Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'Stop here,' she said as they crested the rise and he parked off the road on a long rectangular layby overlooking the valley.

  She got out of the car and walked to the edge. He followed her. A slight breeze whispered over them both, caressing the brown cascade of curls that lay on her bare shoulders. He suddenly realised the top of her head only reached to his chin.

  She stretched her arms out wide and held her face up to the sun. 'How wonderful,' she said.

  He said nothing, still bemused by the turn of events. 'So what were you doing poking around my car?'

  He had to say something. 'I saw a beautiful woman in a Peugeot like yours this afternoon. When I spotted the car in front of the hotel I had to check it out. I thought I might find out who that beautiful woman was.' He was surprised at his own eloquence.

  She turned her big toffee-coloured eyes on him and said nothing.

  'I did. It was you.'

  'You're trying to sweet-talk your way out of it. I wasn't in the car this afternoon. I was sleeping.'

  Stephen looked at her keenly. She showed no signs of guilt though half of what she had said was certainly a lie. She smiled at him and her eyes sparkled. She really was beautiful, he realised, with a pointed heart-shaped face and lips which snaked, upwards at the ends, wicked and enticing.

  'I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'I was curious about you but I didn't have the nerve to approach you directly. I'm shy.'

  She laughed out loud. 'Come off it, you cunning bugger. You've picked me up by letting me do all the work and now I suppose you're going to get me to seduce you as well.'

  Stephen's mouth fell open.

  'I don't care,' said Fliss, 'it makes a change. Shall we take our clothes off now or will you kiss me first?'

  'How about another? Or would you prefer something proper to eat?'

  'Well...'

  'Come on, we've both been stood up so let's slum it with each other.'

  'No.'

  'You don't like my company?'

  'It's not that, it's my clothes.'

  'Ah.'

  'The dining-room's a bit posh for me. I can't wear what I had on last night and I haven't got anything else.'

  'We can soon fix that. I'll lend you some of Fliss's.'

  'Is Fliss your wife?'

  'Er, no. She's a dear friend who's invaluable to me on these shoots. We often travel together. But she doesn't seem to be around at present and she's got tons of clothes upstairs. Come on.'

  'Won't she mind?'

  'Fliss? No. She's the soul of generosity. Always happy to help young people.'

  Fliss was certainly happy to help the young person who at that moment was clasping her tight to his broad chest and gorging on her lips like a starving man.

  Up close, he was much younger than she'd first thought and, unless he was faking it, he didn't really know what he was doing. In Fliss's opinion, the man prepared to pretend he was a clumsy kisser did not exist.

  But although this boy was inexperienced he was passionate and his lean hard flesh trembled at her touch. After the ease with which Mario had manoeuvred her body that afternoon - as if he were the choreographer and she some puppet of a dancer - there was a freshness in his clumsy technique that touched a place deep inside her.

  He stroked her hair and planted wet gentle kisses in the hollow of her neck, all the time muttering that she was beautiful, incredible, magnificent. He even sounded like he meant it. As Fliss basked in this puppyish adoration it occurred to her that she had become used to being taken for granted.

  Suddenly she wanted something more than innocent adoration. She took one of his big hands and slipped it under the hem of her vest, up to aching breasts that yearned to be squeezed and palmed and fondled.

  His touch was tentative and awkward but also electric.

  His hot fingers roamed the hills of her bosom as if they were uncharted territory. He took a heavy teat in his hand and squeezed it gently.

  'Ooh yes,' she said, 'do that harder. Don't worry - you won't hurt me.'

  'Like that?'

  'Oh God, yes! Mmm, that's great. Now I want them sucked. Lie on the grass and let me dangle them in your face.'

  She pushed him flat on his back and sat astride his waist.

  His eyes were wide and incredulous as she took the hem of her top in her hands and pulled it up and over her head. Her marvellous breasts burst forth, full and round, and danced before him in all their pink and wobbling glory.

  'Oh God,' he moaned as the weighty mounds descended on his face and then his lips fastened around a stiff and turgid nipple and he sucked as instinctively as a baby.

  Fliss shivered with pleasure and pressed her bosom to his head with a tenderness that was almost maternal.

  Almost.

  Chapter 37

  'What about this?' said Clifford, pulling a cream linen suit from the wardrobe and holding it out to Josie.

  'Oh no, I couldn't—'

  'Or this?' He held up a yellow and black sheath. 'Too dressy perhaps and I have to say she's a bit bigger in the bust so…'

  'Let's forget the whole thing, Clifford.'

  'Nonsense. Consider it payment in advance for all the modelling you're going to do for me tomorrow. Here, try this on.'

  It was a little black cocktail number, a classic, beautifully cut. Josie hesitated.

  'Come on, take your things off. Don't be shy.'

  She shrugged and began to unbutton her denim shirt. He was a big-deal photographer, after all. He'd seen enough tits to last a lifetime.

  He took no notice of hers which was, she had to admit, something of a disappointment. He was more concerned with helping her on with the dress. It was a silk wrap-around with puff shoulders and a square neckline cut low over the bosom.

  'Not bad,' he pronounced when he had finished with her, 'but we've got to tackle that bust.'

  He searched inside a large red box with LOUCHE LINGERIE emblazoned in gold on the lid. Triumphantly he held up a black lacy brassiere. 'I'm told it's one of their most popular numbers,' he said as he helped her on with it and retied the dress at the waist. 'It simply adds to what nature has bestowed. They call it The Paddington Bare. Oh my, that's better.'

  It was indeed. Aided by the miracle bra, Josie's breasts now pushed out the front of the dress in two plump rounds. 'Well, I never, I've got a cleavage,' she said in amazement.

  'Absolutely,' he agreed. 'Now, off with those ghastly leg things.'

  Josie obeyed without thinking, pulling off her leggings and panties in one go as he selected for her a matching black suspender belt and sheer silk stockings.

  Now he's going to make his move, she thought as his skilful fingers fastened the belt and smoothed the stockings up her trembling thighs. But he didn't. He seemed to take no notice of her brown-haired pussy which she made no attempt to hide. Indeed, as his hand fastened the stockings at the very top of her thigh, she had to resist an impulse to move it over two or three inches and push his fingers into her bush.

  Instead he made her stand in front of the wardrobe mirror, the skirt smoothed down over her naked charms, while he rummaged in the bottom of the wardrobe for a pair of shoes, emerging with a pair of black high heels with cross-over straps. Finally, he placed a gold heart-shaped pendant round her neck to complete the effect.

  'Darling, you look fabulous,' he said.

  And she did; she had to admit it. The pretty scruff had been transformed into a chic beauty. A chic and randy beauty.

  'Let's go,' he said.

  'I'm not hungry, Cliff.' Not for food anyway, she thought.

  He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling, and picked up a camera from the top of the chest of drawers. 'I thought we might have a bit of fun first. Are you game?'

  Josie nodded and, bare-arsed beneath the swishing silk of the pretty frock, followed him out of the room.

  Stephen had kissed half-naked women before, had fumbled with their breasts and sucked their nipples and pressed his straining loins against theirs as they had
squirmed together in a hot clinch. But he had not done it often. He had not done it with any expectation that it might lead to The Real Thing. And he had never done it like this.

  In his arms, Fliss was so much more a woman than any other he had held. She was rounder and softer, fuller and riper, sweeter to the senses in every degree. Compared to the thin-lipped blue-stockings he had chased to date, she was like fine claret to weak tea. Not that Stephen had any more experience of fine claret than he did of women but he had his ambitions.

  His ambition of the moment, once he had had his fill of the luscious tit globes offered without shame or reluctance to his hungry lips and inquisitive touch, was to rip the pants off this sex goddess and finally do it.

  Despite this, of course, he was determined not to neglect his duty. To lick and maul and fondle her heaving breasts was quite justifiable considering the nature of his mission. Indeed, Stephen made a point of examining her free-swinging mammaries with a view to eliminating her from his enquiries. He lifted each boob to scrutinise the undercurve for signs of butterfly transfers. He licked deep into the perfumed undercrease, where the swollen tit-flesh met the silky skin of her ribcage, in search of tell-tale sticky patches - and found nothing but sweet woman-flesh. He was very thorough.

  'Mmm,' said Fliss in appreciation. 'What a boob-lover you are. It's heaven.'

  Stephen couldn't have agreed more.

  Clifford did not lead Josie downstairs to the dining-room but headed up two flights to a long gallery that ran the length of the house. One side of the corridor was punctuated by doors which, presumably, opened onto the rooms of the upstairs guests; the other was made up of windows which overlooked the front of the hotel.

  The sun poured in, lower in the sky now but still hot and bright, bleaching out the golds and reds of the carpet and illuminating swirls of dust motes like dancing clouds of flies.

  'Here we are,' said Clifford. 'I love this weird light. We'll get some gorgeous effects.'

  Josie was nervous but excited. Clifford had got her all steamed up by treating her body simply as a clotheshorse. She became even more worked up as she was made to pose in the patches of fierce light while he clicked away.

  The underwear she had on stimulated her. The bra lifted and constricted while the filmy itch of the stockings and suspenders just served as a reminder that her arse and cunt were quite bare.

  'Open the dress,' said Clifford and his words ran through her like an electric shock. Her fingers automatically went to the bow at her waist.

  A door opened to her left and a tall paunchy man in a pin-striped suit emerged.

  'Carry on, Josie,' said the photographer.

  The paunchy gent pulled his door shut and stared curiously at the two of them as he made his way past.

  'Hurry up,' came the next command and Josie pulled the bow loose.

  'Open the dress.'

  The man had reached the top of the stairs and as he began to descend he turned for one last look. She was holding the dress wide open with both hands. There was something about the look on his face - disbelief mixed with naked desire - that made Josie's stomach turn over. She stared back at the man with as much disdain as she could muster as his face disappeared from view.

  'That's fabulous, darling,' purred Clifford. 'You're a little jewel. Now walk towards me.'

  As she did so, she felt a pearl of juice begin to trickle down the inside of her leg.

  Fliss had always liked screwing in the open air. Sometimes there was nothing to beat planting your bare bum up against a tree, or rolling naked in a pile of grass cuttings, while a man waved his big hard-on in your face and said he was going to fuck you silly no matter who came strolling round the corner. And when people did turn up that only added spice to the moment. She savoured the time when she and an admirer had earned a round of applause from a group of walkers while celebrating the ascent of a tricky hill in the Lake District. There had also been an occasion when she and her lover of the day had had to run like fugitives when they were spotted in a field by a group of Brownies at camp. The pack leader had made for a nearby phone box and called the police.

  Right now, however, Fliss could not have cared two hoots if Brown Owl herself had come over the hill. She was going to see what this gauche but adorable young man had to offer. It was time to get matters out into the open.

  She slid down his body to sit across his thighs. He looked at her with open-mouthed wonder. She placed a small hand across the big bulge in his loins and pressed. He gasped. It felt like a solid block of wood. She grinned and began to unbuckle his belt. It was party time and Fliss loved unwrapping presents.

  The gift she laid bare looked just her size, some eight - maybe nine, she'd have to measure - inches of hard pulsing flesh with a cute furl of foreskin that was slick and wet with obvious excitement.

  'Oh my,' she said as she peeled the skin back and forth across the shining pink bulb of his glans. The cock leapt in her hand like a frightened fish.

  'What's your name?' she asked.

  He didn't answer, his brain bewitched by the sight of this half-naked beauty bending over his long-neglected tool, her breasts swaying as she fondled him with obvious relish.

  'You have to tell me,' she continued. 'It's one of my rules.'

  'It's Stephen,' he gasped, his hips thrusting urgently as she worked on him. 'What rule is that?'

  'Not to put a man's cock in my mouth until I know his name.'

  'Oh.'

  'I'm glad you told me, Stephen.'

  'OH!'

  He came the moment her plump curling lips closed over the head of his penis and he shot the accumulated frustration of twenty-two virgin years into her mouth.

  Rodney found Clifford Rush and a model he didn't recognise on the second-floor gallery. It was not a chance discovery; he had overheard some members of the Gartertex sales team enthusiastically discussing the frosty-faced little number who was showing off her bare fanny upstairs. They were not complaining, indeed the Gartertex chaps were positively beaming.

  Rodney was eagerly anticipating his first full report from Chantal vis a vis les affaires Garter but that wasn't scheduled to take place until midnight in his bedroom - provided Chantal's new responsibilities allowed, of course. And since the afternoon's stroll with Julia had primed rather than exhausted his sexual capabilities he made it up the stairs two at a time.

  The girl was reclining on a chaise longue at the end of the corridor. Clifford had placed her so that her torso was propped against the arm of the chaise, her face turned into the yellow shaft of sunlight from the window. The toes of both shoes touched the floor but bore no weight and her slim legs and taut thighs in sheer black stockings curved upwards enticingly. The hem of her skin was clasped in her hand and held tight to her ribcage, leaving the gentle swell of her flawless belly completely exposed from the dimple of her navel to the pink petals of her vagina. Rodney's cock throbbed with hunger at the sight.

  'Just in time, Rodney,' said Clifford. 'I need a man in these shots. Go and sit down next to her. And take your plonker out, there's a good fellow.'

  'What!'

  'You don't mind, do you? It'll make a stunning image for my next exhibition. But you've got to pretend you don't know each other.'

  'We don't,' said Rodney and sat down.

  'We can soon change that,' said Clifford. 'Josie!'

  Without turning her face from the sun, she reached over and unfastened Rodney's fly.

  Fliss was naked beneath thin white summer slacks that were now stained with dust and din. But the dry-cleaning was not on her mind as she pushed the material over the delectable rounds of her bottom and down her thighs. The spunk was still wet on her throat and breasts. Nevertheless, at the sight of her flowing hips, plump pussy mound and pretty knot of pubic hair, Stephen's cock was already lengthening along his thigh. He still lay where she had put him, flat on his back with his jeans around his knees. It was as if he was her toy to play with. She rather liked that.

  She stood
over him, one sandalled foot on either side of his head, letting him look up into the fork of her body.

  He gaped at her as she opened herself up, fingers fore and aft, spreading herself in a vertical smile. He was fully erect now as she stepped back and lowered herself in a squat across his loins. He made no effort to help her but she didn't care, she wanted it that way. She took his tool in her right hand and placed the fat head in the moist notch of her pussy.

  'Oh yes,' she said as she sank down, her left hand spreading herself, the slippery flesh stiff and unbending as she pushed it into her tunnel.

  Balancing on the balls of her feet, her eyes closed, her hands on his hips, she let herself go. She fed the hungry mouth of her cunt with his prick, savouring its length and thickness, riding on it vigorously until her first orgasm washed over her. Then she continued with no regard for him, plucking at her stiff little clit and wanking her long pink pussy lips until she came again with a full-throated groan.

  She opened her eyes to see Stephen staring at the junction of their bodies as if in shock. She dragged a finger up through her bush and sucked the juice off it noisily.

  'Do you think I'm awful?' she said.

  'You've got no shame, have you?' he said.

  'No,' and she fell on top of him and pushed her tongue into his mouth.

  What followed took her by surprise and, on reflection, was quite wonderful even if it did spoil her illusion of being in control.

  With one arm wrapped round her waist like a steel band and his cock buried deep within her body, he suddenly rolled her over. Then, with a buttock in each hand, his lips locked to hers and his chest squashing down on her big soft breasts, he fucked her.