It took three years for the fantasy of a foursome between me and Audrey and Clive and Barbara Cavendish to become reality. Barbara was the trophy wife of a successful investment banker. Everything about her was above my pay grade. But that's the appeal, isn't it? A posh totty daydream for a simple lad like me.
The first step to that dream becoming reality was when she invited everybody to a meeting in their big marquee to discuss what we could do after a spate of burglaries by crooks masquerading as parcel delivery men. Barbara was one of those upper middle class English women bred to organise charitable events and dispense comfort in times of crisis. I'd experienced her type before, when the regiment was on disaster relief missions in hell hole failed states. The British Ambassador's wife was often the one to bring belligerent parties together to do something practical. In our case, after dismissing the Crime Prevention Officer with a flea in his ear, Barbara set about organising our little hamlet to care for each other's safety.
When someone said as an ex-military man I might have suggestions, Barbara took my hand and led me to the front of the gathering. "Cometh the hour, cometh the man, Tom." I couldn't refuse. Besides, she was slyly rubbing my palm with her thumb in some sort of erotic Freemasons greeting. She had me off guard when she started squeezing it. That was when I volunteered to take in parcels for Upper Cockton, to prevent delivery vans cruising the neighbourhood. Barbara led the gathering in a rendition of
For He's a Jolly Good fellow
. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and a smile that said, I can get you to do anything I want because you fancy me, Tom. She had lovely blue eyes and bore a passing resemblance to Princess Diana. What chance did I have?
Since being outmanoeuvred, I'd looked for opportunities to even the score with Barbara Cavendish. I got to know her as she collected parcels for her and Clive. She tried to keep me off guard with her flirtatiousness, but I'd scored a couple of hits. First, with my dancing teacher Audrey who had undergone a stunning transformation since the burglary (see Part 2). She had the face and body of a woman half her age. We were discrete but most people were right to assume a sexual relationship between us. Barbara was jealous that it might diminish my enthusiasm for her even if she had no intention of putting out. Second was when we swapped cars for the weekend and I ended up fucking my ex-wife in the back of Clive's Mercedes and telling him about it (see Part 3). The next time I saw Barbara she looked ready to slap me until she realised she had no grounds, other than jealousy.
The final straw came recently when Barbara strode down the street to confront me while I had my head in the bonnet of the Ford Capri, I'd lent Clive for their weekend jaunt.
"I've got a bone to pick with you Tom."
"A bone you say Barbara?" My smile grew more salacious as she grew more annoyed.
"Really Tom. It's too early in the day for vulgarity. Even for you."
"What have I done to earn your ire this time, Barbara?"
"You must stop using Clive's car as a mobile bordello."
"Ok, Barbara. As long as you do the same. Clive said you found the back seat of the Capri very comfortable."
She reddened. "That bloody man. Wait until I see him. You two are worse than women. Sharing your smut." She handed me a package. "Here are your props back. And a list of the people and cars he promised you."
Clive had taken the Capri to a weekend shoot with some clients on a Norfolk estate. Although the car park was awash with Bentleys and Astons, my humble Capri drew nostalgic envy from old City wide-boys yearning for the toys of their youth. By the end of the weekend, he had a list of commissions for me. Clive phoned on their way home. "It's good business sense, Tom. You get a group of customers who'll fund the purchase and restoration work; and I get happy clients who know Clive Cavendish is a bloke who can make them happy, as well as make them money."
I looked at the list. E-Types and Aston's went for silly money, no matter what state they were in.
"Some of these are specialist restos, Barbara. I won't touch them. Others are possibles. I'll amend the list and you can give it back to Clive. Have you got your phone?"
She followed me into my parcel storeroom where I wrote comments onto the list and photographed it with her phone. "There you go Barbara. I've added my phone number for the blokes who are still interested."
She looked around the room. "I've never been in here before. You take it seriously. CCTV outside, bars on the windows. Alarm on the door. Our parcels are safe with you. Sorry if its cost money. I was not thinking when I strong armed you into volunteering." Her teasing smile said she was anything but sorry. She sat on the table, swinging her legs coquettishly. "Have you got a camera in here, to record all your conquests?"
"What conquests would they be Barbara?"
"Well, there's Audrey. I bet you give her a package when you are dancing. See Tom, I can be crude too."
"I know you can be jealous Barbara. Who else is there?" We were having the conversation that had simmered for two years.
"That ginger haired woman. She's still got the hots for you. (Part 1). She lost all that weight and put it back on since you dumped her. "
How did she know? I thought we'd been discrete. "Susan is a lovely person. I befriended her when she and her husband were going through difficulties, but they've cleared the air and sorted it out. Please don't make trouble Barbara."
"I'm the soul of discretion Tom. Noone heard a word about you and Margot Albrecht from me," (Part 4). Another direct hit. I leaned against the table. "I saw her Tom. Doing the walk of shame back from your house in the early hours. I opened the curtain and I watched her go by. Not an ounce of embarrassment. Her look said, `I'm fucking him, Barbara. What are you going to do about it?'"
"Well, what are you going to do about it, Barbara? What do you expect of me?" As half a dozen responses fizzed in her head, competing for words, I kissed her. She responded to my tongue in her mouth until a sense of propriety said she should resist and she pushed me away. Barbara's face was flushed. She was as excited as I was.
"You are not going to fuck me across this table Tom. I won't become one of your conquests."
"You better tell them then." Her nipples stood out on her white tee shirt.
She scowled and childishly covered her tits. I took her face in my hands and kissed her again. She moaned. Her body would not obey the instructions she'd given me.
Barbara squirmed on the table. "Stop Tom. You are making me wet." I leaned against the table and her legs opened. I grasped her hips and pulled her towards me. We groaned as her pussy met my cock head through our clothes. The heat was incredible. I was so tempted to just take her then. Luckily, I'd thought through the implications beforehand. I had a plan.
"I won't fuck you across this table Barbara. I'll only fuck you with Clive's permission. He's a friend and it would be rude otherwise. I won't let him go without either. Audrey has agreed she'll play, if you invite us. Oh yes, and we must all be in the same room. No sneaking about. It's bad manners." There it was, out in the open. A solution to her dilemma. All she had to do was admit it.
Barbara was miffed. "What are you talking about Tom? Do you think we are swingers?"
"I know you have parties with other couples. I see their expressions on the CCTV camera as they drive out of Upper Cockton." She opened her mouth to object, so I kissed her again. She sighed. Barbara was out of denials.
