by Noel Amos
Two - Bonking USA
Chapter 14
Billy presented himself in Reception at Almond Artistes shortly after the opening of business the next morning and was admitted to Imogen's office at once.
She looked him over with a sly smile on her face. He knew he looked a sight. The once-impeccable suit was crumpled and still damp, his hair was a tangled mess and a bite mark showed clearly beneath his left ear. Nevertheless success shone from his unshaven features.
'Been on the razzle, Mr Dazzle?' said Imogen slyly. 'I presume it's mission accomplished.'
'And a tough one it was too,' said Billy. 'I can't tell you precisely what I've been through.'
'I wouldn't want to know. So, what's the story? Has Tracy got another manager?'
'No, but she's got a new friend. A close one. A feminist journalist called Pandora Britches has been telling her that displaying her breasts to the nation is not the best use of her talents. So now she wants to be taken seriously as an artist. There's an obvious solution to this,' added Billy, 'give her a spot in your charity gala for dead cats, or whatever it is, and she'll be sweetness and light once more.'
'Oh hell.' Imogen's face lengthened.
'What's the problem? Surely that's easy. You are arranging the event, aren't you?'
'Well, yes and no. I can't have a page-three pin-up on the same bill as Melissa Melone and Sebastian Silk.'
'Why not? It's all in a good cause, surely? Can't she just jiggle around to her new record? I guarantee she'll impress all the gents.'
'I can see that she's impressed you but we can't have her doing that sort of act in front of the great and the good - it's meant to be a cultural occasion and not a live sex show. Though I suppose it might loosen up a few starched shirts to have her flaunt herself in public. The tabloids would go for it.'
'There you are then,' said Billy.
'Not quite. I don't have the last word on who performs. Have you heard of Candida Kensington?'
'The rag-trade heiress?'
'She's the real inspiration behind this gala. Poor Pussy Rescue is her new thing.'
'What's that?'
'It's in aid of abandoned cats, it aims to fund luxury catteries and sponsor kitten adoption. It provides grants to have catflaps fitted, buy rubber mice and calves' liver for neglected moggies. It's a very fashionable cause right now.'
'Never heard of it.'
'You obviously don't live in the real world, Billy. Anyway, this is her do and she asked me to recommend likely performers. Naturally, many of my people were delighted to take part, particularly since it is bound to be one of the big events of the summer season. It is going to be prestigious. Sebastian Silk has composed a special suite of songs in honour of the occasion and they will be premiered by Melissa Melone, the world's leading soprano, whom I recently had the honour of adding to my client roster. There's also the Marian Mucus corps de ballet and many other distinguished performers from the quality spectrum of the arts.'
'What about Brick Tempo?'
'Yes, he's also appearing. Brick is one of the most brilliant live acts to have survived since the sixties.'
'He's also a dope-head and a sex-fiend. I wouldn't have thought he'd fit the image.'
'You'd be surprised at the appeal of the artist who is a reformed rebel. Though I must admit you've put your finger on one of my main anxieties. Katie was right about you.'
'I'm sorry?'
'She said that you were not just a pretty face.'
'Really? That tight-arsed Katie Crisp said that about me?'
'She obviously hadn't seen you after a night on the tiles with Tracy Pert. You're a complete mess, you know.'
'Sorry. I thought you'd like my findings as soon as possible. Now I'm on my way home to clean up.' And crash out for twenty-four hours, he thought to himself. Delightful though it had been, the encounter with Tracy had knocked nearly all the stuffing out of him. On reflection, forty-eight hours should do the trick.
'So, Billy,' Imogen was saying, 'assuming I agree to include Tracy - and if it would solve my problem I must confess I'm all in favour - it's now a question of persuading Candida Kensington, who is one of the biggest snobs I have ever encountered. It's worth a try but you'll have to help me out.'
She picked up the phone and tapped out a number. Before Billy had time to draw breath she was speaking. 'Candy, darling, how are you?'
The response was fulsome and as she listened, making the odd sympathetic murmur in her turn, she motioned Billy to take a seat. Finally she spoke again. 'Candy I've met the most wonderful young man and you simply must see him as soon as possible. He's wild about Poor Pussy Rescue and is burning to make a contribution. I think he's just what you've been looking for.'
She paused to listen to the other's response, then her face crinkled into a smile and she made an elegant thumbs-up gesture at Billy as she said, 'Why, that's marvellous. He's called Billy Dazzle and he has the most fabulous baby-blues. Your search is over.'
Imogen replaced the phone, a triumphant gleam in her eye. 'There we are, that's fixed. She'll give you lunch today, just the two of you. Why don't you try and work some of that famous Dazzle magic on her?'
'But Imogen—' Billy was flabbergasted by this sudden turn of events '—couldn't this wait for another day? I'm not at my best just now, I need to go home and—'
'Don't worry, Billy, I have every confidence in you. Go and see Katie, she's next door. She'll straighten you out and give you Candy's address.'
Billy stared at her blankly, unsure whether to protest further. And what did she mean about a search being over?
Imogen fixed him with a steely glare. 'You're not going to let me down are you, Billy? I'd be most disappointed to discover that you were overrated.'
Katie Crisp took one look at Billy and pulled a disdainful face. Without pausing to wish him good morning she ordered him into a lift and they ascended to the top of the building in a frosty silence.
Upstairs there was no evidence of the business of Almond Artistes. Here were expensive service flats and Katie led Billy down a richly carpeted hallway, through a sumptuously decorated bedroom and into a large bathroom. She turned on the bath taps and squirted some luxurious bath oil into the water.
'Take your clothes off,' she barked.
Billy stood rooted to the spot.
'Hurry up,' she said in her best schoolmarm voice, 'we've not got much time.'
Billy took off his jacket - what else could he do? 'You'll find everything here you need to turn yourself into a respectable human being, if that's possible. There's shaving gear and deodorant in the cabinet.'
'Look,' Billy said as he perched on the loo seat and slowly began to pick at his shoelaces, 'there's something I forgot to say to Imogen. I've got to phone Tracy about Orlando Verdi. She thinks she's going to star in an art movie.'
'I'll mention it to Imogen,' said Katie, now on the floor at his feet impatiently tugging at his shoes and socks, 'but first I've got to get you looking presentable, so hurry up.'
Billy got to his feet and undid his trousers. He had no intrinsic objection to undressing in front of La Crisp - especially if the arrangement were reciprocal. Alas, the current circumstances were rather akin to a small boy dropping his pyjamas in front of matron. He stepped out of the garment and stood before her clad only in his thin cotton briefs. Katie, still on her knees, unceremoniously yanked them down to his ankles. 'For God's sake!' yelled Billy in outrage.
'We have to clean your underwear as well, you fool,' she replied but she was staring intently straight at Billy's dangling genitals. For once Billy's cock was shy and retiring under the spotlight of feminine curiosity. But as Katie continued to scrutinise him he felt blood begin to flow in a familiar fashion. Sure enough, his tool was thickening, rising to the challenge of her gaze like an old warhorse answering the call to battle. Eventually it stuck, halfway to full erection, and waved in her face like an obscene carrot.
Frozen with embarrassment, Billy thought he detecte
d a snort of derision before she finally said, 'So that's what all the fuss is about. I hope Candy Kensington is easily impressed.'
Billy retreated hastily to the bath. 'What do you expect? I've been giving my all to Tracy Pert as instructed. I'm not some performing flea.'
'Huh.' Katie was not appeased. She had now collected all of Billy's clothes and was evidently about to depart. She could not resist a parting shot, however. 'The insect analogy is revealing,' she said, 'though worm is the variety I would have chosen.'
After she'd gone Billy luxuriated in the foam and raged inside over the insults he had suffered. Katie Crisp was undoubtedly a haughty cow with a very funny way of getting her kicks. And the nastier she got the sexier she looked. The way she bristled with contempt seemed to make her flesh writhe against the stern confines of her severe suit. He couldn't forget that pristine patch of white thigh and the shapely suspendered leg that she had flashed at him the other night. Or the way the rounded moons of her buttocks had wiggled inside her tight skirt as she marched briskly ahead of him down the corridor a few moments ago. How he'd love to hold her across his knees and paddle the pearly white cheeks of her bum until they turned a flaming puce! That would teach her to sneer at his cock.
It was true, however, that the actuality of sex, as opposed to the distant prospect, was currently beyond him. He badly needed some sleep and didn't relish the prospect of meeting this Kensington woman. She sounded snobbish and cranky and temperamental - some of the character traits he favoured least. The assumption by Almond and Crisp that he was some kind of superstud was frankly ludicrous and he couldn't believe that any rich society hostess would welcome advances from the likes of him.
There was a knock at the door and a man's voice called out, 'Breakfast.' The door swung open and a tray bearing a coffee pot and other enticing accoutrements swung into view carried by a man in a white coat who was so tall that his head appeared to scrape the door lintel as he entered.
'Sorry to barge in, old boy,' he said, 'but I was told your need was urgent.'
The stranger smiled, an expression that transformed his cadaverous features. He placed the tray on top of the sink where it sat neatly to form an ad hoc table. 'Milk? Sugar?' he enquired as he began to serve.
As a grateful Billy watched him pour a life-saving cup of coffee he realised that the white coat was an apron tied at the front in the style of a professional waiter. 'Are you the in-house tea boy?'
'Chef, actually. From The Holy Mullet next door. Mind if I join you?' he added, indicating a second cup on the tray. 'It'll save me coming back for this lot later on.' And he sat companionably on the loo seat and sipped his coffee.
Billy had been thinking. 'You're famous, aren't you? The Holy Mullet - that gets written up in all the fancy magazines. You're um—'
'Arnold Brie. Yes, I have recently been flavour of the month in certain quarters. Have a cookie, I've just baked them.'
'Blimey,' said Billy as he eagerly sank his teeth into the softest and most delicious biscuit he had ever tasted, 'I'm deeply honoured.'
'Oh no,' said Arnold, 'the pleasure's all mine. Actually, I wanted to talk to you and this seemed a good opportunity.'
'To me? Why?'
'Well, I'm told you're an expert on women.'
'What?'
'And I need help. I can't go to doctors or therapists or anyone like that because it's not that kind of a problem. I thought maybe I could consult you professionally.'
'I'm a detective!'
'But you specialise in sex cases, don't you? That's what Katie told me. And I have a case for you.'
'Oh. Christ, Arnold, you bake a bloody good biscuit. This breakfast is making me feel a hundred per cent better.'
'So you'll help me? I'll pay twice the going rate.'
'Well, put like that, maybe you should come to my office for a consultation. I'd give you a card but...'
At that moment the door burst open and in marched Katie Crisp, a miraculously clean set of clothes over her arm. Arnold leaped hastily to his feet to pack away his tray of goodies. And as he exited he grinned at Billy and said, 'Don't worry, I'll find you.'
Chapter 15
A big barrel-shaped man, dressed only in a pair of swimming shorts and espadrilles, sat under an umbrella by the side of an Olympic-sized swimming pool, reading a newspaper. From the villa behind him emerged a statuesque blonde, clad as extensively as he, bearing a tray of refreshments. She set it down on the table beside her companion and placed in front of him a tumbler filled to the brim and beaded with moisture. It was a scorching hot day.
The man did not look up but carried on reading intently. The woman extended her gorgeous frame along the length of a sun-lounger, arranged a pair of dark glasses on her head and leant back to lift her face to the blazing sun. Sun lotion glistened on the full mounds of her already bronzed and naked breasts. For a few moments there was complete silence save for the clink of ice in the woman's tall gin and tonic as she lifted it to her lips.
Suddenly the man leaned back and threw the newspaper from him in obvious ill-temper. Its pages flew apart, settling like fallen leaves across the woman's all but nude body.
'Oy!' she objected loudly. 'What'd you do that for?' She pronounced 'you' as 'yow'. She came from Birmingham.
'Read it,' he ordered, 'read the fucking thing for yourself.' And he drained his beer in one long gulp.
'No thanks,' replied the girl, pushing the paper away and rearranging herself comfortably, 'you know I'm a victim of an impoverished education. I can't read.'
'You can read cheques well enough. And designer labels, when it suits you.'
'That reminds me, you owe me some money. I popped into Malaga yesterday. I bought a new dress to replace the one you ripped off me on Saturday night. Actually, I bought a few. I know what you're like.'
'Fucking country!' he muttered. 'Fucking sun! Rotten beer. Fucking funny food.'
'What's got into you?'
'Fucking brainless tarts who ought to keep their mouths shut.'
'That's a bit rich, Danny Fretwork. You shouldn't say that to a girl who's given you the best of her mouth already this morning. It's not my idea of fun to hand out blow-jobs before breakfast.'
'As it happens, Beverly, I was not referring to you, though I could have been. I was talking about Patsy.'
'Patsy? What Patsy?' she asked, suddenly alert.
'My wife, you silly cow.'
'Oh. I thought you were divorced.'
'Not yet and I'm likely to be a widower before I'm a divorcee.'
'Oh dear, oh dear. What's she done?'
'I keep telling you, read the paper.'
She groaned in a resigned fashion but languidly picked up a fallen page which by happy chance contained the first instalment of Patsy Fretwork's confessions to the Blizzard.
She tittered as she read and then laughed out loud in a high-pitched irritating shriek which set her expansive breasts quivering. Danny snarled at her. He'd go over and smack those big tits for her if she didn't shut up.
'This is a bit of a laugh,' she said. 'Did you really ask her to measure your dick with a ruler on your first date? She makes you sound like a right prat.'
Danny reached across and swiped the paper from her grasp with a great hairy paw. 'Shut up.'
'But you wanted me to read it, Danny,' she said, aggrieved.
He took one of her sumptuous breasts in his hand and squeezed it. Despite its size it disappeared almost entirely in his big fist.
'Ow!' she squealed. 'You don't have to take it out on me, Danny.'
'No, but I'm going to all the same. Take your knickers off.'
'Ooh, you big beast - what are you going to do?'
'You'll see.'
'We could go indoors. You know, have a siesta before lunch.' But she was already stripping off for him, removing her bikini bottoms seductively and dangling the scrap of fabric in front of his face. 'I'm not sure I want to be fucked out here in the open. You'll have to catch me first.' And she se
t off along the terrace, her breasts bobbing, her arse cheeks jiggling. Danny eyed her as she ran off, looking over her shoulder at him and giggling.
Inside he was burning up; he wanted revenge for his humiliation in the Blizzard. He wanted a heart-to-heart with his beloved Patsy. He could imagine the smirk on her face already. Just for now, a little workout with Bimbo Bev might relieve the pressure. He shucked off his swimming trunks, revealing a thick stubby tool emerging from the forest of hair at the base of his belly. He set off after her, moving swiftly despite his bulk, a great hairy powerful gorilla of a man.
Beverly allowed herself to be caught on the other side of the pool. Smack! A great palm descended on her left buttock, flattening its creamy curves, sending the breath out of her body. Smack, smack, smack. The hand came down again and again, whacking the white flesh, turning it scarlet.
'Ooh Danny, ooh! No! No!' she screamed, pressing her cunt mound hard down on his thigh in her excitement. 'Oh no, that's too much! Stop now, please.' And she wriggled again, harder and harder.
Danny reached for a bottle of suntan oil that stood on a nearby table and poured a large pool of ointment over her flaming buttocks. He kneaded her bottom fiercely, digging his massive fingers deep into the pink moons of flesh and making her squirm. He spread the cheeks wide and the perfect star of her bumhole winked up at him invitingly from the crack of her arse. Thrusting two fingers deep into the wet slit of her pussy, he took her in a pincer hold around the fork of her body and pressed the head of his thumb up into that tempting opening. Then, with his other hand, he aimed a large gob of lotion splat into her rear.
'Oh no, Danny, not up my bum, please.' And she wriggled frantically in a futile attempt to escape his grip.
'Now now, Beverly, you loved it last time.' And his thumb, its passage well greased, slid into the vestibule of her arse, disappearing up to the knuckle. She redoubled her efforts to shake him off but succeeded only in burying the digit further inside her.
'Oh God,' she groaned, a hint of resignation - and of excitement - in her voice.