For a month or so after our epic Manchester weekend, I didn’t hear much from Rachel. My old insecurities began to surface as self-doubt and self-loathing paid me many late-night visits following a welcome absence. Rachel and I still talked once a week, but for me, this was no longer enough. I wanted skin-to-skin contact and all the excitement that comes with it. Despite a few very close shaves, I managed not to return to my old habits, looking for comfort at the bottom of a beer or whisky bottle. Then, with my morale low, it was all about to change.
Rachel called one Thursday evening to ask, “I know it’s short notice, but could you join me in the Yorkshire Dales for a few days next week?”
I replied, “Yes, please, send me the details,” without even thinking about how I’d get the time off work.
Rachel appeared genuinely pleased “Good lad; I’m busy Monday. Is Tuesday ok to leave?”
“Yes, of course,” I complacently replied.
“Great, I’ll pick you up in Settle at noon and don’t forget to bring me a full set of balls to empty.”
This brought our conversation to an abrupt end as she hung up the phone.
Rachel looked stunning as I climbed into her old Volvo car. She was wearing a cotton dress that could barely contain those ample bosoms.
“Come here, geezer; I have missed you,” was my greeting, accompanied by a deep, lingering kiss.
We drove in silence until eventually I plucked up the courage to ask why our friendship had such a stop-and-go feeling to it. Big mistake, and my comment led to being on the receiving end of Rachel’s legendary temper.
“How fucking dare you,” she roared. “You selfish, needy little prick. I’ve got a life, raising 2 daughters on my own and working shifts to support us.” She ripped into me with those big bosoms heaving to and fro in indignation. “Don’t spoil this break and don’t ask me to give you more than I’m able, as that will end really badly for you,” With that, she brought the curtain down on a right royal telling off.
Despite the rocky start, we had a great few days of fucking, chilling, drinking red wine and the occasional foray outside for fresh air or food. In fact, on one day, we spent 21 hours in bed making almost non-stop ‘big whoopee’ as they say. A couple of memorable events to share.
During one of our marathon love-making sessions, I was resting my head on Rachel’s inner thigh as I watched vaginal fluid mixed with semen dribbling out of a very red and swollen labia.
I rolled onto my front before using my strong arms to lift Rachel’s legs up and back towards her chest. With her tight brown anus now in my line of sight, it was time to do some cleaning.
My mouth and tongue were already coated in our respective bodily fluids. Despite this, as my tongue got to work on licking and teasing her most intimate of orifices, a bitter but not unpleasant emanation began to be added to the smorgasbord of taste and odours my senses already had on deck.
My auditory senses began to receive grunts and moans of approval from the ‘captain on the bridge’, not that I needed much encouragement in my endeavour to find a new way to please.
Despite all of her encouragement and a torrent of sticky liquid running out of her hairy snatch. I sensed a change of tack was needed before we arrived at Orgasm Central Station.
It was time to penetrate. I slipped just the tip of my thumb into her rubbery ring and lingered for a moment or two. With no objections forthcoming, I began to circle first to the right and then to the left, accompanied by a torrent of approving grunts and groans from the owner of this now very well-lubricated anus. With things coming to the boil nicely, I switched from circling to fingering, but only to the tip of my thumbnail. As Rachel built up a nice head of steam, soon to be vented, I let her take charge of events. I stopped my gentle probing to allow her to take the wheel. Within a few minutes, she’d pushed down so hard on me that all of my thumb was inside of her. As she rode my thumb to climax, I could see that she was pulling hard on her nipples to perhaps add a little more pain to whatever else she was feeling and enjoying.
I knew by now when her climax was approaching, as her moans would turn to more guttural and animalistic deep grunts peppered with lots of obscenities. With the orgasm now irreversible, I braced for the expected squirt of hot liquid onto the bridge of my nose and forehead. With grunts and her trembling subsiding, I knew my work was over for now as I allowed this amazing woman to enjoy the moment and to bring herself down from her emotional ceiling.
With the situation calming rapidly, Rachel began to giggle uncontrollably as her whole body shook and her tits wobbled about like a pair of extra-large jellies on a trampoline.
“What’s up?” I enquired.
“Nothing, you silly sod,” she replied. “You’re just full of surprises. You brought me off like no man ever before. I thought my brain was about to explode at one point.”
I smiled and allowed myself to bask in this praise from a high priestess of sex!
The next morning, our last in fact, I thought I’d enjoy an early bath as the tub was considerably bigger than mine at home. As I lay there neck deep in hot soapy water, Rachel marched in and plonked herself down on the toilet seat about 18 inches from my head.
I thought she had sat down to chat. However, just as soon as I heard the hiss of pee pushing through her thick, hairy bush, it dawned on me what the real reason was for her visit. The hiss soon became a waterfall of sound as her first morning pee splashed into the toilet bowl. After a good few glasses of wine the night before, those miscible liquids would no doubt have turned the previously clear water into a cloudy yellow. The air around my head became musty with the odour of strong morning pee as the last droplets were evacuated from her body. She wiped, washed her hands and then came over and sat on the edge of the bath.
“By eck I needed that. I hope you didn’t mind?”
What could I say other than, “No love, of course not.” Even though my mind was racing at what I’d just observed close up.
“Oh, look, morning wood,” Rachel said with a big smile as she pointed at the tip of my hard dick standing proud out of the bath water. “Was it my fault that happened?” Rachel pouted. She then answered her own question by saying, “I guess it must have been my long, slow pee?”
Without further ado, she climbed into the bath and began to pull and stretch my manhood to its absolute full length and girth.
I was then treated to the longest, slowest, most intense soapy tit wank that anyone could have imagined. Those big, heavy G cup boobs encircled and entombed my cock in mountains of soft white tit flesh. It was heaven; all these years later, I still get butterflies in my tummy at the sensations my body and mind have carried with me down the years. Never a girl to waste a drop, just as soon as Rachel sensed my orgasm was close, she took the tip of my engorged cock in her mouth and swallowed hard on every last droplet of spunk that my ejaculation shot her way.
She let go of my dick and kissed me hard on the lips, allowing me the taste of my own semen in doing so. She then climbed out of the bath, wrapped a robe around her ample body and blew me a kiss before saying, “Sorry if I spoiled your bath, lad. I’d better leave you to it.”
With that, she was gone, and I was alone. It was then that it hit me like a sledgehammer. I’d just been party to one of the most intense experiences that two adults could share. I wasn’t quite there yet, but love was most definitely in the air.
We met whenever we could over the autumn months, and I was finally afforded the honour of meeting Rachel’s daughters to begin the process of getting to know each other. After her messy and protracted divorce, she was extremely protective of her family, and therefore, the invitation to spend a Sunday afternoon together was a big step for us all. Both Rachel’s home and her daughters were delightful. We got on ever so well, and our time together passed quickly. Both girls helped their mum cook a full roast dinner with all the trimmings. I was on washing-up duty in the big Belfast sink, and with all the crockery and cooking utensils put away, we went for a lovely walk in the autumnal sunshine.
As we walked home, Rachel came up to me and said, “Can you make your excuses and leave when we get back, please?”
“Can I ask why?” I enquired.
All she said was, “There is a bit too much back chat going on just now, and these two need to be punished.”
The girls looked sad when I told them I needed to get back home. Maybe they knew what was coming once they got indoors, or perhaps they’d just enjoyed feeling like a family again.
I felt awful on the drive home and for most of the evening. Had I caused the change in mood? Was it my fault the girls got into trouble? All of my old insecurities came flooding back in a deluge of negative emotions.
The next morning, I decided to drive over to Rachel’s cottage and leave her a bunch of flowers, a card and a box of chocolates, each for the girls. Plus, I knew Rachel didn’t work Mondays, so I travelled in hope of an impromptu afternoon fuck before her kids got home.
I arrived back in the village I’d left less than 24 hours earlier with a high degree of trepidation as to the reception I might receive. After knocking a few times on the front door with no reply, what next?
I recalled seeing a summer house at the rear of the property the previous day. I’d have to hope it was unlocked and I could leave my gifts there and drop Rachel a text to say I’d left them for collection later.
After letting myself in through the back gate, it was a short walk across the lawn to the summer house. The door was ajar, so I thought perfect.
As I pulled the door open to step inside, I was stopped dead in my tracks. Instead of an empty room, I was greeted by the sight of Rachel on her knees with a man who looked old enough to be her father standing in front of her with his trousers and underwear around his ankles. As for her, she was noshing away at his cock as if there was to be no tomorrow.
I don’t know if he saw me first or if I saw him. What I do recall is events going into slow motion as he tapped Rachel’s shoulder as she moved her head back to allow the longest and thickest dick I’d ever seen fall out of her mouth, and just hang there bouncing up and down as if it were as surprised as the rest of us. Then time stood still as we all looked at each other. Rachel was the first to react and was on her feet before I could think.
I felt physically sick and betrayed. As I made to head out of her garden, I threw the flowers onto the ground in utter contempt.
As I put my hand on the latch to walk away, Rachel roared, “Come back here, you little cunt. Open that gate, and we are done.”
“Aren’t we done anyway?” I replied.
“You walk away, then you better keep walking,” I was warned in an austere manner.
I let go of the gate, turned round and said, “Why? Just tell me why?” I bubbled as the tears began to build.
“I told you over and over that Mondays were my day, didn’t I? But oh no, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Rachel pronounced with real anger in her voice.
To add to my humiliation, the well-endowed silver surfer appeared on the scene, by now thankfully fully clothed.
“Shall I go, Rach?” he declared.
“No, you’ve done nothing wrong, so why should you. Go inside and make a coffee whilst I sort this out,” Rachel replied.
“Punishment time?” he mused.
“Fucking big time,” was her ominous answer.
“Get in there,” I was told as she pointed at the summer house.
Just as soon as I stepped inside, Rachel slapped me hard across the face. It might have been with an open hand, but it stung nonetheless. My initial reaction was to defend myself. However, she must have read my mind as I was left in no uncertain terms to sit down and shut the fuck up.
I then had to listen to how her friend (Tom) had been good to her during her long and acrimonious divorce. Tom’s wife was very sick, and he was her caregiver 24 hours per day and 7 days per week. The only break he got routinely was on Monday afternoons, and I’d been witness to what he got up to as part of having some ‘him’ time.
I needed to accept this or get the fuck out of her life, she said.
“Tom’s not got long before he needs to be home. I’m off to finish up, and when I return, you’d better have decided once and for all if you are in or out of my life.”
I was then left alone for the next hour or so, with only my imagination working overtime as to what Rachel and Tom might be getting up to inside. In due course, I heard the door open as Rachel confidently walked back into the room.
“That was bloody fantastic before you ask. He is such a virile man for his age,” I was told.
Following another long and withering chastisement for visiting her home without permission, I was then notified, “You are to be punished. Go to the drawer over there and bring me what’s inside.”
I did as requested and brought her a brown leather strap about 18 inches long. Rachel wasn’t impressed.
“Not that one, stupid. That’s not for grown men. Fetch the other one.”
This time, I brought her a much thicker black version measuring perhaps 2 feet in length. I was then told, “Trousers and pants down, then bend over the desk. I must warn you, this is going to hurt.”
And hurt it did.
She laid at least one dozen, possibly more, strokes across my backside and upper thighs. By the time she had finished, I was in a mess both physically and mentally. I’d not been thrashed like this since school days; most definitely not by a woman I was developing such strong feelings for. My brain was a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, with a day that had started with me buying chocolates and flowers, and looked as if it was to end with utter humiliation from the woman of my dreams. I remained in position, trying to catch my breath, deal with the raging fire in my buttocks and legs and last but certainly not least, reflecting on how on earth did it come to this?
Rachel’s voice then brought me back to my senses. She told me, “Get dressed and go home. My daughters will be home soon, and I’ve got some clearing up to do first. Don’t call me until I call you. Capiche?”
For several weeks, no contact, zilch, zero. Then, just as I was giving up hope, she called with the best possible news. I’d been invited to spend Christmas with her family in Yorkshire. This was another big step forwards, albeit with the lingering memory of her and Tom still swimming about in the darkest recesses of my mind. I did, of course, have to ask, “Have you seen Tom since that day I walked in on you both?”
Her reply, whilst not totally unexpected, was hurtful nonetheless.
“God yes, the old bugger bangs me like a Salvation Army tambourine every Tuesday still.”
We met a couple of more times as the clock ran down towards the end of 2002. On both occasions, we ended up fucking in the back of Rachel’s old car. To be frank, my heart wasn’t really in it, and I suspect that on the first occasion, my performance could best be described as lacklustre.
The second time was much more memorable. Rachel was driving me to the station for my last train home. Somewhere on the A57, she decided to pee urgently. We pulled into a lay-by, and she jumped out of her seat and walked around her car to the passenger side.
“Quick, open your door. It’s pitch black out here,” she instructed me.
I did as requested, and the small interior light came on. She crouched down next to the car, pulled her knickers aside and let go. Now, I’m no expert on how long a woman should pee for. All I can say is this one lasted a good 20 seconds or more as a huge steaming puddle of urine formed around her feet.
The smell and sound of her peeing took me right back to our summer vacation. I was hard by the time she pulled her knickers up, and I couldn’t wait to get her in the backseat to fuck her pee-soaked pussy for all I was worth. For now, at least, Tom’s memory was forgotten about.
I think, on reflection, that the above event is what began to save our relationship. I had on a number of occasions thought about cutting my losses and walking away. If the lay-by was the beginning, then Christmas was the defining moment.
I arrived at Rachel’s parents’ imposing stone-built home on the afternoon of the 24th. Any nerves I had soon dissipated as I was given a warm and friendly welcome by the whole household. I was immediately struck by how alike Rachel and her mother were in both looks and stature. Her father was a retired vicar, and whilst engaging at all times, was, I am sure, checking out who his daughter had gotten into a relationship with this time.
The person who surprised me the most was Rachel herself. In the company of her parents, she was quiet, reserved and wore conservative clothing with nothing on show. As we ate our meal that night, it was hard not to have a sly chuckle that the woman sitting next to me, making polite conversation, was the same sex mad nymphomaniac I’d fallen for with such intensity.
I was, of course, put in the small box room well away from temptation, I assumed. Christian values wouldn’t have countenanced us sharing a room, never mind a bed.
At about 02:00 on Christmas morning, I felt the covers being pulled back and someone (Rachel) slipping in beside me.
“I’ve come to give you the first present of the day,” she whispered.
With that, she opened the buttons on her pyjama top and offered me her right breast.
“Suckle in.” She cooed, “I know you want to.”
And I did for a very long time. All of my stresses melted away, and my only focus was on the very large nipple in my mouth.
Later, after slowly bringing me to a messy bedsheet orgasm, she said to me, “I want you to reflect on almost ending your life one year ago. Tell me when you wake up if you’re glad to be here or not?
“Oh, and by the way, my mum will see those stains you’ve left, you mucky bugger.”
And with that, like the ghost of Christmas future, she was gone.
We had a great Christmas Day, and yes, I made a point of letting Rachel know how glad I was to still be alive.
Sadly, I had to leave on Boxing Day as I had work commitments and also the family wanted some time together before going their separate ways. I was sitting on my bed packing the last of my things when Rachel knocked and came to sit beside me.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for giving me and my girls such a lovely few days.”
Following a rather long pause, she added, “However, I’ve got some bad news for you.”
My heart sank, and I braced myself in anticipation of the worst.
Rachel then dropped the bombshell. “I’ve fallen in love with you. I never thought I would love again after my divorce.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just held her close, stroked her cheek and kissed her full on the lips.
She then went on to affirm, “We will talk about how we make this work, plus Tom and stuff first chance we get. I have so many memories of this room, as it’s where my brother and I got punished back in the day.” She then, following a few moments’ pause, told me, “I never thought I’d fall in love in here as well.”
“I love you, Rachel P, and I can’t wait to spend my life with you.” It was easy to say, and I meant it.
In Part 3, I will share some more intimate details of 2003. The most incredible year of my life. Sadly, without me knowing it, the year would also mark the beginning of the end of this love affair.
