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An Emerging Pt. 01

By: Modernmenelaus



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter 1 


"OK, any other business?"

Rachael waited with mild trepidation; surely, just for once, there was a chance that they'd end the meeting on time? The knot of tension in her stomach tightened.

"No? Good. We'll reconvene at nine tomorrow for the team building event. Have a good evening, all."

For the first time ever, Rachael felt a rush of affection for Jeremy, the Chairman. Now, all she had to do was get out without getting dragged into anything else. 

She began to pack her papers into her briefcase, avoiding eye contact with any of those around the table. Now, the plan had to be straight out of the meeting room, through the office outside, walking briskly and facing straight ahead. Maybe, just maybe, it was going to work. Her mind began to dwell on the evening ahead of her...

"Um, sorry?"

She was suddenly aware that she was being spoken to.

"Gah -- you were miles away," Jeremy spoke with amused tolerance. "Do you want a lift to the hotel, with the rest of us?"

She flushed slightly.

"No, I'm not staying over -- I need to get home. Babysitting problems."

"Ah. Sorry to hear that -- it'd have been good to have got you along to dinner, with the team." He smiled. "Maybe we'd have seen a less formal Rachael after a drink or two?"

She returned the smile, but held her silence. She was aware of her flushed cheeks, suddenly concerned that all present would know that she was lying. Turning away to snap shut the briefcase gave her a chance to break the moment. She turned for the door, but as she reached it, she had to pause, as the caterers removed the leftover lunch plates. Stepping through, she half heard the muttered comment from Frank, one of the "old hands". 

"You'll never melt the Ice Queen, mate"

"Idiot," she thought. Frank and his cronies were part of the reason why she wouldn't be staying over, even if she didn't have better plans for the night. The drinking would start as soon as they arrived at the hotel, continue through dinner, and culminate with stupid games - not to say some vomiting - in the small hours. Inevitably, at some stage, she'd get loudly and publicly propositioned by one or another of the idiots, and perversely, her response would be taken as evidence of frigidity. 

There was laughter in the room behind her. 

"Pity. I reckon she's got a pretty good figure. Her arse looks good in that that skirt, at the very least."

She walked out through reception fighting an urge to sway her hips to draw attention to that part of her body. That could wait. The skirt was tightly cut over her thighs, restricting her step. Involuntarily she glanced down, pleased with the way it outlined the long curves of her legs and hips. She noted the small bulges caused by her suspender clips. It amused her to think that Frank and the other middle aged adolescents at the meeting were too unobservant to have noticed them; God knew what effect the idea that she was wearing stockings would have had on their overheated imaginations.

Not that she'd ever thought before that this should be an issue; she simply hated the constriction of tights. A lift was waiting, its door open. She slipped in and pressed the button for the ground floor. The doors closed, leaving her alone in the mirrored box.

Leaning back against one wall she took a deep breath, hoping to quell the butterflies gathering in her stomach. A sense of apprehension fought with rising excitement. She sighed. For someone who normally prided herself on her equanimity, she was becoming used to what seemed to be huge swings of mood oscillating from excitement to apprehension to guilt to mild euphoria, sometimes in a matter of minutes. At this moment she was sure that she was growing moist between the legs. Part of her mind, however, remained preoccupied with iniquity, and with fears of the many things that could yet go wrong.

She looked at herself in the mirror opposite. She supposed the "Ice Queen" remark might have some justification. Her business suit was cut as the picture of respectability. Slightly longer than knee length, grey wool, the jacket buttoned to her collar bone. She'd not removed it at any stage, despite the stuffiness of the room or the length of the meeting. Under it she wore a crisp shirt of masculine cut. Although no less restrained than the suit, it had a tendency to pull tight across her breasts. Past experience had taught her that anything that drew attention to her full breasts, contrasting them with a slender waist, caused unnecessary attention. Around her neck was a single strand short necklace, of large square black stones, matched with onyx pendant earrings.

The only thing, she supposed, that might have suggested anything other than complete professionalism and modesty, were the seamed black stockings. She twisted her calf to see the seam in the mirror, pleased with the way it emphasized her slender muscularity. The low heeled pumps would have to go before the evening though. Not at all the effect she hoped to create...

The lift halted, and she stepped through into the lobby. She acknowledged the security man with a brief smile, slid quickly through the revolving door, and out into the car park. 

The early evening air was fresh and crisp, fitting the season. Its coolness felt good on her heated cheeks. As she walked towards her car, she found that her gait changed spontaneously. Her usual purposeful stride - at least as much of a stride as the confines of her skirt permitted - changed to a sensual glide, her hips swaying. At the same time, she felt her nipples tighten. She ruminated that she was drifting into the mood for the evening. That, or the cold was getting to her!

Once in the car and pulling out into the traffic, she came to the motorway slip road within minutes. The point of no return.

Rachael could take the left, and return home, where her husband and child would be surprised, but pleased to see her. They'd doubtless question why she wasn't away at the social evening, ahead of her much anticipated team building day, but they'd eat together and settled down for another evening of quiet domesticity. Suddenly, taking that safe option seemed very attractive.

Or did it? Idiots though they were, Rachael couldn't empty her mind entirely of the sorts of remarks made by Frank and the others. Not when there'd been so many similar ones over the years. Always shrinking into the background, always avoiding attention. Even when she'd married, despite Alistair's obvious delight in her body, she'd never found it possible to believe in her own desirability. There had been occasions when he'd persuaded her to wear something daring, that showed off her figure; when she had, she'd dismissed the reactions of men to it as just proof of their stupidity, not of any merit on her part. She'd felt tawdry, and after a while he'd given up. 

In bed, he lavished praise on her form. In that context, she found it arousing, but when he'd moved on to using it as the basis of fantasy concerning her in situations where she'd aroused men, she'd refused to participate. In truth, she thought she simply found sharing such thoughts uncomfortable even if they turned her on. Sex was purely an issue of love within marriage, wasn't it? And even if that could be simply put to one side, she found it impossible to envisage herself that way. The odd thing was, when he'd stopped, she'd found she quite missed it.

She could take the right. Just ten miles or so, a safe distance from anywhere anyone was likely to know her, was the hotel she'd booked when this wild idea first occurred to her. As she sat waiting for the lights she knew this was where she had to make the choice. If she didn't take the opportunity this time, she'd never summon up the courage for a second attempt. Conversely, she was risking so much.

The lights changed. She made up her mind. Left, and home.

The first two cars in the queue moved away smoothly. She lifted her foot from the brake and, with a sense of relief, began to move forward... and stopped, as the ancient hatchback two cars in front of her stalled. As its driver churned the starter motor the light turned red. She was about to start cursing the incompetent. Instead, she was suddenly struck with a further wave of indecision. The mental images she'd formed of the evening came to the forefront of her mind, and she felt her body respond.

Her breath quickened as she felt herself become slick, her nipples crinkling, and blood rushing to her labia. 

Rachael's mind returned to her previous train of thought. In reality, she'd never, in her heart of hearts, disliked the tales of her imaginary misbehaviour; she just couldn't feel comfortable with them while she disbelieved that anyone would have found her so tempting, or that she could allow herself to behave that way. But, as time had worn on, the frequency with which such tales were brought to the marital bed declined. Her fault, she supposed. She'd tacitly discouraged them. On birthdays and anniversaries he still sometimes bought exciting lingerie and she enjoyed wearing it, seeing the response in her husband's eyes. Even though some of the outfits were hugely more tawdry than she'd have ever bought for herself, there was still an inner stimulation in presenting herself. Rachael couldn't bring herself to admit that to him, though. And over time, those presents too had become more sporadic.

It had been impossible not to start to think that life was passing her by, that she was being deprived of a gratification that others took for granted. That conjecture had become more concrete six months or so ago. On hearing the admission from a friend -- one of the other mothers who waited each day to collect their children outside her daughter's school -- of having had an affair, she'd been at first stunned, and then intrigued. The friend was a decidedly "yummy mummy" Rachael admitted, but it still had been a huge surprise when, both slightly drunk on a "girls night out", she'd confessed.

It wasn't the fact of the affair that had discomfited her but the lack of regret, and the relish with which her friend had described its invigorating effect. The feeling of becoming desirable again, of being able to cast off the shackles of propriety had rekindled her love of life, it seemed. And even though the affair had been short lived, as she'd claimed, it had rejuvenated her sex life with her husband. He, it appeared, was puzzled but grateful at the change in her.

Then, more recently, less positive events had conspired. Discovering Alistair's secret store of pornographic magazines was no great surprise -- most men had one, she surmised. It was that it was not all of lithe young bodies. Often it featured women of her own age, who apparently had no problem both displaying themselves in the most lewd way, as well as apparently taking pleasure in an active - and wide ranging - sex life. She'd been furious.

Angry and frustrated at work that following day, she'd heard about the "Ice Queen" nickname for the first time.

Rachael found in herself a small core of anger. How dare they presume to know about her inner drives? How dare her husband not recognise his good fortune. Also, though, was a nagging guilt; it was she herself who'd created this situation, through her inability, or unwillingness, to set aside her inhibitions. 

Beyond the anger, though, a new need was emerging. She had to know. She had somehow to prove to herself that she was capable of being alluring, of provoking lust in men. And that she could herself take pleasure in the sex act itself, unconstrained by circumstances. She found herself imagining situations where she did just that. Imaginings, though, didn't settle any of the questions. Worse, they just contributed to a longing to experience truly passionate sex. 

Then, opportunity had offered itself. As soon as the instructions for this event had appeared in her e-mail inbox -- a day of tedium setting budgets for next year's operations at an office miles from home, a night in a hotel, and a day running around a muddy field with fools she mostly despised - a plan had germinated. Provided she attended the day events, no-one from work would be surprised if she had to rush home in the evening; none would expect the Ice Queen to unwind socially anyhow. Equally, at home, she'd be able to show good cause for being away, and even largely unreachable. 

She'd been planning the night for weeks, surreptitiously buying the items she felt she'd need. This was her chance to know once and for all what she was capable of.

As the light again changed it was near automatic that she swung the car to the right. Rachael forced herself to concentrate as she joined the stream of traffic, suppressing her imagination in order to concentrate on safety. By the time she was ensconced in the outside lane, there seemed to be no more space for indecision. In fact, she found herself driving with unaccustomed speed, eager to reach her destination. Turning into the hotel drive, she had to make herself slow. The car, her pride and joy, was low slung as befitted a sports car. It had to be taken slowly over the speed bumps, respecting its age.

Pulling into the car park, she contemplated the hotel building. It seemed well chosen for her purpose. A large country house, converted to its current purpose in the last few years, it was large enough to be anonymous, but retained character. That wasn't why she'd chosen it, though. That was more to do with it's proximity to a number of military training establishments. She'd always had a weakness for the sorts of men who became officers and she felt few of them would turn down the offer of a night of uncomplicated sex.

As she stepped from the car, bending over to extract her overnight bag, she felt herself being watched. A surreptitious glance showed her a group of men standing at the window of what she guessed to be the bar, observing her with frank interest. Rachael was pleased to think that her position would show the curves of her backside to advantage. Her only regret was that she was still wearing the flat pumps rather than footwear more suited to her plans for the evening.

Her path to Reception took her out of their line of sight. Check in was quick, efficient, and nonetheless frustrating.

Her original intent had been a long, slow, scented bath, followed by leisurely preparation, a light meal, and then to allow events to take their course. That didn't fit her mood. Arriving in her room, she decided a change of plan was in order. Yet more anticipation was that last thing she wanted; all doubts now seemed gone. For the first time in her life, she thought, she felt just plain lascivious. She wanted to make herself as provocative as possible, to go downstairs, and to see just how much attention she could attract.

She quickly stripped and showered. From her overnight bag she took the short, tight dress that she'd selected with such care. Pulling it over her head, she smoothed it down over her naked body. She'd never ever before owned a piece of clothing under which it wasn't possible to wear a stitch of underwear. She reached into the bag to bring out the broad elasticised belt which she'd decided to wear. Did she need it, she wondered? Normally, she was convinced child bearing had left her with a waist a little larger, and stomach a little slacker than in her youth. Inspecting herself in the semi-sheer black dress, she admitted that that was really self deprecating. Her frequent gym sessions had, in reality, left her waist and stomach tight and toned.

Still, the broad belt did add a raunchy quality. She clenched it tight. Her image in the mirror was starting to look very good indeed, she decided, especially for someone past forty. Her breasts were held firmly by the cups formed into the dress, although they could have been presented a little higher, she thought. Against that, her nipples were clearly delineated, giving a voluptuous effect. She succumbed to the urge to run her hands over them, then to tease them with her fingers. It felt good, sensual, and, of course, it made them even more prominent. Her hands were shaking, she realised. Perhaps a drink would help.

She was prepared. In the bag was a bottle of champagne, but it wasn't chilled. She called Reception, and ordered an ice bucket. Investigating the mini-bar, she found a quarter bottle of white wine, which she opened and poured.

Sitting at the dressing table and sipping at the wine, Rachael snapped the seal on the packet containing the stockings she'd selected to go with the dress. Unusually for her, they were "hold-ups"; although her thighs were firm enough that they didn't cause an unsightly line, she disliked the sensation of the gripping welts. However, this time, the clinging nature of the dress ruled out a suspender belt, so she'd chosen these -- dark, in fact near opaque, with a faint lattice design picked out in silver -- as the most erotic option available. Drawing first one, then the other, up her legs, she was relieved to see that they were long enough to reach almost to her pelvis. That meant that any flashes of thigh she offered would be intentional. Moreover, she contemplated, they'd make her already long, slim thighs look endless.

That concept engrossed her. Rapt by the idea, she reached again into the bag, drawing out the shoes which she'd wished to be wearing earlier. Four inches high, with a thick ankle strap, they'd been bought with the intent of exhibiting her shapely legs, of giving her walk a libidinous sway, and -- most crucially -- sending a not very subliminal message. Rachael had never owned a pair of "fuck-me" heels before. She certainly did now. She bent to fasten the ankle straps. The buckles were stiff. Sufficiently so, she thought, they'd only be coming off in extremis; and in her mind, she formed another vision of herself, naked but for stockings and heels. 

She'd fantasised such a scene often enough recently, and even - at Alistair's request - dressed this way in the privacy of their bedroom, albeit lacking the heels. 

The night she'd found those magazines, he'd been away on business. Probably just as well, as her first instinct had been to confront him with them and demand that he not bring any such material into their home again. Instead, events took an unexpected turn. Having settled their child, while sitting quietly she found some of the images returning to her mind. Then, having gone to bed early, she found herself waking in the small hours, uncomfortable in churned covers, and perspiring. Her body showed all the signs of arousal, and she knew her dreams had consisted of vague, but undoubtedly sexual images. Settling back to try to recapture sleep, she found herself consumed by an urge to compare her own body to those in the magazines. And thus she found herself in what she thought was the bizarre position of standing in front of a mirror contemplating her strengths relative to the models in the magazines strewn around her feet. She'd felt, in the main, she compared well. Why did he feel the need to look at them when the real thing was available?

The following night, when he returned, she'd attempted to initiate sex. Claiming tiredness, he'd declined. As he slept, she found her mind churning. Was it something wrong with her? Was she genuinely so undesirable? If so, why? She thought that objectively, her body stood well in comparison with those he wanted to look at. She wanted very much to be sure of it now. This was the first time she'd contemplated being seen like that, by some yet-unknown lover. She found the prospect exquisitely sensual, and at the same time daunting. 


An Emerging Pt. 02



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter3 

He was standing at the foot of the bed, looking hesitant. This was the moment of truth. Rachael collected her wits and leaned back against the door frame. Intent on looking her best, she placed her hands on her hips and drew her shoulders back, feeling the lace trim of the slip pull taut against her breasts. She raised her left leg, bent it and placed the sole flat against the door frame at knee height. She knew that the pose would accentuate her shapely frame and present her breasts to his sight. His eyes roved over her body, seemingly wanting to miss nothing. Momentarily they rested at her nearly exposed groin. Inwardly Rachael groaned with lust; this was the first male to see that part of her, apart from Alistair, and he apparently approved. More than that, she realised. The very act of displaying herself was even more arousing than she'd imagined it to be. Despite the pleasure she broke the pose to move towards him 

He opened his mouth, as if to speak. As before, she held her finger to his lips. 

She spoke:

"No names, OK? Anything else, but no names."

She gestured for him to sit on the end of the bed and stepped past him. The movement left her naked rear just inches from him.



She lifted the champagne bottle with a questioning rising of her eyebrows. He nodded and she handed him a glass. As she bent to pour, she became aware that the gesture exposed her entire cleavage to his gaze. He smiled. She turned to pour her own glass, behind her on the table. 

His first touch on the exposed flesh of her left buttock was like an electric shock. Hesitantly, gently, he traced its form. Rachael couldn't help but sigh audibly. It felt glorious -- but it wasn't going to be enough. Slowly, fully aware that as she bent forward to pour her own glass, the highlighted lips of her vulva would be exposed to his view. When the glass was full she made no attempt to resume her upright pose, but bent further, resting her elbows on the table. Thus he was allowed to explore her hindquarters without hindrance, his second hand joining his first after just a moment.

As his hands slid over her flesh, she revelled in the sensation. The slight roughness of his hands suggested an outdoor life. They shifted to the lower curve of her buttocks, testing for softness. She relaxed, knowing they were firm to the touch. Now his hands were moving up, his palms and fingers tracing her outer curves, his thumbs gently separating the globes, running up close to her sensitive anus.

Rachael pressed back against the pressure of his hands. "My God" she thought, "He's going to push a finger up me...and I'm going to let him". She shuddered with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. The movement of his hands paused, the outside of his thumbs just at the side of her most private place of all. With firm pressure she felt herself being spread, aware that she was completely exposed to his gaze. His hands started to move downward, maintaining the separation as they went. Rachael didn't know if the tremor that passed through her was relief or disappointment. 

As his fingers reached the point where her legs met the curve of her rear they stopped. His thumbs continued downward. As they moved they traced a path over the exquisitely sensitive flesh between her anus and the rearmost juncture of her labia. She bit her lip, suppressing a gasp of ecstasy; his thumbs had reached her vulva, and were inching along the slit.

"Please, open them, spread me," she begged silently as she pictured the steady flow of her juices onto his digits. Her throat was too dry to speak the words out loud. Her knees were close to buckling. Rather than spreading her, or entering her, he reversed their travel. They stroked back along the length of her cleft. Rachael's entire universe seemed to centre on that few inches of oozing flesh. As his hands moved back up onto the ordinary skin of her buttocks, she wanted to beg him to return. She had to speak, and so sipped her drink to moisten her mouth.

"That feels so, so good...don't stop."

His hands reached the top of their travel, again spreading her to view. His kneading of her rump made her feel like a toy in his hands. 

"Pretty. You've got a gorgeous arse"

The crudeness caused her a frisson of lust. The everyday Rachael, she thought, would have found this posture humiliating yet tonight she luxuriated in being scrutinised so intimately and found desirable. Her mind flashed back to Frank's comments. Maybe she shouldn't have been so irritated by them. She purred:

"Glad you like it. I've been complimented on it before."

He chuckled.

"Oh yes. I like it a lot. I like all I've seen." 

His approval was yet further aphrodisiacal. She felt truly provocative. Craning her neck to look back at him, she purred, "Do you want to see the rest? I'd love to show you. But you'll have to be a very good boy."

Everyday Rachael couldn't have said that, she'd have been too insecure in her own skin. The need to take control asserted itself in this new Rachael. Reaching back, she grasped his wrists. She turned to face him, dropping to her knees as she did so. What should she do to excite him, she pondered? The glossy sheen on his thumbs was her clue. She bent over them and extended her tongue, licking along their length. Somewhere in her head there remained the small voice of a rational observer. That voice expressed incredulity at her act; normally, she wouldn't even allow her husband to kiss her if he'd performed oral sex on her. 

Raising her head, she smiled at him. Releasing his hands, she started to unbutton his shirt, and when that was complete, she pushed it back from his shoulders. Next, his trouser buttons were undone, and the zip pulled down. Taking the hint, he lifted and pushed trousers and underpants down over his hips. He kicked of his shoes, and bent down to pull off his socks. Eager now to see him naked, she rose in front of him, and offered her hands. 

"Stand up"

Her voice sounded earthy, a slightly lower register than its usual contralto. He took her hands in his and stood. She stepped back; now it was her turn to peruse his body. He was as lean as she'd expected, if not so heavy shouldered or muscular as her ideal. His stomach was flat, the muscles finely delineated. Her eyes were drawn to the semi-soft form of his penis. She reached for it, stroking its length with her fingertips. It stirred. Taking it gently into her hand Rachael led him to the side of the bed before pushing him gently backwards until he was sitting. Grasping her intent, swinging his legs onto the bed, he settled against the pillows. She sat alongside him, encircling his penis with her hands. Without breaking eye contact for a second she began to work them up and down the shaft. Within seconds it firmed and swelled. She was finding it all, so far, easier than she'd anticipated. In fact, pretty much instinctive.

Casting her eyes down, Rachael was pleased. She'd chosen well. Although not freakishly big, she noted with gratitude that it was considerably larger than she was used to. The girth in particular promised satisfaction. It'd have been a pity, she mused, if her first extra-marital one had been unimpressive.

She released her grip with her left hand, continuing to tickle the tip with her right. It rewarded her by producing a drop of clear fluid, and with a fingertip she spread it around the head. This produced a sharp hiss from him. Her free hand reached to the bedside table and opened the drawer, producing a condom. He took it from her, tore the packet open, and handed her the contents. Rolling it down over his erect penis took all her attention. Completing the job Rachael devoted her attention to kissing her way up his stomach, teasing his nipples with her tongue while she caressed his heavy testicles.

It was time. Rachael sat up and placed one knee on the bed, by his hip. Leaning forward, with her silk clad breasts just above his face, she swung her other knee across him. She took his hands, placing them on the headboard, before straightening up.

He was looking up at her with an expectant expression. For her part Rachael's lips were open and her cheeks flushed. Her hands were trembling as they reached for his cock, placing the bulbous head against her vulva.

As Rachael manoeuvred it into place her mind was racing. Taking such care to place it just so, such that it could slide into her in a single smooth movement, was the most wanton thing she'd ever done. This was nothing to do with relationships, love, or family. She was doing it purely because she knew the sensations it would produce would be exquisite. In her imagination she could already feel it stretching her, probing her limits. She pictured herself as he would see her, sliding up and down on him, seeing her stretched to accept the penetration. 

Finding the place, she began lowering he body, feeling the smooth roundness of the head probing into her. She was stretched, but nowhere near the point that it caused discomfort. More startling, as she bore down was how far it seemed to push into her. She was wholly, unambiguously engorged; the head was pressing against her cervix, and still she wasn't squatting on the base. Rachael paused. The sensations were everything she'd craved.

The insistent pressure against her womb was producing spasms throughout her whole vagina. Added to that, the sensation of being stretched, invaded, made her feel more female than at any time in her life. She wasn't only being fucked -- she was being impaled, and it put her on an adrenaline high. Her thighs tensed as she raised herself. As the cock slid out of her it felt as though it left a void, stirring yet more alien and acute sensations. She looked down, seeing the shiny shaft protruding from her distended lips. It looked obscene -- and, to her, glorious. She lowered herself again, this time revelling in the slippery friction as it slid past her lips and along the clasping walls. This time it penetrated deeper; she felt her rump lightly touching the heels of her shoes.

There seemed to be no part of her that wasn't filled. Impulsively, she placed a hand on her stomach. Surely she'd be able to feel its intrusion? She rose again. This time the sensations of it sliding out of her were overwhelming, and she prolonged them by rising until just the tip was engaged in her. Then she bore down, this time forcefully. 

Rachael sank down now on the full length. She felt her lips pressing onto her lover's pelvis while his shaft penetrated more deeply than anything she'd ever felt before. There was pressure on her clitoris, there was a burning sensation as her entrance was distended, and above all there was the feeling of being possessed. It seemed as though her cervix was being physically displaced, as though his tip was trying to batter it's way directly into her womb. It was all too much. Her vaginal muscles spasmed, causing her to double forward with an incoherent cry. Her hands dropped onto his chest in order not to fall forward completely.

Still doubled forward, and without conscious intent, she tried to squash down further. Rachael was responding to a visceral need to be penetrated to the maximum. Her hips twisted and turned as she sought the last few precious millimetres. It failed to produce more depth, but the squirming rubbed the head across her cervix again, resulting in another convulsion in her depths. 

Still grinding down on him she adopted a rocking motion, her pelvis moving forward and backward. That way the waves of pleasure came rhythmically. Looking down on him through the curtain of her forward-fallen hair, she needed to verbalise her joy. It was like a dam bursting. She had to express all the pent up emotion, her elation at discovering her new self.

"Oh, God, that felt like nothing else I've ever known...you're touching me in places I've never ever been touched, and it's wonderful...I want it to go on forever. I just want to be fucked like this forever..."

The unaccustomed obscenity felt good in her mouth. She slipped over the edge into full-fledged orgasm, and the world went black. When awareness returned she found herself slumped forward onto his chest 

Solicitously, he asked, "Are you OK?"

Rachael could only nod. In reality she'd never felt more "OK" in her life. Penetration had never caused her to climax before. She'd come from being masturbated by Alistair, and from cunnilingus. Even the latter was rare as she felt uncomfortable with the act, believing that it must be distasteful to the one performing it. By contrast, coming as she had, felt sublime, natural, and profound. 

And, as she began to become aware, this was fundamentally different in another way. Her usual orgasms induced a sense of lassitude. There was none such now. She simply wanted more.

He was still in her. With only slight difficulty, posed by her trembling limbs, she sat back upright again, and resumed rising and falling on him. At the bottom of each stroke she performed a slight twist, corkscrewing her hips on the way up and down. His hands reached around her to grasp her haunches. The movements were designed to maximise her own pleasure, but after a moment she realised were working for him, too. 

His eyes were shining as he looked at her, and she felt a craving to display herself. She raised her arms, placing her hands behind her head. As she rose, she slipped one of the straps of the slip down over her shoulder and down her arm. On her next up-stroke she did the same for the other. The flimsy garment was supported now only by its own friction against her breasts. She placed her right arm across them, in a parody of maidenly modesty, while with her left she tugged the soft material down behind the shield of her arm. She crossed her left arm over her right.

He was transfixed. She continued in silence, bobbing up and down on him, her hips gyrating.

He croaked, "Please."

She moved her hands to cup her breasts, still hiding them from him, teasing. Finally, she dropped them, purring.

"I hope they were worth waiting for."

She crossed her arms below her bosom, and with her upper arms pressed them together, accentuating their fullness. The nipples were swollen and reddened, prominent way beyond their normal form. Rachael knew her breasts were impressive; a curvaceous 32C, not materially affected by motherhood. They were less firm than they had been, but had sagged little.

He nodded.

Her palms moved to support the undersides. With her thumbs she stroked the enlarged teats. She cast a brief glance downward. They looked full and ripe, their upper curves enhanced by a flush of arousal. She reached behind her, taking his hands from her rear, and pressing them to her bosom.

"They feel good, too. Try them."

He kneaded them vigorously. Normally she'd have found the treatment excessively rough, now it just fitted her mood. She focussed on the sensations building in her pelvis, increasing the pace of her gyrations. There was another climax building. He'd started responding to her down-strokes by forcing himself upward. 

His rising arousal showed on his face, delighting her, and her orgasm came another step closer. Rachael's mind was racing, infatuated with her new character and wanting to hear of its effect on him. 

"Tell me. Tell me how it feels."

That wasn't it, she thought. It needed to be expressed in terms that fitted the persona she felt emerging.

"Tell me how it feels being inside me. Tell me what you want to do to me."

He took a moment to form words, his breath short.

"You feel fantastic. You're tight, and hot and wet, and you..."

She waited on his words.

"...fuck superbly."

He could not have chosen the words better for her if she'd scripted them for him. She groaned:

"Ohhhh. That's it -- that's how I want to be."

He warmed to his subject

"Your tits are superb...and I'm going to fuck you every way I can. You'll love it, beg for it, like a little tart..."

Another orgasmic spasm exploded in her belly. Her head snapped backward as her spine arched, snatching her breasts away from his grasp. Slumping sideways, she moaned as he slipped from her. The spasms continued, dying away only slowly. Lying on her side Rachael waited for her breathing to steady enough to speak. She naturally curled into a semi-foetal position. She felt his weight shifting beside her. His hands were placed on her knees, and she felt herself being manhandled onto her back, her legs being spread. She was too stupefied to be other than entirely passive. 

Chapter4 


He was kneeling over her, his inflamed cock standing proud. Unconsciously she reached between her thighs, her hands moving entirely through instinct . She spread herself, opening for him.

He took no further encouraging, suddenly driving into her. His pelvis impacted hers with sufficient force that her hips were jarred upward from the bed. He withdrew, to plunge forward again.

With that small part of her intelligence that still functioned, Rachael could feel that he wasn't filling her quite so deeply. But, by compensation, he was able to thrust into her energetically, making her feel as though he was trying to drive through the top of her skull. Reflexively she raised her heels, pressing them hard against his backside, egging on his assault.

His passion was infectious. She started to thrust back against him. His mouth was close to hers and she latched onto it. Their first kiss, Rachael realised as his tongue stabbed into her mouth and she sucked on it hungrily. As the kiss broke she looked up at him. His eyes were glassy, defocused. He dropped heavily onto her, his mouth by her ear. The only sound that came from him was a guttural grunt. She found herself gasping encouragement, seeking to rouse him further.

"Come on...fuck me harder, fuck me. Use me."

His energy showed no sign of slackening and she found herself writhing under his weight, seeking to goad him. She expected him to climax quickly yet, to her elation, he was showing no signs of this. Instead he lifted from her and, grasping her hips while supporting her neck, raised them both to a sitting position. She was on his lap, speared by his member, and he was once more grasping her buttocks, this time in order to work her up and down on himself. 

For Rachael this could not have felt more different from the situation of a few moments ago. Then she'd been in control, dominant in their lovemaking. Now she was being handled like a rag doll, a piece of meat to be exploited for his pleasure. She found it be no less thrilling. She was, after all, the cause of his frenzy. It was her, and only her, who'd driven him to this animal fervour.

Even in this state the effort of lifting and twisting her on his shaft was too much for him to bear for more than a few moments. Without warning he tipped her backwards so that again she lay supine, his weight above her. He continued grinding into her. More provocation was needed, intuition told her:

"God, you're huge...I'm so close to coming, you're going to make me come. Please make me come, I need it so much...Do it, and I'll let you do anything you want with me."

He reared up from her. This released her hands to grasp her own breasts as yet again she felt an incipient orgasm rising. Now, She could sense he was also close. Suddenly she regretted the condom, wanting the sensation of being filled with semen. "Come on...fuck me, fuck me. I want you to come in me, fill me"




An Emerging Pt. 03



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.





Chapter5 

When she quietened, he sat up, and drew her upright. She was limp and sobbing. He pulled her onto his lap, and cradled her until she quietened. He could feel her drenched vulva against him, and he began to harden again. Still again, she focussed on his face. There was a moment of silence, And then she fastened her lips onto his mouth, sucking like a leech. Her tongue was probing everywhere into his mouth, seeking every last flavour of herself. When the attack was over, he stared into her visibly shaken eyes, and said: 

"I had a feeling you'd like that." 

Her eyes were brimming he noted. She was beginning to grind her wetness against him, ready for more. He kissed her again, joking. 

"Not bad for a respectable married woman" 

She remained silent, running the palm of his hand over her chest. Rachael had found herself unable to answer. She was still coming to terms with the implications of the frenzy in which she's found herself, in which nothing, but nothing it seemed, had mattered to her but his tongue on her clitoris. God, if she could get that out of hand... 

She forced a response from herself. 

"You ain't seen nothing yet." 

"You see, that's what I envy about you Respectable Married Women. If I come twice, the evening's over. You come three or four, and you're barely warmed up." 

"Mr Y. I hope you're not implying that I've got some sort of excessive sexual appetite. I just want you to have me -- oh, another four or five times, and you'll be perfectly free to go." 

The pressure of her pelvis on his cock was increasing. It dawned on him that she found this talk arousing. 

"I'll do my best, Mrs X. I'd hate not to live up to expectations You have standards to keep up, I'm sure. Do you always inspire your lovers to such high achievements?" 

She didn't respond. He felt her head drop onto his shoulder. There was a sudden change in the atmosphere, in the way her body was pressing against him; she continued to thrust her pelvis against his, but elsewhere it seemed now more a quest for comfort, than lust that was driving her. Then he realised. Her shoulders were again shaking; she was crying. Discomfited, he could think of nothing to do but hold her, and then rock her gently from side to side, cosseting her like a child. 

She broke from him. At no stage looking him in the eye, she rushed into the bathroom. Once inside, Rachael broke down into a full-fledged bawl. Curling in a corner, she huddled in on herself.  

"Why now?" She found herself pondering. Just moments ago, she'd most blissful; feeling the afterglow of an orgasm more consummate than she'd imagined possible, feeling increasingly lecherous for his cock to be inside her again. Then, without warning, a tsunami of emotions had crashed down over her; renewed insecurity, horror at her own excess, fear for its effects on her marriage and family... 

There was a gentle knock on the door. It opened. She turned away, not wanting to be seen in this condition. She was aware of him kneeling next to her, his soothing tone. 

"Hey, what's wrong? Did I say something I shouldn't have?" 

Rachael shook her head. She just wanted him to go, to leave her. He seemed a decent man, how could he want any contact with a trollop like her? Almost as decent, probably as Alistair, and she'd...Another wave of sobs overtook her. She was vaguely aware of being lifted, carried like a child and placed back on the bed. He spread the duvet over her, and cradled her. He was stroking her hair. 

After some minutes, she found her voice. 

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...how can you bear to touch me..." 

There was a gentle humour in his reply: 

"I've been touching you all over all night, and it's been very pleasant so far. Now, what's wrong? Tell me." 

"I can't." 

"Yes, you can. Whatever it is." 

His words seemed to her to be overflowing with compassion. In spite of herself, she pressed her cheek against his chest, like a frightened toddler seeking the protection of it's parent. 

"Oh, God...where can I begin. I'm a fraud, apart from anything else. I'm not some rapacious slut, I've never done anything like this before. I'm not Mrs X, I'm not some sexy older woman who does this sort of thing for kicks, I'm.." 

Once she'd started, there seemed nothing she could do to stop the words tumbling forth. She tried to explain who she really was, why she'd done what she had tonight. How unlike her it was to have been so aroused, so lewd, such a slut; of the need to prove herself, to overcome the insults, and perceptions, including her own... 

Rachael had no idea how long she'd babbled for, when words were finally exhausted. He still held her, and after an what seemed like an age, his reaction was soft-spoken: 

"So let me get this straight. You were convinced you weren't attractive enough to make men want to have you; if you were, you couldn't unwind enough to enjoy it; and if you did, you'd be no good at it. And now you've done it, you think you shouldn't have" 

She nodded, mutely. 

He dropped back against the pillow, taking her with him, and lifting her chin to face him 

"Mrs X. I don't know about that last one. But, as to the first three, you couldn't be more wrong." In a small voice "Not Mrs "X". Rachael." 

"Rachael, then. First, you've got the most fantastic body; it wasn't only in the bar I noticed it, you know. All four of us at that window commented on your arse and legs. And I know know that the rest of you is awesome, too. These, especially." 

He lightly stroked her left breast. 

"And it's not just your body. You face is gorgeous, too -- its tells you everything about you that you could know -- you're clever, funny, lively. Your eyes are beautiful, and you've got the most sensual lips I've ever known." 

Rachael felt herself rushing out with her usual denials, when complimented. For once, she stayed herself, as he continued. 

"Second, as to unwinding and enjoying. Rachael, if tonight was a put-on -- if you were pretending to be feeling lecherous, or faking it when you came, you really need to be an actress. What happened wasn't that; what really happened was that just for once, you set aside the inhibited Rachael, and let the really, really sexy person underneath through." 

"And it showed. That wasn't faking when you came all those times. That WAS you -- someone who underneath it all just really, really enjoyed it. The person who enjoyed being touched up, then having me in her, than being sucked and licked. You really did, didn't you?" 

A whisper. "Yes" 

"Part of the reason for that was that you'd gotten really turned-on with the idea that you could do it, wasn't it?" 

Again, a nod. 

"And the last bit -- were you any good at it. Rachael, without a word of a lie, I don't think I've ever had sex the like of what we've had tonight, and probably ever will again. You were -- you are -- amazing. You've got a pussy like a velvet-lined vacuum cleaner, you grind and wriggle like a snake, and being in your mouth is like nothing else I've ever experienced." 

To Rachael's disbelief, rather than the discomfort she usually felt hen being complimented, his words warmed her throughout; more amazingly, the glow was turning rapidly to renewed desire in her. Still, however, guilt gnawed at her. He seemed to read her very thoughts: 

"And if your conscience is troubling you, think of this. You've had a really crap time for many, many years. Everyone's entitled to kick back against that. You've been clever and discreet enough to find a way to do that that means that you can have tested yourself out without anyone ever having to know. That's so much better than stumbling into some sort of ill-thought through affair that can hurt lots of people, or just you getting ever more frustrated and taking it out on your husband..." 

"I've never taken it out on Alistair!" 

"Not directly, I'm sure. But, it doesn't sound as though you and he were exactly on the same wavelength sexually. Don't you think just a bit of your reluctance sometimes was more about being angry with yourself -- and that hurt him? 

She subsided. 

"Right. And now you know a little bit more about the lady underneath, the one with the huge libido, you can do something about it. Do it sensibly, and gradually. Just start to get that bit more adventurous with him. I've no idea how far it'll go, but you'll both be lots happier -- even if you don't do any more seducing of innocent young men in hotel bars..." 

She brooded on what he'd said. There seemed little credible response. There was no going back from what had been done, so the sensible thing to do was make the most of the situation. 

While she pondered, she felt his hand inching down the length of her back, approaching her rump. On the culmination of it's travels, it began to caress her. At first, his touch felt consoling, reassuring. Then, it slowly began to arouse her. She shifted on him, moving upward, causing his fingers to move close to her vulva. 

He studied her face, trying to assess her intent. Rachael thought some guidance was in order. 

"Well, if you're right, Mr "Y"...I'm well into the territory of "being hung for a sheep as for a lamb". And I suppose I can settle the question of whether I really have let loose my inner nymphomaniac very quickly" 

His grin was almost fatherly, she thought; ridiculous. She moved to kiss him, but before her mouth found his, she whispered by his ear: 

"Thank you. I was very lucky it was you I opted to be with tonight." 

She crushed her mouth to his. When they parted, it was his turn to whisper 

"Now go and sort yourself out -- you look like a panda. A very sexy panda, but definitely a panda" 

It took a moment for Rachael to understand that her tears had inflicted massive damage on her eye make-up. She rolled over him, and stood 

"Don't go away" 

This time, she felt no urge to examine herself. She washed her face, removing the unfamiliar kohl and blusher. She unhooked the string of beads from her waist, and, hesitatingly briefly, bent to undo the ankle straps of those improbable shoes. She rolled the stockings down her legs. Only then did she inspect herself; the Rachael that looked back looked much more like the image to which she was accustomed. 

But not quite the same. There was an animation, and liveliness that she thought normally absent. Her eyes (were they really beautiful?) twinkled. Working quickly, Rachael found the make-up bag she'd left in there when highlighting her lower lips. Now she applied that same shade to those of her mouth, followed by her every day eye-shadow etc. albeit applied somewhat more liberally than was her daily practice. 

"There" she thought. "Now let's see what the everyday Rachael can do for him -- and herself." She hesitated. Maybe not quite the everyday Rachael...she slipped her feet back into her high heels, and refastened the straps. "I'm not quite ready to drop entirely out of character" she muttered. 

Back into the room. As he surveyed her, she still felt no urge to hide any part of herself; and she felt his salacious grin as affirmation. 

As she climbed onto the bed to join him, she couldn't resist commenting 

"And that's what you'd have got if you'd picked me up when I came in from the car" "no less desirable. I hope your husband realises he's a lucky man." 

"If he doesn't now, I'll remind him gradually..." 

They knelt, facing each other. He began to stroke her breasts and thighs. She eased her thighs apart, to allow him access, before clasping her hands behind her back. It gave him unfettered free reign. His right hand was gradually insinuating it's way towards her slit; his left was gently rubbing her right nipple. 

"I meant everything I said, you know. You've got a body most 25 year olds would kill for. And you're what -- 33? 35? 

"Mr Y, you should know better than to ask a lady her age." His right index finger was now gently stimulating her clitoris, sending soft ripples through her lower body. "But I'll make an exception for you. I'm 42" 

He appeared genuinely surprised. Together, they fell back on the bed. He dropped head and sucked on her nipples, placed hand between her legs, stroking. She began to manipulate him. 

"Mrs X, for one of such advanced years, you're a very demanding lady." 

"I thought all younger men fantasised about meeting a randy older woman." 

"I promise you'll be the subject of my fantasies for years to come; I'll be remembering everything we did, and imagining everything else we might have." 

"So will I." 

"Tell me what you'll be imagining. I'll trade you one for one" 

She thought.

"Well there'd be just doing lots more of what we've already done. Plus maybe your not having stopped me when I had you in my mouth earlier." 

"Damn. I was thinking about that one. How about me having had you from behind, with you on your hands and knees?" 

"That one doesn't have to stay imagined..I was hoping we'd try that one next? Hmm. What else. I could have sat you down in a chair and we did it with me sitting on your lap." 

He was beginning to harden; she felt her lubrication starting to flow again. 

"Not bad. Or you bent over leaning in the table?" 

"I thought at one point you were about to do that. When you were first feeling me, just when we started. I was quite looking forward to it. How about, I'd not told you to wait before you came up; I could have started on you in the corridor." 

"Promising. I'm not sure how it would have come about, but one idea that I'd really have loved...you noticed little Magda in the bar? I cold imagine the two of you together, that would get me very, very worked up?" 

Rachael couldn't immediately think of a response. The idea was too alien for her.

He smiled at her. 

"That one got you, didn't it? There'll be a forfeit to pay..." 

She was attempting to envisage the scene, and failing. He continued 

"Well, that'd be a definite Mrs X scene, not a Rachael one maybe..." 

That gave her the cue for a response: 

"So now, I'm a respectable married woman who's not only in the habit of sleeping with strangers, but who's going around seducing the staff into lesbian affairs. Is there no limit to what you think I'd be capable of?

"I really don't know what you're capable of...and neither do you. Now, about that forfeit". He pushed her head downward to his groin. This time she was not overly concerned with how it felt for her; her concern was to make it as good as possible for him. He was already fully erect, so she took the plump head between her lips, and began. It seemed no less effective than last time. Within moments, his hand on the back of her head was dictating a rhythm, which she matched with her own hand on the shaft. 

He lay backward on the bed. His hands moved to her hips, and he drew her into a position where her groin was over his face. Then, pulling her downward slightly, he raised his head and began again to lick at her.

So, this was what "69" was like. She revelled in the twin sensations of what he was doing to her, and the bulky feel of his cock-head in her mouth. The truth was, though, it was awkward. Her torso was short compared to his, making it difficult to maintain both points of contact at the same time. Still...it went on for a considerable, and highly pleasurable time. The limitations worked remarkably effectively to keep both of them some way from coming, and hence able to focus on what they were doing for the other. He moved first, but it was by mutual consent that they separated. It was unilaterally, though that she reversed herself on the bed, raising her rump in the air, as she poised herself on knees and elbows. 

Rachael heard him moving behind her, then past her to the bedside table. She turned to watch him don a condom; she considered stopping him, as considered earlier, but refrained. That would have been a step too far.

Behind her again, she felt him pause, pressing lightly on her entrance.

"Ready?"

"Very..."

He slid in smoothly embedding himself to the hilt, before commencing a slow and controlled motion. Without exchanging a word, it was obvious that they both intended to savour this one. Even so, Rachael couldn't stop herself twisting back against him, stirring her interior. He responded by varying the line of his thusts. Several times she sensed him consciously slowing himself in order to delay his climax. She felt a wordless rush of affection, his restraint allowing her own excitement time to build. And build it did. After some indeterminate time, her tipping point was near. Rachael was ready. Her skin seemed hypersenstitised, emphasising the sensation of her heavy breasts swaying below her. His need was growing urgent once more, she knew. She reached behind her, taking his right hand from her hip, pressing it to her groin. He understood. His fingers found her clitoris. It worked. Within seconds she was coming, he only momentarily behind her. Exultant, she rode the waves of her pleasure. No doubt now that they were the result of anything but good, old fashioned, honest lust. 

Their movements slowed to a halt, and as they did, he settled back. His cock slipped from her. Sated as she now was, she felt no sense of loss. She dropped heavily onto her side, and he moved to join her. They lay silent for some minutes. Eventually, he spoke.

"Do you want me to stay? For the rest of the night?"

Rachael considered.

"No. It's best if you go. It's been wonderful, and I owe you more than I can say, but it'll be better if that's it, now." 

He nodded, rising. She watched as he moved around the room, dressing. Once fully clothed, he sat beside her. 

"Well, Mrs "X", it was an unbelievable night. The best sex I've ever known, whether it was with Mrs "X", or with Rachael. Or both. 

He bent down, and kissed he forehead. She couldn't bring herself to speak. He continued.

"Just remember that. You're a fantastically sexy lady, and you don't need to hide from that. Just enjoy it".

He reached past her, taking the notepad from the bedside table and a pen from his pocket.

"This is my number. If you ever should want to call it, do. Even if it's just to talk. Of course, if it's more, like seeing you again, I'd be ecstatic."

With that, he stood, moving to the door, and closing it softly behind him. As it did, Rachael lifted herself, placing he feet by the bed. She undid the improbable shoes, before habit reasserted itself. She visited the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Once in there, she noted her mobile phone where she'd left it what seemed like a lifetime earlier. She turned it on. Back in the bedrooom, she found herself flipping off the lightswitch, then rolling back under the covers. As she settled into the warmth, her sense of satiation overcame her. She should, she thought, be wracked with doubts and guilt. She felt none. The phone bleeped. A missed call, from a friend's number. It could wait, she decided, until morning. In fact, everything to do with the rest of her life could wait until morning 



Chapter6 

The wipers were smearing the November rain over the windscreen, making navigating all the harder on the unlit road. Just as well he'd left in plenty of time, Patrick mused. He was approaching a T-junction. Good; that was as per the instructions – now, take a right, and expect a gentle left-hand curve. His confidence in the direction was increasing all the time. Take the next right, and down the village high-street – such as it was. And there was the landmark he was looking for – The Crown Inn. He was to turn down the side, and after a few hundred meters, there was his destination. Turn in past the last cottage, and he was there.




An Emerging Pt. 03



Patrick's immediate reaction was surprise. He'd been expecting some classically picturesque stone-built Yorkshire cottage. He flicked the headlights onto main beam to get a better look. Picturesque, the building certainly was – but instead of something stone built, he'd illuminated a half-timbered tudor building. 

"Mrs X, you're full of surprises" he muttered to himself."

There wasn't a great deal of space to park, he noted. Retrieving his overnight bag from the boot, and leaving the car, he walked around the side of the building as instructed. It wasn't large, and it took him only moments to find the front door. Next to it, as promised, there was a plant pot, and under it, he found the key.

Letting himself in, he found himself in a magnificently fitted out modern kitchen, a total contrast to the exterior – apart from its double height, to the exposed beams of the roof. Stairs to his left led up to the main accommodation – a long, spacious room equipped at one end a sitting area and fireplace holding a log stove, and at the other, a magnificent four poster bed. The room was warm, pleasantly so – he noted a number of discrete electric heaters dotted around the place. All were on – someone had obviously been here, and made the place welcoming. Looking for storage, he found a door leading first, to a dressing area, then to an obviously newly fitted and well equipped bathroom. The only incongruity was a door leading off the kitchen, into a bare-brick walled, concrete floored storeroom.



He'd brought little clothing. It was his habit to travel light. Not so with his companion to be – there was a well-filled suit carrier already hanging in the dressing area, as well as a holdall sitting on a low table. He pulled out his wash-bag, and left it on the bathroom shelf.

Returning to the main area, he noticed, for the first time, an envelope propped up on the small dining table. It was addressed "Mr. Y". The note it contained was terse.

"Glad you made it. I've reserved a table at the Crown, next door for 7:30, under the name "Barnes."" It was unsigned.

Just enough time for a quick freshen-up, he thought.

It was about ten minutes before the appointed time that he entered the pub. This was more what he'd imagined – low ceilinged, a little over-heated. At the bar, he ordered a beer, and as it was served, asked about the reservation. He was ushered through to a second, more spacious room. 

There seemed to be few other diners out quite so early. He sat, scanning the menu, and sipped his beer. His outward calm concealed an increasing sense of anticipation. Then:

"Well, Mr Y, fancy seeing you here." 

Her voice hadn't changed, neither had the bantering tone of most of her conversation. She stood in front of him, dressed in a tight-fitting black wrap dress. Around her neck was a band of square cut, black stones. The only note of colour was her legs, clad in opaque, turquoise-blue hose. She was shod, as he'd expected in a pair of plain black, spike heeled pumps. She looked luscious.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"

Patrick felt obliged to answer in kind.

"I'm sorry, Mrs X. It's a pleasure to see you. Do you come here often?" 

She raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Only when I have to feed one of my young men, before corrupting him" 

They were silent for a moment; both transported back just over a year. They'd played this game, during their one-night encounter. After which, Patrick had heard nothing from her for twelve months, until a few weeks ago, a text message suggesting what became this rendezvous. He recalled her as she was that night – in turns; seductive, brazen, and passionate. Then she was insecure, open until more passion, but this time suffused with warmth and gratitude. He was stiffening. He wanted her, very, very badly, and was about to say so, when movement at the doorway heralded the arrival of another party of two. She sat, placing her handbag on the floor at the side of the table.

She seemed to take it entirely in her stride. Picking up the menu, she made polite conversation, asking his opinion of their accommodation. He responded enthusiastically, and she replied:

"Good. It's somewhere I came with Alistair, a couple of years back. They've refurbished it completely since then, of course."

He was discomfited by the mention of that name, but hid the reaction. 

She finished her perusal of the menu, and asked if he was ready to order. He was. She gestured to the waiter, who was settling the new arrivals, and on completing that, he attended them. Taking the order – a light fish dish and a glass of white wine for her, pasta for him – the waiter left

Making conversation was difficult. The presence of the other couple inhibited him from saying what he wanted to say – how much he'd thought of her after their previous meeting, of imaginings of ever more uninhibited sex between them, of his joy and anticipation after she'd contacted him. He contented himself with light chat, and in taking in the details of her appearance.

The dress was a lot more discrete than what she'd worn when he first saw her, but it still displayed her slender figure to great effect. He was becoming more certain she was braless beneath hit, watching the gentle shaking, as she moved... She'd admitted her age to him, in the intimacy of their tryst – well into her forties. Despite that, her breasts showed little sign of sagging, despite fullness. Her mouth and eyes were full of vivacity. She'd made-up carefully for this encounter, dark-red lips and subtle shading to her cheekbones making the best of an already striking face. 

Rachael seemed content to allow him to observe, at least for a minute or so. Then, she leaned forward across the table. He struggled to avoid his eyes being drawn to the cleft it opened in the neckline of her dress. She whispered.

"I'm very much looking forward to getting you back to the Gatehouse, young man. I've been thinking of all sorts of things I should be doing with you"

Before he could answer, she sat back. Apparently accidentally, she dropped her napkin to the side of the table. She leant to the side to retrieve it, and in doing so placed one hand into the overlap of her dress, shifting it sideways, giving him an almost complete view of her left breast. 

She reverted to her sitting position, decorum restored. Fixing him with a smile, she breathed 

"And that'll be all that until later, of course."

Her wine arrived, and she drank, toasting him mutely. More inconsequential conversation followed until their food arrived. The ordered another glass each. The waiter lowered the lights. They ate, in near silence. 

Either the wine had loosened her self discipline, or the more discrete atmosphere increased he boldness. When they'd finished their food, she called for the bill. Then announced, in a perfectly matter of fact tone:

"Patrick, Darling, could you pass me my handbag? It's ended up under the table".

Sliding from his seat, and kneeling, he lifted the tablecloth. He caught his breath. Beneath it, she'd parted the skirt of the wrap dress, letting it fall to the sides. It exposed the entirety of her thighs, revealing the strip of pale flesh above the welts of the stockings, the skin tone made a strong contrast to the blue-green of the hose. It cost him huge self control to not reach out and touch it. She flexed her legs, rubbing her shin against the back of her calf. It further emphasised the firm muscle tone and form of her limbs. Tearing himself away, he straightened, and handed her the bag. 

"We'll pay at the bar" was her only comment. They did. The barman handed her the coat she'd left for safekeeping, and as Patrick helped her into it, she cooed

"Poor Patrick, have I made you very hard?"



He nodded. 

"Good. That's just how I want you for the next couple of days".

Outside, the wind was gusty and the rain hard. They dashed the fifty metres to the entrance of the Gatehouse, and he quickly let them in. As soon as they were inside, she was wrapped around him, her tongue probing his mouth. Somehow, without breaking the kiss, they managed to shed their coats. Now, as she pressed herself to him, he was sure that her breasts were unfettered under the dress. Their softness was flattened against his chest. 

She stood back. "Head upstairs, sit on one of the armchairs. I won't be a moment". She dashed upstairs, and made for the bathroom. He obeyed.

She re-emerged. Before coming to him, she moved around the room, adjusting lights, creating a soft ambience. He made to help her, but she instructed him to remain seated. Satisfied, she stood in front of him, her feet slightly apart. Her hands moved to her side, and she tugged at the tie holding the dress closed. Releasing it, she slipped the dress from her shoulders. It left her naked but for stockings and jewellery. 

She was magnificent. Her nipples were erecting as he watched, emphasising the curves of her breasts. She waited, silently as his eyes ranged up and down her slim form. Her belly curved only slightly as it rose from her soft thicket of pubic hair.

"Pretty much as you remember things, I hope?"

Her words jolted him. He replied

"Even better, you're in pretty good shape, Mrs. X".

She smiled, and began a slow pirouette, displaying herself to him. Her rear was no less alluring. Completing the turn, she was obviously enjoying the badinage. 

"I have to keep myself in good shape – otherwise, wouldn't my young men be disappointed?"

"I'm not complaining." He decided to push the joke further. "Have you had many complaints recently?"

Suddenly, more serious in tone, she retorted:

"I've not had enough of anything of late. That's why you're here"

He was stymied for the moment. Best, he thought to let it pass. She pulled over a chair and sat, before gesturing him to stand in front of her. 

She began to pull at his belt, and on undoing that, to tug at his zipper. He interjected

"Let me"

"Shut up. I'm doing it"

She was rough, urgent as she pulled his cock free of its confines. She tugged at the waistband of his trousers, pulling them over his hips and leaving them tangled around his shins. Taking the shaft in her left hand, cupping his testicles with her right, she bent down to him. As she did so, she drew his foreskin back over the glans. She extended her tongue to give it a lick, first tentative, then firmly. He shuddered.

Looking up at him, she spoke:

"I've quite literally been dreaming about this. You can't imagine how much I've wanted to have you in my mouth".

Her tone was oddly matter-of fact, and she made good her wish.

There was none of the tentativeness with which she'd fellated him last time. She opened her lips as wide as she could, taking him in as far as possible without gagging, before closing them and starting to suck. She was at first gentle, then becoming more insistent, as she slid her head up and down in the shaft. Patrick was amazed. Then she broke contact, telling him to exchange places. Once he was seated, she resumed, kneeling in front of him. There was huge urgency in her movements, reinforced as she began to move her tongue against the underside. Between the intensity of her actions, and the long-built sense of anticipation, it was just moments before he felt his climax approaching. He felt obliged to gasp out a warning

"Slow down. I'm going to come, if you carry on like that"

She made no move to remove him from her mouth, just gazing up at him, eyes shining. 

"Are you sure, are you OK with that"

She nodded at him. Within seconds his semen was spurting into her mouth. Once, twice, three times, with some force, then a fourth and a fifth lesser load. The quantity was even greater than Rachael had expected; nonetheless, she surprised even herself with her determination to waste not a drop.

The concept of Patrick's climaxing in her mouth had been one of the visions that had driven her to re-establish contact. His card had lain concealed in the depths of her handbag for almost a whole year before she'd acted on it. And since she had, this moment had been prominent in her thoughts. She'd not sucked him to completion last time – indeed; no man had ever come in her mouth. That thought had nagged at her. Her fling with Patrick had opened many new horizons, few if any of which she'd explored since, but there were a few more she needed to try. 

Now, with her mouth full of the salt tang, she swallowed assiduously; there! That was it! All gone, she'd done it. A small step to being sexually complete, it seemed to her. It did nothing to calm her, though. Rachael had been on a gradually building trajectory for over a week, since their meeting had been finally confirmed. She'd left work at lunchtime for the long drive, finding it hard to concentrate, having to kill time in in the nearby town in order not to arrive ridiculously early. She'd wandered the town in a state of suppressed agitation for an hour or more. By the time she'd arrived at the Gatehouse, she'd struggled to stop her hands from shaking as she opened the door.

It was time, she decided, to take matters to the next stage. She was wanted him in her, soon.

"Come on – to the bed"

"You ARE keen"

"Keen" wasn't the half of it, she thought. Desperate was more the case. She was soaked with anticipation. Patrick stood, and she helped him step out of his trousers, and then stood back as he shed his remaining clothes. Still clad in just the stockings; she led him to the bed, then resumed her oral ministrations. To her relief, he regained hardness rapidly, something on which she had to comment:

"I'm not the only one that's keen. I'm impressed at your powers of recovery."

"It's not my powers; it's the prospect of having you..."

That brought a smile to her face. That a young lover would be enthused at the idea of having her fitted well with the need to be primarily sexual tonight. She didn't just need to fuck – she needed to be someone carnally desirable. That feeling so well established a year earlier was addictive after all.

Even so, she was in no hurry. Unlike earlier, she could now savour the sensations of his cock in her mouth, and his reactions to her caresses, licks and sucks. He was iron-hard against her lips now, hot and fully engorged. Stroking the shaft, she recalled last time, the realisation that she'd been stroking his member with a hand still displaying her wedding and engagement rings. That gave her no less of a perverse kick this second time around.

Giving the tip a last kiss, she announced

"I think you might be just about ready, Mr Y."

"I'm pretty sure I am. A couple of minutes of you, at that, and anyone would be ready"

Rachael mused – not everyone, perhaps. Patrick continued:

"What about you?"

Rachael led his hand to her sodden gash. 

"I've been ready since before I arrived in the pub. So, what are you waiting for" she said, rolling onto her back, her legs spread wide. Suddenly, Patrick rolled to the side of the bed. 

"Where do you think you're going?" she purred. Patrick glanced back at her, expectantly. Patrick seemed unsure. "Well, I was going to get a condom...unless you've got them to hand?"

This moment was much as she'd expected, rehearsing it in her mind over and over. It was even more thrilling in the reality. 

"I wouldn't worry about that. I've taken other precautions, and so unless, you don't trust me..." 

Indeed she had. She was wearing a diaphragm, and tucked away in her wash bag were a course of "morning after" pills. "I've got immaculate taste in my young men, so, I'm sure you won't have any problems, and I promise I haven't". He knew enough about the reality of her life to be sure of that, she thought – Mrs X persona aside. He still hesitated. She sat up alongside him, whispering into his ear

"Of course, it's also that I'd really, really like to feel you properly inside me. And you, me, of course. Still, if you'd prefer..."

That seemed to settle his mind. Within a moment, she was supine again, as he prepared to enter her. Her anticipation was excruciating. God, but she felt so overpoweringly wanton – the only time she'd ever felt a bare penis inside her before had been in the few months when her husband and she had been trying for a baby. Other than that, they'd always used condoms, mostly as a result of her fastidious streak. Now, here she was, looking forward to experience the first ever surge of a lover's semen against the bare walls of her cunt, just as he'd spilled it into her mouth minutes earlier. Her hunger for the moment was making it hard for her to breathe. At no time in her life had she felt such intense desire.

The moment seemed to stretch endlessly, and then she felt the first, soft contact of his smooth tip against her slick, lubricated entrance. There could be no resistance, and even that first feather light touch made her suddenly certain that she'd begin to climax as soon as he was in her.

Then, he was in her, and she was transported to a plane of pure delight. Her whole consciousness seemed to shrink into that few inches of moist flesh that surrounded him, as it was gently stretched and probed. She was coming, unable even to verbalise her pleasure other than in a soft mewling. She clutched at his back, needing as much contact with him as possible. As he moved on her, a sheen of sweat rapidly coated her skin, giving their movements a lubricant which stimulated her even more. 

This was what she'd waited fourteen months for – had imagined every night for the last two months, become obsessed with for the last couple of weeks. Here she could indulge in pure sensuality, luxuriate in that once unsuspected libertine streak.

There was no conscious control whatsoever in her writhing against him, so it fell entirely to Patrick to attempt to control the pace. And he was in no mood to extend matters. He was no less driven in the imaginings and expectations of recent days. His earlier climax had served to slow matters down, but not by much. Their coupling lasted only minutes, before he roared, and Rachael found the fulfilment she'd foreseen. She felt the hot gush in her depths, intensifying her drawn-out climax even further.

Neither could speak, as he slid off of her to one side. Their breathing was ragged, hers especially so, sobbing for air. Patrick was asleep almost immediately. Rachael forced herself to sit; peeling the stockings from her legs, but could do no more. She flopped back onto the mattress, her awareness ebbing fast.



An Emerging Pt. 04



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter7 

Sunlight, bright and yellow, was visible around the edges of the curtains when Rachael woke. It seemed a good metaphor for her mood. She felt, quite simply, wonderful; as though she'd received a transfusion of energy, of enthusiasm for life. There was none of the physical tiredness she that she should have felt.

Patrick's warm body lay along her right flank; she felt the softness of his penis against her hip. His breathing was steady and slow, apparently still deeply asleep. Rachael decided she had no intention of moving for some time. It was far better to lie there, and enjoy the moment. Her mind drifted over the events of the night before; of the expression on Patrick's face when she'd let the dress slip from her shoulders; of his climaxing in her mouth, and her imbibing his semen; ...and most of all, the intensity of their coupling. Her fingers crept to her crotch and thighs, noting the mess of crusted semen and fluids, and the still-warm moist patch under her. Despite the clamminess, she was content to remain still. She'd clean up later; now wasn't the time. 

As she mused, that serenity itself perplexed her, albeit slightly. It wasn't satiation as such. She could already feel stirrings of anticipation for what else the weekend would bring, especially physically. She'd moved her hand up to her right breast, its fingertips teasing the nipple. The alacrity with which it responded spoke volumes about her readiness for further arousal. No, it was something other than that. It took her some time to formulate the thought; the perplexity came, she realised, from a near total lack of feelings of guilt. Why would that be? Could it be simply that the sex, the gratification was just so good that guilt was swamped? Rachael thought again, of their love-making, of the rapid progression from sleepy relaxation to raw passion, and of the stellar orgasm it'd brought her. That, perhaps, summed up the difference between this, and her routine sex with Alistair; there, she could never come from penetration alone. Here, she was on the edge of it within moments of being taken, and with only cursory foreplay to prepare her beforehand. How could anyone be expected to resist that?

Even so, she couldn't help but ponder further. At least some sense of iniquity was there. But the knowledge of transgression only added to the excitement. That she was there at all was violation enough. That she could enthusiastically perform acts here that she denied her husband only compounded the excitement. To have consumed Patrick's come, savouring the sensation of it squirting against the roof of her mouth, enjoying the salt-piquancy, then drinking it down! And still, she found herself revelling in the idea of allowing his ejaculation inside her exposed flesh. In reality, she had to admit, the actual sensation hadn't been notably different until Patrick had come, but the concept was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

Rachael recollected the building sense of anticipation she'd felt in the time between confirming that Patrick would meet her, and arriving at the Gatehouse last night. It's only been a few weeks or so between the plans becoming concrete and their realisation, but that short time had dragged. The night she'd received the text message saying he'd be there, she'd woken at about 3am. Alistair had been unconscious beside her, as she'd envisaged what was to come. She'd ended up silently rubbing herself to climax, the corner of the pillow in her mouth muffling her sighs. It was then she'd determined to sample those acts untried with Alistair. In fact, self-relief had become a consistent theme of those days; even at work, on the morning before setting off here, she'd had to secrete herself in a washroom cubicle, in order to be able to concentrate on her tasks for the day.

She was ready now for yet more sex; she knew, more than ready. Patrick remained sound asleep, however. Rachael considered masturbating, but rejected the idea. Patrick's arm was thrown across her, limiting her movement; and somehow, it seemed inappropriate, when a skilled lover was available. Maybe better to facilitate the next bout, instead. Gently lifting Patrick's arm, moving from under it, she slipped from under the warm sheets. The room was cold. Best to see to that now, so she could restart the electric heaters. For further effect she quietly opened the door of the stove, she added some kindling, a firelighter, then a couple of larger logs. After applying a match-flame she closed the door and opened the air valve to its widest extent. ...Now, to get cleaned up. She tip-toed to the bathroom, and once inside, wiped herself clean with a soaped cloth. She douched herself. 

She checked her diaphragm, applying a generous dose of spermicide. On the back of the door was the warm fleece robe she'd hung there before going out the previous night. It was hardly the erotic image she wanted to convey, but she knew that downstairs, the kitchen would be chilly. Duly insulated, she ventured down the stairs.

Once in the kitchen, she began to prepare a breakfast, with characteristic efficiency. For herself; she made a bowl of cereal, and for Patrick; bacon, eggs and toast, and coffee for both of them. The eggs and bacon were quickly done and placed in the warming oven as Rachael sat to eat her own repast, and to wait for the kettle to boil. As she ate, she noticed she'd left her handbag in the kitchen on the previous evening. Admonishing herself for her carelessness, she reached for it to check its contents. All was well, until she unzipped the front compartment, finding a flat parcel of pink tissue paper. How could she have forgotten her impulse buy of the previous afternoon?

She took up the package. There was no seal of any sort - it was just artfully folded translucent paper. The contents were of a light, wine coloured silk. As she lifted them out, unfolding them they were revealed to be a garment; a short chemise, sensually soft. It was gathered just below the bust-line. Above, it was mostly – in fact, all – lace, forming cups and straps crossing at the back. It was beautiful.

She stood, and slipped the fleece robe from her shoulders. She held the garment up to herself. It stopped perhaps half-way between her navel and her pubis, entirely exposing her pubic hair. She felt an urge to slip it on fully, and did so. Craning her neck, she checked the rear. It would leave the globes of her rear mostly exposed. She approved.

The tissue paper bundle was still lying where she'd left it. In it, there was a scrap of silk and lace. A pair of pants, skimpy in the extreme, obviously intended as part of the outfit. She reached for them and stopped. Should she put them on? The idea of serving Patrick's breakfast with her mons and bottom exposed, suddenly appealed to her. Slipping the fleece robe back on – even in an increasing state of anticipation, she couldn't completely ignore the chill – she sat. The kettle was singing, close to boiling. Taking a tea-towel, she lifted it, filled the coffee percolator, and set it on the heat. Any time now, surely, it would boil.

She found herself thinking of the evening before last. The early evening of Thursday had been utterly routine, considering the preparations she was undertaking. When she got in, Alistair had been on the phone, confirming his plans for the weekend.

"No problem. I've the place to myself. Rachael's away, some girl's get-together with an old school friend."

The lie had caused her a moment's discomfort – but not sufficiently to deter. They chatted on the minutiae of their respective days throughout supper. As she loaded plates into the dishwasher, Alistair busied himself making coffee, finished and poured. As she finished, she'd casually said:

"I'll have mine upstairs. I just need to pack."

In the bedroom, Rachael worked quickly; she'd largely worked out in advance what she wanted to take. She took the items from her wardrobe and spread them on the bed. She began the process of packing them into her overnight bag. 

Rachael worked quickly, digging into the bottom of her wardrobe, selecting shoes. Then, she extracted the drawer in which she kept the various items of lingerie he's bought over the years, intending to select quickly. At random, she selected an item, and held it up for inspection. It was a short, white silk slip, something Alistair had bought for her. "Not this," she thought -"It fits me well, but a bit virginal for this weekend."

She tossed it back into the drawer. Picking another item, she again lifted it, holding it against herself. It was a polo necked mini-dress, made from sheer nylon. One of Alistair's favourites, almost completely transparent, she'd never been keen on it. She did have to admit that it somehow made her breasts look impressively large, however. A definite "yes", so into the bag it went. She'd forgotten how much of this stuff she'd been bought her over the years. She'd had her own favourites, of course. Usually those were simpler; more feminine, less obvious. As she worked through the tangle however, the "yes" pile represented more of a mixture than she'd have imagined. There was the stretch mesh slip; the quarter cup bra and pants set; the embroidered green silk bustier. She had few other items all bundled quickly into the overnight bag. Accompanying them were several new pairs of stockings, acquired specially.

She'd just finished working through the contents of the draw, when she heard Alistair setting the alarm downstairs. She was able to draw shut the zipper of the bag, and place it in the hallway, and to close her bathroom door behind her, as he arrived in the bedroom. Drawing a bowl of hot water, she commenced her usual evening toilet. Always a source of irritation to Alistair, she was near religious about treating herself with various creams, scrubs and other unguents, in the cause of preserving her skin. It was never a quick process.

Alistair busied himself with his own preparations; planning an early start the following day, he selected suit, underwear shirt and tie; leaving them hanging out on the landing. She heard him moving round, then again the bedroom door opened, and she heard the keys fall to the floor by the bag, then the creek of the bed as he lowered his heavy frame onto it. With all her tasks complete bar one, she squirted hand-cream into her palms, and re-entered the bedroom. Still wringing her hands to apply the cream, she walked around the bottom of the bed. 

Alistair was already under the duvet, and appeared to be settling for the night. She'd slid in alongside him.....

The screech of the kettle's whistle broke her train of thought. Filling the coffee-pot, she finished assembling the tray. The curve of the stairs called for concentration and care, so she was unable to resume her reminiscence.

The bedroom had warmed nicely, so she placed the tray on the dressing table, before adjusting the heat of the stove. She put the coffee pot on top of it, to stay warm. Patrick still seemed sound asleep. It gave her the chance to check her appearance in the mirror, to apply a little lipstick. Rachael took up the tray, bearing it to his bedside. 

"Ahem. Sir had ordered Room Service?"

Patrick opened bleary eyes, taking a moment to focus. When he had, a smile spread across his narrow features.

"What excellent service. I shall have to stay here again."

"We'd be very glad to have you, Sir"

His smile widened to a grin.

"Glad to hear it."

He sat up in the bed - she handed him the tray. Without further comment, he started on its contents. Only after most of them had been consumed did he speak.

"Wow. This is great. Thank you," before he resumed eating.

"I thought I'd help keep up your strength. I've got plans...."

Observing he'd finished the bacon and the egg, and was buttering the last piece of toast, she continued:

"Would Sir like some coffee?"

His mouth full, he could only mumble assent. She stood, shed the fleece robe, and walked over to the stove. Still with her back to him – deliberately – she poured his cup, turned, then sauntered to him. 

Rachael was amused to note the lack of eye contact – his attention was fixed on her breasts and bare pelvis.

"Sir's coffee"

Giving him the cup, she took the tray, conveying it back to the dressing table. Returning again to the bed, she climbed onto it, kneeling astride his legs.

"Now, is there anything else I can do for Sir?"

"Plenty," he gestured at her bare groin. "Isn't there something you've forgotten?"

The little bit of role-play, of ritual had made her very wet, she realised. Taking his hand, she pressed it to her vulva.

"Oh no, Sir, it's House policy. We want to make the facilities as accessible as possible to our guests."

Their eyes met, and they both broke into convulsive laughter, when the worst was passed, he spoke, suddenly earnest:

"Seriously; you do look absolutely luscious, you know"

She took his erect member in her left hand. She worked it slowly up and down. 

"You're getting very worked up already, aren't you? Are you sure you'll survive a whole weekend?"

He nodded, "I'll be fine"

"And I'm sure I'll be more than fine. I'm feeling very, very randy already."

She moved her thighs apart, taking pleasure in the feel of his fingers investigating her.

"The more I think about it, the surer I am I won't need those pants. 

"Promising...."

He was staring to probe into her, now. Wanting more, she told him to move over in the bed, and she lay down, him on her right – although not without a moment's uncertainty, as she tried to recall if he was right or left handed. 

He slid up alongside her, waiting. She could reach for his cock, pull it to her, and let him enter. He seemed to have other plans. Two fingers were sliding into her again. He was right handed, after all. This time, they probed deep. He'd raised himself on his left elbow, she noted. His movements inside her seemed deliberate, systematic.

"Looking for something?"

"Checking out the facilities"

His explorations continued

"Sir is very welcome to try out anything he'd like..."

Now, he'd changed the orientation of his hand. His fingers were now at a right angle to the length of her slit, spreading her slightly. This was starting to feel very good indeed. Automatically, she pulled her knees up until her heels nearly touched her rear, and then spread her thighs as wide as she could. It was her turn to raise herself on her elbows. Now, she could study what was going on. "Lewd" scarcely did credit to the spectacle. Her naked pelvis wasn't the half of it, she thought. She couldn't decide what looked more obscene – the way she'd spread herself to allow him access, or the soaked curls of pubic hair plastered to her labia. In the middle was the breathtaking sight of his fingers, half buried in her, glistening with her fluids. Rachael had a sudden intuition that something special was approaching. 

His fingers were now curling inside her, stroking the front wall of her vagina. He moved his fingers lower, and then.....

"Oh, My God....Ohhh"

She felt as though she'd just undergone a huge physical impact, knocking the breath from her. The sensation was similar to what she felt when her clitoris was stroked, but more intense.

"Mmmmm...What are you doing to me? It feels like it's going to explode"

"What I'm doing, Mrs "X", is finding your "G" Spot. Haven't you ever found it before?

Her breath was coming fast, now. 

"Oh...Oh...Oh..." With an effort, she found her voice. "No. I'd have remembered!"

There was a momentary, excruciating break in his stroking, then it resumed, somehow more intense. She realised he'd added another finger alongside the others. Then she was coming, yelping with joy

"I'm coming.......coming, coming"

He slowed his stimulation, letting her drop back to the bed. His fingers remained in her. She looked up at him.

"That was quite unbelievable; just so intense!"

"Maybe a little more, then"

Without waiting for agreement, he resumed rapid manipulation, and within seconds, she was again helpless in the grip of an orgasm.

"Oh, my God....."

Her voice was tremulous, and breath came in ragged gasps

He smiled down at her.

"Well, Madame does seem to like that. Are you sure you've never tried it before?"

She shook her head, weakly. She wanted to reply, but the second climax had been too fierce, leaving her drained. All she wanted to do was to lie still, to breathe, and to recover. Patrick appeared to have other ideas. His fingers began to move again. The sensation was no less exquisite than before, but she was to sensitised, too exhausted to appreciate it.

"No, please...I really can't......not again"

She could, though. The ascent took longer this time, but the destination was no less certain. Once again her back was arched, her hands clawing at the bed sheets, as the pyrotechnics exploded in her forebrain. Now he withdrew his fingers from her, holding his hand up for her to see. From fingertip to wrist shone with her spendings. Then his fingers were again probing at the entrance. It was slack, offering no resistance whatsoever.

She was sobbing. Partly through the sheer, overwhelming, intensity of the experience, partly through the realisation that she was power less to resist, if he chose to resume. That was somewhere between poignant and humiliating.

Sensing that this was perhaps somewhere he shouldn't go, he withdrew his fingers. She was silent, torn between residual lust and relief. Without saying a word, he reached for one of the pillows, putting it alongside her pelvis; he rolled her on to it, prone. She offered no resistance or assistance, her limbs limp. She felt almost detached as he knelt behind her, running his hands over her buttocks. Still without saying a word, he began to push his way into the slack channel. He was obviously hungry for sensation, pushing a deeply and as roughly as she had ever known him do. He came quickly, dropping heavily on to her from behind.

They lay silently in for some minutes. Then he stirred.

"I think I can report that the facilities here are excellent. I can recommend them to anyone who might wish to stay. Just one other question, do you do group bookings?"

She was still too shattered to answer with anything other than a groan.

While he showered, she dozed for a few moments. He returned, still naked, towelling his hair.

"So what are we going to do with the rest of the morning?" struggling to focus, Rachael asked.

"Well, I'm not ready for any more bookings just yet, at least for a couple of hours."

Although the initial exhaustion had passed, her limbs felt heavy and she was thoroughly satiated. 

"We do need to go out and buy some food. And at this rate, we definitely need to keep up the energy levels."

"Come on, then. Let's get you showered"

He held a hand out to her, assisting her to her feet. It was then that she realised her legs were still trembling with the intensity of what had passed before. Leading her to the shower cubicle, he gently lifted the chemise over her shoulders and handed her into the cubicle. He stepped in behind her. The water flowed warm instantly, his having showered previously. He began to soap her.

"You're going to get all wet again" she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You can talk." He smiled.

Rachael kept her thoughts to herself from the moment. She could not imagine getting aroused again for several hours. if not longer. She felt his hands moving over her with almost academic detachment. It was only when he moved down to stroke the tight flesh of her rear, his fingers to softly explore the crack between; that she felt any response whatsoever. Even then, it was as much curiosity, as lust. He began to gently probe at her sphincter with his index finger.




An Emerging Pt. 05



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter9 

Patrick entered, carrying a steaming kettle, which he set down on the toilet seat. From his back pocket he produced a pair of scissors. He stood before her, and placing his hands on her knees eased them apart. She understood, and moved her hips forward, spreading her legs as wide as she could. Then, he knelt. Between thumb and forefinger, he grasped a lock of her pubic hair. Pulling it to its longest extent, he snipped it off, close to the skin, leaving just a few millimetres. Methodically and silently, he repeated the act until all the hair on her mons had been reduced to soft stubble. At no stage did he raise his eyes to her face, or show anything other than total concentration. Rachael's sense of continuing mild anxiety served only to heighten her already intense excitement. The process so far was not especially pleasurable at the purely physical level; Patrick's concentration, his lack of obvious sexual reaction to his task added a frisson. Being handled so intimately, but so dispassionately was slightly humiliating. Rachael had never before found that erotic.

Now he was inspecting her outer lips, clipping away the sparse hairs, she found herself relishing the discomfort of his tugging at each filament, before removing it. It brought slight and transient relief from her need. Still without comment, he stood and turned. He poured the contents of the kettle into the washbasin, steam rising despite the warmth of the room. He picked up her washcloth from the hook at the side of the basin and dropped it in. He picked up his razor from the shelf above, and used its handle to stir the cloth around in the hot water, using the razor to lift a fold of the cloth above the surface, he picked out the cloth, and held it dripping, before taking it and giving it a firm wringing. For the first time in minutes, he spoke.

"This'll feel a bit hot, but it'll soften the hairs – it makes using the razor much easier."

She closed her eyes in anticipation, again hunching her pelvis forward. The cloth was indeed hot, but not scalding. Not quite. He spread it over her mons, and then wrapped it beneath her, covering her slit. He took her left hand, placing it to hold the cloth in place. The heat was mildly painful, but thrilling. Her entire vulva seemed to be wrapped in torrid humidity, to which she was certain her own heated fluids were contributing. With her fingers, she applied pressure to her vestibule. She sighed.

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "My God, is there anything that doesn't get you going?"

Rachael was unsure if the comment was slightly arch, born of genuine surprise, or approving. She decided to respond humorously.

"Not today. And, it's not as though a girl gets quite such an attentive personal grooming service every day. We respectable married women can get quite neglected, you know."

He laughed, glancing down at her groin. She realised that the movements of her fingers, squeezing the cloth into herself, had become more pronounced.

"I can see that..."

From his wash bag, he produced a tube of shaving cream, and his shaving brush. He squeezed an inch or so of cream into the palm of his left hand, and with his right, dipped his shaving brush into the still piping hot bowl. He swirled it around, and then deftly gave it a squeeze. Applying it to the cream, he whipped up a thick lather.

He stepped over to her, reached down and removed the now cool washcloth. Her posture left her totally exposed to him. Her eyes, he saw, were glowing with anticipation.

"You'll like this bit, I think. Finest badger hair....."

She did. He used the soft brush to spread the lather copiously from the top of her pelvis, all the way back almost to her anus, covering the tops of her thighs into the bargain. Being covered in the warm, slippery foam was in itself a sensuous experience, but it paled compared to what the touch of the brush did to her. It flicked and tickled at her most sensitive points. Her aroused state and the removal of the protective curls meant that the head of her clitoris was subject to its direct stimulation. The contact triggered another of the mini climaxes she'd experienced earlier. She cooed her pleasure.

"Ooh, that's lovely"

She felt her vulva relaxing, separating the outer lips, and now exposing the sensitive inner petals to the touch of the brush. Smiling, he flicked the brush along their length, producing another spasm, and another sigh. Delicious as these were, she became aware; they weren't reducing her craving for more, and bigger. 

He straightened, turning back to the basin.

"A fresh blade's in order, I think"

Fitting one, he knelt again between her splayed thighs. With the razor in his right hand, he reached to dip it in the bowl.

"Seriously, I need you to stay very still while I'm doing this"

"Easier said than done", she thought. His left hand spread the skin of her mons tight, and she awaited the touch of the blade. When it did make contact it was the temperature, rather than anything else that surprised her. In fact, the keenness of the blade, and the softness of the hair meant that there was almost no mechanical stimulus. Its touch was the merest whisper on her skin.

With each stroke, he re-wetted the blade. Entranced, she watched as the white lather was removed. The flesh revealed was pink, warm from its preparation. With just a few deft strokes, her mound was rendered completely bare. It looked luscious.

"Now the hard part," Patrick applied the fingers of his left hand to the top and bottom of her right outer labium, stretching the flesh. She froze. He applied the razor, running from front to rear, and then repeated the actions on the left. He put down the razor on the edge of the basin, before running his fingertips over the area. It seemed she could feel every wrinkle on his fingertips.

"Not too bad." He seemed relieved. "One last little job"

That "little job" was to run the razor over the tops of her thighs, removing any last traces which might have escaped waxing. 

Rachael remained on the edge of the bath, unable to tear her eyes away from her transformed pelvis. Its pinkness was fading, as the flesh cooled. It was still dotted with blobs and streaks of lather, but they did nothing to hide her form. 

Patrick drained the basin, and then held the washcloth under the running warm tap. He handed it to her, to remove the traces of foam. He then lifted her bottle of baby-oil from the cabinet, and yet again, knelt before her. As he smeared it over her newly uncovered flesh, she couldn't prevent herself from squirming; her skin seemed super-sensitive, making the slippery contact of his fingers feel truly exquisite. When he began to stroke the oil along the length of her labia, penetrating her slightly, she had to bite her lip to suppress a yelp of joy. 

"That's it, done." He looked relieved. "And everything intact." He removed his hand, and began to wash the residue of oil from it. Rachael couldn't bring herself to speak. She was tracing her fingers lightly over the region, as if to confirm its yielding softness.

"Calm yourself down" she thought. It did little good. She soaked the washcloth in cold water from the basin tap, and applied it to her glowing cheeks. It afforded some relief, so she did the same to her groin. 

Patrick was waiting for her, at ease in the in the chair by the fire. Crossing the room to him, she was able to see herself in the ornate mirror above the fireplace. She couldn't help but stare at her bare pubis as she walked.

"Looks good, doesn't it? He was obviously proud of his handiwork.

"God, yes. I never thought it'd look so filthy"

"Do you think your husband will like it?"

Rachael pondered – should she tell him the truth? Why not, she thought......

"I really don't care. I like it. It makes me look so randy..."

She was still on her high, she realised. She felt as though she might finally achieve the release of a full-scale orgasm within moments, given the right assistance.

He handed her a parcel, a wrapped box.

"A little contribution. Time to open this, don't you think?

She picked it up, and moved to the changing screen. Hidden from his view, she slid the ribbon from the box, and lifted the lid. Inside was a pink tissue-wrapped parcel, which she lifted out. To her surprise, below it was another, this one wrapped in silver-grey. The pink paper tore to reveal what at first looked like a ball of diaphanous lace and ribbon. It was only when she lifted it she could see truly what it was.

The top was formed from a single, broad emerald green ribbon, to which was sewn lace forming a halter. She lowered the halter over her head – the large bow at the back of the neck was already tied – and knotted the ribbon behind her. Looking down at the parcel, she saw there was more. The knickers were fronted with more of the same gauzy lace; the rear was of the same green satin as the ribbon of the brassiere. At each side was a length of the green ribbon, which tied to close the front and rear together. Once on, the bows formed by the side ribbons were prominent. The final item was the simplest; another length of the ribbon. An attached note suggested it be tied as a choker.

Duly attired, she reached into the bottom of the wardrobe to find shoes. She'd bought several pairs – one was a pair of sandals, light and strappy, with heels of a good four inches. 

It was time to test the effect on Patrick.

Glancing for a moment around the screen, she saw he was still sprawled in the chair, waiting expectantly. She stepped from her concealment, and was gratified to see his eyes widen.

"Bloody Hell....that looks amazing."

"Thank you"

She struck a pose – pelvis tilted one hand on her rearward hip, her right foot ahead of her left. Then, curiosity overcame her, and she moved to view herself in the room's only full length mirror. The lace covered her breasts and groin, but was so thin it did nothing to conceal them. Her clitoris was clearly visible in the cleft of her newly-bare pubis. The total effect was utterly feminine – and inordinately sexy.

"Where you want me?". She took the proffered glass, and took a long sip, before placing it on the bedside table.

He'd risen from the chair and taken the camera in hand.

"I thought to this one, we'd shoot on and around the bed. It would be a waste to have the four-poster and not make use of it, don't you think?"

She moved to the bottom of the bed. She leant against the bedpost, and placed her left hand on her hip.

"Not a bad start. Maybe you've a little more talent for this than you think."

"We'll have to see." She turned her back on him, raising her left hand to join the right, and thrusting her bottom towards the camera. The flash triggered.

"Yes, definitely some signs of talent so far. I'll let you lead for the time being."

Momentarily nonplussed, Rachael was unsure what to do next. Her thoughts were to concentrate on those areas which she thought showed off her body for the best; legs, breasts, and bottom. And, of course, there was the issue of the newly bare flesh.

"Okay, see what you think of this."

She moved onto the mattress, first letting the bra straps slip from her shoulders. She gazed directly into the camera. She then rolled over, lying on her back, her arms spread across the pillows. She arched her back slightly, in order to make her breasts prominent. It worked... another camera flash. She rolled to the left, lying on her side. Another flash. Then, kneeling on the mattress, her hands against the bed head she once more thrust her rear towards the camera. Flash. Turning again, she placed her back against the bed head, raising her right knee, consciously exaggerating the length of the leg. Flash. That one, she thought should have looked good. The eye would be drawn to pick out the details of the day of bare pubis behind the lace. She knelt up, stretching her arms above her head and facing directly towards the camera, rendering the costume totally transparent.

She was definitely, she mused, getting the hang of this. He'd be expecting her to remove the bra, the top, first. It was time to give him a little surprise. She turned again, facing away from him. With her right hand, she took the free end of the ribbon that formed the closure of skimpy pants. She looked back over her shoulder, assuming the most coquettish expression she could generate. Then, the same shot, wine glass in hand, as she drained the contents.

"Not bad, not bad."

"I'll show you "not bad"", she thought. She tugged on the ribbon, and felt the knot part. The satin fell away from her buttocks. Flash. She repeated the process, near identically on the left. Flash. The camera now had a clear view of her naked rear.

Now, Rachael surprised herself. Instinctively she clasped her thighs together, trapping the cloth so that it dangled down, and leant forward. Their intent was to give the camera a glimpse of her plump nether lips, framed between her thighs. Flash. She assumed it had worked. None the less, she leaned further forward, putting her elbows on the mattress. That ought to make the view all the more clear, she thought. Flash. She relaxed her thighs, slightly, allowing the cloth to fall to the mattress between them. Flash. She wondered if he was erect yet. 

She was struck by an urge to make the most of her newly depilated condition. She rose, her knees spread wide for balance. She linked her hands behind her head. The pose would force her breasts against the thin fabric of the bra and show off her nipples. But that wasn't the best of it, for her. It would leave her clitoris on open display. flash

For the next few shots, she rang the changes on that same basic posture. Each time the flash triggered, she felt a pulse of excitement. 

"I think it's time you lost the top now". As though by means of encouragement, he refilled her glass.

She loosed the ribbon behind her neck first, then the one crossing her back. She removed the garment. She held out her right arm straight, holding the scrap of lace in her fingers. Flash. Rachael was naked now, except for the green ribbon choker and her shoes.

She rapidly lost count of the number of shots he'd taken, of the poses she'd struck for the camera, of the passage of time. She did know she'd rung the changes. Standing, kneeling, prone and supine on the bed, allowing her plump breasts to swing free, or cupping them, offering them to the camera. More surprisingly, he'd had her also strike a number of poses without overt sexual content - sitting relaxed in one of the armchairs, as though her nakedness was routine. Even so, she felt a heady mix of desirability and intoxication. Exhibiting herself was superbly arousing. Unbidden, an image from childhood had come to her; an afternoon at a friends house. The friend's pet cat had been in heat, and they'd watched amused as she tried to persuade their other cat, an elderly tom, in mounting her. It'd culminated with the undignified spectacle of the younger cat walking backwards toward the tom, tail raised. Rachael felt no less blatant. 

Even so, there were only so many poses it seemed possible to strike, and inspiration was waning. Patrick seemed to agree:

"Right. Time to ring the changes a bit. A change of costume, I think, and a bit of a different theme."

Rachael raised a quizzical eyebrow. Patrick continued.

"You didn't think we were finished, did you? It's not often I get the chance to photograph quite such a willing and sexy model. I was planning a few sets..."

"I thought you'd photo'd most of me pretty thoroughly!"

"It's not only about that....if we treat this as a bit of role play, the chance to act out a couple of fantasies, it'll be much more fun, don't you think?"

"OK, that sounds good to me. Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking more, anything you might like the idea of?"

Rachael thought for a moment. There was something about the atmosphere of the moment that made her think differently, giving her a different urge. 

"You choose. Anything you like."

The idea of being someone else's fantasy appealed more than her own, for some reason.

"Right then." He stepped behind the screen. She followed. He rummaged through the pile on the bed, the paused.

"This, I think. Perfect for what I had in planned." He gestured, pointing at his selection. 

He'd chosen a heavily embroidered bra and pants set in blue satin, with a matching wide suspender belt in blue and black. 

"Slip that on, and then come down to the kitchen."

Rachael obeyed, adding a pair of deep-welted black stockings, together with black high heels. 

Patrick was, as promised, in the kitchen, adjusting the flash guns. He spoke.

"Very nice" 

Rachael agreed, silently. The front of the bra was cut low, exposing the upper portions of her aureolas. She pivoted on one foot, to show him the high cut rear of the pants, leaving her rear bare.

"Now, I've something very "Mrs X" in mind. Put this on"

To her surprise, he was holding out her outside coat.

"Sorry?"

"Here's what I want you to imagine. There's some young chap you like the look of, maybe at work or somewhere but he's not taken the hint so far. So, you've decided to take matters into you're own about turn up at his flat, looking perfectly respectable, but you intend to seduce him. Hence what you're wearing under your coat. Do you like the idea?"

Rachael did. A lot.

"I think I can come to terms with it..."

He suggested a start to the story, starting with her sitting at the kitchen table, then allowing the coat to fall aside showing just a hint of her stocking tops as he - or her imaginary victim - served her another glass of wine. She was now mildly drunk, she realised. 

"So, what would you do next, do you think?"

Patrick's question caught her slightly by surprise.

"Oh.."

"Well, here you are. You've got this chap not quite sure what's going on, why he's got this very glamourous older woman sitting in his kitchen, still wearing her coat..."

Rachael's alcohol fogged brain took a moment to catch up. Before she could reply, Patrick continued:

"The best way to do this is for you to imagine you're doing this for real. Give it a try."



"Give me a second." The first thing she needed, she thought, was a subject for her seduction. Imagining Patrick in that role, after all they'd done together wasn't going to work. So, who?

The solution wasn't long in coming. Four or five years ago, long before meeting Patrick, she'd been in charge of the several graduate trainees at her work. At the time, she'd never have thought for a second of behaving in this way, but there'd been one....Sam, classically handsome, but shy and nervous around her. Maybe he'd fancied her?

The choice was made. Now, instead of Patrick and the camera, she pictured Sam. 

Or rather, tried to. The image was there but somehow it needed to be brought alive. 

"You'll have to help a bit. I need to talk to you as though it's for real...as if this were really happening"

"I think I can manage that." He took stock for a moment, then continued; "It's really nice to see you outside work Rach..Mrs Barnes...Rachael, but...err..I'm not sure why? Is there something I'd forgotten to do at work, or something?"

He'd hit the tone perfectly.

"Oh no, you don't have to worry. It's just social – I like to see all my team are properly taken care of, that sort of thing." Still wearing the coat, she stood, and moved to lean against the refrigerator. Even through the fabric, she could feel the cool hard steel against her back. "I'm not sure I need have worried about you though, at least from an accommodation perspective. You've found a really nice flat. Do you share it, or are you here alone?"




An Emerging Pt. 06



First, a warning - this story is based around a "Loving wives" theme. If that gives you issues, you are going to have to grind your way to the end, some 50,000 words away before you can grumble. Ask yourself, is it really worth the effort? 

The second warning is, the first 2 1/2 sections are substantially the same as an earlier submission of mine "Emergence".

Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter11 

Once in the hallway, Patrick slapped her rear gently, and ordered her upstairs. Rachael obeyed, and he paused to watch as she ascended the steps. He slipped into the kitchen, grabbing the picnic blanket from cupboard, and the bottle of Cava that'd been left to welcome them.

When he arrived upstairs, she'd settled into one of the armchairs, by the fire. She was fingering her clitoris quite openly:

"What kept you?"

He added log onto the stove, and spread the lined blanket over the rug. He popped the cork of the wine before undressing. 

"Come here"

He knelt on the blanket; she came to him, and he wrapped her arm around her waist. Holding her close to him, he took a draught of the wine. Kissing her, he transferred the wine to her mouth. A proportion spilled down their chins. Next, he raised the bottle to Rachael's mouth and let her drink. She reciprocated his action:

"Mr "Y", you don't have to get me drunk to have your way with me, you know..."

He grinned, and gave her a gentle push backwards. Taking the hint, Rachael moved to lay supine; her excitement was obvious, as she writhed, her hands fluttering. Patrick leant over her, and poured a slender stream into her navel. He licked it from the tiny bowl.

"Ooh...that's cold. But nice."

He repeated the action. Then, instead of pouring the sparkling stream onto her stomach, he splashed it onto her nipples, following it with his tongue. Rachael gasped. Her mouth was now slack, in a half-smile, and her eyes were gleaming. When Patrick shifted to kneel between her knees, she grasped his intent immediately, and tilted her hips upward to him. When the trickle of cold wine hit her clitoris, she made a wordless keening noise, her eyes screwed tight shut. As the fluid flowed down and between her labia, it rose to a squeal, and then a string of expletives, as he drank from her.

"Christ, Oh, Christ, Ohhhh"

He made (started) to pour again. She stopped him

"No, not that. It's a bit too much....don't make me come just yet."

"Well, we could try this."

She felt something cold and hard trace its way down her soaking slit. Her eyes snapped open, in time to see him caressing her with the neck of the bottle. He halted its travel at her open entrance, then she felt him start to push it into her, it's thick, curled lip parting and cooling her inflamed labia. 

"No, don't. That's too much. Not even tonight...."

He ignored her, sliding the thick neck deeper. Looking down at her, he grinned.

"Now just wait a moment, hold it right there"

Her eyes showed her confusion

"I'll get the camera. I reckon Alistair would love a few shots of you like that"

Momentarily, she'd thought he was serious. 

Shifting, she instructed him to lie back. His legs were akimbo, his torso raised on his elbows. His erection stood vertical. Rachael poured wine generously over his torso, and drank it from his skin. Now she took a mouthful, and, keeping her lips pursed so as not to lose any more of the fluid than absolutely necessary, slid her lips over the glans. The sensation of the cold liquid and the prickling sensation of the bubbles caused him to jerk forward, pushing the tip to the back of her throat. It caused an involuntary gag. She swallowed the wine.

"Sorry, I..."

"Don't worry."

The thought that'd arisen unbidden when she'd felt his thrust caused her to pause for a moment. "Why not? I've tried everything else tonight....well, almost everything".

"Stay still"

She took the shaft in her right hand, holding it gently with her fingertips. Reapplying her lips, she moved them down on it slowly, until the penis penetrated her mouth as deeply as it ever had before. She could feel the smooth head against the roof of her mouth, close to her epiglottis. They both waited expectantly. Her train of thought continued – "I've swallowed his come – I ought to be able to do this". Recalling what she'd read on the topic, she resumed the slide down. Forcing herself to control the natural spasm of her throat muscles, Rachael inhaled deeply through her nose, before making her self swallow, as she bobbed her head forward.

It worked, just as she'd read it would. She felt a bulk slide into her throat, and suddenly, she was able to move her head forward without restriction until her nose nestled amongst his pubic hair.

"Good God..."

Rachael moved her head backwards, feeling the friction as the shaft withdrew from her, then moved forward again. She was able to repeat the movement three or four times before she had to pull back to breathe, taking his cock from her mouth but retaining her grip.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know" was all the response she offered, before reapplying herself. From Patrick's hiss, as he slid back into her oesophagus, she realised that the sensations must be very intense. Then, it became apparent just how intense; just as she was about to withdraw again for breathe, Patrick cursed, and his hands clamped on the sides of her head. He began to thrust against her, robotically. Rachael felt an edge of panic. She was desperate to breathe, but his grip was too strong. Then, with a roar, he drove forward, crushing her face into his abdomen, and held it there for what seemed an eternity. He released her, and desperately, she swayed backward, gulping for air. As she did so, his second spasm fired its string of semen, spattering across her face. 

She managed to get the head back into her mouth in time for the third, savouring its tang. Lovingly, she used fingers and tongue to spooned the remnants into her mouth as he watched her, intently.

The semen was everywhere; in her hair, splashed around her right eye, plastered around her mouth and dripping from her chin

Rachael had been building to this point for most of the day. Abruptly, she was on fire with lust. She needed a penis inside her, fucking her hard, now. 

It'd been the sight of her in the mirror, she realised. Looking like the cheapest slut imaginable, after she'd spent the day behaving like a tart. The knowledge that she'd taken a cock in the throat, had been close to performing anonymous sex in a nightclub, displayed herself like a whore, come on her lover's fingers while– and had adored every second of it. 

Wiping Patrick's come from her eye but leaving the rest, she dropped to her knees. She began to work on his now flaccid member with mouth and hands, gently at first but then with increasing urgency as it failed to respond. She looked him in the eye, cursing:

"Come ON..."

"Sorry, I can't."

His head dropped back – the mixture of the drink, and the powerful climax he'd just squirted into her gullet had left him half-comatose. Growling with frustration, consumed with the desperate need to be filled, her eyes scanned the room for some source of satisfaction.

And fell on the bottle. Five minutes ago, it'd seemed too depraved even for her. She grabbed at it, hurriedly tearing away the last remnants of the foil top, before taking it to the bathroom, and giving the neck a wipe with the washcloth. Back in the living room, she poised herself on the edge of one of the armchairs where she could see herself in the mirror. She gave Patrick's recumbent form a sharp kick:

"Watch this, you useless bastard"

It was easier than she'd expected to push the neck deep into her soaking tunnel – and Rachael felt every millimetre of its passage. The sensation was excruciatingly intense. Moreover, as it continued to slide in, the shape, with the relatively slender neck flaring to the broad body caused her vulva to be spread wide. Patrick's eyes were almost as wide. She directed her gaze to the mirror, as she slid it out and in again. Her image was a vision of filth. She looked obscene, she thought. It wasn't just the lewdness of the large black shape nestling between her legs, its neck glistening with her lubrication; it was the way her mouth worked with soundless pleasure as the bottle was moved.

She glanced again at Patrick.

"If you can't do it for me, I'll make my own arrangements."

He didn't speak. 

"Tell me how it looks. Do I look like a complete harlot? I want to – I've felt like one all day"

She was struck by a convulsion, causing her to lose her grip on the bottle. It dropped noisily to the floor, spilling froth. She hadn't realised it still contained wine. 

With a deliberate gesture, she bent forward and picked it up, raised it to her lips and drank as Patrick watched. It tasted strongly of her, as well as the original contents. She placed the now empty bottle upright on the floor, and squatted over it. She began to lower herself down onto it

Rachael was now sliding up and down rapidly, forcing the bottleneck as deep into herself as it would physically go, Her hips were jerking back and forth, her breasts swinging wildly. Her skin shone with sweat, her thighs with her juices Her orgasm was close now, very close.

A massive wave of pleasure washed over her, then another, and yet another. Conscious thought was impossible, and when the waves finally receded, she felt blackness fall over her.

Chapter 12 

Rachael couldn't be sure what it was that actually woke her; it was one of those unpleasant, instantaneous transitions from deep sleep to wakefulness that only happen as a result of some external stimulus. The initial disorientation had its virtues, however. It took her several seconds to become aware of the dull ache behind her eyes, the dryness of her mouth. And that she was alone.

The room was in semi darkness, illuminated only by the grey light seeping around the curtains. Even so, she found it more comfortable to keep her eyes closed.

As she huddled under the covers, recollection of the previous night came creeping into her consciousness. Her immediate reaction was to cringe inwardly at – well, she could think of no better word than shamelessness of her behaviour. Risking the opening of one eye, she peeked toward the now cold stove, expecting to see the evidence of her debauchery. There was none. Perhaps it was some sort of nightmare? No, nightmares don't normally include such extreme pleasure; searching for an explanation, a hazy memory surfaced, of Patrick lifting her onto the bed, of his wiping her body and face with a washcloth, taking off her shoes and jewellery, and spreading the blankets over her.

"Patrick?"

Rachael jack-knifed upright, into a sitting position. Where was he? Had she been so excessive that he'd walked out, disgusted with her? Before she would seek an answer, she was overcome by a stab of nausea, brought on by the sudden movement.

She made it into the bathroom just in time, vomiting thin, sour bile into the toilet bowl. Then, sitting on that same (the) bowl she relieved herself, suffering alternate flushes of hot and cold. It was dawning on her just how much she'd drunk, and over how long on the previous day. Was that some excuse for her behaviour? Probably not...

The worst of her immediate symptoms began to subside. She drew a glass of water, swilled (rinsed) her mouth, filled another, which she drank. Filling the glass for a third time, she filled it again. She needed to lie down, to orientate herself from the shelter of the bed. Returning to the bedroom, she was able to take in the things she'd missed in the urgency of her dash to the bathroom. The room had indeed been tidied, thoroughly. Nor did it seem that Patrick had left; his camera equipment and laptop were still there. 

The dress she'd worn that previous night was draped over the back of a chair. She eyed it warily, then lifted it, inspecting it as though it was completely strange to her. It seemed incredible; mildly horrifying that she'd worn it at all, never mind in public. And - Oh, God – She recalled removing the clip that'd kept the cowl at least part closed, and her display leaving the dance floor. How many people had she displayed herself to? That recollection was tempered, however, by an insistent memory of her excitement at the time. She tried, but failed, to push that thought aside.

Dropping it back on the chair, she took the few steps back to the bed. On her bedside table she'd missed entirely the tray left for her; a bowl of cereal, milk, a large, cold glass of grapefruit juice. Beside them, a thermos jug. Investigating that latter, she found it filled with strong, black coffee. There was a note:

"Gone for a run, to clear my head. These should help. P."

Folded into the note were two aspirins.

Rachael settled back into the bed, draining the grapefruit in two deep draughts. She attacked the cereal, suddenly famished. Together, they acted to quell her stomach's churning. She arranged the pillows so she could sit upright, and poured a large mug of coffee. The first mouthful served well to wash down the aspirin. Within a few minutes, she could feel their effect.

She could now, she found, contemplate the previous day and night with a little more equanimity. She'd amazed herself by just how far over the top her behaviour had been – amazed, and more than a little frightened. It hadn't only been how she'd acted in the restaurant and especially in the nightclub. The seeds of that had, she surmised, been sown earlier in the day when being photographed had aroused her so. And there had been the drink. Not an excuse, but it'd certainly helped loosen already frayed inhibitions. 

She lifted the covers, to survey the evidence of that fraying; her smooth pubis. Proof positive, she thought of her recklessness. She contemplated just how turned on it'd made her that previous afternoon. 

She reached up to brush aside a stray lock of hair; her fingers met a stiffened knot. Patrick hadn't cleaned her up completely, she mused, recalling her image in the mirror that last evening.

Rachael herself could choose exactly when to let her real licentiousness have free rein; no-one else. Best, almost all of those around her would be completely unsuspecting. The concept of still being seen as the "Ice Queen" – despite the mild thaw of the last year – while knowing what sleaze she could enjoy amused her hugely.

Anyhow, she could have gone further, had she wanted to. She'd left the Watcher hanging, she thought. Reflecting on what she assumed would have been his extreme arousal; she relished a mildly sadistic kick at the idea that he'd been frustrated.

Putting her imaginings to one side, she slid from the bed. Back again in the bathroom, she adjusted the shower to a little less than body heat; after cleaning her teeth, she stepped in. she rinsed her hair several times, and lathered her body, noticing the various points of tenderness. All in all, considering her conduct, she felt surprisingly good. As the shower continued, in fact, she felt better and better. When she stepped from the shower she seemed to exude a healthy glow. Was there other maintenance needed? No, her mons still felt soft and smooth – no stubble yet. Gently, she anointed her labia with a soothing lotion, and applied a little to her interior. 

Now there was the matter of clothing. The room was slightly chill, and as she checked the wardrobe, she was aware of goose pimples on her skin and her nipples tightening. She found a soft body, it's cups gently supporting of her aching breasts. Slipping into it, and donning jeans and a sweater over it, she walked down to the kitchen and busied herself tidying. 

Rachael had been at the task for no more than ten minutes when the front door burst open. Patrick had returned, reddened and sweaty. Waving off her greetings, he departed upstairs, apparently more than ready for a shower himself.

Finishing her work, Rachael followed him upstairs. The bathroom door was closed, and she could hear the shower in full flow. When Patrick eventually emerged, his slender torso wrapped in a towel, he found her back in the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?"

"Bad – but not quite as bad as I should probably feel"

"It was quite a night, wasn't it?"

She was quiet. That wasn't the half of it. 

"We'd better get dressed and head out, if we want any lunch. I don't think we've anything in, have we?

"Lunch?)

"Check the time – you slept until well after 12!"

Chapter 13

Good. That was pretty much everything now, apart from a sauce for the birds, and that was best made at the last minute. All the washing up was done, apart from plates and serving dishes. She surveyed the kitchen, satisfied it was in good order, she just had to finish the table now; she'd seen candlesticks and candles in one of the cupboards. Retrieving them, she laid two place settings, opened the wine and poured two glasses to breathe.

Time now to prepare herself; she had something in mind. They'd spent the afternoon and early evening quietly – and chastely. Maybe she'd satisfied the worst of her overheated urges, at least for the time being. They'd done nothing more erotic than a country walk. But now, it was time to change that.

Patrick was settled in front of the fire, a paperback in his hands; some trashy adventure story she noted. Well, she'd not chosen him for his taste in literature. He looked up at her as she passed.

"Nearly ready; I just want to change, and then give me five minutes to serve."

"Smells great," He returned to his book. Rachael picked the chosen items from the wardrobe, and went into the bathroom. She emerged transformed. Gone were the comfortable, practical clothes of the day, in their place a look that exuded sophistication. She wore a black silk top, with spaghetti straps. Obviously of insubstantial material, it did nothing to hide he movements of her breasts below it. Indeed, the bumps made by her nipples confirmed she wore nothing underneath. Her black skirt was tight-fitting, reaching to just below knee length,, made of a soft satin. He legs were sheathed in opaque stockings, marked with a faint pattern in silver. She wore those vertiginous heels that'd featured in the previous days photo shoots. Around her neck there was a short necklace of square black stones, and some black beads. 

"Wow. You look wonderful."

"Thanks."

She was indeed pleased with the look. She'd hoped to avoid the obvious availability of the previous night, but to still be sexy.

"Ten minutes. I'll call"

When she did, and he descended to the kitchen, he was met with the partridges already served, sitting atop a pool of a rich, purple sauce. Next to them was a small portion of dauphiness's potato. In the middle, between the plates, was a small bowl of mixed green vegetables. Rachael waited by the table.

Taking he hint, he seated her in his most gentlemanly manner. Taking his own place, he spoke:

"Hmm. Not only smells great, but looks it too. What's the sauce?"

"Port. I bought a couple of miniatures yesterday."

"Wow. You do the whole Jerry Hall thing then?"

She raised an eyebrow

"You know – a cordon-bleu chef in the kitchen, a Madonna with the children, and, in the bedroom....."

"Why thank you, Mr "Y"".

The food was every bit as good as it promised. They ate in a comfortable silence, now relaxed in each others company. When they finished, he ordered her upstairs. He made coffee, and with dispatch, washed the dishes, returning them to their places in the various cupboards. They both needed to be away early the following day, he thought. No point leaving jobs until the morning. He should be very grateful they'd got the extra night.




An Emerging Pt. 07



Thanks to "Blackstallion21" for editing support.



Chapter14 

At first, Rachael had assumed it was a dream; she fancied herself lying in a soft, warm bed, with her lover wrapped protectively around her. His plans for her were becoming evident, first from the hot hardness pressed against her bottom. His fingers were beginning to stimulate her, first from behind and then having gently rolled her onto her back, directly from the front. Her first, foggy thought was that this was the sort of dream she could really get to like, and that under no circumstances did she want it interrupted. Such caprices were all too often impossible to regain when lost. Instinctively, she curled onto her side, in a foetal position. Something hard and stiff and warm was entering her. In her semi conscious state, it seemed no more real than what'd passed to date. She'd had dreams like this before; a disembodied presence, using her to mutual satisfaction. The presence partly withdrew, and entered again, repeating the motion until it had established the rhythm of gentle sex. 

The indications that this was no dream began to enter her fogged consciousness. The squeak of bedsprings echoed as he adjusted his posture; the intrusion slipping from her, a soft voice expressing a muffled curse. He made a clumsy and ineffective attempt to re-enter her, and she tensed, suddenly awake and in momentarily unfamiliar surroundings. There was a warm hand, firm on her hip.

A voice in the dark - "Are you awake?"

Recognition stirred as she placed the voice, bringing with it a new wave of arousal. She spoke:

"Patrick...what ARE you doing? Don't you know it's rude to have sex with an unconscious woman?

"You weren't asleep. Or of you were, you respond remarkably well to foreplay when you are."

She could feel his penis, warm and heavy pressing again at the juncture of her thighs. She reached behind her, and caressed it.

"That'll go in a lot more securely from the front." she whispered.

The darkness wasn't absolute, she realised. One corner of the room was lit by a soft glow from the banked stove. It was sufficient for her to see him as a dark shape, moving to settle herself between her knees. Then he was over her, supporting himself on his elbows, placing no weight on her at all.

"Let me" she whispered. She found him with both hand and guided him. She placed the head at her already part open inner lips, before raising both arms to wrap them around his neck.

Her wish had been for something gentle, relaxing, as befitted what she assumed would be their last coupling of the weekend. His entry into her was indeed as slow and gentle as she could have wished. From the very first, however, it was far from relaxing. She was transported back over a year, to the first time he'd entered her. As he slid into her, he was muttering endearments; much as she wanted to reciprocate, she was speechless.

During the foreplay, she'd felt that there was no way that she could have felt any urgency this time. After all, they'd made love just a few hours before, as they'd gone to bed. This midnight coupling was unexpected – and unwanted?

That illusion was dispelled within moments. She raised her legs, crossing them behind his buttocks, suing them to press him deep. Rachael found her voice. 

"Oh, Lord. That's lovely. Now, fuck me."

He responded, adopting a steady tempo. It wasn't long before she found herself urging him on. Their earlier lovemaking had been subdued. Now she wanted something more unrestrained.

"God, I love this. I don't know how I lived without this. I love it being so deep."

She was staring up at him. Even in the dim firelight, he could see wildness in her eyes. She continued.

"Faster"

She was thrusting back at him, propelling him to a faster rhythm. He was now moving his hips in a corkscrew motion, causing the head to push at and stretch the upper parts of her vagina in different ways with each stroke. The sensation was rapturous, making her less coherent, more vocal. She was overcome by a need to share her delight.

"That's it. Like that. Keep doing it and I'll come. I love it when you make me come being inside me."

Then

"God, how did I manage to go a year without this? It's only you that makes me feel like this, makes me come when fucking me."

Even in her elated state, she felt that wasn't a sentiment she should have shared. She couldn't stop herself, though. He slowed for a moment, his knees slipping on the bed sheets. She groaned in complaint.

"Don't stop. I'm getting close"

He lowered his mouth close to her ear, "Me too."

Rachael was galvanised. Her peak was rapidly approaching. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small, lucid part of her brain was sounding an alarm, but she could pay it no heed. Her climax hadn't quite yet started when he stiffened, and grunted. She sensed, rather than felt the gush of his fluid within her. It was sufficient, though. They were coming together, their mouths seeking each other. His thrusting slowed. Rachael spoke first.

"Stay inside. Stay in me."

Aftershocks were rippling through her walls, clutching at him. Carefully he moved his upper torso to her left before lowering himself to the bed. It left their legs tangled awkwardly together. He murmured. 

"You're gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous". Within seconds, he was asleep.

She was content to wait as her internal tremors slowed, then stopped. She was in a soft haze of contentment, drifting to join her lover in slumber. She moved to untangle their legs, but carefully, in order to keep him within her, plugging her, retaining his semen in her.. 

On the very edge of sleep, an unformed thought nagged at her. That same alarm that had been discounted earlier. What was it? 

Ah. She had it. The moment when she'd slid from the bed, following their earlier love-making, to clean herself in the bathroom and to removed the diaphragm. There was none of the alarm she knew she should have felt. In the comforting warmth of her post-coital glow, it was easy to reassure herself with the thought that the pills would provide sufficient protection. Even as her thoughts slowed, she found something satiating and primal in the idea of her lover's sperm bathing her unprotected womb.

This time, the general vagueness left few doubts it was definitely a dream. She was at some form of gathering. The event being celebrated wasn't clear; what was though was that she was the centre of attention. It was obvious why. She was heavily pregnant. Her swollen belly and breasts suggested, by the standard of her one prior experience was she was seven or eight months gone. She seemed to be dressed in a short, tight clinging dress. The dress, in fact, she'd worn on the night she'd first met Patrick. Nor was it just the dress, she was clad exactly as she'd been then, down to hose, bangles, necklaces, earrings and shoes. The shoes were a problem, with her unbalanced body. She was naked below the thin material of the dress, her enlarged nipples prominent. There was something else. She was feeling very, very horny. For Rachael, her first pregnancy had been the most sexually aware time of her life. By the time she'd reached the advanced stage she seemed to now be at, Alistair could have made love to her each night and morning, and she'd still have been happy to have had more. This time, the symptoms seemed redoubled.

The room was and odd combination of unfamiliar, but commonplace; perhaps the function room of some anonymous chain hotel. Most of the people that filled it were known to her, though. They were acquaintances and friends, work and university colleagues, distant family. Also, she somehow knew, closer family were due to attend, but weren't there yet. There was, she noted, an undercurrent of muttering, of comments passed behind hands, as she moved amongst the guests.

"Rachael." Some feet away was the welcome sight of Lesley and Kate - probably her two closest friends, known as far back as schooldays. They fussed over her, congratulating her, assuring her that she looked well. More than well, in fact:

"You look different in yourself, you know; really confident and very sexy." Kate said. 

Lesley nodded assent. Kate continued, her voice lowered, "So, who have you told?"

Rachael found herself nonplussed; the dream apparently had a story arc all of its own. She played for time:

"Told what?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, girl. We've known each other too long for that. And it's obviously not telling anyone anything new that you're up the duff - that's been obvious for months. No, we want to know if you've told anyone about whose baby it is, and - you know - how it happened!"

Lesley broke in, sounding solicitous, just as in real life.

"Listen, Love, you need to be careful. I know you're happy - anyone who looks at you can see that - and that you're having a great time, but not everyone's going to be relaxed about it."

Kate nodded, Rachael replied, automatically. Lesley had been trying to mother her for as long as they'd known each other and she'd been fending it off for as long:

"Don't worry. I won't do anything silly"

Kate grimaced. "It's a bit late to be saying that!" She nodded toward Rachael's bulge. "Anyway, how are you doing? Not too tired?"

"Oh, far from it. I've never had so much energy, all sorts of energy, if you know what I mean." She arched an eyebrow, prompting a chortle from Lesley, and one of Kate's guffaws

"Just as well, in the circumstances. What I can't understand is, how do you get the time?" Kate added. Lesley leaned close, and in a conspiratorial whisper asked

"Were you joking when you said you were at it with both Alistair and this other chap; still?"

Rachael's reply was delivered with a smug smile

"Oh yes; most days, in fact.... I'm not sure how I'd get along without it!"

Kate turned to Lesley "Told you so. She's turned into a complete nymphomaniac!" Then, to Rachael "And another thing, you are actually enjoying wandering round letting people know that you're the scarlet woman having a baby by her lover, don't you?"

"Yes. So there's your answer, Kate - it's worth making the time - well worth it! It brings all sorts of opportunities..." Rachael winked, and continued. "What sordid details do you want to know? 

Lesley kept up the bantering tone "Well, if you can spare ten minutes from your busy - shall we say social life?"

Laughing, Rachael surveyed the crowd; suddenly.... 

With no discernible transition – there he was in front of her. Phillipe, the man who'd broken her heart at eighteen. Looking exactly as he had those 20-odd years ago. He was, to this day, in many ways Rachael's perfect man,a heavily set French Canadian, tall and dark. He'd always claimed to be part Iroquois, accounting for his improbable cheekbones. He'd used that as an excuse to wear his black hair long, brushed straight back from a high forehead. 

"Phillipe?" 

He gave no sign of recognition. 

"Yes? Do I know you?" His air of mild condescension hadn't changed. In fact, nothing had changed. It was as though he'd been preserved frozen, to be thawed and produced on this dream occasion. 

"Yes, you do. From University, remember?" 

"You'll have to give me a few clues. There were a lot of people...." 

Rachael's anger flared "You bastard", she thought. If Phillipe had cared one iota about the damage he'd done to her, her features would have been burned into his brain. Instead... 

They'd met perhaps three months into Rachael's freshman year. Phillipe had seemed improbably glamorous, especially from a girl from a small Lancashire town. His air of postgraduate sophistication had been irresistible too, given her sheltered upbringing. Rachael had never seen anyone like him. He'd taken an interest in her, too. ...Although for earthier reasons. Her figure had been exceptional - years of sport had left her slender, but she was endowed with outstanding breasts, and long, shapely legs. He'd taken her to his flat, she confidently expecting to have her first experience of full sex. And it had been a disaster. 

She'd been tense. Hardly surprising, given the indoctrination of her teenage years. He'd been impatient, then rough, then sarcastic and scathing. All these years later, she'd realised, he'd been a remarkably inept seducer - if the term could be justified by a few attempts at clumsy foreplay. That hadn't been the worst part, though. When she'd left, his accusations of frigidity stinging her ears, she'd thought that would be bad enough. Later, she really wasn't too sure what was worse. The revelation that he'd slept his way through most of her social circle while supposedly in pursuit of her; or the way that he'd cheerfully shared his opinion of her sexuality and supposed issues with anyone who'd listen. Both had hurt bitterly. She'd retreated into a shell of mainly female friendships, and distrust of men that lasted though her university years and beyond. 

But....He still looked wonderful. She remembered from that awful afternoon, the sight of him moving naked around his bedroom - and it caused an erotic frisson. In her already lascivious state, it had a strong effect. She wanted him. 

"Rachael. Rachael Henderson, Remember? You told everyone I was a frigid bitch" 

She realised he'd recognised her all along.  

"Rachael. Of course..." He took a look at her bulging stomach. "You got over that problem, then". 

"There never was a problem, of course." 

"Wasn't there? You could have fooled me. Anyway, water under the bridge, and all that. You're looking very good now. Even with..." 

Her ardour cooled, rapidly. He'd not changed. Still fancying his chances, but unwilling to see any woman as anything more than a body to have sex with. 

Patrick was suddenly there. He was pressed close behind her, his arms wrapped around her. She tilted her face up to be kissed, and he obliged. Phillipe began to grow uncomfortable, when it became obvious neither of them was in any hurry. Rachael snuggled back against Patrick, enjoying the sensation of his erection against her lower back. She spoke, a harsh edge to her voice: 

"Phillipe, this is Patrick. He's responsible for this. Patrick, this is Phillipe. He's the arse who told everyone at university I was frigid."

Patrick let out a bark of laughter, loud enough that heads turned around the room. "Phillipe, old boy, if that's what you thought, you were never so wrong in your life. I've only known Rachael for a couple of years, and if what she's like in her forties is anything to go on, at nineteen she'd have eaten most blokes alive!"

Patrick's hands were cupping and kneading her breasts quite openly. Rachael noted that it was causing them to leak milk, soaking the thin fabric, and making it cling even more. She approved of both sensation and effect; Phillipe seemed to be struggling to pull his eyes away from the spectacle. Despite that, he made an attempt to respond to Patrick's scorn.

"Patrick, I have to say you're a bit of a surprise. I'd always assumed that Rachael would end up marrying some older, steady sort"

Rachael pre-empted Patrick's answer, sensing his annoyance.

"Ah, that's why you're confused. You've not got any better at reading people, Phillipe, even after all these years. Patrick's not my husband."

Phillipe's eyes flickered to her rings.

"No, Patrick's my lover. Patrick's smirk confirmed it.

Phillipe's eyes widened. "You.....?"

Rachael leaned close "The silly bit is, Phillipe, I saw you, even though you were so horrible to me, I thought you were still rather fanciable. What I was planning to do was sneak out with you, and find a vacant room for half an hour - so we could try out how it could have been all those years ago. But then you couldn't resist being obnoxious again...."

Rachael sauntered away, hips swaying, hand in hand with Patrick. Lesley and Kate joined them. Rachael made introductions. Kate was visibly awestruck. Rachael's cravings were stronger than ever, so she began to tongue Patrick's ear. He responded, carefully, avoiding placing pressure on her belly. Almost oblivious to the presence of the other three she crooned: 

"God, I want you." She crooned. "It's been hours now."

"Greedy"

"Maybe, I really don't care"

Kate and Lesley exchanged sidelong glances. 

His hands were back on her breasts, again causing milk to flow.

"Do you like them, when I'm like this? Last time, I put on two cup sizes. This time, I think it's more. I haven't got any bras to fit."

"Really." His tone was sceptical. "So that's why you're wandering around with these sticking out like the proverbial hat-pegs is it?" He passed his thumbs over the nipples. "There was I thinking you just liked the effect. Old Phillipe certainly did, by the way. He couldn't take his eye off 'em"

She gloated "Do you think?"

"Oh, yes. 

"Well, you can check them more thoroughly later tonight, then."

Rachael was now pressing her pelvis onto his erection, through the cloth of his trousers. She was close to coming from that pressure alone. 

"Mmm. That feels promising"

"For God's sake, calm down Rachael. Just wait a few minutes." Lesley interjected, muttering into her ear

"I think Alistair's expecting you..."

"I will still be there, just a bit later. We just have to be quick, won't we Patrick."

Lesley rolled her eyes

"I suppose that was inevitable."

Patrick assented. It seemed to have been agreed. Rachael felt a flush of arousal rising on her face. She'd be going to her husband's bed with a bellyful of her lover's semen. The depravity of the idea was a huge turn-on. Even more so that her friends we unsurprised by her behaviour. It still left her with a huge and immediate need, though. 

Again without warning, the scene changed. Now, she seemed to be in a separate room, a lounge, or library. There were glass-fronted bookshelves lining two of the walls. In the centre of the room, two large chesterfield sofas faced each other, a coffee table between them

Rachael sat on the closer of the two sofas, leant back and closed her eyes, attempting to relax. It was pointless. All she could think of was sex, of how much she needed to make love to Patrick, or Alistair, or anyone at all. It'd gone beyond the point where she could be specific any longer. She became aware of a presence in the room. Her eyes opened involuntarily. Sitting on the sofa with her was a young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty. Beyond that, she found it oddly hard to discern his features. Wordlessly, she turned to him and kissed him, before climbing over him, one knee to either side of his hips. She straddled his fully dressed form. 

Her need for sexual contact had become a physical ache.  She bore down on him, eager to feel some friction on her mons and lips. She began to grind herself on the fabric of his trousers, trying to find his erection within. 

She stared into his face, eyes wide. 

"I don't know who you are. I don't care. I want you to screw me, as hard as you can." 

Chapter14 

She'd hoisted the dress up to her waist, so he could see her lips pressed to him. God, she needed this. She was determined nothing would stop her - although, there was more that she craved. She lent forward to whisper into the anonymous boy's ear.

"I want to be licked. Then fucked, properly"

Her dream-partner wasn't phased by this. She swung off him, and sprawled against the back of the chesterfield, making no effort whatsoever to adjust her clothing.  She was musing on what a sight she must be - wonderfully obscene was the phrase that kept intruding itself. Her pubis was shiny with her own fluids. Her outer lips had been reddened by the chafing; the inner ones were parted in anticipation. From their rear juncture, a steady thread of lubricant flowed slowly. at the other end, her clitoris stood almost entirely clear of it's hood. 




An Emerging Pt. 07



He'd lowered himself between her stockinged thighs but had yet to make contact when there came a nervous cough from behind her. Irritated by the interruption, she lifted herself to look over the sofa back. 

It was Lesley.

"Errr...yes, look Love. Sorry to interrupt you, and all that, but your Mum's here, and she was hoping to see you. She's not very happy, you know." 

She felt no urge to cover herself, and he showed no reaction to her dishevelled state. Somewhere, her brain was acknowledging that this was indeed a dream. But she'd no wish that it should end. Rather the opposite. 

The boy was looking up at her, poised, ready to begin. Rachael placed a hand on the back of his head, and pressed his face to the hot flesh of her crotch. His tongue instantly began to explore her clitoris. At the same moment, two of his fingers slipped frictionlessly between her inner labia, and began to twist and turn insider her. 

"Christ, that's fabulous. Do some more of that!" 

"Rachael! Come on, you know how stroppy she gets"

Her friend was now standing at the end of the sofa, looming over the boy. Every detail of what was occurring must have been apparent to her. Even now she was aware she was in a dream, that idea still delighted her. 

"Sorry. It's just I've been waiting for this all evening....and now it's happening....its lovely....Ooooh" 

She finished with a theatrical groan. If she could just be left alone to concentrate, orgasm could only be moments away. It wasn't to be. 

"Never mind that; like I said, your Mother's here, and she wants to talk to you" 

The boy had settled to a steady rhythm with both tongue and fingers. She could feel her walls spasmodically clutching at the intruding digits. Just at that moment, she couldn't conceive of a finer sensation. If only she could be left alone to enjoy it. She wasn't. 

"Sort yourself out, and come on. And make sure you cover yourself up. She'll go mad if she sees you like that" 

Rachael was determined to resist. 

"No. Tell her I'll come and find her in half an hour. Tell her I'm busy.  Ohhh....just a bit faster" 

That latter to the boy. 

"Oh, come ON Rachael. You know what she gets like"  

The climax that had been so close slipped away completely. Rachael cried out 

"Oh, nooooo. No." 

Then she snapped 

"Yes, I do know exactly what she bloody gets like. And I also know her straight-laced streak After all, I couldn't avoid the bloody thing, could I? Endlessly going on about what nice respectable girls will and won't do, how awful it would be to have sex and enjoy it and so on. You know what? She made sure I didn't get any of the fun everyone else was getting for years, and even then it's been only in the last couple of years that I've really started to appreciate how good it can be. And now, 30 years later, she's still stopping me making the most of it!" 

Red faced, and close to tears, she pushed the boy away from her. 

"When is she going to stop interfering in my life?" 

That was too much for Lesley As would have been inevitably the case in real life, she avoided confrontation. 

"Oh...OK...Errmmm. Let me see if I can delay her" With that, she disappeared.  The boy was still kneeling. 

She looked down at herself. The dress was crumpled up to just below her breasts, having slipped down the concave curve of her belly. One stocking had lost it's grip, and was in corrugations around the calf. The other had somehow acquired a long run across it's upper part. In her anger, she blurted 

"I need to sort myself out, do I? I'll bloody show her" 

She tugged the dress over her head, and then sat to roll the stockings from off her legs. She tossed them aside. It left her fully naked. 

She found the glazed door of a bookshelf, for use as an impromptu mirror, and imperiously ordered the boy to bring her her handbag. He handed it to her, for her for her to freshen her make-up. The boy seemed nervous. Rachael was now in command, though.

"Get undressed."

The boy obeyed. His body was nothing special, in Rachael's eyes, but at the groin swung a long penis , if not so substantial as she'd have hoped. Below it, by contrast, the testicles were large and heavy. He'd do.

She stepped past him, enjoying his eyes on her body, Back at the sofa, she knelt, knees on the sofa cushion, arms folded supporting her head on the high side. Not quite the effect, somehow, she sought. She slipped her shoes back on, and tried again, this time with one foot on the floor. The heel had given her the extra length of leg necessary. The position had her facing away from where the boy stood, presenting her rear to him. Her head faced the entrance to the Library. Peering back along the length of her flank, she could see his erection filling and rising.

"What are you waiting for?"

Given her condition, it was as comfortable a posture as she could contrive. She could feel the weight of her overflowing breasts, as they dangled below her. The baby in her belly responded to the change in posture by wriggling and kicking.

She felt the sofa base sag as his weight came on to it. Then there was contact. Rachael had been expecting to present at least a little resistance to his entry. There was none. It was as though her lips had opened to admit him. There was only the soft, slippery friction as in a single movement his entire length slid into her. She felt oddly at ease - as if, at that moment, the whole point of her existence was to be penetrated by the member of a lover. It grew no less fulfilling as the boy began , steadily and methodically, to fuck her. The pendulous mass of her breasts began to sway below her. She began to feel the familiar and much-needed sensations, as though the nerve endings in her cervix connected directly to the pleasure centres of her brain. Unconsciously, her hips thrust back against him, and she heard herself begin to emit small gasps of joy. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the rising stimulus. His urgency matched hers, driving into her faster and faster until, clutching her to him he stiffened and came into her. She felt each of his spasms, loving the feel of her channel being doused with his come. He slipped from her.

Sublime as the moment was, she still craved her own climax.  She was about to turn, to beg him to continue, when she felt her lips parted again. She was being taken afresh, the new invader's entry being lubricated by his predecessors fluids. 

At the same time, she began to become aware of others in the room. Ranged around the walls were a mix of figures from her past and present; workmates, friends, relatives and neighbours. She was the undoubted centre of attention. Patrick, Lesley, and Kate were seated on the sofa facing her. Waged in alongside, was Jeremy, her boss. He, in particular, was regarding her with open fascination. They made eye contact.

"Rachael, this is very definitely different side to you than we see at work" he said, an eyebrow raised.

Much as she wanted to reply, she could do no more than give a weak smile. She began to catch other snatches of conversation from around the room. All were discussing her, her actions, her enthusiasm for what was going on, and her morals. 

"Dear God, she's loving that. Just look at her..."

"You'd never have guessed she was such a filthy bitch. Do you think she's the faintest idea who the father is?"

"Don't her tits look fantastic though...and her legs"

Although she'd have it impossible, the effect was to turn her on even more. 

Rachael was about to speak in reply, when the boy behind her finally began to move. His style was as different as it could from his predecessor. He pushed into her excruciatingly slowly, stretching her and filling her in both length and width. He felt unnaturally large. Then, pulling her onto him, her buttocks pressed against his pelvis, he was still for several seconds before pulling back until almost entirely withdrawn. He repeated the action, maintaining the same slow steady rhythm. To Rachael, the cycle seemed to take an eternity, although she knew, in reality, it would probably no more than 10 or 20 seconds. The sensations were blissful, taking her euphoria to a new plane. She gave voice to her delight with a deep groan, rising to a yelp as he filled her again. Other than that, the room seemed to have fallen silent.

The boy seemed in no hurry. He continued his slow and steady invasion for an indeterminate time. Enraptured as Rachael was, she became aware that this was not going to lift her to the climax she hungered. And hunger for it she did. Not only for its own sake, for physical release. She wanted her audience to see the heights that she could reach. 

Without even turning her head, but ensuring that voice was strong and clear enough to carry to all of those watching, she gave the boy his orders. 

"Faster. Harder. I want you to fuck me as fast and as hard as you can."

He uttered his first words since, since they had begun.

"You sure?"

She was struck by the sound of his voice. His accent was coarse, ill-educated. That added yet another frisson – here she was, exulting in screwing someone she would normally have had little to do with. It felt as though she was being degraded by her own lust, and added yet another layer of depravity to an already thoroughly corrupt image. 

"Oh, yes. Just get on with it now. What are you waiting for?"

She couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder. 

He was pale, his arms heavily tattooed – something she despised. Physically, he was slender top the point of thinness, but the pressure of his rough hands betrayed a wiry strength. Even before he began to move she began thrusting back at him. He responded. Grasping her hips, he began driving into her. No sign now of the previous leisurely pace. It caused him to penetrate her even more deeply. Each time his pelvis slammed into her buttocks, she felt the head of his cock pummel her womb, driving the breath from her. The contact of their flesh made a wet smacking sound. She moaned, and then he spoke again.

"Is that what you wanted? Yeah? Like that? You like that, don't you, you tart?"

"God, yes... That's what I want. Just fuck me, and shut up."

He obliged. The noise level in the room had increased. It was hard for her to raise per head, but she felt a sudden need to survey the room. Just feet away on their sofa, Patrick, Kate and Lesley provided vocal encouragement. Most of the room seemed no less supportive. The encouragement was alone in having its effect on the boy. He gave a cocksure grin and began to introduce a twisting motion while continuing to piston into her. Its effect was to cause the head of his penis to sweep across her already inflamed cervix, creating a sensation somewhere between torture and bliss. She bit her lip; otherwise she would have had to squeal from the pleasure. Her resistance was short lived. She broke, vocalising her pleasure in a worldless celebration.

He responded.

"You like that too, don't you? Sluts like you always do."

She didn't reply, wanting to focus only on the sensations. Then, without warning, the assault slowed. She could hear his heavy breathing. Obviously, he needed to slacken the place for a moment. Glancing back to look at him, she noted that he was flushed, and his hair lank with sweat. Only then did she realise that she was in a similar state.

There was an abrupt change in the atmosphere in the room. Everyone had fallen silent. Rachael looked to her friends, seeing apprehension in their faces. Then she realised why. To her other side, perched on the high back of the sofa, she was suddenly aware of a presence; her husband, Alistair.

The boy was continuing to move inside her, albeit less frenetically. Even despite the sudden chill in the air, the simulation made it hard to concentrate. It occurred to her that she had not thought for one second of Alistair through the whole of the evening, fixated as she was on her pleasure.

He was looking down at her, his expression utterly neutral. Although it was hard, she met his eyes.

When he spoke, she found herself completely disconcerted by the normality of his tone.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself."

She stared at him. There was no sign of irony in his words or on his face. Somehow total honesty seemed in order...



"I've been having the most wonderful time. I don't think I've ever enjoyed myself more."

"Now, who's this? Anyone I should know? Anything to do with....?"

He gestured first at the boy, and then that her swollen belly and breasts. She shook her head, wondering whether to introduce Patrick at this point. That could wait.

"Him? No don't worry. I have nothing to do with him. He was just sort of around when I needed someone."

The dismissal obviously offended the boy. He responded with a harder thrust into her.

"Oooh. Oh."

Gratified by the response, he repeated the action. Rachael felt her earlier state of arousal reasserting itself rapidly.

"Oh, that's good. So very good...."

Alistair's expression had become quizzical.

"I can see that you were enjoying yourself. You and your young friend..."

"I can't tell you how lovely it is. I just feel.....so uninhibited, and desirable, and....Oh, God. He's big, and he's completely filling me up..." She was overpowered for a moment. 

"And?"

It was a moment of catharsis. The words seemed to rush out beyond her control. 

"And he's just going to fuck me, and use me until he comes, and he'll make me come. And he'll be the second one ....everyone will be able to see, to see me behaving like a whore and loving every second...I didn't ever know how much I loved to fuck, and to be fucked...It's what you wouldn't do to me..." 



She ran out of breath, faced with the competing demands of her body's reactions, and the need to speak. 

He was staring at her open-mouthed. Somehow, she found the breath to continue

"This is what I couldn't get you to understand. I found out that that sometimes I just wanted to be a whore, and when I did, it felt better than I'd ever imagined it could."

There was a silence, and then

"In that case, I think you'd better concentrate on what you're doing"

She smiled heartfelt thanks. Then something darler emerged

"Watch me. Watch, and see what I'm like, how much pleasure it gives me.". 



After that, the intoxication of the moment meant Rachael was in no position to judge the passage of time, even had this been reality. There was no benchmark, no objective comparison by which she could tell if she's been immersed in the pleasure for minutes or hours. At some stage, her hand had found Alistair's, and she gripped it strongly. 

The boy faltered. Rachael twisted her head to him, saying

"Don't you dare stop. This is good, so very good..." To her surprise, Alistair squeezed her hand, supportively. Rachael tried to speak, forming her words around her ragged breath



"I love you. But you know that everyone here is talking about me, how I'm behaving like a complete tart? You must hate me for that.."

"I know. It doesn't worry me, if you're happy. And I can see you are."



At last she could feel her orgasm rising.

"There's only the one thing – do you know who the father is?"

"No. Patrick's over there"

She gestured, just a jerk of her head

"Ah. So definitely not your young friend here."

"No, I've never seen him before tonight"

For the first time since Alistair's arrival, the boy piped up.

"So, this is your Mrs, is it Mate? Fucking hell, she's hot".

Alistair looked pleased, almost as though he'd been complimented personally. The boy warmed to his subject, panting out his words around the exertion of his increasingly vigorous thrusting.

"Yeah, you know she ...had my mate first, before me? I thought I'd.....be getting "sloppy..... seconds. ..She's ....really tight. You ....know the way ....her cunt squeezes..... your cock every.... so often?  That's... wicked, that is"

Rachael responded by grasping his member as tightly as she could.

"Fuck, yeah, like that"

Rachael was close, now, very close.

"Then, over her shoulder "I want to have you again later. And your friend, I want you both" 

The boy grunted

"Fuck, yeah...I'll get the...rest of my mates....four or five....of us.......We'll .......fuck you.....bandy....fuckin' slut.... I wanna....fuck....your arse....."



Oblivious then to Alistair or anyone else's presence she crooned..."Oh, God, yes....yes....I want you to queue up and have me and use me and pass me on..."

Patrick was kneeling by her, suddenly. Draping her free arm around his neck, she pulled him to her, and kissed him passionately. She felt a hand sliding down over the swell of her belly, moving towards her groin. It couldn't be the boy's. His were grasping her hips, giving him the necessary traction for his vigorous pounding. It couldn't be Patrick's, his hands were fully occupied, one embracing her, the other caressing a bloated breast.That left only one possibility - Alistair's. It felt like a benediction. It reached its destination, and she felt fingertips stroking her clitoris. 

Half formed thoughts and images chased each other through he mind. Her breasts were swinging freely, and the baby in her belly was wriggling vigorously. One image kept reoccurring - he was about to come in her, and his semen would be mixing with the deposit already there. And she'd be adding Patricks's and Alistair's to it later, and maybe others, surely filling her to overflowing.

The pressure of the fingers on her clitoris increased. As it did so, the boy grunted, and she felt him spasm inside her. She felt suddenly awash, filled with copious amounts of his spendings. That was it.

"Dear God, he's going to make me come right now!"

The waves began to crash through her consciousness. 

"Do you see, Alistair, everyine? He's making me come, and it feels magnificent."

That was the last thing she was able to say as under her husband's benevolent gaze, Rachael rode the cock of her anonymous lover to a huge climax. As the orgasm passed its peak, the dream faded. 

In the aftermath of a climax none the less physical from having arisen in her unconscious, Rachael woke. She was aware of the contractions that were still shaking her vagina. As she explored with her fingers, she felt the wetness between her thighs, the mixture of her own expelled juices, and Patrick's semen of earlier. She raised the soaked fingers to her mouth, tasting the combined fluids



She found herself grasping at the lurid images that had populated the dream. Despite the climax she felt achingly, desperately horny. She raised herself on one elbow, hoping to see that Patrick was still there. He wasn't. The room was empty. Dropping back, she slid two fingers inside herself seeking her g-spot. 

The dream images were fragmentary, hard to capture, but sufficient for her to gain the gist of what had happened. Each and every aspect of it seemed hideously perverse, and at the same time, so, so intoxicating. Part of her was disgusted with her reaction to the images. But most couldn't resist them. Her fingers began working, finding the spot and establishing a rhythm. Within moments, she was deliberately forcing herself to slow down, so she could savour the more dissolute notions. She was now consciously picturing herself sprawled on the sofa, her anonymous lover lapping at her soaked gash, her husband and friends looking on. There were virtues to calculated imaginings, she realised, even if the subconscious did a better job of dredging stimuli from one's darker reaches. The conscious mind could embellish, add detail, manipulate the concepts for maximum effect. Now, in Rachael's mind's eye, as the first anonymous youth knelt between her thighs, the second stood by her head, erection proud, allowing her to suck and to caress it, and to slide it's slippery head across her face, leaving a shiny trail. 




An Emerging Pt. 07



The mental picture was too powerful now for self restraint. Her fingers were working faster, making a wet squelching sound as they were thrust in and out. Her pelvis was tilted upwards, her heels pressed against her buttocks. She was lubricating so copiously that she was having to press hard to develop sufficient friction to stimulate herself. She succeeded, however. As the climax began to break over her, Rachael's back arched.

"Oh, Christ....."