Chapter 1.
Charlotte was the product of a system that had produced wives and mothers for the elite for centuries. That elite had changed from the aristocracy, the army and clergy, to corporate lawyers, Hedge Fund managers and bankers, but the system hadn't changed, it didn't need to, because it worked perfectly and was adaptable to the changes in British society. She was the second daughter of a country doctor, but he was part of an ancient Hampshire family, with land. That land is what mattered, not titles, money even, though money helped. You were accepted or not according to rules, an outsider found hard to understand, or adapt to. It was the land and how long you had owned it, that mattered, the longer the better, centuries at least. So you couldn't buy acceptance in society, you were born with it or you weren't. Things were changing, you married out of the magic circle, you had to, for money, but you were still part of the family and marrying into it, only bought grudging acceptance, often barely concealed contempt. The flood of American heiresses into Edwardian England had found that out. Their money was grudgingly accepted to keep aristocratic houses going, to pay death duties, keep up the entertaining expected of the great families, but the women weren't really accepted in the magic circle.
Not the brightest of her fathers five children, Charlotte had gone to the right school, which tried teaching academic studies, but cooking, the skills needed to run a large house, raise more children, that was more important. A hundred years ago, she might just have been accepted in the Debutante's season, the White Ball, presentation at the Palace and so on. Competition had been fierce back then, with an engagement ring from the right sort of man, as the only measure of success. That was long gone now of course, as was the brief era of the Swiss Finishing School. Now it was the right London Secretarial college and a Cordon Bleu cookery course in France.
Charlotte had done both and got a job in the Kitchen of a Merchant Bank, producing daily Director's Lunches. For three months in the Winter, she was a chalet girl in Verbier, again cooking cleaning, improving her skiing, but above all, meeting the right sort of man. Who was the right man? Well ideally the first son of an aristocrat of course, but only the first, second sons didn't inherit. Even in this day and age, a title was a home run. Otherwise, the navy or army, the right regiments of course, only the Guards or Horse Guards. Those boys would move seamlessly into the right job on completion of their commission, through the right contacts of course. Nothing really changed, only the work, it was still who you knew, who you went to school with, maybe fought with in Iraq, Afghanistan.
She might not have been the brightest, but she was witty, charming, spoke with the right accent and above everything, she was a stunner. Tall, slim, but with all the right curves, including long, shapely legs. Her hair was jet black, eyes a deep blue or violet, depending on the light, eyes you could drown in, if you weren't careful. She had a long, beautiful face, with high cheekbones, full lips and the palest of pale skin, so white, it looked translucent. If her hair had been red, she could have come straight out of a Pre Raphaelite painting. Oh, Charlotte was beautiful alright, used to the brief stop in conversation and dumbstruck look of any man she met for the first time. Most men would have given anything to have her and she had been involved from time to time, enjoying and needing sex, as much as any girl. She new though, to be careful, to avoid the reputation of being easy. Even in the 21st century, such things mattered to catch the right man who could give her the things she needed, the life she deserved.
At the age of 23, in her prime, having lost the teenage innocence and puppy fat, learned how the world worked, she had found the right man. Charles had got a first at Cambridge and was in his fourth year in a small, but up and coming Hedge Fund. He had been part of a skiing party and everyone had said, straight away, what a match they were. He was tall, dark haired and very handsome, in a saturnine, slightly sinister way. Obviously intelligent and funny, he had paid discreet court to her, not tried treating her as an on demand supplier of sex, as most men did. That was what chalet girls are for, wasn't it? They had both played it cool, but interested, matching each other's wary interest. Kissed of course and she had accepted the roaming hands and was gratified by the swelling in his groin, as he cupped her ass. "A bum man," she thought. Now most men were fixated on her breasts, so it was a refreshing change, of sorts.
At the end of his holiday, they exchanged telephone numbers and she told him when her Verbier contract ended, without much hope he would follow it up. Rich and very handsome, he must have numerous, gasping female acquaintances, who would snap him up, before she got back. So she was surprised to get his call, a few days back in London. Her heart skipped a beat, when she heard his deep creamy voice.
"Charlie, it's your skiing buddy here, missed me sweetheart?"
"Oh, you know, I threw myself into my work, trying to forget," she shot back.
"Yeh, Yeh, I'm sure you consoled yourself with some of those Grenadier guardsman, the place was infested with. Why all Grenadiers?"
"No, promise, I kept myself chaste and virginal, just for you, but you're right, the place was crawling with them."
"Chaste and virginal, forgive me a snigger, in this day and age love?" Charles replied.
So the banter went on for a few more minutes, till they agreed to meet for a drink in a well known bar, two days later. Charlie took care dressing, a casual cashmere sweater and slacks, but weapons grade lingerie. Her favourite white bra and pants set, edged with pale pink lace and pink holdups. It wasn't quite pornographic, but the scraps of cloth struggled to hide what was on offer. Arriving fashionably late, Charles was already nursing a drink, after a peck on the cheek, she accepted a champagne cocktail. Conversation was a little stilted initially, evidently this evening was more important to both of them, than the casual chat suggested. A couple of drinks turned into a delicious meal in a quiet Italian restaurant.
They took a taxi back to the flat Charlotte shared with a friend, luckily, she was with her boyfriend that night. He accepted the invitation for a nightcap of course and followed her up the two flights of stairs. Swaying her hips more than strictly necessary, he was transfixed by her gorgeous ass and had to restrain the impulse to grab her buttocks, but his cock was already stiffening. Once in the door, he grabbed her and they kissed with real passion for the first time. Pulling her into his groin, she enjoyed the feel of his growing erection. Switching to her tits, he cupped them, then gently rolled her swelling nipples between his fingers. How did he know? Her head fell back and she groaned, cheeks beginning to flush.
Charlotte pulled away and pushed him down in a chair, avoiding his eager hands. Turning round, she started swaying her hips, dancing without music. Pulling the clips from her hair and shaking out the tresses, she smiled over her shoulder and pulled the sweater over her head, then turned and leant forward. Her breasts were struggling to escape, the hard nipples pushing against the thin material. Pulling away again and laughing, she unbuttoned her slacks and slowly pushed them over her hips, then stepped out of them, continuing to sway her half covered buttocks. Reaching behind her back she unclipped and removed her bra, turned to face him, but covered her chest. She noticed he was flushed now, his pupils dilated, eyes roaming over the most perfect body he had ever seen. Turning half back, she dropped her hands to her pants, showing her breast in profile, large and firm, just slightly sagging under the delightful weight. Slowly pushing her pants over her buttocks and onto the floor, she stood still now, legs slightly spread, hands on hips, in hold ups and heels. He was a dead man walking already.
"God Charlie, you should be a Playboy Centrefold, that body..." He whispered.
Ignoring him, she bent down to touch the palms of her hands on the floor, to show her moist sex and hanging breasts. Turning to face him, he drank in what was on offer, the slightly curved abdomen, the neatly trimmed black bush, perfectly proportioned, flared hips and long, very long legs. Walking over to the chair she sat astride his legs, held his head and kissed him, before whispering,
"Now nice gentlemen like you, don't usually date porn models, do they? Fuck them, yes of course, but date them?
My turn, let's open my present. She started unbuttoning his shirt as his hands came up under her breasts, feeling their weight and firmness, then running his thumbs over her nipples.
"Mmm stop it, not fair.
But you're ripped, chest like iron, how does a banker get a body like that?"
She said, running her hands over his bare chest.
"I've told you sweetheart, I'm not a Banker, I'm a Hedge Fund manager, but moving all that money around all day, it's heavy you know."
"Yeh, Yeh, I'm not that stupid, you've got a flunkey to move the money for you.
Why are we talking, sorry to be unlady like, but I need a good seeing to, right now"
Charles picked her up and dropped her on the bed, quickly taking off his shoes trousers and pants.
"My, but you are pleased to see me, is that all for me?" She said.
He was quite large, 7 or 8 inches and thick, but it looked lovely, straight and unblemished. Sitting up quickly, she swallowed him whole, taking in most of his length in the first gulp, before bobbing up and down, as he groaned, holding her head lightly. Charles didn't give her long, but pulled out, to a mew of disappointment.
