Tuition Ch. 04.5

But at the same time I couldn't help thinking that if there really were an informant talking to the press, then Barton was the perfect candidate for the role.

Barton took in the growing throng in the ballroom and observed, "The new girl's getting an easy night Sir?" nodding in her direction. "Leaving the French tart to do all the work?"

His comment brought the subject of Miss Soren to the front of my mind. In truth it had never been far from it. Despite myself I glanced to the alcove at the other end of the room, to where portraits of my family hung, and a cluster of people surrounded a table

Then, glancing sideways I noticed Alice was currently sitting down on the job. Or to be more precise she was sitting down on the cock of a High Court judge and bouncing up and down on it with every evidence of enjoyment, occasionally squealing "il est si grand".

"Do you think so Barton? They each have their roles to perform -- as I have instructed them.

Barton immediately backtracked. "Of course Sir, you know best, of course." Then he paused and I could almost hear the cogs whirring as he added more whisky to my glass.

"Good stuff that Laphroaig, Sir. Your father's favourite, God rest his soul. Sort of a family tradition as it were, Sir."

I wondered where he was going with this. "Yes it is Barton. And if I find you drinking it I'll have your scrotum for a tobacco pouch."

He flapped his hands and snorted, "Not me Sir, too strong for my tastes. A blend does me when I want a whisky........which isn't often of course Sir." He rushed to add.

I nearly choked on my drink.

"No, I understand it is a tradition that is dear to your heart. I know how important traditions are to you Sir. I know you don't like changes to the way things are done around here."

The pleading, whining tone in his voice had increased beyond the usual irritating volume and, puzzled at the reason for this, I turned my full attention to him and asked,

"What are you on about man?"

He almost recoiled from me, but gathered himself to explain, "It's about.....about my summer.....bonus Sir."

Now all became clear and I almost gasped. Barton's 'bonus' was that I allowed him the pick of the summer staff for one night. I didn't think of it as a tradition, just a perk for doing a good job picking the girls. There was also an element of pity in my decision. I figured that with Barton's appearance and personal hygiene he didn't get much unless he paid for it - or the girl had no choice.

With a great effort I kept my face blank as I asked. "And if I gave you your bonus this year Barton, whom would you choose?"

His desperate glance towards the table in the portrait alcove tells me what I already knew.

"Not Alice, Barton?" I ask. We both glance towards the French girl, who is now being fucked from behind by the judge whilst as the same time lapping between the thighs of the Headmistress from the local girl's school.

I saw the desperate need in his eyes as he shook his head. I can understand his desire, but at the same time the idea of what he wants disgusts me. Barton and Kat? Impossible! But it was something I had allowed before, so how could refuse him now? Because I felt differently about this girl? Because I was getting 'soft'?

"I understand what you are saying Barton." I told him. I could see he wanted more from me but I turned away before he began to beg.

Leaving him to stew I finally made my way to place that I have been drawn to all night -- like iron filings to a magnet. Staying away this long has taken a strong effort of will. But the attraction of Kat had finally pulled me into her orbit. Several other satellites are also circling. I saw Adam (but not Wren), a recently retired cabinet minister, a famous soap-opera actor (in casual clothes I noticed, a friend of Adam's) and several other guests admiring the tableau.

Kat was spread on white damask cloth, lying on her back, her knees bent but her feet resting on the table. In a strange way it looked like some kind of yoga position. She was lying back, straps around her wrists, and another set curling around her thighs above her knees, leaving the flogger obscenely protruding. I noticed that her previously rather overgrown pubic hair had been shaved smooth and wondered if Barton or Mary had made her comply with my preferences. It made the sight even more erotic as far as I was concerned. There were candelabra holding large candles of various sizes cast a soft, sensual light over the scene. Something about the setting made the girl look like she was an altar -- but was she a sacrifice or the host? On another small table nearby were various bits of equipment from my 'playroom', just in case the use of them should take my guest's fancy.

She looked good enough to eat by herself, but now she served as a table. Various delicacies adorned her body and the clustering guests picked at the dainties, occasionally dipping them into the chili sauce pooled in her navel. All the while they took liberties with her helpless body. Stroking, tweaking, fondling. With a lace blindfold around her eyes she couldn't tell who was touching her and she flinched slightly with each caress.

I knew that she couldn't see me, that she hadn't heard me, but as I moved round her bound body I could have sworn she turned her head towards me, her blindfolded eyes following me. At the foot of the table I could see my whip was still protruding from her arse, its strands dangling like an obscene tail.

If anyone had thought Kat was in distress or unwilling, from my position they would have been reassured. The proof of her excitement was all too evident, wetness, slick and shining in the candlelight on her thighs and her brutally exposed pussy.

I grasped the handle of the whip and twisted it gently, forcing the end deeper into her. On the table Kat writhed in her bonds and moaned.

Those watching took this as a sign to increase the depravity of their usage of the girl. One elderly woman smeared chocolate sauce on Kat's bullet hard nipples before licking it off. Others dipped crudités into her wet pussy and ate them with relish -- cunt relish. One trailed a blanched asparagus spear across her skin, raising goose-bumps. My maid mewled and sighed at each unseen assault

I watched the actor step away from Adam's side and move between Kat's legs. On the way he took a bunch of grapes and a bowl from a table and began to pluck them, one by one. Then he knelt down and began pushing the grapes delicately into Kat's pussy.

From between her wide stretched thighs I heard the soap star order. "Don't let any drop out young lady." And I watched fascinated as they disappeared, hearing someone counting as each one went in.

As the count reached '30' Kris, the actor, paused and licked his finger clean with obvious delight. Then he said.

"I don't think she can accommodate anymore, not without crushing them."

Kris stood and dipped his finger in the hot sauce in Kat's navel and smeared it liberally on her clitoris. I think we all held our breath for a few seconds until the chilli began to burn. Kat's writhing increased and her moans became cries. The distraction of the pain caused her to lose control and concentration and the inevitable happened. Kris, with perfect timing, used the bowl to catch the grapes, fishing out the last few from Kat's pussy with a crooked finger.

He acknowledged a round of amused applause as he passed around the bowl so the audience could taste the result. He even popped one cunt slick grape into Kat's mouth, which she accepted blindly, gratefully.

The Headmistress, Daphne, accepted a grape and rolled the fruit around in her mouth.

"Doesn't she taste delicious?" She declared. "I want to try that sauce direct from the ...um.........source."

Daphne looked nothing like your archetypal lesbian. She was petite and slim, clad in a tightly tailored, blue trouser suit. Perhaps only her severely bobbed grey/blonde hair was a clue to her orientation. But I knew from previous parties that she was a master of cunnilingius (or a mistress) and was proud of her abilities.

She took a cushion from a chair and dropped it on the floor between Kat's legs. Before she knelt down she announced to her helpless target, "I'm going to eat you out till you come like never before."

My brain swirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. This was the first time that anyone apart from me was going to have their fun with Kat - and I couldn't really quash strange feelings of jealousy. But my guests expected that the maids were available to use. Besides, Daphne wasn't going to fuck her. When someone with a cock wanted to use Kat I was going to have a whole other set of issues to deal with.

But at the same time I found the prospect fascinating. Kat might have played with Alice briefly the night before, but this was the first time she was going to get her pussy eaten by woman. Then I stopped my thoughts. As far as I knew this might the first time she'd ever had her pussy eaten.

Whatever the case, as soon as Daphne's talented tongue got to work, it became obvious that Kat loved having her pussy licked. The Headmistress gently lapped at the wet folds of my maid's cunt and slowly started working her way towards her clit. Almost instantly Kat was sighing and moaning, moving as much as the leather straps would allow, trying to manoeuvre the teasing tongue to where she wanted it, where see needed it.

I'd seen Daphne torture girls with her tongue at previous parties, dragging it out, delaying, stopping, until the recipient was begging, literally screaming to be allowed to orgasm. But on this occasion she was not so cruel. She seemed to be hell-bent on making Kat cum as quickly and as hard as possible, almost immediately she started to concentrate on the hard, wet nub at the top of Kat's pink folds. Instantly the girl's breathing became more rapid; her constrained movements more urgent. It was obvious that an orgasm was only moments away.

Then Kat moaned again, but this time it was a moan of disappointment and I could see her mouth twisted with frustration. Daphne, evidently thinking she was being too rough, slowed down - and Kat began to sigh and moan again. But a cycle had begun which would be repeated. Kat wanted to cum, Daphne wanted to make her cum; but it just wasn't happening. The teacher would obviously bring the girl to the brink on orgasm, the plateau before the peak; only for her to seemingly slide back down again. It was obviously exceedingly frustrating for the both of them.

After about ten minutes Daphne stood up, accepting defeat. The lower half of her face glistened in Kat's juices and she grabbed a napkin from a table to wipe off the evidence of the maid's excitement. She looked at me and it seemed she was going to say something to me.

Instead she shrugged and muttered, "I'm thirsty." And went off in search of a drink.

Prompted by her words I looked around for Alice. She came to my side promptly and I couldn't help but smile at the state she was in. Dried cum was stuck to her breasts, which were hanging out of her uniform. I guessed that she had given up trying to put them away. There was fresher sperm soaking her hair and her make up was smeared.

"Have you been looking after my guests Alice?"

She bobbed a tiny curtsey and nodded her head. "Oui Master."

"Tell me how" I asked. I saw the blank look on her face and prompted her. "What have they required you to do?"

She blushed slightly and dropped her eyes. "Some of your guests have wanted me to suck their cocks Sir" Then she added, with a slight moue of distaste, "Most of them wanted me to swallow their.......sperme? Their....cum?" She glanced at me briefly to check I understood.

I nodded. "How many?"

"I think four or five Sir"

"What else has been required of you Alice?"

"Of course most have wanted to fuck me." She looked a little proud as she announced this.

"Of course." I agreed. "How many - and where did they fuck you?"

She looked a little puzzled at my questions but I wasn't going to explain that the details excited me.

"A few fucked my....my....cunt", she stumbled over the unfamiliar English obscenity. "Maybe five did that. But most of them wanted to buggor me". Her accent made the word sound outrageously obscene. "My cul is so sore. I think maybe seven men have fucked my little hole." Then she looked puzzled and asked, "What is it with British men? All the they want is buggory. Don't their wives give up their asses to keep them happy?" she asked, as if it were perfectly natural to her.

I laughed, "I doubt their wives are good little anal whore like you Alice." And she smiled at this twisted compliment, not detecting my ironic inflection. "Turn around, bend over and show me." I ordered.

She obeyed without complaint, lifting her skirt and spreading herself wide for my inspection. Her arse and cunt both looked well used. Her anus gaped and it was pretty obvious that everyone who had fucked her had cum in her. Sperm trickled from both her holes, flowing down her inner thighs and soaking her stocking tops. As I watched a fat blob ran from her arse and splashed on the floor.

She looked back at me over her shoulder and shyly asked. "Did you call me over to make use of me Sir? Perhaps you wished to fuck my ass as well?" I could see a tinge of fear in her eyes -- but also desire. The sight of her in front of me was so obscene and horny that I was sorely tempted, my cock started to harden. I nearly forgot that in fact I had asked her to attend me so that I could order a drink.

Just before I made a decision I felt a tap on my shoulder. I glanced around to see the Right Honourable Quentin Leaf. But he wasn't seeing me; he had eyes only for Alice.

"Would you mind if I had a ride old boy?" he asked, voice hoarse with lust.

I smiled to hide my annoyance at his interruption. "Not at all..........old boy. Be my guest, quite literally."

Without even a word of thanks or any other preliminary, he unzipped his trousers and shoved an impressively sized cock into Alice's receptive arse. With the lack of subtlety that marked his years as a cabinet minister he grabbed her hips and pulled her back on to his complete length. Alice remained bent forward, hands on her knees and grunted with each of his thrusts.

I left them to it, feeling pleased that Alice's attitude seemed to have improved, to get the drink for myself.

When I returned to Kat's table more people were gathered but there seemed to be a pause in the activity. I noticed Mary beside the Ambassador, an old friend in every sense. I also noticed that as he pinched and tweaked Kat's nipples, Mary was gently stroking his veiny cock into an impressive erection.

Pausing at the head of the table I looked up at the portraits. My ancestors, from many generations, looked down on the scene and I couldn't help wondering what they would think if they could actually see it. From what I knew of my family history I was positive that most of them would have been disappointed not to be attending. Especially old great, great (something) grandfather Joshua, who'd reputedly been an original member of the Hellfire Club. But most especially, of all of them, my father would have been devastated not to be here, throwing himself wholeheartedly into the centre of the debauchery. I glanced at his painting -- he would have loved this.

Then I glanced at the picture besides his. "You hated all this didn't you..........Mother?"

The painting showed a short, plump, blonde woman. Despite the best efforts of the famous painter responsible, he hadn't made her look beautiful. Nor could he entirely conceal the air of mild disdain that was my mother's default expression. Her family's money had been welcome, crucial even, when my parent's married -- but it had not been a basis for a happy match.

Breaking out my reverie I bent forward and lifted Kat's head with one hand, tipping the glass of water to her lips with the other. She drank deeply and gratefully, then smiled up at me. Again she couldn't see that it was me, couldn't know it was me, but something about that smile made me believe that she did.

Then a familiar voice broke my train of thought.

"Awwwww, what a touching scene?"

I looked up to see my sister, Bailey La Motte. As always, when I saw her, I was struck by how much she looked like me. If people met us together for the first time they almost always assumed we were twins. Like me she was tall, slim, dark, almost black, hair and green eyes. Now these eyes were full of mischief; cruel mischief.

She stood flanked by Wren and her uninvited guest, gloved fists on her hips, sporting thigh high boots and short leather skirt. Under a cropped jacket (also leather) she wore a silk blouse with a ruffled front -- every bit of her clothing was black.

"Hello Bailey." I said, keeping my voice flat. 'Your usual understated arrival I see.' And then, even though I knew she only ever wore designer clothes, I couldn't resist adding,

"How many vinyls died to make that outfit?"

She sneered back at me; head cocked aggressively forward and to one side, green eyes flashing.

"And I am pleased to see you too Bast-i-on." She said, her voice continuing to drip sarcasm. Then she glanced down at the table as I lowered Kat's head.

"Is this your new toy bro? The one Wren's been telling me all about?"

I looked at my cousin, furious. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. But Bailey had always been able to wrap him round her finger.

"Of course you always let your guests play with your toys at party time, don't you B?" my sister purred as she moved closer and ran her fingernail across Kat's breast.

"I am sooooo looking forward to playing with this one." Then she looked at me directly and the cruelest, coldest smile slid across her lips.

"Can I Bastion? Can I pleeeeassse play with your toy?" she asked, in voice mimicking a child begging for a treat.

Her tone of voice reminded me of our childhood. And of the fact that any time she had borrowed a toy of mine, she always broke it.

I tried to gather my thoughts and think of some reason to deny my sister her demand, however she might pretend to made it sound like a request.

At that point Mary left of her ministrations of the Ambassador, and approached our tense standoff.

"Good evening Miss La Motte. How delightful to see you." She said, with what seemed to be genuine sincerity. "Could I get a drink for you and your......guest?"

I knew she was only trying to perform her duties as hostess, to ease the tension that perhaps only she had detected; I also knew that she was wasting her time. The antipathy between these two was deep-seated and long lasting.

Bailey turned to face Mary and, had she been a cat, her fur would have been up and she would have been hissing and spitting.

"Ah, the dowager chatelaine, ever ready to serve -- and to insult." She snarled. "The correct way to address me is 'Lady Bailey', as you should very well know. So I can't say that I am delighted to see you....Mary. I thought you might have been pensioned off by now."

I saw the effort it took Mary not to bridle at these insults, she merely shrugged. But her eyes narrowed and her shoulders straightened as she prepared for a battle. Knowing Mary I was sure it would be a polite fight and wondered if Bailey knew what she was starting, or re-starting.

Mary made an almost convincing effort to smile and continued her attempts to placate.

"I am grateful that Bastian continues to find me useful....Lady Bailey. Perhaps, if you don't want a drink, your guest might care for refreshment?"

Bailey glanced up at the man she had arrived with. He was tall and slim, of Middle Eastern appearance. He was also handsome, bordering on beautiful. The smile on his face showed that he had not read the currents of tension swirling around him. But it did seem to indicate that a drink seemed pretty good idea to him.