by Noel Amos
'Why did you do it, Rodney? You should get rid of her, not make her responsible for our most important business client.'
She turned to face him, her cheeks pink with anger and effort, her chest rising and falling beneath her high-necked cream blouse, a stray strand of blonde hair escaping from her riding cap.
'You look gorgeous,' he said.
'Cut that out, you bastard, you're not going to fob me off.'
'You don't know how to take a compliment, Julia.'
'And she does, I suppose. That dirty little Frog will take anything that comes her way.'
'There you are, you've answered your own question. She's just the kind of girl to handle Gordon Garter. He'll be putty in her hands. Now give me a kiss.'
'Oh Rodney!' she cried in exasperation but she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms and her mouth opened to allow his tongue access. 'You're not... seeing her, are you, Rodney?'
'I see Chantal every day, darling, and so do you.'
'You know what I mean. You don't really fancy her, do you?'
'Well...' Rodney ran the edge of his thumb round the nipple of her left boob; her flesh felt hot and firm through the thin material. 'I must say she has a magnificent mouth, it's so full and lush. But not-' and here he dropped his other hand to fondle her rear '-as full and lush as your bottom.'
'Rodney!'
'So why don't we proceed with our perambulation, my dear? You carry on ahead of me and make sure you jiggle that pretty bum of yours as we go.'
She shot him a complicated look which encapsulated her mixed feelings about him and turned to resume her progress. Rodney grinned at her wiggling posterior, he knew just what she was thinking. In her eyes he was a manipulating, devious, handsome, irresistible swine. And she was spot on.
The path had now levelled out and ahead of them, at the end of an avenue of trees, stood a five-barred gate. It gave way onto a field and it was here that Rodney usually kept his horses.
'I don't see them,' said Julia as they approached the gate.
'You won't. I asked one of the lads to move them to the river paddock, it's cooler down there.'
'But we're here to go riding!'
'No, we're not.'
'You mean you've dragged me all the way up here in my riding gear for nothing!'
'Not at all. Those jodhpurs do wonders for your arse and I promise you we're going to do lots of things now we're here. We're going to have some fun. Like last time.'
'No, Rodney.'
'Yes, Rodney, you mean. There's no point in protesting, Julia. We're going to do it my way. Just like we always do.'
'No,' she yelled at him, her face red with anger. 'No, no, NO!'
'OK, Julia, but I hope you remember this moment on the day the concrete-mixers begin to pave over your mother's precious donkey sanctuary.'
Her mouth opened and shut again without uttering a sound. Then, as her big blue eyes filled with tears, she began slowly to unbutton her blouse. She pulled its hem from her waistband, slid it from her shoulders and threw it in his face. For a moment the material blinded him, clinging to his features and ravishing his nostrils with the sweet smell of her. Then the silk shirt fluttered down into the dust and she stood before him naked to the waist, her wondrous breasts shaking with emotion. The tears in her eyes left snail tracks down her dusty cheeks.
'I hate you,' she said.
He smiled at her with unalloyed pleasure, his cock an iron bar in his breeches, the riding crop sweaty in his palm. 'Bend over the gate, Miss Jarvis,' he said, 'and take what's coming to you.'
Her heart thumping in anticipation, Julia did as she was told. Doubled over the gate, her feet on the bottom rung and her hands clasping the strut from the other side on a level with her knees, the semi-nude Julia Jarvis was a sight to rouse the dead. Her rump, suspended in the air and arched over in breathtaking fashion, filled out the tight jodhpurs like a balloon inflated to the point of bursting.
Rodney was on the point of coming already but he was determined to make the most of this delicious moment. He took a full minute to savour the sight of Julia's swollen arse offered up to him for his personal pleasure. The fact that it was offered under protest made it all the sweeter.
The whip made a satisfying Thwack! as it smacked into the caramel oval of her left buttock. Thwack! it went again, on her right cheek this time. As yet Julia had made no sound but Rodney knew it was just a matter of time. The whip whistled through the air and landed a full cut across both cheeks. And again. Whack! Whack! Oh what an incredible sight to see that magnificent bum dance and flinch!
Julia exhaled and noisily gasped in air, determined not to cry out. But Rodney was intent on making her do just that. Down came the whip again. And again. 'Oh,' she cried, 'OH!' and shimmied her buttocks before Rodney's delighted gaze.
Then she was off, yelling and moaning, her cries echoing around the hillside. Rodney slowed down his bum smacks, tantalising her with the delay between strikes, savouring the jerk and bounce of her hips under the lash.
When he judged that he had her nicely warmed up and could curtail his impatience no longer, he fell to his knees and pressed his face to her twitching rear. Ah, the glorious feel of her bountiful flesh beneath the stretched material of her riding trousers! He pressed his face hard into the pliant flesh of her twin moons and inhaled the sweet smell of her. It was glorious! The sun shone and the birds sang and the tanned arse of a beautiful woman jerked and throbbed against his face - to Rodney this was bliss.
With a growl he snagged a square of material between his teeth and bit down, jerking his head backwards. Julia gave a shriek as her trouser seat tore and then his fingers were in the rent, ripping the thin covering up the back seam, from crotch to waist.
The compressed flesh of her beautiful derriere was revealed through the torn cloth like the billowing cleavage of a Hollywood glamour queen. Rodney thrust his fingers into her exposed bum cleft and forced wide the breech, delving between her legs to explore the furry treasure of her pussy. As he had suspected, she was sopping wet.
'Oh God, Rodney, please don't!' she cried.
He laughed like a stage villain and ran his tongue the length of her bottom crack.
'Oh please, please!' came the cry as he pushed his thumb deep into her pussy tunnel and began to strum her clit. She came at once, her arse cheeks twitching and shuddering in his face at the mercy of his licking, probing tongue. With deliberate care he wet the winking brown knot of her bum-hole, jabbing the tip of his tongue into her circlet, making her jump and twitch further.
With the sound of her orgasmic howls still ringing in the trees, he reached for the crop and, without ceremony, inserted its stout wooden handle between her pussy lips.
'Oh God!' she yelled as she felt its thickness stretch her cunt and, 'Oh no!' as she felt something else, just as stout and stiff, pressing against the puckered whirl of her exposed arsehole.
'Oh yes!' cried Rodney in triumph as his big tool sank into the tight ring of her rectum. 'This is what you like, my darling. Don't pretend otherwise.'
'Oh please,' she yelled, 'please, please, PLEASE!'
'Please what?'
'Please fuck me! Fuck me hard! Harder, you swine! Fuck me harder!'
It was just as well, Rodney reflected later as they walked back, that he had moved the horses. They could have been badly frightened at the sight of two half-naked humans buggering and fucking on top of a five-barred gate and screaming out their passion at the top of their voices.
As for him, there was no doubt life had taken a turn for the better once the old man had shuffled off the mortal, allowing him to make free with Blisswood Spa. He marvelled once again at the sight of manageress Julia Jarvis walking ahead of him down the path, her torn trousers affording a tantalising glimpse of her flushed pink bum cheeks as she went, his own spunk leaking from her arse and soaking into the tattered material.
'You'd better buy some more pairs of those jodhpur things, Julia. You seem to go through them rather f
ast.' Julia did not reply but strode on ahead of him, her smooth and perfect buttocks quivering at every step.
Chapter 31
The atmosphere in the hotel's ground-floor meeting room was stifling. It had been a long afternoon for the Gartertex team and the air was thick with the blue fug of cigarette smoke. Some dozen people sat facing inwards at three long tables arranged in a U shape. In this fashion they could observe both the screen ahead of them and a procession of models, garbed in the latest Louche creations, patrolling a small catwalk set in the jaws of the U.
The meeting had started in ill humour as Gordon Garter had berated all the agents for missing their sales targets the previous quarter. Some of the bolder spirits had fought back, turning their fire on the quality of the last collection and, in particular, on the work of designer Jason Quiff.
'Face it, Jason,' said one, a granite-faced individual from Humberside, 'how the bloody hell are we expected to get fifteen quid for see-through knickers in green netting? A man sees enough fish in Grimsby without expecting one to turn up in his bed on a Friday night.'
'Too right,' cried another. 'Give us some stuff to breathe a bit of life into the missus, not things that make her look like she's died already.'
'Fucking Philistines,' replied Jason wearily - this was not a new experience for him.
'Now now, girls,' said GG, 'let's all think positive.' Having stirred the hornets' nest he was quite happy to play the peacemaker. 'Bring on the new collection.'
And so the latest offerings from Louche Lingerie had been paraded back and forth on the lithe backs and ample fronts of a selection of local maids supplied by Rodney. Some were shy and some were awkward and some were breathtakingly fuckable but the impact of their nubile bodies on the assembled company was negligible.
These men were as hardboiled as shoe leather and when it came to business they left their libidos outside the door. In the bar later they would all be pushovers for a winsome smile or a demure flutter of long eyelashes but now, sweating it out in conference under the despotic eye of Gordon Garter, things were very different. A half-naked woman with open thighs and pouting bosom on show was of no more interest than a tailor's dummy.
Graham Garter was flabbergasted. He alone was stirred by this display of tempting female flesh and, though he tried to concentrate on the complexities of price points and special offers, of hook-and-eye versus shoestring-ribbon fastening, of reinforced gussets and underwiring, he could make no contribution to the cut and thrust of debate. Mine's a watching brief, he reminded himself and in those terms he more than fulfilled his remit.
His eyes feasted on slender legs in keyhole stockings, on bulging pussy mounds in stretch-lace thongs, on creamy breasts spilling over strapless boned bustiers. And, as his cock vibrated in his plain white V-fronts like a tuning fork, he revised his opinion of his father's firm.
For as long as he could remember, Graham had hated the family business and had resisted all efforts to make him take an interest in it. Encouraged by his mother, he had thrown himself into his schoolwork and, though not tough enough to rebel completely, he had resented being dragooned into his current role at the expense of his university career. But now, as he ogled a pair of pert bum cheeks tantalisingly revealed by a figure-hugging bodyshaper in black lace, he thought, What a bloody fool I've been all these years!
There was a lull in proceedings as the last girl exited and no one took her place. Men yawned and stretched. 'Is that it then?' said Ray from Humberside loudly. 'I could do with a pint.'
'Too right,' said other voices with more enthusiasm than had been heard all afternoon.
'Sit down,' shouted Gordon Garter, the voice of unquestioned authority. 'We've not bloody well finished yet. Go and see what's holding things up,' he added to Mitzi Bluitt, the Press Officer and only female member of the Gartertex crew. But before she could make her way through the swing doors to the impromptu dressing-room beyond, a model who had not so far taken part in proceedings stumbled into the room.
She could scarcely have been past her sixteenth birthday and her white flesh gleamed with unsullied purity. A corona of midnight black curls framed her pretty face and her eyes were pools of azure anxiety. Her body was lush beyond her years, made coltishly graceful by her height, and rendered more naked than nudity itself by a garment that was plainly inadequate to contain her bountiful charms. The white satin halter-neck was slashed to her waist and non-existent at the back apart from a thin G-string which disappeared between the divide of her gloriously rounded buttocks. Two gold chain links held the front together over the bulging mounds of her breasts but, as she tottered towards them on four-inch-high spike heels, the material was pushed aside by the weight of the flesh and her left nipple thrust itself into view - 'like the pink snout of a newborn puppy seeking his mummy's teat' as Ray, moved to poetry, later put it over a large Bell's.
An awed silence fell on the cynical gathering. Graham was torn. Part of him wanted to throw his jacket over her exposed innocence and rush her from the room. The other part wanted to rip the stupid garment completely from her body and ravish her on the floor. He guessed everybody else felt pretty much the same.
But not Jason, of course. Though he had spent his entire working life inventing ways of showing off the female form he himself was susceptible only to men in tight jeans. 'Well, dearie,' he said in exasperation, 'I don't know where you sprang from but a size ten you'll never be. Tuck your tit in, for God's sake.'
The girl gulped and prodded unsuccessfully at her errant bosom. Some twenty-odd hands itched to help her but only the indifferent Jason was able to reach over and adjust her straining cleavage.
'Ooh, I'm ever so sorry,' said the girl. 'I've never done owt like this and I'm right nervous.'
'Don't you worry, love,' said Barry from Scotland, 'you look absolutely cracking.'
'Right, lads,' announced Jason over the hum of comment, 'you are now looking at Suky the Ultimate Playsuit and piece de resistance of the new Louche Lingerie collection. It's as raunchy as Ravel's Bolero and as saucy as steak Bernaise—'
'Cut the crap, Jason, and put the poor girl out of her misery,' said Ray.
'Oh don't worry about me,' piped up the young model, 'you can look as long as you like, I don't mind.'
'You're a game lass,' said Tony from Wales and the girl smiled, with breathtaking impact.
'OK,' said Jason loudly, 'let's keep our minds on the job. One of the main sales points of the Playsuit is the unique Velcro crotch release which gives the wearer's partner instant access to her you-know-where. There are no frustrating buttons or poppers to fiddle around with. Just one teensy tug and the little lady's defences are down and joy is at your fingertips. All for twenty-nine ninety-nine.'
'How do we know it works?' said Gordon Garter, voicing the question in everybody's thoughts.
'I'm about to demonstrate, GG,' said Jason, slipping to his knees and turning to the gleaming white mangle of satin that concealed the girl's prominent pubic bulge.
'My,' exclaimed Jason as he surveyed the target area, 'you are a hirsute young lady.'
It was true. Thick tendrils of jet-black pubic hair overhung the edges of the gusset and curled across the tops of her creamy thighs.
'I'll give her a bikini wax any time,' muttered Don the Marketing Director, which prompted a dig in the ribs from Mitzi at his side. She was only half amused by the turn of events.
'All an admirer has to do,' continued Jason, 'is to reach between the legs for the tiny flap and—'
There was a small scratching sound as his long fingers delved and pulled and suddenly a veritable forest blossomed into view. The girl swivelled around on parted legs so all could see the effect. And the effect was spectacular, for in the centre of the forest was a clearing, so to speak, and her long pink vaginal lips, prettily scalloped and daintily furled, were fully revealed. The watching men were speechless.
The silence was broken by the girl. 'Is everything OK? Mr Holmdale said he'd give me twenty quid if
I didn't do nothing wrong.'
'Don't you worry, love,' came a chorus of reassurance.
'You're the best model we've ever had,' shouted Barry.
'Can I have a try at that crotch release?' asked Ray.
'Ooh, go on, then,' said the girl. 'But you'll have to help me do it up first.'
'Here, let me,' cried Tony, jumping to his feet.
'This is getting out of hand, GG,' hissed Mitzi.
The fat man shot her a sly grin. 'What you are seeing is the birth of our next bestselling item, my dear. I guarantee these lads will bust their targets on Suky after this.'
There was no doubting the enthusiasm for the new product amongst the sales force as they broke ranks to surround the girl and try for themselves the intricacies of the new crotch flap.
'Ooh, that tickles,' the girl called out as Ray thrust his stubby paw into her bush. 'It makes me go all weak at the knees.'
'What's your name?' asked Tony as her legs buckled and she clung to him for support.
'Mandy.'
'How about a little overtime, Mandy? Me and the lads will throw in some extra if you'll let us try out the bodice fastening too.'
A flurry of hands reached for wallets and suddenly a pile of banknotes appeared on the table. At about the same time, Suky the Ultimate Playsuit parted like the Red Sea down the front of Mandy's precociously ripe young body.
'I think I'd better just supervise,' muttered Don, rising to his feet, but sharp fingers dug viciously into his arm through the cotton of his shirt.
'Oh no, you fucking don't,' said Mitzi in his ear. 'You lay a finger on that fat trollop and I'm telling your wife.'
'Ah.'
'On the other hand, if you take me upstairs right now I'll think about that weekend in Brighton.'
Don disengaged her fingers from his arm and pulled her quickly to her feet. 'Christ, she has got you going, hasn't she?' she said as he hustled her out of the door.