Come With Me: The Garden Party

~ by Hath, August 17, 2008

Mr. and Mrs. Richard Sambora
Request the pleasure of your company
On Saturday, the Eleventh of July
At four o'clock.

A Victorian Garden Party
Costumes Required

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Savannah said, as they were dressing for the party.

Richie smiled. “Thanks, baby. This is going to be fun, even though it’s hotter than hell out there.”

Savannah laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to have a themed party, dear,” she reminded him. “A toga party would have been more appropriate for July.”

“Yeah, but I cut a very dashing figure in my costume, don’t you think?”

Savannah considered her husband. Fancy gray-pinstriped black trousers, with a straight, boot-cut leg graced his powerful legs. Tucked into the slim waist of the pants was a snow-white wing-tip shirt, complete with black silk puff tie and a large diamond tie pick; one of the gifts she had presented to him today. It was covered over by a gorgeous, double-breasted burgundy vest which sported a notched collar and fancy silver buttons. Over top of that, he wore a black formal tailcoat, complete with decorative front buttons in a V pattern up the plackets, and a peaked lapel.

And topping his head, of course, was a hat. Not any hat, however. A dove-gray formal topper. A high hat with a deep brim, curled slightly on the sides. A burgundy grosgrain ribbon was tied in a small, flat bow tie on the side. Gray gloves and an ebony walking stick completed the look.

“You are gorgeous, sir,” Savannah said, curtseying before dropping her dressing gown to get dressed herself. She wore gray stockings clipped into a black garter belt and matching bra.

Richie’s eyes went wide. “Where are your panties?”

Savannah smiled. “Why do I need them?”

Richie’s eyes darkened and he crossed the room to take his wife in his arms. “Oh happy birthday to me. Do you know what knowing that is going to do to me today?”

“Of course,” his wife replied, then patted his cock gently and kissed his lips before slowly backed away to don her own ensemble.

A dove-gray Moiré Gibson Girl walking skirt fell to her feet, dipping slightly lower in the back than in the front. It had a button at the back, and a zipper that ran the full length of the skirt. A sleeveless burgundy cotton camisole was tucked in, making her waist look smaller than it was. The jacket she wore matched the skirt perfectly. The outing jacket had puff sleeves, a notched collar, and five fabric-covered buttons. In the back, there was a tieback, which would pull the jacket close to her breasts.

Not to be outdone in the head-topper department, Savannah had an ostentatious hat of her own. Black with a netting wrapped around it that would trail to her waist, it sported burgundy silk, lace, flowers, and feathers. It was gorgeous and showy and was perfect with her outfit. She carried a delicate burgundy fringed parasol which would be good cover from the sun.

“Wel,” she said, twirling around and assuming a coquettish pose.

“Delicious, my pet,” Richie said, his eyes darkening. He hooked an elbow out for Savannah to take as they made their way downstairs to prepare to meet their guests.

The engraved invitations went out two weeks ago, and they had gotten no regrets. Savannah smiled inwardly at the thought of all those people on her lawn while she gave Richie his other, more personal gift.

At precisely four o’clock, Savannah took her place on the lawn, greeting their guests. As the cars came around the driveway to the front of the house, Richie was waiting to open doors and usher the ladies inside where they could rearrange their costumes if they wished. A hired liveried “servant” would be in attendance to then show the ladies out back where Savannah would receive them.

In keeping with tradition, a tent was pitched toward the back of the lawn, shading the food from the heat of the sun. Laid out on beds of ice were various salads, cold birds, ham, pâté de foie gras, salmon dressed with a green sauce, jellies, ices, cakes, punch, and champagne. Tea and coffee, bread and butter and biscuits, sandwiches, fruit, and lemonade were laid out as well. The caterers had outdone themselves in their bid to be authentic.

The lawn’s broad expanse was pocketed with sofas, arm-chairs, and ordinary chairs from the house, with basket chairs and garden seats intermingled with them; Turkey rugs were laid down on the grass in front of the seating areas; and small tables were scattered among the chairs. A jazz quartet was playing formal music while the guests arrived. They would play livelier tunes once the party got into full swing.

Various games were set up on the lawns as well: archery, croquet, and lawn tennis among them. Chess and checkerboards were set up in the shade of the elm trees, and under the grand oak in the middle of the yard sat two poker tables with leather chairs. The guests were amused at the lengths the Samboras went to for their annual bash, but they never left disappointed.

A team of wait staff, dressed as Victorian servants, were instructed to preserve the proprieties of a proper dinner. There would be no piles of dirty dishes, knives, forks, or spoons visible on the green grass; baskets would be in readiness to carry off everything as soon as it was discarded. There was a sufficient quantity of glass and china in use, and plenty of linen napkins, so that there would be no delay in serving the refreshments. The lemonade and punch bowls would be continually replenished from the dining-room, and a set of staff dressed as maid-servants, in caps and aprons would watch the table, noticing if the cups, spoons, plates, wine glasses, and forks were abundant and clean.

Everything looked perfect.

Once all the guests had arrived and had been photographed so they’d have a souvenir of the day, Savannah and Richie split up, each to attend to his or her own friends. When their eyes would meet across the yard, Richie would remember what his bride was not wearing under her gown, and would start to get hard. Since the costume left very little room for that, he’d quickly turn his thoughts back to the conversation at hand, effectively putting a damper on his arousal.

Two hours into the party, Savannah approached Richie, a sly smile on her face. “Richie, darling, I need you for a minute.”

Richie, who was playing cards with assorted band mates and other friends, looked at his wife. “Can it wait until after this hand? I’ve nearly fleeced these suckers.”

Savannah just smiled, and leaned down to whisper into his ear, “Come with me.”

“Fold!” Richie called, and tossed his cards on the table. He grabbed his wife’s hand and let her lead him to whatever it was she had planned for him.

The Party Concludes Here