With Age Comes Experience

"Yesssss!" she howled as I ejaculated in a series of short spurts.

I withdrew, dragging my still semi hard cock back into my pants and zipping up. I pulled her disarranged thong back into position and pulled her tights up for her, smoothing her skirt down. She sighed and turned round from the sink, reaching for the nearby hand towel and drying her hands. Her blouse was soaked, as was her bra and her skirt showed dark stains from the soaking, too.

At that precise moment, Hannah bounced back into the kitchen, clad in her pink towelling dressing gown, her wet hair bundled up in a towel. "What the hell happened to you, Sammy?" she exclaimed.

"She dropped the casserole dish into the sink," I laughed, pointing to the so-called offending casserole dish, which was innocently minding its own business on the draining rack.

"You silly mare," giggled Hannah.

"Good job I've got some gear with me, isn't it?" smiled Sammy. "But can I borrow a crop top to go under it, Han'? Only my bra's really wet now!"

"Sure. C'mon, we better get changed upstairs." said Hannah.

Sammy shot a wicked look at me as she followed Hannah out of the room. I winked back at her and made a quick pelvic thrust motion for her amusement.

Life was good. Life was sweet. Life was fun.

* * * * *

Of course, things change. Things always change. Only sometimes what looks like a change for the better can often be a change for the worse.

One significant change came soon after Christmas. Hannah announced she had a new boyfriend as she left the house for school one morning.

"It's news to me," I told Sammy that same afternoon as she was getting dressed. "I didn't know she had an old boyfriend even."

"What, like I have, y'mean?" asked Sammy cheekily, wincing slightly as she pulled her white panties on over the slap marks on her buttocks. (A thong just couldn't offer the right amount of comfort).

"Someone needs another slap or two!" I growled, in mock anger, pulling at Sammy's panties, much to her half-hearted protests.

But yes, Hannah did indeed have a new boyfriend, a nice sounding chap named Marcus, some 18 months older than her and already at college. He came from a good part of a very nice town, he was studying engineering and he was a keen rugby player. I made all the right parental noises to Hannah about not letting her schoolwork suffer, but hastily amending that I knew she would be sensible about that anyway. For once – and to my surprise – I didn't get a lot of sarcastic lip in return and Hannah even asked if she could bring him home one Sunday to meet me, after he'd been playing rugby.

I had to admit, I did like Marcus. Tall, broad shouldered and with unruly but not outrageous hair, medium length sideburns and even sensibly dressed. What's more he was polite, had a good sense of humour and even expressed a passing interest in my 80s vinyl collection, talking reasonably knowledgably about Spandau Ballet and the Human League. Hannah clearly adored him and I had no concerns as to her well being.

Soon after, I met Marcus' parents – at Marcus's and Hannah's suggestion – when they invited Hannah and I over to Sunday lunch at their rather splendid converted farmhouse on the edge of a small town in the Derbyshire Dales. Very decent, hard working types – Marcus' father was a Managing Director at some big conglomerate – and obviously very proud of their son. I felt a warm glow of pride when they said what a nice girl Hannah was and how I'd done a marvellous job of raising her at a very difficult phase of her life after her mother had died. (Quite how much they knew about that, I didn't ask, but my guess was Hannah had simply said Maggie had died in an accident and left it at that. I certainly had no wish to enlighten them further).

Of course, the natural progression to all of this was when Hannah started to spend nights at Marcus' home over weekends, or (I suspected) sometimes at his Uni's Halls of Residence. Naughty! But I took it all with good grace and didn't come the heavy parent. I had to say though, it was a strange feeling; much as Hannah was a young, modern woman, sensible enough to be on the pill, I just didn't like to think of any man porking my Little Girl. But did Sammy's Dad feel that same way about her? It was strange – I never thought of 18 year-old Sammy as someone's daughter. She was my girlfriend, simple as that. Girlfriend? Yes - my girlfriend. It had a nice ring to it.

So, with Hannah spending nights away, Sammy was able to wangle the odd night at my house, which led to great fun.

"What do you tell your parents when you stay over?" I asked her one night when, exhausted from lovemaking and a major bondage session - which involved my licking fizzy tonic water out of Sammy's aching cunt - we lay side by side prior to falling asleep.

"Oh, I tell 'em I'm staying with a girlfriend," she yawned, sleepily.

"Don't they ever get suspicious and check up on you?" I asked.

"They don't any more," sighed Sammy, "I ask my mates to cover for me."

"Oh right," I said, absently inserting my index finger into her moist depths and enjoying feeling her body tense and her hands grip tightly round my balls. "Who's covering for you tonight then?"

Sammy sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone now, throwing back the duvet and yanking my cock into life, bending down to take it into her mouth. "Hannah is," she mumbled.

Of course, Sammy didn't tell Hannah about us and Hannah never suspected – as far as I was aware anyway. An even greater opportunity presented itself to us just before the school broke up for Easter. Hannah asked me at breakfast one Saturday morning if she could spend a few days that holiday with Marcus.

"His parents have got a holiday cottage down on the south coast, near Brighton I think," she told me, excitedly. "They said we were welcome to stay there if it's okay with you."

I deliberately waited a few minutes before replying, slowly pouring out a cup of tea and then sitting down opposite her.

"How's the applications for Uni going?" I asked.

"Fine, fine," she said, impatiently. "I think I've got a good chance with Lancaster."

"And do they do courses in Forensics and Law?" I queried,

"You know they do, I told you already!" she said, with exasperation. I was enjoying this. "Well? Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Go to stay with Marcus! Honestly, Dad!"

I sighed and looked directly at her. "Well, you've been studying hard, your exams start next term, and I suppose you could revise a bit whilst you were away."

Her face lit up. "Does that mean I can go? I can stay with him?"

"Of course it does," I beamed back. "I like him. And I know you're a sensible girl. So yes, you can. And – ," I paused dramatically, reaching across the table to where my wallet lay. I pulled out four £50 notes. "Here… take this. Spending money. For your holiday"

"Dad! Are – are you sure? Can you afford it?"

"Probably not," I smiled, "but I've just been paid very handsomely for a good consultancy job, so I can spare you a small treat."

Hannah jumped up, mobile in hand. "Thanks Dad Thanks so much! I'm going to call Marcus. I'm seeing him this afternoon – he's playing – he'll be so pleased!"

She paused by the side of my chair. "You know, Sammy's right about you," she said, quietly.

My heart missed a beat. "Sammy? What –what does she – she say about me?"

Hannah bent down and kissed my cheek then skipped out of the door. "That you're cool. You are cool, Dad."

So whilst Hannah and Marcus had a happy holiday down Brighton way, Sammy and I had a happy holiday up our way. She wangled a few days away to stay with her older cousin Carol who lived in London – a very independent young woman from the sound of things – and, of course, aforesaid cousin covered for her, mainly because she thought Sammy's parents were (to quote Sammy): "a prize pair of anal retentives."

Not only did we have great sex, morning, noon and night – thinking up ever more inventive games - we also did little fun things together, things we hadn't had the time or the inclination to do previously; watching videos and DVDs together, having meals together, walking old Rufus in the woods together and going down the pub together.

I have to admit that taking her down the King's Arms was a calculated risk on my part. Sammy might live on the other side of town, but here was always a chance someone would see her and mention the fact to her parents. Or worse, they'd clock her with me. But I deliberately brought Sammy into the pub – my local – to show her off to the regulars.

To my delight, Bob and Reefer were there, playing pool. They caught sight of me, waved through the games room door and then, having finished their game, came to join me.

"Nice of you to put in an appearance, Clements!" said Bob, slapping me on the shoulder. "Haven't seen you for – ooooh – four, five months? Not since around Christmas time. And when are you going to come down the Golf Club and sign up as a member? A game or two might do you good, lose some of that!" He tapped my belly with the back of his hand, but frowned slightly when he realised I wasn't quite as flabby as he remembered.

"Been working out?" he chuckled.

"Sure have," I beamed. "This is Sammy."

Sally stepped hopped down from the barstool and held out her hand, delicately painted pink nails looking, as ever, so sexy and lickable.

"This is Bob," I said, then waved a hand at the lanky figure of Reefer, unkempt and with two days' worth of stubble as usual. "And that long streak of mist is Reefer."

"Hi Bob, Hi Reefer," purred Sammy, shaking their hands and smiling coyly. I felt my chest swell with pride as they responded, the look of surprise and confusion clear for all to see on their faces.

We repaired a corner table with our drinks and talked about this and that, Sammy flirting outrageously with the pair of them and quizzing them at length about our exploits at school in the 70s and as young studs in the early 80s.

"And Clem got slippered, I got slippered and this bastard got away with it because he said he was just delivering a message!" roared Rob, finishing the story of how half a dozen of us silly sods had been caught by the prefects climbing into school through a window during lunch break and our Head of Year being so indignant that he'd been pulled away from the staff room in his lunch break - where he'd been watching the test match on TV - that he slippered us all 'just for wasting his time'. Clem pulled the outrageous stunt saying that he'd only been delivering a message for the Deputy Head when the Prefects pounced and they didn't believe him, so he was let off!

Reefer grinned bashfully and excused himself, stubbing out his roll up and lurching towards the men's room.

"I'd better go powder my nose, too," said Sammy, pulling her handbag over her shoulder. "Why is he called Reefer, by the way?"

"Why do you think, Babes?" I asked.

Rob made an exaggerated display of puffing on a cigarette as though he were toking on a joint.

"Oh, I see," smiled Sammy.

"He knew a lot of shady types back then," I added as she left for the ladies.

"Still does," chuckled Bob, "but nowadays it's usually old shag. Talking of which – ," he waited until Sammy had gone then fixed me with a hard stare. "Are you and her – y'know – at it?"

"Yeah," I grinned. "Good, innit?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it sometimes," he said. "But Clem – she's – what? How old?"

"18, nearly 19," I smiled smugly. I have to say, looking back, I must've been an irritating bastard right at that moment,

"Clem – she's old enough to be your daughter!" he exclaimed. "Fuck it man, she's almost the same age as my Jessica!"

"But she isn't either of our daughters is she?" I snapped, leaning forward. "Be happy for me Bob. After all I went through with Maggie, don't I deserve a bit of fun? A bit of happiness? Oh, I'm sure it won't last forever, but she seems pretty stuck on me right now!"

Bob downed the last of his pint and patted my shoulder. "I am pleased for you Clem, really I am," he said. "And yeah, you do deserve some happiness after the Bitch From Hell, but all I'm saying is – be careful. She might be old enough to shag with, but she's still a kid, right?"

"Yeah, right," I muttered, moodily, swigging down my lager.

And you're just fucking jealous I can pull the young birds, I thought angrily to myself.

* * * * *

But on the Friday of that week, our last day together, Sammy showed a side to her nature which I hadn't seen before, and one which I didn't much care for.

I'd had to go to Manchester to deliver a report I'd prepared for a client, in person. I'd suggested at breakfast that Sammy might like to come and do some shopping whilst I was seeing my client. She declined, saying that she was going to see a couple of her friends who had left school two years before, then they were going clubbing.

"It's all right, Clem!" she said, with impatience as I protested the point. "It's only us three girls, we're not going out to pull a load of spotty plonkers. I'll be back by one, and we can have some fun in bed, right?"

"But I reckon I'll be home before then," I interjected. "I'll be alone for the evening."

"Oh come on Clem," said Sammy, ruffling my hair as she stood behind my chair. "How often to I go out on my own? And you hate clubbing… they don't play your music for a start."

"Oh, fair enough then," I smiled, even though I still felt annoyed – and that was irrational, I realised – "Take your mobile in case there's any problem."

"Yes Dad!" Sammy called out cheekily as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. I shook my head and smiled, but something didn't feel quite right and I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

In the event, my meeting went very well, I picked up a nice fat cheque, which I immediately banked in central Manchester before driving home. I walked Rufus round the block, hardly noticing at just how slow he'd become lately – and then strolled down to the Kings Head for a pub meal and a pint. Bob wasn't in, but Reefer and a couple of other lads were, so we ended up shooting some pool until closing time when I hurried home, hoping that Sammy had come home early.

She hadn't. The house felt empty. I wandered disconsolately upstairs and looked into my bedroom - our bedroom – and sighed. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some of them ripped where our sex games had got out of hand. I straightened the bed linen, picked the clothes up, bundled all those which needed washing into the Ali Baba linen basket in the bathroom and the threw the torn ones away.

Rufus was whining and agitating to go out again, so instead of just letting him into the back garden, I took him for another walk round the block just to kill time. Once again, Rufus lethargic shuffling didn't register with me, although he perked up when we met a Standard Poodle and her owner.

"Life in the old dogs yet eh, Fella?" I chuckled as Rufus watched the Poodle mince past, his eyes bright and his tongue panting. "You 'n' me both, " I added.

Back home I watched a tedious film on TV and then pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and placed it on the coffee table in the den, waiting for Sammy to come home. By 1.20 am I was anxious and called her mobile. I was immediately connected to her answerphone – the phone was switched off.

To start with, I was worried, but soon this gave way to jealous anger. Who was she with? Had some young bloke taken a fancy to her? Had she taken a fancy to him? I could almost picture her laughing and drinking with some callow youth in the club, or worse, slow dancing with him, his sweaty hands all over her lithe body. Over my girlfriend's body!

In a real blaze of anger, I stalked upstairs, got undressed and threw my towelling robe on, then stormed down stairs and waited in the living room, drumming my hands on the back of the leather couch.

At just gone 2am, I heard a car pull up outside and heard Sammy's voice thanking the driver. It must've been a taxi. Maybe she'd only had to wait a long time for a taxi. But then, why hadn't she called me to pick her up? That in itself was bloody irresponsible and thoughtless.

After a couple of attempts to put the key in the lock, Sammy managed to burst in through the front door and push it shut behind her. She leaned against it until it clicked and she sighed expansively.

She was dressed like – like a common tart. Short, strappy red dress, red high heeled shoes, far too much make up and jewellery – three large gold chains round her neck and a set of bangles on one arm. No coat, naturally – they never wore coats out these days – it just wasn't 'cool'. Her hair was mussed and her skin shone with perspiration and alcohol consumption. I was sure her pupils were dilated, but this may have been a trick of the light.

She looked across the hallway and saw me sitting there, in my robe, regarding her.

"Good time had by all?" I queried, my expression quizzical, my voice flat as I tried to control my anger.

Sammy clasped a hand to her mouth and giggled. "Ooooh Daddy, you shouldn't have waited up for me!"

"You said you'd be in for One!" I growled.

"I – I couldn't get a fuckin' cab!" slurred Sammy, "You know how-how it is, Clem!"

"Sit down before you fall down!" I snapped, all thoughts of chardonnay and romance gone now. "I'll get you a coffee!"

Sammy swayed into the living room and then sank onto the couch, her head swaying whilst I rose with forced dignity and set off to the kitchen to make the coffee.

"You're pissed!" I spat at her.

"T-Too f-f-fuckin' right!" giggled Sammy, kicking her shoes off. "They kept on buyin' me drinks, hoping they could get into my knickers. Stupid bas-bastards. All those drinks for fuck all!" She laughed nastily and flopped back.

I stopped and walked back to her, looking down at her on the couch, my hands on my hips. "You think that's funny do you?" I snapped.

She looked up at me, frowned, tossed her hair back and sneered: "Oh Christ! Sometimes you're so fuckin' old! You are just like my Dad after all! I'm young, I just wanna have a bit of fun!"

"So, dressing up like a whore, flaunting your body and getting pissed is fun is it?" I retorted. "Save me from your sort of fun! And me, old? I used to put my fair share of booze away at discos, but I never acted like a total prat!"

Sammy tried to interrupt me, but I spoke over her. "And I'd never have gone anywhere with someone who looked like a tart!"

Sammy lurched to her feet and thrust her face close to mind, swaying a little unsteadily.

"I said I didn't shag any of 'em tonight," she hissed, "But I gave 'em all a nice, juicy blow job each. And I made them all come, too. And they turned me on, d'you know why? Because every one had a cock bigger than yours!"

"Really?" I sneered back. "Is that so? Well Samantha, don't forget who taught you everything you know, don't forget who broke you in. Whatever pustule youth you screw now, you'll always know that. old Clem was the first!"

"Hah! That's what you think!" retorted Sammy. "You weren't the first – or the best – you never have been!"

I felt my face flush with anger, my fists bunched by my sides. I had to walk away from her, otherwise…

But Sammy saw my turning away as a sign of defeat, or weakness. She decided – unwisely – to hammer her point home.

"Fuckin' hell! No wonder your wife went elsewhere for a decent shag, you sad bast-"

She never finished her foul-mouthed sentence. Before I could stop to think, to rationalise the situation, I spun round and slapped her hard across the face, sending her sprawling onto the couch.