A Brace Of Pheasant

"Afternoon Miss." Mike answered with suitable deference. "Reverend." He added, with a nod, making his way past them and out of the door, making good his escape.

* * * * *

"You Randy bitch!" Cassy exclaimed as she pushed the door closed and leant against it. The Reverend may not have noticed but Cassy could smell what had been going on.

"Oh Sis." Polly sighed, sitting down gingerly, her pants now properly fastened. "You have no idea."

"Ahem... Remember me? Your twin sister? I'm just as horny and just as broody as you are. Did Michael like his surprise?"

"He did. But Cassy, you really have to let me shave you too."

"I know: It's too weird – not being identical." Cassy shuddered at the thought.

"That too. But I was actually thinking about the sensitivity. You've simply got to try it."

"Well, it's gone closing time. Before dinner or after?"

"Before!" Polly came round the counter and picked up one of the bags of groceries. They only live five minutes walk from the shop so generally left the car at home. "Before Mike gets his grubby hands on you."

"Jealous?"

"Just a 'Randy bitch'."

"Touché" Cassy picked up the second bag and followed Polly out.

* * * * *

"A Brace of Pheasant" is an unusual shop: It might even be described as eclectic. It's uniqueness lies in the fact it sells only things that traditionally come in pairs. Not that the twins need to sell anything to make a living. Their father provided well for them before he died so the shop is more a hobby than a business. In the summer months, when Bridgehampton is thronging with Manhattanites, its busy enough and in the quiet winter months, the twins travel, often to England, and restock.

The counter houses a large collection of antique cufflinks and earrings, interspersed with ornate Victorian scissors and 19th century spectacles but of course, no monocles. There are several sets of duelling pistols, including a rather fine pair that once belonged to Lord somebody-or-other, who came to an untimely end because of them.

Also in the gun case is a brace of Purdey shotguns, not antiques but eminently collectable and quite possibly the most valuable item in the shop's inventory.

There are only two pairs of shoes: The pair worn by Moira Shearer in "The Red Shoes" and a pair of Margot Fonteyn's ballet slippers.

There are candlesticks, ceramic doorknobs, crystal toasting flutes and vases. A corner is set aside for musical instruments such as Hindu finger cymbals, maracas, castanets and some bongo drums. Sporting equipment includes ebony bowling balls of the English variety, petanque balls from France, vintage crampons and positively ancient skis suitable only for den décor.

Pride of place on the wall, and definitely not for sale, is a life-sized oil painting of a brace of pheasant on a kitchen table, ready for plucking. The painting gives the shop it's name and is of great sentimental value. Why? Well, now there's a tale...

* * * * *

Cas and Pol arrived at Charlton Park, from Oxford, on December 21st. They hadn't seen Uncle Patrick for two years so had elected to spend their first Christmas back in Dear Old Blighty with him, rather than flying back to the States and Mom.

'Uncle' had been their father's best friend, his best-man and later, after father's death, their legal guardian. He'd watched the twins grow up so it took him rather by surprise that the gangling, too-skinny, sixteen-year-olds had grown, in two short years, into the – well the only word for it is beautiful – the beautiful young women who stepped elegantly from the car onto the gravel drive.

"Uncle!" the twins exclaimed in unison, rushing to embrace the stunned man.

"My, but you've grown."

"It has been two years, Uncle." Said one.

"And that's too long!" said the other.

"Do we still have the attic rooms?" asked the first.

"Slow Down!" Sir Patrick laughed, squeezing the two armfuls of twin. "Certainly you may have the attic, if you want. But..."

"But?"

"But what?"

"But the Rose Room will suit your colouring more I think." The way he said Rose Room they could practically hear the capital letters.

"Really?" The twins were in unison once more.

The Rose Room had always been Mother's favourite. Legend had it that the Prince of Wales used to keep his current mistresses there. Indeed, there was a secret passage between it and the master bedroom, lending credence to the tale. As little girls, their father had shown them the passage and sworn them to secrecy with a solemn, even grim, expression and dire warnings about the consequences to anyone who 'blabbed'.

They'd taken it all very seriously and thought themselves very important to have been entrusted with such a secret – right up until they'd seen it on TV, during a documentary about the former Prince of Wales, builder of Charlton Park & Brighton Pavilion and a notorious philanderer. They'd been very cross with Daddy for that.

"Really." He released the twins, taking a step back. "Let me look at you two." He cast a thoughtful eye over the impatient girls. "Well you certainly favour your mother. Prettier by far though... What are you two fidgeting about?" He asked, as if he didn't know. "You look like you need to go to the toilet. Or does the Rose Room hold the same charm for you as it does for Diane? Go on then. I'll have your bags sent up presently." He called after them as they darted away like greyhounds out of the traps, up the steps and into the great house.

He heard the distant sound of heels on oak stairs and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot as his driver approached. "The Rose Room, Phillips."

"Naturally, Major." Phillips, the driver, general factotum and former batman walked heavily to the steps, a large suitcase in each hand.

"Naturally." Mused Major Sir Patrick Twigg, leaning on his walking stick and looking every inch the country squire.

* * * * *

Christmas Eve at Charlton Park was a formal affair. The twins, dressed in understated, Wedgwood blue evening gowns, highlighted with gold brocade at their waists, made a magnificent entrance down either side of the great staircase to the applause of Patrick's earlier guests and the unashamedly admiring glances of many of the males. Patrick himself met them at the foot of the stairs, offering them an arm each and escorting them through the throng, making introductions as he went.

Dinner was a feast of Victorian proportions and, largely, to Victorian recipes as Mrs. Phillips, Patrick's cook and housekeeper, was something of a culinary historian and Patrick had learned quickly that indulging her brought him the most appetising rewards.

The Twins sat either side of him, at the head of the long table, and practiced being lady-like – something their mother had insisted was a very necessary skill, even in these 'modern' times. The way Diane, their mother, said 'modern' it should by rights have only had four letters. She spat the word out like an expletive on those rare occasions she uttered it at all. Cas and Pol had learned their lessons well and charmed the whole table – especially the men-folk.

After dinner, Patrick played the Steinway in the ballroom and a few couples took to the floor for a dance or two, for which a half-decent hi-fi provided accompaniment. They gathered around the piano to sing carols before some guests – those with furthest to drive home – took their leave. By Midnight, Patrick and the Twins were waving goodbye to the last of the revellers as headlights briefly illuminated the gateposts at the end of the drive.

"Uncle..."

"Yes dears"

"We have a gift for you." Glancing at her sister for approval and receiving the briefest nod, Polly took a tiny box from her purse and handed it to Patrick.

As he took the box, Patrick could feel her hand trembling. "What is it?" He turned it over and over in his hands: It was small enough to be a box of matches.

"Open it." Said Cassy, standing close to her sister now, holding her hand for moral support.

Noting their nerves, Patrick, intrigued, carefully opened the box. Inside was a pair of cherries, still joined by their stalks. He held them up, puzzled. "Again I ask. What is it?" Being English, his grasp of American colloquialism was poor.

"Patrick," Polly used his given name for the first time, instead of the childish honorific 'uncle'. "Patrick... It's us. Cassy and I...We..."

"We're eighteen!" Blurted Cassy.

"We've discussed it and we want you to have our cherries." There! She'd said it.

"Pardon?" Patrick had finally twigged to what they were suggesting. He just couldn't bring himself to believe them.

Thinking he still didn't understand, Cassy elaborated. "We've always shared everything – been identical. We want our first lover to be a shared experience too."

"And we figured, with your experience and-"

"And because you've always taken care of us." Cassy found her hand empty as Polly stepped close to Patrick and took one of his hands in both of hers, raising it to kiss his fingertips.

Patrick stood stunned.

Cassy followed her sister's lead, taking and kissing Patrick's other hand then holding it to her bosom.

"You're crazy! Both of you." Patrick found his thoughts. He pulled his hands away from them but the memory of that warm, soft breast, under his palm, was burning in his brain. He felt his manhood stir in his trousers at that brief intimate contact.

Tears welled up in the twins' eyes at his rejection. Without a word, they took each other's hands and ascended the stairs. As they reached the top, Patrick heard a sniff, nothing more.

Bloody hell! He thought. Where on Earth did they get a crazy notion like that? He was fifty for Heaven's sake. Oh, certainly he was not past noticing pretty girls and they were certainly in that category but the twins... the twins were practically family. But in his pants, the serpent stirred. Temptation dangled two cherries before him, saying "Bite. Taste the sweet fruit just once." And that warmth against his hand... He needed a cold bath.

There was a squelch as he turned, treading on the fallen fruit. Looking down, he stooped to pick up the box and the pulped remains of its contents. The stickiness on his fingers brought back memories of three decades of sexual encounters. That's how they usually started – sticky fingers. He shook such thoughts from his head as the serpent roused itself further, warmed by his memories.

"Will there be anything else tonight, Major?" Phillips' arrival brought him back down to Earth.

"No. Thank you, Phillips. My compliments to your wife: She surpassed herself tonight."

"I'll tell her." Phillips took the empty box and crushed fruit from the Major's hand. "Goodnight Sir. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Phillips."

Alone again in the hall, Patrick shrugged and started up the stairs to his room. He'd think of some way to soothe the twins' bruised egos in the morning. He'd enjoyed too much wine for clear thoughts tonight.

* * * * *

Cassy and Polly wept against each other for a few minutes in the sanctity of the Rose Room.

"Plan B." Polly finally announced.

"Plan B." Cassy concurred, moving just far enough from her sister to turn around. "Unzip me, Sis." As her dress whispered down her body, pooling at her feet, she turned back to her sister. "Think this'll work any better?" She spread her arms, and rotated through 360 degrees clad only in sheer white silk panties, a suspender belt, stockings and 2 ½ inch heels.

"It had better. We don't have a Plan C." Polly turned to be unzipped and stripped down to match her twin. Tears forgotten, two nervously giggling girls tripped lightly along the landing to Patrick's room, letting themselves in and arranging themselves decorously on his bedspread.

In the darkness, they lightly touched each other, kissing fondly, not just because they were lovers as much as sisters but also because they reckoned their best chance of arousing Patrick in the right way was to be caught in flagrante. They'd thought a lot about whether they should be fully naked or not and decided Patrick would probably be more stirred by their underwear.

The door creaked open and Patrick's hand found the light switch, bathing the twins in an eye-blinking dazzle. "What the-"

Polly kissed her sister with renewed vigour, playing to their audience. Her hand cupped Cassy's bare breast, teasing the already perky nipple between her fingers. She squirmed against Cassy's hand between her legs, pressing moist silk against moist velvet. Patrick just stared.

Cassy had the advantage of being able to see his reaction – or lack of it. She pushed her hand deeper between Polly's thighs, urging her legs apart so that Patrick couldn't fail to see where her hand was. She waited until his gaze fell to Polly's flanks before easing her sister's gusset aside and letting her finger trail over her anus, her perineum and finally, ever so slowly, along her glistening, downy labia. Polly moaned at the touch. Patrick, transfixed, hesitantly touched the bulge in his trousers. Cassy smiled at that, tweaking one of her sister's labia between thumb and finger, drawing her slightly open. She gasped as Polly responded, squeezing Cassy's nipple hard.

"It's all for you Patrick." Cassy husked. "Make her a woman."

"Both of us." Polly whispered, her voice hoarse with passion.

Patrick's defences collapsed. He reached for his zipper. Cassy, seeing their victory, sprung off the bed to help him, kneeling to unbuckle his belt and ease down his formal trousers.

His swollen member poked out from his shorts, gleaming and taut. Her hesitant fingers touched his glans, feeling it twitch. It was beautiful. So proud. So strong. She knew now that they'd made a good choice. Tearing herself away from the newfound wonder, she stood and pressed close against Patrick, hooking her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, finding him all too willing to return the favour. The hot hard flesh between them dug into her belly, urging her to press herself even more firmly against him.

On the bed, Polly rolled onto her back to watch, her own hand replacing Cassy's. She eased a finger in as far as her hymen, wincing at the pressure on that sensitive membrane. Patrick opened his eyes, glancing past Cassy's hair to the bed. His gaze took in all of Polly's pale flesh but centred on her curls and that figleaf hand. She took her hand away, holding it out to him, beckoning him to join her on the bed.

Patrick lifted Cassy off her feet and placed her beside her sister. He nearly tore his shirt off, over his head, kicked off his shoes and pants and dropped to his knees beside them. His body was still well toned: Years in the military had given him a good physique and he was active enough to maintain it. The hair on his chest was as grey as it was at his temples but that was as low as the grey went. He certainly looked virile enough where it mattered to the twins.

Cassy scooched up the bed and drew Polly's head into her lap, reaching out to tease her nipples. Polly smiled nervously up at her twin and spread her legs wide. Polly was eldest by ten minutes: It was only right she be first.

Patrick drew Polly's ankles back together then reached for the waistband of her panties, drawing them down. She bent her knees to accommodate this then opened her legs again at the light pressure of his touch. Patrick's lustful gaze fell on the fissure of her sex, on the musky, glistening curls above and on the shadow within shadows lower down. Leaning close then closer, he pressed his face against her curls, inhaling the perfume of young flesh.

Polly's belly rose and fell as her heavy breath rocked her bosom under Cassy's palm. A gasp escaped her parted lips as Patrick's tongue darted at her clitoral hood. She was no stranger to oral pleasure but his technique was so totally different to Cassy's: so much more aggressive, so forceful. He lashed at her clitoris with a ferocity that was almost painful but delightful in equal measure. It was like an appetizer for the pain she desperately wanted to feel.

Patrick's hands weren't idle. His fingers curled like claws under her buttocks, lifting her flanks to his mouth. As her climax rose within her, stifling her breath, Patrick lurched forward, taking his weight on his outstretched arms and looking down into her eyes.

"Guide me." He ordered.

Polly obeyed, reaching for his erection, amazed at how hot it felt in her hand. She guided the weeping head to her pussy, pressing his glans to her tight hole. As she released her grip, Patrick thrust into her with a grunt that was drowned out by the shrill cry Polly let out as her hymen tore under the pressure of his penetration. Her vagina seized about his member as the climax he'd just denied her rushed through her body, turning pain into ecstatic joy.

Patrick rocked gently inside her, enjoying the pulsing caress of her cunny. As she came down again, he slowly started to fuck her properly, gently, delighting in her gasps each time he pushed into her tender body. Feeling that tightening in his balls that warned of climax, he pulled out, splashing long strings of white semen up her sweat moist abdomen with a long sigh of release.

Cassy, who had held her sister throughout, leant down to kiss her. Polly touched the cooling wet seed on her belly, scooping a little up on a couple of fingers and lifting it to Cassy's lips. After a moment's hesitation, Cassy sucked the traces of white off Polly's fingers then kissed her sister deeply once more. In this manner, the twins got their first taste of semen.

Patrick, watching this sapphic ritual and catching his breath, couldn't help but be aroused by the sight of the twins swapping spit and semen – his semen. A glance at his cock showed that the old soldier was not yet ready to retire from the fray and the sight between Polly's still spread legs – her cunny crimson with the traces of blood – stirred him even more.

Cassy felt a strong hand on her ankle, drawing her further down the bed. She broke off kissing Polly and allowed herself to be dragged closer to Patrick. He didn't have the look of a man willing to wait. Polly lay back, easing her thighs together with a slight wince. When Patrick let go of Cassy's foot, Polly snuggled up to her sister, drawing a diamond hard nipple between her teeth. Her hand stretched down past Cassy's waistband, finger sliding under the elastic and over her curls in search of her clit.

Patrick could see the dark line of moist silk – a testament to how aroused Cassy was. He peeled off the knickers, the better to see what Polly's fingers were up to. Briefly, he lapped at her labia, leaving her clitoris to her sister, working his tongue into her in search of her maidenhead. The sensation of the tip of his tongue touching her virginal hymen almost had him coming there and then. Cassy was clearly more than ready. Lifting her knees up and wide, He lifted her hips off the bed.

"Polly, push a pillow under her." He held Cassy up while her twin propped up her haunches with a pillow, then, shuffling within striking distance he let Polly's fingers guide him to the mark. Cassy looked suddenly terribly apprehensive, biting at her bottom lip. He waited for a moment for her to release her lip lest she bite right into it as he breached her. As soon as she relaxed, he plunged in, making her squeal.

Polly turned Cassy's head with a fingertip and kissed her, her fingers resuming their caresses over Cassy's clitoris. Patrick pumped her slowly, feeling the trembling spasms as pain clenched her around him. She came quickly, gasping into her sister's mouth and squirming on the flesh that impaled her. This time, Patrick didn't have time to withdraw, grunting as he flooded her cunny with boiling semen. All passion spent, Patrick collapsed forward, his full weight on top of Cassy. She relaxed under the weight, feeling the ebbing waves of her orgasm dissipate. Patrick soon enough rolled off her, exhausted.