by Noel Amos
Imogen leaned forward, resting her elbows on the exercise machine. Her breasts swung down fluidly, twin dangling tubes of flesh which Billy ached to lift and squeeze and fondle.
'Show me,' she said to Katie who at once took hold of the head of Billy's cock, pulling the organ up so it stood perpendicular, a pulsating tower rising from the plain of his belly. None too delicately, but nevertheless with practised ease, she peeled the foreskin downwards to reveal the pink gleaming helmet of his glans. She slid the skin up and down once or twice, forcing more blood into the head, turning it a deep red. A pearl of juice glistened in the eye of his organ.
'Mmm,' Imogen sighed appreciatively, 'what a big juicy one. I can understand how you finally won over Candy.'
'Not without a little help, though,' added Katie, squeezing and frotting the stiff flesh almost absent-mindedly.
'What do you mean "help"?' said Billy.
'Has it ever occurred to you,' replied Imogen, 'that to maintain an erection for forty-eight hours is not normal? It can't be achieved without a little extra stimulation.'
'We didn't intend it to work out quite like that,' said Katie, still manipulating him, 'it's not our fault. I think you should blame Arnold.'
'What's he got to do with it?' Billy was incredulous.
'Everything. The magic is in his biscuits, you dummy. And you had second helpings, I understand.'
'Oh Christ!' said Billy, realisation suddenly dawning. 'You mean there's an aphrodisiac in his biscuits?'
'Didn't you wonder why you had a two-day stiffy?' chuckled Imogen, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on the angry red cap of his prick as it thrust between Katie's tantalising fingers. 'You poor lamb!'
'Wait till I see that bloody Arnold!' cried Billy.
'I wouldn't be too hard on him,' cooed Imogen, 'from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look as if you've suffered any permanent damage.'
'But I could have,' yelled Billy, reflecting that he had not only had second helpings of Arnold's cookies but thirds and fourths. 'You shouldn't have done it. You should have warned me. It's completely against my rights as a citizen.'
'Oh shut up, you toe-rag,' said Katie, 'a rat like you doesn't have any rights when it comes to fucking.' And she waggled Billy's big prong energetically from side to side, making it grow even stiffer.
'But I'm being abused! This is indecent assault.'
'Maybe,' said Imogen, 'but it'll never stand up in court.'
Chapter 31
On the bank, from his observation post in an unmarked car parked on the road, DS Mark Bacon watched the rise and fall of the Princess Patsy on the water of the Thames. He wondered idly to himself how come such a large boat moved quite so much when there was no other river traffic in the vicinity. His fertile imagination supplied an answer that was doubtless only too true. This was a job that involved Sophie Stark and Mark well knew what that meant. In his mind's eye he conjured up visions of naked females jumping up and down on one another, breasts bobbing, hips grinding, hair flying as they cruised to multiple orgasms. He did not doubt that the reality was close to his dreams. He had worked with Sophie too often for it to be otherwise.
And so DS Bacon failed to observe the one thing he was on duty to spot, the sudden rocking of the boat on the water which could possibly have been made by a fifteen-stone man hauling himself aboard from the water side. In fact his eyes were focused more specifically on the small galley portholes which were affording him an incomplete view of a half-naked blonde woman with round plump tits whom he knew to be Mrs P Fretwork. At that moment Patsy looked straight at him, scowled and twitched the curtain over the porthole, blocking off the enchanting view.
'Daft cow,' she said to herself, aware that she had given some bored rozzer an eyeful. But it was not surprising, in her present mood, that she had forgotten the existence of the world outside. Her session with Pandy had absorbed her totally. In fact the encounter was far from finished. Now was, as she had put it to Pandy upon release from bondage, 'her turn'. Pandy was next door, trussed up in a similar fashion to the way she herself had been till just a few moments ago. Patsy took pleasure in that: the fact that Pandora trusted her sufficiently to do unto her as she had just dished out.
In truth, having the upper hand had refreshed Patsy. She had never been a dominant partner in anything before, and certainly not the guardian of a bound, gagged and naked reporter with a degree from Girton and a charge account at Harrods. As she had tied Pandy up she hadn't been sure exactly what she was going to do when in command. She assumed she would follow a similar programme of pain and pleasure as Pandy had dealt her. The funny thing was, once Pandy had been rendered silent and immobile, an urge had stolen over Patsy to give this pushy dyke who had been bossing her around for the past week something of a shock. Pandy would be bound to approve, for she was constantly urging Patsy to assert herself.
Unlooping the broad belt from Pandy's discarded jeans she had given her half a dozen hearty thwacks on her upturned buttocks turning the flesh a raw flaming pink and sending shudders rippling through the reporter's long slender frame. Then she had gone off in search of other means of torture, deciding that Pandy could stew in her own juices for a bit. After all, as she knew from her own recent experience, it only heightened the pleasure in the long run.
Searching for a tea towel which she could maybe soak and knot and turn into an impoverished flail, she had come to the galley. There she had boiled a kettle. A cup of tea was just what she needed at the moment. Doubtless a tea break would be frowned on at the best sex orgies but she was new to this sort of lark. It was then she had become aware of the prying eyes of the copper in the car. And it was there, a moment or two later, that Danny Fretwork discovered her.
It would have made a memorable encounter for the world at large. The big bronzed barrel of a man - Public Enemy Number One - dressed in a dripping wet-suit and transfixed at the sight of his estranged wife, her lascivious curves on full view in a pair of flimsy panties, balanced on a pair of high heels and clutching a mug of steaming tea. Unfortunately for the nation and in particular the readers of the Daily Blizzard, their intrepid reporter - who would surely have scooped the front page the next day - was not quite on the spot, being stark naked and trussed to a wooden bench in the cabin next door. Quite how she would have dramatised the epic encounter will never be known.
'Hello, Danny.'
'Hello, Patsy.'
'The kettle's just boiled. I'll make you a cup of tea if you promise not to chuck it at me.'
'Don't be stupid. You'd be scarred for life.'
'I thought that was what you wanted.'
'Leave it out, Pats. Do you mind if I just slip out of these wet things?'
'Go ahead. I've seen it all before.'
'That's true.' Danny's face split into a melon-sized grin. 'Me too. You're looking good. Have you lost a bit of weight?'
'Oh, you've noticed? Two stone. Through worry. It's a most effective diet, I've discovered.'
'What were you worried about?'
'You, you stupid bastard. And who you were fucking.'
'Ah,' he said pensively, eyeing the wobble of her tits as she dumped three sugars into a mug and stirred vigorously. 'If you'd lost two stone earlier maybe I wouldn't have been fucking anybody. Apart from you.'
'Get off. Screwing scrubbers is a reflex where you're concerned. Like farting. Don't tell me you'll ever stop.'
'That's not entirely true, Patsy.' He had stripped down now to just a pair of scarlet swimming trunks and was leaning against the sink sipping his tea, the mug entirely hidden in his huge grasp. 'Some of the birds I went with were high class.'
'High-class tarts, you mean. They cost you enough.'
'Look.' Danny raised his voice. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to do or say to Patsy when he finally caught up with her but he certainly hadn't pictured a conversation like this. After all, he was the aggrieved party. 'Now, look here,' he said again, gesturing with his mug and slopping scalding liquid dow
n his naked chest. 'OW!'
'Serves you right,' said Patsy unsympathetically and then, in a gentler tone, 'Here, let me,' and she dabbed at him with a handy tea towel.
She was up close to him now, the top of her blonde head nuzzling into his chin. She smelt of deep musky perfume and of sex. She giggled suddenly. 'Here, Danny. You've got grey hairs on your chest.'
'I should tan your hide,' he said gruffly.
'So that's what you've come all the way back to England for, risking your liberty. To beat me up. That's very clever, Danny.' The fleshy rounds of her breasts were pressing into his chest as she ministered to him. 'That's the kind of brainy thinking that made you king of the London rackets.' Her hard little nipples were scratching at his burnt skin, hurting him.
'Shut up,' he growled.
'Make me.'
The kiss went on for a long time, her small slippery tongue deep in his mouth and her arms around his neck, pressing the warmth of her tits into his flaming chest while his big hands were everywhere, up and down her back and under the flimsy panties to grasp the plump mass of her bum cheeks and run his fingers into the juicy well of her pussy.
They would undoubtedly have crowned their reunion with a breathless bonk up against the metal sink - she was already struggling to wrestle the blunt jackhammer of his cock out of his trunks and ram it up between her legs - when a sound from on deck made her pull her mouth away from his and froze her entire body.
'Patsy—'
'Be quiet!' she hissed.
'Hello,' came a voice from above.
'Oh hell,' she groaned.
'Who's that?'
'It's only one of the coppers.'
'What!'
'One of the coppers keeping a lookout in case you turn up.'
'Christ!'
'Don't worry, I'll get rid of him. Hello!' she called back up the stairwell, 'I'll be right with you.'
'I just brought the milk over,' said the voice, sounding ominously close. 'Why don't I bring it down?' They heard the sound of large feet on the stairs.
'Christ!' muttered Danny again, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a bread knife.
'No, you can't come down,' Patsy called back, frantically motioning Danny to put down the knife, 'I've got no clothes on.'
The footsteps halted.
'Oh dear, oh sorry, I, er—' the footsteps retreated clumsily.
'Danny, quick, where's your diving gear? Will he see it?'
'Not unless he goes poking around up there.'
'Don't worry, he won't have eyes for anything but my tits. You get lost somewhere, I've got to go and sort him out.'
And she was gone, wrapping a towel around her delicious body as she scrambled up the stairwell. 'Oh Mark,' he heard her say, 'it's sweet of you to come over. I was just in the bath.'
Danny leaned against the door, the red mist in his head and loins slowly clearing. He realised his cock was sticking out of his pants and that he was still clutching the knife.
'Bloody hell,' he said to himself, then picked up his wet-suit and padded silently down the corridor.
He soundlessly turned the handle of the first door he came to and slipped inside.
Chapter 32
Billy was still protesting but, in truth, his complaints of ill-treatment were undermined by the reaction of his prick which thrust obscenely up into the air as Katie toyed with it. She pinched and stroked, smacking it playfully from side to side, grasping it at the base and waggling it like a stick - much to Imogen's amusement. She took her turn, too, licking the shaft like a lollipop; allowing Katie to slip the head into her mouth for a tantalising moment; then bending forward to roll the fleshy sausage between her wobbling tits.
'Layoff,' said Billy feebly.
'Why don't you shut him up, Katie,' said Imogen. 'The way you like best.'
Katie needed no second urging. Cleverly, for she never let go of his stiff-standing member, she sat herself astride Billy's torso and then dragged her knickers down until they stretched in a single band across the meaty rear of her thighs. Suspended above him were the twin pillows of her succulent arse, the furrow between them spread wide to reveal, in the gap between her legs, a veritable forest of thick black curls.
Billy's words of protest had died on his lips. He heard Imogen's voice, felt her breath warm on his ear as she bent her head to his face and whispered, 'Isn't she magnificent, Billy? Have you ever seen a hairier cunt?'
Billy shook his head and gazed in wonder as Imogen ran her fingers down the exposed crack, giving the winking brown star of her arsehole an impudent tickle before plunging her fingers into Katie's bush, combing out the thick fronds to reveal the split of her pussy. Billy watched mesmerised as the long and elegant fingers teased open the curling lips and plunged within, emerging wet with juice which glistened on the pale pink varnish of her nails. 'Isn't she lovely Billy? Aren't you just dying to taste her?'
Whether he was or not was immaterial for Katie's rump had now descended on his upturned face. To be honest, he had no heart to protest. It was gross, it was lewd, it was wonderful. The big cushions of her buttocks smothered him in a perfumed embrace and his lips opened automatically to meet hers. He explored her soft and juicy cave with his tongue. She tasted strong and clean, like the sea warmed by a hot sun.
She ground his head between the pistons of her thighs, almost cutting off his air, his ears muffled by the walls of flesh. He couldn't move. He thought of nipping her with his teeth but was conscious of sharp fingernails playing across his scrotum and the implied threat therein. In the dim distance he heard their voices and was aware of his genitals being manipulated, pulled this way and that with no obvious aim, it seemed, to excite him and yet doing just that, inching him towards a longed-for explosion.
He was almost drowning in her crotch now as the liquid seeped from her, salty and pungent, filling his mouth, running into his nasal passages. And then she was bucking and bouncing on top of him in an uncontrollable frenzy. The soft ovals of her bottom were shaking in his face and, far off, he could hear her cries as she satisfied herself on his mouth.
With relief he realised that supple fingers were bringing him to his own climax, wanking his prick, clinically milking him as he, too, shot off, erupting into the empty air.
Eventually Katie climbed off him. She moved slowly, as if she were half asleep, and Imogen came to her assistance. Billy gratefully sucked air into his lungs. He felt utterly exhausted. And used. And cheated.
They stood over him, gloating. Imogen's breasts were wet, sticky with his come. She stood there rubbing the spunk into her big tits with one hand, the other was round Katie's waist.
'Let's get you into the shower and wash that horrible stuff off,' Katie said.
'There's such a lot of it,' said Imogen, 'he's quite a little sperm factory. Perhaps we could keep him here and put him to stud.'
Katie giggled, setting her little tits bobbing. 'We could feed him on Arnold's biscuits and send in a new female every twenty minutes.' They both thought this very amusing and laughed out loud. Billy noticed that Katie's hand was in her luxuriant black bush, stroking the top of her crack.
'What shall we do with him now?' Katie asked Imogen.
'Let's leave him to cool off a bit. Recover his strength.'
'Hey!' said Billy, as it dawned on him he was to be left trussed up and half naked. 'Untie me at once!'
But they had turned away and were heading for the shower room.
'Let me up!' he cried, his eyes mesmerised by their rear view, Katie's prominent arse rippling as she moved, Imogen's by contrast neater and trimmer, set high on her long legs. Katie's arm was round Imogen's waist, Imogen's hand was fanned across the upper slopes of Katie's broad buttocks, her long index finger probing between the fleshy cheeks.
'Bitches!' he yelled after them but they did not turn round. Instead he heard loud laughter, then the hiss of falling water and he cursed beneath his breath. Lying in the sticky pool of spunk and sweat on his stomach, his thoughtless penis was
once more fully erect.
Chapter 33
Danny leaned against the cabin door behind him, listening intently. Maybe Patsy wouldn't be able to stall the policeman, maybe the big oaf would insist on coming below. But he could hear nothing apart from the pounding of his own heart and he rapidly came to the conclusion that Patsy had the situation well in hand. He was impressed with her. Certainly she had handled things smartly - and she looked fantastic these days. He still burned to fuck her. This revenge mission was not turning out quite as he had anticipated.
Only now did he begin to take in his surroundings. The first thing that registered was the smell. A thick pungent musk that thrilled his senses and immediately stiffened his prick. It spoke to him of expensive perfume - and of cunt. He looked around the dimly lit cabin and was thunder-struck by what he saw.
It could never be said that Danny Fretwork - the Randy Racketeer, the Hard-On Don, the West Ham Womaniser; these were just some of his tabloid nick-names - did not know what a naked woman looked like. Yet for a moment Danny simply could not register what lay in front of him. It looked like a female arse, a rounded and disembodied bottom which was pointing straight at him, the creamy smooth buttock ovals flushed pink even in the dim light. And between the wide-spread cheeks lay the glistening slit of a long-lipped pussy pouch just waiting to be crammed with cock. Despite the evidence of his eyes, Danny was flabbergasted. What the hell was going on here?
Danny considered the figure before him: a tall woman, shapely and slender, with long legs, bound in a crouch to a wooden bench, a pillow between her legs thrusting her rump high in the air. Her face was half glimpsed as she lay with one cheek on the bench, a scarf round her mouth in a gag, a swatch of dark hair over her eye. Was she asleep? Her body was moving, her breath coming hard and fast, a flush of excitement on her cheek.
Good God, what had he walked into? Could this be Patsy's doing? Patsy - a girl who had insisted on turning off the lights on their honeymoon night, a woman who only two years ago had threatened to cut off his bollocks with pinking shears when he had suggested a threesome. And now it seemed his stick-in-the-mud other half had shed two stone and turned herself into a right little raver, playing lesbian sex games. Only two minutes ago she had been more than keen to let him shag her up against the kitchen sink. There was no doubt a new spirit of sexual adventure had taken hold of his wife since his departure. And he'd been missing out on it!