Date: Fri, 7 Sep 2012 08:22:39 +0200
From: Amy Redek <adultreading@gmail.com>
Subject: The Horseshoe. Part One.

      This story is for persons of eighteen years or over.  All comments,
good or bad, are welcome and all will be answered.

Part One.

                                         PROLOGUE

   The Horseshoe is a private housing estate, surrounded by high walls,
twenty four-hour guards with the latest security devices known to man, deep
in the Surrey countryside. Well off the main roads and only served by a
small track from one of the minor roads that do not appear on most
ordinance survey maps.

   The builder didn't actually have permission at the time to erect
dwellings on designated farmland, but, with a few phone calls to friends in
the local council, he didn't have the normal problems. His argument was,
that how can the middle of a wood constitute being classified as
farmland. The answer was that if the road into the estate was not
developed...

   So the `Horseshoe' came into being.

   Eight houses were built in a clearing in the middle of the wood in the
shape it gave its name, with only the one track into and out of the estate,
and they were sold for around a half a million pounds each. Making it a
nice profit for the original landowner and the builder.

   Because of the laws about building in the green belt, the houses were
not advertised in the normal way, but by word of mouth. So, it was really
only offered to selected agencies who had clients that wanted the privacy.

   In fact, they were all sold within two weeks of being offered, even
though they were still three months away from completion. Considering the
price of the properties, they, the builders, refused to let anyone move in
till they had completely finished the estate.

   It was worth it! The pseudo Georgian houses, with immaculate lawns,
devoid of the detritus of the builders, was a picture to behold. Three
houses on either side as you entered the horseshoe, with two imposing
structures at the bowl end of the shoe. Their facades, with the twin
columns either side of the front entrance beneath the portico's flanking
the double teak front doors. The bow windows on the ground floor already
draped with wisteria, were a sight to behold. These two sold for one
million each, and were the first to be snapped up.

   The agent for the properties also controlled the date of
occupation. This was to stop any congestion of furniture removal vehicles
and also to set the tone of the pecking order within the estate.

   All houses had been carpeted throughout, and had the latest appliances
installed, down to the smallest toaster.

   It was early on the Monday that the first van arrived to unload at
number four, the first of the big houses to be occupied. It was two vans
that unloaded the possessions of the current American hit movie star,
Marianne Dyer. They weren't really her possessions as such. They were what
her agent had deemed was necessary for her to be comfortable with in her
new, but temporary home while she was in England. It was nearly three weeks
before Miss Dyer actually moved in, but she was the first to be ensconced
in the Horseshoe.

   The second house to be occupied, a day later, was number five, next door
to Miss Dyer's. Mr Stephen Mattock, a prominent publisher of a scurrilous
newspaper that didn't pull punches with whatever news came within his
reach. He needed the security as well as the anonymity, because he wasn't
far off causing headlines himself for his promiscuity with either sex. He
moved in immediately with his wife and their own security staff.

   As did the occupant of number two. Two heavies unlimbered themselves
from the limousine before they allowed one of the world's current top pop
stars to get out and survey his new home. Sven Dali, his stage name; an
inappropriate choice in the opinion of many people, but it got him noticed
and sold many records. Enough to be able to afford this house. His girl
friend, the current one, was left to get out of the car herself and follow
them into the house. Her voluptuous figure didn't go unnoticed by Stephen
Mattock who was watching them disembark.

   Two days later, a Liberal Member of Parliament moved in with his
secretary. To avoid libel laws, we cannot give either names, so we will
call them Mr. Black and Mr White. The house they occupied was number seven.

   It was a business entrepreneur who took possession of number one. David
Fowler was one of the whiz kids that the city sometimes disgorges out into
society. He had made a lot of money on the Stock Exchange floor and wisely
decided to invest in property, while he expanded out into the world of
consultancy. Alice Drupe, an associate from previous days, who was his
present girlfriend, moved in too.

   It upset the rest of the Horseshoe when they found out that the occupant
of number six turned out to be a lottery winner. Mr and Mrs Wilson with
their teenage daughter.

   The female novelist Berry Nice took number three. She now wished she'd
never chosen that nom-de-plume. If she had only known how successful she
was to become, she would have chosen something much more decorous, as now
befitted her circumstances.

   The last house occupied was that of number eight. It was thought to be a
good coup for the others that a prominent footballer should move into their
small enclave. Again, for legal reasons, let's say he was Mike Stevens from
a Premier division football club.

   Thus all eight houses were occupied by a fairly diverse and affluent
spectrum of society, but most devoid of the morals that society has
prescribed that we should live by.







                               Number One, The Horseshoe.

   Four of the houses of the Horseshoe were already occupied when David
Fowler moved in on the Monday. He'd supervised the loading of the furniture
van on the Saturday for them to be down at his new house as early as
possible that Monday morning. He'd spent the weekend at his girl friend's
flat in Battersea, and during one night of this weekend, asked her, Alice
Drupe, to come and live with him. She smiled, kissed him, and opened her
legs again as she accepted him on both accounts.

   David had started in London as a runner for a brokerage house, but soon
moved into a position of a dealer on the Stock Exchange. This he had a
flair for, and soon started to make a lot of money for his employers as
well as getting huge bonuses for himself. He loved the cut and thrust of
selling short and going long on his deals, and had the nose for when to
pull back and advise to sell or buy.

   Though he did go out with the boys, drinking and living it up at clubs
and the like, he still squirreled away quite a sum before he was
twenty-two. After another three years, he decided to go solo and open his
own office as an investment consultant.

   That was when he employed Alice Drupe. She was only twenty years of age,
but quickly picked up his enthusiasm, and worked as hard as she could. It
was nearly a year before he realised that all he had been doing was
working. He suddenly missed the nights out with the boys, and what they
would sometimes do when they were at the pubs and the discos.

   `Alice! How long have we been working together?' he asked her.

   `Eleven months as near as damn it,' she replied.

   `Have we made any money in that time?' he queried.

   `Quite a bit. Without going through everything, I would say about a
million and a half.' She straightened up from the filing cabinet, pushing a
lock of hair away from her eyes. The action accentuating her breasts
through the thin blouse. He noticed, for the first time, that she wasn't
wearing a bra, and that the nipples were quite pronounced on her ample
breasts. He leaned back in his chair as he looked at her in the half-light
of his office.

   `Alice, let me take you for a drink for I think that we have done enough
to deserve a treat. What do you say?'

   `I say yes to that! It's gone six, and it's time we finished anyway,'
she answered.

   So they closed the office, got their coats and went out into the bustle
of streets full of people making their way to their homes. Some, like them,
stopped at bars for at least one drink before going off.

   It was a small bar that they stopped in, and he was somewhat at a loss
at what to talk about it being so long since he'd been out alone with a
female. But she came through with flying colours, keeping the conversation
flowing, filling in the pauses with little bits of nonsense that made him
laugh. So much so that it was very late when they left the bar.

   It was Alice who suggested that they get something to eat, but as it was
then, very late, that it might be better if they went to her place where
she could cook them a meal. So off they set, and were soon at her flat
where she made him sit down while she prepared a meal.

   He couldn't sit still in such a small room, so he was soon up and walked
out into the kitchen, small again, to help. He opened the bottle of wine
she indicated, and stirred the veg as directed, between sips from his
glass.

   With the quick meal prepared, they sat and ate from the plates on their
laps in the lounge as soft music played from her small machine on the
sideboard. They also finished off the bottle of wine.

   It was only when he was drinking his coffee next to her that he really
saw her for the first time, relaxed, and at home with herself. He liked the
line of her cheek, framed by her hair, the fullness of her lips and then
looking down, the fullness of her body and was suddenly aroused.

   My God, he thought. It's been over a year since I've had a woman. So he
turned and took the glass from her hand and placed it on the side table and
kissed her.

   My God, she thought. It's taken him nearly a year to do this and
accepted the kiss with alacrity.

   With both having the urge, it wasn't long before they were both on the
floor, naked. Kissing, fondling and bringing each to a pitch where all that
was left was to couple. This they did with vigour as her legs opened and
took him inside as he held himself up above her. His arms straight down by
her sides as he thrust into her, her arms up at his neck, holding him. She
pulled him down as she came to her orgasm, her legs going round him as she
clutched at him. He reciprocated by grinding hard at her as he came in his
shuddering bursts, collapsing on her as he spent himself.

   They lay for a long time on the floor, kissing, sucking and licking at
each other before they finally went to bed and had a repeat performance.

   From then on they were an item. They worked together and lived and made
love together. He moved out of his dowdy basement flat into her first floor
just as dowdy flat. Then a year later he enquired at an estate agent for
the finding of a suitable property for him and Alice.

   So the two of them moved into the Horseshoe.







                                 Number Two, the Horseshoe.

   The hall was in darkness, but the stage was a blaze of light as the
group belted out their latest number. The fans screamed as they finished
and tried to storm the stage but were beaten back by the protectors as the
group left, waving their guitars to the crowd. They pushed their way
through the other performers waiting to go on, making their way to the
dressing room they were using.

   `Fucking morons,' Sven snarled as they dropped into their chairs. He was
covered in sweat from his exertions out there on the stage. His clothes
were dripping wet, which he savagely tore off as he sat there till he was
naked, his cock sticking out erect from between his thighs, and he held it
in his hand.

   `Now Klaus, now!' he said to another member of the band, `I want it done
now!'

   Klaus went over and bent down and took him into his mouth and sucked on
him till Sven came, pumping his sperm out into the willing recipient's
throat. He pushed him off when he'd finished coming, and wiped the end of
his prick on his towel as he wiped himself down.

   `That's what they all want. How lucky you are Klaus to be the one to get
it' he sneered as he kicked out at him. The other two of the group looked
at him with disgust and loathing in their eyes, but said nothing. It was
always the same with him. Being the lead, it was always him out front and
getting the kudos, and they were always relegated to the back row when it
came to pube city.

   Then there was this performance nearly every time backstage. It was
always Klaus who went down on him, the others wouldn't. It was unfortunate
that neither of the other two had the backbone to stand up to him. It was
Sven that made the group and, in the process, made them millionaires, so
they weren't prepared to ruin the continuing run of the gravy train. If
Klaus was prepared to accept it as it was, so would they, but they still
wished it was different.

   The four boys had formed the group while they were at University, in
Stockholm. Sven Dali, whose real name was Stromberg. He changed it when
they formed their rock band, the others being Klaus Johansen, Paul Kronje
and Lars Winters. They named the group `Blazers', this was because of the
jackets they wore when they first performed at a school concert. They'd
been playing together for a year, doing these concerts with the occasional
gig at one of the pubs in the city.

   It was here that Damien Bacon spotted them and became their agent and
promoter. He did a good job for them, getting them record deals and
bookings all over Europe before taking them round the world on tour.

   Five years on, they were a household name, rivalling The Stones and
other top groups. They had tried living together, but that didn't work. It
was okay while on tour, but they had to have a break from each other in
between times. It was agreed that they would use England as their base, and
they all got their own houses close enough to London for recording
sessions.

  It was Damien who found out about the Horseshoe and talked Sven into
buying his house there. So an interior designer was hired and she saw to
the purchase of beds, drapes and furnishings, and supervised their
placement on the Wednesday.

   Saturday afternoon saw the limousine pull into the estate and Sven moved
in with Wesley and Phil, his two bodyguards, and a well endowed young woman
called Natasha who was his current girl friend.





                            Number Three, the Horseshoe.

   As a child at school, Vanessa Brice showed remarkable perception on and
awareness of things around her. This showed in the essays she wrote, and
her teacher, who had a speech impediment, always complimented on her
writings by saying, `Berry nice Banessa, berry nice.'

   So when she was in high school and started to contribute stories for the
school magazine, she signed her articles as `Berry Nice' to keep her
anonymity. At university, she became the editor of `Campus' magazine and
passed her courses in English Lit. and journalism with flying colours. On
leaving, she got a job on a woman's magazine as a sub-editor and quite
often published her own pieces, which was not really ethical, but under the
bye line of Berry Nice, got away with it.

   Six years later she was editor and was able to afford a small flat south
of the river. Here, she wrote her first novel which was a huge success. Her
second was just as good as the first, so she made the decision to quit
being an editor and devote herself to writing full time. That was when she
started looking for a secluded place to do this.

   A friend of hers told her about the Horseshoe, and she was very pleased
to secure it and moved in on the second Wednesday.





                             Number Four, the Horseshoe.

   Marianne Dyer, nee Janet Kelp, was a child film star at fourteen years
of age. Now at twenty six, she was a super star. It was her overbearing
mother who pushed her into films back in Hollywood. Shirley Kelp had slept
with six producers before one finally agreed to give her daughter a screen
test. After the test, he took the little girl Janet's virginity in his
office and she never looked back from then on. She also `lost' her
virginity with the producers of her next four films.

   Then came her name change and suddenly she was a star, but she still
made a point of bedding the producer of all her films. She married too
early and quickly divorced the immature boy, her fifth co-star. Then there
was a second marriage, which lasted just as long as the first. She was now
in between husbands and was currently being seen with a flamboyant playboy
when she went out on the town.

   The agents for the Horseshoe were very pleased that they were able to
make the first sale of the best property to an international film star. It
gave them a lot of credibility to be then able to vet the other buyers.

   It was three weeks before she swept in with her maid, script reader and
agent, and not without her small corgi that she had bought while in
England. If the Queen of England had corgi dogs, so could she.





                            Number Five, the Horseshoe.

   Stephen Mattock was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, or so the
saying goes. Ever since he could walk, everything he wanted or asked for,
he got. He was a very spoilt child, and would fly into tantrums if he
didn't get his way in all things.

   School was hard for him. His tantrums didn't cut any ice there, and when
he didn't get his own way, he would be very vicious in his attacks on those
that denied him. They were not direct attacks, but more on the sneaky side,
like writing scurrilous letters accusing teachers of all kinds of
malfeasances.

   He became very adept at sniffing out people's secrets and then telling
everybody else. His father would have been very proud of him if he had
known, because he was really following in his footsteps. His father owned
one of the large newspaper publishing groups, and Stephen was being groomed
to eventually take over. He joined the paper and quickly rose up the ladder
to be vice president, and was ready when his father died of a sudden heart
attack at the age of fifty-eight. After the funeral, he returned to the
paper and then proceeded to fire nearly a third of the staff. All of his
father's sycophants and those that had earned his enmity over the preceding
years, promoting his own brown nosed followers. His policy, as he told his
staff at his first meeting, was to find dirt. The dirtier the mess the
better, and it was splashed all over the front pages.

   He then married the daughter of a rival chain, demanding, and getting a
small section of their publishing outlet as a marriage settlement. The
honeymoon was short for he didn't want to be away from the paper too
long. Even so, he still found time to bang one of the hotel maids whilst on
this honeymoon.

   His wife, Margaret, had been pestering him for some time now to find
them a house outside of London, and was excited when she saw the house and
even more so when she learnt who her neighbour was.





                                Number Six, the Horseshoe.

   Jim Wilson was a warehouse supervisor when he met Jane Wellington, a
checkout clerk at a local supermarket. He was in the habit of doing his
shopping midweek during the evening, as he didn't like the crowds on
Friday's and Saturday's. With only three checkout counters, he always went
to hers because she was the prettiest.

   It was four months before he plucked up the courage to ask her out, and
was very pleased when she accepted. They went out regular then for nearly
eighteen months before he asked her if she would marry him, again he was
pleased when she accepted. They got married almost two years from the time
they first dated. It was fate she declared, as they both had the same
initials and it was meant for them to be together.

   Two years later, their daughter was born, and keeping with the idea of
initials, they named her Judy. They were living in North London and
probably would have stayed there. Jim worked on in the warehouse, becoming
Assistant Manager and Jane became Manageress at the supermarket, and when
Judy left school, went and worked with her mother. It was on her eighteenth
birthday, that she went out to a party to celebrate, and didn't get home
till nearly two a.m. and was surprised to see that the house lights were
still on.

   She let herself in after saying goodnight to her friends, and went into
the lounge to find her mother and father half drunk on champagne. She went
into hysterics when they told her that they had all six numbers up on a
rollover on the National Lottery. It turned out that they were the only
winners, so it was a very substantial sum that they won.

   They left their jobs immediately, and a week later, they went on holiday
for six months. Upon their return, they saw that Jane's parents were set up
for life with a new home and enough money to live out the rest of their
lives in comfort. It was when looking for their own home, they saw a small
snippet in a magazine about Marianne Dyer buying her house, and were lucky
enough to quickly find the agent and pay cash on the nail.







                         Number Seven, the Horseshoe.

   Peter Black had always wanted to be a Member of Parliament ever since he
was a child and had visited the famous building on a school visit. The
green benches, the imposing Speakers chair and the smell of history were
behind his driving force. He read Hansard, past speeches of famous
politicians, joined the school debating team, and then joined the party
that would give him the best chance of being nominated.

   He chose the Liberal Party. He worked it out that of the three, they had
the less members and therefore he had more chance of being selected if he
played his cards right. Nothing was too much trouble for him in running
errands for the party. Canvassing in all kinds of weather while after
studying the leaders speeches, rewording them and making quotes that
appeared to be his own while backing up that of the leader.

   He became a master on political non speak. Saying a great deal but
giving nothing away, answering awkward questions without hesitation, yet
still not committing himself one way or another. This soon got him noticed
and it wasn't long before he became a candidate and stood for his first
election. Unfortunately he was put up against a very strong Labour
constituency and only came third, but he had increased the voting for his
party by over fifty per cent such was the strength of his charm while
canvassing.

   Resigned to waiting another four years, he was pleasantly surprised to
find himself being the only Liberal name put forward at a bye election only
six months later on the death of the incumbent. He was swept in by an
increased number of votes and was now a backbencher in the Commons.

   The reason he sought a new place to live was because he was getting more
media attention than he liked, and this, he reasoned was because he had a
male secretary who lived in the same house with him. The press were
obviously trying to find out if he was hiding in the closet, as a lot of
stories about him were being slanted to lead people to believe he was gay
and having relations with Mr White, his secretary.





                            Number Eight, the Horseshoe.

   Mike Stevens was definitely not a Pele or Billy Wright, but a good
enough footballer to be signed up with a local London team. He was spotted
playing for his school, and a scout seeing the potential the boy had, and
signed him up for the club.

   He went straight into their under sixteen team as soon as he left
school. His best position was midfield right, but could, in a pinch, kick
nearly as well with his left foot, so he was useful cover for both sides of
the field. Though they didn't win their league that first year, he did well
enough to be selected for the England squad, though he sat on the bench for
the whole competition.

   For his London club, he moved up to the under eighteen team and proved a
success as a good passer of the ball, providing many crosses to the front
players to score many goals in his first season. By the time he was twenty,
he had acquired a manager to negotiate his contract when he was transferred
to the first team and secured the number five shirt, which became a club
best seller.

   Three years on and he was the main stem of the team. He was also one of
the few picked for England, twelve caps he now had in his cabinet. Silvia
Cross, a model, who was just starting to make a name for herself as a
model, was his latest girlfriend. Albeit to say, it was her connection with
him that was bringing her career to a peak.

   It was with Silvia, George Lansky, his manager and agent, and his girl
friend, Celia Worth that moved in on the Thursday of the second week.





                                                         *

   `God I'm bored,' said Judy, flinging herself down on the settee. `What
on earth made you and dad pick this godforsaken place?' She picked up a
magazine off the floor and idly flipped through the pages.

   `Your father and I liked it. It's quiet. It's secluded...'

   `And it's boring,' Judy exclaimed, interrupting her mother, `Ever since
you won that bloody money, all you've wanted to do is hide! Four bloody
million pounds we've got in the bank.'

   `But we did take a trip round the world, dear,' Jane Wilson said,
knitting in her chair.

   `A whistle stop tour! Two days here. Two days there. Never did we stop
anywhere long enough for me to meet anyone. As soon as I met someone, got
to know their name, we were bloody well flying off again. I don't get to
see anyone now,' she started to sob.

   `There there dear,' said Jane, putting her knitting down and getting out
of her chair and going over to Judy. She knelt down and took her into her
arms. `We've only been here a week, Give the place a chance. You'll soon
get to know the people here, when they eventually all move in. Some are
here already.'

   `Yes. One old spinster opposite.'

   `She's younger than I am by the looks of her.'

   `It didn't look it from where I was standing. The van didn't have much
in it either. They were in and out inside of three hours. Who was it,
anyway?' Judy asked.

   `I don't know, yet,' her mother smiled, `but no doubt we'll know soon
enough. But we do know who's in number eight, don't we?'

   `Huh. I can see him on the box every week if I want to. In fact, there's
more of him in this magazine,' which Judy waved at her mother before
dropping it back down onto the floor, `than I've seen of him here.'

   `Don't fret so,' Jane admonished her, `there's plenty of time. Soon the
place here will be jumping with lots of young people you can meet. There's
that pop star, Svengali, or whatever his name is. He's there in number
two.'

   `Number two is right! A real shit if what the papers say is
right. Especially that paper that the prick next door owns.'

   `Please don't use that language dear. You're not in North London now.'

   `Oh bloody well forgive me for forgetting my place,' Judy sneered
sarcastically, `I'm not in North London now! I'm supposed to be a genteel
country woman now. What a load of bollocks.' This last said under her
breath as she got up from the settee and went over to the large picture
window that overlooked the expansive front lawn. `Look at it. It's a
fu...bloody prison. High walls, gates and bloody security guards. I'm going
stir crazy already!'

   `Look,' Jane said,' why not go out for a walk.'

   `Ha! Exercise period is it? One hour in twenty four.'

   `Please Judy,' Jane begged, `don't go on so much. You've got your own
t.v., tapes, videos, computer; what else do you want? There's also the
swimming pool!'

   `Too cold, it's still only spring,' Judy replied.

   `Well go talk to your father. He's out in the conservatory. Go talk to
him.'

   Judy looked at her mother sitting there, quite content, knitting. Just
what the hell is she knitting now she thought as she left the lounge? She
wandered out and through the house to the conservatory where her father was
trimming some plants that were in pots. She stopped before she entered, and
not wanting a repeat conversation, turned, and went on to the kitchen and
let herself out into the garden.

   The sun was shining, making the swimming pool glisten and the water's
surface rippled with the gentle breeze. It still looks too cold she thought
as she gave a shiver. She was dressed in only a pair of sandals, tight
shorts and a halter top. Following the fashion from the pop magazines, she
didn't wear a bra at any time, so her breasts swung free and heavy beneath
the thin material.

   Judy walked round the house and down the paved garage driveway to the
road. Off and down to her left, she could see the guardhouse, as she called
it, and the silhouette of somebody inside.

   Someone different to talk to, she thought, as she turned left and walked
down to the gates of the estate. The uniformed guard looked up as her
shadow fell across the window, and he beckoned her round to the side
door. She opened it and went into the little office.

   `Good morning. You must be Miss Wilson from number six,' he said,
getting up from the chair.

   `Yes. Judy Wilson,' she replied, holding out her hand. He shook the
proffered hand and indicated to the empty chair.

   `Mark. Mark Anderson. Please sit down. It's nice to have... to have
somebody else to talk to.'

   His eyes took in her figure, especially her upper half as she sat
down. She saw his gaze linger on her bosom, but chose to ignore it as she
crossed her slim legs.

   `I thought there were two of you here?' Judy asked.

   `There is. Karl is doing his walkabout.'

   `What's that?' she asked.

   `Well every hour or so, not regular of course. We take turns to walk
round the estate and into the woods. That's part of our job. Keeping the
place secure, you know.'

   Judy sat there idly swinging her leg, looking at the young man in his
trim new uniform. Looks like he's got a nice body under that, and about
twenty-two years old she thought. He started to fidget a little under the
direct scrutiny from her pale blue eyes, his eyes involuntary looking down
at her outlined breasts.

   `Er...er would you like something to drink,' he stammered.

   `God yes. I'd love a gin and tonic,' she replied.

   `Oh,' he stammered again, `we've only got tea and coffee I'm afraid, and
maybe a few biscuits.'

   `No, no thanks,' she said as she stretched back in the chair, watching
his eyes dropping down again as her breasts pushed out against the tight
fabric, her nipples starting to harden as she saw his discomfiture it was
causing him. She could see that there now was a bulge in his trousers that
wasn't there before.

   `Well I guess I better be going,' Judy said getting up. `You must have
lots to do, looking after us and all.'

   `Not at all Miss Judy. It's a real pleasure to be here. I...I can bring
some gin and tonics here on my next shift if you would like,' he stammered.

   `That would be nice Mark,' she said as she stroked his cheek as she
moved to the door. `Well I'm off to do some sun bathing. Now be sure to
make sure there's no prowlers out there in them there woods. Bye now.'

   `Wow' he breathed when she was out of earshot.

   Judy let her hips swing as she moved back up the drive, knowing that he
was watching her, and, he would probably patrol round the back of the
properties quite soon. So it was the poolside for the next hour or so,
suitably dressed, or undressed as the case may be. She felt a dampness
start to creep between her thighs at the thought of being watched as she
sunbathed.

   She didn't know that other people were also watching her as she walked
away from the guardhouse. George Lansky, manager to the footballer Mike
Stevens happened to be looking out of the window as she walked up the
drive.

   `Mike! Mike, quick. Look at this great piece of ass and look at the way
them buns swing.' Mike joined him at the window.

   `The back view's good, but what about the front?' Mike asked as they
watched her turn up towards her house.

   `Now that's better than the rear. Her tits are leading by almost half a
length.'

   Another person watching was thinking almost the same thing. That being
Stephen Mattock, the publisher. He didn't call anyone, especially not his
wife Margaret. He watched the young girl stride up the path to her house,
and made a mental note to send an invitation to the family for the little
soiree he was planning for the following week. He continued to watch the
lithe figure till she disappeared round the corner of the building, and he
sighed and gave his crotch a rub as he turned away from the window.

   Judy went round to the patio and into the changing room. This also
contained a sauna and a shower and a large cupboard that held sun beds and
umbrellas. She dragged out a sun bed and set it up near the edge of the
pool, and then went upstairs to her room.

   Here she stripped off and put on the skimpiest bikini she could find in
the dresser drawer. Then she paused before the full length mirror to strike
some poses, readjusting her top to show as much breast as possible. Giving
the mirror a few pouts and smiles, left her room and went into her parents'
bedroom which faced the front of the house.

   On finding her father's binoculars in the wardrobe, she used them to
look down the drive towards the guardhouse. She could see Mark quite
clearly and also the other guard who would have to be Karl. He was just as
good looking as Mark, she noticed. Mark was just putting on his hat and
said something to Karl as he stepped out of the office, obviously to take
his turn to go round the estate. Putting the glasses back in the wardrobe,
Judy made her way down to the pool, picking up her dark glasses and a book
on the way.

   She fussed with the towels on the sun bed before settling herself down,
book open, and a page being turned every now and then. The smoky lens of
the glasses hid her eyes, which were constantly roving across the garden to
the woods beyond.

   Judy started to get impatient. She'd been sitting there for nearly half
an hour and was thinking that she had made a mistake, but then caught a
movement off to the left, just inside the tree line, and she gave herself
an inward smile. She waited a few more minutes till she saw another
movement before she started her own move.

   First the book was put down and she sat up and slowly reached behind her
and undid the strap of her bikini top. She then dropped it onto the book
and lifted both breasts up with her hands. Her nipples were like small
pebbles, standing out hard from the dark aureoles that surrounded
them. Judy then took off her glasses and released her hair from its elastic
band, shaking her head to let it flow loose around her shoulders, her
breasts swinging with the body movement. Then she gathered the strands in
her hands, smoothing it up and behind her head, her arms up, making her
breasts stand out proud as she caught her hair back into the band.

   Her hands then made a show of brushing loose hair off her breasts,
making them bounce as she did so. Then the glasses were put on again before
she lay back on the bed. After a few minutes, she made her hand caress her
stomach before letting the fingers move down and under her bikini, making a
show of playing with herself, and was satisfied to see some movement in the
trees. He's either got binoculars or very good eyesight for the distance
between them, she thought as her fingers moved with more exaggeration.

   Mark had just finished, and was wiping himself with his handkerchief,
when he saw the door to the conservatory open and her father come out onto
the patio.  Judy quickly sat up and hastily put her top back on before
turning to him.

   `I thought it was too cold to sunbathe,' he said with a shiver.

  `You're right,' Judy replied, getting up from the bed, `it's colder than
I first thought.' She picked up her book and went inside the house. Jim
shrugged his shoulders and followed her. He went into the lounge to find
Margaret quite excited.

   `Look Jim,' she waved an envelope at him with one hand, and a card from
the other. `This just came through the letterbox. It's an invitation to a
party from you'll never guess who!'

   `What? Oh, yes. No I mean,' he replied, waiting to be enlightened.

   `From Mr Stephen Mattock, the publisher, who lives next door. They're
having a small party next Tuesday, and we've been invited. Now isn't that
nice. We must go up to town and get some nice clothes. All of us! You could
do with a new suit anyway. Judy and I must get something special. Imagine
it! The biggest publisher in England living next door to us and inviting us
to his party!' Margaret gushed on in this vein for a while, driving Jim out
of the room with it and the plans for a shopping expedition she was about
to mount on the shops of London.

   Meanwhile, Judy had retrieved the binoculars, and was watching the
guardhouse until she saw Mark appear, and enter and talk to Karl inside.

   `I wish I could hear what he is saying,' she said quietly to
herself. She watched and waited till she saw Karl put on his cap, preparing
to leave, and then she went to her room, stripped off her bikini and
slipped on a short summer dress and sandals. No underwear at all.

   Down to the dining room she went and filched a bottle of gin and some
tonics from the bar. Putting them into a bag, she left the house and walked
down to the guardhouse.

   `Hello again,' she said to Mark as she went in.

   `Uhh...hello,' he stammered as he went to stand up.

   `No. You sit there, I'll be just as comfortable up here,' she said as
she hoisted herself up onto the desk, showing a lot of leg as she did
so. Judy opened the bag and produced the gin and tonics.

   `Pass those cups over,' she asked, and then poured out a generous drink
into both proffered cups, topping them up with tonic. `Cheers,' she said,
raising hers and taking a good solid slug. He just took a sip from his. `Do
you have any binoculars here?' she asked.

   `Why no,' he answered somewhat perplexed by the question.

   `Oh you should get some. They're very good for bird watching. Why only
just a little while ago, there were two big tits in my garden. Blue, I
think.'

   She laughed inwardly as he blushed and took a hefty gulp of his
drink. Then she let a sandal slip off her foot as she raised it and rested
it on his knee. He gulped and blushed even more with this action, because
he could now clearly see that she wasn't wearing any panties beneath the
dress. She turned slightly to look out of the window behind her, making her
other leg swing wide so that he had a clear view of her pubic bush.

   `Where's Karl?' Judy asked, turning back to him.

   `He's...he's...er...going round,' Mark stammered.

   `The bend?'

   No, I am, Mark thought, still looking at the view being offered.

   `He's doing his turn round the estate.' He shifted himself uncomfortably
in the chair, getting an erection again, in spite of having masturbated
less than an hour ago. He was made more uncomfortable when her foot slipped
of his knee and nestled in his groin.

   `Is that a hard on I feel,' Judy asked, wiggling her toes at his crotch.

   `Yes, dammit! What did you expect with what I can see in front of me,'
he said fiercely. Judy leaned back on her straight arms, a sweet smile on
her face, her foot continuing to massage him between his legs, feeling the
hardness there.

   `Would you like to fuck me?' she asked with that sweet smile still on
her face.

   `Too bloody right,' he exclaimed standing up and moving between her
legs, pulled her towards him, till her crotch was tight against his trouser
front. She was wet with the excitement she had caused, and the touch of the
rough material against her sex, made her even more excited. She pushed
against him and slid off the desk, and pulled him down to the floor,
pulling up her dress as she did so.

   He quickly undid his zip and pulled his erection out and moved in
between her thighs. He didn't need guiding or encouragement as he slid into
her, her arms going round his chest and her legs going up into the air as
he plunged fully into her.

   She came as soon as he entered, but, moving with his rhythm came for the
second time as he came into her with hard quick thrusts. He kissed her face
as he held her tight, bucking out his own orgasm, till he lay panting atop
of her.

   She liked the weight of him as well as the feel of his hardness inside
of her as she accepted the kisses he gave her. We'll do it somewhere softer
next time, she thought to herself, as the coldness of the floor started to
make itself felt through her thin dress.

   Mark stirred and pulled out from her, evincing a whimper from her as he
did so, and still kneeling, tucked himself away and went to pull down the
hem of her dress.

   `No!' Judy said, her legs still wide, her sex wet and open. `Look and
remember, because I want you to kiss and lick me there next time before we
make love.' Judy said before she pulled down her dress and got up from the
floor with his helping hand, and took another drink from her cup and put
her arm round his shoulder.

   `Well. Was it worth it?' Judy asked.

   `It was wonderful darling,' he said, taking her in his arms, `and you
are wonderful too,' kissing her on the lips, but missing as she turned her
face away so that he only caught her cheek.

   `The next time,' she whispered into his ear, `you want to go bird
watching in the woods to see big tits, ask first.'

   Over his shoulder, she could see that Karl was approaching, so she broke
the embrace and put on her sandals and put the gin and tonics back into the
bag.

   `Why you must be Karl,' Judy said, holding out her hand as he entered
the guardhouse.

   `And you must be Miss Wilson,' he said shaking her hand, `Mark said that
you had dropped in earlier. It's nice to meet you.' Turning to Mark, `You
didn't say she was as beautiful as this,' and turning back to her, he
smiled, showing perfect white teeth in his beautiful smile.

  `Well he told me you were old and ugly,' Judy laughed, and as she stroked
his arm, added, `and well past his prime.'

   `Only just reaching it, ma'am,' he laughingly replied, and with a
speculative look in his eye, continued, `the difficulty is proving it.'

   Judy ran her eyes up and down his body as she stood in the doorway.
`Well you never know what might come up in the future,' she said, her eyes
flicking down below his waistline and then back up to his face, and
smiling, left.

                                                         *