The end had to come soon; neither one of us could stand this level of stimulation for long. As I gently squeezed her lovely firm tits I felt that low-level tingling behind the base of my cock and in the pit of my stomach, and Lori convulsed as her orgasm swept through her, her anus clamping down tightly on me as her pussy shuddered in sympathy with her cervix as it beat against the thin walls separating it from where I was embedded.
The pressure on my cock, like a hot velvet vice squeezing me along my whole length all at once, was enough to tip me over the edge, and I came like the night express, spunk blasting out of me in what felt like endless streams, spraying the insides of her anal tube and coating her bowels with my tribute.
The feel of me launching my spunk-assault on her bowels set her off again, and Lori screamed my name as she came again, the rippling of her anal tube milking me of every last drop of my male essence. I rolled to one side, still embedded in her to the hilt, taking her with me, and held her close as she shuddered and twitched as aftershocks rippled and died away inside her, her heart thumping in concert with mine as we both slowly recovered from our lovemaking. I slowly shrank and slipped from her, and Lori rolled over to face me, her top lip sheened with sweat, and her sweet, spicy aroma surrounding me like a cloud.
“Okay, baby, playtime’s over now,” she grinned, “you have to be up and away early tomorrow, Jimmy’s taking you, so get some sleep in the car as well.”
I nuzzled her as she pulled the covers up over us, already nearly asleep, yawning hugely as she turned and spooned against me, her last comment already blurry with sleep but still sending me to sleep with a grin on my face.
“If you stop off along the way and have another huge fried breakfast, I swear to God I will deep-fry your dick and make you eat it with an onion mayo dip. If you’re hungry, buy a salad. And that goes for Jimmy, too…”
*
And so that settled into our routine as we marked time waiting for Aunt Sophie and Uncle Richard. Lori spent day after day combing the Oxfordshire wilds for the perfect house, one that ticked all her boxes, while I worked my way back though the curriculum and surgical rota, doing my level best to catch-up and get my preparations in place for my final and most important qualifying examination, for membership of the Royal College of Surgeons.
In the meantime, Lori had her list, and she was adamant about keeping to that list, too; if she was going to settle down and raise kids, she wanted the perfect house to do it in, and she wasn’t prepared to compromise. Poor Jimmy found himself criss-crossing the county with Rosie, following up leads and hints that she and Lori had unearthed, splitting his time between ferrying around the Memsahib, and deliberately doing his “faithful old Family Retainer” act every time he took me to work or collected me in the evening.
The senior registrars either grinned at his act, or fumed that a pipsqueak junior surgeon was being bowed in and out of a limousine like the young master returning to the manor, envy mixing with class outrage. Jimmy knew exactly what he was doing, but he was more afraid of Lori than he was of me, and he had his orders; I tell you, that girl has a warped sense of humour sometimes…
At last, Lori found her house, and it was in the same village Sophie and Richard lived, of all places, Little Brooking; why was I not surprised…
The village was one of those chocolate-boxy sort of places, 16th century black and white half timbered houses with thatched roofs and picturesque shutters, village green with cute little pub, apple and pear orchards disappearing off into the distance; the whole place was almost painfully twee and whimsical. Luckily, the house she’d set her sights on was an old vicarage, dating from the latter part of the 18th century, brick-built, with a Welsh slate roof, and beautiful golden Cotswold sandstone quoins; it satisfied all her basic requirements in that it was structurally sound, had recently been renovated and updated, but sympathetically, leaving all the period elements untouched, by someone with their eye out for a buyer just like her, and large but not unmanageable gardens with a one-acre apple orchard and a herb garden, a vegetable patch, and a small duck pond.
There was also an adjoining paddock where a pair of elderly donkeys lived in happy amity with a retired shire horse named Tiny, which was a misnomer if I ever heard one; he was bloody massive, the last time I’d seen something that big it had four flat feet and a trunk…
One of the conditions of sale was that the new owners had to take full ownership and responsibility for those three moth-eaten nags; Lori of course agreed to the asking price without a flicker of her eyelid, with the seller sighing as she realised she could have faked a bidding war and upped the price and Lori would have paid it anyway, again without a flicker; she knew the signs of true love when she saw them…
There was also a pair of cottages on the property, built by the original owner of the vicarage as additional family accommodation. The present owner had renovated them when the main house was done, and was currently using them as summer holiday rentals, but Lori had her own plans for them.
The sale was laughably easy; with no other buyers bidding for the property, and the owner moving abroad, all we had to wait for was the Land Registry title-search and various other legal niceties, but with Lori’s deep pockets and apparently inexhaustible cash reserves, our solicitor fell over himself to push things along; as it was a cash sale, with a banker’s draft for the vendor, and a cheque for the Stamp-Duty that Lori handed him without a murmur, and the fact there was no mortgage to arrange, no bank fees, bridging-loans, or deposits to secure, it only took a matter of weeks, rather than the several months these kinds of things could take, and suddenly, we owned our dream house (or at least Lori’s, and it had better be mine…)
In the midst of all this, Sophie and Richard finally came home. Lori had been ticking off the calendar, counting-down the days, until suddenly, the day dawned. She was a bag of nerves, alternately pacing and muttering and trembling and crying; the tension wasn’t good for her, and definitely not for the baby, and so, to try and relax her, I suggested we take a leisurely drive to Heathrow Airport and collect my aunt and uncle. Lori jumped at it, insisting we leave now, now, now!
So we did, even though we were several hours too early; Lori wanted to be there in case their flight was early (fat chance) and there was no-one there to meet them…
Lori fidgeted the entire way there, while Jimmy sat with his face carefully blank and expressionless; he’d suggested we stop and have lunch, as there were several hours before their flight was due in, and Lori nearly bit his head off, so, being a good soldier who knew when to fight and when to back-off, he shut his mouth, exchanged glances with me that spoke volumes, and set to the task of ferrying us to Heathrow Terminal 3. Rosie had gone over to their house, to open it up and air it a little, even though the housekeeping service was supposed to have been doing just that, and to wait there for her favourite aunt and uncle.
Once at the airport, Lori was free to let her need to fret have full reign, and so Jimmy made himself scarce while I hugged and held my baby close as she alternated between crying and trembling; none of this was good for her, or the baby, but she seemed to have a deep-seated need to do it, so I held her while she got all her nerves and jitters out of the way.
At last, I heard their flight arrival announced, and so did Lori, because suddenly her jitters stepped-up another notch, and I found myself wishing they’d just get here, before she actually imploded; she was trembling so fast she was just a Lori-shaped blur, people were beginning to stare, possibly wondering if she was some sort of avant-garde street theatre…
Just when it seemed she was ready to implode for real, out they came. All I heard was a low growling sound, and suddenly Lori and Sophie were in each other’s arms, both of them in floods of tears, and hugging so tight you couldn’t have got the thinnest sheet of paper between them. All I could hear was a sort of high-speed gabbling from the two of them. Richard shared a bemused look with me while Lori and my aunt continued their reunion at some higher level of communication, something involving incoherent squeaking interspersed with Lori repeating ‘mom, mom’ over and over while Sophie stroked her hair .
“Hello David, it’s good to see you again, young feller!” grinned Richard, before being sidetracked as Lori grabbed him with her free hand and hugged him in a neck-breaker, pleasure and embarrassment warring for a second on his genial features. He gently disengaged himself and shook hands warmly with me.
“It’s good to be home at last, David, I think I’m going to enjoy having a rose garden I won’t have to leave when I get posted again. Also, your aunt and your dear girl, at last they’ve got each other back; you’ve absolutely no idea what it’s been like these last few weeks, David, no idea at all! You aunt has been like a bear with a sore head ever since she came back from Bar Harbor, I didn’t dare stick my head in a room in case she bit it off. At last she has her precious “daughter-girl” back, so now I can relax instead of creeping around like a bloody criminal!”
Sophie and Lori finally managed to descend back to earth, Sophie hugging me warmly and kissing my cheek in a motherly sort of way, while Lori hugged Richard properly, her face buried in his shoulder while she cried softly, with Richard patting her back gently as he whispered to her. I got a little teary myself as I realised just how deeply my girl had imprinted on these two fine people. In her mind and heart they’d become her parents, and her love for them was plain to see, and having them back was probably the best thing for her right now.