The Squire Of Pixham Estate

The Squire of Pixham Estate and the reunion of two long-lost families.

Definition: Originally a squire served as a medieval knight's attendant. As the title spread, the village publican was often called 'squire'. Later, the owner of a manor house came to be known as "The Squire". More recently, the term became used to describe country gentlemen.

Editor: Tod assisted me by checking spelling and grammar. All other errors are mine.

Disclaimer: All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 or older. Copyright and a work of fiction.

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Prologue:

In 1670 King Charles II of England, Scotland, and Ireland awarded the deceased Earl of Northumberland estates to his illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. England's James II succeeded his brother Charles as King, in 1685. Royalist forces crushed a rebellion army led by Monmouth at the battle of Sedgemoor in 1685. General Charles Pickering commanded the 1st Duke of Grafton forces at the battle. Pickering was cited in dispatches to the King and was Knighted for services to the realm. Sir Charles was married to the Duke's only daughter, Lady Priscilla. Like his brother, James II gave out lands to his favourite subjects, especially those who followed the Roman Catholic religion. So in 1686, James bequeathed the Duke of Monmouth estate to Sir Charles Pickering. However, the Countess of Northumberland and sole heiress successfully sued for her estates to be returned. Pickering was handsomely remunerated for his loss. Charles and his wife, Priscilla, purchased the forty-acre Pixham Estate containing a twelve-room manor house east of the township of Dorking, much closer to London. Unfortunately, King James II was deposed in 1688, angered by his Roman Catholic favouritism and for disregarding Parliament as the ruling power of England.

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Some three hundred years later, on the other side of the globe, in the new colony of New South Wales, Australia. The crossing of the Blue Mountains (1815) stimulated an exodus of explorers, and soon to follow over the next decades were settlers claiming farmlands on the western slopes. In 1886 one such family was the Mackenzie clan, wife and two sons making their way over the still rough mountain pass on a bullock-drawn wagon. A month before, Stewart Mackenzie was allocated 500 acres of land by the Lands Department ten miles south of the recently named settlement of Parkes. Stewart was the son of an Estate manager and held the promise of replacing his father in time. However, Stewart wanted to be independent and become Laird of his own property, thus their trip to Australia.

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I am Henry Pickering, thirty-five, the tenth generation of the family and Squire of the Pixham Estate. I am sitting at the 300-year-old desk in the study room, preparing for the next morning's court case at the Central Criminal Court or, as we call it, 'The Old Bailey'.

There was a knock on the door, "come in," I called out.

Oscar entered, holding an express parcel post.

"A package for you, Squire."

"Thanks," I replied, taking hold of the parcel.

Oscar was my chauffeur and sometimes butler. He and his wife, Mary, the house cook, lived on the Estate, along with my daughter, Jenny. Oh, I mustn't forget our Groundskeeper, Ducan and his family.

My wife, Sibyl Bowles (her maiden name), is a barrister who lives in our Chelsea, London flat. She only visits the Estate on weekends. But not this last weekend, her excuse, a prior engagement with old school chums. Things between Sibyl and I had gone from bad to worse since Jenny, our daughter, and I moved back to the Estate.

I had been expecting this terrible news since the weekend. The package contained many photos and a USB drive. I was looking at the spread of photos of my wife and her lover (Sean Smith) in sexual congress while on a dirty weekend in the Canary Islands. I had become aware of the one-year affair six months ago as rumours filtered and then hired the services of Sam, a detective and business acquaintance of our law firm. But did I dare look at the video on the USB drive?

Sam said he couldn't get into the room until they went to dinner. There was no sex that night - they were too tired, they claimed. However, the following morning they did, in Sam's words, "rutting like animals."

I found the morning scene. I assumed the camera was mounted in the smoke detector in the middle of the room from the view I got. Sibyl awoke, and after a brief look of confusion on her face, realised where she was. She ducked under the covers and appeared to take Smith in her mouth.

Before long, a grin showed on Smith's face, and he started to egg her on, "suck that cock bitch." Sibyl replied with a moan of encouragement and continued on her task.

Her moaning prompted Smith to offer more inducement, "Get it all down your gullet, bitch." More moaning from Sibyl. Smith then pulls the cover off their naked bodies to view Sibyl's work.

Sibyl carried on for the next five or so minutes. Her jaw must be getting tired by now. I was surprised at Smith's staying ability. All the while, I could see Smith's finger toying between her legs; Sibyl responded by stretching them further apart and constantly moving her bottom in an opposite rhythm to his fingers.

Suddenly Smith pulled her head off his dick, spun her around onto her hands and knees, then moved behind her. She lifted her ass and wiggled it wantonly. Crying out, "Put that dick in me, baby... I need your big cock in me now... hurry you bastard."

Turned on by her words, Smith slapped her bottom with an open hand, which only caused Sibyl to moan louder. She really was a bitch in heat. Smith obeyed and, in one thrust, sank until their bodies met with a smack.

There was no romance here, strictly porn. Maybe because I knew the female star, I surprisingly didn't get an immediate erection, only a bad taste in my mouth. It went just plain rooting for the next ten minutes. Twice I saw Sibyl quiver and assumed she had mild orgasms. I could see by Smith's rhythm he was building up to a finale. Taking one hand from her hip, he grabs her hair, pulling her head back to its full extent, which produces loud snorting noises, like a mare being bred. It was finally over with Smith's last thrust - he emptied his balls into Sibyl. Then he let go of her hips and hair. She dropped like a stone onto the bed, not moving. Smith fell beside her.

Dare I say it, Smith's stamina was something to behold; no wonder he was known for his skill as a lover. But the thought remained - it was only two people mating. There was no sign of love or devotion, just animals, mating forced by nature. Nothing more!

I had seen enough. Now I could better understand why Sibyl and I didn't have a connection. We were two very different people on separate planes of existence.

Ours was a rocky marriage from the start. Our legal team had just won a murder case. The Barrister, Sibyl and myself, articled clerks at the time, were celebrating well into the night after three long months of twelve-hour days of legal work. Unfortunately, Sibyl and I woke to find ourselves naked in a hotel bedroom with little memory of the previous night's doings. As work colleagues, we were not that attracted to each other. Embarrassed, we quickly showered - separately, with a promise not to mention our night's escapades never again, then departed to our respective abodes.

Not two months later, Sibyl approached me in Chambers and said, "I'm late." Sure enough, Sibyl was pregnant. I did the right thing and offered marriage, realising it was the honourable thing to do if bringing a child into this world. To my relief, she said, "Yes."

We had a small wedding on my father's Estate. I had only one year of my articled clerkship and final University exams to become a Lawyer. So Sibyl became a mother and moved into my two-bedroom flat (I say my flat, but my father owned it) with our daughter. We settled in as a family, and Sibyl put her whole energies into being a mother and wife and raising our daughter, Jenny. When she reached the age of five, Jenny started school, and Sibyl continued her university studies now full-time to become a Lawyer, supported by me.

By now, I had a large clientele and was making good money, with the prospect of becoming a Barrister. Sibyl graduated two years later and found a position with an opposition legal Chambers. Before long, she was well on her way to becoming a force to be reckoned with in the London legal world.

Then suddenly, my father, James, died, some thirty-one years after my mother, Ruth, had died at my birth. They had married in their early thirties, and I was born when Ruth turned thirty-five. My father had a successful career as a stockbroker. When he turned fifty-two, he semi-retired and stood for election as the local member of Parliament for the Dorking electorate. He held the post for the last fifteen years and in opposition for the past five. All the while managing the Estate and associated farms. During his time as the Squire of the Estate, my Dad expanded its area by purchasing three surrounding farms, all commercially viable concerns. My father had many lady friends over the proceeding years but never found a worthy replacement for my mother.

Now I was the heir to the Pixham Estate and all the responsibilities that came with it. Ducan quickly slipped into the position of Estate manager and attended to the day-to-day running of the farms and Estate with an appropriate increase in remuneration.

In the meantime, Jenny and I moved to the Pixham Estate. As Jenny got older and more independent, she and her mother often came to verbal clashes, and I had to intervene frequently. So it didn't surprise me when Jenny agreed to return to the Pixham Estate to live. It helped that we had horses to ride, her favourite pastime. She even put up with the early rising and long commute catching the 7.30 am train from Dorking to London, an hours ride each day. I had a permanent compartment booked on the carriage for Jenny and myself while she attended The Westminster school.

A year after my father's death, I was approached and asked if I wished to stand for election as the Dorking local member of Parliament, but I declined. I had too much on my plate, having just become a Barrister at law at the ripe-old age of thirty-two.

Over the next four years, Sibyl and I had become more like brother and sister than husband and wife! While Sibyl preferred to remain in our London flat. I was unsure if Sibyl had discreet affairs, and her desire to stay in London implied that was the case.

Throughout my career as both a lawyer and now a Barrister, I have chosen to take on cases for the underdog, sometimes even petty criminals. The higher profile cases paid for the latter. Much to Sibyl's vexation, who was always in the newspapers representing actors, singers and the like in high-profile cases, saying, "That's where the money is."

So it was inevitable Sibyl would find a full-time lover. By now, she was a very high-profile Barrister. But what galled me was that all she ever had to do was ask for a divorce, and we would have gone our separate ways. So divorce it was.

I decided to get a bit of my own back; the latest report on Smith detailed that while he is a highly paid, well-respected wildlife photographer always in demand, he is also a consummate seducer of married women, Sibyl being his latest. It appears he is well-endowed and an excellent lover. The report I had indicated MI5 had been keeping an eye on Smith for some time as a potential spy or security risk. Over the past five years, there have been four wives before Sibyl, one now divorced, and three are still married to unsuspecting husbands and are still having affairs with other men and the occasional dalliance with Sean when he's back in England. I'm unsure how Sam got this report, and I wasn't going to ask.

I decide to balance the scales and anonymously send emails with pictures to the gullible husbands regarding their wives' affairs with Smith. Which quickly causes three more divorces.

Sibyl didn't put up much of a defence as she had no claim on the Estate by a prior legal arrangement. I offered the Chelsea flat as a divorce settlement, which she accepted. The divorce will be final in twelve months. Jenny, now fifteen, elected to live with me on the Estate.

Upon returning from a three-month assignment in Iceland and hearing of the divorce, Smith drops Sibyl like a hot potato. The challenge is gone; time for a new female conquest. Smith, who had several irate husbands after him, left with his tail between his legs, sets sail for the Antarctic for a photo shoot for six months.

Sibyl called me devastated at Smith's apparent rejection expecting me to commiserate with her! I nearly laughed down the phone and then realised we were definitely - like brother and sister. Smith's rejection hit her vanity hard, and for the first time, she lost her next court case. But the bitch I knew returned quickly, and there was a flurry of wins over the next year.

My mature daughter visits her mother one weekend a month. Sunday evening over dinner, she told me, "Mother came in at 2 am Saturday, drunk as a skunk. She woke me up and proceeded to boast about her myriad of lovers and sexual liaisons. But, you know what, Dad, I think she is lonely, not that she would admit it."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I thought.

On Smith's return from the Antarctic, he found his family home burnt to the ground. I read a small news item in the Times, 'Police suspect arson, but have no leads yet.' Smith stated, "he lost all his equipment and photos of the last ten years, all of which cannot be replaced."

Still enamoured with Smith, Sibyl offered him a roof over his head and a place to sleep whenever he was in England.

However, Smith was beaten outside a well-known gentlemen's club a month later. Another Times newspaper report, "Assault on well-known nature wildlife photographer, Sean Smith. Who was admitted to hospital for treatment of four broken fingers." It would seem someone has declared war on Sean Smith!

Jenny had just got off the phone with her mother and reported, "Smith is recuperating at her mother's flat. So I can't stay there anymore."

Looking at my daughter, I suggest, "How about we buy a two-bedroom flat as you will be off to University in a couple of years."

The joyous look on my daughter's face was all the encouragement needed, and I proposed, "How about I leave it your responsibility to find one."

***

As my divorce proceeded, Susan, my paralegal, took maternity leave, and Elizabeth was allocated to me. She is a twenty-eight single mother of a six-year-old daughter (Rita). Her husband was killed five years ago on a UN peacekeeping mission in Bosnia. Elizabeth was a well-regarded paralegal before her marriage, and now her daughter is in school and has returned to the workforce.

Over the next year, a strong friendship between Elizabeth and myself emerged, and by the time my divorce was final, we had become an item, dating regularly.

In Elizabeth, I found a woman with much empathy and warmth I had never felt from Sibyl. Much to our relief Jenny and Rita get along surprisingly well, considering their age difference. Rita treats Jenny like a bigger, older sister. And they both love horse riding around the Estate.

After eighteen months, the romance between myself and Elizabeth had reached a point where I asked for her hand in marriage. I offered Elizabeth an engagement ring last worn by my great-great-grandmother, Matilda. She was the sixth generation of the family. The Ring contained a large central diamond and six smaller ones around it.

It is affectionately known as the Pixham Engagement Ring and dates back to the first Lady Pickering. Originally it only had the larger central diamond, and the smaller diamonds were added. Over the years, another diamond was added as the Ring was used. However, now there is no more room for another.

A month before our wedding, I took Elizabeth to *Royal & Sons Jewellers, where we chose our wedding rings, and Elizabeth's engagement ring was professionally cleaned.

The wedding took place on the Pixham Estate, at the local Church of England chapel. Elizabeth's parents attend, and her father gives her away again. Jenny was Elizabeth's bridesmaid, and Rita was the flower girl. My best man was an old chum from my University days. The staff of Pixham Estate put on the reception. Cook did a splendid job.

The family honeymooned on the island of Jamaica for two weeks. We took along both our daughters, who had their suite with a connecting door.

Our first time together, Elizabeth insisted we wait - I was apprehensive. After, Elizabeth retired to the bathroom to freshen up. I stripped off my clothes and jumped into bed naked, waiting expectantly for her exit.

The door opened, and I saw a vision of beauty, but not quite what I expected. Instead of a tiny, short see-through teddy, Liz wore a modest, long, flowing salmon-coloured nightdress reaching her ankles; the stringed lace top enclosed her breasts to display their fullness. I felt myself becoming erect immediately and looking forward to exploring her body.

I threw back the bed covers, undercovering myself and inviting her to join me. She sauntered with a sexual sway of her hips. As she reached the bed with one swift motion, the gown dropped to the floor, and there stood a thing of beauty.

Liz told me, "Lay back down." Then, picking up a small bottle, she rubbed scented oil into my chest, arms and legs; she paid particular attention to my rampant erection. Now she had finished, it was my turn to anoint her body.

I marvel at the firmness of her breasts, cupping my hands and working the oil into the soft skin. I tweaked the erect nipples, with my thumb and forefingers, with an extra drop of oil. Massaging her inner thighs, paying special attention to her clitoris, bringing it out of its hiding spot. Soon she was releasing copious amounts of her fragrance and nectar. Now I had Liz constantly moaning. I spread her legs further and brought my tongue into play. I was encouraged by her grabbing a handful of my hair and mushing my face into her vulva. I continued to massage her clit with my tongue until she climaxed, bringing her leg together and writhing out her orgasm.

She pulled me off her groin, drawing me toward her face; we kissed passionately for what felt like a full minute. Signalling her acceptance, she opened her legs wide, vocally urging me on, "I need you inside of me now...pleaseee." I succumbed to her request and sank into her furnace to my fullest extent.

Knowing I wouldn't last long, I bit my lip in an attempt to forestall my inevitable cumming. Small, "oh...oh...oh," encouraged me to continue at full pace. Then I felt Liz starting to quiver, and she cried out, "Oh God," and grasped me firmly. I proceeded to pump all I had into her channel, grunting as I did.

We lay quietly, heavily breathing, me on top, supported by my elbows, lightly kissing until Liz's legs became uncomfortable, and I turned onto my side. Liz snuggled into my shoulder, her arm across my chest and my arm around her shoulders; we fell asleep for a time. Later needing a pee and cleaning up, we returned to our prior position and slept till the early morning Jamaica sun and tropical breeze woke us.

***

Only a month back from our honeymoon, Oscar had picked Rita and me up from the train station. We arrived home to be met at the door by an excited Elizabeth. She blurted out, " I'm pregnant, darling!"

Dropping my briefcase, I took her in my arms, and we kissed. Then, we hear, "Ewe...enough of that," said Rita, but both Jenny and Rita congratulated her and hugged.

I got an unexpected phone call from Sibyl in a tiz. "Henry, I got the most terrible news today...I'm pregnant! That blood Sean has knocked. Just like you did, you're a pair of bastards." I didn't get a chance to reply; she hung up.