VILLAGE FETE
Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 4:10 pm
VILLAGE FETE
by Harry
CHAPTER ONE
The Parish Counselors of Little Sprodwell-under-Fosse were having what they all gloomily suspected to be one of their last ever meetings as a corporate body. All of the members had good reason to be convinced that their days of elected office were numbered. The previous year had not been a good one for any of them. They had all been overwhelmed by various kinds of shame and threatened scandal.
Counselor Colonel The Honourable Foxe-Benson-Fortescue had not done his already dubious reputation a great deal of good by being discovered naked and indulging in intercourse with his wife's buxom and educationally subnormal niece.
Counselor Evans-Foster was deeply troubled and fearful as a result of an affair of the heart with a psychopathic and vengeful ex-soldier who was now threatening to reveal all – with a wealth of documentary and photographic evidence, not only to the Counselor's wife but to a very much wider public.
Counselor Mrs. Jenkinson, the only female on the Parish Council, was in daily fear that compromising photographs depicting her in the course of performing unnatural acts with an Irish Wolfhound were about to be distributed among the townsfolk.
The other two Counselors were also aware that their own behaviour, whilst by no means as luridly disgraceful as that of the above three, had, nevertheless, failed to live up to the high standards demanded by the electorate – an electorate whose members themselves consistently and resolutely declined to uphold such standards themselves.
They were meeting to discuss the arrangements for the forthcoming annual village Spring Fete.
This was an occasion that had become widely famous in recent years. Owing to judicious and highly unscrupulous marketing, it had been presented to the world as a relic of a bygone era – a link to the Merrie Englande of old, instead of the carefully devised piece of increasingly vulgar and tawdry show biz that, in reality, it was.
All members of the parish Council were determined to end their days of office on an appropriately high and sleazy note. If only they could exceed the total takings of last year's event – who knows – they might even have a sporting chance of reelection!
"The ‘Spotted Lady’ tent went down very well last year," said the Colonel. "I thought it a bit feeble, personally, but it's amazing what a bit of exposed female flesh will do to bring in the money."
The event to which the good and gallant Colonel was referring was a tent inside which was a platform, on which had reposed the homely, cheerfully smiling and buxom form of Dorothy Parrish, her ample young body covered with spots of black paint, which tended partially to conceal much of her strategic areas from view. Dorothy was a non-too-clever and sad to say, a not-too-pretty lady, whose good natured willingness to allow all and sundry to experience the delights of her body more than made up for the said body's imperfections. In any case, Dorothy was young and to the old and middle-aged, youth has its own beauty, particularly when freely available for a modest fee or in her case no fee at all.
"Maybe we could dispense with the tent this time round and have the display open for all to see. It would mean any passing tourist coaches might stop and take a closer look!"
This suggestion from the animal-loving Mrs. Jenkinson drew some approval, but the Colonel was not convinced.
"If people don't have to queue to get into the tent, they will see all of Dorothy for nothing – not that they can't anyway, whenever they like! No. Not a good idea, I'm afraid. You know what the townsfolk are like. As tightfisted a bunch of skinflints as you're ever likely to have the misfortune to meet."
"We could always cordon off the town square so that nobody could get near the platform without paying an entrance fee and we needn't have another ‘Spotted Lady’, but something more imaginative and daring, involving more than one lady. The Raynsford cousins are staying at the Hall – I dare say they could be persuaded to help in a good cause," replied Mrs. Jenkinson.
At the mention of these two young ladies, the Colonel fell silent for a while. These were among the two most desirable young sirens he had seen at any time in the course of a long and sexually active life, a life that had taken him from the North West Frontier to the steaming jungles of Equatorial Africa, the Far East and many other exotic locations where many a sultry and dusky damsel had enlivened his leisure hours.
Julia Raynsford was a delight to watch as she walked through the little town, her firm and voluptuous breasts seeming to defy gravity as she strode around, her braless condition delightfully obvious to all. The gyrations of her generous and mellifluous young bottom as she went about her daily business had rightly been described by the Reverend Mr. Scott-Talbot, the town's worldly-wise Rector, as "Poetry in Motion."
Mr. Gregg, the local butcher had reacted in a less high flown manner by describing her walk as, "a Fucking Fifteen-Jewel Movement." He had further ventured to express the notion that there was no limit to the sum he would be prepared to pay in order to enjoy what he described as, "One lovely fucking night with that gorgeous little prick-teaser."
In a word, Julia Raynsford was head-turningly lovely, as old Josiah Hemlock had discovered to his cost on a famous occasion. Josiah had been emerging from the hairdresser's one Saturday morning preparing to make his arthritic way to the Kings Arms for his lunchtime drink, when he espied the fair Julia's splendid young bottom, attired as ever in close fitting Lycra shorts (it was high summer at the time, but this splendid young lady was always reluctant to cover too much of herself even when the weather was far from clement) and his head swiveled involuntarily around, the better to observe her progress as that splendid posterior wiggled its sinuously lovely way along the High Street.
Sadly for Josiah, his arthritic neck let him down at that point and his head remained obstinately stuck in the turned position for long afterwards. It was weeks before he was able to look straight ahead without having to engage his old frame in the most uncomfortable contortions, much to the amusement of the town's ribald and unsympathetic youth. Despite all this, old Josiah remained one of Julia's devoted admirers, one of a long list.
The other cousin was Beatrice Patterson. Why the two were always referred to as the Raynsford Cousins was something no one had ever satisfactorily explained. Where her fair-haired cousin was pneumatic and blonde, Beatrice was dark, tall and slender. Where Julia exuded crude sexuality, Beatrice was ethereally and distantly beautiful, seeming to glide along rather than walk. Where Julia was always scrupulously careful to wear the most scanty and figure-hugging clothes, Beatrice affected long, and loose fitting attire, with skirts that swept along the ground as she walked. It was even rumored at one time that she didn’t actually have legs, but moved around on castors.
However ethereal her appearance, though, there was nothing else otherworldly about Beatrice! Her appetites were as determinedly materialistic and devoted to the single-minded pursuit of carnal pleasure as were her cousin's. Where the one used her physical charm to knock men sideways with a full frontal assault, the other was more subtle but every bit as devastating. Both girls exulted in the effect that they had on the men of the village although they were united in their contemptuous dismissal of these men as a bunch of rural yokels. They wanted admiration, but only from a safe distance. When it came to satisfying their healthy and voracious young carnal appetites, it was the bodies of a succession of well-connected and well-born young men from London, rather than the simple villagers, who gave them physical satisfaction.
The Colonel returned from his mental contemplation of these two lovelies and took command of the situation again in his brusque and efficient manner.
"Lovely girls both, but a bit standoffish. I can't honestly see them making an exhibition of themselves to please our local yobbish tendency. Pity, though - they're two gorgeous young ladies – they’d strip really well, especially Julia!"
"Maybe we could appeal to their sense of social responsibility," said Mrs. Jenkinson, "tell them how big a contribution a successful fete would make to the new changing rooms"
This was a reference to the projected development at the local playing field. The existing facilities were primitive, with only cold showers and primitive toilet facilities. In the winter a cold wind whistled through the wooden and all-too-well-ventilated structure.
Those of a ruggedly Spartan disposition were well satisfied with this state of affairs and scorned any idea making the place more comfortable, but such hardy souls were an increasing minority nowadays. And they could always use an outside cold shower, as those advocating the improvements assured them.
"Why should those two care about a facility they are never going to use," sighed Mr. Evans-Foster. "When they stay up at the Hall they have that superb gymnasium, the tennis courts and two swimming pools. I can't say I blame them, though. Some of the village girls would love to have the chance of sorting them out on the playing field and making them look a bit less pretty for a while."
"Those two could take pretty good care of themselves. They aren't scared of anybody and they don't need to be," said Mrs. Jenkinson.< "Anyone who took either of them on would pretty soon be sorry. They're both into various martial arts and young Julia is a wonderful boxer, believe it or not, for such a sweet-faced kid. They were both tomboys as little girls and there's still a bit of it in them now. No – it’s just social snobbery keeps them from joining in local events, but I think I might have a chance of talking them into doing something for us. I know for a fact that their cousin, the Brigadier thinks they need to come out of their shell and they would do anything to please him. I'll go up to the Hall and have a word with them all."
CHAPTER TWO
Julia and Beatrice were lying side by side in the Spring sunshine on the Hall's extensive lawn, whence they had just taken themselves. Each lay with her chin propped up by her cupped hand and each was in a reflective mood. Mrs. Jenkinson had just left the Hall after a long and persuasive sales pitch in which that good lady had extolled the virtues of the new mooted communal facilities and the duties of those who are more fortunate in life's lottery towards those upon whom Lady Luck had smiled less kindly.
"A little bit of harmless fun," was how this good lady had described the forthcoming fete and carnival. The pair had heard about last year's "harmless fun" and were none too keen to be bracketed with the equine-faced and unintelligent Dorothy as a source of amusement to the village's drunken and lascivious youth.
"Aren't there any other local girls who would bare a bit of flesh?" Julia had asked at one point in the conversation. "There must surely be a few presentable girls, even amongst that lot of inbred turnip-headed grotesques."
Mrs. Jenkinson was only partly able to conceal her amusement at this unkind, if broadly accurate description of so many of the townsfolk.
"Yes, my dear, there are several quite acceptable girls, but their fathers raised objections last year and would surely do so again. In fact we daren't even ask this time around – not with the elections coming up next month."
"Bloody hypocrites!" interjected Beatrice. "Quite happy to ogle other people's daughters just as long as their own are kept under wraps. Well, I don't choose to show myself (as you know), but I'm not ashamed of what I've got, and if you ever got to see it, you'd know why! I just don't see why there aren't less salacious ways of making money!"
"There are, my dear," replied the Counselor, "but they all involve time, money and effort and we've always prided ourselves on making a modest capital outlay in relation to the money raised. As the dear Colonel said, people will always pay to look at bare female flesh – a sad reflection on our debased culture, but there we are. And if they'll pay to look at poor simple Dorothy, who has a face that would curdle milk, they'll pay even more to look at you two!"
The good lady finished her exhortation by reminding them that they both clearly delighted in using their good looks to secure male admiration as a way of gratifying their own vanity, so why not use those physical charms to help raise money for a worthy and noble cause?
"It's not as if anyone is going to lay hands on that lovely flesh – they’ll only be looking and thinking dirty thoughts and they think those thoughts about you two in any case."
The two girls continued to digest the good lady's pleas for some time as they lay, bikini-clad and slightly goose-fleshed in the still anemic sun and fresh vernal breeze. Julia was the first to talk. As she stretched herself and wiggled her bare toes together, her legs up in the air, she looked over at her cousin.
"It's only one day in the year, Beatrice, and it would be in a good cause, even if we never use the playing field ourselves. I vote we give it a go."
Beatrice groaned loudly.
"Just think about it Julia my love. Six hours on the town square without a stitch on us with all those repulsive Neanderthal peasants lusting after us and seeing everything we've got. It's so utterly gross, Julia darling! I can't even begin to think how you could go along with it. And what if the weather turns cold? It can in April, you know. We've had snow in April before now! Just our rotten luck if we did this year!"
Julia wriggled her feet again.
"Don't be such a killjoy, Bea. Just because you choose to keep yourself under wraps all the time like some Iranian concubine in purdah! It would do you a lot of good to let the villagers look at you for a change and why should I be the only one to gaze at that lovely slim heavenly body! You know we always do everything together. I'm going to agree and so must you unless you want to break my heart."
"I could never break your sweet gentle heart, Julia! You know that! Maybe it won't be too bad – after all it's only for a few hours and I'm sure it's going to be a lovely warm spring day."
Julia turned herself and lay on her back. She looked across at her cousin's slim and almost nude body – a sight so very few others ever got to see. She had never ceased to admire that body – so different from her own. Looking at the house and hoping they were not observed, she deftly undid Beatrice's bikini top and gently turned her not unwilling cousin to face upwards like herself. She bent over and kissed those small, adorable and perfectly formed breasts over and over again as so many times before.
"Come on Beatrice! Let's give those peasants a show they'll never forget!"
CHAPTER THREE
"We can't just pose around on a stage for the whole day, Julia," said Beatrice. "We won't make anything that way. We simply must think of something a bit more interesting than that. Some sort of sponsored challenge. What, though?"
"Get people to sponsor us for each minute we stay nude in the town square and then we go for a nude walk along the canal towpath for ten miles earning money for each mile we complete – like that creepy Jenkinson woman was saying. Sorry, my darling, but I can't come up with anything else. And quite frankly, I can't imagine anyone in his or her right mind shelling out good money for anything as boring as that!"
"Our bodies aren't boring, Beatrice! Those subhuman, drooling, clod-hopping peasants will love every minute of it! And as for poor old dim-witted Dorothy, she won't be anywhere!"
"I suppose she'll be doing her sad Spotted Lady routine again – poor girl! You weren't here last year, but I was and it was so pathetic, although they did all pay to go in and see her. We two can do better than that just by being there in all our glorious satin-smooth-skinned nudity and nobody's hiding OUR nice titties and pussies under daubs of black paint! We only have to stand around without moving a muscle and a hundred young and not-so-young peasant penises will rise to the occasion!”
“OK Julia, I agree! Let's do it! We'll think of other ways to increase the attraction as time goes by. Maybe the boys will think of something when we see them on Saturday – they’re quite inventive, especially Piers."
"Giles is quite bright as well, Beatrice, a bit slow to get going, but no fool. Yes, we'll discuss it with them."
Having come to this momentous decision, the two cousins, one dark and one fair, one slim and one well-stacked and curvaceous, got to their feet and moved away to a part of the grounds where no one in the Hall could see what they were doing. The closely observed sight of each others' near naked and shivering bodies had been driving them both wild for some time now. They had lovely things in mind one for each other! There we will leave them for the time being, but not for long.
Brigadier Charles Henry Raynsford, the owner of Fosse Hall, stood at his drawing-room window and watched his two young nieces as they lay in the early spring sunshine, bravely trying to get the year's first suntan, despite the freshening breeze that was so delightfully ruffling Julia's long golden locks and blowing Beatrice's equally lengthy brown hair into her face.
He would dearly have liked to make up some excuse for joining them, in order to see their goose flesh-covered bodies close-up. This rather unusual gentleman nursed a lifelong fascination with the prospect of the tender and half-nude bodies of lovely young maidens being exposed to the cruel cold of the English climate. With this consideration in mind, he’d made his fine open-air swimming pool available to a local round-the-year swimming club, in the vain hope that some of the members might one day turn out to be lissom young females with a liking for minuscule swimwear. Alas, so far, only a group of elderly men and equally elderly women had turned up, but he was ever the optimist and lived in hope from year to year. Maybe Julia and Beatrice might be persuaded to take an interest, if only they could be eased out of their haughty refusal to mix with the lower orders!
He gazed down at himself and sighed resignedly at the bulging evidence of his arousal. However much he might lust after these two lovely young people (and it was very considerably) he never forgot his duty to them as their guardian, which he had been since the sudden and simultaneous deaths of both the poor girls' parents seven years ago.
As he witnessed the couple starting to fondle each other, Julia having removed Beatrice's top, he sighed again. When they made off, arm in arm, for the cover of the copse, he turned away from the window and went over the conversation they had all recently had with Mrs Jenkinson. He was anxious to help out with local matters and very keen to recover the seat on the parish Council, that he had voluntarily vacated some years earlier. He was not convinced, however, that he would be discharging his responsibilities properly if he allowed his young relatives to exhibit their charms in the way that had been proposed.
One of Mrs Jenkinson's enthusiastic assurances still resonated in his brain.
"I'm sure the weather will be much warmer in a few weeks time, Brigadier. And in any case, it will be no hardship to two such healthy young girls to get a bit of all over fresh air for a few hours. And they'll pick up a bit of a tan as well – the sort that goes all over!"
What if it was NOT a warm day?!? This was the wonderful thought which immediately occurred to his kinky old mind. What if it was, in fact, a very cold day – even a very cold day indeed? The thought of those two luscious young lovelies shivering away for five hours and then having to walk along a breezy towpath for another three or four drove him to a frenzy whenever it came into his mind! And what about a swim in the Hall pool afterwards for them both, with spectators being charged five ponds a head to watch?
All the while he could be appealing to their sense of public duty and urging them to brace themselves to endure still more discomfort. As an organising official, he would have ample opportunity to see them close-up and maybe, as their relative and legal guardian, have the chance to lightly embrace them from time to time, feeling their icy cold skin under his hand.
The two girls, meanwhile, were sitting beneath a tree in the old copse and studying each others' quivering limbs as each vied to outdo the other in a contest of endurance. The cold gradually ate into them both, but still they stayed.
"Wish we had a watch to time this. I'm sure we've set ourselves a record of some kind," said Julia. "If it's a sunny day tomorrow, we mustn't forget to bring one!"
"I think we ought to come here anyway – sun or no sun," replied Beatrice. "We'll need to acclimatise ourselves for the Fete. We can have our nice endurance game and build up some kind of immunity to the cold at the same time. Now that you've talked me into it, I'm really looking forward to it!"
They both sat trying not to look as cold as they felt for some more minutes, before Julia was finally overcome by boredom.
"Come on, Bea! I've got a wonderful idea! Let's have a swim in our dear old Uncle's pool! It'll make the kinky old boy's day for him! Race you there and the first one out's a sissy!"
In their eagerness, both girls forgot that they had, some time ago, divested themselves of their, in any case exiguous, swimwear. They were quite naked as they ran towards the pool. Sadly for the Brigadier, he was not in a position to witness the first ever time that two freezing cold girls, rather than the usual cohort of chilled old portly men and flabby old women, got into his freezing cold pool. The good and gallant gentleman had some time earlier sunk into his customary afternoon doze!
CHAPTER FOUR
The Colonel and the Brigadier, fortified by a good lunch, were deep in conversation in the lounge of the Conservative Club discussing the ways in which the village's available female pulchritude might best be unveiled and exhibited both for the greater good of the community and also, and very importantly, their own perverse gratification.
They agreed that the amiable and willing Dorothy should be allowed to be displayed as the "Spotted Lady" once again and further that she should be asked if she would mind foregoing the shelter of a tent this time. (Last year she had had the comfort of an oil heater under the platform to keep the unseasonable cold at bay.)
The Brigadier was even more delighted at this suggestion, to which he gave his immediate agreement. Now there would be at least three delightfully shivering young females for him to fantasise about! Never mind if the third was not a great facial beauty, she had a very impressive body – strong, well made and capable of reducing the strongest village stud to a state of pleasurable exhaustion, as his friend, the Colonel, had good reason to know!
The discussion resumed.
"We can't just have them standing there as some kind of tableau vivant. Don't want the dear girls catching their death of cold and it would soon become boring," said the Colonel. "A kind of dance routine would be a good idea, at least for Beatrice – lovely sinuous body that girl! Maybe we could have a guy playing a flute or reed pipe or something – sort of snake charmer act with Beatrice as the deadly charmed serpent! That would take care of her. How would Julia fancy a bit of bondage – what would you say to that…chains and ropes…maybe staked out on the ground, spread-eagled?"
The angry scarlet flush that came over the Brigadier's face caused the Colonel to sigh inwardly and backtrack hastily. The two continued to cogitate for some time. Finally the Colonel spoke.
"It really is frightfully good of you to agree to this you know – I only wish my daughter Rosie could participate, but Bessie wouldn't hear of it, I'm afraid, and I'm in enough hot water with her as it is, damn it."
The Brigadier tried to hide his amusement at this reference to the Colonel's disgrace – a disgrace that would (so he hoped) allow him to replace the said Colonel at the next elections, due in May a week or two after the fete. As for the lovely Rosie appearing in a state of undress, well, that would be too much to hope for; he could see that. Bessie, the Colonel's lady, was famously strait-laced and nobody could understand why she had ever married such a serial and tireless philanderer in the first place – or why she had not divorced him long before.
"I saw a film many years ago, starring the late Elvis Presley, whom you may remember was a noted warbler and darling of the great unwashed of his day," said the Colonel. "It was called 'Roustabout' as I remember. In one scene, at a carnival, a young lady was placed on a platform above a tank of water and underneath the platform was some kind of lever mechanism whereby the platform was kept in place. A well aimed shot at this mechanism would cause the platform to collapse and send the young lady dropping into the tank of icy cold water."
The Brigadier's eyes gleamed at the thought of his nubile young relatives and any other of the village maidens soaked and shivering as they descended time and again into a tank of freezing cold water! Oh - bliss! Then he remembered the spirited nature of these very formidable young ladies, his nieces, and thought again. They would never submit to such an indignity and he would never dare suggest it to them. Perhaps one or more of the other village girls might be persuaded to take part. It was agreed to canvass opinion forthwith.
The two further agreed that Julia should be asked to put on some kind of gymnastic display. This would help to keep her warm if the weather took a turn for the worse on the big day and both men had seen lady gymnasts in the past and realised that this particular young lady's charms, as well as her skill, would be shown off to excellent effect. The regretful Brigadier declined to ask his niece to put on a display of unarmed combat and challenge all comers. He knew full well that the disdainful young girl would never in any circumstances submit to having her nude body touched by the local peasantry, even if she did thereby get the chance to humiliate them.
A few brandies and soda later and the retired military men had tired of the topic of the fete and descended into a series of reminiscences of campaigns and military glories of long ago. Before leaving, the Colonel assured the Brigadier that he would get his fellow Counsellors to co-opt him onto a special committee to finalise the arrangements for what both men hoped would be a memorable day.
Meanwhile, the two putative star turns were on their way to London and a meeting with their current beaux. On the phone the day before they had explained to the amused pair, the ordeal to which they had somewhat reluctantly submitted themselves and instructed them both to put on their thinking caps.
"Think of something good for us to do, you two, or you're both history as far as we're concerned," an implacable Julia had instructed the ever faithful and besotted Giles.
The two boys, Piers Willoughby-Vane-Fanshaw and the Hon. Giles Anstruther-Grey were desperately trying to cudgel their brains as the two girls sped towards them. They didn't want to lose these lovely young things so soon after first screwing them; and necessity is the mother of invention. Surely to Goodness, they would come up with something.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Darling Julia," Giles smoothed the hair back from his beloved's forehead and kissed it lightly, before drawing back and looking fondly at the vision beside him, at the sweet face and the long golden locks spread over the pillow. How he yearned to earn the right to look on this heavenly sight every morning for the rest of his life!
"Darling Giles," Julia alternately tightened and loosened her grip on Giles's penis, feeling it harden under her sweet and increasingly violent stimulation. He really was such a sweet boy, and very well-connected, the heir to an ancient Barony. Yes! He would do very nicely as a future mate!
After Giles's seed had safely been deposited, the conversation turned to the subject of the Fete, to his disquiet. He had only come up with one idea and was uncertain whether or not to raise it. Finally he plucked up enough courage.
"What about a knife-throwing act, Julia? They always use a beautiful young lady for that kind of thing and they don't come any more beautiful than you!"
"You must be mad, darling. Quite raving mad! I doubt there's anyone in that village could throw a knife with that kind of skill and I don't fancy becoming a human pincushion! I still love you, so don't think I'm about to drop you, darling, but that idea gets the thumbs down without a shadow of doubt."
Giles smiled tolerantly. "No, I don't suggest just any alcoholic village idiot with the shakes, my sweet. I love you too much for that! I know a guy who would turn up for an hour or so and he's an ace – literally never misses. Come and see for yourself later on before you go back to the Hall. All it would take would be strong nerves on your part as you'd have to stand absolutely still."
"We'll think about it, darling. There'll be a few jealous cows hoping he misses, or rather that he doesn't miss. And a few disappointed and resentful young men who wish me no particular good."
"You're too stuck-up, my love. That's your trouble. I know you come from out of the top drawer and all that, like me, but people don't like having their noses rubbed in it. They don't like the way you flaunt yourself with your nose in the air. You could find that pride comes before a rather nasty fall, if you aren't careful, and I'd hate to see that!"
"I know all that! I'll take my chances, Giles darling. I doubt if any of that bunch of dough-headed morons will ever get the drop on me! I can look after myself, as they would find out pretty soon! And what if I am proud? I've a hell of a lot to be proud about and most of those peasants have bugger all!"
Giles allowed this to pass. He was a few years older than Julia - a little wiser and more tolerant. He knew she would learn in time and just hoped it would not be too painful for her. He loved her more deeply every time he looked at her and every time he thought about her. The prospect of any kind of humiliation visiting her frightened him a great deal. He would do anything to protect her from that.
It was half-past six in the morning. A nude Julia and Beatrice, newly returned from London, had just finished swimming in their uncle's outdoor pool and were walking hand in hand down towards the wood where they intended to spend a couple of hours alone and naked together. This served two purposes. They always liked to be together in the altogether and they knew that a bit of continuing practice in sustained outdoor nudity before the fete would be no bad thing for them. The warm weather had continued for the week since they had agreed to take such a public and exposed role, but this was no guarantee that the big day would not be cold, wet and windy – it usually was.
Julia looked around and caught sight of light gleaming off the binoculars that the good Brigadier was keeping trained on them.
"Daft old pervert! The old goat's still got his eyes on us. I wonder what the attraction is at his age?" said Julia.
"You're never too old to be turned on by lovely girls especially when they're starkers like we are," replied the wise Beatrice. "Mind you, I can't help thinking there's more than the mere sight of our flesh that appeals to him. I think he gets a kick out of seeing us being cold – just like we get a kick out of being cold together! This particular fetish must run in the family!"
"He should try experiencing it himself like us, Bea. I wonder if we can't arrange it for him somehow, sometime. Could open up a whole new lease of life for him, and if he gets pneumonia and passes away..."
"We inherit the Hall jointly and live here happily ever after!"
Laughing merrily at this thought, the two girls broke into a run, after first waving back at their watching uncle who sadly put away his binoculars as they disappeared into the wood. Those two should have more male company at their age, he thought. Not healthy the way they seem so sensually engrossed with each other. Just not natural at all. Had he known of the energetic and wildly abandoned lovemaking both had just indulged in with Piers and Giles, he might have been reassured.
Meanwhile the two girls had positioned themselves in there favourite place against adjoining trees a few feet apart. They studied each other closely for a long time, looking for evidence that the other was succumbing faster to the early morning chill.
"Your nipples are really standing out, Julia. I bet they're as hard as rocks by now!"
"Like to come and have a feel, Beatrice?"
Within a split second of this invitation, the two were locked in each other's arms and soon subsided onto the mossy ground, lost in bliss. Half an hour later, they reluctantly disengaged and, arm in arm, they made their affectionate way back to the Hall for the first meal of the day. On the way they talked of the forthcoming fete, now little more than a fortnight away.
"That disgusting Colonel wanted to have me in a cage, chained and handcuffed or something. He's even grosser than Uncle. My God, but what a load of freaks there are in this one small village! It is a problem, though. You will be doing your dance routine, dopey old Dorothy will be covered in spots again and some of the village swimsuit beauties will be being dropped into a tank of cold water, but I'll just be standing around like a spare prick at a wedding half the time! There's a limit to my gymnastics and that knife-throwing."
Beatrice nodded. "About that tank act, Julia, I heard Uncle discussing it on the phone. He's going to arrange for blocks of ice to be dropped in the water from time to time to keep it nice and cold all day! Can't you take over for an hour or so – you could give the village girls time to warm up a bit – poor cows! They'll be half dead if they don't get a break."
"As if you care about those peasants any more than I do!" laughed Julia. "All you want is for me to have a nice cold plunge and why ever not? We'll suggest it to Uncle – can’t see him disagreeing!"
Over breakfast, this suggestion was put to the brigadier, who assured the girls that it would almost certainly be agreeable. He further explained that it had been agreed that both girls would be required to walk ten miles along the canal towpath to Lower Bridgwell Lock when they had completed their five hours at the fete.
They would be given transport back to the Hall as well as clothes to wear when they reached the lock and so far fifty people had pledged to give five pounds each to the playing field changing room fund if they completed all their engagements for the day. In addition, of course, would be the money taken at the fete by those wishing to stand near enough to get a close-up view of them as they bared their all to the crowds. Julia was still worried.
She might have by far the more voluptuous figure of the two – her breasts and bottom were a dream, to say nothing of her rounded feminine belly and thick pubic bush – but she would soon lose her appeal if she just stood around doing nothing. She refused to contemplate doing the kind of things she had seen a pub stripper doing some months ago. She was NOT going to open her legs and fondle her pussy in full view of the town's youth or shave herself the better to reveal her female mysteries to their leering gaze!
The gymnastics and knife throwing would only take up a fraction of the time and the hour or so taking over at the water tank another fraction. There were still vast stretches of the day unfilled. She opted for the rather unsatisfactory Micawber solution for the time being. If she had known in advance the hugely popular solution that was to present itself on the day, she would most certainly have arranged to be elsewhere – anywhere other than the town square!
CHAPTER SIX
Professors Arnold Potts-Johnson, Joachim von Hatzendorff and Hiram P Hackenbacker from England, Austria and the United States respectively, were nearing the end of their allotted task of drawing up the agenda for the forthcoming Anthropological Congress to be held in a couple of weeks time at University College, London. Most of the work was complete and it only remained to arrange the field trip. Part of the purpose of the forthcoming Congress was to study vestigial ancient customs in the developed world, England in particular, since this was the country favoured with the task of hosting this year's event.
Professor Hackenbacker spoke in his rich baritone voice. "I hear that there is an ancient fair held each year in a place called Little Sprodwell. This is a festivity which has roots going far back into the pagan and pre Celtic past of this country where each year is re-enacted an ancient pagan sacrifice of a young maiden as an appeasement of the fertility gods."
"Bollocks!" said Professor Potts-Johnson in his reedy and querulous tones. "And the full name of that one-horse arse hole of the universe is Little Sprodwell under Fosse – God help us all!"
"I beg your pardon, Professor, but I have this on the very best authority. The trouble with you locals is you can't see the wood for the trees. You are blind to the treasures to be found in your own back yard."
"Bollocks, if you will permit the repetition, Professor! This particular shindig is as phoney and ersatz as it comes. Believe me, I know! The presiding genius is a relative of mine – the black sheep of the family and a total charlatan to boot! But, what the Hell, it'll be a nice day out and a goodly display of female flesh can be practically guaranteed if I know anything of the Colonel, the old lecher!"
Professors Johnson and Hackenbacker looked at their silent Teutonic colleague. This learned and weary Viennese gentleman shrugged his acquiescence – the first indication on his part for some time that he was actually awake. A visit to the Fete by a coach load of learned anthropologists from the four corners of the globe was duly pencilled in. The three then happily adjourned to the Lamb public house in Lamb's Conduit Street, Holborn.
Mr. Harry Fenton-Jones, travel agent, entrepreneur and sometime jailbird was finalising the arrangements for a party of visitors from various parts of the New World. He had five Australians, three new Zealanders, four Canadians and twenty Americans to take care of for a week as they visited the land of their ancestors and breathed in the atmosphere of Olde Englande – or so they fondly believed. The usual weary round of visits to the Tower of London and Shakespeare's Birthplace and all that old hat had been arranged, but there was still the Saturday to take care of. Once again, he read the letter from his Aunt Jenkinson in Little Sprodwell.
He spoke to his associate, a Mr. Lemmy Goldberg. "Auntie says they have arranged some kind of re-enactment of a virgin sacrifice this year. Just an excuse to bare a bit of flesh of course. Apparently it won't be quite as proposed, alas! They were going to tie this absolutely gorgeous and bare-arsed naked honey – a really exceptionally lovely chick, by all accounts, down to a kind of pagan altar with her legs spread out so all could get a good look at her merchandise, but the lady refused point blank in extremely emphatic and even more extremely unladylike terms. They've still got something pretty good lined up for her, though, even if she doesn't actually know it yet, poor bitch! This promises to be even more of a sleaze-fest than usual."
"Whatever you say, my boy," replied his genial associate.
"Well, I vote we put this on the itinerary again. Hell's Bells! They've successfully sold it to a party of so-called learned anthropologists as being the real McCoy! We should have no trouble fooling a bunch of dumb colonials and their equally dumb blue-rinsed ladies, especially if we get them well tanked up beforehand on whatever ice-cold fizzy poison they consume in their part of the world! I really think I've found my vocation at last as a shameless fraudster – God, but it feels so good!"
Professor the Reverend Canon Felix Algernon Hurst-Pierpoint-Majors, the Dean and Principal, was going over with Jimmy Fraser, Captain of the College First Fifteen, and the arrangements for the Harington Theological College's away game with the Jeremiah Bible College at Twickenham a week on Saturday.
"This little village here looks a good place for you all to stop off for a bit of refreshment on the way back, my boy. I know it so well. Plenty of good old hostelries. Somewhere to celebrate thumping the shit out of that nest of beastly Nonconformists – pardon my language dear boy! And I believe they have some kind of fair taking place on that day, a new thing since my time but it should be great fun. It will be a chance for you all to let your hair down."
"Yes, Sir! It looks just about the ideal place to break the journey. I just hope we're not too knocked about to take advantage of the local hospitality. Pity you can't come with us, Sir!"
"I agree my boy. I'd love to visit the old place again. My first Parish, you know. A heavenly and blessed spot. I wonder how those lovely little cherubs are, the ones I christened in my first week there – dear little Julia and Beatrice. Cousins and orphans now, sad to say. Oh, yes! I'd dearly love to go there once more!"
by Harry
CHAPTER ONE
The Parish Counselors of Little Sprodwell-under-Fosse were having what they all gloomily suspected to be one of their last ever meetings as a corporate body. All of the members had good reason to be convinced that their days of elected office were numbered. The previous year had not been a good one for any of them. They had all been overwhelmed by various kinds of shame and threatened scandal.
Counselor Colonel The Honourable Foxe-Benson-Fortescue had not done his already dubious reputation a great deal of good by being discovered naked and indulging in intercourse with his wife's buxom and educationally subnormal niece.
Counselor Evans-Foster was deeply troubled and fearful as a result of an affair of the heart with a psychopathic and vengeful ex-soldier who was now threatening to reveal all – with a wealth of documentary and photographic evidence, not only to the Counselor's wife but to a very much wider public.
Counselor Mrs. Jenkinson, the only female on the Parish Council, was in daily fear that compromising photographs depicting her in the course of performing unnatural acts with an Irish Wolfhound were about to be distributed among the townsfolk.
The other two Counselors were also aware that their own behaviour, whilst by no means as luridly disgraceful as that of the above three, had, nevertheless, failed to live up to the high standards demanded by the electorate – an electorate whose members themselves consistently and resolutely declined to uphold such standards themselves.
They were meeting to discuss the arrangements for the forthcoming annual village Spring Fete.
This was an occasion that had become widely famous in recent years. Owing to judicious and highly unscrupulous marketing, it had been presented to the world as a relic of a bygone era – a link to the Merrie Englande of old, instead of the carefully devised piece of increasingly vulgar and tawdry show biz that, in reality, it was.
All members of the parish Council were determined to end their days of office on an appropriately high and sleazy note. If only they could exceed the total takings of last year's event – who knows – they might even have a sporting chance of reelection!
"The ‘Spotted Lady’ tent went down very well last year," said the Colonel. "I thought it a bit feeble, personally, but it's amazing what a bit of exposed female flesh will do to bring in the money."
The event to which the good and gallant Colonel was referring was a tent inside which was a platform, on which had reposed the homely, cheerfully smiling and buxom form of Dorothy Parrish, her ample young body covered with spots of black paint, which tended partially to conceal much of her strategic areas from view. Dorothy was a non-too-clever and sad to say, a not-too-pretty lady, whose good natured willingness to allow all and sundry to experience the delights of her body more than made up for the said body's imperfections. In any case, Dorothy was young and to the old and middle-aged, youth has its own beauty, particularly when freely available for a modest fee or in her case no fee at all.
"Maybe we could dispense with the tent this time round and have the display open for all to see. It would mean any passing tourist coaches might stop and take a closer look!"
This suggestion from the animal-loving Mrs. Jenkinson drew some approval, but the Colonel was not convinced.
"If people don't have to queue to get into the tent, they will see all of Dorothy for nothing – not that they can't anyway, whenever they like! No. Not a good idea, I'm afraid. You know what the townsfolk are like. As tightfisted a bunch of skinflints as you're ever likely to have the misfortune to meet."
"We could always cordon off the town square so that nobody could get near the platform without paying an entrance fee and we needn't have another ‘Spotted Lady’, but something more imaginative and daring, involving more than one lady. The Raynsford cousins are staying at the Hall – I dare say they could be persuaded to help in a good cause," replied Mrs. Jenkinson.
At the mention of these two young ladies, the Colonel fell silent for a while. These were among the two most desirable young sirens he had seen at any time in the course of a long and sexually active life, a life that had taken him from the North West Frontier to the steaming jungles of Equatorial Africa, the Far East and many other exotic locations where many a sultry and dusky damsel had enlivened his leisure hours.
Julia Raynsford was a delight to watch as she walked through the little town, her firm and voluptuous breasts seeming to defy gravity as she strode around, her braless condition delightfully obvious to all. The gyrations of her generous and mellifluous young bottom as she went about her daily business had rightly been described by the Reverend Mr. Scott-Talbot, the town's worldly-wise Rector, as "Poetry in Motion."
Mr. Gregg, the local butcher had reacted in a less high flown manner by describing her walk as, "a Fucking Fifteen-Jewel Movement." He had further ventured to express the notion that there was no limit to the sum he would be prepared to pay in order to enjoy what he described as, "One lovely fucking night with that gorgeous little prick-teaser."
In a word, Julia Raynsford was head-turningly lovely, as old Josiah Hemlock had discovered to his cost on a famous occasion. Josiah had been emerging from the hairdresser's one Saturday morning preparing to make his arthritic way to the Kings Arms for his lunchtime drink, when he espied the fair Julia's splendid young bottom, attired as ever in close fitting Lycra shorts (it was high summer at the time, but this splendid young lady was always reluctant to cover too much of herself even when the weather was far from clement) and his head swiveled involuntarily around, the better to observe her progress as that splendid posterior wiggled its sinuously lovely way along the High Street.
Sadly for Josiah, his arthritic neck let him down at that point and his head remained obstinately stuck in the turned position for long afterwards. It was weeks before he was able to look straight ahead without having to engage his old frame in the most uncomfortable contortions, much to the amusement of the town's ribald and unsympathetic youth. Despite all this, old Josiah remained one of Julia's devoted admirers, one of a long list.
The other cousin was Beatrice Patterson. Why the two were always referred to as the Raynsford Cousins was something no one had ever satisfactorily explained. Where her fair-haired cousin was pneumatic and blonde, Beatrice was dark, tall and slender. Where Julia exuded crude sexuality, Beatrice was ethereally and distantly beautiful, seeming to glide along rather than walk. Where Julia was always scrupulously careful to wear the most scanty and figure-hugging clothes, Beatrice affected long, and loose fitting attire, with skirts that swept along the ground as she walked. It was even rumored at one time that she didn’t actually have legs, but moved around on castors.
However ethereal her appearance, though, there was nothing else otherworldly about Beatrice! Her appetites were as determinedly materialistic and devoted to the single-minded pursuit of carnal pleasure as were her cousin's. Where the one used her physical charm to knock men sideways with a full frontal assault, the other was more subtle but every bit as devastating. Both girls exulted in the effect that they had on the men of the village although they were united in their contemptuous dismissal of these men as a bunch of rural yokels. They wanted admiration, but only from a safe distance. When it came to satisfying their healthy and voracious young carnal appetites, it was the bodies of a succession of well-connected and well-born young men from London, rather than the simple villagers, who gave them physical satisfaction.
The Colonel returned from his mental contemplation of these two lovelies and took command of the situation again in his brusque and efficient manner.
"Lovely girls both, but a bit standoffish. I can't honestly see them making an exhibition of themselves to please our local yobbish tendency. Pity, though - they're two gorgeous young ladies – they’d strip really well, especially Julia!"
"Maybe we could appeal to their sense of social responsibility," said Mrs. Jenkinson, "tell them how big a contribution a successful fete would make to the new changing rooms"
This was a reference to the projected development at the local playing field. The existing facilities were primitive, with only cold showers and primitive toilet facilities. In the winter a cold wind whistled through the wooden and all-too-well-ventilated structure.
Those of a ruggedly Spartan disposition were well satisfied with this state of affairs and scorned any idea making the place more comfortable, but such hardy souls were an increasing minority nowadays. And they could always use an outside cold shower, as those advocating the improvements assured them.
"Why should those two care about a facility they are never going to use," sighed Mr. Evans-Foster. "When they stay up at the Hall they have that superb gymnasium, the tennis courts and two swimming pools. I can't say I blame them, though. Some of the village girls would love to have the chance of sorting them out on the playing field and making them look a bit less pretty for a while."
"Those two could take pretty good care of themselves. They aren't scared of anybody and they don't need to be," said Mrs. Jenkinson.< "Anyone who took either of them on would pretty soon be sorry. They're both into various martial arts and young Julia is a wonderful boxer, believe it or not, for such a sweet-faced kid. They were both tomboys as little girls and there's still a bit of it in them now. No – it’s just social snobbery keeps them from joining in local events, but I think I might have a chance of talking them into doing something for us. I know for a fact that their cousin, the Brigadier thinks they need to come out of their shell and they would do anything to please him. I'll go up to the Hall and have a word with them all."
CHAPTER TWO
Julia and Beatrice were lying side by side in the Spring sunshine on the Hall's extensive lawn, whence they had just taken themselves. Each lay with her chin propped up by her cupped hand and each was in a reflective mood. Mrs. Jenkinson had just left the Hall after a long and persuasive sales pitch in which that good lady had extolled the virtues of the new mooted communal facilities and the duties of those who are more fortunate in life's lottery towards those upon whom Lady Luck had smiled less kindly.
"A little bit of harmless fun," was how this good lady had described the forthcoming fete and carnival. The pair had heard about last year's "harmless fun" and were none too keen to be bracketed with the equine-faced and unintelligent Dorothy as a source of amusement to the village's drunken and lascivious youth.
"Aren't there any other local girls who would bare a bit of flesh?" Julia had asked at one point in the conversation. "There must surely be a few presentable girls, even amongst that lot of inbred turnip-headed grotesques."
Mrs. Jenkinson was only partly able to conceal her amusement at this unkind, if broadly accurate description of so many of the townsfolk.
"Yes, my dear, there are several quite acceptable girls, but their fathers raised objections last year and would surely do so again. In fact we daren't even ask this time around – not with the elections coming up next month."
"Bloody hypocrites!" interjected Beatrice. "Quite happy to ogle other people's daughters just as long as their own are kept under wraps. Well, I don't choose to show myself (as you know), but I'm not ashamed of what I've got, and if you ever got to see it, you'd know why! I just don't see why there aren't less salacious ways of making money!"
"There are, my dear," replied the Counselor, "but they all involve time, money and effort and we've always prided ourselves on making a modest capital outlay in relation to the money raised. As the dear Colonel said, people will always pay to look at bare female flesh – a sad reflection on our debased culture, but there we are. And if they'll pay to look at poor simple Dorothy, who has a face that would curdle milk, they'll pay even more to look at you two!"
The good lady finished her exhortation by reminding them that they both clearly delighted in using their good looks to secure male admiration as a way of gratifying their own vanity, so why not use those physical charms to help raise money for a worthy and noble cause?
"It's not as if anyone is going to lay hands on that lovely flesh – they’ll only be looking and thinking dirty thoughts and they think those thoughts about you two in any case."
The two girls continued to digest the good lady's pleas for some time as they lay, bikini-clad and slightly goose-fleshed in the still anemic sun and fresh vernal breeze. Julia was the first to talk. As she stretched herself and wiggled her bare toes together, her legs up in the air, she looked over at her cousin.
"It's only one day in the year, Beatrice, and it would be in a good cause, even if we never use the playing field ourselves. I vote we give it a go."
Beatrice groaned loudly.
"Just think about it Julia my love. Six hours on the town square without a stitch on us with all those repulsive Neanderthal peasants lusting after us and seeing everything we've got. It's so utterly gross, Julia darling! I can't even begin to think how you could go along with it. And what if the weather turns cold? It can in April, you know. We've had snow in April before now! Just our rotten luck if we did this year!"
Julia wriggled her feet again.
"Don't be such a killjoy, Bea. Just because you choose to keep yourself under wraps all the time like some Iranian concubine in purdah! It would do you a lot of good to let the villagers look at you for a change and why should I be the only one to gaze at that lovely slim heavenly body! You know we always do everything together. I'm going to agree and so must you unless you want to break my heart."
"I could never break your sweet gentle heart, Julia! You know that! Maybe it won't be too bad – after all it's only for a few hours and I'm sure it's going to be a lovely warm spring day."
Julia turned herself and lay on her back. She looked across at her cousin's slim and almost nude body – a sight so very few others ever got to see. She had never ceased to admire that body – so different from her own. Looking at the house and hoping they were not observed, she deftly undid Beatrice's bikini top and gently turned her not unwilling cousin to face upwards like herself. She bent over and kissed those small, adorable and perfectly formed breasts over and over again as so many times before.
"Come on Beatrice! Let's give those peasants a show they'll never forget!"
CHAPTER THREE
"We can't just pose around on a stage for the whole day, Julia," said Beatrice. "We won't make anything that way. We simply must think of something a bit more interesting than that. Some sort of sponsored challenge. What, though?"
"Get people to sponsor us for each minute we stay nude in the town square and then we go for a nude walk along the canal towpath for ten miles earning money for each mile we complete – like that creepy Jenkinson woman was saying. Sorry, my darling, but I can't come up with anything else. And quite frankly, I can't imagine anyone in his or her right mind shelling out good money for anything as boring as that!"
"Our bodies aren't boring, Beatrice! Those subhuman, drooling, clod-hopping peasants will love every minute of it! And as for poor old dim-witted Dorothy, she won't be anywhere!"
"I suppose she'll be doing her sad Spotted Lady routine again – poor girl! You weren't here last year, but I was and it was so pathetic, although they did all pay to go in and see her. We two can do better than that just by being there in all our glorious satin-smooth-skinned nudity and nobody's hiding OUR nice titties and pussies under daubs of black paint! We only have to stand around without moving a muscle and a hundred young and not-so-young peasant penises will rise to the occasion!”
“OK Julia, I agree! Let's do it! We'll think of other ways to increase the attraction as time goes by. Maybe the boys will think of something when we see them on Saturday – they’re quite inventive, especially Piers."
"Giles is quite bright as well, Beatrice, a bit slow to get going, but no fool. Yes, we'll discuss it with them."
Having come to this momentous decision, the two cousins, one dark and one fair, one slim and one well-stacked and curvaceous, got to their feet and moved away to a part of the grounds where no one in the Hall could see what they were doing. The closely observed sight of each others' near naked and shivering bodies had been driving them both wild for some time now. They had lovely things in mind one for each other! There we will leave them for the time being, but not for long.
Brigadier Charles Henry Raynsford, the owner of Fosse Hall, stood at his drawing-room window and watched his two young nieces as they lay in the early spring sunshine, bravely trying to get the year's first suntan, despite the freshening breeze that was so delightfully ruffling Julia's long golden locks and blowing Beatrice's equally lengthy brown hair into her face.
He would dearly have liked to make up some excuse for joining them, in order to see their goose flesh-covered bodies close-up. This rather unusual gentleman nursed a lifelong fascination with the prospect of the tender and half-nude bodies of lovely young maidens being exposed to the cruel cold of the English climate. With this consideration in mind, he’d made his fine open-air swimming pool available to a local round-the-year swimming club, in the vain hope that some of the members might one day turn out to be lissom young females with a liking for minuscule swimwear. Alas, so far, only a group of elderly men and equally elderly women had turned up, but he was ever the optimist and lived in hope from year to year. Maybe Julia and Beatrice might be persuaded to take an interest, if only they could be eased out of their haughty refusal to mix with the lower orders!
He gazed down at himself and sighed resignedly at the bulging evidence of his arousal. However much he might lust after these two lovely young people (and it was very considerably) he never forgot his duty to them as their guardian, which he had been since the sudden and simultaneous deaths of both the poor girls' parents seven years ago.
As he witnessed the couple starting to fondle each other, Julia having removed Beatrice's top, he sighed again. When they made off, arm in arm, for the cover of the copse, he turned away from the window and went over the conversation they had all recently had with Mrs Jenkinson. He was anxious to help out with local matters and very keen to recover the seat on the parish Council, that he had voluntarily vacated some years earlier. He was not convinced, however, that he would be discharging his responsibilities properly if he allowed his young relatives to exhibit their charms in the way that had been proposed.
One of Mrs Jenkinson's enthusiastic assurances still resonated in his brain.
"I'm sure the weather will be much warmer in a few weeks time, Brigadier. And in any case, it will be no hardship to two such healthy young girls to get a bit of all over fresh air for a few hours. And they'll pick up a bit of a tan as well – the sort that goes all over!"
What if it was NOT a warm day?!? This was the wonderful thought which immediately occurred to his kinky old mind. What if it was, in fact, a very cold day – even a very cold day indeed? The thought of those two luscious young lovelies shivering away for five hours and then having to walk along a breezy towpath for another three or four drove him to a frenzy whenever it came into his mind! And what about a swim in the Hall pool afterwards for them both, with spectators being charged five ponds a head to watch?
All the while he could be appealing to their sense of public duty and urging them to brace themselves to endure still more discomfort. As an organising official, he would have ample opportunity to see them close-up and maybe, as their relative and legal guardian, have the chance to lightly embrace them from time to time, feeling their icy cold skin under his hand.
The two girls, meanwhile, were sitting beneath a tree in the old copse and studying each others' quivering limbs as each vied to outdo the other in a contest of endurance. The cold gradually ate into them both, but still they stayed.
"Wish we had a watch to time this. I'm sure we've set ourselves a record of some kind," said Julia. "If it's a sunny day tomorrow, we mustn't forget to bring one!"
"I think we ought to come here anyway – sun or no sun," replied Beatrice. "We'll need to acclimatise ourselves for the Fete. We can have our nice endurance game and build up some kind of immunity to the cold at the same time. Now that you've talked me into it, I'm really looking forward to it!"
They both sat trying not to look as cold as they felt for some more minutes, before Julia was finally overcome by boredom.
"Come on, Bea! I've got a wonderful idea! Let's have a swim in our dear old Uncle's pool! It'll make the kinky old boy's day for him! Race you there and the first one out's a sissy!"
In their eagerness, both girls forgot that they had, some time ago, divested themselves of their, in any case exiguous, swimwear. They were quite naked as they ran towards the pool. Sadly for the Brigadier, he was not in a position to witness the first ever time that two freezing cold girls, rather than the usual cohort of chilled old portly men and flabby old women, got into his freezing cold pool. The good and gallant gentleman had some time earlier sunk into his customary afternoon doze!
CHAPTER FOUR
The Colonel and the Brigadier, fortified by a good lunch, were deep in conversation in the lounge of the Conservative Club discussing the ways in which the village's available female pulchritude might best be unveiled and exhibited both for the greater good of the community and also, and very importantly, their own perverse gratification.
They agreed that the amiable and willing Dorothy should be allowed to be displayed as the "Spotted Lady" once again and further that she should be asked if she would mind foregoing the shelter of a tent this time. (Last year she had had the comfort of an oil heater under the platform to keep the unseasonable cold at bay.)
The Brigadier was even more delighted at this suggestion, to which he gave his immediate agreement. Now there would be at least three delightfully shivering young females for him to fantasise about! Never mind if the third was not a great facial beauty, she had a very impressive body – strong, well made and capable of reducing the strongest village stud to a state of pleasurable exhaustion, as his friend, the Colonel, had good reason to know!
The discussion resumed.
"We can't just have them standing there as some kind of tableau vivant. Don't want the dear girls catching their death of cold and it would soon become boring," said the Colonel. "A kind of dance routine would be a good idea, at least for Beatrice – lovely sinuous body that girl! Maybe we could have a guy playing a flute or reed pipe or something – sort of snake charmer act with Beatrice as the deadly charmed serpent! That would take care of her. How would Julia fancy a bit of bondage – what would you say to that…chains and ropes…maybe staked out on the ground, spread-eagled?"
The angry scarlet flush that came over the Brigadier's face caused the Colonel to sigh inwardly and backtrack hastily. The two continued to cogitate for some time. Finally the Colonel spoke.
"It really is frightfully good of you to agree to this you know – I only wish my daughter Rosie could participate, but Bessie wouldn't hear of it, I'm afraid, and I'm in enough hot water with her as it is, damn it."
The Brigadier tried to hide his amusement at this reference to the Colonel's disgrace – a disgrace that would (so he hoped) allow him to replace the said Colonel at the next elections, due in May a week or two after the fete. As for the lovely Rosie appearing in a state of undress, well, that would be too much to hope for; he could see that. Bessie, the Colonel's lady, was famously strait-laced and nobody could understand why she had ever married such a serial and tireless philanderer in the first place – or why she had not divorced him long before.
"I saw a film many years ago, starring the late Elvis Presley, whom you may remember was a noted warbler and darling of the great unwashed of his day," said the Colonel. "It was called 'Roustabout' as I remember. In one scene, at a carnival, a young lady was placed on a platform above a tank of water and underneath the platform was some kind of lever mechanism whereby the platform was kept in place. A well aimed shot at this mechanism would cause the platform to collapse and send the young lady dropping into the tank of icy cold water."
The Brigadier's eyes gleamed at the thought of his nubile young relatives and any other of the village maidens soaked and shivering as they descended time and again into a tank of freezing cold water! Oh - bliss! Then he remembered the spirited nature of these very formidable young ladies, his nieces, and thought again. They would never submit to such an indignity and he would never dare suggest it to them. Perhaps one or more of the other village girls might be persuaded to take part. It was agreed to canvass opinion forthwith.
The two further agreed that Julia should be asked to put on some kind of gymnastic display. This would help to keep her warm if the weather took a turn for the worse on the big day and both men had seen lady gymnasts in the past and realised that this particular young lady's charms, as well as her skill, would be shown off to excellent effect. The regretful Brigadier declined to ask his niece to put on a display of unarmed combat and challenge all comers. He knew full well that the disdainful young girl would never in any circumstances submit to having her nude body touched by the local peasantry, even if she did thereby get the chance to humiliate them.
A few brandies and soda later and the retired military men had tired of the topic of the fete and descended into a series of reminiscences of campaigns and military glories of long ago. Before leaving, the Colonel assured the Brigadier that he would get his fellow Counsellors to co-opt him onto a special committee to finalise the arrangements for what both men hoped would be a memorable day.
Meanwhile, the two putative star turns were on their way to London and a meeting with their current beaux. On the phone the day before they had explained to the amused pair, the ordeal to which they had somewhat reluctantly submitted themselves and instructed them both to put on their thinking caps.
"Think of something good for us to do, you two, or you're both history as far as we're concerned," an implacable Julia had instructed the ever faithful and besotted Giles.
The two boys, Piers Willoughby-Vane-Fanshaw and the Hon. Giles Anstruther-Grey were desperately trying to cudgel their brains as the two girls sped towards them. They didn't want to lose these lovely young things so soon after first screwing them; and necessity is the mother of invention. Surely to Goodness, they would come up with something.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Darling Julia," Giles smoothed the hair back from his beloved's forehead and kissed it lightly, before drawing back and looking fondly at the vision beside him, at the sweet face and the long golden locks spread over the pillow. How he yearned to earn the right to look on this heavenly sight every morning for the rest of his life!
"Darling Giles," Julia alternately tightened and loosened her grip on Giles's penis, feeling it harden under her sweet and increasingly violent stimulation. He really was such a sweet boy, and very well-connected, the heir to an ancient Barony. Yes! He would do very nicely as a future mate!
After Giles's seed had safely been deposited, the conversation turned to the subject of the Fete, to his disquiet. He had only come up with one idea and was uncertain whether or not to raise it. Finally he plucked up enough courage.
"What about a knife-throwing act, Julia? They always use a beautiful young lady for that kind of thing and they don't come any more beautiful than you!"
"You must be mad, darling. Quite raving mad! I doubt there's anyone in that village could throw a knife with that kind of skill and I don't fancy becoming a human pincushion! I still love you, so don't think I'm about to drop you, darling, but that idea gets the thumbs down without a shadow of doubt."
Giles smiled tolerantly. "No, I don't suggest just any alcoholic village idiot with the shakes, my sweet. I love you too much for that! I know a guy who would turn up for an hour or so and he's an ace – literally never misses. Come and see for yourself later on before you go back to the Hall. All it would take would be strong nerves on your part as you'd have to stand absolutely still."
"We'll think about it, darling. There'll be a few jealous cows hoping he misses, or rather that he doesn't miss. And a few disappointed and resentful young men who wish me no particular good."
"You're too stuck-up, my love. That's your trouble. I know you come from out of the top drawer and all that, like me, but people don't like having their noses rubbed in it. They don't like the way you flaunt yourself with your nose in the air. You could find that pride comes before a rather nasty fall, if you aren't careful, and I'd hate to see that!"
"I know all that! I'll take my chances, Giles darling. I doubt if any of that bunch of dough-headed morons will ever get the drop on me! I can look after myself, as they would find out pretty soon! And what if I am proud? I've a hell of a lot to be proud about and most of those peasants have bugger all!"
Giles allowed this to pass. He was a few years older than Julia - a little wiser and more tolerant. He knew she would learn in time and just hoped it would not be too painful for her. He loved her more deeply every time he looked at her and every time he thought about her. The prospect of any kind of humiliation visiting her frightened him a great deal. He would do anything to protect her from that.
It was half-past six in the morning. A nude Julia and Beatrice, newly returned from London, had just finished swimming in their uncle's outdoor pool and were walking hand in hand down towards the wood where they intended to spend a couple of hours alone and naked together. This served two purposes. They always liked to be together in the altogether and they knew that a bit of continuing practice in sustained outdoor nudity before the fete would be no bad thing for them. The warm weather had continued for the week since they had agreed to take such a public and exposed role, but this was no guarantee that the big day would not be cold, wet and windy – it usually was.
Julia looked around and caught sight of light gleaming off the binoculars that the good Brigadier was keeping trained on them.
"Daft old pervert! The old goat's still got his eyes on us. I wonder what the attraction is at his age?" said Julia.
"You're never too old to be turned on by lovely girls especially when they're starkers like we are," replied the wise Beatrice. "Mind you, I can't help thinking there's more than the mere sight of our flesh that appeals to him. I think he gets a kick out of seeing us being cold – just like we get a kick out of being cold together! This particular fetish must run in the family!"
"He should try experiencing it himself like us, Bea. I wonder if we can't arrange it for him somehow, sometime. Could open up a whole new lease of life for him, and if he gets pneumonia and passes away..."
"We inherit the Hall jointly and live here happily ever after!"
Laughing merrily at this thought, the two girls broke into a run, after first waving back at their watching uncle who sadly put away his binoculars as they disappeared into the wood. Those two should have more male company at their age, he thought. Not healthy the way they seem so sensually engrossed with each other. Just not natural at all. Had he known of the energetic and wildly abandoned lovemaking both had just indulged in with Piers and Giles, he might have been reassured.
Meanwhile the two girls had positioned themselves in there favourite place against adjoining trees a few feet apart. They studied each other closely for a long time, looking for evidence that the other was succumbing faster to the early morning chill.
"Your nipples are really standing out, Julia. I bet they're as hard as rocks by now!"
"Like to come and have a feel, Beatrice?"
Within a split second of this invitation, the two were locked in each other's arms and soon subsided onto the mossy ground, lost in bliss. Half an hour later, they reluctantly disengaged and, arm in arm, they made their affectionate way back to the Hall for the first meal of the day. On the way they talked of the forthcoming fete, now little more than a fortnight away.
"That disgusting Colonel wanted to have me in a cage, chained and handcuffed or something. He's even grosser than Uncle. My God, but what a load of freaks there are in this one small village! It is a problem, though. You will be doing your dance routine, dopey old Dorothy will be covered in spots again and some of the village swimsuit beauties will be being dropped into a tank of cold water, but I'll just be standing around like a spare prick at a wedding half the time! There's a limit to my gymnastics and that knife-throwing."
Beatrice nodded. "About that tank act, Julia, I heard Uncle discussing it on the phone. He's going to arrange for blocks of ice to be dropped in the water from time to time to keep it nice and cold all day! Can't you take over for an hour or so – you could give the village girls time to warm up a bit – poor cows! They'll be half dead if they don't get a break."
"As if you care about those peasants any more than I do!" laughed Julia. "All you want is for me to have a nice cold plunge and why ever not? We'll suggest it to Uncle – can’t see him disagreeing!"
Over breakfast, this suggestion was put to the brigadier, who assured the girls that it would almost certainly be agreeable. He further explained that it had been agreed that both girls would be required to walk ten miles along the canal towpath to Lower Bridgwell Lock when they had completed their five hours at the fete.
They would be given transport back to the Hall as well as clothes to wear when they reached the lock and so far fifty people had pledged to give five pounds each to the playing field changing room fund if they completed all their engagements for the day. In addition, of course, would be the money taken at the fete by those wishing to stand near enough to get a close-up view of them as they bared their all to the crowds. Julia was still worried.
She might have by far the more voluptuous figure of the two – her breasts and bottom were a dream, to say nothing of her rounded feminine belly and thick pubic bush – but she would soon lose her appeal if she just stood around doing nothing. She refused to contemplate doing the kind of things she had seen a pub stripper doing some months ago. She was NOT going to open her legs and fondle her pussy in full view of the town's youth or shave herself the better to reveal her female mysteries to their leering gaze!
The gymnastics and knife throwing would only take up a fraction of the time and the hour or so taking over at the water tank another fraction. There were still vast stretches of the day unfilled. She opted for the rather unsatisfactory Micawber solution for the time being. If she had known in advance the hugely popular solution that was to present itself on the day, she would most certainly have arranged to be elsewhere – anywhere other than the town square!
CHAPTER SIX
Professors Arnold Potts-Johnson, Joachim von Hatzendorff and Hiram P Hackenbacker from England, Austria and the United States respectively, were nearing the end of their allotted task of drawing up the agenda for the forthcoming Anthropological Congress to be held in a couple of weeks time at University College, London. Most of the work was complete and it only remained to arrange the field trip. Part of the purpose of the forthcoming Congress was to study vestigial ancient customs in the developed world, England in particular, since this was the country favoured with the task of hosting this year's event.
Professor Hackenbacker spoke in his rich baritone voice. "I hear that there is an ancient fair held each year in a place called Little Sprodwell. This is a festivity which has roots going far back into the pagan and pre Celtic past of this country where each year is re-enacted an ancient pagan sacrifice of a young maiden as an appeasement of the fertility gods."
"Bollocks!" said Professor Potts-Johnson in his reedy and querulous tones. "And the full name of that one-horse arse hole of the universe is Little Sprodwell under Fosse – God help us all!"
"I beg your pardon, Professor, but I have this on the very best authority. The trouble with you locals is you can't see the wood for the trees. You are blind to the treasures to be found in your own back yard."
"Bollocks, if you will permit the repetition, Professor! This particular shindig is as phoney and ersatz as it comes. Believe me, I know! The presiding genius is a relative of mine – the black sheep of the family and a total charlatan to boot! But, what the Hell, it'll be a nice day out and a goodly display of female flesh can be practically guaranteed if I know anything of the Colonel, the old lecher!"
Professors Johnson and Hackenbacker looked at their silent Teutonic colleague. This learned and weary Viennese gentleman shrugged his acquiescence – the first indication on his part for some time that he was actually awake. A visit to the Fete by a coach load of learned anthropologists from the four corners of the globe was duly pencilled in. The three then happily adjourned to the Lamb public house in Lamb's Conduit Street, Holborn.
Mr. Harry Fenton-Jones, travel agent, entrepreneur and sometime jailbird was finalising the arrangements for a party of visitors from various parts of the New World. He had five Australians, three new Zealanders, four Canadians and twenty Americans to take care of for a week as they visited the land of their ancestors and breathed in the atmosphere of Olde Englande – or so they fondly believed. The usual weary round of visits to the Tower of London and Shakespeare's Birthplace and all that old hat had been arranged, but there was still the Saturday to take care of. Once again, he read the letter from his Aunt Jenkinson in Little Sprodwell.
He spoke to his associate, a Mr. Lemmy Goldberg. "Auntie says they have arranged some kind of re-enactment of a virgin sacrifice this year. Just an excuse to bare a bit of flesh of course. Apparently it won't be quite as proposed, alas! They were going to tie this absolutely gorgeous and bare-arsed naked honey – a really exceptionally lovely chick, by all accounts, down to a kind of pagan altar with her legs spread out so all could get a good look at her merchandise, but the lady refused point blank in extremely emphatic and even more extremely unladylike terms. They've still got something pretty good lined up for her, though, even if she doesn't actually know it yet, poor bitch! This promises to be even more of a sleaze-fest than usual."
"Whatever you say, my boy," replied his genial associate.
"Well, I vote we put this on the itinerary again. Hell's Bells! They've successfully sold it to a party of so-called learned anthropologists as being the real McCoy! We should have no trouble fooling a bunch of dumb colonials and their equally dumb blue-rinsed ladies, especially if we get them well tanked up beforehand on whatever ice-cold fizzy poison they consume in their part of the world! I really think I've found my vocation at last as a shameless fraudster – God, but it feels so good!"
Professor the Reverend Canon Felix Algernon Hurst-Pierpoint-Majors, the Dean and Principal, was going over with Jimmy Fraser, Captain of the College First Fifteen, and the arrangements for the Harington Theological College's away game with the Jeremiah Bible College at Twickenham a week on Saturday.
"This little village here looks a good place for you all to stop off for a bit of refreshment on the way back, my boy. I know it so well. Plenty of good old hostelries. Somewhere to celebrate thumping the shit out of that nest of beastly Nonconformists – pardon my language dear boy! And I believe they have some kind of fair taking place on that day, a new thing since my time but it should be great fun. It will be a chance for you all to let your hair down."
"Yes, Sir! It looks just about the ideal place to break the journey. I just hope we're not too knocked about to take advantage of the local hospitality. Pity you can't come with us, Sir!"
"I agree my boy. I'd love to visit the old place again. My first Parish, you know. A heavenly and blessed spot. I wonder how those lovely little cherubs are, the ones I christened in my first week there – dear little Julia and Beatrice. Cousins and orphans now, sad to say. Oh, yes! I'd dearly love to go there once more!"