Chapter 4

Sue and Jon came a couple of days before Christmas. Yes, the house, big as it is, was a little crowded. Our visitors slept in a big motorhome brought round to the back of the house so they were just a short walk from the kitchen door, and we had to organise access to bathroom facilities. The three rescued girls were still very quiet, but were acquiring a little English by immersion. Thanks mainly to Yelka, we’d learned something of their history. They were the stereotypes, girls from poor farms in Central Europe, sold, not abducted.

Yes, our friends arrived and Sue checked the girls over. Gave them Covid jabs – the men hadn’t bothered with anything like that. Happily, they were all well, physically at least. They’d obviously been used to putting in a full day before leaving their homes and helped out around the house without complaint.

Christmas Eve, Jon, Jack and I were ‘encouraged’ out of the house. We took a picnic, and went out in the launch for a cruise round the lake. We called in at the Bluebird Cafe for morning coffee, and indulged in bacon sandwiches, before heading south down the lake. Unsurprisingly, we had the water to ourselves. We landed on Peel Island for a leisurely lunch, and sat there drinking beer.

“Your neighbours,” Jon began, “the property, that is, would seem to be up for sale again.”

“Oh, really?” Such scintillating repartee!

“Yes, indeed. Interested in buying it?”

“Not really. I think it would run our capital down too far.”

“But ... do you have any ideas about it?”

A neuron fired somewhere. “Actually, yes. Old Bill Mason, who had it before, didn’t really want to leave. He was just lonely and tired. If we’d known he was thinking of leaving we might have worked something out.”

“I see. Well, I think it would be good to have it in some reputable ownership. Let me work on that.”

Christmas day, singing carols – in English, Latvian, Russian, whatever – until one of the girls, Sofia, walked over to an old upright piano which had been ignored for years and lifted the lid, looking a question at us. “може ли?” (may I?)

That piano hadn’t been touched for years – certainly not since I inherited the property.

“It’s not been tuned in a long time,” I said, “but if you wish, you can try it.”

“Master Jeremiah used to have it tuned every year,” Sally told me, “though I never knew him to play it, and he never said anything about it to me.”

But Sofia pulled the stool away from the instrument and sat on it, ran her fingers over the keys. It was a surprise. She obviously had some idea of what she was doing. She played some simple arrangements and the tuning wasn’t bad, though it wouldn’t have suited someone with a sensitive ear. But how did a girl from a very poor farm come to have even a basic acquaintance with a piano? Something to follow up on.

Presents – not difficult, except for Sue and Jon, of course. The sheer, I don’t know, amazement, perhaps, of the three new girls when they opened parcels and found tablets and mobile phones. Even just new jeans, t-shirts, sweat-shirts, everyday casual clothes. Pyjamas. Dressing-gowns. Tears. Tight hugs all round.

Christmas dinner – turkey, roast potatoes, all the trimmings done to perfection by Sally, but with contributions from all the girls. Christmas pudding, cream. Tawny Port all round, sweet enough that the kids liked it ... and got a little giggly on the small amount they were allowed. And ... Jon and I both got a kiss on the cheek from the girls.

Party games. When I was a kid, party games were excruciating. Musical chairs. Pass the parcel. The kids, well, I don’t think any of them had experienced anything like it, and might have been half their real age. Joy.

They ran out of steam about nine in the evening, and didn’t need a lot of persuasion to go to bed.

“So...” Sue said, with a wry smile. “You haven’t got room to keep the three new ones.”

“We could manage,” I explained, “I just think they need ... well, Sally and I are stretched a bit thin.”

“Master,” Sally, from her customary position by my knee, turned and placed a hand on my thigh. “Master, I’d really like to keep them.”

I stroked her hair. “It’s a stretch,” I pointed out. “Slave ... I think I’d like some whisky, and I’m sure Jon would, too.”

“Yes, Master. Highland Park?”

I looked at Jon. “I don’t know that one,” he said. “But I’d love to try it.”

Sally glanced at Sue, who said, “A glass of that Pinot Noir?”

Sally left the room. “Supposing,” Jon began, thoughtfully, “We bought the farm next door, do you think your friend would come back to manage it?”

“I think he’d like to,” I responded. “I wonder ... The problem he had was, basically, loneliness.”

Sally returned with our drinks, including a glass of Pinot for herself. She distributed glasses and settled back by my knee. The light pressure of warmth against me. Silky hair under my hand.

The conversation drifted away from the neighbouring property and business in general, to less pressing subjects; it was, after all, Christmas. We finished our drinks, and the Schraeders went out to their caravan. I followed Sally upstairs. In the master bedroom, I summoned up my ‘stern’ persona. “Slave!”

Sally immediately dropped to her knees in front of me. “Master?”

“Why are you still dressed?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before, “Master, may I stand to undress?”

“You may, Slave. Just remember to undress before kneeling in future.”

I watched as my delightful, beautiful wife disrobed before kneeling again. “Slave, you presumed to remind me – in front of guests – that you wanted to keep the new girls.”

Her head dropped. “Yes, Master. Your slave begs your forgiveness.”

“That’s as maybe. Fetch the flogger out of the drawer.”

“Yes, Master!” Sally has never been able to suppress her pleasure at the prospect of ‘punishment’. She almost ran over to the dresser, reached in and brought me the soft bag containing the flogger. The flogger is a handle with many thin strips of leather – a cat-o-nine-tails, if you like. It stings and sensitises the skin.

“Undress me, Slave.”

That was a somewhat recent development, but one we both enjoyed. Once I was naked – displaying a substantial erection as usual at that point – I ordered her to bend over the bed. The sight of her perfect rear is always stimulating.

“Count the strokes, Slave. Ten, this time.” She’d have liked more, but I knew that ten would be the limit I could apply before my needs exceeded hers. Indeed, I was painfully hard by the time I buried my erection in her spasming pussy. But, not long after, lying in bed with Sally snuggled against me, it was easy for both of us to slip into sleep, though I was awake just long enough to hear, “Thank you, Master. I love you.”

We enjoyed Sue and Jon’s visit and were sad to wave goodbye to them on New Year’s Day.

The Smallbridge household settled back into something like our normal routine. School resumed, at least for Yelka, Lena, Anna and Jack. We kept Yana, Sofia and Daria busy, mainly with English immersion during housework, self-defence and working out. We gave them basic instruction in archery and shooting the air-pistols, and they progressed by leaps and bounds.

The next-door property gained a ‘For Sale’ sign. The price, well, we could have bought it, but it would have stretched our budget much more than I liked, although it was less than Bill got. I made an offer, sixty percent of the asking price, and the agent laughed.

“Up to you,” I responded. “It’s an offer.” I then called Jon, and told him of the asking price and my offer.

“What’s the number?” he asked.

I told him.

“I’ll go a bit above yours and see what he has to say. I suspect there’s not been much interest in a small-holding in that area, though there’s a potential for bed-and-breakfast, I suppose, or outdoor pursuits type holiday.”

Life went on. Almost ‘normally’ in fact. The kids – less Yana, Sofia and Daria, of course – were back in school. Sally or I did the shopping, and I did my usual gofer work with Mountain Rescue and the National Trust. We followed the infection numbers and there was no further suggestion of another lockdown.

In February, the half-term holiday, and I took a call from Jon. “Jerry, we’re now the proud owners of Mason’s Farm. Would you contact your friend and ask if he’d like to return? You can tell him that he’ll have company. I’m thinking your three girls might live there, and we’ll provide a full-time housekeeper, a lady who’s near to retirement. What about your Jakub ... Jack, that is?”

“Let me ask the others,” I said, “and call Bill.”

Family meeting ... One of Sally’s wonderful meals first, apple pie and custard, mugs of tea.

Sitting in the lounge, I looked round at our collection. How did we end up with seven teenagers? “Well, everyone, I need to do some explaining.” I looked at Yana, Sofia and Daria. “If you girls don’t understand, stop me, okay?” They nodded, hesitantly, it’s true. “Yelka, Lena, Anna and Jack, you all know Jon and Sue Schraeder, but you girls only met them at Christmas. They work for an organisation called ‘Universal Exports’. That’s actually a sort of joke, but we’ll explain another time. They don’t have anything to do with exporting.” I paused, and there was a brief rattle of Russian between Yelka and the other girls, who nodded. “Well, they’ve bought Bill Mason’s farm next door. I’m going to be calling Bill, who’s an old friend, to ask if he wants to come back. If he does, he will need company. Jack, we were thinking that perhaps you and Anna would like to live there and help him look after the farm. Or, rather, restart the farm. Jack, it would really be yours to do.” I paused then, and watched a progression of expressions cross his face. He then turned to Anna, and they looked at each other.