Poor Little Rich Slut (5 page)

I drew my bathwater myself, spending a longer than normal time getting everything ready. I always loved luxuriating in the steamy jasmine-scented water of the oversized tub; it was like silk against my skin. Rather than feel myself let go the tension of the last two weeks, I was reminded of Garrison’s orders for the evening. During the drive into country, I thought of Angelica, trying to imagine myself making love to a woman—specifically
that
woman. I think my father hired her for the voluptuous breasts and tiny waist, the Playboy Playmate curves, and her sleek blonde hair. Her eyes were dark and widely
spaced,
her skin a natural tan and her lips full enough to suggest she’d had a few collagen shots to accentuate their allure. He used to call her dim-witted, but I never thought that. She was playing her game, working the angles, no different than I would in business. She was no less subtle, though her motives were likely simpler. I had no illusions that her relationship with my father was strictly platonic. I imagine he fucked her in exchange for the handouts she was seeking from her wealthy employer.

After hearing Garrison talk about her, I suspected that he’d fucked her too, during one of Daddy’s infamous house parties. For several years I’d been brushing off the rumors as if that part of my father’s life was no part of mine—in truth, it wasn’t.

After a long bout of approach-avoidance I finally rang the maid on the house line and slipped into the bath to soak.

A knock on the door soon followed.

“Miss Eleanor?” Her voice was sweetly innocent.

“Come in, Angelica.”

Instead of my fears compounding, I felt a twinge in my belly and a bit of giddy excitement at the thought of making love to her.
Oh! What was happening to me?

“Yes, miss?” She dressed much like a French maid when serving at one of Daddy’s parties, but for regular days she usually dressed in a short skirt and tight sweater like the khaki skirt and red sweater she had on now. I don’t recall ever seeing her in pants. I never knew for sure, but the way her clothes hugged her hips so closely and without wrinkles, I figured that she wore no underwear other than her lacy bras. Those were quite obvious once you stared into her bulging cleavage. Daddy’s toy one day, now mine. Her breasts were bulging over the top of her brassiere, pushed out of the top of her sweater. I wondered how they’d taste

“Angelica, dear, do you suppose you could wash my back and help me shave?”

Her eyes lit up and she stared around at the candles—I must have lit fifteen or twenty, which were making the rosy pink bathroom glow and smell of jasmine, honeysuckle and lavender. My mood was obvious.

“Sure,” she said, looking at me warily. She moved in, taking the washcloth from my hand, and as I leaned forward, she rubbed it lightly against my skin. My pulse beat a little faster. I never remember her touching me that I didn’t feel the softness of her skin and her sensuous warm aura. Of course, those times before I shook off the sensation; they were just in passing, times when we brushed by each other in the hallway, or our bare skins met by accident while cleaning up the dining room after dinner. This time would be different. Already I could imagine my lips meeting hers.

“I think you know Garrison Tate, don’t you?” I asked her.

“
Ooo
, yes!”
I watched her face in the mirror light in a giggly, girlish way.

As the washcloth moved over my body, I could smell the fragrant aroma of hers—smelling a spicy scent I couldn’t identify, although it was pungent enough to rise above the sweeter scents in the room.

“He works with me now, you know?” I went on.

“No. I didn’t know,” her voice was soft and musical.

“You know what he told me earlier today?”

“No, miss,” she replied as she continued to wash my back.

“He said that I should make love to you.”

She gave a little start and stopped what she was doing. “
Ooo
, my, he’s such a devil,” she laughed.

I turned and looked her in the eye with the bold determination in me speaking. Oddly my fears fled once I acted on the desire that throbbed longingly inside me. This was for Garrison, but it was also for me. “I want you to shave my pussy, Angelica, would you do that for me?”

By then, she’d dropped the washcloth into the water and her bare hands were gently moving over my wet skin. I took her arm and pulled her just a little closer. Our lips seemed destined to touch, although they began tentatively with small kisses. When our tongues met, we were both a little bolder.

“Maybe you should get out of the water first?” she said. “I mean if you want me to shave you, it will work better on the bed.”

“Yes, yes, that would be perfect.” We kissed again, our lips lingering on that kiss and our eyes meeting in a meaningful glance. I wanted her; there was no question about that now.

We didn’t get to the shaving right away. As soon as I was on the bed, she came on to me as if making love was what she planned to do all along. She’d removed her sweater and straddled my hips, dangling her breasts in my face. I grabbed for them and buried my mouth in their sweaty sweetness, licking, tasting, caressing a softness that felt like butter and smelled like the essence of femininity.
Did I taste as sweet or feel as silky to her hands?

Her nipples hardened without my sucking them. While gently flicking them with my tongue, I listened happily to her squeal in reply. Her pussy was pressed against mine; hers was bare of any hair while mine was still covered with curls. We rubbed our two mounds together, and were soon writhing as if we were driven by some mysterious unseen cock pummeling us at the same time. I’d never before felt anything like that sensation of physical want coming from deep inside my female home.

Suddenly, Angelica turned around and planted her pussy on my face, while going down on my snatch at the same time. Her tongue skirted the valley between my thighs with such delicacy; I found myself too overcome to do much for her. I licked her as if instinct took over doing everything for me, although I wasn’t really cognizant of what I was doing—or how she tasted or how she smelled. Soon my face was awash with her juices and I was avidly lapping her clit for more as if I’d been doing this for years. Yet, when she focused in on my clitoris, I lost my conscious will again. Her finger rubbed my clit with vigorous strokes, while the sweet humming music of her lyrical voice took my mind away. In seconds, I was pressing my pussy into her face and demanding more,
cumming
as I
spasmed
hard and grabbed the sheets beside me to hang on to.

I could barely get a breath of air afterwards for the writhing pussy that covered my face. She obviously didn’t require an expert in sucking pussy for her to climax. Her lilting voice became more guttural and for a second her entire body seemed to tighten. More of her juices flowed across my mouth and I was swimming in the current of her climax. By then, I was hanging on to her flesh, squeezing her ass with desperate hands and feeling almost afraid to let her go.

As the climax died away, she turned again and settled in beside me.

“You fuck so hot, Miss Rule,” she said, admiringly.

“And so do you,” I said.

Then she smiled broadly. “Now, I shave you.” She jumped up and moved quickly to the bathroom like some giddy schoolgirl.

I lay back while waiting, until she returned with a couple of thick terry towels she put under my ass, a bowl of warm water and a fresh razor.

I spread my legs wide, while Angelica lathered up my pubic hair with a sweetly scented shaving lotion. Then she cautiously began her work, scraping all the silky tendrils away. Since I’ve always kept myself trimmed, it didn’t take long to have my pussy bare. But of course, she parted my lips and slowly pulled the razor across my inner labia. Finally, she turned me over and ran her razor up my parted cleft.

“Don’t wiggle!” she said, slapping my ass once.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so… so different,” I said.

“Just wait until he puts his dick in your behind,” she practically purred. A loving hand caressed my cheeks. I could feel another pleasurable spasm warming my belly.

“
Who
puts his dick in my behind?” I asked her.

“Mr. Tate.”

“Oh, I’m not sure he’s going to do that.”

She acted as if she knew better.

Once she finished shaving me, I sent her away with a thank you and a wet, lingering kiss. She could have stayed but I was anxious to see my new look in the mirror, and was too self-conscious to have her watching me as I did.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I shuddered a bit seeing this new image of myself. It seems that Angelica had scraped away my modesty, while leaving me looking like a young virgin. My vaginal lips were bare and pink and slick with juices. The inner labia were large enough to peek through the outer ones—all sights I’d never seen, or bothered to notice before. I wanted to cum again, but I was also tired. On returning to the bed, I climbed inside and slept naked through the night until morning, when Angelica knocked on my door.

I thought she was bringing my breakfast tray, but that wasn’t yet ready. She carried a parcel instead, the dress Garrison promised me. I couldn’t wait to see it.

***

I came down the stairway in the pale blue silk cocktail dress I originally planned to wear when Daddy first announced the party. I thought it flirtatious while not particularly daring. It was certainly appropriate for the crowd and the nature of the evening’s event. I’d always thought sensibly for occasions like this one. The icy blue color looked great with my dark hair and pale skin color. I thought it becoming, if not a bit modest.

What happened to Garrison’s dress? The minute I opened the parcel he had sent, I knew there was no way I would arrive at a party in my honor wearing the skin-tight, white creation with sequins, a plunging bodice and a back that was open below my waist. It had a lovely bow that decoratively tied the straps in the back to keep the dress from completely falling apart—which was my first fear. Regardless, there was no question in my mind that it was not suitable for any gathering at my father’s country home.

“Mr. Tate’s not gonna like it, you not wearing his dress,” Angelica had shaken her head as she brushed out my hair.

“He’ll have to get over it,” I told her. I knew I was taking a big chance defying his wishes, especially so early in our game. It was my hope that in the commotion of the party, he’d excuse this one slight. After all, I’d scored the biggest win, making love to my sexy housemaid. He couldn’t help but congratulate me for that first triumph.

As I surveyed the foyer, I slowly made my way down the sweeping staircase, looking for Garrison among the arriving guests. I felt nervous, a little guilty and certainly worried about how he’d react. Would he actually punish me? I wondered with a shudder of fear
and
excitement.

I plunged into the crowd greeting guests, making my way slowly through the foyer, my aim, the long great room that stretched nearly the full length of the house. The six French doors were opened wide to the terrace and the gardens, offering a view of the valley below with its row of neat vineyards and a splash of evening sunshine. The warm weather allowed us to set up a buffet on the terrace. There was a string quartet at the end of the great room and brightly colored flower arrangements gracing tables both inside and out. I checked with the waiters and the quartet, shaking hands and giving a few brief instructions to them both. Just as I was moving on to the caterers in the kitchen, I was unceremoniously stopped by a firm hand on my back, drawing me from my purpose.

Before I even turned around, I knew it was Garrison who shanghaied me.

“Hi there!”
I said with a sunny grin.

“Well hello, Heiress. Don’t you look ravishing?” he said as he carefully scrutinized my pale blue dress. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Oh! Please don’t make an issue of it now!
I prayed.

He moved in closer, dangerously brandishing his glass of red wine,
then
suddenly stumbled to his left in a move I still can’t quite grasp. It likely looked like an accident, although I’ll never believe that he didn’t cunningly execute the awkward move. The red wine spilled forward as he lurched to right himself and soaked the front of my blue dress with the glaring red liquid.

“Oh damn! I’m sorry, Eleanor,” he said, as if he was actually sincere. Then he looked around for something to blot the stain, which anyone could see would be impossible.

A few guests looked on supportively, while I withered for a second realizing what a mess he’d made of me. He’d grabbed a cloth napkin and was dabbing the stain across my chest with little effect. “You just couldn’t let it slide, could you?” I tersely whispered.

“Not on your life,” he whispered back. “Now while you change into
my
dress, I’ll just be mingling like a good boy.” He stepped back. “That’s not going to do a bit of good,” he said despondently for the benefit of those listening. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor. You will send me the cleaning bill?”

“Yes, well. Perhaps I’d better go change, Mr. Tate,” I returned sweetly,
then
I scooted to the kitchen and the back stairs. I thought I was free of the man for at least a minute, but just as I reached the bottom stairs, he was there again, this time at my back and stopping my retreat. We were in the kitchen where the staff was bustling about so busily that we were hardly noticed.