Guilty Pleasures (41 page)

At three, Lance found Millie, Serge and Hendricks already hashing out the strategy for the coming month.

“The Carnivore’s Delight—that’s tonight’s dinner—is done. Tomorrow we have a dinner for twelve, an old-style Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding. Major Carberbury’s Old Boy’s reunion is next, then a couple of pretty easy four- and six-seaters, then a cabinet minister is bringing in some Arab investors, then the Football Family.”

“That’s it?” Serge asked.
 

“No. There’s Margery Gustafson’s husband’s fiftieth birthday done in Mexican style, and on Thursday Russell Gordon is bringing in his latest girlfriend for a romantic dinner. He wants a violinist. And in addition to the usual schedule, we have the wedding. Sixty guests for a sit-down, plus a ball afterwards. That is the biggest challenge. All the outside services —cake, flowers, twelve-string orchestra—are already guaranteed, but the menu is quite elaborate.”
 

Serge took notes and Lance nodded.
 

Millie nibbled thoughtfully at her pen. “About the wedding, Will won’t be here that evening to back up Serge. Mr. Hendricks, I was hoping you could recommend one of your more capable men to cover for him. On Saturday, Deidre Ferguson-Barr is having her Merry Widows’ Annual Celebration, a regular bottle-blonde cocktail booze-up.”

Hendricks nodded. “For the wedding reception, Miss Deafly, I’ll talk to Roger, I think. He’s very steady and a quick study, plus he’s done some cooking courses, so he won’t be completely at a loss in the kitchen.”

“Tell him he gets a bonus; call it danger pay.”

“I resent that,” Serge said indignantly. “I’m not dangerous.”

“Serge, you stuck a fork in Will’s predecessor’s hand. He’s taking us to court.”

“He burnt my wild berry and crow bouillon. I followed the Dumas recipe exactly, and he destroyed it as it approached dark, glossy perfection. I told him it took a slow simmer. He was in a rush to go home and upped the heat. Burned! You know how long it took me to find someone to raise me a berry-fed black crow?”

“No violence, Serge. None.”

“Yeah? You’ve cleared that with d’Artagnan here? How come a sabre’s okay, and a little salad fork is evil?”

“Enough,” Millie said firmly. “So, we’re all clear? Any suggestions, Mr. Hendricks?”

“Well, Miss Deafly, at the wedding, we could invite the guests to retire into the small salon for port and biscuits, while we remove the table and set up for the ball. Half hour, tops, since I’m thinking of bringing in ten boys, plus Roger. I believe we have a budget for that?”

“Perfect, Mr. Hendricks. It’s a wonderful solution. I’ll have the small salon decorated as a Victorian parlour, set up with a few couches, and a bar with port, sherry, Madeira, and some champagne. The same to be served at the ball proper. Right, people, let’s go. Our Carnivore is on his way!”

“Quail Eggs with Parma Ham, Goat’s Cheese, Anchovies and Olives, Roast Ortolans, Lobster Carpaccio, Roast Suckling Pig and Tournedos Rossini? Good God! Plus Chocolate Cheesecake and a Cheese Platter
?
Serge, that doesn’t look like a balanced meal!” Lance gasped in horror as he read the night’s menu.

“It’s not. It’s a monstrosity; every item is a demand of the guest. Poor bastard eats barley, tofu, and soy all year. No meat, no fish, not one egg, nor a drop of milk, cream or cheese. So one night a year, he eats everything he wants. No vegetables, you’ve noticed?”

“Yes, no fruit . . . nothing?”

“Nope, and the pastry for the cheesecake has to be made with lard, not butter.”

The guest—Mr. X.—arrived at seven on the dot, and proceeded to slowly consume every scrap of animal protein on the menu. Hendricks commented on the beatific air of satisfaction he displayed over each small morsel of flesh, each crisp little songbird, the suckling pig in its crackling jacket, the layered delights of the Tournedos Rossini. Like a shipwrecked castaway, long deprived, he was savouring each tidbit in absolute ecstasy.

The serving of the cheesecake concluded the gargantuan feast, and Mr. X. staggered out, belt undone, with a replete and rotund belly straining the waistband of his fashionable pants.

Lance and Serge finished cleaning up the kitchen and the dwarf headed for the door.

“See you tomorrow, Willie. Rest up. You don’t look as if the weekend did you any good.”

“Good night, Serge.” Lance walked to the locker room. He stripped down to his shorts and headed for the showers to sluice off the smell of the food.
 

Millie stood in the doorway leading to the showers. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Shower?” Lance asked hesitantly.

“No. Everyone is gone and we’re all alone. Get naked.
Right now!
”

Lance stripped off his shorts and stood before her shivering slightly, and not looking too impressive, if truth be told.
 

She stalked around him, eyeing him critically. “I suppose I’ll have to do something about that. Stand to attention, soldier!” Her nails combed languidly through his pubic hair and grazed sharply at his balls.
 

Lance felt his breath catch and his cock rise, engorged and throbbing under her cool gaze. A long razor-sharp nail slipped down his erection, leaving a shivering sensation of danger in its wake.
 

“So, are you awake now?” Her hand fisted around him, sliding up and down, increasing the pressure and the motion as he gasped.

“Millie . . . stop, I’ll come.”

Staring him in the eyes, she slowly lifted her skirt.
 

Lance noticed breathlessly she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Come here.” Millie growled. She was turning, placing her hands on the bench, spreading her legs, presenting her round behind, looking at him over her shoulder. “Come
here
, soldier. Service me.”

Lance slid his fingers into her pink delightfully exposed cleft, and found her soaking and ready. He rubbed the tip of his penis gently against her erect clitoris, spreading her wetness over himself, sliding his dripping fingers over her lips and nipples. She was trembling in expectation as he slowly eased the tip of his cock into her, then stopped. “Want more, Millie? Come and get it.”

With a cry, she thrust back, impaling herself on him to the hilt. Pounding out her hunger with her hips, she reached down between their legs to grasp at his balls, squeezing him inside and out until he came, shuddering and mewling, clinging to her back, weak-kneed and breathless.

Slowly getting his breath back, Lance straightened and picked her up in his arms. “To the showers!” He turned on the hot water and stripped off her clothes. He put her in under the showerhead, drenching her. “Now it’s my turn . . .”

He followed her in and poured gel into his cupped hand, spreading the icy, slippery liquid over her small breasts. He teased her plump nipples to swollen eagerness, feeling her shiver with pleasure. He gently rinsed them off and followed his fingers with his mouth, his tongue, and his gently nipping teeth. “Show me how you please yourself, Millie. Touch yourself while I touch you.”

She blushed scarlet under the deluge, and gasped a denial.

“Please, babe? Show me.”

Hesitantly, she placed her fingers down between her legs, and gazed at him in confusion. Lance bent to suckle at her breasts, nibbling her shoulders, cupping her buttocks, opening her. Staring into his eyes, she caressed herself, shyly at first, then with increasing abandonment and delight. Watching for the first signs of her imminent orgasm, Lance lifted her and thrust into her with his burgeoning cock.
 

Millie was screaming, arching, wrapping slippery legs around his hips, holding on to his shoulders, pumping towards her release and his. They sank down onto the shower floor under the drenching water and the steam. Millie was clinging to him, sobbing, still impaled. Lance leaned his head back and let the water fill his bone-dry mouth.
 

Never had the pleasure been so overwhelming, so wrenching.
 

“Will, damn . . . is it supposed to be like this?”

Lance was laughing, cradling her to him. “No, love, not unless we’re working towards a heart attack.”

“My legs don’t work.”

Lance grinned. “Neither do mine. We’ll sit here and wait it out.” A dark wave of sleep broke over him and washed him away.

Later, on her bed, Millie curled around him, cupping his sleeping, sated penis in a cradling hand. She thought of her diary and her deliciously lecherous confessions and slowly eased off the bed to go write.

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

I’m becoming absolutely shameless and insatiable. I adore having sex, but I think we are overdoing it a bit.

Tonight we literally rubbed each other raw. There is a constant empty ache inside me, a hunger, and I want him. Sometimes I’m watching him as he works and all I want to do is pull out his prick and ride him to exhaustion. When I think about him too much, I feel a pulsing inside me. I went to the bathroom after the meeting and found my underpants were soaked through. I took them off. I liked the way I felt walking around like that.
 

I felt swollen, ready, as if I could just pull him into any dark corner at any time and just fuck him.
 

So I did.
 

Chapter 33

When in doubt,
ask
! Don’t be shy, or worse,
coy!

Come right out and ask her if she wants/will allow something you desperately feel like. You might be surprised by an enthusiastic response.

If, however, the answer is a negative, accept it graciously.

Don’t whine, pout, sulk, or say that your ex did it.

She might just tell you to go fuck your ex.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

A very weary Lance yawned his way through the morning rounds, trailing behind a bouncy, energetic Millie as she chatted, bubbled and flirted her way through her suppliers at the market, including the libidinous florist, Tim.
 

As she asked after the progress on her special order for the wedding flowers, Lance inched closer, slipping a possessive caressing hand slowly down her back to briefly cup one luscious buttock. Tim rewarded him with a vicious glare, his teeth audibly grinding together. Their eyes met over Millie’s oblivious head. The other man’s eyes burned with angry chagrin, and Lance allowed himself the pleasure of a slow, triumphant smile.