The Expatriates

"We'll have it all, then," Rose said. "Our families will pay for our lives and entertainment. We'll be in nice weather with lots of pussy. We can do pretty much anything we want as long as we don't scare the livestock, as Uncle would say. And we're Americans, so those we deal with won't expect much of us."

She finished her port and leaned into Billy for a kiss, then dipped her pen in a nearby inkwell and scratched on a card.

"The evening is young. Let's bring that Arlene bitch back for the night. Ring the porter to take her this note." She sealed it.

Arlene was happy to be debauched in private, and not by a servant. The night rolled on. Satisfied groans emerged from their open coach windows to the summer sky, drowned by the rat-a-tat of clicking rails and whispers of a hot wind.

=====

Their train arrived in Manhattan. Awaiting the sailing in two days, Billy and Rose took rooms at the swank Hotel Victoria on Broadway — again, separate suites; again, a connecting door; again, intimate entertainment with ostensibly 'respectable' women. So many pretended respectability! It seemed a common game. Husbands and families played, too. Sluts and studs abounded. Ever was it so.

"Billy-boy, what about her?" Rose gestured toward a smartly-dressed young woman.

"You just can't wait till we're aboard, can you? She's probably one of our fellow passengers with a suite next to ours. Look how she carries herself. She's a little rich bitch, heading to London to spend her daddy's money. Like you, but without your talent. You've composed stanzas about her already, haven't you?"

She threatened him with her jeweled hatpin. "Only three couplets so far, and you'd best keep them to yourself." She whispered sweet obscenities in his ear and waved her deadly ornament before his eyes. "Maybe I'll publish In Paris."

"In an anonymous black-label edition so your family doesn't disown you and perverted leches don't track you down, I hope."

"Ooh Billy-Boy, I love it when you talk filthy! Let's take her upstairs and fuck her."

Such a dirty girl!

So they did. And yes, she boarded with them, and her suite was nearby, and she had wealthy friends aboard. The week-long voyage to Birmingham passed smoothly, wetly, happily, except for an irate husband who only calmed after Rose reluctantly mouthed him to orgasm. Once. That was sufficient.

"You didn't have to do that, Rosie. I could have..."

"You could have got your jollies by beating him, but this is quieter. And you taste better." She drew out his cock and licked him. "Much better, as always, my friend." She slurped. He groaned his appreciation. She did not mind swallowing his ejaculation. Their friendship was strong.

=====

The luxurious White Star liner docked in Birmingham. Porters quickly ensconced them on the smaller but still ritzy Royal Eastern cruiser bound for Mediterranean ports. They moistly entertained two homeward-bound minor Serbian princesses during their brief passage to Marseilles. Those girls were lively, if a bit hairy. Their years in a London ladies' academy had only trained them to shave around their pussies, not below. Sad.

Billy and Rose were dressed for the day when the cruiser docked. Porters expedited their arrival. Standing outside their cabins, they awaited the 'disembark' whistle, arm in arm, but decorous.

"Jenkins booked me a villa outside Marseilles and it looks like you're to be right next door," Billy said. No eyes were upon them so he patted her ass. "The houses even adjoin at the wall, likely with a hidden passage between. How convenient!"

"I don't believe in coincidence, Billy-boy. This is another setup." She gently squeezed his cock through his woolen trousers.

"It seems all planned," he replied. "We'll keep some separation this way. I can occupy the gents at my place while you coddle the women in your leisure. Jenkins' notes mention a safe and its combination. A good place to hide our secrets, surely."

"Right, but don't call me Shirley," she joked.

He pinched her nearest tit, as decorously as possible. She giggled poetically.

The steam whistle blew its warning. Wealthy passengers strolled the gangplank to waiting carriages. Common folk merely trudged. Billy and Rose's coach was not quite the nearest, fastest, nor most handsome of the assemblage. But it was elegant enough, as were their adjacent villas above town.

The coach's footmen carried their steamer trunks through their individual front doors for their housemaids to arrange. A groom revealed the connecting passageway when bribed. They dined together in Rose's garden lounge — her cook did well and her cellar's wines were tolerable, at least to Napa Valley standards They had suffered worse meals in San Francisco.

They took after-dinner cocktails laying back in padded chairs with their exposed feet toe-tagging on the soft ottoman they shared. Rose brought up the question.

"What now, Billy-boy, and when? Do we fuck the help, you get mine and I get yours, as is only right? Or do we save ourselves for our work?" Her stockinged foot rose up his leg to brush along his extended cock.

"How about we just fuck each other now and worry about the rest tomorrow?" he asked. His toe crept along her inner thigh.

"What an idea!" she chanted. "Only we two for a change. Won't you be lonely?" She pushed harder against his cock.

He tugged on her leg and forced her into his lap.

"Just like old times," he coarsely whispered, "without the pony."

She giggled again and twisted to kiss him. "And no Bolivian dwarves tonight," she insisted. "But pour me some more port."

They decided her housemaid Doria was the comeliest of their staffs so she was tasked with cleaning them before they took to Rose's bed. Doria was conscientious with her washcloth and did not obviously stare at their aroused states. She quietly frigged herself later.

=====

Billy and Rose settled into their tasks, him visiting factories and insinuating himself into the confidences of brokered British imperials, her gaining intimacies with those blokes' culture-starved women, so excited by the notorious poetess of whom the men had never heard and would disregard anyway.

The fellows did not notice their wives' and daughters' flushed, satisfied faces after an evening's visit with Rose and the lusty attention she and Billy quietly lavished on them. The fellows would hardly recognize a post-orgasmic glow if it bit their balls.

Billy periodically entrained for Lyons or Paris to tediously inspect industrial products and facilities. He regularly returned to entertain the bored lovelies Rose had prepared. Together, they cut a wide, wet swathe through the south of France and its languid exile realms. They enjoyed tremendous returns for their efforts.

"What did you get from old Boswell," Rose asked, laughing as they languished in bed. "I mean, other than his daughters. Who *I* brought to us, just so you don't forget."

"Those girls surely loved our tongues, your pussy, and my cock, didn't they?" He paused to lick her nipples. "And they brought us his old maps and notes of those colonial diggings in Greece." Another nip-bite, and she cooed.

He continued, "But his drunken stories put those in context. Rare ores, yes, but so many bandits! We'll need reinforced vehicles and light troops to work there. Maybe grandfather will bribe the Macedonians to provide protection. His problem, not mine. I just send reports."

Billy transmitted weekly encoded cables to his grandfather, probably decoded by Jenkins, who Billy totally distrusted. Billy always included details Jenkins could not distort. When reply cables lacked certain phrasing, he knew the channel was insecure. Damn that slimy toad!

"Old Chesterton was busy around the Arabian Gulf and he has a sweet young wife, Lydia, that golden Cypriot girl," Rose said, stroking his rampant cock. "I've only kissed her mouth and she was so spicy! You get him next and I'll get her for us."

She licked his dickhead, her eyes locked on his. A sultry smile played on her lips, and she tongue-tickled him for sweet torture.

"She seemed wild and impatient. You think you'll have the energy for her, and me, too?" She mouthed him more deeply.

"Bring her on," he ordered. "You too."

He pulled Rose around with his cock still in her mouth and her vulva over his face.

"Energy? No problem! I'm a natural."

His tongue teased her depths. She writhed atop him, as usual.

=====

Billy acted the proper arrogant American fool for Colonel (retired) H.L. Chesterton, "call me Harry." Not so hairy now, Billy thought. He bought the right cigars and cognac, asked the right idiotic questions, listened to tales of improbable bravery and buffoonery, and extracted a wealth of insights into Gulf operations.

"So take that Sultan of Basra, lad," the old man said. "Queer as a mandrill and greedy as a Muscovite, so he always appreciates richly-dressed little blond Circassian boys." He tapped the ash from his fat Spanish cigar. "Especially when their pockets are lined with gold coins. He easily grants licenses then."

"How decadent," Billy said, waving at the servant to refill both their brandy snifters. "I had a cousin like that. Cocaine made his brains leak out. Does this sultan like stimulants? Other than sex and sinful alcohol, I mean." He drank sinfully.

"These Mohamedeans are as bad as your Southern Baptists, or rather your polygamous Mormons — all promises of hellfire, and prohibitions they ignore in private. Temptations of the flesh, my boy, they just can't resist them. Supposed to abjure illicit sex, and spiritous drinks" — he sipped his cognac — "and so they imbibe their opium and hashish and tobacco" — he puffed on his corona — "but they drink anyway, and fornicate madly with children and beasts, because the flesh rules the soul."

"Ever was it so," Billy intoned as if wise. "Breeding will tell. Only those bred with stern moral character can withstand the lures of the flesh, isn't it so, Colonel?" He sipped and puffed. "Yet a savant once counseled: all things in moderation, including moderation itself. A strong man may sample delights without becoming enslaved to them. Only the weak succumb. The fittest survive and prosper. And the mongrels...?"

Billy waved his hand dismissively. He did not believe in social Darwinism or racial superiority. He had dealt with too many smart-as-a-whip people with black, brown, and yellow skins. But he knew what bait to throw.

"How do you Englishmen allow your lowly Scots to get away with what they do, Colonel? Not to mention the bestial Irish." As expected, his somewhat besotted host snatched the bait.

"Harumph!" the old fool grunted. "Damn liberals in Whitehall, girly-boys running the government, half of them lower-class themselves, sticking knives in the backs of their betters." He downed his cognac; the Welsh servant refilled his tumbler. "Just imagine the disaster if your niggers had influence."

He did not notice the servant's stony face. Upper-class Englishmen considered all lesser peoples to be niggers.

The old goat must be both moneyed and fearful, Billy thought, to import servants rather than hiring cheaper locals. He sipped and puffed again. He knocked the ash from his corona.

"By the way, what are your Scots fellows doing around the Gulf? Finding anything interesting? Besides camels for fornication?"

Colonel Chesterton's bleary eyes attempted a crafty look. Further ingestion of drink and smoke mellowed him.

"Oh, when smuggled whiskey runs dry, they've come up with" — and he mentioned some minerals and locales — "and there's a spot of petroleum here and there" — he indicated where. "Some say it's the coming thing," he slurrily intoned, "but ships and industry run on coal, and you can't feed oil to horses. Let the bloody Arabs have it!" The icy servant refilled his warm cognac.

"The Balkan coal fields are the Crown's priority then, yes?"

"Damn right, my boy. The Royal Navy will keep any wars from breaking out around there. The buggers wouldn't dare!"

This last exertion seemed to have exhausted the old warrior. His head lolled. His mouth drooled. His cigar stub slipped from his fingers but was quickly retrieved by the servant, who then showed Billy out.

Billy hoped old Marlborough would be as informative but less sloppy.

=====

Billy had harvested much useful information from tipsy old Chesterton. Rose had grown very close to his sweet young Cypriot wife Lydia, almost a Mediterranean goddess. The women became much closer when Billy joined them. In Rose's large, soft bed. Without clothes or bothersome servants. They could clean themselves as needed.

Old Marlborough's golden, nubile granddaughter Francine, since her academy days a great admirer of Rose's poetry and now a close friend of Lydia, often visited, as did old Boswell's lovely literate twins Victoria and Velma, offspring of his third wife — for intellectual stimulation only, of course. Right.

You may smirk now.

The women's literary circle regularly gathered at Rose's villa. Nearby girls bicycled to stay trim without a starvation diet. Of those more remote, their coachman led the horses and carriages to the villa's stable to water their charges and entertain themselves with smoking, drinking, boasting, and gambling — just the usual.

The literary circle, beside the aforementioned acolytes, boasted many more ladies whose English masters, their retired husbands and fathers and sugar daddies, had dragged them into comfortable exile to escape the crappy weather and moral constraints infesting Great Britain.

Had those English masters still possessed workable penises and patience, Rose and Billy would have been much lonelier.

The literary circle usually began with discussions of poetic intent and realization. Billy might be present to offer a male perspective. Meetings invariably progressed to naked sexual circles of slurpy females, ever-shifting daisychains of oral-genital delights that Rose's stanzas hinted at.

Billy would tenderly stroke the heaving, sweating mass of intertwined Britannic babes' bodies until, gasping, they broke apart and re-formed into two- or three- or four-somes. His penis might then be demanded and appreciated.

A jolly time was had by all, especially the Boswell twins. They were so wicked! If no other women lay wantonly nearby, they pleasured each other, as they had for so long. But they always welcomed Billy's majestic manhood. No matter which he penetrated, the other would be next.

"It's like the middle verses of Rose's GARDENS OF NEPTUNE," Victoria murmured, raising her face from her sister's vulva and licking his slowly-pistoning prick, that meaty engine of pleasure.

Billy moved between Vicky's upper lips and Velma's lower lips, a nice contrast, all wet and willing. "Especially the fountains of love. We really feel that." He was not quite ready to spurt yet, but he was close, and they were there, receptive.

Velma and Victoria were literate, well-educated by well-paid tutors, and quite sex-obsessed, but definitely not stupid. They knew their body cycles. Vicky's pussy was receptive until she and Velma, licking at the genital joining, felt their lover about to boil over. Then Velma sucked the throbbing cock into her mouth and drained every drop of dangerous, lively sperm, diverted from her twin's baby-making machinery.

"Unnggghhh!!" did Billy grunt. "Arrggghhh!" did Vicky wail, as Velma finished with the now-spent cock and resumed her attentions to her sister's clitoris. "Mmmmmmm!" did Velma hum, as she felt their orgasms flow through her, and flowing yet further with Rose tonguing her excited vulva. Cumming hard while avoiding pregnancy yet again brought immense satisfaction to the twins.

=====

The Boswell twins had provided valuable negative information and many thrills, while others of Provence-dwelling British refugees' female offspring and partners were also informative and thrilling in their own lush ways, but alas, many exciting sequences must reach an ending.

Billy was instructed, with no arguments allowed, to relocate to the outskirts of Naples, while Rose's remittances required her to remain in France. Their years of predation would end.

"Billy, what will you do without me?" she asked between cock-slurps.

"You've spoilt me and trained me. I'll miss you like hell. Suck a little more, okay?"

He splorted and smiled. She crawled up and kissed his mouth. He did not mind the flavor.

"But I'll mention your name in Anglophone communities and reap rewards, I'm sure."

"You're only using me, Billy. I like that." She held him close.

The long-time friends bid a sad farewell, accompanied by many of Rose's literary acolytes a.k.a. fuck-babes. Juices flowed freely that night! Billy may have impregnated a few more babes but he found that a forlorn comfort. Still, a French colony of Billy look-alike tots was an achievement. Would their supposed fathers notice?

=====

The time of his move came. The Neapolitan city of Sorrento had been a favorite retreat of rain-weary Britishers for nearly a century. Billy was assigned a villa owned by a Forbes-Hodges minion whose misdeeds earned him exile in Norway to survey ice-bound mining operations. Billy shuddered at the prospect, and resolved to stay in his grandfather's good graces.

The cable from Jenkins' slimy hand told him to retain Signora Vizcaino as housekeeper. He expected a most unattractive matron but was pleasantly surprised to find a vigorous young woman, the current Signora Vizcaino, the lovely Lucia.

Her English was lightly accented. "My late mother-in-law, bless her soul, managed this estate for the signore Forbes, even after her son, my beloved husband Marco, was killed in that damn Somali war." She spat on the ground. "Mama Rosa taught me all I need for success here. She also taught me a bit about men. Are you a man?" Her eyes captured his.

"I am told you read current literature. Are you familiar with my friend Rose Steinmetz? She has written of me in her verses."

Lucia's hand covered her mouth.

"That was you in her words? In GARDENS OF SATURN? Oh, I must come to know you better!"

Thus did Billy easily recruit Lucia into lascivious mini-orgies.

His Italian assignments were to evaluate the motor vehicle industry of Rome and Naples, and to pry knowledge from weary British imperials who took refuge in that warm, lazy land. The first task required the usual boring but vital visits to factories. The second involved seducing more expatriate ladies to reveal secrets held by their families and owners.

Lucia was an invaluable aide. She knew the housekeepers and mistresses in Sorrento's British community. She was close to many, closer than a sister, closer than many a lover.

Thus did the women of old Carvarnon, old Maxwell, old Dagleish, old Harris, old Pemberton, and old Terrell welcome Lucia's tongue and Billy's cock, and thus did they reveal what their menfolk did not disclose when Billy innocently conversed with those men. No state secrets emerged, but Billy sought only working knowledge, not military codes. He welcomed maps, charts, and other documents too, of course. He pieced together a fair account of Imperial interests and sources.

More productive time passed. Billy's cables to San Francisco reaped the Forbes-Hodges empire steady rewards and warned away incautious moves. His allowance was raised. He purchased a Cantono Electric phaeton to silently wheel from villa to villa, or to convey and return ladies for subtle interrogation and explicit pleasure. Lucia often rode with him, her hair modestly bound.

Billy retained an electro-mechanic to maintain his vehicle. He did not share his secrets but Rudolfo knew, anyway, as did most local folk. Only the old fools remained blessedly ignorant.