Lady Astley had organised a summer outing for the staff. It was her annual custom, and the only time most of the servants saw the world beyond the nearby village. Tom, not being strictly a member of the staff, was not usually invited, but this year, she made an exception. In truth, no argument would have prevailed with her to leave him behind.

Her motives were complicated, revolving around, on the one hand, annoyance that her husband's lack of attention to her needs had caused her to seek consolation with the son of a game-keeper, and on the other, gratitude for the enormous pleasure intimacy with him had been. Tom might be quite young, but he had proved naturally adept at love-making, and considerate of the women with whom he was close. Would that there were more men with those qualities among her own class, she wished.

Tom's father took the opportunity to instruct him to call upon his Aunt, who lived in the east coast resort, the outing's destination. She had inherited modest wealth from her mother, and was in consequence the only member of Tom's family with a reasonable standard of living. His father deemed it judicious to get into, and remain in, her 'good books'. So Tom was to go and, put bluntly, ingratiate himself with his spinster Aunt.

He was nervous of being in a strange place, with no-one he knew — for he had never met these relations: indeed, he had not previously been aware that he possessed an Aunt. He therefore regarded the promised treat with deep foreboding, and was seen around the estate with a long face, and a distinct lack of his usual insouciance and cheerful disposition.

This caused the female members of staff concern. They despatched Emily Brand, one of the housemaids, to cheer him up. She found him in his favourite place, sitting on a bench in a small bower in the shrubbery, hidden from, but overlooking, the drive and turning circle outside the house's impressive front steps and portico. He brightened up momentarily when she walked in on him.

'Oh, hi, Emily.'

'Hello, Tom.' She felt a little awkward. 'Can I sit with you?'

'Yes. But I've got to go soon.' He made it sound as if he was about to attend a funeral.

'Yes, I know — we all know. That's why I came. I have to stay here and look after the house while you and the others are away enjoying yourselves.'

He stared glumly at the carpet of leaves underfoot. 'I don't want to go. I have to visit an Aunt. And anyway, I don't know where we're going.'

'To the seaside. You'll like it.' Large tears gathered and slithered down her cheeks, catching the sun.

She ran out of words, and joined him in staring at the ground. She felt him turn towards her, and met his gaze, which was one of infinite soulfulness. Her heart melted, and she brushed his cheek with her lips. He put an arm round her shoulders, and kissed her hard, his tongue tickling her lips until she opened them and allowed it to explore her mouth. His free hand he put on her thigh, and slid it up, under her black skirt.

She rubbed his growing erection through the thick fabric of his trousers before unfastening the buttons and slipping her hand inside, where she grasped his ready truncheon, and rubbed it gently.

Taking his arm from her shoulders, he deftly unfastened the buttons holding her blouse together, allowing her breasts to spill out onto his hand. He ducked his head to take a nipple in his mouth, while his hand teased and titillated the other. He ran his hand over the smooth cotton of her knickers, and slid a finger up the leg, and into the moist curls which decorated her mound.

Her hand movements on his stiff part became more vigorous. He found her button, and circled it with his thumb, while sliding two fingers into her slippery interior. She let go of him, and pulled at his trousers until they were down to his knees. Grabbing him firmly by the back of his head, she lay back on the bench, and pulled him on top of her. Opening her legs widely, she grabbed him and worked his trembling portion up the leg of her knickers into the purse which eagerly awaited it.

Tom felt her internal muscles gently grip and massage him as he slid the first inch or two inside. She wriggled against him, to make his conquest the easier, and he forced another third of his length into her slippery channel. Her juices were saturating his legs as he heaved and pushed, eager to cram his remaining length deep into her belly. In the meantime, he was still licking and sucking her nipples, going from one breast to the other, and Emily was rapidly losing control and awareness of her surroundings.

'Oh, Tom! Tom!' she cried, and humped her waist against him, driving him deeper into her clutching belly. Tom pumped away valiantly, the gentle friction around his stiff part all the time bringing him nearer the peak of pleasure. He thrust in and out furiously, oblivious to her grunts as her crisis came upon her. He held back as long as he could, but finally gave himself up to the pleasure, his staff giving a couple of warning throbs before shooting his boiling seed deep into the willing girl.

For a few moments, he lay on top of her, still embedded in her, until the sound of wheels on the gravel of the turning circle brought him back to earth, and her pulled out and tucked his softening back into his trousers. Emily lay on the bench, her legs spread either side of it, apparently oblivious of the arriving traffic until Tom nudged her.

'It's the charabanc. I've got to go, ' he said miserably.

Emily pulled her knees together and sat up. 'Bye, Tom. You'll probably like your Aunt. Whatever, I'll be here when you get back.'

His last sight was of her propped up by her elbows on the bench, her blouse wide open, and her skirt rucked up round her middle.

The charabanc journey was slow and bumpy. Tom was seated in the back row of five, between Clara Livingston and Belinda Stourton, both in their best finery. Pierce, the butler, silently sweating in his customary dark suit, with shirt and necktie, was seated towards the front of the vehicle, as befitted his high position 'below stairs', and Mrs Pierce, the Cook, had had to be content with a seat in the row behind. Footmen and chauffeurs occupied other seats. Lord Astley had bestowed two crates of brown ale on the party, with several bottles of cordials for the ladies, and carbonated drinks for the young. Picnic hampers provided refreshments for consumption on the long journey.

They arrived at the coast to find a chilly easterly wind blowing in off the sea, but the sun was bright, the sandy beach occupied by a good many Londoners also on day trips — the lucky ones were staying for a week or more. Tom showed his Aunt's address, written in his father's spidery hand on a piece of crumpled paper, to the driver of the chara, and asked if he knew where it was. He was directed to the south of the town, where elegant housing, looking out to sea from the cliff top, provided accommodation for the town's more affluent inhabitants. The driver offered to give him a lift, as he was off about his own business until required for the journey back at about four that afternoon. Tom gratefully accepted. He had become aware of the odour which wafted over the town from its major industry — home to one of the country's largest trawler fleets — and was anxious to put some distance between him and the fish dock before the smell made him sick.

Aunt Mary was as wary of Tom as he of her. He was awed by her apparent wealth, and she feared that any connection made by her neighbours between herself and Tom would reduce her standing in the community. She had had a letter from her brother, informing her of her nephew's visit, and was looking out for him with trepidation. When he arrived, she opened the door herself and whisked him inside before anyone noticed. When another visitor had arrived, Tom found himself dragged into the parlour at the back of the house, and begged to keep silent.

There was a soft knock at the door, which opened to reveal a dark-haired damsel in maid's livery, bearing a tea-tray. She was a head taller than Tom.

'Your Aunt said you should have something to eat and drink.'

'Thanks, ' said Tom, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously.

The girl put the tray on a side table and turned to him. 'Your name's Tom, ain't it? You haven't been here before?' she asked.