Little Standing Chronicles Pt 3

Meeting The Lady

The second morning that I awoke in my new home in the village of Little Standing was just as fine and bright as the first. This time, however, I decided to shower and dress myself fully before heading downstairs. I hadn't the day before, and it had led to an erotic encounter with the woman who was my cleaner. Once that had reached its climactic end Mrs. Carter, for that was her name, had set about her duties without further ado. She wished to keep a firm division between employer and employee: and I agreed with her whole-heartedly, if somewhat belatedly. Actually, I reached that conclusion round about the time that I was rinsing off her tacky love juices [along with the residue of the fuck I'd had the night before,] in the shower.

Today I was making some breakfast in the kitchen, the site of our coupling, when she arrived for work. She bustled in with a smile but made no allusion to yesterday's events at all. She had done a very good job of cleaning the slick sweat from the worktops and the pool of our cum that had blobbed onto the floor from her gaping pussy.

"I've just seen the postie and there's a few bits for you. Probably bills, but I'd open that one first if I was you," she suggested passing me a hand written envelope made of a thick, heavy paper. "It looks like Lady Penelope, up at the Big House," she stated. I slit the envelope with my breakfast knife and extracted an ornate card. The card was an invitation and it asked if I were available for lunch that day and if so, I should call the given number to confirm that 12:30 was acceptable. It also suggested Country Casual for dress. It was quite a presumptuous little card!

"Hmm, you've been summoned, you have," said Mrs. Carter as she blatantly read my mail over my shoulder. "Best to just go along with it."

"Really?" I asked.

"Oh yes, you doan wanna be on the wrong side of 'er Ladyship. I'd call now to be sure of a better welcome, if I was you."

I took the advice, called and spoke to a quietly voiced male, who had just a little of the local burr, and was asked if I had any dietary restrictions. Having said I hadn't I duly received confirmation that 12:30 was still the expected time. I ambled through the morning and got myself ready for the appointment. Mrs. Carter took the trouble of pointing out the destination to me from my front receiving room, to the left of the main entrance. I could see the upper stories of a gothic looking pile, glowering down over the valley in front of it, all chimneys and terracotta slates poking above the treetops. I was assured it was no more than a fifteen-minute walk, "Even for a Townie...", was the sub text, I felt.

I donned some sensible brown brogues, light fawn trousers, a shirt with pale blue check lines on it and a tie that complemented it. Very country. My jacket was a light materialled blazer-but darker in color. I sprayed minimal haze of something a bit citrus-y on myself and I felt that I was ready to go. I planned to go all the way downhill to the village Green and then left before climbing up the hill. However, the good Mrs. Carter told me to keep a look-out to my left on my descent and I'd see a narrow path between two cottages named after flowers. This would cut across the side of the valley.

I followed the good lady's directions and darted between Rose and Hyacinth Cottages to walk along a lane barely the width of a large car and so avoided the lowest point of the village, sloping across behind some twee cottages and in front of some more utilitarian barns and sheds. I smelt some wholesome meals being prepared and also some distinctly "country air" whiffs of bovine origin. I suddenly popped out onto the wider road and saw a pair of tall gates up to my left that broke the continuity of a high wall made of the familiar red brick. I passed through the opening and crunched up a pale gravel driveway for few minutes, passing ornate topiary, to an open space constructed like a mini-roundabout. Thus, I arrived at the door of Lady Standing's country estate.

I tugged on a wrought-iron bell-pull and the doors soon swung apart, revealing a man dressed in sharply creased black trousers and a black waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt adorned with a narrow black tie: and his shoes were also black and gleaming. He looked to be in his forties and wore his hair shaved to a brutal number one cut, through which his highly tanned skin seemed to, you've guessed it, gleam. His vividly green eyes, however, sparkled. I gave my name and he offered a faint smile whilst accepting I was expected. I recognized his voice from our earlier phone chat. At his bidding I followed behind him for a short way to a room off the large hallway and to the right of a dramatic flight of carpeted stairs. There was a lot of heavy, dark wood and a deep green plain carpet with a subdued gold colored, entwined pattern running along the border.

The first room was quite small but was occupied by a woman of such beauty that my progress across it towards her seemed to me to take an age. It felt as if my knees were on backwards and my arms had two elbows apiece such was my discombobulation. I'd imagined Lady Standing to be a ham-fisted, tweed-rumped old boiler whose mustache-growing abilities would put me to shame; but a golden-haired, Scandinavian style goddess sat demurely before me. She very much put me in mind of Diana Spencer, Lady Di to most, but she seemed a tad shorter and a little more rounded in the face. She sat at a small round table which supported an artfully arranged floral display. She smiled and held out her hand to me which I shook lightly, not wishing to damage this beauty. It also meant I had to lean forward a little almost as if I were bowing to her. She gestured to a second chair and I joined her at the table.

"May I offer you a drink?" she asked. "I'm having a sherry. It's very light."

I said I would join her and she arched her eyebrows to the butler saying, "If you please, Marston." He served us from another heavy wooden piece of furniture adorned with a fine array of bottles sparkling in the sunlight that flooded the room.

Her eyes were a piercing blue, her teeth startlingly white and her lips full. Her skin was pale compared with the rest of the village population that I'd seen so far but still carried a little hint of the sun in her cheeks. Her blonde hair was swept back from her face and forehead, held by a green band, and fell in long, loose waves to rest on her shoulder. She wore a blue, white and green leaf- patterned frock that had a square cut across her rounded bosom, hinting at the beginning of a cleavage. It was sinched in at her waist with a thin green leather belt the gold buckle of which matched the fine golden chain around her throat. Her legs were encased in a pale tan nylon and crossed over themselves to one side of her chair leg. They ended at a pair of shoes that were mere nothings of a pale green leather that exactly matched the green in her attire and had a fine strap around her ankle.

As we sipped the delicate wine, she pointed out various features of the landscape. She started with the most distant features and worked back up the Valley towards ourselves. The church was closest by, to the right of her gates as we looked out, so we talked a little of its role in the village. I explained Mrs. Carter's help in getting me there in good time and how I'd walked beside the old grey stones of the graveyard wall.

"Ah, yes, the Carters. They've been here almost as long as my family. As have Marston's ancestors. Plenty of those names in that cemetery. The publican, a Mr. Jolly I believe, is considered a newcomer as it was only his grandfather who settled here."

"Where does that leave me?" I queried.

"Oh Lord, you're a complete Townie!" she guffawed. "It will take at least four generations before you could even be considered as a local. Don't fret, however," she cautioned, "they don't hold it against you. They'll be amicable enough but much will occur here that you will never hear of. They, meanwhile, will know your every move. For example, if you just stretch your neck to see around that larch there...no the larch, not the oak...to the left, that's it," she chuckled at my arboreal ignorance, then continued, "you will see an old wooden gate that gives access to one of your fields. You made a new friend there I believe." *

I choked a little on my sherry and covered this with a cough that made my eyes water. "Well, I... ah...I...that is to say I...um" I blathered.

"Oh dear, I've embarrassed you. Not my intention at all. It's best you realize that it's well known in the village already. But no-one will judge. It was expected, really. Actually, ou did yourself something of a favour by not seeming prudish or stuck-up, do you see?"

"Really? I mean we just met. The girl and I, I mean. And no-one is bothered? No hulking boyfriend or irate father is about to come hammering at my door?"

"Well, you've met young Tanya's mother and did she raise any complaints?"

"Her Mother? But I haven't met anyone but Mrs. Car...oh. You mean...?"

"Yes indeed. It was Tanya Carter who welcomed you so fulsomely to our community."

"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend"

"No offence taken. The church on my doorstep is just a relic of bygone days. Come with me into the dining room and I'll tell you more."

We rose from the miniature table and Marston opened a door set behind Lady Penelope. I followed her in and could not help but notice the supple movement of a firm pair of buttocks beneath her light dress. Despite her light frame the pressure of her body had forced the fine material into the crevice of her arse just enough to give an easily imagined picture. Her neck and shoulders, too, were delicate where they peeped from between her golden bouncing curls. Just as I realized I was ogling her I twigged that Marston had spotted this licentious behaviour. His face remained stony and impassive but I thought I saw a gleam in his eye. Damn me, that man had a lot of gleaming going on!

The table was a long affair but two places had been set at the end closest to a large bay window that looked out over a sloping lawn. Lady Penelope sat at the head and I was settled to her right.

"I thought this would be more intimate," she said as we shuffled bottoms on to well-padded, high-backed chairs. "It'll save bellowing at one another from either end of this table. We could, of course, have used a different room but Marston likes to keep up some of the old traditions." If Marston heard himself being talked of - and he was just a matter of feet away - he gave no sign whatsoever as he ladled a clear consommé into the bowls already set before us.

I should say at this point that I am well versed in the etiquette of such lunches. I was expensively schooled and have so connections from the "higher-ups" section of society as well as the field of arts and so on that my invention introduced me to. I was not phased and did not stick the soup spoon up my nose. Marston poured us both a good full glass of a pale-yellow wine and also took the trouble to fill a clear tumbler with a sparkling water that hissed over ice and a lemon slice. The soup was a little salty for me and I soon finished the water. Marston immediately refilled my tumbler.

Several courses followed and I noted that, although they were not unpleasant, they were well salted. The cook was obviously a little heavy handed in this area. Never mind, the wine and the conversation flowed quite well, despite my little shock earlier. Lady Penelope told me her family history and how they had managed to outlast and wriggle through the various reigns of some of England's barmiest Kings and Queens. Often, it seemed, playing it smartly enough to gain a little bit of favour in almost each epoch despite a few close squeaks with, firstly, the Catholic monarchs and then the Roundheads.

As I gulped down more water we dissected a few reasons for this success. Chief among them was the isolated nature of Little Standing itself. A few hundred years ago it had been a fraction of the size it was now, and so tucked away in its steep and wooded Valley that armies could march past its access points without a blink. The Villagers took the simple expedient of posting a few lookouts and dousing smoke causing fires and kilns etc. when necessary. They knew very well that they were considered an oddity but were not in the least put out by this; rather, they relished it. As we progressed through the history I thought again and again of how beautiful this woman was. And it wasn't just her looks, you cynics. She was knowledgeable and quick and very good at setting me at my ease.

The meal drew to a convivial end and the final plate was cleared leaving only a fulsome cheese board. A slight hiatus occurred as Marston finished with his duties at the old serving bench before he turned, still silent, back to us. I saw a brief look pass between Lady Penelope and him. Her head dropped and her cheek became a little flushed as I realized that I too was feeling the effects of some serious wine consumption. She cleared her throat, pointedly, and then spoke.

"Actually, I have you here today for a particular reason," she began. "You see, with my Title comes some powers that are only enforceable locally, but powers all the same. I'm going to ask you, in a moment, to accompany me to the Judging Room." At this she nodded to her butler who promptly turned on his heel and exited the room. "The Judging Room," she continued, "has been in use for absolute centuries. It was even permissible, in the distant past of course, for the then Lords Standing to pass a death sentence. This only happened a very few times but all those sentences were upheld when a couple of the, er, victims, as it were, appealed to a higher Court, down in Exeter.

"You've received an informal welcome from your Miss Carter but this is of a more formal, and actually necessary, nature. It's quite a short little ceremony so I do hope that you'll play along?"

"Oh, certainly," I agreed. "If it's a necessity then it must be so. As long as my head stays on my shoulders then I'm happy to tag along," I chirped. The wine really had gone to my head.

Rising from the table she beckoned me to follow her. Once again, my eyes were drawn to her deliciously rounded bottom as each cheek took its turn to shudder slightly under the fine material in time to her steps. I re-crossed the hallway in her wake passing the foot of the staircase before turning right, along a passage to the left of them. Heavy doors came off this corridor but it was the end we headed for. Another set of doors, but doubled up, like those at the main entrance to the house. They were ornately carved and had a regal looking plaque above the arch that topped them. As we approached, they opened of their own accord it seemed.

We entered a room that resembled a cross between a one-room schoolhouse and a tiny parish church. The door was about a third of the way along the side wall. Most of the top third of this room, to our left, was raised up by about a foot or so. There was a rail along the front of the low stage which had a narrow gap in it that could be closed by a "flip-over" hinged bar to make a complete barrier. There was a gap of three yards between this stage and the first of four or five rows of plain benches ranged to our right. On the stage sat what looked basically like a large wooden throne behind a small desk. On the walls behind were two flagpoles, crossed, with the flags furled. Again, on the wall and the back of the throne, there was the same crest as above the outer door. The floor sloped away from us to another heavy, single door on the far side of the room. Two high arched windows of plain, frosted glass on that far wall let light in. Apart from a small drain on the floor by the doorway the majority of the room was otherwise featureless.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement and saw Marston coming out from behind the left-hand door. Clearly, he'd opened it from within. He was now completely covered, from the neck down, in a cloak of deep purple material that had ornate golden stitching over its lapels. I goggled at this garment and I heard Lady Penelope chuckle once more.

"Yes, quite the fashion statement, isn't it?" she asked as I tore my eyes from it and turned to her. She had seated herself behind the desk. Suddenly, she was all business.

"Will the applicant please address the Manor," she barked, before leaning forward a little and almost whispering, "That's you, dear."

I took two paces to her so I was before the barrier. Marston also stepped forward and dropped a plump cushion onto the slate floor. He then placed a firm hand on my shoulder and exerted pressure on it. I took the hint and kneeled down. I was now at eye level with the underside of the table and could not but notice Lady Standing's dress had ridden up and her legs were slightly parted. With a jolt I saw that her nylons were actually stockings rather than tights. I could see the slight bulge of flesh above the darker coloured band of material. The Lady, however, was demurely sat so that nothing else of her underwear was showing. I found myself swallowing hard and lightly licking my lips until she cleared her throat.

I met her gaze and noticed the little twinkle in them. My God, she had known exactly what she was doing. She then began a speech that named me and her as parties to an agreement. In short, she was giving me permission to own the land on which my house stood as it was part of her demesne. I had to agree not to cause undue disturbance and make a token payment each year to her Estate. I blinked when she said this but she placated me by saying it was a mere peppercorn rent and a bottle of wine would do very well.

"Do you agree to these terms?" she asked, and I affirmed that I did. "Jolly good," she breathed. "Now, in the olden days the Lord of the Manor had the complete rule of the population under him. He even had rights to wives on their wedding night and so on. Also, in their totally sexist world view, they deemed it proper for the wife of any applicant, such as yourself, to be fair game for their bed, too. They didn't think of a woman holding the title, of course. You are a single man I believe?" I nodded once more. "Even jollier," she said. Then, rising from the throne, she turned and reached behind it. AS she turned back and I saw that she was holding a long sword. Alarm must have passed across my face as I felt Marston's grip tighten.

"Don't panic, it's not the beheading you mentioned," she quipped. "Just stay as you are." She advanced to the rail and rested her lower stomach against it. This, combined with the fact she set her feet at shoulder width, made her frock cleave to her subtly rounded mound mere inches from my face. "I, Lady Penelope Clarissa Standing of Standing Manor, do hear by grant the free use of may land to this worthy applicant," she proclaimed and then touched the sword to my right shoulder.

"Now, if you will do me the honour of staying as you are, we'll proceed with the more informal part of our ritual."

So saying, she lay the sword across the desk then turned and flipped the barrier back up and over like an old barman in a Western movie, stepped through the gap and let the barrier down again. There was a narrow part of the stage in front of the barrier and she now stood there, her bottom resting against the polished wood. She looked down imperiously at me.

"It has not escaped my notice that you have been ogling me almost non-stop since your arrival," she suddenly proclaimed. "Have you not had your fill of the local women? Not many men get to enjoy a mother and her daughter within a few hours of one another. Are you insatiable?" she demanded.