I didn’t see it coming. I know I should have, but I just didn’t.

I guess it all started at the Christmas party at my parents’ pub. The Fisherman’s Retreat is the only pub in this small Cornish fishing village. In the summer, the place is buzzing with holidaymakers. In winter, it’s a community hub for the locals. On this night, it was holding its annual Christmas fancy dress party in the large function room.

I was home for Christmas from university and had spent most of the day making the old barn look festive, so when ‘Laurel and Hardy’ arrived to the sound of Brenda Lee’s ‘rockin’ around the Christmas tree,’ even if I say so myself, the place looked amazing. Patrick, my date for the evening, had texted me to say he was running late, which didn’t surprise me, as he’s late for everything, but what it did do was give me time to dress.

This year I was going as Santa’s naughty daughter (what do you mean you’ve never heard of her?). I have to say that the short red dress was shorter than I’d expected, making me think twice about my choice of a red thong as underwear. But what the hell, it was Christmas and I do have a reputation to uphold at these events.

As I entered the hall, the first person I saw was my Dad. As usual, apart from a festive hat, he hadn’t bothered to dress up.

“For Christ’s sake Jenny! Really?” he cried, as I walked into the room. Mum, on the other hand, was laughing her head off. There’s nothing official, but we do like to compete. This year she was one of Santa’s little helpers in a short green fur-lined dress, and a top so tight that her large boobs made for a quite spectacular cleavage.

Let me tell you a little about my parents. Dad is the business side. He does all the paperwork, making sure the whole place runs smoothly. My Mum is strictly front of the house, chatting with the visitors and flirting with the men. Together they make a great team.

Patrick arrived as the lion without a nerve from ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ To be honest, the scarecrow would have been more suitable, but it wasn’t his brain I found attractive. It was Friday night, with the next day being Christmas Eve, so most people had finished for the Christmas break and were in great spirits.

I was aware of Emma’s unexpected attention early in the evening; she looked amazing as ‘Marilyn Monroe’ in a knee-length white dress, her shoulder-length blond hair looked perfect. I had first noticed her when she was peddling her bicycle across the harbour years ago. She had one hand on the handlebars, with the other fighting a losing battle to preserve her modesty and keep her green polka dot summer dress down in the sea breeze. We were not what you would call friends, but we would chat if ever we had the opportunity. Her position as headmistress at the local school demanded she conduct herself in a certain way, so you very rarely saw her really let her hair down.

Her husband Mack had positioned himself at the bar with a group of fishermen including my lion. Looking back, I really should have spotted the signs. Maybe it was the season or the alcohol, but Emma paid me way more attention than usual. When we danced, or when we talked, her eyes were always making contact with mine. And then it happened.

Nat King Cole was singing “the Christmas song,” and we were dancing close. I mean really close. At first, I thought it was more of a show for our drunken partners at the bar, but then she kissed me. It wasn’t a peck on the cheek kiss, it was full on the lips. Her hands held my face as I opened my mouth and our tongues met. She tasted sweet. Cherry lip balm and Bacardi and Coke. And then the spell was broken.

“Why don’t you two lezzers get a room?” It was Mack, laughing at the bar. Mack is one of those guys that when he laughs, everyone else feels compelled to join in. He’s a popular local fisherman with a huge reputation as a lady’s man. When he married Emma, I couldn’t see her attraction to him. She was the educated, well spoken, schoolmistress. He was a very rough and ready fisherman, seemingly only seconds away from his next fist fight. The evening ended with a hilariously drunken version of ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’ before everyone departed into the crisp night air, my lion included.

“You and Emma seemed very pally?” Mum ventured, as we began to half-heartedly clear the room. I could have retorted that so had she been with Mr. Rouse, but I let it go.

“I know, it was a bit weird. I haven’t a clue what she sees in Mack?” I replied.

“From what I’ve heard, about ten inches,” she laughed her dirty laugh as Dad shook his head while carrying glasses to the bar. That’s what I’d heard as well. As I said, he’s got a reputation.

The New Year heralded a fresh start for me. I finished university before returning to the much more tranquil pace of home to help in the family businesses on the harbour. The family not only own the pub but also two-holiday cottages and a gift shop which I planned to turn into a gallery. My first summer back home was spent mainly behind the bar, but I didn’t really mind as the downtime on the beach and posing in my bikini for the boys was reward enough.

All too soon the summer’s heat began to fade, and autumn closed in. The holidaymakers left, and the locals started to reclaim their village. Most take this opportunity to depart to sunnier climes to recharge their batteries. I’d decided to redecorate the gallery.

It was about seven o’clock on what had been a miserable day with a mist from the sea shrouding the town, and it was freezing. I was just finishing the last wall in the back room when the annoying little bell on the door that signals a customer arriving, rang.

“In the back,” I called, knowing it must be a familiar face, probably Dad. I was perched precariously on a ladder, cutting in the last stroke with my brush.

“Looks nice.” I looked down to see Emma staring up at me. She was buttoned up in an oversized coat. I hadn’t seen much of her over the summer although she had occasionally visited the pub with Mack, and I’d seen her at the annual summer beach barbecue.

“I’m nearly finished if you fancy a winter warmer in the pub by the fire.” She giggled, appreciating my unintended innuendo. Taking a last look at my handy work, I decided to call it a night.

“Let’s have a drink,” I said, descending the ladder and walking towards the kitchen to collect my keys. As I turned off the kitchen lights and walked out into the back room, I could sense she had something on her mind.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, looking furtively down at the floor, “it’s just …” I could see she was apprehensive and desperate to say something, but not finding the words. Her hand reached out, and I flinched as she touched my cheek, her face inches from mine. “Jenny,” she said, before suddenly, deliberately, leaning in to kiss me.

I’d known Emma for years. She’s about ten years older than me, but I’d never thought of her like that. Never. I attract men and women, I always have, and I’m comfortable with that. But here she was, her hands feeling down my neck towards my breasts, as we continued to kiss, our tongues entwined as she pushed deeper. She still tasted sweet, but this time it was different; her lips quivered when she kissed me, and she was nervous, and so was I. I’d had a couple of drunken flings with girls at university and enjoyed it. This felt different. Serious. Strange thoughts went through my head.

Apart from her being older than me, she was also married. Her work at the local school made her a pillar of the community, and she very rarely let her guard down. And she was married – that thought again. I tried to picture her on the beach. Her figure. What she looked like in a swimsuit. My mind was blank. She was married. Had she planned to come here tonight or just arrived straight from work? What would her breasts feel like?

Married.

All these questions intrigued and aroused me at the same time. Her hands cupped my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra and could feel the flat of her hand tease my nipples through my tee shirt. It was all happening so fast, and I just stood there, letting Emma do all the work. I felt her cold hand touch my belly as it moved upward and under my tee, up towards my naked breasts.

Her fingers circled my nipple, gliding over the pimples on the surface of my areola. Kissing me hard on the lips, she suddenly stood back and looked at me. She was trying to read my mind while assessing her situation.

“I have to go.” Her dilated pupils told me she was turned on. And so was I. Collecting her handbag, she started to walk towards the door, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. And then she was gone. The doorbells chime echoing around the empty store.

I wanted more. Her scent, her taste, the texture of her hair. I wanted more. As I lay in bed that night, she was all I could think of. I didn’t have her phone number and the frustration of not being able to send her a text exasperated me. She’d put herself out there, then walked away. Was she testing me to see how I’d react?

Two days later, I was again in the shop. I’d been there all day, painting, and I was tired. Behind me, the door opened, and I heard the unmistakable sound of heels on the floorboards. Before I could turn to see who it was, she held me. Her arms around me, her breath on my neck. She stepped back, allowing me to turn. She was wearing a cream coloured blouse with a blue pattern. Her work lanyard still hung around her neck. This time I would not let her leave.

My fingers anxiously felt for the buttons on her blouse. Staring intently as I slid it from her shoulders, revealing her simple white bra, I watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed nervously. I read her face, imploring me to continue. And I did. Looking back, it was wild and awkward. She wore trousers with a difficult clip on the front which I ended up breaking it my haste.

Her knickers clung to her trousers as I pulled them down over her hips and she kicked them away. Her breasts were soft, her nipples darker than mine and so incredibly sensitive that she squealed as I pinched them. She knelt as she removed my grey, paint splatted jogging bottoms, leaving me in just my thong and knee-high woollen socks.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” she said, bending me over my workbench, shocking me with the first spank. “Do you like that?” she asked, “do you like having your fabulous arse spanked? The arse that every fucking man in this town wants. You do know that don’t you?” I was suddenly anxious at her change of personality and unexpected line of questioning.

Mack had chatted me up a few weeks earlier in the pub. He’d been fairly persistent before I’d walked away. Was this the jealous wife coming to exact her revenge? She struck me again, but this time her hand remained planted. Sliding the thin fabric of my thong to one side, she teased my anus, before her hand reached under and felt my sex, lightly stroking my clitoris. Her touch was soft and experienced, and I responded quickly. Her tongue licked around my earlobe before delving inside, sending wonderful sensations to my brain.

I don’t know if it was her, or the situation, or the days of built-up frustration, but I came. Her hand pinched my nipple as the other stroked me hard. My eyes were shut tight, relishing the moment as my body was overpowered by my nerve senses. Moaning loudly, I bowed my head as my legs buckled underneath me. I turned and grabbed her, my hand urgently reaching down between her legs feeling the soft, wet opening.

My god, she was dripping. I could feel her silky fluid as my middle two fingers pushed easily inside, pressing her G-spot. Her moans continually encouraged me, giving me more confidence. I remember looking over her shoulder and seeing old Sam walking his dog. He stopped and peered through the shop window, his hand pressed against the glass, and for one horrible moment I thought the nosey bastard was going to try the door, but thankfully he moved on.

Perched on the workbench, Emma’s arms held me tight around my neck as my fingers worked tirelessly. Soon all four fingers of my right hand entered her effortlessly, and I looked to see if I’d caused her any discomfort and she replied silently with a wonderfully broad smile.

“Do it,” she said. I was confused. Did she mean to continue, or something else? “Do it,” she repeated, and I leaned in and kissed her. I could taste the salty sweat on her upper lip and the heat between us. “All of it.” She closed her eyes, as I bunched my hand into a fist.

“Yes?” I asked, needing confirmation. Pulling me down with her arms, she bit my earlobe.

“All of it Jenny, mmmm, do it.” I studied her face watching for her reaction as my fist squelched inside her. I continued gingerly, scared to tear her, but an encouraging hand on my arm and the way her hips rose to meet my fist told me to not to worry.

“Okay?” I enquired.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” she moaned. I was confused. “Yes, and I like it.” My head was spinning. This wasn’t the woman I knew, the headmistress. Clinging to my neck our mouths locked, and her body shook as she sucked on my tongue.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, “do it, do itttt.” My arm started to cramp as she came. Moaning, her body spasmed with her mouth open in a silent scream. I slowed my assault on her until finally, she came down. I stopped and removed my hand as she sat back and rested, supported by her hands, breathing hard and a pink flush on her neck and chest. Her legs were still open, her pussy glowing with her fluid. I was dying to put my mouth down there to taste her and to run my tongue over her.

She stood down from the bench, and I noticed a red mark on her bottom where she’d been perched on the edge of the workbench. I was alive, desperate for more, but as l saw her check her watch, I realised that if there were to be an encore, it would have to be on another occasion. We dressed in an uncomfortable silence. I found it unbearable, but I had to say something. I’d just had an incredible experience with this woman and couldn’t leave it like this.

“Will I see you again? I mean like this?” She smiled and pushed the hair away from my face like a mother would.

“Of course,” she said, kissing me, “I’ve waited for this for a long time, and if we’re careful, we can do whatever we want.”

And so began the affair. Sometimes at her house when Mack was working, or occasionally at my workshop, but mostly at my flat above the pub. Friday nights became our date night, and as risky as that may sound, only my mother found us out. Early one Saturday morning, as Emma was leaving, she ran into Mum in the hallway. I heard the awkward conversation happening on the other side of the door and waited for the knock. I was not embarrassed in the slightest as my relationship with my Mum is incredibly open. We share virtually everything.

“Emma?” she said with a smirk on her face, although her tone was incredulous.

“Yep.”

“And you’re?”

“Yep.” She leaned on the window sill choosing her words carefully.

“I’m not judging you,” she began, “but be careful. When Mack finds out, and he will, this is a small town. You'll be caught in the middle, and he’ll be mad, and she won’t leave him.”

I told her that we were just having fun, but deep down I knew I was lying. I craved my nights with Emma. We were perfect together, and she knew exactly how to turn me on both mentally and physically. Sex with her was so different from with my boyfriends, like the way her tongue played around my pussy, unlike most men who only concentrated on my clit, but worked around it, her tongue occasionally darting inside, taking it slow and embracing it. I loved the way she always moaned when my mouth made contact with her sensitive nipples.

Some things didn’t work of course, like my idea to re-enact something I’d seen in a lot of porn: two women rubbing their pussies together; tribbing. They act as if they are in ecstasy, but our experience of this was completely different. Apart from putting both parties in a very awkward position, when it’s eventually achieved, the results (apart from Emma getting a cramp) were minimal. It might look good on camera, but not in reality.

Age didn’t worry me at all. I was twenty-three when this first started, and she was to soon be thirty-four. I think this played on her mind a little along with the guilt. When we had spent the night together, at some point, she’d want to be punished. She’d want to feel pain. Either by having something inside her or a spanking. I became quite adept at giving her pleasure through pain. No matter how far I went, she’d always want more.

Her birthday was held in the old barn at the pub. We’d had the conversation about whether I should attend and decided that it would probably look strange if I weren’t around. Mack was, if anything, even more, bullish than usual. It became apparent to me that he was unnecessarily goading my father. Now hate is a strong word but Mack always rubbed me up the wrong way. He’d tried it on with me a number of times, and I knew it pissed him off that I always rejected him.

It was no secret that he played around, and the rumour was he had fathered a few children. But for some strange reason, that night my Dad was the target. I’d seen my Dad throw much bigger men than Mack out of his pub, so I was surprised to see him stand there and take it. It was as if Mack had something over him.

As the party finished, Emma gave me a very self-conscious hug, not wanting to look me in the eye. It felt weird, but I knew why. As I climbed the stairs to my small flat above the pub, I felt alone. On occasions like this, being ‘the other woman’ wasn’t fun. Maybe Mum was right when push comes to shove, I’m on the outside.

The other feeling though was one I wasn’t expecting; I was falling in love. Apart from a few infatuations and obsessions, this was the first time, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought about her most of the time, and when she was with Mack, it ate me up, and I couldn’t handle it. My phone beeped. It was Emma.

“Thank you for a lovely evening. Mack’s just given me my present. See you soon?” I guessed what his present was and didn’t want to reply. It beeped again.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Again, I didn’t and instead put the phone on my dressing table and had a shower. When I returned, there were two more messages.

“Everything okay?”

“Are you avoiding me?” I was reluctant to reply as I didn’t want to know the details and didn’t want to alert Mack. After lying on my bed for about half-an-hour, I capitulated.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself. See you tomorrow?” It was over an hour before she replied.

“Hopefully. He’s gone to have to have a cold shower. He’s taken Viagra and has already fucked me three times so far. The bloody thing won’t go down lol xxx.” It was the last thing I wanted to hear and turning the light off I felt miserable.

I was up early the next day which was Sunday. The town was deserted as I pressed play on my phone, and AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’ filled my head, shutting the world out as I passed the empty shops and cafes on the harbour. Classic Rock has always been my music of choice while running. Queen, Van Halen, AC/DC all inspire me as I pound the streets, and on this occasion cliff tops. Like meditation, running gives me time to think and work things out, and by the time I returned to the town, I’d decided that it was over with Emma.

It was always going to end in tears anyhow, so I thought it best to get it over with. From the other side of the harbour, I could see her familiar white Mercedes Benz parked outside. It was still early, and the town was still sleeping. She got out as I approached with a sheepish smirk on her face.

“Coffee?” I said as I brushed past her, climbing the fire escape to my flat. I was annoyed and wanted her to know it. I’d set the coffee machine up before I left, so all I had to do was switch it on.

“You okay?” she asked as I walked into the bathroom to turn the shower on, the hot steam filling the small space. I’m not confrontational, never have been and I hate arguing. Most of my relationships have ended with me just walking away. An emotional breakup fills me with dread. I just stared at her hoping she could read my mind. This had to end, that much was clear.

“I’m going for a shower.” That was it. I expected her to get the message that it was over from my body language and those few words. Hoping that by the time I returned, she’d have left. I walked into the bathroom closing the door behind me, leaving Emma alone in my bedroom. I let the hot water cascade down over me, soothing my tired muscles. I imagined Emma watching me close the door and then leaving.

Unfortunately, when I re-emerged with only a towel wrapped around me, she was still there. Emma had poured herself a coffee and was sitting on the edge of my bed. I hadn’t noticed her appearance earlier and was surprised to note that her coat covered the now-laddered stockings that she had worn the previous evening. She looked dishevelled. In fact, she was hardly recognisable as the normally expensively dressed pillar of the community. Her hair had been combed but looked untidy. Her make-up was smudged, and streaks from her mascara had collected in her laughter lines. She rose and slowly started unbuttoning her coat.

“I’m married Jenny, you know that, so occasions like last night are going to happen.”

Say it, I told myself. Tell her it’s over. I could feel my legs shaking. “We have to deal with it,” she continued, turning and putting the coat on the bed. She wore no knickers, so her bare behind pointed towards me. She had taken a huge risk coming here like this. She must have got out of bed and just thrown a coat over the black Basque and stockings that she wore, and left.

After showering, my sense of smell is always heightened, and the musky scent of sex was unmistakable. He was all over her. She sat back on the bed. “I’m just being honest with you Jenny. What else do you want from me?”

I wanted her to leave, but I couldn’t say it. I could see the stains on her underwear and the love bites on her breasts. “But I’m here for you now.” She reached over to the dressing table and took my hairbrush, motioning me to come to her. She sat me on the floor, facing away from her, between her legs and started to brush my hair. No one had done this for me since my mother when I was a young girl at school. I closed my eyes and felt my frustrations ease, as the soothing strokes calmed me.

“I’ll take you away,” she said, “just the two of us. A holiday.” It sounded strange coming from her, more like what a great aunt would say rather than my lover. She pushed my head forward, brushing the back of my long brown hair. It felt good and comforting. The brush was replaced by her fingers, massaging my scalp.

“You do trust me, don’t you?” she questioned. I could feel her hands on my flesh, kneading my shoulders and neck, easing my muscles. “I’m not sure you do Jenny,” she paused, waiting for a reply, that didn’t come, “if you don’t, then I need to make you.” The pungent smell of stale sex emanated behind me from between her legs, reminding me of him.

Was she playing a game, this woman that I’d fallen for? Was she toying with me? Her fingers dug deep into the muscle tissues, making me whimper. Her other hand lightly ran up my spine. I was desperate to turn and face her. Is that what she wanted? My phone on the dressing table rang. Saved by the bell. I rushed to answer, and it was Mum asking if I could help with the Sunday lunchtime service. I watched Emma walk towards me. She reached past me and opened the top drawer on my dresser. Not only was this my underwear drawer but also where I hid my sex toys.

Emma knew this, and pushing the assorted bras and knickers to one side, she took out my largest dildo. A thick, black ten-inch monster called “king cock.” It had been a birthday present from my housemates at the university who had bought it for me to take my mind off a difficult breakup with an African boyfriend (but that’s another story).

Mum was still talking about staffing issues as Emma pulled the loose knot in my towel, letting it fall to the floor and began to rub the latex cock with lube slowly it in front of me. “How many staff have we got?” I asked as Emma ran the cockhead over my labia. In my ear, Mum was telling me about the two waitresses that had called in sick as Emma pushed the dildo inside me. I was unprepared for its size, and it took my breath away, making me wince.

Apart from my mother’s disembodied voice, the only other sound in the room was the unmistakable squelch as the phallus moved inside me.

“Keep her talking,” Emma whispered, “I want her to hear you cum.” I shook my head, wanting hopelessly to cross my legs. I was losing track of the conversation as the combined assault of the cock and Emma’s wet finger on my clitoris consumed me.

“What time?” I moaned.

“About eleven?”

“Mm yes. Yes, that’s fine,” I purred, watching Emma shake her head, ordering me not to hang up.

“See you later.” The phone went dead in my hand.

“Has she gone?” Emma asked in her best headmistress’ voice. I nodded. “You need to be punished.” I loved these games. It’s what connected us. She liked a more physical penance, I needed her to be more inventive. She knew that. She knew she had to play with my mind. Create a fantasy.

“Is it busy outside?” I peeked through the curtains wondering what she had in mind. There were a few early birds on the beach. “Open the curtains,” she ordered, and I obeyed by throwing them wide. Now, any passer-by who spotted the large window that looked into the attic of the pub would see my outstretched naked body. My breasts pressed against the cold glass, as Emma tormented me, bringing me close as I writhed in the window, I saw three men staring up, their hands shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun.

“Which one do you want?” she taunted, and I processed the question while staring down at my new audience. “I could bring them all up and watch as they all fuck you. Would you like that? Would that make us even? Three cocks inside you?” I moaned in reply as the huge rubber cock violated me. I could hear my arousal as I began to flow. Slowly at first, then suddenly with a torrent, I exploded, gushing cum down my legs and over Emma below. I could no longer stand and collapsed out of view. Aware of Emma’s grinning face, we both crumpled in hysterics on my bedroom floor.

My fluid was all over her, in her hair and underwear. God knows what the men on the harbour thought. We kissed each other savagely as my hand reached down between her legs, desperate to reciprocate. But she stopped me.

“I’m too sore. It got a bit out of control last night.” I looked up concerned.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, he didn’t, but he can get a bit rough. He doesn't know his own strength,” then turning to me, she kissed my lips. “I like it, Jen, it turns me on. But he does have a rather large willy.” We both laughed that she would say things like that, innocent, almost childlike.

I didn’t see it coming. I know I should have done, but I just didn’t.

Emma surprised me at the gallery one afternoon with the news that she’d booked us a weekend trip to Paris. The train and a hotel in Montmartre had been reserved for the following weekend. I was delighted and aroused in equal measure, this being not only my first visit to the city of love but also our first trip as a couple. We could be ourselves without having to hide our love from prying eyes. I spent the rest of the week excitedly buying a new wardrobe, including an erotic collection of lingerie.

It was a misty Friday night as the taxi pulled up outside the large converted barn that looked over the bay. We were catching the train from Truro to London where Emma had told Mack she was attending a conference. Little did l realise as I excitedly wheeled my suitcase up to Emma’s front door what lay ahead. Looking back, I do remember at the time thinking that it was strange that Mack’s van was parked outside. He was supposed to be on an overnight fishing trip, but it didn’t worry me unduly as Emma would have warned me if there was a change of plans. She didn’t.

I watched the hall light come on and the door open. And there he was. Mack. Standing in the doorway, his face wore a grin so unsettling that my heart sank.

“You’re fucking busted,” he said, dragging me forcefully in through the front door, through the hall and into the living room. Emma sat in a chair by the window. She was wearing a loose-fitting cream top with blue trousers. Her suitcase lay on the floor by the closed curtains that shut out the night. Her eyes were red, and she’d obviously been crying. I sat on the sofa opposite with Mack towering over me. I could smell the drink on his breath.

“So who’s the man between you two?” he mocked, with a big dumb grin on his face. I understood the question but wasn’t going to give him the courtesy of an answer, “which one wears the trousers eh? Who’s the cock?” He stood directly in front of me, placing his crotch deliberately at eye-level, grabbing it in his hand.

“If only you knew where this had been today.”

“Mack, NO!” Emma scolded, making him back away. I looked up as he walked towards her, pulling her out of the chair. He planted a heavy kiss on her lips as they both stood in front of me. Then he turned his attention back to me.

“Did you think she’d leave me, eh, did you? Leave me for you?” I could feel the tears sting my eyes, trying so desperately not to break down.

“Leave her alone!” I screamed. Emma shook her head, telling me silently not to confront him.

“I can do what I fucking want. This is my house, and this is my fucking wife.” His words hurt. He was placing Emma on the same level as property as if he owned her. “Show her.” Emma looked at me, then at Mack and then back to me. I could tell she was scared. She was still looking at me when her hand dropped to his groin.

I was shaking my head as the tears ran down my face. I could taste the salty droplets on my lips. I wanted to cry out that she didn’t have to do this. Just go. Leave me now. Her fingers pulled at the zip of his jeans as he pushed her down by her shoulders. Her hand reached in and fished it out. The rumours were true, it was big. Big, thick, and angry.

“Can you smell her?” Oh, the hypocrisy. He was punishing us for having an affair while even today he’d been fucking someone else. It was beyond belief. “Taste her.” Emma was still looking at me when she licked the length of his cock before taking it into her mouth, the mouth that I’d kissed, that had sucked my breasts, that had made me cum. I watched his cock disappear down her throat until her nose was planted in his pubic hair. I watched her gag, tears streaming from her eyes, until he pulled it out, looking at me, and for one horrid moment, I thought he was going to force it on me. But he stepped back, landing in the chair by the fireplace.

He sat there with his erect cock pointing at the ceiling. Without a word being said, he instructed Emma to continue. This was surreal, how did it come to this? It was so good; how could it all end so quickly and so violently? Powerless and frustrated I just sat there watching as her head bobbed up and down. Watching as he held her head still and viciously fucked her mouth and listening as she gagged when it reached her throat. He began to grunt as his hips moved faster, and then, to my relief, he came.

“Don’t swallow,” he ordered, spitting the words out through gritted teeth. As she took her mouth away, his spent cock lay down on his leg, “go and give your girlfriend a kiss from me.” Surely this wasn’t happening. Emma rose from her knees; her top was ripped, and her left breast was on display. As bizarre as this situation was, the thing that is burnt into my memory is, her nipple was hard. She was aroused. Her eyes were glazed and pleading, as she walked towards me, hoping I’d conform, and not let her down.

I knew what was expected of me, and I was repulsed. In the chair by the fireplace, Mack hadn’t moved, the gloating grin on his face, claiming victory. Bending down our lips met. The last kiss? My mouth opened with hers and I tasted the slimy transfer. Her tongue met mine, as I let his silky spunk slide down my throat, and then I swallowed.

“Daughter like mother,” I heard him say from across the room.

“Mack, no!” Emma scolded again, but this time he wouldn’t be silenced.

“You mean she doesn’t know? You don’t know what she was doing this afternoon. And every Wednesday afternoon when your old man goes into town?” Emma stood there shaking her head, pleading with him to stop. “You don’t know your old Mum’s been riding my cock for the last two years? And she loves it!” I felt sick, the room felt like it was closing in on me. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pair of red crotchless knickers. As he unfolded them, he ran them under his nose, breathing deeply before openly displaying them to me.

“Recognise these?” he teased, throwing them at me. I could feel the hard crust of dried semen on the material. I looked up as his phone was pushed towards me. Emma was screaming at him to stop. He was flicking through numerous pictures of Mum with him. It was a blur. A video started, and my mother’s unmistakable voice filled my ears. Begging him, instructing him, cooing how good he was, how big he was. I recognised the tone of voice, I’d been there. When your nerve endings are so alive that you lose sense of time, space and even who you are, all you want is more. You’re prepared to do anything to keep that sensation.

“Put it in my arse!” I heard her say. Mack’s grinning face stared down at me, nodding. I couldn’t take anymore. I raced to the door and out into the chilly night air, leaving my suitcase in the hall. I wanted Emma to follow me, but as I looked back, the front door had already been closed behind me.

The cold air attacked my senses as I walked the uneven country lanes back into town. My heels were soon removed having proved impossible to walk far in. I headed aimlessly for the beach, somewhere isolated where I could be alone. I don’t know how long I was there for as I lost all track of time. I was sad, upset, frustrated and angry, but most of all helpless. Mack’s words stung; she was never going to leave him for me and I was just the bit on the side. Mum had been right all along; I was isolated and the odd one out.

Mum.

I couldn’t believe she’d been seeing him for so long and had kept it secret. I had no idea at all. I watched the lights go out at the pub, with just a single light remaining from the corner window of the bar. I looked at my phone and realised that I’d been sitting on the beach for over two hours.

Slowly l made my way home. I had left my keys with Dad when I left, so I had little choice but to go in through the bar. Thankfully, the back door was still open, and puzzlingly, the first thing I noticed was my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. I peered into the bar and saw Mum sitting alone with a gin and tonic. She rushed to me, giving me a hug as I entered.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” she said, darting behind the bar, “Brandy; that’ll warm you up.” She gave me the drink and I followed her to the corner table.

“My suitcase?”

“Emma brought it.” She paused, weighing up the moment. “She’s told us everything darling. I’m so sorry.”

“Everything?” she nodded her reply.

“Yes. So now you know.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He followed Emma. I think he’s going to sort Mack out.”

“How is he? You know?”

“Your Dad has always known. We don’t have secrets. I’m not going into details, but he has his private time and I have mine.” It was quite a revelation knowing that your parents still have sexual desires and fantasies and that those fantasies are probably as debauched as my own.

“Was it good?” I don’t know why but I had to ask. I had to know what would keep Emma with him.

“Mack? Sorry love, but yes. Don’t get me wrong, he’s as thick as two short planks, but in bed, he has what it takes. It becomes an addiction. You know that.” I did as it had nearly cost me my place at university (but as I said, that’s another story).

Dad walked in out of the cold and looked over in our direction.

“Alright?” That’s about as good as it gets with Dad. We both nodded. “Mack’s sorted,” he said, and apart from a few occasions when Mack was shooting his mouth off, it was.

I didn’t see it coming. I know I should have done, but I just didn’t. I never saw myself as the scarlet woman, the homewrecker, the bit on the side. The other woman. It just happened.

I still miss her and even now, on a Friday night, I’ll sit at our table in the bar and expect her to walk in through the door. But of course, she never does. She very rarely visits the pub these days and in fact, I hardly ever see her at all. And when she is, Mack is with her, shadowing her like a bodyguard.

I recently walked across the harbour enjoying the unseasonably warm spring sunshine. It was a Wednesday afternoon the pub was closed, and Dad was out. Mack’s old beat-up van was parked outside, and the curtains to Mum and Dad's bedroom were closed, so it seems it’s business as usual.

Except for Emma and me.