Chapter 1:
She regarded herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Her naked body before her eyes, all fifty-two years of it. She smiled, she always felt sexy looking at her body. Never had any hang-ups about it. Nothing to be hung up about. She was beautiful and had good self-esteem about her beauty. Not arrogantly, but she knew she was a desirable woman. Feeling in the last few years, she was only now coming into her prime. Strange she didn't feel it in her twenties or thirties.
Her blonde hair was starting to faintly streak with whiter strands. Giving it some character, she thought. Her skin was toned and tanned from running and yoga, good genes and a balanced diet. A few lines and sags around her body, but that was par for the course. She admired her own tits, slightly wilting, but still succulently juicy. D-cups with nice dark areolas that still pointed in the right direction.
Five-foot-nine, good height and frame, she wasn't thin but more solid than anything else, with a flat stomach. No one in their wildest dreams would go so far as to call her fat. Good core strength from yoga. She looked closer; at her pussy. She never called it her vagina. Always her pussy, or twat, or cunt. She liked the sound of the words on her tongue. The salacious feeling that ran through her when she called it her pussy in conversation.
She ran her hand over her sex. Her fingers strumming her pearling clit. Growing with excitement. She wondered about how tight she might still be, at her age. Standing, looking at herself and feeling herself getting wetter and wetter. Turning herself on by her own image and her own body. She kept her pubic hair nicely even and trimmed. She didn't go completely bald but kept it shaved, always. Sometimes having fun, shaping it into love hearts or lightning bolts.
Her blood was coursing through her with excitement. Her heart pounding with sexual thrill. She penetrated herself with the middle fingers of her left hand as she drew circles on her clit with her right forefinger. Looking at herself in the mirror as she built up to her peak. Climbing slowly, gradually, teasing out every jolt and spasm. Looking at herself in the mirror thinking - 'you fucking sexy slut! Fuck yourself on your hand. Fuck yourself like the whore you are'.
She loved dirty talk. She loved the filthy details sex words conveyed. Fuck, cock, prick, cunt, twat, whore, cum. They were filthy words. Aggressive words. But used in the right manner, in the right context, they flooded her pants and made her cum, screaming. The sounds of the syllables heightened her arousal and as she climbed higher, she lost control over her edging and finally gave in and followed through and came all over her hands.
Shattering ever so subtly as the climax rushed through her body. Abruptly releasing a guttural groan. Clenching her eyes tight. And then coming too and opening her eyes and looking at her reflection. Looking herself in the mirror, a slight sheen of climax sweat breaking through her skin. And smiling mischievously. It was a good cum.
In the en suite, she washed her hands. Ran a cold washcloth over her forehead and in between her thighs, cleaning her pussy. Then her eyes fell back to her reflection. Much less sexy this time. Eyes of dejection. She sighed heavily, still catching her breath from her intense orgasm.
Alone in that big house, all by herself. Been like that for a long time. No one to hold her. To talk to her. To fuck her, to love her. She never married, didn't believe in it, choosing instead the freedom to have various lovers here and there, over the years. Some stayed longer than others. One-night stands for cheap thrills vs. the five years her daughters' father hung around, before finally leaving. The longest relationship she ever carved out.
She wouldn't get dressed again for the rest of the day. Early summer. The temperature was already getting nice, warmer than usual for the time of year. She'd have dinner on the patio and roll a joint with a glass of wine, and then probably watch some porn on the living room television and masturbate again. It seemed as good a trajectory for the night as any.
Besides she knew she wouldn't be bothered by anyone knocking on the door, so felt free to be naked in her own home. The closest neighbour was half a kilometre away. The nearest town a further kilometre from that. It was a sea of green fields all around the house. From every window, there was only the surrounding grasslands that seldom saw foot traffic. As often as she could she walked around naked. Even the gardens on a clear sunny day, she would grace with her naked flesh. The sense of liberation that came with it invigorated her. The risk of exhibitionism that came with it was an extra reward. Often, she found it made her pussy extremely wet. She was aroused beyond measure by the freedom she had, to masturbate on her front porch, or back patio or any one of the rooms in the house. To blare porno from the surround sound system in the living area. Distance was her liberation.
That evening around dusk, she sat slowly feeding three fingers into her sopping wet twat. A petite, big-titted blonde on the TV screen was spit roasting on two big black cocks, fucking her mouth and cunt, assertively. She watched, bathed in post-orgasm flush, a massive blunt smoldering in her free hand. Her phone buzzed with a new message. Hazy in her stoned, cum-drunk state, she slowly acknowledged the phone and gradually pulled her eyes from the screen to the new message.
"Shit." She muttered. Her daughter wanted to call her in the next few days about some big news. Something very important, something she'd be very happy about. And as the two cocks on the screen blew their loads all over the filthy little nympho white girl, delirious from getting her brains fucking out, she thought to herself, 'What big news? Why not just tell me now?' Left to wonder what the big deal was.
*
Helen stood on her porch, dressed. The sun pelting down. Wishing to be stark bollock, under its glorious heat. But she couldn't. Exhibitionism, or perceived exhibitionism, would have to go on the back burner for a while. Blasting out orgy and gangbang porno's in the living room, would also go on the back burner. Her liberal masturbation around the house would follow.
Her daughter was moving home from London. That was her big news. Moving home and finding a job closer to where she was raised to start the next chapter of her life. Twenty-five years old. Wanting to start the next chapter. Helen couldn't really understand it. At the same age, she would have never even considered moving home. But then she was far more liberal in raising her daughter than her parents had been, with her. It had been a strict home and strict upbringing and her parents had been firm disciplinarians. And thinking that, she wondered, had she been wilder than her daughter?
Charlie, her daughter, hadn't been raised to shy away from the world. She'd been raised to seek out and enjoy experiences. Which curtailed any real rebellious behavior before it could grow. It was only the two of them in the house when she was growing up, Charlie's dad leaving while she was only a newborn, so naturally, they were everything to each other. And the older Charlie grew the more she confided in her mother. Truly, they spoke about everything together. Always had. Being away in London hadn't stopped that, calling home three or four nights a week and keeping her mother on the phone for hours at a time. And with other apps and devices, WhatsApp, Messenger, etc. they were never really away from each other all that long. They both knew it was a cliché and wouldn't ever actually say it to one another, but they were best friends.
No topic was ever off the table with her mother, such was the closeness of the relationship. So, Charlie's sex life creeping into the conversation was not uncommon. She had always shared with her mother details about boys she was dating, or gossip from the girls she hung out with. When she lost her virginity, they spoke about it for hours, not necessarily the gritty details of the actual sex, though that was examined at length. But the nuances and more abstract details, like the meaning of it, what it meant to her, what it meant to the boy she fucked. Charlie was smart, but also deep in an emotional way. Wisdom shone through her and her mother wasn't totally sure where it came from. Helen was in her own right a very intelligent woman, but Charlie had a profound world view that captured your imagination when you came into contact with it.
As she grew older, into her twenties, Helen did notice a gradual awakening in her daughter regarding sex and relationships. She encouraged it, seeing Charlie become her own woman. All she asked was that she keep herself safe. That she played safe and didn't hang around with the wrong people.
Details frequently spilt into their phone conversations. That ultimately led them down an avenue of revealing and admitting things and situations to each other, further tying the bonds of their sharing.
Charlie confessed to her mother that she had joined a dating site for meeting couples and that she had slept with many married men, while their wives watched. Further, after she was finished with the men, she would have sex with the women. She admitted then, in that conversation, that she was pretty sure she was bisexual.
Helen laughed it off and thought nothing of it, admitting her own bisexuality and sharing a few minor details of nights in the past, shacking up with one of her girlfriends. She was well versed in a woman's body.
Charlie, taking after her mother, was a very naturally beautiful woman, so it came as little surprise she was well sought after by male suitors. And she had her fun with them at her leisure. Often sharing with her mother, even shocking details to her, like attending orgies or being double penetrated, examining in their conversations if she was a slut, and what defined the term.
For the most part, Helen was poker-faced about it all. Bringing a clinical tone to her daughters' sex acts. Never rebuking her, but always asking that Charlie mind herself. It would be a lie to say Helen didn't enjoy hearing the scandalous antics of her daughters' sex life. Sometimes living through her vicariously. Sometimes getting so worked up she would masturbate frantically after she hung up the line, Charlie being her daughter be dammed.
But sometimes too, she felt a pang of sadness. A wish that it was her. Out, living her life again. Living a wild ride of hedonism. She hadn't lived a stayed life by any means. She had her fun too, and then some. But that didn't mean she didn't miss it.
Then suddenly a phone call. 'I'm moving back home.' 'I've met someone' 'We're madly in love' 'he's coming with me' 'You'll love him too'. It was all very sudden. She asked Charlie when she was thinking of coming home, expecting her to say a few months. 'this day week.' 'we're driving down'.
She stood on her porch, dressed. Wanting to be bollock naked in her living room, instead. Watching pretty blondes get caked in bukkake baths. Wanting to try and put her whole fist up inside her cunt. She had only done it once before and it wasn't pleasurable.
But she couldn't do any of that. She heard the engine of their car, as it moved up the country lane, driveway. Dressed in her jeans that made her amazing ass look even better, rolled up at the ankle and under them, a pair of doc martins. A man's dress-down shirt on her upper body left untucked. Open at the neck just enough to reveal the top of her cleavage. Didn't bother with a bra, rarely did. Hair tied up high in a bun.
The car pulled up the drive, just short of the house. She smiled and waved and came down the steps to greet them getting out of the car. Charlie was the first out, standing and stretching. Her brunette hair also tied up in a bun. She was wearing tiny denim shorts that barely covered her ass and a faded Metallica t-shirt. Helen guessed those were the only items of clothing she had on, spotting the outline of her nipples poking through the tattered shirt. Barefoot, she walked over and hugged her mother.
