Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  Monk watched as if paralysed, his mouth making noises as ineffectual as the buzzing of the honeybees on the roses outside the window. The action of those precise and slender fingers had him transfixed. He knew that this was his sternest test as a policeman - Bra-less Brenda was about to unveil her weapons.

  The plain cotton blouse fluttered to the floor, unveiling a boned white bustier which enhanced rather than concealed. The flesh of Julia's wondrous breasts glowed through the lace and the discs of her nipples thrust against the cups like the outlines of ten-pence pieces. She reached behind her back for the fastening.

  Then the garment was gone and Julia's delicious orbs were finally revealed. Full and round and trembling, their impact on Monk was like a blow to the chest. He sank into a chair.

  Julia took a step towards him and the big tit globes shimmied in the brilliant sunlight with a motion all of their own. The nipples were a flaming pink, swollen like ripe strawberries. Monk longed to taste them.

  She came closer, her breasts undulating inches from his face. He couldn't help himself. Fifteen years of abstinence had not wiped from his memory the ecstasies of the flesh. As he touched her those fifteen barren years might never have been.

  'Oh yes,' she said as she surrendered her bosom to his hands and mouth. Then, 'Oh yes, yes!' as she caught his fever of desire.

  For Julia, fear was the ultimate aphrodisiac and she liked her loving rough. Despite her complaints she needed what men like Rodney Holmdale could do for her; she thrilled to Rodney's arrogance, his selfishness, his bestial requirements. Now she revelled in the firm handling of another man of authority, whose power over her was even stronger than Rodney's, for he held her liberty in his grasp.

  Fifteen years of self-denial had left Monk a hungry man and, even as he crammed his mouth with tit flesh, his fingers were beneath Julia's skirt tearing away her defences. In seconds her flimsy panties were shredded and her skirt was round her waist.

  'Oh my God!' she cried as the policeman laid her over the desk and spread her firm white thighs. 'No more, please!'

  Monk paused with his rampant cock at the mouth of her vagina. For a second it seemed he might regain control. But Julia was too quick for him.

  'No, no!' she cried, wrapping her legs around his waist like a boa constrictor around its prey - and jammed his long-neglected cock deep into the recesses of her hot wet pussy.

  'Oh God, this is dreadful!' she cried at the top of her voice, already halfway to orgasm.

  Like riding a bicycle, there are some things a man never forgets. Monk rode Julia's succulent and sturdy body as if never out of the saddle. And when the journey was over, when he had shot a gallon of spunk into her soft white belly and torn his face from her heaving breasts, he ran from the room with a groan of anguish.

  Julia lay crushed against her desk, her legs in the air and her diary in the small of her back - wherein lay the key to her self-sacrifice. She wondered when the inspector might want to question her again.

  Chapter 54

  On reflection, Fliss didn't know why she had agreed to do this. Posing topless with a lot of other women had never been her ambition - particularly when the competition was so strong. She could swear the girl with black curls had helium in her tits, they seemed to be floating without visible means of support. But then, she was probably half the age of Fliss.

  Given her declaration to please Cliff at whatever cost she could hardly have refused to take part. But now, as she caught the gleam in his eye as he fussed around the models, she wondered if he was worth it. Did she really want a future with a man obsessed with photographing other women? Perhaps she'd be better off with someone obsessed with her. Like the boy with the hot breath and trembling hands up on the moors last night...

  Standing by the side of Fliss, Josie felt rather differently about posing half naked for the readers of the Daily Rabbit. She had to admit, it really turned her on. She knew it was tacky, standing there with her boobs hanging out amongst a crew of other half-dressed females, yet it appealed to some place inside her - a place she had only recently discovered. She was playing a game, just as she had been since the evening Gavin phoned her in Wales with the news of the robbery. The evening Ivor had emerged from Gwen's bathroom and showed her his long white cock.

  'That's it, darlings,' shouted Clifford from behind his camera. 'I want you all to think naughty thoughts. Just like Josie.'

  Josie blushed and glared at him with a rueful, caught-with-my-pants-down expression that he immediately captured on film. How the hell did he know what was in her head? She supposed it was the same sixth sense that made him such a brilliant photographer.

  With so many mouthwatering models at his disposal he was in his element. The main shots of the pretend line-up had been over in a flash. Then he had manoeuvred Craig and the girls into some unscheduled poses - 'Just for fun,' he had said to Robyn.

  From the outset Cliff had complained that Craig looked more like a Hell's Angel than an office clerk. Now he produced a collar and tie and asked Craig to examine the girls' boobs through an outsize magnifying glass.

  Craig spent an age peering through the glass at Melanie's tits, then he turned to Mercy.

  'Look at him,' muttered Fliss by Josie's side, 'he's going to eat those blondes for lunch.'

  'Unless they eat him first,' said Josie seeing Melanie's hand slip inside his borrowed shirt.

  Things might have developed from there - Mandy and Lucy were crowding round Craig and the promise of indiscreet behaviour hung in the air - had not the door swung open and a small dark-haired woman in a business suit rushed into the room.

  Without a word, she headed straight for Craig, spun him round and kicked him in the crotch with the full force of a black patent size-four shoe. Small though the foot was, the effect was devastating and the horny building-society clerk doubled over in soundless grief. Then the woman hit him with her fists and applied her feet to his recumbent body. Franny Wintergreen had arrived to reclaim her man. But first she was going to walk all over him.

  Clifford was horrified. His cunningly orchestrated photo shoot was in ruins.

  'For God's sake, woman,' he cried, 'what the hell do you think you're - oof!'

  Franny was probably the kind of woman who practised kicking men in the crotch. At any rate, her aim was deadly. She disabled Cliff with the speed of a striking snake and, for a long moment, the two men rolled on the floor, faces crimson, eyes popping, watched by an audience of stunned and silent women. Then came a howl of rage from Robyn and the girls, and Franny was buried beneath a vengeful avalanche of half-naked flesh.

  Adriana's photographs in the following day's edition of the Daily Dog immortalised the entire sequence of events, from Franny's entrance to the free-for-all. She even captured the moment when the Dog's own Maxwell Shaftesbury nervously broke up the fight and emerged with Franny wriggling and spitting in his arms.

  'Ooh, isn't he fantastic!' squealed Marilyn in Adriana's ear. Adriana did not respond but focused her camera on the stricken features of the tall female who was shouting into Max's face.

  'You bastard, Shaftesbury - you've wrecked my photo session! I'll fucking sue!'

  'As it happens, you're the one who needs suing - you've infringed my intellectual property rights.'

  'Bullshit, you asshole!'

  'You're an artist with words, Ms Chestnut. You speak with the true voice of the Daily Rabbit.'

  'It's better than that shit sheet you work for.'

  'No doubt that accounts for our extra half a million readers.'

  'Stolen from us, you scumbag...'

  This elevating exchange might have continued for some time had Craig not let out an ear-splitting howl of agony. Franny threw herself to the floor at his side and, with a tenderness that surprised everyone present, cradled his battered head in her arms. 'Eeh, Craig love, I never meant to hurt you,' she whispered and burst into tears.

  Adriana rushed forward to record the affecting moment and Robyn, competitive to the last
, wrestled the camera from the groaning Clifford's neck and clicked away at the blubbering twosome.

  'I've had enough of this,' said Fliss, buttoning a silk shirt over her mouthwatering charms.

  'But what about Cliff?' said Josie who had long ago worked out that Fliss was more than just the photographer's travelling companion.

  Fliss looked at Cliff, who was being eased into a seat by a blonde girl with frizzy hair and very large breasts that were barely contained beneath a skinny pink T-shirt. This remarkable bosom appeared to move independently of the girl's body and offered itself as a soft and convenient pillow for Cliff's head. With sure fingers, the girl began to undo his trousers, announcing to no one in particular, 'I've got to get it in the open before the swelling starts.'

  'I think he's in good hands,' Fliss said. Under her breath she added to herself, 'And what's more, she's welcome to him.'

  Chapter 55

  Stephen saw Monk from a distance as he returned to the hotel. Recognising the figure sitting on the terrace, he injected a spring into his weary step and ran a handkerchief over a mouth still smarting from Miriam's ardent kisses. He was fucked out and he was sure he looked it too. On the other hand, his scars had been won in the heat of battle and he had important information to impart.

  There was an empty glass by Monk's elbow and, for a moment, Stephen thought he caught a whiff of alcohol. Surely not. Monk was the only teetotal Scotsman on the force, it was well known.

  'I've had a result, sir,' he announced as he took a seat.

  Monk did not acknowledge his presence.

  Stephen tried again. 'I think we've got her, sir.'

  Monk slowly turned his head. 'Got who?' he asked.

  'Bra-less Brenda, sir. That is, Julia Jarvis.'

  'Julia,' muttered Monk. 'The bonny Julia.'

  'Precisely, sir. I found—'

  'Do you like poetry, Stephen?'

  'Not much, sir. But my mum used to be a Pam Ayres fan.'

  'Don't be stupid, lad. I mean real poetry.'

  'My love is like a red red rose that's...'

  'Stephen, what's the date today?'

  'June the twenty-fourth, sir.'

  'Precisely! "A red red rose that's newly sprung in June!" Amazing!' He gazed over Stephen's shoulder, his mind engaged elsewhere.

  Stephen tried again, shock tactics this time. 'I went into her bedroom, sir.'

  That got his attention. 'Julia's?'

  'She's got a dark brown wig, sir, and a drawer full of transfers. Lepidoptera extasis.' There was a long silence so Stephen added, 'You know, the butterfly.'

  'Of course I bloody well know, Fantail.'

  'Sorry, sir.' Funnily enough, this display of irritation made Stephen feel better. He didn't know where he was with an inspector who spouted poetry. His relief did not last long.

  'Between you and me, Stephen, I shall probably be resigning in twenty-two hours' time.'

  'What?'

  'I've got a gun to my head. Only twenty-two hours left in which to catch Brenda.'

  'But surely it's Julia Jarvis? How did your interview go?'

  'She's got no alibis for any of the robberies.'

  'Did she confess?'

  'Not in so many words.'

  'Well, now you know about the wig and the transfers why don't you arrest her?'

  Monk picked up his empty glass and sniffed the dregs. 'Stephen, a man has a dreadful thirst after fifteen years.'

  'Would you like another, sir?'

  'Indeed I would. But before you get it, tell me why a woman would want to stick butterflies all over her chest.'

  'It is a puzzle, sir. I can't help thinking it's to cover up an identifying blemish. Like a mole.'

  'Take it from me, Stephen, Julia Jarvis has perfect breasts. Quite, quite flawless.'

  'I see, sir.'

  '"How sweet unto that breast to cling and round that neck entwine!"'

  Stephen stood and picked up Monk's glass. He couldn't stand any more of this poetry business.

  'Get me a very large Glenmorangie, Stephen, and leave me to ponder this knotty problem. You look exhausted, I suggest you go to bed.'

  And Stephen did just that. But even in his dreams he could not escape. The women of Blisswood came back to haunt him all over again: Fliss with her hot warm mouth on his cock; Miriam with her broad white bottom thrust high in the air; and, spilling out of skintight scarlet bodysuits, two pairs of beautiful strawberry-tipped breasts. Beautiful but not flawless. Their loveliness marred only by two round moles, like chocolate buttons, nestling in the undercurves of their near-perfection.

  Julia sat in her office waiting for Melanie and Mercy - which gave her plenty of time to rue her conduct. She shouldn't have thrown herself at the policeman like that. After all, it wouldn't prevent him arresting her, he could deny it ever happened. Her allegations would be construed as a crude smokescreen to get herself off the hook.

  So why had she done it? She asked herself the question over and over, even though she knew the answer. It was the way she always reacted when a man had a hold on her. It was why Rodney abused her so freely. She must be a masochist. Besides, she had seen the hunger in Monk's slate-grey eyes. It had been irresistible.

  The phone rang. It was the man she least wished to hear from at that moment.

  'Hello, darling,' said Rodney. 'Fancy an early-evening stroll to a certain five-barred gate?'

  'No!'

  'Oh dear, I sense insubordination. I shall have to take you in hand once more, I can tell.'

  'Rodney, please!'

  'That's better, a pathetic plea for mercy. I can picture you on your knees already.'

  'Sod off, Rodney. You've taken advantage of me for the last time.'

  'Oh yes? May I remind you that I have an offer of fifty thousand on that land.'

  'I don't believe you. It's not worth ten. No one will lend me the money on it - I've tried.'

  'Poor Julia. I don't see the problem. Your mother's asses are perfectly safe provided I have access to your pretty posterior. Shall we meet at six by the path through the orchard?'

  'You bastard,' she whispered, all resistance gone.

  'Don't forget to leave your knickers off. You won't be needing them.'

  Julia replaced the receiver in despair. Perhaps she should throw herself on Monk's mercy right away. If she were in jail at least Rodney would have no hold on her. But then the swine would be sure to sell the land and her mother's donkey refuge would cease to exist!

  'What am I going to do?' she wailed as her sisters entered the room.

  She had intended to shout at them, to vent her fury at their duplicity and selfishness. But her anger had gone. All she felt was fear.

  'It's your fault,' she said through her tears. 'I'm going to jail and mummy's going to lose her donkey sanctuary and you two are waltzing around in my car stealing money.'

  'Your car?' said Melanie.

  'It was seen at the robbery yesterday and you borrowed it. Just like you borrowed it all those other times.'

  'We're sorry, Jules,' said Mercy.

  'That policeman handed me a list of dates and, when I looked in my diary, I saw that one of you had borrowed the car every time.'

  'What did you tell him?'

  'I didn't tell him about you two, if that's what you mean. You're in the clear - and I'll end up in jail!' She began to sob in agonising, gut-wrenching heaves.

  'Don't be silly,' said Mercy, her arm around her sister's shoulders. 'There are thousands of cars like yours in the country and you must have an alibi for some of those days.'

  Julia dabbed her eyes with a bundle of paper tissues. 'I was with Rodney Holmdale at least three times but he'll deny it, I know he will.'

  'Don't panic, Julia,' said Melanie. 'We can fix Rodney Holmdale, can't we, Mercy? In fact, that's what this whole lark is all about.'

  Julia looked at her sisters in amazement. Could there really be a way out of this?

  'When's your next little rendezvous with Hot Rod?'
<
br />   'This evening at six.'

  'Perfect. We'll sort him out so everyone will be happy.'

  'Oh, Melanie, could you?'

  'You bet. It'll be a nice little warm-up for tonight.'

  Julia looked puzzled and the twins began to giggle.

  'Julia,' said Mercy, 'it's Midsummer's Eve. Surely you haven't forgotten the orgy?'

  Five - Lust by Lightening

  Chapter 56

  Josie was bored - and horny. What was it about this place? All she could think about was fucking.

  She slipped quietly into Robyn's room. The curtains were drawn but the brilliant afternoon sunlight bathed the room in a golden glow. Robyn's long slim form was stretched across the counterpane. She lay on her stomach, her face obscured by a tangle of hair that spread in a black shadow across the pillow. Like Josie herself, she wore just a pair of bikini panties. The white cotton was taut over the firm apple cheeks of Robyn's bottom. The air was humid and stifling.

  'Robyn, are you awake?'

  There was no sound from the bed. Josie knew she should leave. She stepped closer.

  'Robyn?'

  It was not surprising she slept, she must have killed off several glasses of champagne and an entire bottle of Burgundy at lunch. Josie had been uncertain whether the occasion was a celebration or a wake, the morning a triumph or a failure. One thing was certain, alcohol had been called for.

  She was standing by the bed now, at the head, looking down the length of Robyn's naked spine, admiring the dips and hollows in the firm pale flesh. Was this how a man felt? She was entranced by the perfection of skin and bone, of fleshy swell and curve and thrust and spread...

  'Robyn,' she whispered again, dropping her hand to the mass of thick dark curls and twining a ringlet round her fingers. She knew she ought to go back to her room.

  A long arm snaked around her hips and pulled her close to the bed. Without looking up, Robyn lifted her head and pressed her face into the flat delta of Josie's belly.