Maid Service (29 page)

The girls rested for a moment, gasping, their bodies slimed with clay except for the occasional patch of sweaty pink, their hair matted and foul, Felicity nude but for decoration, Clementine with her top half on, and her bikini bottoms bagging around her thighs with the weight of the clay within them. If there was anything fake about the fury in their faces Peter couldn't see it, and Felicity screamed as she threw herself at Clementine once more. They went down together, grappling, scratching, pulling hair, Felicity even using her teeth to try and rip off Clementine's bikini top while she clutched at her own hair ribbon in a desperate attempt to defend herself.

It worked, briefly, both of Clementine's tits now bare and pink, with her bikini up around her neck. But she'd snatched a handful of clay and slapped it into Felicity's face, filling her mouth and smearing it over her eyes. Felicity jerked back, scraping at the mess on her face and spitting filth, only to have a second handful of clay crammed into her mouth, making her eyes pop with shock and disgust. With that, her will to fight seemed to go. Clementine closed in, catching Felicity by the knot of her hair, to hold her head above the puddle of slime for a long moment, allowing the defeated girl to see exactly what was about to happen to her. Then, with a snarl, Clementine pushed her opponent's face into the filthy mess with a heavy squelch, rubbing the whole of her head into the muck before pulling her up once more. Her face was a mask of clay, her open mouth full of filth, her eyes closed, utterly defeated, so that when Clementine let go of her hair she simply slumped back into the mud. With her last ounce of determination, Felicity jerked violently to the side, flailing blindly at Clementine's hair ribbon, which she managed to catch and remove.

Mr. Drach began to clap and the others joined in. All were grinning, laughing and passing remarks as the girls continued to grapple, both now caked in slippery gray clay from head to foot, snatching furiously at each other's bodies, indifferent to the lewd display of breasts, bottoms and cunts they provided to their audience. Clementine's bikini bottoms loosened further and finally fell off, exposing the wad of dirty gray clay packed into the mouth of her cunt and (as she struggled into a crawling position) her ass too. One vicious snatch and her bikini top was gone, but Felicity had already lost. Clementine raised a triumphant fist, opening her fingers to reveal the other girl's hair ribbon. As the unassailable realization dawned on Felicity, she slumped back into the mud once more, now truly defeated.

Clementine rose from the muck, unsteady on her feet, shaking badly, but triumphant. She was grinning as she showed off the hair ribbon to the cheering audience, with her feet planted to either side of Felicity's body where the defeated girl lay sprawled in the muck. Peter nodded and gave the private signal they'd agreed. Felicity took note and reluctantly assented, staying down in the mud where she lay. Clementine gave a curt order, and Felicity responded by opening her mouth wide and squeezing her eyes shut. Clementine turned her body a little to ensure that she was full on to Mr. Drach, then let go of her bladder, pissing full and hard into Felicity's face and over her chest, filling her mouth and soiling her tits anew as bare skin emerged from beneath the mud. Clementine sank down onto her haunches, scooped up a handful of mud and crammed it into Felicity's mouth, to leave the hapless girl coughing and spluttering as she tried to spit it out, only to have her nose pinched and her jaw pressed shut. Her eyes popped, her struggles grew desperate, but Clementine refused to back off and Felicity was finally forced to eat mud, her face set in furious resentment as she swallowed down the filthy mess in her mouth. The clapping and cheering had stopped, all but one of the men staring opened mouthed in shock and pity as well lust, save for Kralj, who now wore a small, happy smile, and Peter himself, who was grinning as he got up to hose the girls down.

It took a moment for the spell to break. Rhiannon had been working on Mr. Drach's cock all the while, half turned so that she could watch the fight from one eye as she sucked and licked at his erection. She was now pulled closer and forced to take him deep as he twisted his hands into her long red hair, fucking her mouth with short, hard thrusts clearly intended to take him to orgasm. Kralj gave a nod to the bodyguards and they quickly had Chloe on her knees. Her tray was taken off her and the men unzipped, their stout pale cocks and heavy balls protruding obscenely from their suit trousers as she did her best to cope with both at the same time, sucking and tugging at them until they were hard enough to wedge her into a firm spit roast.

Peter was himself undeniably turned on, and Rhiannon's bare, outthrust bottom made a fine sight, with her cunt deliciously puffy and wet and ready for entry—and the tight pink star of her anus a no less tempting a target. He pulled his cock free as he continued to hose down the girls, and Clementine immediately crawled close to take him in her mouth. Felicity had rinsed quickly and scurried indoors to shower, leaving Peter to enjoy Clementine's lips as he played the hose over her naked body.

To his left, Mr. Drach had come in Rhiannon's mouth, securing her head to make sure she took every last drop of his seed, as she struggled bravely to keep his full length in her throat. Taking Clementine by the hair, Peter pulled her face between the cheeks of Rhiannon's bottom as Mr. Drach finished. Clementine knew exactly what was expected of her, licking eagerly at Rhiannon's ass as Peter masturbated over the sight. Rhiannon got down, her bottom pushed high as she was prepared for Peter's cock, her anus quickly relaxing and opening beneath Clementine's tongue. Peter moved closer, still holding Clementine by the hair as he pushed his cock deep into her throat, withdrew, and pressed the head to Rhiannon's anus.

Clementine continued to lick, her tongue flicking over Peter's cock and Rhiannon's bottom hole as he pushed himself slowly in. Soon he was deep in Rhiannon, and Clementine nuzzled down between their thighs to lick at Peter's balls and her friend's cunt as he took his pleasure in Rhiannon's ass. Clementine's own thighs were spread too, her fingers plucking at her cunt as she masturbated, even as Zoran arrived to ease his cock into her pussy. Miroslav joined in, settling his semi-stiff cock into Rhiannon's mouth as she was sodomized, the taut and shiny ring of her sphincter now pulling and stretching around Peter's increasingly rapid thrusts.

As he plunged into Rhiannon again and again, Peter was vaguely aware that Stephen and Kralj had gone indoors. He sped up, knowing that Michelle was more than likely to be ready to play, but wary of what the other men might do to her. Clementine opened her mouth wide to take in Peter's balls, sucking hard to make him gasp with ecstasy right on the edge of pain. Rhiannon began to gag on Miroslav's cock as the pumping in her rectum grew faster. A cry of pain rang out from somewhere behind him and Peter began to push faster still, desperate to see what was going on but too close to orgasm to hold back.

He came, ejaculating deep in Rhiannon's rectum before pulling his cock free and sinking it as far down Clementine's throat as it would go, hitting a second peak as he watched her eyes pop wide in shock, and a third just as a fresh cry of pain rang out from behind him. Cursing in surprise, he twisted around, to find no sign at all of Michelle. Although Felicity was in the living room, visible through the French doors as she licked at Stephen's balls and cock while Kralj applied a cane to her naked bottom.

“Just a beating. Thank goodness for that,” he sighed, and looked down at Clementine. “Come on, Clemmie, swallow it all down like a good little girl. Your next booking won't be half as much fun.”

“I have to confess that this is one situation I didn't foresee,” Peter mused. “Hiring the girls out for ordinary functions, such as this one. Still, the client was willing to pay our rates. So I didn't feel it was sensible to turn it down.”

“You're still earning money,” Gabriel responded. “Just not as much.”

“Not nearly as much,” Peter told him. “But then again, we do have five or six regulars here anyway, so perhaps it won't be a total loss.”

“Ah! So normal service is not completely restricted!” Gabriel chortled. “I'd like to reserve little Chloe, in that case. She gave me a wonderful time the other night.”

“She's a wonderful girl. Shy, but very, very dirty.”

“Extraordinarily dirty, although I have to say I preferred her with her natural hair color. She's makes a pretty blonde, but it robs her of something of her innocence, and with that you lose some of the fun of being naughty with her. Or I think so anyway.”

“I agree, but we had to dye her hair for some clients of Stephen's.”

“Ah, yes, I'd heard something about that. How did it go?”

“He got the contract, and so he should have. Given what those fellows got up to. Not that they were especially perverse, and Clemmie and Flick even managed to shock them. But they were pretty hard on the girls, expecting rough sex without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Going by what Stephen told me about those chaps, it seems the girls should count themselves lucky. So can I have Chloe?”

“Yes. I'll tell her.”

“Thank you. The rest of the party will now be a great deal less tedious. I had better circulate. That's the trouble with being an MP, never a moment's peace, and as for these damn charity people, they seem to think I'm made of money.”

A cluster of people nearby had obviously been waiting to talk to Gabriel and he went across to greet them with handshakes and smiles, his manner far more effusive than it had been with Peter, but obviously put on. Peter smiled as he turned away, walking down to a small square of rose bushes surrounding a pond, with Koi carp gliding among the water plants. The garden party was a fund raising event for Caring Planet, a charity for which a Grove House client served as honorary chairman. But the booking had come from the secretary, a brassy, forceful woman who knew nothing whatsoever about the truth behind Grove House Maids. The secretary had been at another event and liked the idea of well-spoken British girls serving at her function.

So far he had managed to avoid making a contribution to the charity, which he was fairly sure existed mainly for the purpose of paying its senior people large salaries. He was keen to maintain his donation-free streak, while the carp struck him as much better company than most of the people there. Despite the fishes' habit of repeatedly opening their mouths, they never actually said anything—and that really was a pleasant change. Rhiannon, Felicity, Chloe and Henrietta were all there, wandering among the guests with loaded trays. But the formal garden was far too open to allow him to take one of them into a secluded corner.

The possibilities for later that evening were another matter, as long as all four girls didn't get booked. Still, it would be more than two hours before the event ended. When it did end, he was going to have to drive, but he had decided to risk another glass of wine. As he turned to go back inside, Peter noticed a woman coming towards him in a disturbingly purposeful manner, smiling but without the slightest trace of warmth. She was tiny, perhaps as little as five feet tall, but with even more poise and confidence than most of the other women present, while her simple black dress was perfectly cut and the diamonds in her ears and at her throat showed a restrained perfection that suggested both taste and wealth. There was no doubting her appeal either, at least physically, her figure petite yet elegant, her face beautiful if cold, while her age was hard to judge.

“What a surprise,” she said. “If it isn't Peter Finch. Are you on day release?”

“I'm sorry,” Peter replied, affronted, “but I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

“No?” she queried, her tone cool and light, as if in casual conversation. “I'm surprised. Perhaps if I was the other way up, wearing a school uniform and being spanked?”

Peter had nearly dropped his glass at the final word, uttered with sudden venom. But at her change of tone the years fled and he realized who she was.

“Christine! Christine Arlington!”

“Yes,” she answered. “Christine Arlington.”

“Well, um … hello,” he tried, unsure how best to address woman who'd been doing her best to scratch his eyes out the last time they met. “What a surprise. How have you been?”

“Very well, no thanks to you,” she answered. “You, Peter Finch, are the lowest, the …”

“Come, come,” he interrupted. “There's no call for abuse. It was just a bit of fun, after all. You know, just messing around.”

“A bit of fun?” she retorted. “Messing around!? You arranged to have me spanked!”

“You volunteered to be spanked,” Peter corrected her. “In return for a favor from Victoria Trent.”

“I volunteered, yes, and I suppose I should have known that mad bitch Vicky Trent would do her best to humiliate me. But I did not volunteer to be punished in front of two dozen leering boys.”

“I think there were nineteen of us in the end,” Peter broke in, now beginning to enjoy himself as his initial shock died away.

“One would have been too many,” she answered, her voice now edged with ice. “Especially if that one had been you, you little pervert.”

“I apologize,” Peter went on. “I apologize unreservedly. It was very unfair of me. But in my defense you undoubtedly had one of the prettiest bottoms in your year at St. Monica's, small but perfectly formed, as the saying goes. Not only that, but you were a brat, and brats need spanking, as I'm sure you realize?”

“You little bastard!” she spat.

“Oh come on,” he chuckled. “With such a pretty bottom and such a vicious personality, how could you possibly expect not to get spanked? Just like gin needs tonic or peaches need cream, as the Americans say. It's just the way things are. There's no point in complaining about it. Besides, as I recall you were—to use a somewhat vulgar turn of phrase—absolutely creaming yourself while you were getting you rump roasted.”

Christine had been listening to him wordlessly, her mouth opening and closing, tempting Peter to draw a comparison between her and the carp in the pond beside them. But he changed his mind when he saw the raw fury in her eyes. Surely she was about to hit him, and he stepped back a little to make sure he was out of reach. But Christine had quickly regained control, her voice once more calm as she continued.

“You'll regret that little speech, Peter Finch, every rotten word. I know you're up to something. I'm not entirely sure what it is yet, but I know it involves some pretty high profile people and I'd bet absolutely anything that it's
extremely
shady.”

“How do you mean?” Peter asked with a sudden sense of dread. “I'm not ‘up to' anything, as you put it. What makes you think I am?”

“You run an agency, don't you?” she said, her voice dripping venom. “An agency that supplies maids, very exclusive maids. Most similar agencies employ the cheapest labor they can, all sorts of people, from all sorts of backgrounds and of all ages. Your maids are all very young, very pretty and very British.”

“As you say, we offer an exclusive service,” Peter countered.

“Suspiciously exclusive,” she went on. “But don't worry, if you're really above board you having nothing to worry about. Otherwise …”

“Grove House Maids is a legitimate company,” he insisted. “You can go over our accounts, if you want to. But anyway, why all the fuss? Wouldn't it be better to let bygones be bygones?”

“No,” she answered emphatically. “Besides, even if this was nothing to do with you, I'd still be interested. I didn't tell you what I've been doing all these years, did I? I, Peter Finch, am a journalist.”

“We're going to have to draw our horns in a bit,” Peter insisted, leaning forward in his chair at Lorrimer's. He'd called an emergency meeting of the key players who'd been instrumental in developing the business.

“No,” Stephen answered. “That would be playing into her hands. You don't think she tipped you off to make life easier for you, surely?”

“She lost her temper,” Peter pointed out. “But then again …”

“Always assume your opponent is at least as clever as you are,” Stephen went on. “Maybe she lost her temper and blurted it out, but maybe she did it on purpose in order to force you to react. She's watching you, and if you change the way Grove House Maids works, let alone shut down completely, that will only confirm her suspicions.”

“I agree,” Gabriel put in, “and besides, I need girls.”

“Surely you can manage without for a while?” Peter queried.

“Not for sex,” Gabriel retorted. “Well, obviously for sex, but not personally. I'm not too popular with my local committee just now, with my majority down in the hundreds, so I've been keeping old man Broughton sweet by sending Elspeth round to service him now and again.”

“You're not really supposed to do that,” Peter told him. “Sir Edmund Broughton is not a club member.”

“He thinks she's a friend of my niece's,” Gabriel explained. “But never mind that. I need to be able to hire Elspeth, and Stephen's right anyway.”

“Well?” Peter asked, looking to Ben Thompson and Clive Sumner.

“Stephen is definitely right,” Ben answered, with Clive nodding agreement. “Keep things as they are and perhaps we can get rid of her.”

“How?” Peter demanded, alarmed.

“Nothing too drastic,” Ben answered him. “But she's a journalist, with a long history of digging up inconvenient facts and catching people in awkward situations. She'll have her share of guilty secrets.”

“Or,” Gabriel suggested, “we could offer her boss a little light entertainment. He's a randy old goat by all accounts, old Lord Bearslake, with some highly peculiar habits if the rumors are to be believed. Okay, so he supported the other team at the election, but he's one of us at heart and I doubt he wants a party scandal at present.”

“I wouldn't count on that,” Clive advised. “Loyalty is not exactly his strong point and we're pretty unpopular just now. Think of all the papers he could sell with a nice juicy sex scandal.”

“Ah,” Gabriel went on, “but if he was a member of our club I'm sure he could be persuaded to keep Christine on a tight leash—literally, with any luck.”

“I can't see that working,” Peter put in. “Maybe he is a randy old goat, and I wouldn't be surprised if Christine is fucking him. But I can't imagine him putting sex before profit.”

“Hang on,” Clive queried. “Gabriel, how do you mean ‘literally'?”

“Apparently,” Gabriel went on, grinning, “he likes to dress girls up as animals, preferably so that he can hunt them down on his estate in Gloucestershire.”

“Good grief!” Ben exclaimed. “And what does he do when he catches them?”

“He fucks them, I'm guessing,” Gabriel laughed. “I don't think he's a complete maniac.”

“More to the point,” Clive put in, “how has he managed to get away with something like that for all these years, maniac or not?”

“Much the same way we do, I imagine,” Peter replied. “Posh girls, well paid.”

“That and a reputation as a litigious bastard,” Gabriel told them. “After all, who would believe that the great philanthropist and guardian of the nation's morals, Lord Bearslake, would get up to that sort of thing? I was a bit dubious myself, when I first found out.”

“How did you find out?” Peter asked.

“A little bird told me,” Gabriel answered. “A very pretty little bird I happened to meet in Oxford after the Caring Planet event.”

Gabriel had taken Chloe back to her college to have sex with her, and Peter felt a sharp pang of guilt as he glanced towards Ben. But his friend's face showed only interest as Gabriel continued.

“It was a wonderful moment, and one you'd particularly appreciate, Peter. After I'd um … finished, I dropped in at the Eagle and Child for a refreshing pint. I was about halfway down the glass when I realized that this girl was looking at me. She was an absolute poppet, little and pretty with a splash of freckles across her nose and a bouncy little pair of tits, and as pink as a raspberry. I thought I was hanging out of my fly at first because, handsome though I am, I don't usually get college girls chasing after me these days, and she was clearly fascinated. Well, the snake was still in his lair, and she was still looking at me, so I introduced myself. Do you know what, she'd spotted that I'd got spanker's hand!”

“Wonderful!” Peter said.

“Who had you been spanking?” Ben asked.

“Clemmie,” Gabriel responded without so much as faltering. “Anyway, so there I was, caught red handed, literally. But you know what these girls are like—when there's spanking to be done, they prefer an older man. So I took her over to Port Meadow and gave her the pinkest little bottom you ever did see, then taught her how to say thank you properly. Ophelia, she's called. Naturally I'd thought about signing her up to be a maid, so I took her out to dinner to sound her out, which is when she told me about old Bearslake. He used to run her on his estate, dressed as a vixen fox, with a big fluffy tail on a butt plug wedged in her ass. So there we are, Peter, your problem is solved.”

“Very neatly,” Peter replied. “Very neatly indeed.”

He sat back, thinking deeply as the others continued to talk. An hour later the meeting broke up and they went their separate ways. But Stephen stayed with Peter, talking as they walked up Piccadilly towards Green Park station.