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In Memoriam (fm:group)

9/1/2006

I have to admit that when I looked round the congregation
at the
Memorial Service I had to wonder. How many were there simply
to pay
tribute to a remarkable woman they had admired? How many
were there
with more intimate memories? The eulogy sketched in the
public
details of what had been a very public life. Married at twenty,

divorced at thirty-five, twenty years in politics, seven
years in the
City, tireless work for charitable causes. A career that
seemed
destined for further distinction until it was suddenly
ended at the age
of sixty-two. Heart failure, they said, but doesn't
everyone die of
that? Unexpected in this case but apparently due to some
congenital
weakness.


Well, that was the public image. Having worked for her for
an
important part of that career, my thoughts during the Service
strayed
to much that wasn't even hinted at from the pulpit.
I certainly
didn't know everything; her ability to compartmentalise
was
remarkable. But our professional relationship meant
that inevitably I
had a number of windows into her private activities, some
of which I
had shared. I knew enough to look across the packed pews
and
identify many present who would have been there for entirely
personal
reasons. They were those, male and female, who had enjoyed,
albeit
briefly, the privilege of her sexual favours.


Perhaps, after a suitable lapse, some future biographer
will be able to
tell the full story . For the present, I must warn that many
persons in
the following narrative will have to be disguised to protect
them from
infamy, and to protect me from legal action. I shall call
her Fay
Middleton. That bears no resemblance to her real name but
keen
students of politics and the financial world may well put
two and two
together. And, of course, there will be others who will
read this and
add a private reminiscence or two of their own.


I went to work for Fay shortly after she was first elected
to
Parliament. Originally, I was hired as a researcher but
my ability to
organise an office and to get on with all kinds of people
earned me
swift promotion. As Fay's PA, I came to understand
that maintaining
her diary, making her appointments and travel arrangements,
keeping on
top of her correspondence, preparing her daily briefing,
and a myriad
similar tasks, was much more than a nine-to-five job. I
didn't mind
because, despite the twenty years between our ages, we
were two of a
kind; rather than employer and employee we developed a
relationship
that was much more than that, hard though it is to define.



There was an evening when we had been working late to clear
a backlog of
correspondence from her constituents. I was tired after
a lengthy
spell at the computer. A headache was coming on. Fay, who
had a
genuine instinct for the mood of those around her, came
and stood
behind my chair, resting her hands on my shoulders.


"You're very tense, " she said.


"A bit weary, that's all. We need to get this done.
I'll be all
right."

"There's not much now that can't wait until
tomorrow." Her fingers
gently massaged the back of my neck. "Let me relax
you for a moment."

Her voice, often strong and strident on the hustings or
on the floor of
the House, was calm and soft. I'm not one who needs a
lot of
cosseting but just at that moment I was ready to welcome
a little
respite at the end of a hard day. The fingers moved more firmly

across my shoulders. I closed my eyes and leaned back.


"That's better, " Fay said. "I'll
just unfasten these." When she
began to open my blouse, I felt no urge to protest. Fay had
just
turned forty, almost a mother figure or elder sister for
me.


Her hands continued their manipulation, inducing a gradual
lessening of
the tension. My head began to clear. Inch by inch, Fay's
fingers
worked their magic down my chest, across the swell of my
breasts. I
have never needed a great deal of support; I know now that
my bra,
flimsy and lacy as it was that evening, concealed little.
More to the
point, as Fay told me later, it revealed nipples she was
sure would
respond to stimulation. At first, the contact was so minimal
I almost
ignored it as accidental. By the time it became clear it
was more
than that, I was past resisting. I was being seduced by another

woman, and I wanted it to happen. Perhaps, never having
known the
experience before, I had subconsciously invited it.


"My dear Pam, " she murmured, moving round
to remove my blouse and bra,
bending closer, "You can't imagine how much
I've wanted ot do this ever
since you came to work for me."

Her lips closed round a nipple and teased it, drawing it
out. It was as
though she knew without asking how quickly I respond to
being aroused
by a clever mouth and fingers. And now I was discovering
how much
more erotic it can be when the tongue and fingers are another
woman's.
I could have taken as much as she cared to give, but Fay had
other
ideas. She turned my swivel chair away from the desk, knelt,
pushed
back my skirt and parted my knees. Her hands reached up round
my
thighs.


"Lift up, dear, " she said. "We mustn't
be too long." When I
complied, she slipped off my knickers in one swift movement.
For a
moment she paused, contemplating my pussy, her face so
close I could
feel the warmth of her breathing. When her fingers parted
my lips and
the tip of her tongue fluttered across my clitoris, I bucked
as though
I'd been given an electric shock.


"Stay still. I'll make it good for you. No more
tension." While I
tried to do as she wanted, it was impossible. The unprecedented

nature of the situation was blowing my mind; at the same
time the
skill of her application was producing physical responses
I couldn't
control, nor wanted to. Her tongue delved, my hands clasped
the back
of her head, my bottom rose from the seat to force us closer
together.
At some point she contrived to insert two fingers. How and
when it
happened I don't know bur it was the trigger point.
My orgasm
exploded, huge and all encompassing. When it eventually
began to
subside, I slumped back into the chair, panting.


Fay swayed back on to her haunches and looked up at me. "First
time?"
she asked. Once again she seemed to know.


"Yes, " I said.


"It needn't be the last."

A ll I could think was that I wanted what had just engulfed
me to happen
again and again. But this was Fay Middleton, Member of Parliament
for
Backwater South, my employer, old enough to be from another
generation.




"How can it?"

"Be patient, Pam dear, and be discreet, . You know
how this place
gossips. Well, make sure we give them nothing to gossip
about.
Trust me, and there won't be a problem as long as I can
trust you.
And I believe I can." She said all this with such confidence,
I
couldn't find the words to express my apprehensions.



I nodded. "But what about you now? Do you want me to
- "

"There's probably nothing I'd enjoy more,
but not this evening. I have
to vote in the Division and after that I've promised
to have that
supper with young Mr Spender, haven't I?" J T
Spender was the latest
recruit to the Correspondents' lobby. Thirty-six,
tall, very
self-confident, the subject of much Westminster speculation.
He'd
approached Fay for an interview to do a profile and they'd
agreed the
supper date. It was in the diary. "My guess is our Mr
Spender is
after more than just an interview, and in that case I don't
want to
disappoint him. I wouldn't want you to take the edge
off my appetite.
But next time - I promise."

In twenty minutes I had learned a lot about Fay Middleton.
First and
foremost that she was an expert lover who could have me at
any time she
wanted. But secondly, she had an ability to close the door
on a
relationship, not permanently, but until she was ready
to open it
again. I had never encountered anyone like her before and
I guessed
no one had written a guide book. I knew I would succumb next
time she
beckoned; but I knew, too, I had to be very wary and prepared
at any
time to be either exhilarated or disappointed.


The following day, Fay left a message to say she was going
straight into
a meeting in one of the Committee Rooms without calling
at the office
first. I was not short of work: in any quiet moment I was gradually

transferring Fay's personal contacts records from
an old card index to
a proper data base on the computer. It was necessary but
boring and I
was just taking a break with my salad lunch when Fay breezed
in. I
brought her up to speed on the calls I'd taken during
her absence.
She nodded and began returning them. No reference had been
made to
what had happened between us the previous evening.


During a lull between calls, I tried an oblique approach.
"How was Mr
Spender?"

"Satisfactory." Fay's expression gave
nothing away. "Yes, you could
say very satisfactory. On the LBW scale, B."

At that time, I didn't understand these coded indications
that were
appended to some of the names of Fay's contacts; I just
added them as
instructed. Though I soon noticed the subjects were all
male, I
doubted they had anything to do with cricket. Some time
elapsed, and
our relationship had developed from that first strange
encounter,
before I learned the secret. One day when I was updating
the records,
Fay casually offered the explanation. L equalled ‘long',
and W
equalled ‘wide.' B meant simply ‘big.' "Hey, "
I thought,
remembering the attractive lobby correspondent, "Hey,
Big Spender."

****************


I've jumped ahead of events somewhat, but I've
already given some
indication of the mercurial mood changes that governed
Fay's private
life. Professionally, in her political aims and responsibilities,
she
was focussed to the point of being single-minded. Her appointment
as
a junior Minister was acknowledged on all sides as the reward
for a
keen intellect and hard work. Not to mention fierce ambition.
She
applied herself no less determinedly to satisfying her
physical needs,
and it was here that she was unpredictable. Whether she
wanted to
fuck or be fucked, whether she wanted a man or another woman,
whether
she wished to consult the LBW register or ignore it, seemed
to depend
only on the whim of the moment. For as long as I knew her, I
was
unable to detect any pattern to these activities even after
I came to
play a significantly greater, though far from exclusive,
role in them.


Not long after she had seduced me so expertly in our office,
we were on
a weekend visit to her constituency. It was the first time
I had been
asked to accompany her. Ostensibly, I was there to get to
know the
area and to make notes during her surgery interviews and
meetings.
Valid reasons, certainly, but, as I grew to understand
on further
trips, a smokescreen for what she had in mind for me after
working
hours.


There was no clearer demonstration of Fay's clinical
approach to a
situation than her purchase of a house in the Backwater
area even
before she had been adopted as a Parliamentary candidate
for the
constituency. The locals lapped up that sign of her commitment.
The
by-product was that now, on our visits, it was quite natural
for her to
save me the expense of a hotel by offering me the use of her
spare
bedroom.


We were at the end of a long day made more tedious by the pettiness
of
many of the problems brought to Fay for her consideration.
We were
relaxing in her sitting room with a glass of wine. "I'll
be glad to
get back to London, " she said, "but not before
you and I have had the
chance to enjoy some time together."

I guessed - hoped - where that remark was leading but chose
to say
nothing.


"We do have some unfinished business, don't
we?"

Curious, I still waited but I was feeling the delicious
tingle start to
build.


"No need to be shy, Pam. You made me an offer which I
had had to
decline because of JT Spender. I admit he wasn't exactly
a
disappointment but I did regret leaving you at a particularly

interesting juncture. It was, wasn't it?"


This time I nodded.


"I know." She got up, took my glass and led me
to the stairs. "We'll
finish these up there. Unless we find something more exciting
to do." As she gave me back the glass, her hand brushed across my
breast. A
promise.


By the time she had guided me into her bedroom I had lost all
ability to
play Miss Cool. I knew where this was heading and I couldn't
wait to
get there. Slightly to my surprise, Fay - masterful Fay
- was as
eager as I was. All pretence abandoned, there was no initial

subtlety. We stripped and threw ourselves on to the bed.
"My turn
first. You owe me, " was all she said as she turned
on to her back,
opened her legs and thrust my head between them. Inexperienced
though
I was with another woman, I learned quickly, latent instincts

surfacing, guiding my tongue between her labia, lapping
at the wetness.
And she really was wet, ready to surrender herself. I sensed
that
somehow she had been building all day towards this moment.



Suddenly, she cried "Wait", pulled away from
me and twisted to open the
drawer of a bedside cabinet. Taking out a long black moulded
penis
with ribbed edges, she pushed into my hand. "Use this, "
she gasped.
"Inside. Fuck me with it." When I moved to do
so, she fell back,
murmuring, "Lick me, too. Get me off."

It was easy, needing little or no skill on my part. When I
eased the
phallus into her receptive pussy, she asked for it harder.
When I
changed from licking her clitoris to nibbling at the distended
tip, she
pulled me round at right angles to her and began to squeeze
my left
breast. Her body was almost impossible to control as she
lunged up
from the bed to force the black cock deeper and deeper into
her
innermost recesses. The nearer Fay came to her orgasm,
the more vocal
she became and the more basic her vocabulary.


Fleetingly, I had a mental image of this woman standing
in her dark
business suit at the Despatch Box making a formal statement
to the
House, and tried to reconcile that with the woman crying
out, "Fuck
me. Fill my cunt. Make me come!" while writhing under
the
promptings of my mouth and my frenzied insertion of the
rigid
prosthetic.


The hand that had been massaging my breast began to dig into
the flesh,
the grip tightening until it hurt me. I tried to prise her
away but
it was impossible. Her climax was upon her and there was
nothing to
be done now except to let it take its course. When it came,
she gave
a long, wailing cry and clapped her hand to her mound as I
pulled away.
As one woman observing another, knowing in my own body what
she was
experiencing, I could only watch in envy as, slowly and
deliciously,
the suffusing electricity drained from her and she fell
back on a
pillow, momentarily exhausted.


"Pam, my darling, " she said as her composure
began to return, "I'd been
waiting a long time for that. But it was even better than
I had
imagined it would be."

"You've been thinking of me - doing that?"


"Sometimes I've watched you at the computer
and been so tempted to ask
you to do it there and then. I knew I would be wet and ready
for you,
but it wasn't right. Not there. Not then. I wanted there
to be
time. And now there is. Because we've only just started,
haven't
we?"

I nodded, unsure what to say.


"Let me look at you, then. We've been so involved,
I haven't really
had a chance. But let's get comfortable first."
She asked me to
stand while she removed the bed covers and turned back crisp
white
sheets. Then, after placing a pillow against the headboard
and making
herself comfortable against it, she motioned for me to
join her. "I
like small tits, " she said, caressing mine. "My
own are nothing
special, are they?"

It's true they were not large but their shape, more
pointed than round,
gave real prominence to dark, unusually long nipples.
Tentatively, I
put out a hand to touch and felt them instantly spring to
life.
"That's nice, " she murmured, "but
you've already looked after me, at
least for the moment. We need to think about you."
She looked own.
Her hand traced a path across my groin. "You don't
have to shave, do
you? Not the way I do. You're lucky not to be dark."
Her pubic
mound, which I had already discovered was quite pronounced,
was bare
while mine never displayed more than a light fuzz as fair
as my hair.


"Do something for me, " she said. I looked into
her face, needing more
encouragement. Not having come down fully from our earlier
exploits,
which had been largely for her benefit, I wanted to go on
but I wasn't
sure how. Looking back, I can see that from the outset I always

acknowledged that Fay would lead and I would follow.


"Touch yourself. Show me what's good."
She took my hand from her
breast and placed it at the top of my pussy opening. After
what had
gone before, I had no reason to be shy but I felt awkward,
hesitant.
Fay soon realised she had to take charge. Propping herself
on one
elbow she used her free hand to begin manipulating my tits,
first one,
then the other, working the nipples. "Please, Pam, "
she murmured,
"Show me what's good for you - so I'll know
what to do."

I let my finger slip inside me. As I'd expected, I was
already wet.
My normal means of getting myself off is with my middle finger
(I'm
left-handed), although sometimes I need to use my first
and middle
fingers, one each side of my clitoris. Because the latter
always
works, and because I wanted to please Fay, I went straight
away to the
two-finger method. Fay pushed herself up and leaned in
to see exactly
what I was doing; satisfied, she lay back and looked intensely
into my
face, all the while offering soft words of approval and
encouragement.


Soon I began to relax and concentrate on the warm glow developing
between my legs. Fay suggested I should go faster but asked
me to
tell her when I was getting close. That wasn't necessary.
The way
my breathing grew heavy and irregular, combined with the
movement of my
hips as my groin rose to meet my fingers, told her all she
needed to
know.


"Nearly there?"

"Yes." My voice was almost a groan. My fingers
were taking me where
I needed to be. But on the point of reaching a wonderful orgasm,
I
felt my wrist gripped firmly by Fay's hand. "No,
Pam, not yet. I
want to help you. Will you let me?"

Stopped like that in mid air, I would have agreed to anything.
Fay knew
that and didn't wait for my approval. I felt two fingers
slide inside
me. She had changed position and was kneeling over me so
that she
could still watch my face. Her fingers curled inside me,
exerting
subtle pressure, sometimes no more than a caress, at others
moving in
and out, finger-fucking. "Both of us together, "
she said. "Keep
touching yourself."

My fingers resumed contact with the most sensitive spot,
almost as
though they had a will of their own. The inexorable build-up
quickly
returned, never having completely subsided. But again,
when it seemed
it was about to burst through, Fay contrived to hold it at
bay. The
fingers inside me were still. Her other hand arrested my
own
contribution.


After perhaps thirty seconds, she said, "Wait, let's
see if this helps."
She delved into the bedside drawer and produced a small
pot of white
cream. Scooping a tiny amount on to the end of her finger,
she dabbed
it on to the tip of my clitoris and gently rubbed it in. The
result
was strange: a kind of cooling effect without in any way
impairing
sensitivity. "It's quite harmless, "
she said. "It just has a mild
anaesthetic effect. It'll slow you down ever so slightly.
Give you
more control. All right now?"

"Yes, I'm ready." In truth, I could hardly
wait.


"Good. Spread wide for me." Her fingers suddenly
rammed into me,
starting a fiercer finger-fuck. With the hand that had
previously
prevented me me from continuing, she turned her attention
to my
nipples, tweaking them, squeezing them, hurting me. "Can
you take
this?" she asked, smiling down at me without breaking
rhythm. To my
surprise I found that not only could I bear what she was doing,
it
seemed to add to my pleasure. The cream was having a beneficial

effect, too. The build-up was undeniably slower but it
was even more
pleasurable. Encouraged by Fay, I began yet another drive
for
fulfilment with my own fingers. "That's lovely,
Pam. Go on."

I redoubled my fingering efforts. Once more, I was sure
nothing could
come between me and what was now an all-consuming desire.
Once more,
I was mistaken. Fay's mastery of my body was complete.
I have no
idea how many times she led me to the edge only to hold me back,
helped
no doubt by the effect of the cream. It was indescribably
delicious
torture, sustaining me in a state of extreme arousal that
I had only
ever experienced before in the most brief bursts of intensity.



Of course, it couldn't continue indefinitely. For
all that I wanted it
go on, that desire was overcome by the compelling necessity
for the
ultimate reward. Probably the effect of the cream was wearing
off.
I simply couldn't take any more and I cried out for release.
"Fay!
Do it for me. For God's sake make me come!"

"Excellent, " she responded, as though she
had achieved what she had been
aiming for. For the brief time that was necessary her hand
and mine
found an immediate harmony. My most sensitive internal
nerve ends
took the message and sent it in wave after wave through my
entire body.
It was an orgasm whose like I had never known, hardly dreamed
could
be possible. I heard, distantly, Fay's voice. "Now
tell me: wasn't
that special?" Still gulping for breath, I let her
know it had been
very special indeed.


"I'm sure it was. Just take your time getting
over it so you can
remember everything. It can't always be quite that
sensational, I'm
afraid, though we can always try." I smiled up at her,
wanting to let
her see that I would be willing whenever she was. "When
you're
ready, " she went on, "we'll try something
else."

Older and wiser though I now am, it still seems to me there
wasn't much
we didn't try. There was a lot of sixty-nine, licking,
sucking and
fingering, and there were - for me - new experiences. I was
spanked
across Fay's knee and I found myself urging her to be
firmer; she
lubricated her finger and put it into my bottom ; towards
the end,
she extracted a strap-on harness from the bedside drawer,
buckled it on
to herself and fucked me with that, though I confess it didn't
do as
much for me as the rest of her repertoire. However, there
is no
denying that I lost count of my orgasms before I fell into
an exhausted
sleep.


****************


The next morning at breakfast Fay said very matter-of-factly,
"About
last night. It was good for you?"

"More than good."

"And for me. The question is, where do we go from here?
If we go
on, can you cope?"

"In what way?"

"In the office, everything will have to be normal."


"Of course."

"If we get together, it will have to be my call. And
it might not be
often. That's what I meant when I asked if you can cope."


"Better than nothing."

"Do you have a boy friend?"

"Yes."

"Do you have sex with him?"

"From time to time, yes." I had been with Miles,
on and off, for about
eighteen months. I think he took our relationship more
seriously than
I did. Once or twice he had mentioned marriage but I told
him firmly
I wasn't ready for the foreseeable future. Nevertheless,
without
being a dream lover he could satisfy me so we continued to
share a bed
most week-ends.


"That's good. You've probably deduced
that I'm not a lesbian; I
simply like women as much as I like men. It was one reason
why I
divorced David, and why I've looked ever since for
short-term
relationships. At Westminster, with so many people away
from home for
most of the week, they are easy to find. There is no need to
become
dependent on anyone, no matter how good they are in bed.
Besides,
I've discovered I like the variety. Not knowing how
the next one will
be. My only concession is occasionally to have a second
fling with
one of the better ones."

Maybe it was then that she explained the LBW code to me but
I can't be
certain. At that time it wasn't what was uppermost
in my mind,
because she went on, "What I could foresee here is
something less
impermanent for us. If you can accept it on my terms. If you
can't,
I could understand that. I just think we need to confront
the
question now."

I was absorbing the fact that I would be one among a number,
albeit with
a somewhat privileged position. Could I cope with that?
It was a
valid question and only I could answer it. Yet there was
really only
one answer. So soon after the events of the previous night,
there was
no way I could turn aside, confine all that ecstasy to a one-night

stand. "I'd like to try, " I said.


"Good." Fay picked up my hand from the table
and kissed the tips of my
fingers. "If it ever gets too much, just tell me."


She never broached the subject again. Returning on the
train to London
and back in the office, it was as though I had never known
the erotic
thrill of her fingers inside me, the ultimate command she
had assumed
of my body and its responses.


Over the following months and years, everything worked
out exactly as
she had outlined. Inevitably, I often knew when she was
leaving the
House to go to bed with her latest conquest. If it was male,
and he
didn't fail the LBW criteria completely, the following
day I would have
to make the appropriate note on the contact database. Of
course, it
wasn't easy. I eventually ended my relationship with
Miles but found
replacements from time to time when I felt the need, to put
it plainly,
of a good fuck.


However, what kept me going were the occasions when Fay
wanted whatever
it was she derived from our relationship. I never fathomed
her
motivation and after a while gave up trying. To be fair,
our times
together were more frequent than I had feared they would
be. One
reason was a minor coup whereby Fay persuaded the senior
Civil Servant
in our Department to dispense with the official chauffeur
for her
ministerial car, instead allowing me to act as her driver.
There was
a prolonged hassle over insurance but the saving of the
chauffeur's
salary won the day.


As a result I drove her to meetings and other official functions,
took
notes when required, and drove her back. It was on these
return
journeys that Fay would sometimes tell me to look for a conveniently

secluded place to pull off the road for a while. I invariably

discovered an element of premeditation on her part because
she would
start by guiding my hand under her skirt - where I would find
she
wasn't wearing knickers.


One evening, she spotted a sign to a turning ahead and suggested
we gave
it a try. It was a country road that soon reached a dead end
on the
edge of a wood. Thinking our luck was in, we set the seats
back and
were soon into a heavy session of fingering and licking.
It was Fay,
lifting her head from my lap, who saw the first face at the
window.
"Keep still, " she said to me very quietly,
"We're being watched. Does
that worry you?"

I'd been into so much with Fay, I suppressed my first
instinct and
whispered cautious assent. Fay made me sit up, half turning
me in my
seat and opening my legs so the man could see. She opened
the window
a couple of inches. The man, who seemed to be fairly elderly,
said,
"Can you give us a show? There's three of us. We
thought you was
the regulars. They sometimes come here about this time."


Fay's response was to start fondling my pussy with
one hand while she
parted her own lips with the other. Clearly, the situation
had
aroused her. I guessed she had decided that in this place
and in
semi-darkness there was no risk of being recognised. Already
turned
on by what we had been doing, she was getting an extra charge
from the
presence of the onlooker. And as soon as I was aware that
she was
very relaxed about things, I realised it was getting to
me too.


As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, two more men appeared
to join
the one who had spoken. All three had their trousers open
- one had
his round his ankles - and they were handling cocks in varying
states
of erection. "Are you wet, miss?" asked the
first man. Throughout
he would be the only one to speak. In response, Fay dipped
three
fingers into her pussy, opened the window a little wider
and held out
her hand for inspection. I knew, because I'd been there
moments
earlier, the voyeurs wouldn't be disappointed. The
one with his
trousers down, thrust his cock towards her. She let it rest
briefly
on her upturned fingers, then closed it round his cock and
gave a few
gentle tugs. The man gasped and a jet of cum escaped from
the end of
his cock, leaving a dribble down the glass.


Emboldened, a second cock was offered and received the
same treatment,
surviving not much longer than his predecessor.


"Can I have a turn?" It was the elderly spokesman
for the trio. Fay
didn't answer. Instead, she beckoned him closer while
she opened her
blouse and pulled her bra up above her breasts. She wound
down the
window and indicated what she wanted. The man obviously
understood
but it took some effort before he could deliver. His cock
was quite
long with a circumcised head, but only half erect. He began
to
masturbate it in a series of rapid jerks while trying to
aim it through
the window. Fay put her hand under her tits and thrust them
upward.
The man was grunting with the effort of his masturbation,
but suddenly
he groaned and spurted, continuing to handle himself until
every last
drop had been extracted. Most of it had reached its intended
target
and Fay was massaging it into her bosom.


"Thanks, miss. Thanks a lot, " said the man.
He closed his zip and
the threesome melted away into the shadows.


Fay pressed the button to wind up the window and closed her
blouse.
"Well, that was a surprise, " she said, "but
I enjoyed it. Were you
scared at all?"

"No, not really." Surprisingly, I hadn't
been.


"I'm still a bit in the air and I wish you could
finish me off, but I
don't want them to think they can come back. We'd
better go."

That unexpected episode apart, our really satisfying
sessions were when
we could escape to Fay's house in the constituency.
But then came a
setback we were not prepared for. The reader will probably
remember
the Election: the Government went into it with a healthy
lead in the
opinion polls and came out of it with an overall minority
of fourteen
in the House of Commons. Fay survived, granted with a reduced
margin
of victory, but everything else went: her junior Minister's
post and
with it all hope of the cabinet place that had seemed only
a matter of
time and the next reshuffle but one. And, of course, we lost
the
official car and my role as chauffeur. Up to a point our sexual

activities seemed to benefit: fewer functions, more time,
though, of
course, I was still sharing Fay with others, known and unknown.



The single-mindedness which characterised virtually
everything Fay did
was now turned to the future. Resolved not to stand again
at the next
General Election, she set about planning for what lay after
politics.
Her reputation was fortunately undamaged by the defeat;
her ability
was still bankable. She already had useful contacts in
the public and
private sectors, and these she cultivated assiduously.
How much that
entailed offering favours of her own I can't say but
it seems
improbable that she didn't.


The need arose quite quickly. The new Government's
small majority was
making legislation difficult. The Prime Minister called
a snap
Election and won it in a landslide. Fay kept to her resolution
and
didn't stand. When I was wondering where this would
leave me, she
asked me to stay on as her PA. She was into her fifties but
with no
thought of retiring (from private as well as public activity).

Naturally, I accepted. I hadn't married and still
derived more
satisfaction with Fay than with any of the men I took to bed
when I
felt the urge.


Predictably, Fay was as successful in her new campaign
as she had been
in everything she undertook. Seats on a handful of quangos
and
charitable organisations gave her public profile and
an image of one
who worked for the general good. But it was three directorships
in
the private sector that enabled her to sell the house in
Backwater and
buy a new base in Chelsea. Over the years I had retained my
own
London apartment and was able to disappear there when not
needed by
Fay.


It was almost a year before Sir Bernard loomed large on the
horizon.
Sir Bernard was Chairman of a group of financial companies
that had a
vacancy for a non-executive Director. He and Fay had met
on a number
of occasions when she was still in office. They both knew
that what
she could contribute and they both had an idea of what her
qualities
were worth. I was present at a few of their meetings while
they
circled each other in search of clinching rapport. When
that point
was reached, Sir Bernard said, "You drive a hard bargain.
I'll tell
you what we'll do. Come and spend the weekend with Betty
and me, and
we'll sign on the dotted line then." Fay agreed
with a satisfied
smile.


We were just leaving when Sir Bernard said, "And when
you come next
weekend - you know where we are - bring Pam with you."


Outside, I asked, "What was that about? Won't
I just be in the way?"

"I doubt it. Bernard and I are, shall we say, old acquaintances.
If
he's invited you, it's for a reason. All I would
say is, wear your
sexiest undies." She wouldn't elaborate further
but as soon as we
were back at her house in Chelsea she led me up to bed and initiated
an
encounter as aggressive as anything I had experienced
from her for a
long while, a sure indication of how much her libido was
responding to
whatever was in store. Pleasantly sore when it was over,
I left the
bathroom to Fay and escaped to my little office. The computer
showed
me something I should have remembered: Sir Bernard was
a B.


Fay's car was more modest than her erstwhile official
limousine but it
was luxurious enough and she still liked to have me drive
her. Soon
after seven the following Friday evening, fifty miles
out into rural
Hampshire I parked outside an imposing Georgian mansion.
By the time
we had collected our bags from the boot, Sir Bernard, casually
dressed
in corduroy trousers and a plaid shirt, was waiting for
us at the door.
"Come in, " he said, waving us through. "I'll
show you your rooms in
case you need them, then you can grab a drink. The staff have
got the
week-end off."

We mounted a broad staircase, Fay leading, Sir Bernard
bringing up the
rear. The hand that alighted on my bottom and squeezed was
no
accident. Fay and I had adjoining identical guest rooms.
Sir
Bernard saw us in, then said, "You'll probably
need fifteen minutes to
freshen up, but don't take too long. I'll come
and find you when
your ready. I've already started warming Betty up
but she's dying for
you to join the fun." After he had disappeared back
downstairs, Fay
raised her eyebrows and said, "Well, I did warn you."


Ten minutes later, after I'd had time to do no more than
take a quick
pee, wash my hands and brush my hair, Sir Bernard was knocking
at my
door. "Ready?" he called, and without waiting
for an invitation,
walked in. He had shed his shirt and trousers in favour of
a gown
which was open at the front and didn't conceal a cock
that stood out at
right angles. As you can see, " he said, waving it
with one hand,
"we‘re completely informal here. You call me Bernard
and the wife is
Betty. Fay knows the way so she's gone on ahead. Come
on, I'll show
you our little play den."

On the ground floor, he led the way to a door which opened
to reveal a
flight of carpeted stairs leading down. "Used to
be part of the wine
cellar until I had it partitioned off. Keep the door locked,

normally, Let the staff believe it's where the most
valuable wines
are stored. Fortunately, it's soundproof."


The room was large. Its centre piece was a double bed. There
were
mirrors on two walls, chairs, a padded bench like a vaulting
horse,
vertical bars on one wall. A large cabinet held wine and
spirits
bottles. On a sideboard was a range of sex aids, prophylactics
and
lubricants. I took all this in gradually and peripherally
because the
action had already begun. A naked woman of indeterminate
age was
bent over the bench, her ankles tied with silk cords to the
legs on one
side, her wrists on the other. Long dark hair fell forward,
obscuring
her face.


This, of course was Betty. Later, when I came to know her
as
intimately as I knew Fay, I learned that she was fifty-three
but looked
ten years younger. Her body was firm with large round breasts.
Her
libido was strong to the point that I never discovered whether
she
preferred the active or passive role; she embraced both
with fervour
and perceptive imagination. In fact, with Betty, I even
came to enjoy
submitting to a firmly wielded strap-on. On this occasion,
Fay,
wearing only lemon-coloured bra and knickers, was kneeling
behind her,
parting the woman's buttocks with her hands and applying
her tongue to
the aperture between.


"That's Betty, " said Bernard casually.
"I'll introduce you properly
when there's a chance. The thing is, I'd already
got her started and
she and Fay are always like this. Can't wait to get at
each other.
When she's come a couple of times, it'll quieten
down." He looked me
over, unabashed, taking me in from head to foot. "Very
nice. I'm
glad I asked Fay to bring you. Always good to have a new body.
But
you're somewhat overdressed, I think."

I have to admit, though it embarrasses me to recall it now,
I was
already caught up in the heady aura of imminent depravity:
Betty's
loud moanings as she was serviced by Fay's tongue;
Bernard's
protuberant cock, which was undeniably big and which he
was stroking
casually with his left hand; not to mention all the surrounding

apparatus. With a boldness that I could scarcely believe,
I said,
"Shall I take them off, or will you?"

"Why don't you? I shall enjoy watching."
He dropped into a chair and
lay back, letting his gown fall open while he continued
to massage the
purple-headed weapon that was the object of my attention.
I shed my
dress and drew a nod of approval. "Perfect. Black
knickers,
suspenders, black stockings. Did Fay tell you to do that?"


I smiled noncommittally, hoping to suggest that sexy lingerie
was my
daily habit. The bra came off. It was really not much more
than
decoration anyway. I massaged the nipples until they stood
out.
This couldn't be me, I kept thinking, behaving so brazenly
in front of
a tycoon I had previously met on only a handful of formal
occasions.
Yet I was not acting provocatively just because it seemed
to be what
the occasion demanded, I was turned on by doing so. When
Bernard
beckoned me to him, I walked the few paces backwards, letting
him enjoy
the sight of my bottom, its curves emphasised by black silk.
I felt
the hand that wasn't attending to his cock trace a line
down until it
reached my arsehole. A finger probed. I parted my legs.
Bernard
searched further, found wetness. He sighed in contented
anticipation
but the sound was suddenly eclipsed by a long, loud moan
from Betty.
I looked and saw that Fay had brought her to orgasm, fingers

supplementing that cunning tongue.


My expectation that I would then be introduced to Betty
wasn't to be.
No sooner had Fay released her partner's wrists and
ankles than the two
women threw themselves on to the bed. Betty dived between
Fay's legs.
Bernard, following my look, said, "Leave them to
it. Come and sit
on me. But let me take these off first."

His removal of my knickers was a masterpiece of prevarication:
a small
tug here, a finger inside the waistband there, each movement
an excuse
to explore the orifices slowly being revealed. After he
had at last
allowed the garment to slide to my ankles so I could kick
it off, he
used both hands on my waist to pull me towards him. I realised
he
wanted me to be able to still see Fay and Betty while he and
I were
coupled. Cautious of that oversized instrument, I reached
between my
legs to grasp the shaft and guide it into me a little at a time.
When
I eventually felt confident enough to subside on to it fully,
I felt an
extraordinary thrill seize my whole body. The reaction
was as much
mental as physical: a result of the total novelty for me
of being
fucked in this position while a few feet away two women writhed
in what
had become a sixty-nine of voluptuous carnality.


"Move, Pam, " said Bernard, and I began to do
so, sliding up and down on
that hungry pole now slippery with my juices. "Go
faster, I can
cope." He reached a hand round to search for my clitoris,
found it,
fastened on to it as I rode. We found a rhythm that seemed
to work
for us both. I had no idea how good his control would be but
his
breathing was easy and regular, allowing him to murmur
frequent soft
words of encouragement. He wasn't shy with his vocabulary,
either;
perhaps when you are the big boss in the workplace and master
in the
home, you don't need to watch your language. "Nice
cunt, Pam, " he
said. "Smooth. Good grip. Fay said you knew how to
fuck and she
wasn't wrong. But I bet you haven't had something
like this up you
very often."

Though this was further indication that Fay had set up this
whole
encounter, I was past caring. I knew I was coping well with
taking
his cock but sooner or later his persistent manipulation
of my clit was
going to be decisive. And it was. "I shall come, "
I cried, ecstatic
now with the combination of penetration and external stimulation.



"Good, good." Bernard somehow maintained
his pressure on my little
button while wrapping his other arm round me to keep us in
contact.
Several times it seemed his cock must slip out but whenever
I sensed
impending disaster, I managed to plunge down and bury him
inside me
again. "My God, " Bernard exclaimed, "You
are just magnificent. Now
let me feel you come."

Betty, who was the top half of the sixty-nine with Fay, lifted
her head
at the sound of her husband's voice and immediately
rolled off. "Look
at this, Fay, " she said, tugging my employer round
to watch.


There was no question of my having a choice, Bernard was
rapidly
bringing me to the boil and the two women looking on with
lascivious
eyes did the rest. I drove myself down on Bernard's
rampant cock,
held myself there, leaned back against him for the support
I knew I
would need when the moment arrived, and let his fingers
do the rest.
Something told me I should have resented the way Fay had
manoeuvred me
into this situation, but so shattering was the orgasm that
wracked my
entire being I could only be grateful.


To describe all the events that followed during that weekend
would be
beyond me. So many orgasms, so many couplings, male and
female,
female and female, have merged into a happy blur in memory.
I do
recall an occasion when we were all four involved together.
Betty was
on her back on the bed. I was kneeling astride her face, dipping
down
from time to time to let her tongue explore my pussy, which
I kept
alive otherwise with my fingers. Fay was kneeling, licking
Betty.
Bernard was standing behind Fay, vigorously ploughing
her with his
cock, which retained an astonishing firmness throughout
the time we
were there.


We had agreed to see if we could contrive four simultaneous
orgasms.
Of course, it was impossible, but we came reasonably close.
I was the
last to come, having been in more or less complete control
with my
fingers. When Bernard gave a great groan and cried out,
"I'm done
for, " and pulled out his cock to send a huge jet of
sperm along Fay's
back, I let myself go, too, and collapsed on to three heaving
bodies.
The recuperation after that wasn't quick but the sexual
chemistry
between the four of us was so powerful it only needed one
of us to make
a move and the whole tinder box was in flames yet again.


Needless to say, Fay's enrolment on to Sir Bernard's
Board of Directors
was rubber stamped; my guess is that it had been agreed in
advance,
anyway, and was merely the ploy to enlist my presence. When
we left,
Bernard made us promise we would return. We did, at irregular

intervals over several years until Fay's death. Sometimes
it was for
a long weekend, sometimes just for an evening. Always,
we tried the
simultaneous orgasm trick but never made it work. In fact,
nothing
ever quite equalled the extraordinary mix of spontaneity
and stamina of
that first occasion, but I have to say that I never came away

disappointed.


****************


The service ended and we rose to filter from the church.
Music was
playing. I recognised the slow movement of Schubert's
String Quintet,
music that reaches into the very depths of grief. It may
have moved
some who heard it there but I knew such sublime emotion was
uncalled
for: in all the years I knew her, Fay never gave herself emotionally

to anyone. I gained much from knowing her but I was always
aware of
the calculating mind behind everything she did.


Outside the church the air was warm with autumn sunshine.
I stood for
a while on the steps watching the congregation disperse
and reliving a
few memories. A hand touched my arm. I turned to see Sir Bernard

and Lady Betty in their elegant dark attire, carefully
appropriate to
the occasion. That is, as long as you had not seen them, as
I had, in
the throes of sexual excess with the dear departed.


"So sad, " said Betty. "You will miss
her."

Bernard coughed, indicating the chauffeur who was holding
open the door
of their Rolls. He offered a few platitudes about having
to draw a
line, time to move on, as though his company had just marked
the
retirement of its senior accountant. "Anyway, "
said over his shoulder
as they departed, "you'll still come and see
us, won't you? It's what
she would have wanted. I'm sure we could invite someone
else, if
you'd like that."

What she would have wanted. It's the phrase those who
are left behind
always use to justify doing what they themselves want.
I called after
Sir Bernard that I would think about it. And I will. In a few
days
I will call them and tell them what I have decided.

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