Jimbo and
Ally, however, were running out of steam. Their cocks were limp and
their faces were drained. Given half a chance, Cassie could see,
they'd pull up the duvet and go to sleep. Well, she wasn't having
any of that. It was time to be a little more inventive.
'Give me your
hand,' she said to Jimbo. He looked at her glassy-eyed but did not
protest as she placed his hairy paw between her legs.
'Look, Mrs,'
he said, 'it's been great but Ally and I should be getting back to
work.'
'Not yet,' she
said, 'you wouldn't want to miss this.' And she daubed Jimbo's
fingers in the goo that was running from her overflowing hole.
'Miss what?'
said Ally, eyeing the slick motion of his friend's fingers on her
slippery flesh.
'Well...'
Cassie looked as demure as she could in the circumstances. 'I'm a
bit embarrassed to say.'
'What is it?'
Ally's cock was up now. It looked a little raw and tender but it
was the penis of an eighteen-year-old sex-obsessed youth. Something
mysterious and horny was going on and Ally's cock wanted in.
Whatever it was.
Cassie leaned
over to Jimbo and whispered in his ear. 'You're a right randy cow,
aren't you?' he muttered but a large grin was already spreading
across his face.
'What do you
think?' she said, her free hand now pulling the thick barrel of
Jimbo's tool. 'Are you up to it?'
He didn't
answer in so many words but instead hauled her on top of him,
crushing the length of her against his muscular frame and pushing
his tongue down her throat.'
'What's going
on?' demanded Ally, but they were too busy to answer him.
As they
kissed, Cassie positioned Jimbo's swollen cock between her legs,
driving the fat shaft deep into her hot and hungry vagina. And
Jimbo's square builder's hands were on her big satiny buttocks,
pulling the firm cheeks apart.
Ally gazed in
awe at the bulging bottom flesh and the pink star of her anus so
obscenely revealed to him.
'It's all
yours, son,' said Jimbo. 'Put your cock up her arse... She wants
you to.'
Between the
great rounds of Cassie's bottom her rear hole seemed to pucker in
invitation. At the base of the buttock divide Ally could see the
root of Jimbo's pulsing tool, his testicles rolling between his
hairy thighs as he plumbed the depths of her vagina. A strangled
croak came from Ally's lips. He had never seen anything so rude in
his life.
'What are you
waiting for?' said Jimbo gruffly, circling Cassie's rear dimple
with a blunt finger. He sank the digit in to the first knuckle and
the pale moons of her bottom seemed to convulse at the sensation.
'Look, she's dying for it.'
'Please,' said
Cassie, 'I want you both together. Put it in me, Ally. Hurry!'
Ally did as he
was told. He was clumsy and in truth the position was difficult but
Cassie didn't care. She was coming like clockwork now, even as he
rubbed spit into her arse crack and the head of his tool bobbed
between her cheeks. She'd not bum-fucked much before, only with an
Australian boyfriend years back and he'd been a brute with a cock
like a cucumber. This was different. Ally's penis was long but thin
and the moment his glans rubbed against her she seemed to suck it
directly into her bowels.
It was a
strange feeling at first, uncomfortable rather than painful. Then
his cock was all the way in and his weight was upon her, crushing
her into the man beneath. It was as if an electric circuit had been
completed, sending a current of sexual energy zinging through the
three of them.
They fell into
a natural rhythm, Jimbo's thick prick thrusting Cassie back onto
Ally's thin tool which in turn pushed her back down onto Jimbo.
They fell onto their sides and fucked on without a pause, the men's
cocks fencing with each other within her guts, their hands fondling
and squeezing and stroking her shameless flesh. She lost count of
the number of times she came. It was bliss.
They didn't
pause when the bedside telephone rang. They didn't even break
stride when the door burst open and the giant plasterer stood over
them, his big face beet red. He stared at them for fully a minute,
literally struck dumb.
Ally couldn't
hold out any longer. With a cry he thrust and twitched and rolled
over onto his back, and lay as still as a log.
A great hand
descended on him, yanking him from the bed and dumping him on the
floor.
'That's Mrs
Shackleton on the phone,' said the giant. 'You deal with her while
I take over.'
Up to this
point Cassie had hardly registered the fourth party's presence. Now
she was aware that this Neanderthal brute was stripping off his
clothes.
'Hey,' she
said somewhat feebly, trying to pull herself away from Jimbo. But
the builder's arms were round her like a vice and his loins were
still buffeting hers.
'We were just
warming her up for you, Doug,' she heard Jimbo say as the bed
suddenly sagged from the weight of another human being - a very
large human being. 'Honest.' But it seemed Doug wasn't interested
in recriminations at present. He was interested in making up for
lost time.
Cassie was
plucked from Jimbo's embrace and rolled onto her back. Her eyes
bulged as she took in the vast naked frame looming over her. He was
covered in hair and from the hearth rug of his belly thrust a penis
that turned her mouth to ashes. Forget cucumbers, this man-mountain
had a baseball bat.
Ally picked up
the phone by the bed.
'What's your
real name, Mrs Smith?' Doug said as he pushed a finger as big as a
carrot between the tender lips of her weeping pussy.
'Cassie,' she
whispered.
'There's no
problem, Mrs Shackleton,' said Ally into receiver.
'Well, Cassie,
I'm sorry to tell you but I'm about to change your life.'
'Oh no.'
'Oh yes,' Doug
said, lining up his outsize member. The head lodged between her
legs like a ruby-red tennis ball. 'I'm going to ruin you for other
men.' And he pushed his tennis ball home.
Cassie cried
out, on the brink of the biggest orgasm of her life.
'I promise
you, Mrs Shackleton,' said Ally, 'there's no slacking on the job. I
guarantee we're giving it everything we've got.'
Professionally speaking, Philippe was immune to feminine
charm. In the course of his work as a trainer in the Honeydew
technique he had attended to dozens of women in the most intimate
of situations. All of these clients were monied and groomed, and
many of them were very personable indeed. He laboured over their
waxed and pampered bodies, bringing them to the peak of physical
condition through the power of orgasm. Without fail, the clients
fell in love with him, or at least with his magnificent physique,
his skilful fingers, his magic tongue - and the glorious
baguette
between his legs
which urged them towards their Personal Orgasm Targets so divinely.
But at the end of each session, resisting every blandishment,
Philippe would simply tuck away his breadstick and disappear as
swiftly as a glass of
vin rouge
down a
routier's
throat. For the women he left behind, lying
glassy-eyed in post-orgasmic stupor, he had no further thought
until the next session.
But Philippe
was not a Honeydew trainer every waking moment of his life. In
fact, despite what he had been telling his ever-demanding clients
like Cassie Crow, he was currently taking time off to pursue one or
two other possibilities of employment. Extraordinary as it may
sound, shagging gorgeous women all day long was not this
Frenchman's preferred way to make a living.
And so, when
he encountered Marianne Matthews in the lift of the Black Raven TV
building, he was not thinking like a professional in orgasm
achievement. In the unfamiliar surroundings of the TV HQ - where he
had hopes of making a career change - he was in a susceptible state
of mind. He noticed that the slim blonde with endless legs and
slate-grey eyes was supporting herself against the door. She seemed
distracted and the distress in her face was clear. Philippe was
surprised to find himself asking if she was all right. Then, as the
lift hit the ground floor and the doors opened, somehow she was
propelled into his arms. He held her fast.
He virtually
carried her into the street and it seemed only natural for him to
climb into the taxi alongside her. When they arrived at her flat he
made her lie on the sofa while he poured her a brandy and ran her a
bath. He wouldn't let her, do a thing - he even stripped off her
clothes and put her in the soapy water. It was strange, they'd
hardly exchanged ten words and they'd known each other less than
forty minutes, but this behaviour seemed entirely acceptable. Of
course, ministering to naked beauties in need was Philippe's stock
in trade, but this situation was different. This beauty wasn't
paying him and he was looking after her because he wanted to. As he
soaped her high, pointed breasts he felt a glow of
satisfaction.
When he'd
undressed her he'd noticed the signs of recent love-making on her
body - the fresh bruising on her apple-cheeked buttocks, her red
distended nipples, and the goo that had dried on her thighs and was
still seeping from her intriguingly shaved pussy. These things
didn't bother him, though they made him curious. Any man would have
been curious.
'Philippe,'
she said. She had a delightful voice, he thought, low and throaty,
so unlike the shrill harpies who usually laid siege to his body. 'I
can't believe I'm letting you do this to me.'
'Relax,' he
said. 'My vocation is tending to the needs of the body. You should
consider me as a doctor. Your personal doctor.'
She giggled and her breasts shook. Philippe, who had seen as
many quivering knockers in the past year as the director of
the
Folies Bergere
,
was mesmerised by this delicious exhibition.
'You've washed that breast three times,
doctor
. Don't forget the other
one.'
Philippe found
himself blushing. He never blushed - something extraordinary must
be happening to him. He was also massively erect, with seminal
fluid leaking from his swollen glans into the cotton of his briefs.
As a Honeydew practitioner he had come to regard his penis as just
another fitness aid - like a set of weights or an exercise cycle.
These days he never had an orgasm with women and he achieved
erection only by a trained effort of will. But right now he felt as
if he might shoot off at any moment. Amazing!
'You are a
very beautiful woman,' he heard himself say.
She sipped her
brandy and rested her head on the side of the bath. 'Tell me more,'
she said and closed her eyes...
The alcohol
and the warm water made her drowsy. The Frenchman's wonderful voice
ravished her senses like an orchestra in full flow.
Yoo are a vair byootifool wooman. I wursheep yore
boday
... Men had said these things to her
before but not in fractured English with all the intensity of a
Jacques Brel song.
Wiz yore pairmishun I keess yoo ere on ze and... zen on ze arm
like zis
...
Marianne was
in heaven. She had just nailed down the job of her dreams and in a
few minutes, she had no doubt, she would be nailed herself by a new
lover. A French lover, what's more.
...
and on ze nick... and on yore leely
wite trote - formidable!
She'd had an
Italian once, a film director who'd mangled an aria from Tosca
before 'auditioning' her in his hotel suite. But naturally the fat
bastard hadn't cast her.
...
and zee teets, so firrm, so jolie,
I keess zem all ovair like zis
...
And there'd
been any number of anally retentive Englishmen, dry-as-toast Scots
and drunken Celts. All of them more in love with themselves than
her. Not to mention the married German director who'd made her pay
the hotel bill on their one weekend together and pocketed the
receipt.
...
and zees wundairful neeples... so
peenk, so adorable, zay stand up like leetle
soldjairs
...
But now she
was going to have a real French lover.
I keess yore leeps... mmm... yoo taste like
champagne
... At last a man of her own
choosing whom she would fuck for fun not advancement.
Ze watair eez
getting colt, cherie. Shall we go into zee bedroom?
Philippe
deposited her, swathed in a large towel, on the bed next door,
carrying her as easily as if she were a small child. She watched
with wide eyes as he undressed, awestruck at the incredible
physique that was unveiled before her.
Philippe was
used to women's eyes on his body, particularly those of his
Honeydew clients. He would feel their hot and greedy glances on his
skin, crawling across his mighty pectorals, up his thighs and down
his belly. Cannibal stares, hungry for his flesh, they devoured him
wherever he went.
But now,
unbuckling his trouser belt, he felt only pride under the
searchlight of Marianne's curiosity. For once he wanted a woman as
much as she wanted him. It was a new experience. He let his
trousers fall.
'Oh my God,'
muttered Marianne beneath her breath. Philippe made Arnold
Schwarzenegger look like a stick of celery.
Naturally her
gaze was locked on Philippe's crotch, where the head of his penis
stuck up above the waistband of his bulging underpants. The
straining white cotton was wet with juice and the protruding glans
was purple with desire.