Obsession

by Cathryn Cooper

  Sorting his thoughts out made him feel better. Today he would be happy.

  ‘Go and wake him,’ he ordered Imran and, ever obedient, Imran went.

  It was Gareth who shook Katie awake and told her that Imran was outside, saying that his master requested her attendance on his early-morning gun practice.

  Quickly, her feet shot out from under the bedding and onto the cold floor. From a china jug she poured cold water into a matching basin, washed as much and as best she could in the time allowed, then went out of the door and followed Imran down the backstairs and across the yard.

  ‘Are you coming too?’ she asked the Indian servant as they walked across to the garage and the car.

  He shook his head and smiled at her sidelong. There was a glitter in his eyes and his look was bolder than she would have expected from a servant - any servant. ‘No. My master is driving today. I think my master wants the day to himself. He has visitors tonight and he must be fresh for that. But he does appreciate having time alone.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, I think he wants you to himself.’

  Katie pulled her cap down more firmly on her head. She made a great show of doing so. That way, she didn’t have to look too long at Imran’s face. What did he think of her? she wondered. Did he have a thing about boys like Sir Charles, or was it something else that amused him?

  Carew was just getting into the driving seat when they got to the yard. Imran opened the passenger side door and Katie, smiling at Carew and saying good morning, slid in beside him.

  He glanced at her only briefly as though he didn’t really care whether she was there or not. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. ‘We’re going up to Craggers Bluff today. There’s a good brace up there for the ‘taking and the fresh air will do both of us good.’

  Fresh air. Yes, Katie thought, that would do very well indeed, especially if I was naked up there with you and my nipples were tingling as the air teased and chilled them. I would feel the coolness of the grass against my back and stare at the sky as you sucked on my breasts and licked my thighs and my sex.

  Such a scene was in her head, in her eyes, but not on her tongue as she replied that, yes, it sounded a splendid idea. She also asked herself what his reasons were for taking her. As they drove, she glanced at him and wondered what he was thinking.

  Carew’s expression was as set as when he had studied it in the mirror. Nothing had changed. But the same turmoil was still in his mind. I wonder, he thought, just how many men have felt driven like I do? How many have resorted to subterfuge, excuses to be alone with a young man whose company is irresistible and whose beauty surpasses that of a woman?

  Even now, he tingled because the young man was so close to him - so close, yet so far in terms of acceptable sexuality.

  He took deep breaths; told himself to be strong. He decided to make conversation. He began to talk about safe subjects, like the dogs, guns - that sort of thing.

  It wasn’t easy.

  All the time he was aware of the closeness of Oliver’s thigh, the smell of his clothes: damp wool, earthiness - and something else. Another smell, a smell that stirred his loins whenever those dark grey eyes looked his way.

  Closeness is a perception. That was what Katie was thinking to herself as the village, the trees and the hedgerows flew past.

  Put more accurately, from closeness there was perception. She perceived the rigidity of his chin and his determination to keep his eyes and concentration on the road - perceived his sweat; the tautness of his body. Perceiving all those things told her that he was fighting himself, doing his damnedest to control what he was feeling.

  Inside, she smiled and called herself devious. Outside, she was the epitome of the innocent youth; face implacable, eyes bright and dancing from the road ahead to the passing scene.

  She was playing a part, yet that part, that person, had become incredibly real to both Carew and herself. Had Oliver been a youth she had known? Or was he a composite of many?

  The charade was not yet over. The time had not yet come for her to return to being Katie. Proclaiming what she was and what she was not must fascinate Carew, not horrify him. That was why timing was so important for, in proclaiming what she was, she would also be confirming what he was.

  For the briefest of moments, the thought went through her head’ that he might indeed have the sexual preferences of his uncle. If that were the case, then it would be very sad indeed, but not the end of her plans.

  She glanced at him, saw him glance back at her. For the first time that morning, the stem expression slipped a fraction.

  He’s worried, she told herself, he’s worried about his desires. Never mind. In time this man will know not only what sexuality is, but also sensuality. He will discover emotions - perhaps even love.

  Carew parked the car at the end of a pitted dirt track where yellow gorse grew among clumps of horse grass and sporadic wild flowers.

  Ahead of them was a wide expanse of tall, ripe com that waved in the wind like tumbling surf. The whole area stood atop an escarpment that fell away steeply on one side where the view was of a wide expanse of valley fields, villages, roads, trees and scattered farm buildings.

  Carew took one gun and some cartridges. Katie took the other plus a box of cartridges, plus the lunch basket. The dogs - two of them - followed on behind. They snuffled at tufts of straggly grass and balanced on three legs as they marked their territory. As they did all this, their tails wagged like manic windmills.

  Carew strode on in front whilst she struggled on behind. The purpose in his stride was not lost on her. Neither was the gap that widened between them. She:, read it as being a symbolic gesture, an effort to tell her that she was the servant and he was the master. Her; intuition told her something else. He was purposely, exposing himself to her company and therefore to; temptation. He was goading himself to prove what he” really was; a women’s man, a man who mastered women.

  Shielded from the wandering birds by a crop of tumbled boulders, Carew chose his spot.

  Katie sat down the picnic hamper and stood at the ready with his spare gun. With quick fingers, she reloaded the spent breeches in each so that he could continue shooting.

  He fired off the first shots. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

  Crows rose in a black cloud from nearby trees. Three brace or more of pheasant took to the air, and wings flapped on falling birds as the gun fired, and fired again.

  Katie was kept busy. Not one word had passed between them since he had started firing, and not once had he looked at her sweat-covered face or thanked her for her quickness in reloading or collecting spent cartridges.

  His face was grim, his jaw firm, and his eyes seemed to pierce the sky, as if in that way he could see his quarry better.

  Katie made her own judgement about what he was doing. He is trying to shoot it out of his system, she thought. He is attracted to Oliver, and cannot bring himself to accept the fact. She was winning. Soon, the man who mastered rather than loved women would be mastered by her - if he wasn’t already.

  ‘Quicker!’ He shouted it suddenly and took her off guard as he shoved his spent and smoking shotgun at her. She took it but then, as he crooked his arm to fire the reloaded shotgun, she was too near. As the shot rang out, the recoil shoved his elbow backwards and hit her smartly on the temple. With a loud shriek, she fell to the ground.

  There was temporary darkness before a gentle wet hand patted her face. Cold water ran from her forehead. She groaned and felt herself being eased up from the hard earth. A burning sensation hit the back of her throat as something was forced between her lips.

  What is it? she thought, and for a moment wondered if the hardness between her lips was something other than a brandy bottle. But the burning at the back of her throat was definitely brandy rather than semen. She swallowed and slowly - very slowly - opened her eyes.

 
‘I am truly sorry, Oliver, my dear boy.’ Carew looked troubled. ‘I do hope you are alright. How do you feel?’ He put the stopper back in his flask, then returned it to his pocket.

  Katie winced. Her head was thumping. She raised her hand to her temple.

  ‘My head...’

  The coolness of his hand was immediately on it. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, concern apparent in his voice and in his eyes.

  His hand was very cool, and although it eased the thumping in her head, it ignited a new one throughout her body.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it feels very good.’

  There was purpose in the way she opened her eyes so widely, so appealingly. Again, she saw that small nerve twitch beneath his eye. The stem expression’ and the steadfast resolution with which he had strode. ahead of her, and used to concentrate on his shooting, was gone. He was lost again; lost and confused and <; wondering why ardour was rising in his loins, and why’ he wanted to kiss those pretty lips and caress that hairless cheek.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, then purposely slumped against him as if she had passed out. She could hear his heart thumping, feel his muscles tense. The” warmth of his arm was apparent through her clothes. His breath was quick and near to her head. She felt his fingers upon her hair, then on her cheek; gentle, trembling, caressing. Before his hand could go any further and discover that her breast was too rounded for a boy, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  ‘Oliver!’ His voice seemed to tremble as if he had been caught out. There was fear, even shame in his eyes. Again, he saw Oliver the boy.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said softly and as hesitantly as only a poor injured boy could, ‘we could have some lunch. That might make me feel a lot better.’

  Relief spread over Carew’s face. The nerve beneath his eye stopped twitching.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is a very good idea.’

  Pork pie, cheese, crusty bread and bright yellow butter were taken in turn out of the basket, plus a bottle of ginger beer. There was also a bottle of wine.

  Carew looked surprised. ‘Well. Now what could Imran have been thinking of putting this in here?’ he said, frowning, as he held the dark bottle in his hand. ‘He knows I never take a bottle of wine unless I have a lady friend with me.’

  Katie made no comment. Servants make mistakes. It happened all the time. Amused and slightly touched by his concern for her, she rested herself on her elbows whilst he handed her food, undid the ginger beer and the wine. He was doing everything that she, his servant, should have been doing. And he knew it. She was sure of it. But, poor lamb, fired by two different guilts he could not stop himself.

  Her head was still thumping. Somehow, she thought, today could be worth such a headache. Perhaps providence had presented her with a golden opportunity.

  ‘Sir,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I would very much like some of that.’ She pointed to the wine.

  For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to oblige, but there were crumbs around her mouth, so perhaps he thought she could do with the wine to take away the food. He poured her a glass. Briefly, Katie allowed their fingers to touch before he retreated. Colour spread through his cheeks as he concentrated on undoing the brandy flask he had so recently returned to his pocket. How sweet, she thought, and emptied the wine glass as rapidly as she could whilst he swigged from his flask. Every so often, his eyes flitted in her direction.

  She smiled broadly at him. ‘That was very nice, sir. May I have another?’ She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand after saying it.

  ‘Perhaps.’ He hesitated in refilling the glass and looked at her in puzzlement and even fear. Perhaps it was guilt and a need to please that made him pour more wine into her glass. She downed the second at the same rate as she had the first.

  He looked suitably amazed, but took another swig from his brandy flask. By now, Katie judged, it must be near empty.

  ‘That, my dear Oliver, is your last one. I certainly do not want to carry you home. I have a heavy night in front of me. This morning was supposed to be a time to be alone. A period in which I could be with my own thoughts and interrupted by no one. It would have been idyllic if you had not taken that blow on the head.’ His speech sounded more relaxed than it had been.

  ‘I shall be alright, sir. It does not hurt so badly now.’

  ‘Good. Good. I am glad of that.’

  She was lying. Drinking the wine so quickly had made her head worse. But her drinking quickly had made Carew drink quickly too.

  Carew leaned back on one elbow. He looked dreamy, but melancholy. He did not look at her as he began to speak. ‘Perhaps, after all, I should have brought Imran. Perhaps I should not have brought you at all.’ Suddenly, his look was one of accusation, as though bringing her had been her decision and not his.

  She spoke softly to him.

  ‘So why did you bring me, sir?’

  He stared before speaking. ‘I think you have promise, young Oliver. I think you could be something better than you are. Obviously you have received a decent education. I can tell that purely by the sound of your voice and the looks of you. What do your parents do for a living?’

  This was a question that Katie had prepared herself for. She became suitably downcast and clasped her knees to her chest. She stared at the ground and reinvented herself as the boy Oliver.

  ‘My father was - is a haberdasher, sir. I had expected to follow him into the business, but things working out like they did, I ended up being disowned by him and by my mother.’

  She allowed a small sob to enter her voice - something nearer a sniff in fact.

  Carew was all attention. He got up from off his elbow and his arm encircled her shoulder. He patted her arm, then, as though he had been singed by something very hot, he withdrew his hand.

  ‘My dear boy. Tell me about it. What happened?’ Katie sniffed again. As she sniffed, she could smell that mix of hormones, heavy cloth and tobacco that was a man. Shivers of excitement coursed down her spine like ice-cold water. The muscles of her stomach tangled and knotted and her sex ached with need.

  I want you, she thought to herself, and I’m going to have you.

  But she didn’t say that. In her head was the history of Oliver; a history born purely of imagination. She started to tell him of it.

  ‘I had three sisters and we all used to share a bed.

  Of course, sir, we all wore our nightclothes, but one night, it being August - late August - just like now, it got very hot. So hot did it get that it was hard to breathe. Choked you it did, as though you were swallowing sand.

  ‘Our bedroom was up under the eaves, and that’s the worst spot, sir. The roof gets hot and the room gets hot, and we got hotter.’

  Katie paused and glanced up at Carew. Just as she had suspected, he was listening intently. A pearl-drop of sweat hung from one eyebrow just below his nose. His mouth was open slightly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Go on.’

  She dropped her eyes again, but let them linger a while on that humid area just above his legs. A small, barely perceptible movement became apparent. His penis was awakening. Her tale was having the desired effect.

  ‘I suggested we take off our night things, sir. My sisters giggled at first and were wary of doing so. But we all did eventually, and we all got back into bed together.’

  She lowered her eyes again. The movement in his trousers increased.

  Carew cleared his throat. ‘Tell me, Oliver. Were your sisters younger than you?’ There was a worried look on his face. Obviously, she thought, he was concerned about what crime he might be about to hear. All the same, he could not resist hearing it.

  ‘Oh no, sir. All my sisters were older than me. The twins were sixteen, and Magda was seventeen. They were good girls, sir. They had beautiful bodies, ripe boobies and narrow waists. It was the fi
rst time I had seen what a woman had between her legs, sir. Each had a triangle of crisp hair, sir, and just the sight of such things intrigued and excited me. Like little purses, they were, sir, and I wanted to see what was in them. So that night, they showed me.’

  ‘They showed you?’

  Carew’s voice was dreamlike. He was, she guessed, as embroiled by her lie as if it were the truth. She glanced again at the place she sought to arouse. Dutifully, his member was straining against the front of his trousers.

  ‘Well, sir. We all got back into bed and my sisters being that they were older than me and the sight of me naked had aroused them as much as they had me - they ran their hands over me and pressed their bodies against mine. Although I was not quite a man I responded, and in turn we tried out those things that men and women do. Me and the twins enjoyed ourselves in peace, but it was not till I was sucking Magda’s boobies that my Aunt Julie walked in.’

  ‘Your Aunt Julie?’ Carew’s voice trembled and his blue eyes fixed on her face. ‘What was she doing there?’

  ‘Taking care of father whilst mother was in hospital. She dragged me from the room and took me along to her room. She had a big walnut bed, sir, with twisted posts at each corner that looked like barley sugar. She had dark cupboards and big drawers in there too, sir.’

  Carew nodded. His eyes were bright with interest.

  ‘What did she do to you once you were in her room?’

  Katie inserted a quick sob and accompanied it with a short sniff. ‘Strapped my rear, sir. It hurt too and I cried. Afterwards, she said she would tell father that she had not strapped me and he would then beat me again. That would have been two beatings. But if I would do as she said, then she would tell him I had been punished enough. So she got me to play with her boobies too. She got me to suck them just as though I were a little baby. She sang to me as I did it, then she began to groan and told me to put my hands out of the way. Down in her knickers, she said, where I could play with her hairy bit. She kept me sucking her boobies, sir, and wriggling my fingers between her legs until she trembled and it was all over.’