Doing A Carol 45
Dear Diary.
It’s 11pm and still no sign of Jerry. Where the hell is he? Then I received this text.
Ping. ‘I’m sorry. I’m stuck in traffic near Heathrow as there’s been some kind of accident. I had to take the new client out for dinner as he wanted to chat. I told him I needed to leave early but he kept me back, trying to ply me with drink, but I said I couldn’t as I was driving. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sorry.’
Ping.
Another text from him.
‘Have fun. And I’m sure Sara and Michael will look after you in the meantime. I can’t wait to see you in your costume.’
Oh well. As long as he’s here by 12am when the clock strikes or I won’t be happy. I don’t want us to argue on the first day of the year.
Never mind. Back to the party.
Regarding my costume, I have had a lot of comments (especially from the men) as no one has seen me like this before.
Sara was flittering about, although I don’t know why as she seemed to have everything under control, as usual.
I have to admit, this was the best party that Sara and Michael have thrown and I’ve been to many of them!
Everyone had outdone themselves with the costumes. There were several young ladies dressed in the classic Parisian ‘Allo Allo’ style tarts outfit, walking about with collection buckets or serving drinks and nibbles. And us ladies weren’t going to miss out either as Sara had employed a bunch of well endowed hunky men in tight black trunks with vicar dog collars around their necks, also dishing out drinks and nibbles.
I’d love to be the centre of their meaty spitroast, munching on their 8 inch nibbles and feasting on their joyous fare, but as I’m with my regular people, I have to remain sensible and not let my wanton urges take over, don’t I?
I must stay focused. I must stay focused.
Coming back down to the party venue, the marquee was decorated to look like a glamorous French garret over looking the Seine with dimly lit chandeliers, large vases of georgous pink and red plump roses, sumptuous crushed velvet sofas dotted in groups around the tent for intimate gatherings and various beds draped with an assortment of red and pink satin covers and cushions. There were also an array of shabby chic tables with sexy lacy lampshades on them, an assortment of chest of drawers and vintage themed wine crates so that we had somewhere to rest our food and drinks on.
Talking of drinks, tucked away in their garden summer house, there was a fully stocked free bar designed as a lingerie festooned armoire with stockings and basques flung about as though someone was about to get dressed for a fun night.
Although I mustn’t forget to say that sat bang in the middle of all of this heavy perfumed air of debauchery, the ubiquitous, yet naughty, mirrored dance floor, was splayed across the floor like a drunken sailor, ready to catch a cheeky glimps of where prying eyes shouldn’t be venturing.
Yes this may seem like an oxymoron with a dose of glamour mixed with a sprinkle of shabby, but Sara does like to mix things up and keep us talking about her legendary parties.
Having grabbed my Bloody Mary drink from the bar, I felt a hand slid across my bottom. It was Michael’s.
‘Long time, no see sexy,’ he said as he kissed me on the cheek.
‘Yes, it has been a while,’ I replied, seductively sipping my drink through the straw.
‘Sorry its been a while. I’ve been rather busy,’ he winked.
I bet you have!
‘You look lovely. Very naughty. Doesn’t she lads?’ The bar tenders nodded in agreement. Well, they couldn’t say no, could they?
‘Thank you,’ I smiled as Michael pulled me aside to a darkened part of the garden. ‘So what have you been up to for not being able to see me?’ I pouted.
‘Well, you know I’ve been away with Sara for a few weeks.’
‘Excuses, excuses. But at least you could have text me. It’s been ages since we’ve got together.’ I placed my hand on his chest and circled each button, heading downwards over his black gown as he was dressed as a vicar.
Micheal looked around the darkness to see if anyone was looking. They weren’t.
Was he simply being careful of who was about or was he showing signs of a shifty, almighty adultery man, on the prowl for pussy and not wanting to be caught by his dominating hunter and spouse?
It didn’t matter either way as with his cock sure attitude, Michael leant in and whispered, ‘Perhaps later we could find a quiet spot?’
‘What about now? There’s no one about.’
Let’s test his metal.
Michael’s eyes flickered through the darkness, briefly contemplating the offer.
‘It’s too busy here,’ he said. ‘And anyway, Sara could catch us.’
‘OK,’ I pouted again. ‘Yes we better be on our best behavior, even if I am dressed up like a cheap prostitute.’
‘You’re my cheap prostitute!’ He slapped me on my arse.
I didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Yes I am his bitch and he can have me when he wants. But since our pre Christmas threesome at Steve’s poker night, I’ve since sampled a selection of cocktails on the bar of life and I still want more from its overflowing.
Although he doesn’t know it, I am my own bitch now and I have needs too!
Michael kissed me lightly on the lips as his hand slid beneath my tight skirt. Ah, so you found a quiet spot then?
‘Stop it,’ I mockingly protested, enjoying his hand entering my knickers and for his adept fingers to erouse my swelling lady lips.
‘Oh I see my slut is easily pleased,’ he released his damp hand from the flimsy black triangle that hid my wet pussy and licked his sticky fingers.
‘Well, there’s the proof.’ I guestered to his fingers.
Michael smiled and smartly pulled away as we heard foot steps approaching.
‘Shh,’ he whispered as we both stood still, not wanting to move in case we were caught.
As the bitch that I am, I grabbed his growing cock through his gown and held it. Just to tease the bastard.
Michael gasped and gave me a look of ‘behave yourself’ but I continued to grip firm until the footsteps disappeared.
‘Bitch’! He hissed as I released my hold of him. I smiled.
‘That’ll teach you to tease me. Don’t forget, I can play dirty too! I’ve learnt that from the master.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’ Michael brushed himself down. ‘I’ve taught you well.’
He nodded farewell, then slipped back to the party. I, on the other hand, stayed in the shadows for a few minutes and finished my drink.
‘Gather around everyone.’ I then heard an excited voice screeching away over the tannoy in the marquee.
It was Sara.
‘Gather all as Father Michael has something to say.’
I entered the marquee to see Michael dutifully standing on the stage next to his wife. With a microphone in his hand and a deflated hard on now dissappeared from my hold, Father Michael made a speech.
‘My dear bretherin. Thank you for joining our gathering of The Church Of The Short Satin Skirt and for all of your generous donations.’
An applause circulated around the marquee.
‘There’s still time to have a go on the silent auction as the bidding will close at 1am. But for now, for all of you lucky randy vicars and tarts, it’s cabaret time!’
Another cheer exploded under the canopy.
‘And for your entertainment tonight, let me introduce you to the dancing girls and our hostess with the mostest, Madame Fifi La Mur.
Everyone clapped as Jacques Offenbach’s iconic ‘Galop Infernal’, otherwise known as The Can Can music, blasted out of the speakers.
Immediately, a blast of excited screams and yelps echoed around the canopy as a beautiful rainbow of frilly skirts busted out from behind a curtain and flashed about the dance floor.
Each dancer swirled about like a farm of frienzed spinning tops on acid, high kicking their fishnet clad legs to say hello to their ears and tumbling about with ease and perfection.
As the dance came to its climax, the dancers gathered together in a circle only to expertly hide Madame Fifi’s entrance.
With her back to the audience and the end of the music now on its last beats, the girls each did the splits in line, one after the other, they all shook their skirts and screamed as Madame Fifi turned around.
Oh my fucking God.
It was Jerry!
#DoingACarol #TalesOfAHotwife #KinkyKlobber