Maid Service (17 page)

“You're an atheist then?” Clive asked.

“An atheist and a nihilist,” Peter said. “I believe that the only really valid thing in life is happiness, preferably expressed as sexual pleasure.”

The return of a waiter with a second magnum of claret interrupted the conversation, which then turned to more neutral topics, with ever more reminiscences from their school days as the wine continued to flow. By the time he'd taken his share of Sauternes with the dessert, and Port with the cheese, Peter was feeling more than a little drunk and was dominating the conversation, as he had usually done at Broadfields. He also felt distinctly pleased with himself. For all their success, it was clear that he had lived a considerably more interesting and varied life than any of his friends, especially when it came to sex.

Peter awoke to a slight headache and the touch of Michelle's lips to his morning erection. He kept his eyes closed, letting his thoughts drift as she took him in her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she would suck until he came and swallow dutifully when the moment arrived. Lunch at Lorrimer's had stretched well into the afternoon, with brandy after the Port and whiskey after the brandy, his friends seemingly determined to introduce him to the club's entire range of malts. By the time he left he'd been having some difficulty keeping his balance and had been very glad indeed to find Michelle still at his apartment where he'd left her that morning. She'd looked after him perfectly, uncomplaining as she made coffee, sucked him to erection and allowed him to butt fuck her over the sofa before he finally fell asleep, only to wake to the scent of cooking as she made them dinner.

“You are such a good girl,” he sighed as he began to stroke her hair, something she always appreciated when she had his cock in her mouth.

Her response was to take him deep, deliberately making herself gag on his penis, something else she seemed to particularly enjoy. It was also highly effective, and forced him to concentrate on the pleasure she was giving him. Taking his balls and the base of his shaft in hand, he pushed her head down, making her choke once more before relaxing his grip. She gave an encouraging wriggle and sucked harder still, repeatedly taking him down into her throat until at last he could hold back no more.

“Okay then, if that's what you want, you little slut,” he told her as he began to fuck her throat, deliberately making her splutter and glug as he jammed his cock as deep as it would go into her gullet.

His orgasm rose up in moments, a sensation far too good for him even to think about going easy on her, her now pained gulping and choking noises only adding to his pleasure as he fucked her mouth. Another moment and he'd come, emptying the contents of his balls down into her throat. She did her best to swallow but failed miserably, ejecting most of his load and a good deal of spittle from her nose and mouth, all over his balls and belly, and also his hand.

“Messy girl,” he chided as she finally came up, gasping for air with her face a mask of cum, drool and tears. “Mop it up.”

“Sorry, sir,” she answered, quickly peeling off her panties to clean up the mess, before scampering into the bathroom with her bare bottom bobbing behind her.

He sat up in bed, still not fully awake and wishing he'd had slightly less whiskey the day before, although it didn't seem to have affected his sex drive. His memory was also clear, especially of the ideas for an erotic maid service, which the five of them had worked out in ever growing and more lascivious detail as the afternoon drew on. Most of that had been wishful thinking, such as their ideas for the girls' uniforms. Most all of the designs put forward had served solely to show the girls off nicely—covering those parts of the body usually left bare and leaving bare those parts usually covered. Yet the basic idea was good, and he had left Lorrimer's determined to make it a reality.

That still seemed feasible, barring a few compromises he considered unavoidable. The way Daniel and the others had set it out, Grove House Maids and the men's club would be entirely clandestine, a secret reserved for those—both the men and the maids—who had far more to lose by giving it away than by keeping it. With the possible exception of Sophie, that didn't include any of those girls who currently came to his spanking parties, but that was not an insurmountable difficulty. He could continue to run the normal parties, after all, which might also be a way to find new Grove House girls.

Some, like Tia and Davina, would have to be kept firmly in the dark. Both were strong minded, independent and above all self-serving, happy to have their bottoms smacked on a regular basis and great fun to play with, but definitely not reliable in the long term. Violet was safer, determined to make her own way in the world and already well on her way to paying off the mortgage on her flat after starting with absolutely nothing. Yet, as Gabriel had pointed out, it was impossible to predict what might happen twenty or thirty years down the line. Karen was, if anything, safer still, level headed and quite capable of making her way in life with her qualifications in accountancy, also the ideal person to run the books for the company. Then there was Michelle, who was now running a bath at the same time as she made coffee and got breakfast underway, with never a hint of complaint. He was already more than half in love with her, and as his partner she would be safe. Again, things might change, but there was no reason for her to know everything. In fact, the whole thing would work much better if there were tiers of secrecy, from the basic level of the spanking parties to the very apex, at which only he himself would know the full truth.

He continued to think as he munched his way through the bacon and eggs provided by Michelle, his plans rapidly coming together in his head. By the time he'd mopped up the last morsel of egg with toast, he was eager to proceed and quite pleased with himself. As he took his plate out to the kitchen, he didn't realize he was singing to himself, until Michelle's voice sounded from the bathroom, asking if a confused tomcat had somehow managed to get in. When he came in she was lying back with her ears submerged, so he took hold of her ankles, tipped her up and applied a few hard smacks to her exposed bottom and cunt lips while she struggled to bring her face above the water, with bubbles blowing from both her nose and mouth.

“I'll have you know I nearly made the choir while I was at school,” he told her when he'd finally let go and allowed her to surface. “My choice of song was dictated by my plan of action for this morning. I'm off to see Master Jacobaeus, aka Jake the Peg.”

“Ooh, can I come?”

“Yes, if you're prepared to put up with his eccentric behavior.”

“I'll put my collar on.”

She was quickly out of the bath, allowing Peter to shower, dry himself off and dress. It was a fairly warm day, but he took his leather longcoat and boots, black jeans and a black shirt, keen to adopt the image he knew would be expected of him. Michelle was still getting ready and he used the time to make a phone call, moving his plan one step forward so smoothly that he was rubbing his hands in satisfaction when Michelle finally emerged from the bedroom. She was also in black, a mini-dress that showed off her figure to perfection, shiny heels and a studded leather dog collar with a clip at the front where a lead could be attached.

“No underwear, I take it?” he asked. “Master Jacobaeus does not approve of them.”

In answer she lifted the front of her dress, exposed the neat triangle of her sex, freshly shaved and moisturized.

“You look like the most expensive girl in a Gothic brothel,” he smiled. “If there is such a thing.”

“And all you need is a pair of shades and you'd look like a pimp,” she told him.

“I'll pick some up on the way,” he promised, “and a dog chain, if we pass a pet shop.”

“One day he's going to realize that you're only humoring him,” she answered.

Peter merely shrugged and they made their way downstairs and out to the car. A short drive brought them to the somewhat decayed Victorian townhouse occupied by Master Jacobaeus. Peter had managed to get hold of a chain, which he clipped to Michelle's collar before putting on his dark glasses and ringing the doorbell. It was answered by a plump, brown haired girl with enormous eyes and nothing on but scarlet lingerie, including a corset that left her more-than-ample breasts riding high and round in perfectly fitted cups of silk and steel wire. She immediately curtsied, which proved too much for her outfit, both plump breasts popping free,

“Very pretty,” Peter remarked as he stepped inside. “Hello, Red.”

“Slave Red,” a voice spoke from the gloom of the passage and a man stepped forward, tall, angular, with a great mass of white hair caught up in a long pony-tail and a hawk-like face. “Kneel, you little bitch. What have I told you about showing respect to visiting masters?”

He cuffed the girl as she quickly got to her knees, where she remained with her head hung and her eyes downcast, her heavy breasts still naked.

“Master Peter,” the man said, extending a great, bony hand. “I have been expecting this visit.”

“Master Jacobaeus,” Peter answered, accepting the handshake. “Yes, it has become necessary.”

“Very necessary,” Master Jacobaeus agreed. “Come upstairs.”

“I brought you a little present,” Peter went on, handing over the other end of Michelle's chain. “Although I'd appreciate it if you could return her in more or less the condition she is now. Without any tattoos on her cunt, for example.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Master Jacobaeus answered. “I respect your property, and the rite of exchange of gifts. Slave Red, you are Master Peter's for as long as he stays.”

“Thank you,” Peter answered, reaching down to tickle the kneeling girl under the chin. “But business before pleasure, I think, at least today.”

“Yes,” Master Jacobaeus agreed. “You two, bring us drinks, then go and amuse yourselves in the dungeon.”

Both girls hurried to comply, leaving Peter to follow Master Jacobaeus upstairs to a living room furnished with black leather and steel, while the walls were decorated with prints of girls in various states of anguish. In due course, Red and Michelle reappeared for a moment, and Peter made himself comfortable with a cold beer as Master Jacobaeus opened the conversation.

“You're not going to back down, are you? We have to fight this.”

“I spent six months in jail once,” Peter answered, “and it is not an experience I intend to repeat. But no, I don't intend to back down, I just don't believe in open confrontation.”

“It's the only way,” Master Jacobaeus insisted. “We have to show them we are not ashamed of who we are. We have to make them accept our right to express our sexuality, just as the gay movement …”

“Absolutely,” Peter cut in before Master Jacobaeus could launch into one of his favorite rants. “But in this particular case I suggest something a little more subtle. When you were arrested, did you come across an Inspector Lennox? I think he was the one with a round head and a nasty little mustache.”

“I met Lennox, yes.”

“Do you see him accepting our right to express our sexuality?”

“No, but …”

“Precisely. He's a Christian, of the worst sort, the sort who can't stand to see anybody else having fun, especially naughty fun.”

Master Jacobaeus put his fingers to the gunmetal pentacle at his neck and Peter decided to rub the point home a little more.

“An interfering, prudish busybody who sees it as his duty to make other people behave according to his ghastly, gray moral code. It doesn't matter how good our arguments are, or how much of a nuisance we make of ourselves. He won't back down.”

“We still have to try. This is going to be a long, slow battle.”

“No doubt, but for the moment I just want to keep my club going. Lennox intends to close down every single sex club in London and to see the people who run them jailed.”

“That's more or less what he said to me.”

“Do you still want to run your clubs?”

“Yes, and I'm prepared to go to prison, if that's what it takes. We need publicity, and that's the best way to get it, with an innocent man up for trial on unjust charges.”

“Then you're a better man than I am, Jake. How would you like to front Club S?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean your name goes on the flyer and you arrange the evening, although you can leave the admin to me, or rather, to Karen. If there's trouble, you take the fall, and next month the club runs as usual, only with a different front man, and so on. My priority is to keep the club going, a new venue in a different borough every time, which we run the same way as they run illegal raves, with the details only released at the last minute.”

“The police can still find us, and it's a lot easier to close down a club with a couple of hundred people inside than stop a rave where there's two thousand people in a field.”

“I know all that. The aim is to force the police to use their resources. So, are you in?”

Master Jacobaeus reached out one massive hand, grinning. Peter took it and shook, then carried on.

“You'll like the venue too. St. Botolph's, Limehouse.”

“A church?”

“Not exactly. The building has been sold off, awaiting redevelopment into luxury apartments, but it looks like a church. There's even a crypt.”

“And I get a free hand with organizing?”

“Yes. That's another issue, of course. They took all my equipment, and while we could probably manage with stuff from Violet's dungeon and elsewhere, I'd rather not have anything else confiscated. The crypt has pillars, even some fastening points that could be adapted for rope and chains. It makes the perfect dungeon. Upstairs isn't quite so good, but all the religious paraphernalia can be put to good use with a little imagination. The altar's still in place, and the font. In fact, why not hold one of your rituals as the cabaret? That'll piss Lennox off if he's got people inside.”