The morning was cold and lonely. It was also peaceful. I had time to reflect and do things at my own pace. I showered alone and drove to school. Which lifestyle did I prefer? The morning was foggy. I was greeted in the lot by a couple of beautiful, horny girls with their parents, each begging me to read their essay first. Mister Foss slipped me two ten pounds notes as he shook my hand, so his daughter won.

I perused it as I got myself a coffee. It was a sordid little tale of a girl who sucks on her teacher under his desk while he teaches class. Then she takes him to her father's pub where her sexy sister takes him upstairs.

Becky was there, under my desk, waiting for me. I did not let her unzip my pants and suck me. I simply asked her to take her chair. In her story no one knew. In reality, how could the girls not notice? She was publicly humiliated. It was all rather dirty and tedious.

During lunch, Rosa simply pushed me down on the sofa and took me. It was my show, so I waved off the indignant Amy and Violet and had at her. Her tits were fabulous and huge, shaped like two heavy teardrops. She had undone her hair and let it fall in glistening obsidian curls. She had one of those bodies that should have been a statue, all round and fleshy.

She matter-of-factly took my head between her thumb and forefinger and inserted it. I was clearly there to give her pleasure. I gave her the reigns, sat back and enjoyed it. She ran her fingers though my hair and tugged at it as she levered her hips up and down. "Oh yeah...so big." Then I noticed a blush emanating from her pussy. Blood filled the capillaries of her skin. I watched the sanguine tide surge upwards. In time with her flush, she pulled off her dress and deftly tossed aside her brassier. Her heavy pink tits turned rouge-red. She lifted one to her lips and blew on it. "I am so hot." She was speaking in pure Italian. She WAS hot. I could actually feel the heat of her body. Her pussy was like a molten chaldera.

Onward she rocked, taking me at her pace. Her nails scraped my chest. I caught her hair and pulled it back, baring her neck. She never stopped rocking. Finally, she grabbed a handful of pectoral and squeezed hard. The pain was sweet. She came with a low moan, shook and swayed. She wasn't done with me yet. In Italian she urged me on. She called me her stallion and her fire. She bent over double to bit me chest and that was it for me. I shot my load. Her pussy squeezed the shaft, milking me. She hissed like a hot iron in water. "Yesssssss."

Still wrapping me, she tossed her hair to one side and rested her cheek on my chest. I asked her about her husband. (I did not know I could speak Italian.)

"He is a poet; a very sensitive lover. But all these women, my sisters, were quite correct. You are hot. A woman has only so many years, eh?" Then she graced me with a smile with that fleshy mouth or hers. "A woman must eat all the happiness she can." Her teeth were pearls. I moved to speak but she placed on finger over my lips. "Shhh. He must never know. It would destroy him." I agreed.

In the afternoon, Becky invited me to her father's pub. But I had had enough. Beryl had a football game and I sought some normalcy. I turned off my cell phone.

When I arrived at the game, the team seemed distracted. They stared at me like I had done something wrong. I reflected. All my writing had been dedicated to the school. All the girls were attending the local university or worked. Beryl was the only "idle" one.

I had altered history for the better it seemed. Before, Molly had been retained two years. Now Molly played a darned good striker and attended beauty school. Amanda Shamus' good looking older sister, Colleen, now played on the team and her mother, a shut-in before, drove the team van. But I couldn't figure how I had effected her or her ugly mother so directly.

Beryl's team played with unmatched fervor that night. The girls really outdid themselves finishing at five to naught. I was very proud of my sister, one goal, two assists and team captain to boot. I hugged her and let her zoom off with her mates.

I stood there and literally sighed, relieved that the book didn't ruin everything. I thought I could be normal. I felt great. Ready for the world, I checked my phone. I had a voice mail from Mister Woo. His nieces had been in town for two days. They had just gotten over jet lag and would I meet them for dinner tomorrow?

I called Woo and promised I would attend. Then I drove to Foss' pub. I had twenty pounds worth of pints to imbibe. The pub was dark, smoky and most decidedly didn't have a friendly aire to it. It had the feel of the place where hard men go to get drunk. I considered using the book for practical things, like making me a better darts and snooker player.

Mister Foss was less than hostile to me even if I had scorned his daughter. His other daughter, the barkeep, might have been a sexy thing, at one time. I could see the remnants of a pretty face, dark hair and a body that was meant for sin. But the cheap old bastard was running her ragged. There had to be forty to seventy men in the place but she and Becky were the only barmaids. They were good. But it did not look like they were having fun.

Now I've been in enough pubs to know the breezy sort of maid who enjoys a big crowd. Becky and her sister, Jessie, were not that sort. Check that: Jessie could have been that sort if her father had some sense. If their old man hired one more pair of hands, or even got off his fat ass himself, things would have been easy. I felt guilty that Mr. Foss made me one more special duty of Jessie's. She had far more than enough to do already.

I stood at the bar and the two of us, Jessie and I, got to talking. Without the sweaty brow and circles under her eyes and with a nicer outfit, she would have been very pretty. Now she seemed worn down and wild, like a once-beautiful garden that had not been kept up. Her breath was foul. I wished she could have been more interesting before the table of dockworkers bellowing for ale.

For fun. I read her fantasy. It was very ordinary and endearing. She was on a sunny Mediterranean beach. She was blonde, stacked, young and tan. All the boys were paying attention to her in her bikini.

Then Lord Mayor Caw arrived and sauntered over to me. Foss stopped playing the big shot for a table of the horsy set and joined us.

Caw was in rare form. "Carfax, old boy, happy to hear about your family's good fortune. Out of debt are we? Hard on the market, though, eh?"

"How did you know?"

"It's all the news." A shot of scotch slid in front of me and the jowled, spotted, old man drew close. I could smell his ashtray breath. "I suppose it will be a mess now."

"What?"

"Why the lawsuit, of course. No need to protest, old son. Eminent domain, in the "public good" and all that. Townships are taking over estates left and right. And the powers that be favor such things." He put his finger to the side of his nose. It was true. Caw owned the magistrates and the Party. He would win.

I looked around the pub. Foss would clean up from the tourist trade and who knew how many of these men were in the construction business? Public good? Bullox, I say. He was going to keep just enough as public space and sell the rest to himself as a fraction of the price. Our ancestral home would have strangers walking through it or sold off as scrap to gentry renovating their London flats. I know I sound snobbish, but it was my home. I would not do it to your home.

Everyone was pretending not to eavesdrop on our conversation. It occurred to me that Foss wasn't concerned about his daughters at all! He was just a front man for Caw. He knew I would, out of courtesy, spend the twenty pounds in his pub. I had been set up like a pin.

The rich, fat old bastard continued on, like he was doing me a favor. "Court would just mean disaster and expense. Some arrangement perhaps? Market value plus ten percent...no twenty! Because your family have been in the area for so long. Courts would just eat everything up. And, confidentially, you and I know big houses an enormous drain on any pocketbook. You could use the capital to see your family back on the way to sustained prosperity. See my point?"

"Been in the area!" I fumed internally. We Carfaxes had been the lords here since the eleventh century.

He waited for an explosion, but I defied his expectations. My Cornish ancestry wanted me to beat him bloody. But him filing charges on me would only serve his ends. I summoned up all the British reserve I could. "I see your point. You cannot buy up Carfax Manor for debts anymore. Marjorie and Heath have broken off communication with you (his wide eyes told me I guessed rightly) so you will use me and the courts."

He would try Beryl next unless I checked him now. "I want to thank your for your compliment, we Carfaxes have been in the area a long time. We sponsored the building of the church your daughter will be married in, the original dredging of the harbour, the sea wall and the first paving of the town's streets. What was your father again?"

Caw's fist squeezed his pint. "That's right, he was a tenant farmer of ours." I leaned next to his ear for a hoarse whisper. "I see your point very well, you old bastard. I'll be dead and the manor burned to the ground before I see you set one foot inside. I will have you all, Caw. I will have your land and your name and when the dust settles Caws will be tenants on Carfax land again and grateful for the boon."

I leaned back, turned over the scotch on the bar, put on my cap and made to storm out. But the Cornishman in me demanded a loud word. "And one more thing! I wasn't our rents that drove your father to the bottle!" Then I turned on my heel and left.

I drove home in a rage. I concluded it wasn't the book but people that were to blame, stupid, greedy people. It wouldn't matter if I killed Caw. It wouldn't matter if I had Foss's daughters as personal whores. I saw the looks in the pub, there would always be some petty little shit to take their place; someone who could not stand the idea of someone being prosperous or magnanimous or great. It wasn't any one man, it was the town. It was the world.

People couldn't stand to have one noble thing exist in the world. It reminded them of how small they were. They sought to drag every good thing through the mud. The scholars at Oxford; so jealous of my talent! The people in school; jealous of my degrees! And the petty townsfolk; so jealous of my name and home!

The hard truth was that any of them could have been nobles. But their ancestors weren't as strong, ambitious or clever as mine. Sure we let land but we also paid the taxes, defended it and built improvements, loaned money and kept the peace. Now the dogs came nipping at the bear. I exploded. The bile of ages rose from my gut. "Bloody peasants!"

My cottage was cold. I started a fire. That and my writing lamps were my only sources of light. I opened the book to a new page. Nothing was written in it, no new demand. I should have seen it for a warning. Still in my coat, I took up the pen. I struck back at the townsmen in the most hurtful way I knew how. Murder was easy. I would steal what they loved most, their homes. Why not? They were trying to steal mine.

Things have not been the same in Caym-by-the-Sea, since George Carfax returned . All the women can recall the moment they first saw the sexy beast. At first, the talk started as a quiet rumble, "Who would he be a good match for?" Of course, they imagined him as their boyfriend. Then, little by little, they dwelled more and more on Carfax and themselves instead of fixing him up with others. They occasionally did a little harmless fantasizing that it was George Carfax, not their husbands and lovers, when they were having sex. What they didn't expect was their potent reaction to the idea. The sex always turned out hotter and the orgasms easier to achieve when it was George Carfax in their minds.

George, they decided, had "it." That rare charisma some men just have. No one could put their finger on it. But they did want to put their hands all over it.

It was nothing they could never control. Realistically, they knew they would still love their husbands and lovers, too. They just practically licked their chops, imagining the sumptuous, hot sex George would deliver. They were embarrassed, at first.

Then, as all the women began to realize their friends felt the same, they opened up a bit. It turned out that all of them were having sexual fantasies about the man. Then someone, no one is quite sure who, talked about having his children. A collective shiver of womb-ache rippled through the town. Each women was sure, dead sure, that this Carfax's children would be the most beautiful, fittest children ever conceived in England.

At first, they all dismissed it as fancy. But as time wore on, their confidence in their intuition only grew. George Carfax would sire fantastic children. At first they simply laughed it off, denying the possibility that their hearts rang true.

Then someone, all in fun remarked, "It's too bad they have the right of first night around anymore." That killed the laughter. They were blushing much too much to laugh. The idea had not occurred to them before, but now that it did, it planted a lusty seed in their heart of hearts. Over the months, the seed took root, grew, bloomed and bore fruit. Older women wondered how they could get George Carfax to bed their younger, prettier, fertile relations. Younger women daydreamed about slipping away from their parents or paramours in the middle of their ovulation, driving to Carfax Manor and serving as George's wench for the night. Meanwhile they would all get into shape, just in case...

The men only noticed their womenfolk taking an interests in drinking less, eating more healthily and taking up regular exercise. No woman ever told a man, except George Carfax.

The old ways were making a come back in little Caym-by-the-Sea. Talk has begun of reinstating the right of first night. It had overwhelming support by half of the population. All it needed was for the women of the town to conceive of a way to cleverly implement it.

I edited my revenge on Caw. Death was now too good for him. I changed it to...Stephen lost all interest in politics after "his" daughter was born. Caroline got everything, including their clout and the daughter. She took her father-in-laws place at one town meeting, then the one meeting turned into a lifetime as mayor. She sham-married never again. She lived with her nephew until he became bishop. Soon after, a birth of another daughter, took place. As for Stephen, he was happy to take up his grandfather's farm and raise prize pigs, like his father's father before him. He had a natural gift for it. He found a nice, fat girl and settled down to raise a family.

Stephen Caw had three beautiful, healthy daughters and one strapping son. The Caw daughters became maids in Carfax Manor. Ever afterwards each Caw man would have one son. Any daughters they produced would live to be devoted servants to Carfaxes and the sons would be loyal serfs.

I closed the book. I decided to test my revenge.