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The Shooting Party

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.

As they walked the Major saw his wife again in his mind this time on all fours her rounded buttocks pressed to his muscular thighs as he took her from the rear. His hands had exposed her breasts and he was stroking and pinching her pink nipples as he thrust his cock in and out of her dripping pussy. The pleasure for both had been intense and he remembered that just as he came he had pulled his cock from her and squirted cum over her pale backside and lower back. They had rested then gathering more energy for their passions and desires laughing about his shooting his load over her backside saying it made her skin shine so enjoyably in the sunshine.

"Your quiet this morning Ernest," John remarked as he stepped along the path that had been made by animals moving through the trees.

"Sorry John must be a terrible bore but I have a few things on my mind, "then changing the subject he asked the other man," I hear that you may be joining the bench soon."

"Well it might happen but best not to nose it about, the powers that be don't like when a man brags you know," the man replied but he had a slightly smug expression on his face.

"Well if it is true they are choosing a man who certainly deserves to be there," he said in a way that made John look at his friend again. He seemed tense and also a little angry. Shrugging he moved along the path looking for the spoor of fox, the dog had bounded ahead his head smelling along the path.

Ernest grunted as they walked deeper into the small wood. His mind remembered as his wife had taken his cock in her mouth. It had been near here, next to the small brook that snaked its way through the trees. Her form bent over his groin, her face pressed to his cock as he thrust his hardness between that cupid bow that was her lips. His cries of pleasure rising as he came and the smile on her face as she looked at him her expression one of intense passion and love. It had almost broken his heart seeing her like that. Then he realised that they were at the exact spot and he heard the guns shooting only 500 yards from where they stood.

"I have always found this place to be so quiet," Ernest murmured.

"Eh, what was that old fellow, do speak up, you are so melancholy man. What is wrong with you?" the barrister said sharply.

After his words Ernest smiled and turned to his friend standing only five feet away from him. As he turned his shotgun came up as he cocked both barrels and pressed the trigger firing the shot deep into John's face that became a weeping ruined mess of shredded meat and dripping blood.

"I saw both of you here," Ernest said as the body struck the ground and he watched the other man labour for a few breaths before he died.

"I saw you as you took my precious darling and made her do those disgusting acts. I saw her as she looked at you with the love she has never given me. I saw how you looked at her another conquest of so many and how our friendship meant nothing to you," he spoke as he heard the laboured breathing of John's ruined mouth and the dog's howling near him.

Just as the man breathed his last Ernest's other friends burst through the bushes to gaze upon the horrific scene before them. Robert rushed to John's side but easily saw that there was nothing he could do. As he knelt by the body Henry gently prised the shotgun from Ernest's nerveless hands and he gently asked what had happened.

"I killed him just as I killed her," he told the horrified man.

Haltingly he talked to his horrified friends who could barely believe their ears. He told of how he had come across them making love in this place. How John had ravished his beautiful wife and how she had begged for him to take her in ways that would make even a prostitute blush. He told of planning this day and that before he had joined them how he had pressed a pillow to his wife's face and had smothered the life and the lies she had lived from her. How he had cried with rage and sadness as he felt her slowly stop struggling as she died under his body.

Then turning to his friends with tears in his eyes he, "How could I let them live after they had wronged him so badly and had known that he loved her so much."

Now he had done the deed he spoke confessing everything weeping for the loss of both wife and friend but he knew he had been right to do this no matter what would be said later. He was making that plea as the police led him to the prison vehicle.

*

The author does not condone violence as revenge in any form.

S M Stirling has a technical definition for a person who believes that an author believes in everything that he has written.

The definition is: An Idiot.

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