Chapter 44

"A birthday to remember"

The rest of the day was spent as idyllically as I could have hoped. I wandered about the house and grounds, watching Gina's fucking class, or looking at the girls watching the porn (I felt little need to watch the actual porn films themselves, my life having turned into one), or simply enjoying the topsy-turvy world in which you first of all fuck a girl to unimagined levels of ecstasy and only later do you chat her up. Still something of a slave to societal norms myself, I felt a little guilty that there were still so many girls I could not positively put a name to. For instance, it troubled me that when Laura had referred to "Penny" I had had no idea whom she was talking about, so I made a point of seeking the girl out. As the day wore on I filled in as many gaps as I could and every so often I would take girls upstairs in twos and threes for fucking.

I allowed myself the occasional indulgence (it was my birthday after all). For instance, at one point I had a sudden bright thought and called for four much-favoured girls: Fran, Ursula, Connie, Kylie. I hustled them upstairs and took them in rapid succession, in the order named.

It was Connie that spotted it. She, Fran, Kylie and I were chatting and getting our breath back (Ursula, with less experience, was still entranced) when Connie suddenly gave me a cheery slap. "James, you crafty rascal!"

I pretended to be innocent. "What's up?"

"I was wondering why us four," said Connie. "I get it now."

Fran and Kylie looked puzzled and I merely smiled.

"F," explained Connie, pointing at Fran, "U," the recumbent Ursula, "C, K," herself and Kylie.

Kylie sniggered. Fran looked reproachful at having been used so frivolously (but still pleased at having been used at all): "James, darling, that's awful."

"Later you can do me and Ursula again with Natalie and Tammy," suggested Connie brightly.

"Don't encourage her, darling," urged Fran. "Use Cassie or Charlotte instead."

As I strolled about the house and grounds I felt truly blessed. Time and again I found myself appreciating the individual beauty of some stunning girl that until then had merely been part of the scenery. Consider Eve, for instance, whom I had almost overlooked until now. She was one of the two girls Gina had offered up on Wednesday. I had been in a bit of a rush that day and had not expected three girls, so frankly I had got straight down to fucking without much ado. She had arrived yesterday with Gina's other girls but since she was already captured she had not received my attention. But when I saw her today, my jaw dropped.

Eve was black. But that statement hardly does her pigmentation justice; she was astonishingly dark, a far deeper colour than the usual chocolate. And there was more to it even than that; this skin of the darkest umber had a strange sheen to it. I had never seen anything quite like it before. How could a surface so dark be so reflective? If she had been a car for sale she would have been advertised for her metallic finish. She was taller than many of my girls and very pretty, with a little of Yvonne's dramatic curvature and quite a lot of Gabby's languid grace, but it was her remarkable skin coloration that secured her the honour of being taken upstairs by herself.

I also mused, as I contemplated the loveliness all around me, on Uncle Albert's "refinements". In my longer-established girls, these were already becoming evident. Breasts were fuller and buttocks rounder than I remembered from our early meetings. But there were other changes, too. Wendy, Fran and other early recruits were now completely bereft of body hair, not that this feature made them stand out particularly since it was universal among the whores and remarkably common among the well-brought-up Cambridge girls.

It was Alicia that pinned down the baffling changes in girls' legs. I had heard so many complaints from so many women about painful calves that I knew something was going on but it was only when Alicia pointed out that Fran and Connie had taken to walking as if in heels even when barefoot that I recalled Fran's unusual gait the night before. As we were discussing the subject, Wendy happened by, wearing heeled sandals and her summer frock, and I called her over. I mentioned that she had not complained about sore calves lately.

"No," she said. "I've been wearing high heels. It's a lot better."

I asked her to slip out of them and to rest her bare feet flat on the ground in a normal posture. She just about managed it, but as she took an experimental step or two she winced at the pain. "My calves feel stretched," she complained. "It's so uncomfortable." When she rose up again on the balls of her feet she looked much happier. "I can walk all right like this," she said, "even without the shoes."

"Alicia's spotted that Fran and Connie are the same," I said. "It must be hard for Connie, she's always worn trainers. Now she'll have to get heels for the office."

"It's another of Albert's refinements," said Wendy. "I hope you like high heels, darling."

I had to confess that high heels in themselves have never done much for me one way or another, but I like the gracefully sinuous walk that tends to go with them.

I made a point of debriefing Laura when she came down from her trance. For one thing, I hoped her trained mind would provide interesting psychological insights about the effects of FUCK. But the results were disappointing. Maybe it was too soon to ask her; she still seemed overwhelmed and had little to add to what I had heard from other girls. But my main reason for talking to her, for which purpose I brought Elspeth with me, was to satisfy my curiosity about how she had found out what was going on. Her answers were deeply troubling, because it was clear that all she had really done was keep her eyes and ears open, then add in some intuition and intelligent guesswork. I was left with the gloomy conviction that it was only a matter of time before someone else did the same.

Meanwhile, I did not allow myself to forget that I had promised myself some fitting vengeance on George Marjoribanks. Talking to Vicky and Simone, I began to think how I might achieve it. Apparently George was in more trouble with Sue than I had realised, and my poor Alicia was the innocent cause. What a married middle-aged man would see in a gorgeous eighteen-year-old blonde with massive tits must, of course, remain one of the eternal mysteries, but the fact remains that she had clearly made a major impact on him. He had, apparently, asked the twins after the garden party whether they knew anything about her, and during the following week he had behaved out of character at home, being unwontedly quiet and drifting off into reveries. Sue, smelling a rat as any wife would, actually accused him of daydreaming about Alicia but like a sensible man he denied it stoutly and tried to laugh it off.

But on the following Saturday, the night before flying to New York, he had contrived to confirm Sue's suspicions. After dinner he had dozed off in an easy chair and when she rocked him by the shoulder to wake him to go to bed he had drowsily addressed her as "Alicia".

This gave me food for thought. I should make it clear that although I had no great affection for George and was keen to repay him for making me envious, I had no desire to ruin his life. I did not, for instance, countenance ideas such as getting Alicia to entice him into some marriage-wrecking indiscretion. I do not consider myself a vindictive man, and what I wanted was a fitting revenge, not a disproportionate one. I decided that I wanted George to be unable to see me or think of me without feeling a sharp pang of envy. I mulled it over.

In the evening I again found myself with Fran and Connie, this time joined by Elspeth who, I noticed, was making a late entry into my inner circle. We were chatting, drinking wine, and reviewing the day's events. Despite a very nasty scare over Laura it had been, all in all, a wonderful birthday so far.

"Cow," said Connie, referring to Laura. "That woman was so far up her own ass I bet she could see daylight."

I boggled at the grotesque image this conjured up. "Now, now," I said; "she's one of my girls now."

"Too right," agreed Connie. "I hope you nailed her good and proper. Bitch."

Elspeth came to her teacher's defence. "She wasn't a very happy person, you know, Connie. She just pretended to be. She'll be much better now."

"I've laid plans to make sure of that," I said.

Connie looked at me gleefully. "What are you gonna do to the harpy, James? Can I watch?"

"I'm not going to do anything to her," I said. "But yes, you can watch. Everyone can." I called a passing girl, one of those I was still unable to put a name to (Elspeth told me later she was her best friend, Rebecca), and asked her to pass the word that everyone was to gather for a special event in the dining room at ten o'clock, in other words in an hour's time.