Around the World in 80 Babes: Chapter 44 – Coming Out

Around the World in 80 Babes: Chapter 44 – Coming Out
Party, Part 1

By: TRL

Celebs: Dannii Minogue

Codes: MF, Anal

Disclaimer: Hey! You! The underaged, the bigoted, the
profusely prudish! Don’t read this! it’s not meant for
you! Go away and ignore this wonderful piece of
fiction, that those who ARE old enough, enjoy stories
about sex, and understand that it IS fiction will love
to pieces.


Around the World in 80 Babes

2005 CSSA Award Winner for Best M/F Series

by: TRL

Chapter 44: Coming
Out Party, Part 1

September 23rd, 2005
Sydney Hilton Hotel,
Sydney, Australia

“Fuck my ass! Fuck it, Fuck It, FUCK IT!!!”

Richard Stall wasn’t too sure that he’d scored the proper sister, but at least this one was enthusiastic. The tiny little brunette actively shoved her rear end back onto his shaft as the two fucked in the lift riding up to the penthouse. Considering he’d barely met the girl an hour ago – completely by chance, no less, this was fantastic progress. Add to it the fact that he hadn’t used Lambert’s chemical aphrodisiac, and he’d scored a major success tonight.

“Harder,” she moaned as he pressed her against the elevator wall. They weren’t blessed with tons of time – the lift was still going up after all. This was the very definition of a quickie, but it was proving to be a hell of a quickie. Her tight ass gripped Stall’s cock in all the right ways, and there was something seductively innocent about how her baby-blue cocktail dress bunched around her waist as he fucked her. The fact that she’d foregone panties despite the risk of being photographed only added to that fact.

“Hurry,” she grunted as he pounded into her. “We’re running out of time!”

That was all Stall needed to hear. He redoubled his efforts, and almost instantly felt himself getting close to climax – no surprise there – it’d been more than two weeks since he’d last gotten laid, either by a famous woman or not. Considerably too long for someone used to getting some on a more-or-less weekly rate. The tightness of the ass he was currently screwing was enough to get his decidedly deprived cock to forgo any effort of holding back, and before he knew it, he was releasing a serious load deep inside Dannii Minogue’s ass.

“Bloody hell,” Dannii muttered as Stall stayed inside her rear end for more than a minute, releasing his seed. “How long has it been since you got off?”

“Too long,” Stall admitted, gently pulling out of Dannii’s rear. He couldn’t help but notice he was still more-or-less at full erection; he could easily go again right now.

“Mmmm. You’ve got a great cock, Richard.”

“Thank you,” Stall said, wiping away at the lubricant on his cock with a napkin he’d grabbed at the bar downstairs.

“I’d love to take you back to my room and enjoy you some more,” Dannii said, adjusting her dress a little, pulling it back down to cover her fantastic ass. “But I’ve got to attend THE social event of the year tomorrow night, and I simply must get some rest.”

Stall glanced at his watched and realized it was now considerably after midnight.

“What social event is that?” Stall asked casually as he stuffed his cock pack inside his trousers and zipped them up just in time for the lift doors to slide open.

“Why, only Christine Cavanaugh’s Coming Out party,” Dannii said, as if Stall should’ve known exactly who that was. Before he could ask, she kissed him once on the lips and walked off the lift, leaving him standing there, completely confused – but blessedly less horny than he’d been earlier in the night.

* * *

September 23rd, 2005
“The Australian Pit,”
Sydney, Australia

“Christine Cavanaugh, the fifteen-year-old daughter of Industrialist Martin Cavanaugh, who just happens to own a third of Australia’s most powerful manufacturing plants, three separate recording labels, and two major TV stations in and around Sydney itself,” Tom Lambert said, reading almost directly off his computer screen the information he’d gathered up as soon as Stall got back from banging – and recording – Dannii Minogue.

“Christine is having her Coming Out party tonight, which is essentially a more formal way of saying it’s her sixteenth birthday and being the daughter of extremely wealthy parents, she’s getting every single little thing her sixteen-year-old heart desires, short of Johnny Depp.”

“I heard Orlando Bloom might be there, though,” Marissa Call added helpfully.

“You knew about this?” Stall asked, surprised.

“We’ve been in Australia for most of the month, and I haven’t gotten any famous pussy in over two weeks,” she pointed out. “I’ve got time to check into the local gossip columns.”

“Hey!” Michael Burke spoke up. “What, I’m not enough for you in bed?”

“Don’t worry, babe,” Marissa said. “I may crave hot celebrity lesbian pussy, but when I need a good hard cock, you’re always my first choice.”

“I’d take that as a compliment,” Stall said. “It’s about as close as you’re going to get.”

“Can we get back on subject here?” Chelsea Smythe asked.

“Actually, there’s not too much more to the subject,” Lambert said. “Because Martin Cavanaugh has his fingers into almost every facet of entertainment in Australia, the party should be a major who’s who of popular actors, singers, sports stars, and models. Plus media. Lots of media.”

“Any chance of getting a look at the guest list?” Stall asked.

“Don’t need one,” Marissa spoke up. “You can set your hopes on Dannii Minogue, Natalie Imbruglia, Rebecca Cartwright, and singing Happy Birthday to the Birthday girl herself, Delta Goodrem.”

“Hot damn,” Lambert said. “Those would all make fantastic tapes.”

“Assuming you could score them all in one night,” Burke pointed out.

“More importantly, you’re assuming you can get into this little Cotillion,” Smythe added.

“Cot-what?” Burke and Lambert asked at the same time.

“Cotillion – it’s another name for a Coming Out party,” Smythe said. “I had one when I was eighteen. The age is a bit derivative.”

“YOU had a Cotillion?” Stall asked, surprised.

“My parents were old fashioned,” Smythe said, simply.

“You’re parents were rich,” Stall countered.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing – which is something, considering you’re one of the wealthiest men in all of England.”

“Nothing wrong with being rich at all,” Stall said. “I’m just surprised. You always struck me as a bit more… Fish and Chips than Caviar in your upbringing.”

“Time changes people,” Smythe said, simply put.

“Back on task here,” Stall said. “Lambert, can you hack the guest list? There must be a way to get us into this party.”

“Actually, you could probably score entrance without an issue boss – three of your companies do business with five of Cavanaugh’s – you’re one of his business partners. Chances are, if he hears you’re in town, you’ll get an invite. Half the guests are supposed to be people he’s trying to impress, not just his daughter.”

“Well, that’s me, anyway.”

“And a date,” Marissa said, turning towards Burke. “Don’t take it personally, babe, but I think two of us wearing hidden cameras is better than one.”

“Oh, no,” Smythe said, a stern look crossing her face. “No chance in hell. You just did a quick broadcast from right here in Sydney – we’ve got two different groups looking for you. After two weeks of nothing, they’re bound to be out for blood. You risk even one broadcast, you’re risking your life. If anyone’s going on your arm, it’s going to be me.”

“Why not Tschelet?” Stall asked.

“Because she’s going to be outside with Burke in a getaway vehicle, armed to the teeth. Her job will be to get us out alive.”

“What am I supposed to do, just stay home then?” Marissa asked.

“We need her in there,” Stall said. “She’s right about two camera sets being better than one.”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Lambert spoke up. “It’s a bit cliche, but what about getting Marissa in as a caterer?”

“We can do that?” Stall asked, surprised.

“Sure. They’re looking for help – both men and women. Chances are, Marissa slips in and she can use my chemical to snag a babe while serving her appetizers.”

“You’re right,” Burke said. “It’s cliche.”

“But it might work,” Stall said. “And Smythe’s right, too. This is our last night here in Australia. Lambert. Book us a plane out, and be ready to have ‘The Pit’ scrubbed down.”

“I can do that while you guys are at the party,” Lambert said.

“You’re coming with us,” Stall said. “As soon as we’re done, we’re all leaving. Both the cops and the killers are too close, and we’re going to be snubbing this one right under their collective noses. If you’re here and the wrong group shows up before we’re done, you’re looking at jail time at best, death at worse.”

“We’ve still got three decoy towers out there,” Lambert protested.

“Leave them up, and have the computers auto-forward whatever we record to Los Angeles. You and Marissa can both pose as wait staff. Just don’t drop any plates of food on anyone too important.”

“Can’t I just fly ahead to L.A. instead?” Lambert asked.

“No,” Stall said. “Miss Smythe, let Tchelet know what we’re planning, and then get yourself a killer dress. I’ve got to score us some invitations.”

“Cheer up, Tom,” Burke said, rolling past the computer wiz. “Maybe you can use some of your own chemical and score yourself a babe or two.”

Lambert paused for a moment, clearly considering it, as everyone else rushed off.

* * *

September 23rd, 2005
327 Koala Street,
Sydney, Australia

“They haven’t left the country,” Abigail Slider said, going over what appeared to be a huge database of photographs.

“Are you sure of that?” Agnes Stone asked, tired of spending all her time sitting around the dinky little apartment the computer hacker stayed in.

“Absolutely. Unless they stowed away aboard a freighter and left bulk class, they’re still in country.”

“But where?” Dan Coach asked. “I mean, other than that blip we had this morning, the signal’s been dead for over two weeks. Is it possible that Stall and his group really aren’t related to this?”

“He’s related,” Stone bit out.

“Then sooner or later, he’s going to show up again,” Slider said. “Where was the blip located this morning?”

“Somewhere in Sydney – wasn’t long enough for us to even guess at an originating source for triangulation,” Coach muttered.

“Is it possible that it both originated and was received in Sydney?” Slider asked.

“But why so short?” Stone asked.

“Maybe it was just a test firing, a quick burst to make sure their equipment was working.”

“Would they risk that?” Stone asked. “They know we’re on to them.”

“And they could have a hundred more of those rebroadcast towers set up around the city,” Coach said. “With a quick burst like that, we can’t track them.”

“If they were testing the system, even that briefly, they must be planning something big. Something too important not to risk a system failure,” Slider said.

“What’s going on tonight in Sydney?” Stone demanded.

“Ah, bollucks,” Coach muttered. “Did you see the front page of today’s paper?”

“No,” Stone said.

“If it ain’t online, I don’t read it,” Slider said.

“The Prime Minister is in town!”

“Who is the Australian PM?” Stone asked.

“Not the Australian PM, OUR PM – Tony Blair! In for a quick meet and greet. He’s attending some charity event at the Opera House!”

“You think Stall’s going after Tony Blair?” Slider asked, clearly suspicious.

“If he’s connected to terrorists,” Coach pointed out.

“We’ve never proven that,” Stone said, shaking her head. “And it doesn’t match Stall’s previous actions. What else is going on tonight?”

“All sorts of bloody crap,” Slider said. “It’s a big city.”

“Find me something Stall would hit – something a celebrity-crazed fool like him couldn’t turn down. Find me some of the most beautiful, famous women in Sydney tonight, and we’ll find Richard Stall.

“What do we do until then?” Coach asked.

“You and I hit the streets,” Stone said, grabbing her coat. “Slider, keep scanning for the signal, and let me know when you find something.”

“Right,” Slider said, watching as the two British cops ran out the door to their car. The young girl gave them both a good five minutes to pull out into Sydney’s traffic, then sat down at her computer. Plugging in her voice changer, she scrambled the location of her home signal, then made a call.

“Speak,” Raven’s voice came over the line, as crystal clear as the best digital phone connection could make it.

“It’s me,” Slide’s genderless, mechanical voice came back. “Stall will be making a move tonight. Chances are, he’ll be hitting some big celebrity event.”

“Any guess which one?” the assassin asked.

“Top money goes to the Cavanaugh Coming Out party.”

“Can you get us the security plans?”

“It will take time.”

“Then hurry.”

“Understood.”

“You distracted the cops?”

“They have no clue where Stall will be, and will be hunting for his receiving station again. You’ll have plenty of time to make the hit.”

“Good. We’ll talk again soon.”

With that, the phone hung up, and Slider unplugged the voice changer. She hopped over to her other computer and did a quick check on the Cavanaugh event. Sure enough, the entire guest list was available, and included Rebecca Cavanaugh’s entire school. Suddenly, Abigail Slider had an idea. It was a matter of minutes to add another name to the school roster in Rebecca’s grade.

It had been a long time since she’d been to a party. She wondered if she had an appropriate dress somewhere…

* * *

September 23rd, 2005
The Cavanaugh Estate,
Outside Sydney, Australia

“I wasn’t sure this dress would be appropriate for such an event,” Chelsea Smythe said, subconsciously running her hand down the bright red fabric of her clingy little dress. It was fairly conservative when it came to cut – not too much cleavage, and it came halfway down to her knees before showing any leg at all. Still, the crimson red stood out and the dress clung to her body in almost all the right places, save for the slightly ostentatious bow at the small of her back.

“Nonsense, my dear, nonsense,” Martin Cavanaugh said, clearly already one full sheet to the wind and another martini in his hand. The large, boisterous man had been divorced for ten years, and never bothered to take another wife. He already had two women barely older than his daughter clinging to his arms while their dresses failed to cling to them enough to hide their physical attributes. And now Cavanaugh’s eyes were clearly tracing up and down every inch of Smythe’s body, as if he could will her out of that dress and into his bed. Consider the man had to top the scales at 350 lbs, Stall figured it would take a truly awesome will to accomplish that.

“It’s not every day one gets invited to a Cotillion,” Smythe continued.

“A what?” Cavanaguh asked.

“Cotillion – it’s another name for a Coming Out party,” Smythe said.

“Yes, yes, Chelsea,” Stall said, butting in. He didn’t need to hear THAT explanation again. Apparently, no one in Australia had heard the word Cotillion before, because this had to be the sixth person Smythe had prattled on about the subject. “Would you care for another drink?”

“Oh, please,” Smythe said, doing her best to be the perfect arm candy, and failing in more ways than one. Sure, no one would guess she’d be a bodyguard in that dress, but she clearly was far too intelligent to be the type of woman someone like Stall would bring to an event like this.

“I’ll be right back,” Stall said, walking over towards the bar. He suspected Smythe had shifted her stance in order to watch his back, despite the fact that Tschelet Appleberg was watching his every move through the cameras he wore, and Lambert was working the very bar he was headed for. Sometimes, security was just in a person’s blood.

“What can I get you?”

“Scotch, neat,” Stall said, trying not to smile too much at the ridiculous red, black, and white waiter outfit Lambert was clad in. “And another martini for my date.” He kept the orders simple – Lambert had reportedly worked a bar for a month or two a good five years ago while in college, but he was far from perfect – his PDA filled with drink recipes was seeing more action that the spare hidden cameras he wore. Poor boy hadn’t gotten any closer to any famous women than their personal assistants.

“Virgin martini again?” Lambert asked, poring the Scotch already.

“You know it,” Stall muttered. Chelsea Smythe was many things, but after that one accident exposure to Lambert’s chemical that had sent she and Stall into a lustful sexual encounter for the better part of a day, she flat out refused any kind of mind-altering substance, be it alcohol, drugs, or even the occasional Aspirin for a headache.

“No luck yet, boss?” Lambert asked quietly.

“Nothing yet,” Stall said. He glanced across the room. There were a TON of beautiful women here. Problem was, half of them were underage, being schoolmates of Rebecca Cavanaugh. Out of those left over the legal age limit, Stall didn’t recognize the vast majority of them. With Lambert stuck behind the bar, he was stuck dealing with Burke’s less-than-rapid computer skills to ID potential sexual partners.

“Maybe Marissa is having more luck,” Lambert offered.

* * *

“I asked for ice chips, not ice cubes.”

Marissa Call nearly threw the drink back in the man’s face. This was the third time he’d sent it back now. If he didn’t have his arm around Kym Valentine – the only semi-recognizable celeb Marissa had found in the crowd yet – she would have. The man was just a snobbish bore.

This was why she never became a waitress. At least as a whore, they never made you take back a blowjob because her lips weren’t pink enough.

“Yes, sir,” Marissa said, biting her tongue, and taking the drink back towards the bar she’d gotten it from. Marissa had to admit that it was some event – despite the fact that it was, essentially, a sweet sixteen party, there were at least six different bars gathered around both the house and the backyard/pool area. There were more than a hundred waiters and waitresses running around the place, providing food and drinks to everyone of the guests, the number of which must have topped a thousand.

“Ice chips this time, not ice cubes,” Marissa sighed, putting the drink down on the counter next to the bar tender.

“Bloody hell. No pleasing some people,” the guy tending the bar muttered, taking the drink and trying recreate the order from scratch.

“I’m sorry,” a new voice said suddenly. “Did someone just refuse a drink because it had ice cubes instead of ice chips?”

Marissa turned around to see a beautiful blonde woman smiling at her.

“Yeah, some jerk has sent this drink back three times now.”

“Sounds like Simon Kebbel. He’s a TV producer I’ve worked with before. He’ll take all of two sips of that drink all night, and ignore it the rest of the time. In fact, I bet he’s already forgotten about it.”

“How can you be sure?” Marissa asked.

“Look, he just walked off with Kym. She’ll give him a blowjob back in the coat racks and leave him there. He’ll slip out embarrassed and be gone in an hour.”

“What’s to be embarrassed about?”

“The blowjob – Simon’s as gay as the day is long, but Kym’s not going to let that stand in her way.”

Marissa smiled. “My name’s Marissa. What’s yours?”

“Rebecca. Rebecca Cartwright,” the other woman said. Suddenly, Marissa recognized the young actress, able to put name to face.

“Rebecca,” she asked. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Absolutely,” the young Australian said. “Sex on the Beach, please.”

“Oh, you are so my kind of girl,” Marissa said, rushing off to get Rebecca her drink order. As she raced it back, she made sure it was liberally coated with a dose of Lambert’s chemical aphrodisiac.

* * *

September 23rd, 2005
Outside The Cavanaugh Estate,
Outside Sydney, Australia

“There’s the signal – Stall’s recording something.”

Raven sat up in her seat, having half drifted off while waiting for something to happen. “How long before we know for sure it’s coming from inside?”

“A lot faster than it’ll take the cops to figure out where the other end is,” Crow muttered.

“Where the hell is Slide when you need him, anyway?” Raven muttered, adjusting her outfit.

“Good question. Maybe you ought to get moving. Remember, Stall’s bodyguards are probably there, too. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“You, too. Remember – the guards loop around the building once every fifteen minutes. Try not to kill any of them unless you absolutely have to.”

“Right,” Crow muttered. “I still think I should’ve posed as part of the catering crew.”

“Oh, please,” Raven snorted, getting out of the car and pulling her deep purple dress down to straighten it out. “That never works in real life.”

“Sure it does. Remember when we wacked the Ashline kid?”

“Sure,” Raven shot back. “Remember how his security team caught us and we had to shoot our way both in and out of the place.”

“You’re no fun when you’re wearing a thong, you know that.”

“I’m not even wearing a thong – and it’s drafty around here,” Raven muttered.

“Just go kill Stall and you can go back to wearing underwear again.”

“Like I needed any more motivation,” Raven muttered, walking off towards the Cavanaugh estate, fake ID and invitation in hand.

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END