Lust at Large

by Noel Amos

  'No, Robyn,' said Josie as she felt the other woman's breath through the thin cotton of her panties. 'No,' she repeated as Robyn's mouth closed over her vulva and began to suck.

  The small room at the top of the hotel was airless even though the window had been flung wide open. The twin beds were so close they almost touched but Maxwell Shaftesbury and his invaluable photographer-cum-assistant, Adriana, tried hard not to trespass on each other's space.

  Max dozed, recovering from his early start and Margot Scallion, not to mention lunch. The pressure was off, his copy was written and despatched, the feud with the Bunny had been patched up - temporarily at least - by a few bottles of champagne.

  He didn't mind that the hotel only had one poky room left. If he had to share he couldn't imagine a more agreeable companion. He woke from his slumbers and gazed at Adriana, just a few inches away on her own bed. She read her book with fierce concentration, chewing her lip like a little girl. She sat cross-legged and her thigh thrust towards Max, the soft denim of her jeans drawn tight across the skin. If he reached out a hand, he thought, he could touch...

  There was a knock at the door. Both of them looked up. The knock came again and a voice said, 'Coo-ee, Mr Shaftesbury. Are you in there?'

  'Who the hell is that?' said Max but Adriana did not reply, she was already on her way to open the door.

  A top-heavy blonde with a frizzy mane of curls stepped timidly into the room. Marilyn.

  'So you're still here,' said Adriana.

  'And a good thing too,' said the girl. 'Somebody had to care for that poor Mr Rush after Franny went bananas. I used to be a nurse, you know.'

  'A wet one?' asked Maxwell, his eyes on the swollen globes barely compressed beneath her tiny top. Maybe it was the booze but they appeared to have got bigger since the morning.

  'Eeh, you are a card, Mr Shaftesbury,' she said. 'That's why I've come. Now I've made that poor Mr Rush comfortable I thought I'd ask what I could do for you.'

  'It's kind of you, Marilyn, but—'

  'You promised.' She looked at Adriana reproachfully. 'You said he'd love it if I did things for him.'

  'And so he will,' said Adriana, picking up her book and striding to the door. 'I'll leave you in his capable hands.'

  'Adriana—' Max called but she was gone and the bright-eyed Marilyn was standing over him, bristling with eagerness to do his bidding. From his supine position, the hills of her chest loomed like a mountain range.

  'Where do we begin, Max?' she said, her voice suddenly softer and not so harsh on the ear.

  'Look, Marilyn, I've finished work for the day. I started early and it hasn't been plain sailing. Now I'm relaxing.'

  'I'm good at that.'

  'Marilyn, please. I need to sleep.'

  'Let me help. If I just push these beds together like this...'

  'What are you doing?'

  It was no use. Max knew a determined woman when he saw one and this part of the country seemed to specialise in them. Marilyn had the beds together in a flash and was lying by his side, her cheap sweet perfume making his head spin. She turned on her side towards him and her huge breasts shifted in his direction.

  He told himself he didn't feel like it. That he was too tired. That over-endowed chippies in tight shirts with curly hair and dimples were not to his taste. That what he required was the quiet companionship of the beautiful and distant Adriana.

  But Adriana was too distant right now and his pulsing cock didn't give a damn for all this rationalising. Marilyn stroked its length through the material of his summer slacks. And she sucked in her breath as his hand landed on the great mound of her right breast and began to squeeze.

  She tasted of chewing gum and cigarettes, her thighs were plump and the mascara round her gleaming hazel eyes was smudged across her cheek. But when she bent over to fasten her pretty little mouth over the head of his penis and he filled his hands with her warm breasts - like big loaves fresh from the oven - he lasted no time at all.

  'Eeh, Maxwell,' she said, her voice slick with his juices, 'is this what they call putting the paper to bed?'

  In Robyn's bedroom the air was thick with sounds and smells of sex. Rude sticky sucky noises. Salty scents of passion like a sea breeze. The bed was in disarray. The light was subtly different than before, not so bright, more golden. Time had marched on and the two women had lost all vestiges of inhibition.

  Robyn raised her face from Josie's loins and surveyed the puffy pink lips of the other's sex, now wet and spread wide to show the darker flesh within. She snaked the tip of her tongue up the exposed groove into the soft hair at the base of her belly.

  'Please, no more,' said Josie as the tongue found her clit again.

  'I wish I had a cock to do you justice,' said Robyn and applied her tongue.

  Josie came again.

  Later, she said, 'What happened to Cliff? He's missed the action.'

  'He's hors de combat, I suppose. I told him to take it easy. He can get all the horny shots he wants tonight.'

  'What happens tonight?'

  'Pagan fertility rites. Bucolic bonking rituals. You name it. The girls doff their knickers and the lads jump aboard.'

  'Sounds pretty crude.'

  'I hope so. The Bunny feels no shame. How would you like to help me cover the event?'

  'What would I have to do?'

  'Everything, I expect. You'll be in your element.'

  'Robyn!'

  'Don't sound so shocked. You're the horniest bitch I've ever met.'

  Josie rested her head on Robyn's thigh and succumbed to a perverse flush of pride.

  Chantal, too, was enjoying a randy siesta. She had the elder Garter where she wanted him now - on his knees between her legs, his gross body folded over so he could get at her. She reclined half on, half off the bed, her thighs spread wide to accommodate his homage to her loins.

  'Ooh yes, cheri. How you tickle my little button! You exhaust me.'

  Strictly speaking this was not true, Chantal's capacity for rude pleasures being extensive. In her experience, though, it was never a mistake to suggest that a man had given her almost more than she could take. On the other hand, she was about to come - again.

  'Ohhh! That's fantastic! Don't stop!'

  Gordon Garter had no intention of stopping. Uncomfortable though he was and desperate to seek his own satisfaction, he worshipped at this shrine with the zeal of a new convert. To bring this young French girl off with his mouth and tongue thrilled him more than he could ever have foreseen. Truly, he thought to himself, it was better to give than to receive. And if he gave enough then he might receive what he really desired.

  Pleasure rippled through the French girl's belly as Garter rootled in her crack with his cunning tongue. His business excursions to the Far East had not been spent entirely in the pursuit of export orders. Gordon Garter knew how to suck pussy and he had learned the art from experts.

  'Oh, mon Dieu,' she groaned and raised her knees to her chest, allowing him access to every millimetre of her pretty crack, from clit to bumhole and back. He seized his opportunity.

  'GG, you naughty man - not there! Oooh!'

  He rimmed her arsehole with the tip of his tongue, then infiltrated the tiny puckered breach ever so gently. She squealed and moaned but did not stop him.

  Flick, flick, went his tongue on the forbidden whorl, wetting and enlarging the intoxicating opening. She bent her legs back further, thrusting her arse off the bed, pushing it into his face. Now he replaced his tongue with his forefinger, pressing against the moist brown spot. It yielded.

  She bucked her hips off the bed, then tried to lower her legs and squirm away from his attentions. But his forearm was across her upturned thighs, pinning them to her chest. 'Chantal, you're driving me mad,' he gasped, pushing his finger into the ring of her anus. 'I must have you here.' And he drove his finger in to the hilt.

  Chantal gasped with pain and surprise. 'No, no, GG. You know my rules. You cannot fuck me in the arse unless.
..' Garter gave a howl of frustration and thrust another finger into the tight opening.

  Chantal squirmed and panted, ensuring that his invasion was successful. She had worked hard to bring matters to this point. Now it was payoff time. What price would this fat roué pay for the jewel of her arse? Five thousand pounds? Ten?

  'All right, you French minx, you win,' he bellowed, pulling his hand roughly from her tender bottom to drag his engorged penis from his pants. 'I love you, Chantal, I swear it. Will you bloody marry me?'

  Chantal could have said lots of things to this proposition. Now was the time to laugh in his face or open serious negotiations as to cash terms or even remark that his son had earlier made a similar offer.

  Instead she said, 'Yes.'

  'You've made me a very happy man,' he said. And buggered her to their mutual satisfaction.

  Chapter 57

  Julia's blonde hair danced upon her shoulders as she shook her head in agony. She couldn't move her arms, which were shackled to a beam above her head, or her legs, which were chained to the floor some eighteen inches apart. She could only thrash her big pink breasts from side to side, wobble her gorgeous buttocks and undulate the delicious dome of her belly in an effort to escape from the fiery touch of Rodney's cane.

  Things had not worked out as intended for Julia. Far from taking her to the paddock and the five-barred gate, Rodney had other plans. He had brought her here, to the old summer house by the river which had been used, in the days of George Holmdale's youth, as a schoolroom. It still contained a desk and chairs - and a cupboard that held a selection of instruments once used to correct errant children. From the whistle and whack of the bamboo cane now being applied to Julia's tender bottom, these implements had lost none of their power with the passage of time.

  Thwack! Thin stripes criss-crossed the pale buttocks. Thwack! Thwack! Rodney laid on two more in quick succession, sending the pink and gold of Julia's ripe nudity into juddering convulsions. If she had not been gagged with her own panties, she would have howled for help and somebody might have come to rescue her. More to the point, the twins would surely have discovered where Rodney had taken her. As it was, she was at his mercy and she dreaded what was coming next. Dreaded it not just for the pain but for the shameful satisfaction she knew she would be forced to enjoy...

  Rodney's palm cupped the fleshy undercurve of her buttocks and delved into her defenceless pussy split. He pushed two fingers in as far as they would go, then spread her abundant juices over her labia and travelled to the top of her cleft, seeking the twitching bud of her clitoris. It was wonderful but it was hateful! She couldn't help herself. She howled a soundless orgasm into her panties as his fingers reamed her dripping honeypot.

  Then she felt a familiar touch against the burning flesh of her throbbing buttocks - the touch of stiff male cock. She knew what that meant. Oh God - would her torture never end?

  'That's enough, Rodney.' Melanie's voice cut through the delirium of Julia's next onrushing orgasm and, as Rodney stepped away from her trembling flesh, she felt the ecstasy of relief - and the emptiness of loss.

  Rodney was thunderstruck. He felt frustration, embarrassment and anger. But there was no point in arguing with a gun.

  Melanie aimed it below his waist at the rearing erection that thrust from his open trousers.

  'That's what I call a tempting target,' she said. 'Even I couldn't miss.'

  'Put that gun down,' screamed Rodney.

  'No chance. Look what you've done to my poor sister's bum.'

  'She likes it. It turns her on.'

  'Says you. Take your clothes off, Rodney. I think it's your turn now.'

  The twins strung Rodney up in Julia's place.

  'I can see the attraction of this,' said Mercy as she surveyed his muscular torso stretched out naked before her. She gave his taut buns an experimental smack with the cane and his whole body jerked. She whacked again, harder this time, and a thin line of pink blossomed on the firm white curve of his left buttock. She matched it up with another on the right.

  'For God's sake,' he hissed between his teeth.

  'Now now, you know you like it really,' said Melanie. 'You can't deny it.' And he couldn't. His cock, which had shown signs of shyness when bracketed in Melanie's gun-sight, now stood to attention, jutting proudly from the dark hair of his belly.

  Mercy took a long birch rod from the cupboard and handed it to Julia. 'Go on, Jules, get some of your own back.'

  'Oh no!' Julia shrank from the instrument in horror. 'I couldn't.'

  'Never mind,' said Melanie, grabbing it in her sister's stead. 'I'll do it for you.'

  When they'd tried out all the old instruments of torture and had decorated Rodney with a comprehensive selection of stripes and weals, they got out the camera.

  'What's this?' he shouted through a mist of sweat and pain. 'Blackmail?'

  'Insurance,' said Melanie as she pointed the camera at his nude and inflamed body.

  'Insurance for what? It won't bloody work, I tell you, whoever you show these to.'

  Julia spoke for the first time. 'What about your Aunt Amy? And your godmother, Mrs Pinch? You're still her heir, aren't you?'

  'How the hell do you know that?'

  'Your father used to confide in me, Rodney. Melanie, don't you think it would make a good picture if Mercy got in the shot too, holding the whip.'

  'Great idea,' said Melanie, 'but she'll have to strip. Leave on the suspenders and stockings, Mercy, and hold him by the prick.'

  'You can't frighten me,' roared Rodney even as Mercy squeezed his rock-hard shaft, pointing the big purple glans squarely at the camera.

  'Good. Then you won't mind missing your summer shooting in Scotland with the McFrosts of Stonemuir. Hamish McFrost still remembers you when you were a choirboy at St Pilchards, doesn't he? He'd cross you off his list, I bet, if he could see you now.'

  'So what do you want, you horny bitches? Oh my God!'

  'You'd better take your hand off his cock, Mercy. We don't want him to come just yet.'

  Rodney was on the brink, it was true. Mercy's ministrations had brought him to the point where he was about to boil over. With reluctance, she took her fingers from his bulging tool and wiped them on the flat of his stomach. His lonely organ twitched and flexed in mid-air. Julia thought she had never seen it so big.

  'Please,' he said. 'Just bring me off. I can't stand much more of this.'

  'Too bad, Rodney,' said Melanie. 'It's business before pleasure. We want to buy that land.'

  His eyes narrowed. His cock throbbed. 'Julia knows my price,' he said.

  'Julia's no longer on her own. Mercy and I have a proposition for you and it's non-negotiable.'

  Rodney nodded and so did his cock. Mercy put her hand between his legs.

  'I'm listening. Oh, that's heaven,' he couldn't help adding as she began to stroke his balls.

  'You sell us the freehold on the land and promise never to touch Julia again unless she's daft enough to ask you.'

  Mercy's fingers crept upwards, dabbling and tickling at the base of his twitching shaft. She said, 'You will also tell the police, should they ask, that Julia was with you at any time they are curious about.'

  'And?' He tried to sound firm but his voice shook. This was not the best position in which to horse-trade.

  'And we offer you this.' Melanie turned a small green rucksack upside down and a cloud of banknotes fluttered onto the floor between his legs. There were fifties and twenties, fivers and tenners, some new, some worn - a carpet of crinkly Royal heads covering the dirty wooden floor.

  'How much?' he croaked as Mercy's fingers danced oh-so-sweetly on the head of his cock.

  'Twenty thousand pounds. In cash. It's double what it's worth. What do you say?'

  Mercy's fingers wrapped around his aching shaft. 'Done,' he croaked.

  'If you don't play fair, we'll use these photos.'

  'It's a deal, I tell you. Just - please.'

  Mercy's hands began
to pump. 'Ohhh!'

  The spunk sprayed all over the pile of banknotes.

  Julia giggled happily. A weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

  'Why, Rodney,' she said, 'it looks like you've come into money.'

  Chapter 58

  It was a hot and broody summer evening. On the village green the local youth, dressed in their finery, mingled with middle-aged tourists clutching cameras. Half a dozen venerable donkeys chomped listlessly at the grass and laid horsey turds. The air was thick with the smell of beast.

  'This is hardly sin city,' said Josie, wrinkling her nose. 'Are you sure this is where the action is?'

  'Have patience,' replied Robyn. 'You've got to realise that this is a traditional event. It starts slow and builds to a climax.'

  'We hope.'

  'First of all, the young married women who want to conceive ride to the barn on donkeys.'

  'What's the point of that? If that's how they've been doing it all these years I'm surprised the community has survived.'

  'It's tradition, Josie. Don't knock it till you've tried it - and you're going to. Miriam!'

  Miriam Jarvis, looking eager for the fray in a well-filled peasant blouse, answered the call.

  'Miriam's been giving me some background to this affair,' said Robyn, 'and she promised a ride on a donkey to the Bunny's special reporter. That's you.'

  'What!' cried Josie.

  'Come on, honey, you promised you'd help me out. You can't go wrong on a cute little fellow like this.'

  Robyn was indicating the small grey donkey that Miriam was holding by a rope halter. The beast fluttered a dark-lashed eye at Josie and swished its tail. It was cute.

  'This isn't a boy,' said Miriam, 'this is Josephine. She's the tamest of my little lovelies.'

  'OK, then,' Josie heard herself say and then yelped in surprise as the woman suddenly thrust her hand up her frock.

  'I'm sorry,' said Miriam, her hand exploring without embarrassment, 'but I must check to see if you are properly dressed. It's just as well I did, isn't it?'