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Chapter Thirty-seven

Vaginas are made to be fucked by one erect penis not four fingers; their flexible entrances recover quickly after being penetrated by even the largest cock but despite its capacious size, Pete’s forceful fingers had taken mine up to, if not quite beyond its elastic limit.

Anuses of course, aren’t made to be fucked at all. Anuses can take time to recover, especially when their owners didn’t insist on copious amounts of lubrication before allowing their prized ring of muscle to be penetrated and abused, even by a cock as slender as Pete’s.

So it was, that after my husband’s considerable onslaught on both my orifices, I was too sore and battered to let anyone anywhere near my knickers for almost a whole week. Pete might have viewed the break in my sexual demands as a blessed relief, because he didn’t put any pressure on me at all during that time. But then to be honest, most of the recent sexual demands in our house had been made by me anyway.

That was of course, if you didn’t count our daughter Isobel.

With August about to end, she and her new boyfriend Jack were having to face the reality of going to different Universities in different parts of the country, Izzy to begin her final year, Jack to begin his second.

Jack is the youngest son of my best friend Julie and her soon-to-be-ex-husband-and-my-first-extramarital-lover Tony. He and Izzy had been friends all their lives so when she announced that, after an unexpected meeting on holiday, they were now a full-blown couple, I was more than a bit stunned.

Since they had first got together during Izzy’s all-girl fortnight in Torremolinos, I don’t think they had spent a single twenty-four-hour period apart. Sleeping together every night either in her bedroom or in his mother’s house, the two of them had been practically joined at the groin for several weeks, when not at their respective holiday jobs.

How they would react to being so far apart remained to be seen. Izzy had already cried twice at the prospect of being separated and was emotionally unstable most of the time -- which in turn, meant she was never far from one of her most spectacular bad moods.

Worse still, Jack’s term started a week before Izzy’s, which meant that she would be home without him for seven full days.

I was dreading it.

The irritability in the house wasn’t being helped by the hot weather that had decided to make its presence felt. British summers are notoriously unreliable and capricious. With my belly now uncontainable by most of my clothes and my ability to keep calm and cool decreasing, the weather chose that moment to raise the temperature into the high seventies or low eighties and whack up the humidity.

I know this is nothing to our friends in the US or Australia, but for a county famous for rain and built largely without air conditioning, it presented a challenge to a pregnant fifty-one-year-old.

With equal caprice, the pregnancy itself was going as well as could possibly be expected. My blood pressure was fine, my ankles weren’t swelling, my skin was beginning to show the healthy glow it had last shown twenty years ago. My tiny boobs were showing signs of coming back to life after decades of inactivity too. Even my hair was joining in on the act with a soft sheen developing.

If it wasn’t for the completely unmissable swelling in my belly, I would have been the healthiest I had been for many years. There was no visible reason why I should not carry my baby to full term.

The most recent scan had revealed no problems with the baby either. She -- for we now knew I was carrying another girl -- appeared fit and healthy, and within the bounds of development that would be expected.

My husband still said he loved me; everything seemed to be going well for us. So why had I spent the last three nights awake, crying as quietly as I could into my pillow?

The answer was inevitably, doubts; and doubts on a grand scale.

I suppose most soon-to-be-mothers have these feelings. I know I had them when about to give birth to our first child, Josh but for me, seeing my baby’s image on the ultrasound screen, so clearly defined that we could be almost certain of her gender brought reality in on me like a tidal wave.

We were really, actually going to have a baby! Another tiny human being was going to enter our lives.

Up till then, even after the first vague, blurry images of the growing contents of my womb, the whole thing had still been an adventure; an exciting if uncomfortable dream from which we would eventually awake.

It had all been about me too; about the accidental, unfaithful conception; the perils of being pregnant at fifty-one; the problems of fitting my swelling belly into my clothes and yes of course, the need to deal with a massive bay-driven rise in my libido.

Now, knowing I was carrying a girl, a girl who would soon need a name and a life, everything changed.

It wasn’t all about me anymore.

Okay, the thought of going through childbirth again at my age was simply terrifying. Going to clinic was bringing back memories of agonies and indignities I had thought were well in my past but however terrible they would be, they would eventually end.

What would not end was my new daughter -- our new daughter, I corrected myself. Pete any my fourth child.

In a short time, there would be another life in the house; a tiny, demanding life that would need my full

attention. And there would be no choice; that life would have to get my full attention, come what may.

Pete had been amazing all this time. From the moment he learned that his wife of over twenty-five years had not only been unfaithful for months, she had also been knocked up by a boy young enough to be her son, he had stood by me and my illegitimate child.

But how would he feel when, like me, he realised what this was going to do to us and our life? We were only months away from being Grandparents too, for Christ’s sake!

Now, thanks to me and my rampant, irresponsible infidelity we would be facing at least a year of broken nights, constantly awake and feeding a hungry mouth into the small hours. For at least two years we would be changing nappies -- well into our mid-fifties,

And then what? Doing the school run at sixty? Dealing with teenage angst and tantrums well after retirement age? Nursing stressed students through A levels, boyfriend problems and University entrance at the age of seventy?

And Pete would be doing all this knowing that the girl concerned wasn’t even his child.

In the cold light of day -- or more likely in the small hours of a Monday morning after very little sleep, with the smell of milk and nappies all around us and a hard week at work awaiting him in only a few hours’ time, might my husband decide it was all too much? That it was time to let his cheating wife lie alone in the metaphorical bed she had made for herself?

Might he not worry that she had only come back to him because her lover had dumped her anyway?

Might he not worry that she would cheat again given the opportunity?

Might he not decide to cut his losses, walk out of the melee she had inflicted on him and into a new life? Possibly even a new life with his only known lover, Julie; the china-doll-pretty friend who had been so complimentary about his performance in bed and who had introduced him to the joys of anal sex when I had been unable or unwilling to perform that act?

“Can’t you sleep?”

Pete’s voice was soft and concerned as it blessedly broke my terrible train of thought.

“It’s three-thirty in the morning, Penn. Are you feeling okay?”

How could I answer that? If I told my husband about my worries, I knew he would reassure me, but would his reassurance be the truth? And how could he possibly know now how he would feel in a year’s time when the baby was born and our lives had been changed irreparably?

“Are we mad Pete?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Having a baby at our age. Are we completely crazy?”

“It’s a bit late to worry about that,” he sighed, rolling over to face me. “We are where we are. There’s no changing our minds now.”

“But she’s going to change everything,” I protested. “Remember what it was like when we had Josh and...”

Once again, I detailed all the practical problems that had been spinning round my mind, getting more and more agitated and tearful with each sentence. For the moment, I kept all the worries about our relationship to myself, but they were still there, bubbling under the surface.

“We’ve done it before, so we know how to do it again, right?” Pete eventually interrupted, holding me close in his strong arms. “We can do this, Penn. You know we can. We’ve done all it three times before and we weren’t too bad at it were we?”.

I shook my head, the tears still flowing as my husband stroked the large swelling in my belly.

“Okay, we’ll be the oldest parents at the school gate, but the gap won’t be anything like as large as is was first time round. Parents are getting older all the time; first timers are in their thirties now and even in their forties. The world has changed.”

He was right, had told me all this many times, but I needed to hear it again.

“As far as being older is concerned; well, we’ll just have to look after ourselves, won’t we? We’ll have to keep as young and fit as we can and try not to think too much like our friends.” He laughed. “I promise not to talk about golf if you promise to keep your cardigans to a minimum and never use curlers.”

I laughed too, despite my tears. Pete had always been able to calm me down and make me laugh. That night I needed it badly.

“And just in case you were worrying,” he continued. “I’m still perfectly happy being her Dad. She’s going to need one and though I say it myself, I’m good at it. It might not have been my sperm that knocked you up but as long as only you and I know this, everything will be fine.”

“Do you think anyone suspects?” I asked.

“I’m sure there are a few suspicious minds,” he replied in the darkness. “We know too many medics for there not to be. But as long as we play our parts, they’ll have nothing to work on and soon enough they’ll move on to other gossip.” He chuckled. “That’s the one thing the NHS is never short of.”

I snuggled up to him, feeling his warm, reassuring body against mine.

“And we’ve both agreed to keep our new sex life going, haven’t we?” he added, his tone of voice slightly hesitant.

“You mean...”

“I mean one thing that mustn’t change is the way our sex life has gone. That’s my one red line, Penn. Okay we’ll be more tired at first but once things have settled down, I want you to be a Hot Wife again. I can live with everything else if you and I can still keep this special part of our relationship going.”

“You still want me to...”

“Yes Penny, I do. It has taken over twenty-five years to get where we are now. It’s been bloody hard getting here too. We’ve been through a lot in the last year. You’ve put me...” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been through a lot of pain getting here but we’ve made it this far and are still together. I’m not prepared to go back to where we were before. Once she’s born and you’ve recovered, I want to pick up where we left off.”

He turned to face me in the semi darkness.

“I still want you to fuck other men and I still want to be there when you do it.”

My mind reeled. With so much going on, I hadn’t realised just how important my Hot Wife status had become to my extraordinary husband. Despite the consequences, Pete hadn’t given up on what, after all, had been his fantasy from the beginning and what had perhaps given me the push I had needed to commit my first act of infidelity; the act that had led to where we now were.

“You mean like Manchester?” I asked quietly. “Or ...”

“Manchester would be a good start,” he replied. “But it would just be a start.”

There was a long pause while we both took in what had just been said. There was no doubting my husband’s sincerity. He could have brought the whole crazy Hot Wife idea to an end and I would have gone along with him without regret... well without too many regrets.

But he had chosen the opposite path; the path that would lead to yet more adultery.

“Do you feel any better now?” he asked, kissing the top of my head, his voice back to its normal, reassuring tone.

“Thanks,” I replied.

I did feel more reassured but knew better than to imagine it would last for long.

“Then let’s try to get some sleep. I have a long theatre list starting in about five hours’ time.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

As so often happens, in the daylight of a summer morning, the future looked a lot less bleak -- even though it was a Monday. Pete’s words had been both reassuring and unsettling. He really did seem to have come to terms with bringing up another man’s child, but the idea of becoming a Hot Wife again was more than a little disturbing.

Memories of the extraordinary pleasure my previous extramarital fuckings had delivered came back with a vengeance, driving me to make heavy daily demands on my husband in the days following, even before my own battered body had fully recovered. With Izzy still at home, we had to be circumspect about where and how we did the various deeds, but with patience and an eye for opportunity, we managed more than the occasional copulation.

Admittedly we had rather more copulations than I enjoyed orgasms, and all of those climaxes were the result if my husband’s mouth rather than his cock, but there was nothing unusual about that.

Unsurprisingly, the night of conception returned to my mind time and again; as Pete hammered his long, slender cock into my vagina, many times my closed eyes saw nothing but Darren’s handsome olive-gold face, muscular chest and iron-flat tummy above my skinny frame.

By mid-September I had lived in a state of near-permanent arousal for too long and was looking forward to the day in a week’s time when our daughter would go back to University and Pete and I could be a couple again.

Both work and my writing were going well too. With only ten weeks to my due date, my tummy was very large. Although I was still supposedly working full-time, I had started to feel tired, so my Boss Sandie had agreed to me reducing my hours at the hospital and working much more from home.

I was still waking early too so had plenty of time to let my imagination run free as far as creativity was concerned.

This had been helped by my readers, a good number of whom seemed to see me as a kind of confessor and had started to share their own fantasies and life stories by message or email.

Although many were clearly fantasies, others had a ring of truth from the beginning. Once I had realised that Pete and I weren’t so unusual; that there was so much real infidelity going on out there all the time, I began to feel better about our own so-called perversions.

I began to martial the various revelations into true stories, working closely with some correspondents whose experiences I found most poignant or most arousing.

Writing had always led to arousal as the towels on which I routinely sat to write could testify, but at this stage of pregnancy it had become extreme. Some days, merely rubbing myself against the rough cloth beneath my bottom could induce minor orgasms as I imagined myself a character in many of the tales I pieced together.

I would be able to do even more this when Izzy went back to university, but until then had the prospect of eight days of bad temper ahead.

Jack was going off to his University that weekend. His Dad -- my first and now ex-lover Tony was going to take him and all his kit down by car, after which, the two lovebirds would be separated for who knows how long.

I knew Izzy was very worried how the new love in her life would deal with the many temptations that would inevitably come his way once they were apart. Knowing how badly she had dealt with those same temptations herself, it was hard not to see her discomfort as some form of justice.

Even so, I was not looking forward to having her in a filthy mood for her last week at home; a mood which would no doubt start the following morning when the time came for Jack to leave.

That thought was very much in my mind early that afternoon when my taxi dropped me off at the end of our driveway, having brought me home early from work. Pete had given me a lift in earlier that morning and the buses were at best unreliable, so the Uber had been my only real option.

I had felt very tired all morning and, according to Sandie, I had looked very tired too. She had suggested I took the afternoon off, had a rest at home then read through student papers afterwards or over the weekend if that suited me better.

I had readily agreed and, after filling my briefcase with unmarked essays, headed for home. Once there, I had dropped the briefcase in the study then had put the kettle on and taken myself upstairs to the bedroom.

There I had kicked off my shoes, laid down on the bed fully clothed and immediately fallen asleep without my tea and without even closing the bedroom door properly.

I don’t know how long I slept but I slept deeply, my slumber filled with the strange and erotic dreams that had characterised my nights for so long. As usual, images of Darren, the boy whose sperm had impregnated me filled my mind; of his handsome, olive-gold face inches above mine as his cock reached beyond my vagina, beyond my swollen womb and into the very depths of my soul.

But this time, as his golden body came closer and closer to filling me with his semen once again, the face above me became blurred and a different image began to form in my mind. However much I fought against it, I could not prevent Tony’s strong, older but still handsome face from materialising in my dream.

I could even hear his voice in my ears, dimly at first then growing louder, telling me how he loved me and wanted me. In my dream I replied in kind, promising to give him my body to have his babies.

His familiar voice grew louder still until I became dimly aware of noises around the house as well as in my dream, but in my dozy state I ignored them, rolled onto my other side and returned to sleep.

Sometime after that, my rest was disturbed by the sound of voices again this time definitely in the house rather than merely in my head. I thought of calling out but was still too dozy and my eyes were soon tightly closed once again.

Judging by the shadows in the room and the coolness in the air, it was some time later when I awoke, this time with a start. My head took some time to clear but after a few moments, I became aware of horrifyingly familiar noises coming through the half-open bedroom door.

Creak! Creak! Creak!

Was that bedsprings?

Creak! Creak! Creak!

Oh my God! It was bedsprings; and that could only mean one thing.

“Mmmm. Yesss! That’s niiice!”

My daughter’s slightly woozy, aroused voice was quietly but clearly audible.

Creak! Creak! Creak!

“Oh God Jack! That’s really niiiccee!”

A cold shiver passed through me. My daughter and her boyfriend were having sex. From the direction of the sound, they had to be in her room. If I could hear them this clearly, both her and my bedroom doors must be open.

I looked at the bedside clock. Of course, they wouldn’t expect me home for another hour at least and must have thought they had the whole house to themselves.

Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!

“Mmmm! God that feels good!”

“You are so tight Iz. So fucking tight!”

My brain went into overdrive. Get away now, Penny. Get out of there as fast as you can before you hear too much or they catch you listening.

But how could I get out?

If I could hear them so clearly, even with the obvious distraction of sex, they would be able to hear me. And by the sounds of things, they had been fucking for some time. If they found out I was there, would they really believe I had been so deeply asleep I hadn’t heard them?