The Godson (16 page)

Drunk as he was, Norton still ordered another bottle of Dom Perignon from room service, which he charged to Peregrine, figuring he would have insisted on it anyway. It arrived about two minutes after they did. Previously Norton had dimmed the lights and turned the TV on low in the background. Some rock group that could have been INXS was playing. He popped the bottle of Dom and poured them both a glass.

‘Well. Here's looking up your old address, Ingersoll.'

‘And yours too,' giggled the tall Norwegian girl.

They moved across to the sliding glass door on the balcony. Les had drawn the curtains open earlier and there was a beautiful view across the resort to the beach, where the moon was turning the smooth darkness of the water into silver. The tiny islands were silhouettes in the distance and the waves licking gently at the water's edge were like crushings of white lace.

‘It is very beautiful here,' said Ingersoll. ‘The moon. The sea. Everything.'

‘Yeah,' agreed Les. ‘Like something out of a Mills and Boon novel, ain't it?'

Ingersoll didn't reply, she just looked across deeply into Norton's eyes. Les went to put his arm around her and managed to spill a little champagne down the front of her tracksuit.

‘Ohh shit! I'm sorry,' he spluttered, and made a clumsy attempt to wipe it off with his free hand.

The attempt to wipe it off went on longer and longer and got slower and slower, with Les spreading more champagne into her top than he was wiping off. Ingersoll started to heave. She tilted her face slightly to one side and Les kissed her on what to him felt like the most lovely warm lips imaginable: firm and assertive, yet sweet and yielding. He took both their glasses and placed them on the table next to them, knocking one over in the process. Ingersoll wound her arms around his neck and began kissing Les more intently, her mouth widened and her tongue fervent and exquisite darted out to be met immediately by Les's. He unzipped the front of her tracksuit, slipped her bra-straps over her shoulders and eased her breasts out. They were firm and round like two big juicy rockmelons. Ingersoll sighed as under Norton's firm but gentle touch the nipples began to harden and colour. He ran his tongue around her ears, under her chin and throat and across her breasts. Ingersoll held his head into her as he kissed her nipples.

Norton felt like he was going to go mad. ‘You know what I want to do?' he said. ‘I want to pour champagne all over your set and lick it off.'

Ingersoll heaved noticeably. ‘What is it you Australians say?' she breathed. ‘Go for your life.'

Les moved her towards the bed and she slipped out of her tracksuit down to a pair of skimpy white knickers. Norton got down to his Speedos and turned off the lights and turned down the TV. With only the moonlight shining in from the balcony, Les could see that Ingersoll had a body that would
make a chief Rabbi carve a swastika on the wall of a synagogue. She undid her bra and lay back on the bed. Norton poured some champagne into a glass then tipped a little over Ingersoll's breasts. She gave a tiny giggle which quickly turned into sighs and moans of delight as Les began slowly licking it off.

‘What a way to drink champagne,' he grinned.

‘What a way to serve it,' she smiled back.

While he was licking off the champagne, Les slipped his hand onto her ted and began stroking it under her knickers. Ingersoll spread her legs and started writhing on the mattress. Les kissed her lips, fondled and kissed her breasts and poured champagne into her navel and sucked it out. Ingersoll started going into a frenzy. Beneath his touch Les could feel her ted start to soften up like a big, juicy Bowen mango. Then Norton must have hit an erogenous zone or something because suddenly the Viking came out in Ingersoll.

With a growl like a panther she tore her knickers off and Norton's Speedos as well. She pushed Les onto his back as if he weighed nothing, stroked his cock a couple of times then climbed up on top of him arching her back and shaking her head from side to side as she eased him inside of her. Her ted was an absolute delight: not too big, not too small and as firm and warm as you'd like. Les fondled her breasts and stroked her shoulders; in the soft light he could see her face twisting and her eyelids fluttering as she began grinding away. He pulled her down to him and kissed her and felt her hair billow and sway across his face. His head spinning from all the champagne earlier, Les held back for as long as he could, but it was getting too good. He grabbed a pillow from behind him and slipped it under his backside for a bit more thrust. A shudder shook Ingersoll and she ground down faster and faster, harder and harder. Les couldn't last any longer. He grabbed her shoulders, forced her down and drove up at the same time. Ingersoll choked off a scream, Les couldn't help but let out a roar then exploded inside her just as Ingersoll threw her head from side to side in a flurry of reddish blonde hair and orgasmic delight.

M
EANWHILE IN ROOM
220, Peregrine had set up pretty much the same scene. He'd ordered the champagne, dimmed the lights except for the bedlamp, tuned the radio to some soft rock station and drawn the curtains for an almost identical view to the one from Norton's room. He had his back to the
girls and in his drunken state had clumsily opened the bottle of Dom and was pouring them a drink.

‘Here you are, ladies,' he beamed, always the perfect gentleman. ‘Cool champagne for your warm lips.' He turned round to the girls and his aristocratic eyes nearly fell out of his upper crust head. By the time Peregrine had opened the bottle and poured three glasses, Josephine and Kirsty had taken off their clothes and were down to their Kayser Perfects. Josephine's were a kind of shiny maroon, Kirsty's blush pink.

‘I say,' spluttered Peregrine.

They both had top little bodies, nicely rounded boobs and slim waists. Their bikini lines were trimmed perfectly and the mounds under their knickers looked like the bonnets on two Volkswagens.

Peregrine's eyes were bulging and his jaw had dropped about a foot. ‘I say,' he said again.

‘What did you want to say?' smiled Josephine.

‘I… I…' Peregrine didn't know what to say.

The two Armidale schoolgirls advanced on Peregrine and began undressing him; Kirsty undid his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt, Josephine began undoing his trousers. When they got him down to his Y-fronts, Josephine placed his hands on her breasts and Kirsty slipped her arms around his waist and started kissing his neck and ears. Poor Peregrine. It was yet another atrocity perpetrated on him since he'd arrived in Australia. He'd just got over all that trouble with Les and Eddie and now he looked like being pack-raped by two nubile schoolgirls. Peregrine may have been a bit of a lad with the debutantes around the West End, but nothing like this had ever happened in jolly old London. And what was that play he'd taken Stephanie Wingate to three weeks before he'd left?
No Sex Please, We're British
.

‘I say, girls,' he stammered. ‘This is most extraordinary, I must say.'

‘You promised us more Shakespeare, Peregrine,' said Josephine, a little authority coming into her voice as she pushed him back onto the bed.

‘Well yes … but…'

‘Well, come on,' said Kirsty. ‘Let's hear it, baby.'

Peregrine began reciting as Josephine and Kirsty got on either side of him and started kissing his chest, neck and ears.

‘
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
,' he gasped. ‘
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport
.'

‘Mmmh! That's beautiful,' crooned Josephine. ‘Keep going.'

‘As on the finger of a throned queen, the basest jewel will be well esteemed. So are those errors, that in thee are seen. So truths
… Oh good God!'

Peregrine took a quick glimpse down. Kirsty had his dick out, stroking it, then running her tongue up and down the sides.

‘Come on, Peregrine,' ordered Josephine. ‘More Shakespeare.'

‘
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of thy prime
… Oh my God.' Kirsty had her mouth around his knob now and was drawing on it, slowly and firmly. ‘
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
… Oh Christ!
But hope of orphans and
… Oh dear!…
unfathered fruit. For
… Jesus! …
summer and his pleasure wait on thee, and, thou away
…'

That was as far as Peregrine got. His voice trailed away as Josephine slipped off her knickers, slewed around and lowered herself down on him; the Englishman now found it extremely difficult to recite Shakespearean sonnets with a juicy eighteenyear-old ted spread across his face. He gasped in some air then poked his tongue up; Josephine squealed, Kirsty kept mouthing him down below. The next thing Peregrine knew she'd straddled him and was forcing him inside her. He moaned into Josephine's ted as Kirsty began grinding away.

‘Don't make him blow yet,' panted Josephine. ‘I want some too.'

‘All right,' gasped Kirsty.

After a few minutes Kirsty got off and so did Josephine. Peregrine brought his head up for a quick look around to find Josephine on her back next to him with her legs spread apart.

‘Come on, Peregrine,' she heaved, and lasciviously ran her tongue over her lips. ‘My turn.'

Peregrine rolled over and mounted Josephine; she gave a tiny scream as he pushed to get it in then squealed with joy as he began stroking. Behind him, Kirsty started running her tongue up and down his back, across his buttocks, into the cheeks of his backside and around his balls. Peregrine felt like a flock of magpies was about to fly out of his arse. He also felt like he should be ashamed to be in such a situation as this with two young schoolgirls he had liberally applied with champagne. Instead of feeling disgust though, Sir Peregrine began to thoroughly enjoy it and in a matter of seconds his behind was going up and down like Yehudi Menuhin's elbow. He drove it further into Josephine who screamed with delight;
behind him Kirsty kept running her tongue over his back while she gave herself a handjob as she began getting more and more turned on by the whole sordid scene. The champagne had dulled his senses a little, preventing him from going off too soon, but before long he was stroking like a steam-engine as he zoomed down the straight for a big finish, making every post a winner. With a roar like a lion he drove it up and poured himself into Josephine, who with Kirsty screamed as they both managed to come at the same time.

T
HE BREEZE COMING
in from the ocean was rustling the curtains in Norton's room and in the soft darkness of the night you could see the moon shadows dancing from them across to the bed. The TV was still on very quietly and Ingersoll had on one of Les's T-shirts as they lay cuddling beneath the sheets.

‘Normally, I am not ever like this,' she said, her head on Les's chest as she gazed up into his dark brown eyes. ‘Especially because with the young ones around.'

‘Same with me,' replied Norton. ‘Usually I'm a good Catholic boy. I don't know how I let you bring me back here and seduce me. It must have been all that horrible bloody French champagne.'

‘I seduced
you?
protested Ingersoll.

‘Of course you did, you wog bastard. You're an animal.'

‘What!!? Why…'

Ingersoll gave Les a thump on the chest and got kissed lovingly for her trouble. The kiss seemed to last for some time then rolled into another one. Her tongue slipped out to be met once more by Norton's. There was a flurry of hand movements beneath the sheets plus a little moaning and groaning then Les rolled over and got between her legs.

‘This time, Ingersoll,' he smiled, as he gently entered her. ‘I'll do all the work if you like. You can take it easy.'

The second round of love-making was even better than the first and took a lot longer. However, on top of all the champagne it also took a lot out of Les. He only meant to close his eyes for a few moments when they finished, but instead found himself sliding deeper and deeper into the gentle darkness of unconsciousness. He didn't hear Ingersoll turn the TV off or see her smiling down at him in the moonlight; and he didn't feel her kiss him softly on the cheek or hear her whisper ‘
sov godt
' just before she left.

* * *

S
OMEHOW OR OTHER
, in his drunken state, Peregrine had made it rockily to his feet after his romp with Josephine and Kirsty and had poured the girls a glass of champagne. They were laying back on the bed, observing his nudity from beneath the sheets.

‘I say, girls,' he said, raising his glass in a toast. ‘Here's to a jolly splendid evening.'

‘Oh yes. Rather,' mimicked Josephine. ‘But it hasn't finished yet, has it?'

‘Yes. What about a little more Shakespeare?' giggled Kirsty.

‘Shakespeare!' snorted Peregrine. ‘To hell with Shakespeare I say.' He put down his glass and jumped onto the bed. ‘How about a bit of Lord Alfred Tennyson?' he said, and got beneath the sheets grabbing both Josephine and Kirsty on their teds.

 

Into the valley of death rode the six hundred

Fanny to the left of them,

Fanny to the right of them,

Fanny in front of them.

Their's not to reason why,

Their's but to screw or die.

Into the valley of fanny rode the six hundred.

 

‘Now,' he added with a grin. ‘Who wishes to go first?'

Josephine did and it was almost a carbon copy of the first one, although it lasted a little longer. Peregrine swapped the girls over and gave it everything he had, but he was swimming a bit from all the champagne and once he'd emptied out he was a shot bird. He rolled off Kirsty, smiled at her briefly then went out like a light. He didn't hear the girls leave nor did he see them nick one of his cravats and two of his monogrammed silk handkerchiefs for a souvenir.