The Player Played
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Slow,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A couple inherit a country estate due to a kind deed. They start to have fun, but who is really in charge? Is it the man, or is it the woman? Or perhaps the women? Who is ahead of the game? The Player, or is he being played?
I've spent most of my life gradually working my way from nothing to ... well, nothing. Maybe things hadn't been perfect in the past, but over the last few years our situation had improved through sheer hard work and determination, and at the time we were making a living, and ends were meeting with a bit left over, so life wasn't too bad.
And then I received this letter from a solicitor.
Now don't get me wrong, I have had plenty of solicitors letters in the past. The sort of thing that tells you that their client isn't very happy etc ... well those I can deal with, I don't frighten easily. Get straight back, ask them if they're so hard up that they need the fees for the golf club/kids education, tell them what a piece of shit their client is, how wrong they've got it, and how delighted you'll be to make them look a complete asshole in court. That kind of thing.
But this wasn't one of that kind, oh no, this was very different.
It was an invitation to attend at the solicitors office the following Friday, when I would 'hear something to my advantage'.
Now come on, that is so nineteenth century; so pulp fiction; so Hollywood does English literature; so ... unreal. And I certainly didn't believe it was real, someone was taking the piss.
But who? The notepaper was very good quality (I know about these things) and it had been printed on a press (I know about those things too) so the headed paper was probably the real thing because it would be much too expensive to set up a silly joke like that. And since I know the name of the solicitors, because their business is in the nearby county town, and I have walked past their offices on many occasions, I was even more inclined to believe that the letterhead was genuine. So who, amongst my warped friends or indeed enemies, had got hold of a sheet, and written this ludicrous invitation?
Examining the envelope showed just what lengths the joker had gone to, because it had been put through the firm's franking machine, and the letter appeared to have come from the senior partner too. I reckoned that could be gross misconduct on the part of one of the secretaries; risking her job so that some asshole can have a laugh at my expense. Bloody silly and sodding annoying.
"When I find the bastard who's written this I'll..."
"Why don't you just shut up, and do as the letter asks, and phone to confirm the appointment?"
Her Loveliness sounded exasperated, which was not surprising because I had been going on about it since the post arrived at eight o'clock, and it was now nine.
"Right. I'll give it another half hour and I will," I told her.
Thirtyfive minutes later.
"Well, I'm buggered. I just spoke to the guy's secretary, and she said that he'll be delighted to see me at 2.00pm on Friday, just like it says in the letter. What on earth can it be?"
"Didn't you ask her?" Ever practical, Her Loveliness.
"Umm ... well, uh, I didn't like to. She wouldn't tell me anyway?"
She thought perhaps not.
And was she invited too?
Of course I should have thought to ask.
"Of course my love, why would you not be?"
"You didn't ask."
"Umm ... well, uh ... no."
And there we left it. But I was quite certain that I would not be alone on Friday.
To fill in the time between now and Friday perhaps a few words of explanation are in order.
To start with, home is in the middle of Dorset, in a small village. I like living in villages although it can on occasion mean that I have to engage my brain before opening my mouth, but it is generally nice to know everyone. I've lived in Dorset for most of my life and, having visited many other places, I really think it is the best possible place to live.
I know about paper and printing because I am a graphic designer, although most of the time I do a bit of building work and generally amuse myself, having worked in architecture and building on and off for most of my life. Her Loveliness has her own business and works from home, and it has to be said that the majority of the work in supporting our little partnership is down to her. I also do a bit of writing, which may not pay too much, but does enable me to get under a few peoples' skins. That may sound like I am not too nice a person, but truth to tell I actually like helping people. As one dear lady friend said, "children and dogs always take to you, so you can't be all bad". There's nice. A couple of years ago I got involved in a voluntary organisation and ended up with a couple of very bad enemies. Most unlike me really, and it took me a while to realise that I had encountered some deeply unpleasant people. But by then it was too late ... that was where most of the solicitor's letters had originated, these guys seemed to think they could frighten me. However, through this I had acquired a weekly newspaper column and this allowed me to continue to be an irritant to them. Which I have to admit I rather enjoyed.
Of course, besides all that, I also help HL with her enterprise, so for the next couple of days I was fully occupied. That didn't stop me wondering though.
We decided to go into town and have a spot of lunch, and then we attend the appointment and see what it was all about. Lunch was eaten in almost total silence, I think both of us were wondering what could possibly be 'to our advantage', and were speculated out. You will have spotted the difference between the letter, which was addressed to me, and indicated 'to my advantage' and what I have just said. Truth to tell Her Loveliness and I have been together for, oh, almost forever, during which time we have always worked together and hardly ever been apart, so it is unthinkable that any change in our fortunes could concern one and not the other.
And that takes us to just after lunch on Friday, standing outside the solicitor's office.
The offices occupied a building that had at some time been converted from a large Georgian terraced house, and we entered a spacious hall, with a staircase leading to the upper floors and a reception area and waiting room to the one side. There was a girl sitting behind a computer speaking on the phone. She acknowledged our presence with her eyes, and a moment later replaced the telephone. I gave my name and said that we were there to see Mr Potter. She asked us to take a seat, and then picked up the phone. Before we could wriggle ourselves comfortable, another girl arrived and asked us to accompany her. My, but this was service, I was beginning to feel quite important. Well, not really, but it certainly seemed that someone cared.
We were taken upstairs and shown into a large front office, the girl announcing us as we entered. A large elderly man came around the desk smiling and holding out his hand. We shook hands and I introduced him to HL.
"Yes," he said, "I was expecting both of you."
I raised an eyebrow.
"When I first heard about you I made some enquiries and discovered that you rarely get one without the other."
I laughed. "Yes, that's probably true, but it can depend upon who you spoke to as to whether that's a good thing or not."
"I discovered that too," he replied. "Now, I know who you are, and quite a lot about you, but you have no idea why you are here, I am sure."
I nodded in confirmation.
"Well now. This firm has represented a local family for many years, and for the last nine or ten years this has come down to one elderly lady. The rest of the family has died out over the years and now she too has, sadly, passed on. Do you recall three years ago just before Christmas helping out a lady in Tesco's car park?"
I nodded, it wasn't something that happened to me very often.
"Yes, she had lost her car," I replied. "I saw her as I parked, carrying shopping bags, and then after doing my shopping there she was again. So I asked her if she was alright, and she told me she couldn't find her car. She was obviously very distressed, and I got her into my car and cruised along every aisle in the car park and we still couldn't find it. I remember she was very upset by that time, but I managed to get her to sit there because I had an idea that we ought to look in the adjacent car park. And there it was. Being Christmas the car parks were pretty full and she had parked in an unusual, for her, place. With the stress of Christmas she forgot. No big deal. Don't tell me that was the lady you're talking about."
"It was indeed," he said, smiling, "and she was so grateful I was given the job of finding out who you were the next morning."
Well, blow me. HL and I had discussed over the last day or two what might be the meaning of 'to your advantage' and it had obviously occurred to us that being left something in a will had a high probability. Now it looked very much as though that might be the case. From memory the old dear hadn't looked too well off, certainly the car hadn't been very new, a four or five year old Toyota or Honda or somesuch I seemed to recall, common as muck and that was part of the car park problem. Still anything was welcome, we rent our present home, so even a little terrace house in town would be nice.
"And," he continued, "I found out quite a lot. You two are very well respected, if not loved by everyone. But you'd be very unusual if you were. When I reported back to my client I was instructed to keep a watching brief and to form my own opinion. This I have done, reporting back at intervals, and when she became terminally ill she instructed me that you were to be the sole beneficiary of her estate."
Bugger me. Her Loveliness was silent.
"I am to take you to the house and introduce you to the Johnsons, who are the housekeeper and handyman who have been left in charge for the present. They will have arranged tea, which is why I may have seemed a little inhospitable, and then we will return here to settle some paperwork which is, I am afraid, one of life's inevitabilities. You can arrange to take over the estate when it suits you. Do you, by the way, have a solicitor at present?"
"No, I've never had the need for anyone permanent. I have used the odd specialist when I've needed to."
"Yes, I was aware of that," he replied with a grin. "I shall be happy to act for you, and to continue to look after things if you so wish."
"Yes," I said, "I think that that would be a good idea, certainly for the present, until I have some idea of what all this involves."
"I'll fill you in on the way there," he told us.
Well, I thought, estate? That does sound grand. If there is a couple keeping house, then it can't be a little town terrace house. HL and I looked at each other, we clearly had similar thoughts. This keeps on getting better
He led us down stairs and out to the private car park at the back.
There is no doubt that if you are going to travel then first class is definitely the way to go. A full house Lexus is about as good as it gets, quiet luxury and reliability without the ostentation of a Merc or Beemer. For those of you who are not acquainted with Dorset, and I hope you will have no desire to find out at first hand – I hate tourists - the central part is chalk downland, which runs away to the northeast, with some fairly deep valleys. The main road east to west across the south of the county is fairly flat, and from this run a number of roads with a north south orientation; these mainly wiggle up valleys, although some follow the ancient stone age routes along the hill tops, the only place in those days where there were no trees. If you want to go from east to west in this area, you will be on very narrow lanes that go up and down like a roller coaster and wiggle at the same time. Even the main roads in this area are very slow. The lanes are not much better than cart tracks.
We were heading in the approximate direction of home, so I asked where we were heading.
"Of course," he exclaimed, "how silly, I haven't told you."
He named a village, Melborne Parva, which with my extensive local knowledge I knew, although I had never been there, it being a cul-de-sac, and as far as the house was concerned, I was still none the wiser, and said so.
"No," he said, " you probably wouldn't know it, it's very difficult to find and completely off the beaten track. Out of the way, forgotten. A bit like Tyntesfield you'll recall, the place that the National Trust bought."
"Yes, but that's a very big house," said Her Loveliness, "Pop stars and people like that were very keen on buying it."
"Oh, well this isn't quite as big, but not dissimilar."
What was the man saying? We had inherited an enormous pile that was going to be a bloody millstone? I was visualising a decrepit pile of brick and timber that was going to be the death of me. Then there would be death duties, inheritance tax or whatever. Huh, some windfall.
"But don't worry," he continued, "it's in good condition and there is a vast fortune to go with it." And he named figure, as an approximation he said, that made a lottery rollover seem like small change, and was certainly larger than the GNP of most African nations. "I sorted out any problems with tax and got all the affairs in order some time ago."
Gobsmacked, HL and I looked at each other. This was beyond our wildest dreams.
"And there is another house in the Scottish Highlands too. And a chateau in the Loire valley."
After a moments silence I found my voice. "Is there anything else we ought to know?" I asked.
"Well, yes. But I'll go through it all when we get back."
We had turned off the main road and after a couple of miles arrived in the village, then turned onto a very small lane that had no signpost. We drove a short distance up a narrow wooded valley past several cottages and a farm, all part of the property we were told, and then quite suddenly it opened out, and there was the house. Or was it a mansion? Before us was a lavish extravaganza of high Victorian funny farm gothic. Decoration, fluting and gargoyles, faience and pargetting. Buff brickwork with red ashlar quoins and strings and chimney stacks galore. It was simply amazing. There were outbuildings, stables and the like, and there protruding from the roof was a tower. It was in fact, an architectural nightmare. Less is more? Too much is never enough!
The main entrance was a deep porch formed from large timbers and a tiled roof, with an immense blackened oak door set into the shadow at the back. It was opposite this on the gravelled drive that we stopped.
Her Loveliness and I got out of the car and just stood, holding hands, and tried to take it all in. The surrounding hills rose in softly rounded green on all sides to form what looked like a natural, if immense, amphitheatre.
"You may," she said, "continue to be kind to old ladies."
"I don't think I'll need to though," I replied.
The door opened, we were obviously expected, and we were greeted by Mrs Johnson. I have to say she was a very tasty morsel to be greeted by, and I looked forward to a closer acquaintance, but for the moment ... we were introduced and entered the house. The interior matched the exterior. In fact everything you could see, although spotless, appeared to be original, although I doubt that the Aspidistra - yes, honestly, on a stand in the black and white tiled foyer - was the original. We went through into a spacious drawing room where we sat and Mrs Johnson served tea.
Mr Potter chatted about the house and estate. It had been built in the later part of the nineteenth century by General Sir Harcourt Fenton Moode – apparently pronounced mud - hero of many military campaigns he thought, and had been occupied by the family ever since. Sir Harcourt's son had had a large family, ten or eleven, he thought, but only two had married and they had no issue. All the others had lived at home and as each one passed away so their room had been locked and no one had entered the room since. The last one to survive was Lady Anne, the lady whom I had met and helped.
"And none of the rooms have been entered since that particular family member's death?" I asked.
"That's right," said Mr Potter.
"So where are the keys?"
"Oh, they're all in the safe," he replied. "It's in the library. But we'd better get back to my office. Would you like to make arrangements to stay here?"
I looked at HL.
"I think it would be a good idea if a room were made ready for us. Say any time after tomorrow, would that be alright?"
We asked Mrs Johnson who agreed that it would.
And then we left to attend to the paperwork. Tiresome, but as with death, childbirth and taxes, inevitable and unavoidable.