Molly was gone when Tom awoke. After the night of great sex, the morning seemed a little bit brighter. He walked to the window and opened it. The cold, misty air had the salty tang of the sea. The mist blew in and tickled the red-gold hairs of his chest. What felt cold to most people felt like a refreshing breeze to him. He took a deep breath. Then was greeted by laughter from the garden and the two maids therein.

He ducked back into the room and put on his robe. His intercom buzzed. The voice was Molly's there was definite humor to her voice. "I take it you are up, sir. Would care for tea to be brought up to your room?"

"Coffee if you don't mind."

"Coffee it is, sir. Breakfast will be served in an hour."

Tom entered his shared bath and looked in on Nigel. He did not expect to see him. He knew his school roommate to be an early riser and today was no exception. He couldn't resist the temptation to check his friend's bed. But he couldn't detect if it had just one occupant that night or two.

Molly arrived just after he had finished his usual morning squat on the loo. She caught him as he was drawing his bath. "Coffee is here, sir. Would you like me to pour you a cup?"

"Please, black if you don't mind."

"Right away."

"Say, Molly, do you think there will be enough hot water to fill this monstrous thing." He pointed to the tub.

"Dear me yes, sir. The water heater was salvaged from old ocean liner. It will provide hot water if you took a bath from now to the Day of Judgment." She handed him a blue and white china cup, depicting Chinese scenes.

Tom took one gulp of the coffee. "Molly, how can you afford to heat it, the water tank I mean?"

"Don't rightly know, sir."

The way she knew all the to her secrets of the house, Tom very much doubted that Molly would let anything be unknown to her. He placed the cup and saucer on a small wooden stool beside the tub. "Well, thank you. I will be just be taking my bath now."

"Very well, sir." Molly rolled up her sleeves but did not leave.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing to bathe you, sir."

"I am not a child."

"I know that."

Tom flushed red.

"With all due respect, sir, this is how things are done hereabouts. I am your valet."

A minute passed awkwardly and was finally broken by the impatient Irishwoman. "Look. Stop acting like a little boy. Everyone was washed by their valet or maid this morning."

"Really?"

"They understand, it is all very traditional. Now you better hurry up with that robe, breakfast is soon."

Tom felt awkward but she had seen him naked already and everyone was doing it, so he slipped off his robe and hung it on the wall hook. "Fine." He stepped into the tub defiantly. Molly stared at him levelly and his prick reacted. He sat in the tub. Mollie took up a brush and soap, laid a towel beside the lip and applied some soap to brush. "Turn the tap off please, sir."

Tom had to admit it felt very civilized. Molly scrubbed him all over. For the general skin she used the brush. For his feet she used a pumice stone. For his arse, she used an large swab with a bit of natural sponge on one end. His privates were thoroughly, yet gently, washed with a soft cloth. Finally, she asked him to lay his head back. With a picture and basin she wet, soaped and rinsed his hair.

When it came time to dry, he stood in the bath and she toweled him down. "If we had time, I'd give you a good shave too. But we better hurry along. Come along."

She tugged him to the closet. "Here, you will be outside today so we better dress you in woolens."

While she outfitted him in tweed, Tom asked another question. "Molly, you said the closets were turned into washrooms. So this closet was for what? Cloaks? Seems a bit large for that."

"No, sir. This would be the guest's valet quarters."

"Oh." Tom had heard of such things but never actually seen it. The space seemed hardly long enough for a body to stretch out in. "Not even a vent?"

"A vent would mean the valet might see his master's nocturnal activities."

"But close enough to shout for, eh? Deplorable."

"Bad old days, sir. Bad old days."

Tom arrived just a few minutes late for breakfast. "Morning." He looked around at the table. Not everyone seemed rested. Sooz looked like death warmed over, not surprising given the amount of lager she consumed. The Baroness, Marjorie and Ling seemed blearily eyed and merely poked at their food. Stephen seemed happy enough, grazing on sausages. Nigel was eating kippers with no little delicacy. Tom walked to the sideboard and helped himself to the eggs, rashers, kippers toast and a half a melon then sat next to his friend.

"What is wrong with them? Not accustomed to waking up this early?" Tom whispered. Nigel shrugged, indicating puzzlement.

Stephen took a break from assaulting the sausages. "Marvelous sausages, Nigel. Venison you say? You must try some, Tommy."

"I will. Thank you Stephen." Tom checked for servants and leaned into Stephen. "A good bath lifted up your spirits?"

Stephen answered with his mouth half full. "Bath? I should say not. I am a shower man, myself."

"Did you take a bath, Nigel?"

"No, a shower."

"Alone? I mean did you wash yourself?" he husked.

Nigel gave him a queer look. "Of course, I washed myself. What else?"

Tom turned a beet red and looked around the table. Sooz had obviously slept in her clothes. Maybe one of the other three had been bathed. But how to broach the subject politely. "I say, Nigel and I have the largest tub I have ever seen. I needed help to figure out the tap. Did anyone else?"

All three women shook their heads. He was the only one who had "help" bathing this morning. Molly had tricked him good.

"You all right, Tom? You look all red."

The guests removed themselves to the practice range and Warden had the gun booth all set up. On it rested a variety of rifles and two Purdy shotguns.

Warden handed Tom, Nigel and Stephen three of the heavier rifles. When he offered a light 7mm target rifle to the Baroness she was insulted. "I have hunted on many occasions, sir. A heavier rifle if you please."

Warden cast his eyes towards his employer. Nigel shrugged and he handed the lady a common American 30-30.

Stephen was assigned to teach Sooz, Nigel-Ling and Tom was assigned to Baroness and Warden attended to the least experienced, Marjorie.

Stephen wasted his time tying to get Sooz to pick up a weapon, but she flatly refused to shoot. Only when she saw Stephen enjoying himself by firing off a few rounds did she insist on instruction.

Nigel and Ling proceeded apace. Warden plodded along patiently with Marjorie.

The Baroness impressed Tom. After a bit instruction on proper range safety, she took to it like a duck to water. She had obviously had some shooting experience before. He could guess it was mainly game birds or trap. She held the gun too loose, like she was ready for snap-pull. "Hold the rifle in snugger to you shoulder."

"It hurts."

"It hurts because it is not snug. You hold a deer rifle like that often enough; you'll likely as not dislocate your shoulder. You've a proper hunting jacket on under the raincoat, let the pad do its job."

The woman fired again. The butt slapped against the inside of her shoulder. She winced.

Tom grew angry. He had been ready to blow up since breakfast. He cupped the barrel stock, trapping her fingers. He pulled the barrel tight into her shoulder and wrapped his left hand around her other arm to prevent escape. Then he quickly triggered a round, never minding aim. He let go. Her eyes seemed to flare and she looked hard at him. He met her hard glare. "Didn't hurt as much, did it?" The moment of furious silence that followed was all the assent Tom needed. "You are good shot, but this isn't a shotgun. I don't want to see you all bruises. Try it again, my way, please?"

The Baroness held the rifle in snap-to again, like a shotgun.

"I said 'please.'" Tom hoped his anger didn't show. The last thing he needed was to start a war with possibly his future mother-in-law.

The Baroness fell on the side of good manners and shouldered her rifle the way Tom advised. Her next shot was not in the ten ring but the following shot was close.

The schedule was for twenty rounds each. Warden had performed a fine job of matching shooter to rifle. But Stephen was forced to change. He left his semi-automatic magnum to look for a lighter, bolt action, firearm. Warden shook his head and Tom knew why. Fat, asthmatic, bad jointed Stephen was not one to chase a wounded deer over hill and dale. He needed the knockdown power the magnum conveyed. Tom guessed that magnum was just too much weight for Stephen to hold for even twenty rounds.

Tom was always taught to remove his ear protection as soon as he was done shooting. If the Baroness had done the same maybe she would have heard what Tom did, the bolt being pulled back on the magnum.

Sooz had gotten bored with her light practice rifle and had gone for Stephen's. "Looks like it high noon for you, pawdners!" Boom! She shouted. The recoil knocked her off her feet and the firearm flew into the air.

Everyone, except the Baroness, froze, watching the black steel and walnut weapon spin in the air. They followed the barrel like their lives depended on it because it did. The rifle didn't spin much and Tom could predict it was going to land pointed a bit towards him. He glanced ahead and saw that Baroness was directly in the gun's path. He reached forward, caught the hood of her raincoat and yanked her backwards. Using his weight, he pulled them both down.

The self-loading weapon discharged with its shock upon the ground. Tom hit the ground, the Baroness screamed and her body fell on top of him.

"You bloody stupid, bitch!" Stephen took up the gun and began screaming at the prostrate Sooz.

"Baroness, you hurt?" Tom was afraid to move.

"M-m-my hand."

Tom squirmed out from under her and scanned her quickly. She was holding her right hand with her left and moving it back and forth. "I don't see any blood." Then everyone was by her side.

"Are you all right, mother?" Marjorie knelt down.

"My hand is quite hurt. OW! What on earth happened? Why on earth did you assault me?"

Nigel held up the shattered remains of the Remington. "I'd say Tom here, saved your life."

"What?"

"When Tom pulled you back, your rifle was where you were standing. Look." He held it by the grip, showing the wrathful woman the bent and shattered remains of the barrel. "That magnum load tore through this carbon steel barrel. Imagine what would have happened to your body. I'd say we were desperately lucky today."

"Tom, you are bleeding."

Tom looked at his left hand. A blue-black sliver of barrel struck trough his flesh between the join of his thumb and forefinger. He held it up in amazement, shock blocking his pain. "So I am, Ling."

"Warder. Kit please."

Warder was Johnny on the spot. "No fears, sir. I've seen much worse. Be right as rain in no time."

"What about my poor hand?"

"That'll be the vibration from the barrel, your ladyship. A bit of bruising will be all. Ice and a bit of aspirin should help."

"We'll go back to the house. Stephen, you and Ling should really stay. You!" He pointed sternly to Sooz. "I think this tears it. I will have to do something about this. You are coming back to the house too."

The small party, two of them cradling their hands, walked back to the house. Nigel was in the lead with Sooz in hand. He kept the ruined rifle in his left hand and towing Sooz with his right. The destroyed gun was never more than three feet in front the Baroness and the twisted metal held her attention with the strength of python.

With each step towards Nine Yews, the realization slowly dawned the Baroness that Tom Mays had saved her life. The adventure ended with the two face-to-face, almost alone in the parlor. Her hand was submerged in ice water. Molly, her back to the noble, was wrapping his hand in clean gauze.

"This changes nothing, Tom Mays." Spat the Lady.

Before Tom could call back with "Bitch!" Molly squeezed his wrist. "Be nice." she mouthed. Tom gave it go. "I just did the right thing. I'm sure you would do the same for me, Baroness."

The Baroness grunted and went on a slow burn. Tom's eyes twinkled at Molly. He thought, "She was dead on. That kindness hurt the bitch more than an insult." The Baroness walked off, cradling the heavy bowl.

This allowed Tom a bit of reckoning time with Molly. "You tricked me."

"No. You let yourself be tricked. That's quite a different thing.

"You Irish..."

"I wanted to bathe you. I do confess it. But you were not going to allow me simple service until I told you everyone else was doing it. You are good man, Thomas Mays but you worry much too much about what other people think."

Tom was at a loss for words. He had been on the brink of turning down the best bath of his life.

"Now let me see that hand. Tch. Tch."

Dinner was another formal affair. The gowns were simpler, the Baroness and her daughter women insisted on wearing even more jewelry. "When will we get the opportunity again?" We could never afford such embroidery anymore." were some of their excuses for exercising their vanity?

Ling didn't like the weight of the ornate treasures so she chose simple bands of Greek silver with her midnight blue gown.

Sooz was not present. It soon became evident as to why. She burst into he room. "All right Nigel, you ass spelunker, where is it?"

Nigel finished his morsel of salmon. The blonde cleared the empty plate. "Where is what?"

Sooz stormed up to the left side of him, and squeezed between him and Ling.

"You bloody know well, what. My Rover, where is it?"

"I hid it." He took a sip of Pinot Gris.

"Give it back, now! Or else."

"No."

"NO?!" she roared, spittle flying from her mouth.

"I believe you have hidden your heroine in some little compartments of your Rover. Rather than take it apart, I simply had it driven away in the night. It is parked out on the moors, only twenty kilometers to the north. You are welcome to find it."

"Bastard!"

"It took me no time to discern where your, 'stash' is it? was hidden. It is all there, if you can reach it."

"Why you." she grabbed a dinner fork and was immediately seized by Steward. Tom was quite sure the man would break her in half at the slightest nod from Nigel.

"So there is your choice. Try to enjoy warmth and food or go hunting for your drugs. It is in the middle of a field. It should be very easy to see in the full moonlight. You may borrow a torch if you wish."

"Bloody fucking bastard! What business is it of yours?" She dropped the fork and took the seat by a very nervous Stephen. He wasn't sure that Steward would protect him as quickly as he did Nigel.

During the remaining courses, Sooz drank straight whiskey from the bottle and mumbled. She broke out in a cold, clammy sweat and began to tremble. Everyone was about to retire to the game room when she announced that she was going to bed. She took another bottle of whiskey before she left.

In the game room, Stephen and Ling were again putting on the show. Marjorie and her mother were playing bridge when Steward entered and whispered something to Nigel.

"Send Warden after her. Instruct him to take the whiskey and offer her a thermos of strong tea and sandwiches. Bring her back but only after she is quite exhausted."

Steward nodded and left.

"Don't worry everyone it won't ruin tomorrow's hunt."

"Better not." Growled Stephen.

That night, Molly didn't bother to sneak into Tom's bed. She was waiting for him when he arrived. They enjoyed and good round of sex and then lounged by the fire and made small talk.

"So how did you slip into my room last night?"

"Ah that's one of the secrets of Nine Yews, the buckskin slippers. If you ask the Young Master, he would tell you it all started when metal taps were put on shoes. Actually it goes back much father than that. It began when the sound of his boots gave the first Lord away as he visited a friend's wife."

"Really?"

"True. Now if he alone wore moccasins it would be odd. But if everyone, even servants wore moccasins..."

Tome laughed. "Too bad. I rather liked their innocence. I guess that made for a lot of nocturnal visitations. Wait. The old closets!"

Molly nodded. "And not just visits to adjoining rooms either."

"But the closets have no latch on the inside, like a hotel and a bolt on the inside for privacy. One must have the complicity of their neighbor."

Molly shook her head. "Put on your night clothes and robe. I have something to show you."

Molly dressed as well and put on a spare robe. Molly went to the curtain, and then pulled out what appeared to be a simple iron weight from inside its hem. Molly went to the door of the washroom that led to the Mercians. "These latches appear wooden but they all have iron nails conceal within them." She whispered and moved to the Mercians lavatory door. She placed the magnet to it and slid it against the wood. Tom could hear the almost imperceptible rasp of the wooden bolt being moved aside. "As for the latch, just put the magnet, here, like so." She pressed the bar against the wood, lifted, and then pushed. "There, in two easy motions, one as access to all the rooms, one after the other." She entered the lavatory and ushered Tom on.

Tom was beginning to panic. But it was too much like a schoolboy prank for him to resist. He partially closed his own door, to let in all little light as possible, without being trapped. Molly moved the privacy bolt aside by hand and then used the magnet, this time on the latch handle. The two tiptoed in like sneak thieves.

In the diminishing coals of the fire he could see the Baroness and Marjorie, asleep in their twin four post beds. Molly glided on her moccasins. None of the carefully maintained and waxed boards raised an alarm. Molly examined the contents of the marble top nightstand between the beds: two amber vials, two glasses and a carafe of room temperature water.

She spoke in a soft voice. "They won't awaken." She showed him the vials of slipping pills.

Tom entered the room fully and approached the beds. Baroness Flavia Mercian on his right, frail Marjorie on his left. They were sound asleep, completely at his mercy. His prick twitched.

Suddenly, the room was flooded in white light. Tom turned around. Molly had opened the curtains, bathing the bedroom in cool moonglow.

Tom looked down on Marjorie, poor, sickly Marjorie. Her family hoped to make a match of her and him, if only to smooth out some local troubles with their North Sea oil wells. This holiday was her chance to make the family proud but she seemed more wrapped up more in her own concerns, as usual. Everything was too fatty, too unclean or too unfashionable. She couldn't even enjoy a banana without hand wringing over the political consequences. Strangely, in a way, they were much alike, both trapped by expectations of their own making. Too bad she was such a prig.

Molly walked over to the other side of Marjorie's bed. "Go ahead." She hissed over the fair girl.

"What?" Tom blushed.

"You know you want to."

Tom froze.

"Fine if you won't I will. Let's get a look at the goods, Marjorie darling." Cautiously, Molly peeled down the blankets covering Marjorie, exposing her lithe form. Her rigorous Vegen diet and cloistered lifestyle had left her extremely thin and pale. Under the moon, her skin seemed almost fluorescent. The pale light made her fine, straight, ash blonde hair even whiter than usual. She wore white cotton top and v-shaped panties to cover her little girl features. Her ribs showed and then her breasts' prominent nipples poked into the fabric. Marjorie subconsciously covered her chest.

"She's cold." Tom whispered.

Molly walked to the other side of the room and followed her with his gaze. The maid threw two more logs on the coals and turned on the gas on high to quicken the process.

Then Tom looked down on the Baroness below him. She lay on her side, facing him. Her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He checked the prescription bottle one last time. There was her name and the instruction. "For occasional sleeplessness only. Take one just before bed." That eased his mind. He looked up and there was Molly. He nodded.

This time he aided her in peeling off the blankets. Molly left Tom to complete the process as she walked over to him.

There she was, awash in firelight. Her curly setter-red hair glowed like burnished copper wire in the sun. She wore a lavender nightshirt. It had ridden up to expose her ass. It was big, but strong and healthy, not a speck of fat on it.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Molly whispered in his ear.

Tom considered a response. Then he opted to just nod. He took in her full, womanly breasts and luscious, full lips. What a contrast to her daughter she was. Everything that was thin on Marjorie was full on her mother, lips, breasts, hips, everything.

"She's a real red head." Molly husked.

He looked down. It was true. Her henna bush was trimmed. "She must go swimming." Tom thought. Her smooth, shapely legs, like poured pink wax, seemed to confirm his speculation.

"Tall too. Wouldn't you like to just get between those thighs and plow away? If I were a man, I would." He felt her warm breath on his ear.

The Baroness turned, attracted by the warmth of the fire. Her breasts tugged against her shirt, nipples prodding against their confinement. He reached forward to touch them. Molly caught his hand.

"The pills are mild." She whispered. Tom nodded. She left him there, admiring her as she covered Marjorie and closed the drapes. Then he regretfully covered the Baroness.

The bit of fun was over. Molly guided him back to the lavatory. With that door shut behind them Molly spoke. "It's quiet enough in here if you whisper. Fancy the old gal do we?"

"Let's just say I like women with real figures." He hugged her close and cupped her cheeks.

"You could be Irish with a response like that Tom May." They shared a reassuring kiss. Then the couple re-entered the Tom's room and Molly replaced the bolt and the magnet.

"Now I must say goodnight, Tom. Warden gets us up fearfully early for hunts and he can be a rough man if crossed."

"Goodnight Molly." He gave her playful slap on the rump out the door.

Tom lounged on his bed thinking. Molly was terrific. Just good wholesome sex, the way it was meant to be... almost. He touched his bite mark. His mind wandered to the history of the house, all the strangers sneaking from room to room and visiting wives, wives like the Baroness. He felt his prick hardening. "Wait. No need to push my luck. But I wonder. How far could I go? Beyond them lay Stephen. He sleeps like the dead and then Sooz. I wonder if she is back yet?"

With genuine concern, he removed the magnet and after a few false tries was able to enter the Mercian's room, noiselessly. He could still see the Baroness aglow in the high firelight. He crept to the hearth and turned off the gas. She groaned in her sleep and rubbed her legs together.

With an ache he couldn't put words to, Tom left and crossed Stephen's room. He was sawing wood like a Canadian lumberjack. He slipped into the dim adjoining lav and pressed his ear to the door. He heard voices.

Just as he looked to the door's wall, he just happened to look into the gap of the wall and a small, hanging wall mirror. He noticed a beam of light hit the back of a small mirror.

He closed the drapes and then removed the mirror. A hole had been neatly bored through the wall. It would afford the occupant a view of the person showering, or perhaps it was meant as he was using it, to scout the room before entering.

The hole allowed a partial view of the bed. Tom couldn't see everything, but what he did see, shocked him. There was Nigel, with a big book. Next to him, bare chested in a leather apron, stood Steward and then the blonde girl in her usual maid's outfit. A small black kettle bubbled on the fire. Sooze ankles were quite firmly strapped to the posts of the bed.

Tom couldn't understand the Latin words his friend was chanting what he was quite plainly calling for something. Perhaps it was an old prayer. Then the blonde girl lifted the pot out the fire and pour a quantity of what looked like pea green soup into a bowl. Nigel handed his book to Steward and took the pewter bowl over to Sooz. Tom could smell it from where he was. It smelled herbal, mediciney.

Sooz cursed Nigel. Tom was reminded of that old "Exprcist" movie. Steward frowned and handed the book to the blonde and moved toward the bed. Tom could then her Sooz gagging and more prayers. Then her feet stopped fighting the bonds all together.

"Poor thing is going through withdrawl." Tom thought. "I never knew Nigel to be a religious man, but the prayers can't hurt." Tom replaced the mirror and crept back to his own room. He replaced the magnet then a thought occurred to him. Yes, his room had peepholes in it as well. With it he could look over the Mercian's throne and into the bath.

The slight distortion indicated he too, was looking though a mirror with the silver backing scraped off. The plug was cleverly disguised with a plumber's cap on the lavatory end. Even if one did remove the mirror they would see a round pipe fitting in the plaster; nothing suspicious about that. He replaced the plug.

He considered visiting Ling and decided against it. Nigel may be back any minute and it wouldn't do to let him know he was creeping about. He needed sleep too. Before he dropped off, he set his alarm for around the time he anticipated the Mercians to awaken.

His alarm bell rung and Tom rose. This time he checked the garden before opening the windows. No one was there and he indulged himself in his, now customary, "air-bath." Then he heard the pipes in the Mercian's lavatory.

He closed his heavy drapes. Then he quietly removed his plug. The Baroness Mercian was on the loo and Marjorie was just slipping into the shower. Both of them were naked. The clear plastic curtains that encircled the tub blurred Marjorie's form.

The Baroness hand still showed signs of swelling and her shoulder was a bit black and blue. While her daughter soaped herself down, the lady squeezed off a piss, looking bored. "The pills helped last night. How about you?"

"A little. Do you think, Sooz is all right?"

Flavia held her bruised hand. "Who cares? Stupid bitch almost killed me." She wiped herself, stood, flushed and walked to the far basin, the one closest to the shower, so as to speak with her daughter better. Her ass swayed marvelously. Tom couldn't resist but to allow his right hand to slide down to his cock.

"Mother, you know it was not her fault. It's the drugs."

"Marjorie, darling, you certainly have a lot to learn about people. And how did she start with the drugs, eh? Fell in with the wrong crowd, I suppose?" She took a sponge from the counter and ran hot water in the basin. "That is every pathetic human being's excuse for not taking responsibility for their own actions." She soaked the sponge, squeezed it and the rest Tom could not see. Her back was to him.

He imagined her giving herself a Continental bath, wetting and then soaping down those marvelous jugs of hers, the ones with the areolas the color of freckles, water and lather dripping down her thighs. Then the soap....the foamy whiteness... his eyes closed picturing the scene. He could still here the water running and the conversation.

"Speaking of responsibility, do you think, Nigel knows about Ling and I?"

"Of course he does. Or haven't you noticed how carefully he has separated you and her all this holiday. Separate cars, rooms far apart, even at the dinner table, Mays is always between you two. He is apparently trying to spare the naïve Scotsman's feelings."

At the mention of his name, Tom's blood ran cold. He dropped his pecker, looked in the hole and listened very closely.

"I suppose so. But I miss her so much."

"Of course you do, darling. Why don't you just relieve yourself in the shower again?"

"May I have a bit of privacy?"

Like she was expecting the request, the Lady took of her kit and simply walked into her room.

Tom's mind raced. "Now it all makes sense. The Baroness wasn't separating for propriety, but to keep Marjorie from saying something stupid or me sussing out the truth. What a fool I have been." Tom ran his memory back and thought about all the little clues, Ling and Marjorie always going off to the loo together, the long hours shopping... and the Baroness had obviously decided that an affair with a merchant banker's daughter was preferable to courting the son of a distiller. Who knows, maybe she was going to put on a sham marriage, with him as the sham?

Then Marjorie furtively stepped out of the shower, moved to the john and lifted up the lid to the flow tank. There she removed a plastic bag. She replaced the lid. Out of the bag she removed a joint, a butane lighter and a chrome dildo. She opened the windows full and then sparked up the joint like an old hand. She took two huge pulls and held the smoke. She released out the window. "Oh, yeah, that's the stuff." Cough. Cough.

Dragging away, free hand, she unscrewed the bottom of the chrome dildo and removed the tube of lubricant. She freed a hand to take another heavy pull. With a practiced hand, she smeared the jelly over the tip of the cylinder. She hid the bag of grass in her kit and re-entered the shower. Even through the screen, Tom could tell what happened.

Puffing away with the left hand, tiny, particular Marjorie began inserting the huge phallus up her rectum. She moaned but still held the roach in her teeth. Her left hand moved to her clit. With her right she pumped the cylinder in and out of her back door, timing its thrusts with her clit massage,

Tom was having a field day. Sweet, sheltered, political, virginal, pain-in-the-ass Marjorie was really sly, lesbian, grass toking, slutty, pain-in-the-ass-and-loving-it Marjorie. Tom recalled his mum saying something wicked about girls' schools before, now he believed her.

Marjorie ran her anal intruder in and out until it no longer became the focus of her attention. "Ling, Ling, Ling,..." she chanted over and over again. Her pale form rested on the tub, stuffing in the smooth metal obelisk as far as she permitted, freeing her hand. Her left hand went to her light breast and pinched her nipple hard. Her right hand massaged her crotch. "Ling, Ling, Ling.", for long minutes, until her tiny body shook. Coincidentally, the girl grunted in her orgasm, just like she was passing a huge shit. Marjorie's face looked to the ceiling and she gave out a cry of love and surrender. "Yesss.... Llllinngng." The last of the joint fell into the tub.

Dildo still inside her, Marjorie turned off the tap. She opened the shower curtain and stood up slowly. She bent over, rested one hand on the tub lip and unsheathed the phallus with the other. "Please let this get me through the day." She prayed.

She carefully washed and placed the items back in the plastic bag and replaced them in their hiding place. She took a deep breath, sighed and opened the door. "All done, mother." She called cheerily and then began her makeup, like nothing had happened.

Tom put back the plug back into the hole; this was a lot to think about. He walked over to his bed and hit his intercom. "Hello. Is Molly available?"

After a moment's pause. "Molly, here sir. Coffee, sir?"

"Yes. Same as last time, if you don't mind."

"It will be a moment, only."

Tom considered asked Molly for another bout. He should have been satisfied after last night. Maybe it was the show Marjorie put on, but he didn't usually go for such things. (A fact Marjorie knew.) Or maybe it was the fresh Irish Sea aires, away from the smokestacks and car exhaust of York. Either way he was feeling quite the goat.

Molly's attire settled the matter for him. She was dressed in hunting tweeds. "No bath today?" Tom asked.

Molly frowned. "I am your gun bearer. I could change or get one of the other girls."

"I think I can manage for one day." Tom smiled.

As he bathed, he inwardly marveled at how comfortable he had grown with Molly in so short a time. He had never been so open with any of his other birds before. There was no games, no "I wonder what she is thinking?" No worries. The relief added to his pleasure in the relationship immeasurably. "Perhaps it is her age."

"Who's age?"

Nigel had entered the lavatory during his reverie.

"Molly's." Tom never kept any secrets from Nigel.

"Ah. Infatuated are we? Hurry up with the tub, will you?"

"Hardly. I'm done." Tom stepped out and opened the drain. "It is just that she is so comfortable. I don't have to think about anything. Not like Marjorie." He took up his barber kit.

Nigel watched the last of the water circle down the drain. "Yes. Marjorie."

"Did you know she was lesbian?"

Nigel turned around abruptly. "I suspected. How long have you known?"

"For a while now. You hoped I would discover it on this trip, didn't you?"

Nigel ran the tap. "Yes. I am sorry, Tom. I thought it wasn't my place to say."

"It's all right." He foamed his chin. "Ha ha. You know, I probably wouldn't have believed it anyway."

"I must confess, I was afraid of just such a thing. You tend to rush to people's defense, Tom."

"Just tell me you wouldn't have let me marry the bitch."

"Heavens no!" Nigel looked appalled. "I would never have permitted that to happen."

Tom held the razor to his throat. "What would have done, have her killed? Ha ha."

Nigel did not reply. Tom turned. "Nigel tell me that you wouldn't have."

"What was that, Tom? I was soaping my hair."

Nigel's hair didn't look lathered. "Nothing. How is Sooz?"

"Oh. Her. Yes. Well she is quite understandably exhausted after her ordeal. I gave her some... what's the term... homeopathic? Medicines we have here and I am having the maids watch over her."

That put Tom's mind to rest. He had heard some of those "New Age" treatments to be quite unorthodox. "Good. I expect it will take some time before a doctor could see her."

"Doctor? I expect her to be with us come dinner."

"But I thought the cure for heroine comes takes weeks."

"The cure is an time worn Bengalii remedy for opium addiction. The recipe says it cures overnight."

"Amazing, why the good it could do...?"

"No. It could never be used for the public. Now if you don't mind, I am quite fagged out."

Come to think of it, his friend did look much paler than normal. "Sure, Nigel."

The expected people were there for breakfast, except Nigel. So Tom gathered a plate of his favorites and brought them to Nigel's room. The young lord was still in the bath. So Tom just set it up on a his table and left him undisturbed.

Back in the breakfast room, Tom helped himself to a hardy breakfast. His experiences in hunting usually meant doing without teatime or lunch. This time he took a seat beside the Baroness and allowed Marjorie to sit next to Ling without complaint.

"How are we feeling today, ladies?" Tom grinned. "All relaxed this morning are we? I am really enjoying the baths here. Must be something in the water because I am emerging from the shower with all my tensions gone. How about you Marjorie?"

Marjorie, quite dim, hadn't gotten the hint, but her mother was warming up to it. "I hear the water is pumped up from an underground lake. The lime deposits are drying my skin." She stroked her hand pitifully, like a kitten with a thorn in its paw.

"You shouldn't be discussing baths with my daughter, young man."

"Sorry Baroness, don't want to be a pain in the ass about bath time do we? Oops? Did I say that? I apologize."

Marjorie flushed. She had finally enough of Tom's jist to worry. The Baroness' looked in Tom's eyes trying to discern where he was going. Tom knew then for a fact that the mother knew nothing of her daughter's anal peccadilloes.

"And how is your hand, Tom? Did Molly take care of you again this morning?" asked Ling.

Tom kicked himself for forgetting Ling. She had all her family's wit and knew all about Marjorie. He played the innocent and dumb country bumpkin and held up his hand. "Right as rain. Aim might be a bit unsteady though. Don't want to hurt anything I don't mean too."

"We've had enough of that already. The consequences could be grave for Nigel." Ling's vision dropped to her food.

Stephen watched the double entendre' volley back and forth. Marjorie simply buried herself in her meal and pretended like it didn't involve her.

"No one wants that. Guess I'll try to stay out of everyone's way. Of course, that means you better steer wide of me as well."

"Sounds amenable."

The Baroness was just about to demand to know what the thinly veiled threats were all about when Nigel entered the room with an empty plate.

"Thank you for the plate, Tom. You shouldn't have bothered." He placed the dross on the removal tray. Tom noticed the maid standing by stiffen.

"Nonsense. You are my friend. Friends look after each other." He resisted the temptation to throw a mean look at Ling.

"It did save me time." I hope everyone has eaten. It is important to get going before the mist rises. It helps us get close to the herd much more easily.

The black Land Rover was back. The party drove to where the horses and gun bearers awaited them. They rode through mist so thick, they often lost track of each other, despite Warden's admonitions. Then they dismounted for the final stalk.

They hiked better than three kilometers and Stephen was feeling it. Tom could hear him grunt with pain and wheeze for every breath. The big man tried to hide the fact he had self-administered two doses of his inhaler already.

The party came to the base of low, long hill and Warden checked their weapons one by one. He whispered so Tom estimated that the deer were close. "Right. The herd should be right on the other side of this rise. You each have two bullets only. We shoot only bucks. Squire Stephen, the Young Lord says you have the honors. Before you shoot, you must indicate to the second shooter, that would Master Tom, which buck you be aiming at. Master Tom, if he fails to put the buck down, you have the next shot. The rest of you, once Squire Caw fires, the herd will take off running. You have that much time to fell you own bucks. Got it, only bucks? Two per deer, just like these two men, got it?"

Indeed they had, it had all been explained ad nauseum yesterday. The party crept up to the rise. Warder was quite correct. There was a hold herd of Red Deer, only about a half a football field away. Stephen tapped Tom and pointed to a proud buck with antlers like an oak in winter. He was away from the herd, on lookout. The people were downwind (one of the reasons the walk was so long) but he must have heard something. The ground mist was working in their favor. Tom whispered. "Got it." With deer, movement was worse than a whisper.

Both he and Stephen shouldered the weapons. Tom noted the mists behind the deer, closer to the sea it was thicker. If the herd ran, they would be completely hidden from view after only a few seconds.

"Here we go." Stephen whispered. Tom sighted and tensed. The angle was not the best. Then Stephen's gun reported. The buck fell.

Other rifles cracked. Stephen looked up from his scope to see if any other deer had been struck and that was a mistake. Stephen's buck got to his feet. Tom checked his rifle, but the stock slipped on his gauss wrap when he resighted and his shot had no effect. The buck sprung into the mist and Stephen wailed.

"Sorry, Stephen, this blasted hand..."

Suddenly, Nigel was standing above him. "Come on."

"What?"

"Come on. We can't let him suffer. We've got to run him down now." Nigel zipped of his heavy coat and dropped all his equipment except radio and canteen. "Hurry up, Tom, the trail is fading."

Tom stood and stripped. Without a word Nigel loped off into the west and his friend followed him.

The blood trail was obvious but the mist was so thick both men knew they could almost be on top of the stag before they saw him.

"Come on." Nigel pointed to the spread blood. "He hears us. Keep him running. The harder he runs the more he bleeds."

Tom and Nigel were both school ruggers but the stag had them running until each breath felt like burning glass in the lungs. His blood pounded in his ears so hard that he did not hear the horse until a woman yelled. "Hello, there."

It was the Baroness with two horses in tow. Tom and Nigel hopped on the mounts gratefully. The pursuit was not more careful, but less strenuous.

"What happened to Warden?" Nigel talked like he expected a horse.

"He said he had to show everyone back. He said the deer bled enough that even I could follow his trail."

In the end, they found the King of the Herd, prone, near dead from exsanguinations.

Nigel looked very sad. "Sorry, old fellah. Tom, you had honors."

Indeed he had. It was Tom who had allowed this fine beast to suffer; now he was responsible for ending its pain. If he had a knife he would have used it. Instead he shouldered his weapon and gave the king as neat a hole in his heart as he could make. The stag bounced once with the impact and then lay still. "Sad. What a cock up I made." Tom looked up. The Baroness looked at him strangely.

"It is a hunt. Things happen."

Nigel rode his horse closer. The gelding was skittish from the smell of blood. He dismounted. "What a fine buck!" he held up the head. The beast rack was as easily a meter and half wide.

Tom and Fluvial dismounted and examined the huge dear. Stephen had shot it clean in the femoral artery, but missed the lung.

"Look you grazed the neck. It was bleeding from two places." The Baroness pointed. "One more centimeter to the right and you would have shattered his neck."

Nigel wiped his hands on the grass. "Don't worry, Tom, the meat is much better when the deer is bled out like this. Can't butcher him now so we will have to carry him back. Tom, you have the Morgan, take off your saddle. Baroness, you have the next biggest horse, so you and Tom will have to double up. I will carry the guns and extra saddle. We'll follow the coast to Nine Yews."

The buck was not easy to get onto the Morgan. But Tom knew a trick or two and eventually, it was done. The Baroness insisted on the reigns for the ride back. "I have seen you ride." was all the argument she proffered.

Tom enjoyed the ride back, holding on to the Baroness's waist with devilish glee. He shared more than one wry grim with Nigel. The Baroness remained more haughty than usual. When Nigel said they were close to Nine Yews, the Baroness reigned up.

"Off!"

"What?"

"I said off. I am not galloping up to the manor with you at my back, grinning like an idiot. Off!"

"Very well, Baroness." Tom slid off and took the Morgan's reins from Nigel. The three walked the rest of the way, giving the ponies a good warm down.

They were met by almost the entire household. Everyone preened over the buck. Tom spied Molly admiring him with a fierce pride. Tom blushed to see it. But the person Tom expected to be happiest was the most downcast, Stephen.

The rotund young man held the buck's antlers and almost seemed ready to weep.

Snapshots aplenty of the event were taken and then they made to retire to the manor, leaving Warden to properly butcher the animal before its offal and blood congealed and poisoned the venison.

"Wait!" Nigel shouted. " Tom, I know this isn't your first deer. But is your first red deer. Properly, the highest ranking woman here should bloody both you and Stephen's cheeks."

The Baroness removed the cheap handkerchief she had ready in her pocket. She daubed the cotton in stag's thigh wound and placed a swipe on Stephen's cheeks. Then she applied more blood from the heart and approached Tom. Her green eyes blazed at him angrily, her met her gaze, fire for fire. Two quick swipes and it was done.

"Now that is overwith, I could go for a brandy and a hot bath. Guests?"

The visitors walked to Nine Yews, except Stephen. He walked with Warden, the horse and the dead stag.

Molly showed Tom up to his room. She was still in her hunting twills. As soon as his bedroom door closed behind them, she was on him. She embraced him hard and plunged her tongue down his throat. She took a break. "Iwadd. Did you really do that, kill the stag?" Then she lapped off the blood from his cheeks.

"Yes, I did, but I ..."

She undid hid belt. "No talking. I need it now, Tom. Come on, give it me." She threw his pants down.

"What."

"Now! Fuck me, now. I am so hot for you." She struggled with her own buckles and trousers. Tom watched stupidly as the woman slipped from her pants sleeves and bent herself over the foot of the bed. "Do me, Tom."

"But we're only half dressed. The condom..." He stared at her full cheeks with her tweed herring bone coat tipping over it. He could pull out at the last minute...

She flung off her cap and threw her full brown hair loose "Canna wait. Do it! Do it now or loose me!" and braced herself.

That tore it. He couldn't have that. Tom mounted her. Then she began her chant.

"Fuck me harder, Tom Mays." She cocked her head back. Tom obeyed her words and his urge. "Fuck me my mighty hunter." He felt himself growing harder and longer than he ever had before. "Fuck me my stag. Fuck me hard!" Tom slid in and out like a steam engine piston. He retreated until he was almost out then slammed back in. "Oh yes, fuck me hard, my big stag of the woods! Do me!" Molly's chanting was really doing it for the young Scotsman. He felt his blood boil. He pumped her with more fury. "Fuck me my hunter! Hun-ter! Hun-ter!" Tom lost all his sense; he was completely lost in the rut. He felt like and animal and he loved it. There was nothing in the world but this female beneath him and the life pumping thorough his veins. "The stag and hunter are one."

"Yes! Yes! The stag and I are one! Onnnneeeeeaugghhhh!" he arched his back. Molly convulsed beneath him. The two clutched onto each other to prevent from being shaken loose. Tom bent over Molly, tiny orgasmic aftershock rippling though their flesh.

The sex for Tom, and what he shouted to the world was a blur, but he was sure that what just happened was the best fuck of his young life. "Och. That was good, Molly."

"Good? That was the best. I have never met such a sympathetic fellow, Tom Mays. No wonder the young master likes you."

"Sympathetic? Thanks, I think."

"I hate to dash, but it is my turn to set table." She stood and then wobbled. Tom caught her. "Perhaps, I will just rest a bit." He sat her on the bed. Molly sat there, half dressed in herringbone, oozing Tom's seed.

Tom hit the intercom. "Hello in the kitchen."

"Kitchen. Colleen here, sir."

"Colleen. I need Molly to drain some puss from my wound. Could you do without her for a moment?"

"Yes, sir. You just take care of yourself."

Tom got brainwave. "Please send up hot water and fresh gauze. I have antibiotic."

"Right away, sir."

He sat next to Molly. She caressed his cheek. "You are such a dear. I'll have to fix something special for you." She looked down at his glistening cock and her eyes lost focus. "Something special..." she knelt, cupped his penis, like it was the holy grail and swallowed it.

He ran his hands through her silky hair and the spell came upon him again. It wasn't oral sex. It was a tribute. To the hunter, the provider, the male. It was his due, his due, his dew.... He awoke naked, atop the covers. There was a basin of water and a roll of fresh gauze on his bed stand. The water was no longer hot.

Tom though he couldn't be surprised more, and dinner proved him wrong. There was Sooze all dressed in a pink silk gown and pearls, her butternut-blonde hair restored to the glory of her youth. Her skin looked better, less used. It practically glowed. The gown had no sleeves, yet there were not needle marks. The crest of the gown showed off an admirable amount of cleavage. Not even red scars of her piercings remained. Most astonishingly, she smiled. Her teeth were pearly white, not stained with tobacco. "Hello, Tom!"

"Sooz?"

"Susan, now. Yes. It is I, I assure you." She waved her hand over the table and made a light, fluttering laugh that oozed feminity. "I have had to assure everyone tonight." Indeed, the other visitors were stunned.

"Dear Nigel's herbal medicines had quite done the trick." She bowed her head demurely. "I hope you... I hope everyone forgives my beastly behavior."

"Of..of..Of course, Sooz-san, Susan."

"I mean to re-invent myself."

"Good for you. A toast. To the new Susan!" Nigel raised his goblet of wine. Stephen only had water.

The appetizer was delicious the marinated tongue of venison was exquisite. Then the first course of sweetmeats was served. The women received the liver. Stephen received what appeared to be sliced heart. But he took no joy in it. Tom ate slices of what he assumed to be slices of throat, the next prime cut after the heart and shoulder. The shoulder was, of course, given to the host. Molly was strangely insistent that Tom eat every bite. She need not have bothered. After a full day's hunt and that bout of sex he was famished. The entrée steaks were superb, not bloody at all. The party was advised that they would have venison for one more day; the rest was to be smoked.

"Stephen. Warden assures me that he'll have the antlers and hide cured before you leave."

"Would you excuse me?" Stephen left the table.

"What is the poor dear so upset about?" Susan asked.

"He's been sulking since he missed killing that poor stag." She turned to Nigel. I thought you said that he was good shot."

Nigel simply wiped his lips with a napkin and tapped Tom on his way out. The two men caught up with Stephen Caw in the game room.

"The place where he feels most confident." Nigel muttered.

Stephen was already halfway though a tumbler of scotch. Tom sat on one side and Nigel the other. "That's my best sipping scotch. If you just want to get drunk, maybe you should have some Mays."

"Hey!" Tom knew it was a lie. At forty pounds a liter, his family's scotch was definitely not for tossing.

"I'm worthless."

"Excuse me, Stephen?"

"Look, Nigel. I appreciate all you are trying to do for me. I really do. But it's all no good. I've got bad joints; asthma and my doctor told me last month I am on the short road to type two diabetes. I likely as not end up blind with no legs."

"Diabetes? Then you certainly should not have that." Nigel pulled the glass away from the beaten man. Tom reflected on how Stephen hadn't touched a drop and how he had missed it. Good old "Stevie" used to be the best aleman in the whole school.

"My mother said this trip would do me good." The big man look up with teary eyes. "I always loved the woods, you know. My grandma had this place in South Wales, lots of woods, no one calling me 'piggy' or 'wheezy.' Turns out I can't even bag a deer. Easy shot it was too. If only I could carry the bigger gun. And once I cock it up, I can't chase it."

His tale of woe went on for hours. In the end, poor, depressed Stephen sloughed off to bed. The re-headed maid escorting him, having strict instructions to remove all liquor from his room when he was washing up.

Nigel and Tom found the rest of their group in the parlor, playing bridge. Ling performed Gershwin on the mahogany Steinway while waiting out her dummy. The two men politely informed everyone that Stephen wasn't feeling well and diplomatically explained why.

"What can I do to help?" Susan's brow furrowed and her lip pouted in Christian concern.

"You? Nothing for the moment." Nigel paused and Tom sensed his friend came to a decision. "A good night's rest will do him a world of good. He may need some cheering up in the morning, though. I think it would be best for him to have some time alone, to think it through."

"If you think that is best, Nigel." Susan seemed mollified but not unconcerned.

Nigel and Tom joined in the bridge game became a one with rotating pairs. Fortunately for Tom, Nigel, Susan and Ling, the Baroness' seemed to be off her game. She overbid her hands and couldn't seem to remember the previous bids. This frustrated Marjorie no end. She had trouble keeping bids in her head at the best of times. It was Ling who ended Marjorie's agony.

"I think it's time for me to retire. It has been a memorable day, Nigel. What do you have planned for tomorrow?'

"Tomorrow there is a very low tide. I was thinking about a look about the sea caves."

Ling did not seem impressed. "Very well, good night everyone."

Minutes later, Marjorie called it an evening. Tom and Nigel shared looks over their cards that were not bridge related. Susan was happy to fill in for Marjorie; she was out of practice and did enjoy the game before her "illness."

The game was good only in that Nigel and Tom were able to defeat a woman who should have beaten them both with one hand tied behind her back. To Tom, it seemed like she was furious about something. When the game ended the Baroness immediately checked her watch.

"Time for me to retire." She announced curtly. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood to leave.

"I am so sorry I did not play better." Susan pouted.

Suddenly, the Baroness bent and held the girl by her chin. "Don't be sorry, dear. You did you best. Everything you need to be ashamed about is in the past." Then she spun on her heel and left.

Still stunned, Susan was the first to form words. "I don't remember her being like that." Susan stood.

"No one does. Considering how early we rose it is time to retire."

Nigel and Tom watched Susan leave the room ahead of them. On the way to the stairs, the blonde maid presented Tom with a note on silver tray. Tom took the small envelope. The maid curtsied and retreated. Tom opened the note on the way up the stairs.

"Oh no."

"What does it say?"

"It's from Molly. It says as punishment for missing table setting, she is to have night duty. She will be in the kitchen all night."

"Ha HA HAHAHAHA! Nigel laughed so loud he almost fell down the stairs.

"What's so funny?" Tom frowned. Sure it mean no sex, but it was hardly worth the bellicose show Nigel was putting on.

"I'll tell you when we get upstairs."

To say that Tom was eaten up with curiosity would be putting it mildly. He was in process of giving his teeth the best brushing of their lifetime when Nigel finally entered the shared lavatory. "So what's all this?" Tom muttered though the paste.

His friend grinned wickedly. "You remember the sweetmeats course? What did you eat?"

"Throat? Sweetmeat?" Tom had eaten the organs before.

Nigel shook his head. "You ate the buck's sliced penis and testicles."

Tom was stunned. He had heard about such things before, usually with bull or ram balls but he never dared eat any. "No."

"Yes." Nigel nodded and his grin went to both ears. "It supposed to convey virility. Molly is going to be sorry she missed you tonight, after all the trouble she went to prepare your meal. Steward must be really upset with her."

Tom entered his room and went straight for the bar. He poured himself a neat dram of scotch and sipped it between his teeth, to remove the phantom taste of the stag's penis. After two or three doses he began to realize how foolishly he had behaved. There he was eating stag cock and Molly, and the rest of the servants no doubt, looking on. "Virility indeed." He was well acquainted with hunting folklore. "Serves her right to miss out." Then noticed the water running in Mercian's bath.

He nonchalantly walked over to his peepholes and removed the plug. It was the Baroness. Her long, full red hair was done up with clips and she was wrapped in a towel. From the stream, the water had just gotten warm. She felt the water with a bent foot and undid her towel.

Tom took a sudden intake of breath. The Venus figure before him was quite stunning, as gorgeous as anything he'd seen in the British Museum. Her breasts hung down like heavy teardrops and her ass was their mirror image. Her waist was narrow and Tom could even make out some muscles beneath her rib cage. Her rosy-yet-pale skin set Tom to licking his lips. He finished his drink and quickly put the glass down. His left hand went to his already sturdy member. He kept a firm grip on it. When the lady entered the bath he gave it a squeeze.

She felt the water from the faucet, adjusted the levers and then went to the curtain.

"Do not close it all the way." Tom uttered hopefully.

To his delight, the Baroness did just that. She closed the curtain, mindlessly, carelessly, leaving a large part open to Tom's view. Then she pulled on the knob that redirected the flow to the showerhead. She relished the warm water hitting her face. Then she picked up the bar of soap and stroked it all over her figure. She rotated slowly, giving Tom a full view of her lathering form. He slid his hand up and down his eager cock. "Drop the soap."

When the baroness dropped the soap, she bent at her waist, displaying her cheeky virtues to Tom. He could see her mounds and henna bush under the curve of her behind. He squeezed his penis and uttered a low moan.

Suddenly, the Baroness turned. Tom instinctively ducked. Then he slowly returned to his point of advantage, ready to replace the plug in a second. But the Baroness was at her ease.

"Steady on, Flavia old girl, this is an old building with old pipes." She reassured herself.

An odd sensation came over Tom. He felt light headed. "Talk more. Confess your thoughts."

"But it did sound a bit like him, didn't it?" she continued her scrub, this time with an American style washcloth. "Oh but the ride back, with him hugging you all the way, that wasn't bad was it? " The Baroness began an odd dialogue with herself. "No it was the dinner table. Damn it all, why does he have to be so handsome, so... so... infuriatingly... strong?"

The shower had one of those detachable heads with a handle. The Lady diminished the force of the flow and poured it over herself. "And then at the bridge game... he was so close... I could feel his heat and the scent of his sweat was still on him..." The showered head rinsed her arsehole and then she brought it to her cunt. "Oh that feel's good. Maybe what is good for one goose is good for another. I shouldn't. Marjorie won't be back for hours, no one will ever know."

The Baroness replaced the showerhead, then tiptoed to her door and threw the wooden privacy bolt. Then she returned to the shower. She returned the head to the place between her thighs, twisted it to "pulse" and then increase the water flow. "Oh yes. That is the way." She sucked in her breath at the staccato jets of water punched her pussy.

Tom resumed the stroking of his monster and whispered, "Think of me."

Her free hand tickled one nipple while the forearm rubbed the other. "Oh no. I just can't. Sure your can, just think of him, you know it will be easier if you do. It would be just a fantasy. Sure, women our age fantasize about young stallions all the time. Why should the men have all the fun? Mmmmmmmm." She really focused on her pussy then. "Tom, that's right Tom, so good.'"

When she started calling his name, Tom stroked faster. 'Flavia." He whispered. His mouth went slack.

She jettisoned the showerhead and plunged three whole fingers into her demanding snatch. "Oh Tom. Tom! TOM!" Oh yes, fuck me Tommy."

His pumps coincided with hers. The rhythm was terrific. The pace quickened and quickened, each person galloping to the inevitable sweet release. Suddenly, the Baroness went still, then convulsed. At the same time Tom shot his wad practically clear across the room.

"Oh that was good." Flavia was the first to recover. She was done and so was Tom. He replaced the plug and gathered up his stain with tissues. The tissues he tossed on his fire and then he threw another long on. He marveled that he was still wishing Molly were there. He looked down at his flaccid John Thomas. "Looks like there may be something to that folklore after all, eh, lad? Still, that will have to do for now. Time for bed."

Nigel's little suggestion must have plunged deep into Tom's mind. That night he slept well and fitfully, the most erotic dreams of his life. He dreamed his dick was feverish and his balls ached. Tossing and turning, he awoke in a sweat, mouth dry with thirst. He looked at the clock. "Damn. It's not even midnight." He felt like it should have been later.

He pulled his blankets aside and now reflexively slipped on his moccasins. He grabbed a glass from his wall bar and went for his kit. He removed two aspirin and popped them in his mouth. He immediately followed them with a glass of water."

"Damn that taste's good." Tom consumed three more full glasses of water, taking them all in huge gulps. Feeling a bit more normal he took stock of himself. "No use trying to sleep." He felt full of energy. He thought about things he could do. He could go for a walk. "I could check on Stephen." he justified.

He slipped on his robe, threw two logs on the fire and turned on the gas, and then he turned off his lights. He removed the iron magnet from its hiding place and entered the Mercian's lavatory. Out of curiosity he checked the flow tank.

Marjorie's bag of goodies was gone. Tom worried that she, had discerned all her knew removed it entirely. So he moved to check her kit, but that was gone too. "Must be sleeping with Ling." He speculated.

His imagination played with the image of she and Ling entwining, ash-blonde vs. black hair. His prick twitched, like it always did when he had a randy thought. It was like its was reminding him of its presence, like a neglected friend giving him a ring. "Probably asleep." But really it was the thought of his depressed friend that kept him moving forward.

As he looked for the expected spy hole to the Mercian's room he reflected on all the words of despair Stephen poured forth only hours earlier. The young man saw nothing ahead in his life except pain. His concern grew; he realized that suicide was not out of the question. "Hello." A rhombus of decorative blue glass tile concealed the peephole. As he removed the tile, a wooden plug came with it. It looked like the heart of rosette. He looked in. The room was dark, again the drapes were closed and the fire was banked, giving out only a dim light. But this hole was positioned well in relation to the beds. He could see Marjorie's was empty and a lump in the Baroness' Better still, Tom could make out only one white cap was on its chemist's vial, Marjorie's vial.

He replaced the stained glass tile and went to work opening the door to the Mercian's bedroom. "These moccasins really did the trick." Tom stalked across the room and banged his foot into the leg of an oak chair. "Ow!" He led his breath. Fortunately, the Baroness did not awaken, but Tom decided that it was one thing for a girl who had spent years in the house, like Molly, to creep across floors in the dark, and quite another for a visitor like him. He decided to invest some time.

Carefully, this time, he turned towards the fireplace. Hands in front, he felt his way towards the glow. He walked around an armoire and then stood before the iron backed hearth. He carefully moved the wire screen aside. The log on top also happened to be the largest. Still, he was a fit young man and he placed it on the coals easily enough. He replaced the screen and turned on the gas. It ignited with a soft whoosh! "I guess I could check for singes while I wait for the log to catch." He thought. As he checked the hem of his garment for singes he turned around.

The Baroness lay on her back, her hair flowed out above her on the pillow. Her arm bent akimbo behind her and rested on the bed of her hair. She breathed in and out like a child her chest softly rising and falling. An odd compunction gripped Tom. He walked up to the edge of her bed and looked down on the beauty. He could see what her husband saw in her. Baronet Mercian was rich beyond the dreams of avarice, he could have had any woman and he chose her. She was stunning. He bet she was a volcano in bed. Tom wanted her, not love, not lust, not infatuation, want.

The man's member filled with blood. Tom used the moment to whisper things to her he would never say in public. "Poor Baroness. You daughter is a harlot. But she's getting what you haven't gotten in years. Even Tom knows the stories." Tom held his dick, as a rude gesture. "You want this, don't you? You want it so bad, you burn for it. You will do anything for it, including seducing a young buck half your age."

The Baroness squirmed languidly beneath Tom. "Can't you just taste him?" She wet her lips. "You want him. You want that young, hard Tom Mays so bad it hurts. You dream about mounting, him taking him the way a woman takes a man. " The Baroness' movements under the covers quickened, her breath grew more labored. "There is you, Tom and a girl... naked... drunk... sweating... panting... laughing... fucking." The lady's thrashing were quite vigorous now, her legs kicked away the bonds of the covers and her hands touched long neglected parts of her womanhood, caressing them, awakening them from their dormancy. "You will do it. You need, ache for it. You will do it tonight. Marjorie won't be back until morning. But rest for now. You took one too many pills give the poison time to work it way out of your system. Rest...rest...rest..." The lady's' movements slowed and Tom's hands moved the blankets back, covering her from the cold.

Tom stopped staring at the beautiful woman. "I guess I could check for singes while I wait for the log to catch." He thought. But one look at the hearth revealed that the large log was well along. "That was quick." He turned off the gas. With the room better lit, Tom gilded across the room to the lavatory adjoining Stephen's room. He shut the door behind him and again searched for the spy hole. He found this one behind a glass painting of Alpine waterfall.

Before he opened a hole in the wall, he though to listen at the door." Getting quite the old hand at this, Tom, me lad." He mused. Feeling quite like James Bond (Connery, of course)." He heard voices on the other side. He closed the room off from moonlight and then opened the spy whole's plug.

It was almost a repeat of the scene from last night. Nigel was reading prayers from an oversized leather bound book. Beside him stood Warden, stripped to the waist and wearing the leather apron. Next to Nigel, stirring the pot in the fireplace stood Molly. The hole provided a better view of the participants but none of the bed.

Tom thought her heard some groans from Stephen and then he heard a voice. "He is quite feverish!" It was a girl's voice, one he didn't recognize.

"Keep his head cool with a damp cloth." Warden instructed the mystery woman "It is to be expected." He turned to Molly. "He'll need lots of water tomorrow. See to it, personally." Molly nodded.

Nigel reached the end of his reading. "Now." He handed the book to Warden.

Molly ladled a bit of the soup up from the pot, poured it into a red glass goblet and handed it to Nigel. It looked like tomato soup to Tom. The young lord held it in both hands and walked towards the bed. "Hold his nose. He'll open his mouth then."

Nigel went out of view and Tom heard gurgling. He had seen enough. Now things were most queer. Tom replaced the painting and crossed the room. He entered the Mercian's room. The Baroness was sound asleep. Thanks to the light of the fire, he reentered his room without incident. He felt thirsty again, but not for water. This time he poured himself whiskey and ginger ale, a stiff one. The warmth went all the way to his belly. "Nigel's family were quite the witchdoctors, who new? Oh sure there were a few practitioners of the old ways in his remote home, but no one put any stock in them. Still one couldn't argue with results. Just look at Sooz...Susan."

He walked to his bed and brought the glass with him. He paused to toss another long on the fire. He wished Molly were here and not helping Stephen and then cursed himself for his selfishness. After a quick scan of the books in the wall by his stand, he selected The Arabian Nights. It looked like a more scholarly version of the colour book he enjoyed as a lad. He turned on his reading light, propped up his pillows, freshened his drink and then plopped into bed. "This book is racier than I remembered." were his last words before dozing off.