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Good afternoon, my name's Catherine, though I'm more often addressed as Kate or Kath. Even when I see my Sunday name in print it has generally been spelt using a K rather than a C, but hey-ho, I've leant to live with it. And yes, I realise, that if that is the worst I have to put up with in life, then I've not got much to complain about.
That certainly can't be argued: for the most part, life's treated me very well; I'm married to a marvellous chap, mother to three delightful and healthy children and despite having turned forty three this year, a fortunate combination of good genes, healthy diet and a rigorous exercise routine has ensured that I still look 'good for my age', in fact good for any damned age!
I'm 5' 9" tall even without adding my usual heels, fashionably slim, with hazel-green eyes and a mane of wavy, brunette hair which tumbles halfway down my back when I allow it to. All of those attributes being enhanced by the further good fortune of my having some of the very finest hairdressers, beauticians and couturiers at my beck and call.
Those are thanks to my husband; when you marry a chap with such a high public profile and who's as rich as Croesus to boot, such people are eager to secure your custom. The money's not actually my husband's, it's all tied-up in the family business, but as he's second only to his father in the pecking order and will one day inherit the lot, we do more than all right.
I too work for the family business, though I leave the... heavy lifting, to my husband and father in law, my involvement's more with the marketing and public relations side of things. I do a lot of the glad-handing and charitable appearances and like to think that I'm damned good at it; the general public, our 'customers' if you like, all seem to like me.
Women of all ages seem able to relate to me: The youngsters aspiring to achieve what I have, while the older ladies hope that their own daughters and granddaughters might marry as well as I have. Don't get me wrong, I've not risen from poverty, far from it, but marriage did lift me several rungs up both the social and financial ladders.
With women of my own age there's undoubtedly a degree of envy, but equally, they empathise and identify with another mother who like themselves, is raising her children while striving to hold down a full time job. I of course and once again courtesy of my husband's wealth, enjoy a deal more assistance in that task than they, but the connection remains.
With the men it's far more simplistic; irrespective of their age, they all just want to fuck me! I see the desire -- in some cases raw lust! - in their eyes at every meet and greet. Those hand shakes invariably last a little longer than they need or ought to, with their fingers sliding sensuously along the length of mine at the moment of eventual release.
I sometimes contemplate how many of them will later wrap those same fingers around their cocks and whack off while dreaming of sliding said cock between my legs or lips? That though is a two way street: I often lie in bed fantasising about them doing that too, waiting in line to screw me rather than shake my hand.
Only last week I was introduced to a rugby team and later spent my evening imagining them fucking me in turn, using every orifice and when they got impatient, taking me two and three at a time, while others jacked-off onto my breasts. That brought back memories of a similar experience during my university days; albeit that had been a field hockey team, so they were fewer in number and physically less... imposing.
That of course is the major downside of my married life; I don't have the privacy to indulge myself in the ways in which I did when I was younger. Both at work and at home I'm surrounded by people whose first loyalty is to my husband and his family. Even away from those, there's invariably the paparazzi to contend with, or just people loitering with camera phones to hand.
Were Arthur Lamb and Harry Von Tilzer imagining me when they wrote their song a hundred years ago? I often compare myself to that girl in the gilded cage; with anything and everything available, except for my freedom. That of course is where Charlotte comes into this story; it's she who holds the key to my cage and with it allows me to occasionally stretch my wings and fly.
Charlotte is notionally a part of the household staff and the only one who I had the final say in employing. She was engaged as a Nanny to our children and in her case I put my foot down, insisting that as the children's mother, no one other than myself would be deciding who looked after them while I was busy with work; my husband wasn't best pleased, but eventually conceded the argument.
Charlotte's eminently qualified and experienced for the task, more importantly, the children absolutely adore her. But to my husband's frustration and the outright anger of most of the household staff, Charlotte doesn't 'fit the bill' with regards to the character of our household; Charlotte is rather like a colourful, exotic and on occasion noisy songbird roosting amidst a flock of sparrows.
That Charlotte refuses to take orders or accept advice from anyone other than myself only adds to their chagrin; the expression on my husband's and more especially the butler's face is a picture when Charlotte responds to an instruction with either 'I'll run that past Kate and let you know' or better still, an outright 'No'.
It's often been asked why I selected Charlotte from the many -- there were dozens! - of applicants for the post and I don't dare to tell them that Charlotte had secured the job before she ever arrived at the interview. I'd been the one who'd urged Charlotte to apply; she'd been at school with my sister Philippa -- not something either one of us broadcasts - and we had met at several parties when we were younger.
How would I described Charlotte? I suppose primarily 'Hard to ignore!' Charlotte has a wild shock of bright red hair, which stands out in all directions unless she chooses (rarely) for it to do otherwise, the deepest blue eyes -- think the Fremen of Arakis in those 'Dune' films -- that I've ever seen, set within a face plastered in heavy and gaudy make-up and also with the world's biggest arse!
Actually the last is something of an exaggeration, it just appears to be: Charlotte's of a similar height and build as myself, but her bum looks like one of those bubble-butts you so often see on hefty Caribbean girls, so it looks HUGE! Nor does Charlotte's workaday wardrobe do anything to alleviate matters, with her penchant for bright, multi coloured dresses with matching Dr Marten boots.
As I said, Charlotte's quite a sight and even when she isn't in view, you will still hear her: Charlotte speaks in a very loud voice, her words being delivered in a heavy west-country accent. Though like some of the other aspects of Charlotte's appearance that I've listed, that voice too is affected, or at least exaggerated, when she's at work.
So, I guess it's now time to relate how my children's colourful and gregarious Nanny is able to unlock that gilded cage and allow me to fly free. It doesn't happen often, perhaps three or four times in a year and I'm careful to ensure that those... escapes, never impinge on the family business or intrude on our private life. My last escape was a couple of weeks ago, on a Wednesday night:
My husband was abroad all week and while I had a busy schedule of business appointments too, those were all in or around London, with the first one on Thursday not scheduled until late morning. Having identified this as a near perfect opportunity; I began by complaining of an approaching migraine during Wednesday afternoon; they don't afflict me often and only ever when my husband's out of town.
I got my PA to check with Charlotte to ensure that she would be able to take care of the children; I already knew that the answer would be 'yes'. Then on returning home, I spent a few minutes speaking to the children, before retiring to my room and closing the door. The whole household knows that when the mistress is suffering with a migraine, they were to keep the noise to a minimum and never to disturb her.
The one exception to that edict -- yet another point of contention -- was Charlotte. Who after staying late to ensure that the children were tended to, settled in their beds and sound asleep, would visit my room to advise me of such, so setting my mind at rest. That visit would be short, never more than five minutes, after which Charlotte would go home and return before the children awoke the following morning.
It was just after eight o'clock when Charlotte tapped lightly on my bedroom door. Having opened that for her, Charlotte stepped inside and had begun unbuttoning her dress and kicking off those clumpy boots in the moment I had it fully closed. I was already attired with a wig, coloured contact lenses and gaudy make-up to mimic Charlotte's, along with a theatrical prosthetic-arse strapped onto my waist and thighs.
As Charlotte stepped out of her clothes, I stepped into them. Following a final check-over from Charlotte, confirmed with a raised thumb, I was the one who walked back out through the door. On the off-chance of someone being nearby, I wished my mistress good night and loudly promised that I'd be 'back before six in the morning'; learning to mimic Charlotte's accent had taken me ages.
I stomped along the corridor and down the stairs -- Charlotte's deportment is quite individual too -- offering no more than a grunt in the direction of the two household staff that I encountered. Charlotte's recognisable at a fifty paces- by sight or sound! - and the other staff prefer to avoid her; even the security staff kept their distance, barely glancing in my direction when I passed.
Once out on the pavement, I flagged down a black cab; it's long been agreed that should Charlotte stay late, or start early, that she uses a cab and books it to expenses rather than taking the tube train back to her home in Limehouse. As always on such evenings, a taxi had pulled over within moments; it was being driven by Max, Charlotte's brother.
As we approached Charlotte's house twenty minutes later, Max flashed his headlights a couple of times; the flash being answered by a similar torchlight flash ahead of us. As the taxi drew to a stop, a man stepped forward and opened the door; it was Toby, he and Max had been brother officers in the Royal Marines and nowadays were partners in a personal security company.
The door to Charlotte's house was already open, so on stepping out of the car I was inside after barely four strides and closed the door behind me, leaving the two men outside. Upstairs in the guest bedroom, I stripped off Charlotte's clothes -- there was a similarly eye-catching dress hung-up ready for the following morning and different boots were laid out too -- one was red and the other emerald green!
The rest of my disguise followed, after which it was through to the bathroom to scrub off that gaudy make up and replace it with something more subtle and far more alluring. My hair only needed brushing out, I'd already coloured that a raven-black with punky-blue highlights in my bedroom at home while I awaited Charlotte's arrival.
I was also already wearing my lingerie of choice for the evening; hold-up stockings and a diaphanous bra in cobalt-blue with skimpy panties to match, both from Agent Provocateur. What I wore over those was hanging ready in 'my' wardrobe: A spaghetti strapped camisole top, an outrageously short skirt and high heeled strappy sandals of the 'come and fuck me' variety; all of those were in black.
I was ready in under thirty minutes -- life's made me an expert at the 'quick change' -- and I even found time to exchange test messages with Charlotte to check that all was well there; I keep an unregistered mobile phone here too, my regular one remaining in my bedroom at home. Having trotted back down the stairs, I knocked on the inside of the front door and waited.
It was almost three minutes later before Max opened the door and ushered me back into the taxi; Toby was now in the driving seat. Having locked-up and secured Charlotte's house, Max got into the car beside me almost as it pulled away; we headed west for a few minutes, before turning left through the tunnel to Rotherhithe and on into the depths of south London.
The journey took us about fifteen minutes. Having arrived at a nondescript south London pub Toby pulled up for just long enough for Max to climb out, after which we circled the block until Toby's phone pinged with a message. When we stopped for a second time, Max was waiting to lead me towards the pub door; by which time Toby was already driving away.
Once inside the lobby Max nodded towards a doorway on the right and whispered "through that door Kate, you'll not be on your own and Toby and I will be in the bar at this side too." Max went through the door on my left and I was alone. After taking a couple of deep and calming breaths, I walked, with something of a stagger, through the door that Max had indicated.
Oops; That's something that I forgot to mention: As part of my preparations for the evening while back at Sharon's house, I applied rather too much of a cheap perfume that I keep there and several splashes of cheap rum to my clothes; I'd even sluiced around my mouth from that rum bottle too... Ugh, it was dreadful stuff!
I found myself in what was presumably the tap-room bar. Battered furniture and vinyl flooring, none of it too clean. There was also a haze of cigarette smoke filling the air, not something you ever come across nowadays; this place seemingly had an exemption from the smoking-ban laws which apply in the rest of the country.
There were eight men, but not a single woman in the room, two sat talking at a table near the door, two more playing darts and four were ranged around a pool table in the centre of the room. All eight stopped what they were doing stared at me; their initial expressions suggested that I might have arrived from outer space, but the expressions which swiftly followed were far more... earthy.
I stumbled a little more on my way to the bar; perhaps too much, as when I ordered a rum and coke, the barman replied "I don't think so love, you look to have had more than enough already and this isn't the sort of place that you ought to be drinking in anyway."
Rather than myself, it was a voice from behind me which replied. "Don't be an arsehole Fred, the lady wants a drink, so I think you should give her one." When a second and rather quieter voice added 'I reckon we should all be giving her one' there was a general round of laughter and guffaws.
"She's drunk Gary, which means I'd be risking my licence and definitely getting a big fine if there's trouble and I get reported for selling her any more booze."
"Then don't sell her a drink Fred, put it on my tab and just give her one... Make it a double." That second voice chimed in again: 'Yeah, we'll make the one we give her a double too... Two at a time'; the laughter rose again too.
Having received my rum and coke, I turned around and raised my glass in toast towards the men, saying "Thank you... Gary."
A tall slim chap of around thirty, with a pool cue in his hand, nodded while saying "My pleasure... And you are? I've not seen you in here before."
"I... I'm Kathy, but I'm not from around these parts... I'm just passing through."
"Well then Kathy if you're a visitor we ought to show a bit of hospitality and make you welcome... Fancy a game of pool?"
I grinned with my reply "Why not. I haven't played in years, but I was considered quite good back when I was at university."
Gary had turned towards the other chaps as he responded "Sounds like I may be in trouble here boys..." Before returning his attention to me and adding "I'll rack them up then... We generally play for £20 a frame."
"I'm not sure about that; it's been a lot of years since I was at Uni... and I really don't have twenty pounds to lose anyway."
"Be positive Kathy, you might well win and if you don't, well... I'm sure you can offer me something else that's worth twenty quid." The last was delivered with a very suggestive leer.
"In your dreams Gary; I know what you're suggesting and that's worth a lot more than twenty pounds."
"Fair enough, I'll put up £200 and if you lose I get you for an hour... to do whatever I want with."
I'd got him hooked, though I hedged and prevaricated, for a further five minutes - and another rum and coke -- before accepting the bet. I could tell from the expressions on both Gary's face and those of his friends that they were confident of his beating me, but Gary played things very well and until the point when in short order he potted five balls, it had appeared as if I might win.
Gary's head was already rising as that final black rolled inexorably towards the corner pocket and that suggestive leer was firmly back on his face. Plucking the cue from my hand, he handed both it and his own to one of his friends and on turning back, Gary glanced at the wall clock before growling "You're mine until 10:58 Kathy... Starting from now."
Gary's hand flashed out and grasped my right wrist. I of course struggled and pleaded for him to release me; how could I not, the scenario I'd engineered demanded that I make at least a show of self respect. Unsurprisingly, not to mention fortunately, my appeals fell on deaf ears; a few moments later that arm was twisted up behind my back and I was bent face down over the pool table.
My howl of protest at Gary' rough handling drew a round of cheers and encouragement from the other men. They'd been convinced by my wail of protest and so they should have been; that cry was real... When Gary had pressed me roughly over that table top, the one remaining ball still on there had been trapped between the baize and my left breast; it bloody hurt!
I was still wailing... And trying to work that pool ball free, when Gary's hand pressed up beneath my skirt, grabbed the top of my panties and jerked them down my thighs. He wasn't especially successful, but it didn't really matter: The designers at Agent Provocateur had clearly not envisaged such rough handling; the right seam separated completely, whereafter the torn remnant slid down to my left ankle.
Loudly voiced encouragement continued to fill the air, though is wasn't sufficiently loud to mask Gary's grunts, nor the rattle of his belt buckle being released. It was perhaps a further four or five seconds before I felt Gary's hand pressing roughly between my thighs as it steered his cock toward it's intended target.
As Gary's cock head nosed between my labia he paused for a moment; just long enough to snarl "Fuck me she's soaking; we've got us a right slapper here lads." Besides thinking that Gary was correct - about my being wet at least -- I also thought 'and a good job too' Gary had offered no preparation or foreplay whatsoever!
An instant after that, Gary slammed his cock into me; I felt him collide with my pubic bone, so he had to have buried his full length into me with that first thrust. That tore a second howl from my throat, which was again delivered against a base-line of the watching men's encouraging growls; Gary's penetration was a crude, brutal and... Exactly what I'd been yearning for.
Gary took a few few seconds to revel in my subjugation, but he didn't pause for very long and once he'd recommenced, Gary continued pounding his cock into me like a bloody jack hammer. I'd guess he lasted thirty seconds, but it certainly wasn't a full minute before I felt Gary tense, heard him growl between clenched teeth and then felt the wet, tell-tale pulse of semen flooding into me.
I nearly howled for a third time and this time from frustration. Ten seconds more would've sufficed, but no, the bastard had left me hanging on the very brink of my own climax. Pressed hard against the pool table by Gary's weight and with one of my hands still pinned halfway up my back, I couldn't even reach my pussy to finish things off for myself.
I lay trapped and whimpering beneath Gary for fully thirty seconds before he stood upright; the shit eating grin on his face suggested that he'd interpreted my whimpers as a response to my conquest, rather than frustration at that missed orgasm. Thankfully and not unexpectedly, that climax had only been deferred rather than lost:
As Gary stepped away, the chap whom he'd been playing pool against when I'd arrived stepped forward. He was equally forceful in jerking me upright, he then spun me around to lean with my bum against the pool table's edge. I never did know or hear his name, though he did show a little more... consideration, as he reached forward to slip the straps of my camisole top off my shoulders.
I slapped his hands away and protested immediately: "Get your hands off me! I lost to Gary, not to you!"
Gary was prompt with his reply "And the bet was that I got you for an hour, to do whatever I wanted to... And what I want to do, is share you with my mates." A wolfish grin spread across the tall man's face, while I did my best to paste an expression of shocked horror onto my own. Gary was always going to pass me around, it was exactly what I wanted too, but it wouldn't do to show it.
Still grinning the tall man finished sliding those straps down my arms and over my hands; that camisole top was still settling on my hips as he reached around with similar care to unhook my bra. As he that slid away to reveal my breasts, the man's grin disappeared to be replaced with one of awestruck hunger; it took all my self-control not to smile.
Nobody has even once described my breasts as large. But they're beautifully shaped and I've heard them described as 'pert' often enough; despite mothering three children that remains a fair appraisal even now. Actually, nursing the children's been beneficial; my nipples are now fat, brown and as my husband often describes them... chewable.
The tall man must've agreed with my husband, as with a feral growl he squatted down before me and did exactly that; starting with my right nipple and moving to the left before returning to the right one again. Those few moments were the hardest yet, when it came to masking my own enthusiasm for what had happened and was hopefully going to continue.
The tall man might've feasted on my breasts all night had a shout from behind me not disturbed us both: "If you're not going to fuck her, then get outta the way; there's more of us as wants a turn and we ain't got all night." That harsh cry provided reassurance -- not that any was really necessary -- that the night was far from over.
Reanimated, the tall man stood upright and grasped me by the hips, while with outrageous carelessness, I began of my own volition to turn and face the pool table again. The man's grip tightened and he growled "Oh no ya don't love... I want to see those tits bounce while I'm fucking you and the smile on your face when you cum."
He lifted me clear of the floor, sat me down on the table's edge, then pressed a hand against my left breast to topple me backwards across the baize. With that recent slip in displaying my willingness, perhaps even enthusiasm, I once again began to struggle and verbally protest; albeit taking care not to struggle sufficiently to escape.
Was it my screams and shouts or had he been watching anyway? The next voice to intrude was that of Fred, the barman: "Come on lads, don't be stupid, knock it on the head before we all get in trouble; word of this reaches the police it'll not just be a fine, I'll be losing my licence... and you lot will be going to jail."
"Nobody's going to be calling the police Fred."
"They won't have to if that bird keeps squealing like that and a copper's passing, he'll be in here like a shot to investigate."
"OK, we'll keep her quiet; in fact I'll tell you what Fred, why don't you help us keep her quiet... Kathy's not going to be so noisy with your cock down her throat." That drew laughter from around the room, though a shudder from me: Fred was fat, bald and at least sixty, on top of which, he also resembled his pub... scruffy and none too clean.
The expression on Fred's face meanwhile suggested that his concerns about the police had been easily assuaged; his response confirmed it: "OK, but not on the pool table, it'll cost me a fortune if you get cum all over the baize; we'll fuck her on that table there, it's big enough and more than strong enough too."
The tall man jerked me back upright, lifted me into his arms and carried me over to the table Fred which had indicated, laying me down there in a similar position. I felt my ravaged panties fall free of my ankle during that transition and never saw they, or indeed my bra again; presumably they became souvenirs of that evening for somebody?
I didn't get any opportunity to protest; Fred was pushing his cock between my lips even as the tall man laid me down on the table; I'd been right about him being none too clean. Perhaps fortunately, the tall man's cock soon entered me too; that was the sort of penetration to distract me from Fred's stale taste... He was hung like that proverbial horse!
The tall man knew what to do with it too; none of that crash-bang-wallop I'd got from Gary, these were long, slow, controlled strokes, sliding almost completely free before scything all the way back into me. I guess that when you've a cock like he had, you soon learn to keep it under control and boy but did he know how to control it... it was awesome!
This time around it was me who was climaxing inside a minute and that climax was obvious enough to draw a roar of approval from the watching crowd. Not that I made much noise about it myself; I was bucking and jerking like an epileptic on that table top as that orgasm ripped through me, but Fred's cock quelled any screams of delight.
With my head beyond the table's edge, it hung down to afford Fred a straight and unobstructed channel all the way through to my gullet. And Fred was making full use of it, besides the sensation of his shaft --thankfully not too fat -- sliding across my tongue and into my throat; I heard the comments of those watching... they could see Fred's cock distending my neck!
Having brought me to orgasm, the tall man upped the pace of his penetrations, not wildly so, but he was definitely a little less restrained; I'm sure that must've made my 'tits bounce' to his satisfaction, as I could certainly feel them banging and slapping together. Or at least I could until the right one and then the left too were grasped by someone.
Actually, it was more than a single someone... the feel of the hands on each were different, one much larger and harder than the other. I assumed that it was the tall man and Fred who were sharing them, but I couldn't see, so it might've been two entirely different men; not that I was bothered, that sensation of the two different hands groping me at once was a new one, but one which I'd be happy to repeat.
Those more forceful strokes from the tall man did make things a little tougher with regards to Fred though; his cock was bouncing around inside my mouth and throat, occasionally making me gag. By either good management or good fortune, it wasn't deep in my throat when he climaxed a minute or so later, especially as I was at that point in the throes of my second orgasm too.
Some of Fred's cum landed in my mouth, but for the most part it spewed across my face and into my hair; I don't know about Fred, but those watching sounded to be pleased about that result. The tall man unloaded into my pussy before my own orgasm was over; that was lush, each jet of semen hosing into me seeming to add fuel to the flames of my own climax.
In the lull which followed, I overheard a noisy debate behind me: "Hold your horses Mike, my 121 makes me up next, then Jimmy with a 95 and Sean's 60 are both before you on 26."
"Yeah but that weren't fair Paul; you and Jimmy play darts all the time and I hardly ever do."
"Tough shit! You agreed, so it's too late to start complaining now just cos you've lost."
The men must have been throwing darts to decide which one fucked me next... how louche was that; my pussy fluttered from the very thought of it. Not that I had long to reflect on their seedy game, in the moment the tall man climbed off me, another man -- presumably Paul? -- stepped between my open thighs and pushed his cock into my still gaping cunt.
Paul used me every bit as roughly as Gary had, though he managed to last rather longer. Whether that was due to his having better self control or from the reduced friction inside my pussy I couldn't say; he certainly commented more that once on what a 'slick-bitch' he was finding me to be. Fred too had returned to the bar, but another man -- I thought the one named 'Mike' had soon replaced him in my mouth.
In reply to Paul's reports on my... lubricity, there was a general call for him 'not to pump any more cum into her'. It was an appeal that Paul heeded and he pulled out of me at the last to belch his load across my belly. In perhaps a further effort to increase the... traction, the next man in line (Jimmy?) rolled me back onto my belly, before spreading my legs and driving his cock into me.
That intrusion made me gasp, Jimmy was hung every bit as well as the tall man had been; in hindsight the two men did look similar... Perhaps brothers? Though I doubt anyone heard my response, as during that abrupt repositioning, my teeth had caught on Mike's foreskin and his yelp, followed by his comrades' laughter drowned-out any sound that I made.
Jimmy's penetrations were also like the tall man's, long, controlled and very deep; though they didn't begin at the same pedestrian pace, he was scything into me from the off. Jimmy didn't last especially long, but he'd still delivered me of two further orgasms before he climaxed; though to be fair, Paul had brought me beyond half-way to the first before Jimmy had mounted me.
I'd fairly bounced on the table top during Jimmy's shafting; which was perhaps why Mike hadn't risked re-introducing his cock to my mouth? As a result I was free to howl like a banshee during those orgasms, most especially the second which was exacerbated by the sensation of Jimmy spraying semen across my buttocks and lower back as he climaxed himself.
Sean was quick to replace Jimmy between my legs, but sadly he was equally quick in shooting his load. I doubt he managed half a dozen strokes before unloading, a complete non-event; still coming down from the second of Jimmy's orgasms, his presence had barely registered. The only memorable thing about that fuck was the noise when level when Sean climaxed:
His own bellowing, along with the raucous laughter from the other men -- Mike aside -- teasing him for that premature ejaculation. Mike wasn't silent, but he was instead loudly berating Sean for cumming inside my pussy and adding to the viscous mess already inside there; outside too for that matter, I could feel both the men's emissions and mine trickling down the insides of my thighs.
Mike concluded with "Fucking hell! I'll not even be able touch the sides now; well sod that, I'm going to fuck her in the arse."
That quelled the noise for a moment, until Gary broke the silence: "Not yet you're not... I'm the one who's going to pop that cherry for Kathy; if you want her arse, you'll have to wait and take it after me."
"That's not fair... It's my turn... I've already waited ages."
"And if you don't stop your whining, you won't get a turn at all; do I need to remind you whose whore Kathy is? I'm the one who beat her at pool."
Mike continued to grumble and mutter, but presumably conceded the argument as when I felt a hard cock brush across my buttocks a few seconds later, it was accompanied by Gary's voice enquiring as to "Have you had it in the arse before Kathy?"
"No, never... Please be gentle." The first wasn't true, but it had been a while, so my plea was genuine.
During that exchange I saw one of the two men sitting at the table beside the door get to is feet and move towards me; that confirmed my suspicion that those two were Max's guys. The man didn't speak, but his eyes caught mine and with those alone he asked the question. I responded in a similar manner: 'No, I'm fine with it'; Hell, I was looking forward to it!
Gary must've noticed the man's approach too as that's who his next words were directed towards: "Whadda you want? This is a private party."
"I just thought that if you were going to arse-fuck this little lady, you might want someone to fill her mouth with cock... Stop her squealing too loudly like."
There was a short laugh behind me and then a growled "Yea, why not... my mum brought me up to share my toys." I never did decide whether the man had simply wanted to remain close by in case I needed to be rescued, or whether having noted my response to his initial concerns, had decided that he might as well mix a little pleasure with his business?
Either way was fine by me; even as he unzipped his jeans I had my mouth open and my tongue hanging out like a welcome mat. The man's cock pressed between my lips in the same moment that Gary's fingers pressed between my pussy lips and even that intruding shaft couldn't completely quell my growl of welcome to both.
Having coated his fingers with the melange he found in my pussy, Gary pressed one and then a second finger deep into my bum, drawing another muted growl from my lips. When Gary then exchanged those intruding fingers for his cock, not even my having a cock in my mouth could silence the bestial howl that I voiced; the responding cheers suggested there was to be no sympathy for my predicament.
To be fair, Gary did -- in comparison to the way that he'd fucked my pussy anyway -- begin considerately, not that it lasted. Once Gary found he was penetrating smoothly, he began jack-hammering into me once again; not that I was complaining, it was hitting the spot for me as well, especially once Gary reached back around to spear his fingers into my pussy too.
Then again, with the other man's cock in my lips, I guess I couldn't have complained if I'd wanted too. I'd have thought it was a rough ride in there for him, as by then Gary was really pounding in to my bum and I was bouncing around on the table like a rag-doll; it must've been to his taste though, as he was the first of us to climax.
His cum spewing into my mouth and more especially -- I said I was bouncing around -- over my face and into my hair was the final trigger for my own climax. The muscle tensioning shudders which that caused were no doubt what tripped Gary's switch, as he began hosing cum into my bowel just a few moments later, which served to fuel my orgasm even further.
I was half-dazed and winding down from that climax when Mike's whining voice intruded yet again: "At Last... Finally it's my turn; get outta the way Gaz, it's time to see how Kathy copes with a real man." I might've been afraid on hearing that, had it not been for the bursts of laughter and sarcastic jeers from the other guys; I guessed that Mike may not be quite the stud that he claimed?
Though perhaps I'm doing Mike a disservice, as I never found out: Only seconds later it was Fred's voice filling the air. "Enough! Pull up your pants and get out right now! A bloke's just come in and asked me why there's a load of coppers down the road; police cars, dogs, even a a Paddy-wagon. I don't want no trouble so fuck off out the back door and leg it!"
Thirty seconds later I was alone, with Mike's final whines ringing in my ears; he was almost in tears in his frustration. The two chaps I'd marked as Max's men had gone too, they were the last of the bunch to leave and Fred soon followed, returning to the other bar after telling me "I know nothing I heard nothing and I saw nothing... So you can tidy yourself up and fuck off too love."
I found a beer-dampened bar towel on the bar and used that to wipe away the worst of the mess on my face and between my legs. After that I got dressed as well as I was able; my camisole top was torn and bespattered with semen, but it was all I could manage; my bra and torn panties were nowhere to be found, presumably souvenirs for someone?
I was in no hurry, I knew it would have been either Max or Toby who'd related that story about the police; had there really been any police around, they would have come in and whisked me away in an instant. When eventually I stumbled out of the bar on quaking legs, Max was waiting in the hallway; he enquired after my wellbeing without a word, just by the expression on his face.
Having given Max a nod of reassurance, he stepped past me into the bar to retrieve some small electronic boxes. I'd no idea how those gizmos worked, but I did know that any phone signals which had left the room had been diverted to Max's offices, rather than reaching the real world; the memory cards of any phone that'd been in there had been fried as the men left through the door too, so there wouldn't be any photos or videos coming back to haunt me either.
With those recovered, Max peered out of the front door for a few seconds before stepping through it and gesturing for me to follow. The taxi was sat at the kerb, the rear door already open and Toby again in the driving seat; we were inside but Max still closing the door as it pulled away not ten seconds later. Not a word was spoken during the fifteen minutes it took to drive back to Charlotte's house.
Our arrival there was a repeat of when we'd reached the pub: Toby pulled up just long enough for Max to climb out, after which we circled the block until Toby's phone pinged with a message. When we stopped for a second time, Max was waiting to usher me into the house as Toby drove away; I knew he wouldn't be going far.
Once inside Max finally spoke; another enquiry into my wellbeing; I gave him a... contented smile along with a second assurance that I really was OK. Max remained downstairs while I stumbled up them to the bathroom; my clothes I threw into the bin, after which I stepped into the shower for a thorough clean-up; everywhere scrubbed at least twice, my dyed hair and pussy most especially.
Once out and towelled dry, I checked myself over in the full length mirror; that pool ball had left a nasty bruise, but the handprints and other marks would've all faded to an... easily explainable level by the time my husband came home. After that I donned an ankle length towelling robe and went back downstairs to join Max at the kitchen table.
Max pointed to a chair beside his, there was a mug on the table before it -- these adventures are the only time that my tea isn't served in bone-china cups and saucers -- full of milky and very sweet tea. It tasted bloody awful, but Max always insisted that I drink it all; some army tradition apparently, it's apparently what the squaddies drink on returning from a mission.
Max made yet another enquiry as to my wellbeing and for a third time I assured him that I was fine. I did mention and then show Max, the vivid bruise on my left breast; I loved the way he gazed and licked his lips at the sight. I'm sure it wasn't the bruise so much as the nipple that I'd exposed along with it which caught Max's attention.
When Max's eyes eventually lifted to meet mine, I gave him a sad smile and whispered "I am very sore though..." I waited until I'd seen Max's nod of understanding... tinged with disappointment, before adding "But my jaw doesn't ache too badly." That look of disappointment was replaced with a broad grin as understanding dawned on Max for a second time.
I slipped off my chair and onto my knees in front of Max; he wore no belt or underpants so his cock soon sprang free and a moment later, it was inside my mouth. The blowjob I delivered was very different from those I'd provided in the pub; slow and sensuous... Through practice, I've learnt exactly how Max likes his cock to be sucked.
Apart from reaching inside my robe to fondle my breasts -- I noted how much more gently Max treated my bruised left one compared to the right. - Max sat quietly and left me to my task: Teeth gently nibbling at his foreskin and my tongue diving in behind that to tease at his cock's crown, while fingernails scraped provocatively around the base of his shaft and over his tightening scrotum.
Other than my regular humming -- Max enjoys the vibrations on his cock -- and Max's gasps and groans, the whole thing passed in silence. It was close to ten minutes before one of Max's hands moved from my breasts to my head where his fingers entwined in my hair. I knew what that presaged, though Max's grip wasn't to keep me in place, he knew by now that I wasn't going to pull away.
A further ten seconds and a growl began to rumble from deep inside Max's chest; initially so low that I felt it's vibration through his cock and fingers before I began to hear it. Max's eruption was a further ten seconds in arriving; powerful gouts of semen bursting into my mouth; I was ready for them, catching and swallowing every drop... Just the way Max likes it.
When Max had recovered himself, he helped me back to my feet and nodded towards the kitchen door as he muttered "You need to go and get some sleep; I'll give you a shout in the morning; the usual time OK?" I glanced at the wall clock, it was almost midnight
"Mmmmm, no, make it a few minutes earlier, say 4:30; then I'll have time for another shower." Max nodded in acknowledgement and was moving towards the kettle -- more of that dreadful milky tea! - as I went through the door; ever protective, Max would stay awake until after I'd left in the morning.
One regret about my escapes from the gilded cage was never having time to properly... enjoy, Max; our couplings invariably had to be squeezed in between costume changes: Max was never as enthusiastic - or got so hard. - if I was dressed as that drunken slut and on the one occasion we'd got down and dirty while I was still disguised as Charlotte, Max had called me both 'Chaz' and 'Sis'; I didn't dare to enquire too deeply into that!
Max's wake up call arrived as promised, along with a mug of strong black coffee; cheap instant, but better than that tea at least. I grabbed a quick shower, dressed in my Charlotte disguise and was downstairs before five-thirty. Max gave me a quick once-over, to ensure that all was good with the disguise, then he fired off a text message to Toby.
Two minutes later Max got a text in response and swiftly escorted me across the pavement and into the back of the taxi; Toby was pulling away from the kerb as Max slammed the car door behind me. They always alternate on which of them drives me to/from the family home, they invariably use two different taxis as well.
It was ten to six when Toby pulled up at my own house, actually he stopped about fifty metres past it, rather than immediately outside our front door. That apparently gives the security cameras a more limited view of the car's occupants. I made a show of paying my taxi driver, then having got my Charlotte-head into gear, I stomped my way back to the front door.
The door swung open as I arrived, the two security guys outside giving me no more than a glance; their eyes primarily concentrating on a couple of passing vehicles and the few other people on the street. Once inside I tossed my, well, Charlotte's bag onto the conveyor belt and stepped into the scanner arch with a scowl; our house is worse than a bloody airport!
Immediately that the scanner had given me the green light, I pushed past the officer manning it and strode away across the hallway; calling out as I went "I need to check on the kids, so I'll come back for the bag later." I'd popped a twin-pronged vibrator into that bag before leaving Charlotte's; a little something to help distract their attention away from me.
Climbing the stairs I looked into each of the children's rooms in turn - just a quick peek through the door to confirm that they were all still asleep -- then along the corridor to my own room. A light tap on the door and an enquiring call of "Are you awake Kate?" saw it open ten seconds later, allowing me to slip through and safely back into my cage.
The exchange of clothes was a reversal of last night's and achieved just as quickly, though Charlotte stayed with me for a further ten or fifteen minutes. That, primarily was to ensure that I'd got fully out of costume and a good job too, as I'd missed washing out some of that hair-dye and more damningly, had left those blue contact lenses in my eyes; Charlotte would rollock Max about missing that!
I also provided a brief precis of my night out, including my having sucked-off Max when we'd got back; was there a hint of jealousy in Charlotte's eyes? I really was going to have to get to the bottom of that relationship; perhaps get my sister to arrange a very private party for all of us hers... Where Charlotte an I might share Max for the night; I'll bet that Philippa would likely want to join in too.
A full retelling of last night's escapades would have to wait as just after six-thirty Charlotte departed; whilst I was hoping to grab another half-hour's sleep before re-entering the real world. Charlotte concluded our conversation -- for the benefit of anyone eavesdropping -- in the doorway; she was tasked with passing on news of my recovery, before going to deal the children.
I re-joined Charlotte in the rumpus-room at 7:30 for a casual breakfast with she and the children; not that I had anything beyond another (and much better quality) coffee. After which it was into my dressing room at eight, where a chambermaid, hairdresser and beautician were all patiently waiting; there were comments about my 'looking a little pale this morning' but nothing more damning.
A car sat outside the front door when I strode through it at 9:34, the car's doors were already open and a chauffeur in the driving seat. Security men ushered me into the car, the doors closed behind me and themselves in a well drilled and regularly practised operation and at 9:36 we were on our way to my first appointment of the day.
That appointment was at the newly refurbished children's wing of an east London hospital. I noticed that our route took us right past the pub I'd been in the night before; that had to have a been a coincidence -- albeit a weird one -- as while Max might've known where I was going this morning, he couldn't possibly have discovered the route that we'd be taking.
By carefully controlling the car's speed, the chauffeur delivered me to our destination a few seconds before ten o'clock; once again, the result of long practice. The security guys alighted and at ten precisely, my own door was opened and it was time for me to start work:
Despite it being a grey, damp, overcast morning, there was a substantial crowd awaiting my arrival and I could hear them being addressed over the PA System as I alighted: "... dies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please put your hands together to welcome this morning's very special guest; Her Royal Highness, Katherine, Princess of Wales."
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