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First Rain

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It had just happened.

Poirot had sent them to a hall of records, Miss Lemon would often recall. It had started to get dark and both Captain Hastings and herself had foolishly decided to walk instead of taking the Lagonda. The umbrellas had been left behind, probably still waiting for them near the coat rack in Mr. Poirot's office.

When the first raindrop had hit her, she had offered up a quick prayer that no more would fall but the prayer had become lost, it would seem, as drop after drop fell from the sky, increasing their onslaught with uncaring abandon.

"Damnit," Arthur Hastings exclaimed and then cast an apologetic glance at his companion.

Miss Lemon pretended not to have noticed his lapse of manners and focused on the sky instead. "They didn't say it was going to rain," she said sternly.

"I certainly didn't hear anything about it," the man replied.

Lemon shook her head, the rain continuing to soak them both. "Come," she said. "My place is near to here. We can get dry there and then grab an umbrella or two."

They rushed side by side, Arthur's hand momentarily resting on the small of her back. Felicity liked the way it felt there, regretted when he took it away, but gave no indication.

When they reached the door to her small but comfortable abode; Poirot's two steadfast employees quickly rushed inside.

Hastings removed his hat and some rain water that had collected in its brim spilled onto the immaculately polished tiled floor beneath his feet. He offered Miss Lemon an apologetic glance and she merely raised an eyebrow at him in amused disapproval.

They took off their coats and let them hang on the rack, Felicity wondering if she shouldn't move them to the living room and get a fire started in the fireplace.

Suddenly she noticed the man looking around the hallway with interest; a feeling of nerves overcame her realizing that the Captain has never seen where she lived before. She took in the rug, a little tattered with age, she had meant to buy a new one, and the curtains on the windows. Poirot's secretary found herself wishing she had paid more attention to other areas besides the floor but soon enough the man was smiling at her, seemingly oblivious to all of the little faults her eyes too easily centered on.

With confusion, Miss. Lemon saw Hasting's eyes look downward and his cheeks turn suddenly crimson as he looked away. The woman looked down to see that her wet dress was clinging to her breasts; the rounded shapes of her nipples evident through it.

The man's earlier blush now completely mirrored in her own expression, Felicity brought her arm to cover herself. "The sitting room is over there," she pointed to her left. "Have a seat while I get us some tea."

Arthur nodded and walked to the sitting room, his gait somewhat odd.

Miss Lemon briefly wondered if she should go to her room first. She wondered if the best course of action, wouldn't be to change into something dry. Then something stirred inside her remembering the man's eyes resting on her chest and she decided against it.

The woman told herself that it was only fair; the Captain had to make do with being wet; she would too. Even then the argument tasted of a lie: hard and difficult to swallow.

With the whistle of the kettle, Felicity poured the water into the teapot and brought the prepared tray into where Arthur was waiting. While she had been in the kitchen the man had started a fire and she offered him a warm smile. He rushed to her side to help her with the tray, about to put it carefully on the small wooden coffee table.

A cat ran by his leg, causing the teapot, cups and saucers to shake and clank together. Hastings steadied himself before dropping it and quickly set it down.

"Albert!" Miss Lemon said reprovingly to the feline who showed no remorse but only chose to sit on the mat and lick its paw proudly.

"I say, isn't that the cat we had on that case?" Hastings said in recognition.

"Yes," Felicity answered. "The one with that nasty Edwin Graves. I call him Prints Albert because he likes to go leave his sooty little paw prints everywhere. That's why the floor is so clean and other things aren't: I spend all my time cleaning up after him."

Hastings let out a small laugh and Miss Lemon sat in a chair, her back towards a window. She motioned the Captain to sit on the sofa on the other side.

They had their tea and made small talk, waiting for the rain to let up. It seemed as if it never would, choosing to keep a steady uncooperative pace.

Several times, Poirot's secretary saw Arthur Hastings cast a swift glance at her chest. It was still wet despite the fire and it still clung to the outline of her breasts, leaving little need for the man to use his imagination.

She liked the way he was looking at the peaks of her nipples, liked the hungry way his eyes rested there and the subsequent shame that made him look away.


She found she did not like the shame all that much.

"Arthur..." she said softly having put her teacup down.

He looked, meeting her wonderful blue eyes.

With a slow arch of her back, Miss Lemon stuck out her chest, accentuating her breasts and the buds that had captivated him despite his best efforts. As he looked at them, too entranced this time to look away, Felicity felt the throbbing start between her legs; it was a feeling that she had experienced since adolescence but one that had always been ignored before and looked on with embarrassment.

Now in the sitting room of the place where she dwelled, Captain Arthur Hastings feet away from her and staring at her like she was a woman and not a secretary, as the rain continued to pour outside, she invited it and enjoyed the pounding between her legs which easily matched the beating of her heart.

That beating intensified as Hastings arose from the couch and came towards her.

The man's hands went to the back of her dress, as his head bent to each breast and lightly nuzzled them with his lips through the wet fabric. Miss Lemon felt her nipples becoming hard as he did and then as he lowered her dress.

Hastings repeated the action with her bra until the woman was sitting on the chair each nipple erect and waiting. Felicity gasped as the man took one in his mouth while his hand played with the other one, pinching it and then rubbing it.

Miss Lemon opened her eyes wide as she felt Arthur's tongue lick her nipple as he gently suckled it. She squirmed as she felt herself becoming wet. Moaning her head went back and her eyes closed as he switched hand and mouth to the opposite side.

How often she had imagined Arthur doing this to her and chastised herself for being so dirty. Never had she thought he actually would and that it could feel so good and clean.

Finished with each breast, Felicity watched as he took both hands and reached them under her dress gently grabbing her underwear.

"No..." she said not because she didn't want him to but more because she was afraid to.

His hand reached inside her underwear, dipped between the folds and found her clitoris.

"Auuuhhh..." Felicity moaned and bucked her hips from the touch. She continued her light thrusting as he continued to rub it.

So completely lost in ecstasy, she was only half aware when he removed the panties and placed his head under her dress and into her lap.

She screamed in pleasure as he started to use his mouth on her.

"Arthur!" she moaned loudly, only encouraging him to suck the throbbing bud some more.

She came violently, her clitoris and then her vagina both alternately spasming. When she opened her eyes the Captain was staring at her. In the next moment, the man had picked her off from the chair, her dress falling completely to the floor, and was lifting her in his arms.

"Where's the bedroom?" he asked calmly but there was an underlying urgency to the question and Miss Lemon had a notion of why it was there.

She told him where, pointing to aid him in his journey. Once there he gently placed her on the bed and once again Felicity Lemon wondered what the man thought of the room: the pale blue curtains and the matching sheets and pillows on the bed, the safe and simple bedsheets. The Egyptian cat statue that Mr. Poirot had given to her after his and the Captain's return from Egypt sat on a dresser. It was perhaps, most obviously, the room of a spinster with no hopes of romance or dreams of intimacy; yet here she was about to be made love to after years of considering it not so much as even a possibility.

Turning away her attention from the room to her lover, Felicity realized that the man was not concerned with the state of her bedroom; his interest lay with the large bulge in his trousers.

She would help him with it, Miss Lemon thought.

Carefully undoing first the belt and then the pants themselves, she let them fall to the floor and then lowered the underpants too. Arthur Hastings fully engorged penis was inches away from her face. It was quite large and Miss Lemon studied it never having seen one before in person. With interest she noticed its glistening head, the first sign of precum already there. She took it in her hand, noting the texture of it. It gave a pleased little twitch with the contact. Desiring to please it some more, she let her tongue go to the slit and lick up the fluid pooled there.

Arthur moaned and Miss Lemon explored some more with her tongue, letting the tip trace the raphe and then fully lick the underside from the base of the cock to its head. Her hands played with the balls underneath, squeezing and rubbing, an act that the man had earlier performed on her breasts.

More precum flooded out and Felicity took the member into her mouth to catch it. There was so much, however, that it started to leak out from the corners of her lips. Slowly she moved her head back and forth, flexing her lips, all the while playing with the penis inside her mouth with her tongue, sucking for long spaces.

Arthur was shifting in pleasure. She looked up once to see him, head back in sexual bliss.

After a bit, Hastings gently backed away, his penis still leaking, red and erect. He motioned her to lie down on the bed which she did. He climbed in on top of her, spread her legs and thrust inside.

Miss Lemon gasped. She was still very wet but the pain was strong; she had always heard of it, had always dreaded it. Hastings gently but passionately kissed her to distract her. He made his movements likewise soft also until she was more comfortable. Arthur lowered his lips and once again started sucking on her nipples. Miss Lemon arched her back as pain turned to pleasure. She started to move now too wanting more and more of Hastings angry member inside of her. Arthur answered in turn moving deeper and deeper inside.

She was starting to tremble as she felt that wave coming on her again, amid the moans another scream was unleashed and Arthur kissed her chin and her cheeks as she climaxed.

Dreamily she turned to look out the window as Hastings moved towards his own peak. Felicity saw the raindrops hit the window pane outside, running into each other and creating small rivlets that ran down the glass. She felt as Arthur unleashed his own torrent inside of her.

"Rain," she thought in a daze. "My first rain."

For years she had not thought it conceivable she would ever know a man like this; she had believed the time for that had passed her by like strangers in the backseats of cars that passed you in the crowded city streets.

However, here she was with the man she had secretly loved for years; he was pulling out of her, yet, his seed remained inside; there was just a small bit streaming out like the raindrops on the window glass.

Arthur Hastings kissed her once again and lay beside her, holding her in his arms.

Poirot would be wondering what had happened to them, Miss Lemon absently thought but he could wait. It could all wait, the shame and the consequences and the decisions of what came afterwards could all wait. It was all unimportant compared to what had just happened.

"I love you," Arthur Hastings whispered into her ear.

"I love you too, Arthur," Felicity Lemon said, knowing that that was the most important part of it all.