Chapter 1

“How about it, Love?”

“All right!” she replied, quietly. Rachel Newcombe pulled her cotton nightdress up over her thighs and hips and then she sat up in bed and pulled it all the way over her head. James, her husband of six weeks, positioned himself above her, taking his weight on his knees and elbows. He dipped his body until his mouth was over hers and they kissed for several minutes.

“Are you ready?”

“Okay!” She moved her legs further apart, ready to accept him.

His penis was already hard and eager, so balancing precariously on one elbow, with his free hand he reached down and drew back his foreskin then guided his member towards her. Rachel had done this enough times now to try and relax; she knew that if she stayed tense it would only make the penetration harder, increasing her level of discomfort even more.

The first time they had tried, on their wedding night, his clumsiness and her nervousness had prevented penetration. He’d tried and tried until she was so sore and hurting that she’d had to beg him to stop.

“I’m sorry! It’s first night nerves, I can’t relax. The harder you try the more tense I get.”

“All right, Love!” James said, obviously disappointed at not being able to exercise his manhood, but having genuine concern for her feelings, “ ... I’m sure it’ll be easier when we get to know each other’s ways better.”

She had lain in his arms after that, still sore from his attempts, but actually rather liking the feeling of just being close to him and reminding her of why she loved him.

She’d even talked to Beth, her married older sister about her difficulties. Married herself already for four years and with two children, Beth had given her some sagely womanly advice:

“You’ve got to think about what you love about your James best, then you’ve got to remember how much you want to please him. But probably most important of all, you’ve got to find things at home that you can put inside you when you’re alone. Start small and work up and when you get used to the feeling, you won’t be so scared of having him inside you. Is he a big chap, Rachel, if you know what I mean?”

“No, not so big ... I think more long than thick.”

“Then that’s better for you, you won’t need to stretch so much. Remember: small girth and work your way up gradually. And try this...” Beth handed her sister a tube of KY Jelly. Rachel had returned home to put her sister’s advice into practice.

Rachel and Bethan were the youngest and closest of four sisters. As children, all four girls were taught how to keep their female parts clean, but there were instructed by their mother never to touch themselves there unnecessarily. Because of the thick hair that covered that part of their body in later life, they rarely even got to see themselves.

Beth had told her sister to begin by using a wet finger, which to their mother would have seemed a truly shocking suggestion, so it would be the first time in her twenty years that Rachel would have dared to do such a thing. But Beth had said that she should do it, so on the word of her sister alone she was prepared to turn one of her biggest childhood taboos on its head. Once committed to the idea, she actually felt quite relaxed, both physically and emotionally, about it. She had even embraced sister Bethan’s other suggestion: try it while taking a hot bath. A nice bath did relax her, she thought, although even while being undressed she never associated it with her marital relations.

Rachel and James Newcombe had a nice, new house with hot water available practically all day, unlike her parent’s remote farmhouse where hot water was still a scarce resource. James was at work and wouldn’t be home for several hours, so she went upstairs and into her nice new bathroom with it’s roll-top bath and the still gleaming, white ceramic suite. She opened the hot tap fully and filled the deep tub more than half-full, before adding the cold water to cool it enough for comfort. Returning to her bedroom, she quickly fixed up her hair before removing her clothes.

For a moment the temperature of the water shocked her body and almost took her breath away, but then she settled down into the heat. Although James would rarely come into the bathroom if she was in there, she would never fill the bath with this much water if he was even in the house, but now the water almost reached her chin.

It was time. There was still some residual soreness, but she tentatively moved her hand into place. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, but unfamiliarity and her old reserve made her hesitate, but then her middle finger found its objective; there was no resistance, it just slipped straight in.

A little gentle pressure and it was inside her as far as it would go. For the first time she felt the textures of her own inner body as the lining closed around her finger; not squeezing, just involuntarily holding it loosely in place. She wondered if she could control the squeezing sensation herself, so she tried to tightly clench her buttocks: it worked ... and how strange it felt!

Rachel still didn’t know exactly what her own body was doing, but she was aware that it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Feeling the urge to now move her finger, she slowly drew it out and pushed it in as she knew that a man did when inside her. She made a dozen or so such small movements ... still quite pleasant, so why had her mother insisted that it was wrong? Rachel knew that she couldn’t stay in the bath much longer, but there was one more thing she wanted to try. She slowly withdrew her finger, feeling the sensation as her body adapted again to its absence. then slowly she held two fingers together and eased them inside her body and after two, three. Each time her body adapted effortlessly to the new size and shape.

It was with some reluctance that Rachel got out of the bath after that. Wrapping a towel around herself, she pulled out the plug allowing the silky water to drain away before she wiped the bath out.

Walking back into her bedroom she dried her body and dressed again. Downstairs in the kitchen she started to prepare her husband’s evening meal, but as she stood peeling and cutting vegetables she pondered over her earlier experience. It was stage fright that had made her so tense before, but she knew now a little of what to expect and hopefully how to get her body to relax more. She also needed something like the water to makes things slippery enough to help James enter her smoothly.

That night in bed Rachel told James that she thought that she might be able to manage it now. She was certainly feeling much less tense, and she suggested that maybe James could use some of the lubricant that Bethan had given her.

He was naturally still rather clumsy and uncoordinated, but at least they had managed full and painless penetration. James was a true man at last, and they were now husband and wife in the fullest sense. It was, however, still a rather uncomfortable and unsatisfying experience for Rachel: James obviously assumed that as he was getting pleasure from the act so Rachel must be too. Given more time she may well also have done, but James had apparently no conception of how to control his love making to satisfy his wife. She did feel some kind of mild enjoyment while he was taking his pleasure, but when he’d emptied himself inside her she was still a long way from experiencing that same kind of pleasure for herself.

They were both still relatively young and sexually naïve, but she did really love him, so she never refused his advances after that and things did get appreciatively better for her over time, but the times that she enjoyed and looked forward to the most were afterwards, when he kissed her tenderly and held her in his arms. He was a generous man and never denied her in other ways, but those fleeting night-time hours when his strong arms enfolded her were the times that she felt the most loved.

Rachel had still not learned to drive at this time, so she and James usually did their main shopping for the week at the weekend, but if she needed anything before then there was the convenience store about fifteen minutes walk away, and because they delivered the Newcombe’s daily paper she always went in there at least once a week to pay the bill.

“Good morning Mrs Newcombe!” the shopkeeper greeted her as she arrived there on Friday, “I think it’s going to be another lovely day ... it’s about time, too, after all that rain!”

“Yes, I hope so, Mr Jackson, it’s all been rather depressing so far; and all those poor people that have had their homes flooded! It must be heart-breaking for them!”

Gareth Jackson wasn’t exactly the sort of person that you’d expect to be running a shop like that one. He was thirty, really rather good-looking, and until about a year ago he’d been a professional footballer. He’d never been with one of the top Premier League clubs, but he’d been a good pro in the second-flight leagues until a serious injury had cut short his career. He’d also never earned the really big money like the stars of the game, but he was quite comfortable so he’d invested some of his savings in the shop, where he intended to stay and try and earn a reasonable living and so far that had been achieved.

Rachel looked around the well-stocked shelves and picked up a few items that she hadn’t been aware that she needed, but bought anyway. Gareth Jackson had an easy-going manner and he always took the time to get to know his regular customers and even the happily-married twenty year old Rachel Newcombe wasn’t entirely immune to his good looks and charm! She paid cash for her shopping and the week’s newspapers and she was about to leave when he said:

“Oh, before I forget Mrs Newcombe, you’re not looking for a part-time job are you? I was thinking of taking on one or two part-time people to help me; I’m not used to doing all this hard work!” He was smiling as he said it.

“I’m sorry Mr Jackson, I wouldn’t mind but my husband earns quite good money in his job and I don’t think he wants me to work. I can ask him, but I think I know what he’ll say.”

“That’s fair enough! But if you change your mind, let me know: I won’t advertise, I’ll just ask my regulars. Have a nice day Mrs Newcombe!”

“You, too, Mr Jackson!” So sure was she of what he would say that she didn’t even mention it to James.

Another month or so passed. During that time nothing really significant had happened in Rachel’s life, but one evening James came home from work with some important news:

“I’m going to Stockholm for two months, maybe longer,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Chris Palmer has more experience, but they’re giving me the chance.” Rachel didn’t look happy. “ ... I know, Love, I’ll miss you, too, but if I do a good job over there it could do my career a lot of good.”

“So when are you going?”

“The end of the month. Look, rather than cooking something tomorrow, we’ll go out for a nice meal instead.”

On the day that he left a company driver had taken them both to the airport where she’d said a tearful goodbye, then the driver brought her home again. At first she just lay on her bed and cried, but then she pulled herself together and went downstairs to make a cup of coffee. She wondered how she was going to occupy herself while James was away: her life was pretty much centred around him, doing housework and laundry and preparing and cooking his meals.

Before she had married and left home ... the last of the married sisters to leave; her unmarried sister, Annie, was still there ... her time was pretty much taken up with helping out on the farm. The terrain wasn’t suitable for arable farming, so they had mainly sheep, but also a few other varieties of livestock to look after.

From age five to sixteen, Rachel had a long journey to school each day: first, the little school in the village and then the secondary school in the nearest town. Although brought up on a farm, with it’s daily concerns of life and death and animal husbandry, she was generally socially awkward and unworldly. She experienced a certain amount of teasing because of her ignorance and unsophistication, but she was otherwise happy being away from the farm and her domineering mother and being with other people, less demanding.

She actually couldn’t wait to get away from her mother’s control, so as soon as she was eighteen, although still living at home and helping out when she could, she was lucky enough to get a job in the village, which is where she met James.

He was a local boy, but not of farming stock. He had finished his A-levels but instead of going off to university he’d found a job with his present employers. He was a year older and a little more worldly than Rachel, but his family also believed that you stayed chaste until you were married. There was an instant attraction between them and they dated, then got engaged, during which time they kissed and cuddled but nothing more. After a simple church wedding they moved south to James’ company’s head office location, in one of the expanding new towns, where his income allowed them to get a mortgage on a new starter home on a modern estate.

Rachel picked up the newspaper that had arrived that morning, but instead of reading its content she was reminded of her conversation with Gareth Jackson several weeks previously and she decided to at least ask him about the part-time job the next time that she was in there; which would probably be the next day.

“Good morning, Mrs Newcombe!” he said as usual, “And how are you today!”

“Oh, not so bad, thanks!” She made her usual tour of the shelves but James had made sure that she was well-provisioned during his absence. She handed over any outstanding cash. “So how did your staff hunting go, Mr Jackson?”

“Hmm ... that’s still an ongoing process, I’m afraid! I’ve tried a few people, but they haven’t lasted long. Why, are you interested?”

“Actually, my husband’s now working away for a while and although I don’t need the money, I think I might like something to occupy me. I did work in a shop before I was married.” Gareth Jackson smiled his handsome smile:

“When can you start ... now?”

“Well, I could, I suppose ... but shouldn’t you tell me a bit about the job first?”

“All right. Well, we’re quite hi-tech here. Almost everything in stock has a barcode, so everything for sale is scanned at the till. The stock is on a database, so when you sell something you scan it and it shows up on the till. When the money is taken, whether it’s cash or a card, the item is automatically deducted from the stock numbers so we always know when stock is low and needs reordering. This means that the stock items don’t have to be individually priced and increases or decreases in price can be adjusted on the system, rather than separately on every item. We can even do random checks to make sure that items have the right code and price. When we have deliveries you only need to check each batch and then things can go straight onto shelves. Being here on my own it’s saved me hours of work in the evening after the shop closes.”