Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'Do you always sleep naked, Gavin, or are you just travelling light? One of the boys could lend you some pyjamas.'

  A torch was in her hand. She played its thin pencil beam down his body. It came to rest on the outcrop of pubic hair at the base of his stomach - and on the pale finger of flesh that Gavin was amazed to see was once more standing to attention. The beam held steady as the penis rapidly came to full erection. Then she shut it off.

  'I'm sorry, Gavin. That was naughty of me. But you are a delicious young boy lying naked on my land. It makes me feel almost feudal. As if I own you.'

  Gavin was not surprised now to feel yet another set of Perch fingers wrap themselves around his genitals. The genitals themselves did not mind and a shiver of pleasure ran up his belly. There was no doubt where the Perch daughters had gained their digital skills. It was in the genes.

  'Get your knickers off, Mrs Perch,' said Gavin, the rum going straight to his head.

  'Take them off yourself, you bad boy.' And she giggled when he put his hand under the hem of her dress and found she wasn't wearing any.

  She was very hairy, with a soft and perfumed rug of fur that ran from the crack of her arse to halfway up her belly, and she was dripping like a tap. Her large breasts were like fabulous balloons, warm and silky to the touch and full of puff. He fastened a rubbery nipple to his mouth and ran his hands through the fleece between her legs. She muttered soft obscenities in the dark that set his mind buzzing with filthy thoughts.

  'Do you lick pussy, Gavin? Do you like a juicy cunt in your mouth?' she said and took his head and placed it between her butter-soft thighs. He sucked in her juices like a drunk, his senses spinning as his hands ransacked the pillows of her bottom and she came off in one long mounting crescendo of moans and cries.

  They weren't finished yet and they both knew it. But as he lay on the heaving swell of her comfortable chest, his cock butting a hole in the swell of her hip, he said, 'What is it about this place? Why are all you women so damned sexy?'

  She laughed and pulled him between the vee of her firm fleshy thighs. 'It's Midsummer's, Gavin. Blisswood's a special place at Midsummer's. None of us can get enough.'

  There was no doubt about that, he thought, as he held the knob of his cock to the thick stem of her clitoris and listened to the gurgling in her throat as she heaved her flanks against him.

  'Put it in, Gavin, put it in,' she pleaded and she tugged at his root with her strong countrywoman's fingers.

  He thrust deep into her, determined to satisfy her utterly, to quell the storm that raged in her, and found himself swept along in a current too strong for him to resist.

  She wrapped her legs around his back and took charge, heaving up at him in a frenzy, her hands squeezing, pinching and pulling his flesh, forcing him to fuck at her pace.

  The soft valve between her legs threatened to swallow him whole. It gorged on the length of his prick like a mouth, sucking and swallowing him up. It was furious and sweaty and possibly the most fantastic fuck of his life.

  'Oh yes!' she squealed. 'Fuck me! Fuck me! Give me everything you've got!'

  She slid a long index finger between his bum cheeks and into the dimple of his arse. Gavin yelled and ejaculated the very last dregs of his balls deep into her capacious cunt.

  The moment she left him he fell into a sleep that was like a drug-induced coma. He woke from it once, driven by a sense of self-preservation, to grab his sleeping bag and stumble across the meadow.

  He found a welcoming patch of grass two fields away from his tent. And, as he began to crawl unsteadily into his sleeping bag, he was certain he could hear Pamela Perch calling his name seductively in the night.

  Four - Shafted

  Chapter 41

  Midsummer's Day dawned hot in the North Grinding. It had not rained for weeks, the fields were parched and those who lived off the land were grumbling.

  So too was Robyn Chestnut, though for different reasons. Her trip to Flintwhistle had not been entirely successful. She had returned late to the hotel and had tossed and turned all night, wrestling with the heat and the problems likely to be posed by her editor. Nothing was going quite right and now, at seven in the morning, she was sitting on the terrace devouring a cigarette by way of breakfast.

  'Well, well,' said a familiar voice, 'if it isn't Robyn from the Rabbit. I wondered when we might resume our little dialogue.'

  Robyn looked at Archibald Monk with some interest. He seemed more relaxed than when she'd last seen him. The open-necked shirt and casual cords suited him better than the dog-eared grey suit she had seen him in before. A little itch in the pit of her stomach reminded her she found him bloody attractive.

  'I was right, wasn't I, Archie?' she said as he folded his lean frame into a white metal chair upwind of her cigarette smoke. 'That Flintwhistle job confirms that Brenda's on the loose round here.'

  'Maybe.' He nodded in his usual noncommittal style but he wasn't fooling Robyn.

  'You're on to something, aren't you? I didn't know you Scotch buggers could look cheerful.'

  'The investigation is proceeding satisfactorily, Ms Chestnut.'

  'Come off it, Archie, you owe me more than that. I'm the reason you're here, after all.'

  'Not entirely, though I don't mind telling you we are following leads to yesterday's robbery provided by a witness who saw the suspect leaving the building society. She is Miss Agatha Finch, a well-known Flintwhistle character.'

  Robyn angrily ground her cigarette into the stone flagging of the terrace. 'Thanks a bunch, Archie. I spent half of yesterday evening listening to that old bat. She'd have the entire female population under thirty behind bars if she had her way. Apart from anything else, she can't see her nose in front of her face.'

  'She can see perfectly well in her new spectacles, Robyn, and she was wearing them yesterday afternoon.'

  'Oh yeah. So how come the local police say the witness saw a dark-haired woman? Brenda's blonde, we all know that.'

  'There are such things as wigs.'

  Robyn did not look convinced and lit another cigarette.

  'You might be interested to hear of the conversation I had last night,' continued Monk. 'A reporter from the Daily Dog rang me.'

  'What!'

  'He asked if we were going to hold a topless identity parade.'

  'Hell.' Robyn jumped to her feet. She was wasting time here, she had to do... something. How could she have been so foolish as to think she had the field to herself?

  'Who was it, Archie?'

  'Maxwell Shaftesbury. He said he was arriving in Flintwhistle this morning to cover the case.'

  'Oh shit,' wailed the intrepid hack from the Bunny and fled for her room on the run, almost knocking the tall figure of Stephen Fantail into the bushes as she did so.

  'Who was that?' said Stephen as he took a seat next to Monk. There was a dreamy look in his eyes and a nick on his chin that oozed a claret-coloured dribble of blood. He was ten minutes late for his briefing with his superior but he couldn't care less.

  'That is one of the leading ladies of the press getting her knickers in a twist,' said Monk with some satisfaction.

  'Knickers,' echoed Stephen, the word conjuring up images of recent pleasures.

  'So, Stephen, how did you get on with Miss Dodge?'

  Stephen blushed from his throat to the tips of his ears as he said, 'She's clean, sir. That is, she's not Brenda, I'm certain.'

  'She has an alibi for yesterday?'

  'Ah. She told me she was resting in her room and I know she was because I saw her through my binoculars.' His voice dropped as he added, 'She was with a man.'

  'All yesterday afternoon?'

  'Well, the first part certainly. Anyway, I know she's not the robber.'

  'How?'

  'Her breasts, sir. They are the wrong shape. I've examined them.' Stephen's face was a deep shade of beetroot but he held Monk's eye as his superior gazed at him thoughtfully.

  'How did you manage that, Stephen?
'

  'She - she asked me to, sir. I couldn't very well refuse. Was it the wrong thing to do?'

  'Oh no, Stephen.'

  'Just for the purpose of eliminating her from the enquiry, sir.'

  'Quite,' said Monk. 'Excellent work, detective.' He smiled at his young colleague with satisfaction. He had certainly justified his inclusion on this jaunt.

  Upstairs, a restless Robyn was pacing Josie's bedroom turning the air blue in a variety of ways.

  'Must you smoke in my room?' asked Josie when Robyn's tirade had finally burnt itself out.

  'Who the fuck do you think is paying for it, you useless little tart?' was the reply, followed by, 'Oh God, I'm sorry, Josie. I'm just pissed off in case that bastard, Bonker Shaftesbury, screws me up.'

  The story, as Josie understood it, was that last night Robyn had been rebuffed on the doorstep of the house of the Flintwhistle Philanthropic clerk who had been the victim of Brenda's latest outrage. The rebuff had been delivered by a teary-eyed and skinny girl who had claimed to be Craig Gammon (the clerk's) fiancee. In an almost incomprehensible local accent she had shouted at Robyn and told her to 'fook off' - that part was clear, so too was a reference to 'real mooneh'. Robyn had left a note with a phone number but now was in a turmoil in case the Daily Dog reporter got to Gammon first and bought his story. And she couldn't ring him herself until the fiancee left for work which, according to a neighbour, wasn't for another hour.

  All in all, thought Josie, Robyn was jumping around like a turkey in need of stuffing. Which gave her an idea. She reached for the phone.

  'Rodney, it's Josie. We met last on a chaise longue. No, I didn't think you'd forget. Remember I promised to introduce you to my friend, the reporter on the Daily Rabbit? She's with me now and I think you should come up. It's an emergency.'

  Stephen listened, enthralled, to Monk's account of his interview with Julia Jarvis. He was mightily relieved that suspicion did not appear to point any longer at Fliss. After the events of the evening before they would have had to lead Fliss to the cells over his dead body.

  'I didn't want to go in too hard first time out,' said Monk. 'I often find that letting the guilty stew a bit works wonders. I'm due another little talk with Ms Jarvis this morning.'

  'Do you want me to be present, sir?'

  'No, son. I'd like you to put on your bird-watching gear and check out her mother's house - that's where she's living. My guess is that there's enough evidence in there to nail her. Take a note of the comings and goings. Keep a special eye open to see if she's shifting stuff out. After I've talked to her I'll see about getting a proper warrant to search the place.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Go carefully, Stephen. There's no call to go examining the evidence like last night.'

  Stephen laughed along with Monk, his face once more a distinctive shade of scarlet.

  Chapter 42

  Rodney Holmdale was in fine fettle on this bright Midsummer's morning. His days as a City yuppie in the go-go Eighties had accustomed him to early rising and so, despite the exertions of the night before, he was game for whatever Josie had in mind as he entered the Holmdale Suite. He was not prepared, however, for the six-foot-tall vision in scarlet stretch pants and knotted silk blouse who scowled at him through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  'This is Robyn Chestnut, ace reporter for the Daily Rabbit,' said Josie, looking pretty stunning herself in a pale blue thigh-high kimono, tied at the waist and with - Rodney would have put money on it - a Louche Lingerie label on the inside. 'Meet Rodney Holmdale, the owner of Blisswood Spa.'

  'You told me he was a masseur,' said Robyn crossly.

  'He is, he gave me a brilliant massage last night, didn't you, Rodney?'

  'It was my pleasure.'

  'But is he properly trained?' asked Robyn.

  'I learned my craft at the feet of the eastern masters,' said Rodney. This was true, up to a point. Feelin' Fine - the Art of Sexual Massage by Ken & Suzie Blo was one of the few books he had ever read from cover to cover.

  'Allow me,' he said, stepping close to Robyn and putting the index finger of his right hand just above the bridge of her nose, in the gap between her thin black curving eyebrows.

  'Hey—' she protested and tried to step away but his other hand held the back of her head and his pale blue eyes bored directly into hers.

  'Don't fight it,' he said. 'Just let me press this little spot here and if you don't like it I promise I won't lay another finger on you.'

  'Oh,' said Robyn as she focused on the pressure exerted by his fingertip. Then, 'Oh, oh, that's good,' as she felt her head suddenly clear of tension.

  'Am I getting to you?'

  'Ooh yes.' Her eyes were closed now and she was rubbing her forehead against his finger like a contented cat.

  Josie looked on in awe. He had indeed given her a very successful massage last night after the photo session broke up. But the spot he had stroked so beautifully had not been situated between her eyes.

  'Undress and lie down,' he instructed. 'Josie will help you.'

  'Yes, sir,' said Josie but the gibe was ignored. Rodney was stripping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. Robyn was fumbling at the knot in her shirt.

  Josie helped her strip down to a pair of tiny white panties which only served to emphasise the shadowy triangle of her pubic bulge.

  'Put the bedspread on the floor and lay her face down,' said Rodney, his eyes all the time on those fabulous dancer's legs. Josie gave his crotch a friendly grope as she hurried to obey him. He was as stiff as a poker.

  In the bathroom she found some aromatic skin lotion. And she took off her kimono. Though she intended to get her friend sorted out she could do with a bit of sorting herself.

  Rodney took the bottle from her and raised his eyebrows at her fetching nudity.

  'I think you should disrobe, oh Master,' she said, unbuttoning his shirt, 'lest your celestial robes get sullied.'

  Rod shot her a warning glance but Robyn appeared to have cast her fate entirely into their hands. She lay in silence at their feet, her head on one side and her face hidden beneath a cloud of dark hair.

  Rodney knelt over her body, his bare knees on either side of her legs, wearing only a bulging crotch pouch. Josie thought he looked good enough to eat, which she wouldn't mind doing later. She was wet with mischief and anticipation.

  Rodney began by dribbling the oil along Robyn's spine and then smoothing it in with both hands, from the base of the neck down to the waistband of her panties. He rubbed systematically from one shoulder blade to the other and onto the pale skin between shoulder blade and spine, kneading the flesh and rolling his thumbs along the bone. Then he slid his hands down to her lower back.

  He worked slowly, with concentration, and long before his fingers reached the smooth curves of her buttocks Robyn was moaning out loud. He grunted, too, with the effort he was putting in and it struck Josie that this thoughtful melding of flesh was already highly sexual.

  Rodney's fingers pushed at the band of Robyn's panties and Josie pulled them over the beautiful white ovals of her small buttocks and down the length of her legs. Her thighs inched apart and in the vee between could be glimpsed the long pink split of her sex.

  Rodney turned his attention to her legs, sitting below her feet and working on the firm flesh of her thighs and calves. He took hold of her feet and pulled, stretching the joints of the leg.

  Then he turned her over, breathing heavily as he took in the long red nipples standing up like spikes and the full glory of her pouting pussy mouth visibly agape in the bush of burnt umber curls.

  Robyn's eyes were open, gazing at his body and the sheen of sweat on the well-defined muscles of his chest. And at the swollen cotton pouch at the base of his flat belly.

  Josie reached out a hand and pulled his briefs down to his thigh. His cock, stiff and thick and brutish, swung out like a boom.

  'I think it's time for the full-frontal body rub,' he said with a catch in his voice.
r />   'Oh yes,' said Robyn and held out her arms as he sank onto her.

  Josie poured oil into the palm of her hand and reached between their bodies to slick it over his swollen tool. Her fingers found their way onto the open mouth of her friend's vagina and she let them remain there, revelling in the thrill of the moment.

  But Josie was not primarily concerned with her own pleasure. Her aim was to settle Robyn's nerves and what better way than to see her well shafted?

  She took the head of Rodney's firm dick and pushed it into the gash of Robyn's pussy lips. It lodged in the opening for a moment as if stuck, then he flexed his hips and Josie felt the solid meat of him slide through her fingers and into the waiting cunt. It was an extraordinary sensation to feel this intimate joining of two people. At any moment Josie expected one of them to push her away but they didn't. She felt lewd beyond measure as she ringed Rodney's big tool and felt it leap and thrust its way into Robyn.

  Then a hand found her thigh and delved without ceremony between her legs. Fingers spread the outer lips of her pussy and dipped between them. An arm circled her shoulders and pulled her tight to the two bodies by her side. Rodney raised his lips from Robyn's and bent to kiss Josie. She took his tongue into her mouth and tasted Robyn.

  Robyn was coming, the high-pitched squeals were unmistakable and her pelvis was shivering and shuddering beneath Josie's palm. Josie slid an intruding finger higher, onto her clit, and the cries of orgasm echoed round the room.

  Rodney's cock pounded on, thrusting into Robyn in a steady, irresistible rhythm. All three were grinning at each other now, bound together in a rude tangle of limbs. 'Fantastic!' said Rodney.

  'I'm going to come again,' muttered Robyn.

  Josie saw that Rodney had a hand on Robyn's breast and an arm round her shoulder. She realised that it must be Robyn's fingers in her pussy and came herself in an orgasm that set the others off all around her. There was such a delicious, shattering eruption of sound and sensation that even after they had all subsided it took a moment for them to realise the phone was ringing.