Free Universal Carnal Knowledge Pt. 34

XXXIV

"I don't see what you expect me to do"

The next few days were dominated by preparations for my fiftieth birthday weekend. I telephoned all the girls I had primed and told them to present themselves at George's house on Friday. They were to travel separately so as not to attract attention. Most of them did not have ready access to a car so they would be arriving by train at the nearest station, nearly four miles away, where I would arrange to have them met. (I did not want local cab companies to wonder why they were ferrying so many beautiful women to the same house.)

I had decided to invite all my existing girls as well and make a good weekend of it. Besides, I wanted Wendy and Fran there to provide a bit of organisation. Vicky and Simone got special instructions to travel down on Wednesday and it fell to them to spend the whole of Thursday buying in food and drink and getting plastic sheets to cover the beds; there must be no trace of our activities for George and Sue to discover on their return.

I saw Gina each lunchtime. She brought a new girl each day (two on Wednesday), all African or eastern European, and I invited all of them, plus Sable and Olga and of course Gina herself, to join us for the weekend. I was a little worried about how assorted London whores would interact with the twins' well-brought-up friends, but not enough to stop me from agreeing to Gina's suggestion that she bring a couple of new girls as well.

The financial pages of Wednesday's paper brought the interesting news that George Marjoribanks had been invited to join the board of his bank. He would be the only non-American director, and would continue to be based in London controlling operations not only in the UK but throughout Europe. The article hinted that the financial package attached to this was extremely generous.

I winced. It was not that I exactly had anything against George, but I was offended that he had tried to make me jealous of his opulent lifestyle, and what rankled even more was that in some measure he had succeeded; I had indeed felt pangs of envy. And now he was to be richer still. Moreover, it was not possible for me to avoid coming into contact with him. Not only did I have professional dealings with him, but, worse still, Wendy and I were obliged by social convention to reciprocate his hospitality and invite him and Sue to our home for dinner. So he would have plenty of opportunity to rub it in.

It was at this point I made up my mind that in some way not yet determined I would have my revenge on George. The secrecy attendant on my fucking his daughters and using his house as a knocking-shop meant that these activities, although pleasing in themselves, were not sufficient for the purpose. I had to get at him, I decided, in some way that he would recognise.

In the midst of all this I had on my conscience two further unintended seductions.

They were not my fault. The first one in particular I had foreseen as a problem, and I did what I could to prevent it.

My victim was a girl I then knew only as Ursula, who was the PA of the Chief Executive of a leading construction firm with which my company did a lot of business. Last time I had attended a meeting at their office she had taken notes and I had spent the whole time lusting after her. She was a drop-dead gorgeous raven-haired Australian with an over-the-top accent that made her sound like a reject from Neighbours; but with a body like hers, who cared about her voice? She had been very forward about her sexuality, wearing a low-cut outfit and leaning forward far more than strictly necessary and tossing her head sexily to keep that long black hair from falling across her face. I had thought at first she was there merely by way of eye candy but as the meeting progressed it had become clear that she was also highly proficient. But however bright and attractive Ursula might be, I had enough women to worry about and now that I had to attend a presentation in the boardroom of this same firm I was anxious not to ensnare her.

I had planned it carefully. Above all I wanted to avoid sitting near her, so I made sure I was one of the last to enter the boardroom and I took my seat between two men and with only other men and a couple of older women anywhere near me. I looked round to check that Ursula was out of harm's way but there was no sign of her at all. Maybe she no longer worked there.

But no: her boss, Colin, started the meeting by welcoming us all and asking someone to take notes until Ursula arrived. He then invited one of his managers to give the first part of the presentation. One of the men next to me stood up and made his way to the top of the table and started talking; and it was at this point, of course, that the lovely Ursula entered with a word of apology about delays on the tube, and slid into the nearest available seat, which was the one just vacated next to me.

There was nothing I could do. I tried to concentrate on the presentation, which was on the reassuringly unsexy subject of tailoring insurance products to meet the specific needs of the construction business, but I knew it would be no good. Everything seemed to conspire to make me aware of Ursula's closeness. I could smell her perfume. My eye was caught by the toss of her head as she flicked the hair out of her face. Even the way she turned the page of her notebook seemed charged with sensuality. And I could hear her respiration; it was heavier than usual because she was out of breath after hurrying to get to the meeting. But as the presentation dragged on, her breathing did not return to normal; in fact, it seemed to be getting deeper still.

"Have I got that right, James?"

To my horror I realised that the presenter had addressed himself directly to me, and I had been concentrating so hard on not concentrating on Ursula that I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Er, sorry," I said lamely. "Could you run it past me again?"

He repeated his description of the structure of a special employer's liability policy I had put together for this client. At least this forced me to think about insurance. I told him he was nearly right except for a couple of minor points, which I explained, and he thanked me and went on with his talk. I tried to focus on what he was saying in case he picked on me again but he droned on interminably and Ursula was becoming more and more distracting. Her every breath was now a long, deep draught of air that she held as long as possible then expelled slowly until her lungs must have been almost empty, ready to suck the next pheromone-laden intake past her vomeronasal organ. She edged her seat nearer and managed to twist in it so that her thigh pressed against mine. I did not attempt to move away; what would have been the point?

Her notepad caught my eye. It started with line after line of small neat handwriting accurately summarising the manager's talk. But then the writing became less untidy and there were several crossings-out, and I saw that she had entirely omitted an important point that the manager had explained in some detail. A few lines farther on, she had noted my contribution carefully, ascribing it to "JAMES" in capital letters, and I could not see how she had got on after that because her arm was in the way.

But then she moved even closer to me, and I could see the whole page. The last six or eight lines simply read, "James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James James ..."

The stultifyingly boring talk finally came to an end and we broke for tea. I was about to get up but Ursula put her hand on my arm and asked me, in her jawbreaking Australian accent that she was trying with no success at all to modulate to a sexy purr, "Can I get you something? What would you like?" She leant toward me to give me the best view of her cleavage. I asked for a cup of tea.

"Anything else?" she persisted, leaning still further and breathing in deeply to force her breasts toward me (and incidentally sucking in yet more pheromones). "Anything I can do for you at all?"

"Not just now," I told her, trying to hint that I had received her message. She gave me a knowing smile and fetched my tea. Handing it over gave her another opportunity to bend right forward and give me the best view yet of a handsome pair of tanned brown tits. "Just what I need," I said appreciatively as I took the tea. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," she smiled sexily, enjoying this game of double meaning. "Let me know if you want some more."

"I'm sure I shall, later."

She shot me a huge sexy smile. "Just give me the word," she said, and scribbled a phone number on the notes I had been taking. That afternoon I rang her and invited her to join the merry throng at George's house.

The second seduction was that same day and was also related to the delays on the tube. I gathered that they were having some trouble with signalling. The thought crossed my mind that they could usefully employ Ursula, who on today's evidence had no problems at all when it came to signalling.

On the way home that evening after visiting Fran's I had to wait a long time for a train. Normally by this hour trains were not too crowded but this one, obviously owing to the disruption, was very full, and I was lucky to be able to grab a seat where I wedged myself in between two men. At the next stop many more people got on, among them a young couple. The press of passengers forced them close to me and the girl's very shapely bottom appeared a few inches in front of my face.

The last thing I wanted was yet another girl on my plate, especially one with such an imposing-looking boyfriend with a protective arm around her, but I was not worried. This type of situation had arisen before and I had always dealt with it successfully. The technique was simple. It takes only a couple of minutes for the train to get from one station to the next, not long enough for FUCK to take effect, so I would simply get off at the next stop and wait for the following train, seldom more than five minutes later. Gentlemanly fellow that I am, over the previous couple of weeks I must have preserved in this manner at least half a dozen unknowing pretty girls from a life of sexual enslavement.

At this point the train came to a standstill in the middle of the tunnel.

Everyone sighed wearily, including the young couple in front of me. I mentally withdrew my previous complacent thoughts about how to cope with the situation. As I contemplated the pert little bottom in front of me and the rich golden hair hanging down from above, and remembered the cute precocious face I had glimpsed when she got on, I knew what would happen unless I quickly put some space between this girl and me. But how could I do it? The carriage was so densely packed that even if I had chivalrously offered her my seat it would not have been possible to move any distance away from her.

I was resigned to the inevitable long before the driver announced, "Very sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I've just spoken to control and we're likely to be held here for a while." The girl lifted her boyfriend's arm slightly so she could turn round. He still had his arm round her but now she had her back to him and was facing me. He too, towering over her, was looking in my direction, but whereas he was staring blankly at their reflection in the window of the train, she had dipped her head and half-closed her eyes and anyone not in my position would have thought she was looking at nothing at all.

But from where I sat I could see that under those almost-closed eyelids there were two piercing blue eyes drinking me in. When she saw me looking back at her she glanced away for a second as if embarrassed but she then returned her eyes to me and met my gaze squarely. When I smiled slightly she smiled back. The signs were tiny but I had been through this too often not to recognise them. The girl was primed.

I looked her up and down. Now that I could see her from the front I realised she was very young. Being small and dainty, she was not my usual type, but in her own way she was perfect. Behind her loomed her boyfriend, a few years older, also very blond but not remotely dainty; apart from his height, he was broad across the shoulders and it was a very muscular arm that he had draped across his girlfriend. There was something not-English about the pair of them.

Without warning the train lurched forward and all the standing passengers staggered. The boyfriend let go for a second and his suddenly ex-girlfriend, now my girlfriend, took advantage of her sudden freedom to fall forward instead of sideways and she would have tumbled on top of me, as I am sure was her intention, had I not put out a hand to save her. She blushed and said something that I presumed meant "sorry" in some language or other.

It was pointless, I knew, to try to resist the logic of the situation. My thinking now was not how to free her from my spell but how to detach her from her big boyfriend. Now the train was moving there was no time to waste because I did not know when they were due to get off, and I had an uneasy feeling that if their stop was before mine she would refuse to leave and possibly create a scene.

I decided to force the situation. We had passed a couple of stations by now but we were still in central London, a long way from my own stop. Nevertheless, I started very conspicuously gathering myself together to show her I should be getting off at the next station. A remarkable silent conversation ensued.

She looked at me with panic in her eyes and shook her head ever so slightly. ("Please don't go.")

I continued to prepare for departure but made an encouraging gesture with my head. ("Why don't you come with me?")

She moved her eyes to indicate the hunk behind her. ("But my boyfriend ...")

I shrugged my shoulders ever so slightly and opened my hands a little. ("Well, I don't see what you expect me to do about him.")

Her eyes widened and the panicky look intensified. ("Help!")

I decided that my previous response had not been very helpful. I rummaged in my wallet for a business card, wrote my home and cellphone numbers on it and then, making sure she could see what I was doing, as the train pulled into the station I stood up and dropped the card on the seat. Quick as a flash she slid into the vacated seat, deftly picking up the card and hiding it away somewhere. The boyfriend never saw a thing.

"There's an Inge on the phone," announced Wendy a couple of hours later. So then I had yet another addition to the guest list for the weekend.