The damp pip, again.

Rachel stood in the middle of her aliveness elbow room. big centre surveyed the furniture in a sweeping arc, taking in the expensive rug, the ecru leather sofa and coffee table with its customary one or two powder magazine carelessly strewn on the polished ash effect top.

Jim's television sat pensiveness and silent in the far corner, silently observing her return to her home after so long. Her reflection dimly mirrored in the fateful glass. A still, thin figure, dressed in jean and a shirt as it surveyed the room. The television was definitely Jim's. He bought it on a notion, not discussing it with her, just rubbing his hired man together like Uriah bus in expectancy of the delivery truck. Rachel hated it. For one thing, it was way too big for the way and dominated to a greater extent than the corner it had been banished to. The remote control was also on the coffee berry table, partially hidden by one of her magazines.

She continued her sweeping view, seeing the familiar furnishing of her habitation, but feeling like an intruder on a past life. A premature chapter, that was now irrevocably closed, never to be reopened.

And then, her hand flew to her mouth in an effort to strangle it before it escaped from her rima oris, between her teeth to rattle around the way and bounce of the walls. Either her hand wasn't quick enough or the crack between her finger's breadth allowed the sob to passing play. It was only the one, heaving sob, short, but wide of sorrow and a lonely anguish. It came from the heart, a place she had hoped her continue stay away had capped off, but returning home had reopened the wound.

The retention of Jim, lying on the sofa, watching the digit on his esteem possession, yelling at the squad or the referee or contestants in a game display, were so stark. The time since his death had not diminished the expectancy of him. Painfully close was his voice, his space, even the sense of smell of him.

Rachel stood ; centre closed and relived snipping of conversation, demands for food, tea, to get out of the way. The cadences of his voice so familiar, the way he growled as he snoozed in his favourite seat. And then there was his olfactory sensation, ingrained in the cushions on the settee, absorbed in the leather and permeated into every surface. The polish that had been used by the cleaners did not consume a unattackable enough scent to mask Jim's musk. A tone that she missed now and in a heart aching moment of commemoration, craved in the basest sense.

It was more than she could take in. Rachel almost bolted. She even felt her feet shuffle in eagerness to fly from the sign, slam the front threshold and just stay fresh on running until she fell off the edge of the world.

Her six months away had not been enough. The wounding was still too raw for her to return to London and try to cull up her life, sans Jim. It was too soon.

She didn't bolt from the house though. Instead, she stood in the middle of the front elbow room, her face in her deal as she soaked up the misery until it spilled over and she sobbed in wracking heaves.

Jim being taken from her so violently was not how it was supposed to be. Being a victim in a road traffic accident was not part of the program. He was standing in a waiting line for a bus when the drunk device driver mowed him and two others down. It was not comely and his life was cut short, all too soon as were their programme for the time to come. man and wife, kids and a recollective well-chosen spirit had all been extinguished in a fraction of a endorse. Being told he would not let known much about it didn't help. She knew he would have looked to see what it was hurtling towards him, bouncing off of a brick wall. She knew he would have seen it coming and that was the real horror Rachel could not get by with. It was a sequence of footage that played over and over in a continuous loop.

For six months, spent at her parent's dwelling house in surrey, she had sobbed, had grieved and tried to get the better of the spunk time out. Dad had been especially supportive, silently grasping her and holding her head against his dresser while she cried her anguish out. He rarely said anything as she broke down. He was just there. He had been her stone and steadying position. Then, when he judged the time to be right they talked and talked, far into the night and too soon first light. It was the compass point in which Rachel decided to take control of her life again ; return to the house and become Rachel ; on her own two feet, ready to face the macrocosm again. Besides, she had begun to sense gall from her mother, perhaps a rivalry for Dad's affections or simply, two women in the same space.

Her resolve had been self-coloured and even she had begun to believe in it, but then, here she was, in pieces and totally undone.

Her grief exhausted her. Rachel was bone weary again, a condition she thought was better, until her reappearance to the family. Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps it might never be right hand. She was too fatigue to think about the immediate future. She went to bed, not even taking her clothes off and slept a interrupted night, full of dreams and memory board that hurt.

The strait of cheering woke her the succeeding morning. At world-class, she could not sour out where it was coming from, but then, as her senses came back to her and nap receded, she realised the sounds were coming from downstairs. She leapt out of bed and hurried down the stairs. The television was on with the sound far too mellow. A football match was playing, a re-run from the weekend she guessed. Rachel hit the remote and turned the strait down and spun on her heel to admonish Jim for his thoughtlessness.

He wasn't there. How could he be ? Jim was dead. In that abbreviated moment, she had fully expected to see him slouched across the settee in his boxer. It was a shock that he wasn't and then a deeper shock when she remembered why he couldn't be.

She picked up the remote and pressed the powerfulness switch and wondered how the set had come on without her pressure buttons. Perhaps it had a timekeeper or switched on when certain program were scheduled. The screen went bleak and reflected her dim outline. Suddenly, the quiet of the way was tyrannous, brooding even, as if it were sulking. It was enough to tug her out and into the shower.

Rachel dressed and realised she was hungry.

A little while later, after a Roger Bacon sandwich and a enceinte mug of tea in the topical anaesthetic cafe, she felt much better and began to think about the practicalities of her immediate future.

One ; she would ask to go shopping. There was piddling food in the theater, so that was a priority.

Two ; she would need to speak to her boss. The party had given her compassionate leave, but that had expired two month ago. She had maintained tangency with the HR department. Chances were that she could get her job back. There are not that many experienced legal secretaries.

ternion ; She would ask to re-acquaint herself with her circle of friends. Rachel thought that it would be difficult at first, where sympathy would adjust their fundamental interaction. But, she hoped, in time, thing would steady down down as they became used to the fact that she was alone now.

4 ; she would need to sort out her finances out. The pay out from the insurance policy fellowship, although substantial, would not end forever. It would be a expert idea to gift what was left and prevent it as a stall by.

Armed with her new resolutions, Rachel toured the local supermarket and realised, suddenly, that they are geared up for crime syndicate and definitely not for single masses, unless they could happily survive on ready-made meal. Everything came in packs of two or more. It would mean separating and re-bagging for the deep freezer. Her hoop at the checkout screamed to anyone observing, that she was a mortal on their own and had awful rust habits.

The telecasting was on again with a plot of rugby blaring out from the sound system as she struggled into the life room, lade with her shopping.

"This is freaking me out."Rachel said aloud to herself. She dropped the bags and hit the remote king switch and then, unplugged the set from the wall in irritation.

All hell broke loose. The bit she pulled the fireplug, the running light flicked on, as did the radio and the belittled fan heater. She jumped at the sudden din of speech sound and Inner Light then realised that, judging by the noise coming from the kitchen, all the appliances had come on too.

One by one, she turned matter off. The lights and radio and then in the kitchen, the mixer, cooker alarm, kettle, microwave and so on until all were either switched off or unplugged. In her haste to regain control of her home, she didn't have time to feel frightened or wonder what was going on other than to assume it had been a power surge caused by her unplugging the television.

But, then, as she returned to the living way, she could listen something rattling upstairs. All of the lights were on, stair, landing and her chamber. The stochasticity was coming from the former face of the sleeping accommodation doorway. Now she was getting worried and gingerly pushed the door with her foot, leaning backwards, cook for flight.

Her bedside alarm clock had fallen off the dressing table, the rattling was the palpitation of the clock bouncing on the laminate flooring where dismay and vibrate were both working. She picked it up and flicked the switch across to silence the clock with its red led brightness showing the time in number.

She could learn her cony vibrator buzzing in the draftsman and as she turned that off too, realised that it was not plugged into the mains. How had a billow in the electric car started that off ?

Rachel, not usually given over to panic, suddenly felt very fearful. This was too eldritch. She felt quite vulnerable and terribly alone. It felt like the walls were crowding in on her and the theatre had become sullen, malevolent, even. Again, she felt like an trespasser to a stranger's personal space, as if she didn't belong there any more.

It took her quite some time to ensconce down during which she plugged the boiler back in and made herself a cup of tea. Irrationally, she checked the fuse closet to make sure all was as it should be. Her knowledge of electrics was sufficiently poor that she would not give recognised a job if there were one, unless there was scorch marks.

She stored the food market in the fridge and kitchen cabinets. The mundane action helped to soothe her. Briefly, she considered putting the sign of the zodiac on the market, but even humble apartments had gone through the ceiling in cost. The house was an heritage from her Grandparents. It was hers so damn it, she was not going to apply it up.

At last, exhausted, she reconnected the television and settled into the cushions to watch the heavyweight cover and anything to take her brain off of recent events. She reaffirmed that the screen was too big for the room as contestant in a well-worn game display seemed to be almost living size. It boggled her eyes a bit and the resolution of the silver screen allowed for every facial nerve blemish to be shown in unadulterated clarity. The television would give to go, she decided.

wish to nullify a cephalalgia, she hit the magnate button of the remote and saw the screen go black. Her reflection shone back at her, mirror imaging the way and her slump stead on the settee. And then, she saw a movement in the reflexion. Some dark phantasma appeared to make passed behind her, near the room access to the kitchen.

She spun around, but saw nothing. The fear she had felt came back as sharp and consuming as it had been earlier. She shivered and wanted to run from the room, from the house that suddenly, did not feel to be the good oasis it used to be.
"This is stupid."She admonished herself out loud."It's my fucking home and that's that."

"Jim, if you're fucking about. Stop it !"Rachel did not believe in an afterlife and did not look that she would get an solvent, but it felt thoroughly to boss her authority, even if it was on someone departed. She had to be in control of her environment and was not going to be frightened out of the business firm. It was hers, her belongings. Nothing happened except that she felt better in having said it and perhaps, made her point.

She dreamed that nighttime, reliving some of the best clock time with Jim, remembering their cheery days in the country, walking for miles and mi, aimless and then finding a secluded place. Their dear qualification, slow and sensuous, always culminated in a climactic refinement with both of them breathing hard and quivering from the joy of each former's bodies and the harmony of their respective coming. Jim had really been the consummate lover. He had his faults, but when it came to sex, his condition and natural athleticism provided her with a collaborator, endorse to none. She missed him as her partner. She suddenly missed the sex, something she hadn't thought about since the accident.

She woke in the aurora to sunlight streaming into the room from between the pall that had a pocket-sized gap where they were not quite pulled together. The alarm system clock was vacuous. She hadn't put the cud in since it went fruitcake with all of the other electrical appliances. Rachel stretched and threw back the natural covering. The bed was soaked with a circular mark that was quite familiar and a vulgar occurrence before. Always, I get the damp spot she thought to herself and then giggled. She felt the way she normally did after a practiced session ; Invigorated, alive and glad and very much in need of a shower.

She was sore she discovered. Her sex was attendant to the trace of her bathtub sponge, as if she had been on the nest all night, their own personal colloquialism for sex. It brought back well-chosen memories.

"I must make frigged myself stupe last night."She said out loud and then told herself off for talking to herself."You're going fucking mad girl."She laughed and it felt good.

She was famished ; another of those, morning after rituals when the topical anesthetic café did a brisk business in feeding the two of them following a night of passion. Usually, they were red-eyed and almost incoherent with enervation, but managed to get the motive for intellectual nourishment and steaming visage of tea.

Rachel dressed and entered the café, feeling much happier than she had in too long a time.

She called her previous employers who said they would be glad to have her rachis. A meeting was set up for the following Monday to discuss damage and her character. Even the law does not digest still, there were new elements of the job that she would want to be trained in. It was a positive song and fed into her opinion of wellbeing. Even the sun shone on this crisp early on spring day.

The shopping nerve centre was as busy as ever. Rachel didn't like crowds, but would put up with the discomfort when searching for clothes.

A few hours later, she stepped out of the mini-cab and unlocked her face door. The television was again, paying to itself with the speech sound turned up to a pitch shot far too high. For a here and now, she didn't know quite what to do. But, then decided to leave it on, not wanting to do the chaos of yesterday. It still freaked her out, but she felt some acceptance.

She placed her aircraft carrier purse in the bedroom with the contents to be sorted and hung later. Then, she made a cup of tea, which she took into the living room.

Rachel sat on the settle at the paired end the where Jim would induce been while watching sportsman. She sipped her tea and stared warily at the space he used to concern. She could see nothing nor sense anything, just the vacuum of the three-seater sofa.

It was cricket. The game on the television showed the bowler running up to the crease to deliver a fastball at the hitter. Hang on, she thought to herself, Jim doesn't like cricket. Correction, didn't like cricket. The screen went blank suddenly and she couldn't help but to smile. A small victory, she thought. If the television is going to turn it's self on, then it should be for something worth bloody watching. Anything, but cricket, it had to be the most boring plot ever invented.

Much later, she zapped a TV ready-meal in the microwave and opened a bottle of wine. She found a detective computer programme, set in wartime and settled to eat her meal. The food for thought was less than inspiring, looking like a aggregate of component character, all mashed together and then far too a great deal salt added. The vino helped to wash it down and fill the space her stomach craved.

The bit glass of vino relaxed her even more. Rachel lay back and watched the conclusion of Foyle's war. As usual, he figured out who did it and solved the case. It was as the mention were beginning to role and the announcer was advising of future broadcast that she noticed two of the buttons of her blouse had inexplicably become undone, showing her cleavage to full effect. She had no recollection of undoing them. Then a third button parted as she watched. Then a fourth clit became detached from the buttonhole, further parting the garment. Transfixed, Rachel watched as the two persona of her blouse were gradually parted to peril her bra-covered breasts.

Somewhere between enthrallment and fear had her spell limit, unable to propel, completely devoid of volition, her blouse was slowly pulled out from under the waistband of her jeans.

Unseen, but distinctly felt script were moulding her breasts. She could see the indentation of her bra cup as finger's breadth manipulated, squeezed and fondled her. She didn't know how to respond. The ministrations were mildly erotic, but it was way too Wyrd. At last, she regained some control and tried to get up. It was as if she had collided with invisible marshmallow. A gentle strength across her chest pushed her back down to a prone position.

The cups of her bra were yanked down and she could feel two hardening of digit easing out her tits from the confines of the lacy fabric. Suddenly, her nipples were pulled insistently, reshaping her knocker into conical mounds to an acute point where her nipples had been pulled upwards. In rule circumstances, Rachel would be writhing in pleasure about now. She actually liked her breast to be treated quite roughly. It was a sure fire trigger to get her aroused.

"Okay buster, that's far enough."She said, using as can a vocalization as possible. She tried to prove up again, but was pushed back by the invisible force.

The button of her jeans flew surface and her blouse was pulled down over her shoulders, trapping her arms. She felt a hand orbit behind her cervix to pull her up. The collar of the blouse was yanked down to below her elbows, which were now quite effectively tied behind her back. The look clasp of her bra sprung apart and the garment added to the restriction, encourage trapping her.

Rachel had enjoyed the modest bondage she had shared with Jim. Nothing too elaborate just the occasional ligature up and blind folding. She got off on that a few clock time, but this was far too Weird for her neural sense organ to oppose in a pleasurable way.

A sudden Yank on her jeans waistband mitt them halfway down her legs. The effect of the sudden wrench had shifted her down the settle. She scooted back up so that the shock supported her. A second drag had her jeans around her ankles. The military unit being used to strip down her were irresistible, she couldn't fight against something she couldn't see and besides, her blouse was far too efficient as a tie.

Then, softly, she felt a delicate pinch to the skin of her leg, just above her genu. It lingered for a second or so before beginning in an upward sensation towards her mons veneris, still covered by her panties. It was the merest of spot, light almost butterfly like, but insistently travelling up from her articulatio genus. The unseen finger touched her sex through the fabric of her scanty. It was as if an electrical current had been passed through her physical structure. Rachel gasped at the impinging and the gentle pressure, pushing the gusset into the quip of her labia. Suddenly, her consistency became switched on. Her peg began to piece to allow for accession. The pressing left her and she felt two deal push her leg together. An involuntary Oh escaped from between her back talk at the departure of the touch.

If this is imagination, she thought, then, bring it on. Who needs a hare if this is what her creative thinker can bid up ?
"Oh ! You bastard. This is unfair."She wriggled at bit, trying to justify her hands, but without success. She stopped struggling for a moment, waiting to see where this was going. The flame was well and truly ignited in the boiler house of her sex. She hoped that it was going to go a lot further.

zippo happened for a few second gear. The sentence seemed to own stood still. It felt like long minutes passed until the band of her gasp lifted as if a fingerbreadth had been hooked under where it touched her hip. Another hooked under the band on the other hip the unseen fingers began to work her bloomers down her thighs. Rachel lifted her arse to constitute it an easier transition. Her panties soon joined her jean, wrapped around her ankles.

Her nipple was pulled again, the position nearest to the border of the settee. The kneading had her gasping again. It wasn't gentle, pulling her breast out of physique. The sensation was not terrible, just enough to get all of her attention. She arched her back in joy, wanting more, wanting it to persist in until she came.

Almost un-noticed, where the ministration of her nipple was insistently demanding her undivided attending, a easy pressing was applied to her mons. A circularise air pressure that pulled slightly at her pubic hair, drawing it into small curlicues and tugging on her sex, suddenly registered in her creative thinker.

Rachel gasped again. The heating system in her venter was mounting. Her rousing was becoming unendurable in her motivation for spill. Her external respiration was short, hissing between her clenched tooth as the delight of the two centres of joy were being treated to something she hadn't realised she had missed, but recognised as a hanker doomed friend.

Then, while her dead body was being treated to the tweaking and circular stroke, the barest of touches to her lips added to the sensation. It felt as if a pair of gentle, dry lips were covering hers, effectively silencing her. Her mouth opened automatically as the pressure sensation increased. A glossa passed into her mouth in a French kiss and the gentlest of massages to her lingua and he palate. She tasted cinnamon on the breath of her invisible lover and felt her climax explode as the tongue caressed her mouth.

She was kept on a gamey with the three nerve kernel being treated to varying degrees of attention helping to maintain her horizontal surface of arousal. Another orgasm was building in the pit of her gut. It would not be prospicient before she came again.

Then suddenly, all physical contact was lost, no far tease of erogenous breaker point. Rachel felt bereft and hoping that her invisible devotee would return and not leave her in this precondition of high up arousal.

Her wish was granted after a few sec. Her jeans and pants were pulled off completely, freeing her pes. A gently guiding hand pulled her right leg apart from its twin until her foot rested on the floor. She didn't know what to require next, but hoped that it included insight until her coming was fulfilled.

She felt the shock absorber of the settee depress between her legs. She held her breathing time in expectancy of an entryway into her eubstance. What happened though was the warmth of breath wafting over her pubic hair, a slight breeze like an angels kiss. And then, a hot glossa parting her labia and caressing her inside thigh. Rachel gritted her tooth as she was eaten out with long lascivious licks that had her creaming immediately and her rose hip lifting off of the settee. She felt the thrill of feeling her backtalk being sucked into a mouth, drawing blood into the ticklish tissue. The hot lingua brushed against her clitoris and then teeth nibbled the conflagrate bud of delight for a few core beats before the glossa returned to eating her sex in a determined effort to bring her to the pinnacle of a crashing orgasm.

Oh my God, she repeated over and over, her dead body responding and demanding more, ramping up the heat and tempo, forcing the pace as her coxa bucked faster and faster, craving for release. She threw her chief back, closing her center tightly so that she could digest on the overwhelming superstar as the tension mounted towards a crashing coming. She was tipped over the edge when fingers joined the tongue in an unstoppable driving force towards her fulfilment. What felt like, possibly two finger's breadth, entered her sex and began to massage her from the interior, hitting her G daub in unerring truth. The tongue was now concentrating on her clit only, leaving her sex to the succor of the finger's breadth. The conjoined action at law had her screaming, her tooth clasped together and her veins on her throat standing out like cords. Her back arched again, the esthesis taking her beyond orgasm. She shuddered uncontrollably, her nervous system overloaded and scattered to the four corners. Her complete coming smashed through her, destroying any will power completely. It had been a long time since she had felt anything like the complete shakedown that she had just come through.

As if sensing that she needed a break, all sense of touch ceased. Rachel grabbed air in lung full moon of atomic number 8 that made her dizzy. A conciliate stroke of her cheek helped to soothe her and add her rear to ground level.

The hired hand, unseen, stroked her neck opening and then her bosom before passing under her spinal column and scooting her down until she was horizontal. The cushions no longer supported her as she lay prone along the settee. Her foot was still on the flooring, the former position straight along the cushions and her arse was hanging over the edge.

Suddenly, she was cognizant of a hot torso between her depart human knee. Without warning, she was entered and a tool slipped into her soaking sex, grounding out in a deep penetration that had her gasping again. Quickly, the cock was plunging into her as a thumb pad rubberize her button in circular motility. The pace was persistent and had her sex oozing its essence to slop noisily.
The pace was frenzied and the military group of the thrusts jiggled her knocker and made her physical structure jerk.

Then, the invisible cock stiffened and the knife thrust became staccato and erratic. She knew that her lover was finish to coming. She raised her hips and took over the rhythm, driving him to climax. In a final drive, the pecker drove deeper into her than it had previously managed. She felt the throbbing of seminal fluid as it pumped, late into her consistency. Rachel had a sense of achievement at getting him to hail, but also felt complete bone tiredness suddenly overcome her. Her lover exited her eubstance, taking with it the heat they had made.

Her head teacher lolled to one side and saw the reflection in the black glass of the tv, of her prone body, draped over the settee. She hoped and wished she could see her lover. She knew that it could only be Jim, no one else had ever taken her to these heights, had never been as considerate or attentive to her sexual pauperism. Rachel cried, but instead of the grief she had been subject to, her tears were of joy and gratification.

She watched as varsity letter were scrawled across the screen, as if written in dust.

Our one in conclusion sentence my love. I have to go. Sorry. Sell the TV, it is too big. You were right all along. Three large ex's followed. Rachel knew that Jim had now gone for good and would not follow back. She was happy and profoundly sad at the Same time, but didn't sense alone anymore.

She slid off the settee and landed on the floor realising she had landed in the wet dapple. She laughed out loud as she squished in the puddle of their juice."I get the moistness spot, again ”. She yelled though the laughter and tear to the vacuous house as she struggled out of the arm of her blouse .