Over The Hills And Faraway, Book 5. Paying The PiperChapter 20: Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady free porn video
On the 23rd of October 2003 I moved in with Suzannah, taking most of my personal kit and clothing from my flat in Bourne Mansions. She found room for my stuff in the huge walk-in wardrobe in the master bedroom, but didn't appear too impressed with my taste in clothing, although she kept her mouth shut, well, at least for a week or two.
It didn't take me long to find a short term tenant for my Bourne Mansion flat; Iver had a good reputation as a place to live, and the Trustees insisted owners of apartments in the block charge a lower rental than the average.
I received a pleasant surprise when I asked Suzannah how much I should contribute towards the rent/mortgage of her place. Her father, a hot shot multi-millionaire businessman, owned the company which owned the apartment, and Suzannah paid only a peppercorn rent to the holding company, allowing her father to reclaim capital gains tax, or some other high finance deal, to avoid paying his full tax bill.
A week after moving in with Suzannah we went shopping for her engagement ring. The last time I had bought an engagement ring I shelled out £750 to an up market jewellery shop in Bond Street, and imagined Suzannah would be in line for a ring of similar value.
Oh no. When it came to produce the Westons go to the source, and for a diamond engagement ring they shop at Hatton Gardens, the centre of the diamond trade in London. We fetched up in a dimly lit shop which had at least two million quid's worth of rings just in one of their display cabinets.
After much oohing and aahing Suzannah finally chose a ring costing £20,000.
"Daddy will lend you the money if you haven't enough in your account, Des."
My six months deployment to Afghanistan, where there was little or nothing to spend money on, added to the earnings from my escorting duties in Reading, ensured I had a respectable amount of cash squirreled away. Even so £20,000 would make a hole in it, and I was glad Miriam and I had come to an arrangement where she received bugger all from the sale of the house in Kitchener Road.
"I will have to transfer money from my savings account; I'll do that later today," I said as I wrote out the cheque.
"If it bounces send the bill to my father," Suzannah said to the proprietor of the shop. We all laughed, but the jeweller looked relieved.
"Now we want a pair of gold rings for my fiancé and myself." She looked at the jeweller inquiringly.
"I specialise in diamonds, Miss Weston, but I can recommend Dvorak, a highly skilled goldsmith and designer. He has premises in Hatton Wall, and will give you a good price if you tell him I, Elijah Rothstein, recommended him to you."
Once again I was blown away with the wealth on display when we walked around the corner to Dvorak's showroom –cum- workshop. We, or rather Suzannah, chose a pair of matching stranded platinum and gold rings, and paid £10,000.
"I'll make up the difference in the price when I get you home," she whispered salaciously in my ear as she hurried me out of the shop.
Which she did.
"I want to be married in a church, but I don't want a big wedding. I've been married before, and experienced all the ballyhoo associated with a large ceremony then." Suzannah casually dropped the fact she had been married before as we emptied the dishwasher one evening.
"You never told me you've been married."
"Well now I have, and now you know. You've been married, so why should you be surprised to learn I have?"
She had a point. Suzannah was only a few years younger than me — she admitted to thirty four — and a good looking woman like her would have been snapped up in swift order.
"Do you want to talk about your previous marriage?" I asked, portraying 'the caring sort of fiancé'.
"No." Her abrupt reply portraying 'the mind your own business sort of fiancée'.
Actually I knew bugger all about Suzannah Weston, other than she had a wealthy father, a MSc in electronic design, was intelligent, beautiful, and shagged like a rabid polecat. I knew better than to press her about her family, or her life before she met me, although she knew all about me as my CV and personal details were on file in her office.
Not long after moving in with her I thought I should give her an account of my life – an abridged and expurgated version — now we were a couple.
"There's no need to tell me your history, Des. I read your details when you applied for a position at MilSys. Our life together started when we first made love. I don't need to know anything else about you, and you don't need to know anything else about me."
However, later that evening, as we cuddled together on the settee, Suzannah revealed a few facts about herself and her family.
"I want to be married sometime over the Christmas period, in Eyton, the village in Shropshire where I was born and brought up. I always go home for Christmas, and once is more than enough times in a year."
"Don't you get on with your parents?"
"Daddy is an absolute darling, but I don't get on with my mother, who is a first class bitch, as you will find out when I introduce you."
Her answer forestalled any further discussion concerning her parents, so I took her to bed and shagged her senseless — as you do.
"Daddy, this is David Desmond; we plan on getting married in St Mary's church at Christmas." Suzannah made the announcement in her father's office at the steel and glass palace of a building which served as the HQ of his business empire. The room was large enough to hold a ball, and a Harrier jump jet could have landed on his office desk with ease.
Bertram Weston was a distinguished looking man, with a fine head of snow white hair, a tan which hadn't come from a lamp, a handshake which threatened to dislocate my fingers, and intense blue eyes. He stood about six foot, so we were on equal terms when it came to height, and although he was twice my width he wasn't carrying an ounce of surplus fat. I reckoned he worked out each day; he had good muscle tone, and exuded health, vitality, and fitness. There were obvious signs of mutual admiration, and love, between Suzannah and him, and it was plain he adored her.
"This calls for a drink," Mr Weston said, and walked across his office to a wall cabinet. "What's your poison, David?" He hefted a bottle of 12 year old Lamnorlach single malt in one hand, and a VOSP Cognac in the other.
"It's a bit early in the day for me, sir, and I don't drink spirits." I didn't mention Jim Beam as I knew he would have been disdainful of my preference. Single malt Scotch drinkers think theirs is the only real whisky, and disparage all other versions of the Water of Life.
He snorted in derision. "What are you, some sort of Methodist? No daughter of mine is going to marry a teetotaller." His smile took any insult away. "There are lagers and beers in the 'fridge in the corner. Help yourself to something; we have to toast the happy couple."
I walked over to the fridge, which I had taken for a filing cabinet, and found a bottle of Guinness. He handed me a glass tankard, and Suzannah a large balloon glass of brandy; he had a double shot of whisky in a tumbler.
"Cheers ", he said, lifting his glass and downing the drink in one. He poured himself another. "Here's to a long and a happy married life." Suzannah and I repeated the sentiments and drank.
"Has your mother been given the glad tidings yet?" He said while pouring a third drink.
Suzannah shook her head. "No, we will arrive the day before Christmas Eve and inform her then." She took a sip of her brandy. "Will you ask Victor to conduct the service at midnight on Christmas Eve? I want only a handful of guests at the wedding. I suppose Mother and you will be hosting Christmas Day dinner for the locals as you normally do? You can invite extra guests if you wish."
"It's not for me, or your mother, to invite guests to your wedding. What about your friends, and David's, of course?" Weston looked at me with an eyebrow raised.
"All my mates are either in Iraq or Afghanistan, or on standby to go. There's a former platoon commander of mine who is now a civil servant at MoD. He would be pleased to act as my best man." I said. Rob Westminster would be a good choice in the absence of Harry Ledbetter, who had been promoted to full Colonel and was now Chief of Staff of one of the armoured brigades in Iraq. Franklin Desmond, another obvious choice for the job as best man, was unavailable as 1RGJ were on standby for an Iraq deployment.
A thought struck me. "Will we be able to hold the ceremony at such short notice? I know Christmas weddings have to be booked well in advance."
"No problems about the time and date of the ceremony, David. The Westons are Lords of the Manor of Eyton, and the church of Saint Mary's, and its living, is in my gift. The Rector does what I want or he's out on his ear, although the Reverend Victor Hewgoe would never think of going against my wishes."
"Lord of the Manor ... are you a lord?"
Weston laughed. "No, well not yet, but I've given the Tories and Labour enough donations over time to get me on the next Birthday Honours list. My grandfather bought the title way back, and the Bishop of Shrewsbury allows the Westons to choose the incumbent of the parish ... for a hefty annual donation I might add."
I left all the wedding arrangements to Suzannah and her father, and asked Rob Westminster to be my best man, who was delighted to do the honours.
I invited him, and his latest squeeze, to meet me and Suzannah at Trattoria Di Stefano's in Iver. Suzannah and I often ate there on a weekend, and when Pablo learned we were engaged he insisted the meal would be free.
Rob Westminster arrived with a woman on his arm who I recognised as Magda, the Croatian interpreter from Tizer. As I made the introductions Rob whispered he would explain later why he was with Magda. Pablo brought out a special bottle of wine, which was wasted on me, but which Rob looked on with reverence. Annamarie served us. I thought she appeared a bit out of sorts, but put it down to her time of month.
Suzannah was charmed by Rob, and in fact the evening was a complete success. After the meal, and a long leave taking of Pablo and Maria Trilio – Annamarie was nowhere to be seen – we invited Rob and Magda back to our, or rather Suzannah's flat, and it was there Rob explained how he and Magda were together.
She had been invited over to the UK by a Balkans War Crimes committee sitting in the Houses of Parliament. By a freak chance Rob and her had come face to face in the Slug and Lettuce pub in Northumberland Avenue. Magda was meeting some of Bluey's female staff from Bosnia, and Rob, well, he was porking most of Bluey's female staff from Bosnia. They renewed their friendship, and after the committee had finished questioning her Magda moved in with Rob at his shag pad in Chelsea, and then proceeded to monopolise his time his bed and his body. They were now a couple, and Magda had applied for a long term visa.
"Are you two getting married? We could do a joint ceremony." Suzannah said.
Rob looked a bit abashed. "I'm married, but if I ever divorced my wife I would marry Magda like a shot."
Magda smiled. "I knew Robbie was married when we first met in Bosnia. In fact I am also married, but have no idea, or interest, where my husband is ... probably between the thighs of some teenage harlot in Sarajevo."
"Did you enjoy screwing Shona Lewis when you took her to the Hilton for your dirty weekend at the beginning of the year?"
Suzannah's question came out of the blue as we were clearing up the glasses after Rob and Magda had left the apartment.
"What? Why bring up something which happened before we had started our relationship. You said anything before we first made love was history, and wouldn't be discussed." I was angry with the tone of voice she had used. Damn it all, it was she who had set the ground rules, and now she was moving the goalposts. "Anyway, what brought this on?" I asked, bewildered how something which happened nearly a year ago should suddenly be aired.
"Magda told me she and Robbie spent a romantic night at the Hilton last month, and I remembered Shona Lewis bragging how you and she had shagged each other's brains out at the same hotel last February."
"Well, for a start we only used the room at the Hilton to change into our clothes for the Investiture. We left for West Drayton not long after the ceremony at the Palace and went our separate ways."
"Investiture? What were you doing at Buckingham Palace?"
I told her I had been awarded the Military Cross, and Shona had accompanied me to the investiture ceremony.
"Shona Lewis was boasting the two of you shagged practically non-stop over the entire weekend."
"Think about it, Suzannah. The Investiture was on a Friday, the day before you sprained your ankle. I found you in agony Saturday morning about 7am ... remember? I helped you to my flat, where you saw I had been working on the presentation I was due to give the following Monday. How could I be in Iver if Shona and I were shagging in the Hilton all week end?"
Her face cleared, and she smiled gleefully. "Now I understand what she was up to. The lying cow pretended the two of you spent all weekend shagging at the Hilton to make Alan Guthrie jealous ... the poor, needy bitch. He's a two-timing, jumped up, greasy little oink, who tried getting into my knickers when I first joined the firm. I sent him packing with a flea in his ear. His wife Cecilia is a friend of mine; God knows what she sees in the chav." Suzannah came over to me wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a length of her tasty tongue. Eventually she pulled away and rubbed her cheek against mine. "I'm sorry I went off the deep end at you, Des. I would have been appalled to be on the same screwing list as Shona Lewis." She kissed me again, and this time we spent some time caressing bodies, albeit clothed, until she pulled her lips from mine and completely changed the conversation again.
"So you and Robbie Westminster were together in Bosnia? Where else have you been killing people, besides the Balkans and the Falklands?" She gazed at me, a serous expression on her face. "The time when you went into a trance-like state in my office, and told me how you killed an Argentinian, shook me to my core. I was horrified to have a killer standing in front of me, and then overwhelmed with pity when I saw how it had affected you."
"You kissed me, and the memory of your kiss stayed with me for months."
She kissed me again, and for several minutes we remained lip locked. I drew back gasping for breath. "Wow ... was that pity?"
"No, that was lust and love combined." I moved towards her, ready for more love-lust but she held me away.
"I think it time you told me all about yourself, Des ... and why Rob and Magda called you Dewey several times during the evening?"
For the next hour I gave her brief details of selected events in my life.
I described my homecoming from Afghanistan and finding my wife in flagrante, but not my attack on Hodge or my subsequent trial. Alan Guthrie, the site manager at West Drayton, had told me only he knew of my criminal record, and I didn't think it appropriate to announce to my recently acquired fiancée I had a conviction for Grevious Bodily Harm. I told her of my wounding in Afghanistan, but no mention of Ying Tong or Laileh. I recounted my adventures in Kenya, minus the Mombasa episode; the Northern Ireland deployment without reference to Francine or Rita; my various tours of duty in Germany with no word of Annalise or Ffion; and my time at Aldershot, but kept silent about Emma and Philippa. I divulged nothing of my time in Reading on recruiting duties, but did tell her of my visits to Canada, and described something of the sweat lodge ritual, but nothing of Dawn on Still Waters or Mirror Lake. I explained the significance of regimental names, and how I received mine. Finally I spoke about what happened the day after the battle of Mount Longdon, and how I was awarded the Military Medal for saving an officer's life.
There was a long silence after I reached the end of my tale.
Suzannah got from the settee and stood before me, gazing at me with those unfathomable violet blue eyes of her's. "It seems I have acquired an Action Man as a fiancé. A man with numerous names, many medals for bravery, and one who speaks several languages." The tip of her tongue flickered quickly over her glistening lips, and she grasped my hand. "I'm going to take David, Des, Dewey, Daktari, and Flying Horse to bed, and fuck the heroic brains out of them all."
Which she did.
Some considerable time later, after I had recovered my breath and my brains, Suzannah opened up to me about her life.
She had been a wild child, a very wild child. It made my sexual shenanigans appear more like Swallows and Amazons rather than Sodom and Gomorrah. She had bonked, humped, screwed, stromped, shagged, and freely fucked her way across the Palatinate county of Shropshire from the age of 14, not bothering to discriminate by age, colour, creed or gender. If Suzannah was sexually attracted to someone she shagged them, it was as simple as that.
As she got older she became more selective, and set her sights on males between the ages of 20 and 40. The under 20s she found too juvenile and inexpert; the over 40s too old to keep her satisfied and well fucked.
She also used sex to gain influence and patronage. "I would seduce any teacher at school who could enrol me on scientific courses. Few females got opportunities to study a science subject, but dropping my knickers for the senior science master enabled me to visit several high tech laboratories."
She was an intelligent girl who didn't need to use her body to get pass marks, although she gained admittance to an Oxford college by shagging one of the Dons who interviewed her.
"I wasn't the first, or last, female to use sex to get into Oxbridge. The gatekeepers would give cryptic clues of what they required from a female in order to win a place at an Oxbridge college. The quicker witted girls solved the puzzle, and then by opening their legs they opened the gates."
Once at Balliol College she concentrated on seducing tutors, professors, and the important men of the college; not that they needed much persuasion.
"Some of the professors were extremely fit, and surprisingly athletic, when it came to bonking. Most university dons keep a harem, composed of ambitious, attractive young women, willing to further their careers by indulging in any sexual perversion, kink, or fetish the old boys could imagine. Those randy old dons went at it like starving pigs at a feeding trough, and the women prospered in their chosen professions. I suppoe one could call the sysytem 'sexual networking'."
She left Oxford with an MSc in electronic engineering, and was head hunted by ActoElectronics, a US firm based in Silicon Valley, California.
After her wild living before Oxford, and quite raunchy period during Oxford, Suzannah became as chaste as a nun, settling down to hard, but engrossing, work in the research and development unit of the firm. For six months she immersed herself in a micro-computer project, and was rewarded by promotion and a hefty salary hike. All work and no play might make Suzannah a dull girl, so she was 'ordered' to take a two week vacation. She took herself off to Malibu, and on Surfrider Beach she met surf bum, erstwhile computer programmer and failed author, Zeke Harlington, and fell violently and passionately in lust. At the end of her vacation she brought Zeke back to ActoElectronics and employed him as a programmer on her project. Although Zeke was a first class surfer, and a fair to middling lover, he was an indifferent programmer, and an even worse writer.
After a month the CEO of ActoElectronics sacked him, and Suzannah handed in her notice.
The two returned to England, where Suzannah introduced Zeke to her parents and informed them she and he were to be married.
Geraldine
- 22.06.2021
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