Summer

Late Afternoon

The girl carefully left her sun lounger, and although the pool’s edge was only a metre or so from where she lay, walked its full length, completely aware of the attention that she attracted, as men and women alike lowered their sunglasses and peered over the top of their books.

It wasn’t difficult to read their minds; in fact, it was obvious really; they didn’t hide it. The women wished they were her age again, recalling a time when they too attracted the much sought-after recognition at the pool or beach.

She brushed away their advances while wallowing in the spotlight. The men held in their stomachs in a vain attempt to catch her eye and if they did, she didn’t let it show, walking a slow and steady line past them towards the deep end of the pool.

Her name was Katarina Vaskova from Slovakia, but I noticed that everyone here called her Kat. Her bottom, truly a work of art, enjoyed a thin strip of green lycra deftly placed between the crevice of her bottom. She knew exactly the effect that she was having on her audience, and she soaked it up, parading before them. She was there with Sam Goldstein, the American film producer, Svengali, and as I was later to find out, sadistic sociopath.

The country was experiencing a mini heatwave, temperatures spiking at thirty degrees. The text from Sally was welcome but unexpected and not a little confusing. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since school broke up for the summer in mid-July, some four weeks ago.

Sally: I am taking advantage of the weather and hosting a midsummer soirée this weekend. I would love you to come as my guest.

The first word that puzzled me was ‘soirée.’ That indicated more than two people, more than just me and Sally.

Me: Will David be there?

Sally: David’s plans are unclear at the moment.

Sally: Would that be a problem?

Me: I don’t know.

Sally: I think it adds a little spice don’t you think? Doesn’t the thought of fucking the Home Secretary’s wife while he is in residence turn you on?

It did, and just reading her words sent a pleasing quiver through me.

Me: Your house?

Sally: No, but don’t worry I will organise it. There is also something that I would like you to do for me.

Me: What?

Sally: I’ll talk to you when you arrive. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about? But of course, I did.

Two days later, return train tickets from Paddington to Marlow arrived with instructions that a driver would meet me at the station. And so there I was, lying in the sun at a large country house, surrounded by a bunch of bloated middle-aged toffs. I hadn’t been formally introduced to any of them, but from the brief appraisal that Sally gave me on my arrival, I felt I knew their character. Privileged. It didn’t take a genius to judge their wealth from the cars that were parked on the gravelled front drive.

The hot afternoon sun shimmered off the swimming pool’s clear blue water, as the girl took off her large-brimmed hat, carefully placing it down by the pool’s edge, and dived in.

“She won’t be so aloof later after her arse has been spanked and she’s dancing on the end of a cock,” the fat man sitting on the chair next to me chuckled to no one in particular. I didn’t reply but instead watched as Kat swam a perfect Australian crawl towards me, creating barely a ripple as she smoothly carved through the water.

The man was Lord Gerald Kingsley, a successful city lawyer, with a reputation as large as his hairy pot belly. His wife Margaret sat on a sun lounger along the pool’s edge. She was an attractive woman about ten years his junior, her caramel-streaked hair tucked up under a peaked baseball cap.

Although she hid her eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses, you could feel them wandering, as she continually patrolled the area, watching and listening for an unguarded comment. Kingsley's uncouth remark had obviously pricked her antenna, and a tight smile curled up on her lips.

“You all set for your big night?” Kingsley asked, making me crane my neck, intrigued not so much by the question itself, rather the way it was being asked. It was aimed at the younger man who sat in the chair next to him.

The man was Nick Henson, who I judged to be in his mid-thirties, and he was being taunted by the senior, more confident and dominant male. His reaction was to smile weakly, unsure what to say, self-conscious of his position, his attention instead drawn to his pretty wife, who sat alone and uncomfortably under the shade of a huge umbrella.

She had long wavy dark brown hair which cascaded down over her shoulders towards her pert breasts. She was removed from the others in the party, not only physically but socially; she wasn’t yet part of their circle and that fascinated me.

She, too, hid her eyes behind a large pair of sunglasses, her head buried in a hardback book. I wondered what exactly was going on in her mind, trying to imagine the conversation that had been held between the two of them as he informed her of their predicament and the sacrifice that was to occur to further their ambitions.

I didn’t belong here; that was clear; my very presence itself drew chatter from behind hands. No one approached me, with only the occasional sideways glance confirming that I was even present. But unlike me at that stage, they were acutely aware of the reason I was here.

******

I had arrived with just a small overnight bag; Sally’s information had been sketchy at best. The drive from the train station had been conducted in total silence, the driver definitely sending me the signal that he had better things to do with his time than collecting some toe-rag kid.

She greeted me at the imposing front door wearing a blue one-piece swimsuit with a jazzy coloured sarong wrapped around her waist.

“Is that all?” she shrieked, noticing my bag, shaking her head, and laughing when I informed her of my lack of attire. She showed me to what was to be my room for the night, a white high-ceilinged bedroom, much bigger than the tiny box room that I’m used to at home. “David must have something that will do for you,” she said, skipping down the hall to what I presumed to be the master bedroom.

My bedroom overlooked a high stone-walled courtyard which housed a good-sized swimming pool, around which a group of sun worshippers lounged.

“They are all here for the weekend,” Sally chirped, beginning a quick and at times brutally scathing introduction, pointing and naming the various couples though the window like a cast of characters in a play. From her forthright summary, I was left in no doubt that I was to be amongst an immensely powerful and influential company.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked as she handed me a pair of red speedos, grinning wickedly at my unamused reaction. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had worn actual swimming trunks. “You are kidding?!”

“Try them on,” she giggled, “I hope they aren’t too tight. It just that you’re a bit, umm, larger than my husband.” She sniggered, sitting expectantly on the bed. I began to unbutton my shorts when I stopped and instead looked at her watching me undress, her eyes wide and eager.

“Why don’t you help me?” I invited, hands on my hips. It was more of a demand than an invitation, but she needed little encouragement. Soon I was looking down at her imposing cleavage as she knelt before me, tugging at the zip of my off-white chino shorts.

“Like this?” she teased, staring up at me as she lightly ran her fingers through my pubic hair, then down under my scrotum, letting the back of her hand brush the ridged skin. “Did you do this for me?” she cooed, referring to my new smooth look.

The last time we had met, she had mentioned that I should shave, and in fact, had offered to do it for me. She said that she loved the power of having a man’s balls in her mouth but hated the gag-inducing feeling of hair on her tongue. Last night in the bathroom l had carefully shaved with one of mum’s Venus lady shavers and must admit to enjoying the newfound fresh feeling.

“I need you to do something for me. Will you?”

“It depends what it is,” I replied, as she slowly began to rub my cock, drawing the loose skin back to reveal the plum-coloured head underneath. Frankly, at this moment she could have asked me to do anything and I would have duly obliged, and she knew it.

Looking up at me doe-eyed, she licked her fingers and delicately spread her saliva around the sensitive helmet, making me arch my back. Bowing her head, she leaned in and lightly kissed the tip before disappointedly choosing to release my now erect and loaded cock from her grasp and sit back on the carpeted floor, resting her back against the bed.

She was in control, but her expression told me that she had something to say, and that something made her feel uneasy. I, though, was left in the uncomfortable position of having my shorts around my ankles, and a begging erection pointing out before me. Taking her phone in her hands, she pointed in my direction.

“Say cheese,” she laughed, as I heard the camera's distinctive whirling click.

“Another one for the album,” I joked. Little did I know that weeks later these pictures would be published for all the world to see.

“One of the guys down there,” she began, “Nick Henson. He is to be made a partner in the Fellowship of Justice. I don’t expect you to have ever heard of them; there is no reason why you should. It’s a secret and incredibly influential community, hardly anything gets done in this country without it passing across the desk of one or more of its members.

“For Nick, it’s a huge opportunity, but one that comes with an amercement. Traditionally the person entering the fellowship is subject to an initiation. It’s really a trial to test their commitment and loyalty. In Nick’s case, by having his wife degraded in his presence. And that’s where you come in.

“Nick will have to watch as his wife takes another man’s cock, your cock. It may all sound a bit macabre and gothic, and it probably is, but it’s tradition and one that they all take very seriously. It has been handed down over several centuries; since 1788, I believe.”

As she spoke, her eyes were dead. Having to ask me this obviously didn’t sit comfortably with her, and her words sounded rehearsed.

“Did you have to do this?” I asked.

“No. No, I married David long after he was already a member. All his family are.”

“Is his wife happy about this?” I asked, somewhat confused, “I mean, she isn’t being forced into it, is she?”

“Happy? I don’t think so. Her name is Eve, by the way. No, not happy, but like all the other wives that have been in her position, she is aware of her duty. Her compliance holds the key to their future prosperity,” she said, judging my body language, “Will you do this for me?” she asked. I trusted her; I had no reason not to.

“Okay.”

******

Katrina began to make her exit from the pool, slowly climbing the steel ladder, revealing more of herself to her engrossed audience. Every move was calculated to gain maximum effect, before finally her flawless and dripping, peachy bottom emerged.

“Humans never fail to amaze me.” Kingsley’s voice again broke through the late afternoon’s tranquillity.

“Sorry?” Henson countered.

“Trade, dear boy, we will trade anything,” he said, piquing my interest as I secretly listened in on the conversation.

“When the first party has what the second party needs. It all depends on desire and compromise, and how much the first party is prepared to bend. It is quite incredible what someone will do to further their ambition. Don't you agree, Nicholas?”

With the little inside information that I had, I found the question unnecessarily cruel and it hung unanswered in the air. Nick ground his jaw, as a hundred retorts must have buzzed around his brain, but instead, he chose to skulk meekly away towards his wife, with Kingsley’s goading laugh at his back. As he approached his wife, his attempted hand of comfort on her bare shoulder received a very noticeable shrug of disapproved rejection.

“Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good,” Kingsley said, looking out into the middle distance. “We all do,” he added, leaving his chair, and walking to the water’s edge, slowly inching his overweight frame down the ladder and into the cool water below, to begin a laboured breaststroke up the empty pool.

I sat quietly and alone, watching the sun slowly begin to disappear behind the tall stone walls, its glow replaced by a myriad of twinkling fairy lights around the courtyard. People gradually began to leave the poolside, packing up their things and heading into the house. I checked the time on my phone.

18:13

******

Early Evening

The excited peal of laughter welcomed the arrival of David Harrison. I could see him in the courtyard as I looked down from my bedroom window. He looked tanned and relaxed in a short-sleeved salmon pink shirt and blue cargo shorts, a glass of white wine on his hand.

I don’t know what it is about the privileged classes that gives them this air of superiority, but it oozed from every pore in his body. Looking up, he noticed me in the open window, his eyes narrowing as he judged me, making me want to dart back into the room, out of sight.

I had lost count of times over the last six months that I had been with his wife. She had shown me how to make love and how to fuck. The places inside a woman’s body to stimulate and the places outside to caress, pinch and kiss. She was my mentor, my tutor, and my lover. She could shock and surprise me with her actions.

On one occasion she had answered the door naked, and with the front door ajar I had fucked her on the stairs. The knowledge of knowing that a bodyguard was posted in a vehicle in the street outside and could possibly see us added to the liberating thrill. I had no idea how much he knew, making me mischievously curious to find out his reaction to me being here.

“There are no secrets between us, Joseph,” Sally said, standing in the doorway, her blue swimsuit now replaced by a full length, white and green summer dress. The wall lights in the hallway cut through the thin material, silhouetting her legs. “He knows everything. Men can be such surprisingly complex animals sometimes,” she added, “we have an agreement. I tell him every detail.”

“And what did you tell him?” I asked, suddenly aware of the smell of burning charcoal from the BBQ in the courtyard, its smoke carrying on a light summer breeze. Sally walked towards me, my attention shamefully drawn to the provocative sway of her breasts, making her giggle delightfully.

“I have to remind myself sometimes that you are still only a schoolboy. Your body may be that of a man, but it’s your juvenile mind that always gives you away,” she said, as a smile lit up her face.

“You love it, Sally,” I teased, making her laugh and shake her head at my conceit.

“I admit it, Joey, I do,” she answered, “He knows everything, from that first encounter in the changing rooms to me being here in your room right now, via everything in between. He knows what we have done and how you make me feel.

“And how do I make you feel?” I questioned; I couldn’t help it. She stood a metre away from me, just out of touching distance.

“Oh, I think you know, Joseph. I’ve watched you grow. You’ve always had this arrogant cockiness, but it was adolescent, directionless. Now you are aware of your appeal, comfortable with the attention that you command.”

As she spoke, I knew that she was right. I didn’t just walk out to the swimming pool earlier, wearing an obscenely ridiculous pair of tight swimming trunks; I paraded. Aware of all the eyes on me. And yes, I loved it.

Sally kept a disciplined distance from me, but I could detect the contact between us. The dilated pupils of her emerald green eyes gave her away, as did her erect nipples pressing through the thin material of her dress.

I could feel the stirrings, the undeniable spark in my loins, and the urge to take her and lift her dress was intense. To bend her out over the open window with all the guests below. The precariousness of the act would have been audacious.

“I had a good teacher,” I said, reaching out to touch her, only for her to brush my hand away. “David wants to see you in his study.”

“Why?” I asked, somewhat confused and worried by the unexpected turn of events.

“There is nothing to worry about.”

“But why would he want to see me?”

“Having you here is all his idea,” she said, reaching out and holding my hand, “he wants to see my reaction.”

“What?”

“Joseph, I’ve crossed the line. It may sound crazy, but I have. I think about you a lot of the time and it’s not healthy. David will only stand for my affairs lasting so long.”

“I don’t care.”

“But you should. This is only going to end one way. So later tonight, not only is Nick going to face the heartbreak of watching you fuck his wife, so am I.”

“And then that’s it?”

“Yes.”

I stood in front of the dark wooden study door, like a schoolboy standing outside the headmaster’s study, hesitant as to what was to come. Taking a leap into the unknown, I knocked and entered.

David sat behind an impressively large desk by the window. He looked up as I entered with no expression on his face. I don’t really know what I was expecting from our meeting, but I always foresaw an encounter with the husband of one of the wives that I had fucked to end badly.

An argument, a punch in the face or worse. David appeared unmoved, or if he was, he hid it well.

“So, you must be my wife’s new protégé,” he said, extending a tanned hand out towards me, his grip surprisingly strong as he fought for the upper hand.

“Yes,” I replied, fighting the impulse to call him ‘sir’ but instead I tried to put myself in his place. With Sally’s information concerning their relationship stored in my head, I tried to work out his motivation for wanting to see me, while retaining the knowledge that I held an important place at the table. He needed me.

“She tells me that you have agreed to be our cock for the evening.” There you are, I told you I was needed, but the forthright way he spoke unnerved me slightly, I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be so open.

“She has given me a few details.”

“Yes. Yes, quite,” he stumbled, and for the first time, he let his mask slip. This couldn't be easy for him, holding his nerve while conversing with his wife’s lover. The young man that his wife has made clear that she has feelings for, who had fucked in their home and even in their bed.

“I need to go through a few matters,” he said, opening a drawer behind his desk and placing an envelope and sheet of paper on the green leather desktop in front of him. “This is a contract which I need you to sign. I must stress the importance that you abide by what it contains. And this is payment for your services,” he added, handing me an open brown envelope which contained a wad of banknotes.

“Ten thousand pounds should be enough to buy your silence,” he added, spitting the words out in my direction. I looked down at the money and tried to stay calm, while inside I was dancing a jig. I had never seen this much cash before in all my life; not even the crazily busy pre-Christmas days on the market brought in this amount.

But why? As far as I was concerned, I was being used to play a part in humiliating a future member of a club that I had never heard of. This all seemed too extreme; there had to be something else.

“What are you not telling me?” As soon as I asked the question, I could see his manner change; he was becoming agitated. This ‘no marks’ school kid was getting under his skin.

“There will be some especially important people arriving here, Joseph. People who value their reputation and privacy, some that even you may recognise. I don’t think I can overestimate the importance of having nothing compromised. Am I making myself clear?” I nodded, trying to remain composed, while all the time if I was to be honest, I knew I was out of my depth.

He handed me a pen and pointed to where I needed a sign. In my head, I could hear my dad’s voice saying to me, “Never sign anything before you read it.” Of course, that is great advice, but even with the large window open near his desk, the room was airless and stuffy; I could feel the palms of my hands sweating as his eyes burnt into me, so I just signed.

As I looked back up at him, he wore the self-satisfied expression of someone who had the power to buy another human being. Even though he apparently knew everything about my relationship with his wife, which must hurt, he carried the arrogant authority of generations over me.

******

It can be extremely interesting watching from the outside, observing the behaviour, listening as the conversation grew less guarded as the drink flowed. We had been joined by eight newcomers to the party, a few of them I surprisingly recognised.

One was Henry Whitaker, an Olympic showjumper married to a minor royal. She sat somewhat self-consciously on my side of the table next to John Spencer, the English actor, and his wife, whose name escapes me but whose face I knew from the newspapers.

The evening had begun uneventfully, with everyone sitting around a long candlelit table on the terrace. A small group of waitresses poured wine and brought dishes of barbecued chicken and steak. Most of the babbled conversation went over my head, money and politics mainly.

From my position at the bottom end of the table, I could quietly observe those present. David sat at the top of the table, Gerald Kingsley sat to his right, Sam Goldstein to his left. Katrina sat across from me near the middle of the table, although she had ignorantly blanked herself off via a pair of headphones.

It was more than apparent from the way she dressed, that she craved the limelight. She wore an incredibly tight, sheer white jumpsuit, and was very noticeably naked underneath, her delicate dark pink nipples pressing visibly though the material. And as she took her seat, it clung to that famously perfect bottom like a second skin. Her every move was designed to impress.

Sally sat on my right. In my eyes, she appeared the odd one out; her laid-back, almost hippy style clashed in such high-profile company. Directly across from me sat Eve and Nick Henson, which surely wasn’t a coincidence; the seating plan must have been arranged to cause them the greatest discomfort.

Eve looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, her eyes darting around the gathering, occasionally wandering across the white linen tablecloth and through the lit candles’ haze towards me. I am sure that she must have heard the whispered gossip during the day, as the women discussed tonight’s events in salacious detail.

I tried to imagine what was going on behind those soft hazel eyes of hers as she weighed me up. Was I hired from some escort agency for the evening or one of Goldstein’s wannabes, or perhaps just a desperate lad that they had just picked up off the street?

One thing was for certain, and it mellowed my sympathy for her, she was doing this for prestige. The possession that all these people cherish and seek above all else.

Between them sat Margaret Kingsley, with the occasional barbed sentence, carefully chosen for the maximum effect. Nick sulked in a sullen silence like a schoolboy, drinking heavily from a seemingly endless supply of wine.

“You’re not eating much, dear,” Margaret hissed, “first-night nerves?” Eve didn’t reply. “I remember my evening. A very well-hung African man I recall.” She continued, “I can still feel him inside me.” Then realising that Eve wasn’t going to bite, she turned her attention on me. I felt Sally’s comforting hand on my thigh as she began.

“I’m expecting great things, Joseph,” she said, staring across the table at me, her cold blue eyes unerringly locked on mine, “I’ve heard nothing but impressive reviews.” As she spoke, her gaze alternated between Sally and me as if she were sharing a secret, her fingers playing with a gold necklace, drawing my attention to the black ace of spades pendant that hung from the chain.

Luckily, I’ve met her kind before. There was a time when she would have intimidated me, but not now. Unlike Nick and Eve, I had nothing to lose from this situation; none of these people held anything over me. If it weren’t for what I had between my legs, I wouldn’t be here at all.

“I’m glad you approve, Lady Kingsley,” I replied with a smile.

“Oh, trust me, I cannot wait. I just love watching the unenlightened cross over,” she smirked, before turning her head slightly to one side towards Nick, her tongue gliding between her teeth, her thumb resting on her bottom lip.

“Observing them go from frightened little kitten to deranged slut. It’s beautiful.” The effect of her statement was immediate. Eve made to leave the table and only Nick’s hand on hers made her stay. “It’s unrelenting,” Margaret continued, wallowing in the unease, “no matter how hard you try and blank it off, a huge cock will always break the spirit.”

Nick sat, crestfallen, clenching a knife in his fist so hard that his knuckles turned white. Margaret meanwhile stared across at me, goading a reaction, sipping from her glass of Prosecco.

“You’ll have to forgive Margaret,” Sally said under her breath, her voice low, almost whispered, “these occasions bring out the worst in her. She loves to tease,” she added, as people began to leave their seats, and three waitresses began to clear the table.

As one leaned in to collect serving plates from the middle of the table her short skirt rose, revealing the black stocking top underneath. I waited to see her reaction as Gerald Kingsley leant back in his chair and reached out. As the palm of his sweaty hand caressed her bare skin, she didn’t flinch; her expression remained as if this behaviour was the norm.

David and a group of the men congregated in a huddle, smoking cigars on the other side of the swimming pool. Margaret joined the other wives gathered around the top end of the table. Katrina sat alone in her world of music, separated from everyone on a sun lounger near the pool’s edge.

“Gerald was made a partner many years ago, long before I came on the scene, and of course then it was her turn to sit where Eve is now. I have to say the whole thing intrigues me,” she admitted, “being watched. The thought of having all those eyes staring, as some well-hung stud has his way with you. Enivrante.”

Sally watched as the young waitress filled her glass. The girl couldn’t have been much older than me, and the way she looked out of the corner of her eye led me to believe that she knew exactly what was going on.

“They don’t seem the type to be caught up in something like this,” I said, motioning in the direction of Nick and Eve, who had removed themselves to a darkened corner.

“Looks can be deceiving, Joseph. Nick is overly ambitious; more ambitious than he appears, but he loves her, and that’s what makes this so stimulating. I don’t think he thought it would come to this,” she replied.

Eve stood with her hair tied up in a loose bun, her eyes cast down, nervously clasping her hands in front of her. She wore a short peach coloured skater dress which showed off her figure and long tanned legs.

“I just don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head, as not for the first time I tried to understand what made these people tick.

“What is there to get?”

“You said he loves her. How could he let this happen?”

“What you have to understand about these people,” she said, looking out over the guests, “is that there is something that they value more than love or even money. It’s power, Joey. Power and influence.”

“And he’s willing to give her up for it?”

“Yes. I don’t think he knows it yet but after tonight, things will never be the same; ask Margaret. Did you notice her necklace and tattoo?” she asked. I had. At the time it seemed innocuous, but now her question raised my interest.

“What is it?”

“It means, mon cher garçon, that she enjoys black cock. She also has a tattoo on her ankle that declares her preference. There is a story which she has retold to me on many occasions about her initiation.

"It was performed in one of the old tobacco cellars in London, by a large black man. Adding insult to injury, which is a favourite pastime of this rare collection of individuals, the building is owned by Lord Gerald.

"Delicious, isn’t it, not only did he have to watch as his wife lost her mind, but also had to pay for the privilege.” As she spoke, I let my attention wander over this group of people. On the surface, nothing appeared to be in any way remarkable about any of them. Yes, they had an air of self-importance, but I’ve seen that in people from my area.

These people, on the other hand, had the power to change lives for better or worse.

“That encounter flicked a switch somewhere inside her and black has been her colour of choice ever since. The necklace and tattoo are purely for Gerald's benefit. He hates it, of course he does, what man would want their wife to advertise so openly?”

“Yes, they live together, and she is always loyally by his side at functions, but she seeks pleasure elsewhere. As Gerard continually claims, it’s for the greater good, and financially he’s probably right. I think Gerald has learned to come to terms with his place and concedes that that is the way it is.”

Sally abruptly took my hand and placed it under the table, between her legs. I felt the warm, smooth hairless skin. Gone was the thin strip of pubic hair as my fingers explored further, gliding effortlessly along her wet slit.

“I remembered,” she whispered, referencing my instruction from all those months earlier.

“You’ve shaved as well,” I said, finding her unguarded and engorged clitoris, gently flicking it as she had taught me, with my middle finger, making her grab the inside of my thigh.

“Waxed, my dear, what do you take me for?” she giggled while looking over at Eve. “She is quite beautiful, isn’t she?” Her dreamy eyes appeared to drink in Eve’s body. “How do we compare, Joseph, and be kind? She shivered, opening her legs slightly, allowing two of my fingers to slide effortlessly inside her.

I had no idea what I was going to say. Eve was the younger woman by about ten years, and she looked it, but I was more than aware that I could never make that public. There was something in Eve’s expression that I found subtly attractive; it was difficult to put my finger on it.

“I can only go by experience,” I said, knowing full well that I was telling her what she wanted to hear, “nobody can do the things that you can.”

“Like what?” she asked, clearly seeking compliments. I leaned in beside her ear.

“You are the only woman that can take all my size in her mouth.”

“Oh, how gallant,” she laughed, throwing her head back, allowing a shock of her deep red hair to cover her left eye.

“It’s true.”

“I’m flattered, but I believe tonight you will gain another fan, I think that once she has felt you inside her, she will want more. God how I wish it were me in her place.”

My fingers continued to work their way inside her, curling up and finding her G-spot. Over her shoulder, the waitress arrived with a bottle of wine in her hands.

Her gaze shifted from Sally’s face to the slight gap between her body and the edge of the table. The hem of the summer dress hitched above her knees. Slowly coming to her senses, she blinked around her surroundings and grabbed at my arm, shaking her head.

“No,” she mouthed, “you’re going to make me cum.” I noticed the waitress blush and her eyes widen at the revelation.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not like this,” she said, placing a tender hand on my cheek and smiling.

“Madam?” the waitress inquired, offering the chilled bottle of Chablis. Sally measured her slightly flushed cheeks, then looked at me.

“Oh dear, it seems I’ve been undone,” she muttered, feigning her embarrassed, “will you excuse me?” As she left her seat, I slid her empty glass across the white linen and studied the waitress’s coyness.

Like all the waitresses here, her dress had been considered, orderly with a touch of tart. The top three buttons of her short-sleeved, white blouse were undone, exposing a pleasant flash of cleavage, and as she bent forward it was obvious that she had been instructed to show an appreciable amount of skin.

“Nothing is off the table here,” a slightly slurred voice said behind me. It was Margaret Kingsley, her hand running along my shoulders as she sat down, “isn’t that right, dear?” she declared, reaching across the table and offering the waitress a fresh glass.

“They are all generously paid for their time and obedience. Watch,” she cackled, as her hand lifted the hem of the girl’s short black skirt just enough to reveal a flash of stocking top. The waitress stared straight ahead, her complexion turning a deep shade of crimson as tears of condensation from the warming wine bottle dripped in her hand.

There was a spiteful side to Margaret which, as ugly as it was, kind of drew me to her. I suspected that this side emerged from her jealousy of the younger women.

“Such a lovely young thing, don’t you think, Joseph?” she taunted, her gaze fixed firmly on the now mortified waitress’s face. “Impressively large tits and a spankable arse. Perhaps we will allow her to sample your cock later. Would you like that?”

For the first time, the girl looked at me, confused as to whom the question was directed. As I kept silent, it slowly and painfully dawned on her that it was her.

“Ummm. I,” was all the poor girl could muster, afraid of giving the wrong answer.

“In the meantime, it looks you’ve attracted my husband’s attention.” I looked across at the bulking figure of Lord Gerald Kingsley as he drained his glass and raised it in the air for a refill. “Yes, quite the specimen isn’t he? Does he repulse you?”

“No,” the girl stammered.

“I saw him touch you up earlier. Did you enjoy playing the old fool along?”

“I’m paid to do a job,” she replied.

“Good, because later, you are going to join my husband in his bedroom. While you are there, you will do as he says. Don’t worry; he won’t fuck you; those days are long gone, but he does have quite an active imagination. You will suck his cock; it won’t take him long.

"And after he’s deposited his cum in your pretty little mouth, you will swallow it all like a good little slut.” Before Margaret’s excruciating game could continue, her husband tapped the edge of a knife on his glass, bringing everyone to attention.

“The time has come, ladies and gentlemen. The weight of history is with us tonight, as we prepare to welcome Nicholas Henson into the family. So, if you could all begin to ready yourselves for the journey,” he grandly announced, to a chorus of chairs scraping on the York stone patio floor, as the waitresses brought out coats and belongings. “Oh, and one last thing,” he interrupted, “could you please turn off your phones and hand them to one of the delightful girls. Thank you.”

“Where is everyone going?” I asked, turning to Sally.

“We are all going on a trip.”

“Where?”

“That, my dear I can’t tell you,” she said, running her fingers through my short blond hair, “are you still okay about tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied. To be honest, until this recent turn of events I hadn’t thought much about it. Eve was a strikingly pretty woman, and it wasn’t as if I was being asked to do anything against my will. But suddenly the atmosphere had changed, the excited babbled chatter replaced by a sombre silence, and I swear that an unwelcome chill had arrived on the air.

I watched Eve hang a light summer jacket over her shoulders. She looked lost in a world of her own. I imagined her wanting to just get it all over with and move on but couldn’t help but worry what lay ahead. These people had put too much into the planning of this event to want it just to fizzle out.

“I’m going to give you something to help you perform,” Sally said, as she reached into her handbag, took something out and placed it in her mouth. I could see David staring over, his gaze locked on the two of us.

“What is it?” I asked, as she leaned in, closed her eyes, and kissed me. My eyes remained open, studying David’s reaction. Her mouth opened, her tongue searching for mine before transferring the pill into my mouth on her saliva.

“Swallow,” she ordered.

“What is it?” I said, gulping down the tablet with a mouthful of her wine.

“It will help you later. Trust me.” An orderly line of guests carrying torches had formed, leaving through a side gate in the wall. Sally took my hand as we joined them at the back, then turned to face me, I detected a slightly sad, regretful quality in her eyes as she stared into mine.

“You have to trust me,” she whispered, and then suddenly everything went black as a soft velvet hood was placed over my head. Strong arms held me as I struggled to free myself. “Don’t fight, Joseph,” I heard her say, “it’s going to be fine.”

Blind, I was being led by the hand along what smelt like woodland. The earthy smell of the undergrowth filled my senses, the ground soft under my feet. The sound of lapping water with its dank odour led me to surmise that we had arrived near a river as long grass brushed my ankles.

This was soon confirmed as I was guided along a wooden jetty and unsteadily onto a boat, where they made me sit on a hard, plastic bench as we started to move; to where I had no idea. I could hear the popping of champagne corks, and the tinkling of glasses, but the mood of the party had noticeably changed,

Not for the first time in my life, and certainly not the last, I had to ask myself, “Well, Joey Potter, what the fuck have you got yourself into?”