by Noel Amos
It was a long, hard shafting. A comprehensive hump. A good old-fashioned shag. Except that, for Stephen, there was nothing clichéd or old-fashioned about any of it. This shafting and humping and shagging, thrusting his tool deep into the sexiest woman he had ever encountered, was all he had dreamed of for ten years. He was glad now that Rachel and Penny and Monica and the rest of those bony-arsed girls at home had refused and humiliated him in the past. What better way was there to lose your cherry but on a sun-dappled hillside with a mysterious beauty with brown eyes and incredible breasts and no inhibitions whatsoever?
'I love you,' he shouted and pumped his soul into the warmth of the welcoming split between her soft-skinned thighs.
'Of course you do,' whispered Fliss into his ear as he crushed her to him in his final spasms. It was what Mario had said to her as he had finished fucking her in the hotel toilet the day before. This time though she was almost prepared to believe it.
'No more,' said Josie. She was sitting on the chaise by Rodney's side. She had one hand wrapped around his meaty penis which was poking rudely out of his neatly pressed cavalry twills. The other still held her skirt to her waist. She was so on heat she'd have diddled herself but Rodney already had two fingers buried in her cunt.
'Come on, darling, you're doing well,' said Clifford, snapping away on his knees in front of them.
'No more photos,' repeated Josie. 'I want a proper fuck. Give me some real cock, the pair of you.'
'Just hold it a bit longer,' said Clifford but Rodney, too, had had enough. Or not nearly enough, to his way of thinking.
He took Josie's legs and pulled her entire body onto the chaise. She spread them wide as he climbed between her thighs and howled with pleasure as he thrust his rock-hard boner deep into her wet pussy.
'Oh shit,' muttered Clifford to himself, getting to his feet. He wasn't entirely unhappy, however, he'd got some fantastic stuff.
A hand reached out and grabbed him by the belt, yanking him towards the figures on the couch.
'Aha,' cried Josie, pulling down his zip and thrusting her hand inside, 'the great photographer's dick. At last!'
And she plunged its angry red tip between her lips and began to suck as, between her thighs, Rodney worked his staff deep into the sweet depths of her dripping honeypot.
At the head of the stairs, the Gartertex sales force looked on in awe.
'No doubt about it,' said Tony from Wales, 'this is the best fucking sales conference we've ever had.'
Chapter 38
Mercy showed Archibald Monk to Julia's office just after half past eight, her blue eyes full of concern for her sister. To be precise, Julia was her step-sister - she and the twins being products of two different liaisons of Miriam's. But though Julia was the elder by five years, sometimes it appeared to all parties that she was the least mature of the three.
That afternoon, after the interlude with Rodney, Julia had collapsed on her bed in her room, which was where Mercy had discovered her. The only reason Julia was now sitting at her desk, freshly groomed and smiling bravely at her visitor, was thanks to Mercy who had bathed her, rubbed ointment into her abused bottom and listened to her troubles.
Now Mercy ushered Monk towards a chair, shot him a warning look and stopped just short of ordering him not to tire her patient. Then she left.
The entire performance was wasted on Monk.
'I must tell you, Ms Jarvis,' he began, 'that my companion and I are here under false pretences.'
'Oh?' Her pretty face was blank. Her mind was still half on Rodney and the pressure of the chair on her tender buttocks was a constant reminder of the events of the afternoon. She squirmed uncomfortably. Monk continued with his prepared speech.
'I am an inspector in the Metropolitan police force and together with my colleague, Detective Constable Stephen Fantail, I am here in connection with a series of robberies.'
'Oh dear, is the hotel under threat?'
'Not the hotel as such, Ms Jarvis, but we have reason to believe that our principal suspect is based in this area.'
'Good Lord!' Julia appeared genuinely shocked.
Monk was struck by the acting ability of the statuesque blonde facing him. Of course, he could expect nothing less from Bra-less Brenda.
'You say you're from the Met?' said Julia. 'Aren't you a bit off your regular beat?'
Monk smiled, a sight which did nothing to allay Julia's growing sense of unease.
'I'm heading an investigation into a sequence of crimes that have been perpetrated nationwide, including several in the London area. The most recent, however, has been on your own doorstep.'
A flash of understanding stole over Julia's features. She had listened to the news while recovering in the bath.
'You don't mean that topless woman, do you?' she asked. 'Bra-less Beryl?'
'Brenda is what they call her in the tabloid press, Ms Jarvis.'
'And you think she might be here in Blisswood?' Monk was impressed by the note of incredulity in her voice. Impressed but not convinced.
'That's preposterous!' continued Julia.
'Is it?' He leaned forward, fixing her with a penetrating glare, and was gratified to see the smile freeze on her face. 'If I told you the suspect was a beautiful young woman with considerable cunning, few morals, large breasts and undoubted exhibitionist tendencies could you truthfully say there was nobody of that nature in this village?'
Julia blanched. If she were honest, that description summed up just about every nubile young woman in Blisswood. Excluding herself of course.
She did not voice this opinion.
'We have reason to believe,' said Monk, 'that such a person might even be residing in this hotel.'
Julia tried to prevent a smile rising to her lips. She did not entirely succeed.
'If you intend to pursue your enquiries here, Inspector, may I ask that you do so discreetly? We wouldn't want the hotel to suffer any unfavourable...' Her voice tailed off as two thoughts struck her simultaneously. The first was that Rodney Holmdale would jump at the opportunity of free publicity - however unfavourable. The second was that a tabloid journalist was already on the spot, lap-top booted up no doubt, raring to dish the dirt for the Daily Rabbit.
'Quite so, Ms Jarvis,' said Monk, lending his own interpretation to the look of concern on Julia's face. 'But you must understand I have a public duty to perform.'
'Oh yes, I see that. Naturally, we'll do all we can to render assistance.'
'Very good.' Monk gave her a reassuring smile. 'In that case do you mind accounting for your movements this afternoon from, say, three thirty onwards.'
Julia stared at him in horror.
'Me?'
'Yes.'
'But I thought you wanted to question the guests?'
'Some of them, maybe. I'd also be interested in talking to members of staff. Like you, for example. You can account for your movements this afternoon, I take it.'
'Of course, I—' Julia's cheeks flushed a bright pink and her heart pounded against her ribs. Monk admitted to himself in a moment of rare sensual appreciation that he had never had such a fetching suspect under the cosh.
'I went for a walk,' she blurted out, 'up the hill, to see the horses grazing. It was such a fine day.'
'Alone?'
'Er, yes. Quite alone.'
'When did you get back?'
'I'm not sure. About six.'
'Did you see anybody after your walk?'
'My sister, Mercy. The girl who showed you in here. She came home after I'd got back.'
'So that would be after six?'
'Oh yes, more like six thirty because I lay on my bed when I got in, it was so hot...' Julia was aghast at how she sounded. She found it almost impossible to lie but she couldn't bear to tell this terrifying inquisitor about Rodney because then he'd ask her precisely what they'd done. She was panic-stricken at the thought.
'I believe you have a red Peugeot 205, do you not?'
'Yes.' Julia was perplexed
by this sudden change of subject but nevertheless relieved.
'Registration number F204 SMK?'
'Yes.'
'Are you sure you didn't drive it this afternoon?'
'Certainly not.'
'I see.'
There was silence. Monk gave her the benefit of his Mad Monk stare - a stony, inscrutable look from unflickering limestone-grey eyes that had been known to crack the toughest nuts of London's gangland.
Julia shivered under this basilisk glare and wriggled her sore bottom on the lumpy padding of the chair. Her big blue eyes pooled with water and two fat tears began to meander over the plush contours of her unlined cheeks. Even to a granite-hearted misogynist like Archibald Monk she looked like an angel.
Admit it, Archie, he said to himself as he offered her a large blue handkerchief from his breast pocket, she's as bonny a lass as you'll ever see - and as guilty as sin.
Chapter 39
Rodney was still chuckling to himself when Chantal let herself into his bedroom at midnight. A tearful Julia had kept him on the phone for nearly half an hour and he was still savouring the conversation.
'You won't let him arrest me, Rodney, will you? You will come forward and say I was with you this afternoon.'
'Julia, you could have told him that yourself.'
'I know but I didn't dare. I was so flustered. What if he'd asked what we were doing?'
'You should have told him, Julia. There's nothing to be ashamed of in having your arse smacked on a sunny afternoon. You could have proved it, too. You could have dropped your knickers and showed him your big red bum.'
'Oh Rodney!' She'd burst into hysterical sobs at that point and he had elaborated on the scene for his own amusement.
'I tell you what, Julia. I'll give Cliff Rush a ring and get him to take some photos of your tush before the bruises fade. We can get a few people to sign and date them so they can be submitted as proper evidence.'
'You're such a bastard, Rodney. Just promise me that if necessary you'll say you were with me and we were discussing business.'
Rodney chuckled. 'I'd love to, darling, but it would never wash. To convince him you were with me I'll have to tell the truth, otherwise why did you lie? I'll have to tell him all about your torn jodhpurs and describe the way you hung your pretty bottom over a five-barred gate.'
'Oh!'
'You might be able to persuade me not to mention that you weren't wearing panties. I'm sure that would be very prejudicial in the eyes of a jury.'
'I hate you.'
'I'd better let him know what a noisy fuck you are, though. Then the coppers could interview everyone in a five-mile radius. "Excuse me, sir, did you happen to hear a woman having an orgasm at four thirty on the afternoon of June the twentieth?" You are positively deafening when you get going, you know.'
'Shut up!' she screamed, adding before she slammed the phone down, 'I bet this is really turning you on, isn't it?'
That much was true and Chantal's heart sank when she saw Rodney lying naked on the bed with a rock-hard erection thrusting rudely across his belly. The last thing she felt like was a fuck. Instead she asked him why he was grinning at her like that.
'You want to hear something funny? The police think Julia Jarvis is Bra-less Brenda.'
It took Chantal a moment to realise what Rodney was saying but even she, a Frenchwoman whose contempt for domestic British news was profound, had heard of the Topless Raider. And the notion that such a spineless lump of pink blanc-manger as Julia could be mistaken for a bank robber was indeed mildly risible. More than that, it was hysterical.
She allowed herself to be pulled onto the bed and Rodney's hands to rove companionably beneath her plain white T-shirt - nothing glamorous, she intended to return to her own bed as soon as possible - while he laughed and told her of Julia's predicament. He did not go into the details of his own involvement.
'But the whole thing is so stupid,' she said. 'It is typical of you British. You are mad about big titties. A woman shakes her melons at a spotty boy behind a counter and he hands over all the money. If only I had fat udders like that stupid Julia I could make a fortune in this country, no problem.'
This was, of course, a cue for Rodney to lift her shirt to her armpits and to shower praise on her delicately curved bosom and plant gentle kisses on her pretty brown nipples which, despite her best intentions, began to stiffen between his lips.
'Rodney,' she said, her hand brushing by chance against the hot pole of flesh that thrust from the junction of his thighs, 'I am very tired.'
'Me too,' he said, nuzzling into the pale stem of her neck.
'That Gordon Garter is an exhausting man.' More to the point, so was his son. It was Graham whom Chantal was thinking of as her fingers curled around Rodney's cock.
'As long as he's a happy one,' said Rodney. 'Mmmm, that's nice.'
'He is very happy, believe me. I have taken care of Garter real good.' It was just as she thought, Rodney's penis was big but Graham Garter's was even bigger. No wonder she was feeling exhausted. Pleasantly exhausted, however.
'Chantal, would you mind most awfully if I just lay back here while you made your report.' Her fingers were working on him with purpose now and the big mushroom cap of his tool was beginning to turn a deeper shade of red.
'But, Rodney, I don't really have anything to say.'
'That's OK. Just use your lips anyway, sweetheart.'
And she did as she was told. For the moment, Rodney Holmdale was still paying her wages.
Chapter 40
Gavin trudged slowly up the path from the Perch's farmhouse to the field where he had pitched his tent. He was weary but happy. And though no nearer his goal of finding the woman who had robbed him, a part of him secretly hoped that this carnal quest would never end. The marvel was that the part in question seemed to have an unlimited appetite for the search. Over supper, sitting at the big wooden table in Farmer Perch's kitchen, he had scarcely been able to drag his eyes from the daughters of the house. Despite the furious pace of events by Maiden's Pool, his prick still yearned for pussy and his hands itched for the soft weight of Pamela Perch's freckled bosom.
He had no torch but by now the path was familiar. The stars were brilliant in the velvet sky and a warm breeze whispered in the hedgerows. It was a glorious hot summer night.
He pulled his clothes off and crawled naked on top of his sleeping bag. He did not bother to close the tent flap but looked out at the indigo triangle of night.
He was just drifting off to sleep, jumbled images of Rosie's plump titty flesh in his mind, his cock stiff with reminiscence, when the patch of sky and stars ahead of him was blotted out. There was a rustle of clothing, a whispered, 'Hi, Gavin, it's me,' and suddenly there were two of them in the tent.
Gavin drew the obvious conclusion, wrapped his arms round his visitor and kissed her hard. After a moment's resistance her mouth opened to swallow his tongue and a hand slipped onto his waist and downward to massage the firm cheeks of his bum. It was only then that Gavin realised that the woman in his arms was not Pamela.
'My,' she said when they came up for air, 'you know how to make a girl welcome.'
'Cleo?'
'Who did you think it was?'
Gavin didn't answer with words, it was simpler to kiss her again and absorb the information that Pamela Perch's younger sister was enthusiastically fondling his naked arse.
Cleo was an olive-skinned brunette with high cheekbones and unfettered breasts whose tips had jostled the cotton of her candy-striped blouse all through supper - Gavin had noticed. He had also noticed the wide smile and the slim thighs that were just like her sister's and the small dainty hands that were now exploring his rampant cock and balls. She had the knowing touch of Pamela, too.
'I knew you'd be ready for it after an afternoon with my prick-teasing sister,' said Cleo. 'I thought I was going to have to seduce you.'
'But—'
'Shh, lie back and let me do all the work. I've always wanted to
stumble across a naked man in a field and hump myself to heaven under the stars. Can we go outside and fuck on the grass?'
Gavin allowed himself to be dragged out into the open. She pulled off her shirt and pressed her bare chest to his, the hard little points of her nipples burning into his skin.
'Cleo...?'
Her skirt was off now and he could see the faint glow of her panties as she slipped them down her thighs.
'How old are you?'
By way of an answer she pushed him down onto the grass and laid the warm length of her nudity on top of him. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he could feel the tender skin of her belly on his.
'I'm old enough,' she replied at length. 'You're lucky you've got me out here, I'm the hot one of the family. My sister's a virgin and my mother might as well be. Can we put it in now? I want to fuck you silly.'
There was no point in arguing, so Gavin didn't. She wriggled down his body and he felt the kiss of her wet pussy on the head of his straining cock. He put his hand between their bodies to play with her cunt. It was juicy and eager, sucking in his finger to the joint. He'd never felt such a small, almost hairless, pussy. She squirmed on his finger and stuck her tongue into his ear.
'Let me put it in, Gavin, please. I can't wait.'
He wondered how she was going to manage but it didn't take her long. It was a tight fit but a delicious one and she moaned with pleasure as she eased his length up her sticky passage.
Then, true to her word, with the pair of them naked in the grass in the warm night air, she fucked him silly.
Afterwards he crawled back into his tent and fell asleep at once. He was woken by a hand on his shoulder and a flash of light.
'Gavin.' It was a woman's voice but not Cleo's nor Pam's. 'I've brought you a nightcap. I don't like to think of you lying out here on the bare earth catching your death.'
'Mrs Perch—' Gavin automatically took the glass that was being pressed into his hand, his sleepy brain suddenly alert as he calculated the significance of this latest visitation. He put the glass to his lips and the stimulating aroma of rum enveloped him.