Abigail's Secret

I pressed gently, feeling the outline of her labia, feeling the material become damp under my touch and a roaring surge of sexual adrenaline coursed through me and I pressed my hand harder into her pussy and kissed her and tongued her mouth and my arousal passed all previous bounds.

We broke off the kiss at the same time and looked at each other from eight inches away, both of us breathing harder, mouths half-open, eyes dilated with emotion.

'Shall we go upstairs?'

It was Abigail who had spoken.

'Yes, please,' I managed to choke out. Then we were standing up and going up the stairs and into my bedroom at the front of the house and Abigail was in my arms again and we were kissing and holding and stroking in a frenzy of arousal.

Finding the zipper on Abigail's dress I pulled it down to the small of her back and she let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. It was dark in the bedroom but there was some light from the streetlamps outside and I could see that she had a superb body: long, slender limbs, a taut stomach and flaring hips and a full bust. I was shivering with desire; none of my girlfriends had ever had this profound effect upon me.

'You're beautiful,' I croaked, and she smiled.

'Thank you, Tom.' She reached behind and unclipped her bra and her breasts swung free, round and firm, with dark areolae and big nipples. She came to me and we kissed again and I felt her breasts, naked against my chest, and then she was undoing the buttons on my shirt and pulling it out of my trousers and I was kicking my shoes off and trying to get my trousers and socks off all at once.

We crawled onto the bed and embraced for long minutes, just kissing. I was savouring the moment, hardly believing that a fifty-three-year-old lady was in my arms, dressed only in her panties and stockings and suspenders. I still had my underpants on and my cock, rigid, and with the foreskin retracted over my engorged glans, was uncomfortable in its captivity. I rolled onto my back and took my Y-fronts off and Abigail, again slightly to my surprise, took her panties off too.

Now our kissing became slow and languorous as we explored each other. I stroked her naked breasts and squeezed her nipples between finger and thumb, making her gasp quietly. I stroked the tawny bush of her pubic hair and her labia and my curious finger found the wetness inside and she gasped again, louder, as I slid my digit inside her for the first time. She was warm and slick inside and my one finger soon became two and I pushed them right in, curling the ends to seek her G spot, mesmerised by the moans and groans of her arousal. I worked my fingers slowly in and out, sucking on her lips, running my tongue over her teeth and gums, seeking intimacy, tasting her saliva, smelling her body scent.

Time slowed down and there was just Abigail and me on the bed in the darkened room, my fingers in her pussy, my tongue in her mouth, her arms around me, her fingernails pressing into the flesh of my shoulders. After a while I moved my head down and sucked one of her nipples into my mouth. A little thimble-shaped knot of ridged skin. Abigail gasped and pushed herself against my fingers, pressing her nails into me. I licked and suckled her and nipped her gently with my teeth and she bucked and writhed and kicked her legs and my fingers, slick with her juices, sought her clitoris, nestling in its little protective hood.

Abigail's breathing became ragged and fast and she pressed her nails into me harder until I felt exquisite pain. My fingertip found her pearl and I stroked it and circled it and rubbed it gently and I sensed her climax approaching so I bit harder on her nipple and pressed my finger against her clit and she gave a ragged cry and writhed furiously under me and I rode her bucking hips with my hand and pulled her nipple outwards with my teeth as the waves of pleasure engulfed her and she shook and gasped and moaned.

I'd never experienced a lady having such an intense orgasm and, although I was deeply flattered that I could bring her to that plateau of pleasure, I was also slightly in awe that I could unleash such powerful feelings. As the sensations subsided, I withdrew my hand and released her nipple and Abigail went limp. I pulled her to me and we hugged and she kissed my neck and cheeks and lips.

'Do you want me now?' she whispered.

So I knelt up and took my cock in my hand and Abigail opened her legs wide and I guided myself to her sopping pussy and slid my rigid length into her, right up to the hilt. I'm not huge, but I'm a decent length and girth and her cunt felt hot and tight around me. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was half open and I looked down on her in the gloom of the bedroom, my mature lover from the DIY store, and I felt a sense of profound well-being, of euphoria, that this woman had given herself to me and I rested on my elbows and started fucking her with long, slow strokes and she hooked her stockinged legs over the backs of my calves and met my thrusts with flicks of her hips.

She felt glorious! This was, for me, a new level of sexual feeling, of eroticism. It wasn't just that it was the first time I'd fucked a middle-aged lady, although that was a powerful driver, it was that she looked so good and smelled so good and felt so good and she reacted so perfectly to me and gave herself to me completely. I kissed her as I fucked her and she used her tongue on me and gripped my upper arms and thrust her hips at me and way too soon I began to feel the familiar tingle in my balls that presaged an approaching orgasm. But I couldn't have stopped. The feelings were too strong and on top of that I experienced a sudden primal urge to spend my seed inside her, to possess her with that final act of intimacy.

I came with a long, groaning sigh, the sensations almost too strong to bear. My cock throbbed and pumped spunk into Abigail's cunt and she pressed her mouth to mine as I came and held me tight in her arms.

We lay together in the afterglow and there was a tiny shyness between us, as though we were embarrassed to have shared such passion. Then I raised myself on one elbow and looked down on her in the darkness.

'That was extraordinary,' I said, softly.

'Yes,' she said, quietly, 'it was.'

I stroked her face and her hair, and a feeling of great tenderness came over me. I leaned down and kissed her softly and she smiled at me in the gloom.

'Can I ask you a question?' she breathed, and my throat constricted with anticipation.

'Of course.'

'Have you got a spare toothbrush?'

She giggled and I poked her in the ribs and we rolled together on the bed before Abigail said she needed to use the bathroom.

It felt unreal, that first night we slept together. I think I woke up every hour and looked over at the dark shape on the other side of the bed, breathing softly, and I could hardly believe she was here, with me, in my bed.

Eventually dawn lightened the sky outside and the room took shape and Abigail rolled over and opened her hazel eyes.

'What time is it?'

'About six-thirty. What time do you need to go?'

'Not yet.' She stretched and got out of bed and I saw her body for the first time in full daylight and I was enchanted. Her skin was tanned a light honey colour and was taught and smooth. Apart from the few lines on her face she could have passed for thirty. She paused, looking down at me, completely unselfconscious of her nakedness.

I shook my head, as though in disbelief. 'You really are beautiful.'

She smiled, as though embarrassed, and went out through the bedroom doorway and I heard the sound of water running in the bathroom as Abigail brushed her teeth. She came back five minutes later and slipped under the duvet and I reached for her and she grinned at me.

'Go and brush your teeth, then you can have me.'

I was back in record time, my erection waving in the air. Abigail was lying on top of the quilt, her legs parted, one hand stroking her pubic bush. I opened my arms and she came to me and we kissed, minty kisses and stroked each other and I revelled in her superb body and the warmth and scent of her skin.

'Lie down,' she whispered to me and I lay on my back and Abigail slid her long-fingered hand down my chest and took my rigid penis in her fingers, masturbating me slowly and lightly, smearing my secretions around my glans and over my shaft. The sensation was glorious. She was on one elbow, looking at me with a half-smile before closing her eyes and leaning to kiss me.

It was one of the most erotic moments of my life, lying there with Abigail as she wanked me gently and kissed my mouth, sliding her tongue between my lips. I was gasping with arousal and my throat was constricted with emotion. And neither had my middle-aged lover finished. After ten minutes or so of this exquisite treatment, she knelt upright and straddled me, guiding my cockhead to her cunt, rubbing it up and down her slit, adjusting her position slightly and then sinking down on to my meat, taking it all, her bush hard against my pubic bone. I looked up at her in awe, her beautiful body upright, her head back, eyes closed. Then she started fucking me, moving her hips slowly backward and forward, leaning back, her hands gripping my thighs.

I liked this position because I could last for ever. And I liked this position because my partner could bring herself to an orgasm by rubbing her pussy against me.

This morning Abigail was in no hurry and I marvelled at the sight of her sitting on me, her full breasts swaying as she rode me, slowly and evenly. I reached up and stroked her breasts, squeezing both her nipples until she gasped with pleasure and started riding me harder and faster.

As she approached her climax, she leaned over me, her hands on my chest, and thrust back and forth urgently, her sopping cunt mashed against my pelvis, her clitoris grinding against my pubes. She came with a great deep groan and collapsed into my arms and I held her and stroked her hair and felt her heart hammering in her chest.

She rolled off me and I knelt between her legs and entered her and fucked her hard and she encouraged me by crying 'yes, yes, do it hard!' and everything welled up inside me and my orgasm burst through my body and left me shaking and limp and now it was Abigail's turn to hold me and stroke my neck and cheeks and whisper in my ear.

'If it gets any better, I think my head's going to explode,' I said, when the world had had started to turn again and we were lying side by side, not touching.

'It's like you said last night,' Abigail said softly, 'extraordinary. I can't remember when I've come so much before. Maybe never.' I was flattered and thrilled to hear her talk so, but she continued.

'Tom, do you want to have a relationship with me? I'm sorry to ask like this after we've just made love but that's one of the perils of getting older, you have fewer illusions and I'm painfully aware that you're twenty-eight and I'm fifty-three and you're a young, good-looking lawyer and I'm a sales assistant in a DIY store.'

I took my time answering, not because I didn't know what to say - words are my business - but because I very much wanted Abigail to believe me.

'Nobody would bat an eyelid if it were the other way around,' I began. 'If I were fifty-three and you were twenty-eight everyone would be congratulating us. The answer is yes,' I said after a pause, 'I do want to have a relationship with you and I don't give a shit what other people think. You're by far the most interesting and warm person I've ever dated and that's without your obvious physical attributes. And actually, the only people whose approval I might seek are my parents and they won't judge. They'll be very happy for us.'

She rolled on her side and laid an arm across my chest. 'Thank you for saying that.'

'What about you?' I asked. 'Do you want a relationship with me?'

There was a tiny pause. 'Yes,' she said. 'I do. But...'

'Freya,' I guessed.

'Yes. I haven't told her how young you are yet.'

'Does she have a problem with you dating?'

'Not really,' replied Abigail, with some hesitancy. 'I have been asked out a lot, over the years, but it's not very often that I end up in bed with them. Not for years. But they've all been my age, or older. And besides, I don't always introduce them to my daughter.'

'So there is a problem?'

'No,' she said slowly, 'it's just... Look, come over to dinner next Saturday and meet Freya. I want you to meet her.'

There was some subtext here which I couldn't decipher, but I was thrilled that Abigail was showing commitment by introducing me to her daughter.

Shortly afterwards we got up and had breakfast and Abigail called a taxi - she wouldn't let me drive her home.

'What are you doing for the rest of the weekend?' I asked.

'Breaking the news to Freya,' she replied.

We didn't see each other that next week, although we spoke on the phone most nights, and they were warm and far-ranging conversations as we began the long journey of really getting to know one another. I asked Abigail how her daughter had taken the news of my youth and she said that Freya was surprised, but not totally against the idea. She also said that her daughter was looking forward to meeting me, which sent a little frisson of nervousness through me and I told myself not to be so silly and sensitive; everything would be fine.

Saturday seemed to arrive with indecent haste. Not that I wasn't looking forward to seeing Abigail, but I was undoubtedly nervous about the daughter.

I shaved and dressed carefully, making sure that my attire was neither too young nor an attempt to cover my youth. In the end I settled for chinos and a polo shirt and tan moccasins.

I parked in the road outside Abigail's house. Her car was in the drive alongside a little sportscar that I assumed was Freya's. Abigail opened the door as I approached and we kissed briefly and she led me into the kitchen where I presented her with flowers and wine. She was dressed in the same cocktail dress she'd had on last weekend and it occurred to me that she probably didn't have a very extensive wardrobe. Behind me was the sound of someone coming down the stairs and I turned to see a young lady come through the kitchen doorway.

Freya was very obviously her mother's daughter; she had the same facial structure and the same build. The same full lips and slightly hooked nose. But she wasn't as tall as her mum and her hair was jet black instead of chestnut and hung to the middle of her back in a luxuriant ponytail.

'You must be Tom,' she said, holding out her hand. 'I've been looking forward to meeting you.'

'Likewise,' I replied, taking her hand and feeling her grip mine.

Abigail, who'd been standing watching us, picked up a bottle of wine and suggested we go into the lounge at the front of the house.

We drank that first bottle a little too quickly, no doubt we were all a little nervous. I sat on the settee next to Abigail and Freya sat on the single chair. The conversation was a bit stilted but when Abigail excused herself to go and attend to the dinner, Freya seemed to relax and started asking me questions about my work and my family. She was lively and intelligent, with a quick smile and I warmed to her and asked her about herself and her job. She worked in an estate agent's, she told me, although she had aspirations to go back to college and train as a surveyor.

Dinner was a great success, the food was varied and well prepared and the conversation flowed richly and easily as we delved into the second bottle of red. Afterwards Freya shooed her mum into the lounge saying, 'Tom and I will do the dishes.'

This, I suspected, was when I would be interrogated as to my intentions regarding her mother and Freya lost no time in getting to the point.

'It seems funny, mum having a boyfriend who's only a couple of years older than me. You are her boyfriend, right?'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'I think that's how I would describe myself.'

'She is fifty-three.'

'Yes,' I said. 'I know. Are you saying that you don't approve?'

She leaned back against the kitchen sink and looked at me. She was wearing black trousers and a pale-blue satin blouse. The act of leaning back stretched the material over her bosom, which was full, like her mother's.

'No, not at all. I think you're making her very happy. It's just a bit weird.'

These words should have comforted me but I was seeing a subtlety different Freya from the one who'd sat with us at dinner. Her self-assurance seemed to have increased. Her body language expressed control, even mild dominance and her questions were delivered in a rather assertive manner. While I hadn't made an enemy, it was clear that I still had work to do to win Abigail's daughter over. So I didn't rise to her unspoken challenge, instead I deflected her manner with answers she couldn't find fault with and massaged gently what I imagined was her ego.

The dishes washed and dried and put away, Freya disappeared upstairs and I went back into the lounge and sat down beside Abigail, who gave me a funny look, enquiring, nervous perhaps.

I smiled at her. 'We had a great chat. You have a very lovely daughter.'

Abigail smiled back, seemingly reassured. 'I'm glad you like her.'

'By the way,' I said, 'am I staying over?' I'd assumed that I was, although we hadn't discussed it, and I'd got an overnight bag in the back of the car.

Abigail's face clouded. 'Would you mind if you didn't, Tom...' She hesitated. 'You do understand, don't you?'

I did understand but I was a bit pissed off that Abigail hadn't made it clear to me before I arrived, and certainly before I started drinking red wine. Ok, I'd only had about three glasses over two and a half hours, and I'd had a big meal, but I was probably still over the drink-driving limit.

But I was falling in love with Abigail and so I just smiled and said: 'I'll walk home. It's only a couple of miles.'

And so we ended up having another bottle of red and Freya came downstairs and we talked into the small hours and I became rather drunk; I think we all did. And through the alcohol-distorted lens of my eye I saw Freya take centre-stage in Abigail's little lounge and dominate the conversation, often talking over her mother and sometimes over me. And I heard her put her mother down a few times, which her mother seemed to accept as normal behaviour.

I wanted to say something to Abigail, to ask her why she let her daughter talk to her that way in public, but of course I didn't and Freya never gave me an opportunity by going to the toilet or the kitchen and leaving us alone. At one point Abigail went to the downstairs bathroom and shortly after that my bladder expressed its dissatisfaction with its contents and I asked Freya where the facilities were upstairs.

'First left,' she told me. 'And mind the hot water, it's scalding.'

I clumped upstairs, feeling quite intoxicated, and relieved myself and a few minutes later I joined Abigail and her daughter downstairs and shortly after that I said I ought to be going and we stood and went into the hall and I kissed Freya's cheek, and she kissed mine and I gave Abigail a kiss on the lips while her daughter stood watching us and then I was out in the cool, early morning air and setting a strong and drunken pace for my house in the centre of town.

It was about four am by the time I got to bed and I slept heavily until eleven. Even then it took a long time to fully regain my senses, but a hot shower and a strong coffee helped. I took a second cup into my study and sat at my desk and thought about the previous evening. I felt a mild sense of disquiet. The Abigail I knew wasn't assertive or anything like that, but she deferred to her daughter in almost everything in an odd mother/daughter role reversal. Then there was the bed situation.