The Pink Orchid Ch. 03

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Loraine seduces Jessica as Dick watches.
5.2k words
4.19
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Part 3 of the 3 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 10/22/2011
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Glasshouse Gasses

Mrs. Larindale's party was the big event in Liverpool's social calendar that month. Her family wealth could be tracked back over three hundred years to when Liverpool was one of the busiest shipping ports in the world, her ancestors had risen to notoriety and fortune on the backs of thousands of African slaves, a family history that she obviously kept as quite as she could but was known widely amongst the other old families of the city, many of whom were here tonight. Loraine had lost her parents to cancer when she was still a young woman in her twenties and had managed the family's estate ever since. She was briefly married to the father of her son until a heart attack at the young age of thirty eight had taken him from her also.

Her guests were mostly gathered in the main reception room which had been emptied of furniture and had had its elaborate rugs rolled up to reveal beautiful old varnished wooden floorboards. A five-piece set of modern art tapestries hung on the wall, consisting of a sequence of vertical panels that may have been trying to portray what a bumble bee would see from inside a red rose. Heavy dark curtains hung from ceiling to floor across three large bay windows that would look out onto the gardens during the daytime. A small crowd had gathered around an enthusiastically burning fire set in an enormous black marble fireplace that dominated one wall; preening women checked their makeup and hair in the arched mirror that hung above the mantelpiece. In one lonely corner a DJ had set up camp and was quietly filling the room with some gentle jazz as two sets of traffic lights flashed impotently from red to amber to green either side of his spinning decks.

Mrs. Larindale, Jessica and Dick, were stood close to the open double doors leading into the disco room. Mrs. Larindale was meeting and greeting her guests as they arrived. Dick knew many of the faces, but not so many names. Jessica knew only Dick and Mrs. Larindale, who had been terribly attentive to her and introduced her to many exotic looking people. Everybody was dressed to impress. It was the most sophisticated party Jessica had ever been to and she was excited just to be there.

Dick made quite a good facsimile of Sherlock Holmes, in an all tweed suit with a matching deer stalker hat and ridiculously oversized smoking pipe. Jessica, at Dick's request and not to Mrs. Larindale's annoyance, was quite the sauciest Dr Watson either of them had ever seen.

Jessica's hair was pulled back into a neat and formal looking bun at the back of her head, showcasing her white, slender neck; a frosting of freckles danced down from her hair line towards her shoulder. A stethoscope's contoured metal arms framed her delicate neck; its black, rubber trunk resting across her bosom and the mirrored chest-piece nestled enviously between her breasts. Her white doctor's jacket was generously unbuttoned at the neck and gathered into her waist by a wide, black belt; her thighs and bottom flourishing outwards from its constrictive grip. Black, high heeled shoes, and slender stocking clad legs, rocketed up from the floor to disappear mid-thigh beneath the starch white of her jacket. Exactly what Jessica was wearing under the jacket was a thought that was passing through nearly every man that saw her.

Dick already knew just how good Jessica looked, and felt, under that jacket, having already downed a swift pint, poured from her love bar, at the office before they left for the party. The outfit had a practical purpose, more than just fulfilling his fantasy, and Jessica was looking forward to carrying out his instructions.

Mrs. Larindale's lithe body was exhibited in a full length opened-backed, black sequined gown which created the illusion that liquid oil had been persuaded to cling to her without flowing downwards to the floor. Her breasts moved freely under the dress without a bra to restrain or distort their natural shape, her small nipples distorting its shimmering surface and acting as tabooed focal points for the careless eye. Her long deep auburn hair had been neatly tied into a complicated French braid that hung down almost to the middle of her contoured and delicate back.

It was nine o'clock and, dramatically, an argument broke out between three of the guests. Two men and a woman were shouting at each other, the woman speaking in a thick, French accent. A hush fell over the room and a space appeared around the threesome; everybody watched eagerly as the first of the evenings, Murder Mystery scenes, was enacted.

The larger man, Mr. Tackle, addressed the woman as Ms Bouché, announcing that she had seduced him, in order to steal his rare and very valuable Chia Lin Pau hybrid pink orchid and sell it to Mr. Block. Ms Bouché denied the accusation, saying that she was in love with Mr. Tackle and wouldn't know an orchid from a rose.

"I have never seen this woman before in my life," bellowed Mr. Block at Mr. Tackle. Mr. Block then turned to Ms Bouché and said, "I suggest you leave the emotionally stressed, and delusional Mr. Tackle to calm down and escort me outside to the terrace for some cool air and a cocktail, before he insults me again and I am forced to swing for him."

At which point, mincing into the clearing stepped a small Spanish looking man; dressed in red suede and ribbon piped kitten heel shoes, black leggings, a mauve tank top exposing skinny hairy arms and several different hand bags all hanging off one shoulder.

"Yes?" bellowed Mr. Block. "What the fuck do you want?"

With one hand on his hip and the other pointing at Ms Bouché, the small man said, "Well, Ducky, if you're going to shout, I won't feel obliged to tell you what I know about Sally!"

"Sally? Who the fuck is Sally?" Mr. Tackle asked, infuriated at being called Ducky by this legging wearing, eight stone weakling.

"Sally is that woman there," said the little Spanish man, and again pointed at Ms Bouché. "Sally Duckett, the woman you are being so beastly to."

"Her name," said Mr. Block, "is Yvonne Bouché and she is from Paris, you pathetic little man."

Dick guided Jessica over to where Mrs. Larindale now stood, tapped her on the shoulder and whispered to her, asking if she could look after Jessica for a short while. Dick then indicated to Jessica that she should stay with Mrs. Larindale and wandered off to the other side of the hall, where he discreetly left the room and headed for the front door.

Mrs. Larindale smiled at Jessica and linked arms with her. Jessica appreciated this; she suddenly felt rather alone and out of her depth as Dick strode out of sight. The two women stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched the actors develop their plot.

The small, mincing man, had just explained that Yvonne Bouché was, in fact, Sally Duckett and had been working in his florist shop for the past year. Sally, or Yvonne, was denying this, but her accent was starting to slip.

Outside Dick headed into the garden and down to a glasshouse he had seen as they had driven up the long gravel drive earlier that evening. It was a wet and windy night, and he needed some shelter. The glasshouse was a large, Victorian structure with wooden shelves running around the sides at waist height and a central bench for working on. It was strewn with terracotta seeding pots, split bags of compost, trowels and water trays and potted plants of various varieties. There were wooden handles that turned cast iron worm drives which could open window panes in the roof for temperature control; all very old world and decadent; a functioning environment that serviced the house's extensive gardens.

Once in the warm and humid atmosphere of the glasshouse, Dick tapped out the remnants of tobacco ash, from his pipe. He then put in a fresh bed of tobacco and reached in his pocket for a small tin. Opening the tin with care, Dick tapped out crumbled grains of Hashish, and spread them evenly over the bed of tobacco. "Hmm," he sighed, anticipating the sudden hit this large dose of hash, once lit and inhaled, would deliver to his brain.

He spread his weight evenly between his feet and leaned back on the wall, forming a tripod. This position offered good stability and would need very little mental effort to sustain whilst he enjoyed the effects of his smoke. Two, small puffs on the pipe was all it took until the whole area of hashish glowed red within the pipe bowl, followed by a third, long, slow suck on the pipe. Dick inhaled a lung full, of almost neat hashish and, once locked inside his chest, this cloud was now delivering its considerable, psychotropic pay load into his blood stream.

The sensation of the drug spread out like a bomb blast from his brain. Drool started to seep from his lower lip as he exhaled slowly, his eyes closed and his mind expanded. Dick could feel a deep, pulsing resonating from within his body and he let this rhythmic beating seduce him. Not a single thought formed in his mind. Nothingness enveloped him.

"Flight control to Captain Dick,

Your spacesuit's tweed and your pipe is lit."

Dick's subconscious was as bad as Dick when it came to remembering lyrics.

A short time later, Dick recovered from the initial shock wave, and he became aware of his body again. The noise of the rain droplets pounding on the glass roof had intensified. Dick noticed it had become possible to hear the impact of each individual droplet explode against the glass, and then, he focused in on the length of time between that rain droplet and the sound of the next. That gap seemed to have a tangible substance and, if he tried, he could feel himself being drawn into the quietness in between the impacting rain drops.

Dick, realized he was losing himself into the abyss, and shifted his awareness. He had jumped down that white rabbit hole once before and remembered the consequences; 'Dick in Wonderland' had been a psychotically painful chapter in his life; a drug fuelled, chaotic and emotionally created landscape, driven by the wild conjuring of his imagination where the dreaming world had become as real as the waking world; where the soap opera of his life continued uninterrupted whether he was asleep or awake.

Dick had explored both and felt trapped by the laws and rules that restrained him in each. Eventually, sat high up on a cannabis wall, the waking world on one side and the dreaming world on the other, Dick had jumped and fallen a long way; all the king's horses and all the king's men had then made a very reasonable and incredibly time consuming effort of putting him back together again. Dick shivered to his core remembering the time and knew he didn't want to explore that rabbit hole again.

He focused back inside the glasshouse, listening to the full symphony of subtly different sounds that were surrounding him; the rain pouring into the water butts outside the glasshouse, the wind in the leaves of the trees above him and the soft dripping of the glasshouse's irrigation systems.

The humidity of the warm, sticky air and the smell of the soil and plants became overwhelming. A union formed with his surroundings, and this oneness mollified him. He stood there motionless, blinking occasionally; enjoying the intimate connection he had made with the external world.

Unconsciously, he had stopped breathing, whilst the wave of intoxication engulfed him. Now a small finger of doubt tainted his mellow reverie. Slowly, he recognized that this pang of unease was his brain, asking for more oxygen and he inhaled deeply.

"Hmm," he sighed, re-asserting himself back into reality.

"Aark!" He coughed loudly, trying to jolt his consciousness back into his body.

"Hmmm," he sighed again, now feeling comfortable and acknowledging his appreciation of the experience.

Bloody hell, it has been a while since I had a hit like that, he thought. Right, what is going on here? Ah, yes, the party; Jessica and Larindale. I wonder how those two honeys are getting along.

He had high hopes that he might somehow persuade Jessica and Mrs. Larindale into having a threesome with him, but there was the murder to solve first and that really depended on Jessica extracting the information from one of the actors before the end of the night, and for him not to get too trashed, to remember what it was he was doing there. A very real possibility if the party started to rock, as he hoped it might.

Wet Pussy from the Good Lord

Back inside, the actors had finished their first flurry of accusations, scene setting, and character developments. Guests were returning to their socializing and the DJ was playing the first painful disco disasters, trying to tempt someone onto the dance floor.

Jessica and Mrs. Larindale were, in fact, getting along like gin and tonic. After being introduced to a dazzling array of masked guests, Jessica was thinking that this was just the best party she had ever been to. There was a sexual element to Jessica's excitement, she wasn't sure why but she was quite turned on. Her Champagne glass was getting close to the half way mark when for the third time that night it was re-filled, by a rather dashing and well built, curly blonde haired waiter with the most striking blue eyes, who smiled calmly at her as he poured her drink.

Mrs. Larindale was positively beaming as she showed off her stunning new friend to the social elite of Liverpool. Jessica was enjoying the possessive grip of Mrs. Larindale as she guided her around from bar to social group and back past the buffet.

Jessica's waist was slender and supple under her Doctor's jacket, her bottom swinging like a peach pendulum below the black waistband as she walked. Mrs. Larindale was acutely aware of the movement of Jessica's young hips as she draped her arm around Jessica's waist, escorting her through the crowded room.

Jessica thought that Mrs. Larindale's touch was slightly more than just guidance and her suspicions were confirmed when Mrs. Larindale's hand slipped down from Jessica's waist and explored her hip, following the line of Jessica's suspender belt. Jessica tensed nervously as Mrs. Larindale ran her fingers over the groove between her buttocks. Jessica shifted her weight slightly until her hips made contact with Mrs. Larindale. A short look between the two women and a smile established their bond, Jessica relaxing now under Mrs. Larindale's caress.

They were standing facing the crowd; a small group of women were braving the vacuum on the dance floor. Jessica had boldly put her arm around Mrs. Larindale's waist, whilst Mrs. Larindale's hand was sending shivers up and down Jessica's spine as she traced Jessica's contours with her finger nails. With the Champagne and music washing over her and Mrs. Larindale's hand producing waves of exciting new sexual possibilities, Jessica had completely forgotten about Dick Larson, who was still in the glasshouse, happily rolling a few heavily laden, grassy joints to pass around the party.

Mrs. Larindale took Jessica's hand, and guiding her discreetly towards the back of the room, slipped them both behind the heavy curtains that hung in front of one of the bay windows. The two women turned to face each other in the shadowy recess. Rain pattered noisily against the glass, forming thousands of tiny black snakes, slowly winding themselves down the panes.

Jessica was trembling with excitement; she had kissed a girl before back in sixth form, just to make the boys excited, but had never seriously been with woman, although she was ready for the experience and felt comfortable in the obviously practiced hands of Mrs. Larindale.

"You are shaking, my dear," cooed Mrs. Larindale.

Jessica stared back in silence, wondering what to do.

Mrs. Larindale stepped closer and leaned forward until their breasts met and molded together. Mrs. Larindale slowly reached around behind Jessica's neck and undid the clasp that held her hair up in its tight neat bun. Shaking her curls loose, Jessica felt the tension disappear from her scalp as her hair bounced freely onto her shoulders.

Mrs. Larindale looked at her for a moment and then, tilting her head slightly to one side, lent in towards Jessica's face. Jessica's heart was racing; her lips found their counterparts, full and swollen, moist with lipstick. Mrs. Larindale's kiss was warm and soft, her mouth open; her lips gentle in their welcome. Their tongues touched, and shivers of excitement were sent racing down Jessica's spine.

Mrs. Larindale murmured as she kissed and pulled Jessica's head in tighter with her hand cupping the back of her neck, her fingers spread out like a comb in Jessica's hair. Jessica ran her hands down the open back of Mrs. Larindale dress, loving the feeling of her smooth, soft, female skin, and the slender, delicate curves. The sensation of touching a woman's body was radically different to that of the male lovers Jessica had experienced.

She stopped as her hands reached waist level, realizing again, that this was a woman she was with and how different this body felt. Was she really going to do this? Jessica didn't hesitate for long and continued, spreading her hands out and around to rest on Mrs. Larindale's hips.

Mrs. Larindale kissed her deeply, re-assuring Jessica of her caring intentions. She believed that this was Jessica's first time with another woman and desperately didn't want to scare her away. Mrs. Larindale's breasts rubbed across Jessica's erect nipples as they protruded through her Doctor's jacket. Jessica's knee rose slightly, and Mrs. Larindale's legs parted slowly, letting Jessica's stocking-clad limb slide smoothly between her own sheer stocking-covered thighs. Mrs. Larindale's hand caressed Jessica's buttocks. The pair of them were lost in a rush of excitement and exploration.

Mrs. Larindale was kissing Jessica's neck, running her fingers through her hair and then letting them slide down her back to her bottom. Again she traced Jessica's suspender belt under her doctor's uniform, to the hem of the jacket. Her fingers curled under the starchy white hem, her thumb catching hold of the material as stroked her hand upwards, dragging the jacket up above the stocking to Jessica's bare thigh.

Jessica let out a sigh and buried her head into Mrs. Larindale's neck, biting gently at the nape as Mrs. Larindale's fingers inched round, claiming her naked buttock for their reward. There were no panties to challenge the advance of the adventuring fingers.

Feeling the hollow just above Jessica's bottom, Mrs. Larindale's palm stroked across the small of her back, around her waist to her young tummy as far as her reach would allow; then she stroked her lover back the other way, deliberately caressing Jessica just inches above her pubic area.

When her hand returned to the small of Jessica's back, she let it slide down across her bottom, but this time with the finger tips running down between Jessica's peachy mounds. Jessica whimpered and hung her head onto Mrs. Larindale's shoulder as the fingers stroked the back of her pussy. Her legs were shaking; she couldn't remember when she had been this turned on. Mrs. Larindale's touch was subtle and delicate and made her sex ache to be found.

Fat, lazy, rain drops splattered against the windows. Sounds of disco music and people laughing just a few feet away, behind the heavy drape curtains, were dangerously close. A black, wet, and empty night to one side; the bright, crowded, and vibrant atmosphere of the party to the other, but Jessica felt they were in another world, a private enclave with just the two of them in it.

But they weren't as alone as they thought. Dick had stopped on his way back to the party to drain the main vein, and was carelessly watering the rose bed when he noticed the two figures in the bay window.

"Bloody hell, will you look at that hot, lesbian action. Christ, that's horny," he said out loud to himself.

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