Lust at Large Read online

'Bog shop?'

  'Building society - bee ess - bog shop. It is, too. I'm glad a little smasher like her got the money. I reckon she ought to bung a bit my way. I mean, it's all thanks to me, isn't it?'

  'If you say so.' Robyn could hardly conceal her glee. This idiot was a gift.

  He frowned. Something of the sort had also occurred to him.

  'Here, all this is off the record, right? We haven't talked money yet.'

  'Let's talk about it now then. What figure did you have in mind?'

  'Five.'

  Robyn frowned. Five thousand pounds for a one-off piece was a bit steep even if it did freeze out the Dog.

  'Two,' she replied.

  'Come off it!' He was indignant. 'This is my exclusive account of going face to face with the most wanted woman in the land. It's got to be worth four.'

  'Three and we'll use your photo idea. My photographer is rounding up some beautiful girls right now.'

  He thought about this for a moment. The mention of 'girls' had put a gleam in his one functioning eye.

  'OK,' he said, 'three hundred and fifty pounds, that's my last word.'

  Robyn could have leapt for joy. The guy was a certifiable moron.

  'Done,' she said with a straight face and offered her hand. He took hold of it by the wrist and yanked her towards him so that she almost fell into his lap.

  'Three fifty and I get to shag the model I like best after the photo session.'

  Maybe he wasn't quite as stupid as he looked.

  Her hand had come to rest on the shiny black leather of his thigh. It felt hard and firm beneath the slippery material. 'I can't guarantee that,' she said, 'but suppose I suck your cock now and you make your own arrangements for later?' He didn't reply in words, he just grabbed her shoulders and pulled her mouth to his stubbly face.

  He tasted better than she would ever have thought and, as his tongue slipped between her lips, she relished the brutish rasp of his chin. A big hand suddenly yanked her skirt to her waist and he grabbed a fistful of pliant bum flesh.

  'No,' she said firmly as she tried to stop his fingers ripping away the wisp of panty that covered her bottom. 'We do it my way or the deal's off.'

  'I'll talk to Maxwell Shaftesbury,' he said, cupping her arse cheeks in both hands and probing for her crack. In another moment she wouldn't care if her clothes were ruined.

  'Get off or I'll talk to Franny,' she replied with finality and shoved him backwards so he sprawled across the sofa.

  He grinned at her sheepishly and she knew the threat of Franny had won the day. In some respects that was a pity but there was no time for anything more complicated. Besides, she relished what she was about to do...

  She knelt between the spread vee of his leather-clad thighs and put her hands on the bulge in his crotch. He slid lower in his seat and surrendered to her fingers as she deftly pulled open his fly and delved inside for his penis.

  It was thick and shiny and circumcised, as big as a billiard ball on top, and she almost gagged as she stretched her mouth wide to take it in. She pulled his balls from his trousers and held them in one hand while she went to work on his shaft with the other.

  He grunted in appreciation and shifted his leather-clad pelvis to her rhythm.

  Coming up for air, she took her lips from the steaming red helmet in her fist and smiled to herself. Such tasks there were in the pursuit of her chosen profession! Her hands masturbated him briskly and the smell and creak of leather assailed her as she exercised her considerable skills in the cause of journalism.

  She licked and kissed his burning knob and tickled the underside of his glans with the tip of her tongue.

  'By Christ, that's good,' he muttered, his face as flushed as his tool.

  'Yeah,' she said, 'I love the way your dick sticks out of the leather. It's wild. Pure Brando.'

  'Yer what? If you don't want me to spunk all over your blouse, love, you'd better put it back in yer gob quick.' Robyn did as she was told and swallowed every drop.

  Chapter 49

  Stephen drifted in and out of consciousness. He couldn't shift the cords that bound his wrists and ankles and he was resigned to being discovered like this. Someone would come along sooner or later, he knew, and it was going to be most embarrassing when they did. He tried not to think about it.

  The day was balmy and warm already, the grass beneath his half-naked body had long lost its morning dampness. Up in the sky birds flitted, close by insects buzzed. In some respects he was quite comfortable.

  Just what had happened to him? Had it been one woman in a scarlet bodysuit or two? He had seen two pairs of breasts, there was no doubt about that, but had it been an illusion? Had the bang on his head so scrambled his vision that he had seen double? Everything about the women had been identical down to the tiny blonde hairs on the forearms and the pink puckering around the strawberry nipples. Everything was the same, except maybe...

  He was distracted by sounds of a door opening and a warm contralto voice humming a tune. The humming came closer and Stephen lifted his head and strained against his bonds. He would rather not be rescued by a woman but what choice did he have? He called out.

  Miriam Jarvis was feeling particularly cheerful this morning. And why not? It was Midsummer's, after all, and that was always a special day for a Blisswood woman. She had been on heat since watching Lucy and Gavin in the barn and tonight her fire was going to burn...

  Nevertheless it was a surprise to find a half-naked man in her garden at ten o'clock in the morning - staked out for her pleasure, as it were, with his hands tied above his head to a large oak and his ankles lashed to a garden roller. 'Please untie me,' he said, misery in his voice and desperation in his eyes.

  Miriam took stock of the situation, of the broad shoulders and long lean frame, of the jeans crumpled around the thighs and the exposed penis lying in a sticky pool of spunk.

  Stephen took stock of her in turn. He saw a well-built, well-preserved woman of indeterminate years with thick fair hair and an expression he could not read. She wore a thigh-high Chinese silk wrap decorated with red and green dragons which revealed sturdy brown legs and bare feet. In her hand she carried a bundle of flimsy underwear evidently just gathered from the washing line.

  'What do you think you're doing in my garden, young man?' The voice was low and musical.

  'Untie me, please,' repeated Stephen. 'I've been attacked.'

  'Oh yes?' She was sceptical.

  'Two women jumped on me and tied me up. They pulled my trousers down and - and—'

  'Raped you?'

  'Yes! I've been indecently assaulted.'

  'I'd better call the police then.'

  'I am the police. I'm Detective Constable Stephen Fantail of the Metropolitan Police Force.'

  'Can you prove it?'

  It occurred to Stephen that he couldn't. His wallet was back in his room.

  'I'm a guest at The Blisswood Spa Hotel.'

  'Really?' Miriam came closer. He could see right up her legs beneath the hem of her wrap. 'My daughter is the manager. Let me ring her and ask her to come and identify you.'

  'No, no! Please just untie me.'

  She was wearing pale yellow panties and he could see the shadow of her muff through the thin cotton.

  'How do I know you're not a pervert? I bet you get your kicks out of tying yourself up and exposing yourself to women.'

  'How? Look at me.'

  'I am looking and what I see merely confirms my suspicions. How do you explain that?'

  In effect the explanation was simple, it was the result of a pair of long pretty legs and a bulging pussy mound on a febrile imagination. Stephen's cock was not inhibited by the situation. Newly introduced to the delights women carry between their legs, it had scented fresh cunt and was now sitting up and begging for more.

  'God, I'm sorry,' moaned Stephen. 'I can't help it, you're just too - too...'

  'Too what, you perverted youth?'

  '...unbelievably gorgeous. It's impert
inent of me to say it, I know. If you'd only let me go I could cover myself up.'

  'And allow you to frighten the next defenceless female you come across? I would be failing in my civic duty, Constable Fantail, if I allowed that to happen.'

  He stared at her thinly clad figure - bare brown legs, deep freckled cleavage and wickedly curving grin - in a turmoil. She lifted a slender foot and slid a scarlet-painted big toe along the crease of his thighs until it rested beneath his scrotum.

  'As a policeman,' she said, 'you'll know of cases in which abused young women have been rescued and then taken advantage of by the men who have rescued them.'

  Stephen's balls were now bobbing up and down on her foot. The effect was both terrifying and titillating. A strangled moan came from his throat. It was the only response he could manage.

  'Here's my chance to reverse the process and take revenge for my sex.' Her foot pressed on the shaft of his blood-gorged penis, rolling it from side to side across the sticky plain of his belly. Stephen squirmed his arse into the grass, he was turned on - he couldn't help it.

  'Take your foot off me,' he hissed in a vain show of authority.

  'OK' she said and replaced her foot with her hand, kneeling over him so that he could see her laughing face. She took a pair of silky peach panties from her bundle of washing and wrapped them round his shaft. She caressed him slyly, rubbing the soft material the length of his throbbing tool and plunging him into a fever of desire.

  'Stop this at once!' he moaned.

  'But I thought this was what you perverts enjoyed - don't you want to come in my knickers?' Her eyes bored into his as she manipulated him and then her full mouth twitched with sudden merriment. 'I suppose this is what you might call handling stolen goods.'

  'Christ,' he muttered through clenched teeth, fighting to hold back the rush of excitement building in his loins, 'are all the women here sex mad?'

  'Yes,' she said simply and straddled his legs. She pulled the gusset of her panties to one side and showed him the dark brown mat of hair beneath. Holding his stiff cock up from his stomach, she rubbed the ruby red glans against the plump and glistening flesh of her long pussy lips. 'It's Midsummer's Eve, Mr Policeman, and all we Blisswood women want to do is fuck. You're not complaining, are you?'

  And, notwithstanding his humiliation, DC Fantail wasn't.

  Chapter 50

  It took an hour and a half for Max to get the information he needed out of Margot. As Max emerged from the Scallion household, Adriana took hold of his arm.

  'Where's Gammon then?' she asked.

  Max had a distracted air and his hair was awry. Adriana's question seemed to bring him down to earth.

  'At some snooty hotel called The Blisswood Spa being interviewed by Robyn Chestnut of the Bunny.'

  'I see.' Adriana rebuttoned Max's shirt which had somehow become misaligned and set about brushing dog hairs off his jacket.

  'What's more, the little bastard is getting them to shoot a topless identity parade.'

  'Oh dear.'

  'That was my idea. I ought to sue him for infringement of intellectual copyright.'

  'No point. What would you do with a whippet and a collection of Motorhead records? That's about all he's got.'

  'How do you know?'

  'There are no secrets round here. I've been talking to the girls.' And she pointed to the Spacewagon whose interior seemed to be full of wild blonde hair, flowery print dresses and bare brown shoulders. High-pitched giggles could be heard from inside, punctuated by bursts of shrill laughter.

  'Who the hell are they?'

  'Models for the identity parade photo. I got most of them from the cafe round the corner. I suppose you're about to tell me the shoot's off.'

  'Too right. The Dog doesn't copy the Bunny - even if the bastards have nicked our idea. Get rid of them.'

  'That's a pity. They're all looking forward to meeting you. There's one that makes Dolly Parton look undernourished.'

  Maxwell gave her a baleful stare. 'To tell you the truth, Adriana, I've had enough of large chests for a bit. Fortunately the woman we need now is as flat as a pancake.'

  'Fiancee Franny?'

  'Precisely. If we tell her that her beloved is eye-balling naked women at this hotel and offer her a lift we should be onto something. "Furious Franny wreaks revenge. In the aftermath of this latest robbery another human drama unfolds," etcetera. At the least we ought to be able to screw up the Bunny.'

  'That's my boy,' said Adriana, pushing an errant curl over his ears and surveying him critically lest she had missed anything. 'Come and be nice to the girls while I pay them off. Then we'll go and pick up Franny.'

  'You know where to find her?'

  'Sure. She's the office manager for Whitewash and Dross, the solicitor in the High Street. Marilyn used to work there.'

  'Who?'

  'The girl with the footballs under her vest who is ogling you from the nearside window.'

  'Christ!'

  'What's up with you, Max? I thought you Australians were keen on sport.'

  Max had always been an independent fellow. He'd left home at sixteen, lost touch with his parents when he'd moved to England and he'd never been wed. But now he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't marry Adriana. He'd not laid a finger on her in lust, had never even kissed her, but without her he knew he'd be lost.

  She probably didn't fancy him, he knew that. She had observed him too closely for him to hold any romantic mystique in her eyes. But to his mind that was a perfect recommendation. As for sex, hanky-panky was too much a part of his work ethic for him to attach any importance to it after hours. He looked at Adriana's small capable hands on the wheel of the big vehicle as she drove down the High Street. A sexless marriage. It sounded like bliss to him. He wondered if she'd go for it.

  'Shall I go in and get her?' asked Marilyn.

  They had dismissed the other girls but kept Marilyn because of her connection to Franny. Sitting in the rear, she thrust her elfin face with its crown of yellow curls between the two front seats. Her skinny vest-top was moulded to her strapping frame, clinging to every breathtaking contour of her twin peaks.

  Despite himself, Max was already picturing her naked. Would those gigantic breasts fall to her waist as she unclipped the black lace bra whose straps kept sliding into view? Or would they jut straight out from her chest buoyed up by the elasticity of youth? With the memory of Margot's satin melons still imprinted on his face and lips and hands, he wondered how Marilyn's marvels would compare.

  'Well, Max?' said Adriana. It was obvious from her expression that she could read his mind. 'Aren't you going in to talk to her? I think Franny needs the star treatment, don't you?'

  'Eeh, I think he's lovely,' said Marilyn as Max walked from the Spacewagon to the office door. 'It must be wonderful working for him like you do.'

  Adriana smiled at her kindly. 'Fetching and carrying for Maxwell Shaftesbury is not particularly glamorous, you know.'

  'I wouldn't mind. If I asked him nicely, do you think he'd let me fetch some things for him?'

  Adriana stared at Max's retreating back and for once her serene smile was not in place.

  'No doubt about it, Marilyn. He'd love it.'

  Chapter 51

  Miriam rang Julia at the hotel in a state of contentment. The unexpected fuck in the garden had started off Midsummer's with a bang and she was determined it was going to continue in the same vein. But, for the moment, her new lover was in the bath and she had time to satisfy her curiosity.

  'What is it, mummy?' Julia was in no mood for conversation. Before long, Monk would be knocking on her door and she was already sweating with fear.

  'Do you have a young man staying at the hotel called Fantail?'

  'Yes.'

  'Detective Constable Stephen Fantail of the Metropolitan Police?'

  There was silence.

  'Julia? Are you there?'

  'Yes, mummy. Why are you asking?'

  'No special reason. I'v
e just bumped into him in the garden, that's all.'

  'In the garden?' Julia was stunned. Monk had his spies after her. They were surrounding her home, harassing her family. 'Mummy, are you all right?'

  'Oh, absolutely.'

  A warning bell rang in Julia's head. She knew this naughty-me tone of old.

  'Mother, you've not... done anything with him, have you?'

  'Don't pry, Julia. I have simply met a pleasant young man out enjoying the countryside and I wondered if you had come across him at the hotel.'

  Julia was in a panic. She had not told her mother about the interview with Monk - how could she? - but the last thing she needed at the moment was her own mother chumming up to one of his colleagues.

  'Look, mummy, I don't think you should talk to him or let him in the house or - or anything.'

  'Why not? He's a policeman, after all. Between you and me, he's rather a pussy cat. How he ever catches criminals I can't imagine.'

  As he lay in lukewarm water in Miriam Jarvis's bathroom, Stephen couldn't imagine catching criminals either. It was becoming clear to him that since he had arrived in Blisswood he had fucked up royally - and literally.

  Last night he had been kidnapped and seduced by a prime suspect and this morning he had been tied up and assaulted by one, or maybe two, half-naked women. Now he had been raped by another suspect's mother and, to cap it all, he was held a virtual prisoner in the bath because she had disappeared with his clothes.

  On the other hand, there was a positive side to recent events. His undercover work had enabled him to eliminate Felicity Dodge from the enquiry and now his adventures had placed him inside Julia Jarvis's house in an excellent position to snoop around for evidence. It would be necessary, of course, to keep the mother sweet. Such hardships there were in detective work...

  In the garden, Miriam had ground his arse into the dry lawn as she had ridden his prick. She had bitten his tongue and scratched his nipples and squeezed his balls, all the while plunging her warm weight up and down on his loins. He had been helpless and she had been rough and he had loved it. He had shot his spunk up into her like water from a geyser and they had shouted in unison as they came.