Chapter 1

At London's Heathrow Airport, four men and women whose lives were at that moment interrelated -- and destined in the span of the next few days to become even more so -- stood waiting for the loading announcement over the loudspeakers for BOAC's morning flight to Athens.

Outside, through the glass observation windows, tendrils of soup-like English fog trailed across the pattern of runways. Tall, blonde young Sharon Court watched the gray wisps with apprehensive eyes and clung tightly to the arm of the lean, muscular young man who was her husband, Neal. "Will your plane be able to take off in all that fog darling?" she asked him. "I don't see how it can; you can hardly see anything at all..."

Neal -- wearing a heavy tweed overcoat over a conservatively-cut gray business suit that was befitting of his position as a rising executive with the British firm of Greater Continental Packaging, Ltd. -- laughed reassuringly and kissed his wife's cheek. "Don't worry, honey," he said. Everything is done by instruments and radar. The men in the Control Tower have had a lot of practice operating in fog like this."

"I know," Sharon said quietly, "but you know how nervous I am about flying anyway. And with weather conditions like this..."

"You're an old worry-wart," Neal chided gently.

"Well, maybe I am but I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, babydoll," he said. "This is just a simple, routine business trip to Athens. I'll be back in a few days, you know."

"I know, but..."

"No buts, now. You're not going to be fretting about me the whole time you're with Lena Alvaro, are you? I want you to have a good time, honey; after all, Lena is the boss's wife."

"Oh you don't have to worry about me making a good impression," Sharon said with a hint of petulance. "I won't do anything to put you in a bad light."

"Honey, you know I didn't mean anything like that..."

Sharon suddenly felt ashamed at her comments, her inordinate fear of a simple plane flight. She put her arms around her husband and clung to him tightly, kissing him openly, unmindful of the crowd of people waiting to board the aircraft or saying good-bye to friends and relatives.

Oh how she loved him! she thought as she nuzzled his over-coated chest. They had been married almost three years now, but her ardor for the man she had chosen from a long, long list of suitors back in America had not waned in the slightest from their wedding day. This handsome, dark-haired, gray-eyed man, with the smiling mouth and the gentleness of a kindly village doctor, the impetuousness of a small boy, was her whole life and the idea of living without him for even three or four days filled her with unhappiness. From the moment they had been married in a small white church in San Francisco, they had been separated for only a few hours at a time, certainly never more than a single day. And when the opportunity to move to England, in the shape of a lucrative job offer from Greater Continental Packaging Ltd., had presented itself, she had even flown to the British Isles with Neal to consummate the acceptance of the position with the signing of a two-year contract.

They had lived in London now for the better part of a year, in a small flat in Kensington, and she had been deliriously happy. The English people fascinated her, and she felt at ease around them; she and Neal had made many friends during their stay, and had become very popular in their middle-class social circle. They were an active couple, doing many things together -- tennis, swimming, hiking, horseback riding -- and they were completely compatible in every way. Their lovemaking, from the very first (Sharon had been a virgin on their wedding night, and Neal had had only a few brief interludes with women of questionable standing), had been tender and gentle, and yet somehow abandoned too. They never ceased to satisfy each other, Sharon thought, and her cheeks reddened slightly as she remembered the feel of Neal's large, rigid penis filling her vagina the night before, the passion with which she had urged him on to greater thrusts deep inside her to bring about the glorious splendor of their eventual and simultaneous orgasms.

Sharon sighed, kissing her husband again, letting herself be warmly cuddled in the fold of his strong arms. No, she needed nothing else from life except this man -- and he needed nothing else except her; these next few days, even though they had been promised to be both adventuresome and relaxing by Lena Alvaro, would be empty for Sharon until Neal returned.

She had become good friends with Lena, the wife of Rodney Alvaro, the Vice-President in charge of Sales at Greater Continental and Neal's immediate superior, during the past year. Lena, young and vivacious and beautiful, twenty years her husband's junior, had that kind of magnetism which made you instantly like her. Sharon, who was much quieter, much more conservative, didn't really approve of some of Lena's habits or traits, but she liked the Englishwoman nonetheless.

Two days ago, when Neal had told her he was flying to Athens with Rodney Alvaro on business, the beautiful young wife had experienced a sense of great disappointment at the proposed separation. But then Neal had said that she would not have to be alone during his absence in Greece, that she and Lena could spend the time together at the estate of Mark Marlowe -- Marlowe Manor -- in Dartmoor. Marlowe, a wealthy young man of aristocratic background and long-time friend of the Alvaros, had invited the two wives -- and Neal and Rodney when they returned from Athens -- to be his house guests for as long as they cared to stay.

Sharon had met Mark Marlowe on two separate occasions at small cocktail gatherings in the Alvaro home, and had found him a charming, intelligent, attractive man; the invitation had been appealing to her, and later, when she had spoken to Lena and learned the facts surrounding Marlowe Manor, she had readily accepted the gracious proposal.

The ancestral home of the young heir to a vast, hereditary fortune was located in the heart of the eerie, fabled Dartmoor Moors -- the home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous Sherlock Holmes tale. The Hound of the Baskervilles. It was isolated, the nearest neighbor being over four miles away, and while offering that hint of forbidden mystery intimated by its location, it also offered luxury and comfort and relaxation in its stately and baronial rooms and halls. Both attributes appealed to the young wife's nature, and she was looking forward to that afternoon and the drive to Dartmoor with Lena in the Alvaros new Jaguar 4.8 sedan -- but she wished that her husband were going to be with them at Marlowe Manor for their entire stay there, and not just on the tag end of it.

Neal Court held his soft warm young wife for a moment longer, then stood her away from him gently and looked into her lovely face. He never tired of looking at her, at the fine, symmetrically formed features, the small pert nose and the wide, guileless blue eyes, the soft round mouth, the long cascading silkenness of her honey blonde hair falling about the shoulders of her plaid raincoat. Her full, firm, voluptuous breasts jutted forth with feminine allure even beneath the heavy garment, and the tight globular roundness of her buttocks were provocatively outlined as she stood in profile. She was a woman in a thousand, a million, he thought possessively; he was a damned lucky man to have a wife like Sharon, very damned lucky.

He chucked her lightly under the chin. "You'll have a wonderful time in Dartmoor, sweetheart," he told her. "But I don't want you going off by yourself on those moors. It can be dangerous out there, without someone along who knows his way around."

"I'll be careful," she promised.

"That's my girl."

"It really is going to be fun," said Sharon, her eyes lighting with renewed excitement, her mind momentarily off the impending flight and separation. "Just think, Neal: a real old-English country estate, in the foggy moors! I feel like... well, like Jane Eyre or somebody."

Neal laughed. "I'm kind of looking forward to it myself, all right. But if you hear any howling beasts in the middle of the night, don't you dare go out to investigate!"

She poked his arm lightly. "Oh you!"

He sobered for a moment, kissing her again and peering into her eyes. "You will have a good time won't you? I'll be thinking about you all the while I'm in Greece."

"And I about you, darling," she replied. "But I'll have a fine time, I know I will."

If young Sharon Court had but overheard in that moment the low-toned conversation being carried on by the other two people waiting with them -- Lena and Rodney Alvaro -- she would not have been so certain of her enjoyment of the next few days at Marlowe Manor; she would, in fact, have recoiled in abject horror and disbelief at the exchange of words between her supposed best friend and the man who was her husband's superior. Never in her wildest imagination could she have considered the dark and licentious plotting of these two outwardly normal, respectable people.

Lena Alvaro -- smallish, pert, just past thirty -- stood very close to her graying, distinguished, somewhat portly mate, her dark eyes flashing with a usually hidden intensity. Her black, close-cropped hair shone with reddish highlights in the strong light of the airport waiting area, and her generous red mouth was quirked into a smile of anticipation and delight. Her long-nailed fingers plucked at the buttons on his overcoat in emphasis as she spoke.

"Yes, everything is arranged with Mark," Lena was saying softly. "He's given all his servants the week off, all except Wafto of course. And he has all the necessary items we'll need for a complete subjugation of dear sweet Sharon."

"Good, good," enthused Rodney, his brown eyes showing their approval of his wife; he never stopped marveling at the depths of her wantonness, so carefully hidden from public view -- wantonness, and yes, her streak of sadistic delight in the debauching of young, innocent women like Neal Court's wife. "I'll keep Neal in Athens about three days. That ought to give you enough time, especially if Rajah is up to his old tricks," he chuckled lewdly, almost inaudibly.

"Mark -- and Wafto -- will see to that," Lena told him.

"Wafto," Rodney chuckled almost sardonically. "Sometimes I shudder when I think of that ugly little man's penis inside your fine belly, my sweet. Promise me you won't suck him while you're at Marlowe Manor."

"I won't make any such promise at all," Lena said, her eyes gleaming. "You know how much I like the taste of a man in my mouth."

Rodney sighed. "I suppose I'll have to console myself with the thought of getting my own cock -- and my tongue, too! -- between those soft, silky thighs of Mrs. Sharon Court."

"And so you will, my love, as soon as you return."

"She's not going to be an easy one to conquer," Rodney mused. "She's devoted to Neal, and she's intelligent too."

"Just leave things to Mark and Wafto -- and yes, Rajah -- and I, my pet," said Lena. "I've cultivated that young beauty long enough; the time is ripe for action, now."

"You know best, Lena," Rodney said, gathering her into his arms, pressing her firm, rounded body tight against his. "You never fail me -- or yourself -- do you?"

"Never," she replied, nipping his ear. "Mrs. Sharon Court will be a new woman, indeed, when you return three days from now."

"I'll not have any doubts at all."

"Now then, about Neal," Lena said.

"Yes?"

"Will you tell him of Mark and I? Prepare him for a shock when he returns?"

"I think not," said Rodney. "I had debated doing so -- and perhaps taking him round to those Eurasian twins in the Old Quarters of Athens, the ones who have performed so admirably upon other guests of mine in the past; but he is as devoted to young Sharon as she is to him. I don't think it would be wise to give him any inkling of what perhaps might happen at Marlowe Manor before he rejoins his beauteous young wife."

"And when you and he return?"

"If you have done your job well, as I know you will, my sweet, we shall have no trouble with Neal. There is Wafto's magnificent potion, and Mark's hidden cameras; once Neal has joined in the festivities, as surely he will, there will be nothing he can do to us without risking his own ruination. And, if he is like so many in the past, he will realize the immense pleasures of the flesh -- just as his Sharon surely shall -- and become a convert to our way of thinking."

"Then we'll proceed along those lines," Lena said. "I'll tell Mark what we've discussed."

"Good," he kissed her neck. "Now remember, my love, save some of that fine energy for your husband; don't spend it all on Mark and Wafto -- and Rajah, though I refuse to think of you with that --"

"Hush, now," Lena cautioned, smiling. "You know that no man satisfies me like you, pet, fat and fiftyish though you may be. Your cock is still the most magnificent I have ever had."

"I could receive no greater compliment, Lena my love..."

Just then, the voice of the public address announcer came from the overhead speakers, announcing that Flight 171 to Athens was now boarding at Gate 11. All passengers were requested to embark immediately.

Standing several feet away from the venereous, plotting Alvaro couple, innocently oblivious of their hideous future plans for them, the happily married young Americans embraced one last time. Their kiss was long and passionate, and it was with reluctance that Neal Court withdrew his mouth from the sweet soft lips of his wife and gently held her away. "They're calling the flight, sweetheart," he said. "Rodney and I have to be boarding the plane now."

"I know," Sharon said with a sigh. "Oh Neal, you will be careful, won't you? Please?"

"Of course I will. Now you promised: no worrying."

"Okay."

"We'll be together again soon," he laughed. "After all, what's three little days, anyway?"

Rodney Alvaro, beaming, came up to them just then. "We'd best be getting along, my boy," he said in a kindly voice to Neal. "They're not in the habit of holding flights for even such important personages as you and I," he winked, poking the younger man lightly on the arm.

Neal laughed, and Sharon managed a smile of her own. Lena came up beside her, taking her arm in a friendly way, as the two men stepped through the railed divider, handing their tickets to the man at the raised counter there. The man checked the tickets, returned the stubs to them, and Neal and Rodney proceeded to the chute which led to the waiting jet. They turned there, waving, and Lena and Sharon waved back. The young blonde wife blew a kiss to her departing husband just before he disappeared down the chute.

Sharon sighed a little tremulously. "Oh, Lena, I do hope everything will be all right."

"Of course it will, dear," soothed the older, dark-haired woman. "Come along, now. We can watch them take off from the Observation Deck."

Less than half an hour later, the plane carrying Neal Court and Rodney Alvaro to Athens taxied down the runway and executed a routine takeoff, being swallowed after a few moments by the thick, gray billows of fog. "There, you see?" Lena chided softly. "Nothing at all to fret about, was there?"

"No, of course not," said Sharon. "She made a face. "Sometimes I can be an awfully silly goose."

"Nonsense!" Lena told her: "It's perfectly natural to be concerned about the ones you love. I feel the same way about Rodney flying, even after all these years."

Sharon was surprised. "You do? But you seem so calm..."

"A facade, built up over many years," Lena said smoothly. "You'll learn the art of being a businessman's wife after a few years, never fear."

"I hope so," said Sharon. "Not only for my sake, but for Neal's."