by Noel Amos
At least Gordon Garter got a little closer this time to the objects of his desire, the perfect thrilling buttock halves of Chantal's creamy bum, swelling in a delicious curve from the tiny circlet of her waist and bisected by a glistening white lace thong that ran the length of her bewitching arse-crack. When he thought about it later Garter wondered why he hadn't simply torn the strip of material from her secret divide and plunged his cock into her anus. But he had spoken the truth earlier, she was a witch and she had him enchanted.
'Go on, GG, wank your cock for me. Look at my bottom, it's pretty, is it not? Let me shake it for you, does that look good? Imagine your penis between my buttocks, sinking deep inside my channel, driving in and out between my cheeks. Oh God, it would be so heavenly to have you there! Maybe I'll let you anyway, maybe next time. And you can drive your big cock up my little passage. I'll be tight for you I promise. Mon Dieu, I think I'm going to come at the thought. Oh yes, I can't hold back much longer. Come with me, my sweet. Shoot your juice all over my bum! Spunk all over my arse cheeks! Do it now, please. I'm coming! Oh YES!'
Outside the bedroom, in the sitting-room of Gordon Garter's suite, she found Graham standing in the grand bay window, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
She threw herself onto one of the two large sofas with a sigh of fatigue and surveyed the poor lamb.
'So, Mister Invisible,' she said, 'are you still on duty or can you drink some champagne with me?'
Graham tore his eyes from her milky thighs, half bared by the careless drape of her blue peignoir, and looked at the door she had just closed behind her.
'Don't worry, he is sleeping. He told me to wake him in an hour. It's been a hard day, yes?'
'Yes,' said Graham emphatically. Hard described it precisely. He still was hard, his mind full of images of Mandy taking it fore and aft and now of Chantal who was making no attempt to hide the seductive body that was his father's exclusive, if temporary, property.
'There's a mini-bar in that corner,' said Chantal, waving a slender arm in imperious command. 'You'll find champagne in there and you needn't worry, Rodney says it's on the house.'
'Like you, you mean,' said Graham as he fetched a dark green bottle and two glasses.
She decided to let the remark pass. After all, the poor boy must be feeling a little left out.
'If you don't know how to pop the cork,' she said as he fumbled with the bottle, 'I'll do it.'
'Don't worry, mademoiselle, I know how to pop a cork even if I haven't mastered your sophisticated techniques,' muttered Graham through gritted teeth just as the bottle appeared to explode in his hand and fountained creamy foam all over his trousers.
Chantal didn't try to stifle her laughter. Maybe it was the release of tension now she was off duty or the sight of this gawky young man struggling with a tricky cork and a flagrant erection at the same time, at any rate she laughed until she was close to tears.
He hit her sharply across both cheeks and then handed her a glass of bubbling liquid which she drained in one gulp. He refilled it, making no attempt to avoid looking at her half-exposed breasts, the dark points of her nipples pushing through the thin white mesh.
'You didn't have to hit me so hard,' she said.
'You were becoming hysterical.'
She looked up at him, the red marks of his hand stark on both cheeks.
'You're so beautiful,' he said, 'I'd never hurt you, believe me.'
'Not even with that iron bar you have in your pocket?'
His face coloured and he turned his head away. A naughty idea was taking root in Chantal's head. To be accurate, the naughty idea had been there from the first but only now did Chantal allow herself to recognise it. She finished her second glass of champagne and thought to herself, Why not? Surely I deserve some pleasure of my own?
'Graham-' she pronounced it Gray Ham - he had never heard it said like that before and he thought it enchanting '-does that door lead to your bedroom?'
Chapter 35
'This is Rosie,' said Pamela, 'and this is Jon. They said they'd look out for me.'
They'd done that all right, thought Gavin as he nodded hello to a tall grinning youth and a chubby-faced blonde with grass stains on the cushions of her denim-clad behind. They'd slithered down the hillside the moment Pam had called out to them. From the amusement in their eyes he guessed that they'd seen everything he and Pam had been up to. Well, if she didn't care - and she obviously didn't - why should he?
'Let's see your masterpiece then,' said Rosie and before Gavin could say anything Pam had picked up his drawing and passed it over.
'Cor,' said Jon, 'he's made you look right tasty, our Pamela.'
'It's great,' cried Rosie. 'Will you draw me too?' Funnily enough, it didn't seem an odd request. Blisswood was that kind of place.
'Why don't you do 'em both together,' suggested Jon. 'If it's any good my dad will buy it and put it up in the pub.'
'Well...' said Gavin but the notion was entertaining. He could see the two contrasting types side by side, the slender freckled redhead and the blooming puppyfat blonde. He was erect again at the thought.
'Hang on,' said Pam, 'why don't all three of us pose for him? Unless you're not up to it, Jon. I don't see why it's always the women who have to strip off.'
There was no arguing with that and, within a few moments, Gavin was arranging the three of them on a grass bank.
'You don't really have to take your clothes off,' he said and was met with a chorus of protest.
'Why not? I did,' said Pam.
'It doesn't bother me,' said Jon.
'That's the whole point, isn't it?' said Rosie, reaching behind her back to unclasp a black brassiere which was straining to contain a pair of large and sumptuous breasts. As she did so, the breath seemed to catch in Gavin's throat. Could these be the fabulous mammaries that had changed his life? Rosie seemed to him too plump and too short to be the Topless Raider but this was the acid test.
Her massive orbs swung into view, thrusting outwards from the centre of her chest, the big pink nipples surrounded by the salmon-coloured saucers of her areolae. They were twin pulsating udders of flesh, bountiful and creamy, open invitations to lust. But they were not the tits of Bra-less Brenda. Gavin's disappointment echoed in the pit of his stomach even as his cock leapt in his jeans.
'So how do you want us then?' said Pam who had discarded her skirt and panties and wore just an unbuttoned shirt as protection for her pale skin. The chestnut curls of her bush glinted in the sunlight.
Gavin the artist did his best. He had never drawn more than one model at a time, let alone three. He knew the sketch would be no good, his hand was shaking so much. Besides, the three of them would not stay still. They couldn't. Gavin watched with mounting excitement as Jon, a girl on either side of him, kissed first one, then the other.
Gavin's pencil flew over the paper. He concentrated on Jon's crotch, where his long thin penis was now enveloped by Pam's small fist. It was a skilful fist, as Gavin well knew. He tried to capture the rounded end of the boy's knob as it emerged between the girl's slim fingers but he was distracted by another hand - Rosie's - which was now palming Jon's furry balls.
'That's not fair,' said Jon, 'you're turning me on too much.' It seemed an accurate observation. Pam's hand was pumping his shaft and the eye of his cock was an angry blood-gorged purple as she toyed with him.
'Why don't you fuck me then?' she said and pulled him on top of her.
Gavin's pencil slid off the paper as he watched Pam's long legs swing up in the air to present her crotch to the eager probing of Jon's stiff stalk. For a moment his prick jabbed blindly at the pink gash at the fork of her body, then the head found the open notch and slid straight between the pouting lips of her pussy.
'Oh that's heavenly,' sighed Pam, her ankles hooked around Jon's waist, her loins thrusting up to meet his. Gavin could hear the slap of flesh as their bellies came together, then the rude sticky sound of cock in cunt as he began to ride and prob
e her. Jon's buttocks hollowed and his balls shook with each thrust.
Gavin felt a warm hand on his arm and looked up from the intoxicating spectacle in front of him into the milky-blue eyes of Rosie. Her huge tits were on a level with his mouth.
'They look great, don't they?' she said. 'I always like to watch, don't you?'
'Yes,' he gulped, though in fact this was the first time he had ever seen two people make love. He knew he should laugh and say it was comic, that they looked silly. That was the sophisticated response. But Gavin didn't feel at all sophisticated. He felt as horny as hell.
He put his arm round Rosie's waist and she seemed to melt into his embrace. She was a big little girl, a solid armful of flesh whose touch was both tender and urgent.
'Ooh yes,' she said as she unzipped him and found his fierce erection, pulling it free of his jeans and delving in further to draw out his balls.
His hands were all over her, cupping and weighing her glorious boobs, roaming over the curves of her hips and sinking into the twin pillows of her pliant bum cheeks. Her skin was soft and silky and her hair smelled of grass and strawberries. Between the legs she was slick and buttery and when he licked around the bowl of her belly, from the whorl of her navel down into the browny-blonde mat of hair at its base she pressed his head hard into her crotch.
She tasted differently to Pam. She was honey sweet where her friend was salty and pungent. Was there a science in this? Gavin wondered as he tongued her. Could you distinguish a woman by the taste of her privates? If Brenda the Robber had forced him to kiss her pussy instead of ogle her breasts would he now be roaming the land with the tang of a myriad cunts upon his lips like some exotic wine taster?
'OH!' His bizarre reverie came to a swift conclusion as Rosie's thighs clamped shut around his ears and her fingernails raked his bare back. She was coming, coming with the full vigour of a strong and enthusiastic young woman and Gavin fought for survival as she writhed and bucked on his tongue.
She let him up at last and he rolled onto his back, gasping for air.
'Not bad, is he?' said Pam, a wicked grin on her face as she lolled in Jon's arms, her legs spread wide in a sticky vee.
Gavin was conscious that he was the only one of the four who hadn't had a climax. His cock was a stiff truncheon sticking up from his belly.
By his side Jon said, 'Our Rosie's a grand tit-fuck, if you like that kind of thing.'
Gavin didn't know whether he did or not. But he fully intended to find out.
Chapter 36
Fliss looked at the clock on the bedside table and was surprised to see that it was almost seven. She must have dozed off. There was no sign of Clifford and the thought of eating on her own again did not thrill her. In any case, she didn't feel hungry and it was still too brilliant a day to contemplate sitting in that stuffy dining-room. She fancied an evening stroll. Preferably with an attractive man by her side to help her work up an appetite. Unfortunately Mario was on duty.
She got out of bed and padded on bare feet to the window. In the car park in front of the hotel, next to Cliff's white Porsche, was the little Peugeot he had hired for her. The mean sod wouldn't let her drive his flash motor so she'd insisted she had some means of getting about when he was busy.
Perhaps she'd go for a drive.
As she stood there she saw a man approach her car. At first she thought he was checking out Cliff's glistening willy-wagon but he ignored the Porsche and circled her small red hatchback. He laid a hand on the bonnet, palm down, as if testing for something and peered through the windows. This was odd behaviour in anyone's book.
As he prowled around the car Fliss noted his cheap functional clothes: off-the-peg jeans, scruffy trainers and a blue-and-green-check shirt rolled to the elbows. She also noticed that he was tall, broad-shouldered and thin as a rail. The sun caught his thick thatch of blond hair and Fliss admired the trim taut buttocks that stretched the faded denim as he bent - why? - to examine the tread of her front tyre.
That settles it, she said to herself as she pulled a white sleeveless T-shirt over her bare breasts and reached for her purse, it's time for an evening spin.
Stephen was aware he was only putting off the evil hour. He knew he should stroll confidently up the stairs to Room 17 and engage the curvaceous brunette in a subtle dialogue which would reveal her whereabouts at four thirty that afternoon. He himself could vouch only too vividly for her presence in her bedroom until half past two but that didn't get her off the hook. She could have been in the Flintwhistle Philanthropic within an hour of quitting the arms of her lover - who had not been Clifford Rush the photographer, Stephen could vouch for that as well.
All in all, the young policeman was in a turmoil. The flagrantly sexy brunette he had seen cavorting naked with a man that afternoon could easily be the most wanted criminal in the British Isles. Maybe he was the man destined to bring her to justice - and to condemn her to years in some ghastly prison where her beauty would fade and her capacious desires leave her at the mercy of sadistic warders and predatory lesbians.
For a moment he wallowed in fantasy. He would confront her. She would fall at his feet and confess. 'Take pity on me,' she would say, 'I am utterly in your power. I'll be your sex slave forever if you keep my secret.' And then he could enjoy those sumptuous breasts himself, drown in the honeyed sweetness of her grateful kisses and thrust his aching virgin cock into the carnal mystery that lay between her legs...
A small perfect foot in a white open-toed sandal stepped onto his hand as he knelt on the gravel of the car park. 'If you don't tell me what you are doing with my car,' said a soft woman's voice, 'I shall fetch the police.'
When viewed from close up she was even more luscious than he could have imagined. He looked at her from his kneeling position, up the slender thighs and curvaceous hips revealed by her figure-hugging white cotton slacks, over the scoop-necked vest that clung like cellophane to the twin fruits of her breasts, to the wide pink mouth and chocolate-coloured eyes that were fixed firmly on his as she waited for an answer. He was rendered quite speechless. Not that it would have been easy to explain that he was taking samples of grit from the tread of her tyres in the hope they might match the gravel of the Flintwhistle supermarket car park.
'I've been watching you,' she said. 'You've been acting most suspiciously. You're a thief or a vandal or both.' She increased the pressure on his hand as he tried to stand and he remained there, mouth open and heart pounding, struggling to cope with the very presence of her. Two dark saucer shapes were clearly discernible beneath her white top and the pegs of her nipples pushed out the fabric. Stephen had never seen anyone so desirable in his life.
A car key plopped onto the gravel by his foot. 'Get in the car,' she said. 'You drive while I decide what should be done with you.'
With his free hand Stephen picked up the key.
Like Fliss, Josie was also faced with the prospect of dining alone. She had opted for the bar and now nursed a half of strong cider as she wolfed a bowl of peanuts and wondered just how long it would take Robyn to cover developments in Flintwhistle.
The Rabbit had rung Robyn at six, just as she was complaining for the umpteenth time that Josie was not suitable sob-story material.
'I thought you were a one-guy gal. That you were on a mission to find your missing fiance and nurse him back to sanity. Another piece of human wreckage left bobbing in Brenda's wake. Instead you turn out to be a shameless slut who doesn't care who climbs on board.'
'Come off it, Robyn, you bonked the guy first. You loved every minute of it. I don't see what you're complaining about.'
'I'm complaining, Miss Wet Knickers, because you haven't got Gavin, I haven't got a story and I've got a copy deadline in - oh God - now!'
At that point the phone had rung and Robyn had turned ashen. Her relief as the call unfolded was palpable.
'The good life is ours for another day,' she said as she hunted for her shoes. 'The Brenda bimbo has turned over a business in a nearby
shitheap called Flintwhistle and I'm off to interview the survivors. Be a sweetheart and get the desk to magic me up a taxi in thirty seconds.'
Magic it probably was but it only took five minutes and Josie bundled her into the car and then wandered aimlessly into the bar to contemplate the rest of the evening. Which was where Clifford Rush found her.
'It's fate,' he proclaimed. 'Here am I, exhausted by a long day's photographic labours, troubled by a sudden shortage of delectable females for the morrow's endeavours and here are you, the answer to my prayers. Let me get you a decent drink, you can't survive on that horse piss.'
'You can get drunk on it though,' said Josie, draining the last drops from her glass. 'I'll have another and a refill of the nuts.'
He made a face but did as she requested.
'Where's your equally gorgeous friend this evening?'
'She's working. She's a reporter on the Rabbit. Bra-less Brenda's struck again and she's covering the story.'
'Really? That's the titty-flasher, isn't it? I wouldn't mind getting her in front of my lens.'
'Tell me, Clifford, is there any attractive woman you wouldn't mind zooming in on?'
'Probably not.' And he guffawed with laughter. Josie found it impossible not to warm to him.
'I'm serious about you, though. You'd make a damn good model. You've got a good face.'
Josie smirked into her glass. 'You'd appreciate my face, I suppose, when I was lying flat on my back with my knickers off and my head under a pillow like that girl yesterday.'
'That's not what I've got in mind for you.'
'Isn't it, Clifford?'
Fliss gave Stephen directions as he drove out of the hotel grounds and took a small lane that led up the dale to the top of the moor.
As he concentrated on the winding road he was able to assess his situation more clearly. What was she up to? It was like some psychological game: he was the naughty schoolboy and she was the mistress with the whip in her hand. The thought was somehow delicious provided it was a game. If she really were bra-less (well, there was no doubt about that) Brenda and she had somehow discovered he was a policeman, then he could be in real trouble up here alone on a deserted hillside with such a desperate criminal...