Deep Waters Ch 05

Note: All characters are over 18, as indicated in this or the previous chapters

Deep Waters - Chapter 5

Just before midnight my wife re-joined me in our room, her orgy with Ian, Andrew and Jenny having ended. After a kiss and a hug for us both, Annabel returned to her husband. Izzy was tired, but I didn't let her sleep until I had clarified one point.

"How was it will Ian?" I asked, mainly as a way of starting the conversation. It still felt odd to be asking politely how her half of a session of partner-swapping had gone, but I felt strangely detached emotionally from it. It was as if this was just how things were meant to be at Deepwell and it didn't seem worth making a fuss over - we were all adults having fun, so what was the problem? But I knew that wasn't how I would have reacted before coming here.

She smiled with genuine pleasure. "Amazing. You have no idea what combinations two men and two women who all fancy each other can manage! How was Anna?"

"Not as vanilla as you might imagine," I said. "You are not the only one who can get up to kinky stuff. I spanking her arse with my hand and your hairbrush. She loved it and, to be honest, so did I. Then we fucked like wild animals, the first time at least. The other two times were a bit more regulation."

"Wow, I'm impressed," said Izzy, sounding like she meant it. "You've never shown any interest in that kind of thing before. Is Anna big into that scene then? You know, CP or BDSM stuff?"

"Apparently not as a regular thing but she said I was so dominant and masterful it excited her. Do you find me that way?" I looked into my wife's eyes as I said this. To my surprise she blushed and didn't hold my gaze, glancing down at her lap. She seemed reluctant to answer but finally said:

"Well... yeah... a bit, I suppose. I mean... I didn't used to. Not that I thought you were weak or anything you understand, but a normal, average, decent guy who I just happened to be madly in love with. But the last couple of days... there's something..." Izzy was floundering in a way I wasn't used to seeing.

"If I gave you an order, would you obey?" I asked, pushing a little harder.

She lifted her head and this time looked me in the eye. "Yes," she said quietly, "yes, I would."

I had no desire to start ordering my wife around, I loved her too much to want that, but something new was going on. It was doubtless Deepwell related and at some point I would need to test what it meant. The problem was I had no real idea how. My first thought, inevitably in this place, was to ask for something sexual, but that was no use as a test - Izzy would likely agree to it anyway, especially as she was even hornier than usual since our arrival here. So it had to be something Izzy wouldn't want to do, but at the same time nothing that would really harm her in any way.

I decided that if I slept on it perhaps inspiration would strike. We undressed, got into bed and I kissed Izzy good night. She soon fell asleep but it took a long while before I did the same, despite my exertions earlier with Anna. I had a lot on my mind and a whole new series of questions for George Webster.

*****

Happily today - my fifth at Deepwell - proved to be the day I got all the answers I could wish for. The new problem I faced was what to do with them. In my opinion not all the implications were good ones.

I didn't mess around when I joined Webster for my usual 10 a.m. appointment. All pretence about writing his biography was forgotten. I now knew I was his heir but that explained nothing else - not his longevity, the rampant casual sexuality of this place, the way everything he said was so influential nor how I seemed suddenly to have also acquired that last characteristic. So I came straight out and demanded he told me the whole truth. I was not comfortable with the thought that Izzy and I were being manipulated somehow and I let it show.

George listened quietly to my angry outburst, before nodding solemnly and saying: "Yes, you're right, its time you knew the secrets of Deepwell. After all they will soon be yours to keep. Use them well." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a heavy iron ring with two massive keys on it. They looked ancient. "I usually keep these more securely, you understand," he said, "but I knew we would need them today. Follow me."

As soon as he gave me that instruction, I instantly felt calmer. Of course George would tell me what I needed to know. I had been foolish not to trust him. He led me out of this office and I dutifully followed without further comment. We went down the stairs to the entrance hall and then toward the back of the house into the oldest, stone-walled part of the building.

"This was part of the monastery that stood here before our ancestors built the house you see today," George noted, before stopping at one of the huge, heavy oak and iron bound doors I had noticed three days ago when I had visited the gardens. George fitted one of the keys into the lock and turned it with surprising ease. "I keep it oiled," he said, as if in explanation.

The door opened inwards and I followed him inside. We entered a small stone-walled chamber, with a set of stairs leading down from it opposite where we had come in. I half expected flaming torches to light the way, but George flicked a light switch and naked electric light bulbs sprung into life, illuminating the room and the stairs, which I now saw curved round in a spiral. George closed the door and locked it from the inside. Then he headed down the stairs, which were also walled in thick slabs of stone. I followed.

The stairs spiralled down until I was certain that we were at least a storey's depth below ground so that the room we now entered must be a sort of cellar. However, there was no entry way to surface level other than the stairs we had descended, so it had obviously never been intended for storage. It was larger than the room above, had another heavy oak door opposite, and was brightly lit by electric lighting.

There were no furnishings here, but one very obvious feature - a large well, the circular walls of which, about three feet high, were also made of stone. However, I couldn't see into it as the top was capped off with a metal cover. There was a variety of brass tubes running into it. These led into a mass of machinery, which in turn sprouted more pipes that disappeared up through the ceiling. The assemblage resembled some sort of intricate Victorian plumbing.

"So this is the well the house is named after?" I guessed.

George shook his head. "No, this is called the 'new well', which I suppose is amusing given it is hundreds of years old. It is very important though. I don't know if you had realised, but this house is not on mains water. All the water used here - for drinking, cooking, bathing, even washing clothes and the like - comes from this well. There is a huge natural aquifer trapped in the rocks far below the house. The well accesses it and pumps - electric ones these days - pull up the water, then send it up to tanks in the attic space, from where it serves all the needs of the house."

"I'm guessing this water has something to do with the unusual behaviour of your staff and guests?"

"Correct," said George. "The water itself is very pure and entirely safe to drink, but the rocks it is held in have an unusual combination of minerals - unique, so far as I know. It has been chemically analysed several times, most recently in a study I commissioned a decade ago. There is nothing dangerous about it, but the effect on the human body is most surprising. It heightens the libido and also seems to make people more susceptible to suggestion."

"So everyone who drinks it becomes weak-willed and randy?"

George laughed, "You overstate the effects. They still have free-will, but I will admit that natural passions are unleashed. It all depends on the individual. I chose my staff from those who already have a strong sex-drive. The effect on someone less passionate would be not as marked. You might remember that one of the first things I did when you arrived with Izzy was offer you both a cup of tea. It was made with this water of course, and one way and another you've been consuming it ever since. In the case of you two it seems to have had a marked effect."

A thought suddenly struck me and I chuckled. Seeing George looking questioningly in my direction I explained. "Since you told me that you intended to pass your titles to my father, I've been worrying that he and Mum would want to visit. The idea of them running around naked ravishing the staff was too horrible to contemplate. But now I realise all I need is a good supply for bottled water from the local supermarket and that problem is solved."

George smiled at my comment but shook his head. "From what I know of my grandson the effect on him would have been at most that he and your mother might have had a nice second honeymoon. I don't think promiscuity would have struck. Incidentally, these waters have health benefits for those who drink them; residents of Deepwell suffer very little from infections for example. I imagine that was the basis of all the 'miracle cures' the monks used to dole out when this was a place of pilgrimage, but they don't seem to extend life or youth, at least not enough to be noticeable. Come, there is more you must see."

Webster went over to the door in the far wall of the cellar. It was of heavy oak with iron studs like its counterpart upstairs and he produced a second similarly massive key to open it. We passed through, although this time George left the door open. Beyond was a short passage, no more than six feet long, and then the stone walls stopped and were replaced by a tunnel cut into the bedrock. It looked as if it were a natural passage that had been widened and smoothed by the hand of man, presumably centuries before, and it slopped gently downward.

George flicked another switch and I saw that here too the modern convenience of electric lighting had been installed. He set off down the passage and I followed. It wound downwards, not in a regular spiral like the stairs to the cellar, but meandering, presumably following the path of the original natural tunnel through the rock. The floor had been levelled so the going was easy but the air grew a little stuffy, for there was no natural ventilation.

After a minute or so we entered a final chamber, like a small cave or pocket in the surrounding rock. We were clearly some way underground. The room had few features. There was nothing resembling a well; instead a small natural stream trickled slowly from the wall opposite the entrance, filled a rock basin, then overflowed to escape through a crack in the wall. Aside from that, there was a table on which sat a jug, a ceramic cup, a spoon and - most incongruously - a plastic bottle of orange cordial.

"This," Webster said in a reverent tone, "is

the

Deep Well, after which the house and the abbey before it are named." He put the emphasis on the word 'the'. It didn't in truth look that impressive. The water was brackish and slightly brown in colour. Seeing my scepticism, he added, "The water is completely safe, but I must admit it doesn't taste great, hence the fruit cordial. I drink it daily. Usually I take a few days' supply upstairs in a flask so I don't need to come down here all the time. That's all the spring can produce, just enough for one person."

"And it is this water that slows aging and gives long life?" I asked.

"Yes, and more than that. It comes from the same rocks as the other well, but its chemical composition is subtly different and unique. Those who imbibe regularly gain a high degree of authority over others, most especially those who drink from the other well. Everything they say carries more weight. Suggestions will be acted on and orders obeyed. It is an extraordinary power and responsibility, one that some of our ancestors abused. I have done my best not to be too domineering, although I will admit the temptation is great."

"Yes, you must have great power. I've felt it myself," I said wonderingly, thinking that it was just as well that George and his ancestors had not been more ambitious men.

"No I don't, or at least not for much longer," George Webster said with a slight smile. "That power is yours now. Two days ago I stopped drinking these waters and instead the daily dose has been introduced into your food. It is time to pass on not just the secret but the authority and responsibilities that go with it."

I stared at him, my mind whirring. Annabel Thornton had noted a change in me, saying I had become more commanding. Izzy, who knew me better than anyone, had said the same. Now I knew why.

While I stood there, not sure how to react, George picked up the cup, filled it from the natural basin, added cordial and stirred: "Here, drink today's dose. I would say 'good health' but that's guaranteed."

He handed me the cup. I stared at the contents, which were an unpleasant shade of orange. Still, I needed to know what this felt like. I lifted the cup to my lips and drank until it was empty. The contents didn't taste too bad, mostly of orange cordial but with an underlying mineral tang. I waited to see if I would feel anything different, good or bad but nothing happened. If I wanted to discover the effects I would clearly need to test them.

George was busy filled the flask. "I'll take this up for you. Once it's exhausted, I'll hand the keys over and you can make your own arrangements." He added some of the fruit cordial, sealed the top and then shook it to mix the contents.

Silently, I followed him back up the passage to the well room and from there we ascended the stairs back to the house proper. As George went he extinguished the lights and relocked the doors behind us. I was lost in thought, considering what to do next.

Once the upper door was locked, George handed me the flask and said, "I'll take the keys to my office - come and see me tomorrow and you can have them. My lawyer will be visiting with some papers to do with your inheritance and we can sign them at the same time. I won't be dining with you tonight, so see you 10 a.m. tomorrow." With that he turned and left me.

*****

Clutching the flask I wandered through the ground floor of the house somewhat randomly, seeking inspiration. Obviously, I needed to command someone to do something, ideally something they wouldn't normally do, but I had no wish to seriously upset or inconvenience anyone. I just don't think I have it in me to be that cruel and long may it stay so.

It didn't help that my mind kept straying toward sex, although at least I now knew why. Just like everyone else in this house the water I was drinking was increasing my libido. But there was the problem with using that as a test; if I ordered any of the women in this household to fuck me they would all want to anyway - so providing no test of my alleged powers of persuasion. Then it came to me; I could use that very thing to my advantage and I knew exactly how. It meant being a little cruel to the person I loved most in the world, but Izzy would suffer no real harm and I would make it up to her afterwards.

I needed a third person to make my idea work and just at that moment in my wanderings I came across the ideal candidate, Cerys the Welsh redheaded maid. For once in this house she was actually do the job that I assumed she was paid to do, namely housework; to be exact she was vacuuming in one of the side rooms off the main corridor. I entered the room and signalled for her to stop a moment as I wanted to speak.

She switched the vacuum off and smiled at me as if genuinely pleased to see me. Everyone was ridiculously friendly here - probably another side effect of the extraordinary well water. "How can I help you," she asked in her melodic accident.

The girl was in her early 20s, petite and pretty, with creamily pale, lightly freckled, skin and hazel eyes. Her skimpy uniform emphasised a delightful figure. Besides all that, in my opinion it is a simple fact of nature that redheads are hot. In short, she was perfect for my purpose. "Leave that for the moment and come with me," I instructed her.

"Yes of course sir," she said without hesitation or query as to what I wanted. That was encouraging, but proved nothing. From what I had seen the staff here were invariably helpful to guests.

I led Cerys out of the room, along the corridor to the entrance hall, up the stairs and then into the East wing until we came to my and Izzy's bedroom. As we went I was hastily texting my wife to join us; it was a much quicker way of finding her than trying to search this huge old pile. As it was Cerys and I got there first and it was just under a minute later that Izzy opened the door to see the two of us waiting for her. I had put the flask of Deep Well water on my bedside table.

I could tell what was going through Izzy's mind. My wife has always had a strong sex-drive, although I knew she could control it if needed. She had been abstaining from her natural promiscuity for my sake for two years now, although, happily, not from plenty of sex with me. Accordingly the last few days at this place under the influence of the aphrodisiac waters, surrounded by attractive and willing men and women and with all my objections withdrawn had been an extraordinary release for her.

It was clear on seeing Cerys she was expecting more of the same - a nice threesome with the charming redhead and her beloved husband. This was good from my point of view; the test of my supposed power of control would be all the more effective with Izzy in that mood.

What she said, however, was: "Did you find out anything from George?"

"Quite a lot - well everything really. I'll tell you all about it later, but now I need you to help me in a little experiment." I looked her in the eyes, seeing her puzzlement. "Izzy," I said trying to sound calm and steady, "You are not to have sex with anyone, no matter how tempted you are, until I give my permission. Do you understand?"

Her face fell. We both knew obeying would be a trial for her, although she didn't yet know how much of a one. But what Izzy said was: "Yes, Eddie, I promise."

"Get undressed - both of you," I instructed the two women. They looked surprised but instantly began to obey, Izzy, who was casually dressed in jeans and t-shirt, stripping more swiftly than Cerys in her flimsy but more complex maid's uniform. Neither showed the slightest hesitation in following my order. Soon two pretty, slim and shapely young women, one brunette and one red-haired, stood stark naked next to me. I was beginning to see why George had warned me that this sort of power could be addictive.

Still, I needed to see my experiment through. Turning to Izzy I said, "Sit in that armchair and put your hands behind your back. You are not to move or touch yourself until I give permission." I left Cerys standing where she was while I undressed. I noticed that I was not the only one impressed by this display of feminine beauty. The two girls were glancing at one another as often as they were me. Good - their being mutually attracted made this test all the stronger.

Once naked, I sat on the edge of the bed. "Come here," I told Cerys, "and give me a blow-job." I felt a little guilty giving such crude orders but apparently I didn't need to worry. Far from any sign of reluctance, the Welsh girl gave a squeak of delight and was over to me in a flash and down on her knees, her hands on my cock. Seconds later she was sucking on the head and stroking the rapidly swelling length.

I glanced at the ginger hair which was all I could see of Cerys as, head bobbing, she eagerly worked on my cock and then lifted my eyes to look at Izzy. She was wriggling slightly in her seat, watching closely, with her hands still clasped behind her back.