A Game of Consequences

Chapter 15. A Saucerful of Secrets

"Hey! Mummy and Daddy are coming to visit!" Phoebe looked up excitedly from the third letter Barry had given me.

My heart sank. The last time Roger and I had met, he'd made it clear that he thought I might be a freeloader, and I was worried he had some more bad news in store for me.

"Mummy says they have a surprise for us. That'll be fun!"

"I'm sure it will," I replied, trying to suppress the feeling of creeping dread. "When are they coming? Is it just for the day?"

"No. It's the weekend after next. Mummy says they've booked a room at the Randolph and will be here all weekend."

"Great," I replied, trying to hide my feelings of despondency.

"What was in your letter?"

"Just the usual from Mum," I replied.

"No, the other one."

"Er, it's from Jill, my ex-teacher."

"Ah. Would that be the ex-teacher you fucked?"

"Yes." I passed her the letter. No secrets.

Phoebe read it and her eyebrows raised. "That seems a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"What?"

"Well, the baby is what - three months old? And it was a year ago that you were fucking her. Can you do the sums?"

"But we used protection."

"Every time?"

I had a sinking feeling. The last time Jill and I had fucked, she'd told me she was on the pill and that I didn't need to use a condom. Clearly, she'd been lying, but why? Could I really be the father of Jill's baby? Surely Colin would've fucked her a lot more; I mean, I would if I were married to Jill. It must be his, I thought. It must be his. Mustn't it?

Phoebe looked at me. "You told me you'd come up her arse, but did you also come up her cunt."

I grimaced at the casual, and I thought in the circumstances, inappropriate crudeness. "Well, yes, but she told me she was on the pill."

"Well, she obviously wasn't, or she wouldn't have got pregnant around that time."

"Would it - would it make a difference if the kid turned out to be mine?" I felt some real trepidation.

Phoebe looked pensive for a moment. "Hmm - well, no; not unless she wants you to pay maintenance or you want access rights. I'm guessing that, by the fact she's waited this long before contacting you, and then in what looks like a generic letter to your class, she's pretending the baby is her husband's."

"She may well be," I said, though I was worried that it appeared that Jill had lied to me to get pregnant.

"In fact, this note on the bottom makes me think that she knows that the kid's yours, but she doesn't want to disabuse this Colin guy. Looks very suspish. Anyway, you'd better write back - but I want to see what you say."

I grabbed a pad, made some notes, and then drafted the letter for Phoebe's approval.

Dear Mrs Dawson

It was so good to hear from you, and what exciting news! So it seems that the world of education has lost one of its best teachers, at least for a while!

I've been having a great time at Oxford, for which I have to thank you again for your excellent tuition and mentoring. I've been with my girlfriend Phoebe since the start of the academic year, and we're both doing well; our tutors have told us that if we continue this way, we're in with a very good chance of a First each.

It would be great if we could have a class reunion. I'd love you to meet Phoebe - I'm sure you'd get on really well - and we'd both like to see your new daughter. She sounds adorable.

We're living in a rented flat and have a phone. I've written the number below - please feel free to call; we're in most evenings, though I spend much of the weekend rowing, which has replaced swimming as my main pastime.

Looking forward to hearing from you

Richard Watson

Phoebe approved the wording, and I addressed and sealed the envelope.

"You haven't forgotten that it's our Anniversary soon," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that I knew disguised some cunning plan of hers.

"How could I? Do you have any suggestions? I could cook you a nice meal, or we could go out..."

"I thought we might try for a repeat of the 'cunt in a punt' episode. A year on from our first fuck would be Sunday, but Oxford's likely to be busy with tourists, so I suggest we celebrate on the Monday, when it'll be quieter."

I smiled. "Sounds good. But it could be risky."

"That'll just add to the thrill, don't you think?" She grinned and winked,

"You're incorrigible. It's almost like you want us to be caught. OK, I'll see if I can book a punt for the end of the afternoon," I replied.

"Fancy a dress rehearsal? Now?" she grinned back.

Not many girls can get fucked up against a wall with one foot on the floor and the other leg over their partner's shoulder. She was very wet, in part because I'd eaten her pussy for a good few minutes as she sat on the table and I knelt on the floor. Then, on her knees in front of me, she'd sucked me to a throbbing hard-on in a much shorter time, and she was howling in orgasm after being fucked for less than five minutes, my cock shoving quite fiercely up her wide-open cunt while my thumb worked her clit and we kissed, devouring each other's tongues.

As she tried to mop up the semen dribbling down her skinny thighs, I pulled my jeans back up from around my knees and went to the fridge for a couple of beers.

*****

On the Monday, the weather was drizzly in the morning but brightened in the late afternoon. This was ideal; the punts were under-subscribed, and people stayed away from the water meadows. We found the same tree. Phoebe had again dispensed with panties, and I took along a small vibrator that I held on her clit as she performed her 'vertical splits' movement. A passing canoeist saw what we were doing and slowed to have a better look. We ignored him, and he soon continued paddling, as I continued thrusting. Phoebe screamed into my open mouth as she came, so I could actually feel the vibrations of her orgasm in my head as well as in my cock.

"Wow, I think that was even better than last year," she gasped after we'd separated.

"Well, we've had more practice," I said, retrieving some tissues from my jeans pocket so she could clean up.

We got back to the hire centre just before it closed. And then I noticed a sign - "Punters wanted for summer work." Now, 'punters' normally means gamblers, people who place bets, so I thought I'd take a chance. The guy who was just shutting up referred me to his boss in a nearby office, and I signed on for some casual summer work, from the start of July, punting tourists and visitors along the Thames - or the 'Isis', as Oxford students and staff insisted on calling it.

"I need to do something during the summer," I explained to Phoebe. "I don't want to go home, and I guess we can stay here as long as we can pay the rent. If I make some money and pay my share, that might improve my standing with your dad."

"Well, if you're going to get a job, so will I," Phoebe announced.

By that stage in the term, lectures were over, and we only had a few tutorials left. She and I were finishing our dissertations, taking turns using an IBM golfball typewriter that Roger had provided. (This was 1990. Home PCs were uncommon.) Phoebe said she had an idea and went out in the late morning. She returned mid-afternoon with a smug expression.

"I have a job," she announced. "I'll be leading tours of the Ashmolean Museum."

"Bugger!" I said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Well, there are one or two openings left. It's only part-time, so you can probably fit it in around your punting, if you get a move on."

I jumped on my bike, cycled to the museum - one of the greatest outside London - and landed a job, four mornings a week, leading tours. The money was no better than my punting gig, but as the late, great Terry Pratchett famously said, it was indoor work with no heavy lifting. All I had to do was pick up a script from the museum office the day before, familiarise myself with the particular exhibits that were the focus of that particular tour - not hard, as Phoebe and I visited the museum as often as we could - and engage with the visitors. I could do that standing on one leg. It was one of a number of things Phoebe could do, standing on one leg, so we were both happy.

Phoebe also found herself a Saturday job at Ottakar's bookshop, as a sales assistant and part-time book reviewer. She's a voracious reader, so it was fun for her to be able to read a new book when the shop was quiet, maybe take it home in the evening, and later write a short critique to stick on the shelf to help sell that particular volume. She was reading so much that I half expected to peer around her body after I'd fucked her to discover she'd been reading a book the whole time.

*****

"More wine, Richard? Or would you like a brandy with your coffee?"

Roger seemed in an uncharacteristically friendly mood. He and Alison - who, I may add, looked stunning in a simple 'little black dress' - had treated us to dinner at the Randolph, the smartest hotel in town, right opposite the Ashmolean. Phoebe - who looked pretty hot, at least to my eyes, in a halter-neck mini dress - was explaining to them about her new job at Ottakars that was starting the next morning. I'd offered to give them a tour of the museum while Phoebe was at work, and suggested taking us punting in the late afternoon, which met with general approval. Dinner seemed a little early, I thought. Back then, most people ate out around eight. We'd started eating at six-thirty, and the place had been quiet, but was now filling up.

I declined the brandy but accepted the top-up of wine, smiling as if I was enjoying being in their presence. Roger had promised a surprise later in the evening, and I was worried that it could be something I wouldn't enjoy. But Phoebe's father was giving nothing away.

"Well, you two have lasted a year, and you're still together. Well done! At your age, and especially when you're a student, away from home, relationships can be somewhat fickle. We're impressed that you've put up with each other for so long. I guess you have rows from time to time, but you seem to be weathering them pretty well, so well done both of you!" He raised a glass and sipped.

"Actually, we don't row. Not much at all, do we, Phoebe?"

She looked at me with a toothy grin. "Only over totally trivial things, and then not much. No, I think we're really well suited."

"Are you thinking of getting engaged?" Alison asked, looking at me quizzically.

This was a question I'd been dreading. Yes, I wanted to be with Phoebe all the time. We were unquestionably in love. But we were nineteen and impoverished students. Or, at least, I was an impoverished student, while she was a daddy's girl with a generous allowance. I couldn't afford a lavish wedding - or any wedding at all, for that matter. I couldn't even stretch to an engagement ring. I certainly didn't want to lose Phoebe, but I felt I couldn't take the next logical step until I had some money of my own - and, at the same time, prove to Roger that I wasn't a freeloader looking to tap into his obvious wealth.

"I..." I began, but Phoebe jumped in.

"We're still too young, and neither of us has an income of our own." She reached out and took my hand. "I think talk of a wedding will have to wait until we graduate. It'd distract us from our studies, and we need to think about our careers."

"We'd pay for the wedding, you know," Roger said, with a smile I couldn't quite fathom. Was he trying to push me into marrying his daughter? If so, why? The last time we'd met, he was clearly suspicious of my long-term motives.

"Daddy, I know you could, but please, don't pressure us now. We're not ready. When we're in a position to pay our own way, that's when we'll think about getting married. We need to consider boring but essential things like a mortgage."

Roger's face broke into a broad grin. He collected up his napkin and very decisively placed it on the table, getting up. "Come on, I've something to show you," he said, enigmatically. As he passed the desk, he said to the Head Waiter, "Please charge the meal to my suite. The Oxford."

Shit! Money talks. A suite at the Randolph was expensive, even in those days.

Roger led the way to the car park, and we climbed into his 7-Series BMW. We drove a short distance, over Magdalene Bridge, and then he pulled up outside a brand new block of what I considered were luxury apartments, overlooking the River Cherwell, with a big 'For Sale' sign outside. We got out, and he opened the main door with a combination on a keypad.

"Where are we going, Daddy?" Phoebe asked as we entered the lift.

"Wait and see. It's a surprise," Roger replied with a grin.

He stopped outside a door on the second floor, unlocked it and went in. The place was big; several large rooms, and a view of the river.

Roger turned to Phoebe. "What do you think?"

"About what? It's a nice place. Are you coming to live here?"

"No, you are," he replied.

"What? But we're already in an apartment..."

"Arentedapartment. My company built these flats. We've been doing some speculative development across the Midlands. The property market is booming, so we're offering these places for sale or to let. I selected one that I thought would suit you two. It's better than the rather dingy flat you're in right now..."

"We like it..."

"...and it has a second bedroom, so we can come and stay whenever we like."

'Oh, joy!' I thought. 'Roger landing on our doorstep to check up on us whenever he wants.'

"But, I mean..." Phoebe began, but Roger continued.

"Look. The flat belongs to my company. I'm currently topping up the rent on your current place, and that's all dead money. So instead, you pay me your current rent, you get to live here - much nicer, I'm sure you'll agree - and I'll save money in the deal. You can have visitors; maybe your parents might want to visit, Richard? So, do you like it?"

Compared to the place we'd been living - better than in college but still rather primitive - the new apartment was a palace. Everything was brand new: a smart new kitchen with a washer-dryer and even adishwasher! A fully tiled bathroom with a walk-in shower, rather than one over the bath. And a great view of the river.

"I could have given you a penthouse, but I felt that was going a bit far, and we can get a much better return on that. But this is yours for as long as you want it, darling." He gave Phoebe a fatherly look. Oh, the joys of privilege!

"What about our flat?" I asked.

"The lease expires in a month, and I've given notice on your behalf. We can get you moved in here in a week. I'll send some guys over in one of our vans."

Ah, so Roger wasn't planning to take no for an answer. In truth, the place was really good, but I had a question.

"Roger, our current place is furnished. This is empty. What do we..."

"The furniture gets delivered on Tuesday. I'm just giving you the standard package we're offering for the rented apartments elsewhere in the block; nothing fancy, though I've upgraded the beds to king-size. If we're going to visit, we'll want something rather better."

Of course they would. I glanced at Alison, who gave me a friendly smile, as if to say, 'I know he's a control freak, but at least you're getting somewhere impressive to live for the same rent you'd be paying in college.'

Yes, Roger had it all worked out.

*****

On Saturday, Phoebe left early for her first day at Ottakar's. I was scheduled to give an 11 am tour of the Roman artefacts at the Ashmolean. Roger and Alison arrived promptly at ten, as the Museum opened, so I was able to give them a private tour of some of the other treasures: the Flemish and Dutch paintings, the Alfred Jewel, the Turkish ceramics, the Japanese lacquerware. They then joined my 11 am 'Romans' tour, finishing at the giant cast of the statue of Augustus. I could see they were impressed. Roger even looked relaxed.

"Join us for dinner again this evening," Alison said. "And if it's fine tomorrow, we'll go punting, as you suggested."

"Sounds like a great idea," I replied. "I'll see if I can get us in for the afternoon."

"How was your first day?" I asked Phoebe when she arrived back at our flat.

"Pretty manic, but fun. I was surprised at just how many of the books people asked for I'd either read or knew about. And the staff there are fun; quite a few students like me, plus some people who really love books."

"Your mum and dad have invited us to dine with them again at the Randolph tonight, and they've agreed to go punting tomorrow."

"Fuck! That means no fucking until at least tomorrow night. And I sneaked a read of a couple of titles in the erotic fiction section, which has made me very horny. I don't suppose..."

"FUCK YESSSSS!" Phoebe almost shouted at my first, hard thrust. She was bent over the dining table, her skinny arse raised as she stood on tiptoe with her legs spread wide. Our clothes were scattered on the floor. As neither of us had had time to shower, we limited foreplay to kissing and fingering - and sucking on Phoebe's sensitive nipples. At 19, I could usually get hard just from seeing Phoebe naked and hearing some of her filthy chat. Her behaviour was, of course, absolutely slutty. Her kisses were full-on, with lots of tongue. Her hands were inside my trousers and underpants within seconds. Her panties - yes, she was wearing some for a change - were on the floor very soon after, and her rather prim-but-sexy pleated skirt and white blouse were not far behind. I pushed her forward, over the table, took hold of one of her tiny tits and slid the other hand over that neat, bulbous mound, slipping a finger into her slit. She wasn't exaggerating about being horny. Her pussy was already very wet. I lined up and started working the head of my cock up and down her slit from behind.

"Go on! Give it to me! Stick it up my cunt!" she goaded, as only Phoebe could. And that first thrust was - well, it was fucking glorious for us both. I really struggled with control as she released a string of obscenities that would make a Whitechapel whore blush. So I went for a high-risk strategy, and, letting go of her tit, carefully slid a thumb up her arse. She called me a range of expletives - among them, shitbag, bastard, cunt and arsehole - until her own cunt and arsehole started rippling with the orgasm she so obviously craved. And I could finally let go and joyously fill her up. The whole episode took less than ten minutes.

Over dinner, we kept exchanging glances and smirking. Roger and Alison had clearly picked up on the vibe between us, but they didn't say anything. After dinner, they showed us their suite; pretty palatial, I thought. Roger then asked Phoebe to sign a document.

"It's the mortgage form," he explained.

"Mortgage?" I was puzzled.

"Yes. The deeds are in Phoebe's name, as is the mortgage. As I said yesterday, it's far more sensible to buy than rent, so I've arranged a mortgage, which I'll pay on Phoebe's behalf, with your contribution from what you would've paid in rent. That way, she'll own the property - albeit with a mortgage to pay - when you both graduate. It'll help set you up - assuming you decide to stay together."

Ah yes. Phoebe didn't just have a lease on a flat; she now legally owned one. I, of course, had no say in the matter, and if I didn't behave myself, I'd be out on the streets while daddy's little angel had a nice two-bed apartment to get her on the property ladder. The expression "strong message here" became popular much later, but this kinda shouted 'if you fuck up, you'll be out on your arse' in Roger's highly polished voice.

The following morning, I was busy punting tourists. Phoebe took her parents on a walking tour of Oxford, and we met for a light, late lunch at the Eagle and Child, close to the museum and the Randolph. Her parents had checked out, and their luggage was in the boot of their car. After lunch, we went down to the river, but the 4-person punts were all out.