Happy New Year!

When my doorbell rings just after 8am, I have no idea that I am about to have the most extraordinary experience of my life.

I am a perfectly normal 43-year old middle class Surrey housewife, happily married to a City banker - the only man I have ever 'known' sexually – and mother of a 19-year old daughter and a 15-year old son. I am quite pretty of I say so myself, only five-feet-one inch tall and petite, with short copper red hair, jade green eyes set in a creamy complexion, a naturally smiling mouth, and a nice figure with pert B-cup boobs.

It's the 5th of January, my husband has left for work, my son has travelled up to London with him to spend the day around Piccadilly Circus, and my daughter is away staying with her cousin and her aunt, my sister. I am alone in the house, sitting in the kitchen sipping a cup of tea, dressed only in a housecoat – a modest one, buttoned to my throat and extending to my calves - and a pair of slippers. When the doorbell sounds I just assume, at that time of the morning, that it must be the postman; I'm expecting a parcel from relatives in America. To my surprise, though, it's my daughter's boyfriend Peter.

Peter looms over me, he must be at least six-foot-three, and he's a member of his university rowing team with a barrel chest and huge biceps. He's 20 years old with an unruly mop of blond hair, big blue eyes and what I suppose a romantic novelist would describe as a ruggedly handsome face. I'm surprised to see him – he's aware Jenny, my daughter, is away, but I remind him anyway. He gives me a big white-teethed grin, like a young Burt Lancaster, and cheerily replies, "I know Mrs Turner, I came round to wish you happy New Year".

I feel awkward, but I don't have any choice to invite him in and offer him tea and toast, which he gratefully accepts. He leads the way to the kitchen and, as I follow him along the hallway, my tummy clenches nervously. I've always felt a little nervous around Peter; not because he's like a giant compared to me but because, well, he is very good looking, and he has a lot of natural charm. More than once in the past when he and I have been chatting, and he has turned on that smile, I have felt myself blushing – very embarrassing. And, perhaps the biggest single cause of my nervousness, I did something a bit silly just before Christmas.

We held a party, just family and close friends. Naturally the house was decorated with tinsel, baubles – and mistletoe. At one point, quite late in the evening, after I'd had a few glasses of sherry, Peter and I happened to be passing in a corridor right under the mistletoe. I honestly can't remember which of us suggested it but it seemed natural to honour tradition and exchange a kiss. Of course I intended it just to be a chaste peck, but somehow it lasted longer than it should have done and our lips were pressed together for several seconds. For a moment I felt Peter's tongue pushing against my lips and between them, stroking against my teeth and gums, then he pulled away and, his face still inches from mine, he whispered "Merry Christmas Mrs T". I felt a dreadful burning warmth in my tummy and my crotch, my nipples felt stiff and my face was blushing furiously. I was very relieved when the party broke up just a few minutes later and Peter left.

And now here he was in my kitchen, sitting beside me at the kitchen table – not opposite me – drinking tea. I reassure myself that I have nothing to worry about, I have no doubt he and Jenny are in love, we had both had rather too much to drink at the party, and Peter had never before acted towards me in any way which was not normal between a girl's boyfriend and his mum. Nevertheless, as we sit there, talking about what we did in New Year's Eve, and about his university course work, I cannot help but be aware of his...I can't think of a better term for it, his rugged manliness. Deep inside myself I am begging my face not to start blushing.

The conversation falters for a moment, then Peter says, "I came round to thank you for inviting me to your Christmas party too. I really enjoyed it...especially our kiss under the mistletoe."

I don't know what to say, and I look away for a moment, marshalling my thoughts, preparing to tell him how stupid I was that night, and how totally inappropriately he behaved; that I'm not annoyed with him, it's just something we must forget and move past. Perhaps he takes my momentary silence as confusion; I shudder as his big hand cups around mine resting on the table. His face very close to mine now, he whispers, "I've fancied you for ages Sally, and I know you fancy me too".

Gathering all my resolve together, trying to ignore my knotting stomach and my tingling nipples, I turn to him and as strictly as I can start to say "Peter, nothing can..." I get no further – his other hand reaches around and locks on the back of my head, pushing my face onto his. He kisses me open-mouthed, his tongue forcing its way between my lips and stroking along my teeth then passing between them, caressing my own tongue. My mind is screaming at me to stop this, to push him away, stand up, but my body refuses to respond. One of my hands is on Peter's chest but not pushing at him, just resting there. I gasp as his free hand, the one which was holding mine, starts to unbutton my housecoat, one button, two, three...

As Peter's fingers stroke across my breastbone I come to my sense slightly. Tearing myself away from him I stand and turn away from him. Fumbling at the buttons of my housecoat, my voice shaking, I say "I think you'd better leave now Peter, don't you?"

I hear his chair scrape on the stone floor as he stands, and a moment later I jump as his strong hands rest on my shoulders. His lips inches from my ear, he murmurs "No, I don't. I don't want to go, Sally, and you don't want me to either". He presses his body against me and I feel his erection pushing into the small of my back. Oh God, I can actually feel my pussy starting to get damp.

I whip round to face him, to snap that I want him out of my house, perhaps to slap his face. But before I can do anything her reaches out and, shockingly, tears my housecoat open in a single movement, buttons popping across the kitchen, exposing my nakedness to him. I have time only to gasp "Peter!" before he pushes me back against the wall and kisses me furiously, hungrily.

My mind and body are locked in battle. I am terrified, yet excited by this assault. My mind is telling me this is insane, I am a good and faithful wife who is now all but nude as my daughter's boyfriend takes me by force. Yet at the same time my tongue responds to his, fencing with it, my body arches to press my breast more firmly into the hand curled around it, my nipples achingly stiff, my knee rises to stroke against Peter's manhood through his tracksuit trousers and, my final damnation, my arm snakes around his neck, pulling him onto me, my open mouth locked bruisingly against his.

Peter pushes his hands inside my housecoat and around me. Suddenly I feel my feet leave the floor as he lifts me. He is so strong that he is supporting my weight on his hands under my buttocks, and to help him I lock my legs around his waist and wrap both my arms around his neck. Any last thoughts of my husband and my daughter drift from my mind: this beautiful, powerful young Adonis wants to fuck me, and oh God I so want him to.

I giggle into Peer's mouth as, tottering slightly, he carries me back to my big sturdy farmhouse oak table and sits me on it. I shrug the housecoat off my shoulders and gaze up at my lover, unashamedly naked, my eyes shining, my tongue lolling from my mouth. With a confident smile he moves between my open thighs and kneads my breasts, his thumbs stroking my throbbing russet nipples. I sigh happily as he drops to a crouch and takes one of my boobs in his mouth, his tongue flicking the nipple. His mouth moves lower down my body; I shudder as his tongue traces down my ribcage, and tickles my belly button then, panting with lust, I lock my hands in his blond mop, pushing him lower still.

He tracks his tongue through my neatly trimmed ginger pubes then I jump as his thumbs stroke my pussy lips. He eases them apart and I feel a warm breeze as he blows on my wet, tender flesh, making me whimper in anticipation. A moment later I gasp as Peter's tongue licks the length of my slit, then plunges inside me. Placing the flats of my hands on the table behind me, my head falling backwards, I groan loudly, obscenely, as he licks me. Soon his mouth moved upwards slightly, and his tongue starts to massage my clitty, giving him room to slip several fingers inside me. As my daughter's boyfriend eats my clit and finger-fucks me tears of joy roll down my cheeks and I hear myself keening like an over-excited terrier. A burning fire spreads outwards from my pussy, claiming my entire body; I can feel my orgasm building like the earth tremors before a major earthquake, and as it begins to hit I screw my eyes tightly shut and scream at the ceiling. My hips thrust at Peter as I cum, several tons of TNT explode in my head, and my thighs clamp around his beautiful face. Withdrawing his fingers from me he thrusts his tongue back inside me, licking me deeply as aftershocks hit until I literally have to beg him to stop.

My boy lover stands and offers his sticky fingers to me. My eyes locked on his, I lick myself off them, one by one. I have never tasted my pussy before, and enjoy the sweet salty sensation. I feel a surge of pleasure and triumph as Peter whispers "You taste much nicer than Jenny", then his tongue is in my mouth again and I suck my juices from it. As we kiss I start to unbutton his plaid lumberjack shirt. He stands to his full height and steps away from me then, his eyes never leaving mine, strips.

First are his training shoes, revealing his bare feet. Next the shirt goes - he has an impressive, muscular hairless chest. Finally Peter removes his tracksuit bottoms and jockstrap together and stands naked before me. His uncircumcised cock is magnificent, it must be at least ten inches long, standing erect from a nest of blond hair which extends in a thin line to his navel. As he moves back between my thighs I shuffle forward on the table. Reaching around him I take one of his rock hard buttocks in my hand; my other hand wraps around that huge prick, and he gasps as I stroke my fist up and down its length. He kisses the top of my head and I tell him "I want to suck you now."

Peter shakes his head and whispers "Later. I'm going to fuck you now." My pussy twitches in eager anticipation at his words. I assume he will want to go up to my bedroom, but he makes it clear that, this first time, he wants to have me right here, in the kitchen. He rolls me onto my tummy at the narrow end of the table; my toes are just touching the floor, and I brace myself by reaching across the table and wrapping my fingers around the edges, my boobies squashing flat against the smooth cool wood. Peter moves between my thighs then grasps my bottom cheeks. I squeal and squirm with unexpected pleasure as he buries his face between them, his tongue pushing forcefully into my puckered bum-hole. After a minute or so he stands again and his fingers enter my pussy, massaging my insides, making me cum again within seconds.

At last Peter grips my hips and manoeuvres himself into position. I tense in anticipation as I feel the head of his prick nudging against my pussy lips; it is so much bigger, in every way, than my husband's that I'm not sure I can take it. But then with a twitch of Peter's hips his knob enters me. He see-saws it back and forth for a few moments, getting me used to it, spreading my juices around, then gradually eases into me to the hilt, until I feel his pubic hair nestling against my bum. He fucks me slowly at first, with long regular strokes, but as my pussy accommodates itself to him he starts to tease me, varying the length and power of his thrusts, making me gurgle with delight. We go at it for several minutes until he resumes a steady, fast rhythm, penetrating me deeply. Panting, I start to mumble "fuck me, fuck me" with every push, until finally he starts to get faster and faster, slamming into me, and I give a little whimper with each stroke. Peter finishes with three huge thrusts and I actually feel him shoot inside me, driving me to yet another orgasm.

Peter rests his body on mine, both of us breathing hard. After a while he slips out of me and I squirm onto my back on the table, hugging him to me, stroking his muscular back, plunging my tongue into his mouth. Slowly he rises from the table; I follow and, taking his hand, lead him upstairs to my bed.