locker-room, Zoë was already in the shower. I noticed her hockey kit was strewn across the floor. I made a note to have a word with her about that, but maybe this was not the right time. Everyone else was long gone; we had the place to ourselves.

I quickly stripped and joined Zoë in the shower area. She was just standing there, holding her face up to the spray, letting the water play over her.

I went over to her and placed my hand in the small of my back.

"Bitch," she grinned at me, no longer angry.

"That's me," I replied. "So you must be the daughter of a bitch?"

We laughed together, our argument forgotten. Zoë turned to face me and we embraced. I felt my nipples swell and harden. The water was running down between our bodies, washing away our sweat. A glorious tingling sensation spread over my body as the hot water opened every pore.

I pushed Zoë back against the wall and placed my mouth on hers. Our tongues explored each other as I took one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pulling on it gently. I lowered my mouth to her breast, taking her nipple in my mouth, carefully nibbling at it, pressing my own breasts against her firm belly.

Kneeling on the cold wet tiles, my face was level with Zoë's groin. Fleshy pink folds showed through the dark matted curls. Placing my hands on Zoë's hips, I gingerly reached out with my tongue, feeling it slip between her swollen pussy lips. I began moving my tongue up and down the length of my daughter's slit, making her moan. I felt Zoë's hands on my head, running her fingers through my soaking wet hair. I probed deeper, tasting her juices. When I reached down between my legs, I could feel my own wetness.

Zoë gave a deep sigh as I teased her clit with my tongue. I felt her bud grow and harden as I began moving my tongue around it in a circling motion. I was furiously rubbing my own clitoris now, losing myself in the sensations that washed over my body. It felt as if our bodies were melting into one, as Zoë pulled me against her, her legs wrapped around my neck, giving a loud cry as she climaxed; coming again and again as I flicked my tongue back and forth, not letting up until my own orgasm spread through my body, making me lose control; almost losing consciousness.

After God knows how long, I looked up at Zoë. She was looking down at me, laughing and crying at the same time. She helped me to my feet and we clung to each other. I could feel us both shaking.

Eventually we made our way back to the locker-room, and I found us some towels. Zoë sat astride one of the wooden benches and I sat behind her, towelling her back, relishing every touch of that beautiful body that gave me so much pleasure. I moved closer, pressing my breasts into her back. Now I dried her breasts, taking them in both hands, rubbing the soft fluffy towel over her smooth skin. Zoë opened her legs wider as I moved lower. I discarded the towel, my hands roaming over the inside of her thighs until my fingers found that familiar place between her thighs. Zoë leaned back against me, breathing heavily as I began masturbating her. I buried my face in her still-damp hair, and she moaned at my hot breath in her ear.

I lifted my legs and wrapped them around Zoë, squeezing her body between my thighs as I continued to tease her towards another climax. Zoë came silently this time, her body stiffening between my thighs. As her orgasm subsided, I held her in my arms, rocking back and forth, as I had done so often when she was a child.

We stayed like that for some time, then quietly disentangled ourselves and began dressing. I could hardly speak, overwhelmed by my feelings of pride and love for my beautiful daughter. It occurred to me how lucky I was, to have such a warm and intimate relationship with Zoë. I reached out and took her hand in mine; we smiled at each other, and I could see the same feelings in her eyes.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the locker-room door banging open; the cleaners had arrived. Zoë and I finished dressing and picked up our things. As we left the locker-room, the cleaning lady held the door open for us. She was a slim, friendly-looking blonde, in her early fifties. If she had been five minutes earlier, what would she have seen? What would have happened? I guess we would never know.