Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'I think,' said a voice which had not so far been heard - Mercedes Birch, the Brazilian - 'that every bosom is individual, like a fingerprint.'

  'Really?' said Nick.

  'I will prove it,' said Mercedes and got to her feet. She was a tall young woman whose curvaceous figure was encased in a plunging scarlet sheath dress. She turned her back to Alistair and said, 'Pull down the zip, please.'

  The Needle hesitated for a moment then did as he was asked. Robyn was certain his hand shook as he did so.

  Without obvious artifice, Mercedes turned to face the assembled company and slipped the shoulder straps down her smooth bare arms. The dress slithered to the floor in a whisper of silk, leaving her clad in just a pair of tiny black panties cut high on the hip. Her body was a uniform cafe au lait in colour, luscious in contour and texture. Her breasts were perfectly proportioned and shook ever so slightly as she turned from side to side to display herself. She was all but naked, even so she looked expensively dressed.

  'Now you, Diana,' she said, pointing to the lady novelist. Diana hesitated for a moment. Though it was well known she had never been reluctant to exhibit her formidable charms, Mercedes was a hard act to follow.

  'What is the purpose of this?' said The Needle in his best interrogatory fashion. But no one took any notice, for Diana was already unbuttoning her blouse and shrugging the garment off her shoulders to expose a large white brassiere, the satin cups shiny like armour plating, the deep shadowy cleavage between revealing an acre of lush milky flesh.

  Diana unclipped the bra and allowed it to fall under the weight of her big breasts. They seemed to tumble into the room, the large globes shifting of their own volition, the saucers of the areolae pink and ridged, the nipples sticking out like thumbs. Diana smiled with satisfaction at their stunned reaction and pointed her wobbling glories at Barry.

  Wanda, as hostess, was keen to keep the party going and had already pulled off her thin cashmere sweater to reveal a surprisingly full bosom with tiny pink nipples.

  All eyes were now on Robyn.

  'No,' she said, 'I'm American. We're prudes. We don't even sunbathe topless.'

  'You're only half American,' said Alistair.

  'Get 'em off,' shouted Barry. 'Reporters on the Bunny are duty bound to show what they've got.'

  'Ignore the men,' said Mercedes, 'this is for the women. We're making a point.' And suddenly she was behind Robyn, slipping the light cotton jacket off her shoulders and unfastening the blouse at her neck.

  Robyn wore no bra, she never did. Her breasts were small and high and, to her embarrassment, her disproportionately large nipples were fully erect.

  'You see?' said Mercedes, a note of triumph in her voice. 'We are all completely different. Diana has big melons, Wanda has plump pears and Robyn has little pomegranates. I have dark hard nipples, look' - she was rolling her teat between thumb and forefinger - 'like a nut you could crack between your teeth. Robyn has long red sexy ones that stand to attention like little soldiers.'

  To Robyn's utter amazement she felt Mercedes' fingers on her chest, pulling and stroking at her nipples as she illustrated her words. A lick of flame stole over her belly.

  Barry lowered his head and pushed as much of Diana's right breast into his mouth as he could take. She let out a little sigh and ran her fingers through his thick dark hair.

  'Every bosom is unique,' continued Mercedes, her hand still absent-mindedly stroking Robyn. 'I'm sure your robber can be identified from her breasts alone.'

  'Why don't you two just get on with it?' barked Alistair, and Robyn started guiltily. But The Needle was referring to Diana and Barry whose embrace was becoming complicated.

  'OK,' said Barry and began to pull off his clothes.

  'Fabulous,' said Wanda, 'I've always wanted to host an orgy,' and she turned to Nick and put her hand on his crotch.

  Robyn was frozen to her seat, acutely aware of Mercedes standing just behind her and of the rigid disapproval that emanated from Alistair on her other side. She turned to look at him. His jaw was set firm and she could see a pulse beating in his temple.

  Barry was on top of Diana on the carpet, his lean bare bottom almost hidden by her vast white thighs which were wrapped around his middle as he rose and sunk on her opulent body. Robyn could hardly believe what she was seeing. Could he really have his cock in her? He could indeed, she realised, as she discerned a thick prong of flesh, balls hanging below, poking into the pink crack at the opening of her legs.

  Wanda and Nick were kissing open-mouthed. She had pulled his penis free of his trousers and its purple head reared from her slender fingers. She took her mouth from his and bent to take his cock between her lips. As she did so Robyn found herself staring directly into his eyes. He grinned at her as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

  Robyn turned to Alistair. 'Let's go,' she said. 'Right now.'

  'No,' said Mercedes in a low voice. 'You cannot go, Alistair, before you have satisfied the hostess.'

  The Needle stared at her blankly. Mercedes indicated Wanda whose head was bobbing in Nick's lap, her inviting rear outlined in a pair of skintight designer jeans. Her rump was broad and full. Robyn reflected that it was just made for the saddle - how could The Needle resist?

  'Go on, then,' she heard herself say, 'go and fuck her, if you must. She's your producer after all.'

  But Alistair was already on the move, slipping to the floor behind Wanda, reaching round her waist to unfasten her jeans.

  Mercedes tugged Robyn to her feet and their tits jostled together. Robyn shivered with unexpected pleasure.

  Mercedes laughed, a low wicked chuckle. 'Just look at him unwrapping that ass,' she said with relish.

  Alistair had Wanda's jeans partway down her rump. Half of her white bottom was on display, overflowing from the blue denim like rising dough. Then her jeans were down to her knees and her panties strung across the divide of her firm thighs. Alistair reached beneath her bulging cheeks to delve into the thick beard of hair and push a finger between her wet cunt lips.

  'OH!' cried Wanda at this sudden invasion, her cry muffled by Nick's big cock. She thrust her arse back onto Alistair's hand, hungry for more.

  Robyn didn't know what she felt as Mercedes led her to a sofa in the far corner of the room. One thought sprang into her head - 'Good career move, Needle' - as Mercedes' mouth closed over hers and she found herself snogging as passionately as she had ever done in her life. She heard the smack of hand on buttock from across the room and pictured Wanda receiving the bum-whacking treatment. Then with relief she opened her legs to allow Mercedes' clever fingers access to her soaking sex.

  'Please make me come,' she heard herself say. 'Promise you'll diddle me and finger-fuck me and suck me off, all night long. Please.'

  'I promise,' said the Brazilian. Then her mouth was on Robyn's hungry pussy, licking and fucking and sucking, and Robyn found herself soaring into the first of many orgasms.

  Chapter 8

  Josie lay awake listening to the comforting hum of Ivor's breathing. It was the first time she had shared a bed with a man since she had last slept with Gavin, over a month before. Ivor had his back to her and she gently ran her hand from the nape of his neck down his spine to the crease of his buttocks. He was hairy there. His bum was hard and firm and she squeezed the flesh between her fingers. He grunted, then resumed the throaty exhalation of sleep.

  He lay on his side with his top leg bent at the knee, his thigh thrust out at right angles. Her fingers crept over his hip then dipped beneath the curve of his buttock into the fork of his body. His balls protruded towards her, the skin of his scrotum drawn taut, and she cupped them tenderly. She searched further, seeking out his limp sticky penis. How small it seemed now. How funny. She tickled it lightly, finding the bulbous head, thinking it would be fun to make it spring into life again. Am I turning into a nymphomaniac? she thought, I'm insatiable.

  For a moment his cock did indeed seem to lengthen and grow fat in he
r palm and then he cried out in his sleep and jerked his whole body away from her. She pulled her hand from his flesh. He now lay flat on his face, his breathing deeper, the noise more insistent.

  She got up and pulled on a T-shirt. She was too wide awake to sleep. In the kitchen she put on the kettle by the light of the streetlamp shining through the curtain. As it boiled, she rinsed a mug and found the coffee jar.

  'I'll have one of those,' said a voice from the door and Josie's hand jerked, spraying coffee granules across the worktop. It was Terry.

  'Christ, you made me jump,' she said, automatically reaching for a mug on the draining board.

  He shut the door behind him and came towards her. He was stark naked.

  'White?' she said. He nodded.

  It was surprising how light it was really. She could see the wisps of blond hair on his forearms. And the darker line of belly hair that ran from his navel into the forest of his groin. He was circumcised. The dark head of his penis swung back and forth as he moved to her side.

  'What about Gwen?' she said.

  'She's asleep.'

  'So's Ivor,' she said. Which solved that problem.

  He was almost standing on top of her. He was much taller than her and slim, not like Ivor. His cock was long and slim too, though it appeared to be thickening. She was very conscious that her T-shirt barely reached to the top of her thighs. So was he. His cock was definitely getting fatter.

  'Josie...'

  'Yes?'

  'You're a sexy witch.'

  'Am I?'

  'You're the horniest woman I've met in years.'

  'Me?' She was genuinely bemused. They were standing very close now, facing each other, but he hadn't laid a finger on her. Yet.

  'When you were rubbing Ivor's come into your tits - that was fantastic.'

  What was that touching her hip through the cotton of her vest? His finger? His cock?

  'And the way you looked at me...'

  There was warm pressure on her other hip now, definitely his hand, inching the hem of her shirt upwards.

  'I knew you'd arrange something. I've been lying awake for hours, waiting for you.'

  'Oh,' said Josie as a prying finger slipped into her bush and found her runny slit.

  'You see, you're wet for me already.'

  There was no point in denying it. Her cunt was bubbling over. Old juices were mingling with new. She was going to get laid in the kitchen while her lover snored next door and her flatmate slumbered across the hall and her coffee got cold. What the hell.

  He was a very good kisser, better than Ivor. He licked the corners of her mouth and sucked on her lower lip, as if he really wanted to savour her. Ivor was too bull-at-the-gate, she decided. Maybe it was because he was so handsome. He kissed as if he was doing you a favour.

  Terry had his hands beneath her T-shirt now, squeezing her breasts gently, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples so that they stiffened. Then he took his lips from hers and lowered them to her teats, mouthing first one breast then the other. She held her shirt up with one hand so he could get at her easily, with the other she held on to his long neck.

  He picked her up and laid her on the kitchen table, pushing her knees back into her chest. She was spread wide open for him, her cunt crack fully exposed in the orange glow from the street. He licked her once, twice, bobbing his head and running his tongue from the nub of her clit to the whorl of her arsehole and back again. Then he was in her, bollock deep, and she was coming already, shouting silently into his mouth.

  Above her, Terry stopped his rhythmic thrusting. 'Did you say something?' he panted.

  'I said, "Give me your spunk. Make me wet for Ivor."' And she reached between his legs and circled the base of his cock.

  His body jerked convulsively and he shot a bolt of semen deep into her, long before he had intended.

  'You bloody sexy witch,' he muttered.

  Oh, Gavin, she said to herself, her fingers stroking the balls dangling against her upturned bum cheeks, this is all your fault.

  Chapter 9

  Now she was in the editor's good books, Robyn was free to pursue another angle to the Brenda story - one which she personally considered more worthy of her capabilities. With every post bringing a sack of responses to the Rabbit's Boob-Hunter appeal and the Brenda Hot Line ringing off the hook, Robyn was only too happy to leave the office and head for the dreary suburbs of North London. She intended to write an article on 'Brenda's Boys', those building-society clerks so traumatised by the Topless Raider that they had filled her bags with cash while ogling her charms. According to Archie Monk, these luckless lads had been suffering traumatic repercussions.

  First on her list was Gavin Bird, Trainee Manager at the Wenchmore Wood branch of the Kent Kindly. She'd got his address from a colleague at the building society, a nosy female called Janice who had already given Robyn some good stuff about Gavin's fragile state of mind before the robbery. 'I blame his fiancee,' she'd said. 'That Josie kept him short, I reckon, and then she went off to play the field in Wales. He was so sex-starved he could hardly look at a woman without blushing but his eyes were all over your body, if you know what I mean. Give him my love, if you see him. Tell him all the girls can't wait to have him back.'

  Gavin had a room in his brother's house, a stone-clad terraced affair in a street full of satellite dishes and half-dismantled motorbikes. The brother hardly glanced at Robyn as he directed her up the stairs. 'It's the room with the RSC poster on the door,' he said. 'Tell him I'm off to work.' He stopped as he was half out of the front door and said, 'Just tell me why my wimpy baby brother gets all the good-looking birds running after him.' So perhaps he had looked at her after all.

  Robyn knocked softly. There was no reply. She knocked again, louder this time. The door opened at her touch and swung wide enough for her to look into the room.

  She saw a bed and the body of a man lying with his back to her. He was leaning up on one elbow, reading the paper. He appeared to be naked beneath the bedclothes, which came up to his waist. His body was pure white, without a blemish across his pale shoulders and his blond hair flicked up in babyish curls on the nape of his long slender neck. He's just a boy, thought Robyn.

  She was on the point of coughing or otherwise announcing herself when she became aware of sounds of rustling and panting. Then she noticed the movement of his elbow, and the surprise was such that her brain had only just worked out that this poor mistreated lad was beating his meat fit to bust when he turned onto his back and threw the covers from his writhing body.

  He was indeed naked and, fully revealed, he was all man where it counted. He had a boner fit to poke your eye out and his hand jerked on his penis like a barman shaking a banana daiquiri. His long slender cock was an angry puce, as if it had been flayed for hours.

  On the other side of the bed, no longer obscured by his body, lay the newspaper which had inspired this frenzy. Robyn recognised it at once. It was that morning's Daily Rabbit, open to yet more photos of Brenda in action.

  The boy on the bed beat at himself faster, pummelling his flesh, battering his abused organ until he reached an orgasm that seemed to be dredged from the depths of his soul. As he came he shouted out and a small dribble of moisture filled the eye in the centre of his empurpled glans. His body twitched and convulsed, then he fell back on the bed like a puppet with severed strings.

  As she carefully retreated down the stairs Robyn was severely disturbed. Was it possible to wank yourself to death? What a typically English way to commit suicide, she reflected as she opened the front door and placed a finger on the bell.

  It took the best part of five minutes to rouse her quarry but eventually Gavin Bird appeared at the top of the stairs fumbling with the belt of his jeans, his hair sticking up in uncombed spikes.

  'Sorry to wake you up, Mr Bird,' said Robyn cheerfully, 'but your brother said you wouldn't mind.'

  'My brother?' Gavin was puzzled.

  'He let me in, said to tell you he'd gone t
o work.'

  Up close he was as tall as Robyn and she found herself looking straight into eyes of milky blue. His mouth opened but no sound came out, obviously he was still miles off, spilling his seed over the bosom of Belinda. Her heart went out to him. This boy needed mothering.

  'Point me to the kitchen, Gavin, I'll make you breakfast.' He gestured down the hall and followed obediently as she led the way. It wasn't till she had the eggs in the pan that she told him who she was.

  BRENDA'S BOYS by Robyn Chestnut

  While the nation laughs at the exploits of the topless robber who has bagged a windfall of cash up and down the land, spare a thought for her victims. No, not the fat cats who run the building societies but the little lads who serve in them. The hapless chaps who sit behind the counter have been so gobsmacked by Bra-less Brenda that they have simply handed over the boodle. And then they've had to face the fury of their employers, the ridicule of their mates and the outrage of their girlfriends.

  Where Are They Now?

  Of the counter clerks who have coughed up, only one has returned to work so far. After three weeks back at the Nottingham offices of the Gloucester Generous, Rod Skimpole has been transferred to Aberdeen 'at his own request' - according to the company. Of the five others the Rabbit tried to trace, one is on an extended holiday abroad, two are on sick leave and the fourth has been remanded in custody on charges of arson and assaulting a police officer.

  A Right Tit

  Only dreamy Gavin Bird, sandbagged by Bouncing Betty last week, was prepared to talk about his ordeal. Over a mid-morning breakfast of eggs, he revealed the pain and agony of a life that has been suddenly scrambled. He confessed that he spends most of each day in bed, replaying in his mind the moment when an unknown beauty walked up to him and flashed her boobs. Lucky old him, some might say, but the reality is different. Since then he has been obsessed by this woman's image and by his betrayal - as he sees it - of his employers. Gavin is intelligent, hard-working and dishy-looking (a six-foot, blue-eyed blond, ladies) but his world has just fallen apart. To cap it all, his fiancee has run off to Wales leaving him to face this ordeal on his own.