Protection (24 page)

But still Claude wasn't happy and waving his arms angrily in the air, he yelled something else before storming off, leaving Carrie, watching from above, with feelings of utter guilt.

What did she think she was doing? She asked herself. Here she was, swanning around as if she had all the time in the world, whilst outside..

A hand clapped itself over her mouth.

Another snaked around her waist and urged her down.

Her eyes wide, Carrie folded to her knees. Her nostrils flared as she stared down at the hand popping open the button on her jeans. The zip followed and a whispered, ‘ sshhh' breathed into her hair before her mouth was uncovered.

She drew in a quick breath and the bottom of her sweatshirt rose. The hand slid inside and unclasped her bra, cupping her breast as it slid free of the cup.

Instinctively, she gasped and her hands pressed against the wall to steady herself. The hand let go of her breast and pulled at her jeans. Down they went. Over her hips. Over her thighs. Down to her knees where they were left. The hand moving to her frillies and easing them aside.

A finger slid in, across her fluff and along her pussy. It delved into heat and moisture and stayed there a while, paddling in juices before using them to moisten the whole of her slit. Her pussy became nice and slick and the hand pulled away to stroke her backside, leaving a silken trail before entering her from behind.

The other hand found her breast again and relished the weight. The fingers reaching round to roll her nipple between them.

Carrie gasped and cool lips found the back of her neck. Caressing the soft skin with dozens of warm, urgent kisses.

A groan escaped her and she arched her back. The finger inside penetrated still deeper and tickled her G-spot before sliding out and finding the tiny, hard nub of her clit. Slowly it began to rub, producing juices that the fingers used to lubricate the length of her slit.

Weakness overcome her and her legs buckled. Dropping her to the floor, where she rested her forehead on the carpet.

The hands paid no heed. Instead they cradled her full breast and slid up and down her full, swollen pussy before returning to her clit. The pleasure mounted and she raised her backside, urging the finger to enter her. It slid in easily, her cunt sucking greedily as the other hand left her breast and found her clit, rubbing harder and harder as her pussy began to tighten and she waited for the blessed relief of another orgasm.

Afterwards, as she lay on the floor with her hair splayed out around her, the hands re-arranged her clothes but did not stay to fasten them. Instead they patted her arse and left.

Wearily, she raised her head.

Andrea stood at the end of the bed. Waiting until she had her full, undivided attention before seductively licking her finger.

By two thirty, Isobel was beginning to think of ways in which she could murder Rita, because although she'd warned her there might be some lifting and carrying, she'd said nothing about this!

Barely had she rounded the back of the house when a harridan, dressed in tight, white jeans and wearing a sweater with ‘ Smith & Whyte Catering' stitched across her left tit, had borne down on her like an enormous vulture and demanded to know why she wasn't wearing her ID? Then directing her towards a group of red faced people who were already lugging tables and chairs towards a huge marquee, she been put to work.

But that had only been the start of it and from then on, she hadn't stopped! No sooner had they placed the furniture in the marquee, when the harridan, whose name turned out to be June, found them something else to do. It was hell. It didn't stop and just when they thought it couldn't get any worse, some flippin' French guy by the name of Claude flounced in and started to get in everyone's way by putting up even more decorations and spraying everything with artificial snow.

Tired, sweaty and practically spitting feather she was that thirsty, Isobel lugged a wheeled trolley towards the next circular table, and wondered if the knives she was laying out would cut Rita's throat?

At four thirty, June graced them all by announcing a break.

Isobel nearly cried with relief. Her feet were already killing her and they hadn't even got round to the waitressing bit yet!

But then she saw where they were being shepherded and trying not to stare, even though everyone else was rubber necking for all they were worth, Isobel followed as they were led inside the house and along a narrow passageway - catching a tantalizing glimpse of a beautifully decorated entrance hall as they went – before being led sharply around to the right and into a large room lined with three enormous benches and a huge, steaming tea urn that stood at one end together with plates and plates of sandwiches and cakes and catering sized boxes of crisps which were stacked along one of the walls facing yet another table crammed with bars of chocolate and a variety of soft drinks.

Looking at it, Isobel was convinced she'd died and gone to Heaven.

And she wasn't alone.

“Wow!”A male voice said from behind her. “There's more food in here than I usually see in a month!”

“You're not kiddin'!”His mate answered. “It's the only reason I do this every year. That and the money of course.”

“What? I thought you did it for the chance to lust after Carrie.”

“Well, yeah, maybe before. But now she's turned out to be a fuckin' dyke there's no point! What a bloody waste though. All that tit and she's only into other women!”

The sandwiches were excellent and after eating several whilst standing in line, Isobel grabbed another load before settling herself at one of the benches to enjoy the rest in comfort.

“Here's to us.”A woman sitting opposite her smiled, raising her cup. “May our poor, aching feet last the distance.”

Returning the salute, Isobel copied her. “Amen to that!”She said. “My feet are already killing me and we haven't even started yet!”

The woman smiled sympathetically. “I'm Maggie by the way. I take it this is your first time?”

“Yeah.”Isobel replied, remembering to introduce herself as Rita. “And it's going to be my last as well.”

Maggie laughed. “Heard that before, but they keep on comin' back. Must be the lure of all this glitter and sparkle.”

Isobel ripped open a packet of crisps. “So what happens after the break?”She asked. “Please don't tell me it's more of the same?”

“Oh, no. We're done with all that. We stay in here now until it's time to get changed. Then I'm afraid it'll be all hands on deck again.”

“Great.”Isobel muttered, picturing herself in her waitress uniform and shivering.. “Do we get anything else to put on though? It's freezing out in that tent.”

Maggie waved a hand at her. “Don't worry about that!”She said. “By the time the party gets going, they'll be hundreds of those little fan heater things dotted around all over the place. By the end of the evening, you'll be roasting!”

Isobel smiled, thinking the steam she had in mind had nothing to do with little heaters.

Letting herself into the monitor room, Carrie slung her arms around Andrea's shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

Andrea smiled at her. “Finally found the use of your legs again have you?”She teased, turning from the screens to nuzzle against her.

“Hmm, no thanks to you. You are an extremely bad girl, Andrea Stone.”

“I know, I'm hellish, but what are you doing down here? I thought you'd be closeted away upstairs, putting your face on.”

“What now? No! It's far too early. I've got another three hours to kill before I even think about changing.”

“That's what I mean! Shouldn't you have the cement mixer going by now?”

Carrie swung at her. “Flamin' cheek!”She said. “It doesn't take me that long to get ready.”

“Yeah? Not according to Carmichael. He says you went upstairs to get changed one evening and didn't come down for five hours!”

Carrie tutted. “Five hours! It was more like two and the reason I didn't rush back downstairs to his Lordship was because I slipped in the bathroom and twisted my ankle and it took him two hours to come up and see what was wrong! Anyway, the reason I'm here is to see if there's anything I can do, seeing as how no one else wants me. The caterers have chased me out of the marquee, Brian's got his lot under control and Claude practically had a heart attack when I offered to give his lot a hand. Something about my ‘ delicate hands not being put to such common labour'.”

Andrea laughed. “That guy is a riot! I don't know how you manage to keep a straight face. But if you're looking for something to do then you're looking in the wrong place. I haven't actually got that much to do myself, though I did catch a guy hanging around outside earlier, trying to get a peek in through the windows.”

“What? Who was he? Paparazzi?”

“Probably. Apparently he got past security by pretending to be with Brian's mob. Not something that overly impressess me after the big speech Brian gave. If you want my advice, babe, you'll use a different firm next year and preferably someone I choose. Brian might be good, but he's clearly not that good.”

“You're telling me! But what about today? Do you think they'll be good enough for today?”

“Good? They'll be flamin' brilliant after that little scare.”

“You think? God, I could do without that worry.”

“Then don't worry, everything will be fine.”

“Okay, I'll try. But what about everyone else? What are they up to?”

“Claude's still knee deep in decorations, as you know and Carmichael is flappin' around somewhere.. Oh, I know. He's waiting for the band to turn up.”

“And Amanda? She still in the kitchen?”

“Yeap, otherwise she'd be in here, moaning about her kitchen being overrun by men in tall, white hats.”

Carrie gaped. “Chefs? We have chefs? I thought the food was being brought in ready prepared?”

“It is!.. Stop worrying! I was only joking...”

“Then, for God's sake, don't! I'm nervous enough already without that and what if everyone uses this party to have a go at me? I couldn't stand that!”

Andrea pulled her close. “They won't babe. The time for all that has been and gone and if anyone says anything now it's just gonna sounds like sour grapes. Don't worry. You're safe. You have me to protect you.”

Slipping the bolt across the bathroom door, Carmichael turned to face the pretty, young waitress and smiled. Her name was Veronica, and for the best part of the afternoon she had been actively pursuing him. Not something he usually encouraged and on any other day he probably would have contented himself with flirting with her for a while before gently letting her down. But today he felt frustrated and horny, the result of having watched Carrie and Andrea screw, and he really, truly, desperately needed someone with whom he could let off a little steam and Veronica was there.

Yet, after only five minutes in her company, Carmichael discovered it wasn't enough. Veronica was certainly lovely and she truly had tits to die for, but as she writhed and moaned beneath him and thrust those beautiful, full breasts into his face, it was Carrie he was thinking of and Carrie's face that flooded his mind as he quickly came and hastily withdraw from her, feeling guilty and ashamed.

By six o'clock, a strange hush had fallen over the house.

Two pristine tunnels, one stretching from the gate to the house, the other from the house to the marquee, stood gently billowing in the breeze, while inside the marquee, decorated with dozens of sliver and white garlands and a silver Christmas tree, the tables, covered with a pristine, white tablecloth and laid out with places for six, held a delicate arrangement of either holly and candles or pine cones and candles, adding much needed colour to the white.

Overhead a plethora of twinkling stars attached to the canopy represented the constellations, whilst both inside and out, sweeping drifts of Claude's favourite - artificial ‘snow'- lined the perimeter.

The orchestral players, resplendent in brilliant white tuxedos, were seated at one end. Their instruments tuned to perfection despite the trouble they'd had concentrating whilst Claude flounced and shouted in front of them, convinced that the stress was about to kill him.

A myriad of pin prick lights infused the tunnel stretching from the gate to the house and leading the way to the ‘parking areas' situated at the sides and rear of the property, Angelic ice sculptures mounted on refrigerated blocks stood in silent prayer, their feet inches deep in even more artificial snow, which sprayed to assimilate undulating waves, gave the illusion that only moments before, a huge blizzard had swept through the area.

Carrie couldn't have been happier and feeling like a child let loose in a Winter Wonderland, she wanted to laugh and giggle and sweep up huge amounts of ‘snow'to throw at everyone.

But Carmichael had already started to gather everyone together so that Carrie could waltz in and say a big ‘thank you' to all those who had, or were about to, work very hard and she didn't have the time, which was a shame, because she absolutely hated what she was about to do now.

It was so demeaning for a start, making everyone line up as if for inspection, and even though she really did want to say thank you and express her deepest gratitude for all they had done, Carmichael forcing her to swan in and grace the ‘little people' with her presence, was not the way to do it. She wanted to say her ‘thank you's' individually and personally.

But Carmichael had just roared with laughter when she'd suggested it and asked her how she thought she was going to get round to everyone in time? The party would be over by the time she'd finished shaking hands. No, it was far better to do things his way and get it all done in one, fell swoop.

Providing they got paid, people didn't care how she said thanks.