Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'I just love this country air,' said Robyn as they stood on the arched stone bridge over the Bliss and contemplated the view across a lush meadow to a fringe of trees. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 'This is probably the healthiest morning I've had in years. I haven't even had a cigarette.'

  'Don't,' said Josie as Robyn, inspired by the thought, reached for her handbag. 'Come and have a drink instead. We could ask in that pub over there about Gavin.'

  Robyn thought the landlord of The Cow and Kisses was a knockout. He had morning-blue eyes and thick sandy hair and, as he pulled Josie a pint of Spigots Special, she marvelled at the fine blonde hairs on his bronzed forearm.

  'Do you let out rooms?' she asked.

  He took a fresh lemon and put a slice in her gin and tonic before replying.

  'Are you two ladies looking for a bed then?' he asked.

  'Not for us,' said Josie, 'we're looking for a friend. We thought he might be staying here.'

  'Oh,' he considered this information, leaning forward on the bar so his face was close to Robyn's. 'As it happens, I do have a few rooms to let out but I'm most particular who I let 'em to. And I won't let 'em to men.'

  'Why not?' said Robyn.

  He grinned and his eyes twinkled. 'Because I prefer the ladies. And since the wife ran off with a paying guest three years ago I reckon I can please myself.'

  'He's a bit of all right,' said Josie as they sat outside on a wooden bench and enjoyed another round in the sunshine. 'I wouldn't mind an hour in the snug with him one chilly night.' The Spigots had gone straight to her head and she didn't care. 'It was you he fancied though,' she added.

  'What?'

  'Go on, you know he did. He was giving you the glad eye while he was talking about his beds to let.'

  Robyn was about to protest further when a shadow fell across their table. It was the landlord himself.

  'Look,' he said, 'are you American?'

  'Yes,' Robyn replied, struck by the way even a cheap denim shirt and worn jeans could look good on the right man.

  'I had an American woman staying here recently and she left some stuff behind. Would you like to come and look at it?'

  'Well...'

  'It's no use to me. Come on.' And he turned back into the bar.

  If it hadn't been for Josie, Robyn would have remained where she was.

  'Go on, Robyn, here's your chance.'

  'What? You must be joking.'

  'Go on. You know you fancy him.'

  'That's true.'

  'Go on, then.'

  'Only if you come too.'

  The landlord was waiting for them, the hinged end of the counter raised to allow them through. Robyn and Josie managed to avoid meeting the smirking gaze of the boy behind the bar as they followed the man up a narrow staircase. He led them along a corridor and through a door marked Private.

  'These are my quarters,' he said, ushering them into a small room with flowered wallpaper and a bed with a candlewick counterpane. 'No one is allowed up here unless they're invited.'

  'And do you invite many, Mr...?' asked Robyn as he pulled a small leather suitcase from beneath the bed.

  'Ted, please. No, I don't. In fact nobody since, er—'

  'Since Charlotte Evans Peabody of Round Lake Hollow, Chicago, Illinois?' suggested Josie, reading from the luggage label on the case.

  'Yes.' His face lit up. 'Do you know her?' He addressed this question to Robyn.

  'Well, no.'

  'I just thought, since you were American, that you might...'

  'It's a big country, Ted, and I haven't been back in a while.'

  'Ah,' he said. 'That explains it. Well, since you're here, maybe you could make use of some of these things.' And he flipped open the case and began to pull out a variety of female garments.

  Josie giggled as Ted produced a bundle of flimsy underwear. He held up a brassiere that was no more than a wisp of material and turned to Robyn. 'Would this be about your size?' he asked.

  Robyn was dumbfounded. 'Put it on, Robyn,' said Josie.

  'Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, I never wear a bra.'

  This fact was suddenly obvious to everyone in the room.

  Even Robyn lowered her eyes to her own chest. Beneath the thin top her nipples thrust as big as acorns against the cotton.

  'How about this then?' said Ted, producing a cherry-coloured miniskirt about the depth of a curtain pelmet.

  'Ooh, that looks good,' said Josie. 'You'd look fabulous in that.'

  Ted offered it to Robyn who took it without thinking and held it against her pelvis over her navy blue trousers.

  'Go on, Robyn, try it on,' said Josie.

  Robyn shot her a look of suspicion. She had the feeling she was being set up. She also had the feeling that she wanted to show off her body in front of this gorgeous man and the hell with the consequences.

  'OK,' she said and undid her belt. Her trousers fell to her ankles in a whisper of silk and her stomach flipped. She had forgotten that her white panties were almost transparent. Her thick black pubic bush showed through the material as clearly as if she were wearing nothing at all. Ted and Josie - he standing and she sitting on the bed - stared hard at Robyn's legs as she hurried to pull the tiny skirt up her long thighs.

  There was silence in the small room.

  'So,' said Robyn and spun round to give them the full effect, 'what do you think?'

  'Fantastic,' muttered Ted, his voice thick. 'I wish I had legs like yours,' said Josie.

  Ted was scrabbling through the case, his hands shaking. 'Put these on next,' he said, holding out a black suspender belt and stockings.

  'OK,' said Robyn but Josie stopped her.

  'If he's so keen he can put them on you himself.'

  Robyn opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again.

  'Please,' said Ted, falling to his knees in front of Robyn. His eyes were great pools of blue. She knew she shouldn't but she felt like diving in.

  'I think you should take her knickers off first, Ted,' said Josie, 'they don't match.'

  Robyn giggled and then said sternly, 'OK but I'm not having him look straight up my pussy. You'll have to blindfold him, Josie.'

  From the look on Ted's face it was as if they had offered him the Holy Grail. 'As you wish,' he said.

  Josie produced a scarf from the case and knotted it round his eyes. Then he reached out with his hands to locate Robyn's legs and shuffled forward on his knees until his face was just a couple of inches from her crotch.

  Though his hands were large and calloused, they were gentle. Robyn shivered as they slid up the backs of her thighs, under the tiny skirt and over the moons of her clenched buttocks to the waistband of her panties. He did it slowly, caressing the flesh as he went, savouring the feel of her. Already she had the gnawing pangs of desire in the pit of her stomach and her cunt was weeping, she knew.

  When he pulled her knickers down, over her hips and arse cheeks and down the smooth slopes of her thighs, they snagged in the crevice of her crotch. He freed the wet cotton with his fingers, peeling the material from her moist folds. Robyn put a hand to her mouth and bit on the ball of her thumb to prevent herself crying out.

  When she lifted her feet to release the fallen garment she had to steady herself on his shoulders. She let her hands rest there, feeling the bands of muscle beneath her fingers.

  Now he had the suspender belt in his hands and he pushed the skirt to her waist to clip it on. As he lifted the material upwards, the smell of her excitement filled the room. He drank it in, his nose almost buried in her pussy hairs as he fastened the garment around her hips.

  'I love the smell of a woman on heat,' he said. 'It's the odour of life. It's like the scent of baking bread or newly cut grass or fresh-brewed beer. The smell of ripe cunt. That's what a man lives for. Nature's perfume.'

  'He's a poet,' said Josie, who was watching with a pounding heart.

  'I'm a connoisseur of women,' said Ted, leaning forward to bury his nose
in Robyn's bush, 'and I'm going to fuck you both senseless before you leave this room.'

  'I can't wait,' said Josie, sliding a hand inside her blouse to roll a thick nipple between her fingers.

  Robyn said nothing intelligible, she just grasped Ted by the hair and pulled his open mouth to her cunt.

  Chapter 27

  'Where's that girl?' barked Gordon Garter almost the moment his entourage had left his sitting-room. Only one attendant remained, a lanky lad with thick spectacles who tugged nervously at the tight collar of his shirt. He wished he could make himself scarce for a moment like everybody else and find a cool beer. There wasn't much chance of that, however. He was Gordon Garter's son.

  'Well, Graham? Don't just stand there like a gormless dipstick, go and find her at once.'

  'Which girl, dad? There were lots downstairs.'

  Garter sighed in exasperation. 'Don't be dense, lad. That French bit, the one that Rodney's handed over for my personal use.'

  'Chantal. The hotel liaison officer.'

  Garter gave vent to a filthy cackle. 'That's the one. I'm going to enjoy liaising with her. Get her up here.'

  Graham did not have to look far. Chantal was already at the door of the suite having effected a quick change. She wore a floral summer frock which left her arms bare and was fastened down the back with large white buttons.

  Chantal presented herself, with a little curtsey and a demure smile as she asked, 'Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr Garter?'

  'So far I'm moderately content, lass.' He eased his vast bulk further into the cushions of the chesterfield and looked her up and down.

  'A few ground rules, my dear. I drink strong tea with three sugars, I do not observe no-smoking restrictions and you may call me GG or Mr Garter or Fatso but you must never call me Gordon. Only my dear departed Ethel-' and here he indicated a framed photograph of a square-jawed frump on the table by the window '-referred to me that way. By which a sharp little filly like you will have observed that I am a family man. This shambling oik here is proof of that. He's my son, Graham.'

  Chantal favoured Graham with a dazzling smile.

  'Unfortunately, Graham is my only son and it is about time he learned about the family business before his obese old man drops dead.' He smiled but, Chantal was quick to notice, his son did not. 'Which longed-for event would doubtless please many, including my devoted offspring, but would also doom the Gartertex empire to takeover by one of my many rapacious competitors. And so Graham has been removed from his self-indulgent studies at university and is by my side, observing my every moment so he can LEARN HOW TO RUN THE FUCKING BUSINESS!'

  Chantal took an involuntary step backwards as Garter's benign expression turned to rage and he lurched forward and roared at Graham. Behind his glasses the lad's eyes blinked but otherwise his expression did not change. Garter slumped back on the sofa, his face puce. After such exertion he appeared to have a little difficulty breathing. He waved away the glass of water Chantal poured for him from the carafe on the table.

  'Take that stuff away,' he said, mopping his eyes. 'I only drink water if it's got whisky in it, make a note of it. Now, where was I?'

  'You were saying that I was on a watching brief, father, observing how you run the business,' said Graham.

  'Right. So you, my little French maid, are to ignore this gangling idiot completely. He's invisible unless I say so, got it?'

  'Yes, sir,' said Chantal.

  'And there's one other thing you should know before we get down to business. When it comes to brass, I'm as tight as a nun's twat.'

  Chantal was puzzled. Garter expanded on his theme with relish.

  'Tight. Mean. Slow to put my hand in my pocket. I shall enjoy all the hospitality you have to offer and when I leave I'll pay the bill to the last farthing. No extras, no service charges, no tips. That's how I run my business and that's how I am. You can tell that to Rodney Holmdale.'

  He smiled at her with considerable self-satisfaction and Chantal smiled back while she digested this information. Her chances of wringing a large bonus out of Garter as well as Rodney were obviously under threat. However, she was not down-hearted. Gordon Garter presented a challenge that she would overcome. From her observation he was nothing more than a peasant and she knew how to deal with them - she came from peasant stock herself. Already she was formulating a plan.

  'Now that we understand one another,' continued Garter, 'why don't you take your dress off.'

  'But GG-' she feigned surprise '-I don't see what relevance this has to—'

  'Tut, tut, girl, don't worry. This is entirely professional and above board. I'm in the underwear business. I want to see yours.'

  'Oh.' She tittered prettily. 'There's just one problem.'

  'Yes? Spit it out.'

  'I am not wearing any.'

  Garter's jaw dropped.

  'But if you'd like to look at my body that's no problem. Perhaps your son would give me a hand. I find these buttons very difficult.' And she presented her back to Graham whose face flushed beet red.

  'Go on then, son,' shouted Garter. 'Help her off with her kit. I think I'm going to enjoy this.'

  And so he did, what red-blooded male wouldn't when confronted by a curvaceous French girl with the face of an angel, the body of a pocket Venus and - it was obvious from her demeanour - no shame at all?

  Graham's hands shook as he eased the soft material from the pale and dimpled shoulders. The dress fell to the floor in a flutter, exposing an exquisite rear view from slender neck to milky buttocks to taut calves and tiny feet with petal-pink polish on the toenails. He had never been this close to such naked perfection before.

  His father's viewpoint was just as thrilling, more so maybe. Apart from the high swollen breasts, the nipples like brown thimbles against the porcelain whiteness of her flesh, the dome of her belly curving into a knot of short curly hair at the base and the elegant sweep of her rounded thighs - apart from these obvious things that anybody would appreciate, there was the message in those big black eyes. Gordon Garter had had women from Hong Kong to Hartlepool and he knew a carnal challenge when he saw one. Chantal's expression said, 'I'll do whatever you want. I am unshockable. Are you still up to it?' Garter fully intended to be up to it, he had been as stiff as a poker since she had walked into the room.

  'Beautiful,' he said, 'very lovely. It will be a privilege to clothe you in Louche Lingerie's new collection, won't it, Graham?'

  But Graham could not talk. He was struck dumb by the sight of the nude Chantal pirouetting before his father, allowing him to ravish every inch of her with his beady eyes. Or maybe not every inch, for she held her hands demurely over her mound of Venus.

  'And is that all you want from me, Mr Garter? Just to dress me up in peephole bras and polyester peignoirs?'

  Garter's face flushed with anger but before he could protest Chantal cut him off.

  'My instructions were to obey your every whim. To make each nook and cranny of my body available for your use. Don't you want to stroke my breasts and pinch my nipples? To smack my bottom and come in my face and stick your cock in my pussy? Wouldn't you like to do those things?'

  From Gordon Garter's throat came a strangled mew of lust but no words. For once the wind had been taken from his sails.

  Chantal folded herself elegantly onto the large sofa at the opposite end from Garter. She laid one foot on top of his meaty thigh and kept the other on the floor, spreading her firm thighs and thrusting her crotch towards her goggle-eyed audience.

  A close-cropped moustache of black hair adorned the head of her slit but from the hood of her clitoris down the length of her crack she was completely hairless. The lips were long and succulent, a pretty fringe of furled flesh, madder in hue. And when she probed between them, opening the petals of her cunt to their disbelieving gaze, they could see the coral-pink flesh inside pooling with juice.

  She pushed a finger up into herself and both men watched in awe as the mouth of her vagina closed around it.r />
  'You see, GG, you are not the only one who is tight. I'm told I am very tight on the penis of a lover. Wouldn't you like to find out? Or would you prefer to fuck my mouth? I adore to suck a man's cock.'

  Gordon Garter grunted, his mind seduced by the prospect of carnal delights with this extraordinary French girl.

  'There's just one orifice you cannot have,' continued Chantal, lifting both legs so that her knees were pressed to her chest. It was an obscene posture but one that presented her bottom at its most uncompromising. The full white cheeks were spread wide and no mysteries remained in the valley between.

  'See here,' she said as dispassionately as if she were showing them an architectural drawing. 'This is my special place, mon trou secret, my arsehole, I believe you say. It is pretty, is it not?'

  They did not disagree. She circled the puckered whirl of flesh with the finger she had inserted in her vagina, highlighting it with a glistening trail of juice. She probed with a long pink nail and then sunk her finger in to the first joint.

  'Ooh, that makes me feel so naughty,' she said. 'You can fuck me however you like, GG, but you cannot fuck me up my arse. I am saving my bottom for the man I marry.'

  'Then I'll just have to make do with the rest of you,' cried Garter, picking her off the sofa as if she were made of feathers.

  He made for the bedroom with his nubile burden while, heart pounding and palms sweating, Garter Junior looked on in disbelief.

  'Is this a business meeting?' he called after his retreating father. 'What about my watching brief?'

  By way of an answer the bedroom door slammed in his disappointed face.

  Chapter 28

  Ted's massive penis slid into Robyn's pussy as sweetly as a key into a lock.

  'Ooh,' she squealed as the column of flesh filled her up and the mat of his belly hairs covered the soft skin of her loins. She hadn't felt so thoroughly plugged since... since she couldn't think for a moment such was the surprise and thrill of what he was doing. Then it all came back to her and she turned her head away and met the rapt gaze of Josie sitting on the bed by her side. Now she remembered exactly when she had felt like this before and a bubble of merriment surfaced in her throat which she had to stifle because she didn't want to offend Ted.