Lust on the Loose (19 page)

'I still think
you should give him the once-over.' Katie nodded and leaned across
to place further weights on Billy's two piles. Suddenly he found
that he couldn't move a muscle.

'Right,' she
said, 'let's check out the equipment.' And she briskly tugged down
the top of Billy's shorts, exposing his stiff cock. Slipping her
hands between his legs, she casually pulled his balls out into the
open. For a moment all three were silent.

Imogen leaned
forward, resting her elbows on the exercise machine. Her breasts
swung down fluidly, twin dangling tubes of flesh which Billy ached
to lift and squeeze and fondle.

'Show me,' she
said to Katie who at once took hold of the head of Billy's cock,
pulling the organ up so it stood perpendicular, a pulsating tower
rising from the plain of his belly. None too delicately, but
nevertheless with practised ease, she peeled the foreskin downwards
to reveal the pink gleaming helmet of his glans. She slid the skin
up and down once or twice, forcing more blood into the head,
turning it a deep red. A pearl of juice glistened in the eye of his
organ.

'Mmm,' Imogen
sighed appreciatively, 'what a big juicy one. I can understand how
you finally won over Candy.'

'Not without a
little help, though,' added Katie, squeezing and frotting the stiff
flesh almost absent-mindedly.

'What do you
mean "help"?' said Billy.

'Has it ever
occurred to you,' replied Imogen, 'that to maintain an erection for
forty-eight hours is not normal? It can't be achieved without a
little extra stimulation.'

'We didn't
intend it to work out quite like that,' said Katie, still
manipulating him, 'it's not our fault. I think you should blame
Arnold.'

'What's he got
to do with it?' Billy was incredulous.

'Everything.
The magic is in his biscuits, you dummy. And you had second
helpings, I understand.'

'Oh Christ!'
said Billy, realisation suddenly dawning. 'You mean there's an
aphrodisiac in his biscuits?'

'Didn't you
wonder why you had a two-day stiffy?' chuckled Imogen, bending down
to plant a gentle kiss on the angry red cap of his prick as it
thrust between Katie's tantalising fingers. 'You poor lamb!'

'Wait till I
see that bloody Arnold!' cried Billy.

'I wouldn't be
too hard on him,' cooed Imogen, 'from where I'm sitting, it doesn't
look as if you've suffered any permanent damage.'

'But I could
have,' yelled Billy, reflecting that he had not only had second
helpings of Arnold's cookies but thirds and fourths. 'You shouldn't
have done it. You should have warned me. It's completely against my
rights as a citizen.'

'Oh shut up,
you toe-rag,' said Katie, 'a rat like you doesn't have any rights
when it comes to fucking.' And she waggled Billy's big prong
energetically from side to side, making it grow even stiffer.

'But I'm being
abused! This is indecent assault.'

'Maybe,' said
Imogen, 'but it'll never stand up in court.'

On the bank, from his observation post in an unmarked car
parked on the road, DS Mark Bacon watched the rise and fall of
the
Princess Patsy
on the water of the Thames. He wondered idly to himself how
come such a large boat moved quite so much when there was no other
river traffic in the vicinity. His fertile imagination supplied an
answer that was doubtless only too true. This was a job that
involved Sophie Stark and Mark well knew what that meant. In his
mind's eye he conjured up visions of naked females jumping up and
down on one another, breasts bobbing, hips grinding, hair flying as
they cruised to multiple orgasms. He did not doubt that the reality
was close to his dreams. He had worked with Sophie too often for it
to be otherwise.

And so DS
Bacon failed to observe the one thing he was on duty to spot, the
sudden rocking of the boat on the water which could possibly have
been made by a fifteen-stone man hauling himself aboard from the
water side. In fact his eyes were focused more specifically on the
small galley portholes which were affording him an incomplete view
of a half-naked blonde woman with round plump tits whom he knew to
be Mrs P Fretwork. At that moment Patsy looked straight at him,
scowled and twitched the curtain over the porthole, blocking off
the enchanting view.

'Daft cow,'
she said to herself, aware that she had given some bored rozzer an
eyeful. But it was not surprising, in her present mood, that she
had forgotten the existence of the world outside. Her session with
Pandy had absorbed her totally. In fact the encounter was far from
finished. Now was, as she had put it to Pandy upon release from
bondage, 'her turn'. Pandy was next door, trussed up in a similar
fashion to the way she herself had been till just a few moments
ago. Patsy took pleasure in that: the fact that Pandora trusted her
sufficiently to do unto her as she had just dished out.

In truth,
having the upper hand had refreshed Patsy. She had never been a
dominant partner in anything before, and certainly not the guardian
of a bound, gagged and naked reporter with a degree from Girton and
a charge account at Harrods. As she had tied Pandy up she hadn't
been sure exactly what she was going to do when in command. She
assumed she would follow a similar programme of pain and pleasure
as Pandy had dealt her. The funny thing was, once Pandy had been
rendered silent and immobile, an urge had stolen over Patsy to give
this pushy dyke who had been bossing her around for the past week
something of a shock. Pandy would be bound to approve, for she was
constantly urging Patsy to assert herself.

Unlooping the
broad belt from Pandy's discarded jeans she had given her half a
dozen hearty thwacks on her upturned buttocks turning the flesh a
raw flaming pink and sending shudders rippling through the
reporter's long slender frame. Then she had gone off in search of
other means of torture, deciding that Pandy could stew in her own
juices for a bit. After all, as she knew from her own recent
experience, it only heightened the pleasure in the long run.

Searching for
a tea towel which she could maybe soak and knot and turn into an
impoverished flail, she had come to the galley. There she had
boiled a kettle. A cup of tea was just what she needed at the
moment. Doubtless a tea break would be frowned on at the best sex
orgies but she was new to this sort of lark. It was then she had
become aware of the prying eyes of the copper in the car. And it
was there, a moment or two later, that Danny Fretwork discovered
her.

It would have made a memorable encounter for the world at
large. The big bronzed barrel of a man - Public Enemy Number One -
dressed in a dripping wet-suit and transfixed at the sight of his
estranged wife, her lascivious curves on full view in a pair of
flimsy panties, balanced on a pair of high heels and clutching a
mug of steaming tea. Unfortunately for the nation and in particular
the readers of the
Daily
Blizzard
, their intrepid reporter - who
would surely have scooped the front page the next day - was not
quite on the spot, being stark naked and trussed to a wooden bench
in the cabin next door. Quite how she would have dramatised the
epic encounter will never be known.

'Hello,
Danny.'

'Hello,
Patsy.'

'The kettle's
just boiled. I'll make you a cup of tea if you promise not to chuck
it at me.'

'Don't be
stupid. You'd be scarred for life.'

'I thought
that was what you wanted.'

'Leave it out,
Pats. Do you mind if I just slip out of these wet things?'

'Go ahead.
I've seen it all before.'

'That's true.'
Danny's face split into a melon-sized grin. 'Me too. You're looking
good. Have you lost a bit of weight?'

'Oh, you've
noticed? Two stone. Through worry. It's a most effective diet, I've
discovered.'

'What were you
worried about?'

'You, you
stupid bastard. And who you were fucking.'

'Ah,' he said
pensively, eyeing the wobble of her tits as she dumped three sugars
into a mug and stirred vigorously. 'If you'd lost two stone earlier
maybe I wouldn't have been fucking anybody. Apart from you.'

'Get off.
Screwing scrubbers is a reflex where you're concerned. Like
farting. Don't tell me you'll ever stop.'

'That's not
entirely true, Patsy.' He had stripped down now to just a pair of
scarlet swimming trunks and was leaning against the sink sipping
his tea, the mug entirely hidden in his huge grasp. 'Some of the
birds I went with were high class.'

'High-class
tarts, you mean. They cost you enough.'

'Look.' Danny
raised his voice. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to
do or say to Patsy when he finally caught up with her but he
certainly hadn't pictured a conversation like this. After all, he
was the aggrieved party. 'Now, look here,' he said again, gesturing
with his mug and slopping scalding liquid down his naked chest.
'OW!'

'Serves you
right,' said Patsy unsympathetically and then, in a gentler tone,
'Here, let me,' and she dabbed at him with a handy tea towel.

She was up
close to him now, the top of her blonde head nuzzling into his
chin. She smelt of deep musky perfume and of sex. She giggled
suddenly. 'Here, Danny. You've got grey hairs on your chest.'

'I should tan
your hide,' he said gruffly.

'So that's
what you've come all the way back to England for, risking your
liberty. To beat me up. That's very clever, Danny.' The fleshy
rounds of her breasts were pressing into his chest as she
ministered to him. 'That's the kind of brainy thinking that made
you king of the London rackets.' Her hard little nipples were
scratching at his burnt skin, hurting him.

'Shut up,' he
growled.

'Make me.'

The kiss went
on for a long time, her small slippery tongue deep in his mouth and
her arms around his neck, pressing the warmth of her tits into his
flaming chest while his big hands were everywhere, up and down her
back and under the flimsy panties to grasp the plump mass of her
bum cheeks and run his fingers into the juicy well of her
pussy.

They would
undoubtedly have crowned their reunion with a breathless bonk up
against the metal sink - she was already struggling to wrestle the
blunt jackhammer of his cock out of his trunks and ram it up
between her legs - when a sound from on deck made her pull her
mouth away from his and froze her entire body.

'Patsy—'

'Be quiet!'
she hissed.

'Hello,' came
a voice from above.

'Oh hell,' she
groaned.

'Who's
that?'

'It's only one
of the coppers.'

'
What!
'

'One of the
coppers keeping a lookout in case you turn up.'

'Christ!'

'Don't worry,
I'll get rid of him. Hello!' she called back up the stairwell,
'I'll be right with you.'

'I just
brought the milk over,' said the voice, sounding ominously close.
'Why don't I bring it down?' They heard the sound of large feet on
the stairs.

'
Christ!
'
muttered Danny again, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a bread
knife.

'No, you can't
come down,' Patsy called back, frantically motioning Danny to put
down the knife, 'I've got no clothes on.'

The footsteps
halted.

'Oh dear, oh
sorry, I, er—' the footsteps retreated clumsily.

'Danny, quick,
where's your diving gear? Will he see it?'

'Not unless he
goes poking around up there.'

'Don't worry,
he won't have eyes for anything but my tits. You get lost
somewhere, I've got to go and sort him out.'

And she was
gone, wrapping a towel around her delicious body as she scrambled
up the stairwell. 'Oh Mark,' he heard her say, 'it's sweet of you
to come over. I was just in the bath.'

Danny leaned
against the door, the red mist in his head and loins slowly
clearing. He realised his cock was sticking out of his pants and
that he was still clutching the knife.

'Bloody hell,'
he said to himself, then picked up his wet-suit and padded silently
down the corridor.

He soundlessly
turned the handle of the first door he came to and slipped
inside.

Billy was
still protesting but, in truth, his complaints of ill-treatment
were undermined by the reaction of his prick which thrust obscenely
up into the air as Katie toyed with it. She pinched and stroked,
smacking it playfully from side to side, grasping it at the base
and waggling it like a stick - much to Imogen's amusement. She took
her turn, too, licking the shaft like a lollipop; allowing Katie to
slip the head into her mouth for a tantalising moment; then bending
forward to roll the fleshy sausage between her wobbling tits.

'Layoff,' said
Billy feebly.

'Why don't you
shut him up, Katie,' said Imogen. 'The way you like best.'

Katie needed
no second urging. Cleverly, for she never let go of his
stiff-standing member, she sat herself astride Billy's torso and
then dragged her knickers down until they stretched in a single
band across the meaty rear of her thighs. Suspended above him were
the twin pillows of her succulent arse, the furrow between them
spread wide to reveal, in the gap between her legs, a veritable
forest of thick black curls.

Billy's words
of protest had died on his lips. He heard Imogen's voice, felt her
breath warm on his ear as she bent her head to his face and
whispered, 'Isn't she magnificent, Billy? Have you ever seen a
hairier cunt?'

Billy shook
his head and gazed in wonder as Imogen ran her fingers down the
exposed crack, giving the winking brown star of her arsehole an
impudent tickle before plunging her fingers into Katie's bush,
combing out the thick fronds to reveal the split of her pussy.
Billy watched mesmerised as the long and elegant fingers teased
open the curling lips and plunged within, emerging wet with juice
which glistened on the pale pink varnish of her nails. 'Isn't she
lovely Billy? Aren't you just dying to taste her?'