Lust on the Loose

by Noel Amos

  'No!' screamed Katie. 'Don't you dare! You'll never get it in - it's too big!'

  Katie was wrong. Applying the buttery juices that flowed so copiously from her forward orifice, Brick lubricated her nether knothole and advanced the head of his prong.

  'Oh my God!' cried Katie as she was breached.

  Now the arms of both men were fast around her as she was sandwiched between their strong hard bodies. They proceeded slowly, Billy resting against the desk, taking the weight, allowing Brick to thrust his prick forward inch by inch, deep into the tight passage of Katie's luscious arse.

  And Katie began slowly to respond, still cursing and complaining, but grinding her pubic delta down onto Billy's cock then arching back to take the increasingly urgent thrusts of Brick's shaft. She was completely smothered by male flesh, penetrated fore and aft, pinioned by two stalwart cocks who were able to give her everything her insatiable loins required.

  'Oh God,' she wailed as their organs fenced within her and the momentum began to build, 'I hate you both! This is terrible! The most disgusting, ghastly, horrible - wonderful - thing I've ever done! OH!'

  And her orgasm broke upon their ears like an explosion.

  Imogen heard it in her office two floors below and stopped work for a moment to listen to the screams and bellows of ecstasy from above. She smiled contentedly to herself. She liked to know her people took pleasure in their work.

  Chapter 53

  The day of the Gala broke upon a selection of interested parties with the brilliance of the best of English summer days.

  In the Mayfair apartment, Katie Crisp rolled over in Billy's bed and thrust her broad bottom into his crotch. Still half asleep, he accepted this unspoken invitation to slide his morning stiffy home into the capacious and still-hungry mouth between her legs.

  In St John's Wood, Candy Kensington inspected her new chauffeur as he paraded in his uniform. The peak of his cap shone brightly and his gold epaulettes did not look in the least ridiculous on such a broad and strong pair of shoulders. His trousers were in no need of Candy's attention for they hung neatly over a chair as she conducted an in-depth hand inspection of his throbbing cock.

  In Hampstead, Patsy Fretwork gratefully sipped a mug of steaming coffee as Pandora Britches sat on the bed beside her and said, 'Poor darling, you shouldn't have drunk so much. I told you I'd be all right.' And Patsy made no objection as Pandora's long fingers began their familiar stroll across the soft and dimpled plain of her stomach towards her mound of pleasure.

  In Soho, a further scene of sexual licence had just drawn to its conclusion when Sophie Stark knocked at Betsy Toast's door. It was eventually opened by a cadaverous man of extraordinary height who had obviously just struggled into his jeans.

  'I'm sorry to disturb you,' said Sophie, 'but I'm trying to contact Billy Dazzle and I wondered—'

  The man held up his hand to halt her flow and yelled over his shoulder, 'Betsy, there's another recruit for your call-girl service. She looks even better than the last one,' he added under his breath.

  'May I ask who you are, sir?'

  'None of your business,' said the tall blonde who appeared at his side. 'And Billy's not here, so you can scram.'

  The two of them towered over Sophie who nevertheless was not put out. She did what she should have done in the first place and produced her identity card. 'Do you mind if I come inside?'

  The pair looked suitably chastened as Sophie took in the confusion in the tiny set of rooms. An empty suitcase lay on the unmade bed, other luggage stood in the hall.

  'I didn't know Billy was such a popular guy,' said Betsy. 'You're about the fifth person who's come looking for him in the past twenty-four hours.'

  'Did any of those people look like this?' And Sophie produced a photograph.

  'You bet,' said Betsy at once. 'That big fellow came here twice. The second time he was wearing a false beard but he couldn't disguise his build. Who the hell is he, anyway?'

  'You obviously don't watch the television or read the papers.'

  'Sorry, I'm American. Your Brit papers are from Mars.'

  'Well, this is a photograph of the country's most wanted man. We're looking for him on charges of racketeering, extortion, manslaughter and murder.'

  'Christ!'

  'If you've seen him, Miss Toast, I want to hear all about it.'

  'Sure, sit down, Arnold will make us a drink. Why on earth is this guy looking for Billy?'

  'I think he wants to kill him.'

  'Oh my God!' cried Betsy, and ran into the toilet to be sick.

  She was gone for quite a while during which interval Arnold handed Sophie a cup of instant coffee. As an afterthought, and because the policewoman had now discovered he was a celebrity chef, he also produced a homemade biscuit.

  Betsy returned, her healthy tan dimmed for once, and sank into an armchair. 'I'm sorry, Sergeant—'

  'Sophie.'

  'OK. The thing is, Sophie, when he came back the second time I tried to get him to come inside to, well, you know. I vamped him up a little and pushed my bod into him because I saw something in his pants.'

  'You thought he had an erection?'

  'Right! In my line it's a handy indicator of business interest. He had a lump all right but it didn't feel like a dick to me. And I ought to know.'

  'So what did it feel like?'

  'A gun. Now that would make sense if he was going to kill Billy, wouldn't it?'

  'Bloody hell!' said Arnold, who had been listening to this conversation with interest. 'What are we going to do about poor old Billy?'

  'Do you know where he is?'

  'Sure, he's going to the Gala at Bedside Manor with Brick Tempo. He's driving down this morning. And so are we.'

  Sophie got Betsy to let her into Billy Dazzle's office with her spare key. She said she wanted to check it out but in reality she wanted to phone Ambrosia in private. The senior officer sounded pleased with her.

  'Excellent, Sophie. So, our Danny is still in town, according to this witness. How reliable is she?'

  'Very, I'd say. She identified him straight off from the photo.'

  'And your theory is that Fretwork is after Dazzle because he bonked Patsy.'

  'Yes. I think we've got to protect Billy Dazzle while using him as bait for Danny Fretwork.'

  'Sounds familiar, Sophie. I remember your last scheme for luring Danny into our clutches. Danny doesn't know where Billy is, does he?'

  'Not as far as I'm aware.'

  'Good. I suggest in that case that you leave the rest of us to track him down. I'll put men inside Dazzle's office and step up the operation in Essex. He's putting himself about too much. He'll soon come unstuck.'

  'But what about Billy? Danny will blow his brains out if he finds him.'

  'He won't find him. Dazzle is much better off out of harm's way in the country. And don't worry, I will personally keep a discreet eye on things at Bedside. It so happens that I have an invitation to the concert myself.'

  'Ambrosia, Billy needs proper protection!'

  'Forget it, Sergeant. You've done your stuff and just about saved your pretty neck. Don't spoil it, now. Take a few days off.'

  'Ambrosia, please!'

  'Don't be too disappointed, Sophie. You've done enough. Not even you can catch them all.'

  Sophie sat morosely at Billy's desk. The thrill of latching onto Danny's trail had been swiftly cut off and she could hardly credit that Ambrosia had dumped her from the case. She must be feeling the heat herself.

  As Sophie sat there she looked idly through the desk drawers. She had no doubt Fretwork would have gained entry and made a similar search. If there was evidence here that would have told Danny where Billy was then she'd get back to Ambrosia and insist she mount a big operation at Bedside.

  She found nothing to link Billy to the Gala. But she did find something that brought her up short. An obscene photograph of a rounded female arse thrusting backwards to reveal a pouting pussy crack. It took her a moment to
realise just whose arse and pussy this was. My God! The bastard kept a dirty photo of her in his desk drawer. It must have come from the poolside photos Sophie had told her about. Why had he kept this one? To jerk off over, she supposed.

  The thought gave her a funny feeling. The notion of an unknown man regularly stroking his cock to solitary orgasm while fantasising over her disembodied bum was - well, she had to admit it - highly arousing. A bolt of desire shot through her like an electric current. God, she felt horny! Wildly, excruciatingly, heart-stoppingly horny!

  Suddenly she knew what she would do. She would cadge a ride to Bedside Manor from Arnold and Betsy and she would keep an eye on Billy Dazzle herself. Patsy had spoken warmly of him. He sounded like a decent fellow even if a bit of a ducker and diver. And the notion of the boy wanking off to a picture of her thrusting arse - well, she had a duty to prevent him being blown away by a brute like Danny Fretwork!

  She slipped the photo back into the drawer and got to her feet, trying to quell the lurid desires that stemmed from the crawling, itching feeling in the pit of her stomach. This was no time to think about sex - a man's life was in danger.

  'Right, Sophie Stark,' she said to herself, 'on to Bedside Manor!'

  Five - Orgy!

  Chapter 54

  Bedside Manor, the former home of the Bedside family, enjoyed a naturally seductive location. Nestling at the foot of the Sussex Downs, it sat amidst fifty acres of neat green fields and rolling parkland. The Manor itself had been transformed by the stage-struck Belvedere Bedside in the years preceding the Great War. He had sunk the family fortune into a full-scale theatre which he had built a hundred yards from the house on the site of the old stables. His intention had been to run his own theatre company, attracting an audience from London and the nearby South Coast resorts. Unfortunately for him, war had intervened and he had thrown himself into a Greater Cause which had snuffed out his ambitions, along with millions of others, in a muddy bog somewhere in northern France.

  But the legacy of Belvedere lived on in the exquisite little theatre he had built in the grounds of his family home on the banks of the whispering River Bed. This was now the home of the Bedside Opera Company, funded to a diminishing extent by the public purse and, increasingly, by a clutch of boring but profitable businesses who could afford to apply a little artistic gloss to their image. As a consequence of all this, throughout the summer months discerning patrons flocked in their thousands to picnic in the grounds and drink their fill of Culture.

  On the night of the Poor Pussy Gala the regular company took a deserved mid-season break and yielded the stage to Imogen's carefully assembled roster of artistes. It was to be a glittering occasion, performed in front of an audience of the great and the good - including minor royalty. Dashing Prince Roger, twenty-something in line to the throne, was squiring his latest exotic girlfriend, Inez de la Puta. The Spanish beauty was rumoured to have won his heart, or at least some other significant portion of his anatomy, by dancing the flamenco in the nude at the Nuts Risborough Hunt Ball.

  From across Europe the titled and the wealthy were making their way to Bedside. Candy Kensington's call had been loud and strident and many had answered. Some were driven by a genuine desire to support Poor Pussy, these were almost exclusively British patrons captivated by Candy's image of a bandaged moggy adrift in a world without catflaps. The Continentals, who regarded most animals in simple culinary terms, were more interested in attending a social event. Some wished to visit Bedside without the tedium of actually sitting through an opera. Others were sufficiently attracted by the allure of Brick Tempo and Melissa Melone to abandon their yachts and country retreats on an otherwise uneventful evening in the summer season.

  Backstage there was panic. Voices were raised and shouts of anguish were commonplace as noisy people in designer clothes and silent ones in grimy sweatshirts mingled together. To Billy it had looked like chaos until Brick explained that the smart ones were performers letting off steam and the scruffy ones were technicians who actually knew what they were doing. Having been chivvied out of several hidey-holes, Billy took refuge in a stairwell.

  Katie Crisp joined him, dressed for once in jeans, and they sat companionably buttock to buttock on the steps. This was a changed Katie. It occurred to Billy that what she needed all along was an old-fashioned fucking. Nevertheless he was not so sure of his ground as to air this thought.

  A particularly loud outburst broke out from the dressing rooms. Several voices were raised in outrage over a background of sobs and dark mutterings of a rebellious nature.

  'What's that all about?' said Billy.

  Katie grinned maliciously. 'That's the Marian Mucus corps de ballet discovering that their wardrobe is incomplete. The skip containing their costumes has got lost.'

  'What will they do?'

  'They've got to go on. Candy insists. They're going to dance in their body stockings.'

  'Poor things.'

  'Don't waste your sympathy. They're all so damned skinny they could dance naked and no one would notice. Unlike our friend Tracy. I'd steal her costume myself if I didn't think she'd just love to perform in the nude. What you men see in those wobbling jellies of hers I can't imagine.'

  Billy hastened to change the subject. 'What happens now, Katie? I mean, this is complete pandemonium. I can't believe that a performance will possibly take place tonight.'

  'Oh, it will. They may look like idiots but these people know what they're doing. So don't you worry your pretty little head. Your job is to keep an eye on Mr Tempo and make sure he keeps his pecker in his pants. And while you're at it,' she leaned across him and clapped a hand over his crotch, 'I suggest you keep yours buttoned up too.'

  She kissed him with force, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth and massaging his loins meaningfully. Billy allowed his mouth to be raped and his cock leapt to attention as she slipped her hand into his trousers.

  'Unfortunately,' she said, 'I've got to go. I must find out if Melissa Melone has arrived. Now you behave yourself.' And with a parting squeeze to his now rampant organ she exited up the stairs.

  Leaving Billy with his fully erect penis thrusting up from his trousers in full view of two thin girls in leotards standing open-mouthed in the doorway straight ahead of him. He hastily stuffed his treacherous member back into his pants as he rushed past them. Maybe he had been better off when Katie was not being quite so friendly...

  Chapter 55

  Sophie was in turmoil on the back seat of Arnold's car as the three of them drove through the ugly suburbs of south London. She couldn't understand the feelings of pent-up desire that were singing through her veins. She knew she was highly sexed, it had been an early item of self-knowledge and her adolescence had been one long battle with her sensual impulses. Since then, however, she had always managed to keep things in check. Correction - she had usually managed to keep things in check. The Crispin Kingsley incident had not been the only one to spoil her record. Nevertheless, she had always had some degree of choice when it came to sex. The fact that she said yes more often than no was irrelevant. But now, alone on the back seat of Arnold's much-prized second-hand Maserati, her heart was thumping and her pussy was drooling and she feared she'd be unable to say no to Hannibal Lecter.

  Arnold was disturbed. The traffic was bloody and he really should have been at Bedside first thing that morning. He knew his team must have been at work since dawn preparing the evening buffet and he felt guilty.

  Then there was the business about Billy. It was a bit hard to credit that some heavy was out for his blood but nevertheless it was not a pleasant prospect. What's more he had now been sworn to secrecy. Neither he nor Betsy was supposed to tell Billy his life was in danger. Sergeant Sophie had assured them both that since Danny Fretwork didn't know about the Gala then all would be well and Billy was better off in blissful ignorance. In which case why had she been so keen to drive to Bedside at once? It was all very complicated.

  Arnold's most immediate concer
n, however, was the physical condition of the policewoman squirming on the back seat behind him. He observed her closely in the mirror, noting the flushed cheeks and heavy breathing and constant shifting of the hips. An awful thought was dawning. He hadn't, had he, given her the wrong biscuits? He kept some at Betsy's to inspire their midnight sex sessions. Had he then, in the confusion of learning about Billy, given this policewoman a Love Crunch Special? He must be going potty.

  Which was exactly what Betsy was thinking. She too had noticed Sophie's condition, the way those lovely legs kept opening and closing and her hands fidgeted in her lap. At any moment the poor girl was going to start fingering herself. Betsy shot a venomous glance at her lover, she had no doubt who was responsible for this state of affairs.

  'Are you all right back there, Sophie?' she asked. 'Want to change places with me?'

  'Oh. I don't know. I mean, I am feeling a little odd...' Sophie floundered, unable to articulate, her eyes fixed on Arnold's long strong fingers wrapped around the gear stick, gripping it just below the bulbous end, so reminiscent of - 'Cock,' she blurted inadvertently. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean. I—'

  'Stop the car, Arnold,' ordered Betsy. 'Sophie and I are changing places so she'll be more comfortable.' Her tone was not friendly and Arnold did as he was told.

  They resumed their journey with Sophie reclining on the front passenger seat which Betsy had lowered so that she lay virtually flat. Her skirt rose up over her trembling thighs and Arnold gazed with interest at the seductive expanse of flesh so close to his left hand. Betsy jabbed him in the back of the neck and hissed, 'Keep your eyes on the road.'

  Sophie lay there, her senses on fire, her body thrilling to the smooth motion of the car and the throb of the engine. She looked up at Betsy, at the upside-down face now bent close to hers, at the full-lipped mouth which now whispered, 'I'm going to give you a massage, Sophie. You'll soon feel much better. I promise.'