Sa’afia and her mother must have long ago worked out how they dealt with Sa’afia being a good-ish girl who had sex. We hadn’t talked about our life stories much, but the fact that we’d finished up in bed together within a few hours of meeting for the first time said something about both of us. Her mother must have discovered and processed the signs that her daughter had sex. 

There’d probably been some kind of confrontation between them, once her mom had to admit that she knew that her daughter was enjoying men and boys in their beds and in hers. By now they must have worked out how they dealt with that.

But did Sa’afia have a diary-reading, checking under the knickers in the second drawer, kind of mother? I didn’t know. Did Sa’afia care whether her mother knew who she fucked? I didn’t know that either. My guess was that the answer to both questions was, “probably”. 

But the game Sa’afia and I were about to play was something else, something more forbidden than ordinary sex. Her daughter was waited for me, naked by the table, on which she’d placed the “stick” she’d kept mentioning. She  expected me to stripe her bottom with that stick till she made noises that I judged had the right kind of desperation in them.

Then I’d growl at her to get her ass up and spread her legs, and when she obeyed I’d ease my cock into her, pushing my hands down onto her back, just below her shoulder blades, to crush her breasts against the cold hard wood while I fucked her.

I thought of Sa’afia, cute little bottom pointed towards the kitchen door and the main corridor, expectant, knowing roughly what to expect from me, and knowing how important and how sexy it was that while she knew the general plan she didn’t know the details, and that I wasn’t going to consult her about those details.

It occured to me that I could just walk in and put my fingers in her cunt. Without speaking. I knew I’d find her honey-wet, whatever we did.

A car in front of me stopped suddenly, without signalling, waiting to turn left. I had only a second to slam on the brakes and check the left lane. There was no car to my left and I swerved the van into the left lane, saved by late but fast reflexes. I went on my way, with a thudding heart and closer attention to the road.

Anyway, that game. It would be a fine game, and I expected that Sa’afia would be pleasantly out of her mind with lust before midnight. And yet, she wouldn’t want her mother to know anything at all about that.

I wondered, as Sa’afia was no doubt wondering, as she stood incongruously naked and obedient in her kitchen, what in the world we were getting ourselves into.