Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 35-36

Chapter Thirty-Five

The next two weeks simply flew by. Preparing for a prolonged absence from work took a great deal of my time, energy and attention, both of which, given my noticeably increasing size and constant tiredness, were already in short supply.

Putting the discovery of my daughter's video clips behind me was difficult. There was no way I could possibly let Pete know he had apparently fathered a cock-sucking slut, so I had to keep the knowledge very much to myself. Images of what I had seen flashed through my mind at inconvenient moments, bringing back even more inconvenient memories of myself with Darren and Will, the latter also having been recorded on video.

Interestingly, Tony did not feature in these memories at all.

Pete of course, suffered the consequences of having a wife in an even greater state of arousal than before.

I have to say that, with only the two of us at home, he looked after me like a Princess, spoiling me rotten, taking me to dinner and servicing my unreasonable sexual demands with considerable thoroughness. My gym visits had been curtailed, partly because of a fear of losing the baby at my age, but mostly because I had no desire to come face to face with either Darren or Will in my current condition.

As far as I knew, Darren had no idea I was even pregnant, let alone that he was about to become a father. Will's attempt at blackmail had been neutralised through Mutually Assured Destruction but if he ever guessed the truth about my baby's father, the recordings I held secretly and online might not be enough to keep him in a harmless position.

And of course, there was the deep, barely recognised fear that in my state of permanent sexual arousal, I might weaken, do something really stupid and end up being fucked by either or both of them again so for all of these reasons, the sports club was out of bounds for me.

It was a terrible waste of a subscription but I'm sure I'm not the first person to join a gym then not use it. Instead I went for runs and walks then, as my belly grew larger, for swims in the municipal pool.

Still, the increasingly vivid memories of being impregnated by Darren, my beautiful, olive-gold skinned seducer during the full night I spent in his horrible, dirty bed were put to good use. That and my growing collection of vibrators and other toys on the few occasions when Pete was either unable to assist me with my needs or when, despite his best efforts, I remained unsatisfied.

On the subject of size, by the end of August, it was clear to everyone that this time round, things were going to be different, belly-wise. Tall and skinny, with all my previous pregnancies my bump had remained small and almost unnoticeable until the last few weeks before the birth. For the first few months, it looked like this baby was going to follow a similar pattern but with a full twelve weeks to go, I suddenly began to 'show' more and more.

It started with a general feeling that my clothes were getting tight. Then the car's seat seemed too close to the steering wheel again. I put it back a bit more to find that my arms seemed to have grown shorter. In the shower too, it was becoming harder and harder to see my feet so one Saturday afternoon, with Pete and with a heavy heart, I accepted the inevitable and went clothes shopping.

To my delight, things had changed a lot over the last twenty-odd years. Rather than being an inconvenience, being pregnant was now considered a social event to be flaunted. A whole array of shops both in the high street and online now offered expectant mothers of any age, everything from loose, floaty dresses to dungarees and close-fitting cocktail dresses.

There was a host of underwear too from the expected huge knickers through swimming costumes for camels to sexy lingerie in case either the mother-to-be or her partner needed help in the arousal department.

In my case, this was the last thing I needed; Pete was becoming exhausted by my demands but so far had kept his end up (so to speak) admirably.

We returned home with my arms full of bags, changed over my wardrobe and my condition ceased to be a rumour. From the Monday onwards, there was no doubt in anyone's mind; Penny Barker was officially pregnant and getting more so every week.

Amongst all the problems caused by a swelling belly and shrinking bladder, there were some advantages in being seen as a Mum-to-be once again. Doors were held open for me more than before, colleagues were more polite and respectful and much more prepared to run errands at work.

In the street and in shops too, strangers let me pass in the crush more often, or reached things down from shelves for me, or let me into queues ahead of them; something that wouldn't have happened only a week before when my condition was much less obvious.

But what surprised and delighted me most was that my badly-neglected, secret writing became a joy once again.

Always an early riser, I had been used to enjoying an hour or two alone every morning while my husband slept the sleep of the just. I had used that time to maximum advantage, writing and publishing my erotic stories or responding to the steady stream of reader's messages that always followed the publication of a new story or a new episode.

My rapidly-shrinking bladder was now making its presence felt by waking me even earlier, driving me first to the bathroom then, with no hope of going back to sleep, downstairs to the kitchen and my laptop long before six o'clock.

A mug of tea alongside and in a constant state of arousal, the words simply flowed from me for at least an hour every day - much more at weekends. New stories came to me - many based on real life tales from my readers. I added chapters to some of my existing, longer works too.

But what surprised me most was the darkness of some of the more extreme ideas that forced themselves upon me; themes I had never dreamed would cross my mind, let alone make me feel inspired to write. Some were based on events in my past, others on things I had seen or read online.

Some seemed to come from a place deep in my psyche that I am reluctant even to explore.

Whatever their source, I began to create the outlines of stories based on these themes and to my surprise, found my own arousal soaring as I typed. The more detail I built into the narrative the more darkness appeared until I found myself rubbing my crotch against the towel on which I routinely sat when writing.

On one occasion I even reached orgasm through writing and rubbing alone, biting the thick part of my thumb hard as I came to prevent the noises waking my sleeping husband upstairs.

Some of these themes are too dark to detail here, but the excitement as I wrote them was intense and very satisfying. Some of these stories were eventually published under other pen names. One or two were placed on entirely different sites where more extreme ideas are considered acceptable and expected.

Sadly, the trolls continued to object even to the milder stories. For reasons I have never understood, they take particular exception to anything involving infidelity published under the heading of 'Loving Wives', even though the sites themselves insist this is where such stories belong.

Surely common sense would suggest that if a reader hates stories involving infidelity or cuckolding, a story announcing itself as precisely that should be avoided. Or am I being too simplistic?

And they say we women are hard to understand!

Still for a full two weeks, Pete and I were a couple again, in our own house, working on our own, slightly battered relationship, watching what would soon be our fourth child growing in my belly, and basically being happy.

Such times are precious but seldom last.

***

Isobel arrived home late on Saturday afternoon. Pete was playing golf with some friends from work when the shared taxi dropped her off then rolled out of our driveway to delivery its tired, no doubt hung-over and much more subdued contents to their various homes.

I watched it leave from the landing window then descended to the hall to greet my daughter, my heart thumping and my belly rumbling with nerves, not knowing what kind of reception I would receive but determined to get it out in the open straight away.

To that end, I had chosen the most obviously maternity dress I in my collection; a dress I was nowhere near bog enough to need yet but which would put my condition unavoidably in my judgemental daughter's face from the start.

As I descended the stairs and entered the hallway Izzy looked up to greet me and my heart missed a beat.

"Hi Mum!" she called out cheerfully.

I was taken aback. Where was the grumpy body language I had come to expect? Where was the emotional upset, overt anger, barely concealed resentment or more often, all three at once? Where was the acidic comment about my choice of clothing?

"Izzy! Are you okay?" I asked anxiously, puzzled.

"Of course, I'm okay," she grinned. "You're looking good Mum."

"I'm looking big," I frowned, perplexed. "But thanks. Did you have a good time?"

"I had an amazing time Mum," she beamed, running over and giving me a big hug and a kiss. "It was a great holiday - one of the very best!

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Please. Can you bring it up? I've got to go and unpack; we're meeting in town at nine. You don't mind giving me a lift in, do you?"

And with that whirlwind of arrival, Isobel and her luggage disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom. I heard the door close firmly.

Taking a deep breath and thanking whatever force of nature that had turned my spitting viper of a daughter into a human being again, I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

The first danger had passed; Izzy was too wrapped up in her own world to worry about me and mine. At least she was for the moment; if anything went wrong in that world of hers, she would be back in mine in an instant.

But for now, I could relax a little as I made the tea, feeling considerably relieved.

Izzy was crossing the landing towards the bathroom when I reached the top of the stairs, ten minutes later. She was naked apart from a rather too-small towel wrapped around her body. When she saw me she made to cover herself with the material but quickly realised it was far too small so gave up and wrapped the towel around her waist, leaving herself bare-chested.

She needn't have worried; with her tiny boobs, the need for support was negligible and besides, I had seen them many times before. If she was trying to hide herself from me, it must have been for another reason.

What I did notice was a complete absence of white lines in her upper body tan. She must have been sunbathing topless for most of the time. Her nipples had gone very dark too which would tend to support this theory.

Still, having done much the same myself in France, I had no cause to complain about that. What I had not done in France was acquire the clearly-defined and very visible bite mark alongside her left nipple. I tried hard not to stare, but Izzy must have seen my flitting eyes because she brought her arms close to her chest and half turned away from me.

"Here's your tea," I smiled, pretending not to have noticed.

"Can you put it in the bedroom please Mum? I'm going into the shower."

"Of course! You can tell me all the details when you're dressed."

I pushed open the bedroom door and entered my daughter's room. It was, as expected, a mess with dirty holiday clothes strewn all over the bed and the floor. I glanced guiltily at her laptop which appeared exactly as I had left it, then placed the hot mug on a coaster on the desk alongside.

Sounds of flowing water came through the half-open bathroom door. With Izzy temporarily occupied, the temptation to be nosy was too great and too short lived to be missed. As silently as I could, I quickly looked over the mayhem of clothing looking for anything new, interesting or incriminating.

It was an outrageous breach of my daughter's privacy but I told myself I had her best interests at heart. Most of what I found was predictable; plenty of dirty knickers, sun cream-infused T-shirts and wraps and one very short yellow dress that still smelled faintly of alcohol and vomit.

I did find a new, thong bikini bottom I hadn't seen before and which bore a label in Spanish. I had never seen so small a piece of clothing in my life. The tiny triangle at the front told me that Izzy must have continued to shave off her pubic hair or else at least half of it would have been clearly visible around it.

The top half of this remarkable attire was nowhere to be found.

Half hidden under her enormous toilet bag I found the jumbo pack of condoms. The half-dozen left meant that a staggering eighteen had apparently been used. I told myself that the other girls might have used some of Izzy's stash then, when on reflection that seemed unlikely, consoled myself with the thought that she had at least had the sense to use one every time.

I could do without another pregnancy scare!

I returned to the kitchen and began to get the evening meal ready, wondering once again about my daughter's sex life. As if cheating on her long-term boyfriend wasn't enough, I could now add the making of sex tapes, sunbathing at least topless and apparently spectacular quantities of copulation with boy or boys she could only have met days or even hours before.

Okay, my own sex life had taken an unexpected turn recently but Izzy's behaviour must have started long before Tony first seduced me. Could it have been in her and my genes all along?

"Don't set for me Mum. We're eating out tonight."

I was setting the table for three when I heard the voice behind me. I turned to find Izzy dressed stunningly in her shortest blue cocktail dress and highest heels, her hair brushed until it shone; her make-up a good deal heavier than usual.

"Sorry. I should have said before," she added.

"Who's we?" I asked, slightly annoyed though the food would not be wasted.

"Oh, friends from the holiday," she replied in a manner that suggested there was more to learn.

"I'm surprised you're not fed up with each other after all that time together."

There was a pause while Izzy thought a few things out.

"Actually Mum, it's not just the girls. We met a group of boys out there too."

Now I understood. Holiday romances were common but usually didn't survive the holiday. Usually this was because the participants lived too far away from each other. But in this case, they were planning to meet almost immediately.

"You mean boys from round here?" I asked.

"I know. It's crazy isn't it? After going all that way, on the third night we met a group of boys from here in one of the clubs."

"Did you know any of them?"

She blushed then said quietly.

"One of them was Jack!"

"Jack?" I exclaimed in surprise.

I was taken aback. Jack was Tony and Julie's son. When the kids were younger, we had gone on holiday together often and had been to each other's houses countless times until he and Julie had separated. We had been more like one big family for many years, but then the kids had grown up and gone to University, and things had calmed down.

Then of course, Tony and Julie had separated, she had started her affair with Darren and the rest was a shameful history. That history had included Tony seducing me and fucking me for several months before dumping me, a process that also included my husband Pete having a one-night stand with Julie.

I felt breathless just thinking about it.

Isobel knew nothing about this complexity, so I had to fight hard to keep my expression blank.

"He was with three friends from Uni. He's going back in September."

"You haven't seen him for a while, have you?" I asked.

"Not since we went to the Snowdome," she agreed.

My affair with Jack's father had been new then; I had been far too wrapped up in my own affair to notice any change in the interaction between Izzy and her long-term friend. I sighed; so much water had passed under the bridge since then.

"The boys were great fun to be with; we kind of stuck together for the rest of the fortnight," she continued enthusiastically.

"And you all got on well?"

"Ye-es,"

From her sudden change in tone and the sheepish look on her face, I could see there was more to tell.

"From the expression on your face, would I be right in thinking you got on very well with one particular boy, Isobel?"

I asked in the teasing voice I had used with my daughter all her life. She blushed, knocking years off her age.

"Well, yes I did," she confessed. "Jack and I sort of... got together.

"You and Jack?" I exclaimed, amazed. "You do mean THE Jack; the Jack you've known all your life?"

She nodded.

"Yes Mum, I got with that Jack!"

"Got with? You mean you...?"

She nodded again, a little more confidently.

"Neither of us saw it coming. It just sort of started naturally. But once it had started, it was really great. He's amazing Mum. We kind of stayed together the whole holiday and yes Mum, we did use condoms."

"Isobel!"

I sounded shocked but it was my turn to blush. Izzy had read my mind exactly.

"I know. I wasn't expecting it either but we're kind of a couple now." She fidgeted. "Actually, to be honest I'm just meeting him tonight, not the others. It's our first date now we're back home."

"But you always said he was immature. He's younger than you and..."

"I know what I said but things change Mum! He's grown up so much in the last year. I noticed it when we went to the Snowdome at Christmas but I wasn't sure. Being with him in Spain made me realise we were made for each other."

Given my daughter's recent inglorious history with boys, I thought this statement was very premature but of course, I didn't say anything. Instead I stood and listened while she listed the best things she knew about the boy I considered almost a son, but who had apparently just become my daughter's lover.

"Okay, he's a year younger than me but that doesn't matter now we're older. He's got an amazing body, Mum. He's funny, he's generous, he's a great dancer and..."

Her eyes were bright as she spoke, her voice soft, her body language screaming out how very smitten she was with her new boyfriend. Unknown to Izzy, the all-too-obvious hardening of her braless nipples under her over-tight top was screaming out how good the physical side of their new relationship had been too.

"The girls were a bit cross with me. They said pairing up that quickly would spoil the fun for everyone. But I think it was mostly envy. I know for a fact that Emily had fancied him for years. The others told me..."

As Izzy extolled even more of the virtues of the new boy in her life and in her bed, all I could think of was the two of them playing in the garden of the Yorkshire cottage in which was had spent our first holiday as a group. The youngest of all five kids, both Jack and Izzy had been only seven and eight years old at the time and had played like brother and sister.

The thought of the two of them grown up and having sex together was hard to get my mind around. In a strange way, it felt wrong; almost like incest.

But since then of course, I had been fucked by Jack's father more times than I could count, and my husband Pete had stuck his cock in Jack's Mum's anus at least once too so who was I to pass judgement?

Still, it did make me feel a more than a bit uncomfortable.

"He's clever and ambitious and hard-working and gorgeous and caring and sexy and fun and great in..."

She went on. She was probably about to tell me how good in bed he was too but wisely stopped short when she realised it was her mother she was talking to.

"I'd better get going," she eventually said, looking at her watch.

"Do you need that lift?" I asked, nodding towards all the food preparations around me.