Chapter 4

Unsurprisingly, Junior woke us at his usual time, about six o’clock. Before Junior, we’d have had a slow (or perhaps fast) session together which left us satisfied for the present. Having Junior wasn’t a big problem, but it did mean deferring that satisfaction for a while. Watching Sally feed him, well, that prepared both of us. Of course, there was no certainty he’d let us have our time. As it happened, Sally had just finished changing him when there was a knock on the door.

“Come!” Our voices blended, and we smiled at each other.

Lena entered. “I heard Junior,” she said. “Yelka’s doing some breakfast, but I thought I’d take Junior off your hands...”

“Thank you,” Sally smiled at the girl. “Take him downstairs. He can bounce for a while – he likes that.” She was referring to a harness which Junior could be fitted in, which was then suspended from a door lintel by bungee cords. He could push with his legs and bounce up and down, and be occupied happily for quite some time, especially if there was something going on he could watch.

Lena left the room and my eyes met Sally’s. She pointed to the breast Junior hadn’t emptied.

I responded appropriately. As a result, we were the last into the kitchen. Yelka and Lena had obviously eaten before Anna and Jakub, who were halfway through their breakfast.

I took my place and Sally her preferred place, kneeling by me. Next to her, Lena was holding Junior. Yelka, smiling, poured black coffee into a mug and put it in front of me, then another mug, with tea, for Sally. I sipped, stroking Sally’s glossy hair.

Across from me, Anna was dressed more appropriately for an early teen girl. I don’t know if I’m strange, or if it’s other men who are out of step. Teenaged girls are attractive, no doubt. But for myself there is no temptation to go further than to admire their youthful beauty. Dressing them in some pervert’s idea of pre-teen ‘sexy schoolgirl’, well, I don’t understand that at all. Sex with a fourteen year-old? No. Sex with a girl made to look like a pre-teen? Hell, no! But as I say, Anna was beautiful. She had that golden hair characteristic of some northern European people, and despite the baggy sweat-shirt I had no difficulty in visualising the form beneath. But next to me, on her knees as she preferred, was the one woman who epitomised femininity for me.

Yelka placed a plate in front of me, piled high with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, hash-browns, beans, mushrooms. One plate, obviously intended to feed two appetites. I smiled at Yelka, and took the first mouthful, knowing that Sally would have refused it. The only one surprised as I fed Sally was Anna, whose jaw dropped and eyes widened.

“Anna,” I smiled at her as I fed Sally another forkful, “Sally is my wife, my beloved, but she is also, by her own choice, my slave. It pleases me to make her happy by treating her as a slave; beloved, cherished, but still, a slave.” I paused, to let Yelka translate that, then went on, “There is much that people would find strange about us. Just know that I love her, and all I do – however odd it may seem – is for love of her, and a desire to satisfy her needs.”

Yelka translated that, but spoke rather longer than I would expect. I looked my question at her. “Papa Jerry, I just added that Mama Sally would happily explain anything Anna did not understand.”

I nodded. “That’s good. Thank you, Yelka.”

Anna spoke, and Yelka replied; I glanced down at Sally, who was smiling. She at least had some idea of what was being said. She rose on her knees slightly to meet Anna’s eyes, and spoke. Anna nodded, and Sally sank back on her heels before looking up at me.

“I just told Anna that we love each other completely, and I’ll be happy to explain anything later.”

I smiled, and went back to our breakfast. Sally relaxed back against me. Anna and Jakub finished their breakfast, and Jakub spoke for the first time that morning.

“Günaydın, baba. Er ... Good. Morning. Dad. I take ... arkadaşım. My friend. To see. Garden.”

“Well done, Jakub. Good idea.”

They stood, and Jakub gave a jerky little bow before they left the room, hand in hand.

“Do I need to worry about them, Sally?”

Sally shook her head, her silky hair brushing my knee below my cut offs. “They were forced together when they were brought to this country, but they are like brother and sister. They feel safer together. And ... if they do ... have sex, what does it hurt? But I don’t think that’s how they are.”

I sighed, but I trust my wife. We finished eating, and I had a second cup of coffee, while Sally had her usual tea. “Is there anything we need to do today, Sally?”

“Order clothes for Anna. Unfortunately, we cannot shop for them. But I can do that online.”

“That’s your bailiwick, I think. What about me?”

“Oh, Master Jerry!” She hesitated, reluctant as always to give any suggestion of telling me what to do, despite her usually effective management of me! “Master, I think the girls would like to spend some time with you, especially Lena, who missed you while you were away with Yelka.”

“That sounds like a perfectly wonderful idea.” I looked across to where Lena and Yelka were working, and met their eyes, Both were smiling. “Well, ladies? What would you like to do?” I went back to stroking Sally’s hair, though still watching the girls.

Lena, followed by Yelka, came and stood next to me. “Could we go out on the lake? Take a picnic, Papa Jerry?”

“I don’t see why not. Sally?”

Sally hesitated, her head laid on my knee. “Master,” pause, “I should stay here and order clothes for Anna. Why don’t you take the girls out for the day, and I’ll have something cooked for supper when you get back?”

“Mama Sally,” Yelka broke in, “I would stay with you...”

“I know. That’s sweet, Yelka. But go with Master Jerry; after making sandwiches, that is.”

We have two boats; a fourteen foot, clinker-built, gunter-rigged, centre-board sailing dinghy which the girls learned to sail and use to cross the lake for school (and explore the lake), and a thirty foot launch which can sleep up to four and has all the facilities you’d expect. Sally and I went with the girls to learn to sail when they came to us, and I took a power-boat course; Sally was already comfortable managing the vessel. When the girls appeared with rucksacks containing our picnic, I led the way to the boathouse.

A hand slipped into my right hand – Lena. A hand slipped into my left – Yelka.

“Papa Jerry,” Lena’s voice. “We love you, you know.”

My left hand was squeezed. “We really do.”

“So,” I said, “we’re going sailing? Peel Island?”

“The launch,” Yelka said.

“We don’t get to go in the launch much,” Lena added.

“And in the launch we can cuddle,” Yelka finished.

We crossed the stile and the road to follow the path to the boathouse.

“Look! An eagle!” Lena’s voice was excited. Eagles are not unknown in Cumbria, but not common.

“It’s a buzzard, Lena. Eagles are similar, but bigger.” The bird was drifting overhead in lazy circles.

“What’s the difference?”

“Size, mainly,” I said. I stretched out my arms. “A buzzard has a four-foot wingspan, where a golden eagle is six feet – same as my height, or even more.”

“Oh.” Pause, “That’s big!”

“It is. There are ospreys too, which are nearly as big, but lighter and look slimmer. There used to be a pair of golden eagles nesting north-west of here, by Haweswater, but the female died in 2004, and the male about twelve years later.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yes, it is.” We reached the boathouse and I unlocked the door and checked that the alarm had cancelled as it was supposed to. The girls and I all had fobs on lanyards around our necks which talked to it. It was necessary to move the dinghy to make it easier to get the launch out, but the girls did that without being asked and moored it astern of the launch. I carefully ran through the procedures necessary before starting, then started the two well muffled diesel engines. Great Uncle liked the manoeuvrability of twin screws. But the motors are quite small – Coniston Water is not the place for high speeds ... not withstanding the Campbell speed record attempts.

The girls cast off and coiled the warps as I trickled carefully out of the boathouse and on to open water. It was ten-thirty according to my watch, and I turned right to head north up the lake. Lena tucked herself under my right arm, and Yelka under my left. They pulled themselves close and I was able to steer adequately. There’s a speed limit of ten miles an hour on Coniston Water, but we were slower than that. We travelled north up the east side of the lake, past Brantwood and Bank Ground Farm to the head of the lake before following the edge round, past the hotel, the steamer pier and water-sports centre, past the camp site, heading south to the foot of the lake.