'That woman can do anything with those tits,' muttered Brendan. 'Shell peanuts and open a bottle of beer, I bet. It's a mortal shame that's the only way she'll ever give a fellow satisfaction.'
Percy chuckled at the memory now as he shamelessly ogled Philippa's bared bazookas.
'I hope you're not laughing at me,' she said, staring at him over the top of her sunglasses.
'Good God no,' said Percy. 'It's, er, to do with my work.'
'Your porno book, you mean. Tell me, what's my character doing now? Gangbanging a busload of yobs with tattoos on their willies?'
'Hardly.' Percy was mildly affronted. 'Simone's got far too much class to go in for that.'
'You could have fooled me,' said Philippa and grinned, her breasts shifting delightfully on her chest.
Percy laid his writing pad on his lap to cover his erection. These little chats with Philippa, a recent development, were a highlight of the morning.
'Actually,' he said, chancing his arm, 'Simone is about to meet someone very interesting. A female language professor in the throes of a broken marriage who has decided to give up men.'
Philippa's grin broadened, her tits swayed, Percy's cock twitched. 'Simone's gay?'
'Simone slept with girls at school. As for the professor, the aesthetic possibilities of woman-to-woman love have always appealed to her. Now she wants to try the real thing. What do you think?'
Philippa considered the matter, she didn't seem fazed by the turn the conversation had taken. 'What's the professor's name?'
'Lauren.'
'I knew a Lauren once. She was pencil-slim with wonderful hair that hung down her back like a curtain of gold.'
'My Lauren has golden hair too.'
Philippa's grin softened to a wistful smile. 'She had a little pointed chin and big brown eyes. No tits to speak of. We were quite the opposite shape. We used to think it was funny.' Philippa's hand had fallen, perhaps unconsciously, to her breast and her fingers toyed with a rigid rosy nipple. 'Who makes the first move?' she asked.
'It has to be Simone. She finds Lauren in tears in the hotel bar - she's being pestered by some men - and Simone suggests a walk on the beach. It's sunset and very beautiful. Lauren pours out her unhappiness. Simone tells her to be brave and take a chance on a new life. Then she says Lauren needs to perform a symbolic act to signify a break with the past.'
'So she takes her to bed?' Philippa raised an eyebrow and the finger on her breast stopped circling the areola.
'Not yet,' said Percy hastily. 'Simone persuades her to strip off all her clothes and they bathe nude in the warm sea as the sun kisses the horizon. Afterwards they run back to the hotel and share a bottle of cognac in Simone's room.'
'And then they fuck?' Philippa's fingers were busy again and Percy was amazed to see that her other hand was openly stroking the bulge of her pussy through her bikini panties. 'Tell me what they do, Percy.'
'Well... they're shivering after being in the sea so they get into bed and hug. Of course, they're naked and they giggle as their breasts and bellies touch. Then Simone kisses Lauren. It's the crucial moment. Will she run screaming from the room?'
'I bet she doesn't,' said Philippa, her index finger sliding up and down the groove of her sex through her bikini. Percy could see the pale blue material turning to navy with her dampness.
'She responds to Simone's kiss with passion. It's like turning on a switch. She clutches Simone's breasts and rubs her pussy against her thigh. She's wet and open and willing, Simone's to do with as she wishes.'
'Mmm, sounds great,' muttered Philippa, pulling the gusset of her pants to one side and slipping a finger inside. 'Go on, don't stop. Does Simone eat her out?'
'They swivel round and sixty-nine. Lauren's clumsy at it but she buries her face between Simone's legs and tastes the honey of her juices.'
'Tell me about Lauren's sex, Percy.'
'It's a secret nook that leads to an untapped well of sensuality—'
'With glossy honey-brown hairs that part under your tongue,' interrupted Philippa, her eyes closed and her face held up to the sun. 'And when you kiss her pussy you must treat it like a mouth, trace her lips with your tongue, nibble and suck and then plunge in deep. Lick the length of her crack, tickle her bumhole with your finger, blow on her clit but don't touch it. Then she'll be squirming and squealing and pushing her fanny into your face and begging for it.'
Philippa was staring straight at Percy now. Both hands were in her crotch, one pulling wide the panty gusset, the other masturbating the pink and golden flesh beneath. Percy could plainly see that four fingers were buried inside her vagina and her thumb was rubbing the flesh around her clit.
'And then,' she continued, her voice tight and her breath short, 'when you've teased her enough, you let her have it.'
Suddenly, before Percy's incredulous gaze, Philippa began to bounce up and down on the hand jammed deep inside herself, her thumb squeezing tight and the nail white with pressure, her face rigid with effort and those fabulous big breasts dancing and juddering.
Percy was feeling no pain. Thumping rock from the sound system merged with drunken laughter and wrapped him in a cocoon of noise. He swallowed a mouthful of brandy and grinned stupidly at the bronzed and beaming revellers who surrounded him. The children were all in bed, dinner had been consumed and the booze was flowing. It was the last night of the holiday and all those crammed into the beach bar were determined to make the most of it.
Percy was pleased to see that even Felicity was entering into the spirit of the occasion. He watched her as she laughed at something Brendan said, her head thrown back and her hair hanging loose in a chestnut cloud over her bronzed shoulders. He knew that his were not the only admiring eyes on the gleaming cleavage revealed in her black figure-hugging cocktail dress.
Brendan leaned across to him and whispered in his ear. 'I hope you're making mental notes.'
'What do you mean?'
'Remember I told you about No Knickers Night?'
'Yes?'
'Well, this is it. Look up there.'
Percy looked. On the rail above the bar hung flags and straw-covered Chianti bottles and bunches of plastic grapes. And also, as he could now plainly see, half-a-dozen scraps of lace and cotton that he immediately recognised as women's undergarments.
Brendan explained further. 'John and Ginger behind the bar put the word out. They'll let any woman drink for free if she'll take her knickers off and hang them up.'
'Good God.' Percy peered closely at the girls around him and then up at the flimsy trophies on display. The thought that there were half-a-dozen knickerless women so close to him had his imagination working overtime.
'Sometimes it's the most unlikely types who end up bare-arsed,' continued Brendan. 'You wouldn't think it of Mrs Wootton-Smythe, would you?'
Amanda Wootton-Smythe was an elegant blonde who had made herself universally unpopular throughout the holiday fortnight. Her husband was taciturn, her children were brats and she herself was civil to no one. She and Felicity had had a stand-up row following a queue-jumping incident at children's teatime.
Now Amanda was perched on a bar stool talking to curly-headed Clive, the volleyball Plonker. She wore an emerald-green wrapround skirt which, to Percy's eye, revealed only long lean leg and thigh right up as far as he could see. As he watched, the barman placed a tall frosted glass in front of her filled with foaming lemon liquid and topped with a paper parasol.
'She's drinking Ginger's specials,' muttered Brendan. 'I guarantee you'll get an eyeful if you stay just where you are.'
'Bloody hell,' muttered Percy, his eyes on stalks as he willed the green flap of her skirt to gape a little further between her thighs.
'It's not just her either, Percy. I reckon little Jean and Dyan and Garaint's wife have all opted for the free bar. You don't know where to look now, do you?'
That was true. Percy's eyes were darting madly about, seeking out the women Brendan had named. Jean and Dyan were dancing
on the dais behind the speakers on the other side of the bar. From the roars and whoops coming from the knot of lads standing below them he could guess that what Brendan had told him was correct.
'You want to make the most of this, you know, Percy. For the book and all that. Would it help if I got your wife out of the way?'
Percy gazed at Brendan with pure gratitude. For such a young man he did seem to have a mature understanding of Percy's requirements. Peeking up women's skirts with Felicity sitting next to him was not the most sensible course of conduct.
'Look,' continued Brendan, 'I think I can persuade her to play boules with me. I've told her I'm better at that than tennis and she says she can still beat me.'
'Sounds like Felicity. Do you think she'll go for it?'
But Brendan was already whispering in Felicity's ear. She gave him a look Percy couldn't fathom and then placed her hand on Percy's shoulder.
'Darling, I'm tired,' she said. 'If it's all right with you I'll give this silly boy a game of boules and go straight to bed.'
'Of course, Flick.'
'There's no need for you to come though. Stay up as long as you like and enjoy yourself.'
Then she pecked his cheek and disappeared up the steps to the hotel with Brendan at her side. Percy smiled with satisfaction. This holiday had really done her good, there was no doubt about that.
He turned his attention to Amanda Wootton-Smythe's incredible legs.
The boules pitch was in darkness - which suited Brendan and Felicity just fine. They didn't need illumination for the game they were going to play.
'I must be mad,' said Felicity as he slipped the strap of her dress from her shoulder, baring the bountiful curves of her left breast.
'You're not mad, you're beautiful,' he said and exposed her right breast to the moonlight.
'Mad for your big Irish cock, at any rate,' she muttered, dragging his jeans down his hips.
His mouth was on her nipples, teasing them to hardness, his spittle glistening on the saucers of her areolae. His hands were under her skirt, gripping the solid globes of her buttocks, wriggling a finger into the moist crease between.
'Oh God, Brendan, I'm going to miss this,' she muttered, pulling his penis into the open and tugging it towards her crotch.
'Steady on, woman, let's get comfortable. We've got plenty of time.'
'But I need it now, Brendan! This is my last night and I want you to fuck me and fuck me and—'
He shut her up by covering her mouth with his and pulling her down on top of him into the dusty grass by the boules pitch. Her skirt was round her waist and her legs were spread. And as Brendan thrust his tool into the wet and welcoming crevice between her thighs he met with no impediment. Such was Felicity's intention to make the most of her last night, she too could have drunk at the bar for free.
The half-hour following Felicity's departure was one of the most extraordinary Percy had ever spent. Wedged in his seat, he watched the comings and goings around him with mounting disbelief. Suntanned and sozzled, aware that the sands of holiday time were fast trickling out, everyone it seemed was prepared to let their hair down.
The mysteries of Amanda Wootton-Smythe's wrapround skirt had long been revealed to Percy - and to anyone else who cared to look. The sourpuss expression had slipped from her face to be replaced by a loose-lipped grin and beside her on the bar were five discarded paper parasols. She sat on the barstool with one leg on the floor, the other resting on the stool rail, her thighs bare and wide. Clive stood in front of her, making jokes and laughing as if he were unaware that his companion was all but naked from the waist down. But his right side was turned to Percy and his left hand could not be seen. Percy had his suspicions just where it was hiding.
Couples were now slow-dancing between the tables and Percy had located two more knickerless women: Garaint's wife had her bottom on view as the Welshman waltzed her around the chairs and Dyan had fallen asleep at the opposite table with her frock hiked to her waist.
'Hiya, Percy,' said a familiar voice in his ear. He tore his gaze from Dyan's overflowing buttocks to see Carol-Anne, the Entertainments Officer, taking a seat by his side. Her pretty face was creased by a frown.
'God, am I pleased to see someone who's not behaving like this is a remake of Caligula. I swear it's the worst part of my job having to put up with this kind of obscene conduct on the last night. Honestly, I don't know what gets into people. I can only apologise, Percy.'
'There's no need, Carol-Anne. You must allow the holidaying work-slave a little licence at the end of his sojourn in the sun.'
'Gee, that sounds profound. You're a wise man, Mr Carmichael.'
Percy blushed. Flattery from a woman as young and scrumptious as the blonde Australian was as potent as the cognac burning in his belly.
'Say, Percy, would you do me a favour and get me a drink? I mean, if your foot's up to it.'
'Of course. I'm supposed to exercise it these days anyway.' Percy hauled himself to his feet, cursing the giant erection that stretched his trousers to bursting. He turned his back to Carol-Anne quickly, hoping she wouldn't notice.
'So she sent you this time, did she?' said Ginger as he poured Percy's order.
'What do you mean?'
'Just a little joke between Carol-Anne and us guys behind the bar. She's on our case all week so we say we'll only serve her on party night if she gets her kit off. We'll get her before the season's over, no sweat.'
Ginger finished swizzling a long green drink and decorated it with a cherry on a stick. 'There you go, mate, and good luck. They say she's got great acceleration if you can just get her engine started.'
But Percy was scarcely listening, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity on another point. His position at the bar was just behind Amanda's chair and if he leaned forward and to one side - Good God! It was as he had suspected but the blatant rudeness of the sight still took him by surprise. In the spread vee of Amanda's thighs he could see Clive's hand stimulating her cunt. With two fingers embedded deep between the sticky labia, Clive's wrist was moving, slowly in, slowly out, as he gently masturbated her. From the murmur of sound from her lips it seemed he was playing her like a fish. Percy strained to hear.
'Promise me you'll fuck me soon, Clive darling, oh that's so marvellous in my pussy, one more drink and fuck me with your lovely lovely cock...'
Percy turned back to the table with his erection intact. There was nothing he could do about it. As he took his seat, his loins poised momentarily next to Carol-Anne's face, he thought his distraught penis might burst from his trousers and poke her in the eye. He sank into his seat with relief.
'Thanks a bunch, Percy.'
'My pleasure. Thank you for helping me out this past couple of weeks. Your girls were brilliant after I smashed my ankle.'
'We aim to please. I'm just thrilled we had a real writer staying here. Now tell me, exactly what is it you're working on?'
There was a moan from Amanda's direction, followed by another and another. The kind of moan that, in certain women, heralds the approach of a noisy orgasm.
Percy tried to ignore the distraction. Carol-Anne's earnest face, the eyes big with interest, demanded a response.
'It's a, er, study in human relations—'
'Oh. Oh! OH!'
'An exploration of how men and women interact in their leisure time—'
'Oh God, oh God, oh GOD!'
Carol-Anne's brow puckered in puzzlement. Percy fought to keep his eyes on her face. Over her shoulder, on the dance floor, he saw Jean on her knees with her boyfriend's cock in her mouth. By the bar Amanda was now shouting out an unstoppable flow of obscenities.
'Is it a sociological book then?' asked Carol-Anne. Only the speed with which she had disposed of her green drink betrayed any awareness of the mayhem developing around her.
'Cock! I want cock! Give me COCK!' yelled Amanda.
At the next table Dyan was now snoozing on Garaint's lap - while he fingered the pale white globes of he
r big bottom. Garaint's wife was straddling Pete from Preston, one hand holding her skirt high, the other directing a thick red penis into the black fur of her nook.
'Well, yes, er, I suppose it is,' mumbled Percy. 'I mean it does have sociological relevance though it is not meant to be academic in any sense...'
'It sounds great,' said Carol-Anne with a brilliant smile, her little white teeth gleaming in the dim light. 'That's just the kind of thing we need in the Cascade Hotel library.'
'There's no doubt about that,' said Percy.
Clive was now giving Amanda the relief she had been screaming for, skewering his tool into her as she braced herself on top of the stool - a remarkable feat of sexual coordination that had no effect in lowering the volume control. On the dance floor, Jean was getting it at both ends from her admirers, who were queuing up. Percy noted that her desire to acquire an all-over suntan had paid off.
Carol-Anne took a despairing suck at her straw though her glass was plainly empty.
'Allow me,' said Percy but she pushed him back into his seat.
'No,' she said, standing up. 'It's my round and I can't keep putting it off. Here, give me a hand.'
To Percy's complete amazement, she began to wriggle her tight leather mini-skirt up over her hips. Beneath, powder blue panties clung to her delectable loins like a second skin.
'Do you mind taking my knickers down?'
Percy was dumbfounded.
'Come on, Perce. I'm parched and this is the only way those bastards will serve me.'
Despite other distractions, John and Ginger were staring at her from behind the bar.
'But I'll go, Carol-Anne. Please sit down—'
'What's the matter? Don't you want to look at my puss? Help me, Perce. Pull 'em down.'
So he did, holding the wisp of material reverently as he lowered it over her firm boyish buttocks and down her slim finely toned thighs. And as he removed the garment, his face was an inch or two from the smoothest, prettiest, nudest pussy slit he had ever seen.
Eroticon Heat Page 3