Abigail's Secret

After I'd finished in the upstairs bathroom I'd poked about upstairs. It wasn't a very admirable thing to do but I was drunk and I was curious and I could hear mother and daughter talking together in the lounge. The other four doors off the landing were all closed but I opened them as quietly as I could and poked my head into each room.

The first was hardly big enough to warrant the description "bedroom" and was clearly being used as a study, with bookcases and a desk under the window. The second door was just a cupboard, containing the hot water tank and shelves of towels and bedding. The third was a double bedroom, but it had a deserted feel and the bed wasn't made up. Which left the fourth door.

This opened onto another double bedroom at the front of the house and was presumably Abigail's room. There was a queen-sized bed and wardrobes and a dressing table and the decoration and bed linen were conspicuously feminine. The head of the bed was flanked by matching bedside cabinets and there was a book on each one. I could see the title of the nearest - Portnoy's Complaint, by Philip Roth.

I was puzzled. Did Abigail and her daughter sleep together? Why would they do that when there was another double room? But they must be sharing that bed because I knew she hadn't read, and wasn't currently reading, Portnoy's Complaint.

In the early afternoon I walked back to Abigail's house to retrieve my car. Freya's sportscar was absent, which I was quite glad about, but Abigail's hatchback was there and she answered the door and gave me a huge smile and asked me in.

In the hall we came together and kissed properly, arms around each other, my hands stroking her back and cupping her bum cheeks, hers massaging my shoulders and pressing her nails lightly into my deltoids, our mouths fastened together, eyes closed, tongues entwined. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans and I slid my hands into her back pockets and squeezed her buttocks.

After a long time we broke for air and she led me into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

'How are you feeling today? We did have rather a lot to drink. Did you get home alright?'

'I'm ok,' I replied, sitting down at the little kitchen table while Abigail made tea and, putting a mug down in front of me, sat down opposite.

'Your daughter's quite an interesting person,' I began. 'Quite... assertive. I was a bit surprised.'

'Yes,' said Abigail, slowly, 'her father and I gave her a rather free reign as she was growing up. Probably to compensate for the problems in our marriage. As a result she's rather... well, spoilt, I suppose. I hope she wasn't rude to you.'

'No, no, not at all. But I was a bit surprised at the way she spoke to you.'

Abigail said nothing and we sipped our tea in an awkward silence while I made up my mind.

'Why do you and your daughter sleep in the same bed?' I said, at length. I don't mean to pry but I used the upstairs toilet last night and I got the wrong door and... well, it's obvious there are two people sleeping in the front bedroom.'

Abigail went white and I felt my stomach lurch. What was going on?

She wiped a hand across her forehead and steadied herself by breathing deeply and slowly.

'What's the matter?' I asked, deeply concerned.

Abigail was silent for about half a minute, still breathing slowly and deeply. Then she looked up at me and there was a world of pain in her hazel eyes.

'I need to talk to you, Tom,' she began.

'Of course,' I said, now very concerned.

'Not here,' she said, quietly. 'Can we go for a walk?'

In silence we got into my car and I drove us to a local country park and parked under a spreading beech tree. We didn't say anything on the fifteen-minute journey. We got out and I locked the car and we set out on a grassy track that led to a bracken-covered hill in the distance. I said nothing, waiting for Abigail to get whatever it was off her chest. I was expecting a conversation about the difficulty of bringing up a spirited girl as a single parent; nothing prepared me for her opening statement.

'Just after my husband left, about five years ago, my daughter seduced me. We had sex together.' Abigail said this quietly, matter of factly, staring at the ground as she walked. My intuition told me to say nothing, although there were many things I wanted to ask. She continued: 'I'm not going to make excuses for my behaviour, but I was in a very dark place at that time. I'd been rejected by a man whom I still loved very much and who had walked out on us with barely a word. My parents were both dead and I was struggling financially. I suppose in today's terminology I was very vulnerable.

'And my daughter took advantage of my vulnerability. Over a period of weeks she broke me down, weakened my resistance. It started with a lot of hugs and holding hands. Then one evening she kissed me and... Oh God, Tom, I didn't push her away. I needed some love, some reassurance. After that we kissed a lot and then she started stroking me and touching me and I was appalled and I loved it at the same time.' Abigail started weeping and I put my arm around her and drew her close and she cried into my shoulder and I held her tight against me.

'Then one Saturday afternoon we went all the way. Freya took me to bed and made love to me and it felt so wrong and so good.'

'And you're still sleeping together?' I asked, quietly. It was the first thing I'd said since leaving Abigail's house.

'Yes,' she whispered.

'And still enjoying it?' I asked, a little cruelly.

'Oh yes! It's wonderful!'

'Better than us?' I asked, a shard of jealousy piercing my viscera.

'No!' said Abigail, emphatically. 'Nothing could be as good as that!'

'I love you, Abigail,' I said suddenly and she wept again and held me and her tears ran down my cheeks.

'Where do we go now?' I asked when she'd stopped crying and blown her nose.

'Do you really love me, Tom?' she asked, her eyes red and puffy.

'Yes.'

'You're not just feeling sorry for me because I'm so fucked up?' Her use of the expletive was shocking; Abigail never swore.

'No. I think it's the real thing, as far as I can tell.'

'I feel the same way,' she said, wiping her eyes with a hand and smearing mascara across her cheek.

'So where do we go now,' I repeated, my heart bursting with gladness, her confession of incestuous sex seeming temporarily irrelevant. 'What would Freya say if you moved in with me?' I hadn't thought this through but the afternoon was crazy so why not?

'There's more,' said Abigail.

'More?'

'We talked last night. This morning. After you'd gone.'

I was all ears. 'What did Freya say?'

Abigail seemed to pause, collecting her thoughts. 'You remember I said that I'd dated quite a bit after my husband walked out but they were all my age or older and I didn't sleep with many of them. Well, only one, actually.'

'I remember,' I said.

Abigail gulped. 'I don't know how to say this.'

'Go on,' I said, gently.

'Freya never bothered about my boyfriends, such as they were. She didn't see them as a threat, I suppose. But it's different with you. She fancies you. She wants the three of us to go to bed together.'

Ten conflicting and stomach-churning thoughts crashed through my brain simultaneously and I was lost for words, a rare state of affairs for a lawyer. 'But...' I said, and then couldn't think of anything to follow it. 'You're not serious?' I asked, eventually, though I knew she was.

By this time, although both of us were oblivious to the landscape, we'd reached the foot of the hill, where a wooden bench had been placed in someone's memory. We sat down and held hands and looked out over the fields and hedgerows.

'This is fucking insane,' I said, at last, although I didn't usually swear in front of Abigail.

'I'm sorry Tom. I'm so sorry. But I had to tell you. And if you walk away now I'll understand.'

'I'm not going anywhere,' I said, firmly. And I wasn't. My love for this very special woman transcended minor peccadilloes like sleeping with her daughter. So what! 'Move in with me,' I said again. 'Freya's an estate agent, she can afford to run your house. And she's a big girl, now,' I added.'

We walked for hours, talking and kissing. We didn't discuss Abigail's incestuous relationship with Freya any further, that bombshell had detonated and the reverberations were still bouncing of the distant hills, but for now we discussed us, and our love and what we would do together.

Later we returned to her house and Abigail packed an overnight bag and left a note for her daughter saying she'd be away a couple of days and then she followed me to my house. Once inside I pressed her up against the front door and kissed her long and hard and she kissed me back and thrust her hips into mine. We were both very, very aroused and we stumbled up the stairs to my bedroom, ripped our clothes off and threw ourselves onto the bed.

I feasted on my middle-aged lover's superb body, sucking her nipples, biting her breasts, kissing her entire body, pressing my face into her tawny snatch and parting her labia with my tongue, tasting her cunt juices, smelling her arousal. And there was, I confess, an added impetus, an added note of eroticism as I imagined Freya's black hair splashed over her mother's thighs and stomach as she tongued her to a climax. I fancy Abigail must have been having similar thoughts, although that could just have been my male ego, because she was wild that afternoon. She was a superb partner in bed but that Sunday she added a new dimension of abandonment, biting me and raking me with her nails, sucking my cock with noisy slurps and, at one point, licking her finger and sliding it deep into my anus.

I came as she did that, into her mouth. The second of three orgasms I had that afternoon. We fucked for over an hour and afterwards we slept in each other's arms, spent physically and emotionally.

Abigail didn't move in with me, not then, but she started coming over and staying at the weekend and usually for a night midweek. It was a period of intense intimacy, both inside and outside the bedroom. Our lovemaking reached new heights and we experimented with toys and bondage and role-playing. And sometimes, as we kissed and I stroked her clitoris and she groaned and flexed her leg muscles and sank her painted nails into my flesh, I would tease her by asking what she and Freya did together and she would get embarrassed and coy. But sometimes, if she were really aroused, she would tell me, in tight, gasping sentences as her climax approached, how Freya used her tongue and fingers and how she licked her daughter's breasts and cunt and even her anus.

The effect on me, as you may imagine, was deep and fundamental and I played Abigail's confession on an endless loop in my head: "She fancies you. She wants the three of us to go to bed together." I imagined her body, young and taut, with her mother's full breasts and a jet-black pubic bush, stark against her white loins.

Eventually, and inevitably, I raised the subject with Abigail.

I tried to be circumspect and approach the subject tangentially, or at least I thought that's what I was doing. But that was the naivete of youth; Abigail knew exactly what I was driving at almost from the moment I opened my mouth.

'So you want to have a threesome with my daughter and me?' she asked before I'd really got going. She didn't look angry. More tired. We were sitting on my leather sofa after dinner one Sunday evening, a couple of months after her shock disclosure.

'I just thought I'd raise the subject with you,' I tried, diplomatically.

'But that's what you want, isn't it?'

'Well, yes, I suppose so.'

'Aren't I enough?'

'Of course you are,' I told her, cravenly. 'You only have to say "no".'

She sighed. 'It's alright, Tom. I do get what the attraction is, and after all, I'm sleeping with two people.' She paused and sighed again. 'Freya's mentioned it as well, several times.'

My guts churned as I digested this piece of intelligence. 'Has she?'

'Yes. And using that logic, too, that I'm sleeping with two people so what's the problem?'

'So what is the problem?' I ventured.

'The problem is that I'm the one who'll get hurt. I'm the fifty-three-year-old. I'm the one who stacks shelves for a living!'

'You think I'll run off with Freya?'

'Well, it's a possibility, isn't it? Afterall, in twenty years' time I'll be seventy something and you'll still not be fifty. Nor will Freya. And I presume you want to have a family at some stage...'

I hadn't heard this bitterness before and I went to her and held her, expecting tears. But there were none.

'Ok,' she said, firmly, 'if that's what you both want, we'll do it.'

'Are you sure,' I asked, my heart racing with excitement. 'Don't you want to think about it?'

'What do you think I've been thinking about for the past few weeks!'

I didn't say anything further then and when we eventually went to bed we didn't make love, the first time that I could recall that happening, or not happening. But Abigail came over on the following Tuesday evening and I gave her flowers and took her out for a meal and she dressed up for me in stockings and suspenders and painted her nails my favourite red. And when we went to bed it was electric. Abigail was at her most erotic, riding me mercilessly, sucking my meat into her red-lipped mouth, even tonguing my anus and kissing me straight after. I was weak with desire as I lay on top of her and thrust my rigid meat into her sopping pussy.

'I've got some news for you,' she said, smiling up at me as I pushed into her. 'Freya wants us to get together this weekend.' I felt my balls tingle and my orgasm begin to build. 'I thought we could all go to that nice French restaurant in town and then go home and all go to bed together. Would you like that, Tom? Would you like to put your big, hard cock into my daughter's pussy? She wants it very much.'

At that point I exploded inside her with a gasping groan and pumped my hot seed deep into my lover's cunt.

I picked the two ladies up at six o'clock on Saturday evening. My heart was thumping as I drew up to the house and when they emerged through the front doorway I thought I was going to faint. Both wore figure-hugging dresses, Freya's a deep blue and Abigail's a striking red that matched her lips and nails. Both wore black stockings and both had applied their makeup carefully and artfully. Freya wore her long, black hair piled up on top of her head. I blinked in disbelief. Was I really going to go to bed with these two visions later on this evening?

The meal was marginally above average for a restaurant but the service was good and the wine flowed, although I stuck to one glass only this time. The ladies looked enchanting in the candlelight and I kept sneaking looks at Freya's breasts and wondering what they'd feel like in my hands and once she caught me looking and gave me a smile and smoothed her hands over her bosom.

The air of unreality continued into the dessert and on the journey back to Abigail's house until we found ourselves standing in the lounge and looking at one another. Abigail looked nervous; I felt nervous. Freya looked composed.

'Does anyone want a nightcap?' asked Abigail, with a rather forced smile.

'No I think I've had enough, for the moment,' said her daughter, slowly. 'We can always have a drink afterwards.'

The "afterwards" hung in the air for a few seconds before Freya stepped up to me and put her arms around my neck, pulling my face down to hers. Her lips were full and soft and she tasted of coffee. Her mouth opened and I felt her tongue dip into my mouth and flick backwards and forwards. She was pressed against me and I could feel her breasts against my chest and the swell of her pubic mound through the thin material of her dress. I put my arms around her and felt my cock harden, acutely aware that Abigail was watching us.

Freya must have been aware too because after thirty seconds or so of this intensely erotic kissing she broke off. 'That was very nice,' she smiled at me. Then she turned to her mother and held out her arms and the two ladies came together and kissed long and deeply, heads and tongues moving in tandem like the experienced lovers they were. My penis was ragingly hard as I witnessed this display, my head full of visions of entangled bodies and sweat-damp skin.

Breaking off from her mother, Freya held her hands out to both of us. 'Shall we go to bed?' she said, simply, leading us both into the hall.

Upstairs, in the bedroom, Freya again took charge. She told her mother to sit on the bed and then she undressed me. She did it slowly, kissing my chest when she'd removed my shirt and running her long fingers down my arms. Telling me to sit on a chair while she removed my shoes and socks and kissed my toes. Then it was my trousers and, finally, she knelt before me and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my underpants and pulled them carefully over my erection and down my legs. She looked up at me with a gentle smile and, taking my cock in one hand, took my swollen, dripping glans in her mouth, still looking up at me.

Abigail watched fascinated from the bed, sucking on one of her index fingers in unconscious imitation of her daughter.

'Go and lie on the bed, Tom,' said Freya, quietly, releasing my cock. 'Now it's your turn, mother.'

I was strangely glad that Freya called Abigail "mother". The incestuous reference was highly arousing, I decided. Abigail stood before her daughter while Freya unzipped her dress and eased it off her shoulders and arms and onto the floor. Then she unclasped her mother's bra and pulled that off, allowing her heavy breasts to swing free. Freya stroked the big orbs and took the nipples between finger and thumb, squeezing hard and causing her mother to wince and gasp. Then she knelt down and kissed the damp gusset of her mother's knickers, before pulling them down over her stockings to reveal Abigail's tawny bush, the labia puffy and open and glinting with the moisture of her arousal. Freya kissed the bush softly and flicked her tongue against her mother's cunt lips. Then she stood.

'I want to watch you two fucking,' she said, taking the chair and placing it next to the bed and sitting herself down on it.

There was just one low-wattage bedside lamp on, but I could see Abigail blush in the gloom. Nevertheless, she crawled onto the bed and lay next to me and we kissed and stroked each other, aroused, but aware of Freya's scrutiny. It felt a bit like a porn show as I fondled and sucked her breasts and nipples but there was no doubt Abigail was turned on by the fact it was in front of her daughter and she urged me on with little gestures and whispers.

'Now eat me,' she said, eventually and I knelt between her legs and lowered my head to her hairy cunt.

I've always loved eating pussy, and none more so than Abigail's. Her labia were neat and full and juicy and her secretions tasted like salted nectar. I buried my face in her cunt and lapped and licked and sucked her clit and slid a finger into her cunt hole, then two, then three and she arched her back and pressed my face into her with her hands and moaned in pleasure.

I was using my tongue and lips and nose to stimulate her and she was leaking juices down my chin and her perineum, urging my tongue deeper and telling me to suck her clit. Carried away by the moment, I did something I'd never done with Abigail before, pushing my long middle finger into her anus as far as it would go, and feeling her sphincter grasp me.

She came then, with a low-pitched groan, shaking her head from side to side, eyes closed, lips parted. I took my finger from her arse and entered her in one hard thrust. Her eyes opened wide:

'Oh God, yes! Fuck me, Tom! Fuck me really hard! In front of my daughter!'