In Memoriam

I redoubled my fingering efforts. Once more, I was sure nothing could come between me and what was now an all-consuming desire. Once more, I was mistaken. Fay's mastery of my body was complete. I have no idea how many times she led me to the edge only to hold me back, helped no doubt by the effect of the cream. It was indescribably delicious torture, sustaining me in a state of extreme arousal that I had only ever experienced before in the most brief bursts of intensity.

Of course, it couldn't continue indefinitely. For all that I wanted it go on, that desire was overcome by the compelling necessity for the ultimate reward. Probably the effect of the cream was wearing off. I simply couldn't take any more and I cried out for release. "Fay! Do it for me. For God's sake make me come!"

"Excellent," she responded, as though she had achieved what she had been aiming for. For the brief time that was necessary her hand and mine found an immediate harmony. My most sensitive internal nerve ends took the message and sent it in wave after wave through my entire body. It was an orgasm whose like I had never known, hardly dreamed could be possible. I heard, distantly, Fay's voice. "Now tell me: wasn't that special?" Still gulping for breath, I let her know it had been very special indeed.

"I'm sure it was. Just take your time getting over it so you can remember everything. It can't always be quite that sensational, I'm afraid, though we can always try." I smiled up at her, wanting to let her see that I would be willing whenever she was. "When you're ready," she went on, "we'll try something else."

Older and wiser though I now am, it still seems to me there wasn't much we didn't try. There was a lot of sixty-nine, licking, sucking and fingering, and there were - for me - new experiences. I was spanked across Fay's knee and I found myself urging her to be firmer; she lubricated her finger and put it into my bottom ; towards the end, she extracted a strap-on harness from the bedside drawer, buckled it on to herself and fucked me with that, though I confess it didn't do as much for me as the rest of her repertoire. However, there is no denying that I lost count of my orgasms before I fell into an exhausted sleep.

****************

The next morning at breakfast Fay said very matter-of-factly, "About last night.

It was good for you?"

"More than good."

"And for me. The question is, where do we go from here? If we go on, can you cope?"

"In what way?"

"In the office, everything will have to be normal."

"Of course."

"If we get together, it will have to be my call. And it might not be often. That's what I meant when I asked if you can cope."

"Better than nothing."

"Do you have a boy friend?"

"Yes."

"Do you have sex with him?"

"From time to time, yes." I had been with Miles, on and off, for about eighteen months. I think he took our relationship more seriously than I did. Once or twice he had mentioned marriage but I told him firmly I wasn't ready for the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, without being a dream lover he could satisfy me so we continued to share a bed most week-ends.

"That's good. You've probably deduced that I'm not a lesbian; I simply like women as much as I like men. It was one reason why I divorced David, and why I've looked ever since for short-term relationships. At Westminster, with so many people away from home for most of the week, they are easy to find. There is no need to become dependent on anyone, no matter how good they are in bed. Besides, I've discovered I like the variety. Not knowing how the next one will be. My only concession is occasionally to have a second fling with one of the better ones."

Maybe it was then that she explained the LBW code to me but I can't be certain. At that time it wasn't what was uppermost in my mind, because she went on, "What I could foresee here is something less impermanent for us. If you can accept it on my terms. If you can't, I could understand that. I just think we need to confront the question now."

I was absorbing the fact that I would be one among a number, albeit with a somewhat privileged position. Could I cope with that? It was a valid question and only I could answer it. Yet there was really only one answer. So soon after the events of the previous night, there was no way I could turn aside, confine all that ecstasy to a one-night stand. "I'd like to try," I said.

"Good." Fay picked up my hand from the table and kissed the tips of my fingers. "If it ever gets too much, just tell me."

She never broached the subject again. Returning on the train to London and back in the office, it was as though I had never known the erotic thrill of her fingers inside me, the ultimate command she had assumed of my body and its responses.

Over the following months and years, everything worked out exactly as she had outlined. Inevitably, I often knew when she was leaving the House to go to bed with her latest conquest. If it was male, and he didn't fail the LBW criteria completely, the following day I would have to make the appropriate note on the contact database. Of course, it wasn't easy. I eventually ended my relationship with Miles but found replacements from time to time when I felt the need, to put it plainly, of a good fuck.

However, what kept me going were the occasions when Fay wanted whatever it was she derived from our relationship. I never fathomed her motivation and after a while gave up trying. To be fair, our times together were more frequent than I had feared they would be. One reason was a minor coup whereby Fay persuaded the senior Civil Servant in our Department to dispense with the official chauffeur for her ministerial car, instead allowing me to act as her driver. There was a prolonged hassle over insurance but the saving of the chauffeur's salary won the day.

As a result I drove her to meetings and other official functions, took notes when required, and drove her back. It was on these return journeys that Fay would sometimes tell me to look for a conveniently secluded place to pull off the road for a while. I invariably discovered an element of premeditation on her part because she would start by guiding my hand under her skirt - where I would find she wasn't wearing knickers.

One evening, she spotted a sign to a turning ahead and suggested we gave it a try. It was a country road that soon reached a dead end on the edge of a wood. Thinking our luck was in, we set the seats back and were soon into a heavy session of fingering and licking. It was Fay, lifting her head from my lap, who saw the first face at the window. "Keep still," she said to me very quietly, "We're being watched. Does that worry you?"

I'd been into so much with Fay, I suppressed my first instinct and whispered cautious assent. Fay made me sit up, half turning me in my seat and opening my legs so the man could see. She opened the window a couple of inches. The man, who seemed to be fairly elderly, said, "Can you give us a show? There's three of us. We thought you was the regulars. They sometimes come here about this time."

Fay's response was to start fondling my pussy with one hand while she parted her own lips with the other. Clearly, the situation had aroused her. I guessed she had decided that in this place and in semi-darkness there was no risk of being recognised. Already turned on by what we had been doing, she was getting an extra charge from the presence of the onlooker. And as soon as I was aware that she was very relaxed about things, I realised it was getting to me too.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, two more men appeared to join the one who had spoken. All three had their trousers open - one had his round his ankles - and they were handling cocks in varying states of erection. "Are you wet, miss?" asked the first man. Throughout he would be the only one to speak. In response, Fay dipped three fingers into her pussy, opened the window a little wider and held out her hand for inspection. I knew, because I'd been there moments earlier, the voyeurs wouldn't be disappointed. The one with his trousers down, thrust his cock towards her. She let it rest briefly on her upturned fingers, then closed it round his cock and gave a few gentle tugs. The man gasped and a jet of cum escaped from the end of his cock, leaving a dribble down the glass.

Emboldened, a second cock was offered and received the same treatment, surviving not much longer than his predecessor.

"Can I have a turn?" It was the elderly spokesman for the trio. Fay didn't answer. Instead, she beckoned him closer while she opened her blouse and pulled her bra up above her breasts. She wound down the window and indicated what she wanted. The man obviously understood but it took some effort before he could deliver. His cock was quite long with a circumcised head, but only half erect. He began to masturbate it in a series of rapid jerks while trying to aim it through the window. Fay put her hand under her tits and thrust them upward. The man was grunting with the effort of his masturbation, but suddenly he groaned and spurted, continuing to handle himself until every last drop had been extracted. Most of it had reached its intended target and Fay was massaging it into her bosom.

"Thanks, miss. Thanks a lot," said the man. He closed his zip and the threesome melted away into the shadows.

Fay pressed the button to wind up the window and closed her blouse. "Well, that was a surprise," she said, "but I enjoyed it. Were you scared at all?"

"No, not really." Surprisingly, I hadn't been.

"I'm still a bit in the air and I wish you could finish me off, but I don't want them to think they can come back. We'd better go."

That unexpected episode apart, our really satisfying sessions were when we could escape to Fay's house in the constituency. But then came a setback we were not prepared for. The reader will probably remember the Election: the Government went into it with a healthy lead in the opinion polls and came out of it with an overall minority of fourteen in the House of Commons. Fay survived, granted with a reduced margin of victory, but everything else went: her junior Minister's post and with it all hope of the cabinet place that had seemed only a matter of time and the next reshuffle but one. And, of course, we lost the official car and my role as chauffeur. Up to a point our sexual activities seemed to benefit: fewer functions, more time, though, of course, I was still sharing Fay with others, known and unknown.

The single-mindedness which characterised virtually everything Fay did was now turned to the future. Resolved not to stand again at the next General Election, she set about planning for what lay after politics. Her reputation was fortunately undamaged by the defeat; her ability was still bankable. She already had useful contacts in the public and private sectors, and these she cultivated assiduously. How much that entailed offering favours of her own I can't say but it seems improbable that she didn't.

The need arose quite quickly. The new Government's small majority was making legislation difficult. The Prime Minister called a snap Election and won it in a landslide. Fay kept to her resolution and didn't stand. When I was wondering where this would leave me, she asked me to stay on as her PA. She was into her fifties but with no thought of retiring (from private as well as public activity). Naturally, I accepted. I hadn't married and still derived more satisfaction with Fay than with any of the men I took to bed when I felt the urge.

Predictably, Fay was as successful in her new campaign as she had been in everything she undertook. Seats on a handful of quangos and charitable organisations gave her public profile and an image of one who worked for the general good. But it was three directorships in the private sector that enabled her to sell the house in Backwater and buy a new base in Chelsea. Over the years I had retained my own London apartment and was able to disappear there when not needed by Fay.

It was almost a year before Sir Bernard loomed large on the horizon. Sir Bernard was Chairman of a group of financial companies that had a vacancy for a non-executive Director. He and Fay had met on a number of occasions when she was still in office. They both knew that what she could contribute and they both had an idea of what her qualities were worth. I was present at a few of their meetings while they circled each other in search of clinching rapport. When that point was reached, Sir Bernard said, "You drive a hard bargain. I'll tell you what we'll do. Come and spend the weekend with Betty and me, and we'll sign on the dotted line then." Fay agreed with a satisfied smile.

We were just leaving when Sir Bernard said, "And when you come next weekend - you know where we are - bring Pam with you."

Outside, I asked, "What was that about? Won't I just be in the way?"

"I doubt it. Bernard and I are, shall we say, old acquaintances. If he's invited you, it's for a reason. All I would say is, wear your sexiest undies." She wouldn't elaborate further but as soon as we were back at her house in Chelsea she led me up to bed and initiated an encounter as aggressive as anything I had experienced from her for a long while, a sure indication of how much her libido was responding to whatever was in store. Pleasantly sore when it was over, I left the bathroom to Fay and escaped to my little office. The computer showed me something I should have remembered: Sir Bernard was a B.

Fay's car was more modest than her erstwhile official limousine but it was luxurious enough and she still liked to have me drive her. Soon after seven the following Friday evening, fifty miles out into rural Hampshire I parked outside an imposing Georgian mansion. By the time we had collected our bags from the boot, Sir Bernard, casually dressed in corduroy trousers and a plaid shirt, was waiting for us at the door. "Come in," he said, waving us through. "I'll show you your rooms in case you need them, then you can grab a drink. The staff have got the week-end off."

We mounted a broad staircase, Fay leading, Sir Bernard bringing up the rear. The hand that alighted on my bottom and squeezed was no accident. Fay and I had adjoining identical guest rooms. Sir Bernard saw us in, then said, "You'll probably need fifteen minutes to freshen up, but don't take too long. I'll come and find you when your ready. I've already started warming Betty up but she's dying for you to join the fun." After he had disappeared back downstairs, Fay raised her eyebrows and said, "Well, I did warn you."

Ten minutes later, after I'd had time to do no more than take a quick pee, wash my hands and brush my hair, Sir Bernard was knocking at my door. "Ready?" he called, and without waiting for an invitation, walked in. He had shed his shirt and trousers in favour of a gown which was open at the front and didn't conceal a cock that stood out at right angles. As you can see," he said, waving it with one hand, "we're completely informal here. You call me Bernard and the wife is Betty. Fay knows the way so she's gone on ahead. Come on, I'll show you our little play den."

On the ground floor, he led the way to a door which opened to reveal a flight of carpeted stairs leading down. "Used to be part of the wine cellar until I had it partitioned off. Keep the door locked, normally, Let the staff believe it's where the most valuable wines are stored. Fortunately, it's soundproof."

The room was large. Its centre piece was a double bed. There were mirrors on two walls, chairs, a padded bench like a vaulting horse, vertical bars on one wall. A large cabinet held wine and spirits bottles. On a sideboard was a range of sex aids, prophylactics and lubricants. I took all this in gradually and peripherally because the action had already begun. A naked woman of indeterminate age was bent over the bench, her ankles tied with silk cords to the legs on one side, her wrists on the other. Long dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

This, of course was Betty. Later, when I came to know her as intimately as I knew Fay, I learned that she was fifty-three but looked ten years younger. Her body was firm with large round breasts. Her libido was strong to the point that I never discovered whether she preferred the active or passive role; she embraced both with fervour and perceptive imagination. In fact, with Betty, I even came to enjoy submitting to a firmly wielded strap-on. On this occasion, Fay, wearing only lemon-coloured bra and knickers, was kneeling behind her, parting the woman's buttocks with her hands and applying her tongue to the aperture between.

"That's Betty," said Bernard casually. "I'll introduce you properly when there's a chance. The thing is, I'd already got her started and she and Fay are always like this. Can't wait to get at each other. When she's come a couple of times, it'll quieten down." He looked me over, unabashed, taking me in from head to foot. "Very nice. I'm glad I asked Fay to bring you. Always good to have a new body. But you're somewhat overdressed, I think."

I have to admit, though it embarrasses me to recall it now, I was already caught up in the heady aura of imminent depravity: Betty's loud moanings as she was serviced by Fay's tongue; Bernard's protuberant cock, which was undeniably big and which he was stroking casually with his left hand; not to mention all the surrounding apparatus. With a boldness that I could scarcely believe, I said, "Shall I take them off, or will you?"

"Why don't you? I shall enjoy watching." He dropped into a chair and lay back, letting his gown fall open while he continued to massage the purple-headed weapon that was the object of my attention. I shed my dress and drew a nod of approval. "Perfect. Black knickers, suspenders, black stockings. Did Fay tell you to do that?"

I smiled noncommittally, hoping to suggest that sexy lingerie was my daily habit. The bra came off. It was really not much more than decoration anyway. I massaged the nipples until they stood out. This couldn't be me, I kept thinking, behaving so brazenly in front of a tycoon I had previously met on only a handful of formal occasions. Yet I was not acting provocatively just because it seemed to be what the occasion demanded, I was turned on by doing so. When Bernard beckoned me to him, I walked the few paces backwards, letting him enjoy the sight of my bottom, its curves emphasised by black silk. I felt the hand that wasn't attending to his cock trace a line down until it reached my arsehole. A finger probed. I parted my legs. Bernard searched further, found wetness. He sighed in contented anticipation but the sound was suddenly eclipsed by a long, loud moan from Betty. I looked and saw that Fay had brought her to orgasm, fingers supplementing that cunning tongue.

My expectation that I would then be introduced to Betty wasn't to be. No sooner had Fay released her partner's wrists and ankles than the two women threw themselves on to the bed. Betty dived between Fay's legs. Bernard, following my look, said, "Leave them to it. Come and sit on me. But let me take these off first."

His removal of my knickers was a masterpiece of prevarication: a small tug here, a finger inside the waistband there, each movement an excuse to explore the orifices slowly being revealed. After he had at last allowed the garment to slide to my ankles so I could kick it off, he used both hands on my waist to pull me towards him. I realised he wanted me to be able to still see Fay and Betty while he and I were coupled. Cautious of that oversized instrument, I reached between my legs to grasp the shaft and guide it into me a little at a time. When I eventually felt confident enough to subside on to it fully, I felt an extraordinary thrill seize my whole body. The reaction was as much mental as physical: a result of the total novelty for me of being fucked in this position while a few feet away two women writhed in what had become a sixty-nine of voluptuous carnality.