It was Sunday morning. I lay in bed, still half asleep under the quilt, feeling smug because I wouldn't have to get up for at least another hour or two. Or maybe three. Although I always sleep naked, the bed was lovely and warm. My husband Brian was away on business, and the children would happily stay in bed until noon. Or so I thought.
Half asleep, and with the quilt over my head, I didn't hear the door open. I vaguely realised someone had sat down on the bed next to me, but I had no idea who it was until she spoke.
"Morning, mummy." Zoë whispered breathlessly as she lifted the quilt and slipped in beside me.
Zoë often used to creep into our bed when she was a little girl, but now she was a grown woman. Still, it would be nice to have a warm body to cuddle up to. We snuggled together, and I felt bare flesh. Zoë was naked.
We lay together for I don't how long. My daughter's body pressed to mine, our faces almost touching. Her eyes were shut, and her breath smelled sweet. She looked so beautiful. It occurred to me that I was in bed with my grown-up daughter, and we were both naked.
I stroked Zoë's face. She opened her eyes and smiled.
"Lie on your front," she murmured.
"Mm?" I mumbled, looking at her, puzzled.
"Give you a rub," she replied. Zoë often gives me a neck-and-shoulder massage, which is nice, but I didn't see how I could be any more relaxed than I was at that moment. Anyway, I disentangled myself from my daughter's arms and rolled onto my front, folding my arms under my head.
Zoë threw the quilt back and knelt over me. She started at the back of my neck, gently stroking away what little tension there was. Then she carried on down my back, making firm but smooth movements; her hands were so soft and gentle I could hardly tell she was touching me, but the effect was amazing, I thought I had been relaxed, but as Zoë's hands moved over my body I felt consciousness drifting away. All the while Zoë was quietly murmuring, meaningless sounds, soothing, relaxing my mind as she relaxed my body.
Without realising it, I had opened my legs and Zoë was kneeling between them. She began to massage my calves, teasing out the knots of tension that I hadn't known were there. Her hands moved higher, up the outside of my thighs to my hips. Zoë began kneading my buttocks, rubbing and squeezing, almost roughly now. A faint tingling stirred deep within my belly.
Zoë's hands were moving downwards again, along the inside of my thighs. I felt disappointed, there was only one part of me she hadn't touched; the part I wanted her to touch more than anything.
