"Oh yes, Jenny oh yes, yes, yes," he said as I ran my fingers along the crease in his bum as he fucked me. "That's so good."
It didn't register at first, but then it hit me.
"Jenny, what the fuck do you mean Jenny?" I shouted at my husband.
"I said honey," he replied.
"Don't lie, I heard what you said and I know who you mean it's that little tart at the golf club isn't it?" I said pushing him off and feeling his cock sliding out of me.
Fuming I got out of bed and switched the light on.
"Get out," I screamed.
"What do you mean?"
"Get out of the house that's it, I've had enough, just fuck off out of my life," I nearly screamed at him as I slipped into a pale blue, silk robe and tied the sash up tight round the waist.
*
It was the third time I had caught him cheating although I suspected that there were more and I really had had enough. We screamed and shouted at each other as he packed a suitcase.
"What's going on mum?" my nineteen year old daughter Sally asked as she came downstairs in what served as her pyjamas a white singlet and pale blue shorts to where I was in the lounge drinking a glass of wine.
As I waited for him to go I explained to her as best I could what had happened and told her that her dad was leaving. As I said that I heard the front door crash shut and his car starting up. 'He's gone,' I said to myself half pleased, but also half scared of the future.
"Oh Christ mum I am so sorry," she said pouring herself a glass of white wine and sitting down opposite me across the glass topped coffee table.
I explained that it had happened several times before and that this was the final straw.
"What the one that broke the camel's back?" she smiled putting her hand on mine and squeezing it. That felt nice and I smiled my gratitude to her.
"Thanks Sal," I said looking at the beautiful young creature that the bastard of my husband Paul and I had created.
"Mum, I really am so, so sorry," she whispered her eyes filling with tears.
That got to me and I started to cry as well. "We'll be ok, don't worry love," I whispered getting up and moving round the table to sit beside her on the sofa.
"I know mum we'll make it work, just you and me now, the rotten bastard's gone."
"No Sally don't think of him like that he is still your dad."
Sitting very close with our legs and shoulders frequently touching we discussed the future for a while until Sally said. "Let's get pissed mum, I'll get some more wine."
*
Sally is our only child. We had considered more but somehow we were both too busy with our work and our social lives we just never got round to it. She and I had always been close. We looked similar with both of us having blonde hair, hers long and tumbling onto and past her shoulders and mine shorter in more of a bob style with a fringes sweeping across my forehead. Sally was wonderfully slim with long, slender legs to die for and a bum that was so pert it looked as if it had been manufactured. I was of a slightly sturdier build and body shape than she weighing in at around nine and half stone or one thirty five pounds. Although she had shapely boobs this was the area of our bodies where mum with my 34C boobs came out a clear winner for Sally was desperately disappointed with her 32 A cups. We had discussed her having a boob job, but I had persuaded her out of doing that so far for her frame was slender and C or larger on her would look out of balance.
I was flattered that occasionally we were mistaken as sisters even though, oddly that tended to be only by guys and then usually when we were sunbathing or alone in a bar.
Life with Paul had got increasingly difficult in the past few years. We both owned small businesses and worked very hard in them, but I made sure that I never left Sally out in the cold and that I spent quality time with her although Paul did not see things that way. We rowed more and more and often Sally was at the core of the argument with Paul accusing me of always taking her side against him and being far too lenient and generous towards her. But then we were well off financially so why not I thought?
Paul had always been a flirt, which I should have realised before we married that he was more than that and was a real player. Twice I had caught him kissing other women whilst we were engaged, but I had forgiven him so I should not have been surprised when he started it again after we were married. To some extent, after the second or was it the third time I had found him cheating on me I almost accepted and was of the mind to have an open marriage with him. That is until I factored Sally into the equation for I could not envisage me going out with other men and getting laid and telling her lies.
As Sally went and got the wine I sat on the sofa wondering just what the hell the future might bring for a forty something divorced woman with a nearly twenty year old daughter. I began to sob and when she returned with the bottle she saw the tears streaming down my face.
"Oh mum stop it come on," she said taking me in her arms and cuddling me. She pulled my face against her chest and I felt the softness of her small boob pressing against my cheek. I stayed like for a while as she stroked my hair and held me tight; it felt nice and made me feel secure and better.
I told her that I would be ok and sat up. We held both of each other's hands resting them on her bare knees as we stared at each other seemingly not knowing what to say or do. But then she started to cry and of course that started me off again and once more we were in each other's arms though this time the top halves of our bodies were pressed together so that my larger breasts somewhat engulfed hers. Although we were a rather touchy feely family this much contact with Sally was making me feel odd, but I could not quite put my finger on why and precisely how.
As my daughter comforted and consoled me in her arms it gradually dawned that I was feeling just as I had when Philippa from the tennis club had held me as we danced at a club fundraising do. As she had pulled me tightly against her and as her lips had grazed my neck, as her hand had run down my back and as it had rested on the swell of my bum. As later she kissed me and as even later she had undressed me. Yes as I cuddled up to my daughter I was getting the same sort of charge as I had from my bisexual encounter with another woman.
I had no idea what to do or how to respond to the way Sally was holding me. It had, I was sure, started as being comforting, consoling and reassuring, but, in my mind and body at least it had changed to something else. It had a different tone and nature. It was different to how it had been when we had embraced before Paul had left. There was, or so I thought, more intensity, more warmth and certainly I felt more intimacy. Surely there could not also be more sexual arousal, or could there?
Over the past couple of years as Sally had transitioned from being a girl to a woman so her sexiness had become apparent. She was ogled continually by guys of all ages with some at the golf club being sickeningly in their fifties and sixties and still leching after a teenager! She had a few boy friends with one, Barclay becoming a steady with whom she slept with at our house. I can't say I was completely happy with that, but I did not want to be like King Canute trying to stop an irresistible force so I turned a blind eye and ignored the opening and closing of doors and the creaking of floorboards in the night. She had many friends and we were often pleased to entertain numerous young ladies with Sally often having stayover with one or two of her friends sleeping with her.
Strangely as she got older and had lovers so we became if anything closer. She confided in me more, told me about her feelings and worries and we discussed her boy-friends and the problems of growing up, being a teenager and changing into a woman.
I had not thought that much about it at the time, although it did register in the back of my mind, but if anything we became more 'touchy feely.' She, certainly, but also maybe me as well seemed to so often be touching the other usually on the arm or hand, but now and then on the legs or back and more frequently than probably we had previously we were closer together when, for instance, cooking in the kitchen or even sitting around watching TV. We had always been a family that was not at all prudish and it was only in the last couple of years that Paul had started to avoid being seen naked by Sally; I had often wondered why that was? I hadn't started 'hiding' myself from her and it was not at all unusual for me to see her naked or just in her panties and occasionally, but on reflection more frequently of late, she would wander into the bathroom as I was bathing and we would chat away.
Whilst it takes some to time to write about such events and almost as long to read them, they can go through one's mind in almost milliseconds and that is precisely what they did as my daughter and I held each other. And as those thoughts flashed through my brain so I found myself holding Sally more tightly and her grip on me tightened also or , was I imagining that? I wasn't sure just what was happening, but it felt so lovely being held and comforted and, I realised that it was because it was her and not just anyone that made it so special. I realised that it was similar to how I felt when Philippa had held me, but then I rationalised that was sexual, that was my bisexual awakening and a prelude to having lesbian sex. Surely this was not like that? Surely not with my own daughter? Surely my daughter could not feel the way towards me, her mother that Philippa had felt? But then she had not moved. She was still holding me, my boobs were still squashed against hers and our knees were pressed together. And now she was stroking my hair. Oh fuck what do I do?
I pulled away and sat up straight looking at her. The look in her eyes and the expression on her face hit me and made me wonder if she was feeling the same as I was. Her gaze and the slight smile on her lips suggested that she might be and the light pressure she was applying to my hand supported that. But the mother side of me, my alter ego and my rational mind said just the opposite. It was surely impossible, such things didn't happen; mothers and daughters do not have lesbian affairs, do they? As I looked at her I saw something else. A slight widening of her eyes, a small raising of her eyebrow and her gaze flitting down to my chest. I looked down and saw that the lapels on my robe had parted and that on one side it was caught on my nipple and on the other nearly my entire, full breast was exposed. I slid my hands away from hers and went to pull the lapels together, but Sally said quietly as she smiled.
"There's no need to do that mum."
"What?" I stammered.
"I said," she muttered in a croaky tone as she pushed her hair that had fallen over one eye back. "You don't need to cover yourself up; I have seen you naked many times."
That was, of course true, but those times had not been like this one or, was I misreading everything? Was the extreme desire I was feeling blurring my thinking? Was it all one sided? Was I being ridiculous in even for one second thinking that my daughter wanted me? And would I make a total fool of myself and possibly lose her affection for ever if I made a move on her and had got it wrong? My head told me all those things. But as I looked at the gorgeous young woman sitting next to me and felt her knees pressing against my leg that was bare as the skirt of the robe had parted and fallen off my knees, my body told me something entirely different.
"Ok, I'll leave it," I whispered removing my hands and placing them on my knees. Sally reached forward and took them in her hands again.
"In fact mum you can take it off if you like."
'If I like? If I fucking like? I can take it off if I like? Oh my god what did that mean, what did she mean?' I was thinking as such wild thoughts ran through my mind.
"What? Er what do you mean Sal?"
