Chapter 7

It was proving to be one of the best summers on record. The garden was ablaze with colour as lupines, delphiniums and foxgloves came into flower. We would take a glass of chilled wine and sit out in the garden during the long summer's evenings, confident in our belief that life did not get much better. We would go to bed with the windows wide open and wake to the sound of songbirds heralding the dawn of a new day. But sometimes I woke to a different sound, the sound of love making in the next bedroom. She would return to me, still wet from him, and I would find her irresistible.

The weekends were best, because she would be naked under her light cotton summer dress the whole time. We would usually have an alfresco lunch in the garden and find ourselves nodding off in the afternoon, the sultry stillness broken only by the sound of the distant cuckoo. More often than not, Clare and I would make love. In the early summer, modesty prevailed and we would go into the house, but later on we grew bolder, and would do so in the garden. Ray would pretend to be asleep, just like I did, on other days, when Ray, emboldened by my example, would beckon Clare over to sit on his exposed erection. I loved to watch her hitch her dress up, stand astride him and impale herself on it.

We still told ourselves that getting her pregnant was the sole reason for Ray's involvement, but that was no longer strictly true. It was the main reason for sure, but not the sole reason. The fact was we were each deriving pleasure from it, and none more so than me. I liked to watch her on the end of that thick meaty cock of his. I loved having her after he had emptied himself in her; I liked the thought of my cock bathing in all his cum. I knew it was not normal behaviour but I could not help myself.

But idyllic as those summer days were, there were occasions when I resented Ray's continual presence, not because of anything he had said or done, but simply because Clare and I were very rarely alone.

She had now missed two periods with no sign of the third. She was sure that she was pregnant, especially as the self-testing kit had also given a positive reading. She would soon know for certain, because she had fixed a date to see her doctor.

It was the weekend preceding this appointment. I was demolishing a shed in the garden and Ray had offered to help. Clare took the opportunity to go shopping. It was another hot day and Ray and I were both sweating freely from our exertions, and both covered in dust and sundry other grime. We finally finished the task, and sat down to enjoy two long, cold and very well deserved lagers.

I was about to discuss the implications of Clare being confirmed pregnant, when she appeared. She had returned from shopping, earlier than I had anticipated.

"God," she said, as mischievous as ever, "look at the state of you two!"

"We have been working, Clare," I said, "pulling down a shed," and then in a playful tone, "not meandering around half a dozen boutiques, tough as I'm sure that is!"

"I only went to one, actually." She put her nose in the air. "Most of the time has been spent in Mamas and Papas, looking at prams and baby wear! And don't think you're going to get out of it, Tom. If I do get the confirmation on Thursday, I'll want you to come there with me, next weekend."

If she were confirmed, I expected we would be making many such visits in the future. In all probability, we would be shopping for the baby most weekends. The thought suddenly occurred to me that this current weekend was possibly the last opportunity we would ever have to let ourselves go.

I showered, but as it was so humid, all I put on was a tee shirt and a pair of thin shorts. Ray followed my sartorial lead, and did likewise. We went out into the garden with a couple of cold lagers. It was a very sultry evening, and there was a distinct possibility of a thunderstorm.

A short while later Clare appeared, a glass of chilled Chablis in hand. She too, had showered, and had put on a cropped, white, cotton top that showed off half her midriff, together with a pale-green short skirt that sat quite low on her hips. She sat down on the swing-couch and rocked back and forth. Over to the west, there was a flash of lightning, and some little while later, we heard a distant rumble.

"So did you buy anything nice today, Clare?" Ray asked.

"Not much really... just a camisole top and matching panties."

"Are you going to show us?" he continued.

She got off the couch, and as she did so, I was treated to a fleeting glimpse of her bare pudenda. She returned, carrying a small bag emblazoned with the name, Victoria's Secret.

The temperature had begun to drop, and Clare's nipples were prominent, as she reached into the bag, and pulled out the silver grey camisole. She unfolded it and held it against her body. There was another flash of lightning and another peal of thunder. The storm was getting closer.

"Very nice," I said, "Why don't you put it on for us?"

Clare did not demur, but crossed her arms and pulled off the white top. Exposure to the evening air caused her nipples to stand out even more. She donned the grey camisole. Had it been flesh-toned as opposed to grey, it would have looked as if she were topless because it clung to her soft contours like a second skin. It was not just clinging to her nipples; it was clinging to her areolae and even to the goose bumps on them. She had rarely looked more desirable.

"What about the panties, Clare?" I glanced at Ray as I spoke.

She looked at us both and then got to her feet. She undid the catch of her skirt and stepped out of it, revealing her naked femininity in all its sweet glory. Clare had changed over the past few weeks. Whilst she was never embarrassed about being naked in front of me, she was not one to flaunt it; she had an ingrained modesty. Now, she seemed to think no more of stripping down to the buff, than of taking off her coat, and it was this newfound casualness about her nudity that I found so fascinating.