The invitation had arrived in the post.
It has been a dozen years since I've worked for the charity but I still get the occasional invitation to an event. I'd begun to suspect that, rather than thinking that I'd be a good person to invite, that it's when they're low on numbers and they get far enough back in their little book to get to me, that the invitation lands on my doorstep. To be fair, the suspicion hadn't really started with me. The same older faces seem to turn up to the same events and we'd discussed this 'coincidence' and someone or other, I've forgotten who, had put it forward as a hypothesis. Upon further discussion at subsequent events, we'd decided that there was enough evidence for it to become a theory, if enough 'faces' were there tonight then maybe we'd decide the theory was a fact. Not sure that that was how it worked but it gave me something to think about on my way over.
This was how we tended to discuss it anyway and it gave us something to laugh about.
We'd also decided that actually, who cares. It's nice that we're still in the book and it was always good to see each other again, but I'm sure we'd, once again, discuss the hypothesis/theory/fact(?), and we'd, once again, laugh about it.
Tonight is a formal black tie event comprising of a buffet dinner, usually not bad fare, a charity auction, I keep my hands firmly in my pockets; the charity is a pretty major one so, despite having to go all the way back to me in their little book of names, there will still be plenty of high rollers there with deep pockets who will want to show just how deep those pockets are; the downside of that, for us normal folk, is that the bids always get stupid, thereby taking the fun out of it. This will be followed by a couple of hours of a mock casino; everyone gets £100 worth of free chips, and a DJ, so dancing and mingling once you've lost your chips.
I'd been here before; the venue that is, on several occasions, as it's a favourite for the charity. It's owned by one of the board members and is a large stately home set in extensive grounds with the river Thames as one of its boundaries. The whole thing has been in his family for several centuries and they're still well off enough not to have to hand it over to some trust for public viewing. The charity likes to use it as it never fails to impress those they want to impress, plus it's a fantastic location.
On two of those previous occasions I had been lucky enough to be, as part of a group, shown around, so I had a basic knowledge of the layout of the place.
Sometimes events are held inside the house, others, like this evening's, are held in a marquee on the lawn in front of the house. Tonight, everything is taking place inside the marquee but we have access to the house for the bathrooms. There's also a wide terrace between the marquee and the house with tables and chairs scattered across it.
I've spent the first thirty minutes or so chatting to some of those older faces, we haven't yet got to 'the theory', and to some newer ones, when my eye caught the back of a woman standing in a group of six or seven. Don't get me wrong, my eye had caught quite a few women, but something about this one jogged a memory from somewhere else.
But it's not how she's looking tonight that's jogging the memory: her hair has been styled to show her neck and the sparkling neckline of her dress: a full-length champagne coloured evening gown that has a tight bodice to the waist, then loose pleats to the floor; it's an extremely elegant look. It's something else that's jogging the memory, not sure what.
But the memory is clearing and I begin to have my suspicions.
I make my excuses to my little group, then circle around to pass on the other side of her's. Sideways glances confirm my suspicions, it really is my silent park lady. I've never seen her at anything the charity has done before so perhaps this is a first. Or maybe she's just not as far back in the little book as me. Again, who cares.
But then my mind, as my mind tends to do, began to stir. Maybe, just maybe, the evening could get...adventurous.
I move out of the marquee and sit at one of the tables, consider whether or not to do something about her presence; adventure wise that is. When she beat me to it and my phone pinged.
"Are you stalking me?"
"Ha, you wish. You look amazing." I replied.
"Why thank you kind sir, you look pretty dapper yourself."
I decided to give it a try. ":-) Want to play?"
A moment's pause, but only a moment, "One track mind! You're a terrible influence but then you've awakened the devil in me so yes I'd love to play, but dinner soon."
"I can be quick."
"Hmmmm, not sure about that but...ok. Have you got somewhere in mind that's a bit more discreet than over a table?" She asked.
"Damn! spoil-sport." "Yes I have, out of the marquee, turn left and look for me at the corner of the house."
"Thought you'd have a plan :-) See you there. Excited!" Almost immediately she added, "No kissing. Lipstick."
"It's ok, I'm not wearing any."
"Very funny. You know what I mean."
"I do. Corner of the house."
":-)"
I stand and head across the terrace. As I get to the corner I pause and glance back just in time to see her exit the marquee, she stops to lift the front of her dress clear of her shoes then heads towards me.
Stepping around the corner I enter the shadow of the house and wait. A moment later and she appears. She's almost running and her excitement is palpable; she's grinning and there's that sparkle in her eyes, as she gets to me she giggles; she's fast becoming an addict to this stuff.
She runs right into me, lets go of her dress and takes my face in her hands. I look into her eyes, laugh at her expression then, taking her hand I turn and, pulling her behind me, walk further into the shadows. Ten metres or so and I come up against a wall with one large, dark window set in it. I turn back to face her.
We're now in deep shadow with the corner of the house only those ten metres away and the marquee a further ten metres on the far edge of the terrace. The bright lights of the marquee throw the moving shadows of the other guests across the terrace and up the nearest trees and bushes, words can't be heard but there's a distinct buzz of conversation on the breeze.
Still holding her hand I spin her around and lean back against the wall. Wrapping my other hand around her waist I pull her back against me. Letting her weight rest against me she rubs her bum against my groin; my cock, jammed between her buttocks, thickens in response.
My hands roam across her body: squeeze her boobs, pinch her nipples, up and down, rub between her thighs; even through the thickness of her dress I can feel the heat radiating from her pussy, squeeze her, pressing a finger hard into her.
With dinner looming there's no more time to waste so, hand over hand I hitch the front of her dress up until it's gathered at her waist. Holding it there I push a hand down between her knickers and her tummy.
Keep pushing until my fingers cover the length of her still shaven pussy; the tip of my middle finger strokes up and down as two other fingers rub along either side between her inner and outer lips. She is already slick with her own juices and, with just that gentle pressure, her lips part and my finger slips in.
She gasps as my finger enters her, then groans and her hips lift against my hand, her muscles squeeze around me.
Ever conscious of how little time we have I push another finger into her and slowly begin to finger fuck her. I can't reach far but the angle from which I'm coming at her allows me to rub my thumb across her clit at the same time.
Her pussy is wet, very wet. Her sexual excitement no doubt heightened by the proximity of some of her fellow guests, fellow guests who are completely unaware of what we're doing not twenty metres from them.
As my fingers build into a smooth rhythm she is quickly squirming against me, it's evidently going to be a short journey to an inevitable destination as her lower body picks up its own beat mimicking my fingers movements.
But her body's gyrations are making it harder for me to keep my thumb in touch with her, so, keeping her dress up by pinning it against her body with my wrist, I edge that hand down until it too slips inside her knickers.
A little further and I edge my thumb away from her clit. My fingers spread into an upside down V, her clit the filling, I lightly squeeze my fingers together trapping the small slippery nub between them, rubbing up and down. Then take it between my thumb and forefinger, roll it around, gently squeeze it, tap it, flick it.
She's panting and groaning, her pelvis thrusting against my fingers, she's already way beyond the point of no return. She throws an arm up, her hand wraps around my head pulling me into the side of her face, her other hand gripping my forearm. Any semblance of rhythm or control has long gone as she begins to twitch and shake, her thighs squeezing together, her fingers digging into my arm as her orgasm overtakes her.
It is intense: I have to hold her up as her legs shake, the muscles around her pussy squeezing tight crushing my fingers. Feel her fall off one heel then regain her footing. Her head thrown back pressing against my shoulder as her fingers grip the back of my head.
The shaking slowly diminishes, her muscles relax and the full length of her body slumps against mine. A moment of ragged breathing and disorientation before her head lifts off my shoulder, I take my hands out of her knickers. Gently she presses her cheek against mine, "Ooooh god!" She whispers.
Tentatively, experimentally, she pushes herself away from me, takes her own weight, stands. Her dress falls into place.
I watch her outline as, without looking back and rather unsteadily, she walks away. Just before the corner of the house and still in the shadows she stops, seems to shake herself, smoothes her dress then her hair, stands up straight then disappears around the corner.
I slowly make my way to the same corner then, after a quick check of my own clothes, and shifting my rather painful erection to a hopefully less obvious position, walk down to the marquee.
Most people are seated and the waiters have started bringing the first course out, so, just in time, I make my way to my designated seat.
As I sit down my phone once again pings, "Omg, that was wild! Short but very, very sweet. I'm positive that anyone looking at me can tell. Strangely, I don't care."
"Definitely addicted. Act I." I replied.
"???"
"Want to play some more?" I enquired.
"Ooooooh, Act II?"
