Deep Waters Ch. 01

Note: all characters are over 18, as specified in the chapter.

Deep Waters - Chapter 1

For someone who makes - or rather used to make - their living as a freelance reporter, writing up stories in the hope of hawking them to news outlets, it is strange that the most extraordinary tale I have ever come across is one I would never sell. But then it's my own and there are all sorts of reasons why I wouldn't wish to share it with the world and, besides, I don't need the money any longer. Despite that, I still feel the need to write it. It is a strange saga, and I struggle to believe it myself, so perhaps setting it down just as it happened will help me process the reality.

It began through my work, although even that was a surprise. At 26 I had yet to make any reputation in journalism and was barely scratching a living selling a mix of local news from my home town and pieces I had researched off the internet to any outlet that was desperate enough to fill up their pages or their website that they would buy them. It was a precarious business, and made more so in that I was a newly married man and felt an obligation to try to be a responsible husband and bring in a decent wage.

Izzy (my wife's name is Isabella, but she hates being called that so to everyone except her mother she is Izzy) would have laughed at my paternalistic concerns had I dared explain them to her. 24 years old, she was making a career of her own, training in a local law firm as a legal executive, and her job and salary prospects were likely much better than mine.

Izzy is nothing if not a self-confident young woman and would have seen nothing wrong in being the main bread winner in our marriage and, anyway, she thought my job was exciting - far more so than it really was. But, what with housing costs and rising bills of every sort, the reality was we needed both of us earning and I felt pressure to succeed.

I said earlier this was my story, but in truth it is as much Izzy's as mine and she was in it from the very start. The beginning was ordinary enough - a message to the email address I used for my work. The surprise was who it was from and what he wanted.

The sender was George Webster. I had no idea who he was at first, but a quick search of the web revealed him as one of the UK's richest men, but one with the lowest of public profiles. He was notoriously averse to publicity and rarely went anywhere, remained cloistered in his home, Deepwell Hall, a beautiful 18th century mansion (although parts were said to be even older), located in a remote part of the Wiltshire countryside.

Despite this, his investments were managed astutely and he was wealthy enough to be well up the Times rich list each year. Apart from that little seemed to be known - no major interests, no wife or children, no known romantic attachments, not even any wider family; in short, all rather mysterious.

What Mr Webster said he wanted - if the message really was from him - was my professional services. Specifically, he wanted me to write his biography (or rather ghost write an autobiography), and the sum of money he was offering was beyond my wildest dreams. It was enough to settle my money worries for several years. Better yet, writing the story of the reclusive multi-millionaire could be the making of me professionally; a way to get my name known.

Webster was proposing that I came to stay for a week at his fabulous home to see if we could work together. He also insisted that I bring my wife and be his guest for the week. Aside from the free board and lodging, he would pay me £5,000 just for doing that. It would be like a well-paid holiday, even if nothing further came of it.

I'm not stupid. Everything about this was too good to be true. It was either a hoax or there was some hidden agenda at work. However, Izzy pointed out that we didn't seem to have much to lose and potentially a lot to gain. Concluding that she was right and it was worth a try to see what happened, I replied, accepting Webster's offer. Izzy arranged for time off work, we packed our bags and a fortnight later we were on our way to Wiltshire and Deepwell Hall.

*****

The estate turned out to be ringed by a high stone wall, with, so far as I could tell, just a single entrance, barred by two huge metal gates. It was there that we were finally certain the invitation was genuine. The gates were unmanned, but there were CCTV cameras mounted on the gate pillars and as I drew up our car they opened inward with a hum of electric mechanism and I was able to drive through. I had earlier supplied my car registration as requested and we had obviously been recognised and expected.

The drive from the gates wound through parkland and trees and it was only as we finally approached the house that we got a clear view of it. Deepwell Hall was enormous, comprising of a central section with a colonnaded main entrance and two huge wings to east and west, each with many windows on two floors. There was plenty of space to park on the gravel driveway in front of this impressive pile, so I stopped the car and - feeling a little plebeian amidst all this splendour - Izzy and I got out, collected our luggage from the boot and made our way to the grand entrance doors.

There was a bell push, so I pressed it. After a short delay, the first real surprise of many that day came when one of the doors opened. We were greeted by a young woman, in her early twenties I guessed, very attractive in a slim, willowy, long-legged kind of way, and dressed as a perfect French maid, from the little white cap perched in her long brunette hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, down to some rather impractical high-heeled court shoes. It was not that the outfit was improper - it covered everything that needed covering - but it was unexpected and undeniably sexy.

"Ah, bonjour. You are Monsieur et Madame Kemble? We were told to expect you."

It turned out that the wearer of the outfit was also French and her richly accented voice was a sexy as her clothing.

"Yes, that's us!" Izzy said brightly, while I was still taking in the vision before me, "Hi, I'm Izzy. What's your name?" My wife was ignoring the indications that this maid was some kind of servant and treating her as if she owned the place.

The French girl smiled in response, "You can call me Madelaine. Please come in."

Madelaine stepped aside and we entered into a cool of the entrance hall. It was majestic. Directly in front of us was a wide wooden staircase that led up to a small mezzanine landing with the stairs continuing up to left and right to a balcony landing that circled the hall, with the roof high above us on the second floor. At ground level there were corridors leading off to the left and right giving entry to the two wings of the house, while either side of the stairs other passages allowed access to what seemed to be the oldest part of the house. Everything was wood panelled, and I half expected suits of armour, old weapons or mounted stags heads, but actually there were just a few items of what looked like antique furniture against the walls and a number of landscape paintings on the walls as decoration.

As we admired the surroundings, a young man of about 20 entered, wearing the sort of uniform that you might see the porters in an upmarket hotel have. He was tall, blond, muscular and his handsome face sported a friendly grin. I felt an instant twang of jealousy, which I then dismissed. Yes, my wife was going to fancy him - as indeed she would Madelaine - but I trusted her to do nothing behind my back.

"Andrew will take your bags to the room we have prepared for you," Madelaine said, indicated the blond giant. "I have instructions to take you directly to see Mr Webster - unless you need to freshen up first?"

This time I forestalled Izzy taking charge of the conversation by indicating we were fine and would indeed like to meet Mr Webster as soon as possible. That Andrew headed up the stairs was not a surprise - I was impressed by the way he carried Izzy and my bags, one in each hand as if they weighed nothing - but I expected we would be shown to somewhere on the ground floor. However, once the young man was safely on his way, Madelaine turned and followed him, leading us up to the second floor. However when we reached the little mini-landing at the top of the first flight, she turned right, whereas Andrew headed left.

I had got distracted again. Following Madelaine up the stairs I couldn't help noticing the flash of stocking top and glimpse of suspender that was holding them up which was visible as she took each step. Tights would have been the practical choice, but the knowledge she had gone old school with suspender belt and stockings did fit with the rest of her maid outfit. And was it my imagination or was the feminine sway of her hips with each step just a little exaggerated? All I knew was it was fascinating me.

We reached the second floor landing, with its view down onto the entrance hall below, and Madelaine led us a short distance round to the right, then left down a long corridor with many doors off it, this being the access to the whole east wing second story. However we only made it as far as the first door on our left. Madelaine stopped, knocked politely, but then entered without waiting for a response.

She said "Monsieur et Madame Kemble are here, Mademoiselle Lim."

This was addressed to a young woman, smartly dressed in a business jacket, crisp white blouse and blue skirt, who at first glance I thought might be Chinese, although when I got to know her better I discovered had a Singaporean father and an Australian mother. What I saw at once was that she was unusually good looking. Rather short perhaps, maybe 5 foot 2 inches, but perfectly proportioned, aged about 25 at a guess, with long, silky black hair worn loose.

It struck me that something of a theme was emerging here. We had met three of George Webster's staff and all of whom qualified as 'hot', assuming you were attracted to their sex.

Miss Lim was sat behind a desk, from which she now rose and made her way toward us. Aside from the desk, there was a window opposite where we had come in, which showed a fine view of the gardens behind the house, a second door in the wall to our right, a long couch, a couple of office type plants in pots, a laptop on the desk, a wall painting of a tropical beach to break the monotony of the white painted walls and that was about it for furnishings. I found it a little disappointing to find such tepid modernism in this beautiful old house.

"Thank you Madelaine, you may go," Miss Lim said, then holding out her hand to me she added: "I'm Sarah Lim, Mr Webster's personal assistant. I'm pleased you and Mrs Kemble could come. Mr Webster has been looking forward to meeting you." Her English was perfect, better than mine, although I subsequently discovered it was not her first language and she in fact spoke seven. Anyway, I shook her hand and then Izzy did the same and Sarah flashed both of us a welcoming smile. Yet another common factor - everyone seem very happy and exceptionally pleased to see us.

"If you'll take a seat," Sarah said gesturing to the couch, "I'll just check that Mr Webster is ready to see you. Izzy and I duly sat, while the efficient Miss Lim disappeared through the other door.

"I can't blame you for looking at the maid's stocking tops when we were on the stairs," my wife suddenly said, "I must admit it was hard not to notice. But did you have to ogle that secretary as well?"

I didn't deny it, but just said, "Be honest, you fancy her too."

Here you must forgive a digression from my story, to give a little background to mine and Izzy's relationship, given it is relevant to what happens later. Before I met her I had two 'proper', that is to say sexual, relationships with women. The first was not long after I had turned 18, with a girl the same age called Helen who I met at a party. I can see now that she and I were both desperate to get laid and lose our virginities and it really didn't amount to much more than that. Out of guilt or a sense of obligation or something, we both attempted to make a go of it afterward, but we had nothing in common and inside three months we'd split up.

The second lasted well over two years, and looking back on it now it seems such a waste. Tricia liked things to suit her. I was held up to some unexplained standard she set and generally found wanting. In contrast she never felt much need to do anything for me. The worst aspect was our sex life, which was infrequent and unadventurous and took place entirely on her terms. I stuck with it more because of all the time and effort I had put into the relationship than because I was actually fulfilled by any aspect of it. Ironically the nicest thing Tricia ever did for me was to break up.

After those experiences, Izzy was a revelation. For one thing she seemed to love me with a passion almost from the beginning. Don't ask me to explain why - I find it as surprising as anyone; I'm just eternally grateful she feels that way about me. As for me, I soon came to nearly worship her. I knew from the first time I saw her that here was a drop-dead gorgeous girl, sweet looking and with a figure to die for, but what I soon discovered was that she was just as nice as she looked, kind, thoughtful and loving.

And then there was the sex. If I had been frustrated by my previous relationships, now I was struggling to keep up. Izzy adores sex in all its form and was essentially willing to try anything at least once and most things lots of times. Curiously, this was the only point of slight tension in our relationship. Izzy told me early on that she was bisexual and had had both boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, and that she had enjoyed threesomes and more, right up to full blown orgies with like-minded friends. I don't want to give the impression that she had been some sort of slut who would sleep with anyone; she wanted to get to know people first and judge a person's character, but once she liked you then Izzy saw nothing wrong in friends giving each other pleasure.

She tried to get me interested in such ideas, but this was a bit too much for me with my lack of experience, and besides I was so besotted with her that I didn't want to share - not even with another woman. And it is a remarkable testament to her love for me that she gave all that up. Izzy hadn't slept with another person of either sex since we got together. That simultaneously pleased me and made me sad, since I knew she missed it and she was someone who really could have sex with someone else without it lessening her love for me.

We had met when she was 22, two years my junior, and we dated for about a year before I asked her to marry me. I'm not sure now why it took me so long. And at the time we went to Deepwell, we'd been blissfully married for just over six months - and yet my foolish jealousy was still there. Izzy is a very attractive girl and I had to watch and worry about not just the men in her life trying to seduce her, but potentially the women too. It was stupid, since Izzy was clearly able to control her desires, but I couldn't help it.

Izzy had tried to reassure me. She noted that it was ironic that the two people she loved most in the world - me and her best friend Olivia who had been chief bridesmaid at her wedding - were the two that she couldn't share her natural sexuality with. Me because of my prudish jealousy and Olivia because, despite a number of attempts at seduction on Izzy's part, she had always resisted her friend's advances, saying she wasn't like that and she didn't want to do anything that would spoil their friendship.

All that history was what lay behind my remark about Izzy finding Sarah Lim attractive. We had been at Webster's mansion and already met Madelaine, Andrew and Sarah, any of whom were good looking enough to get Izzy's attention. However, my wife was used to my stupidity and just grinned at me, before adding, "We're supposed to stay a week, remember. If you want me on my best behaviour you'd better make sure to keep me happy at night, and that'll help stop your eyes wandering as well."

I was not at all averse to the idea of plenty of intimate time with my wife - we were away from all the pressures of home and work after all, almost like a holiday - but any further thoughts on these lines were interrupted by the return of Sarah.

"Hi again," she said. "Mr Webster is ready to see you now. I'll sit in as well so I can take notes in case he needs anything done."

We filed into the room next door, one clearly used by George Webster as an office. It was far grander than the one we had just left, oak panelled, with a library of old books covering one wall and two large windows to our left showing a fine view of the formal gardens at the rear of the house. There was a small conference table with chairs in one corner, another couch and a positively enormous oak desk that indicated 'very important person sits here' as plainly as if it had a notice on it to that effect.

Webster had done us the honour of emerging from behind his desk to greet us in person and was standing in the middle of the room waiting. He was smartly dressed in what was doubtless an extravagantly expensive tailored suit, and with his strong handsome face and grizzled greying hair, he was the very model of the wealthy businessmen, perhaps in his late 50s. He was of medium height, and looked fit for his age.

Webster thrust out a hand and I duly shook it. He had a firm grip. "Ah, Mr Kemble, do you mind if I call you Edward?" he said. "Please call me George. We are going to be working together for some time, I hope, and there is no need for formalities."

"Thanks, and in that case it's Ed," I replied. That was the name most people used. Never Ted, I hated that, and only my wife ever called me Eddie and that was private.

Webster gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement to my comment and turned to Izzy and shook her hand as well.

"And Mrs Kemble - Isabella isn't it?"

"I prefer to be called Izzy, George," my wife replied not standing on ceremony.

"Of course Izzy," our host replied. "It's delightful to have you both here and I hope you enjoy your stay. I think you will; everyone does."

I didn't entirely like the look Webster was giving Izzy, not that she seemed to mind. I guess attractive young women are obliged to suffer the attention of lecherous older men, and I had my suspicions of my new 'friend' George in that respect given the nature of his household staff.

Despite this, I soon found myself feeling at ease. George Webster had an undeniable charm. Instead of sitting at his grand desk, he showed us to the couch and pulled up a chair for himself. On his orders Sarah left and returned with drinks - nothing more exotic than tea - and then we sat and chatted. Not yet about the reason I was here, but mostly about this beautiful old house. Slightly unwillingly, I found myself liking George and it seemed Izzy did too. His company was charming and somehow relaxing. I stopped worrying.

After about half an hour our host said, "Well I think it is time we got down to business Ed. I don't suppose Izzy wants to be bored by that, so let me borrow your wife for a moment and I'll find someone to show her round. Wait here and I'll only be ten minutes at most."

Earlier I might have wondered why George didn't just call someone into his office, but by now I was sure he was trustworthy. Nor did Izzy appear to have any concerns. Besides nothing much could happen in ten minutes, so I made no objection. He and Izzy left by a door in the south wall, which by the geography of the place obviously led onto the long corridor we had seen earlier. I waited passively and contentedly for George to return and indeed it didn't take long; less than the time he had suggested in fact.

"Your wife really is a charming young woman," he said as he came into the room, "You're a very lucky man. I found one of the maids, who will take care of her while we are busy."

"What, Madelaine?" I asked.

"No, another one; she's called Jenny - short for Jennifer."

"I'll bet she's young and attractive though!," I said, somewhat recklessly perhaps, but I was feeling remarkably relaxed and comfortable in my host's company, considering we had only just met.

Webster took no offence, merely smiling. "Your guess is a good one. Jenny is 21, blonde and very good looking. I expect you'll meet her later and you can judge for yourself." Then, before I could enquire further, he added, "But now we really should get down to business."

For this he sat behind that huge desk and I sat on a chair in front of it, notebook and pen out of my pocket and in hand. My laptop and microphone were with my luggage, but I knew shorthand and going 'old school' seemed no problem for a first meeting. Certainly George didn't seem worried.

"You know I have invited you here and offered you a handsome sum to write up my life story for me," he began. "I imagine you have some questions about that."

"Yes, I admit I do have a couple, if you don't mind. Don't get me wrong; I'm more than grateful for the opportunity. Aside from the money, this could be my big break. But you are famously reclusive, so I can't help wondering, why now? And why me? You could have got any journalist or ghost writer in the country. I'm hardly even famous in my own household."

Webster smiled at my small joke. "As to why you, there is a specific reason for that and I'll admit it is not for your skills as a writer, admirable though I'm sure they are. But I think we'll leave that for another day. To answer your first question about why now, the truth is that I'm dying. I know I don't look it, but I have only a few months to live at most."

I was shocked by this. I had known George Webster for only about an hour and already I considered him a trusted friend. The idea that someone who seemed still in the prime of life should be dying was horrifying.

"What... I mean how?" I asked clumsily.

"Well, officially its cancer, but really it's just old age," he said calmly. "I can't complain, I've had a long and full life."

This confused me. If I had been asked to guess his age I would have said maybe 56 or 57, so someone who could reasonably expect another 20 or 30 years of life. While cancer can strike at any age, I couldn't understand why he was talking as if he were an old man. Webster obviously saw this because he suddenly asked: "How old do you think I am?"

I could see he wanted my honest opinion, so I said, "I don't know... mid 50s perhaps?"

"I was born in 1900, when Queen Victoria was still on the throne. I had my 124th birthday in February."

I stared at the man in amazement. I had been enjoying his company, starting to like him even, but now I found he was clearly either raving mad or having some sort of weird joke at my expense.

Seeing my confusion, he continued. "Naturally you don't believe me but I will prove it to you over the next few days. I have plenty of documentary evidence. For now just try to accept that there is a reason for my long life. Even now, it is preserving my outward appearance and vigour. Since my mid-20s I have aged about one year for every three that have passed. But nothing can wholly stop the effects of time, and inside my body has finally succumbed. I accept that it is my time and will go with gratitude for the life I've had, but my legacy must be passed on; which is where you come in."

"Well... I... I'm not sure what to say. It's a lot to take in," I said, still concerned I was dealing with someone unbalanced. Had finding out he had cancer driven him mad? But Webster's calm manner was putting my fears at rest again. I felt I should give him the benefit of the doubt and go along with things until I knew more.

"Yes, I can see it would be," George said, "given which, we will stop there for today. There is about three hours before dinner, so I think we should go and find Izzy and you can spend the time with her. We'll talk more tomorrow."

This seemed reasonable, so I followed him out of the same door he had taken with Izzy and as I expected it led to the long corridor that ran the length of the East wing. Webster led me along that corridor past several doors before he stopped in front of one.

Turning to me he said; "We put you in here. It's a nice bedroom with its own bathroom. I hope you like it. One word of advice; whatever you find Izzy doing, just go with the flow, as I think they say nowadays, and join in. I promise you'll enjoy it. See you and Izzy at dinner, Ed. I'll send one of the servants to get you. Have fun."

"Err, thanks George," I said, wondering what he meant. Then I opened the door and found out.

*****

I stopped and stared at the scene before me in stunned surprise. Two gorgeous young women were resting on the king size bed in the centre of the room and both were entirely naked. One, a girl in her early 20s, was lying on her back, eyes closed, long blonde hair spread out on the pillows, one hand gently toying with the nipple of one of her delightfully perky breasts, while the other rested on the curly brown hair of the other girl, who was face down between the blonde's spread legs. Blondie was giving little sighs of blissful pleasure at what was being done to her and the sucking and slurping noises left no doubt what that was.

As to the second girl, although I couldn't see her face, I knew her hair, the curve of her back on her slender form, the delightful mounds of her buttocks and her long shapely legs almost as well as my own body. It was Izzy who was busily licking the pussy of the other girl, who I assumed must be the maid, Jenny.

Taking in all of this had needed only moments, and the girls now reacted to the sound of me opening the door. Jenny opened her eyes, turned her head and gave me a smile, seeming entirely untroubled by being caught naked in the middle of a lesbian sex session by a man she had never seen before. My wife didn't get up but raised her head from between the blonde's legs. She also seemed surprisingly calm, but did at least look intrigued to know what I was thinking.

I was still stupidly gawping at the scene, so it was Izzy who spoke first: "Oh, hi darling. Umm... this is Jenny. Jenny, this is my husband Ed."

"Hi Ed; I'm glad you're here," the blonde girl said. "Your wife is an amazing pussy licker and she's really made me need some cock." I was so surprised by Jenny's broad Somerset accent - her looks had suggested something Scandinavian perhaps - that I hardly noticed what she had just said. Clearly she was a local girl in what so far had seemed a rather multi-national household.

Izzy was still talking. "I'm sorry about this, but George told us it would be all right. He said he could see how much I wanted Jenny and that she would really like it too, and, well, it's been so long since I... anyway, he said that it would be fine and you wouldn't mind. In fact George said you'd like it and it would be like a new beginning for us and that our relationship would be better than ever..."

Her voice trailed off. Izzy was clearly wondering how I would react. To be honest, so was I. This was a shock for sure, but there was a primal, animalistic, part of my brain that liked it a lot. I always fancied my wife like mad, the other girl was hot too, they were having sex and they seemed to want me to join in. The conscious part of my mind might be a little shocked, but that deep sexual instinct was asking me what exactly what I waiting for.

"George said that, did he?" I said, sounding bewildered. "He told me that whatever I found, I should join in and would enjoy it."

"Well come on then Eddie," said my wife.

"Yeah, Ed, fuck us both," added Jenny, still as calm as if she was asking if I took sugar with my tea.

The horny ape part of me won. "Fuck it," I muttered and started to practically tear my clothes off. Izzy, seeing my response, moved her head back between Jenny's legs and resumed the licking my arrival had interrupted.

"Come here, you," Jenny said, beckoning to me. I was finding her soft West Country accent curiously sexy.

Stark naked, I sat on the bed next to her. My cock was already beginning to stiffen, even as the blonde girl learned over and took it in her hand, giving the length a few stokes. Then she bent forward a little more and took the head of my cock in her mouth and began to lick it. I gazed down the bed to where Izzy has adjusted her own position as Jenny moved so her mouth remained clamped to the blonde's pussy. All my worries had gone. This was bliss and no man could have resisted, so why would I want to?

My cock hardened rapidly. Jenny was only the second woman after Izzy to give me oral with any sign of enthusiasm and I had to agree she certainly knew what she was doing. I closed my eyes and revelled in the feeling of her wet mouth and soft tongue. Yet more bliss.

But I was not completely content, because a sudden burning desire to fuck my wife had entered my head. She had promised not to do anything like this without talking to me first, and while I was loving the fact that she had initiated a threesome, I felt I still owed her was a darn good fucking - or at least that was my excuse. Besides, I was certain it was exactly what she wanted too.

I freed my now rampant cock from Jenny's mouth and moved down the end of the bed where Izzy's feet and lower legs protruded beyond it. I lightly gripped her ankles and parted her legs, giving me a good view of her pussy. It was glistening with moisture; she was even more turned on than me. I had been planning to lick her clit for a bit, maybe while I finger fucked her - she always loved that - but the sight before me, and the sounds of Izzy slobbering all over Jenny's pussy, were too much. I wanted her now.

I stood up, leaned forward and gave Izzy a slap on the bum, not hard but to get her attention. "Well now, you naughty young lady," I said in a playful tone, but with more than a hint of lustful need in it, "I'm going to teach you for behaving like a slut without asking me first."

Izzy disentangled herself from Jenny and turned over on her back. Her pretty face was wet with her own saliva and Jenny's pussy juices. She grinned at me. "You don't fool me, husband. You're loving your new sexy wife; I've never seen you so hard. And this is just the start. You're going to want me to be the biggest slut ever, before we're done - and I plan to be."

I was too far gone with desire to spend time wondering whether she was right. All I knew was that I needed her now. I practically dived on top of her, my cock finding its way into her well-lubricated pussy without the slightest difficulty. I kissed Izzy, then flexed my buttocks and began to pump into her at once, in that familiar rhythm. She threw her legs up and crossed them behind my back, inviting me in deeper. We were both on heat and this was unlikely to last long.

I had forgotten Jenny completely, so wrapped up was I in Izzy's beauty and the delights of her slim flexible body, and so was startled when the blonde suddenly said. "God, this is so fucking hot." I glanced over and saw Jenny was sitting beside us, her fingers on her pussy, watching carefully and masturbating. She saw me looking, gave me a wicked grin and then reached round and began to stroke my balls. "Go on Ed, fuck the bitch harder; make her cum."

I did as I was told, slamming my cock into Izzy's wet pussy to her great delight, while Jenny continued to caress my over-stimulated balls. It was all too much to last long, and with several deep thrusts and a groan, I was cumming, my pulsing cock spewing my sperm into Izzy's eager cunt. Happily, the sight of my face grimacing in orgasm set Izzy off as well, and she came even as she felt me filling her womb with my spunk.

I lay atop Izzy, her arms round me, locked in mutual pleasure, my dick still hard inside her despite the fact I had cum. Had we been at home and alone, we would have simply stayed in that loving embrace until finally we parted to sleep or shower, depending on what the need of the moment was. Jenny, however, had other ideas.

Before we really understood what she was doing the blonde had eased us apart and her busy tongue was investigating the mingled fluids of our lovemaking, first licking Izzy's pussy and then cleaning up my cock. She showed no sign of finding the mix of my sperm and Izzy's pussy juice anything other than delightful. My cock responded, hardening once more, despite my recent orgasm.

Jenny looked down the bed at us, glancing back and forth but mainly at Izzy as she said, "I really need his cock inside me." I realised she was asking Izzy for permission. I think my assent was taken for granted by both girls. They were right; I wanted Jenny.

Izzy looked at me, reading my desire, and then she held my eyes with hers and said, almost solemnly, "I want you to fuck Jenny, and make it good. She called me a bitch earlier, so use her as yours and give it to her hard and fast. Make her cum like the horny little slut she is." Her husky voice and the look on my wife's face convinced me that the idea of watching me fuck Jenny was turning her on like crazy. My cock gave a throb of delight at the thought.

"Yes, ma'am," I said with a smile, as if a soldier taking orders. Then looking at Jenny, I added: "You heard what she said. Get on all fours; you're going to get fucked doggy!"

"About bloody time," Jenny replied impudently - but she assumed the position I had ordered. I knelt on the bed behind the blonde's raised hips and between her spread legs and stoked her pussy with my fingers. My wife was taking advantage of the position I had chosen, manoeuvring herself on the bed until she was sitting with her legs either side of Jenny's head. Then she grabbed a handful of blonde hair and moved Jenny's head to her pussy. The blonde girl knew what she wanted and began to lick Izzy's pussy.

My wife looked along the length of the woman we were about to share and smiled at me. "Fuck her good Eddie - she deserves it. Her tongue feels so good on my clit."

Needing no further encouragement, I took my hard erection in hand and moved it to the entrance to Jenny's pussy, then pushed forward. The head slid in, then a few more thrusts and she had taken my length. For the first time since I had met Izzy I was having sex with another women and my wife didn't just agree with it, she was looking breathlessly excited to watch.

I gripped Jenny's thighs and began to move in and out, obeying Izzy's instructions to give the blonde a good shafting - which judging by her reaction as she wiggled her hips to take me even deeper, was exactly what she wanted as well. Soon my groin was slapping hard against Jenny's rounded, plump buttocks as I slammed my length into her pussy.

Exciting as this was - and it was certainly very arousing - the fact I had cum not long before meant I would be able to keep this up for a good while. In the event it was actually Izzy who came first. Jenny was clearly both experienced and skilful when it came to cunnilingus, but I think it was watching me fucking another women that drove my wife over the edge. She was getting a lot of fantasies fulfilled today - although as subsequent days would show, she had plenty more.

The sight of Izzy cumming on another woman's tongue was pretty hot for me as well, and I redoubled my efforts, shafting Jenny's yielding pussy still deeper and harder. She, freed of oral duties, was face down on the bed, moaning gently with each of my thrusts as I gripped her hips and gave her everything I could.

Izzy roused herself and knelt next to us. She slipped a hand between Jenny's legs and rubbed her clit as my hard cock continued to thrust in and out of the blonde's dripping pussy. Every now and then Izzy would break off to give me a long, lingering, open mouthed kiss. All too soon, this double stimulation put Jenny over the edge. She gave a long moan as she came and then tried to fall forward, exhausted, onto the bed. I put an arm round her waist holding her up while I shafted her for all I was worth.

Izzy sat up once more, kissed me again, and then looked me in the eyes. "Cum for me," she said, "fill her wet pussy with your lovely cum and I'll suck it out of her". She looked far gone, driven half-mad with lust.

Well, that did it for me. I pulled Jenny's hips back so my cock was embedded in her cunt as far as it would go, and then I let loose, pumping strings of sperm deep inside her. It was as intense an orgasm as I could ever remember, and when I had finally emptied my balls, I found my legs were trembling and I collapsed sideways onto the bed, taking Jenny with me, my slowly wilting cock still inside her.

A few minutes later, and while Izzy was still engaged in cleaning both of us up with her tongue, there was a polite knock at the door and Madelaine entered. She didn't seem in the least surprised to find Izzy, Jenny and I naked on the bed, obviously having just finished an epic threesome. Instead she merely said:

"Monsieur et Madame, Monsieur Webster sent me to remind you that you are invited to dinner at 7.00, so there is plenty of time to wash and dress."

I suspected that the reason for the interruption was to ensure that our mini-orgy didn't continue so long that we missed dinner. I had a strong suspicion that Webster knew exactly what had taken place and had a good deal to do with setting it up. However, there was no denying that I had thoroughly enjoyed myself and Izzy had loved every minute; I had never seen her so happy. So I had no reason to complain.

But I did have a lot of questions. I had already concluded we were staying for the week - I'm not sure I could have dragged Izzy away even if I'd wanted to - but I fully intended to get to the bottom of what exactly was going on here, including the extraordinary claim Webster had made earlier, and why he wanted me, of all people, to tell his story.

Jenny collected up her maid's outfit and Izzy and I kissed her a fond goodbye, with promises of a repeat when the chance arose. Then I turned to Izzy.

"Come on sweetie, let's shower together and get dressed. We don't want to be late for dinner. I have a feeling this is the start of an interesting week."

Izzy grinned back at me, "If the first day is anything to go by, it will be amazing."

*****

Author's note - It's taken ages to complete this story and I didn't want to publish the start until I was certain I would finish it. That is virtually done - six chapters including this one, and 90% of the last. My plan is to publish one a week until complete.

I don't think this story breaks any major new ground for me, but there will be several overlapping 'mysteries', which I will allow to unfold naturally over the chapters until all is revealed, which should hopefully provide some interest beyond all the rampant sex - of which there will be a lot; quite why, is one of those mysteries.

And if anyone is wondering where the 'mind control' element is, I suggest considering how Ed's and even Izzy's state of mind and behaviour changes through the chapter. All will be revealed in time!