We called the cat Stinker. That was the one with nine tails of course and entirely suitable the name was too. The other one we called Rosamund because Victoria had been at school with a Rosamund who was, she said, the cattiest girl she’d ever known.

They arrived the same day by one of those miracles that Victoria seemed able to manage effortlessly. I suspected it was something to do with her privileged background. Silver spoon and all that.

Springtime in our part of England is lovely. Okay, it can be chilly but it is also pretty; daffodils and primroses and crocuses. Victoria had decided we’d go to see her Aunt in Cornwall for a week’s holiday. Her Aunt was called Priscilla and wasn’t a real aunt, more a friend of her late mother. She sorted a friend to look after the animals while we were away. We took the Landrover which is a punishing way to travel any distance but does have the merit of getting you there, especially if ‘there’ is deep in the country.

‘You’ll like her and she will love you. Never married of course, just like you and me really, well, more like me.’

I looked at her enquiringly. She knew what the question was.

‘Possibly. I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Always, silly.’

‘Why do you want to share me?’

She didn’t answer for a while. Eventually she said, ‘Let’s stop for lunch.’

The pub was small, typical oak beamed and flag-floored. The smell of food was inviting. Before we’d left home she’d overseen the packing which, of course, I had to do. She’d selected day clothes, night clothes (which she loved) and underwear. Clothes for walking and clothes for eating out (no pun intended). She was wearing a pair of dark brown jeans, a white shirt and a deep brown leather jacket. I was in a skirt, dark blue, with a white blouse and a pale cream jacket.

We sat at a table and placed our order, fish for her, veal for me. Two small glasses of a crisp white wine accompanied our meals.

‘I’m not certain that I do want to share you. It’s one of those things that might appeal to me or might not. If I wanted to make a gift of you to Prissy or Debra, then I would. There’d be conditions of course.’

I waited.

‘Debra can be very cruel.’

‘So can you.’

‘True, sweetie, but then you’re mine to be cruel to. Debs sometimes doesn’t know when to stop and I’m not having you damaged.’ You can imagine that that made me feel warm inside. ‘Unless, of course, I do the damaging.’ That was less warming.

‘You’d never damage me.’

She took my hand. ‘Nor will anyone else. I’ve told you I love you.’

She then told me a lot more about Priscilla or ‘Prissy’ as she called her.

‘She and my dear departed mother were at school together. Same school that I went to.’ This was one of England’s finest, far grander than mine. ‘According to Prissy, Mother was a complete tart at school. Got shagged by at least two head girls, one laboratory assistant and two games mistresses. One of the head girls was Prissy. Mother was delighted when I told her I was les. She said, “of course you are, darling. Men are simply for breeding.” As you know, breeding never appealed to me, unless it involved horses. I like my tits to point skyward and my belly to stay flat. And so, of course, you have no need to worry about becoming a brood mare either. Can’t imagine anything worse than screaming kids.

‘Anyway, Prissy was a bit like me, last of the line. Absolutely stinking rich. She has a girl who lives with her, well, a woman. They both look young for being 65. They share this fuck off great house in the middle of nowhere. Her bird is called Jemima so naturally is known as Puddleduck but I call her Jem. Prissy is absolutely the boss. She, like you, loathes horses but she keeps chickens and ducks and has a few pigs and lambs she brings on for slaughter.’

‘With her bare hands?’

She smiled. ‘Probably. Anyway, come on, we’d better get back on the road. Get your knickers off when we get in the car. I might want a grope.’

She did, it turned out.

‘So,’ said Prissy. ‘This is your squeeze?’

We’d turned off a minor road onto a track that seemed to go on forever until we went round a bend and there was the house. It was vast and gothic. Two very young-looking 65 year olds met us as we unloaded the car.

I extended my hand, ‘I’m Susan.’ She ignored my hand and took me into a hug. ‘This is Puddle,’ she said introducing her partner, ‘Give her a hug too.’ I did.

Vicky and I carried our bags in and dumped them in the hall. It was a vast space and a log fire burned in a huge grate. It was almost 8 by this time and we were led into a snug sitting room where huge gins and tonic were poured without a choice being offered.

‘Prissy is an absolute lush,’ said Vicky. That was rich, coming from her.

Jem served a lovely meal. She was like a maid and waitress and Prissy sat commandingly at the head of the table and did nothing to help. She confided when Jem was not in the room that the only time they argued was when she, Prissy, invaded the kitchen.

‘I know someone else like that.’ That made Victoria grin. ‘Can I lend a hand with the clearing up?’

‘Certainly not, it’s all the tart is good for, let her get on with it.’ Her warm smile denied the apparent slight and it was clear she loved Jemima.

Our bedroom was cosy but not small. Heavy curtains covered large windows. The bed was big. The en suite was large and had a walk in shower.

“Get up when you feel like it,’ Prissy told us, ‘Or not at all if the mood takes you. I’ll get Puddle to bring you some breakfast if you like?’

‘I’ll send my tart down if we do.’ They both grinned and so, of course, did I.

Vicky showered first while I unpacked. She emerged from the bathroom in dark blue silk pyjamas and told me to ‘wear the black.’ This being a black, long nightdress she’d bought for me.

I showered and slipped it on loving the silk’s caress and joined her in bed.

‘Vicky’s got her poky in.’ Her poky was a strapless dildo and that would only lead to one thing.

We lay together, on our sides, facing each other, heads close on the pillows. She stroked my face. ‘Did you like Prissy?’

‘How could I not?’

‘No, you’re right. They’re both lovely.’ She kissed my mouth then. I stroked her breasts and she stroked mine, liberating them my nightdress and rolling my nipples between her fingers while her tongue slithered into my mouth. Her hand went down between us, gathering up my nightie and finding my already wet puss waiting for her.

‘Tart,’ she smiled. ‘You get wet at the sight of a finger never mind the touch.’

‘I get wet looking at you.’

‘I know.’

She kissed me harder and then rolled me onto my back. She brushed my hair away from my face and pushed my knees apart with hers. ‘Poky wants some of that wet.’ She had that hungry look. Mind you, she often did. Her appetite was prodigious. I do not complain.

I lifted my knees and she entered me. Her face was right above mine, her cornflower eyes sparkling. She entered me like it was our first time, gently, hesitantly and wonderfully. I groaned as the purple dildo slid into me and lifted my hips to her. As our tongues developed a little dance, so her hips lifted up and pressed down.

‘I am going to shag you senseless this week.’ Vicky always talked a lot during sex. ‘I’m going to fuck you every day. I think I might use your puss in the mornings and your arse at night.’ A brief pause to draw breath. ‘Or then, I might use both each time. Oh, and of course there is always the afternoon nap. Oh, fuck, that’s good. Wrap your legs round me, darling, I want Poky right up you.’

And so it went on until I was arching under her and she was open-mouthed and groaning as her orgasm welled up. Mine was first. It was long and noisy and I wrapped my arms around her and held her to me, her mouth whispering obscenities in my ear: obscenities that were words of love.

She rolled off me after she came. I could tell it had been a good one. She pulled the dildo out of her and laid it on the bedside table.

‘Get down there and inspect the damage.’ She pushed the top of my head and I went down under the duvet and pulled her pyjama trousers down and licked her, cleaned her, loved her.

‘Don’t forget the back door, sweetie, it gets bloody everywhere.’

In the morning, I woke up to find Vicky between my legs. In that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness I was not sure if I was dreaming until I felt a wet finger push into my bum. That does tend to wake one up.

We showered together. That always takes longer than it should of course.

Breakfast was a big, country affair. Jem made her own sausages and the bacon was from their own pigs, as the eggs were from their chickens. It was all beautiful. She’d baked the bread too. The tea and coffee were pretty much the only things they’d bought. I ate far more than usual.

‘If you get fat,’ said Vicky, ‘I’ll lock you in the barn with Pansy until you’re emaciated!’

‘Quite right,’ said Prissy.

‘Last thing you want is a fat old bird. I keep Puddle under strict control.’

Puddle was pouring me tea at that point and in a stage whisper said, ‘She thinks she does.’

‘Behave, work horse, or I’ll make you saw logs.’

We went for a walk. Two Labradors appeared from nowhere and accompanied us. I discovered they were called Left and Right and true to their names they took up station beside us. Vicky explained they were ‘outdoor’ dogs and that Prissy insisted they stay outside. They were fit and happy and I loved them immediately.

Our walk took us through a deep wooded valley, up a steep incline to a hilltop with breathtaking views of the sea in one direction and the moors in the other. Our breath was mist in the sharp, cold air. The dogs were indefatigable and steam rose from their fur. Left was a chocolate brown and Right was black. We’d brought boots and Barbours and walked hand-in-hand. We occasionally stopped to admire the view or simply to kiss. I was in heaven. I had the woman I loved and the freedom to explore a new landscape with her.

Vicky and I had first met at a mutual friend’s dinner party and I had loathed her on sight. She seemed to be so many things I didn’t like. She was rich, horsey, and coolly superior. Rich I can cope with if it is subtle rich. Hers wasn’t exactly in your face but I think I disliked her mainly because she was paying attention to a rather glum looking blonde whom I’d describe as ‘obvious.’ Her large tits were almost out. Her dress was too short. Vicky was dressed beautifully and made me feel dowdy by comparison.

I warmed to her later though. We were sitting together having a post dinner brandy and she asked, ‘Did you chat to that miserable looking blonde?’ I admitted I had noticed her but had not had that pleasure. ‘Absolute dimwit. My Springer has more between her ears than she has. Good tits though!’

At the time I was seeing a woman but she was away and I was there alone. Victoria knew her. She seemed to know everyone. It was only later that I discovered my absentee lover was actually, as I drank brandy with Victoria, in bed with another woman she worked with. It was also later that I discovered Victoria knew and she, for some reason, got in touch about a month after the inevitable heartbreak, took me out to dinner and told me to ‘forget the bitch.’ She took my mind of it by fucking me rather energetically in my flat after dinner.

‘Nothing like a good shag to clear the mind, eh?’ Who could argue with that?

Coming to terms with her darker side took longer. Love conquers all though, well, it did for me.

‘Right, my little hausfrau, let’s dawdle back to the pile and see what’s for lunch. I have an appetite.’

‘Too true.’

She grinned, slid her tongue into my mouth and her hand into my Barbour. We held each other for a while and then wandered easily back to the house where the smell of lunch was welcoming.

Prissy and Jem were going out for the afternoon. I don’t think this was to give us time alone together. There didn’t seem any awkwardness about our wanting to be in bed or whatever we wanted to do. They just simply needed to go into town.

We didn’t go to bed. Victoria took me into the sitting room where Puddle had lit a fire. She directed me to a chair and sat in another facing me.

‘Now then,’ she said. ‘Debra sent me a text and wants us to go to dinner with her when we get back.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘I cant say “no.” We’re going.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘I know you’re worried and I quite like that.’ She grinned. ‘You never know what might happen, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t sulk.’ She grinned again. She whispered, ‘You know I will always look after you. Now, go and get out of those jeans, shower and get into bed and wait for me. Lay out my red PJs in the bathroom and wear something you know I like.’

The thought of dinner with Debra cast a shadow over me. I wondered why she’d decided to tell me. I went up to our room and sat. disconsolate on the bed, looking out of the window but seeing nothing.’

I didn’t hear her come in. She said nothing but sat beside me, her arm resting over my shoulders. I didn’t know there were tears on my cheeks until she wiped them away, turning my face to hers.

‘Listen to me. If the thought of Debra or anyone else makes you so unhappy then I’ll make you a promise. I will never, ever allow anyone to hurt you, not even slightly.’ Her finger traced my mouth. ‘You have a lovely mouth. I’m not going to deny my friend the pleasure of it but she will not hurt you. If I lend you to her I will be there. If I lend you to her it will make me happy because she will know you are mine and nobody else’s.

‘Now, do as I told you.’

With a small kiss on my forehead she wandered out of the room. I pulled myself together. I still felt odd, uncertain but her words had comforted me. More, her gentleness had. I undressed and put my jeans away and my underwear and blouse in the linen basket. The shower ran hot and I let it sting my skin and wash away my sadness. Dried, I put her PJs in the bathroom and slipped on a pair of silk pyjama shorts and the jacket with short sleeves that I knew she loved.

I must have dropped off. The weight of her on the bed roused me and I turned to face her.

‘Bloody hell. I turn my back for two minutes and you’re asleep, lazy cow.’ Her jacket was open, her breasts exposed and she pulled my head to them. ‘Sleeping in the middle of the day is so very old ladyish. Come on, my little geriatric, prove you still have some life in you.’

I could feel the hardness of her feeldoe against my leg as I loved her nipples, my head guided by her from one to the other.

I heard her say quietly, ‘I’m in the mood for giving you a good, old fashioned rogering!’

That may not sound too romantic but, trust me, I knew what she meant and it made me smile. I pulled away from her, pushed her back against the pillow and straddled her, pulling the leg of my shorts up and aside. She grinned and put her hands on my arse.

‘Good girl.’

I was wet, wet enough for her to slide in easily but I teased her. I held myself with the tip of her feeldoe barely between my lips, my hands on her shoulders. Then, eyes locked on hers I slowly, so slowly pressed down and felt that delicious opening, widening, stretching. I sat on her, buried deep inside me and started to make small circles with my hips. Eyes sparkling, she lay there, quite still as her wanton submissive moved for her.

Then, tightening my floor muscles, I rocked back and forth and felt the dildo move between us and I knew its contact with her clitoris would work some magic, magic I could see in her face, her half closed eyes.

Lifting myself slowly, lowering again until I began to gather pace and stretched her arms out beside her so I could bring my mouth to hers. We kissed as I lifted and lowered, her breath hot in my mouth.

‘Knees.’

‘Wait.’

‘Did you just tell me to wait?’

Nodding, I sucked her tongue and increased the speed and range of my lifting and lowering.

‘I’ll whip you, later.’ She waited though for a few minutes, her face a picture of pleasure. Then, ‘Knees!’

I rolled off her and turned with my arse to her, face down and she fell upon me, driving back into me, her hands under me, nails biting my nipples as she fucked me relentlessly.

Vicky’s orgasm was splendid. She bit my neck and then arched herself away, pulling my nipples and making a guttural noise that became a scream. She was a kind lover, keeping going until my own climax burst from me in a series of grunts, the fire in my nipples taking me higher and higher until I too screamed with the release.

We lay face down, she upon my back and still buried in me. I could feel her body panting, her sweat between us, our sweat probably. My hair was a mess on the bed clothes, my arms outstretched, gripping the sheets.

She slowly withdrew. Our lips met then, gentle and loving. I saw her eyes and felt that fear as she was so, so gentle. Her hand traced my face, my neck. She took the dildo out and left it on the bed.

She took me by the hand and led me off the bed, past her bag on the stand near the door from which she removed the Stinker. Downstairs, through the kitchen into the garden: through the door of the old barn at the end of the garden she led me to a pile of hay bales. She was still in her PJs, her top open. I was in the silk shorts and otherwise naked. She pushed me gently onto the hay, kissed my mouth.

‘You told me to wait.’

The first stinging blow was followed seconds later by a second, then third. She kissed me again and ran the cat’s tails over my back before another slash and this time I yelped loudly.

The onslaught continued for what seemed an age but was probably no more than ten or twelve blows but I felt flayed, hot tears running down my cheeks. She helped me up and kissed me hard, deep. Then we retraced our steps, her arm around my waist, mine across her shoulders because walking was hard.

She sat me at the kitchen table and boiled a kettle. As it boiled, she traced my marks with her finger, a little soft sound coming from her.

I heard Prissy and Jem come in the front door and started to rise.

‘Stay just where you are.’