Lauren's Love Lessons (Yesteryear Erotica Book 1)

by Jodie Halliday

  Lauren’s Love Lessons

  by

  Jodie Halliday

  From the Jodie Halliday Yesteryear Erotica Collection

  Published by Jodie Halliday

  Copyright 2017 Jodie Halliday

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Contains adult material that might not be suitable for all audiences. This work is a fantasy; in your own life be sure to follow safer sex practices.

  Also from Jodie Halliday

  Holly Craig Erotica

  Shake That Tree

  Holly gets a ride

  Events Out of Control

  Please remember to leave a review for my book at your favorite retailer

  Chapter 1

  Towards the end of the fourth hour, pieces of scenery clicked into place to confirm that they had turned onto the last three miles of the twisting coastal road for the beach house. Emma’s legs ached from sitting in the car for such a long time and her bottom felt numb against the hard leather seat. The hedges either side of the road seemed to close in threateningly on the car as they wound their way down the hill. Sheep and cows looked up at her silently and returned to their munching after a brief interlude. Even at six o’clock the sun was still bright, promising a clear night and hopefully a sunny day for Monday. As they passed the small Post Office she wondered if they had forgotten to pack anything they might need. She had been so careful working through her list of groceries but failing to remember something would be cause for complaint and she really didn’t want that on their holiday. A poster outside the Post Office announced the formation of a local chapter of the Women’s Voluntary Service, something that had interested Emma even though she had not read a great deal about what membership might entail. The move towards a war footing seemed to be unstoppable and her stomach churned as she recalled the pictures in the paper two days earlier of crowds of people receiving gas masks.

  The driveway had a faint covering of sand over it, no doubt blown by storm winds during the three months since they had last visited, but the bungalow looked intact, something that continued to surprise her each time they arrived. The coastal area faced the North Sea and received a lashing for much of the year. However, the solitude it brought was the main attraction. She stretched loudly as she stood in front of the house, watching as Steven dropped his driving gloves onto the dashboard and got out to survey the roof and fencing. He fished in the glove compartment for the house keys and opened the door. Taking a large cardboard box from the back seat she struggled inside, down the hallway and into the kitchen. She saw three bills addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Lazenby that he had placed on the kitchen counter, knowing that he would examine them carefully then write out cheques for each in full payment. The mild musty smell of the house always greeted them, and she wondered if it ever went or whether they grew used to it during their stays. She turned on the cold water, pleased to see it splutter then run freely.

  “Are you going to help or not?” asked Steven, turning back to the car.

  Emma pulled out a suitcase from the boot. The flowers in the borders around the front of the house seemed to have survived particularly well, the hydrangeas pushing against the red brickwork and almost reaching up to the windows.

  “The back garden seems to have been looked after,” said Emma tentatively.

  “I should hope so, we pay McThresher enough each month.”

  She left the suitcase in the master bedroom and looked into the en-suite bathroom. She had forgotten about the purple paintwork in there but wouldn’t dare to suggest they should have it painted. The hot tap seemed to have developed a drip and a stain had grown in the washbasin. She checked to ensure that it had been turned off firmly after their last visit. Steven always did a tour of the house before closing the front door but she wouldn’t dare mention it if it hadn’t been turned off properly. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair was matted from where she had slept against the car window, and it could do with a wash. She thought she had caught a little sun as well during the journey, one or two freckles had decided to develop. She always liked to have something to show for her visits to the house since it helped to justify the cost. It had shocked her when Steven had said two years ago that they should buy a holiday home and her parents had voiced similar concerns on hearing the news. Her parents had been to the house only once, staying for a week the previous year. Emma smiled at the memory, of her pride when she had welcomed them and had shown them the beach and the sand stretching as far as you could see in either direction, deserted and virginal.

  Emma knew from other partners at Steven’s firm that many had second homes and cars, so Emma fairly deduced that part of the idea had come from his peers at work. So far it had not upset their finances, although that part of their married life was much of a mystery to her. Her own job as a primary school teacher brought in a steady income and gave her money to take care of most of the household bills with some left over to spend on herself or save.

  “I’ll make tea, and then I’m going to work out a menu for the days when Cynthia and Gerald are here,” she said, tipping old water out of the kettle.

  “OK, I’m going to take a quick look around.”

  She heard the front door close and then from the kitchen window watched Steven walk round the back garden before passing through the little gate that led to the path down to the beach. He had changed into shorts and a sport shirt and she watched the muscles in his legs as he disappeared. She knew there wasn’t much to inspect down on the beach but they both had a fascination about its enormous expanse and it was difficult not to feel a sense of ownership of the sand in front of them. The grass-topped dunes that separated the beach and garden offered privacy and acted as a natural windbreak and were often worth exploring to see what nature had left there.

  Emma unpacked the food, placed jars and packets in the cupboards and traced her finger along the shelves, finding dust but no stickiness. They had brought several mason jars filled with her mother-in-law’s homemade pickle, marmalade and blackberry jam. The fridge was clean thankfully, unlike on one occasion when guests had a lamb chop in it. The nauseating smell when they had arrived was overpowering and permeated every room. Luckily they had been left by people who borrowed the house and had been invited by Steven, otherwise she would have never heard the last of it from him.

  They could have cold chicken for the evening meal, with bread and salad. The sponge cake she had made would be nice as well, she decided, as she thought about the arrival in seven days of Cynthia and Gerald. Steven would have to collect their daughter Lauren from the station the day before her parents arrived. Lauren would take a direct train from London to the local station after her school broke up for summer. It was the same school that Emma had attended, along with Linda, Lauren’s older sister. She thought about the five days she and Steven would spend on their own before their company arrived. The first two days would find Steven working, or at least reading reports, newspapers, magazines and so on to keep up with the world of finance. Emma would walk on the beach on her own, explore rock pools and collect shells to ad
d to the growing pile by the back door. They had made love almost a week ago. She wondered if that was normal after 4 years of marriage. It was not the sort of question she could ask anyone, not even Cynthia who she felt she knew very well having been introduced to her by her mother many years ago.

  Emma ambled along the hallway and caught a glimpse of a white car through the bedroom window, recalling that their neighbours next door had something similar.

  The bed in the second bedroom looked made and felt dry. There was no reason to expect anything else, but she wanted to be sure. She pulled back the sheets and blankets to let it air. The window opened with a creak as she looked out into the front garden with its bleached lawn and small borders. Marigolds seemed to have spread everywhere, or else the gardener had bought too many. Hare’s foot clover had taken over the area near the roadway while the roses provided white and pink flowers, clinging to the brickwork. She looked at herself in the big mirror attached to the wardrobe. Turning to her side she regarded her profile, noting her breasts, her best feature in her opinion, pert and thrust high on her chest. She lifted them lightly, pleased with their firmness. Turning to the mirror she smiled, undoing a button on her blouse. She leaned forward, trying to judge what Steven might see. Loosening a second button caused her to giggle as she realized that it would be too overt. She did it back up, leaving the first button alone. Her yellow skirt was pleated and just below her knee. The third bedroom needed airing as well, while the communal bathroom seemed to be as she had left it.

  “Tea at six o’clock alright?” she asked. She leaned against him as they both looked out of the kitchen window.

  “Hmm, sounds fine to me.” She sensed him turn to her, and knew he had stolen a glimpse into her blouse. Pleasure momentarily coursed through her. She took the plates from the cupboard above the refrigerator and set the kitchen table. A bench seat was complemented by three other chairs, making the kitchen quite cramped when they were all in use. Once she was ready she called him, knowing he was in the lounge trying to get the BBC Home Service news on the radio.

  “Pity we don’t have one in here, we could listen to it during meals,” he said, returning with a bottle of wine.

  “Wine?” she asked, surprised. “I didn’t know we had any.”

  “That’s what was in the big box in the boot.”

  She watched as he carefully turned the corkscrew. He went back to the lounge and took two glasses from the display case. “Are you going to have some?” he asked.

  “Just a little, you know me and wine,” she smiled. He poured out two glasses and offered one to her. He turned to throw the cork away before she could propose a toast, not that one came immediately to mind. She sat on the bench seat, her usual place close to the sink and cooker, while he took one of the chairs against the wall.

  The news was just about audible. Much of it concerned Germany and political maneuvering that was taking place in Europe. Some MPs had suggested that Germany had expansionist ideas that would once again engulf Europe in war. Others stated that this time common sense and negotiation would prevail. They listened in silence, deep in their own thoughts. Steven raised his glass, silently offering a toast.

  “What shall we drink to?” she asked.

  “Capitalism?”

  “How about health?”

  “Us?”

  His suggestion both surprised and pleased her. Her heart fluttered, and a smile lit her face. “Yes, to us. And our friends.” She raised her glass, clinking against his. A slight smile flashed across his face. He sipped again while Emma watched. His hair had grown slightly darker since she had known him, which was about six years. He had a rugged face which prevented some people from approaching him from the fear that he might bite. She knew that suited him at times and allowed him his peace and quiet. He was a good four inches taller than her, which made him about five foot eleven. He was muscular, a feature she loved because it made her feel secure. The wine did its work, and mixed with the cold chicken and pickles it tasted perfect. They finished eating and put the dirty things on the drainer for cleaning later.

  “Don’t you want to wash them up?” asked Steven.

  “Later, let’s go and sit, the sun’s going down soon.”

  “More wine?” he asked.

  “Yes, I like this one,” she said, offering him her glass. “Oh, I saw a car going past when you were down at the beach.”

  “Oh, OK,” said Steven, slightly bemused.

  “I think it was Mike and Polly Connery. It was white.”

  “A Vauxhall?”

  “Maybe, it just reminded me of them and when they dropped by last year.”

  She sat on the sofa, facing the French windows that opened onto the patio in the back garden. The trees waved gently in the evening breeze, pink-tinted clouds visible through the leaves. Steven tuned the radio into a music program and sat next to her, placing his wine on the small table beside the sofa. She sipped slowly, savouring the taste. Her knowledge of wine was non-existent, and she had great trouble remembering those that she did like, mainly because it was such a rare experience. She curled her legs up onto the sofa and leaned on him, hoping to feel his arm around her shoulders.

  “We should explore further up the road, go further north past their house,” he said.

  “What’s up there?”

  “I don’t know, that’s the point.”

  “Sometimes I think that this radio sounds better than the radiogram at home, you know,” said Emma.

  “I think we need to move some things around at home, arrange them better.”

  She gazed out of the window, dreaming. “The sunsets are always better here than Surrey.”

  “Hmm.”

  She shifted, her elbow slipping between his legs. Her heart beat in her chest. She sensed him draining his glass, his hand touching her hair. She took a gulp from her own, the heat of the liquid catching the back of her throat and prayed she wouldn’t cough. His hand moved down to her shoulder, tracing the flesh just inside her blouse before moving to her ear. She leaned back, murmuring quietly in appreciation. Her hand found his leg and ruffled the hairs on his thighs as she allowed her wine glass to slip carefully to the floor.

  “More wine?” he asked.

  “Um, OK” she replied, disappointed that he had preferred to get more wine than touch her. He went to the kitchen and retuned with two more glasses.

  “That’s the last of it.”

  “Gosh, that didn’t last long.”

  “They’re quite big glasses,” he said, sitting back down. She looked at his shorts and wondered if he was wearing underpants. She had never known him not to, but the thought excited her. She had heard of women, or more accurately, young girls, who went out without knickers. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to do that in their house, let alone outdoors. She smiled to herself as she resumed her curled up position next to him. She felt his stiffness against her arm and wondered if they would make love or if the moment would be lost. His hand was on her shoulder again, then trailed down her back. They caressed slowly as the light and wine disappeared. Her head felt slightly woozy as she turned and lay on her back with her head on his lap. He smiled down at her and finished his wine. His fingers slipped into her blouse, brushing the tops of her breasts where they emerged from her bra. His cock pressed through his shorts, hard against the side of her face and she moved gently so that her cheek pushed against it.

  His hand found the buttons of her blouse and undid them in order. She felt a compulsion to kiss him but didn’t want to break the flow of their intimacy. She touched his chest, then up around his neck and along the line of his jaw. He snapped his teeth playfully at her finger as she traced along his lips. His hand went under her, seeking the catch to her bra. She helped, lifting herself, and after several moments, obliged by flicking the fastener herself. Her bra fell away from her breasts and Steven pushed it away. His fingers toyed with her nipples, tweaking them, causing shots of pleasure to flash through her. They hardened, th
e small, pink buds making a delicate contrast to her pale breasts. She leaned up, looping her arm around his neck for support. She looked into his eyes and moved towards him. Her lips met his just as her eyes closed. She felt his hand exploring her breast, pushing back the blouse and his palm felt their weight, his thumb moving over her nipple.

  She pulled him closer, leaning on her elbow. Her fingers found his shirt buttons and slowly undid them. She knew they would soon retreat into the bedroom where the curtains would be drawn and the light switched off. The wine though suggested adventure as she pushed his shirt over his head. His hairy chest prickled her skin as she leaned against him, delighted in the exploration of his hands. She moved her legs, showing more skin, her skirt shifting above the knee. Their kisses became more intense as his tongue pushed into her mouth. It was rare that they kissed that way. In fact it was rare that they kissed at all, and after the initial surprise Emma responded similarly, caressing the side of his face as they sunk deeper into the sofa. The thought that they might make love for the first time in the lounge thrilled her. She grabbed the back of his head, his hair trapped between her fingers. After several minutes she felt his hands wandering down from her breasts and over her stomach. She brought her knees up, offering him the sight of her thighs and maybe even a glimpse of her knickers. She knew she was wet down there in anticipation of his cock. His hand moved her skirt higher, then continued between her legs. She murmured approval, feeling a need to get his shorts off and free his cock.

  He broke the kiss. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he suggested, taking her hand. Emma was of a mind to say that she was fine where she was, but rather than starting a discussion about it she dutifully followed. The bedroom was already dark with exception of a pale orange glow that shone through the gap in the curtains. He shut the door and shuffled across the bed. She joined him, lying by his side as his arm pushed again under her shoulders and pulled her closer. His other hand traced down over her stomach and under the hem of her skirt.