Author’s note: sex doesn’t stop at forty, or after kids, and neither should bondage. But, always, beware what you wish for.

I knew I shouldn’t have done it, of course I did – you don’t fuck your daughter’s boyfriend, it’s Parenting 101. I have no excuses. But there were extenuating circumstances.

I had just had my fortieth birthday, a watershed in any woman’s life. I was five years divorced, two years since I’d had a serious relationship, and over a year since I’d had sex with anything other than my vibrator. My attempts to get a man were hampered by the fact that my 18 year old daughter, Ella, still lived at home.

My daughter and I had a love-hate relationship – I loved her unconditionally, because she was my daughter, and she hated me implacably, because I was her mother. I was also the one to blame, in her eyes, for driving her beloved father into the arms of the Italian slut he now lived with in Rome. She hardly saw him, mainly because he didn’t want a stroppy teenager invading his love nest and ‘cramping his style’, but apparently that was my fault as well.

Since puberty, she had always punished me by parading her wildly inappropriate relationships in front of me. She had delighted in telling me she had lost her virginity at fourteen, with a 17 year old boy, in the toilets at a disco she got into illegally. I ground my teeth and told her it was fine as long as she was using protection. This just made her mad.

There followed a string of boyfriends on my sofa – punks, layabouts, borderline criminals – ‘sucking face’, heavy petting and, on at least one occasion, having sex. They were always older than her, and it was clear that Ella had developed a reputation as an ‘easy lay’, a slut who always ‘put out’ on a first date. It was killing me to watch her destroy her life to punish me, but I knew if I said anything it would only make it worse.

When she got a weekend job at 16, she saw it as an opportunity to buy her own clothes, and she took to exclusively wearing miniskirts and hot pants, low-cut tops and ridiculously slutty high heels. Her body had developed pretty spectacularly too. I had always had big boobs and, since breast-feeding, wore a 36DD bra. I knew, as I still did her washing and was expected to buy her ‘normal’ clothes, that she wore a 32D bra, and she loved to flaunt her body, both to annoy me and to attract the boys.

And, for a brief period, the girls. That had been a weird fortnight, when she came home with Alex, a crop-haired bull-dyke, I think is the phrase, and, as well as kissing openly in front of me, had made sure I saw them on the sofa with her hand in my daughter’s pants. I soon put a stop to that, however, by telling Ella how much I liked Alex and how I was glad she had found someone she could really relate to – Alex was history by the end of the week. Reverse psychology is a wonderful thing.

But then there was Adrian. It was a Friday night about 7 o’clock, when I heard the door open and guessed Ella had finally made it back from school. I had my head under the kitchen sink trying to fix a small leak, and didn’t bother to look to see – she would probably have just blanked me anyway.

“Hi, mum, lovely view!”

I extricated myself and looked around. There was my daughter, still in her school uniform, skirt hitched up to well above mid-thigh, white blouse unbuttoned to show her bra and tied in front to show her midriff, heavy eye make-up and plum lipstick – the archetypal slutty schoolgirl. But next to her stood the most gorgeous hunk of a guy I had seen in a long time. Elegantly dressed in chinos, smart shirt and, I immediately noticed, good, clean shoes, he looked cool and sophisticated as he smiled confidently down at me.

That’s when I realised I was kneeling on the kitchen floor, wearing dirty slacks, a crumpled T-shirt and yellow rubber gloves, no make-up, my hair tied loosely up and sweat on my brow. I probably smelled odd too. Then I remembered what Ella had just said, and realised his first view of me had been of my fat arse, covered in stretched lycra, with visible panty lines on display. I was mortified.

I scrambled to my feet, Ella disappeared upstairs to change, and suddenly I was alone with him. I was totally flustered, offered him a glass of wine, which he accepted gracefully and politely, and apologised for my ‘disgusting’ appearance.

“You look wonderful, Mrs Henderson,” he lied gallantly.

“Oh please,” I twittered, “I look a mess, and call me Julia.” Good grief, I thought, what am I, 13?

“Ella hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“I’m sorry, Julia, let me introduce myself,” he said smoothly, holding out his hand, “I’m Adrian, your daughter and I have only been out a couple of times, she was probably waiting to see how it went before introducing me.” Well, I thought, I suppose there’s a first time for everything. His hand was smooth, his handshake firm and confident, without being bone-crushing.

It doesn’t matter how few clothes my daughter wears, she still takes forever to get ready. I spent a rather intoxicating hour finding out all about Adrian. I learned he was 30, a City trader, unmarried (although he’d been in a long relationship with a French woman), owned his own house and car, had been privately educated, gone to Cambridge University, and enjoyed riding and playing sports, tennis and squash particularly. What the hell are you doing with my slutty daughter, I thought. She must be good in bed!

Finally Ella reappeared, and I was surprised to see her wearing a quite tasteful summer dress. Too low cut, ridiculously short, and teamed with ludicrous clear plastic shoes with two-inch platforms and six-inch heels, but still better than what she usually wore.

“That’s a nice dress,” I said, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Adrian bought it for me,” she said, trying to sound as smug as possible, “he likes to see me in it, almost as much as he likes to see me out of it.”

I was impressed – not that he was seeing my daughter naked on the second date, but that she had found someone who would buy her nice, expensive presents on a second date! Definitely a keeper.

Off they went, and I realised I had had a little too much to drink while Adrian was there. I remembered rather too much giggling for a grown woman, possibly some inappropriate touching of his arm… I took myself off for a shower and an early night.

I woke up in the night when there was a noise downstairs. It was after midnight, and I wasn’t expecting Ella back tonight. I got out of bed and put on my silk dressing gown – there was a heatwave, almost unheard of in England, and I was sleeping naked – before sneaking downstairs to investigate. I had just reached the hallway, when Adrian suddenly stepped out of the lounge in front of me, giving both of us a fright.

“I’m sorry, Julia, did we wake you?” he asked with what sounded like genuine concern. I realised I was once again at a disadvantage in my own home, this time nearly naked!

“No, I just wasn’t sure…” I trailed off as I saw him glance down momentarily at my chest, and I looked down. My nipples were standing out through the thin material like little bullets, and I immediately went bright red as I put my arm across the offending area.

“Oh! No problem! I’ll leave you two to it!” I blustered, before scurrying back up the stairs and into the safety of my room, where I could properly experience my mortifying embarrassment. After calming my heart rate, I took off the dressing gown and got back into bed, but I couldn’t get back to sleep, I just lay there imagining what he must be thinking of me now – flirty, then drunk, then half naked and aroused… it didn’t look, or feel, very good.

I was hot, in more ways than one, too hot to sleep. I lay there for about half an hour, the covers thrown back, sweltering and obsessing. Suddenly, I started to hear noises. It sounded like they were getting amorous, but the noise was coming from downstairs rather than Ella’s bedroom – were they actually having sex in my kitchen, with me right above them?! For some unknown reason, I had to find out. I crept out of bed and listened by the door. The sounds were definitely coming from downstairs and, even though they were indistinct, I could tell the sound of someone – my own daughter – in the throes of passion.

In another inexplicable move, I put my dressing gown back on and sneaked out onto the landing. The noise was unmistakable, but still strangely indistinct – I could hear Ella saying something, but couldn’t make out a single word. After a few minutes, it became clear her excitement was building, and from the rhythmic nature of her muffled cries, it was obvious she was being fucked pretty hard. Again, I know I should have gone back to my room and try to ignore it, but for some reason I just sat there on the carpet at the top of the stairs, listening to my daughter getting what I desperately wanted. My hands strayed to the belt of my dressing gown, and it was open, and my fingers were in my pubic hair…

I’m not sure how I stopped myself fingering my pussy as I heard Ella cumming, loudly, passionately, and for a long time. As she finally fell silent, I waited, holding my breath, wondering what would happen next. Suddenly, I saw Adrian walk into the hall, and I was just about to crawl back to my room, when I saw Ella follow him, and she was stark naked!

The sight seemed to freeze me to the spot, and all I could do was watch as they went to the front door, then turned and kissed. It was clear that Adrian was going to leave, but I just kept looking down at them. As they broke the kiss, Adrian flashed a look directly at me. I fell back in panic. Oh crap! Did he see me? I scuttled across the landing and back into my room, trying to close my door silently but quickly. I sat there on the floor, eyes closed, wondering what the hell was happening to me. I was acting like a child, spying on the grown-ups, then I touching myself up, masturbating in the dark. I dragged my fingers out of my desperate little pussy and dragged myself to my bed. Eventually, I managed to fall into a troubled and unsatisfying sleep.


- o O o –

“So, what do you think of Adrian?” Ella asked as she wandered into the bathroom, ignoring the fact that I was already in there – no sense of personal space or privacy, that girl. She started wiping off her make-up as I dried myself after my shower.

I had slept badly, unable to get images of Ella and Adrian fucking out of my mind. Soon, the mental image had changed to Adrian and me fucking, and I felt deeply ashamed of such thoughts.

What did I think of Adrian? I thought he was handsome, rich, intelligent, calm, controlled. I really thought she should keep seeing him, he might actually save her from her self-destructive streak. It had nothing to do with me wanting to see him again, oh no…