Harry's Birthday Party

by Christine Morgan

Author's Note: Pandathaway was borrowed from "Guardians of the Flame." The House of Infinite Dreams comes from one of the CityBooks by Flying Buffalo.

        "Come on, Harry. Dinna be such a lubber." Howie grabbed his arm and pulled him through the
door. "'Tis yer birthday, after all, an' I'm meanin' to see ye have a good time."
         Harold Ethelbald III stumbled into the foyer of the House of Infinite Dreams. He and Howie had
walked past the place hundreds of times, whistling at the half-dressed women that leaned from the
balconies and called out to the passers-by, and they'd often talked about going in, but they never had.
Until now.
         It was his fifteenth birthday, and in the best teenage tradition, he had already had far more wine that
was good for him. It was mostly Howie's influence. Though a few months younger, Howie was much
more experienced in the ways of the adult world, or at least so he boasted. According to Howie, he'd had
his first woman almost two years ago, and he'ds been drinking since he was tall enough to reach the bar.
         In many ways, the boys were a lot alike. They were both attractive, with dark hair and grey eyes,
but Harry was tall and slim, with the wiry build of a fencer, while Howie was already broad-shouldered
with muscular arms that made the girls in their classes sigh. Not that the girls had much of a chance to
sigh over either of them. One of the other things they shared was a dislike for the strict Academy, and a
tendency to skip classes whenever possible. They both enjoyed drinking, though Harry favored ruby wine
and Howie had developed a taste for rum. And they both greatly appreciated pretty girls.
         The House of Infinite Dreams was certainly filled with those. The wide, velvet-carpeted foyer was
open to the second floor, with a long curving staircase and lots of low, plush sofas. Women of all
descriptions lounged about, chatting with well-dressed gentlemen, giggling, artfully showing a bit of
cleavage here, a glimpse of thigh there.
         "Howie, are you out of your rum-soaked mind? We can't afford this place!" Harry tugged at his
jacket and ran a hand through his hair. One unruly lock insisted on tumbling over his forehead. His
mother told him it was charming, but Vishina told him it made him look like a sleazy dockside gambler.
         "Were ye not listnin'? I said 'tis yer birthday, an' I'm buyin'. 'Tis an embarrasment to have me best
friend bein' a virgin." This last was delivered in a loud whisper that caught the attention of a nearby
wench. She turned and eyed Harry with a slow, speculative look that made his knees weak.
         "Howie, shut up!" He dropped his voice. "Besides, who said I was?"
         Howie threw back his head and roared with laughter. The magical lamplight glinted on the gold hoop
he wore through his ear.
         Harry gave up. Howie would never believe the story of what had happened on his last birthday. He
barely believed it himself. The problem with some things was that they sounded like lies, even when they
were true. Of course, some people, like Diana, would think he was lying if he said the sky was blue.
Howie would laugh his head off if Harry tried to tell him how Elspeth, the upstairs maid, had sneaked
into his bed last year and taught him about men and women.
         "Now then, lad, see anythin' ye like? I've enough gold in me pocket to buy ye the best time ye've
ever had."
         He started to ask where Howie had gotten the money, but shrugged. The wine and the proximity of
the women were making his head spin. He looked around the room.
         One of the women reminded him of Vishina with her tawny hair and long dancer's legs. He
considered her, but cast the idea aside. Vishina was more or less a friend, but she was also a bitch and a
tease. He didn't want to be reminded of her tonight. He spotted a new girl drifting down the stairs, and
his eyes widened. She was stunning. Her hair was the exact color of a fox's pelt, cascading in smooth
waves to her gently rolling hips. Her skin was fair, creamy, almost translucent. Her full, pouty lips were
enough to drive a man mad. She wore a clinging gown of black silk, cut very low in the front and slit
high on the side. As she came down the stairs, he saw most of a stocking-clad leg and a flash of
something that might be a garter.
         He tried to swallow, because his throat felt suddenly tight. Howie followed his gaze and whistled
         "Well now, lad, there be a fine present, just waitin' to be unwrapped." He signaled a striking older
woman in a burgundy velvet gown. "Me friend here would like to be spendin' the night with yonder lass.
'Tis his birthday."
         The woman smiled at him and beckoned the redhead. Many of the men in the room, even those
already engaged, paused to watch the fascinating motion of her walk.
         "Andrea, this young man would like to celebrate his birthday with you," she said.
         Harry stared as she approached. Her eyes were an unusual coppery shade, twinkling with merriment.
She walked right up to him and slid her arm through his, pressing her hip against him. She smelled of
         "Shall we go upstairs?" she purred.
         Howie laughed again. "Be off with ye, lad. Methinks I'll be findin' some amusement meself."
         Harry tore his eyes away from the woman, though it was difficult. With his height advantage, he
could see a good deal of cleavage. Howie already had his arm around a bouncy blond wench, and was
even squeezing one of her abundant breasts.
         Shaking his head, he let Andrea lead him upstairs.
         "Have you been with a woman before?" she asked, letting her leg rub against him as they walked.
         "Um, yes," he said. "Several times."
         She glanced sidelong at him and curved those pouty lips into a smile. "A woman like me?"
         "Hell, no," he said, then laughed. "I've never even seen a woman like you."
         "I hope you like me," she said, opening a door and motioning him through.
         "I'm sure I will."
         The room was tastefully furnished in shades of rust and beige, with a large round bed piled with
cushions. The light in the room seemed to find its way to Andrea, not merely falling on her as it did
Harry, but loving her, caressing her. He was so entranced by the play of candlelight on her hair that he
almost didn't notice when she undid her gown and let it fall free. As soon as he did notice, he found
himself struck dumb. Speech, his best weapon, his very life, deserted him as he stared at her high, proud
breasts barely held in place by a lacy black brasseire. Silky, lace-trimmed panties clung to her hips. A
garter belt cinched around her waist and fastened to the sheer stockings. Her high heels gave her legs
extra definition.
         He realized he was staring openly at her exposed body, and forced his eyes back to her face,
blushing guiltily. She laughed, not in a mocking way but in a pleased way, and stepped closer.
         "You're supposed to look at me," she said warmly. "That's why we're here."
         "I'm sorry," he said.
         "Don't be. Look all you want." She turned, arms behind her head, displaying herself.
         He looked, letting his eyes slide over her curves. Desire thundered through his veins. He was dimly
aware that he was hard as a rock, constricted a bit in his snug trousers.
         Andrea moved closer to him. "You can do more than look," she breathed, lifting one of his hands
and putting it on her breast.
         Like a man released from a spell, he brought his other hand up and caressed her firm flesh. He
squeezed her breasts together, threatening to overspill the fabric. She sighed and hooked her leg around
his. Her hand slipped between their bodies and rubbed him through his pants. He almost lost control right
then, but he remembered what Elspeth had taught him and forced himself to think about other things.
         "Mmm, and you're only fifteen?" she said, her hand moving slowly, urgently.
         He answered by kissing her. Her mouth opened and her tongue danced against his. He pulled her
close, hands finding her sweet ass and holding her against him. She moaned and ground her hips, still
         "Why don't we get you out of some of these things?" she murmured, taking her hand away from his
groin and pushing his jacket from his shoulders.
         He almost screamed when she stopped touching him, but fought for control. As she unbuttoned his
shirt, he tried to figure out the brassiere. Unable to find the catch, he finally gave up and slid the straps
down, freeing her breasts. She sighed delightedly as he bent to capture a large pink nipple in his mouth.
Grabbing the back of his head, she pushed herself against him, nearly smothering him. He loved it,
feasting greedily on her ripe flesh. He somehow shrugged out of his shirt without letting go of her. She
tossed her head, her russet hair brushing against his bare back.
         He started to fumble with his trousers, but she stopped him.
         "Let me," she said.
         He stood back, watching in amazed lust as she knelt at his feet. Her breasts jiggled as she moved.
She swiftly undid her brassiere and flung it to the side, then reached for his belt. Gazing up at him, she
slowly slid it free of the loops and threw it on the growing pile of discarded clothing. She leaned in, still
not taking her eyes from his, and gently rubbed her cheek against the bulge in his pants. She nipped
lightly, then cupped her mouth over the bulge and blew. Warm air filtered through the material,
surrounding him, heating him up. He moaned.
         "Sit down so I can take off your boots," she said. He went unsteadily to the side of the bed and sat,
still watching her as she crawled across the floor, breasts swaying, hair trailing on the carpet. Her
movements were sinuous, catlike. She growled softly, a predator's gleam in her eyes.
         She removed his boots with agonizing slowness. He was more than ready to rip off his remaining
clothes and throw her back on the bed. She motioned for him to stand again.
         "Do you like me?" she asked.
         He nodded. "Of course."
         She leaned in and kissed his belly, flicking her tongue. She bit the edge of his pants and made the
mock-growl sound again. He reached down and touched her hair, twining his fingers in it. She
unbuttoned his pants and slid them down. He stepped out of them awkwardly and she threw them on the
pile as well.
         He started to say something as she engulfed him in her warm mouth. Whatever he was going to say
came out in a long "Ahhh". Her head bobbed back and forth, her tongue circling the entire length of his
shaft, her full, pouty lips closed around him. His hips rocked and his hands clutched uselessly at the air.
Andrea gripped him in one small hand, moving up and down, as she looked up at him. Seeing that he
was watching, she deliberately licked her lips and bent her head to her task again., She kept ahold of his
shaft, massaging, as her lips and tongue concentrated on the tip. The warmth, the suction, was
maddening. He gasped and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations that coursed through him. He'd have
to remember to thank Howie for this.
         She raised her head again, hand still moving, and asked, "What do you want?"
         "I want you," he said, reaching for her.
         She stood and shrieked in surprise as he swept her up and dumped her on the bed. He undid her
garter belt, finding the clasp as if by magic, and peeled off her panties. He left her stockings on as he
buried his face in the soft nest of russet hair between her thighs. His tongue found her moist and ready.
         "Dorian!" she cried, locking her legs around his neck. Silk whispered against his skin. He used
every trick Elspeth had taught him, licking and nuzzling her, alternating firm, broad strokes with light
flickering touches to her pleasure button. Her high heels drummed on his back. He slid his hands under
her buttocks and raised her, tasting her sweet juices. She cried out again as her body shook.
         Immediately, he rose over her, holding her legs over his shoulders, and entered her. He thrust
quickly and forcefully, extending her moment of pleasure, until she was thrashing beneath him. Only
then did he stop and shower her face and neck with kisses before starting to move again. Andrea moaned,
fingernails digging at his back. He heard himself moaning along with her, rushing toward completion.
        She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, crushing her. He muffled their cries by covering her
mouth with his own. Her breasts pushed against his chest. He drove into her again and again, harder and
harder, until he could hold back no longer.  His back arched as he emptied himself into her.
         He lay atop her until their breathing returned to something approaching normal. Her hair was spread
out across the bed, her head turned to the side, eyes closed. He kissed her cheek, blew in her ear. She
smiled and turned her head toward him.
         "Happy birthday," she whispered.
         "The night's not over yet," he replied.

     *  *  *
The End

Copyright 1992 by Christine Morgan