Free Universal Carnal Knowledge
XX
Walk this way
I was stunned. I had not sipped the serum; I had quaffed it off. My initial reaction, one of powerless rage against Albert for not briefing me properly that night at the hospital, lasted only until I reflected that the man had been dying in agony and could hardly be blamed for failing to make his meaning entirely clear. No; the responsibility was mine, and it was for me to decide what to do about it.
And first of all, of course, I had to negotiate the garden party. I had made plans for this, and that night and the next morning between wild fucking sessions with Wendy and Alicia I told them what I wanted them to do. They were to keep a close eye on me throughout; they should leave me alone when I was talking to men, to unfanciable women, or to the twins (since with them the damage was already done). But they were to intervene and drag me away if any remotely attractive woman was close to me for more than a few moments. And although alcohol would undoubtedly be flowing freely, they were to stick firmly to orange juice and tonic water; I needed them to have their wits about them. At this I gave Wendy a sharp look to show I had not forgotten Thursday night. She looked suitably abashed and they both nodded obediently.
While Wendy and Alicia got ready I called Kylie round so I could empty my balls into her, mainly because I wanted to but partly in the hope that sexual satiation would lessen the effect of FUCK. As Kylie got undressed (not that she was wearing much to start with) I thought I detected an increase in weight and asked her about it.
“Yes,” she replied gleefully. “Me mum’s been moaning about it but I took no notice of her because you told me not to worry about me weight. It’s lovely, innit? Look,” she beamed, unhooking a bra that was at least a cup size too small for her, “it’s all gone on me tits.” And she gathered them up in her hands and pointed them joyfully at me.
They were an undeniably awesome sight, and I told her so. I did not add that I thought she was also carrying a little more on the hips and backside; nor did I tell her about FUCK’s body-moulding capabilities. As I contemplated her, barely sixteen and so young and fresh yet with voluptuous curves that it would normally take years to acquire, part of me reflected how easily I could have told her that I had changed my mind and that she ought to listen to Betty about her weight. But it was the other part that I listened to, the part that ogled lustfully at those vast breasts and wondered how they would look with a little more fat added (or indeed a lot more). So I told her she looked sexier than ever, and fucked the living daylights out of her.
On a Sunday the roads were much clearer than they had been in mid-week and we got to George’s in good time. People were starting to arrive but he made time to give us a rapid tour of the grounds, which were impressively spacious and beautifully laid out. As we returned to the house, we found that many more guests had arrived so while George went off to be a host and Alicia also wandered off (but not too far), Wendy and I surveyed our fellow revellers.
Apart from a smattering of Marjoribanks family members, who looked equally out of place, we seemed to be the only guests over twenty-five. The place was swarming with Bright Young Things – that is, assorted offspring of the upper and upper-middle classes. Women outnumbered men by at least two to one and with few exceptions they were fresh, lively and attractive. This was not going to be easy.
When the twins caught sight of me they ran up and kissed me. Decorum, reinforced by the fact that Wendy was by my side and George not far off, restrained them to the extent that their kisses were planted on my cheeks, but they got as near my mouth as they could and held the kiss as long as possible while they rubbed their bodies against me. They gushed enthusiastically about how glad they were that I had come and how the whole day would have been spoilt had I not made it. They also started to make suggestions about getting away from the party later and showing me the house. “Wouldn’t you like to see upstairs?” asked one of them, adjusting her top to show more breast. “Yes,” agreed her sister, following suit and leaning forward to give me the best possible view. “I’d love to show you everything,” she added, with a sly smile and strong emphasis on the last word.
I had expected something like this and was ready for it. The twins were irreversibly “primed”, I recognised that, and I knew they would persist until they got what they wanted. Nor, frankly, had I any wish to deny them. They were young, they were beautiful, they oozed sexuality, and best of all they were the spitting image of the woman I had lusted after fruitlessly more than a quarter of a century before. After all these years, I thought, I was going to get what I wanted, and in duplicate.
But I was not so blinded with lust that I would bonk them into oblivion upstairs in George’s house in the middle of their birthday party. So I told them to behave and say nothing to anyone, and I promised they could come to London and see me in the week (it is less than a couple of hours by train from Cambridge). Meanwhile it was their party, I told them, and they must circulate among their guests, and so I sent them reluctantly on their way with (having quickly checked that George’s eyes were elsewhere) a hearty slap on their backsides.
After that I circulated too. I kept clear of young women as much as I could. One of the male students turned out to be involved in University cricket so I talked to him for a while, then I let Sue drone on about flower shows for as long as I could bear it, and I spent at least half an hour safely engaged with George’s mother, who was over eighty and entertainingly ga-ga. At one stage a BYT that had been standing quite close to me while talking to some darkly handsome boy suddenly broke off her conversation with him and turned her attention to me, but Wendy appeared from nowhere and shepherded me away.
“Thanks for pulling me out of that,” I said.
“Any wife would do the same,” she smiled.
The event had been in full swing for over two hours now, with at least two hundred guests happily drinking George’s wine and eating his food (both excellent). In the large tent that had been erected on the lawn the caterers had set out a lavish buffet but as an added precaution against anyone’s dying of hunger or thirst George had arranged for pretty waitresses to wander the grounds with trays of food and glasses of wine. Wendy and I took stock of the situation.
“Touch wood,” I said hopefully, tapping my forehead, “I think we might get away with this.”
“James, darling,” she asked irrelevantly, “you do like black girls, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I acknowledged frankly (why should I lie?), “but there aren’t any here.”
“Think again,” she replied. Following her look, I saw one of the waitresses approaching with a selection of cold meats. A badge on her chest announced her as Yvonne. I had noticed her before, when I first went to get some food, but my mind was on the party guests and I had not, at the conscious level at least, paid her much attention. Black, of average height, she looked about eighteen or nineteen, and she was simply adorable. It was not that she had huge breasts (they were good but not outstanding) or a magnificent African ass (although it curved very nicely); it was not her overall physique, which was remarkable not so much for voluptuousness as for the exaggerated shapeliness some African women have; it was not even her outstanding looks with huge eyes in a milky chocolate face. It was the total package.
“She’s been hanging round you for the last half-hour,” whispered Wendy. “Hadn’t you noticed?”
I had not; I had been too worried about the other guests to give the catering staff a thought. But, having arrived at a rapid decision, I was not displeased. Capturing a waitress was nothing like such a risk as seducing half the BYTs in Cambridge. It was far less likely anyone would notice it or be particularly bothered by it. Besides, she was gorgeous. So I gave her a welcoming smile and helped myself to some smoked salmon. My wife, standing by my side, might have expected also to be offered some food, but Yvonne had eyes for me only and simply stood there gazing at me until Wendy emitted a sharp cough.
Yvonne snapped out of it and held the tray up to Wendy. “Sorry, madam.”
“That’s all right, dear,” said Wendy kindly. “Is that Parma ham?” At the same time she made a face at me that asked whether I was all right about this. I nodded decisively, and she tactfully slid off while I led Yvonne out of sight of the party and engaged her in conversation. I was getting used to this kind of situation and before I let Yvonne go I had her telephone number and had promised to ring her in a day or two. I should have liked to take her there and then behind George’s rhododendrons but I contented myself with a passionate kiss to seal our understanding.
I returned to the party, trying to avoid looking at all the girls and to locate Wendy. She was in the tent talking to George; I walked over and was about to butt in when someone tugged my sleeve and I found myself looking at a very pretty girl, all bright and breezy, to whom one of the twins had introduced me earlier. Gushing all over me, she asked what I did.
“Oh, insurance,” she cried, as if I had told her I was an MI6 spy or something; “how fascinating!”
“No it isn’t,” I said, but it was no good. She kept a firm grip on my sleeve and chattered away brightly. I must have imagined it but I thought I saw her nose twitch as her vomeronasal organ sprang to life and sucked up the pheromones I could almost feel myself emitting.
I wanted Wendy to rescue me (or did I? I hardly knew) but she had her hands full with George, whom I could hear saying, “Your James has made the most extraordinary impression on my girls, you know. They’ve talked of nothing else these last few days. It’s almost as if they –” He broke off, apparently feeling that what was in his mind was too ridiculous to be expressed, and this allowed Wendy to offer some bland and reassuring remark.
So I could see Wendy was busy, but where the blazes was Alicia? Last time I had seen her, not long before my encounter with Yvonne, she was looking very much at home in this new milieu, and despite apparently being chatted up by the cricket-playing student I had met earlier (who I was sure had arrived with some other girl on his arm) she had been keeping a watchful eye on me as instructed. But now, when I needed her, she was nowhere to be seen.
It was too late anyway. My present companion, whose rather pretentious name was Elspeth, was clutching my arm as if her life depended on it and gazing raptly into my eyes. She was giving me her views on relationships, explaining with great animation that in her opinion there was much to be said for affairs between young women and older men, who were, she felt, more experienced and sophisticated than “boys”. She was sure a lot of girls must feel the same way; an attractive older man (and her adoring gaze was briefly replaced by a more meaning look) must receive a lot of interest, and it would be only human for him to –
Suddenly she had stopped talking and was looking at the entrance to the tent. So, I realised, were quite a lot of other people, especially the males. For there stood Alicia, and the reason she had attracted so much attention was that her huge bosoms were contained only by the thin white fabric of her summer frock. The material was slightly see-through in any event, but she was sweating in the hot weather and this made the fabric cling to her form so that her areolae were clearly visible, and from the centre of each a nipple jutted proudly. Her face (not that anyone was really noticing her face) was uncharacteristically red and her lip was trembling as if she were on the verge of tears. The poor child was the picture of consternation and embarrassment.
She walked up to Wendy and me. With every step her breasts heaved against the flimsy dress. When she reached us she dropped her eyes as if in shame and stammered, “M-my bra broke. I-I’m so sorry. It’s been very tight all day and when I sat down it suddenly broke. I went and hid in the loo to see if I could mend it but it’s no good. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Never mind, Alicia dear,” soothed Wendy consolingly. “It’s just an accident. Maybe someone can –” She stopped. I deduced she had been about to say “lend you a replacement” but had realised in mid-utterance that no other woman at the party could begin to rival Alicia’s proportions. As Wendy hesitated I decided it was time to intervene so I asked Alicia to walk with me.
She complied without question, of course, but she looked totally dejected and I could see she wanted to go home. Such an early departure would, however, have got me in trouble with George (and therefore with Brian) so I had to come up with some other solution. So I told her, entirely truthfully as it happened, that she looked extremely sexy and should let her arms hang normally at her sides instead of trying to cover her chest.
“But I feel so awful,” she said, stifling a sob. “Everyone’s looking at me.”
I could hardly deny it. I was leading her away from the busy area near the food but there were still eager male eyes following every quiver of those mammoth mounds. So I asked, “How do you think that makes me feel?”
She flushed even deeper. “Oh, James, you must be so ashamed.”
“I feel proud,” I told her; “and you should too”.
She looked blankly at me. “Proud? But all those men –”
“All those men, Alicia, are looking at you for one reason, and one reason only. They want you. And the reason they want you is that you’re so beautiful and desirable, so don’t you be ashamed when they look at you. Treat it as the compliment it is.”
She still looked doubtful so I went on, “That’s how I see it too. They all want you, but they can’t have you because you’re mine. If they knew what we’ve been doing these last few days and nights they’d be sick with envy. So it’s a compliment to me too.”
“James, is that really true? It pleases you when men look at me that way?”
I looked her straight in the eye. “I promise you,” I assured her.
“Right then,” she said resolutely, and with that she stood up straight and took a deep breath, throwing back her shoulders and pushing her tits forward so forcefully I thought the dress must give way altogether. A young party guest that happened to be approaching us from the opposite direction stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his drink. I laughed aloud at his reaction and even Alicia managed a nervous titter.
I led her back toward the refreshment tent. As we reached the lawn where most of the guests were milling around, more and more eyes focused on Alicia. Sensing my pride and approval as I walked beside her, she grew more and more confident. By the time we reached the tent, the shy, embarrassed, almost cringing girl that had left it fifteen minutes before had been transformed. No longer did she hunch forward and raise her arms protectively in a vain attempt to conceal the obvious; upright and assured, she was projecting those tits before her like a battle-standard. Men ogled this suddenly proud beauty with even greater lust than before, while women, many of whom had regarded her with obvious sympathy when she had left the tent, now looked at her with undisguised envy.
Wendy’s look of sardonic amusement was the only exception. “Well,” she told Alicia as we approached, “you look a lot happier, young lady. What did that husband of mine say to you?”
Alicia shot me an adoring smile. “James told me he feels proud when he sees that men want me,” she explained, “and that makes me feel so happy.”
“Well, Alicia dear,” replied Wendy, who plainly found the situation highly entertaining, “let me give you some advice if you really want to make a stir.” For a moment I thought she was about to suggest that Alicia lose the frock altogether, but instead she relayed the contents of some long-ago deportment class she must have attended. “Walk slowly, and cross your legs with every step. It makes your hips swing, and that makes your upper body swing, and it accentuates your curves. And you anchor the whole effect by keeping your head steady; imagine you had a book balanced on it. Like this.” With that Wendy sashayed with incredible elegance across the tent and back again. “Now you try it.”
The result was little short of sensational. As Alicia slowly strolled to the far side of the tent, her upper body swayed in time with her gait and her breasts rolled massively and lazily to and fro across her chest. She looked good enough from the rear but when she turned and walked back toward us the effect was stunning. I was dumbstruck, so it was left to Wendy to comment. “Very nicely done, Alicia dear. Remember to keep your head steady.”
Bolstered by Wendy’s advice and my approval, Alicia promenaded slowly around the tent, revelling in the attention. “Well,” commented Wendy after we had watched her for a while, “I suppose it takes a man to think of this as a way of solving Alicia’s predicament, but it seems to be working. She’ll be featuring in quite a few young men’s dreams after this display.”
“Not just young men,” I replied, cautiously drawing her attention to the almost-drooling George. As we watched we saw Sue, standing beside him ignored and with a face like thunder, pick up a handy fork and jab him quite hard in the buttock.
Alicia did not allow all this attention to distract her from her duties. When Elspeth tried to latch onto me again she imperiously cut across her. As I passed by in Alicia’s wake, however, Elspeth stuck out a hand and slipped something in my pocket.
With both Wendy and Alicia to keep me from harm I think I might have got away with only two new recruits (one of them intentional). What thwarted me was the English summer.