The taxi took a sudden right turn. I heard gravel under the tires and saw a brightly lit house silhouetting dark trees and so surmised than the driver had turned into someone’s drive. I knew that Derek had done well for himself since moving down south, but a tree lined drive was impressive. It was even more impressive that it took nearly five minutes to actually wind our way to the top.
We pulled up in front of a three storied granite house. It looked to be several hundred years old, with pillars either side of the tall hall door and large Georgian windows. It was probably built as the country seat of some lord, or wealthy industrialist.
I began to think that the driver had brought me to the wrong place.
“Are you sure this is Morcome Hall?” I asked.
“This is the place, guv’,” came the gruff reply.
I like to travel light. So all I only had a small hold all with a couple of changes of clothes and toiletries in it. It seemed pretty meager compared to the granite might of this imposing building. Reaching to the back seat behind me I pulled my bag into the front of the car. I looked out the window again as I slipped the strap over my shoulder. This was not what I’d been expecting when Derek, an old school friend of my big brother’s, had suggested I’d come down south and do some work for him. At the time the offer had seemed infinitely preferable to staying unemployed at home. But now when it came to taking the last few steps I’d suddenly gotten very cold feet.
Derrick might have done well for himself recently. But surely he couldn’t have done so well that he could be living in a millionaire’s mansion. I asked the driver again if this was the correct address. He was a bit short in his answer, but I had no option except to believe that he knew where he was. I’d been lost ever since we’d left the train station.
I paid the fare, got out and looked around. It was a couple of hours after sunset so I couldn’t make out much of the grounds. But the neighbours either didn’t have any lights on or lived a fair bit away. I looked up again at the house as the taxi crunched gravel and pulled away. The person who lives here must have a fortune. So either Derrick had struck gold or he’d robbed a bank, because there was no way he could have made that much money out of landscape gardening. Even with the inflated prices they charge!
Feeling very unsure of myself I climbed the steps to the door. There seemed to be a party going on, as I could hear loud music thumping away in the depths of the house. Ringing the doorbell seemed a waste of time with all that racket going on, but I did so anyway.
I waited a couple of minutes. There was no answer. I waited some more. Still nobody came. So I rang the bell again. And waited and thought that I should go away. But I had no place else to go to, except back home, and I didn’t want to admit defeat and go running back to my mother with my tail between my legs. Then I noticed that the door was slightly ajar. I pushed at it gently and it swung open a few inches, letting a wedge of yellow light spring out. I cleared my throat loudly, then felt foolish. I pushed the door again and looked past it into the hall.
All I could see was the black and white tiles of the floor and a small mahogany hall table against the wall with a gold framed mirror hanging over it.
There was nobody in sight. Looking around one last time to make sure I was alone, I gingerly put one hand on to the door and pushed again. It swung open fully and I stepped into the large hall. The tiles on the floor were brightly polished, reflecting the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The hall was two stories high and a wide marble staircase climbed up the middle to a balcony that ran the width of the hall. Several dark wooden doors could be seen on the balcony from where I stood, but they were all closed.
Now that I’d entered I didn’t know whether to wait here to be discovered or to do some exploring. There were two double doors on either side of the hall and another smaller, single door at the back underneath the balcony. All made from the same dark stained wood and all firmly closed. It seemed especially empty with all the party noises that emanated from further back in the house.
I decided to play for time by closing the front door behind me, though I left the lock on the latch as I’d found it.
When I turned back around again I discovered a young lady dressed a long sleeved black dress, over which she wore a white frilly apron. With a frilly maids cap pinned to her black hair. I didn’t know if she was a real maid or someone attending a fancy dress party dressed up as one. The skirt of her dress was rather short and I thought I could just make out the tops of her stockings peeping from under the hem. Her legs were long and slender and her petite feet were bound by thin leather straps and her heels rested on four inch stilettos.
She was holding the handle of the left hand door which was now half open and looking directly at me.
“H’hello,” I said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m David,” I replied. “I’m a friend of Derek’s. He invited me to come.”
“Well you’re late the party’s already started,” she said.
I was about to explain that I hadn’t known that there was a party planned, but she continued talking before I could say anything.
“Well, now that you’re here I supposed you’d better leave your bag there,” she gestured to an overflowing coat rack, “and follow me.”
She sounded like a lady who was used to being obeyed and I had no better idea of what else I should do, so I dropped my bag under the coat rack and took a step towards her.
She stood there a moment and looked me up and down. “Not bad,” she judged. Then she turned and quickly walked back through the door she’d come out of. I ran the couple of steps to follow after her into a dimly lit room. There was a dining table and chairs on my left, thick carpet under my feet and on the right where two large armchairs angled to face the fire place. It being June of course there was no fire lit.
My examination of the room was interrupted because I looked again at the woman I’d followed in and suddenly I realised that her dress had no back to it. She had stopped a couple of paces in front of the two armchairs. I didn’t look more closely around me just then because then I also noticed that the skirt of her dress had no rear to it either, and more importantly she wasn’t wearing any underwear. The only thing above her black stocking tops was the frilly white bow of her apron. My gaze slid down her spine and fixed on her bottom. Two perfect white spheres framed by the sides of her dress, with the ends of her apron strings hanging down hiding the crack between.
My heart speeded up and my mouth went dry. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was somewhat embarrassed, because such obvious nudity wasn’t something I was used to. But I also had the strongest desire to press my palms against her buttocks and ease my fingers between them.
Then I heard a long, low, masculine moan. I tore my eyes away and looked beyond her for the first time and saw a naked man sitting in one of the armchair beside the fireplace. His head was rolled back against the chair, his eyes were closed tight and his breathing was ragged.
It was hard to tell if he was completely naked, as a woman in a long red evening gown was kneeling in front of him with her head buried in his lap and her long blond hair sprayed across his stomach and legs. But her head was bobbing up and down and I heard low slurping sounds. Then the man moaned again and I was left in no doubt that there wasn’t much separating him from her lips.
We stood there for the next few minutes watching this man being administered to. The maid was obviously waiting for the woman to finish and my mouth was too dry and my mind too distracted by the bulge of the erection that had formed in my jeans for me to say anything. Then I felt the pressure grow. I looked down to find the maid had taken half a step back and slipped her fingers between my legs to gently squeeze my erect penis.
“Hmmm, not bad,” she spoke softly. “Better than I’d thought at first glance.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of anything to say. So instead I did what was the only think on my mind, I put my hand on her bottom and slipped the tips of my fingers between her buttocks. She smiled over her shoulder, fixing me with her large, dark eyes for a moment, before turning her head away to look at the man and woman again. But while she was looking at them she kept her hand on me and gently squeezed her fingers around the bulge in my jeans, pressing the tips of her fingers against my testicles and pressing her palm against the rigid pole of my erection in time to the slurps of the woman. So I flexed my fingers between her buttocks to the same rhythm, though not going very deep.
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