In The Name Of Love (19 page)

"You may now kiss the Altar," she said, lowering her pussy
onto his mouth.

He pushed his tongue deep inside and felt the delicious
taste of her juices seeping from his mouth as she rocked around his face, her
thighs gripping his cheeks with surprising strength. Her moans were soft at the
start, but quickly became louder when he found her small clit and began
nibbling on it with his lips and then licking it.

"The Mistress of the Hunt is now ready to ride to the Hunt.
Is the Groom ready for me to mount my steed?"

"Yes Mistress."

She eased down his chest, and rubbed her moist pussy across
his cock, bending it backwards until her body passed, and then it sprung
upright once again. This was so exciting to Grant, who'd never even imaged such
sex, and he knew his hardest task was to ensure he didn't experience an orgasm
first.

With great precision she placed her pussy over his cock,
allowing the glans to ease inside, and then raising her crop high she cried,
"Tally ho, off we go!" She dropped her body onto his, fully encasing his long
penis in her tight pussy, and with a couple of hard whacks to his side with the
crop, she started rocking on his cock.

Up and down, she went, then round in circles for a bit,
before rocking from side to side and finally up and down, over and over again.
With frequent yells of "Tally ho!" and less frequent cracks with the whip, she
increased the tempo minute by minute.

Grant hand never had sex like this, lying almost immobile
except for occasional thrusts with his hips to drive his cock inside her
willing pussy. But each drive brought a growl from the Mistress of the Hunt,
who gave him a hard crack with the crop on his side, which was now glowing red.

The problem was, all this pain together with her furious
fucking, was bringing on his climax and he tried to will it away, but her
increasing rhythm together with howls of lust and excitement, only encouraged
his orgasm. When she gave one final howl and collapsed across his body,
completely spent, his cock spurted hot semen into her already wet vagina.

He waited for her anger, but she lay still with her head on
his chest, and saying nothing. This gave him some comfort, and he guessed the
transgression had been forgiven. After a few minutes she raised her head, and
without looking him in the face she climbed up his body until her dripping
pussy was over his mouth.

She dropped the pussy onto his mouth and said, "The naughty
groom will now clean the Mistress of the Hunt's vagina, not leaving one drop of
moisture.

At first it was a pleasing experience to lick and swallow
the mixture of her cum and his semen, but the enjoyment soon faded and he
struggled to stop himself from gagging. He knew that would bring about a
scalding he didn't wish to experience.

Finally, she rolled off his body and picking up her
nightdress, she left for the bathroom without a word or a backward glance. He
could hear the water splashing, and he needed to pee; the thought of a hot bath
filled his mind, and he waited patiently for her to return and free him. All
the time, his bladder filled and he struggled to retain his urine.

Instead, he heard her go downstairs to the kitchen. She
returned five minutes later with an empty milk bottle, which she shoved roughly
over his penis.

"Now piss into there and don't spill a drop."

With great relief he let the flow of hot pee gush into the
bottle with a loud splash.

Crack!

The unfurled riding crop whipped across his chest with such
a crack it stopped him from peeing, and he looked up at Beryl.

Before he could speak she whipped him across the chest
again, and said, "Slower, or you'll fill the bottle and wet the bed."

It took him some time to coax his penis to start peeing
again, and he found it difficult to control the flow to a level that didn't
bring further cracks of the whip, but he was finally done.

She placed the hot bottle against his face and said, "Next
time you disobey my command, you shall drink this piss. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress," said Grant, wondering where all this came
from. He knew Beryl had a problem with men, from the chats with Cyril about her
actions at work, but this was more like a hatred of the male species. Worse
still, he was now the object for that hatred.

"Don't forget, then," she said, standing the bottle on the
bedside table not two feet from his face. She walked over to the doorway and
said, "I shall sleep in the other room tonight, while you repent your sins."
She turned out the lights, leaving him in complete darkness, and slammed the
door as she left the room.

The last thing he thought about before he fell into an
uncomfortable sleep, was that female domination had its darker side…

Three weeks later, Cyril served champagne at dinner to April
and Joyce. "Just a small glass for you my dear," he said with a broad smile to
April, "But a full glass for you, Joyce."

"What are we celebrating?" said Joyce, wondering what was in
his mind.

"At four o'clock this afternoon, the hated Beryl Bainbridge
and her so-called fiancé set sail from Southampton for the sunny shores of
Australia – never to return, I trust."

"Well, I'll drink to that," she said, raising her glass and
clinking with the glasses of both April and Cyril. "Perhaps our lives can
settle down, now."

"Mmm, I think so," said Cyril.

"Darling, you're not telling me something; what is it?" said
April, looking up inquisitively at his face.

"Well, you know that cottage you fell in love with, around
the corner all those months ago; today I bought it for you as my Wedding
present."

"Oh Cyril, thank you so much, I do love that place. Can we
go and see it again in the morning?"

"He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and put them on the
table before her and said, "All the paperwork's not complete yet, but the agent
said we can have access to plan the renovations."

"That's marvellous, don't you think, Joyce?"

"Well, naturally it is for you and Cyril, but what do I do –
live alone in this mausoleum?"

April laughed gaily and said, "Don't be an old grouch, of
course you'll come and live with us. There'll be plenty of room."

"I know there will, but it's not fair on you both. You need
to settle down together, without having me to worry about."

"I need you to help take care of the baby, when I have to
help Cyril out with the business."

Joyce gave a sniff and said to Cyril, "How's the search for
offices coming along?"

"Rather slowly, they're all too small, too large, or too
pricey."

"Why don't you convert the Bainbridge house into offices?"
said Joyce, who'd been thinking about that idea for some time. She didn't like
the idea of Cyril selling it at a loss in this depressed market, and it was in
an ideal location.

Cyril glanced at April and said, "I did think about it,
because of its location and good parking for visitors, but I'm not sure I can
use the dwelling for business purposes."

"I think you better find out, because it is the perfect
place with plenty of room for expansion. Why, you could even have a crèche
there for the baby!"

They all laughed and clinked their glasses together again.

When April and Cyril settled down to watching television,
Joyce went up to her bedroom and made her way into her private sitting room.
Sometimes she needed to be alone with her thoughts, and tonight she was feeling
lonely. Seeing April and Cyril so happy together made her just a little
jealous, also, so she left them alone before they could sense her mood.

An hour later, April came into the room. "I've just come to
say goodnight, Joyce; I'm feeling tired after all the excitement of the new
house and office."

"I'm sure you're going to love it there, it is a wonderful
house."

"Thank you, Joyce; I do hope you decide to stay with us…"

"I know you do, but since coming up here I've been thinking
of my place in Peacehaven; the last tenants have moved out and I may spend a
few months there. Perhaps doing it up, if it needs working on."

They were quiet for a couple of minutes and Joyce went back
to sorting out the pile of old photographs on her lap.

"Look at this old photo; it's my parents on the honeymoon in
Jersey."

"That's a lovely photo, don't they look happy?"

Joyce picked up another photo, looked at it for a moment and
then slipped it beneath the pile on the small table.

"What's that photo you're hiding from me," said April with a
laugh, "Come on, is it your secret beau?"

Joyce didn't answer but pulled it out from under the pile
and gave it to April.

She looked up as April gasped, and then pushing the photos
to one side, sat on the sofa with her hand to her mouth as she stared at the
photograph.

"What is it, girl? That's only me and Arnold on our wedding
day."

"Oh Joyce, I don't know what to say."

She looked at April's red face and saw tears in the corner
of her eyes. She put her arms around her and gave her a squeeze, wondering what
could have upset her. Perhaps it was because the divorce papers hadn't come
through yet, despite all Cyril's negotiations with the Registry Office, who
like so many places ‘owed him a favour', and she knew April would like to marry
Cyril before the birth of their baby.

Finally, April looked up at Joyce and said, "I want to tell
you something, but don't be angry with me, if I'm wrong."

"What on earth are you talking about, sweet child, I can
never be angry with you, so speak your mind."

"Well, about a week ago we had a transfer from a nursing
home in the midlands that was closing down. It was a man who I think was deaf
and dumb; he never spoke to anybody, just sat on a chair all day staring at
something in his hands. He wouldn't let anybody look, and when they came near
him, he put it inside his pocket bible."

She stopped to look up at Joyce.

"Go on, don't stop now, I'm just getting interested."

April continued, "One day I was tidying his bed while he was
in the washroom, and his bible fell onto the floor. An old worn photo fell out,
and it was a couple at a wedding, but there was a tattered hole where the
woman's face was.

The man returned and took it from me ever so gently and put
it back into his bible. He showed me another hole in the cover of the bible and
for the first and only time he spoke."

"Well, don't stop now, what did he say?"

"That hole is where the German's shot me, and shot my wife
in the face, right through the bible. She saved me from being killed, because
the bullet never reached me, and the bible was in the pocket above my heart."

"Why, my dear girl, that's a lovely story. Why on earth did
you think I would be upset?"

"Because the photo in his bible is exactly like this one of
you and Arnold!"

Joyce felt the room spinning around, and she grabbed April's
arm. "Get…water," was all she could manage to say, before collapsing onto the
floor.

When she came to, she was on her bed, with both Cyril and
April holding her hands.

"Are you feeling alright, Joyce, or shall I call for the
doctor," said Cyril.

"How long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes, I shouted for Cyril, who was on his way
upstairs, and he carried you onto your bed," said April, with a worried face.

"Then don't worry," she said, patting April's hand and
giving Cyril a squeeze. "I just had a shock, that's all. I'm fine now, but
where's that water?"

April laughed, and passed her the glass.

"Did you tell Cyril the story you told me?"

"No, there hasn't been time…"

"Well, tell him. And try and tell him exactly as you told it
to me."

The next morning, the three of them had a quiet breakfast
with very little conversation, and once they'd cleared away the dishes, Joyce
said, "Come on, then, let's all go to the nursing home and meet this mysterious
stranger."

Cyril drove, and Joyce decided to sit in the back with April.
She held her hands and said, "If this doesn't work out, don't be upset, my
dear. I know your intentions are of the best, and you would not say or do
anything to hurt me."

"I'm so worried, though."

"I cannot tell you how I feel, my dear. Part of me is
bursting with excitement that it may be Arnold, and the rest of me is filled
with worries. I worry that it isn't him, I worry that if it is him he won't
know me, and I worry that his imprisonment has affected him…"

"Oh, Joyce," said April, close to tears as she gave her a
hug.

"This way," Cyril said, pointing towards the offices, when
they arrived. He'd phoned ahead and spoken to the medical office in charge of
that patient, and they were to meet the doctor now, in his office.

The doctor was a middle-aged man, who April had frequently
passed in the corridors, but had never spoken to him. He cleared his throat and
said, "The patient does not have a name that we know of, because he's never
spoken to anybody since the French hospital passed him over just five years
ago. Apparently they weren't sure of his nationality, until they saw him
reading an English newspaper."

"Is he ill, or…" Joyce asked, rubbing her hands with worry.

"Shell-shock is the best description. That, together with
the fact that for some reason he just doesn't wish to speak, or perhaps cannot.
I think perhaps he is also suffering from loss of memory, or at least a partial
loss. It is difficult to tell with a patient who cannot communicate."

"Can we see him now?" asked Joyce.

"I don't want you to meet him in the ward, in case it upsets
other patients, so I've asked a nurse to bring him to this room. They're
probably waiting outside," he said, going over to the door, "But please remain
calm, with no sudden movements that might shock or upset him."