Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'Are you the slag who wrote this?' demanded Josie, waving a page of newspaper print in Robyn's face. 'It's inaccurate, insulting and bloody damaging.'

  'Sit down, Josie, take it easy.'

  'No, I won't. You don't know the trouble you've caused, you thoughtless bitch.'

  'Well, I need a seat. You can please yourself.'

  'I bet you fucked him, didn't you? You're all tarts on papers like this. You don't care who you screw to get the lies you print.'

  'Come off it, Josie.' Robyn was not inured to this kind of abuse, though she had come across it once or twice. 'You know I'm not his type.'

  Josie threw herself into a chair beside Robyn, scraping the feet on the wooden floor. By good fortune there was no one else in the reception area, though the uniformed porter at the desk was staring at them without pretence.

  'And why did you write that stuff about me leaving him to face his ordeal by himself? That's just not true. It happened after I'd gone.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'So you bloody well should be. If anything happens to him you'll be responsible.'

  Robyn looked at Josie with interest for the first time. She was a pretty girl with loose curly brown hair and full lips. The big liquid eyes still blazed with fury but at least she had stopped shouting.

  'Come on,' said Robyn. 'Let's go to Umberto's across the street. If I've got to grovel I need decent coffee.' And she made for the door.

  As she ate the froth from her cappucino off a spoon, Josie told Robyn about Gavin's fan mail. 'It's all from women. Offering themselves to him, telling him they can cure his obsession with that Brenda cow, saying I'm no good for him. Making every kind of obscene suggestion they can think of.'

  'And the Rabbit's been sending it on, I suppose,' said Robyn. 'I didn't realise. What does Gavin think about it?' Josie explained that Gavin wasn't around to express an opinion. He'd vanished over a week ago. After he'd received a particular letter.

  'His brother says he was convinced it was from the robber herself. It wasn't like the others, it just said "Sorry" and was sealed with a lipstick kiss. That might identify her, mightn't it? Like a fingerprint. I haven't got it though, Gavin must have taken it with him.'

  'So you think he's gone to find her?'

  'Yes.'

  'Where?'

  'Aha.'

  There was a silence. Despite the distant grumble of her headache Robyn was alert. This could be a red herring, of course, but she was alive to all sorts of possibilities.

  'Where's he gone?' she repeated.

  'I'm not going to tell you. He doesn't need the tabloid ratpack on his trail. This time I'm going to look after him.'

  Robyn shrugged. 'You haven't got an address, have you? Just a postmark. How are you going to find him?'

  'I'm quite capable, thank you.'

  'I'm sure you are, Josie, but just think of the resources the Bunny can offer.'

  'Such as?'

  'Train fares, hotel bills, help with day-to-day subsistence. And if he's completely bonkers when you find him, a lump sum for medical expenses might come in handy.'

  'Oh.' It seemed that none of this had occurred to Josie. She chewed her lower lip. 'What would I have to do?'

  'Give me the exclusive story of your quest to rescue the man you love from the clutches of an evil woman.'

  'And in the meantime I lead you to the topless cow and solve the biggest manhunt this country's had for years.'

  'Boob-Hunt, darling, it's unique in the history of crime. We'll be famous. Anyway, I have a hunch I know where Gavin has gone so your story just gives me another angle.'

  Josie stared at Robyn in disbelief. 'What do you mean; you know where he's gone?'

  Robyn took a felt-tip pen from her bag and wrote on a napkin. She laid it carefully beside Josie's empty coffee cup and the girl's jaw dropped as she looked at it. 'Blisswood-in-the-Dale,' she read. 'Christ, Robyn, how the hell did you find that out?'

  Robyn grinned and picked up the menu. 'It wasn't easy. While I explain to you the mysteries of investigative journalism, let's have lunch. I could eat a cow.'

  Chapter 17

  Later that day two phone calls were made from the first-class carriage of an express train heading north.

  'Hello, Ms Chestnut,' said Archie Monk as he sat at his office desk surrounded by photographs of half-naked women. 'How was your professor?'

  Robyn summarised events at Dalrymple-Ripley's, glossing over the precise details but laying emphasis on the diary and drawings.

  'And so you're off to the North Grinding on the basis of a seventy-year-old memoir?' Monk was sceptical.

  'Not just that. Gavin Bird, the Kent Kindly counter clerk, is missing. We think he ran off after he received a note from Brenda saying she was sorry.'

  'Who is we?'

  'Bird's fiancee, Josie. She tells me Gavin's brother saw the note and the envelope was franked "Blisswood-in-the-Dale".'

  'That's precious little reason to go haring round the country. Your newspaper must think a lot of you, Ms Chestnut.'

  'Come off it, Archie, it all fits - the response to the appeal, the professor's papers and Gavin's letter. Besides, I've got the fiancee in tow. Failing all else, I can get a woman's-page feature out of her.'

  'I see.'

  'No, you don't. I'm giving you the only lead you've got. Get off your bum and join us. There's only one place worth staying, The Blisswood Spa Hotel. They've still got vacancies, I've checked.'

  'Ms Chestnut, I really don't think—'

  'Well, you'd better start, Inspector. You wouldn't want the Daily Rabbit finding your girl first, would you?'

  Monk replaced the receiver with a pensive look on his face.

  Phil Bird had trouble recognising the voice on the other end of the line. For one thing, there was a lot of interference - for another, he was bewitched by the sight of Janice Melting's scarlet lips ringing the end of his cock.

  'Phil, it's me - Josie.'

  'Oh.'

  'Can you hear me all right? I'm on a train.'

  'Ah.'

  'I'm glad I caught you. I thought you'd be at work.'

  'No.'

  'You're not ill, are you?'

  'I'm fine, Josie. Never been better.'

  Janice raised her head from his groin and slid from the bed, leaving his prick sticking out wet and red.

  'I'm going after Gavin,' continued Josie. 'That reporter's with me. We're going to stay in Blisswood.'

  'Which reporter?' Phil's eyes were on Janice as she strolled around his bedroom. In a see-through lace cami-top, suspenders and stockings, she was the picture of provocation.

  'Robyn Chestnut. From the Rabbit. She says you met her.'

  'Did I?'

  Janice sat on the stool in front of the dressing table - another Deirdre reminder that would have to go, thought Phil - and pulled open the drawer.

  'She's six foot tall with incredible legs, Phil. No man could forget her.'

  'Oh, her.'

  Janice was leaning forward now, writing on the mirror with an old lipstick she had found. As she did so, her slender back hollowed out, emphasising the creamy ovals of her naked arse. The firm cheeks spread wide on the small stool, the crease between them a mysterious shadow.

  'What do you mean "oh, her"? She's gorgeous. Honestly, Phil, you've got to start looking at other women.'

  'Josie, believe me, I am.'

  Janice's buttocks were now tilted up in the air, the pink-lipped purse of her pussy fully revealed, fringed by a halo of soft brown hair. And above the hanging pouch of her vagina winked the dark star of her arsehole. Phil's cock rolled and twitched on his belly in an agony of desire.

  'Anyway, Phil,' - Josie was still talking - 'we're staying at somewhere called The Blisswood Spa. The paper is paying, thank God. So if Gavin rings, tell him where I am.'

  'OK.'

  Janice's curly brown head had now slumped forward onto the dressing table top and Phil could read the message in lipstick written on the mirror. PU
T CREAM ON YOUR COCK, it said.

  'I'll call with the number when I get there.'

  'OK.'

  Janice had her hands behind her, spreading her cheeks even wider, baring every centimetre of her bum crack. In her fingers she still held the tube of lipstick and, in the glare of Phil's disbelieving stare, she began to circle the ring of her anus in fuchsia pink.

  'And if my friend Gwen rings, tell her where I am.'

  'OK.'

  The blunt point of the tube had now disappeared into Janice's bumhole. She pulled it out a fraction and then thrust it inside herself with real purpose. As it disappeared from view Phil imagined he could hear her sigh.

  'I'd better go now, Phil. Are you sure you're all right?'

  'I'm fine,' said Phil reaching into the cupboard by his bed for a dusty tube of K-Y jelly. 'Honestly, Josie, I couldn't be better.'

  Janice was moaning clearly now as she pushed the small tube in and out of her bottom. Her other hand was in her bush, plucking at the nub of her clitoris.

  'Bye, then, Phil.'

  'Bye-bye, Josie. Take care.'

  Phil threw the receiver into its cradle and began to massage the cold jelly into his burning cock.

  'Christ, Janice,' he said, lunging for her, 'you are the horniest bitch I've ever met.'

  She took the shaft of his penis in her hands to guide the head between the full white cheeks.

  'You mean your wife didn't let you do this?'

  'Don't make me laugh. Oh!'

  Somehow she had squeezed the big glans into the tight ring of her anus. He held it still as she slowly, sweetly, began to corkscrew her rear back along its length.

  'I'm really surprised, Phil.' She was panting as she spoke. Her hands were now on his hips, pulling him into her, urging him into a rhythm that sent his tool burrowing out of control deeper into her tight passage. 'It sounds as if Deirdre couldn't do the simplest things to please you.'

  'Fuck Deirdre!'

  'Oh no, Phil. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me as hard as you like. Shoot your spunk right up my arse! Oh my God, I think I'm going to come!'

  It was Janice's intention to drive Phil's ex out of his head within a week. In fact, as she had already told Tina, she didn't think it would take that long.

  Two - Strike Me Pink

  Chapter 18

  'I'm sorry, Rodney, I don't like it. In fact, I absolutely hate it.' Julia Jarvis, manager of The Blisswood Spa Hotel, hurled the folder onto her desk with a crash.

  The occupant of the armchair by the window regarded her with amusement.

  'I love it when you get upset,' he said. 'Your cheeks go pink and your big blue eyes turn positively cloudy with grief. It's such a turn-on.'

  'Don't!'

  'Darling, look at my trousers, I'm stiff already. But we'll have to wait, business before pleasure and all that. It's a pity you don't approve of my new brochure but hardly a surprise. You haven't liked any new initiative I've taken since my father died, have you?'

  This was true. In the six months since Sir George Holmdale's death there had been many changes and Julia had not welcomed any of them. The old boy had scarcely been boxed up and laid to rest before his son and heir had abandoned his recession-hit London brokerage and returned to Blisswood to run the family business. Rodney was City-slick and money hungry. He bristled with 'initiatives'. In Julia's opinion most of them were designed to turn the hotel into a brothel.

  'Let me explain, sweetie,' said Rodney. 'We want the conference business. Most conference attendees are men. Most men like girls. We have some of the best-looking girls in the hotel trade. So we put them in our publicity material. Simple.'

  'But, Rodney,' Julia tried to sound calm and reasonable, 'we have a reputation for style and excellence. Turning our marketing literature into a top-shelf men's mag will ruin our good name.'

  Rodney laughed, a nasty contemptuous sound.

  Julia blundered on. 'Besides, it's so out of step with the times. These days many key executives are women. Companies can't allow themselves to be seen as sexist employers. This is the age of equal opportunities. What are the mistresses of industry going to say when your brochure lands on their desks full of big boobs and bikinis?'

  Rodney appeared to consider the matter. 'Good Lord, Julia, I believe you may have a point. You see, I don't just keep you on because of your delectable arse.'

  Julia's full lips set into a thin line and her sky-blue eyes blazed with as much venom as she was capable of. Rodney noted the effect with pleasure and continued, 'I don't see why we can't incorporate a few strapping fellows into the spreads. There's that new Italian waiter with the smarmy grin and tight trousers. We'll tickle a few fancies on the distaff side, no probs.'

  'But you can't, it's so crude!'

  'Don't worry, sweetie. That's just my rough plan you've been chucking about. I'm getting Clifford Rush to design and photograph the real thing. By the time he's finished we'll have enough artistic white space and grainy flesh textures to put it on sale in Waterstones.'

  Before Julia could protest further the door opened and a young woman entered with a small cafetiere of coffee and two cups on a tray. She walked slowly on three-inch pencil heels, her stride restricted by the tight black skirt which finished halfway down her stockinged thighs. Rodney slid lower in his chair to savour the sight as she bent forward to place the tray on Julia's desk.

  'You're an angel of mercy, Mercy,' he said.

  'I'm Melanie,' replied the girl.

  'Ah well, it's a fifty per cent chance, every time, isn't it? Perhaps you and your twin should wear name badges. A discreet little tag on your left breast, maybe. Of course, considering the size of the breast, it might just as well be a big tag.'

  'For God's sake, Rodney,' protested Julia.

  'You're not offended, are you, Melanie Melons? I can say what I like to you, can't I?'

  'Provided I can call you a dirty sod in my turn, sir, I don't much care.'

  And she didn't look like she did as she turned to pour the coffee, presenting Rodney with an awe-inspiring view of her barely concealed bottom and a glimpse of milky thigh above her stocking tops.

  'How are you liking the new uniform, Melanie? I'm pleased to see you are doing full justice to the regulation underwear.'

  Melanie placed his coffee on the side table by his chair, untroubled by his obvious interest in the neckline of her blouse.

  'It's a laugh,' she replied. 'And it's a big help with tips.'

  'You see,' said Rodney to Julia, his voice thick with I-told-you-so, before saying to Melanie, 'How would you and your sister like to star in our new promotional brochure? After all, you are one of our USPs.'

  'Eh?'

  'Unique Selling Points. Clifford Rush will take some fabulous photos of you.'

  'From what I hear, he's as much of a lech as you are, sir.'

  'There'll be a fee.'

  'If it's large enough, then you can plaster my USPs all over reception.'

  Julia was fuming. She'd had enough of this. 'Get out, Melanie.'

  The girl shrugged and closed the door behind her with a bang.

  There was a silence. Julia was lost in thought, her coffee rapidly cooling by her elbow. Melanie and Mercy were her younger sisters but sometimes they seemed like aliens from another planet.

  An ominous sound broke the spell, the metallic purr of a zip descending. Rodney had his cock out of his trousers. The blue-veined shaft looked huge in his hand.

  'Talking of Unique Selling Points, Julia, why don't you take your tits out?'

  'Please, Rodney!'

  'Come on, woman. I want to see if you are also complying with my new underwear regulations.'

  'I won't do it any more, Rodney. I won't!'

  'I see.' He sprawled back in the chair and played with his hairy scrotum, rolling his balls between his fingers. His fat staff waggled in the air. Julia couldn't take her eyes off it.

  'I mean it, Rodney. I won't let you abuse me any more.'

  'In that case, J
ulia, perhaps you'd be interested to hear that this morning I got another offer for that piece of land.'

  'Oh God.'

  'Very generous it was, too. I think they want to build a garage or a supermarket or something.'

  'Rodney, you wouldn't—'

  'Your mother could keep her cottage but unfortunately the donkey sanctuary would have to go.'

  'You're a heartless bastard, Rodney Holmdale. That sanctuary is her life.'

  'Don't get hysterical, Julia. You know she has first option on the land.'

  'But how can she meet your crazy price? She's got nothing to sell and I can't raise that kind of money.'

  'Yes, I know. We go through this every time. Just think of the use I make of your body as interest on a loan. You mortgage your beautiful ass to me and I allow your mother to minister to ugly asses on my land. It's a fair deal.'

  'Oh God!' wailed Julia. 'I suppose I have no choice,' and she began to undo the scarlet bow at her neck. Her delicate fingers shook as she unbuttoned the front of her bulging blouse.

  'None at all,' agreed Rodney, and he rose to his feet. He pulled his belt from his waistband with a loud crack.

  Julia stiffened at the sound.

  'Please, Rodney, be gentle with me this time.' Her blouse was off her shoulders and her big breasts were quivering with distress beneath her coral-pink camisole.

  'Be gentle,' he sneered. 'How boring. You deserve to have your arse walloped to wack the cosy clichés out of you. Now let's see your tits.'

  Hesitant and shaking, Julia took the camisole by the hem and slowly raised the thin sheaf of silk upwards, baring the fine flesh of her slender ribcage. The material continued to rise, like a curtain on a stage, and Rodney watched with childlike wonder as the undercurves of her swollen breast globes swung into view. For a moment the striptease was suspended and the snowy mounds dangled there before him partially veiled. He itched to leap forward and rip the silk from her sumptuous body but this element of suspense, contrived or not, was one of the reasons he so lusted after her.