Lady Isabella Astley had overheard several of her maids, on more than one occasion, talking between themselves about the pleasure and fun they had experienced at the hands of Tom Fisher, the game-keeper's son. They had also enjoyed another part of him that was, by all accounts, prodigious in both size and stamina. Lady Astley, an aficionado of such things, became curious to find out if the stories were true, or merely ... grew ... in the telling.

By chance, she was near a window at the rear of the house just as two maids were walking towards the servants' entrance. What caught her eye and held her attention was that one of them, Emily Brand, was wearing a green cast-off of hers. She remembered giving it to the girl a few weeks before, and wondered why on earth she'd worn it during her few hours off-duty today. Her chestnut hair was burnished, but somewhat tumbled, as though...

As though she'd been dragged through a hedge, thought Isabella.

Or, perhaps, had just had a sexual romp with Tom Fisher!

Her skin felt suddenly sensitive inside the satin dress she wore, and she shivered. The girls walked out of sight, as they entered the kitchen below. Isabella walked along the balcony into her private drawing room. She poured herself a gin and tonic, and contemplated the door which connected to her bedroom. Richard, her husband, had been remarkable by his absence from her bed for many months. Almost certainly, he was having an affair, Isabella thought sourly. She tipped the liquid down her throat. What was sauce for the goose! she thought.

For a moment, the thought that Tom Fisher was merely a servant, or more accurately, the son of a servant, concerned her: did she really want to have any kind of relationship with such a person? On the other hand, if Richard were to find out that his wife had been bedded by the lowly son of a lowly game-keeper, he would be furious. Isabella smiled at the thought. The prospect appealed to her. The next problem would be to arrange a meeting, apparently by accident, since in the normal course of things she and Tom Fisher would never meet.

She decided that she would make a point of eavesdropping on the conversations between the servants, to see if that would give her any ideas how to arrange such a meeting. She put the glass down, and moved quickly out of the room and down the central staircase. Turning sharply right at the bottom of the flight, she entered the little-known world of 'below-stairs'. She descended a narrow stairway which led to the kitchen, and was gratified to find she could plainly overhear the excited voices of Emily and the other girl - Clara! that was her name, she remembered. Clara's voice was the first she discerned.

' ... and then I looked up, with a mouthful of Tom's juice, and there was his father spurting all over the floor. He'd been watching us. Tom was so embarrassed — '

' — and I hadn't seen him until Tom pulled his huge sausage-thing out of me quite suddenly, and then I turned round.' That was Emily.

'And then Robert — Tom's father — came over and joined in! We were so surprised.'

'What did he do?' asked a third voice. Isabella wracked her brain to put a name to it, and finally recalled Belinda.

Emily: 'Well, we played this game, where he and Tom had to take turns with us, just three strokes at a time, each, and the one of them that went off last was the winner.'

Belinda: 'Who won?'

Clara: 'It was close, but Robert did. Tom squirted in me, and Robert then filled Emily — and then squirted more all over her as he pulled out. She was screaming! It's a miracle you didn't hear her in the kitchen.'

Isabella had heard enough. She slipped quietly back up the stairs, seriously aroused and needing attention. Any idea of delaying until she could arrange a meeting by fortuitous 'accident' went out of her mind. As she emerged into the hallway, she nearly collided with Pierce, the butler. She'd heard that he had an appetite for the young maids, which he periodically slaked in his pantry, and for a moment she contemplated grabbing him and using him to satisfy her immediate need, but she realised it would not be a good idea to allow a member of the house staff the liberty of her body, and besides from what she'd heard of Tom Fisher — and now his father, too, apparently! — she wanted the real thing.

There was nothing for it but to take a trip to the game-keeper's small wooden home in the woods. She glanced into the cloakroom for something to wear, and found a long red evening cape edged with fur. She slipped it on, and dashed out of the building before her resolve evaporated.

Every step of the way, she was aware of her stockinged thighs rubbing against each other, and a growing patch of moistness in her silk knickers. By the time the shack was in sight, she could hardly walk straight, as her knees kept threatening to buckle. She reached the door, which opened before she could knock. Robert Fisher stood there, and caught her neatly as she fell against him. He picked her up as if she weighed no more than an autumn leaf, and carried her indoors.

'Bring that mattress in, lad, ' he said to his son, and waited while Tom gathered it up, and checked that it had dried after its earlier dousing. He took it indoors, and as he moved to let Tom pass, Isabella became aware of something prodding into the cheeks of her bottom, as it hung suspended over Robert's midriff. She moved slightly, and felt it again, and let her hand fall upon the bulge, as though by accident. Robert nearly dropped her, but managed to put her down carefully on the palliasse.

'Are you all right, my lady?' he asked anxiously, doing his best to conceal the huge bulge in his moleskin trousers.

'Not yet, ' Isabella answered faintly. 'Where is your son?'

Tom leant forward from behind his father. 'I'm here, your ladyship.'

'Come round to my other side, dear boy, ' she said weakly.

Both men, one on either side of her, leant closer to hear her faint words. She grabbed both men by their impetuous parts, and in a failing voice demanded that they roger her quite thoroughly, and at once. Father and son looked up at each other in surprise. Isabella, rubbed each man's upstanding part to encourage them into action.

'Best do as my lady wants, Tom.'

'Aye, Dad: but both of us? Together or one at a time?'

'Well, you need more practice, so you start. Then we'll see where we go from there.'

Both men gently unfastened the fur-edged cape, and then slipped the satin dress off the woman, who squirmed at the pleasure of their rough skin rubbing against her smooth body. They searched for the means of unfastening Isabella's brassiere, not thinking to look under her, and eventually Robert simply slipped his fingers under the lower edge of each cup and slid it up to rest between her breasts and the smooth curve of her throat. He bent forward to suckle on her straining nipples, and pull and squeeze at her mounds.

Meanwhile, Tom was working out how stockings held up by suspenders were removed. He found he liked the feel of the silk under his hands, and when he eventually solved the problem, he carefully rolled them down to her ankles, slipped off her shoes and carefully placed a stocking in each one before removing her knickers.