In The Name Of Love (18 page)

"Did you have any idea that this may happen," she asked
Grant, as she collapsed into one of the two small chairs by the window,
indicating for him to take the other one.

"Not at all, it was all a terrible shock, I must say."

"Yes, well, it seems that we are famous right now, or
perhaps infamous is the better word. What do you say, dear?"

He glanced at the look on her face, before saying, "It
certainly seems we are celebrities, and that is going to make it difficult to
move about."

"I'm still hungry," she said, changing the subject, "Let's
order lunch."

In the early hours of Monday morning, Grant made
arrangements with the night porter for a taxi, so he and Beryl could check-out
of the hotel and go to her house. It was a wet night, and although they
expected to see photographers and reporters leaping out from behind every bush
on the short journey, the only sign of life they saw was a milkman starting his
round.

Once in the house, Beryl locked the front door and insisted
Grant come with her while she checked every nook and cranny of the three-storey
house. There was no sign of any disturbance at all, so after a quick cup of
tea, they went to bed and were asleep in seconds.

They spent the next few days as will prisoners in the house,
sending out for food and supplies through the good services of young Marion,
the neighbour's daughter. There was the occasional knock on the front door,
which kept them both trembling in the kitchen, but apart from that the week was
pretty quiet.

She wrote letters resigning from her job and her position as
a Councillor, while withdrawing her candidacy for the position of Mayor of
Stockport. These were given to Marion to post, and by the end of the week she
received formal letters accepting her resignation. Grant was also encouraged by
Beryl to write his resignation.

"We're in this together, my dear, and we must plan for our
future."

Beryl next decided to have the local Estate Agent call by
appointment to value the house, with a view for a quick sale. His news was not
good.

"If you're prepared to wait, we may get more than four
thousand, even though this is an old property, but if you want a quick sale,
then you won't get much more than three thousand – if that," he added, with a
Scrooge like sniff, as he looked around the place with obvious distaste.

"But I don't understand, it's a large house, with a cellar
and a spacious attic. Also, the end house sold last year for well over four
thousand."

"Yes, but that house was in immaculate condition, and being
an end-terrace, rather than a mid-terrace it has a better outlook, and of
course, commands a better asking price."

"So, what is your final advice?"

"Put it on the market at about three and a half, and hope
for the best."

"Thank you, Mr. Greenfield; I'll be in touch with you."

"Good day, Miss Bainbridge, Mr. Wilson," he said, slipping
out the front door with obvious relief, and almost skipping down the path to
his old Morris Oxford saloon that was parked right outside.

Their moment of fame had come and gone. They were news last
weekend, but by the next weekend they were old news. The phone had stopped
ringing; there were no more knocks at the door, and no signs of men lurking
about the street.

On Sunday, Beryl sent Grant to collect his car and that
afternoon they went for a long drive in the country, stopping for dinner at a
quiet restaurant where nobody even looked their way. They returned home in a
better frame of mind, even though the future looked bleak, but at about eight
o'clock that evening, there was a knock on the front door.

"You go," said Beryl, putting a hand to her head in
distress, "I'm just not up to it, my dear, and if it is a reporter, don't speak
to him, but just close the door in his face."

She waited anxiously in the sitting room, and was dismayed
when she heard voices approaching. Grant entered first, and ushered in the
solicitor who'd served them each with a summons in the hotel room only last
week.

"What are you doing here?" shouted Beryl, standing up with
eyes ablaze. She pointed at the door and said, "I want you to leave, right
now."

Grant took her gently by the arm, and said, "Please calm
down, my darling, and listen to what Mr. Lyndhurst has to say."

She glared at both men, but sat down without another word.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Lyndhurst," said Grant, waving at
the vacant sofa, before taking the arm chair opposite Beryl.

"I have some offers and a proposal to make to you both, and
I suggest you hear me out, before making any comments or interruptions," said
Lyndhurst, opening his briefcase that he'd laid on the sofa, and withdrawing a
couple of folders stuffed with papers.

"Well, go on then," said Beryl, with a disapproving look at
the man.

"These offers are all connected, so I suggest you calm down,
and wait until I'm finished. I can promise you that you will not be
displeased."

There was silence while he sorted out the papers, before
looking up at Beryl and saying, "I have here a conditional offer of four
thousand pounds for the freehold of this house," he said, putting it to one
side, before picking up another paper.

"What is the condition of sale, Mr. Lyndhurst?"

"All in good time, my dear lady, please be patient. The
second conditional offer is a sum of money for each of you; two thousand pounds
each."

This time Beryl said nothing, but she did glance at Grant
and give him a small smile, which the solicitor did not notice as he was
digging in his briefcase.

"The third conditional offer is these two first class
tickets on M.V. Fairsky sailing for Australia from Southampton, three weeks
from today."

"It's that Worthington isn't it?"

"Yes, your benefactor is Mr. Cyril Worthington, who has
instructed me to tell you that if you do not accept the offer this evening, it
is totally and irrevocably withdrawn. The conditions are that you both
immigrate to Australia, signing this document confirming that you will not
return to Great Britain for at least ten years, and will never return to
Stockport."

"What if we have trouble with the immigration people?" asked
Grant.

"Mr. Worthington has considerable connections, and they have
already agreed, because of your new financial situation. He will be
transferring the total sum of eight thousand pounds to your solicitor, on the
day you arrive in Sydney, Australia. Your solicitor will then no doubt arrange
for the transfer to your new account in Sydney." At this point he stopped
talking and looked up at the couple.

Grant was smiling at Beryl, who held out her hand to him. He
came over and sat on the arm of her chair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She
squeezed his hand.

"Finally, Mr. Worthington does not wish you to leave the
country empty-handed, and when you sign these papers, I am to give each of you
the sum of one thousand pounds cash."

This final offer was the clincher, and after a cup of tea,
the papers were all signed, with Mr. Lyndhurst and his clerk, who was called in
from the car outside, witnessing their signatures.

Beryl was given copies of the papers, and he handed Grant
the tickets and the cash, before leaving. No sooner was he out the door, than
she held out her hand to Grant and giving him a warm smile she said, "You
better give them to me for safe keeping, my dear." Without thinking, he passed
over the cash and tickets, to Beryl who soon put them away in her handbag.

She knew the temptation of all that cash would be too much
for him, especially with the car waiting outside, so she said, "You tidy up
down here, my dear, and clear away the dishes, while I go upstairs and get
ready for bed." She knew just where to hide the money, in a place he'd never
look.

At the door she turned to look at his crestfallen face and
said, "Cheer up dear; I'm going to put on my ‘naughty nightdress' just for
you!"

"Thank you, my darling, I shall be as quick as I can," said
Grant, turning away to collect the cups and hiding his tears of frustration
from her eyes.

When he came out of the bathroom, some twenty minutes later,
he found that her confidence and authority were both fully restored.

"Right, young man," she said, standing upright in a low-cut
sheer silk nightdress that barely reached her knees, and showed her breasts to
great advantage. She had a small leather riding crop in her hand, and cracked
it against a muscled thigh as she said, "Tonight, I am the Mistress of the
Hounds, ready to ride to the Hunt. You can start off as my faithful groom, and
later I'll see what other roles you're good at…"

When Grant heard Beryl's domineering voice telling him she
was now the Mistress of the Hunt, and then commanding him to slowly undress
before her, and to arouse her while doing so, he realised that this is what his
sex-life for the past dozen years had been leading him towards.

From when Joyce
seduced him as a teenager, followed by all the bossy female lovers since, right
up to his recent sex with Joyce, Edna, and now Beryl, he had subconsciously
been seeking women to dominate his life.

That is why his relationship with April failed; she was too
subservient to his wishes, agreeing with almost everything he suggested, both
in and out of bed. He was not physically attracted to Beryl at all; her narrow
face and mean lips made him shudder, although her breasts were something else,
and were perhaps her one redeeming feature.

Her forceful attitude this past
week, making all the decisions and telling him what to do and when to do it,
placed him under her control. He didn't have to think, or plan anything,
because it was all done for him by Beryl, and he'd enjoyed it.

He felt totally released, and put all his thoughts and
energy into taking off his clothing in a way that would please and excite
Beryl. He realised that the sudden removal of financial worry from her life,
now allowed her to be the person she'd always desired to be, without fear of
loss or recrimination.

Furthermore, he knew that in his willingness to please
her, she had the perfect subject to liberate her from years of male domination,
and he waited with mounting excitement to see what form this release would
take. He did not have to wait long.

Crack!

The whip bit into his thigh through his trousers, and he
felt the hot pleasure from the pain rising through his genitals. Each crack of
the whip made his balls tingle with pleasure, and his erection began to harden.

"You're too slow and not the least bit exciting. Now let's
see something to arouse the Mistress of the Hunt!"

Grant turned towards her, letting his trousers fall to the
ground so she could see the shape and size of his erection pushing against his
underpants.

"Stand still, and do not move," said Beryl, turning the crop
over in her hands, and rubbing thick handle along the bulge in his underpants
and then caressing his balls until she rubbed it hard between his legs. She
dropped it an inch down his thighs, and then brought it up sharply to give his
testicles a solid whack.

She leered into his face and said, "That is only a taste of
what's in store for you, if you don't give me the ride of my life."

He stood as still as he could, showing little emotion
despite the pain in his balls, because for some reason he didn't understand,
his erection seemed to be getting harder – so hard it was beginning to hurt,
and he wanted to remove his underwear. The wavering crop made him decide
against a move, so he waited for instructions.

"Continue to undress, and then lie on the bed with your head
on the pillows and your arms and legs outstretched towards the corners."

Glancing at the old brass railed bed with the four corner
posts topped with gleaming bras balls, and guessed what was coming. He relaxed
on the pillows, and glanced down at his wavering penis, as the excitement grew
deep inside.

Beryl gave each limb a whack with her riding crop after she
tied it to a bedpost with the knotted lengths of old string she'd brought up
from the kitchen. When he was securely tied to the bed, she stood between his
open legs, nudging his cock with her crop and then with her foot.

"Having a big dick makes you men feel so strong and
powerful, but we'll see how strong you really are, tonight." She stood astride
his face, giving him a fine glance of her bony knees and muscled thighs, rising
to a pair of pink panties. It gave him some pleasure to see the moist patch on
her pants, and realised she was getting roused by her actions, and he couldn't
wait for his penis to drive inside that waiting pussy – now just a foot or two
above his head.

He saw Beryl's arms take the hem of her nightdress and pull
it over her head and then drape it back and to over his face. She then knelt
down until the wet patch of her panties was inches from his face, and she went
lower inch by inch until he felt the fabric on his mouth.

"Kiss my knickers!" she said, leaning backwards to give his
waving penis a tap with the crop. "No, harder, I can't feel anything." She
ground her pussy hard into his face, and Grant felt he was going to come with
excitement, but didn't need her warning to know that would not be a good idea.

When she stood up astride his face again, he wondered what
was next, and was not surprised to see her remove the panties and then stand
still while he stared up at her pussy.

"What you're looking at Grant is the Altar upon which you
must now pray for forgiveness for your past sins. I am talking about the evil
sins of giving your body to other women, of putting your cock in other vaginas.
Tell me this will never happen again – ever!"

He was only too pleased to oblige, because at this moment
there was nowhere else he'd rather be, and there was nobody else he rather be
with. He said, "I promise, my darling, that from this day forth you are the
only woman in my life, and your Altar is the only one for me!"