‘You dirty mare. Get your mind onto a different track, why don’t you. We’ll get some food in from the supermarket, yeah, then how about a beer?’
‘Whatever you say, dear. Anything to keep that smile on your sulky little face and your bum on that seat. Still want to go back to London?’
Sally glanced out at the little thatched cottages that lined the road, the gardens thick with bushes and flowers, washing lines dancing with towels and bathing suits. Every other car towed a boat or collection of surfboards, and people in shorts strolled towards the sea, all rain and storms forgotten.
‘No, I think I’d like to extend my holiday, actually … if that’s OK with you. I’ve been a fractious bitch, and I’m sorry. Apart from anything else, look at me, I’m a mess. I’m afflicted with the flu. I must stay here and recuperate. To hell with Jonathan’s phony offers of work.’
‘What was it exactly he wanted you to do?’
Janie reversed the car into the supermarket car park and got out her shopping list. Sally smiled. Despite all the sexual shenanigans and men coming out of her ears, Janie still couldn’t help being little Miss Organised. And thank God for it, the way Sally’s head was pounding.
‘A drink will make that go away,’ soothed Janie a little later as Sally massaged her temples. ‘Nothing one of Alf’s Bloody Mary’s won’t cure.’
‘Alf?’
‘The landlord of the Honey Pot Inn – our next destination.’
They were back on the road, the car bulging with enough food to keep the army in shepherd’s pie, apple crumble, every cheese under the sun, strawberries and cream and, of course, all the ingredients for mind-blowing cocktails. The car crawled back between high hedges, every so often a tantalising glimpse of the sea becoming visible through field gateways and breaks in the cliffs. Finally the winding coast-road led them into the village.
‘I’ll leave you here to get the drinks in. I’d better get this lot back to the fridge,’ Janie said, as she slowed down outside the pub. The place was heaving. Sally realised it was a Saturday and the entire population of Devon seemed to be spilling out of their cars and onto the unadorned patch of tarmac in front of the pub: everyone from beach bums to crusty old salts fresh from whaling, or whatever they did out there on the ocean.
‘I’ll come with you. Don’t fancy my chances with the hoi polloi,’ said Sally.
‘Christ, what’s the matter with you?’ said Janie. She kept the car in gear and revved the engine impatiently. ‘You’re not afraid to go in on your own to get our drinks, are you? Time was you’d relish the prospect of going into a pub full of men on your own. Time was I’d have cramped your style!’
‘Just not feeling brilliant, that’s all,’ Sally shrugged, but Janie leaned across her and unclicked the seat belt.
‘Get a grip, girl. You’re becoming a recluse, and that most definitely wasn’t the point of this exercise. You haven’t stepped outside the cottage in a whole week. Now, I’ll be twenty minutes, max. And mine’s a pint of Pilsner.’
All eyes followed the choking exhaust of Janie’s old car as she roared loudly up the street towards the cottage. Even her driving had changed, Sally thought, feeling in the pocket of her tiny denim skirt for some money. All confident and assertive. Everything about Janie had become more confident. She had a glow coming from inside. Was it really several good doses of sex that had done that for her? And if so, why was Sally still feeling like shit?
She didn’t know if anyone was looking at her as she ventured in, but she didn’t feel like catching anyone’s eye, so made for the dark interior of the pub as coolly as she could in her suede mules. There was a solid bank of male backs between her and the bar and the noise level was deafening, and rising. She felt her own level of irritation rise as she struck out sideways with her shoulder to get between two lads who totally ignored her and started jabbing their fingers into the chests of two blond guys who were leaning over the worn wooden bar. The bar staff were run off their feet and there seemed to be an argument brewing over who was going to be served next.
‘Fuck this,’ Sally said. She gritted her teeth, and pushed again. The lads may as well have been made of wood themselves, nailed to the floor. Now the blond boys had turned from the bar, and were trying to flick away the lads’ jabbing fingers. The taller of them started to argue; Sally couldn’t hear the words, but she knew immediately that these two were the hunky surfers Janie had been making sandwiches with on the beach the other day.
She pushed her hair off her hot face, yanked her vest top down (the same one she’d worn that hot day in London) so that her nipples were only just covered, and decided to try her luck with the hunks. They were absolutely gorgeous. Now that really would piss Jonathan off she thought gleefully. She bobbed up between them, staggering slightly on her high heels and grabbed onto the taller boy’s arm to get her balance. The men beside and behind her crowded up so they could get a better view down her skimpy top, but the boys she was aiming at didn’t even noticed her.
‘Hi!’ she squeaked above the hubbub, practically jumping up and down to attract their attention. ‘You must be Sam and Tom.’ But as she jumped something flashed across her head and someone grabbed her round the waist and pulled her out of the way just as she realised that one fist, then several, had started to fly back and forth just above her.
‘Out the way, miss,’ someone growled in her ear, and she saw that it was Maddock who had pulled her out of the chaos. He still had one arm round her waist, and she felt a luscious softening in her groin at the muscled arm gripping her like that. She wiggled round to get in front of him and started to smile, but he picked her up, his blue eyes staring past her, and practically tossed her towards the pub door, then jerked his thumb at someone to get her out of the way. He waded past her towards the boys, who were now fighting for real. People around them were cheering and shouting, and a woman behind the bar was shrieking. Sally was riveted, although she edged towards the door for safety. Maddock wore a checked shirt and the same old trousers, but no fishing jacket or peaked cap this time; it was too hot for that. His dark hair stood on end, ungroomed, and his strong forearms were smeared with oil, or perhaps something worse. The crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea as he got to the scene of the scrap, and a rhythmic clapping was set up as he grabbed first one lad, then the other, by the scruff of the neck and marched them outside. The two blond boys stayed at the bar, puffed their chests out and gave each other high-fives. They were just turning back to order their drinks when Maddock burst back in and grabbed them as well, and hurled them out through the door before they could blink.
There was a lot of rowdy shouting and applause as the fight seemed to be carrying on outside. Maddock didn’t reappear, and a smoky quietness settled inside the pub for a few moments as everyone peered to see what was happening. But in peering through the door they couldn’t help but see Sally, and the warmth stole over her like an old friend as she recognised the appraisal in one or two faces when they took in her miniscule skirt and tiny vest. She stepped boldly up to the bar.
‘A Bloody Mary and a pint of Pils, please.’
The barmaid didn’t answer. She had a tea towel in her hand and was staring over Sally’s face at the brawl in the courtyard.
‘I said…’ Sally thumped her elbows on the bar, and the woman blinked huge dark eyes at her.
‘Sorry, sorry, what was that?’
Sally repeated her order, realising that it was her turn to stare. Apart from the voice, which sounded pure South London, the barmaid was like something out of a Spanish opera. She had black hair tied loosely up in a knot on her head, arms the colour of cappuccino, and a tight black dress which plunged down her front and her back, and only reached to just below her buttocks. Like everyone else in the pub, the barmaid had trickles of sweat running down her neck and into her cleavage. Sally wiped her own face and smoothed her palms across her bum. She repeated the order.
‘Causing havoc as usual, Mimi?’
Maddock wa
s right behind Sally again, pushing up behind her so that her tits were pressed into the bar and she couldn’t move. She gave an experimental twitch of her hips. It wasn’t accidental. He didn’t move, and she felt his groin firmly pinning her to the spot. His arms appeared on either side of her, clutching a grubby tenner.
Mimi, the barmaid, put Sally’s drinks down in front of her and curled her lip at Maddock. ‘Not my fault if they’re fighting over the candies in the shop, is it?’
‘It is when you dress like that in front of boys who barely sprout hair,’ he answered in his thick Devon-shire brogue. ‘What d’you expect, my girl?’ His breath was hot against the top of Sally’s head. She tried to push herself sideways.
‘I’ll get these,’ he said, pushing the glasses towards Sally, and she stopped struggling. She took a gulp of her Bloody Mary. Mimi had put lots of pepper and Worcester sauce in it, and it nearly knocked her off her stiletto mules, but Janie was right. Any lingering traces of flu didn’t have a chance once she’d downed this, and she flicked her hair back again and spun round, her back to the barmaid, to face Maddock.
‘Thanks, Mr Maddock,’ she said, in her best Marilyn Monroe lisp. ‘It’s me who should be buying you a drink, after breaking up the fight like that.’
‘Come and meet the boys,’ he said, nodding curtly at Mimi, who stuck her full red bottom lip out in a sulky pout and stalked to the other end of the bar to serve someone.
Sally tottered after Maddock, squinting against the bright sunshine as they returned outside. The crowd had all trooped back inside the pub, and the blond boys had disappeared. There was still no sign of Janie. Maddock led her to the back of the building, where it was quiet, away from the car park. There were beer barrels stacked about and muddy tyre tracks criss-crossing the yard, presumably from the beer lorry, and the ground was still damp after the recent downpours. Apart from a couple of flower baskets at the front of the building, it seemed they didn’t go in for tarting up their pubs round here, Sally thought, as she picked her way across the mud. This could equally be Maddock’s farmyard. Still, it looked to be more of a local’s boozer than one going all-out for the tourists.
The two lads she had seen poking their fingers into Sam and Tom were slumped on a brick wall nursing their bruised jaws. The pair of them were like miniature versions of Maddock, but scrawny rather than bulky, and their young faces were still unscarred by years of combine harvesting and lambing or whatever had given him all those scratches.
‘Now here’s someone worth having a scrap over, boys,’ Maddock said, grinning lecherously.
Maddock nudged Sally over to the wall. The lads looked up, and their pale eyes gleamed. They smoothed their messy hair back over their narrow heads.
‘Get more action from this one than that harlot in the bar, the way she’s been acting up recently,’ Maddock said, pinching Sally’s cheek. ‘Just remember, Mimi’s way out of your league. Your sisters would have more luck scoring with our dusky barmaid than you would, if you get my drift.’
‘Eh? She’s into women now?’ one of the boys sniggered. ‘Cool. How do you know that?’
‘She looks like she’d swing any which way,’ the other lad butted in. ‘Like she’d have anyone for breakfast.’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Just make sure you steer clear of her,’ Maddock snapped, his face flushed. ‘She’s still spoken for. Those beach boy toffs need to be told.’
The boys nudged each other and gaped at Sally. She swayed up to them and looked them over for a moment. Grubby, yes. Rough, yes. But they had big hands, strong arms, and pent-up energy like young bulls pawing the ground. The sun was warm on her head and there was an animal aroma to the mud around her. She started to feel wickedly dirty. She licked her lips, took another swig of her drink, and turned round slowly so that she had her back to them, her thighs right against their knees. Then she started to bend at the waist, sticking her bottom out so that her little skirt rode right up between her arse-cheeks. She nudged herself in between the boys and they had to shuffle up on the wall to make room for her.
‘I don’t think so,’ Maddock scoffed, putting his beer glass down on the ground. ‘Look at you all. This ain’t the bloody vicar’s tea party. You wanted to congratulate me, right, miss?’
‘That is absolutely right,’ Sally breathed, crossing her leg and swinging one mule in the air. ‘I’ve never seen anything so impressive. And I don’t just mean your fists.’
Maddock strolled over to Sally. He took the glass out of her hand, placed it on the ground beside his, then yanked her up so that she was now standing on the wall. The lads turned silently to look up at her.
‘I think we all need to let off a little steam after that fight,’ he muttered. ‘I reckon these boys deserve a treat after their disappointment in there. They saw something in the old barn the other day, too, which got them going. Your friend, stretched out on her back while Farmer Jack gave her one on an old hay bale. That’s why you’ve been fighting over the barmaid, isn’t it, lads? You need to get your rocks off.’
The lads nodded. They looked hungrily at Sally; every exposed inch of her.
‘Time for you to find out what these town girls are like under all that slap.’
Sally grinned. Whether it was the sight of Maddock and his muscles sorting out the fight between the much younger men, or the vodka, she didn’t know, but she felt the old Sally returning, literally pumping through her veins again as the three men ogled her. She raised her arms in the air as if on stage.
‘Come and get it, boys!’ she breathed, Marilyn Monroe again, and parted her legs slightly, calves taut in the high heels, skirt riding right up over the golden triangle of hair that nestled over her pussy. One of the boys gulped and started stroking his hand up her leg. The other closed his hand over his own groin.
Maddock glanced at them both and was about to kick them, but when his pale eyes came back to Sally she could see the hunger light up in him. He rolled his sleeves up over his bulging biceps and stepped up to her, pushing the skirt up round her waist so that her bare pussy was revealed. Sally wriggled with pleasure, and put her hands on the boys’ shoulders to keep her balance. Maddock ran his hands up the inside of her thighs and without further ado inserted several fingers into her; she softly parted in welcome beneath the yellow curls. Sally’s knees shook at the feel of the gnarled fingers probing, not gently, inside her tender flesh. Then her throat swelled with a muffled moan as he slid his hands round to grab her buttocks and then pulled her down and pressed her groin into his face. His nose and his chin ground against her, bristles rubbing on the soft skin of her pussy. Then his fingers roughly parted the lips and she looked down to see his long, thick tongue, curling at the end, following his fingers up and down the crack. With each lap of his tongue she felt warmth seep through that part of her, hotting up her cunt like a furnace while she gripped the lads’ shoulders harder for fear of tumbling off the wall.
Maddock’s head rummaged against her for a moment longer, teeth and tongue nibbling at her, and then he withdrew his face, which gleamed with her juices. He licked his mouth then drew the back of his hand across it.
‘She’s warmed up for you, boys,’ he said, stepping back. Sally saw the outline of Maddock’s cock inside his trousers, and wanted it badly, but he picked up his beer glass and leaned against a beer barrel.
The lads lifted Sally down so that she was sitting between them again. They each hooked an ankle round one of hers so that her legs remained apart and she couldn’t get up or walk away – not that she wanted to. She caught her breath as one of the boys started to pull her vest up over her head so that her pert tits dropped out into the open. The vest was still on when the other boy grabbed her tits greedily and started to fondle them with his big rough hands, squeezing them hard and running the callused palms of his hands flat against the nipples so that they swiftly hardened into points against the bumpy friction. The other boy pulled the vest right off and started to suck on Sally’s neck. He bit do
wn to her shoulder, before grabbing the breast on his side and caressing it as well.
Sally thought she would go mad with the twin sensations of the boys working on her breasts, keeping her legs yanked apart, two sets of young hands kneading at her, and Maddock watching with his huge hard-on bulging in his pants. Then, oh, God, they both leaned across her and clamped their mouths over her nipples, pulling them out and biting them hard. She had always concentrated on her pussy and all its sensitive parts as her primary erogenous zone, and hadn’t given much thought to her tits before. They had always acted as more of a fun accessory than the gateway to pleasure. But just looking down at the two nuzzling heads that pulled at them caused fiery ripples of desire to accelerate through her insides. She dug her nails into the boys’ shoulders, squashing them against her, and allowed her head to fall back so that she could feel their lapping all the more keenly.
Then she felt something hard push against her stomach, circle there then move down to the soft point just above her pubic bone where her bladder was. It pushed in hard there, and Sally squealed with the urge to pee. Just then the bell inside the pub went for last orders, and the lads lifted their heads like a pair of foxhounds.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ growled Maddock. He was now standing in front of Sally with his dick out. It looked even thicker than before, and he was holding it firmly against her stomach. The boys had lost their stroke momentarily and, along with Sally, they gaped at Maddock’s cock, which he lunged at them like a spear before aiming it at Sally’s pussy. Her breath rattled hoarsely in her throat as she chuckled with laughter and anticipation, and the boys’ hands paused over her aching tits as they nervously watched what would happen next. The long muscled shaft seemed to have a life of its own, lifting blindly out of Maddock’s hand and edging itself into the moist crack in Sally’s bush – which was more than ready for him. She wriggled forwards on the stone surface of the wall, thrusting her pussy towards it to engulf it, but Maddock merely held his cock a little away from her, and the boys kept her ankles locked into place with theirs so that she couldn’t move. They started to suck her nipples again while she felt herself struggling with the opposing forces of pleasure and pain, mixed with the renewed urge to pee. As they sucked they started to rub their crotches up and down against her hips and, as she answered them with a dance of bumping and grinding, she could feel the bulge of their youthful erections growing with each thrust.
Country Pleasures Page 17
