Major Ernest Fortescue-Smythe stepped lively down the steps that led from his house to the gravelled path outside of it. He smiled and whistled as he walked with a jaunty step to the trap and the four men waiting there. Happily he greeted his friends and waited as the valets stowed the guns and other equipment for their trip to the gorse fields nearby.
The Major was considered by many to be a fortunate man in his mid fifties being of vigorous temperament and a thoroughly solid chap as they would say in society. His sons were safely on their careers, one following his father by going through the army in British India and the other well-respected in the city. He was a tall man with silver moustache and sideburns and a sprinkling of brown in his hair. Like the man he was he held himself erect and ready to take on the world with a solid body.
He was also considered fortunate since his wife was considered to be a leading beauty in Society. A buxom woman of about twenty-two she had gold hair and brilliant blue eyes as well as the features of a china doll. This had been his second marriage since his previous wife had died over five years ago. Though with a large difference in ages it was generally considered that the Major adored and worshipped his wife and she was considered lucky to have married one of the richest men in the country.
Everyone was here Dr Robert Browning his old school friend and a man who had served throughout the Mutiny and the adventures on the North-West frontier with him, Sir John Rotham the noted Barrister and man about town and of course Henry Smeeton the power behind a well-known banking house in the City who had young Ernest start his way in the city. It was the second day of the shooting trip and they were getting away from their women folk for the day.
"How is your good wife Ernest?" John asked. He was a man of affable nature and was a noted raconteur as well an incorrigible bachelor for whom many a young lady had an eye on though he had treated with polite courtesy that did not express any desire for their company. Though in his forties he could easily pass for a man in his thirties and was in fine health.
"Has one of those damned headaches women get. Says she didn't want to be disturbed all the morning," the Major growled with mock severity that brought an appreciative chuckle from his friends.
As he thought of his wife he saw her with her legs pulled up so that the cock could plunge through that thick thatch of hair into her wet pussy. Her face in the rictus of pleasure. He could imagine her legs pressed against his sides as she called on him to push harder. To ravish her small but voluptuous body with his cock. The buttocks tightening and releasing as he pushed into her and then pulled away from her as she gasped her pleasure with that passionate nature of hers. He could see her pretty face framed in gold as her head rocked back and forth in the la petit mort as the French described it.
A word broke his vision and he automatically answered, "No we will split up John and myself will make our way through the wood while you two will do a bit of pheasant shooting in the gorse. I heard that the buggers are quite thick on the ground and in the wood there are some foxes that must be taken care of."
With his finishing statement the retrievers bounded into the trap and settled on the floor between the men just before with a sharp tug it began to move away from the house. The men spent the time in a companionable silence their comments few and far between as they made their way along the rutted path. They passed over a small bridge and entered a small copse of trees where the trap stopped.
Both the Major and John jumped down joined by a dog and they made clear their intention of meeting the other two in time for lunch. Settled they watched as the trap slowly shook and rattled its way to the fields where the others would shoot pheasant. Then they entered the wood, it was easy going since it was mostly trees and very little undergrowth.
