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John had driven his vintage red convertible to the station to meet Fiona. Her train must have been early because although he had left with plenty of time she was already waiting at the station for him when he arrived.

The station was an old fashioned one and, like many things in this part of the world, had retained a certain prettiness that seemed to have vanished from much of England. It was built of red painted timbers and blocks of locally hewn stone. Summer flowers spilled out of hanging baskets and from low stone troughs on the ground.

He found Fiona sitting up on a sun dappled red bench, flanked by flower baskets, reading a slim paperback. She looked up as he approached and flashed him a brilliant smile. Marking her place with a bookmark, she slipped her book into her handbag and stood up to wait for him.

Fiona was in her mid-thirties, tall and pale skinned with straight, dark blonde hair cut just above her shoulders. Her long, floral dress was gathered at her trim waist with a black sash, breaking clean over her hips. Her arms and shoulders were bare. Although her dress was fairly low cut, her small pointy breasts were not at all exposed. Their shape was, however, clearly apparent through the blue fabric.

She was elegant and refined, really quite stunning, more so than he remembered but with a slight air of the untouchable that made him worry he had got this all wrong.

This was only the second time they had met. The first had been some awful corporate conference at the tail end of a long winter. John had been an attendee and Fiona a presenter. She had been calm and classy in her business suit despite the most indecently short skirt he had ever seen in a professional environment.

She had been an impressive speaker too, discoursing on recent developments in structuring credit default swaps in a lucid, cogent and even engaging way, quite an achievement given the subject matter. For all that though he had struggled to keep his eyes away from her exposed, stockinged thighs.

Later in the bar, he had found himself one of a small throng of men playing court to her. Clearly John had not been alone in his admiration. Stunning though she was, John had been disinclined to compete for her affections and his instinct was to disengage.

He had made his way to the bar, to get a drink before heading to bed. With Fiona apparently under siege, there was no one else he felt like talking to. The bar was bust so he had to wait a little to order. Shortly after he had done so, he noticed that Fiona was standing alongside him ordering the same single malt he had.

He complimented her on her choice. She smiled back at him and made some comment about the quality of the offering at this particular hotel. Surveying the half empty bottles stacked up behind the bar he had to agree.

It turned out they had a common interest and she pulled up a stool beside him and they sipped their scotches together. Conversation was easy and wide ranging, Fiona turned out to be both well informed and opinionated on a range of subjects, delivering her insights with a dry wit he found quite arousing.

The evening passed far more pleasurably than it had initially presaged. They freely availed themselves to the range of fine whiskies available to them as the bar slowly emptied around them, Fiona’s erstwhile admirers cutting their losses and drifting away. Fiona matched him drink for drink and, although he soon felt his own head buzzing with alcohol, she didn’t seem to lose her poise at all.

By the end of the evening they were the only customers left. Fiona drained her glass and placed it next to John’s already empty one. John motioned towards the empty glasses and asked if she would like another.

Fiona shook her head, “I think we should let these people go to bed,” indicating the hovering staff, who had nothing to do but were unable to do leave until their final customers had.

“I think I want my bed too,” Fiona’s tone was low and she looked down as she spoke. Her words were quite innocuous but seemed strangely pregnant. She paused, looked up, held his gaze in hers and asked, appatently carelessly but also quite deliberately, “Care to join me?”

She didn’t lower her voice at all and it was clear, from the way he fumbled the glass he was cleaning, that it was quite clearly audible to the barman.

John couldn’t believe his luck but his brain was fogged with too many glasses of whisky to adequately respond. All he could express was a desultory and quite inadequate, “What?”

Fiona placed her hands on his lapels and leaned in, close enough that he could feel her breath and smell her perfume, bringing her cherry red lips up to his left ear, close enough to tickle.

“I like scotch because it makes me horny. I’ve been drinking scotch and now I want to fuck. I want you to fuck me.”

Fiona had been whispering but every word was clearly audible. She moved back a little so she was looking him straight in the eyes.

“Do you think you could help me with that?” she asked, in a more bursa escort normal tone.

John was blind to everything other than Fiona and almost didn’t hear the sound of breaking glass as the barman dropped his task. He had just enough presence to lean in and kiss Fiona full on the mouth and then let her take him upstairs, commencing one of the sexual highlights of his life.

That had been three months ago and he hadn’t been able to get the experience out of his head, the feel of her lips around his cock, the taste of her tight pussy, the way her small pert tits had bounced as she slid up and down him.

He told himself to forget it. It was clearly lust not love, a glorious, not to be repeated,one night stand. He had her email from a list of professional contacts from the conference but had successfully resisted the urge to get in touch. She didn’t seem the type to get sentimental.

So it had been a more than pleasant surprise to receive a light toned, perhaps even slightly flirty, email from her last week asking if he’d like to meet for a drink, with just a hint of a promise of more.

It was with extreme regret, therefore, that he had to refuse, at least to refuse the date she had suggested. He was spending the week in the Cotswolds at his friend Ben’s place, together with Ben’s wife, Helen.

John had suggested another time. He had also, more or less on a whim, suggested she come out to the Cotswoldsto join them for a day or two.

He had not been expecting her to accept. Yet here she was waiting for him on the platform of this charming little village, looking absolutely delightful, if a little less libidinous than in his memory. An image of her naked body, smeared in baby oil, arse in the air as he fucked her from behind, popped into his head. It was hard to connect with this vision in front of him.

Fiona stood in the middle of the platform, legs together, back straight and hands folded in front of her, waiting for him to approach. Her skin breathed a limpid, radiant. beauty.

As he reached her, she turned her white cheek towards him for him to kiss, exposing her long white neck as she did so. He placed one demure kiss on the check, briefly tasting her scent of fresh soap and rosewater. He had to fight the urge to start running kisses down her neck.

John picked up her bag and gestured for her to come with him. Fiona walked along beside him, her gait light and graceful. The skirts of her dress, cut just below the knee, swooshed around her long, white legs as she walked.

Fiona commented on how charming the station was. She seemed relaxed and quite as lovely as the day. They were soon chatting like old friends. She didn’t comment on the red vintage Bugatti, but acted as though it were the only appropriate thing, which perhaps it was. He held the door for her and was more excited than he could explain at the brief flash of pale thigh as she folded her legs into the seat under her dress.

It was too noisy with the top down for them to talk as he drove but the drive was brief, through the pretty village and prettier countryside as they made their way to Ben’s place. John felt good, with the wind in his hair, the sun on his cheek and a beautiful woman at his side as he dropped down a gear for the last straight before they arrived.

Fiona had done a good job at not being impressed by the car but she couldn’t do quite so well as the Bugatti cr unched to a standstill in the gravel outside Ben’s place.

“Wow,” she said.

Ben was a friend of John’s from university and from an altogether more exalted background. Not actually titled himself, he was head of a cadet branch of a moderately ancient part of the British aristocracy. His house, or at least his country place, was a gorgeous sandstone Georgian pile, perhaps not large as stately homes went but certainly large enough. Sometimes John wondered if the only reason Ben had gone into the City was to afford to keep the place up without letting the public in.

John had considered making out that the place was his but thought better of it. Still it was enough of a thrill to escort Fiona through the massive oak doors with the proprietorial air that holding a pair of keys conferred, even if only borrowed ones.

He parked Fiona’s bag on the black and white tiles of the hallway as he watched her upturned head tracking round the portraits, antiques and objet d’art. He admired her long white neck as she did.

Suddenly she looked at him, “Where is everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” it was the question he had been dreading.

She nodded, “You know, your friend, his wife, the other guests?”

“Umm, well Ben was called back to town on work and Helen went with him.”

“Hmmm,” Fiona had wandered off and was no longer looking at him, instead she was peering over a glass case, inspecting its contents, “and the other guests?”

“There are no other guests.”

“So it’s just you and me?” Her tone was light and noncommittal and he had no idea how she was taking this. She leaned in closer bursa merkez escort over the case, her dress fell forward so he would have been able to see down it, but the angle was wrong.

“Yes,” he said uncertainly, braced for what would come next.

She looked over at him and gave him a sly smile, “How delightful,” she said. She didn’t do anything as crass as wink but that was the impression he got. He let out a sigh of relief.

Fiona stood up and walked away from him, towards an open archway leading out to a light, airy room on the other side of the hallway. He couldn’t help but watch the way her bottom moved under her dress as she walked.

She paused in the archway, put one arm out against its curvature and turned to look at him over her shoulder, “What now?” she asked.

John’s mind went blank. She looked absolutely ravishing, with the sunshine from the far room silhouetting her body, the curve of one breast just visible as her body turned slightly towards him. Her eyes were doe like and expectant. Her mouth, soft, moist and slightly open.He just stared at her, entirely losing his cool but she didn’t seem to mind. He wondered if this was all the come on he could ever expect but somehow didn’t quite have the nerve to just take her and kiss her there and then.

“How about some tea, then?” she asked.

So John found himself sipping tea, seated opposite Fiona, sitting at the wrought iron table and chairs on the terrace at the back of the house. There was a low wall at the end of the terrace and beyond that,the land sloped away in a gentle green sward down to a lake. The lake had a little island in the middle with a Grecian temple folly perched atop it. On the far side of the lake was thick woodland. Practically everything they could see belonged to Ben. Deer ambled across the green sward in the foreground.

Fiona held her dainty tea cup with her little finger crooked. He back was straight and her legs crossed demurely at the knee, her legs almost entirely hidden beneath her dress. She had been wearing tan shoes but had kicked them off somewhere. The toes of her bare feet were painted an almost indecent shade of red, seemingly out of keeping with the rest of her attire. She was looking entirely at home, as though she spent every Saturday afternoon like this. For all John knew, she did.

Taking a sip, she peered at him over her teacup with her deep blue eyes. They sparkled in the sunlight, which gave her a flirty look but in no way undercut her obvious intelligence. She looked at him like she was having fun with him. John wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

She also had a rare gift of light, airy chatter about nothing very much but was highly inclusive, as though they had been close friends for years. She managed to keep a loose sexual tension running beneath the surface of the conversation but it was more through smiles, glances and body language than anything as crude as an entendre.

Placing her teacup down, Fiona leaned in a little, elbows on the table, hands folded under her chin, “So, do you bring a lot of girls down here?”

John slurped his tea but desperately tried to play it cool. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Fiona leaned back but kept her eyes fixed on John, a cool amused look on her face. “Well, you brought me down here on my own. I can only assume, especially given our last meeting, it was because you wanted to fuck me.”

As she said ‘fuck’ she uncrossed and then recrossedher legs. The movement wasn’t quite slow but it was slow enough for John to have a clear, if only momentary, view of pale, inner thigh. He felt hot and hard and both bothered and aroused. He wished there were some shade.

“I’m not going to flatter myself that I’m the first. So I just wondered how many.”

John decided not to mess around and lie to her, she was sure to see through it. He was also grateful to stick to the moderately safer topic of old girlfriends rather than the reason he’d invited Fiona down.

“Not many, three to be precise. It’s not like it’s something I do as a matter of course.”

“You sure? The Jaguar, the fancy house, the lack of a host, it all seems designed to get a girl to drop her knickers. I expect there’s champagne later.”

“Well, umm,” he was unsure what to say. He just about managed to stop himself correcting her about the Bugatti but started to feel a little awkward about the magnum of Piper Heidseck cooling in the fridge.

Fiona leaned in, “Don’t look so worried. It’s an excellent technique. A girl likes to be wowed. I expect it works like a dream.”

“Well,” he smiled wryly, “not always.”

“No?” she gasped in mock horror, “They didn’t all put out? How many?”

He laughed, “Only one.” He leaned back and sipped his tea, keeping eye contact with Fiona. He wasn’t sure what was going on but he was enjoying simply being with Fiona so he was happy to play whatever game she was playing.

“What happened?”

“Well, nothing happened. That’s rather the point.”

She laughed, bursa sınırsız escort “Good point. But there must be more than that.”

“She said it was too smooth, like I’d laid all this on just to sleep with her, like it was expected. She didn’t like that.”

“Well, a girl does likes to be wowed,” Fiona sounded thoughtful, “but she doesn’t like to be bought. Was she pretty?”


“Details, man, details.”

“Well, she had … “

Fiona held up her hand, “Actually, stop, why don’t you run along and get that champagne and then tell me.”

“What champagne?”

She arched an eyebrow, with a withering look, “Don’t fuck around,darling . Just toddle off and get the bubbly. I want to get pissed and talk about sex.”

John didn’t fuck around. He fairly ran to the kitchen. There was already a tray prepared with two glasses on it, an ice bucket in the freezer and a bottle in the fridge. He was back on the terrace in about five minutes.

Fiona had turned her chair a quarter turn, facing 45 degrees away from the table and towards the view. She was leaning back with her legs up, her bare feet resting on the low wall, red toenails prominent. Her legs were slightly apart and her knees pointing up so that the skirt of her dress was hanging down between her partially exposed thighs. She was reading her paperback with one hand and the other arm was dangling behind the back of the chair. John couldn’t see what she was reading.

She seemed lost in her book and didn’t acknowledge John at all as he brought the tray over and even as he sat down. It was only as he pulled the magnum out of the ice cold water that she looked over.

“Ooh, big boy,” she cooed appreciatively.

John was getting used to her directness, starting to appreciate it even, and didn’t react. He just sat coolly opposite her and poured two glasses of champagne.

“Yummy,” she said as she took her first sips, she leaned back in her chair, keeping her feet on the wall. She looked out over the view rather than at John.

“So we were talking about this pretty girl you took down here and wouldn’t let you fuck her.”


“Carole? Stupid name anyway. You probably weren’t missing much.”

“Very pretty though.”

“So you said. That’s right. You were going to tell me just how pretty.”

“Well, she was quite tall.”

“As tall as me?”

“No, not as tall as you. She had long blonde hair, clear grey eyes and a wicked little smile.”

“Big tits?”

“Umm, well, not small.” A vision of the canyon between Carole’s glorious ripe breasts swam into his mind. It still made him want to howl he’d never got his hands on them.

“Bigger than mine?”

John was seriously flustered now. Carole’s tits were certainly much bigger than Fiona’s which, whilst quite lovely, were not what you could call big. He may have decided to play the truth game but he didn’t want to play with fire.

Fiona gave him a wicked little grin. “I’m joshing with you, John,” she put her hands to her chest, cupping her breasts, “I love these girls but I’ve no illusions about their size. But Carole,was she big?”

“Pretty big.”

“How big?”

“Like a dead heat in a zeppelin race.”

Fiona laughed, snorting her champagne. “Well, I can see the attraction then.”

“It wasn’t just the tits.”

“Of course not.”

“It helped though.”

“I bet. Who doesn’t like a girl with big tits?”

John was unsure if this was a little light teasing or an admission to a Sapphic side to Fiona. He felt emboldened to be almost as direct as she had been.

“Do you?”

“Of course, obviously it’s not the be all and end all. Maybe it’s because I’m not so big myself but when I go to bed with a girl, I know I’m going to have more fun if she’s got a decent rack.”

John tried not to run away with the mental images that particular admission prompted and to ignore the raging hard on pulsing between his legs and keep it cool and light.

“You’d have liked Carole then.”

“Sure, except she wouldn’t put out.”

“Well, not for me. You might have had more luck.”

“Perhaps, but anyway enough about Carole with the stupid name, who, by the way,” she turned to look softly into his eyes and reached over to lightly stroke one of his hands, “really doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

He wanted her so much at that moment he was just about to jump over the table and grab her. But she turned away to look out over the lake again.

“Who else?”

“Who else who?”

“Well, three, you said. There’s Carole with the big tits who wouldn’t put out so that leaves the two you did fuck.”

“And you want me to tell you about them.”

“Of course.”

“I think I’d rather hear about these other girls you take to bed.”

“I bet you do but you naughty boy, but not until you’ve told me about …?”

“Emily and Josie.”

“Until you’ve told me about Emily and Josie. Much better names by the way.”

“Well, why do you want to know?”

“Well, I want to know what I’m up against.”

John chuckled, “Nothing to worry about I’m sure. Well, Emily was my girlfriend. We were together about three years and we came down here a few times, three maybe four. So it wasn’t like this was a great seduction set up. We’d been going out a couple of months already.”

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