Garden Party


“Blah, blah, blah… ” said the banker.

“Blah, blah, blah…” said the lawyer.

Their blond prissy wives smiled and nodded in agreement.

“And what do you do?” asked one of them, turning to me with a grin.

“Well,” I hesitated, ” I’m a…an anthropologist.”

Everybody fainted looking intrigued, the men nodded wisely and the women adopted a mystified look.

“Oh,” said the other blond, “does that mean you study insects and stuff?”

I put on my most fake of smiles, looked her straight in the face and said:

“Yes…something of that sort.”

Since no one had anything to comment on my alleged profession, the five of us sunk into an awkward silence. I knew they all loved returning back to their money and gossip talk, but couldn’t change topic so rudely. This suspended tension pleased me immensely, and I could see their faces twisting in the pain to find a return path to familiar topics. But I knew I couldn’t keep the pleasure long; I looked down and noticed that my champagne glass was almost empty.

“Please excuse me; I’m going to get some more canapés.” I told the small group, making a sorry face.

They all smiled artificially and nodded and I turned away, erasing my smile and making my way to the long table in the middle of the lawn.

The Embassy garden party was much duller than I expected. There was hardly anyone I knew and everyone, even those I knew, was extremely boring. I gestured to the waiter in white to fill my glass, picked up a handful of different canapés and walked around the clots of people chatting. It was a summer evening, and the sky was beginning to go dark. We were all buzzing around the tables outside, dressed up in dinner jackets and evening gowns. The place reminded me what a millionaire’s house in Beverly Hills must look like. It had large French windows that exposed the extravagance of the embassy’s inside; marbled floor, chandeliers, paintings, all the chintz and fluff you can imagine. Outside, a long lawn spread, aligned with trees, flower beds and some conceptual art. It streamed far and disappeared in the damp darkness.

“I must explore this garden,” I told myself. “It is hard to believe that have such a huge English garden in the middle of the city.”

So I returned to the table, topped up my champagne and picked up some more of the nicer biscuits and pastries to serve as exploration rations, and set off. Cleverly I avoided the small talkative groupings and soon, except a strolling couple or two, was away from the party.

It was truly a beautiful garden, the lawn was short and springy, cut in straight, meticulous lines, it felt nice walking on. On either side of the lawn hedges and flowers were well arranged, in the best British tradition. I stopped by a bush and smelled its purple blossoms. They had a sweet and heavy smell, real flowers. Old, tall trees were planted here and there, marked with plaques explaining when, why and by whom they were planted. I strolled like this for a long while, looking back to see how far I’ve gone from the reception area. It must have been some three hundred feet or so, the people looked small and shining, like some insects buzzing around the light from the building inside’s.

“This garden is so fucking amazing,” I told myself, having no one around to listen, “It like a the space – time continuum broke up, and I found myself strolling in 19th century Sussex or in some fairy garden; it’s a whole universe hiding between these walls.”

After some more walking I reached a hedge which probably meant the end of the garden. With a sigh, I was prepared to turn on my hills and make it back to the boring party. After all, the garden couldn’t have gone on forever. Then, like suddenly seeing through an optical illusion, I saw that a part of the hedge was actually a passage, secretive and hidden. I looked closer, and it certainly seemed like a passage somewhere. Glancing around, I wondered whether anyone will notice me going in. But since there was no one, I quickly walked on, and thinking to find only the gardener’s shed, went around the hedge. I found myself between two tall bushes, like a corridor, at the end of which there was small, waist high, laced iron-gate.

“How strange,” I thought, “surely the garden can’t be any bigger than it is. After all, we are in the city…”

With some hesitation I pushed the gate and found myself on top of a few steps which gave onto another sprawling lawn. This one was circular and smaller than the one I just left, but still wide and impressive. Though I wasn’t sure what to do, I finally descended the steps and started to explore this new area. It looked much like the garden I just left, and must have been the plot adjacent. Like the embassy’s garden, this one also had trees and flowers all around, leaving wide, round lawn in the middle; I could also see a spectacular building at the far end of it. Walking on, I circled the clearing and looked at the flowers. The sky was dark blue already and the garden lamps were sporadically lit, making it probably look bigger than it really was. tuzla eve gelen escort It was quiet and I was completely alone, as it was deserted. I could only make the faintest echo from the other party. Rejoicing in my secret discovery I went on with my exploration, but moving a few steps in it I was very surprised to find, sitting on a wooden bench, hidden by the hedge, a girl a heavy looking book.

I immediately froze. Her tranquillity and absurdness in her book made it clear to me at once that I have entered a private garden of some sort. This was clearly no longer a part of the embassy’s reception area. My immediate instinct was to turn around and leave, but somehow I couldn’t. The brief thought of returning to the boring conversation was unbearable. So, trying to be as quiet a I could, I approached the girl slowly, trying to have a closer look at her.

The girl sitting on the bench was half lit and half shadowed by the lamp’s light. She looked young, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one but clearly not more. She wore a black dress with some red and orange embroidery, and it looked very simple and pretty, but something about it made it clear that it was very expensive. Her hair must have been golden brown, or maybe ginger blond, but in the shadows it was dark and glinting, made up high, like for a gala night. The shadows also made her face hidden, I could only distinguish a small, delicate nose and partly parted lips, which seemed to be whispering or reading out quietly.

I must have been about seven meters from her when I knew I could stop. So I adjusted my black tie and said softly, trying to be as calm and suave as possible:

“Good evening.”

She sat up abruptly, clearly startled. Her rather big eyes stared at me sharply, looking at first a bit frightened and then annoyed. Now I could see her face I was certain she was about twenty years old; she had a beautiful, clear face, and her eyes were bright blue, and looked hard. Here and there on her white cheeks there were tiny freckles, which gave her the look of a naughty child. Gaining her composure, her eyes jerked quickly around, looking for other people; then said harshly:

“Are you from the garden party?”

I found this question rather amusing, standing there in my dinner jacket and bow tie, holding a champagne glass.

“No,” I said, “I’m a gentleman-cambriouler.” I smiled, “I didn’t mean to frighten you; I’m just here for the crown jewels.”

For a moment she looked puzzled. Then she smiled for a tiny second before resuming her harsh expression.

“I’m afraid you’re lost, this garden is the ambassador’s private residence garden, it is not open to the public.”

“Oh,” I said, stressing out my disappointment, “I was just walking around admiring these beautiful gardens, it is hard to imagine we’re in the middle of the city.”

My comment seemed to reassure her a bit and she smiled again, looking even lovelier. When she smiled, I could see her small, sharp teeth glinting in the artificial light. I was standing closer to her know, and could see the long pin that held her hair together, the tiny flowers embroided on her dress and the shape of her body. Without looking, I could follow the small round curves of her breasts and her small waist. All this I did with a quick glance, that she won’t see me checking her out.

“Yes, they are lovely, especially in the summer. I’m told they’re even nicer than the president’s gardens.”

I nodded and looked around smelling her garden air. She also had beautiful English, a rich and flowing accent, privately educated.

“Well, if this is a private garden,” I paused, “what are you doing here? Are you escaping the beautiful party?”

She looked at me with mock shock. “No, I live here.” She said, with a long, joking “ooo”, “I’m the ambassador’s daughter.”

“Oh”, I said, and having nothing else to comment I quickly imitated an old fashioned bow.

“I’m honoured. My name is Petrovich…Alex Petrovich.”

She laughed and held up her hand, participating in the exaggerated gestures. I covered the distance between us in two steps, grabbed her hand and kissed it, gentleman like.

“How do you do Mr. Petrovich,” she smiled, again prolonging her “o”. “I’m Elizabeth Holmes.”

I kissed her hand again and said in a grave voice: “I apologise, Miss Holmes, on intruding upon you like in this manner.”

She laughed again and said, in a light jovial voice now: “Oh, you were quite right, I was bored with the party and came here for a moment; I should probably go back soon.”

Then, in a gesture which made her look childish again, she bit her lower lip and added:

“Would you like me to give you a short tour of this garden? It has a lot of history, you know.”

“I would love that,” I said, “and I could not imagine a better guide.”

“Good” she said and stood up, straightening her dress with a quick flick. “But I actually don’t know that much about it.”

So, in a very casual manner, we started walking around the lawn, advancing towards tuzla otele gelen escort the house in the back.

“The garden,” she started saying, waving her hands about “and the palace which in now the embassy and residence where bought by the duke of Wellington after the Napoleonic wars.”

“Bought?” I remarked in a questioning tone.

“Well, actually it was requisitioned.” She smiled.

I wasn’t keen on starting an historical debate, so only nodded knowingly. And we continued to stroll slowly with no specific direction.

“Wellington certainly had an eye for beautiful things.” I remarked, looking around.

“Oh rather,” she laughed. “You know, he was known to have seduced half of the noble women in Paris. There is even a room in the residency with nude paintings of all his mistresses.”

“Nude?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested, but clearly joking. “I’d very much like to see it.”

“Maybe some day,” she answered mockingly. “May I ask you, Mr. Petrovich, how old are you?”

I was surprised at her question; it seemed so out of place. But decided to play her game, after all, it was her garden. So I laughed quietly and said:

“I’m twenty eight years old,” I said, “and am an unemployed anthropologist.”

“Really?” she said lifting her eyebrows, “how interesting. Come this way, I want to show this part of the garden.”

We turned around and she led me that what seemed like a solid wall of hedge; but turning a corner it opened up to a small clearing. In the clearing there was a wooden bench and a small stone fountain. The place, even more than the entire garden, looked deserted and hidden; though I could see the lights from the house blinking through the bushes. I walked to the bench and put my champagne glass, nearly empty, on it. Elizabeth walked to the fountain and started brushing her fingers on the surface.

She looked around and said: “Beautiful, isn’t it?”


“I imagine this is exactly the sort of place Wellington used to seduce women in.” She commented and turned her back to me as she continued to play with the water.

I looked at her from behind, fully aware that this was far from an innocent remark. She had a slender body underneath that dress; her upper back was exposed, framing a white, freckled square between the dress’s straps. Below that I could see the round lines of her ass; it was more hinted than seen. I didn’t take my eyes off her back, seeing how the black fabric fitted itself around her waist and hugged the roundness of her behind. Feeling enchanted, and drawn like through magic, I stepped closer, and stood right behind her, still not too close, but close enough to see that she was clenching the edge of the fountain hard.

“And how do you think, Miss Holmes,” I almost whispered in her ear, “that Wellington proceeded to seduce these ladies?”

“Oh well, Mr Petrovich,” she said heavily without turning, “I assume that, being a good solider, he attacked them when they least expected.”

As she said that she arched her back and I knew this was my cue. So very carefully I stepped forward and placed my hands on her waist.

“How cunning”, I whispered in her ear and started to kiss her neck.

She had a long slim neck, which smelled of expensive perfume, the skin was smooth and tingling. I kissed it softly and felt her breathing shake her body. Very slowly, like a man catching dangerous animals, I moved my hips forward until my loins where lightly brushing her butt. This made my cock, deep within my trousers, leap. She made the smallest jump, though I knew she wasn’t surprised and I continued to kiss her neck, slowly climbing up until I reached her ear. It was a pointy, elfish ear, and I licked and munched on her ear lobe, carefully avoiding her jewellery until she moaned silently and said:

“Ohhh, Mr. Petrovich, you’re quite a seducer yourself.”

“It’s the garden, Miss,” I whispered in her ear. “It has the strangest effect on me.”

Removing one hand from her waist, I caressed her belly, slowly going up until I reached her chest. I could feel her shivering beneath the gown and carefully closed my palm on her left boob. I only held it lightly, not wanting to mess her dress, but could feel the round breast pressing into my hand. With slow movements I massaged it through the light fabric and felt the nipple getting harder under my touch.

I continued to do this, kissing her ear and neck and pinching her nipple for a moment before. My loins started to slowly move in circles and push her ass against the fountain’s edge. Inside my trousers, my cock felt hard, trying to be become erect but limited by pants and trousers. My face also felt very hot and sweaty, and I could hardly breathe with my tight collar.

“Shall we go and sit on the bench?” I suggested, panting a bit.

She nodded briefly and turned around. Our eyes met for a minute and I leaned forward to kiss her. But she quickly placed her finger on my lips.

“No, dear sir, you might ruin my make-up.” She tuzla sınırsız escort said. Instead she took my arm and led me to the bench. I couldn’t really object to that, so followed.

Elizabeth Holmes sat on the bench and I stood facing her. Her eyes looked at me from top to bottom and she gave a mischievous smile. When she noticed the bulge in my trousers her eyes stopped. Without a word she caught me by my belt and opened my zipper. My mouth opened in surprise as she slid in her hand. I imagined will make out a bit, but didn’t quite think this will happen. But obviously I didn’t say a thing. She looked up at me and leered. With a few movements she pulled out my cock and held it softly. It was hard and mostly erect, a long faintly red rod without a blemish. I closed my mouth at once.

“The garden certainly has an effect on you Mr. Petrovich, it seems like a tree has grown in your trousers.” And she pulled my cock closer to her. I was not in a condition to answer her, and anyway couldn’t think of anything. The sensation of her hand holding my cock was immensely pleasant; it simply erased all words from my brain.

I stared at her, and she stared back at me. Slowly, teasing me with her glare, then, she bended forward and carefully put her lips to the tip of my cock. A shudder went through me, from my cock up my spine. I clenched my teeth but didn’t stop fixing her with my eyes. She smiled, with my penis between her lips, and swallowed me a bit further. I gasped and quickly undid my tie and top button to get some air.

The ambassador’s daughter stopped fixing me with her eyes and started to seriously suck my dick. She held it with one hand and jerked it slowly whilst swallowing it further and further in her small mouth. Her lips closed tight on it and she sucked it between her cheeks. There was no doubt this girl was a wonderful cock-sucker, taking more of my cock with every gesture. Her mouth and hand worked with perfect coordination, jerking and swallowing me slowly. I wanted to grab something, but was afraid to ruin her hair; so my hands felt restless. Finally I put them on my waist and stuck my hips forward. We were both very silent, I was breathing deep through my clenched teeth and she was as quiet as a mouse munching his dinner.

Next she took my cock out of her mouth and started licking it entirely. She licked it all, from the head, all the shaft and down to my balls, which she took out of my trousers. With her sharp, pointy tongue, which felt velvety on my prick, she went down my shaft. When reaching my balls, Elizabeth started to suck on the loose skin of the sack. Her hand was sliding all over my wet cock now, squeezing and massaging it. After playing like this for a moment she licked it again all the way to the head and began sucking it once more.

“Ohh, yes…” I grunted, “Ohh, please don’t stop…”

My cock felt lovely in her mouth and a small moan escaped my lips, adding to the sounds of the blowjob. It was an amazing sight, seeing this beautiful and elegant girl, going down on me in the corner of her garden. The fact that she was the ambassador’s daughter only made it better. Her mouth was warm and wet and I slowly hypnotised by the movements of her lips and hand. She increased her rhythm, jerking my prick harder and harder and I could almost feel the beginning of orgasm building in my balls. But this must have tired her because quickly she slowed again and finally stopped. She took it out of her mouth and looked up at me. Her lipstick was still perfect, untouched by all the licking and sucking. My cock was shining and bright from her saliva and she still stroked it slowly.

“That was very nice, Miss Holmes, thank you.”

“Please, call me Elizabeth,” she said leaning back on the bench and slowly spread her legs. “Now what shall we do next?”

I kneeled on one knee of the grass before her and put my hand on her leg, slowly sliding it upwards until I almost reached her knee.

“Maybe we can continue the tour.” I asked, “There is one flower that I’m particularly keen to see.”

She smiled and slowly started to pull up her gown. She carefully hoisted it as much as possible, revealing a lovely pair of smooth and white legs and knees. She managed to pull much of the dress up to her waist now and so spread her legs a bit further. Looking me straight in the eyes, Elizabeth Holmes gave me an inviting smile and lifted her dress a few inches more.

I put a hand on each knee and slowly slide them to her thighs, which were mostly hidden. They felt smooth under my touch and I caressed them back and forward, looking at her the whole time. She moaned softly and closed her eyes. I sensed her thighs’ muscles jerking for a second as her body responded to my touch. Finally my palms went all the way up her thighs and I felt her satin and lace panties.

Without seeing what I was doing, my hands found their way around the fabric and touched the short hair of her pussy. She gasped and put a finger in her mouth, sucking on it with her eyes shut. I brushed her public hair slowly, feeling her body nervous underneath it. Then I explored further, tracing the lips of her vagina with my fingers. With slow, careful movements I pinched and flicked around her pussy, searching for her clit and snatch. All this I was doing without looking, but keeping my eyes fixed on her face. I could see her twitching and her face shining when I touched a sensitive spot.

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