Sunday Morning 7

It was Sunday morning. I lay in bed, still half asleep under the quilt, feeling smug because I wouldn't have to get up for at least another hour or two. Or maybe three. Although I always sleep naked, the bed was lovely and warm. My husband Brian was away on business, and the children would happily stay in bed until noon. Or so I thought.

Half asleep, and with the quilt over my head, I didn't hear the door open. I vaguely realised someone had sat down on the bed next to me, but I had no idea who it was until she spoke.

"Morning, mummy." Zoë whispered breathlessly as she lifted the quilt and slipped in beside me.

Zoë often used to creep into our bed when she was a little girl, but now she was a grown woman. Still, it would be nice to have a warm body to cuddle up to. We snuggled together, and I felt bare flesh. Zoë was naked.

We lay together for I don't how long. My daughter's body pressed to mine, our faces almost touching. Her eyes were shut, and her breath smelled sweet. She looked so beautiful. It occurred to me that I was in bed with my grown-up daughter, and we were both naked.

I stroked Zoë's face. She opened her eyes and smiled.

"Lie on your front," she murmured.

"Mm?" I mumbled, looking at her, puzzled.

"Give you a rub," she replied. Zoë often gives me a neck-and-shoulder massage, which is nice, but I didn't see how I could be any more relaxed than I was at that moment. Anyway, I disentangled myself from my daughter's arms and rolled onto my front, folding my arms under my head.

Zoë threw the quilt back and knelt over me. She started at the back of my neck, gently stroking away what little tension there was. Then she carried on down my back, making firm but smooth movements; her hands were so soft and gentle I could hardly tell she was touching me, but the effect was amazing, I thought I had been relaxed, but as Zoë's hands moved over my body I felt consciousness drifting away. All the while Zoë was quietly murmuring, meaningless sounds, soothing, relaxing my mind as she relaxed my body.

Without realising it, I had opened my legs and Zoë was kneeling between them. She began to massage my calves, teasing out the knots of tension that I hadn't known were there. Her hands moved higher, up the outside of my thighs to my hips. Zoë began kneading my buttocks, rubbing and squeezing, almost roughly now. A faint tingling stirred deep within my belly.

Zoë's hands were moving downwards again, along the inside of my thighs. I felt disappointed, there was only one part of me she hadn't touched; the part I wanted her to touch more than anything.

"Baby," I breathed, "please..."

But now her hands were moving up again, her fingers making small circular motions, fluttering over my skin like a gentle breeze, getting closer...

I shivered as she touched me, her fingertips tenderly brushing my cleft. Her touch became bolder, and I could feel blood rushing through my body, my face and breasts, my pussy lips.

Zoë carefully lowered herself on top of me, her nipples poking into my back, her hand still between my legs. Her fingers were probing my sex, spreading my lips, pushing deep inside me. I could feel wetness trickling out of me; liquid warmth spread out from where my daughter touched me.

"Love you, mum," she whispered in my ear.

Zoë masturbated me as I moved my hips back and forth, my nipples rubbed by the soft material underneath, becoming hard, almost aching. My whole body was suffused by that familiar, inevitable feeling, until my climax washed over me, making me cry out, helplessly.

I lay there for some time. Zoë took me in her arms and I could feel her breathing softly in my ear.

Eventually, I turned towards Zoë and took her face in my hands. I kissed her tenderly, trying to express the love I felt for her. I kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck, then lower; brushing my lips across her breasts, her nipples, down to her belly, then further...

Zoë rolled onto her back and parted her legs. I could see tiny drops of moisture, like little jewels among her crisp, black curls. Using just the tip of my forefinger, I teased her clitoris from its hiding place. Zoë gave a tiny cry, sounding so young and vulnerable. Gently, softly, slowly rubbing with my finger, I explored her with my tongue. She tasted so fresh and clean. I slowly ran my tongue up and down her slit, occasionally pushing deeper inside, all the while circling her clit with my finger. Zoë was running her hands through my hair, across my shoulders and back, pushing me towards her centre. Zoë's breath was coming in short gasps now, and she seemed to reach a peak, giving an almost inaudible whimper. Her orgasm seemed to last forever, and I gradually slowed my motions until her climax subsided.

I left my daughter to lie there, eyes shut, breathing deeply, while I went into the en-suite and ran a bath. When the bath was ready I roused Zoë and we got into the bath together. We soaped each other all over, taking our time, reveling in the luxury.

Suddenly, we came back to earth with a crash. Scott was pounding on the bedroom door.

"Mum!" he shouted, as only an eighteen-year-old boy can shout. "What about breakfast? I'm starving!"

I smiled at my daughter. Our pleasure was over for now, but we knew there would be more to come.