Lust on the Loose
LOOSE
by
Lust on the
Loose first published in 1993 by Headline Book Publishing.
Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera eBooks.
ISBN
9781780800332
Chimera (
ki-mir'a,
ki-
) a creation of the imagination, a wild
fantasy.
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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
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.
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.
