Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  She had just turned seventeen and had lost her cherry to her first real boyfriend, Brian. And she'd been disappointed. 'Seventeen years of build-up,' she'd said to her best friend Maxine, 'and what a let-down. He slobbers over my neck and goes "Ugh, ugh, ugh" into my ear while he jumps all over me. Then he's stretched out on his back panting like he's done a marathon and I've got ick running down my legs. It's not worth waiting seventeen minutes for that, let alone seventeen years.'

  Maxine had been sympathetic and had broken into her dad's liquor cabinet. She'd then confided some real intimate details of her new relationship with Scott Wingo, who was a school hero because he was on the football team. And after three hefty bourbon and cokes she'd gone to the kitchen and brought back a cucumber which, Maxine said, bore more than a passing resemblance to the mighty Wingo wang.

  Robyn remembered all this in an instant as Ted lowered his head to nuzzle a perky nipple. She remembered the chill of the cucumber on the flesh of her upper thigh and the way Maxine had looked at her, all wicked and sly, as she coated the thick green skin with cream. But most of all she remembered how it felt sliding up her cunt, stretching her wide, touching her in places she didn't know she had. She'd looked down in wonder at her spread pussy mouth as it gorged on the glistening green monster and listened to Maxine's exclamations of wonder that she could take so much. And she recalled the orgasm she had had, her first real filled-up-pussy orgasm, as her naughty friend had thrust and twisted the great green limb within her and she herself had wanked her pink and swollen clitty in a drunken frenzy.

  Robyn found herself laughing as all this came back to her. Josie's eyes were on her face and she too was laughing. And then Robyn's cries took on another note as Ted really began to put it to her. She was moaning now and giving little high-pitched squeals, digging her fingernails into the meat of his broad back. He grunted as she pierced the skin but she didn't care and she dug in harder as the first wave washed over her.

  He took his prick all the way back now and slammed it in, again and again, powering the big tool into her as if he wanted to skewer her to the mattress.

  'Oh God!' she wailed and the long-buried memory of her session with Maxine, the intensity of this big stranger's passion as he rode between her thighs and the thought of Josie watching her every twitch and wriggle - all these things combined and she was swept into an orgasm that, for a moment, robbed her of her senses.

  When she recovered she found her head pillowed on Ted's broad furry chest, which rose and fell in the aftermath of his exertions. Across his belly lolled his penis, still half hard and sticky with juice. She reached for it and squeezed gently.

  'Mmm,' she murmured, 'it feels like you're not finished.'

  'He's not,' said Josie, peeling her T-shirt over her head, 'but you are.' Her pretty pink nipples were puckered with excitement and her breasts bobbed as she leant over to replace Robyn's hand with her own. 'It's my turn now.'

  On the hillside opposite The Cow and Kisses, the birdwatcher cursed as his binoculars fogged up once again. He quickly wiped the lens and clapped the eyepiece to his brow. His hands were shaking as he readjusted the focus.

  Stephen Fantail was a keen student of the natural world but he had never before seen anything to match his observations of life in Blisswood. After he and Monk had lunched on a sandwich in the hotel bar, his superior had instructed him to familiarise himself with the lie of the land. 'Get out there and eyeball the birdies,' he had said, 'and I don't mean the feathered variety.'

  Stephen had begun close to home, strolling out of the front of the hotel and across a field into a nearby fringe of trees. From there he had surveyed the hotel buildings, admiring the Georgian manor house that was the focal point of the complex. He squinted through his binoculars, trying to pick out his room and realising at the same moment that he couldn't possibly see it as it faced towards the swimming pool on the other side of the house. Nevertheless he looked along the line of first-floor windows, some thrown wide open, the curtains billowing in the breeze. It was then he saw the first naked woman.

  She leapt into the frame of his vision, slipping between the window and the curtain, obviously intending to hide herself from whoever was in the room. In doing so she revealed a delicious swoop of naked back and two plump white buttocks that bulged delightfully as she pressed them against the sill. She was frozen there for a second and Stephen marvelled at the sweetness of her curves and prayed for her to turn around so he could commit her face and other salient points to memory. This, after all, was the purpose of his mission.

  Then came a flurry in the curtains as a pair of masculine arms encircled both material and woman. A man's head appeared and buried itself in the crook of her neck. There was a shriek of laughter - Stephen could hear it clearly across the field - and the woman lifted her hands to the man's head and twined her fingers in his long dark hair. They kissed, the open-mouthed snog of two lovers hungry for each other, and under her raised arm Stephen could clearly see the swollen white globe of a full breast.

  The clinch came to an end and both disappeared into the room, leaving Stephen breathless and unsatisfied. Though her hair was dark and curly Stephen knew that was not significant. This could be Bra-less Brenda - the glimpse of bosom from the side indicated that she was of the right proportions. He had to see more.

  Stephen worked his way back through the trees to the point where they were closer to the building. This gave him a better angle, too. If only he could get higher he could see right into the room. And he could get higher by climbing into the branches of the old oak that faced the building. Stephen was good at this kind of thing. He was up the tree in a flash.

  Inside, there was action of the kind that set his heart pounding. The woman still had her back to him; the man was sitting on the bed facing the window and she was on his lap, her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, her mouth glued to his. But it was the position of his hands, one on each white buttock, that gave Stephen the shivers. The man kneaded, fondled and spread the creamy flesh in his grasp and she writhed under his touch. Then Stephen realised, as she rose higher and then slumped back, that she was impaled on his lap. She was sitting on his cock, jiggling up and down - good God, they were doing it right in front of him!

  Stephen reflected that this undercover police work provided a special kind of challenge. When he'd joined the force no one had warned him that one day he'd be perched up a tree peering through sweaty binoculars trying to see a woman's breasts as she bounced on a man's prick.

  They were at it for a long time in that position and Stephen had no choice but to stay and watch. It was hell but it was also instructive. He hadn't realised that a woman could like it so much. For she did like it, he could tell. She moaned and yelled and threw her head back and tossed it from side to side, the brown curls dancing on her creamy shoulders. The man had lowered his head out of sight and Stephen guessed he was licking and kissing and sucking the breasts that Stephen was so anxious to observe - for professional reasons of course.

  An astonishing thought popped into the young policeman's brain - if he seduced the woman himself then he could see those breasts at first hand, right up close!

  The notion was so disturbing that the binoculars slid down his sweaty nose and it took a few seconds for him to rearrange them. When he did so the scene had changed. The man and woman were still there but matters had obviously come to a conclusion. He lay stretched out on the bed and she sprawled in a heap at his feet. Stephen was mesmerised by the wild profusion of black hair in the man's groin and the bulging, glistening genitals that hung in the fork of his thighs. He fancied he could see the steam rise.

  Then the woman sat up and, for the first time, turned towards the window. She reached for something just out of sight and Stephen sucked in his breath as her breasts swung into clear view. Was this - could this be - the pair all England sought?

  It was hard to say. Shapely and delectable as they were, thrilling though it would be, Stephen knew, to have the
m bounce against your chest as she rode your cock, there was no telling from this distance whether these were the fabled tits of Bra-less Brenda. Stephen made a careful note of the position of the window. This woman merited further investigation.

  She was only the first naked female of the afternoon. In the window next door but one Stephen observed another. This girl was curvy but small, white-fleshed and exquisite, and displayed the grace of a ballet dancer as she twisted and turned on top of a fat man lying on the bed. Stephen had been unable to tear his eyes away even though he soon realised who this was and, indeed, the identity of the prone party whose unworthy body was being so honoured. This was the lovely French girl called Chantal whose warmth of welcome Stephen had already witnessed earlier in the hotel lobby. And the prone party, of course, was the fat man whom she had welcomed.

  Chantal could not be the Topless Raider, Stephen had no doubt. For a start she wasn't tall enough, the breathtaking O of her mouth was the wrong shape and her high saucer-curved breasts with the chocolate-brown nipples didn't correspond to the photos. Nevertheless Stephen remained where he was, fixed to his uncomfortable perch, unable to tear his eyes from every adorable wriggle and lewd caress of the shameless French girl as she pleasured the mountain of gross and hairy male flesh beneath her. It was as well to be absolutely certain, after all.

  Now, some thirty minutes after the Frenchwoman's magnificent exhibition had come to an end, Stephen was sitting on an outcrop of rock on the other side of the river from The Cow and Kisses on a level with the bedroom window. Though the window was not as large as those of the hotel, the action taking place on the bed was clearly visible to the goggle-eyed policeman. There were two women and a man. The tall woman with spectacular legs had just been comprehensively poked by the man and now the smaller woman was peeling off her clothes.

  Neither of them were Bra-less Brenda, that much was obvious, but Stephen was resigned to that. He knew police work was long and arduous. Many suspects would fall under the microscope before a big case like this one was sewn up. What a thought! Before this investigation was over he might see thousands of breasts jiggling and bouncing, thousands of pert little nipples twitching in the air, thousands of legs spread to receive thousands of thrusting twitching pulsating cocks!

  Just look at that girl now, he said to himself. She's got it in her mouth. She's got one hand under his balls and the other feeding his shaft into her mouth. Look at the way her head bobs and the way she sucks it all down! And now it's sticking up big and red in her hands and she's grinning at him - probably begging him to shove it up her pussy and make her come.

  'Oh God,' groaned Stephen out loud, scrabbling in his fly with one hand to liberate his aching cock, the internal monologue continuing to run through his head as he drank in the lewd scene before him.

  Now she's climbing on top of it, he's making her do all the work. It's so big it won't go in. Good Lord, the other woman's helping her, she's holding it up and pushing the head into her slot. That's obscene! Oh, they've managed it. Just look at it go in! That must feel like heaven. Ooh, she's sitting on it, she's swallowed it all in her cunt and now she's wiggling around with it right up her. She likes it. Look at her talking to the other woman while she does it. For goodness sake, the tall one is playing with herself while she watches! Look at her fingers go in and out. Now she's put the man's fingers there. Fancy doing that - aren't they embarrassed? I couldn't do that.

  Oh yes, I could. I could do all of it. I could do it with the short one or the tall one. I could do it with that first one with the big tits or the French one. I could do it with any of them. Oh Lord, please let me do it with one of them!

  And as Robyn approached orgasm on Ted's fingers and Josie jerked in ecstasy on his loins, the sperm shot from Stephen's lonely cock and splattered onto the dusty ground.

  Chapter 29

  Clifford Rush was happiest when he was working. Considering that his work involved luxurious locations and beautiful women dressed in very little this cannot be considered surprising. His ideal working situation also involved a third ingredient, namely, a deal. Large fees and under-the-counter favours could be taken for granted, of course, but a little something extra, another angle, made life perfect. And at the moment life for him at The Blisswood Spa Hotel was indeed perfect.

  To the dismay of some of the guests, he had commandeered the swimming pool which glistened, blue and inviting, in the afternoon sunshine. He had disarmed the disgruntled swimmers, however, by persuading the women to pose for some jokey shots and allowing the men to spectate while his models cavorted for the camera. He had also arranged for a few drinks to be provided. Quite a few drinks in fact, courtesy of the hotel, not that Rodney would complain. 'After all,' he said to one buxom German tourist as he emptied a bottle of fizz into her glass, 'we need a few empties as props.'

  Right now one of Rodney's girls, a fantastic blonde called Melanie or Mercy (one of the twins - he couldn't tell them apart), was floating topless on a red and yellow sunbed. She wore wrapround green shades and held a champagne flute in one hand. Her hair was wet, slicked back off her forehead and droplets of moisture glistened on the slopes of her full and fabulous breasts. Cliff wanted to eat her and reflected that he probably already had, last night, gobbling her on the four-poster just as those dishy females turned up. Of course, it could have been her sister on the bed, he wasn't sure and he didn't care. It made this shot all the more exciting not to know whether he'd had the model yet or not.

  And the angle that added spice to all this was that he was doing five jobs at once, all of which would be very profitable. There was the brochure for Rodney, of course, plus an undercover series of shots for Rodney's personal use of, as Rodney put it, a 'raunchy' nature. There were also the photographs that Gordon Garter had asked him to take of the new Louche Lingerie collection. He'd be using Melanie/Mercy for those too, which made it easy. Then there was a calendar he was working on which featured top hotels throughout the country. And finally there was what he considered his serious work, for which the hotel and grounds provided a perfect location. The work in question was his private portfolio of erotic photographs, each a personal vision and, in his opinion, a work of art. 'Move over Helmut Newton and Robert Mapplethorpe,' he had once told Fliss, 'here comes Clifford Rush!'

  The icing on the cake had come just that morning in bed when Fliss had looked up from her breakfast cup of coffee and said, 'Would you like to take photos of me fucking other guys?'

  That had got his nose out of the newspaper all right. He'd stared at her with suspicion but it seemed she'd been sincere.

  'I've been thinking, Cliff. I want to contribute to your real work. I want to give something of myself. And my tits and arse are all I've got to give - if you want them, that is. It doesn't have to be guys, of course, it's up to you, you're the artist. I just thought I'd let you know I'm not as inhibited as you think. I'll make it with girls if you prefer. I'm quite partial to a sniff of pussy - you didn't know that, did you?'

  Cliff didn't but the idea of Fliss's ripe body in the arms of, say, the luscious blonde now in front of him had turned him on so much that he had abandoned breakfast and fucked Fliss amongst the jam and croissants there and then.

  Now he turned to the matter in hand, adjusting the erection in his swimming trunks and not caring who noticed. In his line of work, a hard-on was simply a litmus test of creativity.

  'I've got a great idea,' he said to the blonde. 'Take your bikini bottoms off, we'll put the champagne bottle between your legs instead. That'll blow Rodney's mind.'

  There was a ripple of applause from the male spectators at this suggestion and a buzz of disapproval from some of the women. Nobody left the poolside, however.

  Clifford waded out to the girl and helped her rearrange herself. It was no easy matter to remove a bikini bottom while afloat and the girl didn't try, she let Cliff do all the hard work. When he had finally slipped the scrap of material from beneath her he positioned the champagne bottle in her crotch
, its broad base obscuring the blonde thatch of her pussy hair, the neck pointing towards her feet.

  'Oh,' said the girl, 'don't you want it up the other way? Then you could stick the neck up my twat.'

  Sometimes women amazed him. They had dirtier minds than men, in his opinion. She was right, of course. It would be a great shot for Rodney's naughty file even if it didn't make it into his personal portfolio. And if he turned the bottle round so the label showed he might even do a deal with the champagne distributor.

  'You're a genius, darling,' he said to the floating woman. 'Why don't you open your legs?'

  She obeyed without question. Life was perfect. No doubt about it.

  Chapter 30

  Rodney made Julia walk ahead of him up the winding footpath to the upper pasture where the horses were grazing. He loved the rear view of a shapely woman in skintight riding trousers and few came more shapely than Julia. He knew for a fact that she wore not a stitch beneath her caramel-coloured jodhpur-style leggings. This was not the first time he had invited her to go riding.

  As she strode ahead, her broad buttocks stretching the thin material at every step, she gave vent to a litany of complaint.

  'Why didn't you tell me that you were planning a welcome ceremony for that ghastly Garter man? It makes me look such a fool in front of the staff. I am supposed to be the manager after all.'

  She stopped to tackle a stile and Rodney observed her technique with admiration.

  'You are the manager, Julia, and a very good one too. Nobody is trying to undermine your position.'

  'Huh! You could have fooled me. That Frenchwoman is, for a start. To think you've actually promoted her, Rodney. She's rude and incompetent and downright bolshie.' She strode on up the gradually increasing gradient, her knee-high leather riding boots kicking up dust from the bone-hard ground.