by Noel Amos
Danny was flagging. In order to keep a clear head he had laid off the booze and so had failed to benefit from Arnold's inspirational punch. And the more he flagged the more in demand he appeared to be.
First had been Ambrosia, of course. Leaving aside the dubious nature of her profession, he had been delighted to explore her sumptuous rump and service the shaven-lipped split between her legs. Then the girl in the next seat had brought him off by hand while simultaneously wanking the man next to her to orgasm. He couldn't deny that that had been exciting.
He had also risen to the challenge when, during Melissa's thrilling encore, the girl had taken him in her mouth. Once the orgy proper began, she had pulled the dress off her back, stuffed her panties in her bag and climbed purposefully onto his lap. It would have been churlish to have refused her the use of his big penis, not when she was so evidently in need. Besides, fucking was obviously expected of him and he didn't want to draw attention to himself.
So fuck he did, holding her flaring hips as she bounced up and down in his lap, riding his rod as if she were on a steeple-chaser. Next to them her girlfriend performed in a similar fashion on top of the other fellow. All three knew each other and they brayed loudly in upper-class tones as they fornicated.
'I say, Monica,' cried the second girl, 'what's yours like?'
'Super!' shouted Danny's girl. 'He's got a bloody sight bigger willy than Nigel. You've got to try him next!'
Danny would have protested but Monica pulled his face onto her dancing white bosom, pushing a ripe red nipple into his mouth as she bucked into her first orgasm.
By the time Monica let him go, Danny was as wrung out as a dish cloth. He lurched away into the dark, tucking his limp cock into his trousers as he went. As he made for the exit he heard cut-glass tones raised in complaint.
'Where did he go, Monica? I want that big cock you promised me!'
Danny hurried along, aware that he was losing his grip. So far he had failed to catch even a glimpse of his intended target, Billy Dazzle, and he had had an encounter with the law that could only be termed 'close'. However, there was still time to put matters right. Now, surely, was the moment a randy rat like Dazzle would emerge from his bolt-hole. In the prevailing chaos it should be easy to deal with him and make a quick escape.
But even getting down to the stalls proved difficult. On the stairs Danny was waylaid by two groups of women. The first comprised society matrons wearing little and caring less. They pinned him to the steps and pulled his trousers to his ankles, big titties billowing and swinging as they set about him. He was kissed fervently while insistent hands rummaged in his trousers.
There was some disappointment amongst the ladies that his joystick was not instantly rampant but they worked on him for a while and their fearsome enthusiasm was such that he found himself responding. He allowed himself to be ravished, with one woman's meaty thighs on either side of his hips, her big slack breasts shaking like jellies in his face. Then they took turns, the last one coaxing from him a shot of sperm that he felt had come from the very bottom of his locker.
It soon transpired that it hadn't. Soon after his release, two nude ballet dancers wrestled him to the ground and practised their pirouettes in unison on his body, one sitting on his face, the other reviving his exhausted member with her mouth. Such were their skills that Danny once more responded.
He entered the rear of the auditorium naked from the waist down, an ache in his bones and a limp in his step. Soft hands helped him to a seat and a gravelly voice said, 'Feeling a bit pooped, are we? You look like you could do with a rest.' With relief Danny noticed that his benefactor was a man. Only for relief to turn to outrage as those same soft fingers crept onto his thigh.
'Get your fucking hands off me, you pervert,' he growled, thrusting the fellow away and lumbering off into the dark.
Danny stumbled between the seats, avoiding sprawling bodies, trying vainly to detect the hated figure of Dazzle. Then he saw him, a broad-shouldered young man with a shock of black hair, his face caught for a moment in a spotlight that some joker was playing across the bodies on the stage. The boy's head fell back, out of sight.
Danny picked his way forward with a purpose. The gun, which he had so far managed to conceal from his admirers, now burned a hole in the small of his back.
Another teetotaller at the feast, and one who had so far managed to avoid unwanted attentions, was Sophie Stark. For two pins she would have launched herself into the fray in search of a lusty fellow. Tonight, however, she had a mission.
She had seen no sight of Danny Fretwork at any point during the evening. But once the free-for-all had started she had spotted Billy Dazzle at the side of the stage ogling the dancers. She had kept an eye on him as he clambered into the box with Imogen, then found a vantage point, in a box above and to the side, from which she could monitor his activities. They were not designed to ease her frustrations. It took all her self-control not to go down there and join in.
However, that would not have been smart. If Danny was here he would surely see Billy and make his move. Then Sophie had to be ready. Billy's life - and her career - depended on it.
Nevertheless when she saw the large barrel-shaped figure moving carefully but purposefully between the bodies in the centre aisle of the theatre it was a shock. The kind of surprise a fisherman feels on getting a bite after an eternity of staring at the empty water. She could not believe it.
Danny was halfway down the stalls now and Sophie watched, frozen to the spot, as he reached behind him and took a small object from beneath his jacket. For a moment it winked in the light but she already knew it was a gun.
Sophie unzipped her dress and her flesh sang as the restricting garment fluttered to the floor. She had no choice; she could not go after Danny in clothes that inhibited her every movement. So Sophie went after her man in her favourite battledress. Stark naked.
Chapter 66
Danny screwed the silencer onto the gun barrel as he made his progress towards Billy. The boy was no longer visible but Danny's plan of action was clear: get as close as possible, just to be sure it was him, and then plug the little shit in the head. He could be off before anyone realised what was up. The car park was stuffed full of fast motors. Within ten minutes he'd be long gone.
He made his way along a row of seats to the side aisle. From there he could look straight into Billy's box. He boosted himself up on the seat at the end of the row and looked down into the small space.
It was Dazzle all right. He was sitting by himself, naked but for an open shirt, calmly watching the progress of the orgy on stage. On the chair by his side lay the crumpled remains of some female's evening finery.
A sudden feeling of revulsion swept over Danny. The dinner jackets and the yah-yah accents, the snobbish entertainment that was really just a leg show, all these stuffed shirts dipping their aristocratic wicks - it pissed him off. He was an outsider, condemned to jailor exile, while dear old Blighty went to the dogs in the hands of these decadent piss-artists. This Dazzle was a fast-buck yuppified con-merchant who seduced other men's wives and frolicked with the upper classes.
Danny took aim. From this angle he could blow the bugger's head off and it would be morning before anyone noticed.
Billy was taking a breather. The long-awaited encounter with Imogen had left him replete - for the moment. And so he surveyed the crazy scene around him: the flailing, dancing bodies on stage, the knots of revellers in the aisles and the orchestra who played on, many of them in an admirably inventive fashion, under the erratic baton of a naked Seb Silk.
The whole scene was like a wild fantasy from the depths of his subconscious. So it should not have been a surprise for him to recognise a face from his dreams: a big face set on a huge bulky body last seen awesomely naked by an outdoor pool in Kent. Danny Fretwork. The evil bastard was standing on a seat in the stalls looking straight at him, with murder in his eyes. And, just as in Billy's nightmares, with a gun in his hand.
O
of!
An excruciating pain erupted in Danny's loins and a hand grasped his wrist, forcing the gun up into the air. Then he was flat on his back wrestling with a soft and perfumed bundle of nude female flesh.
But the bundle was strong and sinewy and Danny was in agony having been clouted between the legs with what felt like a sandbag. It was, in fact, a small but heavy ladies' purse.
They wrestled on the floor, a trouserless man and a naked woman - a common sight by this stage of the evening. Sophie felt herself succumbing to Danny's vastly superior strength. She yelled out to Billy.
For a moment Billy was paralysed. The awful vision of Fretwork standing not ten feet away aiming a pistol at his head had vanished. It took him a moment to realise what was going on. That Danny really had aimed a gun at him and that he had been saved by a naked woman who was now wrestling with the gangster on the floor and calling out to him for help.
Billy scrambled over the front of the box and jumped down into the aisle. He was not a fighter. He was not trained in boxing or hand-to-hand combat or karate. However, he had played a bit of football at school. So he kicked Danny in the head.
Billy's foot landed fair and square and smacked Danny's skull solidly against the metal base of the seat next to the aisle. The gangster collapsed like a felled ox.
Together they hauled the big man out of the emergency exit at the front of the stalls and found themselves in the gardens at the side of the theatre.
'Over there,' ordered Sophie, pointing across the moonlit lawn, 'we'll tie him to the fence.'
'What with?' asked Billy as they reached the iron railings that marked the boundary with the adjacent Bedside Park.
Sophie opened her purse and produced a pair of handcuffs. She snapped one jaw round one of Danny's wrists and threaded the other through the bars before attaching it to Danny's other hand.
As she worked, kneeling over the supine figure with her back to Billy, he couldn't help admire her curves, so thrillingly illuminated in the moonlit. In particular, the full swoop of her luscious bum cheeks stirred a chord within him.
'Do you always carry a set of handcuffs?' he asked as she sat back on her haunches and surveyed a surprisingly peaceful-looking Danny Fretwork.
'Always - you never know when they'll come in handy.' She was now taking Danny's pulse to assure herself all was well. 'He's asleep. I don't think there's any damage done.'
'That's a pity - the sod was going to kill me. Don't you think we should call the police?'
'There's no need,' said Sophie, turning to look at Billy. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Sophie Stark of the Met.'
'Good God!' Billy was contemplating her rear as it thrust back at him, the cheeks rounded and voluptuous and suddenly familiar. 'I think I recognise you.'
'You bloody well should do. You've got a photo of my arse in the desk in your office.'
'You were at the swimming pool!'
'When you fell out of a tree and ruined my last attempt to arrest Danny Fretwork. You've caused me a deal of trouble, Billy Dazzle.'
'How do you know my name? And what were you doing in my office?'
Sophie was now standing by his side, the pale moonlight shimmering on her mane of hair. The globes of her big tip-tilted breasts were so close they almost grazed his bare chest.
'Don't be boring,' she said, looking down at the slumbering form of Danny, his tree-trunk thighs spread wide to reveal a shrivelled and slack sex organ. It nestled limply amongst the coarse hair of the gangster's groin, as useless as he was. On the other hand the staff of her new acquaintance rose stiff and strong just inches from her itching pussy. She curled her fingers round its swollen tip.
It was good to have a man's penis in her hand again and she ran her fingers urgently up and down the thick shaft.
'Come on, Billy,' she said, pushing him down and spreading her long legs wide, 'I've had enough of being the only wallflower at the biggest orgy since the fall of the Roman Empire!'
Billy needed no persuading. He eagerly fed his tool into her hungry pussy and as he filled the void within her Sophie cried out in triumph and celebration.
'That's it, Billy, fuck me! Fuck me all night long!'
By her side an exhausted Danny Fretwork slept the sleep of the vanquished.
Once more Sergeant Sophie Stark had got her man.
-oOo-
Enjoy more Noel Amos erotic novels, all exclusively published as eBooks by us and available to download from most popular online bookstores now...
Lust at Large
'Excuse me.' The blonde was standing right in front of Gavin, on the other side of the counter. 'Hot, isn't it?'
Gavin was thunderstruck. Her yellow halter-neck was moulded to her body, tightly encasing her voluptuous form. Her protruding nipples were dark points beneath the cotton.
'I can tell you like my figure,' she said in a low voice. 'Would you like to see some more?'
Not waiting for a reply, she pulled the garment to her chin, exposing two stunningly proportioned breasts. They quivered in front of Gavin like ripe fruit.
It was a moment before he noticed the gun.
In a tone no less intimate, she added, 'While you're looking at my tits, put the money in the bag...'
She's out there somewhere - a woman of mystery and menace, with a knock 'em dead body that's coining her the cash. The papers call her the Topless Raider and her victims just pray she'll come back and roll them over again...
Assignments don't come any tougher than this - ice-cool detective Archie Monk has been handed the hottest case of the year. It's up to him to find the voluptuous blonde who has bared her all in building societies throughout the land - and made off with the money. Helping with enquiries is leggy journalist Robyn Chestnut. She's all mouth and no knickers but there's nobody better when it comes to grabbing exclusives.
Together they team up to hunt down the red-hot robber and put her where she belongs - back behind bras!
Lust on the Line
'There you are, you swine,' muttered Caroline, shrugging the coat from her shoulders. Beneath it she was all but naked. She wore just a thin white camisole that reached to her waist with matching stockings and suspenders. The points of her nipples and the circles of her areolae were plainly visible through the flimsy top. The pale dome of her belly and the strip of honey-coloured curls at the junction of her thighs were framed by the suspender straps. To Lucian's eye she had never looked more ravishing.
'I hope you're satisfied,' she said bitterly.
'Not yet,' replied Lucian, 'but I intend to be...'
Out of the red - and into the blue.
Once-grand publishers The Whimsical Press are on their uppers but chief executive Miranda Lynch has a plan - to publish a line of bestselling erotic novels. So, if dreamy editor Lucian Swan wants to keep his job he'd better find some sexy books - fast.
Though the world of the clitorati is new to Lucian, he soon gets to grips with lustful lady writers who believe in the value of hands-on research. There's angel-faced Karen Hastings, out to shaft everyone but her husband, and swivel-hipped Caroline Fitzjohn who redefines the meaning of editorial input - not to mention Marilyn Savage, the industry's most insatiable literary agent...
Will Lucian pull it off? Will Blue Desire Books save the company's fortunes? And will Miranda's below-the-belt initiative bring home the coveted Baxendale Prize?
Lust Under Licence
Tom watched in astonishment as Sergeant Amy Tooth of the Sex Police unzipped her uniform and emerged from it like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Her creamy midriff was bared to shiny black PVC shorts, cut high on the thigh and tight across the bulge of her pouting mons veneris. And when she turned to rummage in her bag, she thrust out her posterior in heart-stopping provocation.
Amy straightened and turned, one hand now sheathed in a rubber surgical glove, the other holding a small plastic bottle.
'Don't be alarmed, Mr Glass,' said Inspector Quartermain. 'She's just going to take a sample.'
&nbs
p; 'What sample?' said Tom.
'It's standard procedure,' grunted Amy as her gloved fingers closed on Tom's most intimate portion. 'We need a sample of your filthy pervert's spunk...'
The beautiful and cruel mistresses of The Primrose Court are enforcing - Lust Under Licence. They're putting men under the microscope, altering the way they behave, challenging the male establishment.
A tycoon is lying in hospital trying to regain his memory after falling from his penthouse apartment, his past enveloping him in stark erotic detail, leaving him in need of the gentle mercies of his personal nurse.
Is he really engaged to the blonde television weathergirl with an inventive way with his bedside equipment? Is his lovely assistant really experimenting with a fitness plan based on multiple orgasms? And most significantly, is he really under investigation by the ruthless she devils of the Sex Police?
-oOo-
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