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.