by Peter Birch
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-full 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 that—as it was their money—their 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 Broadfields—not to mention a school prefect—so 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.
He continued to ponder the question as he drove east with the four girls drinking champagne and laughing together in the back of the minibus, but the only postulate that seemed to fit was that his friends shared a highly perverse sense of humor. Unfortunately it was also a dangerous one, and he decided to impose new rules to reduce the risk of disaster, which served to remind him of Felicity’s breach of agreed conduct. She was the first to be dropped off, at the apartment on the edge of Docklands which she shared with two other girls, both innocent of her lucrative sideline. That meant she had to be dealt with in the van. Not easy in the middle of London, but he knew the perfect place.
A slight adjustment to the route allowed him to park behind what had once been St. Botolph’s Church. It was now a block of exclusive apartments, but it looked much the same and the alley behind it was no more busy that it had been on the memorable night nearly eight years before. He was smiling as he drew the van to a halt, thoroughly happy with his life despite his tiredness and looking forward to the prospect of dishing out one more spanking.
“Why have we stopped?” Felicity asked, although the tone of her voice suggested that she knew the answer perfectly well.
“Three of the embassy staff, I believe it was?” Peter queried. “I don’t imagine they were members of the club, either?”
“They paid,” Felicity countered, now openly alarmed. “Quite well, too. One of them was the ambassador!”
“I don’t care if he was an emperor,” Peter replied. “You know the rules.”
“Oh come on!” Felicity urged. “Not now, and not … not in front of Chloe!”
Peter ignored her, but climbed into the back, seating himself in the seat he invariably used for spankings, where he had plenty of leg room while the girls’ backsides remained nicely on show to other passengers.
“A spanking now, or the cane later,” he told her, “and either way, it’s going to have to be in front of Chloe.”
“Why?” Felicity demanded. “That’s not fair!”
Rhiannon giggled at her friend’s petulant tone, earning herself a smack on the leg.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Felicity told her. “Or the next time you get it I’ll make sure he uses a hairbrush!”
“Ooh, good idea!” Rhiannon laughed, digging in her bag to pull out a long handled, wooden hairbrush. “Go on, Peter, spank her!”
“Bitch!” Felicity snapped. “Look, Peter, I …”
“A spanking now,” Peter interrupted. “Or the cane later.”
“Oh all right,” Felicity answered, pouting badly as she lay herself down across Peter’s legs. “You can spank me, but not with her hairbrush.”
Peter said nothing, but took a firm grip around her waist, fixing her in place before he turned her uniform skirt up onto her back and pulled down her panties. The other girls quickly gathered around to watch—Rhiannon and Henrietta bright-eyed and giggling, Chloe shocked but still fascinated to see the girl whose knee she’d been over so often get a dose of her own medicine. Felicity stayed silent, sulky but compliant, until Peter took the hairbrush from Rhiannon.
“Hey, no!” she squeaked. “That’s not fair, come on …”
“This is discipline, hence the hairbrush,” Peter stated and brought it down with a firm smack across Felicity’s bottom.
“Bitch!” Felicity repeated, twisting around to stick her tongue out at Rhiannon. “I’ll get you for this, and you needn’t think you’re going to get a show out of me.”
Peter didn’t comment, but began to spank harder and faster, vigorous smacks delivered full on the tuck of Felicity’s fleshy little cheeks in rapid succession, instantly robbing her of any chance of coping with the pain. She withstood it for a few seconds, grunting through gritted teeth as she struggled to retain her dignity before giving in. First she began to wrigg
le and toss her hair, then to squirm and kick her legs. Finally, she surrendered completely, letting go of her emotions in a fine spanking tantrum with her fists thumping on the floor of the minibus and her thighs pumping to make a thoroughly rude show of her most private places. Peter continued to spank until he was sure the other girls had all had a good look, then stopped. Felicity jumped up, open mouthed with shock and clutching her hot bottom as she jumped up and down in a futile effort to dull the pain, which only served to inspire more giggling from the other three. Rhiannon retrieved her hairbrush while Peter, now grinning broadly and more pleased with himself than ever, pulled down his zip.
“Not that too!” Felicity protested as he exposed himself.
“Go on, Flick,” Henrietta mocked. “Be a good girl and say thank you nicely.”
Felicity turned a furious scowl toward Henrietta, but she got onto the seat beside Peter, kneeling with her bottom lifted high as she took his cock into her mouth. He began to stroke her cheeks as she sucked, enjoying the heat of her skin and the faint trembling of her body. A finger snuck between her thighs to reveal that she was every bit as wet as he’d expected, while the other girls gathered close, Henrietta and Chloe with their arms around each other, Rhiannon cupping Peter’s balls and gently masturbating him into Felicity’s mouth.