Some of the other guests were approaching and Peter quickly changed the topic of conversation. They continued to talk until the light had begun to fade, then went indoors for dinner. Conscious of the drive home, Peter limited himself to a small glass of each of the wines, while despite his best efforts the conversation kept drifting back to politics and the forthcoming election. The food at least was good, while he was seated diagonally from Vivienne Richards in such a way that the light cast interesting outlines through her flimsy dress, sometimes the curve of one small breast, sometimes a pert nipple, adding to the arousal he'd felt since suckling on Michelle in the car. Stephen's hint that Vivienne might be available only made matters worse as, whatever might happen, it clearly wasn't going to be that night. By the time the dinner party broke up he was feeling more frustrated than he had in a long time, while Michelle was smiling, tipsy and unabashedly playful. He'd already begun to plan what he was going to do with her in the car on the way back when Gabriel came over to ask if he'd mind giving an older couple a lift as far as Tring.
By the time they'd dropped off their passengers, Peter had heard enough political conversation to last him a lifetime. While Michelle had been a constant tease as they drove, with her blouse half undone as she chatted with the couple in the back. The temptation to take her somewhere quiet and deal with her in the car was considerable, but it was only a few miles back to the Grove and he decided to make for the comfort of home, ignoring the torment of her teasing.
She'd shrugged her top off as they turned into the lane and her bra quickly followed, leaving her heavy breasts naked in the faint light from the dashboard, the soft curves glossy with milk as she began to rub it over her skin. Peter swore in awe, putting his foot down to send the Jaguar bumping over the rough ground until he could bring it to a halt in front of the house. Michelle was giggling as she climbed out, topless and bright-eyed with drink and arousal, her carefully contrived air of refinement completely lost.
Peter wasted no time, pushing her down across the front of the car and flipping her skirt up. She was in maid service pantiesâfull, white and frillyâwhich he'd quickly pulled down to bare her bottom to the night air for a vigorous spanking, the smacks blending with her laughter and the slap of her big, milky breasts on the front of the car. His cock had been half stiff for most of the evening, and he'd quickly liberated it, intending to get himself rock hard in her mouth before fucking her over the carâthe lure of their soft bed forgotten in his urgency.
“I have to fuck you,” he growled as he twisted her around to push his cock toward her face. “I have to fuck you, just as soon as you've sucked me hard.”
Michelle took him in her mouth, sucking eagerly as she massaged her breasts to squeeze out the milk from her nipples, before using it to wet his balls. He began to fuck her mouth, his cock growing with every thrust, until he was hard. She moved closer, holding her breasts up to make a warm, milky slide for his cock, allowing him to fuck in her cleavage, a sensation so sweet he'd quickly abandoned all thoughts of entering her, content to come between her breasts and in her face.
“I've got to come,” he sighed. “Right now ⦔
“Do it,” she gasped. “Do it all over me, cover me in cum while I get off ⦠right here. Go on, Peter, fuck my boobies ⦠come on me ⦠cover my face ⦔
He was there, manhandling his cock to empty the contents of his balls all over her milk-slick breasts and in her face before jamming himself deep in her mouth for his final euphoric spurts. She sucked and swallowed, swallowed once more and slumped down against the side of the car, her thighs spread to present her pussy and the great, straining bulge of her pregnant belly, with her boobs sitting fat and round and wet above, streaked with cum, her face too. Her eyes had closed as she began to masturbate, one hand busy between her legs as the other wiped the sticky mixture of jism and milk over her breasts.
Peter waited, grinning, his cock in his hand, watching as her arousal heightened, until the final, perfect moment. As she started to come he let go too, sending an arc of sparkling water all over her belly and breasts, into her open mouth and between her thighs, soaking her skirt and panties, her hair and face, soiling every square inch of her skin with his effluent as her body shook and shivered in a climax that left her lying limp and exhausted in a rapidly spreading puddle on the concrete of the drive. Only then did Peter realize that the front door was open, with Rhiannon standing in the light of the porch in nothing but a tiny, see-through nightie and a pair of fluffy slippers as she struggled to hold back her giggles.
Peter accepted a glass of champagne from the tray offered to him. The waitress was a pretty blonde with a snub nose that gave her a look of permanent impudence: Felicity Chamberlain, ex-pupil at Broadfields College, ex-toasty girl to Clementine Stewart, and currently with Grove House Maids while she worked as an intern in the City. She was one of six employed to serve at an embassy reception and potentially for more intimate services later in the evening.
“Thank you,” he said as she bobbed a curtsey so impudent it bordered on sarcastic. “How are we doing?”
“Very well,” she answered. “Looks like it's going to be a late night.”
“Excellent. I'm sure I can find a way to amuse myself while you ladies do what you do best,” he answered and took a sip of champagne as she turned to another guest.
Ignoring the temptation to pinch or pat her sweetly rotating rump as she moved away, he went back to contemplating the other people in the room. Chaperone was not a job he particularly enjoyed, but there were worse things in life than sipping Champagne, eating canapés and making small talk, especially when being at a foreign embassy allowed him to avoid conversation about the election defeat a few days before. Such evenings also tended to end well, at the very least with a quick hand job from one of the girls in his car, and often a great deal more. On one particularly memorable night, a corporate function had proved so heavily overrun with wives that he'd ended up sharing a hotel suite with four of the girls. But this embassy reception seemed unlikely to come up to the same standard. Both Rhiannon and Elspeth Fraser had been booked in advance, for one thing, and it now looked as if Felicity's services were also going to be required. That left Chloe Thompson, now with her newly blonde hair and currently the focus of attention of three swarthy, bearded men at the far side of the room; the tiny, elfin Henrietta Clark; and Clementine Stewart. No less than eight of his clients were also present but unattended, so it seemed likely that the options for his own gratification would be limited. But the money, at least, would be good.
He took another swallow of champagne and glanced at his watch, wondering how long he ought to wait before retiring to his hotel room. As usual, the reception involved a great deal of social-climbing, one-upmanship, carefully judged snubs and other tedious social interactions that didn't concern him, but did mean that it was almost impossible to have an interesting or amusing conversation. And obviously, discussing his own business was out of the question, despite the fact that it was going on in flagrant discretion all around him.
“Peter!” a voice called out, directly behind him and loud enough to startle him.
He turned, to find a man coming towards him, tall, lean, with an air of strength and purpose that suggested the outdoors even in his smart white tuxedo.
“Rackman. Hunter Rackman!” Peter answered, shaking the big man's extended hand after an instant's hesitation before he recognized his old friend. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
“Well you should,” the American answered. “Lopez wouldn't be president without our backing, count on that.”
“Yes, but why are you in London?”
“Promotion, or an easy number to say thanks for Central America. But say, can we have a private word?”
Hunter didn't bother to wait for an answer, but took Peter by the elbow and led him to a clear space where a microphone had been set up for use later in the evening. They were on a low stage, and Peter felt distinctly conspicuous. But Hunter didn't seem to care, continuing in a low, conspiratorial voice.
“Look, I've been speaking to Ben, and I understand you're up to your old tricks and then some. Now my Emerald's back at home ⦔
“Emerald?” Peter queried. “You married Emerald Feldkirch?”
“After that night? I'd have married her if I had to kill for it. So yeah, I married Emerald, and she's given me three fine sons and the most beautiful little girl you ever did see. But Emmie's back home, if you get my meaning.”
“Which means that you're alone and might need the services of a maid?” Peter answered.
“Exactly that,” Hunter said with a wink. “But not any old maid. The best. The girls in the green outfits are yours, yes?”
“Yes,” Peter admitted. “The tall red-head is Tiffany's daughter, Rhiannon, by the way, but she's booked. So's the other red-head, Elspeth. But I'm guessing you prefer blonds, which is just as well.”
“Who's the cutie with the pug nose?”
“Felicity. I think she's booked too. The tiny one is Henrietta ⦔
“Jesus, Pete, she'd barely come up to my dick. How about the tall girl with the tits at ten and two?”
“Clementine, yes, she's lovely, but I ought to warn you that she's Daniel Stewart's daughter.”
“She's old Dan's daughter? You don't say! Now I've
gotta
fuck her.”
Peter stifled a sigh. He'd tried to avoid pairing the daughters of old school chums with other school chums. And yet, he couldn't deny the perverse twinge that overrode his reluctance. “I'll introduce you,” he said at last.
Hunter was already striding across the floor and Peter hurried to catch up. Introductions were made and Clementine smiled and bobbed, a reaction as cool as it was charming, instantaneously putting a feral look in Hunter's eyes. Peter left them to it, glancing around the room to locate Chloe, who was pouring champagne for Clive Sumner. Her overtly flirtatious manner suggested she too was taken; and Henrietta wasn't visible.
On a sudden impulse he made for the kitchens. As he'd hoped, Henrietta was fetching more of the canapés she'd been handing out, with a full tray on the table in front of her as she put the finishing touches to the arrangement. He went straight to her, twisting her around to press his lips to hers, a kiss she returned after a moment of hesitation. Of all the girls, she was the one who most enjoyed rough treatment, preferring her spankings and sex sudden and unannounced as long as she was in the mood. The passion of her kiss made it clear that she was most certainly in the mood, and Peter wasted no time in talk.
As she pressed her body to his, he took a firm grip on her waist and twisted her round once more to face the table. He popped her tits free from her bodice, taking one in each hand as he rubbed his crotch against her bottom. She rubbed back, purring in anticipation for the hard bulge of his cock as it bumped between her tiny butt cheeks, encouraging him still more. Peter's mischievous streak got the better of him and, with a single shove, he planted Henrietta's tits and face firmly in the canapés, her squeak of alarm and surprise muffled by a mushroom vol-au-vent. Two swift tugs and her uniform skirt was up around her waist and her frilly panties were down to her thighs. A quick adjustment of his fly and his cock was free in his hand, not fully stiff, but stiff enough to push into the wet, accommodating aperture of her vagina and then deep inside her.
She'd pulled herself up onto her elbows as he began to fuck her, his fingers locked around her hips as he jammed himself in and out with short, hard thrusts, his belly smacking on her naked bottom with each and every one. He pushed her down again, rubbing her face in the mess on the tray and ignoring her protests, before scooping up a handful of dainties to smear them over her chest, soiling her breasts. More went into her mouth and hair, rendering her both speechless and completely unfit for polite company, an effect enhanced as he pulled his cock free to jerk himself off over her bare bottom and into her panties, across the back of her dress and lastly in her face as he pulled her around one last time. Her mouth was already full of food, with bits of pastry, mushroom sauce and lumpfish roe spilling out around her lips. Peter was too far gone to let this dissuade him, and he crammed his cock into her over-f mouth, sending food squirting from the sides as it was displaced by his girth and he finished his orgasm in her throat.
“Right,” he told her as he finally pulled back. “You're mine for the evening, Henrietta, as I hardly think you're in a fit state to serve the ambassador's guests. Out the back way with you, and don't worry about the cash. I'll see you get your share.”
“You are a complete bastard, Peter!” she managed, spitting out the mess from her mouth. “You didn't even spank me first!”
“I'll make up for it at the hotel,” he promised her. “Now run along. The others are all booked up and we've got until at least two or three in the morning.”
“Clemmie's going to spend the night with Mr. Rackman,” Rhiannon announced, bouncing down on the bed. “You know about Elspeth, Chloe wants you to pick her up from Clive's flat and Flick's still at the embassy.”
“Doing what?” Peter asked as he pulled himself upright in the bed.
He'd been asleep, and his head still felt as if it was full of cobwebs, while even Rhiannon's noisy arrival hadn't been enough to wake Henrietta, who lay beside him, nude, the covers twisted around her body with her well smacked bottom sticking out from among them. She'd been given her promised spanking, followed by a second, more leisurely fuck, but by the time they'd both come he'd been too exhausted to stay awake.
Rhiannon hadn't answered him, her eyes closed and her hands on her chest, gently stroking her breasts through her uniform. Peter recognized the symptoms: a girl who'd been thoroughly fucked and probably put through her paces in a number of other ways, but hadn't had a chance to achieve orgasm. It was by no means uncommon with the Grove House girls. Most of the clients took the attitude thatâas it was their moneyâtheir pleasure was what counted. So Peter had become something of an expert at masturbating sleepy but turned-on girls to climax. Now was not the time.
“Doing what?” he repeated.
“Getting fucked, I imagine,” Rhiannon replied. “Three of the embassy staff took her upstairs, and ⦔
“Staff?” Peter cut her off. “Not Grove House members?”
Rhiannon merely bit her lip softly.
“This is not a freelance operation. This whole thing works because we are exclusive and discreet.” Peter fought to keep from raising his voice. After all, Felicity's indiscretion was not Rhiannon's fault, and he had no right to be annoyed with her.
But Rhiannon seemed not to notice. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
“Peter ⦠get me off,” she said softly.
“Later,” Peter promised her, glancing at the clock radio beside the bed. “It's nearly four o'clock in the morning. Wake up, Henrietta.”
He'd applied a firm smack to her bottom as he spoke, but she merely groaned and twisted herself tighter into the sheets. Peter hauled himself out of bed and padded across to the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face. His eyes were red and he looked drawn. He was wondering how much longer he could keep up a lifestyle that allowed so little sleep, when a commotion from the bedroom pulled his thoughts back to the present.
Rhiannon had unrolled Henrietta from the bedcovers and, after what had sounded like a brief but spirited struggle, sat directly upon her face. Rhiannon's eyes were now closed in bliss as she sat bolt upright in the middle of the bed, playing with her breasts as she squatted over Henrietta. Rhiannon's panties were around her knees, and her uniform skirt was splayed out like a flower, while Henrietta licked and lapped at her cunt and bottom from beneath. Peter merely shook his head, used to the girls' behavior, but he watched from the corner of his eye as he dressed, while Rhiannon took the orgasm she'd needed so badly before going down on Henrietta to return the favor.
His cock had begun to stir as he watched, but he was concerned for Felicity and already late for Elspeth. So he put his needs aside, doing his best to hurry the girls along and get them all out of the hotel and across the street to where the green Grove House Maids minibus was parked. As he was climbing in Felicity appeared, her long blonde hair loose and disarrayed, her shoes in one hand a champagne bottle in the other, her uniform disheveled.
“Just get in,” Peter told her as she began what was clearly a well-rehearsed apology. “You know perfectly well it's club members only. I'll deal with you later.”
She made a face at him but climbed into the back of the minibus, taking a swallow of wine from the bottle before passing it to Rhiannon. Peter was trying to look stern as he started the engine, but he felt only mild exasperation for her behavior and was looking forward to the opportunities it presented. Felicity was usually well behaved, and resentful about spankings, preferring to dish them out than take them. But she would accept a just punishment if she broke the rules, which she clearly had.
Chloe was at Clive Sumner's place in Westminster and had soon been collected, while Elspeth was staying the night with her client. With Chloe safely in the minibus he allowed himself a sigh of relief. The opportunity to provide maids for the reception had been too good to turn down, with Clive making a generous block booking in his position as a senior official at the Foreign Office, to which he had moved some years before. Clive had assured him that neither Daniel nor Ben would be at the function, while both Clementine and Chloe had been keen to attend, but he was very pleased indeed to be away without incident. Daniel knew about Grove House Maids but he had never made use of the service, preferring to avoid all risk of scandal. Although Ben was a regular client.
As Peter drove, he reflected on the odd behavior of his friends, which Rhiannon had called hypocritical. There was no doubt at all in his mind that Ben would be furious to discover that Chloe was a Grove House Maid, and yet he himself was especially keen on Clementine, and generally liked to watch her strip, then have her go down on her knees to suck his cock hard before she was taken from behind. Peter had always assumed that this was because Daniel had been very much the leader of their group while they were at Broadfieldsânot to mention a school prefectâso that using his daughter for sex became a way to offset feelings of inferiority. Gabriel also enjoyed Clementine, and Hunter Rackman had lost no time in booking her, which fitted the pattern, if less well. But Clive and Ben had always been very much equals and Chloe was now being given much the same treatment as Clementine.