Free Universal Carnal Knowledge Pt 36

XXXVI

James "Henry Ford" Walker

The previous evening -- that is, the Thursday -- instead of visiting Fran's I had gone straight home from work to rendezvous with Wendy and Alicia. We had our stuff already packed (not that we needed much) and set off in high spirits for my weekend party at George's. Kylie wanted to join us but was under strict orders not to miss the following day's school; I consoled her with a nice fuck while Wendy and Alicia got ready.

We reached George's at about nine o'clock. Elspeth had already arrived and was helping Vicky and Simone with preparations. The only other girls due that evening were Fran, Connie, Gabby and Yvonne, who were due to assemble at Fran's flat while Gabby, the only driver among them, collected a hire car. Because they had to wait for Yvonne, who was waitressing at some reception earlier in the evening, I did not see how they could arrive before ten. But it was only twenty past nine when the Surrey air was rent by the sound of a car engine being ferociously revved and a sporty red number roared up the drive and screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust and flying grit.

The driver's door opened and a long olive-skinned leg languidly appeared. The limb was followed by its owner, looking cool and poised under a broad-brimmed straw hat. She slinked over to me and embraced me warmly; only then did she deign to say hello to Wendy and the others.

After a longish pause the passenger door opened and Fran emerged, quivering like an aspen, her face a sepulchral white dramatically framed by her red hair, her eyes staring with sheer terror. She staggered toward me. "James," she gasped, "I am never, ever, getting in a car with that woman again!"

"Relax, Fran darling," replied Gabby calmly. "I told you we'd be fine."

"You nearly killed us!" retorted Fran, her spirit starting to return. "James, darling," she told me indignantly, "on the motorway she went on the hard shoulder and simply flew past a cement lorry on the inside --"

"He was going too slow," explained Gabby.

"-- and then swerved right across all three lanes. I thought we were dead."

"James, lover, she's exaggerating," said Gabby.

"No she isn't," cut in Connie, who had now emerged from the back seat to join us. Normally irrepressible, she too was shaking visibly and in the gathering dusk the whites of her fear-widened eyes stood out starkly against the background of her black face. She would have been as pale as Fran, I suspected, had her skin pigmentation permitted it. "It was terrifying. And when she overtook that bus on that winding country lane --"

Gabby clearly felt this was not her fault. "These roads are too narrow," she said. "They should make them wider."

Fran turned on Gabby. "And another thing," she asserted; "when a traffic light's red, you're supposed to stop."

Gabby's expression suggested that no reasonable person would take seriously such an absurd regulation. "Fran, honey," she explained, "there was no traffic."

"There was an old lady crossing!" Fran retorted indignantly. "You made her run for her life!"

"These old people," said Gabby coolly; "they're nimbler than they make out."

Yvonne had now joined us, and I asked her what she thought.

"Wonderful, sir," she grinned. "When I get a car, I'm going to drive just like Gabby. Only faster," she added.

I set the girls to work making preparations under Wendy's overall direction. It was a big day tomorrow and I wanted nothing to go wrong. I took them off duty one by one, of course, for some rotational fucking as I limbered up for the next day. By one o'clock everything was in readiness.

Our guests, having been instructed that they must first attend to any existing commitments such as lectures, school, or work, would be arriving next day in dribs and drabs. Only one or two had access to a car; the rest were to come by train, ringing when a few stops away. Wendy, Elspeth and Gabby were on standby to pick them up. I was not sure when to expect the first caller but two of the Cambridge girls must have got up very early because it was only a quarter to nine when they called to say they were approaching.

Arrangements in the house were simple. I had taken possession of the master bedroom upstairs and when each girl arrived Wendy or Fran would greet her and if I was available she would be shown upstairs without any more ado. If I was engaged, she would be given a glass of wine and invited to wait in the sitting room. We were careful to keep internal doors closed so that the hall, sitting room, and stairs were separated from the rest of the ground floor, which was the preserve of girls that had already been inducted.

The reason for these precautions was simple. The girls arriving on Friday had all been thoroughly primed at the garden party but until they were well and truly fucked they would not be totally under control. They had all been overwhelmed for nearly a fortnight by their craving for me but this did not stop them from feeling confused and bewildered about what was happening. As soon as they were met at the station the pent-up questions began. What was happening? Who was the woman meeting them, and what was her relation to (lovelorn sigh) James? Was it really true that in a few minutes they would see (more sighing)

him

?

Wendy, Gabby, and Elspeth all gave the same answer: yes, they were about to see James and as for the rest, he would explain everything. There were times, of course, particularly if several had arrived on the same train, when a number of girls, often known to each other, would be in the sitting room together, but Wendy, Fran, Gabby and others were there to keep the conversation general and deflect any more searching questions with the assurance that James would explain. Some of the girls had known since the garden party that they were not alone in their sudden devotion to me; for others it came as an unwelcome surprise, but the internal segregation of the house ensured that none of them realised the scale of my conquests.

When ushered in to see me, most of the girls took one look in my direction and any questions they had formulated were swept away by a surge of desire. I would take the girl there and then, stripping her if she was too confused to do it herself and fucking her senseless. I had no idea, most of the time, which girl I was taking, but I knew that Wendy and Fran, methodical as ever, were keeping note of names and would be able to fill in the details later. I noticed, of course, that some were taller than others, some were fair and some dark, and I was keenly appreciative of the differences between one pair of breasts or buttocks and the next. And the sex itself varied; some girls were extraordinarily passionate and others were more passive, but afterwards all were the same: gazing glassily into space with a huge dopy smile. Each girl would then be moved to one of the twins' bedrooms to get over it. Sometimes if the girl was not too heavy and I was feeling strong I would do this by myself; otherwise I had plenty of assistance to call on. I would then return to the main bedroom for refreshments and to await the next customer.

When girls recovered sufficiently to stagger unaided, Connie and the twins, who were responsible for after-care, would get them showered and lead them downstairs. Here they would recuperate further, chat to other girls about how much they adored me and how wonderful the sex had been, and generally unwind. In fact, any stranger wandering in (not that that was likely, or so I thought then) would have marked nothing but a perfectly normal house-party unusual only in that all the guests were beautiful young women and they were all butt naked.

It was production-line sex of which Henry Ford would have been proud, I admit, but it had to be. There was no other way I was going to get through them all.