by Noel Amos
Chapter 18
Billy returned to his office. There wasn't much point in going home; he knew he wouldn't be able to rest as planned. Frustration and humiliation were burning him up. His erection throbbed in his trousers, a painful reminder of the ignominy he had suffered at the hands of Candy Kensington. Yet it was an unnatural sort of hard-on, iron-hard and unrelenting. Something funny was happening to him and he couldn't work it out. How come he had been so hot for Candy after an energetic night with a sex queen like Tracy? In other circumstances he would have been overjoyed at this evidence of his virility. But now, having suffered the bum's rush from La Kensington, he was well and truly pissed off.
Suddenly the phone rang. He had been reconnected - well, that was something. He snatched up the receiver.
'You blew it,' announced the ice-cool tones of Katie Crisp. 'Candy's been bending Imogen's ear for the last half an hour. You're off the pay roll.'
'Well...' spluttered Billy, 'what about Tracy and Orlando Verdi, shouldn't I—?'
'Don't do anything. It's all covered. And you're out of it. Don't bother to invoice us, you've been paid enough already.'
'In that case, Katie,' said Billy swiftly, his tumescent state calling to mind her perky posterior and milky white thighs, 'now I'm not working for you, why don't we meet up later for a drink?'
But she had already rung off, the bitch. He chalked up another insult to be avenged.
Billy quickly dialled Tracy's hotel.
'You rat,' was the first thing she said, 'you didn't tell me you were working for Imogen.'
'How could I, Tracy? My job was to build bridges and I've done that, haven't I? Look, about Orlando Verdi—'
But she interrupted him, 'Yeah, I know. I'm going round there now and if I have to suck his slimy Italian dick before I get a deal I'm going to send my brothers after you. Don't think I wouldn't.'
'Perhaps I could see you later?' said Billy, clutching at straws. 'Let me take you to dinner, you can tell me how it went.'
'I know what you're after, Billy Dazzle, and you've had plenty of it already under false pretences. So you can get lost.'
She hung up, too.
Billy slammed the phone down. He wished he hadn't had the bloody thing reconnected now. He felt just as wretched as he'd been the other morning, before Patsy turned up out of the blue. And that was another thing...
He'd bought a copy of the morning's Blizzard on the way back to the office. He spread it open on the desk. Part two of the confessions of Patsy Fretwork stared him full in the face. What was more, some familiar photographs also confronted him. Bloody hell, the little cow had only used his photographs of the poolside orgy to spice up her story! Mind you, there had been that thousand pounds and the tumble over the desk. There's no such thing as a free fuck, he reminded himself.
He remembered with some pleasure the jiggle of Patsy's plump little buttocks as he pumped into her and her gratitude for the service so lustily performed. His cock throbbed again in his trousers. He wondered how Patsy was getting on with that voracious dyke, Pandora Britches, whose byline was prominently featured on the page next to her own.
He took from his desk drawer the one photo Patsy had left behind, the shot of the bum of his dreams: voluptuously rounded cheeks and flaring hips thrust backwards to reveal a glistening, pouting quim - there was no doubt she couldn't have used that in the Blizzard! His penis throbbed even more urgently. God, this afternoon was turning into a nightmare.
The phone rang once more. Billy let it ring for a bit. Doubtless more bad news. Eventually he picked up the receiver without enthusiasm.
'Billy Dazzle? It's Arnold here, just checking to see if you're in. I'm coming right round, if that's convenient.'
'Arnold?' The chef. The saviour with the coffee. Oh well, maybe what he needed was a bit of male company. 'Come right over, Arnold, no time like the present.' Funnily enough, by the time the chef arrived Billy was feeling significantly improved in the stiffy department. His cock had suddenly shrivelled up, the blood dashing off to do useful work elsewhere in his system, leaving his sex organ limp and somnambulant. For once in his life Billy had no regrets about a vanishing erection. He bade Arnold hello quite like the old Bouncing Billy.
Arnold folded his elongated frame into a chair.
'How did it go? Your meeting with Candy Kensington?'
'Badly, if you must know, and I'm not sure why you should.'
'Oh dear.' Arnold's face fell in sympathy. 'I'm sorry.'
'It's nothing to do with you but thanks. What's up? How can I help you?'
'It's very embarrassing. I've got this problem with women.'
'Join the club.'
'No, it's not the kind of problem you'll have. It's my, er, size.'
'Better to be too tall than too short. Anyway, women don't care about that sort of thing. They're always telling me it doesn't matter what a man looks like. That's usually after they've dumped me for a dwarf with a Porsche, of course.'
Arnold did not laugh. 'No, it's the size of my, um, member.'
Billy composed his features to look sympathetic. 'Isn't all that stuff just in the mind? The girls always say they're not bothered if it's on the small side.'
'No, it's not that. It's too big.'
'Too big? I didn't know it was possible to be too big.'
'Take it from me, chum. I'm not kidding.' Arnold's face grew long and serious. His lank black hair fell around his face as he spoke passionately. 'I worship women. I watch them walking down the street in their short skirts and tight T-shirts. I see their cute little mouths and sweet jiggly titties and I just want to wrap them in my arms and protect them and - and—'
'Rip their clothes off and fuck them stupid. Arnold, I know just how you feel, it's entirely normal. So what exactly happens when you've charmed them out of their short skirts and tight T-shirts?'
'When they catch sight of it for the first time and see how big I am - well, they mostly go into shock. One girl threw complete hysterics and another ran from the room.'
'Blimey,' said Billy, 'you must be something special.'
'Another woman offered me a job in dirty movies. She was a producer, she said I could have a great career. But it's not me, Billy, I'm just a chef who wants a girlfriend.'
'Have you never actually found anybody to, er, accommodate you?'
'No, and until recently I'd given up hope. I haven't tried to go to bed with a woman for nearly ten years. You see, I fell in love and it was going all right until I got her into bed. Then she told me she just couldn't go through with it. She said my cock was monstrous. It cast a bit of a blight over our whole relationship. So I put girlfriends out of my mind. I threw all my creative energies into my cooking. Now I'm a star in the kitchen but it's not enough. And when I see blokes like you effortlessly knocking off crumpet like Tracy Pert, well... You'd feel hard done by, too.'
Billy nodded in agreement. He would indeed. Poor old Arnold.
'Anyway, I suddenly thought, given your reputation, you might be able to help. Maybe you could find me someone who wouldn't be put off.'
'Well,' Billy was thinking, 'you've tried professionals, of course.'
'Only once. She just laughed at me, said it wasn't worth her while no matter what I paid her because she'd need a month off work to recover. She offered to toss me off into her knickers instead but it wasn't really what I wanted.'
Billy had the beginning of an idea. 'Suppose I do know someone... tell me frankly - how big is it?'
'It's not that big,' said Arnold, 'it just looks it. It's about twice the size of the average.'
'You mean about a foot long?'
'Yes. Well, maybe a bit bigger.'
'My God,' Billy breathed, 'that's certainly impressive. OK, let me just make one call...'
Chapter 19
The sand dunes seemed to stretch for ever, pale and shimmering in the baking heat of the Spanish sun. It was the middle of the afternoon, still siesta time for the sensible but play time for the newly libe
rated - like Beverly from Brum. She walked gaily along the wet strip of sand that separated surf from beach, a floppy straw hat on her head, sandals and T-shirt in her hand. Behind her, grim-faced but mesmerised by the vision of those swinging hips and striding thighs ahead of him, trudged the coal-eyed Placido. This was Fun-Fun Beach where the sunbathing was nude and the dipping skinny, where dope was smoked openly and the boogying went on till dawn - and where no nice girl ever went because her very presence was an open invitation to all-comers. There would be hell to pay for this, thought Placido, if Signor Fretwork ever found out...
'There,' announced Beverly and pointed to a patch of sand some fifteen feet from a group of blond hippy youths, strumming guitars and passing a bottle. Placido spread the towels as ordered. This was going to be worse than he thought.
The guitars stopped playing for a moment or two then broke into an up-tempo jig as the youths took in Beverly's spectacular build: swelling bosom and violin-curved hips barely contained by a cerise bikini which she was already shimmying out of. She put her hands behind her back to unfasten the clip of her top and shrugged her big brown breasts into view, tossing the garment at the unhappy Placido.
There were three boys and one girl in the watching group; all were naked. The boys smiled at Beverly and called out their appreciation in German. The girl scowled, crumpling her remarkably pretty face. She had very small pointed tits.
Beverly slid out of her bikini bottom, displaying her full and rounded posterior to the boys as she did so. Her arse had now recovered from the treatment meted out by Danny a few hours earlier and two triangles of white flesh, fore and aft, flashed into view. The sun sparkled on the blonde tuft of hair at the junction of her thighs. One of the boys whistled.
Beverly was enjoying herself hugely. Ever since Placido had returned from the airport without Danny she had felt as if the door to her prison cell had been unlocked. Which was a laugh really, considering that she hoped a key would soon be turned on Danny. The silly bastard had obviously hotfooted it to England. At least, that's what she had told that butch DCI Spicer when she had rung her from the post office on the way to the beach. Now she would be able to return home without a beef hanging over her own head, if Spicer played fair. She felt no remorse for Danny - he had turned into a pain in the butt, anyway. Funny how life sometimes just worked out right.
She took the suntan lotion out of Placido's hand and, still standing, began to smooth it into her skin. She took great care to rub it into all her most intimate crevices, lifting each breast and smearing the undercreases, running her fingers right into her bum crack and splaying her legs wide to get at the inner flesh of her upper thigh. Placido grudgingly palmed some oil across her back between her shoulder-blades. His touch was tender though his jaw remained set and his eyes blazed with disapproval. Beverly squirmed appreciatively under his fingers, flaunting herself shamelessly. If the Spaniard was going to be such a stuffed shirt, she had other fish to fry. She lay face down on the towels to wait.
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!'
Chapter 20
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.
