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Mystery at Brackenwood - Part 2

I stared for what seemed like hours, as I tried to make sense of the scene. Someone had stood at my dressing table and masturbated, ejaculating their load all over it. It was obvious from the results they had left behind that they had squirted their cum at least four or five times, to leave the trails of cream spread across the furniture. Judging from both the amount and the length of the various lines of cum, it must have been a series of very powerful ejaculations, especially the one which had hit the mirror.

With my heart in my mouth I walked over to the dressing table. My knickers were also covered with cum, but this time seemed to have been used to wipe himself clean, rather than used to masturbate into like before.

None of this made sense. They had left before breakfast, and this mess certainly hadn’t been there when I left to go to church that morning.

There could only be one explanation – they must have returned whilst we were at church!

In a daze, I went back downstairs, my head spinning, trying not to look like I was panicing...although inside, I was. In the drawing room, I found my mother and Peter West talking.

“Hello dear...what’s the look worried,” she said when she saw me. Obviously I hadn’t been able to disguise my inner turmoil from her.

“ was just wondering if you had seen the Ormsby-Gores?” I replied.

My mother stared at me as though I had spoken in a foreign language.

“Darling , don’t you remember ? They left...first thing this morning. We spoke about it,” she said, looking at me oddly. “Katherine, are you alright?”

“But... I thought they had come back,” I said, now beginning to feel sick.

“No, of course not,” she replied, “Why would they come back?”

I looked at her blankly, and then Peter West spoke.

“Perhaps Katherine has amnesia,” he suggested, a smile on his face. “Don’t you remember us talking about it at breakfast?”

I found my voice. “Yes, of course I do. I just thought they may have come back again,” I replied. “Don’t worry, just ignore me.”

I left them, and made my way back to my bedroom, now totally confused and in some distress, as the full gravity of the situation began to make itself clear to me.

Back in my room, I sat at my dressing table, staring at the semen splashes all over the table and mirror. I watched as a drop of the creamy cum fell from the frame of the mirror and landed on the table beneath.

So if he wasn’t here, it couldn’t be Sir Richard's semen. And I now had to face the fact someone else – another guest – had been in my room whilst I was at church, and masturbated, leaving the resulting mess for me to find. 

In which case, I realised, it probably wasn’t Sir Richard who had visited my room previously and left my cum filled knickers on the bed!

I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands in horror, as I thought about the events of last evening, and what I had done.

I had exposed my private parts to one of my father’s most important colleagues. A man who, apparently, had nothing to do with the cum in my knickers, but who nevertheless had been treated to the sight of a horny blonde teenager rubbing her wet, naked pussy with her fingers through semen coated cotton panties.

“Oh my God ....what have I done?” I remember saying to myself. I had never felt so embarrassed, or indeed scared. What was going to happen now? What would Sir Richard do?

And, of course, I was left with a big mystery. If it wasn’t Sir Richard, then who was it?

It was now in a complete state of panic. And a rather frightening situation. Someone in the house was playing a game with me. One of the guests had entered my room and had the nerve to masturbate and ejaculate. But even more unbelievable, he obviously had no qualms about me finding the results of his efforts.

And, whoever it was, seemed able to produce copious amounts of semen with some power, judging from the semen splashed all over my dressing table.

I picked up my knickers, and began to wipe up the mess with them, my head spinning with thoughts, and a sick feeling in my stomach, as I began to worry about the consequences of my actions the evening before.

And then I found myself thinking about the remaining guests, and wondering which one of them was the culprit. As I knew it couldn’t be David Raddner – he had been with me in church - but then, who?

Charles Hartington? Barrister, family man. Very polite, he hadn’t really paid me much attention since they had arrived.

Anthony Atherley? CEO of a publishing company, I had chatted with him quite a lot, but didn’t detect any sign that he may have sexual thoughts about me.

Peter West OBE? Highly regarded journalist, recognised for his investigative reporting by receiving the OBE from the Queen. His wife had died of cancer the previous year – perhaps he was missing a sexual relationship and found my presence irresistible? Highly unlikely.

William Corby QC? Another highly respected lawyer, with two teenage girls apparently, and his wife was stunningly pretty. Why would he want to risk creeping into my room and unloading his cum?

Ian Atkinson, the accountant? A very amusing guy, life and sole of the gathering. But anyone could see he was totally devoted to his wife Susan.

And finally, Paul Harrison. Middle aged, overweight and, I suspected, an alcoholic. I had detected there to be some tension between him and his wife over the past couple of days – just the odd remark and look which perhaps indicated all wasn’t well. So perhaps he was hoping for some sexual adventure with me. I hoped not!

In truth, none of the guests seemed a likely suspect. But I had to face the fact that it must be one of them.


I spent most of the rest of that day in my room, trying to comes to terms with the situation I now found myself in, which had left me feeling worried, confused and, I have to admit, rather frightened.

Firstly there was the issue of Sir Richard, and my behaviour of the night before. I was now thinking about what he might do or say to my father about what had taken place between us, and how that might affect my father’s career.

Then the mystery which now surrounded me. I was beginning to feel paranoid, as I realised that somewhere in Brackenwood was a man so daring and confident, and with what must be a big sexual appetite, that he was willing to behave in such a provocative way in someone else’s home. To think that this guy, whoever he was, had the guts to risk being discovered masturbating in his hosts teenage daughters bedroom made me feel quite frightened. If he had no qualms about doing this, what else would he be prepared to do?

And another question occurred to me. What was he trying to achieve by this behaviour? To scare me? To impress me? To prove to himself that he could do it? I simply couldn’t answer that question. Certainly I was feeling very uncomfortable about it. And yes, I think I was quite impressed that someone would be so brave to do it. And I had to admit that I was also impressed by the results of his ejaculation – both by the amount, and the obvious force with which it had been produced.

The sound of the dinner gong being rung by Jenny downstairs brought me back from my deep thoughts, and I realised it was lunch time already. I quickly changed, and made my way apprehensively down to the dining room. The thought that I would have to face “him” made me feel most uneasy.

I ate little at lunch, and, as soon as I could, made my excuses and retired to my bedroom. My father asked if I was feeling alright, so I told him I had a bad headache.

Later that evening a quiet knock came at my door. It was Jenny, wanting to know if I would be coming down to dinner. I decided to have some sandwiches brought up - I couldn’t face seeing everyone again !

But I knew I couldn’t go on like this. There were still two more days of the bank holiday weekend to go, and I couldn’t hide away from everyone for the remainder of their stay. I had to somehow deal with the situation.

I awoke the next morning with a plan. It was a risk, but I had decided I must do something. I couldn’t carry on the way things were. It felt to me like the walls of the house were closing in on me, that my every move was being watched by an unknown presence, which was stalking the long dark corridors of the old house, waiting for another opportunity to pounce.

At breakfast, I announced brightly to everyone around the breakfast table that I was feeling so much better, and that I would be going out for the day to Truro, shopping. My father asked if I would like him to drive me there, but I declined saying I would catch the bus from St Mawes harbour. After all, I told everyone, the walk down to the town in the fresh air would do me good.

I finished breakfast quickly, and excused myself from the table. However, before leaving the house, I had something to do. Making sure I wasn’t seen, I made my way to the door at the opposite end of the house from the kitchen, along the corridor which spanned the whole of the ground floor of the building. This was the door which led down to the cellars, which used to hold food and wine back in Victorian times, but these days were used to store mostly junk. At the top of the stone steps which led down to the cellars, I switched on the lights and descended into the cold dankness.

Picking my way through the boxes and junk, and reached the far end of the cellar, where a large, heavy door was set into the red Victorian brickwork. Hanging on a hook in the wall beside the door was a large rusty key, which I removed and placed into the keyhole in the door. It unlocked easily.

Then I slid back the two large bolts which held the door locked, before opening it, with a creek. It hadn’t been opened for a long time. Outside, more stone steps led up to ground level, bringing one out into the courtyard behind the house, secluded from view from anywhere in the house.

I made my way back upstairs into the house, careful not to be seen, then back up to my bedroom to get ready to go out.

Ten minutes later I was in the hall, making a big exit, as the guests sat in the dining room, listening as I announced loudly to Jenny that I wouldn’t be back until tea time. I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that I was not going to be around all day. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I left, making sure the front door slammed with a loud bang behind me, and walked off down the gravel drive.

However, once I had rounded the bend in the drive, and was out of sight of the house, I stepped off the driveway and made my way into the woods which grew all alongside the drive, dropping down a slope, which eventually reached the shoreline. I made my way back through the trees, keeping my eyes and ears open in case anyone was around.

Eventually I reached the house, and stood in the trees behind the house for a few minutes to make sure nobody was about. Then, my heart beating fast, I made a dash, out of the woods and across the courtyard, reaching the steps that led down to the cellars. I pushed open the cellar door and crept inside, shutting the door behind me.

Once inside, I made my way through the piles of boxes and rubbish to another door, which led up to another flight of stairs which linked all the floors of the house. Once used by the housemaids in times long ago to access all the bedrooms without being seen by the Harvey family or their guests, this staircase at the far end of the house was no longer used by anyone, and had never been decorated or carpeted. As I made my way quickly and quietly up the stairs, I noticed how each stone step had been worn away over the years, by countless pairs of servants feet making their way up and down, doing their chores behind the scenes all those years ago.

I reached the top of the stairs and stood at the door which led onto the landing of the second floor, listening for signs of movement. All seemed quiet, so I carefully opened the door and peeped out. No one was around. I quickly made my way along the landing, closing the door behind me, and reached my bedroom, going in and shutting the door behind me with relief. My heart was pounding, partly due to the excursion of walking back through the woods and coming up the stairs, but mostly because, I now realised, how nervous I had been, anxious not to be discovered creeping back into the house.

Now back in my bedroom, I was able to put my plan in place. It was time to find out who he was, once and for all. Having made such a fuss about going out for the day, I was hoping that whoever it was would feel it was safe enough to pay me another visit. But this time, I would be prepared! It was time for me to give him a surprise for a change – whoever he was.

I quickly began to undress, putting my clothes away in my wardrobe and drawers, before going into my en suite and sitting down on the lid of the toilet.

Half an hour passed by, and nothing happened. I was already bored. I returned to my room and picked up a book, taking it back into the en suite with me to read. Another hour. I could hear voices outside, drifting up from the garden below, and occasional laughter.

Another hour. This is becoming boring. Sitting naked on the toilet lid wasn’t particularly fun. I went back into my bedroom and lay on the bed. I figured that if someone was going to visit my room, I would hear them coming along the landing, and it was far more comfortable on my bed than sitting on the toilet!

Time ticked on and I heard Jenny’s voice outside as lunch was announced. o clock!

I got up and stood in front of my large full length mirror, admiring my nakedness. I had let my long blonde hair down, which now hung around my face and over my shoulders, and, having shaved my pussy that morning in the shower, my puffy mound looked and felt so smooth and clean.

The waiting had become tiresome. Perhaps I had got it all wrong..maybe he wouldn’t risk another visit to my room. Perhaps he had got his thrill now, and didn’t feel the need to unload his lust over my underwear.

I lay back down on my bed and carried on reading.

At some point I must have drifted off, because I remember suddenly waking up, my book having fallen out of my hand onto the pillow. I was slightly dazed at first, wondering for a moment why I was lying naked on top of my duvet. Then, at that point, I heard the sound of footsteps coming along the landing, and suddenly my heart rate rapidly increased as I my thought processes caught up with the situation.

I silently jumped up off the bed and tiptoed across my room, into the en suite, closing the door behind me.

Just at that moment came a quiet knock at my bedroom door. There was a pause, and then another knock, this time louder. I held my breath. Then, the sound of the door knob being turned, and the door opening. I heard it being shut again, and footsteps walking around my room. I stood, tense, behind the door to my en suite, hoping that whoever it was in my room wouldn’t think to look in.

The sound of a drawer being pulled open told me that my visitor was stood at my chest of drawers – perhaps looking for a pair of my knickers? My heart was pounding in my chest now, so loud I was afraid it might be heard.

I listened carefully, and could now vaguely hear the sound of what seemed like rustling. I wondered what it could be, but when I heard the familiar noise of something being unzipped, I realised what the sound was – he was getting undressed! OMG! This guy was actually undressing in my room!

A few seconds passed by, before I heard the sound of him masturbating – that distinctive sound of a hand rubbing up and down an erect penis, the rhythmic pounding as testicles bounced up and down, slapping against thighs and hand, and as I focussed more carefully, I was certain I could make out the slippery sound of foreskin being pulled back and forth over a glistening, wet head.

Stood behind the door, I remember becoming aware of my nipples beginning to tingle, and couldn’t help but to take them in hand as they became aroused and erect, pinching them gently between my finger and thumb.

I really wasn’t certain now just how to proceed. There I was, totally naked and vulnerable, with an unknown man masturbating in my bedroom next door. As I waited, I could now hear him breathing, shallow rapid breaths, as the sounds of his masturbating continued. Now that he was actually here, I suddenly found myself questioning whether my plan to catch the intruder was wise after all. Since the disaster with Sir Richard, I had been in turmoil – perhaps I wasn’t thinking straight anymore. Was I about to make another huge mistake?

Several moments had now gone by, and the sounds coming from the other side of the door were now playing with my imagination. To think that one of my parent’s guests was just a few feet away, stood masturbating in my bedroom! And now, as I listened, his activities seemed to be becoming more intense, his breathing louder.

Unconsciously, my right hand dropped down and I found myself slipping a finger between the moist folds of my labia, which had become swollen and were protruding out between my legs. As my lips parted, a trickle of clear fluid dribbled from within me, over my fingers and then in a thin, unbroken, glistening thread down to the floor between my feet.

At the same moment, a quiver of pleasure passed through my vaginal muscles, and my mind was made up for me.

I opened the door and walked into my bedroom...

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © ©2009 Katie1984. This story may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author. All such requests should be emailed to

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