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Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 01

By: erinsisle



He wanted them to marry but she was doubtful.

This story is entirely fictional.

Tom Cassavettes was sprawled in a canvas chair reading the book list of the university course he was about to attend. The afternoon sun was hot and the air was humid enough to be stirred with a spoon when his thoughts were disturbed by a shrill voice. 

He followed the sound and saw a disembodied head visible over a hedge way above then with eyes squinting in the strong light finally identified the speaker. It was the vicar's wife who was clearly giving orders to someone.

"Go and try to amuse Tom while I have a cosy chat with the housekeeper."

A young woman then appeared. She was making her way down the steps and presenting an extremely sensual picture. Fiona was almost the same age as Tom having been born only a few months later but in very different circumstances. 

He was the only son of vastly wealthy man and heir to a fortune, but she was the daughter of their local vicar who relied upon his salary and a free house just to survive. Although living so near to each other Tom, since his first attraction to opposite sex, had admired from afar this gorgeous creature. However she had always preferred men to boys.

"Hello Tom," was all she said upon arrival while displaying a face set in a moody scowl. And having eventually thrown herself onto a nearby sun lounger and set the swinging seat moving she seemed resigned to spending a boring hour or two in his company.

Because she had done so badly at school Fiona Napier had taken a dead end job as a Dental Receptionist in a nearby town. But as the acknowledged beauty of the village and the surrounding area she led a busy social life which was only marred by her father's insistence on a ridiculous curfew regime.

"As long as you live under my roof you obey my rules." Was his regular reproach to his only daughter.

Tom assumed, correctly as it happened, that Fiona still looked upon him as a callow youth but as he covertly watched the glum face he knew for sure that she had changed. 

Since his last sight of Fiona she had gone from an admittedly sexy but still developing girl into being a dazzling young woman from whom he had great difficulty in dragging his eyes. So despite the confidence he had gained during a recent summer affair this highly desirable and hitherto unattainable woman had in a moment, and without any effort on her part, simply knocked him sideways.

Having only lately grown a bit wiser in his dealings with the opposite sex Tom tried belatedly to hide his interest only to find that the effort was all in vain for Fiona was paying him no attention whatsoever. 

But perhaps because he then made no attempt to initiate a conversation it wasn't long before the young lady did become intrigued. She wasn't used to encountering young men who remained entirely unaffected by her presence and was suddenly unsure what had changed in their previous nodding acquaintance. 

Then as she began secretly to take stock of the young man sat opposite she became convinced that this new version of the boy she had previously ignored might now be worthy of her notice.

Having regained some measure of self control Tom became happy just to drink in the sight of this peerless young woman. With her one foot lifted negligently onto the cushion he could see a firm sweep of smooth golden thigh visible through the opening in her split skirt, and the swell of mature breasts emphasised by a tight blouse. Her sun bleached hair was long and heavy and her sensual lips glistened in the strong light. 

Catching sight of his admiring look she suddenly and magically smiled and her whole face lit up but, delightful as this sudden transformation was, Fiona then raised deep cornflower blue eyes to meet his own and his whole world shifted in an instant. 

"Let's go for a walk," he said now feeling way out of his depth and unable to sit still a moment longer.

Fiona Napier had joined Tom in an artificially constructed bowl which was sited well below the West front of his home at Tremaine House. The eighteenth century landscape architect had used the natural slope that fell away from the building to form a sheltered sun trap. He had planted the basin with scented shrubs and in an inspired addition had formed a small ornamental pool with a fountain at its centre. The stone paving had weathered over time into a soft buttery colour and the brick and oak gazebo which overlooked the pool was at present dripping with the blooms of climbing roses. 

The heady perfume was soporific as Fiona followed him around the pool to leave the close surroundings of the house and stroll down one of the gravel paths with the terrace and croquet lawn on their left and below that the vast polo lawn. 

A topiary arch eventually led them out into the mature 'Capability Brown' landscape, with framed views formed by groups of carefully sited trees revealing occasional glimpses of the rolling deer park beyond. 

Tom steered Fiona onto an Italianate bridge where they paused to look down the entire length of an ornamental lake with the pet graveyard on its small rhododendron covered island.

But as they stood in this most romantic of settings, Tom felt an imperative need to test out Fiona's previous preference for older men. He hoped that his tall athletic appearance and his floppy black hair which was cut to fall romantically over one eye would attract Fiona just as it had other women. It was a help that his quartered polo shirt also showed off his tanned muscular arms and the faded jeans emphasised his trim backside, but would Fiona be impressed? 

However all this internal probing came to nothing when her quizzical look turned his knees to jelly and he grabbed at her with rather less finesse than he wanted. But she came into the circle of his arms without protest and in doing so her firm breasts became pressed against his chest and with his face then buried in her hair he was completely smitten. 

On later reflection he recalled this as being the moment when he was lost to the attractions of any woman other than Fiona. This was a hardly surprising result for he had never before come across a girl quite like Fiona who was in all ways his idea of perfection. Not only was she gorgeous but she had not thrown herself at him and, what's more, she was clearly not on the make.

Up until now all the girls he came across could be put into three categories. Most would have fallen into his bed within days, had he given them the slightest encouragement, and all hoping for a glittering marriage. A smaller group used the promise of sex as a lure and a very few were actually okay girls but they just didn't turn him on. However Fiona was another matter entirely and in his eyes she was now simply without compare. 

They eventually continued their walk with Tom feeling in a strange but heightened state of awareness and ended up leaning on a gate at the entrance to the home farm. There Fiona made a move to depart.

"I think my mother must be ready to leave by now. Perhaps we should be getting back to the house."

For answer he finally plucked up the courage to raise her unresisting head in his cupped hands and kiss her deeply. Fiona's body when they came together was soft and compliant and her mouth was already open for his probing tongue. His erection was hard against her stomach and for a moment she writhed against him but then disengaged and smiled.

"Haven't you grown up all of a sudden Tom."

On the walk back to the house he seemed unwilling to move far from her side but finally interrupted the highly charged silence to speak.

"I'm starting university this autumn."

"Where will you go?"

"To the LSE. It's handy because I can live in my apartment in London and come down here at weekends."

They threaded their way through the tiled sculleries and still rooms towards the kitchen which a flush faced Tom finally entered with Fiona close behind. 

His arrival spurred the girl's mother to collect her things together ready to depart for she was anxious not to overstay her welcome in front of the owner's son. However so thoroughly flustered was the woman that she quite failed to notice Tom's glowing face and her daughter's look of quiet satisfaction.

...

Tom answered his car phone to hear Fiona's voice. He had already driven through the village and was about to turn into the gates of Tremaine Place but wasn't to know that she had heard the unmistakeable sound of his Porche 911 as it had passed the vicarage.

Three years had passed since he had tasted her lips but the call made it seem like yesterday.

As a result it was later that day when he watched her fall back on the same swinging seat as on that earlier occasion looking flushed and totally delectable. The flush could be attributed to the welcome home kiss that she had surprisingly bestowed upon him, but the delicious appearance far exceeded his memories. In fact her Mona Lisa smile had taken years of rehearsal in front of her bedroom mirror to reach its present state of perfection. 

"Do you still fancy me?" She asked out of the blue. 

Not surprisingly Tom needed time to think before he could even formulate a reply. Why had she asked the question so directly? What was in her mind? 

He had in fact spent the years whilst attaining his Degree in a vain attempt to get her out of his mind. He had played hard and worked hard and had slept with more than his fair share of women but it really hadn't even dented his all-consuming desire for Fiona. Her first words on the phone not three hours ago had revived all his dormant desire, no, his hopeless love for her. 

Now being with Fiona again he was forced to acknowledge that she was without doubt better than all his past conquests. The more he thought about the matter the more he realised that she was the only woman that he had met who did not appear to be motivated by greed. Indeed she seemed totally unaffected either by his riches or by the prospect of grabbing some of them for herself.

"What do you think?" 

This eventual reply was pure sitting on the fence but he followed it up immediately with his own telling retaliation. 

"But never mind that...why aren't you married by now, especially considering all the blokes that hang after you."

"I might have been," she said eventually, "but for the fact that their life centres around what's in their trousers."

He grinned because observing Fiona over the years had taught him that she didn't suffer fools gladly. But she wasn't finished yet in damning her hangers on.

"And it's all so boring when they reckon that for the price of a night out they can get in my pants."

Then suddenly he couldn't read her face anymore. Her expression had become closed to him so Tom took the opportunity to explore his own feelings even further. There was now no doubt in his mind that he loved her, loved her to distraction, but he needed to be very careful how he proceeded for rejection now would be unbearable.

The ice rattled as he got up to refill their glasses and then returned to his seat from where he continued his covert watch until there came a time when she suddenly broke into a lazy smile. 

Now fully aware of his attention she shifted slightly, lifted her shoulders to emphasise the line of her bosom and when he eventually dragged his gaze from her breasts Tom realised that her eyes were now fixed upon his.

"I've got to go now but could we meet after church tomorrow?" 

Her voice was unusually husky and he reacted entirely viscerally but also fully aware that she was hanging desperately upon his reply.

"Yea, okay," 

Clearly relieved and pleased with this promise she made a production of extricating herself elegantly from the lounger and departed through the topiary with her hips swinging in triumph.

...

At eleven o'clock that night Tom's mobile rang. He answered with a grunt.

"What are you doing," Fiona asked. "Are you alone?"

"On the computer, and yes," he replied non committedly although the sound of her soft voice had given him an instant erection. "What are you doing?"

"I'm lying on my bed"

Then a sudden thought entered his head and he risked all when he spoke.

"What are you wearing?"

There was a silence as he heard her exhale, then, "wearing? Nothing." 

The reply temporarily removed his ability to breath but once he recovered enough to noisily drag in a lung full of air she finally got to the point of her call.

"Tom," she paused dramatically, "I'm not a prick teaser, am I?"

There was a strained silence before he finally managed to reply in a neutral voice which, especially to his own ears, lacked any conviction.

"Of course not."

He was now wondering what on earth had brought this on.

"It's not that I don't sometimes want to go all the way it's just that I've never met anyone that I wanted to do it with...so don't you dare laugh when I tell you that I'm still a virgin." 

Now he was struck silent by amazement. He had assumed that Fiona must have lost her cherry years ago. Surely twenty years was far too long for such a fabulous woman to be still virgo intacta? 

Then suddenly he was beginning to see where this was leading but couldn't really bring himself to believe it.

"I think I've got a reputation around here for being just that."

"Wow," he mouthed silently to himself. There was then a highly charged silence as he waited for what he was now hoping would follow.

"It would be nice if you were the first." She whispered making all his dreams come true. "Nice if you volunteered." 

There was an understandable moment of silence before she signed off. 

"See you tomorrow in church."

Unknown to Tom she had then turned onto her stomach and with a hand thrust under her body and with fingers caressing her erect clitoris slipped easily into her current and increasingly elaborate fantasy.

She was being held captive in a desert oasis by a hard eyed and hook nosed sheik. She was being forced to wait on this man hand and foot and to suffer thrilling but unspeakable sexual indignities. (Fiona would have been scared out of her wits if this actually happened in real life but as a dream it was all somehow acceptable.) 

At the critical point she was rescued by a handsome dashing hero whose face that night somehow morphed into the features of Tom Cassavettes. He had pulled her up before him on his Arab steed and after a most satisfactory orgasm she had fallen asleep held firmly astride the galloping horse.

He in contrast just punched the air and shouted his thanks to whatever god was at that moment watching over him.

END OF PART 1

Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 02



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 02

He wanted to get married but she was doubtful.

This story is entirely fictional.

*

Tom Cassavettes's mother was what some would disparagingly call 'a typical upper class British woman'. As well as coming from a titled family she had been brought up in a staunch Church of England household where Sunday attendance at church was considered normal. 

On this occasion her only son had his own reason for accompanying Margaret to morning service but was left with the feeling that he was being a touch hypocritical. Having over time lost his faith Tom eased his conscience by deciding that he was merely acceding to his mother's often repeated urgings. But of course it was all solely Fiona Napier's doing.

The dust having been thoroughly disturbed by the worshippers was being caught and coloured softly by the rays of sunlight spilling through the stained glass windows. The congregation was sparse, and the pews were upright, hard and uncomfortable, which was not helping Tom to concentrate. 

His attention which was already wandering far from the service was now directed solely at Fiona who was perhaps six metres away in the front row.

Tom was transfixed by the vulnerable nape of her elegant neck which was being lit by yet another shaft of light. Her heavy ash blond hair was twisted up in a coil on her head and topped by a straw boater but his increasingly powerful day dream was suddenly broken by his mother's sibilant whisper.

"Tom, that beautiful blond girl, the vicar's daughter, I seem to remember that you spent quite a lot of time together just before you went up to University."

She half pointed, half nodded in the approximate direction that Tom's lustful gaze had been fixed for the last ten minutes. Did she suspect his state of love and admiration? Maybe she did for Margaret was pretty clued up and could keep her own council.

"She has bewitched all the young men hereabouts, but that's not surprising for she has grown into a very beautiful woman."

Tom listened mutely as Margaret moved on to make acerbic comments about the rest of the congregation, all in a voice that threatened to compete with the vicar's sonorous tones. She was easy company on an occasion such as this particularly when she never stopped for, nor required, a reply. 

He had become convinced that monologues such as these were the province of all her class of Ladies whom he often met. They, without exception, had no notion of moderating the volume of their voices even when talking disparagingly of others.

Fiona smiled secretly at Tom as she returned from the communion rail all unseen by Margaret Cassavettes who was still receiving the blood of Christ. Fortunately he decoded the smile correctly and knew in an instant that it was his job to work out a way for them to be alone after the service.

"You go on ahead," he said as he helped Margaret up into her Range Rover. He was privately amused when she then kicked off her high heels and pushed her feet into the sensible flat shoes that lived under the driving seat. "I'll walk back across the churchyard."

Fiona tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they strolled along the avenue of yew and thuja where it took her hardly a moment to return to the subject of last night's telephone conversation.

"Will you volunteer?"

"It is obviously my duty and my destiny, so yes. Bloody right I will."

She giggled and after a quick look around kissed him fleetingly on the lips. This brief second kiss after three years of erotic memories only served to stoke his desire and make him even more her slave. 

"Where could we go?"

Tom was brought back to the present and pretended a bewilderment which he did not feel.

"For what?"

She sighed in exasperation and squeezed his arm against her breast.

"Thomas Cassavettes, you know very well what I'm talking about."

He laughed at her lack of humour but continued to poke fun.

"What about your room at the vicarage?"

"You must be joking" she replied in exasperation, then immediately realised that the joke was on her. "Stop it at once and be serious, I can't bear you making fun about this of all things."

"My parents are going back to town in the morning," he said immediately, regretting having upset Fiona and suddenly becoming fearful of her doing an about turn, "you could come round to Tremaine Place."

She thought about the daily staff and then discounted them. But the housekeeper was a very different matter.

"As long as Mrs Varco doesn't see me, she's so thick with my mother it's bound to get back to my parents."

"She's actually going to Chichester with your mother. There're having a day out together," now Tom had really surprised her, "on Tuesday. So if you can get the day off then we would have the house to ourselves."

Fiona was so pleased with this simple solution to what had at first seemed an insoluble puzzle that she actually danced around Tom before bestowing another soft kiss on his lips.

"See you on Tuesday then." 

She was looking like the cat who'd got the cream when she went through the vicarage gate and gave him a final wave.

............

Tom watched Fiona emerge from the driving seat of her mother's little car with all the elegance of a finishing school pupil. Knees tight together and her back straight. She then disappeared from his sight to enter the house through the kitchens and he hurried to intercept her.

The alterations to Tremaine Place which had been initiated by Tom's Greek/American father had transformed the mansion. Tom knew that the Architect had been forced to fight hard with the listed building authorities and with the local town planners but because of his persistence they had got one hundred percent of what they wanted having wisely asked for far more in the initial application. 

The building was now restored to its original appearance as an elegant mellow early eighteenth century stately home but had also become a comfortable country house with the large rectangular courtyard at the rear now completely glassed over to form both a conservatory and an indoor swimming pool. 

All the later Victorian additions had been removed, modern electrics, plumbing, heating and hot water had been installed and the roof had been stripped, releaded and retiled. It even had ensuite bathrooms installed to the majority of the bedrooms not to mention a state of the art kitchen for the housekeeper.

He caught up with Fiona in the conservatory and was relieved to see the look of welcome on her face when he appeared. 

Tom had woken that morning full of doubt, not for his decision to help her out for what red blooded male wouldn't, that she might have changed her mind. Then his doubts had gone further. What if she was merely using him? What if once the act was done she blew him off? Or was this part of a devious plan to get a rich husband and she was playing her cards very carefully? 

But having accepted that he couldn't second guess Fiona's motives then he would just play along.

"Come and swim," said Tom temptingly as he escorted her into the pool area.

"I didn't think to bring my costume." 

She was already shrugging in disappointment even as she was forced to decline the offer.

"Do you need one?" He asked while boldly stripping off his clothes then diving in naked.

She watched as if frozen, obviously struck dumb by this unabashed act, and by the time she had recovered her wits he was already watching from the middle of the pool curious as to how she would respond. But after a moment of uncertainty she also undressed completely before primly folding and making a neat pile of her discarded clothes.

Now he forgot to breath as a naked Fiona stood motionless at the water's edge looking statuesque in the diffused sunlight. Was she taunting him for his doubts? Her breasts stood proud but his eyes were drawn inescapably to the drift of blond hair which covered the secret place between her thighs.

"You are gorgeous."

He whispered his admiration before letting out a long appreciative sigh being well aware of the effort it had cost this fabulous woman to copy him rather than wimping out. Tom felt both sympathy and admiration in equal measures as she stood there defiant and proud but then, as if a spell was suddenly broken, Fiona raised her arms and pushed off in a racing dive. 

Using the momentum of her entry she stayed beneath the water for half the length of the pool before surfacing beside him and shaking out her long hair in an arc of spray. Then with a whoop of triumph she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her legs to encircle his waist.

The feel of her erect nipples against his chest and her pelvic bone against his partial erection turned his mind instantly to the purpose of the day before he spluttered as her weight pulled them under.

Later they put on towelling robes taken from the poolside changing area and left a trail of slowly drying footprints across the stone paving to the doors which opened into the Main Hall. Fiona had never been up the formal staircase and marvelled as they took the left hand branch leading to the West Wing and towards Tom's suite of rooms. The enormous portraits looking down upon them as if in judgement made her giggle.

"They know why I'm here that's for sure; just look at their expressions. That one," she had stopped beneath a dissolute looking Regency dandy "looks as if he knew his way around a woman's bedroom."

The thought of past illicit liaisons in this ancient building made her pause again.

"And I bet I'm not the first virgin maid to be deflowered in this house."

He smiled in admiration of her courage but also in sympathy for he actually thought that all this chirpy conversation was merely an effort to appear unconcerned and worldly wise. But in that assumption he was entirely mistaken. Not in his guess that she was nervous but in assuming that it was because of what was about to take place. In fact Fiona was scared almost witless by the overpowering evidence of power and wealth which Tom took for granted. 

He then, quite bizarrely, found himself thinking that even their heights were compatible. Walking with this woman was comfortable for without high heels her shoulder seemed to fit snugly under his enveloping arm and he found himself imagining Fiona being around Tremaine Place permanently.

However he postponed considering that pleasurable thought as he ushered her through a heavy door.

"Oh my God," she said on crossing the threshold, then, "what a ginormous bedroom," followed shortly by, "and you've even got a separate dressing room with all these built in wardrobes."

Fiona was then rendered silent but not for long.

"And a fabulous bathroom thrown in...is this all yours?"

"All mine," he replied but was suddenly forced into a bark of laughter as she continued.

"And just look at the size of your bed."

Laughing in sheer high spirits she flung herself onto the waiting expanse.

"If you can't sleep you can just lie on your back looking up at the painted ceiling. Those cute little cherubs doing mucky things to each other would make anyone randy."

She followed Tom into the bathroom and let her dressing gown slither to the floor obviously totally unconcerned now at being naked in front of him, before shimmying into the shower. 

When soaping each other clean of the pool chemicals they started by fooling about but that soon died away. The intimate proximity and then the direct contact of hands on bodies turned swiftly into exploration followed predictably by rising passion.

They had transferred to the bed with their naked bodies strained together when she whispered in his ear.

"I would usually have copped out long before now."

"Oh god not today,please." He groaned in genuine alarm but her subsequent actions soon turned his sudden fear into intense excitement.

Fiona's rounded body was firm and without blemish. Her skin was silky smooth, and even after the shower she smelt and tasted of the mysterious East. It was a perfume with which Tom was not familiar but he decided it was probably sandalwood and that he liked it a lot. So much so that he would move heaven and earth to make her his own.

"What are you thinking about." She asked, tweaking his nipple to gain attention.

"Oh, nothing much," he lied outrageously as he moved down to kiss her tiny puckered navel and then followed the trail of silky blond hair which lead downwards all the while thinking 'please don't let her find somebody else'.

In the event she was so ready for his entry that the first time invasion was not difficult and contrary to what she had read in the women's magazines Fiona orgasmed twice before Tom groaned and filled the contraceptive.

............

Later when sitting in the conservatory and with a bottle of cola in her hand she searched his face for the answer to her question.

"You don't think me a slut to have asked you so brazenly, do you Tom?"

He pulled her to him feeling strong and protective before realising with a jolt of surprise that this was an emotion he could get used to.

"Never" he was smiling with pleasure "you are too genuine to ever be accused of being vulgar".

She laughed but then grew serious.

"Tom that was a wonderful surprise. I don't know what I expected but never such expertise."

He was secretly very flattered by her praise but then told a half truth.

"I think it was you who bought out the best in me."

She smiled but was obviously determined to get something else off her chest.

"Hanging on to my virginity had originally seemed such a good idea but then it became a joke. Okay a secret joke, but I can't thank you enough for coming to my aid."

Very much later they were nearly at her mother's car when he mentioned something which he feared would make his hoped for future with Fiona a lot more difficult.

"I'm going back to Uni in September. In fact I'm going back to the LSE up in London to do a Master's Degree. When I eventually join my father's company I want to be well prepared."

To his disappointment she didn't seem at all disturbed by this news and he thought bloody hell I've only just gone all the way with her and she doesn't seem to care that I'm not going to be around. But what he actually said was equally to the point.

"Still I suppose I can get home pretty often and I might even be able to persuade you to come up to London occasionally." Then he brightened, "and we've still got a few weeks left of my holiday."

...........

Tom had survived the first month or so of the Autumn Term. Now well into the first year of his Master's degree he had become resigned to the long haul. Three years as an undergraduate and now a further two on top was becoming very daunting to someone who wanted to get on with the real thing, namely working for the family firm. 

But, as he had been reminded by his father who knew precisely what buttons to press, if you wanted to become a lawyer or a doctor or even an architect then five years was the very minimum just to get on the first rung of the ladder. 

And to be truthful it was a big help to have unlimited funds at his disposal, no worries for him about whether a grant would stretch to cover everything, and to have the use of the family penthouse in the City was incalculable. 

He had slipped into the timetable without any problem and thankfully the 'Master's' was very different from his degree course as it gave him far more time for extra curricular activities. 

But however hard he tried the image of Fiona and of her delicious perfume kept intruding and he somehow never got round to taking up any of the blatant invitations for sexual dalliance that he regularly received.

Did Fiona ever think of him? Did she remember that first occasion at Tremaine Place and their subsequent meetings? He hesitated to call them dates, in fact they had almost exclusively taken place in his bed which she had grown to know rather well.

"You came my rescue." she had said on one memorable occasion, "so I owe you. Besides which, sex with you is pretty damn good."

So why the silence from her end? She had implied that he was a good lover so that didn't seem to be the problem. Was there already someone else in her life?

In the end however he cracked and phoned Fiona. He was determined to sound casual and cool but at the first sound of her voice he nearly lost it. His body betrayed him and his voice had very nearly followed suit so he got quickly to the point of the call.

"Do you fancy coming up to town one day next week?"

He held his breath until she confirmed which was her day off and then hugged himself.

............

Tom met Fiona off the train at London Bridge and by the time they were having coffee in Covent Garden he had regained his confidence and his normal self assured manner.

She had clearly taken a lot of care with her outfit which was carefully chosen to suit the autumn weather and maybe to compete with the fashionable London women she would encounter. Her wonderful hair was up under a mohair beret, and beneath her calf length navy coat she wore tweed slacks and a soft angora roll neck sweater. 

They sat drinking espresso's at a small table in the lower concourse and listened along with the other customers to a trio of classical musicians who were probably from some nearby conservatoire, but Tom only had eyes for Fiona.

Later he took her across the square to a smart Italian Restaurant and was amused to see the reaction of the waiters when the delectable Fiona followed him in. During the process of shedding her coat assisted by one appreciative attendant and then being shown to her seat by yet another, Tom was captivated once more by the sensual aura that she so effortlessly radiated. 

"How's your job going." 

He asked although immediately regretted the banality of the question which immediately got the answer it deserved.

"It's Okay, nothing ever changes much, but here we are together and with the whole afternoon before us and all you want to do is ask about my boring job."

He held up his hands in an effort to call a halt but she was now in full flow.

"And all these beautiful women everywhere I look. I keep thinking that if I had only made a better job of my time at school then I might be working up here in London." 

Head lowered she then peeked at him and his heart lurched.

"Not that I would ever have been clever enough...but enough of me. Have you met the love of your life?"

Since her visit's to his bed Tom found the thought of sex with any other woman insipid and without attraction. In fact his libido was restricted to salacious thoughts of the woman sitting opposite and to masturbation at the memory of their times in bed.

So it was not difficult to reply with a partial truth.

"Well you know how it is, I have so much work to do that I never seem to have time for a social life let alone going out with women."

During lunch she was clearly devoting her considerable talent to enjoying the whole experience of dining out in such an expensive restaurant but when he asked if she would like coffee she turned her face up and devouring him with her devastating eyes whispered,

"No thanks. I would prefer to go back to your place."

Well she had once said that she enjoyed sex with him so that suited Tom. He phoned from the table for a cab and by the time he was paying the bill the Head Waiter came over.

"Your taxi is here Mr Cassavettes, and did madam enjoy her meal?"

"Madam did, very much," said Fiona as she smiled all round and it was a tribute to the self effacing qualities of Tom's security guard that Fiona had never for a moment suspected his discreet presence until on leaving the restaurant the pair were jostled by a couple of soccer fans obviously up in London for a match. 




Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 02



It was plain that the drunken pair had not originally intended to accost the couple but the sudden appearance of a radiant Fiona had instantly captured their interest. 

"You can do a lot better than him darling," said one while grabbing at her arm but the two inebriated fans suddenly found themselves being inexorably moved aside by the burly bodyguard who had appeared as if from nowhere to place himself between them and their target. 

Fiona didn't catch all that was said because Tom was already in the process of pushing her into the cab which quickly sped off.

"What was all that about?" 

She was craning around in an attempt to see what followed.

"It will all be fine, don't worry about it."

"But who was that man who rescued me?"

"His name is John and he is my security guard. If he is true to form then those two will now be wishing that they had never come near you."

Fiona sat back her eyes now round in amazement but before she could speak again Tom anticipated her question.

"My father insists that like him I am protected whenever I'm out in public. He says that we are prime targets for kidnap and extortion although today's little incident was just one of those things that can happen to any beautiful woman."

He squeezed her hand and she clutched his arm with a dramatic shiver but they arrived in no time at what was clearly their destination. Fiona found herself standing in the centre of a windy entrance court with head bent back as she took in the tower block which soared far above them. 

She turned to Tom.

"But this is just an office block, what are we doing here, I thought we were going to your flat?" 

Tom smiled and replied cryptically.

"Patience and all will be revealed."

Intrigued she followed him into an impressive two storey high lobby but instead of taking her to the bank of lifts which faced the entrance he guided her over to a burly uniformed commissionaire. 

The man was already rising from a desk which was entirely bare except for a Trimphone placed in the very centre.

"Good afternoon Sir, Good afternoon Madam."

As he greeted them the man visibly restrained from saluting and so betraying his army background. He had in fact been covertly eyeing Fiona ever since Tom had escorted the young woman through the revolving doors. 

Some blokes had all the luck crossed his mind before he made a flourish of opening a concealed door set into the marble wall behind the desk and of ushering them into a small lobby. There he pressed the button of a private express lift and finally left the pair alone.

"Tom." Fiona clutched his arm and made a convincing impression of shivering in fright. "Where on earth are you taking me? This is better than one of my more lurid fantasies."

"Not long now." He said as they entered the lift car. 

There was no sense of speed as it rose except for the sound of air whistling past the door but they finally emerged into what was obviously a domestic entrance hall. Now all was silent because every extraneous noise was being absorbed by a thick Wilton carpet and the heavy tapestry wall coverings. 

A middle aged woman was waiting and smiled warmly at the pair.

"Good afternoon Thomas, good afternoon Madam." Then, addressed directly at Fiona, "I am the housekeeper. May I show you to the cloakroom?"

She led a totally bemused Fiona to the facilities which occupied a space nearly the size of the living room back in the vicarage.

They were reunited shortly in Tom's sitting room where Fiona, refreshed from taking a pee in such luxury, washing her hands, applying a dab of perfume and with fresh lippie, was bursting with questions. 

He forestalled these by immediately explaining that this was where he lived when up in London and that this was the Cassavettes family penthouse.

She stood transfixed and he could suddenly see the magnificence of it all to someone so unversed in such luxury. 

"There are four self contained apartments up here, one for my parents, one for me, one for the housekeeper who you have just met, and the other for my father's long serving personal valet. In addition there is a formal dining room and kitchens for entertaining, and finally, a suite for visitors."

He would wait until another occasion to tell her that his father also owned the complete office block upon which this penthouse was perched.

"Bloody hell Tom, I know you are rich but I had imagined you living in a draughty thirties mansion flat with cast iron radiators and a Jeeves type character looking after you." 

At this he could not resist embracing Fiona but as they separated to draw breath he decided to chance his arm.

"Would you like to see the view from my bedroom?"

"There's plenty of time," she said but seeing the disappointment which immediately appeared on his face Fiona relented.

But once in his bedroom she couldn't bear not to take an interest in the amazing views over the city. Tom however was blind to them and pulling her close kissed Fiona so passionately that she quickly responded. 

Immediately Tom was smitten yet again by the pervading smell of sandalwood that seemed to inhabit every inch of her body and later when lying temporarily sated he spoke into her ear.

"Why do you always behave as if I mean nothing to you?

She sat up and considered the question seriously before eventually replying.

"It's because I'm frightened of all your money and by your standard of living..." Tom made to interrupt but she would have none of it and simply continued over his protestations. "...and I'm scared to let myself fall in love with you because I'll only end up being disappointed."

"Disappointed. Why?" 

"Because you are surrounded by girls far more suitable and it's pretty obvious that you will end up with one of them despite having persuaded yourself otherwise."

"But it's you who scares me. I've never met a woman like you."

"Oh I'm nothing special and you know it." 

His renewed erection then jumped against her stomach causing her to chuckle.

"I just turn you on more than most of your usual conquests."

"Well that's pretty obvious but I can assure you that you have no need to be nervous of my wealth...after all I reckon you would soon get used to having money and what it can buy."

However she made no reply. 

Later he took her to the station where there were appreciative looks from the home going commuters for the fine looking young woman. Fiona was up on her tip toes with arms wrapped around the young mans neck and kissing him goodbye with soft satisfied lips. At the ticket barrier she left him and sashayed off down the platform exaggeratedly swaying her bottom not only for Tom's benefit but also for any other male in the vicinity.

END OF Ch. 02



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 03



He wanted them to marry but she was doubtful.

This story is entirely fictional.

Fiona Napier looked enquiringly at Tom Cassavettes as the car turned into the Docklands Airport. In reply he merely put a finger to his mouth which caused her to smile. This behaviour was all part of the suspense he liked to generate. 

Against her will Fiona found herself beginning to enjoy these indulgences and after the obligatory customs check he walked her over to an unmarked helicopter amongst others in the holding area.

"Here we go, wet knickers once again." Fiona thought as she climbed nervously into the cabin and was strapped in by Tom. But once they were airborne she relaxed and began to feel far more comfortable. "Maybe I could get to enjoy this sort of life?" She whispered her voice hidden by the noise.

As the destination approached they could see the roofs of newer buildings built at a discreet distance from an ancient Loire chateau. Between old and new were the tennis courts and stretching away into the distance was an eighteen hole golf course. 

A buggy was waiting their arrival which then whisked the couple to reception where Fiona was awed at the fuss made of Tom and by association of her as well. It was always a shock to go from her life as a humble vicar's daughter with a mundane job and enter his world of the super rich.

The young man carrying their bags flung open the door to their 'royal suite' explaining proudly in heavily accented English that it was the best accommodation available in the Health Centre. 

Fiona as a matter of course immediately christened the facilities.

"That's better Tom. I feel quite at home now," she shouted as she wiped her perfumed mound, pulled up her panties, and flushed the toilet.

But within ten minutes a superior looking woman in a white coat was already bearing the young lady away to the health spa. Tom had winked at Fiona when the female turned away then whispered "It's quite okay, I can wait until you get back." 

She giggled then leant close to reply. 

"Don't you dare start without me!" 

He watched admiringly as she marched off behind the white coat in a parody of a soldier on the parade ground.

Tom spent what was left of the morning on the telephone to his PA before joining Fiona for lunch at the health bar where she regaled him with the minutiae of her first session. 

He spotted the remnant of a mud pack on the lobe of one ear and reached across the table to tenderly remove it before asking, "what do you want to do now? You could have some more pampering?" 

However it seemed that she could read his mind and said straight out, "we could just go back to our bedroom. I think that's what we both want more than anything."

They were in the lift when she turned to face him.

"Tom just listen and don't interrupt otherwise I won't manage to get out what needs saying."

He nodded in acquiescence and she began.

"I feel no different about marriage than I did before but that doesn't mean I don't fancy having sex with you, so lets just enjoy this weekend and let the future take care of itself."

She tucked her arm in his and then continued equally seriously. 

"It's been very difficult for me lately because I've really had the hots for you. Like I find myself looking at some sharply dressed bloke who's taken me for an expensive meal and thinking you're just a poseur. Compared with Tom you don't even rate." 

She gripped his hand tightly as they emerged from the lift and turned down the corridor towards their suite. 

"And I haven't had a chance to tell you but my mother took me by surprise the other day."

"Oh yes. How?" 

This was the first time he had dared open his mouth since they had left the restaurant.

"She came into my bedroom when I was getting ready for bed and proceeded to give me a lecture on sex. I very nearly burst into laughter but restrained myself..."

His attention wandered as she then took his hand and put it inside her robe to cup an obviously needy breast. The nipple was already erect.

"...and she really knew her stuff because I'd forgotten that she used to be a nurse before they got married. It was quite embarrassing I can tell you, particularly at my age."

He was reduced to laughter by the mock horrified expression on Fiona's face.

"But I reckon she has sussed out our relationship so she followed up by taking me down to the local clinic on the following day where I was fitted with a cap."

"How extraordinary." Was Toms thoughtful reply as he was reluctantly forced to withdraw his hand to unlock their door. If she was set on trapping Tom then a pregnant daughter was desirable, so good for her.

"I know you always use a contraceptive but she wasn't to know that."

"But does she know that you have refused to marry me?"

"Oh no, I haven't said anything. But there's no doubt she would like a society wedding above anything."

"Well she can have all that if you will only say yes."

But Fiona made no reply, she never did when her mind was screwed up. However she gladly passed up an afternoon of spa treatment in favour of having sex with Tom, although at first she wanted no preliminaries. 

"Don't mess about Tom. Put it in now, I'm almost coming already."

Four weeks of abstention from sex with Tom, followed by the intense massage that morning, had left Fiona about to pop.

Later she was more relaxed so Tom took her in a number of new positions proving himself to be a knowledgeable lover, something upon which she could not resist commenting.

"So now I'm getting the benefit of your wide sexual experience."

He had the grace to blush but she wasn't finished.

"That first time for me was an eye opener but at least you know that I've never been with anyone else. I mean I'm not denying that I fool around but I'd never gone the whole way with anyone before and since then only with you." 

...

When she eventually admitted that she was now thoroughly satisfied they went down to the swimming pool where Tom began swimming competitive lengths at full speed while Fiona clung to a ladder and floated dreamily on her back.

Tom was exulting in the sheer animal pleasure of the exercise but he was also mulling over everything she had said since lunch. He had no doubt that there was no other bloke in her life, at least no one she was serious about. But how to overcome her reservations about marrying him.

Perhaps if he didn't push too hard then she might eventually overcome her opposition to his wealth and life style and in the meantime he could console himself with her obvious need for regular sex. 

But quite how long he could wait for her attitude to change he had no idea, however when they left the pool complex and Tom saw the muscle bound lifeguard eying his Fiona up and down he found himself feeling a new and unlooked for sensation. 

He was suddenly intensely jealous.

...

Tom was newly showered but struggling with his bow tie. He had still not mastered the precision needed to tie one properly and vowed in his frustration to get hold of a clip on bow for future use.

But with Fiona's help he finally managed to make a reasonable job of it without using too many expletives and without ruining either the starched wing collar or his pristine dress shirt.

She had at first been very worried when he had informed her that they were dining with the owner of the health spa. Not only because of her perceived lack of sophistication but because she had packed nothing suitable to wear. However when he presented her with a gorgeous outfit and had complimented her on the whole getup Fiona had relaxed to some extent.

In fact she looked sensational. Her flaxen hair was up revealing her fragile neck, her eyes sparkled from the afternoon of sex, but it was her breasts thrust high by a half cup bra which made Tom breath heavily.

As they left the room he patted her backside in appreciation but was forced to grab her elbow when one of her new four inch heels caught in a grating. With disaster then averted they made it to the lift.

But once there the earlier relaxation was transformed into something akin to dread when he told her that they would be eating in the Chateaux itself and that their hosts would be a Viscount and his wife.

"But I've no idea how do you address a Viscount or even his wife?"

Tom was taken aback for a moment but rallied.

"Viscountesse I reckon for her, but I expect they'll be perfectly happy with Christian names." 

While they were being transported up the immaculately raked drive through an avenue of lime trees they kept getting fleeting glimpses of steep turrets and slate roofs. With night approaching the lights from the tall windows provided a warm and dreamy welcome which did nothing however to lessen her blue funk.

"Oh god I'm hating this." Fiona gripped Tom's arm painfully. "I think I might wet myself if I don't get to a toilet soon."

Their host was entertaining a small party of twelve guests and Tom was to be seated at dinner next to a screen actress. Fiona with her school girl French would be next to the Viscount who spoke excellent English. But when the young pair entered the salon for an aperitif they found the actress standing talking with the Viscountesse and moved over to join them. 

Tom was immediately conscious of a strained atmosphere between the two women who both turned to welcome the couple obviously relieved at not having to continue the charade of making small talk.

"Simone Maudit, j'ai présente Fiona Napier et Thomas Cassavettes.‟ 

The international fame of the French actress had not prepared Fiona for the force of her personality. From the moment the woman turned and gave them her full attention it was as if the room was filled with her presence. Fiona could see instantly why the cameras loved her so and in Simone's presence, for all the brilliance of her jewels, the Viscountesse was reduced to a mere satellite.

However Simone soon drew Fiona away perhaps sensing her difficulty in this company and they were soon as thick as thieves and deep in conversation with the younger woman's inability to speak French being no problem as the actress could speak many languages fluently.

Tom was left to the mercy of their hostess but his excellent French soon put the haughty woman at ease. As is often the case when strangers meet they cast about to discover common acquaintances and it soon became apparent that Tom's aunt had recently been in Paris.

"We are speaking of Julia Montrose? Surely she is too young to be your aunt?"

"As my mother's sister she is without doubt my aunt but I believe the late pregnancy was a great surprise to her parents." 

Julia had been on the catwalk's modelling the spring collections for a number of major couture houses and a discussion of the current fashions then filled the time until dinner was served.

Tom knew from past experience that he needed to start slowly when eating out in France and Fiona was so nervous that she had quite lost her appetite so for very different reasons they both successfully paced their consumption of the fare on offer. 

The diners were served an interminable number of courses and although each was of modest size they were also very rich so respect was needed. 

His host's wines were well chosen and knowing that Tom's French was good the Viscount treated him to a running commentary down the length of the table on the provenance of each bottle served. 

Tom soon gathered that most were from the man's own vineyards but was able to pick out one red that he already knew very well. It came from an estate much farther South.

"I think that this may be one of my father's wines."

‟Ah oui, bien sur, il est le vin de votre Père. Très distinguee."

Tom had paused embarrassed to have so inadvertently drawn attention to himself but apart from Fiona the guests were all French and nobody around that table would have dreamt of apologising for owning such a prestigious premiere cru vineyard.

His education had effectively made French Tom's second language which although not always grammatically correct was acceptable as conventional argot. So he was able to participate in the wide ranging dinner table conversation and found himself listening open mouthed to the film star's salacious tales. 

Simone had a throaty and infectious laugh which was clearly due to an addiction for the strong Gitane cigarettes, a packet of which lay open beside her plate. But she could tell a good story being particularly graphic about the various anatomical parts of her co-stars and directors. To her credit she also provided the occasional aside in English which was sufficient to keep Fiona within the party and laughing at the scurrilous tales.

...

"Thank god that's over." 

Fiona reverently removed her new shoes and sat at the dressing table. 

"But I did like Simone. I've seen most of her films you know."

"Did you enjoy the dinner and the wine?" 

"I was far too scared to appreciate any of it and you must have realised by now that I haven't got a clue about wine." 

Her refreshing honesty and a refusal to pretend a sophistication that she didn't possess charmed Tom, particularly as it was in direct contrast to the women he regularly came in contact with. And thank god she isn't ashamed of having a good appetite, was Tom's other thought although tonight was an understandable exception. 

Normally Fiona ate and drank with a full on enjoyment which pleased him. In fact he was gradually developing an intense and increasingly badly concealed aversion to those women who would order a green salad and then spend the meal grazing from someone else's plate. And, to make matters worse, while still banging on about being 'not at all hungry'. What was all that about?

"Come and undo my zip."

Tom cupped her breasts having helped in the disrobing but she batted his hands away.

"Patience Tom, the coffee is getting cold."

He had ordered the night cap from room service but as they drank the tiny cups in companiable silence she began giggling about the life guard. Tom had earlier owned up to his spurt of jealousy.

"I quite fancied him." She said archly. "And the bulge in his swimsuit."

...

"Am I wearing you out?" Fiona asked at one point in the early hours and with genuine innocence. "Promise me you'll say if I am? I know I'm being greedy."

He kissed her for being silly enough to believe that he would ever admit to being worn out. He was kissing her still when a questing female hand found him up and ready for action once again.

This time he fucked Fiona as if his life depended on the performance, fucked her until she collapsed as if dead to the world so understandably after the many exertions of the day they both slept well. 

But before she fell asleep Fiona left him with a thought that lingered on for months, at least in his fantasies.

"Did you realise that Simone swings both ways."

"How on earth do you know?"

"Trust me Tom, I've been hit on by people of every sexual persuasion even some that you would never imagine."

...

Fiona lay back in the soft leather seat as the limo took them to the railway station after their return to London. She clung to Tom during a final kiss before flouncing down the platform looking at her most alluring. 

He was devastated when the svelte blonde head finally disappeared into a carriage.

END OF Ch. 03



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 04



This story is entirely fictional.

It was Tom Cassavettes once again who was eventually forced to ring Fiona Napier, but this time she was at work. He had become consumed with curiosity having not heard from her since that memorable trip to France but, more importantly, he had also come up with a great idea to get closer to the young woman who had grown to be so important in his life.

"Goodrich & Chalmers. How may I help you?"

"It's Tom, Tom Cassavettes."

"Oh Tom, hello...look it's not a good time to talk. I'll ring you back in my lunch break."

Tom had no choice but to be patient however she did call back later using her mobile and as usual the sound of her voice caused an instant sensual reaction. 

"I'm alone in the staff room having a sandwich," she said prosaically enough although her every word was music to his ears.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" 

He asked nonchalantly but was betrayed by heavy breathing which must have been apparent even across the air waves because she reacted instantly. 

"Get your dirty mind out of my knickers" 

"Okay, sorry about that...but what I wanted to say is that my family are all going out to the Caribbean and it would be great if you could come as my guest."

"Why me?"

This flat reply and the obvious lack of enthusiasm was like a slap in his face particularly knowing that any other young woman of his wide acquaintance would accept the offer like a shot. But he recovered and in the end said the only thing which Fiona seemed immediately to accept as being an honest reason.

"Because I love you."

This was greeted with a silence which seemed to stretch for ever but which she eventually broke.

"I don't think I could cope with meeting your parents."

"Well you won't find that out until you give it a try."

She was quiet again but this time he could actually hear her chewing on something.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you. I'm having my lunch...but would there be room for me?

Was she weakening?

"Room for you? You'll have the choice of half a dozen private cabins."

"Then perhaps I could come?" 

But he brushed this tepid reaction aside and immediately informed her of his plan.

"Right, then we can fly out together but unfortunately I can't leave until after a lecture on the 22nd and I can only stay for two weeks. Would that be okay with you?"

"That's perfect." 

Having made the decision to join him she was now beginning to show at least some traces of enthusiasm although her fear of his parents might still cause her to back out. Perhaps Tom sensed this doubt but was encouraged to hear Fiona rationalising her acceptance.

"It's my turn to have the fortnight off over Christmas and I've just been told that my parents will be away for four weeks. My dad's going on a religious retreat and my mother is joining him so maybe I can accept your invitation?" 

...

Tom asked the chauffeur to stop outside the vicarage and got out of the car to greet Fiona but he had only reached the gate when the front door opened. He stopped transfixed. What a stunning sight she made. How had that dried old stick of a preacher produced such a magic daughter? She was flawless. 

Fiona shouldered her carry on bag then extended the handle of her case for the short walk to the car and once there stretched up to kiss his cheek. Her hand on his shoulder as she did so sent tremors all the way down to his feet. Whenever she touched him Tom was thrilled anew and for a moment he was disappointed that they were in such a very public place otherwise he would have crushed Fiona in his arms. 

They were whisked in minutes to the noise and bustle of Gatwick Airport and during the ride Tom apologised for what he mistakenly saw as a problem.

"We missed the chance to travel out in my father's plane although I can at least offer you the comfort of a private jet. But I warn you, it's a lot more cramped than the Boeing 767."

"Tom for gods sake don't apologise. I've only ever flown on charter flights and then not very often so all this luxury is a first for me." 

She peered surreptitiously around the VIP lounge afraid of appearing gauche but all the looks directed her way were clearly in admiration and she was well used to that. So she slowly relaxed.

A steward brought her a glass of cold white wine and a selection of nuts while Tom talked to the pilot and then in what seemed only minutes they were called for the flight.

It was dark when they boarded and after take off they were served dinner in splendid isolation. Over coffee Tom made his move.

"The steward has already converted the seats in the rear cabin into a double bed for your use."

He pointed behind Fiona.

"But where will you sleep?" She asked already wondering why he wasn't going to join her.

"Don't worry about me. Each of these forward seats extends to form a single bed."

Fiona's face was instantly alive with amusement.

"So having invited me you've finally seen the error of your ways."

"Oh god no...I just didn't want to be rebuffed."

"You should know me by now Tom. I'll tell you soon enough when you've gone too far, so don't be a fool. Besides which I really like the idea of joining the mile high club and not doing it in a cramped toilet." 

Tom just nodded feeling so happy that he was unable to utter a word. 

Fiona used the facilities and came back ready for bed. She smelt as always of sandalwood and was wearing adorable pyjamas in which she did a provocative twirl before vanishing into the stern cabin.

Tom in total contrast merely shucked off most of his clothes, washed himself, and clad only in Calvin Klein's went to join her.

"Where's the stewardess?" Asked Fiona quietly as they snuggled up.

"She's at the front, on the flight deck. Do you need something?"

"No it's not that. I'm just concerned how much she can hear?"

"Not a lot, if anything."

"Good, because you know how noisy I am when I come."

...

They boarded his father's helicopter which was waiting for them at the international airport. To Fiona this was yet further evidence of Tom's conspicuous wealth but if what she had experienced so far was a worry it was nothing to her amazement when they arrived over Nicholas Cassavettes's private island. 

Tom made the pilot do a circumnavigation following the waterline and pointed out the features to a mesmerised Fiona.

"And your Dad owns the whole island?" 

She was scarcely able to get the words out so awed was she by everything on view.

"Yup, and everything on it."

At the landing place there was a maid waiting in an electric buggy. She drove the pair through a belt of tropical vegetation with occasional views to be had between the trees of a white sandy beach and of a big colonial house set near the highest point of land. 

The girl stopped finally outside a simple door in a timber clad wall, a Cabin Fiona remembered hearing, but when they were ushered through the entrance Tom heard Fiona let out a gasp of wonder and come to a halt with her mouth wide open. 

This reaction was perfectly understandable because she was now in a spectacular living room flooded with light from full height glass doors which occupied the whole width of a wall facing the ocean and outside, part sunk into a decked terrace, was a Jacuzzi. 

"Over here is your bedroom miss and the bathroom is through there."

Her luggage then arrived and was commandeered immediately by the servant.

"Can I pour you a drink lady before I unpack your clothes."

Fiona was overcome with embarrassment at the thought of somebody else dealing with her intimate belongings but at a nod from Tom the maid just ignored the timid protest which followed. 

Tom himself poured his guest a rum and coke with lots of ice and taking her elbow moved an unresisting body out onto the terrace.

"When she's gone I suggest you have a rest for an hour then I'll be back to take you up to the big house for lunch." 

"Wait Tom...Who will be there?"

"Only my father and mother."

He left Fiona but far too soon the moment that she dreaded finally arrived. Fiona whispered to herself as Tom settled her in the buggy.

"Surely they won't eat me,will they?"

...

As promised they were only four for lunch. Nicholas Cassavettes rose to greet Fiona looking every inch the powerful business mogul even though he was only wearing a loose floral patterned shirt, linen trousers and espadrilles. 

She was of course already on nodding terms with Margaret Cassavettes, but Fiona had only ever seen Tom's father from a distance. However to her relief Nicholas gave her a warm welcome and Tom detected the mere ghost of an appreciative twinkle in his eye while he did so. But Margaret was a very different proposition altogether. 

Her greeting was friendly enough but Tom's social antenna detected an unmistakeable frisson which could only be translated as "Is this girl on the make?" Margaret herself looked crisp in a beaded silk top and knee length cotton trousers with canvas slip on shoes. 

The staff were helpful although very laid back so lunch was taken at a leisurely pace and Fiona was quickly and easily, as it turned out, absorbed into the relaxed relationship which already existed between the three family members.

Thankfully for Tom, Margaret's manner towards Fiona gradually softened during the progress of the meal. She had been observing the young woman closely and was pleasantly struck, as she later told her husband, with Fiona's lack of guile. She was even moved to sympathise in advance with Fiona about the other visitors who were expected shortly.

"My dear, you will meet the rest of the Alexander clan at dinner tonight but I will do what I can to help you survive the experience. Once that's over you will find that the island is big enough for you to enjoy your stay without ever having them under your feet."

...

It was only later that Fiona could quiz Tom. They were naked on her bed with the rattan blinds fully down to keep out the afternoon heat. She was lying spread eagled on her stomach and enjoying the cooling breeze which was wafting down from the ceiling fan above.

"What on earth did Margaret mean?"

"You'll see," Mellow after their first fuck Tom was being maddeningly vague.

"See what and who are they?" She dug him sharply in the ribs and he caved in if only to avoid further damage.

"They'll all be flying in about now. There's my father's brother Dimitri and his Greek wife Eleni then their two grand-daughters Marie and Christine. They lost both their parents when they were very young and Eleni has brought them up."

The very randy Tom then moved over Fiona once again and it was ten minutes or more before he collapsed at her side totally replete.

"You didn't come that time?"

"No but never mind Tom. I've already come once and you need to realise that I'm not going to orgasm every time you deign to fuck me."

She kissed his limp penis as if to apologise for her sharp comment but soon continued the conversation.

"I thought you were just an idle rich boy playing at getting an education but I learnt today that I was way off the mark."

"Well thank you for your confidence in my abilities although after my performance this time you might change your mind." 

"Stop it Tom." She thought for a moment then made an offer. "If it will make you happy I'll masturbate while you watch."

She giggled as his erection grew again.

"See, I only have to talk dirty and you respond at once."

This time Fiona came quickly, knowing her body so well, but leaving Tom with a throbbing hard-on which she pointedly ignored. 

"What about me?"

But she simply turned onto her stomach and continued with her observations.

"It only took that couple of hours with your parents to completely alter my thoughts about you Tom. I had no idea that you were so bright and that you had done so well at school and at university. But what really came like a bolt from the blue is that you apparently have to earn every luxury that comes your way."

"And that surprises you?"

"Oh yes. And then it was a shock to find that Nicholas actually asks for your opinion and often goes with it. And another thing Tom, your mother doesn't fawn over you despite the obvious love she has for you. I actually saw her casting a critical eye on occasions."

"Well isn't that the same in all families?"

"Not in mine."

But she then took pity on Tom and let him into her welcoming vagina.

"By the way, dress is informal tonight," was his parting comment as he disappeared, leaving Fiona to sleep.

...

His parents were already sipping gin and tonic's when Fiona was delivered back to the big house by an attentive Tom. He had looked her up and down and whistled appreciatively before she slipped into his golf buggy. 

The rest of the guests then drifted in one by one which at least gave Fiona time to fix each in her memory as they were introduced. 

The two young women were good lookers and knew it. Maria was about the same age as Tom and Fiona. She was full bodied with heavy breasts, generous rounded hips and solid thighs whereas Christine at two years younger was the more classically beautiful of the two but she had deceitful eyes which rather marred the appeal. Although very different in build they were obviously sisters and unmistakeably Greek American. 

Later as Tom drove her back to the cabin Fiona gave her opinion of the older grand-daughter.

"I reckon that Maria puts herself about a fair bit."

"Definitely, but I'm curious what you think of Christine?"

"That's easy, she's probably still a virgin but only just."

When they were in her cabin she asked Tom a question which had occurred to her much earlier as she had watched the interplay between him and Maria. 

"Have you slept with her, I mean Maria not Christine?" 

He answered immediately with a shiver of dislike.

"God no, but I will tell you a story once we've got ourselves around some drinks." 

He busied himself at the fridge then watched admiringly as she stripped off to climb into the Jacuzzi. Her full breasts were floating on the surface of the rolling water and she had pulled her hair up to avoid getting it wet. 

"You probably already suspect that they both have questionable morals. There is a worse phrase but I won't use it in your hearing because after all you are a Vicar's daughter, no, come to think of it, didn't you once use the very same phrase about yourself?" 

"If you are going to throw every single thing that I have ever said back in my face then you can just bugger off right now."

He blew her a kiss in apology and joined her in the bubbling water before continuing his tale.

"Don't get me wrong, I mean I appreciate their undoubted charms but I am genuinely not interested. They both have a nasty cruel streak in their natures particularly when they're together." 

He cuddled Fiona closer.

"When I was fifteen, I'm talking now about a time when I couldn't stop getting erections then having to wank, I spent a couple of weeks on the Greek island that Dimitri owns. The place was the old sod's hideaway and it was rumoured that half the children in the village were the spitting image of him."

Fiona reached over to adjust the jets and in doing so softly rubbed her nipples across Tom's torso.

"Dimitri had always liked young girls, and I mean young, whenever he could get them." 

His voice hardened in an understandable dislike of the mans' sexual preference.

"When I was that age I really didn't know for sure what girls were for. Apart from being sex objects they just seemed to hang about in groups and giggle a lot. But I can tell you that on that particular holiday I learnt a lot."

He took a sip of his drink.

"Maria had a fertile imagination and one day she made up her mind to have some fun at my expense." 

Tom make a face at the memory.

"She said that she had never seen an erection and persuaded me to expose myself on the promise that she would make it worthwhile. I should have been more suspicious, after all Maria had the run of the island and there must have been a lot of boys of my age and older who would have been only too glad to reveal everything to the owner's daughter."

He had begun caressing Fiona's breast and she could see his budding erection beneath the surface of the rolling water.

"But it was, wouldn't you bloody know it, shortly after I had dropped my swimming trunks to reveal a decent sized boner and Maria had reached out to touch the knob that Eleni exploded on the scene. Maria saw the expression of revulsion on her grand-mothers face and immediately laid all the blame on me."

"You disgusting boy," I remember Eleni shouting and then she tried to smack my face but I was already far too tall for her to connect and despite having my trunks down around my ankles I managed to hop out of reach."

He was now grinning at the memory while circling her nipple with his finger. 

"Then she threatened me with 'I'll make sure that Nicholas hears all about this.' But as a threat it really had very little force. I knew already that he would listen before condemning me."

"What happened then." 

By now Fiona was really into the story but as his hand dropped to her thigh she gasped and her clitoris throbbed.

"Not surprisingly Eleni tried to regain her position of authority, 'Come away Maria, and you boy, cover yourself at once', all a bit too late of course. But it did have it's funny side. Christine had been lurking behind her grand-mother and sneaking peeks at me but she was grabbed by the furious woman and dragged away along with her sister."

Fiona turned her face up in an unmistakable invitation and he kissed the demanding lips with mounting force as the helmet of his erection rose into full view. 

"The only thing that Nicholas said later was straight to the point. 'Keep away from those girls in future, they are both poisonous little bitches. In every way they take after their grand-mother', and believe me I have kept well away ever since."

"This is nice." 

She was now purring like a cat as two of his fingers were stroking her 'G' spot.

"When you were a girl did you ever get to see an erection?" 

"Oh yes hasn't everyone played doctor's and nurses? But later on every boy I knew wanted me to relieve his problem like it was somehow my fault. Well okay, I realised later that it probably was partly my fault but I never got the knack. I mean I was never very good, you must have noticed by now, and they would end up taking over." 

...

But a real problem for Tom arrived on Boxing Day after the family dinner. He was draped over a half reclined steamer chair on his own cabin terrace when Eleni appeared in the circle of light. She sat across from him in apparent ease although he sensed some inner turmoil but was determined not to be the first to break the silence. 

The family photo albums showed Eleni to have been a very sexy young woman at a time when she captured her husband. On the promenade at Cannes in the seventies she was a bombshell, a self contained minx with big tits and decent legs. There were photographs showing her in slacks and later in mini-skirts and always showing a little extra sense of the flirtatious but now as a grand-mother Eleni was still well dressed and heavily made up although her figure had broadened. Tonight she was wearing a ubiquitous linen wrap over dress with flat shoes and her outfit was completed with long earrings in the shape of a Greek cross and a natural pearl necklace which sparkled in the terrace lighting. 

However because of his studied silence it was she who was forced eventually to open the conversation.

"I've seen the way that tart Fiona simpers, so I suppose she's already laid on her back for you?" 

He very nearly reacted but caught himself in time. What business of hers was it anyway? Then his father's years of training came to Tom's aid as he managed to relax and consider how the corrosive malice which she always practised had ruined Eleni's complexion.




Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 04



"How could you consort with that harlot? She's nothing better than a prostitute." 

Tom was still struggling to get some inkling as to why she had sought him out. Maybe it was just vent her malice?

"It's bad enough that my fool of a husband runs after those young sluts, but I thought you might have known better."

The fact that Fiona was considerably older than Dimitri's usual targets appeared to have escaped her attention but as Fiona was Tom's guest it made Eleni's spiteful comments deplorable. And would she ever get to the point or had she just come here to spew out vengeful invective? But then her face began to crumble.

"My husband spent his seed in those whores and after our daughter was born he never came to my bed anymore, he said I disgusted him." 

Tom now felt obliged to say something before she demeaned herself any further. 

"Please stop. You will only regret all this by the morning." 

But she continued as if she hadn't heard his well intentioned plea.

"We could have had a son, my astrologer forecast it." 

She was now openly crying but in complete silence. The tears were soon smearing the carefully applied makeup but in complete disregard she moved over to sit on the edge of Tom's recliner then clutched convulsively at his hand.

"You must marry my Christine."

He was too shocked to speak, but at least he now knew the point of this visit.

"Think of all the advantages. It will keep the family money together and in time your son would take over the dynasty." 

He realised rapidly that he had no idea how to extricate himself from this predicament particularly as Eleni's feelings for him seemed to have undergone a complete about turn and he could hardly just tell her to leave.

But the decision was thankfully removed when they both heard Fiona's voice coming from nearby, coupled with the noise of someone blundering about in the dark. 

"I thought we were going down to swim, are you ready?" Came from out of the darkness.

Eleni hissed malevolently then jerked up from her seated position and slipped noiselessly away. She was gone well before Fiona eventually appeared in the circle of light when Tom was immediately aware of wide inquiring eyes. 

"How clever of you to recognize that I needed rescuing," he said, and began to fill her in on Eleni's visit.

"No need," Fiona interrupted, "I heard it all."

"You did?" Then he remembered something that Eleni had said. "So Dimitri tried it on with you?"

"On the day after they arrived but as you know I'm pretty good at deflecting that sort of attention. But you must have realised that as god's anointed member of this family," she was laughing now having already learnt everything from the maid who had proved to be a fount of information, "that you can't do anything, and I mean anything, without it being known everywhere within minutes."

She paused struck by another thought before continuing.

"Her dislike of me is not surprising. She must have found out from her own spies that Dimitri had tried it on. But did you really have no idea that she was planning to marry you off to Christine?" 

"No never, no idea at all," he said as he remembered the naked ambition plain on Eleni's face.

"But one thing is for sure," Fiona continued thoughtfully, "she is poison and I can understand your father's advice."

Tom laughed although a shudder went down his spine. 

"And how was I on my back?" 

Fiona's query as they went down to the pool was pure mock innocence. 

...

"It's okay for you to sow your wild oats with all those scheming women who hang after you but Miss Fiona Napier is another thing entirely."

Margaret was laying the law down to Tom whilst outlining her case as if in a court room and ticking off the points on her fingers. Nicholas was sitting nearby and appearing to be giving the pair only half his attention.

"If you are serious about the girl then you need to think it through carefully. Any wife you choose needs to have more than just good looks." 

Margaret was now warming to the subject.

"She will need to cope when you are away for weeks on end, because we know that will happen more and more as Nicholas hands over the reins to you."

Another finger was then extended to join the first.

"Then she will need to cope with the people we meet socially, I don't mean intellectually because, god knows, some of them are virtually brain dead but at least she will need to have the courage to give as good as she gets. We all know there are some mean minded bitchy women out there who would delight in taking any wife of yours down a peg or two."

A third finger then appeared.

"And she will need to take my place as hostess at the dinner parties you will throw."

Margaret dropped her hand seemingly having finished but then something else occurred to her fertile brain. 

"But at least Fiona is a beauty so you wont be tempted to stray even though some of those women you meet practically lie down with their legs wide open."

Nicholas smiled at this coarseness issuing from his wife's normally so proper mouth then stirred himself to contribute a thought of his own.

"Has it occurred to you my dear that Fiona is the first young woman that Tom has ever invited to meet us as a family?"

"That fact had not escaped me, in fact it makes my point." 

But they turned as one when Tom proceeded to shock them both and brought the discussion to a swift close.

"Well you can both stop this pointless debate about my future wife because Fiona won't play ball."

"What do you mean?" 

Nicholas and his wife spoke as if one. 

"She has declined my proposal of marriage for the second time."

"Bloody hell," Margaret was heard to mutter causing her husband to smile wryly before making his final comment.

"Good for her."

THE END Ch. 04



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 05



This story is entirely fictional.

Upon his return from a business trip to the States, Tom Cassavettes was determined to seek out Fiona Napier, his long time on/off lover. He wanted to settle things once and for all after missing her dreadfully while he was away, and desperately needing to discover whether she might reconsider her previous opposition to their marriage. 

This usually clear thinking young man had actually taken an age to realise that it might be now or never. But should he go down to Tremaine Place, his country home, and surprise Fiona or should he ring first? 

He might also try to take Fiona away on holiday despite what her father might say. Tom knew for a fact that the mother would be no problem for anything which might hasten the day when Fiona made a brilliant marriage was to be welcomed. And he had not forgotten Jean Napier's sexual advice for Fiona nor of their trip to the family planning clinic.

Having finally decided to go down to the village Tom reached for the phone at the very moment when it rang. He answered warily, not recognising the caller number, only to hear Fiona's distraught voice.

"Tom, thank god you're home, mummy and daddy have been in a car crash."

Between sobs he managed to discover where she was and after another brief phone call was on his way down to the Basement Garage where he was handed the keys to his two-seater. Traffic was thankfully slight at this time of day so within forty minutes of leaving the car park ramp he was pulling into the hospital car park.

Tom came out of the lift and was nearly bowled over by Fiona who threw herself into his waiting arms. He held her close as she sobbed in distress, but over her shoulder he saw his family's housekeeper Valerie Varco. Her face was showing the full gamut of emotions, pity for Fiona, concern for her friend Mrs Napier lying in the emergency ward but mainly surprise at the unexpected intimacy being displayed between Tom and Fiona. 

"Would you like to get off," he said to the housekeeper over the distraught young woman's shoulder, "I'll bring Fiona home later." 

He took the still distraught Fiona over to a small waiting area and sat her down before walking Mrs Varco to the lift.

"I'll most likely see you later for supper but if there's a change of plan I'll ring."

Fiona and Tom sat close together and she poured out the whole story. How the police had tracked her down at work where a lady constable had told her about her parents being on the motorway with her mother driving and about a side swipe from a left hand drive lorry which ended up with them both being admitted to the nearest accident and emergency ward.

"A constable gave me a lift here, and Mrs Varco has been so good, she drove over as soon as I rang her with the dreadful news."

"Do you want me to ring anybody else?" He began but she declined after a moments thought.

"No it's alright. Mrs Varco has already spoken to the Bishop's palace. The Rural Dean will take over from Daddy until he has recovered."

"But what about you?" He was gentle but pressing. "Who can come and give you some support?"

"Daddies family are all dead; no, I tell a lie, he has a brother in New Zealand but there was an argument years ago and they don't have anything to do with each other. Otherwise there's only mummy's sister, my aunt Bridget, who lives in Scotland. I keep trying her phone but she doesn't seem to be at home."

He left Fiona with a plastic container of tea, fetched from a machine, and went off to find the Duty Doctor whom he finally ran to earth in the nurses station. Her prognosis for the Vicar was not good because the passenger side of the little car had taken the brunt of the collision and they had little expectation of him surviving the night. For his wife they were much more hopeful. She was very likely to make a full recovery but time would be needed for her body to heal.

Tom finally persuaded Fiona that she could do no further good by hanging about the hospital, explaining patiently that neither parent was likely to regain consciousness for the time being and that the hospital was only twenty minutes from her home if things changed. So he drove her back to the village and outside the vicarage held her hand as a sudden surge of compassion washed over him.

"There's nobody at the vicarage and you shouldn't be left alone at a time like this."

This got no reaction at all. Fiona merely sat staring vacantly to her front.

"Please let me come in and look after you."

He fussed over the stricken girl and insisted she had a hot drink to which he added a couple of her mother's sleeping pills. Tom came up the stairs to support Fiona but at her bedroom door she clutched his hand.

"Sleep with me Tom. I need your arm's around me." 

There was no question of them having sex. Fiona immediately went out like a light and in the early hours, with a throbbing erection, Tom found relief by masturbating in the bathroom.

...

In the morning he rang Angela, his PA, then sat at the kitchen table to think the problem through while Fiona prepared a sketchy breakfast for them both.

"We should get your family doctor here as soon as possible to prescribe sleeping tablets for you."

She merely nodded having no doubt that Tom would make all the right decisions on her behalf and in retrospect this was the moment when Fiona's opinion of their relationship suddenly shifted seismically. Tom had gone in an instant from being merely an occasional lover to being the only person who could make her previously meaningless life complete. 

The Vicar died that night and Tom, in agreement with her doctor and in the absence of her family, decided that even in her distressed state Fiona should be told at once. However she could still surprise him.

"I can't cry for him Tom. We were never close but my mother obviously had feelings for her husband, so maybe she will shed tears enough for us both."

It was Angela Clarke, Tom's PA, who finally managed to track down Fiona's aunt. She located the spinster at a prison volunteers conference and it was Angela who, at Tom's expense, hired a plane to bring the woman down from Scotland. When she arrived Aunt Bridget turned out to be a feisty tweed clad woman who listened carefully to Tom's explanation on the way back from the airport and while approving gladly of all his actions wondered why this personable and evidently extremely rich young man should have become so closely involved in her family's affairs.

But she immediately declared herself ready to take over her niece's care and Tom discreetly moved back to Tremaine Place. However Bridget and Fiona had not been alone for ten minutes before the aunt began questioning Tom's involvement. 

"What I cannae understand is your relationship wi' that young man? What makes him so eager to look after you not to mention the dreadful expense of bringing me here by private plane?"

"He loves me auntie. He has even proposed more than once but I turned him down each time." 

"And what does your mother think of all this?"

"She can't understand why I don't leap at the chance but she only has eyes for his money. She knows that although he is already extremely rich in his own right, when his father dies he will become obscenely wealthy." 

"But ye cannae stomach the thought of marriage?"

"Oh no, marriage would be fine and I do love him desperately, but given his position in society I would never be capable of being his wife. Particularly with all the responsibilities that would involve."

... 

Fiona and Bridget soon discovered that his Church would make all the arrangements for the Reverend Napier's burial, given that Mrs Napier still remained in intensive care, and later in the day a thoughtful Tom arrived at the vicarage. After Fiona had gone early to bed Tom and Aunt Bridget retired to the Vicar's study where he suggested that Mrs Napier should be moved to a private hospital.

Bridget looked at him as if he was completely unhinged and with all her Scottish frugality to the fore reminded him caustically that they were "no made of money". Tom immediately sought to set her mind at rest.

"I was not suggesting for a moment that your family should pay. I will pay for everything because I must do what little I can to bring Fiona's mother back to full health."

She looked narrowly at him. Until now she had tacitly accepted the situation but this was altogether another matter and she was rapidly being forced into a total rethink.

"And why on earth would you want to do that and more to the point, why should we accept your offer?"

"Because I love Fiona and still hope that she will change her mind and marry me..." His statement was being made simply and clearly from the heart. "...and I would do anything for the woman I love." 

"But she say's that she has her own reasons for not marrying you." 

"I know all about that but I've never given up hope that she will eventually change her mind and when she does then it would be a great sadness to Fiona if her mother couldn't be at the wedding."

"Well that being so I cannae deny that your offer is very handsome, but have you discussed it with my niece."

Aunt Bridget spoke with a broad Scottish brogue which Tom was finding hard to decode so, as now, his reply was slightly delayed.

"No, this only occurred to me while driving here."

"Well if Fiona agrees then there's no more to be said."

"Thank you, I'll talk to her in the morning."

...

The weather for the Napier funeral was hot and humid. The family mourners were confined to Fiona who was clinging to Aunt Bridget's arm but accompanied by Tom alongside Mrs Varco. However there was also a representative from the Diocese and a small sprinkling of parishioners who kept glancing at Thomas Cassavettes clearly curious as to the reason for his presence. In return Tom accepted fatalistically that the gossip would now begin but he was by now so besotted with Fiona that he no longer cared.

The church had reverberated to the sound of the West doors closing after the mourners had moved out into the heat following the coffin to where the chalk white sides of the newly dug grave glowed in the evening sun. Fiona had shown no emotion throughout the service and appeared to be moving solely by rote even showing no reaction as the hollow noise of earth being sprinkled on the coffin coincided with the clamour of the rooks at their nearby roost.

Bridget sniffed and remarked caustically, "he was nae the luckiest of men", leaving those few within earshot in no doubt as to her meaning.

Tom used his mother's Range Rover to drive them all straight from the funeral to the private hospital that Angela had selected purely on the basis of it being closest to the Vicarage. There they received much more cheerful news as Fiona's mother was now sitting up and feeling well enough to criticise the housekeeping. She seemed quietly pleased to see Tom with her daughters hand in his as Bridget then described the funeral in some detail.

"Jean," she concluded, "I denae wish tae speak ill of the dead but that husband of yours will no be long remembered."

...

Tom went back up to town as soon as he heard news that his parents were back from the Caribbean. He had taken the precaution of calling ahead and asking to see them both so they were able to meet in the penthouse. Tom filled them in on the last two weeks and they from the first, being very astute, were already way ahead of him. So interrupting Tom in full flow Margaret came straight to the point,

"Have you actually asked Fiona again?"

"No. That was my intention in going down to Tremaine Place but the accident immediately put paid to that."

There was a moments silence as they all considered the possibility that she might refuse Tom once again until Nicholas Cassavettes spoke.

"You must have suspected that Margaret and I had other plans for you," he paused as Tom smiled remembering some of their less than subtle attempts at finding him what they believed to be a proper wife. "but if your love for Fiona has survived for so long then so be it and I must get to know her better."

Margaret nodded in agreement before making her own contribution.

"Her father was a dried up stick in the mud, god rest his soul, but her mother seems to have some spirit and Fiona is certainly a strikingly beautiful girl. But are you sure that you still love her. Are you sure you aren't just taken with the idea of being a knight in shining armour riding to the rescue?"

He set about reassuring them by describing how much he had missed Fiona when away; how she made him complete; of the depth of his love for her; until they finally and genuinely wished him well. But practical as ever Margaret then asked the pertinent question.

"So when will all this happen?"

"That all depends upon Fiona's answer but we would have to wait until her mother is back to good health."

It was significant that when the vicar's daughter had first turned down Tom's proposal his parents had found it impossible to believe that anyone would refuse to marry such a catch so they were now twice in their lives at a loss as to what to think. But that didn't stop Margaret from trying yet again to make Tom re-consider. 

"Fiona is very bright, and extremely street wise, but I don't believe that she has much in the way of inner resources."

"You don't think it will work out?" 

Tom's unusually belligerent reply instantly warned Margaret to tread more carefully, at least from now on.

"She will find your life difficult and I may have said all this before but it bears repetition. I'm concerned that she won't be able to cope with your absences or with your whole globe trotting lifestyle. I can't help but feel that she would be better off with a nine to five husband who is home every night and at weekends. In fact I think that she will become wholly dependent on you for she has nothing else to fall back on."

"It's a risk worth taking," was all the reply that this lecture evinced from Tom before Nicholas, as usual, had the last word.

"Well one thing is for sure, if she says yes this time then we must give her every support possible."

...

Tom had already worked out for himself that Jean Napier and her daughter would be forced to quit the Vicarage as soon as a new vicar was appointed. With that in mind he had evolved a plan, made in agreement with his father, but how far Fiona would accept his becoming involved was the question? So immediately on returning home he went round to call upon Fiona and her Aunt.

He could see immediately that Fiona's spirits were beginning to revive, she was on her way back to being something like her old self and he was glad to see these first signs of recovery. She was telling him in detail how hard it had been to go back to work and how much better her mother had looked the night before when Bridget left the room to get on with some very necessary ironing.

"Fiona," he said not realising quite how pompous he suddenly sounded, "please come over here and listen to me."

"No, I won't," she had instantly turned mulish. "You are going to ask me to marry you again but I know it's only out of pity for my situation..."

Tom was aware that she was holding back tears and longed to comfort her. 

"...and you are already paying for my mother's hospital treatment and I ...sob ...sob... don't know how on earth we'll ever pay you back."

She was clearly working herself up into a bout of hysterics and he was at a loss at what to do for the best. How crass and unthinking he had been. So in desperation he went to the door and shouted for Bridget who arrived looking thoroughly flustered.

"Please tell your stubborn niece how much I love her. She thinks I want to marry her purely out of pity and you know that's not true." He looked from one to the other then straight at Fiona. "I was about to come down here to propose once again and I had actually just picked up the phone myself when you rang from the hospital with the terrible news..."

The honesty of his feelings shone out. 

"...You know that I've loved you for years and that I've been hoping that in time you would change your mind." 

He then dropped his head only to raise it again as a further thought occured to him.

"And I know that it's only your fear of my lifestyle that prevents you accepting so now's the time for you to say yes."

Then Bridget intervened. 

"He told me that he loved you on the night I arrived after the accident, and I know you love him."

"Oh yes, of course I do. I've loved him ever since he first kissed me back when I was eighteen. But can we ever be happy together?"

"Well now's the time to try, and besides," Bridget was remembering the conversation as if it was yesterday, "he said that he would never forgive himself if your mother was not at the wedding."

Perhaps it was the vulnerable look on his face, a look that she had never seen before, or the realisation that he could just have cut and run at any time during the last few weeks, or even that her love for him was making it possible to override her fears, but whatever it was that finally convinced Fiona she walked across to stand in front of him and he stood to meet her. 

"Yes please," said Fiona wrapping her arms around his neck, "yes please Tom."

...

Later that evening they were sitting having supper with Tom about to bring up the matter of the vicarage when he realised that the pair had already been going over the same problem. He was amused to hear them return, with lukewarm enthusiasm, to a plan for renting a housing society property in the next village.

"They're in a really nice area which I think mother would soon get to like," but Fiona's brittle voice left him in no doubt that Jean Napier would never show any real enthusiasm for such a plan.

"Humph," was her aunt's much more expressive response which was the moment when Tom seized the opportunity to butt in.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Bridget turned hopefully having already been very impressed by this enterprising and forceful young man. She like others before was beginning to realise that Tom had the ability to make things happen and for the better.

"Please do."

"Part of my future inheritance from my father will be "Glebe House". It's an Edwardian villa in the village."

"Where the Everett's used to live?" broke in Fiona. "You know the one Auntie, it's at the top of the Green. Mother wondered why it hadn't gone up for sale when they moved out."

"Do you think that Jean would like to live there?" Tom ventured.

Fiona laughed nervously but hope was already dawning on her face.

"Just try and stop her, she's admired that house ever since she went to a coffee morning there, and she'll get a real kick out of knowing that the Everett's only rented Glebe House and didn't own it. They always behaved so snottily to my mother."

She sobered slightly under her aunt's quelling gaze, and turned adoring eyes on her lover.

"Oh Tom that's absolutely brilliant, she would be in seventh heaven, you really do know how to perform miracles... But how would we ever afford the rent."

Now she had gone from joy to despair in a second but Tom soon restored her to the former.

"One of the things that our financial advisors keep banging on about is that property must either be used or disposed of profitably. But on this occasion I am going to ignore the accountants and do precisely what I want. With my father's permission Glebe House will be an engagement gift to you because I know it will make you happy if your mother's future is secure."

At this Fiona's face began to crumble so Tom tried immediately to deflect her from the incipient tears.

"But you had better start deciding what needs doing to the place and it might be a good idea to consult Jean, don't you think. Anything you require will be done and I'll get the keys sent round in the morning."




Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 05



Tom had been watching Fiona over the last few days as she blossomed again from a crushed, scared, and listless girl to somewhere near her former beauty but this final act seemed to complete the transformation. Now visible once again was the peach skin bloom to her cheeks and her proud posture had returned in all its glory. How lucky am I he thought, and not for the first time.

"Then there is only one other thing left to consider..." they both now gave him their full attention, "...the engagement ring."

All Tom's breath was then driven from his lungs as Fiona flung herself into his lap.

...

So the remodelling of Glebe House began. Tom had at first been forced to insist that wholesale improvements were necessary if only to bring the property up to current standards but once Flora had accepted the need he had given his fiancée carte blanche to order everything necessary to refurbish and then to furnish the place and Fiona had given her mother the momentous news. Mother and daughter entered into an orgy of planning. Carpet samples, swatches of curtain materials, furniture and kitchen catalogues surrounded Jean Napier's convalescent bed only to be regularly banished by the zealous nurses. But they were all back within hours retrieved by the recovering invalid and her complicit daughter.

...

Fiona was naked on Tom's bed and waiting for him to appear from the bathroom so she raised her voice to be heard through the open door.

"My mother still can't quite believe that we are getting married. For me to become Mrs Thomas Cassavettes and eventually mistress of Tremaine Place was beyond even her wildest imaginings and she keeps on about what she reckons will be the society wedding of the year."

Tom appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist which he then removed with a flourish causing her to giggle as a rampant erection was revealed.

"And a wedding starring her own beautiful daughter." 

Said Tom as he loomed over Fiona with his intentions now very clear. But as he lowered himself onto her waiting body she whispered in his ear.

"How she will enjoy looking down her nose at all the people in the village who snubbed her in the past."

But suddenly her thoughts were on something else entirely, something her fiancée had thought up and was now trying out on her body.

"Oh, oh, ooohhh, that's pretty damned good Tom, but can you do it again?"

...

Tom had employed a local surveyor to oversee the alteration work and the mans patience was being tried to the full by his twin clients but gradually Glebe House took shape and Jean's first visit, as she neared full recovery from her injuries, was eagerly anticipated by both mother and daughter.

Tom had also indulged Fiona in other ways. On his insistence and without any real soul searching or regret on her part she had given in her notice at the dental practice and he had immediately put a year's salary into her bank account. Also, particularly as she had never once asked him for anything, it was a new found pleasure to be able to surprise her with gifts and the uncomplicated delight with which they were received rewarded him more than he would have cared to admit. 

A case in point was her mother's car which had been an insurance write off after the accident on the motorway. In Tom's presence Fiona had quite innocently admired a little Japanese car, more for its bright cherry red colour and cute appearance than for any other reason, so he had bought, licensed, and insured an identical vehicle for her use and then had it delivered to the vicarage. She had burst into tears on reading Tom's note, her emotions still being near the surface.

On the same day as it was delivered Fiona arrived proudly in her new car to fetch Jean from the hospital but had to curb her enthusiasm while being forced to listen to a lecture from the hospital sister. Jean must be brought back as soon as she showed the slightest sign of becoming tired.

Tom received a full report on the weekend following. They were lying in his bed once more but this time Fiona was on top. She was bringing him up to date on progress at Glebe House but at the same time doing something of mounting urgency with her pelvis which kept distracting him from the tale.

"Mother has already drawn up lists for charity coffee mornings during which she will be smug and unbearable with everyone."

Fiona then began a slow rocking motion and Tom gasped.

"You know how she is Tom, she can't wait to start oiling the beech block worktops in the new kitchen, and the thought of having an Aga, I'm sure she finds that better than sex."

She paused diverted by another thought leaving Tom suspended in mid air.

"I just can't imagine her doing anything like this but I suppose they must have had sex otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Tom was going off the boil but when she returned her full attention to more carnal pursuits he was soon re-invigorated and able to ignore the disturbing image of his prospective mother copulating with the Reverend.

THE END Ch. 05



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 06



This story is entirely fictional.

*****

Francis tapped the microphone and seemed startled that it was working at all. Tom Cassavettes had sent his own newly acquired plane to bring his cousin Francis over from Harvard. Tom had already been Francis's best man at a recent ceremony in Boston and was pleased that Francis could return the favour at his marriage to Fiona Napier.

"Most of you assembled here will have probably realised by now that I am the Best Man..." there was a polite titter of amusement at this first laboured attempt at humour but undaunted he ploughed on. "...I don't know Fiona very well but from my short acquaintance with the lady I think that Tom is a very lucky man."

The groom and most of the other men present in the marquee were clearly in complete agreement and responded with a rumble of stamping feet. Tom looked in wonder at the radiant young woman beside him wearing the wedding dress that had caused so much controversy and leant closer to whisper.

"They have no idea how lucky I really am. You look absolutely ravishing." 

...

Tom had avoided the worst of the wedding preparations having been in the Far East on extended business and for this escape he was thankful. On his occasional and short visits home he had been immediately caught up in the infighting taking place between his mother and Jean Napier. 

His mother, Margaret Cassavettes, had been persuaded against her will to take charge of the wedding arrangements but Fiona's mother found it very hard not to interfere although always doing so in a spirit of wanting to be helpful, or so she claimed. 

It was difficult for Margaret because there were inevitably occasions when she was absent during which Jean would, predictably it seemed, counter some instruction already given. And doubly difficult for his mother because Tom had inconsiderately but specifically asked Margaret to prevent Jean from sanctioning anything that might ruin Fiona's day. 

But Margaret had soldiered on while frequently being forced to bite her tongue although in one thing at least she was in full agreement with her son. It was Tom who was paying for everything, not the bride's family, so he was entitled to make the decisions.

"It's alright Tom for you to issue your orders..." Margaret had cornered him on a rare visit to Tremaine Place, "...however softly phrased you might make them, and then expect them to be obeyed without question. You behave more and more like your father but in his case he has me to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Hopefully Fiona will rise to that task once you are married."

The wedding reception was being held in a marquee erected on the manicured croquet lawn of Tremaine Place. Caterers were employed, a pop group who had a plethora of platinum discs and also a number in the current pop charts were to play for the dancing later on, and enough pink champagne by the crate or Guinness by the barrel was to be constantly available.

Margaret's sister Julia had ended all the arguments over The Dress by sweeping Fiona off to London. She had then virtually frog marched the bride into a fashion house which was currently very much in vogue following a recent royal wedding and where it helped that Julia was a top fashion model. 

And it was a good job that Tom had bottomless pockets because the soon to be Mrs Thomas Cassavettes was treated like royalty and innumerable fittings later was provided with a gorgeous confection in cream figured silk which showed off her splendid shoulders and high bust line but was without a train for there were to be no attendants.

...

Fiona had woken on her wedding morning and promptly rushed into the bathroom to check her complexion. No spots or zits visible thank the lord not that she had ever suffered from them, at least not since puberty, but there was always a first time. No sign of her period either. Fortunately all was well so she could begin looking forward to the day. 

Her morning was pre-planned like a military operation and was under the supervision of Julia who had moved into Glebe House on a temporary basis. She had assembled what seemed like an army of professional dressers, make-up artists, and hairdressers all of whom had already arrived for the great day.

On Julia's instructions Jean was to be deterred from interfering and by force if required. Therefore the mother was adroitly intercepted whilst already on her way to her daughter's room and steered back to her own bedroom there to receive the administrations of her own trio of experts, much to her secret delight.

Time went by in a haze of pleasure for both women who only a trifle behind schedule found themselves being escorted into large shiny limousines and on their way to the church.

In the absence of Fiona's father Nicholas Cassavettes had volunteered his services to give away the bride who he was slowly getting to know better and was enchanted when she finally appeared. To find that this stunning confection would soon be on his arm was a great pleasure and although she had hardly uttered a word in the car being totally overawed by the occasion, Fiona had blossomed as they entered the church. Her mouth, just visible under a half veil, was curved upward in a smile of unalloyed pleasure.

What might have been a dark moment took place later on the receiving line. It was an unfortunate encounter between Fiona and Tom's second cousin Maria which was overheard by both Tom and Margaret. The bride, having completely forgotten about the hatred felt by the two sisters for their male relative, had been ingenuously friendly in her welcome only to be met by studied rudeness when Maria had tried to put Fiona in her place.

"Well just look at you, aren't you the cat that got the cream, but it should have been my sister so you'll not be surprised if I don't wish you any happiness."

But to her evident frustration this spiteful greeting fell totally flat. Fiona thanked her sweetly for coming while giving no sign of the blow she had actually received. 

Margaret actually felt like applauding her new daughter but Tom vowed revenge for he knew that Fiona had grown up suffering the veiled insults of those who considered themselves superior to a poor vicar's daughter and moreover one who was often forced to wear jumble sale clothes. However, and unknown to Maria, Fiona had learnt long ago how to effectively deflect such hostility and the outsmarted woman was forced to retire in defeat.

Maria and Christine, ungracious guests of the Groom, seemed in Tom's opinion to have tried their level best to mar the day. Mrs Maria Bentley and her prematurely balding husband were at their sneering best backed up as always by sister Christine with her newly acquired fiancée. Eleni believed that she had finally achieved her goal as Christine was now engaged to a "title". His name, which Eleni delighted in repeating to anyone not already driven off by Oswald, was the Honourable Gerald Smythe, and he was the son of a genuine Baron who was also a member of the House of Lords. Far superior to Mister Thomas Cassavettes for all his riches was what she was actually implying. 

All these three women were ostentatiously dressed in over the top Parisian haute couture and dripping in jewellery more suitable for a state occasion than a private family wedding. Tom had gone through a charade of welcome but maintained a reserve bordering on disdain from then on. 

Unfortunately they were difficult people to ignore for at one point during Francis's speech Tom heard Oswald's braying voice in the distance. He was hectoring his sister and her husband to be, evidently giving them financial advice which seemed to Tom to be drawn merely from an inflated sense of his own worth.

Tom dragged his attention back to his best man who was relaxing into his speech now that it was nearly over.

"No one has been told where the honeymoon will be and Tom's PA is certainly not letting on." He looked pointedly across at Angela White who pretended, not very convincingly, that she was entirely innocent of knowing anything about anything.

"Please be up standing for the toast."

Chairs scraped on the painted floor panels and glasses clinked in unison.

"I give you the Bride and Groom."

It was Fiona's day and she enjoyed it to the full. To be here on the lawn that she had only seen when her mother came to gossip with the housekeeper, or on her illicit visits to Tom's bed, was magic enough, but to be married to the man who would one day own Tremaine Place was everything that an outwardly cool but inwardly very unsure young woman could want.

She stood up with Tom to lead out the first dance.

"I feel like a princess at her first ball. Everything is so perfect."

Later Tom drew her away and up to his suite. There the housekeeper helped Fiona out of the wedding dress before leaving.

Standing dreaming while dressed in only her underwear and high heeled shoes the erotic sight was became too much for her brand new husband. His desire for Fiona had been building all that day, every time he looked at the bride he seemed to see right through the clothes to the delights concealed beneath, and having been denied sex for a month or more he was not going to wait a moment longer.

"It's a fucking wonder," he said advancing on Fiona, "that I lasted this long."

She opened her arms in welcome.

"God you look gorgeous today," he groaned as he crushed her body to his. With hands wound in her hair, now released from its binding, his elbows pulled her body against a rampant erection. Fiona merely threw her head back and gave him his orders in no uncertain terms.

"Do it now Tom, I want you in me now."

And with that anguished appeal Fiona fell back dragging Tom with her. Mouth locked to mouth they consummated the marriage there and then careless of the discarded wedding dress being crushed beneath their writhing bodies. On this occasion he took Fiona for the first time ever without using a contraceptive and she had purposely left her cap in the bedside drawer back at her mother's home.

In the bathroom later they compared notes on the day.

"I didn't know most of the people that I was introduced to." 

"Don't worry neither did I," replied Tom although he had known rather more of the guests than his bride. "But at least you knew those who matter, and it is the bride's day," continued Tom thoughtfully as he tenderly wrapped Fiona in a fluffy bath sheet, "but I suppose in the end the guest list is mostly dictated by what the families expect." He smiled ruefully. "No wonder some couples just bugger off to a register office with a couple of witnesses."

"Oh no Tom," she was horrified, "that's not what you really wanted was it?"

She looked so crestfallen that Tom gathered her in his arms. "Of course not, it was a lovely day but now I suppose we must get dressed and go down to rejoin our guests."

...

The sound of a helicopter drew closer until the noise was drowning the music but as it settled on the pad and the engine was cut the band continued unabated.

Fiona was now wearing a ravishing going away outfit which was later reported in the society magazines as being by the same royal designer who had provided her wedding dress. She was carrying a simple bouquet when she left the marquee clutching Tom's arm who was immaculate in one of his understated Savile Row suits. 

They were followed across the lawn by the guests who gathered around the couple as Fiona turned her back and in time honoured tradition threw the bouquet over her shoulder and high in the air. But there was no time to see who caught the flowers because she was immediately swept up into the helicopter to take off in a maelstrom of rushing air.

In fact Christine had forcibly elbowed her way into a position where the bouquet had dropped neatly into her outstretched arms and once caught was clutched to her bosom in an unconsciously protective action.

...

The newly married couple landed at the city centre airport where a car was waiting on the tarmac. They were to spend their first married night in Tom's lofty apartment.

"Good evening Mrs Cassavettes," Fiona was surprised by the first use of her new title by the commissionaire, but the second time when she was welcomed by the housekeeper sounded like music to her ears.

"I have taken the liberty madam of laying out a light supper in your sitting room and I have already unpacked your overnight bag." 

There was now no question of the housekeeper deferring to Tom. Fiona was, as of today, Mrs Thomas Cassavettes and Mrs Fielding would look to her for instructions in the future. So when the woman had gone Fiona felt two feet taller and it began to dawn on the new bride that the marriage had changed much more than just her name. But how much it had altered would take far longer than this one day to discover fully.

"What overnight bag?" she said to Tom.

...

After an extended romp in the bedroom followed by a leisurely breakfast then coffee, the chauffeur took Tom and Fiona Cassavettes to Waterloo Station where they boarded the Eurostar for Paris. For a girl who had been brought up on the relative poverty of a vicar's stipend she was beginning to love her life spent with Tom, first as his on and off girlfriend, then fiancée and now in total bliss as his wife.

The late luncheon service in the first class coaches was deferential and efficient, the seats were large and comfortable and the ride was smooth as silk. Even at the slower speeds on the English side of the tunnel they seemed to be rushing along.

Later the couple made the short transfer from the Gare du Nord to the Gare de l'Est and then boarded the Orient Express. The Blue and Gold carriages of the Continental Wagon Lits were luxurious and sumptuously elegant right down to the smallest of the art deco fittings. Tom had tipped their personal steward lavishly on arrival at their coach and they were shown to a suite of plush, if cramped, refinement.

Fiona had still not seen any luggage and despite her new aunt Julia's reassurances was becoming slightly distressed at having no clothes to wear other than those she stood up in. However once they were in the compartment Tom was able to relieve her every doubt. 

The honeymoon wardrobe had in fact been put together by Julia Montrose aided by an overwhelmingly impressed personal buyer at a major department store. After an initial series of mistakes when the young lady had misread the taste of both her eventual client and of the international model everything had suddenly clicked and the buyer's commission from that one day alone was enough to pay for a fancy holiday.

The new bride found that she had four matching Globe-Trotter cases of differing sizes labelled 'TRAIN', 'VENICE', 'FERRY', and 'YACHT'. There was a fifth matching but much smaller vanity case which she opened first to reveal a complete array of Kiehl cosmetics and other essentials, and clipped in the lid, a hairbrush with her new initials FC" chased into the silver back. 

On the tiny dressing table was what she assumed to be a jewel box but was afraid to touch it.

"Go on, open it," said Tom delighted by her hesitation.

She lifted the lid and gasped as light was reflected off the precious stones now revealed to her wide eyed gaze. He had personally chosen a selection of modern jewellery directly from the Cartier designers whom he had visited long before the wedding. They had looked good on the model but on Fiona, when she reverentially tried each in turn, they seemed beyond price.

He then opened with a flourish the smallest case labelled 'TRAIN' and she found a delicious little Valentino peach coloured dress in crepe de chine with a short skirt and a plunging back. Underneath the tissue wrapping were lacy tights and Roberto Cavalli apricot coloured silk underwear and beneath all the night clothes were Jimmy Choo shoes in individual cotton travel bags which when revealed were simply something to die for.

"Oh Tom," she was now almost breathless from excitement, "come and kiss me." And then when locked in his embrace, "is there time for me to thank you before dinner?"

There was and she did, but on the way to his orgasm Fiona had two of her own a fact that pleased her new husband.

...

Tom woke in the middle of the night. Their compartment was lit only by the repeater light of a stop signal directly outside the window. Fiona was sound asleep in his arms and as the light changed from red to green and the train rolled on he drifted off to sleep again feeling happier than ever before.

The honeymoon couple finished their breakfast as the train rolled through the Swiss Alps and they were dressed and in the observation car when it called at Innsbruck. They spent a leisurely morning mostly holding hands before sitting down to a three course lunch and then without a word being spoken returned to their compartment which in their absence had been changed to a sitting room. But the absence of a bed presented no problem for anywhere private would have suited their needs.

In their hurry Tom took her first with her bottom on a hastily cleared table and with her legs locked around his waist. Later she stripped and they made full use of the banquette seating.

"To what do I owe this overpowering need for my body?"

Fiona was delicately circling Tom's nipple when she asked.

"I was going mad in those months up to the wedding."

"That's when men grow hairs on their palms, or so I hear?"

"Very funny!" 

But the arrival of the train at Verona forced a gathering of possessions and they were finally ready to disembark as in the evening light the carriages slowly crossed the long viaduct and came to rest in Santa Lucia station.

If she discounted the oblique view from the carriage window Fiona's first proper sight of Venice was from the broad steps of the railway terminus looking down the Grand Canal. She was instantly enchanted and gripped Tom's arm convulsively as they followed the luggage down to a water taxi. 

She sat, with eyes not knowing where to look first, on a cushioned seat in the front of a varnished wooden launch as Tom distributed wads of Euro's to the porters. Then the driver zig zagged down the sinuous curves of the canal expertly avoiding the whole array of vaporetti, rubbish collection barges, delivery boats and shiny black gondolas with their curious prows.

But to Fiona's eyes the view from the windows of their Hotel suite surpassed everything that had gone before. To her right was the entrance to St Marks Square and the Grand Canal and half right from her was the church of Santa Maria della Salute and the old custom house. Over the masts of the yachts in a marina opposite she could see the church and tower of San Giorgio Maggiore on its own little island and by venturing out onto the balcony she could lean on the balustrade and see out as far as the Lido and the open sea beyond.

Tom turned away from the porter who had needed two trips with his ornate trolley to deliver all their bags only to catch his breath at the sight of Fiona silhouetted against the evening light which was being reflected upwards from the waters of the San Marco Basin. 

With brushed out hair backlit like a halo around her head it was a sight to inspire a Pre-Raphaelite painter let alone a love-struck new husband. She in turn saw the familiar look of arousal which quickly appeared and slowly, using the light from behind, performed a very indelicate bump and grind routine while he stood like a rabbit caught in powerful headlights. 

There was so much about this wife that clearly remained to be discovered. He could still see the eighteen year old girl who had first attracted his love, then the twenty plus woman who had nearly backed out of their skinny dip, but those memories were rapidly being overlaid by this much more complex lady who was now being revealed to his gaze.




Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 06



Later he walked Fiona down to the Via Garibaldi crossing over a succession of little hump backed bridges and they ate in the Castello district and drank Bellini Cocktails almost under the daily wash still strung across the narrow alleys that opened off the street. 

On another occasion they took a private launch to follow the route of the #41 Vaporetti anti-clockwise around Venice and like two kids fell in love with the sights and each other. 

Fiona couldn't bear to be out of contact. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and half turned to nudge her breast against his chest. Her hand found its way to rest on his thigh, and she pressed her face into his neck then tilted it up so she could watch the view reflected in his eyes. 

"It's like I want to see and hear everything through you." 

Their time in Venice became like a dream; a gondola ride along the less frequented waterways; a stroll to La Fenice to hear a performance of Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons'; a boat out to the remote island of Torcello lost in the silence of the northern lagoon where they enjoyed a candle lit meal; the time slipped by and she worshipped his body with her own.

But like all dreams it eventually came to an end and one morning the porters collected their luggage and the couple were taken to the Ship Terminal. There they boarded a great slab sided Car Ferry flying the Greek flag and which had the Cassavettes logo conspicuous on its towering bow.

"This is one of our ships," said Tom rather unnecessarily for the evidence was rearing large above them, "so be prepared for a lot of fuss and nonsense."

This began as soon as they reached the entry port where a uniformed officer and a senior stewardess were waiting for the couple. The officer saluted and Tom was taken forward to meet the Captain while the stewardess bore Fiona off to a state room where the luggage had already been delivered.

"Can I unpack for you Madam?" 

Fiona gestured to the case labelled 'FERRY' and said immediately,

"Thank you, that one, please."

She was growing to enjoy the attention being lavished upon her as Tom's wife. Gone now was her embarrassment at being helped in such menial tasks. Admittedly she had always enjoyed having someone wash and dry her hair, the treat of being given a manicure or pedicure, or even having someone give her a soothing massage but now she had grown used to having somebody unpack and pack for her. But above all else, would soon grow used to having someone else wash and iron her clothes.

She was joined by Tom on their private balcony as the ugly ship slid down the Giudecca Canal with the tugs standing by in case of problems and as they entered the San Marco Basin she felt that she could have leant over the rail and touched the buildings as they passed slowly by.

"Look there's our hotel," she cried out, "I can see our room and our balcony. I wonder who's in them now?" Then she looked brazenly at Tom. "But I bet he's not as good in bed as you."

His pride at this unexpected praise made him blush until she reached up to kiss his cheek and he saw the mischief in her eyes.

"Let's try out this latest bed." She whispered while making a dive for his trouser zip.

...

They ate that night in the Captain's private dining room with six people at the table. The Captains wife turned out to be an agreeable middle aged woman who made appropriate small talk easily and was adept at seamlessly filling any awkward pauses. She also appeared unfazed at having the owner's son on board, although incognito, and from her behaviour the other two guests would never have guessed that the young man was later to inherit the whole shipping line. 

With his usual reserve Tom had introduced them merely as Thomas and Fiona without giving any surname but this was in complete contrast to the other couple for everyone was soon made very aware that he considered himself to be an important official in the British Consular Service. 

The man's wife had, ever since their marriage, made it her primary job to promote her husband's career and she was not slow to fill Tom and Fiona's ears with tales of his triumphs. In her mind he was Permanent Secretary material and she was convinced that in time such a senior post would be the inevitable appointment for a man of his ability. 

But, as always, Tom had conveyed very little to such strangers and Fiona had long ago learnt to follow his lead. But it would have made no difference in this case for neither she nor Tom could get a word in edgeways. And as the other pair were so full of their own importance that they never once inquired into Tom's circumstances.

Sadly however Fiona's enjoyment on that particular evening was entirely spoilt when she discovered that the foreign office official had a restless hand. A hand which she was forced to remove from her thigh on a number of occasions. She was loath to make a fuss but his behaviour eventually became such a bore that she stood and reached for her evening bag. 

The other two women then assumed correctly that Fiona was off to the cloakroom and rose to join her and at that very moment the Captain's attention was temporarily diverted by an officer who had apologetically entered the cabin.

This left Tom free to speak privately to the Civil Servant.

"Keep your wandering hands off my wife." 

He spoke with considerable force although quietly enough not to carry, but his vice like grip on the man's wrist only served to reinforce the order.

"I can assure you that she doesn't like being pawed, and I'm damn sure that I dislike it even more."

There was a sudden flash of fear in the man's eyes followed by the shocked but late realisation that his fellow diners were far more influential than his earlier snap judgement had indicated. Now, and very belatedly, he recalled all the newspaper and TV reports of the marriage of Thomas Cassavettes the heir to the global Cassavettes Company. 

One derogatory comment from this prominent man made into the correct ear would be enough to ruin his prospects for ever and the realisation made him break instantly into a cold sweat.

As a result he cravenly made their excuses and dragged his unwilling wife away soon after she had returned to the table. What explanation he subsequently made, when and if the 'little' woman realised who had shared their dinner table, Tom neither knew nor cared.

Nonetheless he stood politely as the pair left the room although with the residue of anger still lingering in his eyes.

"How did you know?" Fiona asked perceptively as they made their way back to the stateroom. "And what did you say?"

"You know very well that I have X-ray eyes that can see through tables," but although his comment was intended to be humorous his voice had a rough edge, "I just told him to stop his rude behaviour and that you didn't like being pawed."

She squeezed his hand in gratitude but he was unwise enough to continue.

"I was right wasn't I?"

This final attempt at bogus humility was going far too far so she released his hand and punched his arm.

"Ouch, that was definitely not ladylike." He began rubbing the embryonic bruise. "I didn't realise that I'd married a bare knuckle boxer." 

But this time he caught her clenched fist in mid air and in response kissed her ear.

That night she snuggled up to Tom and whispered apologetically, "Can we not do it tonight, I'm a bit sore down there."

"Oh, okay."

But having caught the note of disappointment in his voice Fiona, for the first time, took pleasure in successfully sucking him off. 

...

The new Mrs. Cassavettes lay naked on the upper deck protected from all but an overhead helicopter by white canvas screens. Her body glistened with lotion as she topped up her sun tan although already bronzed and lovely with her hair bleached almost white by the sun. Tom couldn't keep either his hands nor his eyes off her.

The 'Lady Eleanor' was moored in the natural harbour of Fornells on the north coast of Menorca. The traditional gentleman's yacht, owned by Nicholas Cassavettes and built in an earlier era, was in complete contrast to the line of multi-million dollar fibreglass products of the leisure industry which were also anchored in this sheltered haven. 

The line of ships however was being regularly buzzed by high powered ribs which the skipper had told the honeymooners were on hire to the paparazzi who were looking for a divorced English Princess believed to be hiding out in one of the ships. 

Through high powered binoculars the Captain had shown them the serried ranks of telephoto lens concealed in the trees all along the foreshore and had immediately ordered the erection of the canvas privacy screens behind which Fiona was currently relaxing. 

Tom was in the saloon talking on the phone to his PA back in London. He had been as good as his word to Fiona and had rigidly ignored the temptation to ring anyone until now but as they were returning home tomorrow he wanted a prior heads up before going into his office.

They had joined the 'Lady Eleanor' in Patmas after leaving the Car Ferry but Fiona had turned out to be an indifferent sailor. The Captain had offered an alternative plan so they had come to Menorca by easy stages only moving by night when she was fast asleep. 

On the way they had put into Sicily, first at Catania and then at Palermo, then Cagliari on Sardinia, before crossing to spend their last few days here at Fornells.

Later, after the sunbathe had the predictable effect on Fiona and the now very randy wife had hunted down her husband to energetically ride him to a noisy orgasm, Tom broached a subject which had lately become uppermost in his mind.

"Where do you want to live?..."

Fiona who was now sensuously rubbing cream into her breasts while absent mindedly giving lot's of attention to her still very erect nipples finally looked up clearly puzzled.

"...During all the interminable arrangements for the wedding and then my absence in Hong Kong we seem to have forgotten to discuss where you would like to live. It has even crossed my mind that you might enjoy choosing a new home."

"I don't know," she finally replied while still looking confused. "I've been so used to you taking charge of everything that I seem to have actually given up thinking for myself." 

She stopped and he waited while she considered the situation. 

"I suppose I just assumed that we would live in your apartment in London and go down to your parent's house on those weekends when you weren't away on business."

"So you don't fancy looking at houses for sale?"

"No, at least not yet. I love your London pad and Tremaine Place has everything that I might possibly need, that is if your mother has no objection?"

"No she'll be pleased to have the company. But what will you do in London all day when I'm out of the country?" 

He smiled indulgently but she just grinned back.

"I might need to find a gigolo for when you're away. But seriously Tom, how could you ask me that? I've wanted to live in London all my life and now I've got all these credit cards which you've so foolishly showered on me I'm sure that I shall be blissfully happy."

"Okay," he said, "if you're sure that's what you really want."



Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 07



This story is entirely fictional.

*****

Now the problems begin.

Fiona Cassavettes lay in the bath, water up to her chin, with the bubbles gradually subsiding. The bathroom was stocked with all manner of exotic expensive bath oils but she still obstinately preferred the Badedas which she had used since she was a teenager. She pulled herself up and let more hot water trickle in before subsiding back with her head against the inflatable cushion. She had been lost in a very salacious memory and was anxious to return to the powerful day dream.

Fiona and her husband Tom Cassavettes had spent the previous week in Paris. Knowing her passion for tennis he had accepted an invitation for them to stay with a Parisian couple and attend the French Open at Roland Garros.

She was lying there in her bath feeling warm and sexy and recalling the Ball held at the French Foreign Office immediately after the finals. There she had been thoroughly kissed and expertly felt up by a rather dishy Davis Cup professional. The memory was so vivid that she could recall every sensation as if it were burned into her consciousness. The overwhelming desire to repeat his caresses there and then was building not helped by her neglected libido.

She hadn't particularly looked forward to staying with a couple whom she had never met but since her marriage to Tom it was becoming a regular occurrence. In the event she found their hostess rather patronizing. 

Okay so they had an amazing Parisian apartment and Chantelle loved shopping, but she could speak two or three languages and Fiona knew she looked down on her guest for being so poorly educated. Well maybe her brain was not as powerful as Chantelle's but that was no reason for her to act so superior. 

Perhaps it was a good thing that she was unaware of Chantelle's description of her. In a moment of jealousy the Frenchwoman had described Fiona to her husband as an 'uptight English beauty with nothing at all between her ears' but although the man agreed it didn't stop him behaving gallantly to their knockout looking guest. But Fiona would have put up with a lot worse than a snotty hostess just to see the tennis and anyway it would mean she had Tom in her bed each night for nearly a whole week.

They had tickets for the last four days of the tournament and Fiona used hers for every session. Tom was not nearly so keen on the game although she had noticed that he enjoyed the women's matches. So apart from making sure she got there and back safely he sometimes disappeared off to who knows where.

"You only like ogling those women in their sports bras," she kidded him.

"And why not, I bet they're amazing in bed. Who wouldn't turn down that opportunity."

She hoped that Tom would, but could she ever be sure?

Fiona found in the end that she preferred sitting there without him, a fidgeting husband was a distraction she could do without. The Centre Court was like a gladiatorial amphitheatre, steeply raked with its rows of green plastic seating reaching up to the sky from the hot roasted chilli colour of the playing surface. Even the noise of the crowd was like a Roman mob baying for blood interspersed with the despairing grunts of the combatants and the screech of their non-slip soles on the clay surface.

Their seats were in the VIP enclosure and she found that she was in general surrounded by other players. Her classic beauty had not gone without notice and the men's locker room had summed her up as a bored rich girl ripe for mischief.

Sometimes that was just how she thought of herself as the daily parade of strong muscular men began to work insidiously on her imagination. Being surrounded for hours on end by waves of testosterone was proving to be an intense aphrodisiac which it seemed dishonest to use her husband to relieve. So despite looking forward to having Tom in her bed for a week she perversely found excuses for denying him sex and was forced into nightly masturbation, once he was asleep, just to relieve her stoked up desire.

Tom joined her for the men's final and found himself taking a back seat to his wife's single minded enthusiasm. He was already feeling guilty having clandestinely spent much of the preceding day on the phone to his office but Fiona seemed happy enough and he tried to square his conscience by remembering that he was taking her to the French Foreign Office ball later that night.

But he was strangely put out to find that Fiona had made so many friends in the enclosure and surprised at his reaction. She casually acknowledged the greetings which her arrival provoked and made high fives with what seemed a never ending stream of players and their coaches who were watching nearby or finding an excuse to pass by her seat.

At one point she was shouting "Rafa, Rafa, Rafa" in unison with a large section of the crowd, and bouncing up and down on her seat with shining eyes. Tom hadn't seen Fiona so animated for some time and was pleased that she was so wrapped up in the action and obviously so enjoying the occasion. But she gripped his hand as the Spanish player lost the second set.

"He's just lost concentration," she was sure she was right. "But he'll get it right next set you'll see."

But Tom's mind had slipped far away into current business matters when he was recalled to the present by a sustained roar of applause.

"He's won, didn't I tell you."

Fiona was on her feet as were all the crowd and cheering the new champion. At least Tom recognised Federer who was presented with the runner's up award but he had no idea who was giving the prizes.

That evening Fiona knew for sure that on just this one occasion she had scored a resounding victory over her hostess. Chantelle had appeared wearing a fussy over complicated outfit and it was clear that her native French sense of style had badly let her down. Normally so chic, tonight she merely looked frumpy. Maybe it was the thought of visiting the Quai d'Orsay and not wanting to let her husband down but whatever the reason she had got her wardrobe badly wrong on this occasion.

Her guest in contrast was wearing a simple low cut boned cream silk bustier, a long shimmering midnight blue skirt split up to her thigh, and five inch heels. Fiona's thick blond hair was coiled up on her head exposing the slender vulnerable neck that so frequently turned men's knees to water teamed with the simplest of her honeymoon jewels and she looked sensational. 

Chantelle's husband quickly made the obvious comparison and became short tempered with his wife who had unaccountably not come up to the same high standards. 

The knowledge of this triumph over such a patronising woman kept Fiona's head high and her courage up as they entered the glitzy ball room where they were formally presented to the French Foreign Minister. He lingered appreciatively over Fiona's hand as the press photographed them together resulting in one of those pictures making the lead in all the following day's papers and much to the chagrin of Chantelle. 

To Fiona's initial disappointment Tom was almost immediately intercepted by a senior member of the French Ministry staff leaving Fiona alone. But not for long as she was soon surrounded by a group of the players she had met at the stadium.

So despite the absence of Tom from her side she had a magical night. She was made welcome by the tennis glitterati both male and female. Passed from one athlete to another she danced every number and lost count of the nationalities, only remembering a South American, a Spaniard, and a moody Russian. But in the early hours she found herself within the capable arms of a dashingly handsome Serbo Croat.

Champagne had flowed freely and her days of watching these men in shorts and tight shirts combined with the close contact of so many super fit bodies had made her careless of propriety. She was steered without protest into a concealed corner of an outlying Orangery and kissed by an expert. Her mouth opened involuntarily and their tongues played tennis. His hand later found the long slit in her skirt and then the soft inside of her thighs. Her legs parted and he bought her to the juddering orgasm that despite her own efforts had been building in her body and mind all that day.

...

"What if I'd been seen?"

As she came on her own fingers Fiona cried out despairingly, repeated in waves by the echoing wall tiles.

...

The housekeeper waited on Fiona's reply as her employer sat at the breakfast table. Mrs Fielding had just asked if the couple would be dining in that night.

"I'm not sure? Just let me call down to Tom's office."

Fiona picked up the phone and dialled.

"Hello Angela is Tom there? ... Oh yes of course he's out of town. How stupid of me to forget. Never mind, I only rang to see if we would be eating in tonight."

She put the phone down annoyed with herself for being so nervous about the forthcoming day. So anxious that she had forgotten completely that he was already well on his way to Australia.

"No Mrs Fielding but thank you, He won't be back for a fortnight so it will just be me tonight."

Fiona had cudgelled her mind over what to wear on this particular day. She had never been to consult a Harley Street specialist before and had made the appointment without mentioning it to her husband and moreover had set the date to coincide with a time when she knew that Tom would be absent. 

The chauffeur dropped her off almost at the door and she squeezed between the parked cars to mount the three black and white tiled steps to the imposing door. On entering timidly she discovered a haughty looking woman sat at a small reception desk but who greeted her with surprising friendliness.

"Mrs. Cassavettes, good morning. Dr. Bryant will be ready in a moment if you would kindly wait." 

Fiona took a seat on a slender Hepplewhite chair but it was a commendably short delay not at all like attending the local doctor's surgery which she had been accustomed to do in the past. She was directed to a first floor consulting room and met the specialist there.

"Mrs. Cassavettes'" the woman greeted her warmly, "I'm Susan Bryant, we spoke on the telephone. May I call you Fiona?"

Fiona had been in a quandary having no idea how to go about selecting a specialist of any sort and she had no one she trusted to ask for advice. So she had looked in the telephone directory and virtually used a pin. So to find this calm middle aged woman facing her was a considerable relief.

"Please do," said the slightly overwhelmed patient.

"Now, I propose to give you a detailed examination and I will take samples for analysis, but first I must ask you a few questions."

The woman settled herself with a pad before her and pen poised. Her questionnaire was detailed and often Fiona couldn't help her, not because she wouldn't but because she genuinely didn't know the answer.

"How about your periods, are they regular?"

She could answer that one. After the first embarrassing show of blood as a young teenager they had never been regular. Since her marriage they had sometimes been so late that she had thought can I really be pregnant at long last? She had sat in the bathroom with a pregnancy kit on a number of occasions only to be bitterly disappointed at the negative results.

The intrusive examination which then followed was an altogether miserable experience and Fiona fled back to the apartment there to run herself a warm bath. The all-encompassing examination of her genitalia had been like a violation and she wondered how women could find childbirth in any way enjoyable.

When Tom was away she settled into a rather indolent pattern of living. She had no housework to do; if she tried she would have offended the staff and she had no job and no hobbies other than shopping or lunching out. Although Tom had the use of company jets, helicopters, and chauffeur driven cars on his global journeys the job still meant he was absent from his wife for long periods of time. Moreover Margaret, her mother, was insisting that Nicholas Cassavettes reduced his work load in exchange for more leisure time at Tremaine Place and so Tom inevitably took up the slack. 

He revelled in the increased responsibility but selfishly ignored the affect it was having on his wife. They were spending less and less time together and Fiona was suffering bouts of depression. As Margaret had so presciently forecast Fiona's lack of inner resources, interests or pastimes meant she had nothing substantial with which to fill her empty days. 

Even her mother Jean Napier had been spectacularly unhelpful on Fiona's last visit to Glebe House.

"You weren't brought up for this sort of life, no wonder you feel so empty. But it will all change as soon as you get pregnant and have a baby, you mark my words."

Well it wasn't for lack of trying, Tom, when home, was still as ardent as ever and she hadn't used her cap since they were married, it lay unused in the box at her bedside.

So she continued meeting her new found acquaintances for coffee or in Bond Street for a little shopping, or attending a fashion show, or taking in the latest Art Gallery exhibition. Her husband, or rather Angela, paid what Fiona considered her outrageous Credit Card bills without question. It might have amused her to have known that Tom actually thought them modest and quite unexceptional.

Later she was summoned by her specialist and sat in the Harley Street waiting room once again before going up the stairs to the same first floor consulting room where Susan Bryant was waiting. Having seated Fiona she asked if she would like coffee or tea. So there was a hiatus while coffee was brought and served to them both but with Fiona struggling valiantly to curb her impatience. However the bad news which she fully expected soon arrived.

"I have had the results of your tests and I'm afraid they are very disappointing."

Fiona sat rigid, listening in abject despair while all her worst fears were being confirmed.

"Your fallopian tubes show evidence of damage, and I believe that hostile cervical mucus is present. This is not a new condition, it has probable always been so."

Later she had rung Tom, who was now in Hong Kong, wanting to confess all and seek reassurance. The hotel receptionist put her straight through to his suite. 

"Tom, I've failed you," she was keening softly, "you and your father so wanted a son."

It was true that they had talked of it, but when he thought about the whole matter dispassionately he wasn't so sure about his own feelings in that direction. But convincing Fiona of his own lack of ambition to sire a son was quite another matter. 

She had exhibited no interest in taking IVF treatment, whether it went against some strongly held religious view or whether she had lost all faith in her body being able to reproduce was never discussed. She merely threw herself back into her shallow social whirl and on the surface she was as she had always been, but underneath there was a trickle of despair which gradually deepened to a torrent.

A despair which reached new depths when she was put through to her husband in his hotel bedroom in New York only to find that the call was answered by a breathless woman. Having immediately disconnected and without speaking she fumed for the rest of the day but in her lonely bed that night tried to come to terms with the situation. 

Okay, she hadn't yet succumbed to the many invitations she received to stray but it was sometimes a near run thing. She was remembering occasions such as Paris where only the threat of interruption had made copulation a non starter. So a red blooded man, a man separated for long periods from his wife, would be tempted. After all she knew he was often surrounded by women who could ease his loneliness without a second thought. 

...

Fiona was in Milan Station and deeply angry. Her luggage was being taken on board the overnight sleeper for Paris and the Coach attendant was fussing interminably over her tickets. But finally she was alone in her first class sleeping compartment and could give way to bitter tears.

"Why does he treat me like this," she wailed at the mirror, "I always have to take second place to the bloody business."

She subsided into a second bout of tears only to suffer an attack of hiccups which annoyed her even more.

"It would serve him right...hic...if I wasn't at home...hic...when he deigned to return."

Having eventually controlled the convulsive gasping Fiona examined herself in the mirror and was horrified to see the damage this hysterical outburst was having on her appearance. That and her own sense of fairness soon dried up the tears of frustration. When feeling a little calmer she accepted that Tom had no alternative on this occasion but to jet straight off from their Italian weekend break. After all it wasn't often that the Company suffered a maritime piracy attack but at least by the time he left they had already enjoyed the use of their La Scala opera tickets and not missed the very thing they had been in Northern Italy to see.

As a result here she was making her own way home. He had offered to charter her a private plane and after making the call handed the phone to Fiona to settle the details with his PA. Tom then kissed her cheek with a look of regret and departed.

"What can I do for you Fiona?" Angela had waited patiently as she overheard the farewells.

"Nothing thank you Angela, I'm sorry Tom bothered you, I can manage quite well for myself."

Now she was mentally kicking herself for being churlish to Tom's PA, even more so for giving way to her anger and obstinately refusing what she now wished with all her heart she had accepted. Well, she had made her own bed and now she would have to lie in it.

Amused at her own terrible joke she freshened her make up and, resolving to make the best of her stupidity, put on a fresh outfit and went along to the dining car.

Fiona, since her marriage to Tom, had been slow in adapting to the perks of being super rich. Apart from her love of shopping and the respect her various merchant bank credit cards provided she did not think like those who were born to affluence. Tom would ask why she had used a taxi when she had a chauffeur sitting twiddling his thumbs in the garage, why she had used the train to visit her mother when the helicopter was sitting idle. She could only answer him truthfully by saying "because I don't think that way."

But her demeanour, her jewellery, and her clothes now shouted privilege and, recognising it instinctively in the woman who had entered alone, the head waiter bowed before he himself guided Fiona to an empty table for two. Settled in her seat and sipping a champagne cocktail she leisurely surveyed the occupants of the coach. It was under half full with a sprinkling of couples, parties of four, and the occasional lone diner such as herself.

She was enjoying her anti-pasta with head bowed over the plate when she was conscious of a man taking the empty seat at her table.

"Please find another seat, I much prefer to dine alone."

Fiona had not even looked up and expected the interloper to depart but he remained seated. Now, unreasonably annoyed, she finally raised her eyes only to see a lined but handsome face which she recognised immediately but could not quite put a name to.

"Alain Dupuis." 

He introduced himself in a voice that she knew instantly. Now she could place the man. How many times had she seen him on the TV screen when she was an impressionable teenager? She had thrilled then to his velvet singing voice and its primal effect on Fiona had obviously not changed over time for her vagina immediately flooded.

"Fiona Cassavettes." She replied after a pause having been momentarily mesmerised.

"I know very well who you are." 





Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 07



He smiled at her bewilderment. He was speaking in English but with the accent that only an attractive Frenchman could impart.

"Even in France we know about Thomas Cassavettes but we find you, Mrs. Cassavettes, trop plus intéressant."

Her face still remained aloof but there was no doubt about the disturbing effect his presence was having upon her.

"The photographs of you in your wedding dress were, how do you say, an eye opener to French women. To see an English Lady with such a Parisian sense of style was a shock but the press pictures of you at the Ball after the French Open were enough to quicken any man's blood."

She had now forgotten completely about her earlier desire to eat alone and during the rest of the evening his flattery and his close attention made her also forget about the anger at her husband and then at herself. 

Was she really having dinner with one of the greatest stars of the European music industry? An experience such as this could not be bought however rich you were.

By this time he was already caressing the palm of her hand as it lay open on the table. They were both leaning forward in intimate conversation and she found herself telling him an edited version of her problems. It was such a relief to pour out her complaints to such a compassionate listener, a man who felt no need to push himself forward and who simply let her talk. What a treat that was. He made her feel attractive and dangerous, a femme fatale on a romantic assignation speeding westwards through the night.

They lingered over coffee and she found herself reluctant to go back to the loneliness of her compartment so when he suggested a nightcap in the bar she agreed with more enthusiasm than was perhaps wise. 

Ensconced in a snug banquette with balloons of Armanac on the table before them she found her thigh and arm were pleasantly pressed against this disturbing man. She became intoxicated by his close proximity, so much so that when they got up to leave she confided the number of her sleeping compartment.

Will he, wont he? She wondered as she undressed and slipped a silk robe over her naked body. Had he done this sort of thing before? Of course he had for his timing proved to be perfection. Even the scratch on her door would not have disturbed the lightest sleeper in the adjacent compartments and he had not committed the insensitive mistake of coming to her other than fully dressed.

Without any preliminaries Alain took her masterfully against the wall. She had been lubricious and ready for him almost since the moment he had first sat down at her table and it was merely the work of a moment for him to open his flies and to strong arm her into position for the entry.

She came almost immediately, Alain shortly after, and he left the compartment as quietly as he had entered. Fiona was then lost in the pleasure of recalling the entire evening as she tenderly cleansed herself before slipping into bed. Once there she lay drowsily while fingering herself to another softer climax and feeling no regrets before falling into a deep and guiltless sleep.

However it was a different matter when she awoke to the sound of the attendant making the breakfast call. Now the guilt had surfaced in full force.