Simon Sinclair sank back into his first-class seat and opened the financial pages of his newspaper. He felt relaxed and calm. Trains were definitely the best way to travel, he thought, none of that endless waiting around at airports for commercial flights that always seemed to be delayed. He smiled as he checked the days prices on his stock; most were up again and the ones that had fallen he made a note to keep an eye on with a gold fountain pen. Replacing the pen in the inside pocket of his hand-tailored suite he flipped the paper closed and settled back in preparation for the journey ahead. His eyes closed gently as the train rumbled on into the night, his mind drifting back to a less fortunate time.
Born plain Simon Smith in the tenemented back streets of the city, he soon recognised the unique gift that had been bestowed upon him. His charm, easy wit and handsome features ensured that he was always the most popular person in the room - especially when the room was filled with the fairer sex. But as he entered adolescence, Simon found out something else: He was lazy. Work bored him. He found it much simpler to employ his charm to seduce the more wealthy ladies who would almost always insist on buying him meals, drinks, clothes and on occasions expensive jewellery. But Simon didn't want to become a prostitute, that was for lowly, course folk. He found it much more fun to trick the ladies. With practice, he found that most of his "dates" would invest their own, or their husbands money, in the most fantastic and, sometimes frankly unbelievable, business schemes that he could dream up. And so, Simon Smith became Simon Sinclair and embarked on a career of trickery and subterfuge. Out went the tight jeans and t-shirts and in came the designer shirts and hand made shoes - after all, he had to look the part!
Sinclair was interrupted from his daydream by the sudden opening of his carriage door. At first he was annoyed; irked that his favourite reverie had been broken, but then, as his eyes opened he saw a woman struggling with a heavy case.
"Good evening." he said in his most clipped and polite accent. "May I be of assistance?"
The brunette may not have been stunning now, but in her day she would have been a fine looking woman, Sinclair mused. High cheekbones and an attractive, tanned face made age assessment difficult. Despite the lateness of the hour, she wore a light dress by a designer that Sinclair recognised immediately. From what he could see, her figure looked tidy enough under the dress and the ensemble was completed by a pair of spiked heels that looked as if they would have set the average man back a months salary. Obviously wealthy and not bad looking: Just Sinclair's type!
"Thank you very much." she drawled as Sinclair finished pushing the case up into the luggage rack.
They sat opposite each other. "Sinclair." declared Simon finally, extending his hand.
"Margaret Chatsworthy - but you can call me Maggie!"
The newly acquainted couple shook hands politely. Sinclair noticed the obvious warmth in her greeting and, when her eyes lingered upon his for just a fraction longer than was necessary, he knew that an opportunity had presented itself.
He threw the woman a disarming smile baring a perfect set of teeth and struck up a conversation.
For that night, Sinclair had decided to pass himself off as a major in the army. In truth it was not planned, it just happened to be the first thing that came to mind, but his wide moustache and rugged features lent themselves perfectly to the part. From Maggie's intent attention he guessed that it had been a good choice, she seemed to be buying every word of his story and before long the couple were sitting closer together and sharing personal stories of their lives. Sinclair quickly learned that his companion was married to an older, successful businessman and that they had no financial worries. It seemed that the old man was currently away on business - a revelation that increased Sinclair's interest immediately.
"We have a beach house at Mont St. Peter." stated Maggie, completing a rather short life history.
Sinclair's nerves jangled. That was the next stop on the line. Damn! He needed more time than this. Thinking quickly his own, fake life story veered off at a tangent.
"What a coincidence!" He smiled again. "That's my stop also! I'm visiting an elderly relative. I'll be staying at a local hotel."
He waited for the surprise to show on her face and was a little surprised himself when she simply grinned at him.
"Why not join me at my house for a drink?" she almost whispered, "we could get to know each other a little better!"
Sinclair breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. For a brief moment he had thought his powerful charm had deserted him - but no, the offer was there and, if he was not very much mistaken, it was an offer of more than a drink!
Margaret Chatsworthy - or Lady Margaret as she was known to any other folk than her close circle of friends - slid into the chauffeur driven car that had been waiting at the train station to collect her. She looked over at her new friend as he joined her and the driver tooled the big car effortlessly out of the station. She knew Sinclair's sort. Probably wasn't even his real name, she guessed. But none of that mattered now. There had been several lies told on that train, from her as well as from her companion. But so far her mission had been completely successful.
One of the lies she had told had concerned the whereabouts of her husband. She smiled to herself as she thought about Gerard Chatsworthy going away on business. In truth, her husband was considerably older than she had made out and had retired from the business world some years ago. Far from being away, she knew that, at this moment, he was probably watching one of the many adult movies that made up their extensive collection and awaiting the return of his wife with a suitable escort. She shivered slightly as the car pulled into the drive of the beach-front property. Anticipation rather than cold was the cause. She could feel her nipples hard and stiff beneath the bra that she wore and was almost certain that her earlier trimmed pussy was becoming moist at the thought of the nights entertainment.
At forty-two, and with her husband virtually incapable of satisfying her almost daily lust, Margaret had feared that her days of sexual relief were at an end. She loved her husband and found the thought of a clandestine affair rather tawdry and distasteful. But she knew she still had a good body and she wanted to use it - she couldn't think what to do. Eventually, it was actually her husband, Gerard that provided the solution. After one of the servants had been dismissed, a nasty episode, Margaret remembered that also involved the tearful departure of one of the house-maids, the servant's room had been cleared and a pornographic video tape found. Both she and Gerard had been curious and had played the tape. To be fair, Maggie admitted to herself that the scenes had done little for her, but the voyeuristic element of watching two people having sexual intercourse had stirred within her husband a feeling that they both had believed lost and when, only a few months later, Gerard had suggested to her that he be allowed to view some "live" action, it seemed like a natural progression and an answer to both their prayers. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try to find a suitable partner for Maggie from within their local community, but a stranger on a train....that was a different matter!
Sinclair allowed himself to be led by the hand by his female companion and into the large house. He laughed silently to himself; the older ones were always a good bet, but this little slut seemed like a bitch in heat! Never had a conquest been made so easy for him. His self-contained mirth continued as the lady of the house almost dragged him up the stairs and into a large, sumptuously furnished room.
The room was fantastic, Sinclair thought as he glanced around. Heavy, oak wardrobes and cupboards lined one wall, classic paintings of modern art adorned another and the largest double bed that he had ever seen dominated the centre of the room. This woman obviously knew what she wanted! Sinclair felt a surge in his underwear and knew that his faithful erection was not going to let him down. He was going to enjoy this - Her husband was away for several days, she had said. The scam could wait until the morning.
Gerard Chatsworthy had been going almost wild with anticipation as he awaited his wife's return. Of course, there was no guarantee that her quest would be successful, but as he heard the car pull into the driveway and glimpsed Maggie leading a tall, good looking man into the house, he realised that her task had been fruitful. His heart pounded in his chest as he took the stairs to the designated room as fast as his tired limbs would allow. The large oak wardrobe now became the focus of his attention and he climbed into the confined space. Sitting in the positioned chair, he peered through the previously manufactured spy-hole in a knot of the wood. He saw the couple almost stumble into the room and unzipped his fly in readiness.
Gerard looked on as the stranger seated himself on the edge of the bed and Maggie disappeared into the bathroom. He smiled to himself as the good looking man looked around his unfamiliar surroundings glancing at the expensive furnishings and antique ornaments. He seemed to be almost assessing their worth. Gerard knew his type: A chancer and probably a con-artist. Gerard didn't care, the man was here for one purpose and one purpose alone: To fuck his wife!
Within a few minutes, Maggie reappeared from the bathroom. Gerard could see immediately that she had changed her clothes. The expensive dress bought especially for the occasion had been replaced by a lacy, black halter slip that barely covered her ample breasts and left her buttocks completely exposed. He swallowed hard, feeling the aridity of his throat as he realised that his wife had also completely removed her panties. The outfit was finished off with a black garter belt that suspended black, lace stockings - a very sexy picture!
