Even at the tender age of fifteen, Susan had known of her sexual preferences, of her innermost desires and fantasies. Ever since her P.E. teacher had kept her behind after class for messing around during hockey practice and then proceeded to smack her pantie clad bottom with his plimsoll, she had realised how horny a spanking made her. How wet down below she became as the burning pleasure accosted her young firm buttocks. Now though, a woman in her mid thirties and one bitter divorce behind her, she wondered if her life could ever be fully fulfilled, if she could ever find that one special man she so desperately sought.
The small cottage on the outskirts of a tiny village was the one good thing that had come from her twelve years of marriage, the picture postcard cottage that, in winter when the snow hung from the thatched roof like drapes around a window, and in spring, glistened among the new blooms of snowdrops and daffodils. Her only annoyance was that her back garden bordered the grounds of the local manor house, a magnificent English country mansion with a thousand acres of rich pastures and old oaks dotted among the grounds. Woods of beech and birch, larch and horse chestnut surrounded almost the entire estate and Susan delighted in wandering amongs them on warm summer afternoons. Until that is, one such walk was interrupted by an approaching man, clothed in tweed from top to toe and carrying a rather nasty looking gun underneath his arm.
This was 'HIS LAND', he had rudely stated, and she had no business trespassing on it. Not wanting to cause an upset, she had left without so much as a word, but something HAD upset her. In her unconscious mind she had found it quite exciting, quite exhilarating to be told off at her age. And so a plan began to form.
Down at the local pub, Susan sat alone in a quiet corner and leisurely picked at her meal of steak and ale pie whilst pondering what her next move could be. First, she thought, I must find out the name of this pompous land owner. She didn't have to wait very much longer, for seeing that her knife and fork was together on her unfinished plate, the landlady came over to her and asked politely if she had finished.
'Too much for me I'm afraid, but the pie was lovely, did you make it yourself ?' Susan asked.
'Yes dearie, I try to 'omebake as much as I can, what with prices these days,' the landlady replied, 'Don't you live in the gamekeepers cottage, back o' Lord Johnsons ?'
'Yes, that's right, how did you know ?' Susan said, slightly taken aback by her knowledge.
'Small village this, you met 'im yet then ?'
'Only the once, when he shooed me off his property.'
' Ees a rum un, so I 'ear, has these wild parties an' all.'
Susans' mind began to race and visions of guests in masks and 16th century attire flashed before her as the landlady disappeared into the kitchen carrying her plate.
The next morning Susan busied herself with housework, the washing had caught up on her and seeing as it was blowing a nice warm breeze outside, she collected the bundle from the machine and stepped out her back door to hang the washing on the line. She hadn't gone two steps when suddenly she froze, there at the bottom of her garden stood the self same man she had met the day before, Mr. tweed, leaning on a thumb stick. Steeling herself, she flung her head back and strode purposefully forward, determination engraved on her face.
'We meet again,' she said, still a few paces from the end of her property. It was then that she sadly noted that Mr. tweed was actually the other side of her chicken wire fencing. Her thunder taken slightly, she changed tack.
'Nice of you to drop by,' her eyes meeting his as he smiled and nodded to her.
'I've come to apologise madam, for my behaviour yesterday, I was not in the best of moods I'm afraid,' Mr tweed said as he removed his cap. He spoke again but Susan was still drenched in his hazelnut brown eyes, her mouth now slightly but noticeably open. Then she realised that he had asked her something and was awaiting a reply.
'I'm sorry, I, I,' she stammered, then regaining composure said, 'I'm Susan, pleased to meet you,' her face flushed and outstretched hand trembling slightly.
'Adam,' said Mr. tweed, meeting her hand with his. 'I said, you keep your garden in good order, are you a country girl ?' Adam repeated but with no hint of annoyance.
' I'm afraid not, born and bred Londoner, but I've always dreamt of owning my own country cottage,' Susan half turning and presenting her home with her hand. Adam smiled at her gesture but then brought his clenched hand up to his mouth to cough, so as to hide his amusement at her modest prowess. Susan didn't notice.
'A grand old cottage indeed, used to be old Toms' place,' Adam stated matter of factly. 'But you really shouldn't stray onto your neighbours land, you naughty girl.'
The last two words making the hair on the back of Susans' neck stand on end and her inner muscles clench slightly.
'I haven't been called that since school,' Susan retorted, her heart now beating faster.
'Then perhaps you should be schooled a little more Susan,' his eyes widening as he spoke.
Susan desperately clambered for a distraction and so put down her washing basket and began pegging the clothes out. But her chest was now pounding inside and she could feel herself shake as she struggled to regain a semblance of composure.
'Why don't you come up for tea later, about six, and we could discuss this matter further,' his voice breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them.
'Yes, yes if you like,' Susan stuttered, not even turning to face him for fear he might see how red with embarrassment her face was.
'Six it is then,' and as he turned away she heard him say, almost to himself but loud enough, 'I find six is always best.' And with that he thrashed at some stinging nettles with the stick.