A Surprising Rendezvous

A SURPRISING RENDEZVOUS

Secretly reuniting with my former lover was only the start.

Author's note: Though not necessary, the reader may want to review the prequel "A Renewed Friendship" to obtain a deeper introduction to the characters. While that original story is written from the husband's perspective, this independent sequel is written from Nikki's perspective. Enjoy!!

I couldn't get them out of my mind.

The unbelievable events of that one evening in my apartment with my childhood friend and her husband far surpassed my wildest erotic dreams.

For days and weeks afterward, I replayed the events, images, and sensations in my mind: the first time I kissed her lips, fulfilling my decades-long fantasy. Watching her fuck her husband, and then sucking her juices off his remarkable cock. Going down on her, and then being pleasantly surprised when he entered me from behind. Getting fucked by him all over the house while she slept.

From that day forward, whenever I caressed my clit, I imagined my friend's beautifully delicate tongue. Whenever I slid my dildo deep inside, I pictured her husband's thick, strong, hard cock.

Maybe I got too carried away with those memories.

One particular evening, my 19 year-old daughter had gone to a friend's house for a sleepover. Aroused by the rare chance to have the house to myself, I stripped naked and laid down on our kitchen table, remembering how wonderfully he had fucked me there. As my fingers went to work, I closed my eyes and pictured him standing at the edge of the table, thrusting his sword into my desperate pussy.

That combination of naughty thoughts and physical self-stimulation quickly brought me to the edge of an orgasm. Though deaf and unable to hear myself, I began to call his name. As if he was standing there, I screamed for him to fuck me, and I felt the climax building. I was close ... oh fuck yes, I was sooo close ...

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my daughter open the door.

I practically fell off the table.

Stumbling down very ungracefully, I frantically tried to disguise my nudity ... but it was no use. With one hand clenching my pubic area and my other arm draped strategically across my bare chest, I reluctantly came to terms with the look of absolute shock written across my daughter's face.

With blazing speed, she hand-signed to me: "Mom!!! What are you doing?!?"

I stood motionless, unable to formulate a proper answer.

In the absence of my response, she continued, with a dramatically-signed expletive: "What the

fuck

were you just doing on our kitchen table?!?"

I had no way to sign back to her without uncovering myself and exposing my nakedness. Holding up one finger to plead for a moment of privacy, I turned around and darted into my bedroom to get dressed.

Over my years as a single mom raising my daughter, we had certainly caught nude glimpses of each other stepping out of the shower, getting changed, etc., but neither of us had ever been exposed to each other like this. I hurriedly slipped into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt.

When I re-emerged from the bedroom, my daughter was sitting on our living room couch. For a brief second, I had a flashback to when I first spotted my friend's husband sitting in that same spot and stroking his towering cock ...

Focus, Nikki, focus.

I signed a deflecting question: "What are you doing back here? I thought you were staying at your friend's house tonight."

Her face exploded with anger. Miffed that I had shifted to questioning

her

, she retorted, "What am

I

doing ...??" She left her question unfinished, rolled her eyes in disgust, and glared at the floor.

I stood there for a while. A long while.

Eventually, judging by the subtle shifts in her body language, my daughter calmed down. In fact, she began to look slightly embarrassed. When she did finally pick her head back up, she signed cautiously to me: "Mom, I have to tell you something ... please don't be mad."

My daughter had just caught me naked and masturbating on our kitchen table. I didn't have any room to be judgmental or self-righteous. "Ok," I signed back.

Over the minutes that followed, my daughter confessed that her 'friend' was not the female classmate she had described to me: it was actually a boy, and they had secretly been hooking up for a few weeks. She claimed that she felt guilty about hiding that relationship from me, but did so because she didn't want to risk facing my wrath again.

Indeed, I had become very upset a few months prior when I found out about her loss of virginity (to a previous boyfriend). Admitting once again that my past reaction was dramatic, I nonetheless reminded her that my emotions stemmed from wanting her to avoid the challenges of becoming a teenage mom like I had experienced. She said she knew that, and quickly reassured me that she had never had unprotected sex.

As my disappointment at her dishonesty melted away, what re-emerged was a recognition that she hadn't answered my earlier question. With a different attitude this time, I asked again why she had come back home so soon.

To my surprise, my daughter began to sob openly. Instantly empathic, I walked across the room to wrap my arms around her, and she buried her face into my shoulder. When she eventually composed herself, she explained the sad truth: she had just caught her boyfriend in bed with another girl from their school. She was so shocked, she didn't even bother to confront him; she just simply walked out in heartbreak, anger, and disbelief. I held my daughter tightly and gently rubbed her back to console her.

Shortly thereafter, I felt her body begin to shake mildly. Leaning back to look at her face, I discovered that my daughter was ... laughing?? Puzzled, I signed to her: "What are you laughing about?"

She sat back on the couch and began to laugh harder as she explained herself: "How ridiculous is my life?!? I secretly go to visit my boyfriend, only to find the scumbag cheating on me, and so I head back home, but only to find my mom masturbating on top of the kitchen table! What the fuck is going on?!?"

She was laughing almost uncontrollably, and I began to laugh with her. There's a fine line between crying and laughing, and we had definitely crossed over it.

Relieved that my daughter wasn't completely repulsed by me, I sarcastically threw some blame back upon her: "Well, you weren't supposed to be home!"

Still laughing, my daughter retorted back: "Yeah, so what, do you get yourself off every time I leave the house??"

"Pretty much!" I pretended to be joking ... but that was pretty accurate. I cherished the freedom of my alone times; it's hard to bring yourself to a truly satisfying orgasm when your fully-hearing daughter is in the room next door.

My daughter interrupted my wandering thoughts: "Ok, so back to

my

earlier question ... why exactly

were

you on the kitchen table?"

I sighed. She had opened up to me about her sexual life; I supposed it was only fair for me to open up to her. After all, she was 19, and our relationship was bound to continue transitioning from mother/daughter to confidant/friend.

Vaguely at first, I proceeded to tell my daughter about the incredible night with my friend and her husband a few weeks prior. I told her about how I had always felt a sexual attraction to my childhood friend, and how rewarding it was to be finally able to seduce her. My daughter's eyebrows raised in surprise at my revelation that I was secretly aroused by women almost as much as men.

What I hadn't anticipated, I told my daughter, was just how much my straight married friend would end up experimenting sexually with me. Even more so, I had no idea how much her happily-married husband would end up getting into me. Literally. My daughter groaned at that obvious double entendre.

The more I reminisced about that night to my daughter, the more that I found myself getting turned on. The treasure box between my thighs -- naked inside my sweatpants -- ached with unfinished business. I started graphically sharing more and more juicy details, if nothing else but to heighten my secret arousal.

When I described the various sexual positions that my friend's husband had used to produce the euphoria of my second and third orgasms, my daughter interrupted me: "Wait ... it's possible for a woman to have multiple orgasms??"

My poor daughter ... still so naïve. Though having pity for her innocence, I nodded confidently with an all-knowing smile.

"Mom," she stammered, "I have a lot to learn!"

Her indirect admission of having never experienced the exhilaration of multiple orgasms only deepened my pre-existing disapproval of her immature boyfriends. I signed back to her: "You just need a

real

man."

Somehow, that comment triggered my daughter to suddenly put all the pieces together, and evidence of a 'light bulb moment' illuminated her face. She expressed her newfound hypothesis: "Wait a minute ... are you trying to tell me that the two of you had sex on the kitchen table??"

I laughed and held up two fingers. "Twice."

"Omigosh, mom!! TMI, that's so gross," my daughter signed. As I laughed out loud, she turned her head away to mock vomiting.

A moment later, however, she looked back at me with a smirk of genuine approval: "... and, actually, that's kinda hot. I'm impressed."

I smiled proudly. My memory quickly drifted into some of my other favorite 'hot' moments from that night: the cum swapping; getting fucked against the fridge; the second session of lesbian 69 with my friend after her husband passed out ...

My daughter interrupted my pleasurable daydreaming: "So what happened since that night? Have you had another threesome again?"

I sighed deeply with disappointment. "No," I signed, "they live over 5 hours away, and I haven't seen them since. In fact, she's barely talked to me since that night. It seems like she might have wound up regretting it."

"What about him?" My daughter's question was swift.

I shrugged: "I only have her number ... I don't have a way to reach him."

"Oh, he can be found -- online," replied my tech-savvy teenage daughter.

"Really?" I perked up. I had long ago given up on the potential of that possibility.

My daughter sprang to her feet, left the room, and returned with her laptop. Her skills at internet sleuthing maximized the limited details I knew about him, and it wasn't long before she found an email address for him. She copied it into the 'to' line of a blank new message, and handed me her computer.

My heart began to beat about as fast as the expectant cursor on the screen was blinking at me, but the rest of me was practically frozen, with no idea of how to start. Observing my indecisiveness, my daughter took the laptop back from me and quickly typed something. When she dramatically clicked the trackpad, my eyes went wide, and a lump formed rapidly in my throat. Suspecting the worst, I signed furiously: "Did you just hit send?? What did you just write?!?"

She smiled wickedly and handed her computer back to me. Sure enough, sitting in the 'sent' folder, was an email addressed to my friend's husband:

This is Nikki. I can't stop thinking about you. When can we fuck again?

I jabbed my daughter in the shoulder with all the force I could muster, but she rolled off the couch onto the floor, laughing hysterically. I was genuinely furious ... and yet, another part of me was relieved that she had the boldness to do the very thing that I had been wanting to do for weeks.

A flash on the computer screen caught my eye. He had already replied!!

Fingers trembling, I clicked on the message to read his response. It didn't directly answer the blunt question posed by my daughter, but it certainly didn't reject it or dismiss it either:

Wow, hi Nikki! Let's talk, but we can't use this email address. I'll write you back from a different one later tonight.

I waved my daughter over to let her see it. After reading it, she enthusiastically gave me two thumbs up.

Then, apparently acting out how she envisioned me presenting myself to him, she used her hands to seductively trace the curves of her body. Closing her eyes and opening her mouth as if in orgasmic delight, she began to dramatically fondle her breasts. Next, sliding one hand deep inside her pants and rubbing herself feverishly in the one area I could not see, she made her body writhe rhythmically as if she was being delightfully ravaged by my forbidden lover.

I stood up to jab her in the shoulder again, but before my fist could hit its mark, she scurried away, laughing.

As she fled from me, it occurred to me that I had never seen my daughter act in such a sexualized manner before. Her self-confidence and body awareness made her natural beauty even more alluring. No wonder boys wanted to get her into bed; even I felt an odd twinge of attraction.

Once my daughter retreated to her bedroom for the night, I had to wait in solitude for his follow-up email. The minute and hour hands on the clock had never ticked by so slowly. I tried to occupy myself with other things, but I probably refreshed the inbox every 5 minutes just to double-check.

It was close to 11pm when I finally saw "new mail." I sat down excitedly at my kitchen table, and we proceeded to write back and forth with a series of instantaneous messages. With a surprising degree of transparency, he gushed about missing me, and I echoed his sentiments. Before I even had the chance to ask, he admitted that their married sex life had not been the same since our threesome ... which made him long to see me again even more.

At one point, I slipped my hand inside my pants to rub an itch on my crotch, and was startled when I touched bare flesh ... I had forgotten that I never put panties back on! That realization suddenly triggered an erotic idea: pulling my pants down to my ankles, I emailed him that my wet pussy was resting naked on my dining room chair.

His next email thanked me for that mental image, and told me that he was alone on his couch ... and that he was stroking his towering cock for me.

I responded with the confession that I had started fingering my pussy, imagining that it was him touching me. In that same response, I included a plea to see his cock (and him) in person, and floated the idea of meeting up somewhere.

His next email said that he thought that was a fantastic idea ... while informing me that precum was seeping down his engorged mushroom-shaped head.

Having yanked off my shirt, I next described the contours of my naked body to him. Fondling myself, I asked him which parts of my body he liked the best.

His reply?

All of them

. He described the sinful things he'd like to do to a certain selection of those body parts.

In return, I tried to put into words what I'd like to do to him, but the pace of my typing was getting increasingly slower ... because it was competing with the two fingers that were thrusting passionately into my incredibly moist vagina. I let him know that I was using my fingers as if they were his thick cock.

His next email was short, and to the point:

Nikki, you should know that there's been an explosion of warm cum all over my abs and crotch.

His admission was arousing, fascinating, and an unexpected boost to my ego: using only email, I had just made a man cum from over 300 miles away. Proud of my sexual accomplishment, a delighted smile crowned my lips.

My discovery of that superpower, as well as imagining the look and feel of his cum being splattered on my own naked body, enabled me to finally finish what my daughter had earlier interrupted. Moaning quietly to myself, I nearly passed out from the euphoric wave of a long-overdue climax.

When the orgasmic palpitations in my body finally subsided, I extracted my fingers and sucked off the evidence. That made my next reply extra fun to write:

Thanks for that. I have to say, my pussy juice tastes so much sweeter when you're the one who makes me cum. Wish you could taste it too.

His next email was littered with emojis of both shock and delight.

Sexually satisfied, at least for the moment, we were then able to communicate on a more practical level about finding a way to meet. In order to avoid arousing his wife's suspicion, he requested to make our rendezvous a day trip, which also meant finding a place closer to him. I assured him we could make that work, and that I'd do the research. Once we eventually wrote our goodbyes, I tiptoed past my daughter's room and climbed into bed with a wide smile on my face, ready to dream about the lustful ideas in my mind.

I found it extra hard to focus on my job and other responsibilities the next few days, as nearly all of my free time was spent trying to find the perfect place. My pulse quickened when I stumbled across an upscale lodge with four-post beds; I had long held the fantasy of being blindfolded, naked, and tied up spread-eagle to such a bed. Even better, it was less than 90 minutes from his home, which met the criteria for our daytime rendezvous. Though it would be a longer drive for me, the allure of reuniting with him and his thick cock was more than worth it.

When I emailed the location to him, he responded with enthusiastic agreement, and we settled upon a date that happened to be the day before my daughter's 20

th

birthday. Unbeknownst to him, I resolved to avoid masturbating for those three weeks so as to save my next orgasm for our reunion. It would be a long wait, but I knew it would be worth it.

We had pledged to keep our rendezvous a complete secret, and I was successful in keeping it that way ... until about a week beforehand, when I accidentally commented on it to my daughter. When she pressed me for more details and learned that our tryst was scheduled for the day before her birthday, she asked unexpectedly: "Did you get me a present yet?"

I hadn't, actually

. "No," I signed, "... Why?"

She took a long pause. And then, contrary to anything I could've predicted, she signed: "Let me come with you."

Puzzled, I started to sign, "But what would you do while ...?"

I never finished my question, because a fiery gleam of desire in her eyes had arrested my attention and interrupted my thought. Realization crashed over me like a tsunami wave.

Oh fuck

, I thought to myself,

my daughter wants in on this

.

My daughter proactively verified my internal assumption. Smiling wide, she hauntingly reminded me of my own words a few weeks prior: "You said I needed to find a

real

man."

Since I was still too dumbstruck to respond, she continued: "We could share him, just like you did with your friend. It would be a great mother-daughter bonding experience." She laughed with delight at the wickedness of her intentions.

My mind was spinning like a merry-go-round. I signed back, "I don't know how he would feel about that."

The look my daughter gave me was quite patronizing. "Mom," she signed, "do you really think a guy that fucked the random woman eating out his wife would object to nailing some teenage pussy?"

Although I was taken aback by the crassness of her language, she had a good point. As she left the room to give me time to ponder her indecent proposal, she blew me a kiss and teased, "I'll go pack some sexy underwear. Goodnight!" It was obvious that she wasn't going to give up.

Groaning, I plopped down on the couch, my mind racing to calculate what had just happened.

This is wrong on so many levels! Wouldn't it get super weird to be there with her? How could I be in the same room as she fucks someone? And how could I bear to watch my lover screw my own daughter??