Lust on the Loose (17 page)

Now she slept
in his embrace, her head on the hair of his chest, her face as
unlined and peaceful as an infant's. Placido did not know whether
it was true what she said, that Signor Fretwork would not be back,
and the implications of that were beyond him. However, he resolved
to keep Beverly with him as long as he could, to protect her and
love her and curb her excesses as his employer would surely wish.
And if his reward was that he might spend the night in her bed,
surely it was better than that she should be frolicking with
hooligans like those German boys.

A bolt of
anger consumed him. Those Germans! It gave him great satisfaction
that he had taken their woman - both women in fact - for Marlene
had accompanied them back to the villa. She lay asleep in Placido's
own bed, a few doors away. Placido had felt it his duty to bring
her with them when she had asked. Her companions were barbarians.
It would not be right to leave a young girl in their company. At
least here he could ensure that she absorbed something of the real
Spain. He would make sure she saw things far removed from
pot-smoking and nude bathing and other imported uncivilised
activities. Tomorrow he would ask Emilio to take her into the
village for the holy day. They were dropping a goat from the church
tower. That should show her something of real culture.

The two women
were on the sofa side by side. The gin had long gone but the lack
of male company was still keenly felt. Despite the efficiency of
the vibrator and its pleasing size it was no substitute for the
real thing.

Sophie and
Patsy had traded war stories of bedroom battles both honourable and
dishonourable, of lovers past and lovers yearned for. And though
laughter had been the keynote and the shortcomings of the male sex
had frequently been the point of the stories, nevertheless the
absence of a cock - two, at least, said Patsy - was palpable and
the buzzing jumping machine in their untutored hands just didn't
seem to do the trick.

'Oh shit,'
said Patsy, as she clumsily sawed the big beast between the tender
lips of her aching pussy, searching once more for the soul-stirring
orgasm that was eluding her. 'I just can't handle this thing.'

'Then let me
show you,' said a voice from the doorway and the overhead light
snapped on, cruelly illuminating the chaos of the room and the
embarrassingly intimate tangle of bodies on the sofa.

Pandora
Britches had returned, a broad grin on her predatory face. She did
not exude an air of content. She swiftly divested herself of her
jacket and threw herself to her knees between their squirming
legs.

'No,' she said
in answer to Patsy's feeble enquiry about her dinner date, 'I did
not have a successful evening. I've been insulted and abandoned but
I'm delighted to see that you two are in a position to make me feel
a whole lot better.'

'For God's
sake,' cried Sophie as Pandora thrust a hand between her legs and
rudely fingered her slippery slit. But it was an empty protest for
the touch was instantly pleasurable and she knew that she would
submit to whatever was required to keep this formidable woman
sweet. Pandora's other hand had taken charge of the vibrator and
Sophie saw at once from Patsy's astonished expression that Pandy
knew just how to use it.

The journalist
looked down with satisfaction on the two women spread out in front
of her, their bare legs scissoring open and closed in obscene
harmony as she expertly steered them both to orgasm.

Candida
Kensington's face was contorted with concentration. It always was
when she sketched this quickly. Not that she really needed to rush
for there was no sign that Billy's remarkable hard-on would ever
subside. Nevertheless she hurried, for she felt the urge building
within her loins once more. She had to have it again and that would
make... God, she couldn't remember. They had been at it for hours
and still the organ between his legs stood as proud and noble as
ever.

She crouched
in the vee of his thighs, her pencil flying across the paper. This
was going to be good. One of her best. And there were many that
were very good indeed among her collection. Of course, the model
helped. How could she fail when faced with such a beautiful
subject: snowy white skin, strong broad column, ruby red cap, a
solitary blue vein pulsing - she stopped for a moment and leaned
forward to suck between her lips the plump head of his pole. She
couldn't resist.

She looked up
at Billy's face. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep.
But how could he be with this formidable monument to her charms
rearing up from his belly? This was turning into one of the most
marvellous nights of her life. How could she ever thank him?

She supposed she could reconsider the matter of the Poor Pussy
Gala. It's true there was room for this Tracy woman to do her act.
It might be fun. She supposed it would keep some of the men
interested. After all, the point of it was to get everyone to enjoy
themselves and consequently cough up as much money as possible. If
Tracy finished off the first half it would make a nice contrast
with the Marian Mucus
corps de
ballet
and send everybody off to the bar in
a more upbeat mood. Yes, that might work.

She laid down
her pencil. She could always do some more work later but right now
she felt she deserved a little play. She reached out and took the
stiff shaft in front of her in her hand...

Ray Gosling
knew he had been hitting the bottle hard. Now he had obviously got
to the point where he needed help. If he had to go to the clinic
and dry out, so help him he'd go.

He stood in
the kitchen, leaning on the sink to stop his whole body shaking. It
had to be the DTs. He couldn't really have seen what he had thought
he had seen. It was funny, though, how realistic the vision had
seemed to be. Funny, too, the way it had gone on and on rather than
just flashing in and out of his befuddled brain. But dreams were
like that, weren't they? Only he'd had this one when he was awake
and not asleep.

Up in the
bedroom, on his bed, the sight of Joyce, stark naked, riding on a
man's face, her quim pressed into his mouth, his tongue licking
upwards, clearly seen between the dark wet curls on her mound,
flicking between the elongated flaps of her pussy, delving upwards
to the top of her crack to worm and tickle around the bright red
nub of her clitoris. That had been so vivid!

And to see his
daughter, Amanda, facing Joyce, bouncing up and down on the man's
cock, that had been just as real. The way her mouth was all slack
and her eyes closed and her panting like that as if she was on the
downslope of a shattering orgasm, her young tits jumping up and
down opposite Joyce's great big slack ones that writhed and rippled
in their turn. And the man beneath them: large, hairy and strong,
his cock just glimpsed as Amanda rose up and down, squirming on the
big fat shaft as if she were completely out of control.

And then the
last bit, the thing that had sent him running downstairs into the
kitchen to recover, when the man had lifted Joyce off his head, his
big meaty hands disappearing into the soft flesh of her bum,
raising her solid arse-cheeks to reveal the grinning face of a
bearded Danny Fretwork. It was too much. It was some kind of
nightmare warning that said to him very loudly, 'Stop
drinking.'

At that moment
a large hairy hand descended on his shoulder and Ray jerked upright
to find himself in the bearlike embrace of his former employer and
colleague - Danny Fretwork, as naked as a newborn baby, his thick
cock dangling wetly between his monumental thighs.

'Ray, my man,'
said this awful vision, 'I'm back. Have you missed me?'

Three - All Tied
Up

'Do you know,'
said Patsy as she dreamily placed a soapy mug on the tiny draining
board of the kitchen galley, 'that a woman can have a hundred and
thirty-four orgasms in one session? Well, maybe not every woman but
one woman did. Under research conditions too - it's a scientific
fact.'

'Are you all
right?' said Sophie, dabbing a damp tea-towel over some
cutlery.

The two of them stood side by side in the cramped quarters on
board a Thames cabin cruiser called, in honour of the tousled form
by Sophie's side,
Princess
Patsy
. Technically it was owned by Patsy
but the money that had paid for it, some years earlier needless to
say, had been plonked down in cold cash by her once-loving husband.
Over the course of an exhausting weekend the three women had moved
it from its moorings a mile upstream to its current berth owned by
the
Blizzard's
proprietor, who also happened to be Pandora's uncle. On the
bank a strategically placed police team kept look-out. Short of
submarine, there was no approach to the boat that was
unobserved.

The idea of
using the boat had been Patsy's and the others had seized on it
after some two hours of fruitless suggestions. Of course, thought
Sophie, if they really wanted to avoid Danny Fretwork it was the
last place they should be. But then, her intention was to lure
Danny out into the open and nab him. And Patsy was the bait.

'Pandy showed
me this article in yesterday's paper. They've been doing this
research on the human orgasm. I didn't know those posh papers were
full of so much filth. There's none of that in the ones I
read.'

'Huh,' was all
Sophie could manage.

'Mind you, it
wasn't half interesting. It seems the best a man could do was
sixteen comes per session. That's pretty pathetic really, isn't
it?'

'Oh, I don't
know.' Sophie's mind was suddenly enlivened by the thought of a big
fat cock shooting off sixteen times in succession. She could do
with a bit of that, she thought, just to wipe herself clean of
Pandora's incessant abuses.

'I mean
sixteen times compared to a hundred and thirty-four is nothing.
Pandora says it demonstrates the inherent superiority of the female
response.'

'I bet.'

'I reckon you
might do more than a hundred and thirty-four in a session, Sophie.
The way you go at it.'

Sophie smiled
weakly. The betrayal of her mind by her body was the story of her
life.

'Don't get me
wrong,' said Patsy, 'I could go a willy any time but Pandora's
opened my eyes to a whole new world of sensuality.'

Oh Christ.
'Look, Patsy, I'm going to slip off for a few hours to get some of
my things and catch up on a bit of sleep but I'll be back by this
evening. All the lads are well set up so there shouldn't be any
chance of Danny sneaking by while I'm gone.'

'That's a good
idea,' said the third voice as the tall figure of Pandora Britches,
dressed in a half-buttoned man's shirt, insinuated herself into the
small space. 'Why don't you pop off for a bit and let Patsy and I
get on with our work. We've got tons to do, haven't we,
darling?'

'I would have thought you were just about finished,' said
Sophie as Pandora casually looped an arm around her shoulders.
'Surely the
Blizzard
has milked everything possible out of Patsy's story by
now.'

'Patsy and I
have a new project - her life story. We think it'll make a great
book.'

'But it's
already been done in the papers,' Sophie protested, conscious that
Pandora's hand had come to rest on top of her right breast. 'There
can't be anything left to say!'

'Nonsense,
that's just the tip of the iceberg, isn't it, Patsy? This will be
much deeper. I need to probe into the wellsprings of Patsy's life,
find out why a woman like her is attracted to the criminal
fraternity, discuss it in the context of female subjugation.
Besides, Patsy will go down a storm on TV chat shows if she wears
one of her tight tops.'

By now
Pandora's hand was inside Sophie's own top and sliding purposefully
into the cup of her brassiere, prompting the policewoman to say
tartly, 'So you're not above a bit of basic sexploitation?'

'You've got to sell your project otherwise your message won't
get across. It's the iron fist in the velvet glove. That's why I
work for the
Blizzard
.'

'Really? I
thought it was because your uncle owned the paper.'

'Now now,
darling.' Pandy's fingers dug into Sophie's right breast, tweaking
her nipple painfully. The traitorous flesh swelled to erection
immediately.

'Before you
go, Sophie, come next door. There's a few things we should
discuss.'

Patsy rolled
her eyes heavenwards. Sophie began to protest but the words seemed
to die on her lips as Pandy's wandering hand now crept downwards
into the waistband of her jeans and across her stomach.

'Well, let's
make it quick,' Sophie said feebly, allowing herself to be
propelled in the direction of Pandy's cabin. She looked back at
Patsy who grinned at her waspishly.

'Go for the
record, Sophie. A hundred and thirty-five, remember.'

It had been a
long weekend for Billy Dazzle, too. Half of it spent in furious
carnal activity with Candy, alternately bonking and posing for her
endless sketches until, on Saturday evening, his miraculous
erection had collapsed like a punctured balloon. Candy had tucked
him up in bed by himself in a cosy room and left him to sleep,
waking him only to administer bowls of chicken soup made, so she
told him, by her very own cook.

Now, on Monday
morning, Billy felt refreshed and full of beans. His pleasure was
enhanced by the luxuriant greenery of his surroundings as he sat in
Imogen Almond's conservatory and waited for her to join him for
breakfast. He had been summoned directly from La Kensington's
mansion. After his heroics in Candy's bath and bedrooms it seemed
he was back in good odour. And so, he reflected with some
satisfaction, he deserved to be.