XLIV
"A birthday to remember"
The rest of the day was spent as idyllically as I could have hoped. I wandered about the house and grounds, watching Gina's fucking class, or looking at the girls watching the porn (I felt little need to watch the actual porn films themselves, my life having turned into one), or simply enjoying the topsy-turvy world in which you first of all fuck a girl to unimagined levels of ecstasy and only later do you chat her up. Still something of a slave to societal norms myself, I felt a little guilty that there were still so many girls I could not positively put a name to. For instance, it troubled me that when Laura had referred to "Penny" I had had no idea whom she was talking about, so I made a point of seeking the girl out. As the day wore on I filled in as many gaps as I could and every so often I would take girls upstairs in twos and threes for fucking.
I allowed myself the occasional indulgence (it was my birthday after all). For instance, at one point I had a sudden bright thought and called for four much-favoured girls: Fran, Ursula, Connie, Kylie. I hustled them upstairs and took them in rapid succession, in the order named.
It was Connie that spotted it. She, Fran, Kylie and I were chatting and getting our breath back (Ursula, with less experience, was still entranced) when Connie suddenly gave me a cheery slap. "James, you crafty rascal!"
I pretended to be innocent. "What's up?"
"I was wondering why us four," said Connie. "I get it now."
Fran and Kylie looked puzzled and I merely smiled.
"F," explained Connie, pointing at Fran, "U," the recumbent Ursula, "C, K," herself and Kylie.
Kylie sniggered. Fran looked reproachful at having been used so frivolously (but still pleased at having been used at all): "James, darling, that's awful."
"Later you can do me and Ursula again with Natalie and Tammy," suggested Connie brightly.
"Don't encourage her, darling," urged Fran. "Use Cassie or Charlotte instead."
As I strolled about the house and grounds I felt truly blessed. Time and again I found myself appreciating the individual beauty of some stunning girl that until then had merely been part of the scenery. Consider Eve, for instance, whom I had almost overlooked until now. She was one of the two girls Gina had offered up on Wednesday. I had been in a bit of a rush that day and had not expected three girls, so frankly I had got straight down to fucking without much ado. She had arrived yesterday with Gina's other girls but since she was already captured she had not received my attention. But when I saw her today, my jaw dropped.
Eve was black. But that statement hardly does her pigmentation justice; she was astonishingly dark, a far deeper colour than the usual chocolate. And there was more to it even than that; this skin of the darkest umber had a strange sheen to it. I had never seen anything quite like it before. How could a surface so dark be so reflective? If she had been a car for sale she would have been advertised for her metallic finish. She was taller than many of my girls and very pretty, with a little of Yvonne's dramatic curvature and quite a lot of Gabby's languid grace, but it was her remarkable skin coloration that secured her the honour of being taken upstairs by herself.
I also mused, as I contemplated the loveliness all around me, on Uncle Albert's "refinements". In my longer-established girls, these were already becoming evident. Breasts were fuller and buttocks rounder than I remembered from our early meetings. But there were other changes, too. Wendy, Fran and other early recruits were now completely bereft of body hair, not that this feature made them stand out particularly since it was universal among the whores and remarkably common among the well-brought-up Cambridge girls.
It was Alicia that pinned down the baffling changes in girls' legs. I had heard so many complaints from so many women about painful calves that I knew something was going on but it was only when Alicia pointed out that Fran and Connie had taken to walking as if in heels even when barefoot that I recalled Fran's unusual gait the night before. As we were discussing the subject, Wendy happened by, wearing heeled sandals and her summer frock, and I called her over. I mentioned that she had not complained about sore calves lately.
"No," she said. "I've been wearing high heels. It's a lot better."
I asked her to slip out of them and to rest her bare feet flat on the ground in a normal posture. She just about managed it, but as she took an experimental step or two she winced at the pain. "My calves feel stretched," she complained. "It's so uncomfortable." When she rose up again on the balls of her feet she looked much happier. "I can walk all right like this," she said, "even without the shoes."
"Alicia's spotted that Fran and Connie are the same," I said. "It must be hard for Connie, she's always worn trainers. Now she'll have to get heels for the office."
"It's another of Albert's refinements," said Wendy. "I hope you like high heels, darling."
I had to confess that high heels in themselves have never done much for me one way or another, but I like the gracefully sinuous walk that tends to go with them.
