House Party

We'd barely made it through the doorway before Zoe ran up to my wife Mary, threw her arms round her neck, and clung on as if she'd not seen her in years.

Mary hugged her back, stroking her long black hair. "I've missed you too, kitten," she said. Bonny leapt over, her tail wagging, almost knocking them over. I knelt and stroked her head before she could jump up on me and get her muddy paws all over my best shirt.

"We're in the garden!" Alison shouted. "Come on through!"

I snagged a beer on the way through, slapped away my eldest boy's hand as he reached for one for himself, and headed out into the glorious sunshine that was peering into the tiny brown-grassed garden of their council house.

We'd been friends with Alison's family for years; our kids met up at school and had grown up together. Everything had been great, until Alison's ex-husband's legendary drinking turned nasty. She loved Russell, but the threats and violence had escalated. The police seemed powerless or disinterested, but Alison and the girls were terrified. One night, while the scumbag was ten pints into a session down at the local pub, we packed as much of their stuff into our cars as we could, and drove them down to family in London, abandoning their lives in our once-idyllic town. Now, three years and a few mould-infested rental properties later, they were finally getting back on their feet.

Zoe had finally broken away from Mary, and caught me in the garden. She grabbed me from behind and wrapped her arms around me. Awkwardly, I felt her very female figure press into my back. Tactfully I pulled her laced fingers apart, and stepped out of her embrace. "Hey, kitten," I said. "You okay?" Through Mary - who follows all the girls' social media - I knew she'd just been through a horrid break-up; her long-term boyfriend had been cheating on her for months with her best friend. At a stroke, she'd lost her lover and her support network.

She looked up at me, and shrugged. "Okay, I guess." She looked at her feet, avoiding my gaze. Her black hair, highlighted with blue flashes, fell in front of her eyes.

"Chin up," I said, gently pushing her head back with a crooked finger under her jaw. I swept the loose hair back and tucked it behind her ears.

Mary and Alison wandered over. "You know what, fuck the pair of them," Alison said. "You're better than them both. You'll be with someone hotter by next week."

"Damn right gorgeous," Mary added. "With a figure like yours, you'll be beating them off with a stick."

Zoe looked embarrassed, and sidled closer to Mary. Alison smiled. "Well, you don't get it from me, that's for sure." In her past life, before her ex-husband knocked her up, she'd been a dancer; once pregnant she'd had to give up what could have been a promising career as a professional. Alison was short and slim, not exactly flat-chested but nothing to boast about. Unlike her eldest daughter, who more closely resembled a younger version of my wife. Zoe affectionately referred to Mary as "my mammary-mammy". Heaven knows Mary had enough to spare. Those genes must have come from Russell's side of the family; Julia was a waif, like her mother - and it was a constant battle for Alison to stop her youngest from stealing her clothes.

"Will you please stop growing, or you'll out-boob me!" Mary joked. Zoe looked embarrassed, but Alison just laughed.

"Those boobs are ridiculous; I swear I'm getting her new bras every fucking month."

I shuffled away. I mean, what was I - a forty-something man, an honorary uncle if not father-figure to the girl - supposed to say? "I agree, what nice big tits your teenaged daughter has"? I mean, talk about inappropriate. I suppose she was a woman now, her eighteenth birthday was months ago, but it still felt a bit icky to me.

Unfortunately, the conversation had sowed the seed in the wrong part of my brain, and being honest it was fertile ground. There was no denying she was attractive; stunning, even. It had been awkward, that week when Russell had broken Alison's ribs and the girls stayed with us while she recovered in hospital. I was accustomed to walking round the house naked in the night; now, I had to cover up. But they didn't seem so concerned with modesty; I'd accidentally catch a glimpse of skin and lace before clamping my eyes shut. Or I'd assumed it was an accident - they were just kids, after all. I was glad when they could go back home, so I no longer had to avert my eyes.

But Zoe was now an adult, turned eighteen half a year back, A-levels done and passed with distinction just before their recent summer holiday. She was undeniably feminine. Improper and inappropriate though I knew it was, my eyes continued to flick across to catch a glimpse of cotton pulled tight over her chest, or a peachy arse fighting the constraints of blue denim. Inappropriate not for her age - we'd both be legal, and between consenting adults age is just a number, onlookers be damned - but because of our past relationship, with me having played the role of informal guardian in lieu of her father.

But then I'd catch her eating - a hotdog, a banana, an ice-pole, somehow it was always something phallic - and my thoughts would run straight to the gutter. Was she looking at me funny, as she slid that ice across her tongue? I chided myself, guilt eating me up inside, and downed another glass of red. But my eyes knew no shame.

///

I sat on the sofa, in the dark, scrolling endlessly through social media.

Mary and I had forgotten to arrange which of us was going to drive home; by the time we realised, we'd both had a few too many. The kids were all bundled into the girls' bedroom. Mary and I had a sofa each in the lounge.

I couldn't get comfortable - I was far too tall to lay on the sofa. I was hoping that if I stayed awake long enough, numbing my brain with shit off the internet, that I'd just fall asleep sitting down. I looked enviously over at Mary, curled up and dead to the world. That woman could sleep anywhere, through anything.

The lounge door creaked open, and a head poked around. Zoe shuffled in, wrapped in a duvet. She looked over at Mary, realised she was asleep, and looked a little disappointed. Then she glanced round at the space beside me. "Can I join you?" she asked. I nodded, and she smiled. She dropped the duvet onto the floor, and plopped herself down onto the sofa next to me.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"My boys keeping you up?"

"Nah, they're zonked. Bloody Julia keeps fidgeting and kicking me in the ribs."

The sisters were supposed to be top-and-tailing in Zoe's bed, my boys doing the same in Julia's. It had worked when they were all a lot younger, but really they were too tall for that sort of thing nowadays.

Her well-worn and beloved cotton nightie was too short for her, and so as she sat down it rose up over her bum. I couldn't help but notice the pink lace of her French knickers before she tucked her legs up onto the sofa, in front of her chest, and pulled the nightie over the top and down to her ankles, sadly hiding her curvaceous figure.

I tried my best to ignore her. But again, my eyes were my enemy. I could see the swell of her breasts, pressed out by her knees, casting shadows by the glow of her phone screen. I forced myself to look at my own device, making sure to close the more inappropriate feeds I'd been browsing. This was not the time to be caught aroused, and my animal nature needed no further encouragement to act inappropriately.

She scrolled on, seeming agitated. I saw her face, deadpan, but lip trembling. A single line of mascara ran down one cheek.

"Hey, kitten, come here," I said, and she slumped against my side. "It's okay, it's okay," I said, as I wrapped my arm round her shoulder. She slipped her thumb into her mouth, like she had when she was a little girl, and started stroking her nose with her index finger.

I could feel her shoulders shaking. "Sssh, it's okay, I'm here, you're safe." She sniffed, and buried her head in my shoulder.

Her phone fell into my lap. The motion and brightness drew my eye. It was a picture of a sexy woman in a tiny bikini, laying out on a towel on a sun lounger. The woman had a great figure - nice full firm breasts, lifted as her arms were hidden over her head, yet presented sexily in the top, and shapely thighs slightly crossed to conceal yet somehow highlight the space between. A toned stomach was decorated with a tasteful belly piercing. On the table beside her, a fancy cocktail with fruit and a paper umbrella.

My eye ran down the legs of this beauty, down to the comments underneath. There were a few likes... But it was the words that caught my attention.

You fat slag.

Fugly bitch.

What a fucking porker.

Why don't you save us some space and kill yourself?

I scrolled down; the hateful comments went on and on. Some nice comments occasionally - you go girl, sexy lady, that kind of thing - but the tone was overwhelmingly negative.

Nothing makes me angrier than bullying. People on the internet could be so cruel. The woman in the photo was gorgeous. Sure, she wasn't stick thin. But what man wanted that? Give me a woman with some flesh on her bones any day.

I scrolled back up, revealing the rest of the picture that I'd missed. Looked into the face of this gorgeous woman.

Zoe's face.

The photo had been taken on their holiday, the one she'd just come back from. Where she'd been while her best friend was sleeping with her boyfriend. I took another look at the names against those hateful comments - some I recognised as friends of her friend, of her boyfriend's friends, of people I knew from back home.

I quit the app and dropped the phone back onto my lap, angry and ashamed. Angry with the haters, but angry too with myself. Ashamed I'd got semi-hard looking at the picture.

I kissed her head, stroked her arm, trying to clear my thoughts. In the LED light I saw the beautiful rose tattoos on her arms. Saw the wrist scars underneath that they'd been designed to conceal. If I'd known Russell was hurting her, that he'd made her feel so bad she'd do that to herself, I'd've killed him myself. Still, he was in prison now, where he couldn't hurt any of them anymore.

It wasn't fair. Why should so much shit happen to such an undeserving, sweet girl?

"It's not true," I whispered. "You're beautiful. You're my gorgeous sweet little kitten. They're jealous of you." Dammit, Mary was so much better at this than me. I was a practical man; I was skilled at working with my hands, not my words. I thought about waking my wife, but the quivering had eased, and Zoe was already dropping off against my shoulder.

///

I woke with a start. Something was crushing my hand, and there was pressure on my legs. I was sitting - why was I sitting?

My eyes flicked open, but struggled to make out anything in the darkness, blurred with sleep. There was a head on my lap; dark hair, sucking her thumb. Then I remembered.

My hand was trapped between her thighs; it must have fallen there when she'd laid across my legs. I looked at her face again; her eyes were open, looking at me.

She was rocking her pelvis, ever so gently. I could feel her soft flesh rubbing over my knuckles. Feel the dampness of her satin and lace knickers. She pulled at her nightie, pulled it tight over her chest.

I couldn't let this continue. "Kitten..." I began.

"Touch me," she said, around her thumb.

My eyes flicked up, looking across the room to the other sofa. Mary was fast asleep, thank god. I hated to think what would happen if she saw this.

"I can't."

"You already are. Please, stroke me." She lifted her legs, feet on the sofa, spread her knees. "I'm so fucking horny; I've not had sex for weeks." She looked me in the eyes, biting her lip. "Help me. Please help me get off, it's not enough when I do myself, it's driving me mad!"

God, she looked so hot. The nightie pulled tight over her huge tits, creased between them, hard nipples pushing through the material. She saw me looking, started rubbing her breasts, moaning. I realised my fingers were slowly curling and releasing, in time with her fingers over her nipple, stroking her pussy lips through the soaking wet satin.

"I mustn't," I said, even as I watched the lust burn in her eyes before they rolled back. I felt her twitching as the first orgasm took her. She really was horny. My hard cock twitched, and she noticed.

"I know you want me."

I tried to deny it. She was vulnerable, and I should be protecting her, not taking advantage.

"I see you looking at me. I've known for years that you want to fuck me." She turned her head, kissed my cock through my trousers. "I want you, too. Please, no more teasing. Get those thick fingers inside me."

"Kitten, this isn't right..."

"Does it feel wrong?"

I hesitated, then shook my head.

"Please." She put her hand over mine, started pushing my fingers inside her. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I know what I want. What I need."

Her pussy was shaved smooth, and her lips were slick with her juices. My middle fingers slid inside her, hot and slippery and tight. I beckoned with those fingers, curling them against her g-spot as I slowly worked them deeper inside, flicking her clit with my thumb as I went.

Her head fell back, mouth open, eyes closed, as she succumbed to the pleasure. One hand on her breast, massaging it, while she brought the other to her mouth and sucked her thumb. The gesture was at once incongruous and strangely erotic. I watched her finger stroke her nose as she suckled, and my hand moved in rhythm, stroking her inside and out in a gentle pinching motion. I watched her cheeks pulse and her throat working as she sucked her thumb, tongue escaping her mouth and licking the fleshy base of her thumb where It met her hand. I became fascinated by the silver ball of her tongue piercing, rolling over the slick flesh of her hand.

She lay across me, gorgeous and sexy, regardless of the tatty old cotton nightie. I longed to tear it off her, to see her in all her glory. I thought back to that photo on her phone, of her tight young body catching the sun, and my hand drove her pussy harder as I imagined what I'd've done to her if I'd met her as a younger man. Memories of my youth with Mary, fingering her like this in the back row of the cinema.

I ran my eyes up from her pussy, over the fabric pulled tight over her tits, back to her face. She had this look in her eyes, of admiration, adoration. Then her mouth fell to an O and her thumb slid away, forgotten, as I brought her over one more time.

"Oh god, oh fuck..."

I was making her feel like that. Me! The guilt was gone, now, replaced by pride. I still had it. And I was just getting started. I stopped the smooth gentle stroking inside her, and started to slide my fingers in and out, pulling back so just the tips rested inside her entrance, then plunging down to my palm.

"Fucking hell!" she cried. I looked up at Mary; still asleep, thank god. But Zoe's foul mouth just drove me to greater efforts. I'd not heard her use such coarse language, and it brought the animal out in me.

"Fuck yeah! Pound my cunt!"

I drove my fingers into her, the pace frantic, almost like I wanted to hurt her. She took it, urging me on, reaching down to flick her clit as I thrust into her. Her moans were getting louder now; the rational part of me worried she'd wake the others, even while the beast in me wanted the world to know it was me that was bringing this hot teen so much raw pleasure.

The sensible part of my brain won, just, and I put my hand over her mouth. The reaction was electric; she bucked and thrashed on my lap in ecstasy, and soon another orgasm tore through her. If anything, it made her moan all the louder; she parted her lips and licked at the palm of my hand.

"You need to be quiet," I whispered.

"Fucking... can't..." she whimpered.

I pulled her hand up to her mouth, and she swallowed her thumb, sucking hard on it as if her life depended on it. I watched her nostrils flare as she struggled for breath. But I couldn't stop myself pounding her pussy with my hand. She'd have to beg me to stop, now. She sprayed my hand, my arm, squirting her pleasure over me and the sofa. That cushion was ruined, we'd have to turn it over once we were done. She squirmed on my lap, rubbing my cock with her head. I wouldn't be able to take that for much longer.

"Fuck, you're really going for that thumb," I said. Her cheeks were flushed red, and drawn in with the suction.

"I'd rather it was your cock," she replied.

I opened my mouth to tell her that could never happen. But instead, the words at the front of my mind slipped out. "So do I!"

Time stood still. Why the fuck did I say that? How do I take those words back?

There was a look in her eye - triumph? - and she rolled onto her side, started undoing my trousers.

"No, kitten, that was a mistake, don't," I said. But my voice lacked conviction. I knew we had to stop. But I didn't want to. I wanted to grab her head and force my dick deep into her throat. I wanted to fuck her pretty young face until she was choking on my cock.

The strength of my desire scared me. "Zoe, no," I pleaded, as she pulled my throbbing erection from my trousers and licked her way up the shaft. Her firm breasts pressed into my thighs, the round globes straining at the fading cotton of the nightie. I wanted to tear it off her and grab that young flesh, bury my face in her cleavage.

"Make me stop," she said, licking the pre-cum from the veined hardness. She looked me in the eye as she worked up towards my tip. I raised my hand to her cheek, stroked under her eye with my thumb... and guided her lips over the head of my cock as she leant forwards.

Even as I drew her closer over me, I whispered "We mustn't!" But it was futile; as her lips closed around the tip of my cock I lost all capacity for rational thought. I could only feel.

And It felt incredible.

With the base of my dick in her fist, she slowly and gently wanked me off into her mouth; her lips tight round the head and her pierced tongue teasing that sensitive spot underneath. Eyes wide, she looked up at me, lips curling to a smile in the corners as she watched the reactions cross my face.

I couldn't speak, couldn't make my mouth form words. I just let out a long low growl that turned into a moan. I stroked her face, and cupped my hand round the back of her head, as my own fell back and my eyes closed.

For a time, I was lost in pleasure, as she worked her talented lips, tongue and hand over me. It was as if she anticipated my every need, heightening the sensation then easing back, keeping me on the edge.

"She's good, isn't she."

My eyes flicked open in shock and terror. I recognised the voice, and the fear rose before my lust-dizzy brain could process the words.

Mary sat up on the sofa opposite, watching Zoe sucking me off. It was a few moments before I noticed her hand between her legs, frantically fingering herself.

I looked down into Zoe's eyes; she winked at me. She knew!

"What the..." was about all I could manage. Mary didn't seem angry. I didn't understand.

"Oh, come on! You were making her come so loud I'm amazed the others didn't come in. At least you found a way to shut her up!"

I could feel Zoe shaking. Was she laughing?

Mary stood, pulled her T-shirt over her head, and walked naked over to the sofa.

I'm dreaming. This can't be real. But where had reality ended, and the fantasy begun? My hand was still sore from being crushed between Zoe's thighs. That felt real enough.

Mary snaked her hips as she came, lust burning in her eyes. Roughly she grabbed my hair, pulled me round for a kiss. She only got this rough when desperately horny. Pulling fistfuls of my hair, she kissed me like she wanted to eat me from the face down; all tongue and teeth, leaving my lip bleeding, and scratches on my chest. "Mine," she growled.