The daughter’s boyfriend

Sophie swept up the driveway to her house, fighting a yawn. It had been a long day at work that had extended well into the night, and her bed beckoned. Her heart sank as the house came into view. It was 1 a.m. but the lights and sounds had all the telltale signs of a party. She tried to be a good mum but sometimes her daughters’ social life was hard to take after a long day in the office.

Sophie breezed in through the front door as a young couple stumbled out, momentarily thinking ‘her skirt is much too short’ before reminding herself of how she was at that age. ‘Nothing changes much, I guess’, she reflected.

In the hallway she was met by Steve, easily the most mature and ‘together’ of her eldest daughter’s friends.

“Sophie!”, the warm greeting and first name terms from one that had become part of the family over the years, as he wrapped her in a bear hug, “don’t worry, we have it all under control. I’m just shooing then out now”.

She mustered a smile as she extricated herself. “Thank you, Steven”, the formality underlining her desire to have her house back to herself.

“Mrs H”, caught by surprise by a second, more enthusiastic hug by one of the other boys. He was quickly joined by several others as she was enveloped in a tangle of welcoming arms. ‘No doubt induced’, she suspected, but liked the affection with she was held by her daughters’ friends. Although she batted some of the hands away that were a little overly affectionate, slipping further up the back of her skirt than she would have cared for, with one cheeky bugger giving her bum a squeeze.

Flushed a little red in the face by this attention she barked “behave!” at them as she extricated herself and moved to the family room. “Where’s Poppy?”, she continued but, as if by magic, the beaming face of her eldest daughter swung into view.

“Mummy Bear!”, Poppy breathed in her ear as she hugged Sophie tight. “Thank you, Baby Bear. This is all very nice but Mummy Bear is dreadfully tired and would appreciate her house to herself now darling”, Sophie responded curtly. “Where’s Evie?”, she continued, looking over Poppy’s shoulder for signs of her younger daughter.

“Don’t worry, mummy, she’s fine. You know her: tucked herself up a couple of hours ago”, said Poppy as she broke away. Completely appreciating her mother’s tolerant approach but recognising the need to restore order, she started to round her friends up, with Steve’s help, while Sophie disappeared upstairs.

As Sophie undressed and got ready for bed she heard the party quickly dissipating and in no time at all the house fell silent once more. She was about to get into bed when she heard footsteps on the stairs and someone stumbling along the landing. She opened her bedroom door and saw Poppy propping up a tall young man as she fumbled with her bedroom door.

‘Sorry Mum’, she mouthed silently as she tried to usher him inside. Sophie guessed this was the new boyfriend. ‘Quite handsome, and fit’, she assessed, as Poppy tried to manhandle him into bed, ’A bit worse for wear’, she gauged and couldn’t resist a joke at her daughter’s expense.

“Planning a big night, tonight?”, she smirked, waggling her pinkie provocatively at Poppy.

Not rising to the bait, Poppy grinned back at her mum. “I’m sure I’ll cope, mum”, she responded, “besides, there’s plenty to go round, if you’re in the mood”, she teased, insinuating with her palms the prodigious size of her beau’s manhood.

Sophie batted her daughter’s provocation away, dismissively. They always pulled each other’s legs and Poppy was never slow to tease her mum about her preference for women nowadays, since she’d split from the girls’ father. But it was all in jest: Poppy knew that Sophie only slept with girls, and was ok with that, it was just a measure of the depth of their relationship that they could joke about it in this way.

With one final wink, Poppy closed her bedroom door and Sophie turned to her own room, exhausted and looking forward to sleep. She had one final thought to check in on Evie, though; a quick peep through a crack in the bedroom door satisfied herself that her younger daughter was safe and sound beneath a huge tangle of bedclothes.

Back in her own room, Sophie switched off the lights and slipped, naked, under the duvet. Tired though she was, sleep was not going to come easily as her head still buzzed with work, but she was used to this and slowly relaxed herself with mindfulness exercises. The tension ebbed away, her breathing slowed, and calmness started to ebb through her.

Before she could fall asleep though, noises started to filter through, disturbing her recent calm. Muffled sounds of talking, followed by giggles. Poppy’s giggles. Then quiet. Then more giggles and the sound of movements. Gasps? Poppy’s gasps? The sound of her bed squeaking, slowly.

Sophie tried to refocus but, try as she might, the tension of her day and her daughter’a nocturnal activities prevented her from falling asleep. Guiltily, her attention was now unwillingly focussed on Poppy. With the house otherwise so quiet, every sound she made was seemingly magnified, and it was definitely the sound of lovemaking. The slow squeaks of the bed were faster now, and joined by thumping noises and the moans of her boyfriend. She was alternately giggling and cooing, with the occasional squeal and Sophie felt almost transported into the room such was the intimacy of this situation. Just when it seemed that it would go on for ever, Sophie detected a change in their tone: guttural grunts came from Poppy in time with slower, more forceful, groans from her lover. Such was the intensity, she almost felt like she was there as his groans sped up, Poppy urging, ‘yes, yes, yes!’, before a yelp (and one final lunge from the boy, she imagined) and an eerie calm.

Sophie couldn’t help smiling. She felt almost like she’d just witnessed something sacred, definitely taboo, she reflected, with a tinge of guilt that she actually felt a little aroused by what she’d heard. She also felt relief that it was, hopefully, over, however, and that she could now sleep. Surprisingly relaxed, consciousness gently slipped away and, within moments, she was asleep.

Sophie fell into a deep, deep sleep. So deep that she didn’t hear the noises in the hallway as Poppy’s boyfriend stumbled to the bathroom, noisily urinated, then stumbled back to bed. So deep she was oblivious to the boy slipping, mistakenly into the wrong bed in the wrong room. She was vaguely aware of a warm body cuddling up, moulding itself to hers. Subconsciously, she assumed it was Evie or Poppy joining her in bed, as they often did at night

In her sleep, a dream formed, pictures appeared, as her mind replayed the soundtrack from Poppy’s room earlier.

Lurid pictures of Poppy – her little Poppy, her small frame stretched out wantonly naked beneath a larger, muscular torso, strands of hair matted to her forehead, eyes dreamily half shut, breath coming in little gasps – in time with the cock moving in and out of her. Her small hands grasping the shapely ass of the man atop her as he thrust forcefully in and out. Into her tiny little pussy. The pussy that Sophie’s pussy had brought forth some 18 years ago.

The dream swirled and Sophie stood in her daughters bedroom, next to her bed now, watching her little girl being defiled by …by …she doesn’t even know who it is that’s attached to the end of the cock inside her. Incongruously, Sophie sees Poppy’s stuffed children’s toys that she still thinks are ‘cute’ and collects, strewn over her bed and piled on the floor. ‘Mr Snuggles, Po-Po, Eric the Giraffe!’ contrast with the scene being played out with their owner on the bed. Yet Sophie’s eyes are drawn away from the playroom toys. Although part of her wanted to turn away and avert their gaze from the couple, she didn’t. Nor could she.

Transfixed, she watched as she felt herself floating upwards in the room until she looked down on the scene from above. Still the young couple fucked beneath her but now Poppy opened her eyes so they made contact with her mother’s. Smiling at Sophie, she started to move against the man above her, rotating her hips and rolling with his motions. Enjoying the sex and enjoying being watched, she exaggerated her motions as her smile turned to a wicked grin.

Sophie felt embarrassed under that gaze and thought to move away or look away, but was powerless in the dream. She had to watch as Poppy pushed her boyfriend away (Sophie seemed to recognise him now) so she could kneel before him and take his penis in her mouth, again making sure her mother could see. Sophie felt the heat in her cheeks even though it was a dream, as she was to watch her daughter perform this lewd act and, for the first time she got a clear view of his penis. Long and thick, with veins so proud they could almost be tattoos, and Poppy moved her mouth up and down every impossible inch.

Again, the scene changed and now Poppy knelt on all fours as she grasped her boyfriend’s manhood, grown now impressively,impossibly, large in the dream, in her small hand, controlling and positioning him as she locked eyes with her mother. She squatted, thighs apart, a provocative pose, poising for maximum effect as she held the tip of his cock against her gaping vagina. Then with that same wicked grin that Sophie knew so well, she pushed herself backwards against him and took it all inside with a shudder of her shoulders . Head down she rolled her hips and let him fuck her. Again and again he drove in and out as his hands raked up and down her girlish body and grappled with her tiny, little girl breasts. Sophie tried to shout but was voiceless and paralysed, frozen as the spectacle unfolded. He pulled all the way out before driving in again and his hands gripped her tiny teats and she moaned and her head rolled, and rolled, and rolled backwards and once again they looked at each other and Sophie froze as she came face to face with herself. Smiling up at herself, she cavorted lewdly and swivelled her hips and fucked her daughter's young boyfriend.

As Sophie tried to shout and move, she awoke with a start, her heart beating so fast it felt like it might pound out of her chest. She was flushed so hot there was a warm sheen of sweat upon her.

As she slowly gathered her senses she adjusted her eyes to the deep dark of the night, She slowly realised that a hand, a large hand, a man’s hand cupped her breast and that she was spooning with a male form that moulded to her from behind, his other hand on her sex. Confusingly, her legs were apart and there was unmistakably an erect penis nuzzled there with her hand upon it. She swallowed slowly, getting more awake with each passing second, the cold realisation that she was on the verge of having sex.

“Poppy.... Poppy... please Poppy”, soft murmurings from the form behind her, possibly her daughter’s boyfriend. She smelled the on his breath and, with a cold shiver, put the pieces of the puzzle together even as the half-asleep boy again tried to penetrate her.

She froze in that moment of realisation, a sense of panic as her throat went dry and her heart beat even faster, if that were possible. Thoughts swirled around in her head: who this stranger could be, why he was there, why he was doing what he was doing, why she was doing what she was doing. That last thought, in particular, was to the fore. Tired as she was, she needed to collect herself so she carefully eased herself out of bed mumbling excuses to the amorous stranger in the dark, and went to her en-suite.

She didn’t want to put the lights on for fear of revealing the truth to him, so used the soft light from the bathroom cabinet to find her way. She sat on the toilet and peed, slowly and carefully, making as little noise as possible, as she unscrambled her sleepy thoughts. As she sat there, she came to the conclusion that it was unlikely to be a masked intruder (the very thought gave her a smile since she’d fantasied about that over the years but the harsh reality of tonight put that into perspective) rather more likely to be one of Poppy’s friends, and most likely her boyfriend. As to why he was in her bed, she guessed it was confusion. Drunken confusion, maybe. Unlikely to be desire since they all knew that she preferred women. At that last thought she smiled again: but her nipples were hard, whether from the cold or something else, and there was definitely the start of something, even though it was a very vague something, in her loins. “Am I really that shallow?”, she questioned herself.

Finished on the toilet, she dabbed in the dim light and thought to make her way back. No flushing, no hand washing, for fear of disturbing the stranger as she pondered her next step. She could throw him out of bed, but she didn’t want to make a scene given that it was hopefully an honest mistake and her own actions might seem complicit (sleeping naked was ok but her legs had definitely been apart, and she had been poised to put him inside her; she might find it hard to argue that she was ‘unwilling’). She could try to style it out and that was most appealing, if she could only make the morning work out. She could leave and sleep somewhere else, maybe with Poppy (but the boyfriend might be there, if her assumptions were wrong) or Evie.

She stood there, naked in her own room, one hand on her girlish hip, looking down at the sleeping boy, as she pondered her dilemma. Tired, she rubbed her aching neck but her body was otherwise alive, her nipples still hard and her sex tingling, and she needed to make a decision. She bit her lip, a curiously childish affectation, as she made up her mind.

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