Lust on the Loose Read online

  LUST ON THE LOOSE

  by

  NOEL AMOS

  Lust on the Loose first published in 1993 by Headline Book Publishing. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera eBooks.

  ISBN 9781780800332

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Noel Amos. The right of Noel Amos to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Cover image by Barbara Jensen.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  Contents

  One - A Fair Cop

  Two - Bonking USA

  Three - All Tied Up

  Four - License to Lust

  Five - Orgy!

  Somewhere in the Home Counties in England. A balmy evening at the end of a long hot summer. In the secluded grounds of the large mansion a swimming pool glistens beneath lanterns strung from the trees. This is a very private spot for a very private party. Nobody objects as the music booms louder and the action grows hotter.

  The barbecue is finished but the drinking isn't. The pool is inviting. The first guest hits the water fully clothed, others strip to their underwear, soon no one wears anything at all.

  The men are hairy when naked, broad-shouldered and tattooed. The old ones carry too much flesh, the young bucks are firmly muscled and tight of stomach. The women are all young, long-legged and full-bosomed. They take part in the horseplay with enthusiasm, breasts bouncing and bottoms quivering. Liberties are taken but the girls just giggle. It's as if they were paid to have fun.

  As the evening stretches into night, nobody leaves.

  The communal laughter fades, urgent business is at hand. Mattresses have been spread by the poolside; naked and willing, the guests lie down in each other's arms. Men and women embrace and roll apart. They find new partners, new configurations. The men are lusty and insatiable - in public they all have something to prove. And these women, beautiful, skilful and utterly shameless, are happy to help them prove it. A frenzy of lust grips the entire company.

  A sudden noise breaks the spell. There is a crack of wood and a shout of anguish. A figure falls from a tree. The revellers stare in disbelief to see a young man with a camera around his neck picking himself off the ground on the far side of the pool. Before anyone can react, he runs off into the darkness. And then the men go after him.

  That signals the end of the orgy but, for some, it's just the start of the affair.

  One - A Fair Cop

  Chapter 1

  In a shabby Soho office, one-up from an Asian dry-cleaners and one-down from the business premises of a curvaceous whore, Billy Dazzle surveyed his in-tray with a jaundiced eye. The quarterly rent demand stared right back at him. Billy turned his gaze to the telephone. It did not ring. As he had been cut off the previous day this was no surprise. Beneath the rent demand was a politely indifferent letter from P. Starch, bank manager and supposed friend to the small businessman, refusing a further overdraft and indeed requesting the immediate repayment of the facility outstanding. A matter, obvious even to the optimistic Billy, that would be far from facile to arrange. There was no getting away from it, Billy Dazzle, upwardly mobile, streetwise private eye, was broke and Dazzle Investigations, launched in the optimism of the Enterprise Eighties, was about to go belly up in the Nasty Nineties.

  Billy reached into a squeaky metal filing cabinet. There might just be some solace left in the bottle of malt whisky donated to him last Christmas by Betsy Toast, the soft-hearted strumpet from upstairs. That, of course, had been when he was in her good books after dealing with a coachload of stroppy punters on the stairs. Now he owed her money. He upended the empty bottle and watched as the last few drops of golden liquid plopped into his coffee cup. 'Boozing at ten in the morning, you pillock,' he said out loud. 'What would your mother think?'

  'What will your glamorous lady visitors think?' said a voice from the doorway. 'That's more to the point.' Billy looked up to see a smiling bottle-blonde in a scoop-necked scarlet vest and a black pelmet skirt large enough to make a decent handkerchief.

  'Patsy Fretwork,' he said. 'You're the last person I expected to see.'

  'That's because your phone's on the blink, you berk, or I'd have made a proper appointment.'

  She tottered towards him on wickedly high heels, a brass band of rings, bangles and other jangly fashion accessories accompanying her progress. The effect was distinctly tarty, especially the sight of her plump bronzed thighs and the blatantly unbrassiered breasts jiggling under the thin cotton top. Billy's depression suddenly began to lift.

  Patsy leaned across the desk to plant a lipsticky kiss smack on his lips, affording him a tantalising glimpse of dimpled cleavage as she did so.

  'Blimey, Patsy, you look terrific,' he said.

  'And you look bloody awful,' she replied. 'What if I was a rich and powerful new client about to give you a lucrative commission? Finding you unshaven and half pissed with your phone out of order is not very impressive.'

  'I'm not pissed and if you were a rich client you'd be the first I've seen in months.'

  'Poor Billy.' She plopped herself down in the chair facing him and reached into her handbag. 'As it happens, I've come to do you a good turn.' And she removed from her bag a large white envelope. 'You remember that job you did for me last year?'

  'Patsy, please. How could anyone ever forget spending six hours up a tree taking photographs of gangsters having it off with naked women.'

  'Indeed. Just your kind of thing. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it.'

  'You're joking. It half killed me. And after I fell out of the tree your husband and his pals would have finished the job if they hadn't been blind drunk and naked.'

  'Well, you were brilliant and so were the photographs. That's why I've come.' And she opened the envelope to reveal a thick sheaf of £20 notes. 'There's a thousand pounds in there. That ought to pay the rent on this poxy place for a few more weeks.'

  Billy resisted the overwhelming impulse to grab the money. He looked deep into Patsy's big blue eyes and read only amused sincerity.

  'But Patsy, you already paid me. Months ago. Don't tell me you want me to go after Danny again. Desperate as I am, I haven't completely lost my marbles.'

  'Don't worry, Danny legged it to Spain last year. You're safe.'

  'What have I got to do then?'

  'Give me the rest of the photographs. I want the negatives, too. The lot. And all this is yours.'

  As Billy reached into his filing cabinet for the large jiffy bag containing the photographs in question he racked his brains for potential flaws in this proposition. To be honest, he'd be better off without a collection of photographs incriminating Dangerous Danny Fretwork, Britain's most sought-after criminal and two-timing husband of the fair Patsy. And a grand, in cash, unreachable by P. Bastard Starch, was a lifeline.

  'OK, it's a deal,' he said.

  She grinned
and tossed the bundle of notes into his lap. He grabbed them eagerly. 'Patsy, you're an angel. An angel with tits.'

  'Charming.'

  'They're the best kind. Spreading sweetness and light in this world, not the next.'

  'Does that mean you want to look through these photos with me?'

  'I think I'd better, to check they're all there. Provided you won't be upset at seeing your old man on the job in black and white.'

  'Huh,' Patsy snarled nastily. 'I suspect that's all I'm ever going to see of that bastard from now on.' And she upended the bag, scattering dozens of prints and plastic envelopes of negatives across the desk top.

  Patsy crouched over them, spreading the prints out and turning them the right way up. Billy came round to her side of the desk and helped her. They stood thigh to thigh, their arms and hands touching and brushing companionably as they reached across each other.

  'There's some pretty horny ones as I remember,' he said.

  'Like this?' Patsy pointed at a photograph of a half-naked couple entwined on a poolside lounger, the man's face buried between the woman's big breasts, her hand tugging a stiff prick free of his swimming trunks.

  'This one's better.' Billy showed her a shot of a hefty fellow between the legs of a slender girl in a wet T-shirt, her face set in fierce concentration as she splayed her pussy lips wide to receive his large member.

  Patsy giggled. 'I know that bugger,' she said. 'He made a pass at me one New Year's Eve. Perhaps I should have said yes.'

  There was silence for a few moments as they continued to shuffle through the stack. Patsy leaned heavily against Billy, her soft round hip pushing comfortably against him. Then she said, 'You must have been very frustrated while all this was going on. Stuck halfway up a tree with a hard-on and all the action just out of reach.'

  'It was just a job, Patsy. I was gathering evidence of your husband's infidelity and pernicious conduct. You weren't paying me to have a hard-on.'

  She laughed. A tough, sexy cackle. 'I thought a stud like you went round with a permanent erection. I mean, you never know when it might come in handy in your line of work.'

  He slipped his left hand under the hem of her ridiculously short skirt and slid it upwards. She didn't move a muscle. And as they continued to look at the photographs of the orgy his hand roamed gently over the generous cushion of her bottom.

  Billy was right, there were some pretty horny pictures - twosomes, threesomes and more, participants engaged in all sorts of amorous arithmetic both in and out of the water.

  'Look at that randy cow,' said Patsy in awed tones. 'I've never done that.'

  The atmosphere in the small office seemed to thicken.

  By now Billy had edged the insubstantial fabric of Patsy's panties away from the soft flesh of her buttocks and he was stroking, pinching and moulding the firm flesh with lascivious abandon.

  Then he felt the presence of her hand on his belt buckle, unfastening and unzipping to give her knowing fingers access. Still their eyes were glued to the array of lewd images spread out in front of them.

  'Well, Mr Hard-On,' she breathed, 'what's your favourite? What turns you on the most?'

  Without hesitation Billy flipped over a shot of a rounded and voluptuous female bottom bent over a chair, the cheeks creamy white, the valley between dark and tempting, the vaginal pouch just visible through wisps of curly hair; in the corner of the print a stiff-standing male organ, coarse and glistening, the helmet fat and engorged, stood ready for action.

  'I've got a better arse than that,' said Patsy in husky tones. 'Have you got a better cock?'

  She had her fingers wrapped round him by now, frigging him with practised ease inside his trousers.

  'More to the point, Mrs Fretwork, I've got the only cock that's available at present and that's what counts,' said Billy, lifting her apology for a skirt almost to her waist.

  She sprawled forward over the desk, across the jumble of prints, while he eased her panties down the bronzed flesh of her soft plump thighs. As he lifted one foot out of the tiny garment she spread her legs apart and he looked upwards into the thatch of dark hair that covered her crotch. The long pink lips of her vagina were clearly visible, glistening with her evident excitement.

  'What are you waiting for, Billy?' she whispered. 'Go ahead and fuck the arse off me - I want my money's worth out of these bloody photos!'

  Chapter 2

  'Daddy was right,' said Sophie Stark to herself, as she lay motionless on the bed. 'I'm crazy. There's no doubt about it.'

  She eased her shoulders against the bedhead. She was getting stiff but she didn't dare move sufficiently to give herself proper relief. Not until she had decided precisely what to do about the naked man beside her.

  He was stretched out along the length of her, his head on the pillow nuzzling into the curve of her left breast, one arm encircling her waist. He had been sleeping for over an hour now but she had not closed her eyes. This was by no means the first gentleman-caller Sophie had invited into her bed but it was the first time Detective Sergeant Stark had gone quite this far. There was a lot of gossip about her. They said she'd stop at nothing to get her man. But this was the first time she had lured a wanted criminal into the sanctuary of her own bedroom and fucked his brains out for half the night.

  'Crazy,' she repeated to herself.

  It hadn't exactly been premeditated but the moment she had clapped eyes on the surveillance photos of Crispin Kingsley, elusive pimp and white-slaver, she had felt the familiar lurch of lust in the pit of her stomach. He was stunningly beautiful - tall, suntanned and built like a loose-limbed sprinter. His flashing smile and eyes of innocent baby blue exuded public-school integrity. It didn't matter that his real name was Herbert String or that he had a list of convictions ranging from dope-dealing to indecent assault. Sophie knew, though she never exactly spelled it out to herself, that given the chance she'd let him into her pants. Then she'd turn him in.

  So far, things were going according to plan. She'd allowed him to pick her up at Evangeline, the tacky night club he used as a local. Fortunately long-legged redheads in mini-skirts were just his type. The rest of the evening was now very pleasurable history. She hadn't expected him to be such a charmer, he had manners and style, he was fun. He also had brilliant lingual technique. He'd had her knickers off going up the stairs to her flat and licked her out in the hall. She'd come twice before they'd even got into the bedroom. And then he'd got to work with his cock, a long elegant appendage that he used on her with such confident expertise that she even considered proposing an unspeakably filthy weekend out of town. Fortunately by the time she had recovered her breath her good sense had prevailed. Charmer though he was, if she went off with a villain like Kingsley there was no guarantee she would ever return.

  Now she had had her fun she was in a quandary. It was five o'clock in the morning. Her quarry was sleeping peacefully beside her. Somehow she had to immobilise him and get some help.

  She rolled towards the side of the bed, hoping to slip away without waking him. At once his grasp tightened and the arm around her waist held her fast. His eyes, their lashes impossibly long, snapped wide open and he smiled up at her from beneath the white bulge of her breast.

  'Good morning, darling,' he said and fastened his sculpted lips over her nipple.

  'Don't, Chris,' she said but she could feel the betraying tingle in her flesh as his mouth caressed her.

  Suddenly he was all over her, hugging her to him in an urgent embrace, kissing her hard, one hand kneading the softness of her buttocks.

  'For God's sake,' she cried, tearing her mouth from his and wondering frantically how she could subdue this gorgeous male who had emerged from a deep sleep instantly rampant. She could feel the evidence of his condition digging hard into her thigh and knew it would be thrusting deep inside her within the next minute if she didn't divert him.

  'Chris,' she breathed into his ear, 'would you like to try something different?'

  That had an
effect, though by now his fingers were at the lips of her pussy, teasing them apart.

  'What are you proposing, Steph?'

  For a second that took her by surprise. Then she remembered she had told him her name was Stephanie.

  One finger was now inside her, a second followed, widening the breach. A thumb was ever-so-gently nudging her clit.

  'Have you ever had a feminist fuck?'

  The hand slowed.

  'What the hell is that?'

  'Let me out of bed and I'll show you.'

  'But I'm enjoying what we're doing now.'

  His fingers had resumed their insistent probing. She vainly clamped her thighs together as a ripple of pleasure shuddered through her belly.

  'Chris, I'm not doing anything. It's all you. It's great - ooh, that's nice - but sometimes a girl likes to have things her own way. I can't believe you're a complete chauvinist.'

  That stopped him. Chris was very concerned about his self-image.

  'So what is it? Girls-on-top time?'

  'Sort of - but with a few variations. You'll love it, macho man. I can guarantee that you're going to get fucked like you've never been fucked before.' And how, added Sophie to herself as she slithered out of his now-relaxed grasp.

  She began to feel more confident as she scrambled in the second drawer of her dressing-table where she kept her underwear. She now had an idea of how to get out of this mess. As she hunted in the drawer she stuck her rear end out provocatively and wiggled it for his enjoyment.

  Kingsley wolf-whistled. 'Very feminist,' he said, 'just my kind.'

  Sophie slowly turned and walked back to the bed, making sure to jiggle her breasts and flash her most lascivious smile. Not that she had to pretend to be on heat. He lay back with his hands folded behind his head. The sheet was on the floor. In the dim light his body was a golden brown all over apart from a broad strip across his loins. His cock lay fully erect against his belly, the fat red tip rudely gleaming against the white flesh. Sophie couldn't take her eyes off it. God, she was wet between the legs.