by Noel Amos
'What's in it for me?' he said at last. 'The firm will be mine anyway.'
'When? If GG dropped dead tomorrow you wouldn't have a clue what to do. And if he lasts ten years he'll have run it into the ground and you'll have been pushed around for all that time for no reward.'
She pulled her top over her head and threw it into the darkness. Her little breasts jiggled with the movement and she leaned over him to brush their stiff points across his cheek.
'I can manage your father, Graham, and I can manage the business. I'll cut out the dead wood. All those clots like Jason Quiff will be out of work by Christmas. There will be plenty for you and me to do. Apart from the kinky sex, that is.'
She had pulled off her wrap-round skirt and now she was nude. The moonlight gleamed on her pale perfection. She knelt up over him and held the stiff pole of his penis between her thighs.
'What do you mean, kinky sex?' he said, panting.
She spat daintily on her fingers and began to rub the juice into the swollen head of his cock.
'You know, Graham. Sex. Fucking and sucking and wanking whenever your father's back is turned. He's too old, he'll never satisfy me. I need a young cock. Yours.'
'You said kinky sex.'
'You don't think fucking your mother is kinky?'
She surveyed his glistening tool with satisfaction. She could barely contain it in her two small hands.
'Your father is marrying my arsehole, Graham, did you know that? Would you like to bugger me too? Would that be kinky enough for you?'
'Chantal, I—'
'Go on, Graham, admit it. You'd like to stick your big cock in my special place. Of course you would.'
'Oh, Chantal—'
'Mmm, I'd better let you right now, I can see. I like it in my derriere. I'll need it regularly once I'm running Louche Lingerie. Suppose I bend down and stick my bottom up like this?'
'Chantal, you're so beautiful!'
'Before you put it in, Graham—'
'Yes?'
'Tell me I can count on your support.'
'I'll do anything you want, Chantal, I promise.'
'Then hurry up and fuck my arse.'
Robyn had a mouth full of cock or she would have said something to Josie as she passed by in the half dark. The Bunny's special reporter looked as if she had spent a week in the undergrowth with an Under-21 football team. She was naked but for the tattered remains of a torn T-shirt and her buttocks gleamed in the fitful light of the moon. There were leaves and dust on her back, her hair was wild and a river of spunk ran down her legs. For all that, there was a spring in her step as she picked her way between the writhing bodies in search of further conquests. Obviously she was taking her assignment seriously.
Robyn watched her go with half an eye. Her hands were wrapped round Max Shaftesbury's mighty genitals and she was pumping on his shaft as she gummed and sucked the big, mushroom-shaped knob. Between her legs a rasping tongue reamed her dripping honeypot and a lurch in her stomach told her she was approaching orgasm again.
This epic clash of the tabloids might be going the Dog's way - so far he'd brought her off four times and she'd milked him dry only twice - but there were some battles well worth losing. What's more, she felt a remarkable appetite for the fray. After this episode of soixante-neuf had run its course, she resolved to get down on her hands and knees and put him through his paces - the thought was amusing - doggie-fashion.
A finger found her clit and she pressed her hungry vagina against his lips. He might be winning a few battles, she told herself, but at the final shot he'd discover he'd lost this particular circulation war.
The storm clouds were racing in fast and the moonlight flickered across the field of heaving bodies. In the distance could be heard the rumble of thunder.
Miriam cried out in ecstasy as Gavin emptied his balls into her with a shout that matched her own. Plunging forward onto the soft cushions of her chest, he fastened his lips around a big ridged nipple. She let him toy with her sumptuous breasts for a moment then impatiently turned him onto his back. Slithering down his lean body, she buried her face in the hair of his belly and sucked his limp cock into the warmth of her mouth.
Gavin lay on his back and allowed Miriam to do as she wished. He heard a whisper behind him and reached his hands above his head. There he encountered flesh - soft female flesh that answered his curiosity with explorations of its own. An unknown mouth descended on his in the dark. A sly tongue slipped between his lips. He found the curve of a firm buttock and squeezed. Between his legs Miriam had no trouble in restoring his erection.
Across the fields, hands traversed and prospected, mouths solicited and tongues probed, thighs opened and legs entwined. Couples parted and reformed in more interesting configurations, exclusive friendships were shared out, groups evolved and were reshaped afresh. Rampant and naked, men and women set about fucking as if the world was due to end the next morning.
The annual Blisswood Midsummer's orgy was approaching its climax.
Chapter 63
Josie picked her way across the field by flashes of lightning, the sudden light illuminating lustful tableaux at every step. A woman rode, squealing, on a prone male, her gargantuan breasts rolling on her chest like medicine balls. A man's broad hairy buttocks were frozen before Josie's eyes, the dark plums of his testes dangling in the vee of his thighs. Two girls sat giggling on one lover, one on his stomach, the other rubbing the gash of her pussy across his face.
Josie walked on, stepping carefully between the groups of naked people, avoiding the hands that reached out to detain her.
Her adventures of the evening had been torrid. As she had guessed, her games with the boys in the wood had not been easy to conclude. First had been Martin with his donkey-sized cock, then a thin and beautiful youth who had played on the guitar and then on her clit with a similar dexterity. He had introduced her to two hippies with long hair, enthusiastic tools and inventive minds. She had missed the dance in the barn. She had lost her clothes. And still, despite being ravaged in every orifice big enough to welcome a penis or a tongue or a finger, there was an itch inside her she had still not satisfied.
She stumbled against a soft form on the ground and fell.
Hands caught her and she found herself held fast against a broad and hairy chest. He smelt like seasoned wood and felt hard like teak. Without thinking she cuddled into his arms and pushed her soft belly against his groin. He was hard there too. How satisfactory.
Gavin cupped the big breasts in his hands, fondling and stroking their satiny mass. If only he could see!
A flash of lightning answered his prayers and for a split second he held in his hands the object of his quest - the fabulous tits of Bra-less Brenda. Then the girl was pried from his grasp by another man and borne to the ground in front of him where, in another flash, he saw her spreading her legs for her new admirer. He sat on his haunches and listened to them, just a few feet away, as the man drove into her with a grunt and they began the steady see-saw of a fuck.
'Come on, baby,' whispered a soft voice in his ear and a slender arm curled around his neck, pulling him into a perfumed embrace that was impossible to resist. He answered her kiss and ran his hands over a pneumatic form as perfect as any he had ever embraced. On a rising tide of lust he dipped his head to her bosom and the lightning cracked again.
It was only then that he realised his search was over, his crazy and ridiculous quest to find the woman who had robbed him at breast-point and sent his life spinning off the rails. By God, he was grateful to her for rescuing him from his former existence. But now, as he kissed and fondled these new breasts in the darkness, he knew he must call a halt to his journey. For these tits, too, were the pair he sought - the warm and weighty, strawberry-tipped globes of the Topless Raider. To be sure, it was a wonderful way to be driven mad but unless he returned to reality they'd be locking him up for good.
There was a collective cry of joy as the first drops of rain fell on the parched earth a
nd on the sweating bodies locked in their lewd embraces. The sky opened with the roll and crash of thunder and the water fell like waves breaking on a beach.
Cliff Rush, the only abstainer at the feast, leapt like a demented leprechaun to take the weird and wonderful shots of the orgy in the storm that were to make his name. His uncanny eye led him to capture remarkable scenes of sexual license lit by lightning. Of Marilyn the former nurse, hosing two ejaculating cocks over her vast wet breasts. Of Mario the waiter, holding Lucy Salmon back to front on his shoulders, his nose in her muff, her face upturned in ecstasy to the turbulent sky. Of Mandy, the would-be model, taking it simultaneously in her bum and in her mouth from two Gartertex salesmen while kneeling in a puddle the size of a small duck pond.
But Cliff failed to capture the one encounter that Robyn Chestnut really wanted - even if it was only suitable for her private scrapbook...
At the first drop of rain Gavin stood up and ran, his arms held high, his face turned to the storm. He collided with a woman and they stuck together, arm in arm, shouting and laughing. She was smaller than him and he bent to kiss her unseen face. She gave him her lips and flung her arms round his neck. It felt wonderful.
Gavin was tired but the rain was rejuvenating, like this girl. He hoisted her up and her legs curled around his waist. He held her by the buttocks. They were firm yet full and fitted into his hands as if made to measure. He slipped his little finger into the soft folds of her cunt and she mewed with pleasure, sinking her teeth into his neck.
As if by magic, the swollen head of his penis butted against the spread mouth of her vagina and lodged there. 'Oh yes,' she breathed into his ear. 'Do it to me please! Fuck me standing up in the rain, whoever you are.'
Gavin froze, the voice as familiar yet unexpected as bad news. But this, he realised as she wriggled the tight sheath of her pussy over the head of his trembling tool, was the most miraculous news he had ever heard.
The lightning flashed again and confirmed his happy fate.
'Josie!' he cried and drove his cock up into the depths of her.
Chapter 64
Maxwell Shaftesbury lurched into his hotel bedroom drunk with exhaustion. The exhilaration of the orgy in the rain had already disappeared, leaving him as feeble as a day-old pup. He crashed onto his bed like a felled tree.
A light snapped on. It speared into his head through the membrane of his closed eyelids. He cried into the pillow, he didn't have the energy to speak.
'Get up,' said a soft voice.
Adriana. Of course. It came back to him that at some point during his marathon with Robyn - after his fourth come into that insatiable suction valve she kept between her legs - he had resolved to talk to Adriana about a live-in relationship. A relaxing, platonic, no-strings relationship. For the moment, however, he simply moaned. It was the best he could do.
A hand shook his shoulder through the sodden material of his shirt. He did not respond to its prodding. He heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and of water running.
Adriana returned and, to his complete surprise, rolled him off the bed and onto the floor. He landed on his back. Mercifully the carpet was soft. He did not open his eyes.
She stripped him of his clothes. There weren't many of them: a blue silk shirt spoilt beyond repair, soft denim designer jeans stained with spunk and one calfskin moccasin with a second skin of mud.
It wasn't easy for Adriana to undress a comatose man of six foot two who weighed nearly fourteen stone but she managed it with the skill of someone who had done it many times before. Max did not move a muscle to help. He couldn't.
She raised his head and pressed a glass to his lips. He opened one eye.
'Drink it,' she said.
He saw she was wearing a man's shirt. It was unbuttoned to the tops of her breasts and looked like one of his. A copper-coloured lock of her hair brushed his face and he caught the faint aroma of her perfume, clean and lemony. He began to feel more human.
'Drink,' she repeated.
He did so. It was brandy. The first sip scorched his gullet. The second lit a fire in his stomach. 'Oh God,' he said.
'Don't tell me,' she said, 'the things you frontline reporters have to do.'
He looked at her keenly, he wasn't in a fit state to cope with irony.
'Get in the bath,' she commanded and helped him to his feet. The warm soapy water cleansed and revived. She brought him tea with sugar.
'Ugh,' he said.
'Drink it up,' she told him, so he did.
'Adriana, I want to talk to you seriously.'
She took the cup from his hands.
'I think you're a wonderful woman. I want you to come and live with me.'
Her mouth fell open.
'Don't say anything. Let me finish. We see eye to eye, we share the same kind of professional commitment and I'd be lost without you. I'm not talking about sex, though.'
'You're not.' It was a statement of fact.
'Oh no, I wouldn't expect that of you. Frankly, my work demands that I spend so much time in the intimate company of women that it's the last thing I need when I get home. We could have a close, mutually dependent, platonic union. Like our working relationship extended into our personal lives.'
The dregs of the tea hit him in the face as she flung the cup at him.
'You despicable rat,' she spat. 'I spend the night sitting out the best orgy in the Western hemisphere while you fuck that skinny nympho on the Rabbit and you offer me a platonic union!'
'Adriana, believe me, I was just doing my job tonight.'
'I see. Screwing Robyn Chestnut was part of your professional duties.'
'It was one of the toughest assignments I've ever had. Honestly.'
She got to her feet. Her wide lush mouth for once set in a forbidding line. He couldn't help noticing that his shirt ended high up on her pale-skinned thigh, just an inch or so below her groin. Would the hair there, he wondered, be the same magical copper colour as on her head?
'Why don't you team up with her permanently? You deserve each other. For a pair of hotshot reporters neither of you are exactly exclusive.'
The door slammed behind her with such force that all the towels slithered off the rail onto the floor.
Max clambered out of the bath and picked one up. As he dried himself he had time for reflection. He knew what the situation required. Unfortunately, after his epic encounter in the fields with La Chestnut, he wasn't sure that he was up to it. But if he didn't take action now he would lose Adriana for good.
He pulled experimentally at the dangling member between his thighs and found to his amazement that, despite its red raw appearance, there remained a certain resilience. The image of the shirt-tail clinging to Adriana's retreating bottom sprang to mind. In his fist, his cock sprang to attention.
All the lights were off in the bedroom but he left the bathroom door open. Adriana lay on her back on the covers, stark naked. Her legs were bent, her feet planted wide apart. A shaft of light fell across her loins, on the shallow bowl of her belly, on the arch of her slender thighs - and on the silky fleece of her pussy mound. It was as he had hoped. Copper-coloured.
He slid to his knees and placed his lips on the inside of one thigh. He moved to kiss the opposite leg, just a little higher up. He leant over further and inserted the tip of his tongue in the dark dimple of her belly button.
'Oh,' she sighed.
He trailed his tongue downwards. Very slowly.
'Ah,' she muttered.
He placed his mouth over her vulva without touching it and blew hot breath over her sex.
'You bastard,' she said.
'Yes,' he said and applied his lips.
'Oh yes,' she said in turn and buried her small hands in his mop of dark curls.
The juice was running from her like a river. He drank it down like nectar. She came for the first time.
'You do forgive me, darling, don't you?' he said later.
'I don't know. Lick me out again, please.'
Still later, he said, 'Move in with me.'
'I'll think about it. Are you going to put your cock in now? Or are you past it?'
He wasn't going to stand for that.
'Ooh, you are big. The girls all said you were.'
'Marry me, Adriana.'
'Shut up, Max, and concentrate. Stuff me with your thing.'
She came again. He made to remove his abused penis but she wouldn't let him.
'I love you, Adriana. You're my ideal woman. You mean more to me than all those casual fucks. Believe me, sex isn't important.'
She stopped agitating her belly against his for a moment and pushed her face into his. There was no trace of serene composure in her features now. The light caught the blaze in her eyes and the rictus of determination in her open mouth as she hissed, 'Don't give me that, Max. If you ever tell me again that sex doesn't matter I'll cut off your balls!'
Max stared at her in disbelief. Somewhere in the back of his head a little voice reminded him that Adriana was Italian. From Sicily.
She beat a tattoo on his buttocks with her fists.
'Come on, Max, it's my turn now. I expect you to keep it up till dawn.'
Chapter 65
Stephen Fantail sat on the terrace in the cool night air. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started and the water had already disappeared into the parched earth. If it weren't for the fatigue in his bones and the lurid images in his head, Stephen could almost believe that the wild events of the evening had not taken place. But they had and now he didn't know what to do.
He reread the crumpled letter in his hands.
Dear Stephen
I am sorry not to be telling you this to your face but, as I indicated to you earlier, I am resigning from the force. I am leaving at once to go back to Scotland and embark on a different kind of life. As far as I am concerned the Brenda investigation has come to a dead end. Between you and me, I can guarantee that there will be no more topless robberies. Officially, I suppose they will simply have to mark the case 'unsolved'.