Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  In the centre of the room the action was hotting up.

  'How about a kiss for your Uncle Ray?' said the man from Humberside to Mandy but someone else was already snogging her thirstily. Tony was licking a thick button-bright nipple as he hefted her weighty left breast and Barry was easing a long red erection out of his trousers. Without appearing to look in his direction, Mandy folded her fingers around his stalk and began to pump.

  In the shadows at the back of the room an amazed and fascinated Graham looked on, frozen to his seat. A meaty hand suddenly descended on his shoulder and he looked up into the grinning face of his father.

  'Welcome to the world of haute couture, my boy. It's all about stiff dicks and sexy knickers and making a few bob on the side. What do you think to that?'

  'I think it's incredible, dad. Fantastic. But will she be all right? They're eating her alive.'

  Gordon Garter laughed out loud. 'Don't you worry about her, she's going to clean up tonight with what she gets from them and the bonus I promised her. She's the best little actress I've seen in years.'

  For a moment Graham tore his eyes from the spectacle of Mandy on all fours on the table, accommodating a penis at both ends. He gazed at his father in awe.

  'You mean you set it up?'

  'An old trick, son. Always get a conference off with a bang. Now where the bloody hell's Chantal? My dick needs sucking.'

  Three - The Carnal Quest

  Chapter 32

  'There have been developments, Fantail,' said Monk, accepting a glass of mineral water from Stephen as they sat on the terrace of the hotel in the early-evening sunshine. 'Significant developments.'

  Stephen thought back on the variety of erotic scenes he had observed that afternoon and took a long draught of his pint. In his terms there had also been developments but he did not intend to reveal them to his superior.

  'There's been another robbery.'

  'A Brenda robbery?'

  'Yes, indeed. At Flintwhistle, it's forty-five minutes' drive away. I've just got back.'

  'What happened?'

  'The usual. At four thirty this afternoon, with one counter clerk on duty at the Flintwhistle Philanthropic, our girl walked in and did her act.'

  'Did she get much?'

  'Seven and a half grand, apparently. She struck lucky.'

  'Any witnesses?'

  'Well... there's the wally on duty, but he's not much help. Told me in great detail about this cut-off vest she was wearing. He was struck by her belly button winking at him before she even unveiled her big guns. And when she pointed the little pistol at him as well he just kept piling the cash into her bag. I think he rather enjoyed it.'

  'Did he say anything about her, er, her chest?'

  'He said that you didn't get many like that to the pound, that he'd always dreamed of nobbing a pair that size and that his girlfriend was going to do her pieces when she found out. All things considered, it seems Brenda lived up to her reputation.'

  'Did he mention tattoos? Did he say anything about the butterflies?'

  'He did not and I had no desire to plant the notion in his tiny noddle. He went on about her swollen pink nipples and the way her titties wobbled when she grabbed the bag of cash. He requested an hour alone with her when we finally made an arrest.'

  'You don't sound very impressed with him, sir.'

  'Frankly, the Flintwhistle Philanthropic deserve to lose their money if they put idiots like him in charge of it. Even their security camera was on the blink.'

  'Oh.' Stephen was puzzled, by all accounts Monk should have been downhearted and he wasn't. He was looking pleased with himself. Stephen soon discovered why.

  'Fortunately not all the locals are oafish youths with their brains in their pants. We have an eyewitness. An elderly party called Agatha Finch who saw a dark-haired woman in a cherry-coloured top and tight jeans enter the building society empty-handed and emerge with a full plastic carrier bag just two minutes later. She followed her into the supermarket across the street which has a rear exit to a car park. She saw the woman drive off in a small red hatchback which she thinks is a Peugeot 205 because her son's got one.'

  'Did she get the registration?' asked Stephen, excited at this breakthrough.

  'Not entirely. She thinks it might have an S in it and a 5.'

  'That narrows things down, I suppose. Mind you, they are bloody popular cars. There were two of them in the hotel car park when we arrived. Oh...'

  'Precisely, Stephen. There are two of them there now, one has an S and the other has a 5 on the numberplate.' Monk smiled. 'Bearing in mind that an S and a 5 probably look similar to an eighty-six-year-old lady at thirty yards I think we can consider them both as possibly belonging to our girl.'

  'So who owns them?'

  'Let me get you another, Stephen. I can see you have a powerful thirst.'

  'No, sir, don't leave me in suspense. What does the computer say?'

  'That one car belongs to the manager of this hotel, Julia Jarvis, and the other to a local hire firm. I got the garage owner at home and he told me he'd rented it yesterday to one Felicity Dodge who turns out to be a guest here.'

  'Good Lord. That's marvellous. Two suspects sitting right in our laps, so to speak. What do we do next?'

  'We'd better have a word with them, Stephen. I suggest we split up, I'll take La Jarvis.'

  'She's the woman who checked us in, isn't she? The one who was getting all hot and bothered when that Garter bloke turned up.'

  'Correct. And to make your life easier, I can tell you that Felicity Dodge is staying in Room 17 with a photographer called Clifford Rush.'

  Stephen took in this information and then its significance hit him like a blow to the stomach. Room 17 was the first room he'd observed that afternoon, where the woman had sat in her lover's lap and bounced up and down on his prick. The one he'd marked down as worthy of further investigation. And now he was going to have to carry out that investigation.

  Stephen felt his armpits fill with sweat and the colour rise in his cheeks.

  'Can I have that drink now, sir?' he said.

  Chapter 33

  'Haven't you finished yet?' Pamela Perch asked Gavin, squinting at him out of the corner of her wide green eyes, for she dare not turn her head. She sat on a tree trunk by the edge of the tarn, her pretty face turned to the grey limestone cliff that overhung one end of the pool. Her burnished red hair hung down her back almost to her waist and her bare white breasts, firm and jutting in profile, were splashed with the honeyed light of the summer evening.

  Gavin considered his hastily made pastel sketch. He'd caught the glinting copper of her hair and the creamy billow of her bosom and he was pleased with the thrust of her thigh along the log, with its rucked-up swirl of pale blue gingham skirt. Considering this was his first effort for over a year it was pretty good. And as a means of getting girls to shed their clothes it could hardly be bettered.

  'Can I have a look now?' said Pam, one of the daughters of the farmer who was allowing Gavin to camp in his field. She had been only too keen to lead him up to the local beauty spot known as Maiden's Pool and there to doff her togs and pose.

  'Here you are then,' said Gavin, getting to his feet and holding his drawing out so that she could see it.

  'Ooh, that's brilliant!' she cried. 'You've made me look all sexy.'

  'You are sexy,' he said.

  'Go on with you,' she protested and laughed, setting her shapely breasts jiggling. Her nipples were small and round like cherry stones and Gavin knew she wanted him to slip one into his mouth and suck. And though this girl could hardly be the one he sought - Brenda could not possibly have disguised all those freckles, could she? - he wanted it too. In any case, from the way she was looking at him from beneath her long fringed lashes, he doubted if he was going to have much choice.

  'The sun's still ever so strong,' she said, taking hold of his hand. 'Feel.'

  So he felt, allowing his fingers to be placed on the milky strip of sk
in beneath the bulge of her right breast. Her body was hot to touch.

  'You're on fire,' he said.

  'Yes. Feel here.'

  His hand slid up onto the silken swell of her tit, where the heat from her simmering flesh seemed to flow into him. 'You'll burn. You should have said.'

  'It doesn't matter. It's in the cause of art, isn't it? No, don't take your hand away, it's soothing.'

  'Is there anywhere else that hurts?'

  'Here.' She put his other hand on her left breast and it warmed his flesh like a hot coal, the stubby nipple spiky in his palm. He bent his head to nuzzle the side of her neck and the glowing flesh of her shoulder.

  Her mouth was like a furnace, seeming to burn his tongue as she sucked it in. He wallowed in her scalding embrace, stroking and feeling her soft hot breasts and drinking in her juicy kisses.

  They fell onto the pebbly beach at the edge of the water. 'We should have brought a blanket,' he said.

  'I don't care,' she said. 'We can lie on our clothes.'

  She had the shirt off his back already and his jeans halfway down his thighs. Then she stopped and lowered her face to his crotch, her hair hanging in a copper curtain so he could not see what she was doing. But he could feel, and the touch of her warm little hands had him rigid with anticipation. He lay back, gazing up at the edge of the cliff outlined against the blue vault of the sky, as she prised his cock from his underpants and stuffed it into her burning mouth.

  It was so exquisite he thought he would squirt down her throat at once but she seemed to sense his excitement and ran her lips along the length of the shaft to mouth his balls.

  She had done this before, he could tell. The thought made him even hornier.

  'Turn round,' he said. 'I want to put my face up your skirt.'

  She lifted her head and the copper curtain parted. Her eyes were alive with mischief as she looked up at him past the big sticky staff rearing from his belly.

  'Yes,' she hissed as she swivelled round, still clutching his cock. 'Suck me through my panties. I love that.'

  Her skirt made a satisfying tent over his head, shading his face from the brilliance of the light, enclosing him with slim pale thighs and a pair of tight, elastic-fleshed buttock moons already spilling out of white cotton panties. He reached for the cheeks of her arse and pulled her onto his face, his mouth wide open to receive the bulging gusset of her briefs. They were wet already and he could feel the curls of her hair beneath his tongue as he mouthed her. His nose was wedged between the rounded cheeks of her bum and he drank in the odour of her. She smelt of pussy on heat, rich and ripe. He felt intoxicated.

  He sucked and probed with his fingers, kneading the pliant flesh of her arse, finding the nub of her clit through her knickers and making her moan. She slicked his foreskin back and forth across the head of his cock and wormed the point of her little tongue into the eye of his helmet.

  When she enclosed her lips around the end of his knob and began to pump rhythmically on the shaft he knew he was not far off coming and went to work in earnest.

  He pried the damp cotton of her panties from her crack and ran his tongue around her steaming honeypot. She was gluey with sex juices and her bottom was trembling with desire. He sucked her labia into his mouth and gently, insistently, stroked the perfumed flesh at the top of her crack, titillating her twitching clit till she was at bursting point. When he pushed his tongue deep into her pussy she came, grinding down on his face and crying out.

  But her cries were muffled as, with one, two, three, strokes of her cunning fist and a feather-light caress of her tongue on his bulging glans, he exploded in her mouth.

  They remained stuck together for a long and happy moment, his spunk trickling down her throat, her love juice drying on his lips. They unstuck themselves with regret.

  She lay in his arms with her skirt around her waist and her freckled bosom comfortable against his chest. The sky was just as blue and cloudless up above.

  'Did the earth move for you?' she asked with a chuckle in her throat.

  'No, but I think the hillside just did,' he said. 'We're being watched.'

  Chapter 34

  It had not taken Chantal long to work out how to pull the strings of Gordon Garter's desires. Whether those same strings would open up his purse was another matter. But she was working on it.

  During the afternoon session on his bed she had allowed him to satisfy his basic lusts and had manoeuvred over and under his vast bulk with nimble grace. Given his age and size there was obviously a physical limit to his exertions. After his second climax - a life-threatening missionary poke which had her fighting for air - he had dismissed her. This had annoyed her but she had gone quietly enough. Though not before putting a hand between her legs and simulating a dramatic climax.

  'What's up with you, girl? Have you gone short?' he had said, regarding her performance with surprise.

  'I am sorry, GG,' she said, 'when I am with a bull like you I can never get enough.'

  Now, after Mandy's display at the sales conference, Garter was all over her the moment he entered the bedroom.

  'Non, non,' protested Chantal as he lunged for her with one huge paw and ripped open his trousers with the other. 'Suck it, you little French tart,' he roared, pushing her to her knees in front of him and attempting to force his thick prong between her lips.

  She took hold of the waggling member but she had no intention of complying with this brutish request.

  'OW!' he cried as she gave his cock a vicious twist, cutting off the blood supply. 'You little bitch!' And he took a clumsy swing at her which passed harmlessly over her head but left him sprawling on the bed, his limp cock dangling uselessly from his flies. 'What the fuck did you do that for?'

  'To teach you a lesson, you great rosbif. And to give you more pleasure, if you care to believe it.'

  He stared at her with confusion in his piggy eyes.

  'Look at me, GG. I have been here waiting for you to come back from your horrible business meeting so we can make passionate love and you wish to treat me like a fifty-franc whore. If you simply want to shoot your spunk off then I can find you a box of Kleenex.

  'On the other hand, do you not observe what I am wearing?'

  Garter looked at her properly for the first time since he had entered the room. He took in the midnight-blue silk tie-waisted peignoir (Petula, £49.99) which she was already slipping from her slender shoulders. And the stretch lace bodyshaper in white which was moulded to her curves, hugging the pert saucers of her breasts and cutting in from her hips in a long swooping vee, concealing and revealing as it went. He knew only too well that the garment fastened down the back with a tantalising row of hooks and eyes and that the rear of the panty was a G-string thong, bootlace thick, worn between the naked buttocks. This was La Serenissima (£29.99), a perennial favourite or 'a cock-stiffener for every season, duckie,' as Jason invariably put it.

  La Serenissima worked its magic once more, breathing immediate life into the fat man's abused penis which now sat up and gazed one-eyed at the small dark shadow of pubic hair clearly visible at the base of Chantal's taut belly.

  The Frenchwoman turned slowly to present her rear view which was as breathtaking as Garter had known it would be. She stood on high pencil-thin heels which seemed to force her onto tiptoe, emphasising the full unblemished cheeks of her beautiful derriere. Gordon Garter stared at this pretty behind goggle-eyed. It filled his vision.

  'So - what do you think of that, Mr Bull-at-the-gate? Is it not better to appreciate a woman's beauty before you decide how to take your pleasure? Especially since these lovely clothes are your own creations.'

  Chantal had assumed that Garter had more than a professional interest in women's underwear and that he would, at the very least, be flattered if she dressed this way to please him. But in choosing this particular garment she could not know how successfully she had hit the bull's-eye of his obsession. It was dear to his heart because he had virtually designed it himself. 'Can
't you combine a basque and a G-string?' he'd said to Jason in a flash of prurient inspiration. 'I want to see a lot more arse hanging out.'

  And now there was La Serenissima modelled as never before, exclusively for him.

  'It's incredible,' he croaked. 'It's just as I first imagined it.'

  'You are a very naughty man to sell such sexy clothes, I think,' she said, continuing to flaunt her shapely bottom before his eyes. 'It gives a girl such wicked thoughts.'

  'You're a witch, Chantal. The most beautiful witch I've ever seen in my life!'

  'So, GG, you are not such a brute after all. Tell a woman she is beautiful and she'll let you do anything. How would you like to have me? My mouth, my tits, my cunt, my bottom - tell me quick. I can't wait any longer.'

  'I'll have your arse!' he cried, jumping to his feet, his trousers round his ankles, his cock quivering with expectation.

  'Yes!' she said then clapped a hand to her mouth. 'Oh dear, what did I say? You cannot, I am sorry.'

  'What do you mean? You just offered me your bum, Chantal, and I mean to have it!'

  'Is this a proposal of marriage, GG? Remember, I told you this morning I am saving my bottom hole for the man I marry.' And she laughed at the absurdity of it all, a flirtatious gurgle that even in his frustration Gordon Garter found enchanting. 'Never mind, GG, you can have my behind in a very special way. I will show you.'

  And so Gordon Garter allowed himself to be manipulated into a deed that fired him with lust and emptied his balls but which left him wanting more - much more.

  She bent forward over a chair and thrust her rear backwards on a level with his loins. And then, to the beat of her lewd directions, Gordon Garter embarked on an act he had not contemplated since he was nineteen and walking out with Mavis Armitage - buxom Mavis of the buckteeth who was so paranoid about the potency of male sperm that he had had to jerk himself off at a distance of six feet while she displayed to him her naked breasts.