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Beware The Roasburies!Chapter 27 free porn video
Tuesday 25th April to Monday 8th May 1972
Connie and I had a snack before I took her back to Keele. We said not a word about what had happened, though the subject loomed large in the car. When we had unpacked her, I was ready to drive back. She came to me and put her arms round my neck.
“Graham...” she hesitated. “I’m sorry. You know that? I mean about not supporting you.”
“Yes, I know. Don’t worry about it. When we forgive, it’s over. That’s what forgiveness means.”
She kissed me gently and with obvious love. “Stay for a while?”
I nodded, and she stepped back, pulled her tee shirt over her head, unsnapped her bra, dropped her slacks, kicking off her shoes. Then she gazed at me with a sultry expression as she slipped her french knickers down her legs, her breasts hanging deliciously and swaying enticingly. She stood straight displaying all her curves and nodded at my clothed body.
I made to untie my shoelaces, but she took my hand and led me to the bedroom, pushing me to sit on the bed. Then she knelt before me and untied my laces, removed my shoes and then my socks.
“Stand up” she said, and when I did, she unsnapped and unzipped my trousers, pulling them and my briefs down to my feet, when I lifted each foot for her to remove them. She giggled.
“What?” I asked.
“You look funny in a suit, shirt and tie and a monstrous erection peeping out from beneath them.”
She gave me no time to respond before she took me into her warm silky mouth. She took me to the back of her throat then gently sucked as she withdrew, her tongue licking the underside of my now rampant cock. She looked up at me as she repeated the action, in and out making me groan with the pleasure shooting through me.
I shed the suit, then the tie, then the shirt, and immediately her hands roamed up my stomach and chest, stroking my nipples, and lightly pinching them, all the while bobbing her head as I watched my cock appear and disappear, with a coating of saliva glistening on it.
Then she pulled away, pushed me down on the bed again but this time so I was lying with my lower legs dangling off the bed. She crawled up between them, licked my perineum, then my balls, then my prick before kissing her way up my torso until, climbing on the bed her legs astride me, she completed her tour by kissing my cheeks, my ears, my neck, my closed eyes and finally my mouth. As we kissed I felt her hand grasp my cock and then the velvet slickness of her vagina as she pushed herself down onto me, and me into her.
She moved. She moved gently to and fro, up and down my body, rubbing her open labia over my hairy root and groaning. Her groans were guttural and seemed forced from her, as her moves speeded up until she was slamming herself against me.
“A-a-h!” came the cry as her climax hit and she twitched and bucked on me, but did not stop her frenzied bouncing until I felt the gathering and gushed my gift into her, evoking a further strangled shout from her.
“Only you!” she cried. “Only you my darling! Never again! For you! Always!”
It did not make much sense, but my throbbing cock was taking most of my attention, and I think she was saying she would never doubt me again.
She fell forward onto me, measuring her length along mine, which she loved to do, my cock still in her though not as deep, and I could still feel her shivers from the remnants of her orgasm. There’s no doubt, women have the best deal when it comes to a come!
There was a dawning realisation that her lack of support for me had affected her far more deeply than it had me, and that she was still quite desperate to assure me of her love and trust. She was still damaged by all that abuse, and her self-esteem still needed building.
It led me to say “I love you so much. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”
She raised her head and looked at me. “Codswallop!” she muttered with a scowl. “Balderdash!” she continued. “Baloney!” she ended her refutation. “Don’t you forget, you liar, that I’ve seen Colette!“ She gave a grim smile of triumph. Then as an afterthought, “And Zena! Oh, and Harriet!” By now she was laughing.
“And your sister?” I smirked wickedly. Her face clouded. “Joke!” I said rapidly. “You’re prettier than her.”
“Than she?” She made to correct my grammar pedantically.
“Yes, OK, the verb ‘to be’ does not take an object.” I said doggedly. “On the other hand if ‘than’ is a preposition, it takes the objective case – her.
“But I was being precise as well. I did not say you were a more beautiful woman but person. You have suffered so much and you are still so loving, so thoughtful and caring. And you are very beautiful as well. I’m very lucky to have you.”
She looked moved, but quickly regained her mischievous grin. “Is that all?” She asked.
“Don’t be greedy,” I said, then “OK, and you’re a great fuck!”
“Perhaps, but I think I’m a great lover.” She looked smug, daring me to contradict her.
“That you are,” I said.
“And so are you,” she said. “And you’re a beautiful person as well. I don’t deserve you.”
“I think we deserve each other.” I said. This time she made no verbal reply but nodded her head.
Then she said as an afterthought, “I think that ‘than’ is a conjunction! Therefore ‘she’, not ‘her’!”
I groaned. We left the grammatical argument there – a lawyer and an English undergraduate.
Next day I was in the office at seven thirty, with a bleary eyed Zena next door, who had complained about my enthusiasm for work, but understood my need to get back in harness after the inquiry. I had caught up on WJT for an hour or so, before phoning their Deputy Chief Executive and acquainting her with my progress. She sympathised with my suspension and expressed her relief that I was back in charge of their case, so that put us on good terms once more.
At ten, our clerk informed me that a Mr and Miss Gresty were waiting for me in the foyer. I let Patrick know about WJT, and informed him of the Grestys’ arrival. He said he would prefer to be present at the meeting, and I saw the wisdom of that.
We went together to the committee room and asked our receptionist to bring them them up. The door opened and two rather crestfallen people entered.
“Mr Gresty, Caroline,” Patrick said in greeting. “Shall we sit over there in the comfortable chairs,” gesturing to the three piece suite at the far side of the room. The Grestys sat on the sofa, while we took the armchairs.
“Madeleine,” Patrick addressed our receptionist, who had remained in the room waiting to see if there was anything else needed, “could we have coffee, please? Perhaps Pauline could bring it for us?”
“No problem Mr Jenkins,” said the pretty young thing, and left us.
I was looking at pretty young Caroline, who was clearly terrified, and at Mr Gresty who was tight lipped and uncomfortable. I noted there was no micro-skirt in evidence: she was wearing tee shirt (with obvious bra) and tight jeans.
“Now,” Patrick began, taking the chair, as it were, “how shall we start? Mr Proctor?”
Thanks Patrick, I thought, drop me in it why don’t you?
“I assume you’ve both been talking about the matter in hand?” I enquired.
“Yes, we have,” said Gresty, “and I have to say I’m astounded at what I’ve learned.”
Caroline looked even more frightened if that were possible – and it clearly was!
“Good,” I said. “I think it would be best if Caroline speaks for herself.”
I turned to face Caroline directly. “OK, Caroline,” and I gave her a smile which I hoped was reassuring, “this meeting is not about telling you off, or punishing you. It is a quest for information, so you can relax.”
She smiled shyly at the man before whom she had stripped naked. She sighed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I feel so embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry,” I continued my intent on relaxing the girl, “We’re not going to go over what happened, we are looking for the reasons why it happened. That’s what I for one do not understand. Do you feel up to telling us why you did what you did?”
She sat on the edge of the seat, nodded, and began.
“I know I’ve been stupid, but it was what I was told.”
“Go on.”
“Mrs Roasbruie [Bingo!] came and gave me the address of this firm. When I learned I’d got in, I remembered she asked me to tell her how I had got on, and I was so happy I went round right away. Well, we chatted away about my hopes, and then she said I could help her in a very important matter which affected someone’s safety.”
“Connie’s.” I said.
“Yes, that’s right. Then she started telling me about you, Mr Proctor. I know now it was a load of lies, but then I had no reason not to believe her. Please, you understand?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “I understand very well. Do continue.”
“Well, she said that you had ruined Penny’s life. You had seduced her over some months while having a thing with a number of other women, and you forced her and took her cherry. She was badly affected and it took her a long time to get over your attack. Meanwhile you were sleeping with three or four other women from work where I would be going. She said she had photographs to prove it, but couldn’t prove the rape of Penny. I didn’t know–”
“Don’t worry, Caroline, I know the story. Carry on.”
“Well, she said you had now picked up her younger sister, Constance (that’s what she called her) who had been a prostitute in London, and you paid her to come with you to Manchester. She said you were abusing her, and using her for sex, and she couldn’t do anything about it.”
“But you could?” I suggested.
“Yes. You were a respected lawyer in this firm and seemed a very nice man, but you were an expert in covering up all your womanising and violence. The only way she could think of to save Connie was to disgrace you.”
“You were to seduce me.”
“Yes, she told me how to do it. Don’t get me wrong Mr Proctor, I’m no blushing virgin, I do get around (sorry Dad). Mrs Roasburie knows my reputation. She said to ramp up the sex talk and the flirting over time, and then offer myself. She said you would jump at the chance to have me,” here she grinned at the double entendre, “and then I could complain and get you fired.”
“But I wouldn’t.”
“No, so I phoned her and told her it didn’t work, and she said–”
“To go ahead anyway: they would always believe a young girl against a powerful lawyer?”
“Yes, yes! Exactly that! She said Mr Walsh would try to see to it you were sacked. Even if it couldn’t be proved, the stigma would attach to you and in any case Connie would see you for what you were, and you might still be fired.”
“So because you had no reason to believe she’d be lying–”
“Mr Proctor, I may be a bit of a slag, but I hate men who abuse women. So I hated you. I wanted to bring you down. I’m so sorry.”
She looked woebegone and her father was shooting daggers at her.
“Caroline, you were lied to by someone who you should have been able to trust: a friend of the family. You were not to know you were being used. The iniquitous thing is that your written statement is libellous, and would have resulted in you never being able to practise law yourself. Your family could have been sued for damages after what your Dad said in front of witnesses.”
At this the girl began to cry.
“No, Caroline, this would not have been your fault, the real blame rests the with the outrageous lies that woman told you. By the way, I will give you Penny’s and Connie’s addresses and you can find out from them the true story. By a faked investigator’s report and photos, and by destroying other people’s letters, Mrs Roasburie broke up my engagement to Penny, then tried to do the same with Connie; this is her third attempt. She simply hates me, why, I do not know.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she sobbed. “You were so nice to me, you were kind, even when I tried to...”
“All I’d say to you is that you need to learn from being deceived. I would also ask if you would act as a witness if I were to bring an action against her.”
“That bitch? Yes I would,” she said. “She could have ruined our family.”
“They are no longer friends of ours,” said Gresty. “I can’t understand the woman. She’s delusional.”
We sent them on their way, no doubt with a lot to think about and a sense of relief.
“You wanted to see me?” asked Patrick Jenkins. I nodded.
I had borrowed the sham investigator’s report from Penny and took it from my briefcase, along with the original report and laid them on his desk.
“Have you time to read both these?” I asked him.
“Yes, I’ve no meetings until this afternoon.”
I proffered the unchanged version first. It had the subject of the report – me – and the commissioning agent, Kieran Walsh. It was a carbon copy of an original.
“He had you investigated?” Patrick asked. “Did you know about it?”
I shook my head. “There are some rather intimate photographs. Colette is happy for you to see them,” I said.
He opened it and began to read. His brow furrowed. “This reads like a report for a divorce.” He said. I did not reply and he carried on reading. Eventually he closed the booklet.
“What you need to know is that Penny broke our engagement shortly after Easter last year. Now if you would read the second one.” I invited.
He read the outer cover. There was now no reference to Walsh. Then he began to read. After three pages he opened the first report and began to compare the two.
“Clumsy!” he muttered, “Ham-fisted.”
Then he closed both copies.
“I don’t think I need to read any further. Enlighten me on whom this was for?”
“You should know that Penny’s and Connie’s mother is the sister of Kieran Walsh. She’s the woman who pointed Caroline to this firm. I don’t know who had the report altered and retyped, but it was either Mr Walsh himself – he has access to secretarial services – or Lucy Roasburie.
“It was produced to convince Penny that I had been unfaithful before Easter when she ended the engagement. It fooled Penny and then Connie. Fortunately I was able to show them that the report was a fabrication and a pack of lies.
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