This damned housework was getting on my nerves. I constantly had to clean up after my family and keep our apartment in order just so we could live decently. It all fell on me alone. Frank was at work, and our daughter Fiona was out in town. She had just turned a sweet 18 years old and was celebrating her birthday with her friend Ashley at our place. That day, I’ll never forget, because with Ashley’s arrival, a new breeze swept through our home.

Fiona celebrated her birthday at the start of summer. The two girls decided to keep it small and celebrate at our house. From the moment I met Ashley, she caught my eye. It wasn’t exactly surprising—she had an unusual skin tone for our area. She was cocoa-brown. I was immediately fascinated by her. She had a beautifully sculpted face and, as far as I could tell under her clothes, gorgeous feminine curves. Our daughter Fiona knew her from volleyball practice and school. Her mother was Brazilian, married to a German. She was in one of Fiona’s parallel classes and, like our daughter, was about to graduate high school.

The two girls had become friends, and I could tell that Ashley’s grace on one hand and her shy reserve on the other drew me in like a magnet. I wanted to figure out what kind of person this was, spending time with my daughter. And what I got to know was very pleasant. Her father, I learned, had been a diplomat in her mother’s homeland, and that’s how her parents met. A few days later, the girls made plans to hang out in our garden. It was a hot day, and they wanted to sunbathe on the terrace and relax.

The moment I saw her coming out of Fiona’s room, I was speechless. She was wearing a white bikini that could only be described as tiny. Her flawless, slender body with its even brown tone was perfectly contrasted by the garment. The bottoms, barely worth mentioning, covered her modesty only just, and it was clear to everyone that not a single hair disrupted the impression. Her breasts were small, barely filling an A-cup, but the prominent curve of her nipples held me captive.

I remembered that in my youth, my nipples had that same shape, but that faded as I got older and eventually became pregnant with Fiona. Now, at 42, I had well-filled B-cups, reserved only for my husband. Our wedding was 19 years ago. Back then, Frank and I were still at university, aiming to become mathematicians. We both finished our studies, but because of the pregnancy and Fiona’s birth, I never entered a proper career. Frank started working at an insurance company, and we managed well enough with the money.

It wasn’t much that Frank earned at first, but after some time, we could even afford a small house with a large garden. In the garden, we set up a little playground for our daughter. My husband wasn’t particularly handy, but he did his best for the playground, and as Fiona grew, we added more. He even built a small slide for his darling. Fiona loved that metal contraption and could never get enough of climbing on it. Now that she was an adult, the slide was still in our garden. Fiona no longer fit on it, and it would probably collapse if she tried, but we were never allowed to take it down.

It had been our daughter’s sacred relic since childhood, and as long as she lived with us, that little structure wasn’t going anywhere. She was serious about that. Sometimes I regretted that because of Fiona, I couldn’t have a normal career. Only when our daughter was old enough could I take a part-time job and earn a bit of money alongside my husband so we could afford a little more. But after nearly 20 years of marriage, Frank and I still loved each other like we did on the first day. Much of our life had become routine, and surprises were rare.

After so many years, you know your partner inside and out. Exploring each other was done after a few years of marriage, and you knew what strengths and flaws to expect. The flaws, in particular, were a daily reminder. That’s just how it was—you couldn’t pick and choose. After such a long time together, our sex life could be called a bit rusty. The routines were similar after all these years, and we didn’t make love as often as younger people. Frank is a very loving man and enjoys spoiling me with his tongue.

Sometimes he’d even use a finger or two. My oral skills brought him a lot of joy as well. I also particularly enjoyed pleasing him that way. Before Frank, I had only four lovers who got to sleep with me. But they were all too young and focused more on themselves than on me during our intimate moments. Frank wasn’t exactly known as a great stallion, but with his decent looks and very adequate “equipment,” he could score points with women my age. Back then, he was quite the sought-after lover and, by his account, had been with about thirty women.

That didn’t make me jealous, but it didn’t exactly fill me with pride either. I was drawn to his calm and reliable nature, and in bed, he showed me a lot of new things. He knew what he was doing, and back then, he proved it to me almost daily—sometimes multiple times. I was truly happy with him, and we started our marriage. Shortly after, the pregnancy with our sunshine Fiona came along. The wild life we led before turned into a more restrained relationship. Once Fiona was born, we couldn’t revive our wild sex life.

I never had same-sex adventures, nor was I interested in them. I saw my friends more as gossip buddies and happily joined in. But sexual interest never arose. Sabine and Frauke, friends from my youth, had shown curiosity about me. They often compared themselves to me when we changed at the pool or tried on clothes in front of mirrors in our rooms. I usually came up short. I tended to gain weight too easily and could only counter it with a strict exercise regimen.

That’s how I discovered my love for volleyball, which I passed on to our daughter. It also gave my breasts some firmness because the connective tissue was constantly challenged. It didn’t make much sense for the B-cups I carried, but it was an excellent way to control my weight. In recent years, though, I’d neglected it a bit. I hated those constricting bras and usually left them in the closet. I preferred to let them swing freely, which, in recent years, allowed gravity to take its toll a bit.

Frank said you couldn’t really tell and encouraged me. But I wasn’t sure if he was just saying that to make me feel better or if he was fibbing. My backside, though, was my pride and joy. Years of training had made it firm, which Frank always loved. As for him, his top layer of polish had worn off too. Like most men, he had a thicker belly, and the hair on his head was thinning. Men had their issues too, even if they often brushed them off as mere signs of aging.

But in that moment, as young Ashley stood before me and I stared at her budding breasts, I was overcome with a desire to touch that tender, youthful flesh. Only when I realized I was staring at this gorgeous young thing with cocoa skin did I quickly turn away, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks. Ashley must have noticed, though she acted like she hadn’t. She and Fiona strutted past me, and I couldn’t help but ogle the young girl’s backside. Her cheeks swayed slightly, almost waving at me.

Once the girls settled in the garden, I retreated to the basement to deal with the laundry. It was the only place I couldn’t see them, so I felt relatively safe. But as I unloaded the washing machine and plugged in the iron, the thought of touching Ashley’s dreamlike body overwhelmed me. Without thinking, my hand slipped under my loose summer dress and caressed my breasts. I thought of her hairless armpits and velvety mound.

My hands moved unconsciously over my stomach. One squeezed my breasts while the other slipped past the waistband of my panties, gently brushing my own hairless mound and finding my little love button. For the first time in my life, a young woman—or rather, a young girl—turned me on so much that I got wet and touched myself. I was shocked at myself and needed a brief pause. But just a few seconds of standing still in the laundry room were enough to throw all my reservations overboard.

I continued touching myself, and in the private porn movie playing in my head, Ashley came to life. In that film, she started kissing me deeply, and my hands became hers. She caressed me, kissed me, and moaned softly into my mouth. I explored her young, untouched, firm, wrinkle-free body. Her small buds perked up, and I suckled them like a newborn searching for fresh milk from her sweet little breasts. My hands roamed my own intimate area, sending my desire to new heights.

Just as I was inhaling the intoxicating scent of her young pussy in my mind and nearing a spectacular climax, I heard urgent calls from upstairs. Fiona was calling for me, as she had for years. She slammed on the brakes perfectly. I quickly fixed my clothes, nearly forgetting my wet fingers that had just been between my lips. I desperately hoped my soaked panties weren’t visible and ran upstairs. At the terrace door stood Fiona, dripping as if she’d just climbed out of a nonexistent pool, waiting for me.

Beaming, she said, “Can you grab us two towels? It was so hot, we sprayed each other with the garden hose.”

A bit disappointed, I turned around, ran upstairs to the bathroom, and grabbed two towels. At least Fiona had listened to my request not to track water through the house. I spent most of my time wiping and cleaning, and Fiona always ruined my work by dragging dirt back inside. When I got back to the terrace door and handed Fiona the first towel, I nearly had a heart attack. Behind her stood Ashley in her tiny white bikini, now almost transparent from the water.

The bit of fabric clung to her flawless figure like a second skin, and I caught myself staring at my daughter’s young friend. Her small nipples stood erect, poking dark brown through the snow-white bikini. Even worse was her tiny bottoms, which had molded to her body, outlining her delicate lips. The small slit was unmistakable. My gaze stuck to it like a magnet to a fridge, and I had to consciously force myself to look elsewhere.

With one last appreciative glance at the nearly naked teenager stirring my emotions, I handed Ashley a towel and asked them to dry off and quickly change out of their wet clothes. Both grinned at me, dried their feet, and stepped into the living room. I had assumed they’d change in Fiona’s room, but Ashley proved me wrong. Right in front of me in our living room, she stripped, and after a moment of confusion, Fiona followed her friend’s lead.

Fiona, with her baby fat around her hips and pale skin, stood in stark contrast to the deeply tanned, incredibly slim Ashley. As Ashley bent over to slip off her white bikini bottoms, she practically presented her backside to me. As she slowly peeled them off, I got a clear view of her dark pussy with slightly parted lips. I even spotted her protruding little clit, and I felt like this young friend of our daughter was deliberately trying to throw me off. She didn’t realize she’d already succeeded.

The wildest thoughts raced through my mind. I wondered intensely what she tasted like between her legs, what it would be like to bury my tongue in that pleasure cave, and whether she’d scream loudly or softly during an orgasm. At the same time, I scolded myself for these thoughts. What had gotten into me? What teenager, especially one like Ashley, would want anything to do with an old woman like me? I had to force myself to tear away from this delicious sight and distract myself with housework. Just as I was about to head back to the laundry room, Fiona handed me their wet clothes and asked me to hang them up to dry.

The two naked girls ran upstairs, and I was left in the living room with the wet clothes. On top of the pile was Ashley’s white bikini bottom, smirking at me slyly. I cautiously looked around the living room and saw I was completely alone. Following an inner compulsion, I picked up Ashley’s white bottoms, turned them in my hand, and couldn’t help but sniff them. I couldn’t smell much; they were just too wet. Only a faint, sweet scent reached my nose, reigniting my desire.