by Noel Amos
Josie stood stock-still in shock as her panties were slipped down her legs, leaving her naked beneath the thin cotton. 'That's better,' said Miriam, tucking the knickers into her pocket. 'Now, on you get.'
Josie did not protest; given what she hoped to be doing later, underwear would doubtless prove an encumbrance. It was not until her leg was half over the donkey that she noticed that its hairy grey back was bare - and covered in a creamy ointment.
'Hey!' she cried as she realised that her private parts were about to sink into an unsavoury mixture of fur and goo. But it was too late to back off, for Miriam had placed her hands on her shoulders and firmly plunged her downwards. Her bare bottom met the soggy mat beneath her and stuck.
'Yuk,' she said. 'That feels disgusting. What the hell is it?' But Miriam was gone, leaving the rope halter in Robyn's hands, and Josie became aware that she was now part of a group of mounted women.
'I've got gunge all over my fanny,' she hissed at Robyn. 'Did you know about this?'
The tall American grinned. 'No one else is complaining.' That was true. A pretty redhead with a freckled cleavage was squealing with glee as she rubbed herself backwards and forwards on the donkey next to Josie. The chubby blonde beside her had her eyes closed and a dreamy smile on her face.
'Besides,' said Robyn, 'you'll find someone to lick it all off later.'
'You bitch.'
'Just don't forget to give the Daily Rabbit all the juicy details.'
It was not much more than half a mile to the barn but the donkeys took their time. The group set off from the green at a sedate pace, the spectators falling in behind the riders. Cameras clicked and voices were raised in boisterous cheer. Bottles began to be passed from hand to hand.
Josie found the sensation of riding very pleasant. Unlike those around her, she suspected, she was no horsewoman but Josephine was a kindly mount, solid and sure-footed. Suddenly, as she swayed along, her eyes fixed on the back of the blonde girl in front, she became aware of the heat rising from between her legs. She pictured the rough hairs abrading the tender skin of her bum cheeks and the pouting lips of her pussy slicking back and forth in that white ooze. This time the thought did not repulse her. Her mind revolved around primal images. Coarse hair. Hot skin. Honeyed body fluids.
'Oooh!' She sucked in her breath. She was fiercely on heat.
The girl in front turned and grinned over her shoulder. 'It's got to you now, has it?'
'God, yes!'
'Set your clock ticking, I bet. Look under the trees - see anyone you fancy?'
Josie was puzzled at first. She was so absorbed in her own feelings that she couldn't grasp what was said to her. Then she noticed the men. They lined the route under the trees along the river bank. They looked like farm lads, most of them, young and bronzed and strong. Some were dressed up, with jackets and ties, but most wore jeans and open-necked shirts; others were in shorts and many were stripped to the waist, their muscles gleaming in the low slanting light. They looked delicious.
'I want one,' said Josie to the blonde who had dropped back to ride beside her.
'Take your pick. They're all available.'
'But I don't know which one. It's like opening a big box of chocolates - you don't know where to start.'
'I do,' said her companion. 'I want that big fellow there in the cut-off jeans with the earring.'
'Good choice,' said Josie as her new friend waved at the boy. 'I bet he's no soft centre.'
The lad needed no encouragement. He approached the blonde with a white-toothed grin, brown eyes flashing. He took hold of the donkey's halter and led it out of the parade, his other hand in the girl's golden hair. As they disappeared out of sight into the woods Josie saw the girl pulling the boy's shirt from his waistband.
She noticed other couples embracing on the parched grass. Two boys lay on either side of a girl, her body almost obscured by their attentions. Only her long bare legs were visible, scissoring open beneath their prying hands.
Without realising it, Josie had steered Josephine towards the verge and a black-haired youth in a starched white shirt and faded blue jeans had hold of the donkey's head. 'Whoa there,' he said, 'you're running out of control.'
'I'm not,' she cried, mesmerised by his muscular forearms and the cut of the tight denim on his thigh. She hadn't intended to stop. She knew if she joined this youth beneath the trees she may never get to the dance at all. But a tide of lust was rising in her belly and a fire was raging in her pussy. Out of control scarcely covered it.
'My name's Martin,' he said as he led her off the road to the knowing cheers of the pack of spectators.
'Have you got a big cock, Martin?' she whispered.
'Enormous,' he replied, hurrying her away, one hand already high up on her thigh under her skirt.
'And is it stiff?'
His fingers had found their way into her groin. The motion of the donkey seemed to wedge them into the opening of her vagina.
'Rock hard, I promise.'
They had passed under the fringe of trees now and he was hurrying them along fast. Josephine responded happily, as if she recognised the urgency.
He picked her up in one movement, holding her up in the air as he pressed his mouth to hers. She devoured him, hooking her legs around his waist and bearing him to the ground, her tongue halfway down his throat.
He pulled her dress to her waist and palmed and squeezed the firm flesh of her buttocks in a fever. Kneeling like that, with the evening air fresh on the wet mouth of her empty vagina, she felt ablaze. She scrabbled at his fly with both hands and had his cock out in a flash.
'Thank God you weren't lying,' she whispered, clasping it in both hands. 'You're huge.'
He said nothing as he pushed her onto her back and knelt between her thighs.
'You're hung like a horse,' she continued, weighing his big balls in one hand and skinning his satiny knob with the other. She placed the broad red head of his glans between the slippery lips of her pussy. 'Or like a donkey. That's more appropriate given the circ—'
He drove his outsized member home in one relentless thrust, cutting off her words.
Josie cried out with pleasure and clasped his tight buttocks, digging her nails in to spur him on.
'Come on, stuff me then,' she yelled. 'Stuff me as hard as you can! Fuck me with that big thing! Oh yes! Oh yes! OH!'
He thrust his pile-driver into her without finesse, as if she were a block of wood and he were hammering home a nail with thunderous strokes. And at each blow she cried out until the woods around her echoed with her squeals of pleasure. It was the most brutal fucking she had ever had and when it was done she felt as if she had been run over by a truck.
As she caught her breath, lying on her back with him sprawled across her, she caught sight of Josephine calmly munching at a bush.
She mustn't forget she was on an assignment. There was a lot more riding ahead of her on this Midsummer's night.
Chapter 59
The barn dance was not a sophisticated affair yet, to her surprise, Mitzi Bluitt was enjoying herself. There was sawdust on the floor and the band was a rustic ensemble of banjo and squeezebox and country fiddle. Nevertheless the dancers swung into complicated routines with gusto. The large barn was already as hot as a furnace and outside it was hardly any cooler. The evening sun was sinking but the heat was fierce and the atmosphere airless.
'You're looking pretty spiffing tonight,' said Tony from Wales.
Mitzi took the compliment as no more than her due for she was looking pretty damn good in a lightweight cream jacket and black culottes. Her rich chestnut hair was pinned up, exposing the elegant sweep of her long neck. The jacket was held in place by one button and beneath it she wore a Louche Lingerie classic bra which lifted and separated her big brown melons to considerable effect.
'I thought I'd make an effort,' she said. 'The competition's pretty hot.'
'You're not kidding.' Tony stared at the knot of dancers with their whirling skirts an
d flashing thighs. Mandy was prominent amongst them, her breasts fighting to escape from her low-cut blouse as she wiggled to the music. Tony tore his eyes from the tempting sight and gazed at the no-less delicious vista of flesh exposed in Mitzi's gaping cleavage. 'Fancy a dance?'
Mitzi would have said no but she had just spotted Don the Marketing Director jumping about on the floor with a buxom blonde. Sod him. She sank her gin in one gulp and gave Tony her sexiest smile. 'I'm game,' she replied.
Max Shaftesbury was feeling far from game but he wasn't going to yield exclusive coverage of a genuine pagan fertility festival to Robyn Chestnut and the Bunny. Not that it looked much more than a bucolic knees-up to him. He was feeling exhausted and the reason was right by his side, clinging to his arm, her big liquid eyes blazing with excitement.
'Ooh, Maxwell, isn't this fabulous? I love dancing.'
'Well, you'll have to find someone else to do it with, Marilyn. I'm one of life's observers at this kind of shindig.'
'Yer what?'
'Go and find a man your own age. Just fetch me a decent glass of claret first.'
'They have beer, cider, whisky and gin.'
'I might have known. Get me something strong. A lot of it.' And he slumped into a chair leaving Marilyn to battle her way to the bar. As she retreated he watched her capacious bottom, like two plump cushions squeezed into red velvet hotpants a size too small, and his penis gave a reflexive twitch in his trousers. No more big women, he said to himself. In this one day he'd had enough outsized loving to last him a lifetime. He needed a tall slim girl with less violent desires.
'Hiya, Max, you look pooped.'
He lifted his eyes to a woman in a peacock-blue silk shirt and black leggings that seemed to go on forever. They didn't come much taller or slimmer than Robyn Chestnut.
'Have a seat, Robyn. I haven't the energy to stand.'
'That's a shame. I thought we might bury the hatchet with a ceremonial dance.'
'"The Bunny and the Dog trip the light fantastic at rustic love rite" - it has a certain ring to it, I admit.'
'Here you are, Maxwell,' said a shrill voice and Marilyn thrust a dripping pint glass in his direction. She took one look at Robyn and retreated with a sniff.
Robyn watched her depart. 'Isn't that the tender-hearted nurse who ministered to my photographer this morning?'
'Poor fellow.'
'She got him back on his feet. Thanks to her, the swelling went down.'
'Really? She had quite the opposite effect on me.' Maxwell had drained the rancid brown liquid to the dregs and was suddenly feeling very much better. 'Come on then, Robyn Rabbit, let's dance.'
Monk had emptied the mini-bar in his room of Scotch and was considering starting on the vodka. No, what he needed was company, friendly faces and jollity - and more whisky, of course. Wasn't tonight meant to be some local celebration?
He left his room and wandered along the corridor. He descended the stairs and found himself outside Julia Jarvis's office. He knocked. There was no reply. He went in.
Though the room was empty it was full of her. Of her scent and her presence and the memory of her upturned face as she boldly defied him that morning. And the feel of her soft lips on his and the warm weight of her bare breasts in his hands as she lay down on the desk for him. It was funny to think he had turned his face steadfastly from sex for fifteen years and all it took was one embrace and his abstinence meant nothing - except a string of missed opportunities, of course.
He closed the door behind him and descended to the lobby. It was deserted. A lone barman read the paper behind the counter. Monk went out onto the terrace in the hot evening sunshine and heard the sound of laughter and music from across the fields. He began to walk towards it, turning his predicament over in his mind.
His job was to assemble the evidence to convict Julia of the Brenda robberies. It was a serious crime and she faced serious punishment but he couldn't help that. One intense and passionate encounter meant nothing. It was his duty to arrest her.
He was close to the barn now. He could see the clearing outside where people milled around a barbecue. He smelt smoke and charcoal and hamburger and realised he was famished. The music was loud and tuneful. He couldn't remember when he had last had a dance.
As he opened the gate which led to the field by the barn there was a flurry of movement to his left and a gurgle of laughter, smartly cut off. A couple lay in the grass, their mouths glued together. Their hands were tussling while she fought to hold her dress down over a slim brown thigh.
As Monk closed the gate behind him he had a vision of a new future. One free from cynicism and distrust, from police politics and self-serving fools like Hatter, from forever seeking the worst in his fellow man. It was a vision with a warm curvaceous body in his bed every night. Dream on, Archie, he said to himself. It was a dream that would haunt him, he knew, if he arrested Julia Jarvis.
He bought a sausage and ate it, dripping grease down his front. He bought another and a can of warm lemonade. As the last sweet and sticky mouthful disappeared down his throat he felt a sudden glow of happiness and found himself grinning stupidly at the people around.
One of them returned his gaze.
'Hello, Inspector.'
'Ms Jarvis!' He spoke the name with reverence. 'I've been looking for you.' It was true, he realised.
She looked startled. 'Surely you aren't going to subject me to further interrogation here?'
'Just one question.'
'Yes?' Her lower lip was trembling, her clear blue eyes were enormous.
'Will you dance with me?'
Chapter 60
Stephen Fantail watched with admiration as his boss led Julia Jarvis onto the dance floor. By God, Monk was a cunning bugger. All that stuff about resigning had to be his idea of a joke. Poetry indeed! Mad Monk was obviously going in for the kill.
A hand took hold of his upper arm, just above the rolled sleeve of his pale blue shirt.
'Excuse me, officer.' A tall blonde with a kiss-me mouth looked at him out of sky-blue eyes.
'We'd like your assistance.' The voice came from his other side, from a second blonde with cloudless eyes and pouting pink lips. He looked from one to the other. They were beautiful, stunning - and identical.
'How do you know I'm a policeman?' he said.
'We work at the hotel,' said one. 'You're DC Fantail, aren't you? Room 31.'
'And we need help. I've lost a ring.'
'Has it been stolen?'
'I don't think so but I might need to report its loss officially. For the insurance.'
'It's over here in the bushes,' said the other. 'Please come and help us.'
What else could he do? Police officer or not, a red-blooded young man with no current attachments does not refuse to go into the bushes with two horny-looking blondes. And they were decidedly horny-looking...
One walked beside him, her hand now burning a hole in his shirt. The other strode ahead, the pert halves of her bottom swelling the skintight denim of her jeans. Her hips swivelled as she walked and the cleft between her cheeks winked and tightened with each step.
'She's a peach, isn't she?' said the girl by his side.
'You both are.'
Twin peaches ripe for plucking, he said to himself and wished he could adjust his trousers without attracting attention.
They led him into the next field and the first girl turned and pointed to the far corner. 'Over there,' she said.
They searched for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in which Stephen was treated to their lithe and nubile bodies bending and leaning and rubbing against his in a cock-stretching selection of poses. The girl in jeans doubled over before him, thrusting her rear into his crotch as she meticulously searched the grass. Her twin leant on his shoulder as he looked for the ring, her long blonde hair brushing against the side of his face in a golden curtain. She turned to face him on her knees and he found himself gazing down the front of her blouse into a deep ravine of creamy breast flesh.
'You won't find it down there,' she said, making no attempt to cover herself. He blushed to the tips of his ears.
'You know,' said the first girl, 'maybe I never put it on at all. Maybe it's still at home.'
'Oh dear,' said the other, 'now we're in trouble. He'll have us for wasting police time.'
'Will you?' said girl number one, putting her hand on Stephen's knee as he squatted on his haunches among the weeds. 'I think it's all her fault, she suggested we ask you to help. You should smack her bottom.'
'I, er...' Stephen gulped, bewildered by the turn of events.
'Go on,' the girl said. 'Take her jeans down and smack her bum. She deserves it.'
'Yes, it's true,' said the other, unbuckling her belt and hooking the flaps of her denims over her hip.
'Turn around,' commanded her twin. 'Take them down slowly and show him your arse.'
Stephen's eyes bulged from his head as the girl did as she was told, thrusting her bum back almost into his face as she lowered her jeans. Her bottom glowed white in the thickening light. Her panties, caught in the divide between the cheeks, provided little protection from his prurient gaze. Without being asked, she peeled the scarlet scrap of material down her legs as well and tossed it aside.
'How do you want me?' she asked over her shoulder, her pale satiny behind fully revealed beneath the hem of her pink T-shirt.
Stephen was struck dumb. He had the urge to plunge forward and bury his head between those plump curvaceous cushions, to lick her from the golden beard of her pussy, right up the crease of her arse to the base of her spine.
'Get over his lap, of course,' said her sister, pushing the half-naked girl towards Stephen.
He sat in rigid disbelief as she arranged her nude loins across his lap, compressing his mighty erection into his belly. She wriggled her warm weight against it. 'Ooh, officer,' she said, 'I can feel your truncheon.'