It is Winter 1966. When five couples find themselves stranded at a remote high class inn by extreme weather conditions, they amuse each other by relating stories of an erotic nature, as well as taking part in all kinds of private and group sexual activities. The Host had told of the birthday orgy involving a current top film star, and the Theatre Company Manager of her oral exploits with a famous actor. Fantasies involving nuns and priests had also been acted out.
Chapter Eight - The Marketing Director's Tale
On the second day, after dinner, the guests moved into the warm lounge with its blazing log fire and subdued lighting. Anne and Mary, scantily clothed, poured coffee and liqueurs as Julie came into the centre of the group.
'Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks as though were here for some time yet. So, now you're all settled, our story this evening is from Martin, who is going to tell us about a smooth-taking lecher whose elaborate plans to seduce his secretary were foiled.'
Martin, an international marketing director for a food company, was a quiet fair haired man with good strong features, large blue eyes, straight nose and square chin. He was of average build but not yet running to fat and very aristocratic-looking. At thirty-two, he seemed average in other ways, having a perfectly straight and sturdy six inch penis. Unfortunately, he wasn't always able to control his discharge which often resulted in a generous flow of oozing semen, long before the climax hit him.
But he enjoyed a lavish international life style, often seen in national society magazines with his attractive Television presenter wife, Delia. With her winning smile and attractive blonde features, she was a photographer's dream. Her calm exterior and imperious bearing, head held high with a tendency to look down her nose, gave her a slightly superior air. In spite of the media exposure, they had remained married for longer than most celebrities.
Delia often claimed to her friends that half the male population masturbated in front of her when she was on screen, splattering their TV with sperm! Camera crews drooled over her and fellow presenters tried to chat her up. But she kept aloof, private and mysterious, only letting herself go among trusted friends.
Martin came forward and sat in the storyteller's armchair adjacent to the fireplace with his coffee and brandy which he set on a table at the side of him. He told this story.
Edward never acknowledged the name Ted. He ignored anyone who called him by that name. He had been christened Edward, and that was his name. Not Ted, nor Ed, nor Eddie. Edward. He was thirty-five, had fair, wavy hair, his only facial blemish - if indeed it was one - being a slight cast in his right eye. He spoke softly and carefully with a slight nasal tone, meticulously cultivated to impress the American directors of the company for which he worked.
Edward had a sumptuous office. He sat at a large desk devoid of papers except for those he was currently working on. In the top right-hand drawer, he kept a yellow duster to keep the desk-top spotlessly clean and free from dust. His three telephones, one red, one white and one black, were on a side table to his left.
Ever since he was told by an American psychologist over dinner one evening that to use the left ear made a person respond more crisply and more intelligently than if they used the right ear, he used only his left ear when speaking on the phone.
He always dressed immaculately in a dark grey suit made-to-measure in the West End, a white silk shirt with gold cufflinks and a light grey tie. A carefully arranged white silk handkerchief was tucked in the top pocket of his jacket. His aftershave was the latest vogue in men's perfumery.
Edward's personal secretary - not private secretary, but a personal one - sat at a desk outside his office. Delia was a strikingly beautiful girl of twenty years. In fact, she was a remarkable lookalike of Grace Kelly. Her blonde hair was swept back into a bun without a stray hair to be seen. Edward wouldn't have allowed it. Her eyes were a bright blue and her skin clear and fresh looking.
She was a serious-looking girl, though. Not that she had any serious thoughts, it was more of a blank expression, reflecting the state of her mental activity. Delia had that serene appearance of purity and innocence. It was one of Edward's ambitions to seduce Delia. And, since he almost always got what he wanted, he was prepared to wait, taking great care with his planning.
He planned his campaign of Delia's seduction as he would market a new product. He had already taken Delia to lunch at expensive restaurants on several occasions. On these occasions the other diners would turn to admire the beautiful lady as she came into the dining room. Several would, no doubt, believe that they had dined in the same restaurant as Grace Kelly, telling their friends all about it that same evening.
Delia was, of course, perfectly aware of what Edward was after. She was, in fact, rather surprised that he hadn't yet invited her into his bed. Delia, however, didn't fancy Edward at all. Had she done so, she would have opened her legs for him long ago. But she just didn't fancy him.
For a start, he was too pernickety. Perhaps, if he should invite her to accompany him on one of his exotic visits abroad, she might think about getting into his bed as recompense. Though with Edward, she thought, sex would be too much of a hassle. He would give me a performance just to show off his sexual prowess.
On the Friday evening, ten days before Delia's first Christmas working for Edward, the company held its staff party. A catering company had been retained to provide a first class buffet meal with a well-stocked bar. Wine and ale would flow freely. A dance band had also been hired for the evening with entertainment by a well-known comedian.
The large area was lavishly embellished with miles of decorations, a large Christmas tree at each end of the room and, around it, several smaller ones festooned with trimmings and tree-lights. Tables were arranged round the room, leaving a sizable dancing square in the centre. Boyfriend, girlfriend and spouses were invited to the party, but most of the staff came on their own to see what spare male, or female, talent might be available for a spot of flirting. About a hundred and fifty people were expected.
It so happened that Edward was in America, not expected to return until Sunday. Because Delia had no current boyfriend, and knowing how she would be pestered if she went singly, she had decided not to go to the party. Her mother said it would be a shame to miss out on such a lavish party. So, if Delia wished to go, she would be pleased to go along as her guest and chaperon. Besides, it would be a welcome night out for her as well. After some hesitation, Delia said OK, so it was agreed.
Now, Delia's mother, Alison, was born in Bath. She was such a beautiful lady with a graceful figure and refined looks that most men thought her frigid and untouchable. How looks can lie! Alison had had two husbands, but had been far from a faithful wife. Her sex drive was too high-powered for that.
Alison's second husband had found her too demanding, leaving her to live a quiet life in a small bachelor flat. Like Chaucer's Wife of Bath before her, with the same name, whose exploits she had read, Alison's sexual boredom factor was low.
'Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!' She believed that it would be wrong to fight her basic personality. So she hunted and seduced where she felt desire. Following the example of her esteemed predecessor, she called her genitals her quoniam. An uglier word than vagina, perhaps, but more mysterious and erotic; or so she thought.
