Candle Street Hall

by Monica Belle

  Monday’s tour was my second and I did it easily, and sober. I knew I wasn’t as good as Julian, and probably never would be, but now that I knew all the stories it was really just a question of leading the group from place to place and making sure none of them got lost. Candle Street Hall itself did the rest of the work, and while I’d become used to the strange feeling in the hall and on the staircase, and knew about what it was, it never failed to impress.

  Julian had left early on his bizarre mission to collect goat skulls, and he still wasn’t back when the last of the tour group had left. I’d done the shopping and the housework in the morning, leaving me at a loose end, while nobody else seemed to be about. It had been hotter than ever, and very still, leaving the air with a baked quality, while even the birds seemed drowsy. I wanted to cool off, and wandered down past the folly and towards the river with vague thoughts of taking a swim.

  One glance told me it wasn’t really practical, with a thick fringe of reeds and mud making it difficult to get out to the open water, while there was an almost constant procession of pleasure craft moving both up and down river. After the quiet of the grounds it felt odd to suddenly be in the presence of so much humanity, strangely exposed too, a lone figure on the bank. Hoping to find somewhere better, I struck off at an angle, in among the reed beds, where a duckboard path offered at least the opportunity to explore.

  The change was immediate, and striking, from the crowded river with its wide horizons to utter solitude with nothing to see but the reeds flanking the path and a strip of cloudless blue sky above. My immediate thought was that it would be nice to go naked, both to feel the air on my bare skin and because it would feel delightful daring to be in the nude with so many people so close. We were still on estate land, which meant I was actually perfectly safe, so it was the work of a moment to kick off my shoes and peel my dress off over my head. I hadn’t bothered with a bra, as it looked tacky with the straps showing and the dress was cut to support me, so I was down to my knickers with those few simple motions. Just that felt lovely, but not good enough, not daring enough. Off came my panties, a delicious thrill as I showed my bottom and sex, again as I kicked them away, and once more as I stretched in the sunshine, fully nude.

  Even holding my clothes and shoes felt like cheating, so I dropped them and walked on a few paces, with my sense of daring rising sharply with every step. To be naked was lovely, but to be naked and have deliberately robbed myself of the chance to cover up if anybody did catch me was something else again. A little voice inside my head was telling me not to be silly, and not to be rude, while I was ever so slightly scared as well. All that was good, making being in the nude more special and making me want to be naughtier still. To think was to act. I got down on all fours, deliberately posing in a crawling position with my bottom stuck up to show off my pussy and anus from behind, a pose that would leave no doubt at all in the mind of any watcher that I wasn’t merely naked because I liked to go without clothes, but in order to flaunt myself.

  My nerve broke quite quickly and I scrambled up, giggling as I moved on down the path. The duckboards were warm and smooth, but on some my weight pressed them down far enough to let water bubble up between the slats, wetting my feet. It was enticingly cool, making the prospect of a bit of skinny-dipping immensely appealing, but I seemed to be deep in a wilderness of reeds with no open water at all, which made it all the more surprising when I came to a hut.

  It was old, the wooden planks black and rotten in places, and low – so low that I could see right over the roof of decaying thatch to a stretch of open water beyond, just a few feet away but which had been completely invisible. My first thought was that it had simply sunk into the marsh, but as I ducked down to peer inside I realised that it was a boathouse. There was even a boat, of sorts, an old wooden dinghy with just the bow sticking out above the water where it was still tied up with a piece of ancient cord. Walkways at either side would have made it easy to board, and would still allow me to reach the open water.

  I went carefully, expecting the planks to give way beneath me at any moment, but they were stronger than they looked and I was soon at the far end, where a water gate hung crooked and open. The water was perfectly clear and maybe four feet deep, the muddy bottom clearly visible, ideal for swimming, while the edge of the little lake I’d found appeared to be solid reeds except for where the boathouse stuck out. Nobody could possibly see me, except from the air or if they climbed one of the trees I could see rising beyond the reeds on two sides of the lake. That seemed very unlikely, and I was smiling to myself as I sat down and swung my legs into the water, happy to be nude outdoors and confident in my privacy.

  The water was cool, but far from cold after a day of baking sunshine. I slipped in after just a moment, sighing with pleasure for the feeling on my skin as I submerged. A few strokes and I was out of my depth, my toes touching weeds but not the mud. I began to swim, out towards the centre of the lake, which was no more than a couple of hundred yards across, then let myself float, my arms and legs stretched out, basking in the warm evening sunlight, stark naked without a care in the world.

  Not even the situation with Vanessa seemed to matter any more, and certainly not my wild fantasies. So what if I wanted to be spanked and humiliated by another woman? It was all in my head, and nothing to be ashamed of when I hadn’t actually done anything. I had, of course – I’d given myself a beautiful orgasm – but now that I’d given in to my feelings once there was no point in being proud. Next time I had an hour alone in the house I would do it again, only slowly this time, teasing myself as I imagined different situations: not just being put over Vanessa’s knee in front of Julian, but having it done with an entire tour group watching as my knickers were pulled off and stuck in my mouth, my dress pulled up to bare my bottom, my cheeks smacked until my bum was all rosy, with my legs kicking frantically and my thighs open to show off my pussy and bumhole to the crowd. Or maybe she’d catch me as I was and spank me for going in the nude, on my wet, bare bottom, then make me walk back to the house still stark naked and all red behind.

  That was an especially nice thought, particularly as Julian would presumably be back. He’d see, and take a turn to spank me himself, in front of Vanessa, then make me suck him hard and fuck me on the lawn with me on all fours and his hard, lean belly smacking against my hot cheeks. The thought had me wriggling with pleasure, and I was forced to start treading water or risk going under. I wanted to come, but the water had started to feel colder and the sun was well down among the trees to the west of the lake, glinting gold on the water, and on something else, just briefly, but very bright. Peering close, I made out an angular shape among the reeds on the far side of the lake. It took me a moment to realise what it was – a hide for bird-watching, built low among the reeds with a slit at the front, and the brief flash of light could only have come from the lens of a pair of binoculars or a camera. I wasn’t quite so alone as I’d imagined.

  Just as when I’d been caught by Vanessa, realising I was being spied on was more of a shock than a thrill. It was scary too, because I had no idea who was watching me or whether they’d be content with seeing me naked. I struck out for the shore, swimming fast now, scrambled out of the water and ran back the way I’d come. For one awful moment I thought somebody had stolen my clothes and I was going to have to run back along the river bank in the nude, in full view of every single boat that passed. I was sure I knew where I’d dropped them, and they weren’t there, but after an instant of panic I caught sight of something black – my dress – further along the path and hanging among the reeds. My shoes were beside it, neatly arranged on the duckboards, but my panties were missing.

  Somebody had been interfering with the clothes, presumably the same man who’d been watching me, and he’d stolen my knickers. I didn’t even stop to put my dress on, but ran on along the duckboards, no longer caring how many holidaymakers saw me in the nude just as long as I could be somewhere public, but knowing I was safe did nothin
g to stop my embarrassment as I scrambled up to the top of the bank to find a long, low motor cruiser directly opposite me. It must have been hired for a stag party, or maybe by a sports club of some sort, because the entire deck was crowded with muscular young men.

  For one awful moment we stood staring at each other, they with cans of beer halfway to their lips or with mouths open in frozen conversation, me stark naked with my dress and shoes in my hands, my bare breasts and pussy on show to maybe 20 pairs of interested male eyes. We reacted at the same time, they with whoops of delight and encouragement, me by frantically trying to pull my dress down over my head, realising too late that it was both upside down and inside out, losing my balance and tumbling over backwards, legs wide, to show them even more than they’d been demanding before I rolled back down the bank and out of sight. Their laughter washed over me as I struggled with the dress, my face hot with blushes as I cursed them – the panty thief and men in general.

  Nobody was coming along the duckboards, and I waited until the sound of their voices had faded before once more climbing the bank, now sure that all those who’d seen me would have moved further along the river. My face was still red as I hurried back toward the Hall, while my fingers were shaking. Only when I was halfway across the field did I slow down, worried that the panty thief might be lurking in the woods behind the folly, perhaps even watching me as I approached. I stopped, wishing I’d brought my mobile so that I could call Julian.

  My heart jumped as somebody stepped out from among the trees, but my fear immediately gave way to relief. It was Vanessa, and I’d never imagined I could be so glad to see her. She’d seen me, and I waved and hurried forward, only to turn again at the sound of a shout from behind me. A man was coming across the field – tall, rangy, his aristocratic face set in a scowl. I walked on, fast, as Vanessa called down to me.

  ‘There you are, Chloe. Have you seen Julian?’

  ‘No, but ...’

  ‘He must be somewhere. Henry, have you seen Julian?’

  I glanced back to the tall man.

  ‘Henry?’

  She looked at me as if I were a particularly stupid child.

  ‘Yes – Henry. My husband. Surely you’ve met?’

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS HARD TO know what to do. I couldn’t even be completely sure that Henry Aylsham was the peeping Tom and panty thief, and I wasn’t about to accuse him when he was sure to deny everything. Even if I had been certain I wouldn’t have been able to prove it, and Vanessa was sure to take his word over mine. I wasn’t prepared to let it go, and told Julian as soon as he got back.

  ‘I went for a swim earlier, in that little lake among the reeds. A man was watching me from a hide. I think it was Sir Henry.’

  We were in the old stables at the back, Julian sorting through the large box full of sheep skulls he’d brought back. He didn’t even turn around.

  ‘Sounds fun.’

  ‘It wasn’t. I was scared. He stole my knickers too.’

  ‘He did? But you knew it was him?’

  ‘No! Not until Vanessa introduced us, anyway. I’m not even sure it was him, but he’d come from that direction and I didn’t see anyone else.’

  ‘Then it was him. There’s no other way to get to that area, except by boat, and we keep the Watergate on the main channel locked. But don’t worry about it. Henry’s harmless.’

  ‘I didn’t know that!’

  ‘Hey, hey, it’s all right.’

  He put down the skull he’d been examining and came to take me in his arms, holding me for a long time before kissing my forehead and disengaging. I’d needed the cuddle and it did make me feel better, but he obviously didn’t take what had happened entirely seriously as he went on. ‘So, why weren’t you in your knickers?’

  ‘I was skinny-dipping, and ... and I just wanted to go bare. I didn’t think anybody would be about!’

  ‘And Henry was, but he was bound to watch, wasn’t he? I mean, what man wouldn’t?’

  ‘A gentleman?’

  Julian’s snort of amusement was all the answer my question needed, and I could see his point but that didn’t soothe my feelings.

  ‘But he didn’t have to steal my panties! And I was seen by this big group of lads on a boat, and ... and I fell over. It was really embarrassing!’

  ‘I thought you loved that sort of thing?’

  ‘Not like that! I ... I don’t know, maybe it would have been OK if I hadn’t been scared. What do you think I should do?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. I could speak to Vanessa?’

  ‘Maybe, but he’d just deny it and I’d end up looking bad.’

  ‘He’d more likely tell her that it’s his land and you shouldn’t have gone skinny-dipping if you didn’t want him to see you.’

  ‘He was spying on me!’

  ‘I’m just telling you how I think he’d respond.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Forget it then. Maybe I’m just being hysterical.’

  ‘No you’re not, especially as you didn’t know it was him, and OK, so any man who sees you naked is bound to want to watch, but stealing your knickers is pushing it.’

  ‘Yeah, the dirty bastard!’

  Julian gave a shrug and I immediately found myself wondering if he thought I was a hypocrite. After all, I’d told him I quite liked the idea of being watched. We went silent for a while, Julian sorting out the best skulls as I tried to get my head around the way I felt. There was no question at all in my mind that peeping Toms and panty thieves were perverts, but if men saw me by accident that seemed OK, at least as long as it was what I wanted. Not that they could be expected to read my mind, which brought me a moment of self-realisation, that if I wanted to show off I wasn’t really in a position to criticise anybody who enjoyed the view, accidentally or on purpose and whether or not I found them attractive.

  Julian had decided on the five nicest skulls. ‘Are you all right? If so, let’s go down to the folly.’

  I’d been waiting for the moment for days, but I just didn’t feel in the mood. On the other hand I didn’t want to disappoint Julian, or to have him think I was going to chicken out.

  ‘Maybe a glass of wine first?’

  ‘Good idea. Hold these.’

  He passed me two of the skulls, taking the other three himself and admiring the horns on one as we walked across the yard.

  ‘These should do the trick, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, definitely.’

  He gave a wicked chuckle and put the skulls down on the table as we entered the kitchen. I didn’t know where he’d got them and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The smooth hard bone felt odd, a bit creepy, but he obviously didn’t care in the least, sorting out the black candles and the other things I’d bought in London while I opened a bottle. I really wanted to be in the right mood, and poured us both big glasses, downing half of mine in a gulp before refilling it. He took his more slowly, his expression both thoughtful and amused as he sipped the cool liquid, his eyes only occasionally flicking to my face or chest. I couldn’t help but respond.

  ‘Do you like what you see?’

  ‘Very much, as you know.’

  I nodded, fully aware of what my chest seemed to do to him, for all that I’ve always felt a bit heavy and clumsy next to women like Vanessa. He grinned back and took another swallow of wine, then began to pack the bits and pieces into a box. It was going to happen, and I could feel my excitement rising with the buzz of alcohol from the mind. I was safe now, although I now knew I’d never really been in danger, and the thought of being nude outdoors was once more a thrill. Graham would have gone home long ago, and Vanessa had been looking for Julian in order to tell him they were going out to a restaurant for the evening and not to shut the main gates. We were alone. I poured out the rest of the bottle, drank and got to my feet, already a little dizzy after the long hot day with nothing to eat.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Outside it had begun to grow dark, the sun now below the horizo
n and the colour rapidly draining from the scenery as we walked. Julian had the box and I used a torch to light our way, making the shadows flicker as we moved through the wood and throwing the folly into stark relief against the sky. Only the door showed, and it looked black within, setting my pulse racing as we climbed the stairs.

  ‘Hold the torch. Shine it on the altar.’

  I did as I was told, happy to let him lead. He put down the box and began to set out the contents, his strong brown arms moving across the yellow patch of light. I knew he meant to make it look good, but he was obsessive, repeatedly consulting a little red notebook as he worked; first dipping a finger into a pot of purple wax to draw the pentagram with swift, precise motions, setting out the five skulls and carefully placing a candle on each before lighting them, only then copying out a set of symbols, frowning in concentration all the while. He worked in silence and I didn’t interrupt, so that it came as a shock when he spoke. So did his words.

  ‘Are you wet?’

  My response was an embarrassed nod. I knew I was – badly wet – my body responding to him and what was going to happen to me.

  ‘Good. Strip.’

  It was an order, sudden and harsh, his tone adding to my feelings and I let my dress slip from my shoulders and stepped free of my shoes and the puddle of black cloth I’d made around my ankles.

  ‘Let me help you up.’

  I climbed onto the altar, now trembling badly and very aware that while the night was utterly black beyond the five arches that opened to the woods and fields, we would be easily visible, my body bathed in golden light, naked, the deep shadows accentuating my heavy breasts and the curve of my waist and hips, my hair a dark halo. Julian watched, approving as I took the position we’d agreed on, flat on my back with my head, arms and legs spread out into the pentagram, each between a pair of skulls. He nodded, his eyes fixed between my legs and I found myself blushing for the intimacy of the show I knew I was giving him.