There is a time in a young man's life when the level of testosterone in his blood reaches a critical point, and he discovers that a vital part of him has a life of its own. Tom Fisher, the game-keeper's son, had reached that moment.

He had hidden in the bushes bordering the carriage drive to the Big House, watching the bright young things roll up to the latest party, the men in smart suits with wing collars and waxed moustaches, the women in expensive dresses which were often indiscreetly short at the hem, and low at the neck.

One evening, after the guests had arrived, he left his hiding place beside the drive, and made his way round the house to look in though the ballroom window. His newly unruly part had grown in the last few months, and now it hung fatly down inside his threadbare trousers, where from time to time, at the sight of a pretty woman, it would show interest in the outside world, and attempt to poke its head out into the fresh air a few inches further down his short trouser leg. On such occasions, the bulge would make standing upright difficult. On this evening, in the half-light, he crouched in shrubbery bordering the terrace, peering into the room beyond the window. Sir Richard Astley, the young Master, suddenly opened the doors onto the terrace, and stepped outside with a flashily dressed damsel, not his wife. Once out of the dazzling light from within, their hands were all over each other.

Astley led the girl onto the terrace, to where a thoughtful landscaper had once planted a grove of dense trees, within which was a bench. Tom, keeping to the shadows, watched enthralled, as Astley held the girl close and kneaded her breasts whilst kissing her deeply. Tom was amazed that she didn't object, and watched as Astley slipped the straps of the dress off her shoulders and pulled it down to her waist.

Freed from their confinement, her breasts fell into his waiting hands, and whilst their tongues and lips gently explored each other's mouths, Astley's fingers began to roll and flick her rosy nipples, until they stood out proudly. He lowered his head and began to suck on each nipple in turn, while the girl tipped back her head briefly in ecstasy. Astley ran his hands up her stockinged legs, his thumbs running up the inside of her thighs, over the firm white flesh between the tops of the stockings and the vee at the base of her belly.

The girl reached forward, and rubbed the bulge in Astley's groin, then dextrously unfastened his trousers and reached inside. Tom was rubbing his own bulge, and when he saw her bring Astley's staff into the moonlight, he undid the simple fastener on his own trousers and pulled his out, too. She lowered her head and slipped the crown of Astley's stiff part between her painted lips. The man fell back on the bench. She lifted her mouth from him and smiled.

'You like that, Richard?'

'God, yes! Keep sucking.'

She obediently licked him again, then slid him back into her mouth. Tom could not prevent himself from rubbing his own foreskin gently up and down, causing electric sensations which made his appurtenance tremble from the tip to the root. The girl stopped sucking again and pulled her mouth away from Astley's throbbing stiffness. He writhed.

'Don't stop now!'

'But Richard, I wanted to ask you something.'

But Astley was too far gone to care. With a whimper, he spouted his passion into the air, landing on her face and breasts. She licked at a globule which landed on her lips, and looked disappointed - almost disdainful.

'Oh, Richard, you seem to have finished before I've started.'

His face darkened. 'So what if I have.'

'Well, you'd better finish me off at least.'

'What did you want to know?' he asked her, tucking his shrinking part back into his trousers.

She glanced at him. 'It doesn't matter. Some other time. Look, are you going to finish what you started?'

He stood up. 'Finish it yourself, ' he said curtly, and turned back to the house.

Tom had stopped rubbing in surprise at what he had witnessed. It began to make sense now. Nodding to himself, in satisfaction at the discovery, he watched as the girl looked round before slipping her hand up the leg of her knickers and rubbing herself. Tom took his stiff part in hand again, but somehow she heard his movement and stopped what she was doing, staring into the darkness, almost directly at where he stood.

'Who's there? Come out here!'

Tom, accustomed to obeying orders, stepped out from behind the bush, still clutching himself. The girl stared.

'Have you been watching?'

Tom shifted uncomfortably, and stared at the ground. His pride began to droop. 'Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am.'

'Come over here, and stand in front of me.'

He shuffled towards her, fearful of what she would do. Afraid, too, of what his father would do if she told on him. Father had a stout leather strap which he kept for special occasions. Tom reckoned this would rate as a special occasion. His proud friend was a shadow of its former glory by the time he stood in front of her.

To his surprise, she opened her legs widely, reached out and pulled him by the buttocks to stand between her knees. Then, carefully removing his hands with which he attempted to hide himself, she took hold of him gently. To Tom's embarrassment, his unruly part began to engorge and lengthen in her hand, and she bent forward to lick the tip with her small pointed tongue. In three heartbeats, Tom's quivering part bounded to attention instantly ready to perform its duty in the young woman's service, and she slid it between her lips. Tom felt it swelling fit to burst. It was dreadful when she slipped it out to speak.

'Is this the first time you've been sucked?'

'Yes, ma'am, ' he gasped.