Lust on the Loose (13 page)

It took less
than five minutes before one of the German boys approached, holding
out a half-empty bottle. He was big and muscular and walked with a
confident swagger, his long hair hanging in damp ringlets to his
bronzed shoulders. Between his thighs dangled a thick and meaty
cock, foreskin peeled back to reveal the scarlet bulb of his glans.
Beverly almost licked her lips as it bobbed towards her, coming to
rest directly in front of her face as he knelt to offer her a
drink.

The cheap
firewater scalded her gullet and lit a flame in her belly. The boy
was grinning and his big penis was swelling to stiffness right in
her face.

'My name is
Bruno,' he said.

Past his
tanned left hip Beverly could see the others watching his progress.
The girl sat between the two boys desperately trying to keep their
attention. She was fondling a cock in each hand, both of impressive
proportions, but the eyes of the boys were fixed on their
friend.

'You are a
very pretty girl,' he went on clumsily.

'Go away,'
said Placido from behind them, 'she does not want you here.'

'Shut up,
Placido. Mind your own business.'

'But Signor
Fretwork...'

'Signor
Fretwork will never find out, Placido. Now, why don't you just sit
back and watch? You're very good at that.' And Beverly tipped some
brandy into her hand and sprinkled it onto Bruno's fat
erection.

He gasped as
the alcohol stung the tender skin, then gasped again as she lowered
her lips over his big tool and sucked half its length into the hot
cave of her mouth. Behind them the boys cheered and the girl
quickly lowered her head to the crotch of the one of her right.

Placido closed his eyes and muttered, '
Madre de Dios!
'

Despite her
name, Betsy Toast, the whore from upstairs, was not of English
extraction. Her real name was Gretchen Bockenheim, but in essence
she was Californian through and through. Six foot tall with long
flaxen hair that fell in a golden curtain to her waist, she glowed
with sun-bronzed health as she admitted Billy and Arnold into her
upstairs parlour.

Betsy was
wearing her preferred costume of skimpy T-shirt finishing just
below her ribcage - revealing a flat brown belly and loosely
encasing firm breasts, prominent nipples pushing through the thin
cotton - and tight denim shorts cut to finish high on her hips and
just below the undercurve of the rounded moons of her buttocks: an
outfit designed to show the maximum amount of her glorious tanned
flesh.

She had once
told Billy she had come to England on a modelling assignment but
had fallen out with another girl who was sleeping with the
photographer who was of course also sleeping with her. In the
ensuing cat-fight her nose had been broken, debarring her from a
modelling career, and she had simply fallen into whoring. Billy
reckoned that fashion's loss was the horny punter's gain.

In any case he
particularly liked her nose with its prominent bump high on the
bridge. It was the imperfection that gave character to her flawless
oval face with its violet eyes and enormous full-lipped mouth, just
made for sucking cock. When she had first moved in, some nine
months previously, she had thrown a couple of freebies Billy's way
to ensure neighbourly goodwill and Billy had been smitten. However,
she had smartly reminded him that theirs was a business association
by threatening to charge him a fiver a feel. From then on Billy had
hardly been able to afford a decent grope.

Betsy shoved
two mugs of tea in their direction and said in her nasal twang,
'So, how can I help you guys? Is this business or what?'

Billy glanced
at Arnold, whose jaw had fallen at the sight of the bronzed vision
in front of him and whose eyes were devouring every mesmerising
inch of her. Billy decided he could safely forge ahead.

'Arnold has a
little problem and I thought maybe you could help him. It's a bit
personal.'

'Of course
it's personal - it's about fucking, right?' She looked at Billy
quizzically. 'Are we talking a threesome here?'

Billy's
slumbering cock rolled over in its sleep, as it were, nevertheless
he quickly shook his head. 'No, Arnold needs some particular
attention and I'm just advising him on where to get it.'

The violet
eyes narrowed. 'You're not suggesting a cut of my fee, I hope.'

Arnold spoke
up. 'I shall take care of Billy separately. I'm hiring him as my
adviser in this matter.'

'Great.' She
smiled, her dazzling pearly teeth flashing. 'Come next door,
Arnold. Let's get it on.' She indicated the bedroom door.

'Hang on,'
said Billy, 'there's something we've got to discuss first. You
see...' he stopped. He didn't really know how to say it, not with
Arnold sitting there making goo-goo faces at Betsy. He decided to
try a different tack.

'Look, Betsy,
in your professional opinion, as an expert in the field of human
relations - how big a cock can the average woman take?'

She thought
that was very funny. She laughed for what seemed like five minutes,
her breasts shivering enticingly inside her vest, her loose hair
shaking around her face.

'I mean, how
big can you take?'

'Honey,' she
said eventually, 'no guy's got a dick I can't take.'

This was the
crunch moment. Billy turned to Arnold. 'OK, Mr Brie, drop 'em.'

'Maybe things
are moving a little fast,' stammered Arnold. 'Do you mind if I have
my tea? I'm feeling a little nervous.'

'Oh right,'
said Betsy, 'you need to relax, I understand. How about a joint?
I've got some great grass. Mellow you out definitively. We could
take it from there.'

'No,' said
Arnold, 'I think the tea's just fine. How about a biscuit?' And he
produced a paper bag from his jacket pocket and offered it first to
Betsy and then to Billy. She shrugged and took one.

Billy plunged
his hand in eagerly. 'Arnold's a chef. The Holy Mullet. It's a big
deal.'

Betsy didn't
look particularly interested until she took a bite. 'Oh wow,' she
exclaimed, 'this is great. You make 'em yourself?'

Arnold smiled
modestly. Billy recognised the biscuit as similar to those he had
had for breakfast. He tucked in. Betsy took another.

'Arnold's got
one over a foot long,' said Billy, thinking he had better keep
their minds on the subject. Betsy's eyebrows shot up. 'You think
you can handle that?'

'No sweat,'
she said, her teeth chomping, 'there are three or four places I can
put a sucker like that.'

Arnold
coughed, 'Well, it might be a little bigger.'

Betsy's eyebrows lifted a degree higher. 'Interesting. Are you
in the
Guinness Book of Records
or something? Of course,' she went on
ruminatively, 'it's not so much the length as the width. Come on,
Arnold, let's get to it.'

In one sinuous
movement Betsy gripped the bottom hem of her T-shirt and pulled it
over her head, revealing her bare breasts. They were high and firm,
not large but undeniably thrilling to gaze upon. The pale saucers
of her areolae surrounded dark brown nipples seemingly
disproportionate in size and fully erect. Suddenly Billy realised
that she was turned on and that he himself was as ragingly
tumescent as he had ever been in his life.

Betsy stood in
front of Arnold and undid the button at the waist of her shorts.
The zip descended with a deafening scratchy sound in the silence of
the room. She turned round and presented her rear to Arnold, almost
thrusting it in his face. 'Pull them off,' she ordered.

Billy noticed
that Arnold's hands were trembling as he took hold of the denim and
clumsily tugged downwards. For a moment the thick blue material
stuck fast on her hips then, in a sudden rush, it crumpled to the
floor, exposing her golden bum. The rounded contours of her
buttocks were as smooth and pleasing to the eye as distant hills.
But there was nothing remote about these thrusting curves which
were scarcely covered by a thin strip of fabric that ran into the
cleft between her cheeks. From the rear the fascinating quadrant of
her pussy was framed by the undercurve of her bum and the succulent
skin of her inner thigh.

Betsy let
Arnold contemplate this delicious landscape for a moment or two,
grinning at Billy over her shoulder.

'Do you want
me to go?' he pantomimed at her. Her mouth formed a soundless
'No.'

She turned her
body to face Arnold. The wisp of panty was cut in a vee across the
plain of her stomach, the white scrap of material barely covering
the prominent mound of her cunt. She offered her hips to him with a
little jib of her pelvis. 'Go on, Arnold,' she commanded, 'finish
the job. Take them off for me.'

Arnold needed
no further urging. Using both hands he reverently inched the flimsy
garment down her hips and along her sumptuous golden thighs, his
long nose almost buried in the blonde curls of her pussy as he bent
to complete this sacred task. Betsy put her hands on the back of
his head and pulled him towards her crotch. Arnold plunged in head
first, his hands sliding up the back of her thighs to grasp the
soft cushions of her bum cheeks, his mouth opening as he lunged
forward to burrow into her welcoming quim.

'Ooooh,
Arnold,' she said in a voice that had dropped a full octave. 'Oh,
that's good.'

Billy studied
her for signs of professional play-acting but her eyes were closed
and her smile was surely genuine.

Arnold lapped
noisily and she allowed it for a full half minute before pulling
herself free and bending to plant an open-mouthed kiss on his lips
which neither of them seemed keen to end. She broke away first and
pulled Arnold to his feet.

'Come on,
honey,' she said, 'I think it's time we got to grips with this
so-called problem of yours.'

Billy coughed
and said, 'Why don't I just leave you two...?'

This time it
was Arnold who cut him off. 'Billy, this is the point where I need
moral support.'

'OK.' This was
the moment of truth after all. It would be a shame to miss it.

Betsy was
wasting no time. She already had Arnold's jacket and shirt off, and
she unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers down in one
movement.

Arnold wore
what was probably the male equivalent of a reinforced brassiere -
an elasticated jock-strap that finished at his navel. The
extraordinary sight that met their eyes was of some two or three
inches of white penile shaft emerging from the top of this garment,
capped by the angry red head of Arnold's cock. It looked as if his
dick reached almost to the centre of his chest.

There was a
split second of silence before Betsy cried, 'Wow!' and pulled his
pants down to reveal a veritable colossus of a cock, a white tower
capped with a fiery red dome that rose and rose from the crisp dark
hair of his groin.

'Why, Arnold,'
said Betsy in awe, 'that's beautiful.'

Billy was
struck dumb. Despite the throbbing evidence of his own masculinity
he felt suddenly inadequate.

Betsy had
fallen to her knees in front of Arnold and was assessing the
problematic member. Hand over hand the shaft took four of her fists
to measure out. She absentmindedly fondled the dangling eggs of his
balls as she considered her next step. Suddenly she lowered her
head and in one swift movement sucked the fat glans into her mouth.
Her head bobbed a couple of times and her fingers ran up and down
the great shaft, circling and spanning it. Eventually she ejected
the helmet from her lips with an audible plop.

'Just as I
thought,' she announced, turning to face Billy with a grin on her
face and a gleam of anticipation in her eyes, 'the length is
extraordinary but the girth is manageable.' She smiled up at
Arnold. 'I think I can make you a happy man, Arnold, why don't we
take a crack at it?'

The chef did
not reply, instead he placed his hands under her armpits and lifted
her up, pulling her to him in a great hug, one hand in the small of
her back, fingers spreading down across the upper reaches of her
arse, the other in the yellow curtain of her hair. She folded
eagerly into his embrace, lifting her mouth to his kiss, pressing
her belly against his towering cock. Billy thought they made a very
handsome couple.

Arnold said
hesitantly, 'About the money, Betsy, I'll pay whatever you
want.'

'Shut up,
Arnold,' said Betsy. 'Let's fuck.'

Placido was
not
a happy man. Beverly had been frolicking with the Germans for
nearly an hour now and they were still going strong. Fully clad
beneath the baking sun, the Spaniard sat by himself on the beach
and watched every twitch and thrust of the action that raged only a
few yards away. He had been in love with Beverly for months. He
adored every voluptuous inch of her, hated his employer for the way
in which he casually used her and longed to bury himself in her
golden embrace. And to see her now!

Beverly was
loving it. It had taken her barely a minute, it seemed, to urge
Bruno into his first orgasm; jamming her lovely lips over the head
of his fat cock, sucking and slithering up and down its solid
length while palming his big hairy balls. He had squirted into her
happily and collapsed onto his back to the applause of his fellows
who had sat transfixed as Beverly, big breasts swaying, a dribble
of spunk running down her chin, had risen to her feet and strode
towards them.

Marlene, the
German girl, had been pushed aside as Beverly sank herself on the
thick spike the girl had been sucking and pulled the boy's face
into the deep valley between her tits. The third boy had responded
to her invitation to kneel and offer up his genitals for her
examination. His tool was smaller than the other two but with
pretty golden hairs and one pulsing blue vein standing out along
its satin-smooth length. Beverly kissed and fondled it as she
bounced on the big fellow beneath her. Then she had closed her
mouth over it and set to work with her tongue and lips. In a moment
both boys had come, shooting their jism into her with hoarse shouts
of pleasure.