AFTERNOON SURPRISE_(0)

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2010


It was a typical British summer – which is to say: cold, dreary, windy and rain, rain, rain. There had been a short spell of bright days in early April, but since then the sun had hardly shown its face and every weekend had been miserably dull and wet. Everyone was getting depressed and irritable, and it was affecting the mood at work. We had just had the second of the May bank holiday weekends, which had done its best to surpass all previous records for rainfall. And then, of course, as the nation went despondently back to work on Tuesday, the clouds parted, and by that evening there was a clear blue sky with a gentle breeze and warm sunshine.

The next day, Wednesday, was even nicer, and by lunchtime I had had more than enough. The advantage of owning your own business is that you can set the rules – and, sometimes, change them. I pondered for a moment, and then stood and looked at myself in the floor-length wardrobe mirror in my office suite. I am thirty-seven years old and looking good on it, as everyone agrees – I diet carefully and work out on exercise machines at my home, and so have kept my waist slim and my legs trim. I have always had a good figure, inherited from my mother’s Italian family – fully-rounded 30D breasts that hardly droop at all, a flat stomach, trim hips and a jutting ass with no cellulite or flab. I have a smooth pink complexion, pouty lips, clear grey eyes and dark hair with a fringe and centre-parting that falls straight down to my upper breasts.

About eight years ago, I founded my own company, and it has prospered – we have a niche product, an established reputation and a secure market share. About twenty people work for me, just over half of them on the production side and the others in the sales and accounts sections. Things were going well with the business, and I decided we could afford a little indulgence – especially, I thought, as it could be considered as an investment in improved staff morale. I took another look out of the window at the cloudless blue sky, reached for my office intercom, and pressed the button that would let me make an announcement to all of my staff at once.

‘OK, folks’, I said cheerfully, ‘I’m as fed up with this bloody summer as you are – and now the sun finally comes out, right after the holiday weekend! So, I’m closing for today right now, you can all get on home and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts!’ I heard a ‘whoopee’ of delight from Muriel, my PA and secretary, in the outer office, and more faintly this being echoed from around our small building.

So I had the cosy feeling of having done a good deed – but it was far from unselfish. For I was thinking about my lover, and the chance – the first one of the year – for a carefree 69 on the lawn grass in the balmy sunshine … Jesus, that was making my panties damp with anticipation. Yes, I’m a lesbian, and have known that since my early twenties (before then, I thought I was bisexual, and sometimes tried to have boyfriends, which generally turned out disastrously). My thoughts lingered on my sweet delectable partner, and I couldn’t wait to get home to her. Katrina and I have been living together for nearly three years now, and I love her to bits. She is thirty-two, five years younger than me, and her parents are from Latvia. Katrina was born and raised in suburban London, but sometimes her upbringing leaves a delightful trace of Eastern Europe in her accent or the way she phrases some expressions, and her face is a very attractive mixture of Slavic cheekbones and soft brown eyes, framed by Scandinavian straight blonde hair.

It had influenced me in my decision to close early that it was a Wednesday. Katrina is a schoolteacher: she teaches physics and mathematics (smart cookie that she is) at a secondary school, to pupils aged eleven to fourteen – little demons, she calls them, but with a note of affection as well as frustration in her voice. However, on Wednesday afternoons there are no lessons so that sports can be played, and Katrina is not involved in any of the coaching so she comes home at lunchtime and works in peace and quiet on her marking or lesson plans … and this meant that she and I could be together this afternoon – if I left now, I would be home hours earlier than my usual 6.00 p.m. With my tits stiffening in anticipation, I rubbed my thighs together and gave a soft moan from the effects on my pussy, as I quickly finished a final email and switched off my computer.

I was the last to leave the building, setting the alarm and locking the glass front doors securely behind me. My employees were scattering happily to their cars, eager to get home to their loved ones and enjoy this unexpected bonus time in the hot sunshine. I remember that, as I walked to my own vehicle, I watched them with fond amusement and idly thought: ‘I hope none of them gets an unpleasant surprise because they get home early!’

Oh, what irony! What hubris!! Never for one second did I dream that such a thing could happen to me!

I climbed into my smart white Mercedes sports car, and quickly drove the three miles to my home. With the money my business has made, a few years ago I bought a large and elegant house, built in the 1920s, which is well secluded in quite extensive tree-lined grounds. Deciding to keep to my plan of surprising Katrina, I left the car halfway down the drive, so that the scrunch of the gravel under the tyres would not herald my arrival.

I let myself in quietly through the front door, my imagination playing with images of my sexy lover lazing on one of the sun loungers on the large paved patio that overlooks the rear garden … wearing one of her so skimpy, so tempting bikinis, little scraps of cloth with tie strings that just beg to be pulled undone … perhaps topless, sprawled almost naked with just the tiny thong bikini panties, her cute pert breasts turned up to the sunshine … maybe her nipples hard as she remembered our passionate lovemaking of the previous night … and I would creep quietly up behind her, put my hands over her eyes … or perhaps her tits! … and whisper throatily in her ear: ‘Guess who’s home?’

Lost in this pleasant daydream, I slipped into the hall, and put my bag and suit jacket down on one of the chairs. Only then were my illusions shattered, and the anticipatory smile was wiped from my face. From the upstairs master bedroom came the shrill cries of a woman being taken to the brink of ecstasy, and with a heart suddenly turned to cold ice and a bilious churning in my stomach, I recognised at once that it was Katrina’s voice screaming and shrieking:

‘Fuck me!! Aaarggh – oh shit, take me, NOW! Do me, fuck me! Oh-god, ohgod-ohgod-ohGOD-oh-fucking-Christ, FUCK ME, FUCK ME NOW!!

I gave a kind of choked gasp, my knees almost gave way, and I clutched at the bottom of the stair-rail for support. My lover, my gorgeous sexy pussy-babe, was cheating on me – she was having sex with another woman, in my own house, in our own bed!

I was too stunned, too utterly betrayed, to feel any anger – I just felt washed out, hollowed out, empty inside like a shell. And yet, I had to know, I had to see it with my own eyes, and I was pulled up the stairs by a magnetic force that I was powerless to resist. I was so shaken that I moved slowly, and made almost no sound as I climbed breathlessly to the first floor landing – not that they would have heard, given the uninhibited shrieks and yells echoing from the bedroom.

Its door was three-quarters open, and as I reached it I saw an amazing sight which riveted me to the spot. There were two figures on the mattress of our large king-size bed, with their backs towards me. Katrina was kneeling in the centre of the bed, doubled over at the waist, and from my angle I could see that her mouth was open, her eyes were half-closed, and her face was beaded with sweat and pressed down onto the sheet. My first shock was that she was in tight bondage: her ankles were fixed to a spreader bar, stretching them about three feet apart, and her wrists were strapped into leather handcuffs next to them, pulling her arms straight backwards and flat on the mattress. This had the effect of thrusting her ass high into the air, where her cunt was spread wide open and vulnerable. There were also ropes around her upper arms which were pulled taut to the top corners of the bed, and her bondage was completed by two more ropes stretching from her ankles to the bottom corners – so that she was pinned in the middle of the mattress, unable to move in any direction. Katrina was almost naked, but her wanton abandon was highlighted by her only garments – a slutty pair of scarlet fishnet stockings and the black and red satin bordello-style garter belt to which they were attached.

My second shock was by far the greater: the woman wearing a strap-on dildo and forcefully ramming it into my partner’s gaping vagina was instantly recognisable to me, even from the back – the athletic jut of her pert buttocks, the assured set of her head and shoulders, her long straight black hair … it was not a woman at all, but Chloe – my sixteen-year-old daughter!!

For a moment, I was turned to stone, transfixed by this unbelievable sight … thinking vaguely that perhaps this was a dream, or a nightmare, yet knowing that it was not. My young daughter was fucking my lover, she and my lover were into bondage, and from the verve and energy which they were giving it, they had done this plenty of times before! I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears as my daughter reached over Katrina’s back, grabbed a handful of her dishevelled and sweaty blonde hair, and jerked her head back and upwards. With her dildo deep inside my lover’s cunt, Chloe viciously slapped Katrina on the ass several times, and then reached underneath to pull and twist the older woman’s pendulously swinging nipples. All the time, a stream of sexual profanity and dominance poured from my sweet daughter’s lips:

‘You fuckin’ Latvian lezzie, you fuckin’ whore, you’re gonna get fucked so hard, oh yeah bitch! You fuckin’ dyke slut, you’re my cunt-bitch now, you’re my fuck-toy, you slutty Slav cow! You’ll do what I tell you, bitch! You’ll cum when I make you, cunt! Take it – take it now, pussy-slut, FUCKING – TAKE – IT – NOW!! COME FOR ME NOW, YOU CUNT – CUM, NOW!!!

And my sixteen-year-old daughter grasped the hips of my sobbing lover, swung her own butt backwards, and then slammed her pelvis forward with even more venomous force than before, piercing the ribbed nine-inch plastic cock almost up to Katrina’s womb. My eastern European babe gave the most ear-splitting shriek of sexual submission, and her whole body visibly quaked in the throes of a convulsive, volcanic orgasm. She subsided slowly, bubbling gasps coming from a mouth that was pressed into the damp sweaty sheet, interspersed with deep moans as an after-shockwave of mini-orgasms exploded in her vagina.

Chloe looked down at the woman who was more than twice her own age, and almost gloated in her complete command and dominance over her mature body. She shook Katrina’s head by the hair a couple of times, and slapped her again on the ass – I could see from the red glow on the Latvian woman’s butt that she had already taken quite a beating there. Then, with an almost contemptuous lack of consideration, she roughly jerked the strap-on backwards out of Katrina’s pussy, causing the older woman to give a despairing wail as another burst of orgasms exploded in her over-fucked cunt, leaving her utterly spent and almost fainting.

Chloe swung off the bed and turned to face where I was framed in the doorway – stricken, appalled, mesmerised, and (yes, I admit it) also partly aroused, my pussy tingling strangely. My daughter did not seem in the least surprised to see me – I didn’t know for how long she had been aware of my presence, but clearly for some time, and it had not made her pause for a second in her sexual ravishing of my adored lover. She stood with her legs apart and arms akimbo, wearing her smart black leather boots, a pair of black hold-ups, and the strap-on dildo (in fact, looking quite the budding dominatrix), her maturing breasts naked and their large nipples fully aroused.

My daughter looked at me boldly, not a trace of guilt or regret in her expression, and with a slight smile she drawled:

‘Well, well … guess who’s home?’

It wasn’t at all how I had imagined that it would be said.

I just stared at her, open-mouthed. My daughter reached backwards, and with deft expertise undid the buckles on the leather cuffs that bound Katrina’s ankles and wrists to the spreader bar. Swiftly, my pretty blonde lover sat up on the bed, rubbing her ankles where the bondage had chafed. She had the grace to look a little shocked and apprehensive, but she was sheltered behind my imposing and aggressive daughter’s back, and this gave her the confidence to toss her head, settling her hair behind her, and then to look me in the eye – no excuse, no apology was being offered from this quarter either.

This was my third shock, and it hit me like a blow to the solar plexus, winding me and draining all my energy. With a sobbing gasp I slid to my knees, and was only prevented from falling over entirely by the support of the door frame.

Chloe stretched luxuriantly, which thrust her young but impressive breasts even more visibly outwards. I couldn’t speak, my mouth was dry and my throat had clenched closed, and I gazed up at my daughter imploringly from my position in front of her feet. That was enough, enough of a stimulus for her to take things further, to seize the moment. She wasn’t high on some drug (which at that moment I half-feared, but also half-hoped – for it would provide a rational explanation and excuse for her sexual rampage), but she was high on lust, on hormones and adrenalin, and most of all on the headiest of all potions – power.

‘Well now, Momma’s home’, Chloe drawled, and then with the speed of a striking snake she lunged forwards and grabbed me by the hair. ‘You shouldn’t come sneakin’ up on people like that, naughty Mummy! You’re a very bad, bad Mummy!’

Whatever I could have imagined she might say, it wasn’t that – the effrontery of the girl just amazed me, it literally took my breath away. She and my lover had been cheating on me behind my back, and far from her showing any remorse at my distress, it seemed that the fault was mine for coming home early and catching them in flagrante! Before I could start to put those sentiments into words, Chloe yanked sharply and painfully on my hair, jerking my head up so that I was looking her straight in the eyes. I could see that she was swept away by the heady pleasure of sexual dominance, that she was riding on the crest of a wave and there would be no stopping her now, and suddenly I felt a cold stab of fear as to what might be in store – for one thing I know about by daughter: she never does anything by halves.

Chloe laughed richly. With a quick glance at Katrina, who was making no move to help me, my daughter added: ‘Momma needs a lesson, Momma needs to learn her place!’ Then she turned partly back towards my lover, and in a harsher tone, with a crisp note of absolute command that I had never heard from her before, she added: ‘… doesn’t she, Katrina-fuck, you slutty cunt? Doesn’t the bitch need a lesson, my pussy-slave?’

And then my final shock was the greatest of them all, for my partner, a handsome mature blonde and a successful professional schoolteacher, scrambled off the mattress like a naughty child and fell humbly to her knees at the side of my sixteen-year-old daughter. I could hardly believe what I was seeing – and then hearing, for with her eyes downcast in meek and absolute submission, Katrina hastened to agree:

‘Oh, yes, Miss Chloe … oh yes, Mistress, let’s do her … please, let’s do her!’

I managed a weak cry of protest, beginning ‘What the fuck d’ya think you’re …’ when I was halted by a sweeping smack across the face from my own daughter – whom I had never struck once in her whole life, nor had she ever hit me until this astonishing moment. I gave a terrified yelp and fell over sideways, and what little power of resistance I might have been able to muster was blown to shreds.

Chloe grasped me roughly by the upper arm, and after she gave Katrina a sharp look, my lover hastened to seize me on the other side. They hauled me unceremoniously to my feet – I lost one of my shoes at this point – and then they yanked me forwards with considerable force, flinging me face downwards across the sweaty and cum-streaked bedsheet.

I made a half-hearted attempt to rise up, but with the honed reactions of a sportswoman and the lithe suppleness of a teenager, Chloe jumped onto the mattress and straddled my back, her knees on either side of me and her weight holding me down. Swiftly, before I had a chance to realise what she was doing, she twisted my arms behind me and strapped them into a pair of the handcuffs from which Katrina had just been released. As soon as my wrists were secured, Chloe rolled me onto my back, so that my arms were trapped beneath me.

‘What, what the fuck is …’ was as much as I managed plaintively to stammer, before she gave me another hard slap across the face, and then a backhand the other way that left me breathless and dazed.

My daughter leaned over me, and I couldn’t help my own lesbian nature – my eyes were inexorably drawn to the high pointy jut of her breasts (like me, she was an early developer and already a big girl in the bust department) and the erect nipples at their peaks, and my pussy flushed hot and wet at the sight of the alluring naked teen-girl flesh suspended above me.