by Noel Amos
Another glass of cognac appeared in front of her and she looked up into a pair of soulful brown eyes that gazed at her with evident concern.
'What's your name?' she asked. It was funny how she sounded tipsy even though she didn't feel it.
'Mario.'
'You Italians know how to take proper care of a girl, don't you?'
'Are you feeling all right, madame? Can I get you anything else?'
Fliss knocked back her drink and got to her feet. 'I feel a bit squiffy. Where's the ladies?'
'It's just down those stairs and to the—'
'You show me.' She leant against him, pushing the soft mound of her left breast against his arm. She took his hand in hers. 'Come on.'
'But, madame—'
'Come on.'
He knew he should decline but the allure of this mysterious beauty was hard to resist. As she pressed her small curvy body against his side, her big liquid eyes implored, the shadow of her cleavage beckoned and her perfume seduced.
They descended the stairs quickly.
Chapter 24
'Did you see what I just saw?' whispered Josie.
'Yeah. Little Miss Lonely has gone off with the waiter to screw. I think this place is a madhouse.'
Josie nodded and carved herself another mouthful of succulent fillet steak. She could hardly blame the woman. The waiter was a dish and she was feeling as horny as hell herself. Events at Blisswood had so far only served to remind her that she hadn't been laid for nearly a week. Not since that night with Gwen in the rugby club car park. And now she was dying for it - was she turning into some crazed nympho?
'What's the plan tomorrow?' she asked. 'I suppose I ought to scout about for Gavin.'
'Sure. Check the B&Bs and pubs. If he's here we ought to be able to trace him pretty quick.'
'I suppose so.'
'You don't sound very enthusiastic, Josie. Don't you want to find him?'
'Of course.'
But there was a little piece of Josie that secretly hoped she wouldn't, not just yet. Not now she'd seen that dishy waiter and been propositioned by the famous Clifford Rush. Despite her journey and her need to reassure herself Gavin was all right, a part of her dreaded finding her fiance. Face it, she told herself, you don't want to be monogamous just yet.
In a stall in the downstairs ladies toilet, Fliss had no intention of ever being monogamous again. Not while there were cocks like Mario's to be had. It was thick, it was long and it was splitting her in two. God, she needed it.
She'd made him sit on the seat and she was riding him. She had her hands flat on his broad shoulders and she was pulling herself up and down on his rod. The first thing he'd done when they'd locked the door behind them was to slip the thin black straps of her evening dress from her shoulders and bare her succulent breasts. Now they jiggled and wobbled in front of his face as she rode him. It was heaven.
She grasped his head, plunging her hands into his thick black wavy hair, and pulled his mouth to hers. She swallowed his tongue like a starving woman, revelling in the feel of his hands which now palmed and squeezed her shaking bosom.
'Oh yes,' she said, 'squeeze my tits. Squeeze them hard! Pinch my nipples. God, I love it!'
She changed the rhythm, grinding her pelvis into his stomach, pressing her mound against his as she cradled his thick tool deep inside her. He knew what she wanted and dropped his hands from her chest, sliding them under her rucked-up skirt. One roved to the front and he wriggled a finger down into her pubic bush to stroke her clit. The other pried between the firm globes of her buttocks to tickle the puckered aperture of her anus.
'OHH!' she howled and bucked up and down in a small orgasm that served only to increase her need.
'You like that?' he said.
'Oh yes, Mario. Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Stick your finger up my bum, you dirty bastard!'
She came again and then again, her cries of passion echoing off the white-tiled walls.
Suddenly he stood up, holding her arse in his big hands, and she clung to him, her legs scissored tight around his waist.
'What are you doing?' she moaned but the feeling of being suspended on his cock was fabulous and when he pinned her against the wall and began to ram in and out of her like a bull she almost fainted from the thrill of it.
He shot off inside her in a frenzy and she came again, quivering and flopping on his spurting staff like a rag doll.
'I think I love you,' whispered Mario as they slithered down the wall and slumped into a heap on the floor.
Fliss said nothing, she just lifted her face to be kissed.
In the annexe, Chantal took the big bulb of Rodney's cock into her mouth for the third time that night. She wrapped the fingers of her right hand round the bottom of his shaft and began a gentle frigging motion. Her left hand cradled his furry balls, gently caressing them, rolling them back and forth, determined to make them yield their last vestiges of juice. Above her bobbing head she heard Rodney moan and she began her special sucking motion round the rim of his glans, pressing her soft plump lips into the meat of him with a technique she had honed to perfection.
For once Chantal was a happy woman. The evening had turned out to be very lucrative and she had a feeling the future would be even more profitable. Besides, she reflected as the cock in her mouth began to twitch and jerk in a familiar fashion, this was just the kind of work she liked best.
The penis in her mouth swelled and gushed, and Chantal swallowed every drop. She kept the spent member between her lips, enjoying its slow diminution, savouring the notion that she had her employer just where she wanted him. Finally she raised her head and regarded her handiwork. His once-swollen cock lay limp and drained, looking remarkably small in the half light of the bedroom. How satisfying, she thought. Just let that blonde bitch Julia try and get something out of it tomorrow morning!
Josie lay on her bed that night and stared up at the brocade canopy that covered the four-poster. She thought of the nude model she had seen earlier, sprawled across the same counterpane. She remembered the thresh of her legs as the dark mop of Clifford Rush's swept-back hair bobbed and jerked between those slim pink thighs. She imagined the photographer arranging her own limbs on the bed, spreading her legs wide and gazing close up at her open crotch. And then lowering his smiling face and tonguing her pussy until it glowed to his expert satisfaction.
She lifted her bottom from the coverlet and pushed down her leggings and knickers in one furious movement. Then, as the fantasy of her own photo session unwound in her head, she set about giving herself the kind of satisfaction she craved.
Next door, Robyn unpacked without thinking, her mind on other things. She was struck by images of the previous night, when her relationship with Alistair had finally ended in the threesome with the delectable but dangerous Mercedes. Already she realised she didn't care about losing Needle, he'd been no good for her. On the other hand, she wasn't sure about the Brazilian. And the sight of the blonde wanking on the bed while being photographed - well, she had to admit it had turned her on.
She walked naked into the bathroom and set about her regular cleansing ritual. She wasn't becoming a lesbian was she? Or was it just Mercedes? Josie was a remarkably pretty girl but she didn't fancy her, did she? Surely not.
She came out of the bathroom and turned down the cover on the bed. It was not as elaborate a piece of furniture as the four-poster but it was much bigger and more suitable for her long frame. The bedposts were carved mahogany and she examined them more closely. They looked like ornate wooden asparagus shoots. Or big, veiny cocks. Oh God, sex was everywhere here, it seemed.
A cry came through the walls. Robyn froze, her hand on the wooden knob of a bedpost. Then came another, softer this time but long drawn out. A cry of pleasure. And another. Josie was masturbating, there was no doubt about it.
Robyn listened closely, ashamed of herself but, nevertheless, bewitched by the gurgles of excitement. She realised her hand was caressing the wooden bulb in her
grasp. It was warm and smooth, like a cock. God, how she wanted one inside her.
Josie squealed loudly and there came the rhythmic thumping of the bed. She sure knows how to give herself a good time, thought Robyn as, without ever consciously deciding to do so, she swung one long leg over the angle of the bed and lowered her pouting cunt over the bedpost.
She was so wet, it slid straight up.
In a small tent half a mile from The Blisswood Spa Hotel, Gavin Bird turned over in his sleep, images of silken-breasted warm-thighed nymphs spinning through his head. If he had known his fiancee and the reporter from the Daily Rabbit who had turned him into a national laughing-stock were on his trail he would have fled for the hills. As it was, he dreamed his sexy dreams in blissful ignorance, his erection burning a hole in his sleeping bag.
Chapter 25
On the motorway, driving north, Monk laid down the law to Stephen Fantail.
'Son, this is going to be the hardest police work you've ever done. We're on our way to a renowned beauty spot in the height of summer to try and bring to book the most notorious criminal in Great Britain. She's a young woman of remarkable physical beauty whose most dangerous asset is a bosom she uses like a weapon. Our task is to uncover this lethal pair of breasts. They are approximately 38D and may or may not be decorated with a stick-on skin transfer of a rare butterfly. What's more, according to my information, this place is packed with nubile beauties with large chests. Do you think you can handle it?'
Monk's tone was heavily ironic but this was lost on Stephen. 'Yes, sir,' he gulped, concentrating hard on the road, determined not to let his misgivings show. For Stephen had considerable misgivings relating to the task in hand. It wasn't that girls were not his cup of tea, quite the contrary. Sometimes it seemed that thoughts of golden-limbed lovelies dominated his every waking thought. But Stephen had a secret - he was painfully shy with women. He was also a virgin.
'The hell of it is,' continued Monk, 'we can't even stay at the pub. Because of that reporter woman I feel duty bound to patronise The Blisswood Spa Hotel. We're just going to have to put up with five-star luxury, I'm sorry to say.'
Stephen missed the unusual sight of Archie Monk grinning from ear to ear because at that moment a caravan lurched without warning into the middle lane and he had to stamp on the brake to avoid it.
'That was close,' he muttered. But the reason his knuckles were white and his brow beaded with sweat was the thought of confronting the shadowy images on his blown-up photographs in the flesh. How he would ever summon the nerve to tackle the Topless Raider he could not imagine. His face would flush, his palms would sweat, his tongue would tie and he would quail before her, he knew it - it had happened before and those women had been pale shadows when measured against the glory of Bra-less Brenda. Compared to the ordeal that lay ahead, a motorway pile-up might just be preferable.
When they arrived at the hotel Stephen's worst fears were instantly confirmed.
The reception area was grand and intimidating. The mahogany counter gleamed and the glossy magazines on the occasional tables were fanned out in millimetre-perfect regularity. The cushions on the Regency-striped sofas were plumped to perfection, defying anyone to sit on them. These things dismayed Stephen, making him conscious that, out of uniform, he was nothing but an unkempt and unsophisticated oaf from Cricklewood. Posh surroundings and beautiful women - these were the things in life that unsettled Stephen Fantail the most.
They didn't seem to bother Archie Monk though, quite the contrary. He appeared unimpressed by the blue-eyed vision in a pink suit who booked them in. Stephen thought she was possibly the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen face to face but Monk muttered, 'Time to go to work I suppose,' and squinted down the front of her blouse as she leaned forward to enter their names.
At that moment a noisy group of people descending the staircase attracted their attention. A tall young man in a suit and tie began issuing loud instructions to two workmen as they set about stringing up a banner from the first-floor landing. A small dark-haired woman in a sunshine yellow jacket buzzed around making unnecessary suggestions in a French accent. Stephen stared at her open-mouthed, for the jacket scarcely reached to the tops of her thighs which were encased in black leggings. Could it be that she had left off her skirt by mistake?
Completing the party were two identical blonde girls and a man with a shock of swept-back dark hair and a camera around his neck. The blondes were tall, their hair piled high on their heads in an elaborate coiffure which displayed their long slender necks to advantage. Both wore silk wraps of peach and for a moment Stephen wondered if they were guests who had got lost on the way to the bathroom.
'What the hell do you think you are doing, Rodney?' said the vision in pink behind the desk, her pretty face now crumpled in a scowl.
'It's for the conference, Julia,' said the man in a suit. 'Chantal is helping me organise a special welcome for Gordon Garter and his team.'
The workmen had finished arranging the banner and it now hung down above the reception desk. Julia raised her eyes and read:
BUSSWOOD SPA HOTEL WELCOMES LOUCHE LINGERIE!
A squeak of horror issued from her lips. 'What does this mean? What's Louche Lingerie?'
'Didn't I mention it? It's a Gartertex subsidiary line they are featuring at the conference. They are discussing their new collection.'
'But what is it, Rodney?' wailed Julia. 'It sounds disgusting.'
'Ah well, my darling-' and here Rodney included Monk and Stephen in the exchange by grinning playfully at them all '-you'll just have to wait and see.'
'They're here, Rodney,' cried the Frenchwoman who was now keeping watch at the door and, taking that as their cue, the two blondes slipped the wraps from their slim shoulders.
The physical impact of scarlet stretch lace on golden limbs, of pink silk stockings on legs that went on forever, of black chiffon edging the contours of dimpled cleavage hit Stephen like a blow to the stomach. The effect on Julia was almost as dramatic.
'Melanie, Mercy - what the hell do you think you're doing!' she screeched.
'Keep your hair on, Jay,' said one blonde.
'It's all in a good cause,' said the other.
'This is ghastly,' cried Julia. 'Put your clothes on at once! I'm so sorry, gentlemen,' she said to Monk and Stephen. 'Please don't judge us by these events; we're not like this at all. Rodney, stop this immediately!'
'Be quiet, you silly bitch,' hissed the Frenchwoman, 'they are here,' and she held the door open.
In strode a man who seemed to fill the doorway. He must have been six and a half foot tall and about as wide. He wore pin-striped trousers and yellow braces and carried his jacket over his shoulder. His face was red and jowly and tufts of hair bristled in his nostrils. Vertical lines punctuated the bridge of his nose, as if his expression was usually one of displeasure, but at present his grin was broad and his little blue eyes gleamed with pleasure.
And no wonder, for the blonde girls were busily kissing his cheeks, one on each side, standing on tiptoe to reach his face, pressing their scantily clad flesh into his bulk.
Lights flashed as Rodney strode forward to grasp a meaty hand; the photographer was at work capturing the moment.
'Welcome, GG,' cried Rodney. 'What do you think of our little reception?'
The big man barked out a laugh and punched Rodney on the arm. Stephen winced in sympathy but Rodney bore it with a smile.
'You don't miss a trick, do you, Holmdale?' said the newcomer. 'There's more of the salesman in you than there ever was in your old man. The sign's good and the fillies are even better - though I'm not sure about the togs they're wearing.'
He swivelled one of the girls round and thrust a huge hand into the top of her French knickers. 'Ooh,' she squealed but had the presence of mind to thrust her buttocks against the intruding paw and grin over her shoulder.
At that moment, however, Gordon Garter was not interested in her body.
'I thought so,' he said,
'made by one of our competitors. Inferior materials, lacklustre design, not a patch on our stuff. Don't worry, my girl, we'll fix you up in some clobber that will really do you justice, won't we, lads?'
'You bet,' came a loud voice from behind him, echoed by other cries of assent. A group of besuited men, clutching square black cases and other luggage, had followed their leader into the hotel and were now asserting their corporate solidarity. The Gartertex team had arrived.
The small Frenchwoman now insinuated herself into the spotlight and Rodney set about introducing her. He urged the clothing manufacturer to consider Chantal Bellefesses as his personal liaison officer during his stay.
Gordon Garter loomed almost a foot and half above the French girl but she still insisted on greeting him in the Gallic fashion, with a kiss on both cheeks. Then, with her small white hands on his gigantic shoulders, she pressed the scarlet plum of her mouth to his and held it there for a moment.
Stephen was not the only one to note the flash of surprise that sent Garter's bushy eyebrows arching up his brow. He drew the same conclusion as Julia who, standing directly behind him, exclaimed under her breath, 'Good God, the little tart has got her tongue in his mouth!'
Chapter 26
Josie and Robyn had enjoyed their morning. Though they had not got far in their search for Gavin, they had savoured a long lie-in, taken a leisurely breakfast and then strolled the streets of the village in the morning sunshine. It had been delightful.