Georgia's English Rose Read Online Free PDF

twitched.
    “See, you’re loosening up already, honey,”
she said and turned away to fetch one of the warm towels. She dried
herself while I watched, almost as if displaying for me, then as
she started to dress I pulled the plug out of the bath and dried
myself, making no attempt at modesty. I dried between my legs, but
I knew my panties would be damp again before I got downstairs.
    Georgia tucked her heavy breasts into her
bra, stretching behind to clip it, tucking her fingers inside to
settle their weight comfortably and then stood for a moment with
only her bra on. She had dried herself and put a little talcum
powder on her belly and thighs. She ran a comb through her hair and
then ran it through her bush, stroking it flat, the dark hair fine,
showing pale skin beneath where the teeth of the comb parted her
hair.
    Satisfied, she drew her best silk panties
on, clipped the garter belt around her waist and  unrolled her
stockings. She sat on the edge of the windowsill and slipped her
foot into one stocking, then stopped.
    “I don’t suppose there’s a razor in the
cabinet is there, Lil?”
    “Oh, I don’t know.” Still naked I opened the
door and looked. “There’s this,” I said, turning with a heavy steel
safety razor.
    “Any fresh blades?”
    I turned back. “Yeah,” I said, and laughed
because I sounded like Georgia.
    “Slip a new one in for me, honey, and hand
it over. You gonna do your legs too?”
    I put a fresh blade in the razor and handed
it to Georgia, looked down at my own legs. One advantage of being a
redhead was the hair on my body grew fine and sparse.
    “I don’t think I need to, Georgia,” I said.
I showed her my leg, lifting it for her, knowing my pussy opened to
her gaze but not caring.
    She looked, both at my legs and higher up.
“No, you’re perfect, Lil,” she said.
    She scraped the fresh blade over her long
legs, ran her palm up and seemed satisfied. I washed the razor out
in the sink and put it back after drying it.
    Georgia pulled her stockings up and clipped
them to her garter belt, stood and looked at herself in the long
mirror, turned, studied her backside, put a hand on her belly.
    “Lookin’ good,” she said.
    “Mm-mm,” I agreed, and Georgia grinned.
    “You gonna get dressed then, Lil, or you
gonna go down to dinner as you are? Not that I’m objecting, but I
guess your Ma and Pa might not be too pleased.”
    I smiled and reached for my fresh bra and
panties. “I’ll get dressed,” I said.
    Georgia slipped into her dress and buttoned
it up the front. It fell to below her knees, displaying just a
little cleavage.
    “I’ll get you that garter belt,” she said,
and swirled away.
     
    Dinner was fun. Daddy came
in late as usual, just as we were about to sit down. He hugged and
kissed me and I buried my face in his tweed jacket, breathing in a
deep lung full of his smell; damp wool, pipe smoke, hay… the aromas
mixed and wonderful, making me feel completely safe, as they always
would.
    Mummy managed to find a joint of beef from
somewhere, cooked potatoes two different ways, made gravy and
Yorkshire puddings. These confused Georgia, who looked at them and
said, “This smells wonderful, but what are these things?” She
turned one over with her fork.
    “Yorkshire pudding,” I said.
    “Pudding? What are they made of?”
    “Flour, milk and eggs.”
    “So they’re pancakes,” she said.
    “No, they’re Yorkshire pudding,” I said,
laughing. My mother and Michael watched us, smiling, and Daddy ate
his dinner with his usual long-suffering expression, but I caught a
glint in his eyes.
    Georgia cut a small slice and lifted it to
her nose, sniffed.
    “Doesn’t smell like pancake,” she said.
    “That’s because it’s not pancake,” I
repeated.
    Michael was wolfing his dinner, swigging
from a glass of cider. It was a special occasion, and Daddy had
opened bottles of our own cider and poured for all of us, even me.
It was the first time he had ever offered me