For three days, Tom Fisher, the game-keeper's son, had not been close enough to any of the maids who worked in the big house even to speak to. After the day he and his father jointly delighted Lady Astley, the wife of their aristocratic (and very autocratic) employer, it seemed that the indoor staff had been thrown into a frenzy of activity, and no-one had had any time for leisure activities. Or pleasure activities.

His father had been to see the Cook, and although for once he did not get across her threshold, in any sense, he learned that the reason for the fuss was that the Master was holding another house party at the weekend, and all was to be made ready for wining, dining, dancing, and card-play. The guests would be staying for two nights, and apart from their rooms, quarters had to be prepared for their personal servants. Tom's father had to supply the kitchens with a large number of spatchcocks, and the Home Farm was obliged to provide meat and vegetables.

The guests began to arrive on Friday evening. Tom, in keeping with his recent practice, picked a spot in the shrubbery beside the turning circle at the foot of the staircase leading to the great entrance doors. From his hiding place, he could stare in wonder at the glitzy men and women disgorged by a succession of Rolls-Royce, Benz, and other fine motor cars.

A woman he would never forget, the one who took him in hand, later in her belly, and first taught him about the pleasures a man and woman could give to each other, stepped out of one dazzling equipage. Amy Wallace. Tom almost broke cover as he recognised her, but then recalled what he was doing, and crouched down once more in the foliage. The ever-ready part of him which hung heavily against his left thigh twitched, and he hoped there might be an opportunity later to reacquaint himself with Miss Wallace.

She was followed out of the vehicle by a thin, brown-haired young woman, wearing a dress cut low across her bosom and even lower behind, almost granting a view of the cheeks of her small, firm bottom to anyone with the audacity to look. The hemline was above her knees, and her legs, encased in sheer silk, looked to go on for ever. Tom's shaft throbbed in appreciation. The girl leant on Amy's shoulder briefly and lifted a foot until she could adjust the fit of her shoe, and Tom was rewarded with a brief glimpse of the white skin above the tops of her stockings. His eager part urged him to break cover, rush upon the two women, and thrust into them in turn — but the fear of what would happen to him arrested his enthusiasm. He rubbed himself once or twice, firmly, through the material of his trousers, in the hope that his unruly part would accept it as a rain-check.

Amy glanced round the shrubbery, whilst Tom ducked out of sight, before she went up the staircase. At the top, she glanced round again, directly towards him, and smiled slowly. On the verge of flight, Tom paused to consider the smile. Had she, he wondered, actually been looking out for him? He made his way through the grounds, round the building to the terrace, where he had first seen her. Some time later, after the cool night air had had its effect on his swollen part, which now lay relaxed but still heavy, against his thigh, he was rewarded by the sight of Amy and her friend stepping out through the French windows, each clutching a cocktail in a funnel-shaped glass. Amy had one in each hand.

Checking there was no-one else to observe, she walked towards the shrubbery wherein Tom crouched.

'Tom! Tom Fisher! Are you there?' she called softly.

He stood up, brushing the leaves off his thin shirt. 'Aye, milady.'

Amy smiled at him, open and candid. She held out a glass. 'Drink, Tom?'

He took it carefully. 'Thanks, milady.' He sniffed at the clear liquid, and detected juniper, and something else. He looked back at her for reassurance.

Correctly interpreting his glance, Amy smiled again, and touched her glass to his. 'Cheerio, ' she said.

Tom quaffed the liquid in one gulp — and almost choked as the alcohol in the gin caught his throat. Amy took his glass before he dropped it, and slapped him on the back. She had moved close to do this, and he was suddenly aware of her body touching his. Moments later, her hand rested casually on his rising tumescence.

'I hope you've kept this in good working order, ' she said softly in his ear, 'I want to put it to good use this weekend.'

She felt him bound enthusiastically through the worn trousers. 'Oh, that reminds me, ' she added, 'I have a new pair of trousers for you in my baggage. You'd better come and collect them. And let me also introduce my friend Elizabeth. She's a very good friend.'

Tom knuckled his forehead. 'Hello, milady, ' he said to the brunette, who was standing a couple of yards away, watching. She smiled and came up to him, holding out her hand. Tom stared as if it was a rattlesnake, and his mouth opened.

'Hello, Tom, ' said Elizabeth, in a pleasant transatlantic drawl. 'I've heard so much about you.' She let her hand drop, not offended because she'd already learned that in this society, servants were not normally allowed to touch their betters, and for all her egalitarian principles, she was the daughter of a rich Pennsylvanian industrialist, and that made her, ipso facto, one of that ilk.

Amy glanced round. They were still the only people on the terrace. 'Is there a side door, Tom? A way to get upstairs without anyone noticing?'

'I don't rightly know, milady, ' he said. 'I'm not allowed in the house.'

'Which rooms are we in, Amy, ' Elizabeth asked. They peered through the gathering gloom at the upstairs windows.

Amy pointed: 'That one, I think.'

The window was at the corner of the building. The women exchanged glances, looked at the strong old ivy which covered the walls, then turned to face Tom. Minutes later, they walked back through the French windows, and Tom took up his station in the shrubbery. After a while, a light came on in the end room, and the window was opened. With a quick glance round to make sure he was unobserved, Tom shinned up the ivy and was helped through the casement by two pairs of slender, but strong, female arms.

They carried him, one each side, holding him under the arms with one hand, and high on his bare thighs, where the short trousers had ridden up, with the other, and put him down gently on the sheepskin rug. He rolled over onto his back, and lay there while the women picked bits of ivy leaves off his shirt and out of his hair. Elizabeth slipped his worn shoes off.

Amy smiled reassuringly at Tom. 'My friend, Elizabeth, is from America. Have you heard of America, Tom?'

Tom racked his brains. There had been something about it at school. Recollection dawned. 'Tom Sawyer, milady?'

Elizabeth and Amy glanced at each other.

'A story about a boy who lived in America. Anything else, Tom?'

Suddenly, he recalled something from when he was much younger.

'Soldiers, milady. Coming back from the Great War.'

'That's right, Tom, ' said Elizabeth.

'We and the Americans have been very friendly ever since, Tom, ' explained Amy. 'Transatlantic co-operation is what we want. Tonight, you must do your bit for King and Country.'

'And me!' added Elizabeth. 'I've heard that in certain respects, you are a fine ambassador for Britain.'

Tom was baffled. 'I am, milady?'

'And I am a fine ambassador for my country, I think you'll find.'

'I will, milady?'

'I wish you would call me Elizabeth. I am not your Lady. In America, we don't have Lords and Ladies.'

'If you're not a Lady, then what are you?'

'A woman, Tom. All woman. Watch!'

Elizabeth stood and unfastened her dress, letting it fall round her feet. She followed it with the silk brassiere, revealing her smooth round breasts to Tom's interested gaze. As she held them in each hand, and flicked the nipples with her fingers, she glanced down at Tom's trousers, to note that part of him was very interested indeed.

While Elizabeth held his attention firmly in thrall, Amy slipped off her own party dress, and sat in a comfortable leather chair beside the fire. Her fingers slipped down the front of her knickers and gently insinuated themselves in amongst her curls.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had sat on the edge of the bed, and was proceeding to roll down her stockings. Tom noticed how smooth her legs were, and how long. He reached for his shirt buttons, but she stopped him with a word.

'Just watch for now, Tom. I'm doing a strip-tease for you.'

'What's one of them, milady?'

'Elizabeth. It's when I take my clothes off and you watch. Afterwards, you take your clothes off, and I watch.'

She raised herself briefly to ease the redundant suspender belt off, down her legs.

'How'm I doing, Tom? You enjoying this?'

'Yes — Elizabeth.' Finally, she hooked her fingers into the sides of her silk knickers, white with lacy edges, and wriggled them down her thighs, kicking them off her feet. She leaned forwards, a hand on each knee, and held them apart so Tom could get a good look at the glistening thatch at the join of her legs. His enthusiastic part bounded and pressed inside his trousers, in a frenzy to escape and bury its head in this welcoming alcove.

She looked up. 'Now it's your turn, Tom. Do it slowly, like I did.'

'Yes, Elizabeth.'

Behind him, Amy had quietly removed her brassiere, and was rubbing her nipples with one hand, whilst with the other, she diddled herself rapidly inside her pink lace knickers, lined with silk.

Tom stood in front of Elizabeth, and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Two or three were all that were necessary to allow him to pull it off over his head. He let it fall to the floor, while she gazed at the thin body, which belied its strength and power. He let one hand fall on the bulge threatening the integrity of his short trousers, and rubbed it slowly up and down. Apparently without thinking, Elizabeth used both hands to part the hairs which covered her peach, and peeled open the outer lips. A long-nailed finger, gleaming red, slowly pressed along the opening, and disappeared from sight.

Tom was entranced, and slowly unfastened the single, straining button which held his trousers up. He had to unhook them from his unruly friend before they fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, towards Elizabeth, who could not take her eyes of the enormous appendage with which Tom had been blessed. Both long and thick, she wondered fleetingly whether she would be able to accommodate such a morsel, but remembered that Amy had, and anything she could do, a self-styled ambassador of American womanhood could do too.

She reached forwards and grasped the shaft with both hands, noting how a small white bead had appeared at its tip. Behind them, Amy suddenly gurgled and collapsed limply in the chair, her fingers finally still, and the gusset of her knickers dark with her soaking juices.

Elizabeth dipped her head, and elegantly licked up the blob on Tom's staff with the tip of her tongue. The enormous head twitched firmly in her grasp, and swelled even further out of its foreskin. She lapped at its ridged edges, allowing her spit to coat it, until it could slide without pain between her stretched lips and beat against the roof of her mouth. She glanced up at his face, and noticed his eyes were nearly closed, and his mouth was pulled open. She eased the monster out of her mouth again. Tom looked down at her, and took her breasts in his hands. Holding them together, he laid his stiff part between them, and moved it slowly up and down. At the top of each stroke, she managed to lick the dome. He flicked her nipples until she groaned in delight.