Ivy Cottage

Chapter 1. To the Country

“Hey Jim,” dad called, “you’ve got an invitation from Cleo to go and spend some time at Ivy Cottage.”

“What? Why’s she inviting me?”

“Oh, the last time I wrote I mentioned you were going to do a course in agriculture, so she’s written – well, here’s the letter, you read it.”

Sure enough it was an invitation and part of it read, “If he’s going to do a course in agriculture, instead of wasting his time lounging around in the suburbs, why doesn’t he come here and experience country life?”

I hadn’t seen Cleo – Aunt Cleopatra - for seven years. She had disappeared into the rural scene to do what she called “Agri-business.” She had heard that lots of farmers and other rural types were looking for people who could handle the office and administration side of things. She had qualified as an accountant and had taken off for the cows and meadows.

The rumour was, that she had gone to the country not so much for the business, but because she’d suffered a broken love affair. Whether that was true or not she nevertheless appeared to thrive, much to the family’s amazement. She had been born and bred a city girl and none of the family thought she could settle down to country life.

Cleo was the youngest of my grandparent’s brood of nine children, my father being the eldest. She was only seven years older than me and as children we had been more like cousins, or brother and older sister, than aunt and nephew. I remembered that she used to play games with me just as an older sibling might.

Since it was weeks before my course started and there was very little money for holiday entertainment, I decided to accept the invitation. Dad had just bought his first car, and he’d handed over his old motorbike to me, so, one bright sunny summer morning I strapped my suitcase to the back of the bike, and armed with intricate directions from dad, I set off - the motorbike sounding like nails being rattled in a tin can - in what I hoped was the general direction of Ivy Cottage.

I managed okay through the suburbs and even found my way through the adjacent countryside, but once into the thick of high hedgerows and winding lanes, confusion set in.

Enquiries made of the locals, especially if there was more than one of them, added confusion to confusion. Each rustic would contradict the other concerning the whereabouts of Ivy Cottage, Plumb Lane. The finale of these debates was, “Just keep going straight on, it’s only a couple of miles.”

Twenty miles farther on and still not finding my goal I made more enquiries, all of which proved useless until I met a member of the constabulary. His instructions ended in the same way as all the others; “It’s only a couple of miles,” but this time it was true.

I pulled up outside Ivy Cottage and stopped the engine. The poor old bike gave a cough and a sigh, and then crackled as the overheated motor contracted.

I got off the saddle. I had taken four hours to make an at most two hour journey, and my body still conformed to the shape appropriate for riding the bike. I was in the process of unbending when Cleo came bouncing out of the cottage.

Chapter 2. Aunt Cleopatra

Always the lively sort she flung herself on me, clutching me to her and delivering a smacking kiss on the lips, she said, “Jim, how wonderful to see you after all these years.”

She took a step back and surveyed me. “My God you’ve grown. The last time I saw you I was looking down at you, now I’ve got to crane my neck to look up at you.”

A speculative look came into her eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly, “you really are a big boy –or should I say ‘young man’? Come on, you can put your bike in the shed round the back.”

Cleo led me round the back of the cottage to a shed where her little car stood. I parked the bike, unstrapped my suitcase, and with Cleo hanging on to my arm I surveyed the cottage for a moment.”

“Like it?” asked Cleo.

“Well, it certainly lives up to the ‘Ivy’ part of its name,” I responded. The place was covered with ivy. “But it isn’t exactly what I’d call a ‘cottage’. I expected a thatched roof, wattle and daub and that sort of thing.”

Cleo laughed and led me inside. “The place was built by a prosperous farmer back in the eighteenth century, hence the slate roof and brick walls. It’s been done up several times since then, as you’ll see. The last owner was a single old lady. She died and I bought the place with all its contents for a very reasonable price and a hefty mortgage.”

The weather was quite warm outside, but inside the cottage was dim and cool. We passed a room with the door open and glancing in I saw the accountant’s paraphernalia, and being the days before computers, there were papers, typewriter, filing cabinet and large ledgers.

“Office,” said Cleo concisely. “Let’s have some tea.”

We went into what seemed to be a combination of kitchen and dining room. “I eat in here mostly,” said Cleo. “There’s a proper dining room but it’s so big I only use it if I’m wining and dining posh potential clients.”

I sat at the table while Cleo set about making the tea. I had hardly had time to survey her, so now I contemplated her to see what changes time had wrought.

When I had last seen her I had not entered puberty so my assessment now tended to be somewhat different from that of a child. Like most potent young males I was disposed to assess her like I would any other women, from a sexual point of view. What I saw looked very pleasing.

Her round face with its rose-pink cheeks was framed by a mass of dark curling hair that tumbled down over her shoulders. She looked at the world through sparkling but shrewd brown eyes. Her nose tilted up slightly at the tip and gave a cheeky impression. Her mouth was wide with full lips and most often curved upward in a smile.

Her overall figure was what used to be called “hour glass”, with breasts that seemed to be trying to burst out of the plaid shirt she was wearing. Her skirt more or less matched her shirt in that it had a tartan pattern probably totally unknown to the clans of Scotland.

Beneath the hem of the skirt shapely calves tapered down to slim ankles. I wondered what her thighs were like and how often some guy reached the top of them. The skirt fitted tightly, displaying very nicely curved hips and tight high buttocks.

“On the whole,” I thought, “a very comely wench.” I’d read that somewhere.

Chapter 3. Bedroom and Cottage

We drank our tea and then Cleo said, “I suppose you’d like to see your room.”

I hoisted my suitcase and followed her up a flight of stairs. We walked a little way along a passage and Cleo opened a sturdy looking door.

“There, what do you think of that?”

I thought it seemed a bit overpowering. Everything in the room looked so big; the wardrobe, chest of drawers, bedside table and, above all, a giant four poster bed that looked as if it could have accommodated four people and still have room left over.

“It’s a bit…er…overwhelming,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.

“Yes, it used to be the main bedroom where the master and mistress slept. Look, the bed’s even got curtains.”

She demonstrated by tugging one of the curtains so as to screen one side of the bed.

Cleo gave a mischievous chuckle. “You see, they could shut out the world and get on with breeding undisturbed. They did a lot of breeding in those days.”

Trying to match her humour I said, “I could get lost in that bed.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” she laughed, “if you do, I shall come and find you. Come and have a look at the other rooms.”

Cleo’s room was less massively furnished than mine, but still had a substantial looking bed.

“There are four others like this. I suppose they were used by the fruits of what went on in the main bedroom.”

We had a look at a couple of other much smaller bedrooms. “Servants rooms,” Cleo announced. Inspection of a mighty bathroom followed, and like the bed in my room the old cast iron bath looked as if it had been custom made to accommodate four or more people. An obviously recently installed shower seemed to simper coyly in the corner.

The last port of call was the toilet. This contained not only the toilet, but a hand basin and a curious looking device that I didn’t recognise. I asked Cleo what it was and she grinned and said, “It’s called a ‘bidet’. Ladies use it to remove unwanted…er…fluids from their private parts.”

I decided to make no comment.

We made our way back down the passage and as we passed my room Cleo said, “By the way, the old lady who owned the place last died in that bed you’ll be using. I got the place a bit cheaply because the locals believe her ghost walks in that room. She paces up and down waiting for her lover with whom she was going to elope. He never came because her father bought him off. Sad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said rather doubtfully. I wouldn’t say I was superstitious, but the idea of sleeping in the bed where the old girl had died didn’t exactly appeal, and as for the ghost – well, there aren’t such things as ghosts – are there?

Inspection of the ground floor revealed, apart from the kitchen and office, a large formal dining room and another that Cleo said used to be the withdrawing room, where the ladies went after dinner, leaving the men to smoke their cigars and drink port.

Obviously proud of her piece of real estate, a tour of the outside of the house followed. Apart from the shed where my motorbike and Cleo’s car stood, there was a stable, another large shed and a laundry where once underpaid and overworked servants had slaved over large sinks and a copper. Now a washing machine gleamed in a corner.

The garden immediately adjacent to the house was well cared for, with shrubs, flower beds and some vegetable patches.

“I’ve got three acres,” said Cleo, “it’s a pity I haven’t got time to look after all of it.”

It was true, beyond the tended areas there was only a tangle of grass and weeds.

Chapter 4. The Interrogation

We wandered back into the house and re-entered the kitchen where Cleo began to prepare an evening meal. There now began that back and forth questioning about the health and well-being of old friends and family members.

From this there followed an interrogation of me. How had I been? Had I done well in high school? Why was I doing an agricultural course? What part of the course was I going to specialise in?

By the time we got through that lot the meal was about ready and the questioning ceased for a while as we ate.

After we had cleared up Cleo suggested we use the withdrawing or drawing room as it is called these days, assuming people still have them.

“We can have a drink and start to get to know each other again; it’s been so long.”

The drink turned out to be whisky; a beverage I had tasted a few times but could never have afforded to buy given my slender resources. Trying to look very macho and adult I drank the whisky struggling not to grimace. After one glass I began to feel very relaxed.

I tried to ask sensible questions about how Cleo was getting on in the business.

“Oh, famously, darling,” she chuckled. “Best move I ever made. I’ll tell you more about it later, but how about you. Have you got a girl friend?”

That started the more personal questioning and by the second glass of whisky I was ready to tell almost all. Cleo probed ever deeper, asking, “What sorts of women do you like? Are you going to get married? How many children would you like to have? What do you think about older women?

I was still sufficiently in command of my senses to skate carefully round the latter question. I had been initiated into the joys of sex by a woman twice my age, and I still paid her regular visits. It was a very delicate matter because the lady concerned was a frustrated vicar’s wife. Calling at the vicarage one day with a paper for the vicar to sign, he was not at home. I got invited in, and one thing led to another.

Answering Cleo’s question I said I was sure older ladies were very nice, but I didn’t really know much about them.

“Well, darling,” chortled a slightly inebriated Cleo, who was on her third glass of fire water, “I’m sure we can mend that.”

Chapter 5. Showering and Apparition

It had been a long day and with the influence of the whisky added in, I was feeling sleepy.

“If you don’t mind, Cleo,” I yawned, “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Cleo said with a strange look on her face. “I’ll let you have your shower first, unless you’d like to join me in the bath.”

I think we both laughed at that remark.

“You go ahead,” Cleo said, “I’ll bring you in a towel.”

I headed for the shower and stripping off started to rid myself of the grime of the day. I heard the door open and Cleo called out, “I’ve put the towel on the rail. I’m going to have a bath so I’m just starting to run the water.”

“Okay,” I yelled above the hiss of the shower.

Finishing I got out of the shower, and to my amazement Cleo was standing there. I thought she had simply started to run her bath and left the room for a while. But it wasn’t just that she was standing there, it was how she was standing there.

She had removed her skirt and stood there in her panties. She still had her shirt on, but all the buttons were undone. The shirt wings now just about covered her breasts that were free of bras. I on the other hand, was stark naked.

We looked at each other; I confused and Cleo smiling in what might have been taken as an inviting manner. The sight of her nearly nude body caused my manhood to twitch and start rising. Her breasts looked gorgeous and I had an urge to pull back the shirt to reveal her nipples. I managed to restrain myself.

Cleo seemed to be enjoying what she was seeing and said very quietly, looking at my embarrassing erection, “Yes, you really are a big boy.”

I grabbed the towel from the rail, and instead of drying myself there, I fled to my bedroom. I was rather angry with Cleo, feeling that she was playing a seductive game with me.

“Bitch,” I said to myself, “showing herself off like that and getting me horny.”

I finished drying myself and then looked at the bed. I somehow didn’t fancy getting into a bed where someone had died, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. If I asked for another room it would be as good as saying I was scared, and that didn’t suit the macho image I wanted to convey.

Deciding that the sheets must have been changed since that mort event I clambered in and tried to make up my mind where to settle on that vast white plain. I opted for the middle.

I had expected to go straight off to sleep, but the somewhat disturbing encounter with Cleo had left my emotions rather agitated. It was high summer and the twilight was lingering on in the pink sky, and I lay there looking at it through the window.

Images of near naked Cleo kept flashing into my head, and I contemplated masturbating, but before that happened I dozed off.

I woke some time later. The twilight had ended but there was light coming into the room through the window. It cast a bluish illumination over everything except where it left deep shadows in corners. In the suburbs moonlight never seemed to be as bright as this, and I could just see part of the moon peeping below the top edge of the window.

As I lay watching it a shadow seemed to flit across the window obscuring the light for a second. I thought I must have imagined it until I heard a rustle near the bed. Then I saw it; a white figure with its back to the window thus having its face in shadow.

I lay there petrified. “My God, it’s the ghost come looking for her lover.”

The figure must have stood silent and watching for about a minute, but to me it seemed to be an hour. It was about a yard from the bed and appeared to be looking at me. Then to my horror it moved towards the bed.

The blood froze in my veins, and then it whispered, “Jim, are you awake?”

“Jesus Christ, Cleo, you frightened the life out of me. I thought you were the old girl’s ghost.”

“And she’d decided that you were her lost lover and was going to clutch you to her spectral bosom. Oh Jim, fancy you believing in ghosts at your age.”

Chapter 6. Cleo in a New Light

Cleo was laughing heartily at my expense. I groped around to try and find the switch for the bed light as Cleo went on laughing and saying, “Well, my dear nephew, I can assure you that I am all too solid flesh.”

I couldn’t find the damned switch and it was Cleo who clicked the light on.

What I saw made me suck in a deep breath. Cleo was standing right beside the bed, naked. What I had in part seen in the bathroom was now there on full view. Confused I tried to look away but Cleo stopped me as she said, “What’s the matter Jim, don’t you like me? Do you think I’m ugly…undesirable?”

“N-n-no, it’s just that…”

“Then look at me. You wanted to see me like this badly enough in the bathroom, now here I am…so look. After all, you’re naked too and I’m looking. And don’t try to pretend you don’t fancy me because there’s something I can see that’s telling me otherwise.”

“I…er…er…don’t think…”

“It might not show on me in the same way, my love, but if it’s any consolation to you, I fancy you like mad.”

She sat on the bed and touched my rigid penis, and then began to play with it, stroking the foreskin slowly and tantalisingly. “I think we can do some nice things for each other, don’t you?”

“We can’t…I gasped…it’d be…”

“Incest, darling? Yes, I suppose it would be, but who’s to know if we have a little bit of fun with each other? You wouldn’t tell and neither would I, so why not?”

Her movement of my foreskin had become more rapid and suddenly she rammed it back hard, producing a lovely pain that made me yelp.

“Of course, you could stop me doing this to you, but I don’t think you will. I could make you come like this, sweetheart. I could make you spurt that lovely young sperm of yours, but I’m not going to. It would be a terrible waste, so I’m just going to keep on playing with you until you surrender, and you know you will in the end.”

Suiting action to word she began to masturbate me until I was on the verge of ejaculating, and then she stopped, to start again when she thought I had calmed a little. It was torture, and she kept asking, “Are you ready to give in yet, darling?” Finally I could resist no longer and groaned, “Yes.”

She smiled, “I knew you’d submit eventually, so since you’re the one who’s surrendered you can lay there and let aunty have her wicked way with you.”

She straddled me and I felt her guide my penis so that the crown was touching the warm inner lips of her sex organ. She moved so that it was partially entering her vaginal tunnel.

“There, that’s nice isn’t?” she murmured. “I wonder if I shall let you go all the way in?”

She began to flick her vagina over the tip of my penis, letting me feel its warmth and moistness. I went to grab her hips to drag her down on me, but she resisted.

“It’s my vagina, darling, and I’ll decide if and when you can go all the way into it. I might let you put your sperm right into me if you’re a good boy and lay still.”

I fought against my instinct to force her down on me as she tormented me with the little flicking motions. I was on the point of ejaculating and she seemed to know it, because she suddenly thrust downward taking all of me into her.

Her taunting ceased and she said, “Oh God Jim, you’re so big. Let it go sweetheart, put it into me deep, I need it so badly.”

She began to move up and down on me making sounds as if she was singing; “Mmmm…ha…mmmm….ha…” This built up to a climax and then she began to move more rapidly, yelling out, “Come into me…come into…come now…now…”

I needed no second bidding. I had been right on the edge and holding back as long as I could. Now I let it all go, the first spurt of semen pummelling into her depths.