Lust on the Loose

by Noel Amos

  He stood with arms braced against the wall, water cascading over his head. Behind him Tracy pressed her pneumatic form the length of his aching body. Her slippery fingers soaped the throbbing barrel of his tool, sudsing every ridge and crevice. Across his back the twin peaks of her adorable breasts massaged the hurt from his bones.

  'This is bliss,' he said. 'I think I'm in love with you, Tracy.'

  She chuckled and ran her fingers from the rear of his scrotum up the crack of his arse, working the cake of soap between his cheeks.

  'You promised to fix me up with Brick Tempo, remember?'

  'Sure thing. I'm his new minder.' And he wriggled to the ecstatic touch of her flesh on his in the rain of hot water. 'Have you really finished with Pandora Britches?'

  'I packed her in. Told her we should just be good friends.'

  'I thought you and she were a hot item. You certainly seemed to be having a good time the other night.'

  'She's a hypocrite. She wants to own me and yet she makes eyes at anything in skirts. Just like a man, in fact. Only, she doesn't have a cock. That's something of a drawback.'

  Billy's mind had wandered, distracted by the sensuous massage of her soft and slippery titties up and down his spine. He could swear he could identify the separate points of her nipples within the all-encompassing cushion of flesh that serpentined across his skin.

  'To be honest, Billy, I've got to thank you for putting me straight.'

  'Eh?'

  'That night at my hotel I realised I really preferred this,' and she placed both hands around his stiff-standing penis and squeezed.

  Billy was lost in a whirl of sensation. The torrential hot water, the rubbery slither of Tracy's boobs, the insistent rub of her fingers on the shaft of his cock had him rooted to the spot. Her hands slid upwards across the flat of his stomach onto the broad sweep of his chest as he turned him to face her. There was an impish grin on her wet face as she arranged his limbs to her liking.

  'Hold my bum,' she commanded and leapt up into his arms, scissoring her legs around his waist and reaching up to grasp the shower fitting above their heads.

  Billy juggled and then caught her, though she was slippery as a bar of soap. His hands were now filled with her pliant buttock flesh and her magnificent bosom swung, pink and swollen, right in his face. He knew what she wanted.

  For a moment they wobbled, his knees buckling, her hips shifting and flexing, his cock prodding the length of the deep slit of her arse until, miraculously, the head nosed into the notch of her wide-open pussy and stuck.

  'Yes!' she cried and sank her pelvis down, slotting her delicious hole over his shaft. 'Give it to me, Billy, stuff it right up my cunt!'

  And, despite his tired limbs and wounded pride, that's exactly what Billy did.

  Chapter 37

  It's well-known that beds on boats are not large. Whoever builds medium-sized cabin cruisers does not put a high priority on providing maximum bonking space. Nevertheless there is no accounting for human ingenuity when the blood is up. Hence Patsy, Danny and Pandora now reclined in a mass of sweaty, sticky limbs on two small mattresses pushed together on the floor of the state room.

  Patsy had been as good as her word. She had not allowed Pandy first use of Danny's next stiffy. Indeed she had quite shamelessly thrown herself on her back and lifted her knees to her chest, presenting the pair of them with the sight of her gaping honeypot, and commanded Danny to ram his dick home. What loving husband could fail to obey such an injunction? Pandora had been relegated to the role of interested bystander which, in truth, was only proper for a novice in the realms of heterosexual fuckery.

  'Christ,' she had said as she knelt on hands and knees to observe up close the pistoning of Danny's slick and angry rod as it drove in and out of Patsy's hungry quim. 'It's so beautiful. What power! What energy!' And she had tentatively reached out a hand to touch the hairy jumping bollocks in front of her. From there the hand had crept upwards to tickle the base of Danny's throbbing cock at the point where it drove between the frilled lips of Patsy's pretty pussy.

  Soon Pandora had both hands running over their most sensitive parts, hunting between their bodies, dipping into the dark hairy crack between Danny's muscular arse cheeks, and fondling his balls. Then, as their huffing puffing climax approached, Pandy's curious fingers delved into the top of Patsy's notch to rub the tiny nub of her clit and she threshed in orgasm like a landed fish.

  Afterwards, in the balmy glow of gratitude, Patsy had settled herself between Pandora's spread thighs and wriggled her wicked little tongue in and out of Pandy's slit. Then she had sucked on the long fleshy vaginal lips, pushing two fingers deep inside Pandy's twitching hole while she licked and nibbled Pandy's clit to a spectacular climax.

  This activity had, quite naturally, stimulated Danny's own interest and the moans of Pandy's orgasm had no sooner faded than he was inserting the head of his big tool into her well-oiled orifice, sliding it home with a grunt. This being Pandy's first proper fuck, in that this time she knew she had a cock up her, Patsy had intended to stay out of the action. But the sight of Danny's animal thrusting between Pandy's long and slender legs had enflamed her. In her newfound spirit of sexual adventure she had straddled Pandy's neck, her arse in Danny's face, and poked her still-hungry pussy back onto his mouth.

  The three of them were joined together like that for an age, licking and probing and thrusting. Danny had his cock in the hot tight channel of Pandy's almost-virgin cunt, his face in the cleft between Patsy's pert twitching buttocks and his hands everywhere - full of breast and thigh and juicy quim. He was in heaven. If the entire Metropolitan Police Force had come aboard at that moment he could not for the life of him have stopped what he was doing.

  Now, as he lay between two naked and well-fucked women, he reflected on his current situation. And burst out laughing.

  'What's funny?' asked Patsy.

  'It just occurred to me. I've achieved what I set out to do.'

  'What's that?'

  'Shaft the wife and the tabloid press,' he said, running a proprietorial hand over Patsy's pert right buttock and lightly smacking Pandora's smooth left one. 'Now you,' he said to Patsy, 'are coming back to me. Sell the house. Come out to Spain.'

  'Are you two getting back together?' said Pandy, scenting a scoop.

  'I don't know,' said Patsy. 'It's for me to say. I've got other things on. There's our book.'

  'What book?' said Danny, instantly suspicious.

  'I'm doing a book with Pandy. About my life living with a gangster.'

  'What!'

  'Don't get alarmed, Danny,' said Pandora. 'You should come in with us. Why don't the pair of you tell me your story? We could keep all the stuff about a woman coming to terms with the world of violence and racketeering. And we could tell Danny's side of it, about how he had to turn to crime to express himself and how he was exploited by society. You were exploited by society weren't you, Danny?'

  Patsy laughed. 'Yeah. And we could get Billy Dazzle along to take some sexy photos to spice it up a bit.'

  Danny's mind was racing; he wasn't all that enamoured at the turn this conversation was taking. 'Who the fuck is Billy Dazzle?'

  'He's a private dick. He took those photos of your skinny-dipping party in Kent.'

  'That's the bastard who screwed me up right and proper! He was working with the Old Bill.'

  'No, he wasn't. He was working for me,' protested Patsy, but Danny wasn't listening.

  'He signalled to them. He jumped out of a tree and they went for us. I had to leave the country because of him.'

  'It was an accident. He didn't know the police were there.'

  'That's only what he said,' interrupted Pandy. 'I know about this man. He's not to be trusted. He seduced a friend of mine. He hid beneath her bed and listened in on an intimate conversation.'

  Patsy giggled. 'That does sound like Billy. But he's harmless, Danny, really.'

  'No, he's not,' said Pandy forcefully, 'he's a cheap stud wi
th the morals of a sewer rat and I don't see why you are standing up for him, Patsy Fretwork.'

  Suddenly Danny sat up. His face was grim. He leaned over to Patsy and gripped her jaw in his huge hand, forcing her to look directly into his cold blue eyes. 'Tell me one thing, Patsy.'

  Patsy glared back at him, unable to break from his grip.

  'Has he fucked you?'

  She did not reply.

  'Well - has he?'

  The silence stretched on. And on.

  Four - License to Lust

  Chapter 38

  Brick Tempo was not exactly as Billy had expected. He bore no obvious resemblance to the rock star whose ever-changing image had been a fixture in the cultural firmament throughout three decades. Long gone was the sixties' Afro and droopy moustache, the seventies' ponytail and Old Father Time face fuzz, even the eighties' bouffant and designer stubble. The slouching man who stared blankly at him from the cushioned comfort of the armchair in Imogen's office wore a grey suit and scuffed brown shoes. His short-back-and-sides was stubbled with silver and a battered holdall lay across his lap. He could have been a bank clerk or a ticket inspector except, Billy reflected, not even public servants looked quite so terminally depressed.

  Imogen was making the introductions, explaining that Billy was to take care of Brick's every little need while he was in London, expressing her own great confidence in Billy's competence. Billy noticed that she was enunciating her words clearly with the volume turned higher than usual. He flashed Brick his warmest smile of welcome, added his own good wishes to the end of Imogen's speech and pressed Brick's hand firmly.

  It was like gripping lettuce, nevertheless Billy was in awe. This man had been famous throughout all of Billy's life. He had had million-selling records when Billy was in the womb. He had faced death and disaster many times yet he had survived. He had Been There. He was a walking soundtrack to millions of lives. He opened his mouth and the chills ran down Billy's spine.

  'I feel like shit,' he said. 'Would you run me a bath?'

  The Living Legend had so far not turned out to be a live wire. That first afternoon, Billy had settled him into the apartment, unpacked his bags and run him a bath. Brick had then requested dry toast and milkless tea, disappeared into his room and remained there till eleven the next morning. Billy had watched television till the small hours, alert to any movement from next door - there was none - till he had finally flopped onto the bed in the spare room.

  He decided the next day, as he served more tea and toast to his silent guest, that this was like being a manservant to a Trappist monk. His brain buzzed with questions that he didn't quite have the nerve to ask. What had it been like to play with Bob Dylan in Greenwich Village in 1962? Had Brick really got his leg over all of the Dancing Pretties onstage during his Get It Up tour? How had he managed to crawl down Woodsmoke Mountain after the plane crash which wiped out all the other members of the band? Most of all he wanted to ask for an autograph for his mum but he didn't dare.

  'So, Brick,' he said as the rock star pushed his half-empty cup to one side of the table, 'what kind of a day do you want? The office has been fielding a string of requests for interviews from all the media. It would be good publicity for the Gala. Or would you rather hit the shops? We've got some musicians standing by, too, in case you want to run through any of your stuff before the performance. Just say the word.'

  Brick did not say any word at all. Billy wondered if he had heard him. Remembering the way Imogen had spoken to him he said loudly, 'It's up to you.'

  Brick slowly turned his head in Billy's direction. His eyes were empty slits.

  'Imogen has asked me to look after you, Brick. Surely, there's something I can do.'

  There was a long pause. Was the man deaf? Had thirty years of the electronic guitar damaged his circuits?

  Brick slowly raised a hand and pointed to the sliding window that lead out onto the sunny balcony. He finally spoke.

  'There's something you can do.'

  'Yes?'

  'Fix me up a chair out there.'

  'Sure thing. Anything else?'

  'Yeah. Get lost.'

  Billy was thoroughly pissed off. Playing Jeeves to a rude relic from the so-called Swinging Sixties was not his chosen role in life. He was contemplating telling Imogen where to stick her job - and he knew just where - when the doorbell rang.

  It was Tracy, her blonde ringlets cascading around the dewy fresh beauty of her heart-shaped face down to the shoulders of her smart powder-blue linen suit. She strutted straight past him on her three-inch heels positively bristling smart summery sex appeal. 'Where is he?' she demanded, tossing her artfully distressed leather attaché case onto the sofa.

  'You're looking smart,' said Billy, struck by her change of style. 'What's with the fancy luggage?'

  'I've brought my music. In case he wants to rehearse. So, isn't he here?'

  Billy pointed to the balcony where the great man's cowboy boots could be seen resting on a cane chair. Tracy was through the french window in a trice.

  'Hey - Brick Tempo!' she cried. 'We meet at last!' Billy didn't hear a response but it may have been drowned in Tracy's onward gush.

  This was incredible! effused Britain's Bustiest Beauty. She'd been brought up on the music of the great Brick Tempo and now here she was on the same bill as him, about to share a stage in honour of a Worthy Cause. To think that she, Tracy Pert from the East End, a singer/songwriter in her own little way with a record at number thirty-seven this week, funnily enough, should be teaming up with him was measure enough of how far she had come. Etcetera.

  Billy still couldn't gauge the Tempo response. There was no sound of a male voice amidst the piercing tinkle of Tracy's chatter.

  She had now moved onto the weather, the summer heat that was making silly old her so uncomfortable since she had foolishly put on a suit that morning. She had thought that just wearing the top would be cool enough but it really was scorching and, well, she just had to slip it off and let some air on her bare skin. Oh wow! That was better. It was so great to feel the heat on her body. Maybe she'd better slip out of her skirt, too. He didn't mind, did he? It was a bit of a cheek but he must have seen it all before. Back in the sixties they were half-naked all the time, weren't they? They were free then, they let it all hang out. She'd always envied that. She wished she'd been there in the sixties, was it as great as they said? Grooving in the raw to all that great music and letting their minds and bodies come together like in that John Lennon song...

  'Billy.'

  The deep rich male voice shook Billy out of a half-stupefied reverie as he watched the almost-naked Tracy, wearing just the briefest of pink cotton briefs, sway along the balcony, evidently heading for the rock singer.

  'Billy!'

  Brick's voice rang out again, clear and imperious, and Billy stumbled out into the sunlight, a part of his mind thrilling to the knowledge that the singer had remembered his name.

  'Yes, Brick?'

  He was reclining across two chairs, a big white Stetson in his hand.

  'You still want to do something for me?'

  'Of course.'

  'Get Little Miss Big Tits out of here.'

  A strangled squeak came from Tracy's lips and her adorable body shook in pain and fury as Brick clapped the hat on his face shutting her from his sight.

  Chapter 39

  'My name is Danny Fretwork. Some of you will have heard of me. And to those of you who haven't - where the bloody hell have you been for the past few years?'

  The picture on the large television was jumpy, obviously the camcorder operator was not experienced. Nevertheless the bronzed and beefy face of the nation's most wanted man was instantly recognisable to the small audience of policemen and women crammed into the small office. Among them, Sophie Stark shifted uncomfortably as she hung on Danny's every word.

  'First of all, I've got to thank the proprietors of this television station for giving me the chance to send a few messages of public intere
st.

  'To the readers of the Daily Blizzard I'd like to say I hope you enjoyed my wife's stories about me. It was a good laugh, but you people ought to know that her memory is what's known as selective. Very soon I hope to set the record straight and tell you all the whole truth. I promise you then you'll really split your sides.

  'To my wife, I have only one thing to say and I said it to her face when I met her just a couple of days ago. Now I'm going public so it's on the record, witnessed by everyone who's watching this. Patsy, I love you, I can't live without you and I want you back living by my side. Our marriage vows are as sacred to me now as they were on the day we wed.'

  A loud raspberry rang through the small room as Sophie's companions reacted to Danny's bug-eyed sincerity with predictable derision. But the laughter died on their lips as he continued.

  'Here is my message to the coppers: what a load of tossers you are. You couldn't organise a bunk-up in a brothel. Here am I, strolling round London as you can see,' and indeed, as he swayed to one side, St Paul's could be clearly discerned on the opposite bank of the Thames, 'and you haven't laid a finger on me. Frankly, if I was paying British taxes I'd be disgusted.

  'My final word is a personal message to Sergeant Sophie Stark. I hear you're a bit of hot stuff, my darling, but I'd advise you to hang your knickers up right now. You ain't sticking my dick in your trophy cabinet.'

  There was a stunned silence in the poky office as Danny's face was replaced by a white blizzard of static.