by JD Nixon
He finished his drink and padded over to place his glass neatly in the kitchen. “Hard to say for how long the evening will last. Could end at midnight; could go all night. Depends on how lusty or smashed everyone is.”
He then proceeded to give us a rundown on our duties for the night. We were to stand at the front door to check tickets, direct people to the terrace, then spend the rest of the night ensuring the general peacefulness of the party.
He shot us both a sharp look. “I hope neither of you are prudes, because we don’t hold back, and frankly nobody will care that you might be watching. In fact, it will probably spur on some of our more exhibitionist members to even greater indulgences.”
“We’ll be fine,” assured Farrell. “We’ve seen it all before.” Which might be true in his case, but I wasn’t as confident in that assertion on my behalf. I certainly hadn’t seen it all before and I would have preferred to keep it that way. We exchanged another glance. Oh well, I’d always said I liked my job because it offered a lot of variety in the work I did. I couldn’t start complaining now when the variety became somewhat too interesting for my taste.
Marty’s partner, Gabriela, came out into the living room and greeted us in a friendly manner as she retrieved her G&T from the bar. She was beautiful and petite with large clear brown eyes and thick, curly dark brown hair that fell down her back, past her bare shoulders. She spoke with an accent and explained to us that she was originally from Brazil. She was dressed in a gold micro-mini dress, with a plunging halter neck top and no back, and a pair of dangerously high-heeled gold sandals. She didn’t stop to chat, but excused herself saying that she had a lot to do in the kitchen before the guests began to arrive in about forty minutes.
Farrell advised Marty that we’d spend the time until then doing a recce around the house and yard. Marty gave us his permission to do so with a smile and excused himself to shower and dress for the evening.
It was a large house and we started our tour of the interior at the front door. Off the hallway that led to the living area, were five doors. One led to a library/study room, another to a powder room. Two others led to guest bedrooms, complete with ensuites, which I presumed would be the rooms used for any private activities during the evening. The final door led to another short hallway that headed towards a second living area and a small media room. Both of these opened onto a small back courtyard and the couple’s own sleeping quarters.
Marty had been caught up with a phone call, so we had a quick look around their suite before he took his shower. Their bedroom came complete with a parlour and a bathroom almost the same size as my entire flat. Their walk-in robe was larger than my bedroom, and their bed was the biggest I’d ever seen in my life, custom-made surely, larger than a normal king-sized bed.
“Jesus!” exclaimed Farrell. “Look at the size of that bed! A small village could sleep on that.”
“What do they do for a living?” I asked curiously.
“Probably lawyers,” he said, not without some bitterness in his voice. I didn’t pry, but I assumed from that comment he’d gone through a painful divorce.
We walked back to the living area and smiled at Gabriela as she rushed around in the kitchen preparing the canapes, teetering on her heels. We walked through to look at a room off the kitchen, which turned out to be a spacious laundry with access to the side of the house. We crept back through the kitchen again, dodging Gabriela and diplomatically ignoring a string of Portuguese expletives as she hurried to remove something that had started smoking in the oven.
Farrell and I stepped out of the folding glass doors onto the terraced entertainment area, which was paved with sandstone. The whole area was lent a tropical feel through the Bali-style pavillion, timber pool furniture and numerous potted palms that created a lush jungle. On a hot summer’s afternoon, the terraces would be an oasis of cool relaxation.
The couple had already set up a number of white-clothed tables, each with a glorious floral centrepiece in fragrant white flowers. Wine, champagne and mixer glasses had been laid out neatly on one table. On another, bottles of spirits and red wine were lined up and ice buckets were out, ready to be filled with ice, champagne and white wine. Plates, cutlery and napkins were to one side on the third table, in preparation for the finger food and other nibblies that Gabriela was currently preparing. The couple were clearly excellent and thoughtful hosts. I wasn’t sure if there was a fashionably tasteful style for orgies, but in my opinion, Marty and Gabriela had nailed it.
There were three levels to the entertainment area, leading down to the pool. I hoped there weren’t going to be any nude water frolics during the evening. Alcohol and pools didn’t usually mix and I didn’t want to be rescuing someone from the water later.
Evidently, Farrell had been thinking the same thing. “Hope we won’t be needing our CPR training tonight.”
“I’ll second that,” I agreed.
I cast my eyes around the perimeter of the backyard, wondering what the neighbours would think of any skinny-dipping activities. But it was a very private space, eight-foot solid fences providing a discreet barrier between the couple and their neighbours. Those fences may well have been one of the features of the house that had won the couple over when they originally purchased the property.
We made a quick check down the sides of the house. Both were securely fenced off from the front yard, with a locked gate on the right hand side of the house leading to the front. We were both pleased to note that those fences would significantly reduce the risk of any gatecrashers. On the terrace again, I turned to look at Marty and Gabriela’s house. It was beautiful and luxurious and would have been worth a fortune.
“Ever think you’ll be able to afford something like this, Farrell?” I asked him wistfully.
“Not a hope in hell.”
“Me neither.”
“No point brooding over it then.” It was good advice, so I stopped wishing for things that could never happen.
Marty came out to the terrace with bags of ice and filled up the ice buckets, wedging a couple of bottles of champagne in one and a couple of bottles of white wine in the other. He was dressed slightly more formally by then in dark brown trousers and a tan and green buttoned shirt. He went back inside and in a moment we heard seductive soft music floating from some outdoor speakers.
We noticed that it was only ten minutes to go until party time, so sauntered to the front door in preparation for our initial duties. Walking through the living area again I noticed that Marty had placed a bowl of assorted condoms on each side table. I stopped briefly for a quick look. Wow! I never knew they came in so many colours, sizes, flavours, and with so many . . . er . . . features. I picked up one that had a small mechanical device attached to it for stimulating the woman while also performing its normal job, my eyes almost popping out of my head.
“What are you doing, Chalmers?” hissed Farrell.
I showed him, pointing out the device. “Have you ever seen anything like this before? Look at it! It does two things at the same time.”
“Put it back before they notice. Come on, we have work to do.”
I reluctantly replaced the fascinating condom in the bowl, wanting to rummage through the rest for any other interesting ones. Farrell waited for me impatiently at the front door.
After a brief discussion, we agreed that I’d do the greeting and ticket checking, being naturally more charming than him. He would be the silent muscle on the side, only stepping in if there were any problems.
“A role made just for you,” I teased.
He regarded me steadily with those hypnotic eyes, neither smiling nor offering any banter back to me.
“Do you actually have any sense of humour?” I asked, frustrated by his lack of reaction to everything.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Not even one tiny, miniscule portion?”
“No.”
He’d obviously gone to the Clive School of Charm. I suddenly wished I was working with B
en again. He was fun. Or Bick. It would be good if he defected over to Heller’s. He’d be loads of fun to work with. But then, considering the circumstances, Farrell probably was the best choice for the night.
He was still gazing at me solidly and I wondered if he was reading my thoughts via my face again. It was not a skill I’d want to encourage in him, so I deliberately shut my face down, clearing it of any expression. That small attempt triggered that little twitch of his mouth again, indicating his great mirth.
“I know that you do have a sense of humour. In Farrell terms, you’re laughing your arse off right now at my attempts to be expressionless,” I insisted. I was persistent if nothing else.
“I don’t and I’m not.” Deadpan. But then that betraying movement of his lips again.
He was deeper than an ocean, that one, I thought, but couldn’t pursue it any further because we had our first ring of the doorbell. It was an attractive couple in their late thirties, who smiled at me pleasantly and willingly handed over their tickets for me to check. I smiled back at them and invited them in, directing them through the living room outside to the terrace.
There was a trickle of guests from that point. Another couple; then two single women; three couples who arrived together; then two couples together; and the final two couples both arriving within minutes of each other.
Once they had been shown to the terrace, I turned to Farrell. “That’s twenty guests by my count.”
“We’ll give it fifteen more minutes,” he said. “They won’t want us hanging around them yet.”
After five minutes, another couple approached, embarrassed and a little flushed from rushing.
The man threw his hands up in despair. “Sorry, we don’t have tickets. We were only able to organise a babysitter at the last second. But Marty knows us well.”
“Wait here, please,” I ordered and left Farrell to watch over them, pokerfaced. I whispered discreetly into Marty’s ear, dragging him away from a very busty woman in a revealing diaphanous red dress who looked as though she was up for anything tonight. Marty followed me back to the front door and after a few big hugs and exclamations, gave the couple the all-clear to enter. I smiled and let them pass, wishing them an enjoyable evening.
Let’s hope someone enjoys it, I thought.
“Twenty-two guests and two clients. Twenty-four all up to look after tonight,” Farrell noted. “The two of us should be able to manage that with no problems.”
Just as we were about to lock the front doors for the night, there was another knock. I opened the door and found two men standing on the doormat. They were good-looking men, no doubt about it, urbane, chic and well-groomed. But the fact remained that they were two men. I peered behind them looking for two women following them up the drive, but nope. No women. Just two men.
“Sorry guys,” I said politely. “There’s a private party here tonight.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard. We’re here to join in the fun.”
“Again, sorry guys. No single men allowed.”
I started to close the door. One of them pushed back against it.
“Didn’t you hear us, sweetheart?” he asked, not anywhere near as pleasant as me. “We want in on the fun. Lots of shagging going on tonight we hear, and we want a share.”
“You heard me, sweetheart,” I repeated. “No single men allowed. House rules.”
“I’m not single,” smirked one of them. “I’m married.”
“Well, you should have brought your wife along instead of your boyfriend,” I smiled grimly, still determinedly polite.
He pushed against the door again.
“It’s members only,” I informed him, pushing back.
“I have a member,” he sniggered and his friend piped up that he had one as well. They sniggered again. I rolled my eyes at their tremendous wit.
“Look, memberhead,” I said, much less pleasantly. “No ticket, no entry, and that’s that. So piss off.”
“You think you can stop the both of us from getting inside, sweetheart? One little girl against two men?”
Geez, I hated being called a girl. I clenched my fists, but kept my voice calm. “No, of course not. But I have a secret weapon.”
“Your tits are great, sweetheart, but hardly a secret weapon, poking out like that.” They sniggered again.
I opened the door wider and Farrell stepped out from behind it where he’d been standing, mostly hidden. Their eyes widened in surprise. I smiled at them.
“I believe my colleague already told you gentlemen that it’s a members only function here tonight and that you require a ticket and a female partner to join the other guests. When you come back with all of those requirements met to our satisfaction, we’ll be more than pleased to let you come in. Until then, enjoy your evening.”
And he stood there, implacable, his muscled arms crossed, face stony. You’d think twice before taking him on. And apparently they did, because they slunk away without any further argument.
We watched them leave and then I closed and locked the front door behind us. As I turned to face Farrell, his eyes flew up to my face. He looked guilty and a little ashamed, as if he’d done something that was beneath him. I think that the men mentioning my boobs had drawn his attention to them and I’d just nearly caught him having a quick perv at them.
I regarded him coolly for a few moments. He looked back at me, his gaze unwavering. I decided to let the incident go, not having noticed any other indication that he was a serial tit gawker. I could forgive a couple of looks, I guess. I’d been told on many occasions that I have very nice boobs, and he was a man after all, and they couldn’t help themselves from compulsively looking at boobs. Or so I’d been led to believe over the years by my boyfriends and male acquaintances.
He saved himself by diverting my attention very effectively. “What would you have done with them if I hadn’t been here?” he asked me.
“Taken them on,” I said, surprised he was even asking. “I would have karate-kicked the first one in the stomach without warning, and pushed over the other while he was distracted watching his friend. Then I would have run back inside and locked the door.”
“I can see why Heller worries about you so much, woman. I’m going to have to up the ante on your training.”
“Well, I can’t stand being called a girl,” I told him. “Or ‘woman’ either, if you want to know.”
He didn’t want to know. I trailed after him down the hallway to the outdoor entertainment area.
Chapter 14
The next couple of hours were dull. Farrell and I stood on the periphery of the crowd on the first terrace, partly in the shadows, trying not to be conspicuous. We mostly stood together, keeping an attentive eye on the proceedings. The guests were becoming agreeably and slowly sloshed, and there was a lot of flirting going on already. I didn’t think Marty and Gabriela would have any trouble getting this party started.
Farrell maintained his usual silent stance, face expressionless. I amused myself by watching the guests and their interactions with each other.
The two single women were very popular with everyone. They were probably the most flirtatious, not having partners to worry about during the evening and surely attending the party with only one thing on their minds. There would probably be some girl-on-girl action happening later. I wondered briefly if that would excite Farrell. In my experience, most men love that kind of thing, and he had shown that he was definitely a man and not an android with his earlier illicit boob-peeping. It was actually comforting to know that he was human after all. I felt more relaxed with him somehow. I decided to watch him closely tonight to see if there were any further cracks in his mask during the debauchery.
After a while, Marty clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and directed his guests to the living room for the adult movie show. They all cheered with enthusiasm and drifted into the living area. I saw a man with a goatee running his hand over the busty lady’s generous derriere as he helped her to the living a
rea. She didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way she clamped her hand firmly on his butt in response.
Farrell and I took the chance to patrol the perimeter together at that point. We walked down each side of the house and surveyed the entire back yard. After that task was completed to Farrell’s satisfaction, we quickly checked around the front yard as well, before locking the front door behind us again. Inside we gave each room a cursory check. Nobody had sneaked off for any private time yet.
While our clients and their guests were fully occupied watching the raunchy movie, we took the opportunity to refresh ourselves. We used the facilities, and grabbed a drink of juice and a couple of canapes, which Gabriela had thoughtfully left for us in the library/study. I checked my phone, but there were no messages. I knew that Heller would forget to ring me. Misery stabbed at my heart, but I deliberately pushed it away with a fierce shove. I had no claim on him, after all, so had no cause to be jealous about anything that he did. Or complain if he’d found someone he cared about more than me. But that particular thought only increased my misery.
“You all right?” asked Farrell, noticing my long face.
“Yep,” I lied, shoving my phone back into my pocket and busying myself in polishing off the canapes.
We didn’t linger on our break, but made out way back to the living room. The lights were off and the room flickered with masses of candles that Gabriela and Marty must have lit while Farrell and I were eating. The adult movie was in full swing. A man and two women did exceptionally intimate things to each other on the big screen, accompanied by what seemed to me to be an unnecessarily large amount of very fake moaning. Then others joined in their threesome and they were soon all enjoying an energetic gang bang. It was a very graphic movie, triple-X rated, and for someone like me who hadn’t bothered watching much porn in her life, it was a real eye-opener.