Chapter Ten.
Cat Amongst The Pigeons.
England, 1924.
Agatha Christie thought that there was something quite erotic about the game of tennis in 1924. The modern era has brought in a more casual look to ladies' attire. On this fine Sunday afternoon at Ashe Manor in Wychwood under Ashe, the famous author of The 'Mysterious Affair At Styles' was wearing a white button-down slip over a drop waist skirt. The skirt was deliberately loose and pleated, with a white belt at the waist. In her short bobcut, the redhead wore a long scarf.
The Manor is owned by Lord Whitfield, a self-made millionaire, and is located a mile from the centre of the village. It had originally been an elegant building of red brick but had seen a significant rebuild over the last four years. At the rear of the house, his fiancée, Bridget Conway had seen a fine tennis court installed. As tennis was an energetic sport, it helped the young woman keep fit and healthy. Agatha had been invited down to join a small group of guests who were warming up for the upcoming Wimbledon Championships. It was an opportunity to get away from the city for a weekend.
"Bunny! Don't hit the ball so hard, dahling."
The renowned author watched Bridget playing with none other than Henry 'Bunny' Austin, the up-and-coming twenty-five-year-old star. Austin was brought up in South Norwood, London, and at a young age was widely known by the nickname 'Bunny,' bestowed on him by school friends from the Daily Mirror comic strip Pip, Squeak, and Wilfred. Wilfred being a rabbit or bunny.
"Sorry, old thing!"
Agatha laughed from her chair and clapped in support. She concentrated on the young man. He was fantastically fit, good-looking, and single. Bridget had agreed earlier.
"He's so manly. His backhand is one to be reckoned with, and his hip movements are an even greater force. Trust me."
Conway winked at Christie knowingly. She was a diminutive thing, slim, small-breasted, but with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Oh yes, my dear. I found out at an early age that tennis players are highly sexual. I had no difficulty in humping them. I find a good jump after a couple of sets to be very relaxing. I get wet pants just watching Bunny's balls bounce."
"Right. Which ones?"
"Why, the ones in his flannel trousers. Hah!"
"Come on, Agatha. Pick up a racquet."
Bridget left the court in a sweat as Bunny waved to the redhead. Agatha chose a racquet from a stack and wielded it in her hand.
"I can't play with this tennis racquet,' she said, throwing it down in despair. "It's been restrung, but the balance is all wrong."
"It's much better than mine,' said Bridget, comparing the two. "The strings on mine are really loose."
"I'd still rather have your racquet," said Agatha, picking it up and
swinging it.
"Well, you can't."
"All right then."
Agatha and Bunny began playing. After thirty minutes, she felt like her arms were dropping off, and her legs had difficulty moving.
"I feel like I might very well seize up."
"Poor thing. I suggest you go and have a large Pimm's. Bunny and I shall take a stroll to cool off."
Agatha watched the two wander off through a clump of rhododendron bushes. She sat back and sipped her refreshing drink when she fancied she heard giggling and the occasional shriek. Ever the amateur sleuth, she trotted off to the bushes to investigate. She parted a branch and was shocked to see Bridget being heartily screwed by Bunny! He was banging her with short strokes as he hovered over her. Her knickers were down by her ankles and her thighs were around the small of his back. Her cute bottom bounced furiously on the grass as they rutted hard and fast.
"Heavens!"
Agatha was transfixed by the energetic pair. Especially him, with his strong legs, great hip movements, and clenching buttocks that rose and fell in a steady rhythm. They bucked away, chest to breast and thigh to thigh. The crack between his rear cheeks was damp with sweat and Agatha went weak at the knees as she wished it were her with the grass stripes up her backside. She shifted her view so that she
could make out his dick slipping right inside the blonde's muff. His massive ball sack hit the tender flesh of her rounded bum on each in stroke.
"Come on, lover. Shoot!"
He gave a wild cry of joy as he erupted into her weeping quim. He kept on ramming into her until his spent dick flopped out. They remained locked in each other's arms as Agatha took the moment to retreat.
x
Fame, as some self-pitying celebrities routinely complain, comes with plenty of drawbacks. The instant wealth, adoration, and adulation, are tempered with the dreary pressure of relentless public interest. So it was refreshing to discover that Agatha Christie welcomed the attention in this modern era. Rather than complain about her lot, the rampant redhead used her fame to party, travel, and make whoopee.
So when she had stumbled on Bridget and Bunny fucking in the bushes, the horny thirty-four-year-old wanted her share of his prowess. She had invited him to her room in the Manor and awaited his company. It was a nice-sized room with pictures on the walls, pretty lamps, and a good-sized bed.
She made some drinks of vodka and lime to get them in the mood. When he knocked on the door, she let him in and he looked even more desirable up close. He hadn't changed out of his tennis gear and had just added a towel around his neck. Agatha inhaled his manly odour and rubbed her thighs together as she became heated.
"Do sit. Have a drink."
The two chatted a while and his eyes seemed to pierce through hers. As if he were mentally undressing her. Good start!
"So you think you might have a chance of beating the American Don Budge this year?"
"I certainly have a chance. I have the home advantage. The crowd will all be behind me. I have a loyal female following too."
"Yes, I noticed Bridget paying you lots of attention."
Bunny raised a brow.
"You did? Well, I met her on the circuit a year ago. I admit I have no difficulty in attracting the ladies. In fact, I discovered that a good session in bed keeps me in fine fettle.
"Indeed."
"Sorry, old girl. Do I shock you?"
