Chapter 8

I awoke on Sunday morning ragingly hard, and it took a lot of willpower to resist the temptation to relieve the hardness! I shambled to the shower where I used the shower head to douse my enthusiasm with cold, cold water, then couldn’t help peeing before leaving the area – cold water has that effect!

I then had to shower properly of course, and shave. Then to the bedroom to cover my nakedness with a dressing gown before moving to the kitchen to make my obligatory pot of tea. After allowing it to brew there was still no sound from Rachel’s bedroom, and so I took her a mug of the reviving infusion, knocking at the door and getting no reply.

I entered and found she was still sleeping peacefully, one leg tantalisingly on view from mid thigh to ankle. I put the mug down on the bedside drawers, sat on the side of the bed and bending, kissed her sweet lips, running my wetted lips across hers, and my hand from ankle to knee. It took will power not to travel further.

“Mmm!” came her appreciation, along with a gentle smile, eyes still closed.

I kissed again, briefly this time, and an arm appeared order to pull my head down for a third encounter. This had the effect of revealing nearly all of her left breast. She opened her eyes, focussed and her smile broadened.

She made no attempt to cover herself, and in fact did the reverse, turning onto her back and pulling herself to a sitting position, which allowed the quilt to fall away and totally reveal both of her swelling, perfect, firm, medium breasts. Those nipples were hard as iron.

I looked. No, actually I stared, and she grinned.

“Roddy, what a wonderful way to wake up!” she sighed. “So romantic!” and chuckled wickedly. She knew what she was doing.

“You’re a little, shall we say, exposed?” I observed and nodded to her chest, noting that her nipples had grown even harder and were quite interestingly long when so aroused. It wasn’t cold in the bedroom!

“Roddy, my darling,” she pouted. “Sometime very soon you’re going to see all of me. Consider this a deposit on account!” and she laughed again.

“You can touch them if you want!” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“No!” I said more decisively than I felt, they were so delightful, young, swelling and firm. “When your tits are unmarried, I promise to give them my full attention – with my agile tongue!” Take that, you temptress!

“Aw, spoilsport!” she grumbled. Then with a sigh, “You’re right of course.” She pulled the quilt up over the twins and reached for the tea. “Ooh, tea as well as a handsome lover!”

“Not lover yet,” I retorted.

“Roddy, you’ve shown me again and again how much you love me. You are my lover.”

I wasn’t going to argue, and instead asked what she’d like for breakfast.

“Muffins!” she said, “cut in half and toasted with lots of butter! Gorgeous!”

“OK, Gorgeous yourself!” I said, standing.

She reached for me and pulled me down to kiss her again. Those pouting breasts appeared again.

“That’s better,” she said. “Can I shower first?”

“Shout when you’re out,” I rhymed and she obligingly chuckled.

She appeared freshly showered in the kitchen wearing a short bathrobe, which gaped just enough at the hem to hint at the join of her legs, while at the same time revealing the tops of her creamy breasts. I pointedly stared, she saw, but smiled seductively and made no effort to adjust her display.

Amid groans and moans of pleasure, she doused thoroughly in butter, then consumed, two toasted (English) muffins! She downed a second mug of tea, and sat back.

“That’s better!” she sighed. “Perfect!”

“More?” I asked.

She moaned and shook her head.

“Good,” I said. “Now I can have some breakfast,” and I cut two more muffins.

She immediately looked contrite. “Oh, Roddy, we could have had one each. Here, sit down and let me.”

She stood, tying her bathrobe mercifully more tightly, which while it hid flesh, accentuated her delicious shape, curves top and bottom, especially the bottom.

While I sat, she served me, pouring us each another mug of tea.

She sat and drank hers while I ate and drank, stole half of one of my muffins, then stood, came round the table, pressed herself against my back and kissed my head before leaving to dress, giving a view of the backs of her calves and half thighs. I wondered how many cold showers I would need to soften my hardness.

I also wondered how Rachel would dress for the meeting with my parents, and was interested and pleased when I saw her close fitting (not tight) jumper which hinted at her shape, and slacks tight around her bottom and gently flaring below, showing her other shape. Knee-length boots. It was December after all.

She was saying by this that she was all woman but demure with it. I admired her style.

I was on edge as we approached the house, every sense on full alert for any signs of dislike or distance from my mother.

“Relax, Roddy,” my married girlfriend whispered. “Everything will be fine.”

I was not convinced, but inserted my key in the front door and ushered her inside. My mother emerged from the kitchen wearing her apron. I could see her sizing Rachel up as she approached.

“Rachel,” she said, with an open and sincere smile, “Lovely to meet you! I’m Debbie, and my husband is Lawrence. Let me take your coat.”

Rachel shed her coat, and I removed mine, and my mother went to hang them on the hall stand. I led Rachel into the living room, where my father was already standing in readiness.

“Dad, this is Rachel,” I said rather redundantly.

“Pleased to meet you Mr Mason,” said Rachel taking his hand and smiling upward into his eyes from beneath her long lashes.

Dad’s eyes had opened wide at the sight of her, taking in how stunning she was, but he was not overawed.

“Rachel, you’re very welcome,” he said, still holding on. “Call me Lawrence, please.”

“Thank you, Lawrence,” she replied with her best grin as they let go of each other.

G & Ts were offered and accepted, and Rachel offered to take my mother’s drink through to the kitchen.