Meeting The Lady
The second morning that I awoke in my new home in the village of Little Standing was just as fine and bright as the first. This time, however, I decided to shower and dress myself fully before heading downstairs. I hadn't the day before, and it had led to an erotic encounter with the woman who was my cleaner. Once that had reached its climactic end Mrs. Carter, for that was her name, had set about her duties without further ado. She wished to keep a firm division between employer and employee: and I agreed with her whole-heartedly, if somewhat belatedly. Actually, I reached that conclusion round about the time that I was rinsing off her tacky love juices [along with the residue of the fuck I'd had the night before,] in the shower.
Today I was making some breakfast in the kitchen, the site of our coupling, when she arrived for work. She bustled in with a smile but made no allusion to yesterday's events at all. She had done a very good job of cleaning the slick sweat from the worktops and the pool of our cum that had blobbed onto the floor from her gaping pussy.
"I've just seen the postie and there's a few bits for you. Probably bills, but I'd open that one first if I was you," she suggested passing me a hand written envelope made of a thick, heavy paper. "It looks like Lady Penelope, up at the Big House," she stated. I slit the envelope with my breakfast knife and extracted an ornate card. The card was an invitation and it asked if I were available for lunch that day and if so, I should call the given number to confirm that 12:30 was acceptable. It also suggested Country Casual for dress. It was quite a presumptuous little card!
"Hmm, you've been summoned, you have," said Mrs. Carter as she blatantly read my mail over my shoulder. "Best to just go along with it."
"Really?" I asked.
"Oh yes, you doan wanna be on the wrong side of 'er Ladyship. I'd call now to be sure of a better welcome, if I was you."
I took the advice, called and spoke to a quietly voiced male, who had just a little of the local burr, and was asked if I had any dietary restrictions. Having said I hadn't I duly received confirmation that 12:30 was still the expected time. I ambled through the morning and got myself ready for the appointment. Mrs. Carter took the trouble of pointing out the destination to me from my front receiving room, to the left of the main entrance. I could see the upper stories of a gothic looking pile, glowering down over the valley in front of it, all chimneys and terracotta slates poking above the treetops. I was assured it was no more than a fifteen-minute walk, "Even for a Townie...", was the sub text, I felt.
I donned some sensible brown brogues, light fawn trousers, a shirt with pale blue check lines on it and a tie that complemented it. Very country. My jacket was a light materialled blazer-but darker in color. I sprayed minimal haze of something a bit citrus-y on myself and I felt that I was ready to go. I planned to go all the way downhill to the village Green and then left before climbing up the hill. However, the good Mrs. Carter told me to keep a look-out to my left on my descent and I'd see a narrow path between two cottages named after flowers. This would cut across the side of the valley.
I followed the good lady's directions and darted between Rose and Hyacinth Cottages to walk along a lane barely the width of a large car and so avoided the lowest point of the village, sloping across behind some twee cottages and in front of some more utilitarian barns and sheds. I smelt some wholesome meals being prepared and also some distinctly "country air" whiffs of bovine origin. I suddenly popped out onto the wider road and saw a pair of tall gates up to my left that broke the continuity of a high wall made of the familiar red brick. I passed through the opening and crunched up a pale gravel driveway for few minutes, passing ornate topiary, to an open space constructed like a mini-roundabout. Thus, I arrived at the door of Lady Standing's country estate.
I tugged on a wrought-iron bell-pull and the doors soon swung apart, revealing a man dressed in sharply creased black trousers and a black waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt adorned with a narrow black tie: and his shoes were also black and gleaming. He looked to be in his forties and wore his hair shaved to a brutal number one cut, through which his highly tanned skin seemed to, you've guessed it, gleam. His vividly green eyes, however, sparkled. I gave my name and he offered a faint smile whilst accepting I was expected. I recognized his voice from our earlier phone chat. At his bidding I followed behind him for a short way to a room off the large hallway and to the right of a dramatic flight of carpeted stairs. There was a lot of heavy, dark wood and a deep green plain carpet with a subdued gold colored, entwined pattern running along the border.
The first room was quite small but was occupied by a woman of such beauty that my progress across it towards her seemed to me to take an age. It felt as if my knees were on backwards and my arms had two elbows apiece such was my discombobulation. I'd imagined Lady Standing to be a ham-fisted, tweed-rumped old boiler whose mustache-growing abilities would put me to shame; but a golden-haired, Scandinavian style goddess sat demurely before me. She very much put me in mind of Diana Spencer, Lady Di to most, but she seemed a tad shorter and a little more rounded in the face. She sat at a small round table which supported an artfully arranged floral display. She smiled and held out her hand to me which I shook lightly, not wishing to damage this beauty. It also meant I had to lean forward a little almost as if I were bowing to her. She gestured to a second chair and I joined her at the table.
"May I offer you a drink?" she asked. "I'm having a sherry. It's very light."
I said I would join her and she arched her eyebrows to the butler saying, "If you please, Marston." He served us from another heavy wooden piece of furniture adorned with a fine array of bottles sparkling in the sunlight that flooded the room.
Her eyes were a piercing blue, her teeth startlingly white and her lips full. Her skin was pale compared with the rest of the village population that I'd seen so far but still carried a little hint of the sun in her cheeks. Her blonde hair was swept back from her face and forehead, held by a green band, and fell in long, loose waves to rest on her shoulder. She wore a blue, white and green leaf- patterned frock that had a square cut across her rounded bosom, hinting at the beginning of a cleavage. It was sinched in at her waist with a thin green leather belt the gold buckle of which matched the fine golden chain around her throat. Her legs were encased in a pale tan nylon and crossed over themselves to one side of her chair leg. They ended at a pair of shoes that were mere nothings of a pale green leather that exactly matched the green in her attire and had a fine strap around her ankle.
As we sipped the delicate wine, she pointed out various features of the landscape. She started with the most distant features and worked back up the Valley towards ourselves. The church was closest by, to the right of her gates as we looked out, so we talked a little of its role in the village. I explained Mrs. Carter's help in getting me there in good time and how I'd walked beside the old grey stones of the graveyard wall.
"Ah, yes, the Carters. They've been here almost as long as my family. As have Marston's ancestors. Plenty of those names in that cemetery. The publican, a Mr. Jolly I believe, is considered a newcomer as it was only his grandfather who settled here."
