Lust on the Loose (16 page)

'Would you
open the window, please.'

Candy obeyed
and watched in admiration as he cast the offending insect into the
night.

'I don't
believe in unnecessary violence,' he explained.

'My hero,' she
said as she insinuated herself into his embrace to bestow a
valedictory kiss on his cheek. She pressed herself full against him
once more, her soft belly yielding to the pressure of the iron bar
in his pants.

As she felt it
dig into her, a wicked grin formed on her curving lips. 'Is that on
my account?' she asked, grinding her pelvis against him.

'Yes,' he
replied. What else could he say? And maybe it was true. It had all
started that morning when she had captivated and then spurned him.
So, now, all he needed to do to cure his condition surely was to
bury his aching rod deep within her pampered and perfumed
body...

He looked down
into her smiling face. Her eyes were large and brown and searching,
one was flecked slightly with green specks - it made her look all
the more beautiful. Her robe was coming loose and he could see the
upper reaches of her breasts and the dark valley between.

'You were
lucky I was in the office,' he said.

'Working
late?'

'You could say
that.'

'Imogen told
me you were a private detective. How thrilling. It must be so
exciting to do a dangerous job like yours.'

'Sometimes,'
he agreed, declining to elaborate on the bold deeds of the day. He
pondered the precise etiquette of his current position. Though she
was in his arms, her gown loose and her swollen tits dangling
almost in full view, he was still not sure of her. She struck him
as skittish. If he made the wrong move she might just fly into a
rage and chuck him out again.

'I'm surprised
you don't have your own official spider-remover on the premises.
Don't you have maids and flunkies?'

'They've all
gone home. I like the evenings to myself. So I can be free.'

'To
paint?'

'That kind of
thing.'

Throughout the
conversation they hadn't moved, except to get closer if that were
possible. Billy was caressing the small of her back in a brotherly,
frankly incestuous, fashion and she continued to bump her loins
against his erect cock through the material of his trousers. The
thin silk of her gown had now opened to allow one long brown nipple
to poke free and nuzzle into his shirt front.

'You must let
me draw you again.'

'OK.'

'Properly,
this time.' Her hands were plucking at his shirt. 'Without any
clothes at all.' She had his belt unbuckled and her fingers in his
fly. 'Stark naked.' His trousers were around his ankles. 'Quite,
quite nude.' And his cock and balls were in her hands. He kissed
her. It seemed the appropriate moment.

The kiss was
long-drawn-out. Her tongue was slippery and wicked in his mouth,
just like her knowing fingers on his throbbing genitals. And his
hands were busy too, roving from ripe dangling breasts to the
rounded curve of her hip, down the slope of her belly to the soft
fur of her crotch where her moist pussy lips opened eagerly to his
touch.

She pulled him
to the floor and they wriggled uncaring on the hard, cold tiles;
she manoeuvring her body so her thighs closed over his face just at
the moment he felt her hot mouth on his bulging penis. He lapped
and sucked her deliriously, his hands on the firm flesh of her
jutting bottom, squeezing and fondling the full softness of her
buttocks.

She gobbled
him with skill, using both hands and her mouth, laying her cheek
along his length and nibbling his balls, licking up and down the
barrel of his tool and sucking the big bulb deep into her face.
Then, as he went to work on her clit with the ridge of his tongue,
she attacked him with abandon. She bit down on him hard but he
didn't care. It felt good, it felt wonderful! He jabbed his cock
up, trying to jam it as far down her throat as he could and she
took it all. He thrust a finger between her bum cheeks, sinking it
into her bottom, and that took her over the top. She came in great
wheezing shudders, bouncing up and down on his face, her full
breasts swinging and her hair flying. Her orgasm went on and on but
throughout it she never released her hold on his bursting cock,
which now gushed come down her throat like water from a hose.

Afterwards
they lay in a sticky heap for a long time. Then she squirmed around
on top of him to plant a wet kiss on his lips. He held her tight, a
silly grin on his face - and his impossible erection still burning
a hole in the silky soft skin of her belly.

Joyce Gosling paged half-heartedly through the
TV Times
, already aware
that there was nothing on the box she wanted to watch. She could
ring Aunty Doris but the old duck was probably in bed already. She
could have a nice long bath, wash her hair and paint her toenails -
if Amanda hadn't already taken up residence in the bathroom. She'd
read the paper, done the easy crossword and she'd made the
casserole and crumble for tomorrow's lunch. She was buggered if she
was going to clean anything at this time of night. Ray was out till
God knows when - till the pubs closed at least. There wasn't
anything for her to do.

What she'd
really like, she decided, was some big strapping fellow to turn up
unannounced, with a bottle of champagne under one arm and an
enormous box of chocolates in the other. A few drinks, a few laughs
and then off with her knickers and out with his big tool and they'd
spend the night happily rogering. Sod the crumbles and the
casseroles, some energetic screwing was the kind of entertainment
she fancied. She hadn't been properly ploughed since Christmas Eve
and that was only because she hadn't let Ray at the brandy till
he'd done his duty.

The front door
bing-bonged. Joyce's dreams were about to come true.

As she opened
the door a bronzed and bearded shape lunged into the hall and threw
both arms around her, grasping her well-upholstered form with the
familiarity born of long acquaintance. 'Danny Fretwork!' she
shouted in amazement. 'How the bloody hell did you get here?'

'Plane to
Heathrow, tube to Woodford. No problem, my darling.'

'You just
waltzed in?'

'A beard and a
false passport, that's all it took. Stupid sods. You'll have to
help me get the fuzz off, Joyce. I stuck it on in a hurry.'

He threw his
shoulder bag down on the floor and marched into the front room,
tugging her behind him by the hand.

'God, it's
good to be back in England. I tell you, too much lying in the sun
drinking cheap brandy makes your brain rot.'

'But Danny, if
they catch you, you won't be so keen on merry England. Why have you
come back?'

'Because
there's some things a man has to sort out for himself.'

'It's Patsy,
isn't it?'

'Precisely,'
he growled, the smile gone from his face. 'I just need a few words
with my darling wife and then I shall be off and out of it. But—'
and here his expression lit up and he held his arms out once more
to Joyce '—let's not worry about that tonight. Where's Ray?'

'At the
pub.'

'So he won't
be back for a bit?'

'If Ray
returned before closing time they'd have run out of beer.'

'Great.' Danny
had Joyce firmly in his bear-like embrace, one hand around her
waist, the other unbuttoning her housecoat at the point where it
ballooned generously over her chest.

'Danny,' she
protested, 'layoff.'

'Come now,
Joyce, you wouldn't deny a starving man.' The coat was open to the
waist now, partially revealing a capacious bosom encased in a vast
straining white bra.

'Starving?
What are you on about? Don't tell me they've run short of senoritas
out in Spain.'

'It's not the
same thing, my darling. There's no substitute for English cunt in
England and you are much better than that. You are Essex cunt,
right here in Essex and that makes you number one in my book.'

Throughout
this elaborate tribute to her charms, Danny had been at work
stripping the feebly protesting Joyce down to her scanties. He
slipped the straps of her bra over her dimpled shoulders. She made
another attempt to push him off, holding one arm firmly across her
chest.

'Come on,
Joyce, don't be a spoilsport. Let's get those marvellous knockers
of yours out in the open. You don't know how often I've longed to
lay my face between them throughout those lonely months of
exile.'

'Bullshit,'
she replied. Nevertheless she lifted her arm, allowing him to peel
the stiff white material from the ends of her creamy cones of
flesh. Her massive breasts came free, springing into the room like
great white footballs.

For a woman of
her maturity Joyce's bosom was indeed magnificent, with just a
little sag and spread which, to many an appreciative eye, only
added to its character. And Danny's eye was indeed
appreciative.

He grasped a
big tit in each hand and pressed his face into the beckoning valley
between, muttering as he did so, 'England!' Joyce tenderly stroked
the back of his head; she was easily moved by a show of patriotic
sentiment.

At that moment
there came a thump on the ceiling and the sound of a high-pitched
female voice yelling, 'Oh shit!'

Danny jerked
his head back. 'Who's up there? I thought we were alone.'

'Blimey, it's
Amanda. She's having a bath. I forgot all about her.'

'Amanda!'
Danny's face creased into an enormous grin. 'I must just pop
upstairs and say hello.'

'Danny, she's
in the bath.'

'So? She won't
mind. Meanwhile, why don't you rustle me up a little snack. Some
proper English grub - egg and chips. And a bottle of beer. Perhaps
we could have it upstairs, in the bedroom.'

'Danny
Fretwork, you are wicked.'

'That, my
darling, is my reputation!' And with a final squeeze of her
dangling glories he slipped out of the door.

To be precise,
Amanda Gosling wasn't exactly in the bath. She stood in the cramped
and steamy bathroom with one towel wrapped around her still-damp
curves and another wound into a turban around her wet hair. She
screamed as Danny's hulking form burst into the tiny space but her
cry soon turned to a girlish shriek of pleasure as she recognised
him.

'Uncle Danny!'
she squealed and flung her arms around his neck with predictable
consequences. The ends of her towel around her middle burst apart
and it slithered to the floor, leaving her naked in his arms. Danny
clasped the moist nymph to him with fervour, his hands on the full
rounds of her pert bottom.

'Amanda, my
sweetheart,' he breathed into her exquisite pink ear, 'I've missed
you.'

'I've missed
you, too,' she replied, 'life hasn't been half so much fun since
you done a runner.'

'You've missed
the pocket money, more like.'

She didn't
reply to that, instead she slipped her naughty little tongue into
his mouth and rubbed her delicious front against his shirt. He
could feel the warm dampness of her through the thin cotton.

'Let's have a
look at you,' he said at last, holding her away from him. 'I want
to see how you've changed.'

'You're just a
dirty old man,' she replied but she took a pace back and pirouetted
daintily in front of him. Not that 'dainty' was a word that sprang
to Danny Fretwork's mind as he gazed at her. Amanda was a youthful
version of her mother, with the long legs and flared hips of a
showgirl and big high breasts that seemed to defy gravity. Danny
stared in admiration at the swaying tits and rounded belly and the
neat thicket of black hair at the crest of her split.

'My, Amanda,
you've grown into quite a big little girl, haven't you?'

'You bet. It's been a while since I was little in any way at
all, as you well know,
uncle
.'

Danny pulled
her soft body into his arms, slipping one hand down the dimpled
curve of her stomach to the inviting bush between her legs. For a
moment she held her thighs pressed tightly together, denying him
access.

'I can still
use pocket money, however.'

'Of course.'
They both laughed and she opened her legs to him, his thick index
finger sliding straight into her wet hole. It slicked in and out,
making a rude sticky sound.

'Ooh, yes,'
she said and pulled his head down to her bosom to push one stiff
raspberry of a nipple into his hungry mouth.

'Danny,'
Joyce's voice rang out from downstairs, 'do you want beans and
tomatoes with your egg and chips?'

Amanda replied
for him. 'Bung the lot on, mum, he'll need to keep his strength
up.'

Danny said
nothing, being occupied with other things.

It was great
to be back.

Placido was
now a happy man. He had stopped listening to the demon inside his
head which told him it wasn't right to be lying in Signor
Fretwork's comfortable double bed with his arms wrapped around the
sleeping form of his master's woman. He reckoned that he had earned
at least one night of bliss after the trials of the day. The agony
of Fun-Fun Beach still burned in his memory but was superseded by
the glow of satisfaction that came from later events. Bringing
Beverly home, washing the sand and semen from the nooks and
crannies of her abused body, tending her cuts and bruises, fetching
her mugs of strange English tea - these things had been a pleasure
and not a chore. And when she had sleepily held out her arms to him
and pulled him down beside her into the bed he had felt it was no
less than his due.

And the way
she had loved him! Without a trace of the whore he had seen in
action on the beach and by the pool, but hotly and passionately
nonetheless. Worshipping his body, cradling his big tool in the
warm and wonderful tunnel between her legs until he had fountained
all of his dammed-up lust deep within her. And then holding him
there long after, reluctant to let him go.