UNCONSECRATED GROUND

by Mark Woolridge

‘The party will be breaking up soon,’ Miss Incredible announced. ‘We’re looking for two strong and reliable escorts.’

  ‘Count me in,’ Jonjo said immediately.

  ‘Can’t tonight.’ Pat scowled. ‘Maybe some other time?’

  ‘Don’t burn your bridges,’ said Miss Incredible. ‘This is take-it-or-leave-it time. And you’re B&B in the first place. Any more shilly-shallying and we’ll cast you adrift without a backwards glance.’

  Pat was severely tempted (who wouldn’t be with a woman like that?) but Donna was Donna, wasn’t she? And he could only take Jonjo in small doses.

  ‘Sorry, I really can’t.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Miss Incredible. ‘She won’t hold a candle to Joanna, though, whoever she is.’

  Pat hesitated. So he’d been going to get the blonde, eh? Or was Miss Incredible playing games?

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘It’s unavoidable, however great the temptation. Look, Jon . . . a word before I go.’

  The barroom was emptying now. It wasn’t difficult to find a quiet corner. Keeping an eye on the pair of predatory females, Pat said, ‘I’m worried. Last thing we want is a free-for-all.’

  ‘I agree. Although a free-for-all with those two sounds okay.’

  ‘Good luck with them. Just tell Harry to chill on the revenge front.’

  ‘What about Sean? Has he chilled?’

  ‘I frigging hope so.’

  * * *

  ‘Death,’ said Sean, sitting back, feet up on The Meeting Room Table, ‘disaster, bloody mayhem. That’s what I want.’

  Andy sighed and cracked open a fresh bottle of Johnnie Red. ‘No offence, pal. But I think we’ve already had that.’

  ‘Not yet we haven’t. Not unless you count your Cheddar and Branston.’

  ‘They were Double Gloucester and Branston.’

  ‘Bollocks . I know Cheddar when I see it. And anyway, what’s wrong with Lancashire?’

  ‘Nothing, apart from being crumbly. And it doesn’t go with Branston.’

  ‘Course it does.’

  ‘Not when I’m making the sandwiches, pal.’

  ‘What about Wensleydale?’

  ‘With Branston . . . yuk! That’d be like Spam, Spam and Lobster Thermidor.’

  ‘Strange combination,’ Sean grinned. ‘Of course you could drop lobster for extra Spam.’

  ‘Leave the lobster out a while,’ said Andy. ‘I mean in the sun. That’ll sort out the death bit, especially in Thermidor. Lobster soon turns in Thermidor. It’s an undisputable fact.’

  Sean held his whisky glass up to the light. Although he hadn’t bothered with water it was still three-quarters full; probably a treble-double, if not a quadruple-double.

  ‘I’m going to take Harry Williamson out,’ he said. ‘Like right out of the game, once and for all. Twat’ll never know what hit him.’

  * * *

  Harry gave up after his fiftieth attempt to ring Jonjo.

  ‘Twat!’ he grunted.

  Dialling a new number brought an almost instant response.

  ‘Evening, Barney O’Brien speaking.’

  ‘Barney? It’s Harry. Do it.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  Harry grinned as he disconnected.

  * * *

  Heather’s backside was small and shapely; Jonjo could grip all of it in just one of his enormous hands. And talking about enormous . . .

  She shivered and pressed even closer. She’d felt guilty abandoning Joanna but right now, standing in shadows behind the clubhouse, hearing the bass thump of music from inside, guilt didn’t matter.

  Not with her heart thumping ten times harder than ever.

  The attractively-battered rugby player squeezed her bum and simultaneously kissed her, thrusting passionately with his tongue. Heather’s response was automatic and immediate. Every muscle below her neck began flexing and relaxing in time with his squeezing.

  Faintly, vaguely she remembered something about being off men . . .

  Then suddenly she didn’t care and nothing else mattered. She reached down and grabbed him.

  Big, big, big!

  Equals good, good, good!

  She wasn’t so much flexing as contracting now. Already! Lust took over completely, making her forget all about Joanna and Vic, making her forget about everything but sex.

  Jonjo was nearly as impatient as she was. Strong fingers tugged her flimsy thong aside.

  ‘Get it in me!’ she demanded, and sighed as he obeyed.

  Big, big, big!

  In me! In me! In me!

  ‘Oh yes!’

  She groaned as he started to move, humping herself back at him. Not caring about subtlety or technique, just wanting clashing contact. Jonjo was still gripping her bum. His other hand had somehow got between their bodies and was roughly caressing her boobs. He was doing his best to use long, powerful strokes and it was certainly working for her.

  ‘Oh yes!’ she repeated.

  Jonjo was accelerating almost straightaway. That wasn’t a problem. Heather was as close as he was. She could simply use him as a trigger and finish when he did.

  ‘I’m going to cum,’ he grunted, as if she hadn’t guessed.

  ‘Suits me,’ she replied, humping back even harder.

  Two seconds later they were violently climaxing, Heather biting his shoulder to stop herself from screaming.

  Nice, nice, nice!

  ‘So now I know,’ she said when it was finally over and they were leaning on each other, catching their breath.

  ‘Now you know what?’

  ‘What those four and twenty virgins felt like. That was behind a rugby clubhouse, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I thought it was in a ballroom.’

  ‘It was good anyway,’ she said, ‘just far too quick.’

  ‘Quick?’ Jonjo growled. ‘You were in as much of a hurry.’

  ‘I’m not complaining. Not at this very early stage in proceedings.’ Heather giggled. ‘Here, let’s see what we’ve got.’

  She deftly peeled the condom off him and examined its contents in the semi-darkness.

  ‘Full to the brim,’ she declared. ‘That really would have soaked my new skirt. You’d better give me another.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Another condom, Mr Blake.’

  ‘What, already?’

  ‘No time like the present, is there? Assuming you’ve got what it takes.’

  ‘Of course I have,’ he said, growling even more gruffly. ‘I’ll take you home and fuck you all night if you want.’

  ‘Oh I want!’ Heather giggled some more. ‘But first things first . . .’

  * * *

  Baz wasn’t the brightest or bravest, but he did have the advantage of being unknown in Bingley. That was why he got to check out The Kings while Barney stayed in the motor, constantly worrying and tapping his fingernails against the steering wheel.

  Watching the clock.

  The minutes were crawling by. Barney had given the lad ten and he’d been gone quarter of an hour already.

  What will they be doing if they’ve nabbed him? Drilling his bones? Slashing him with blades? Worse?

  Barney shuddered. Things were getting out of hand. Everyone could see that; everyone apart from Harry.

  And Dwyer.

  For two pins Barney could eff off somewhere warm and sunny. He was on a good do, though. Life was usually rosy. Here he was someone. He’d have to start over if he left. Hope for the same chances and lucky breaks . . .

  The untraceable handgun was under his seat. He reached down and touched it, reassuring himself, reminding himself that The Kings was a respectable boozer. They probably wouldn’t even jump Baz in there, never mind slashing or worse.

  Except maybe Dwyer was even more carried away than Harry. Maybe respectable had gone by the board.

  He shuddered again. Harry was planning a major strike; major, major. Tonight was only a diversion, a pale shadow of what was to come, designed to fool Dwyer into thinking it was t
he best they could do.

  Got to make it work, he decided. Effing off is not the answer.

  There was movement at the end of the street.

  Thank fuck for small mercies!

  Baz dumped himself into the passenger seat.

  ‘What took you?’

  ‘It’s happy hour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Two-for-one on Tetley’s. I’d have stuck out if I hadn’t had my free pint.’

  ‘Aye, well you stink of it an’ all. Was Dwyer there?’

  ‘Didn’t see him.’

  ‘McGuire?’

  ‘No. They all looked like regular drinkers to me. I didn’t see anyone you described.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Barney. ‘We’ll switch to Plan B. Did you cop the car park?’

  ‘Not much to cop but yeah, I came out that way.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘Three on it. Fancy ones. I bet they’re from that restaurant next door.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Barney was glad he could ditch Plan A. Make that the suicidal Plan A, which involved a drive-by shooting. ‘Was there an Aston Martin there?’

  ‘No. There was a Jag, a BMW and a Disco.’

  ‘Can’t win ‘em all.’

  ‘Are you going for it?’

  Barney had already grabbed the two litre can of industrial-strength paint stripper.

  ‘Good as gone mate. Wait here.’

  * * *

  There’d been something refreshingly teenage about Mr Bee’s Dad. Joanna was left with a feeling she hadn’t had in ages. It was hard to define but very agreeable, if not nostalgic. And far removed from the usual randy frustration she associated with chatting up fellas.

  Whatever it was, it had an innocent quality. She’d class it as bittersweet but struggled with the bitter bit.

  Apart from him being so terribly married, of course.

  Why oh why are the best ones always taken?

  Anyway, she’d enjoyed herself. When she looked back on today she’d do so warmly. Not regretting anything, not even the missed peccadillo, remembering the laughter and that ever-so-gentle flirting.

  ‘Do you want to sit down before you check this?’

  The bar manager was waving the day’s third and final bill.

  ‘No,’ she said. Then had a look at the total and almost passed out. ‘We can’t have had so many bottles of Moet!’

  ‘You couldn’t have had many more.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve only got two bottles left. Your mate nearly had them as well. She did heads or tails and it came down tails.’

  ‘Did she now? She told me she’d called time on the champers.’

  ‘She did. After it landed on tails.’

  ‘Lucky escape, I suppose.’ Then, checking more closely: ‘What size crowds do you get here, anyway? Every last one of them must have had five pints of lager.’

  ‘That was your mate’s doing too. Here she comes. I’ll let her explain.’

  Heather was indeed coming back to the bar. From the bounce in her step it looked like she’d been outside, getting to know WYB’s Number 3.

  ‘There’s lavish and lavish,’ Joanna said in greeting. ‘We’ll have to put interest rates up half a per cent to cover this.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have left me alone for hours on end,’ Heather countered. Then, after a glance at the bottom line: ‘Wow! That’s twice the other two added together.’

  ‘More like three times. You must have been buying everybody drinks, not just our lot.’

  ‘Some of the Bees were quite cute. And you’ve no room to talk. You and your new Bee friend sank most of the champers.’

  Chuckling, Joanna signed the slip of paper and passed it back over the bar.

  ‘I’ll say we were targeting strategic B&B customers.’

  ‘Certainly true in your case,’ Heather said smartly. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll back you up.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll conduct your annual appraisal with that in mind.’

  Heather cast a critical eye around the now thinly populated barroom. ‘Are you targeting anyone at present?’

  ‘No. There’s nobody left who’s worth it. You can have your 50p on Monday.’

  ‘I thought we were quits.’

  ‘Whatever. I don’t care anymore.’

  ‘I do. Want to come with us?’

  ‘Us?’ Joanna raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Jonjo’s collecting his kit and sorting a cab.’

  ‘Three would be a crowd, wouldn’t it? And I’ve had enough to drink already.’

  ‘We’re not going for more drinks. We’re going to bed.’

  Joanna blinked. ‘And you’re inviting me?’

  ‘You look shocked.’

  ‘I am . . . and tempted, as well.’ Joanna hesitated. ‘I can’t though. I’m too set in my ways.’

  ‘Is it because I’m a girl?’

  ‘It’s because of all sorts Heather. You being a girl is probably the least of them.’ Hoping she wasn’t blushing too brightly, she squeezed her colleague’s hand, colourful fingernails together once more.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Heather persisted. ‘I suggested it to Jonjo. He’s game. And you did win the toss.’

  ‘Heather . . .’

  ‘He’s very well-endowed, you know. And baldies are notoriously virile . . .’

  ‘Heather, I don’t do threesomes. In fact I’m all mouth. I’d have probably backed away from that other ruffian.’ She pretended to shudder. ‘Why you had to choose the biggest, ugliest ones . . .’

  ‘I was looking at bodies, not faces. Theirs were the best two. And given my way I’d have wangled all four of us into the same bed. So three’s hardly a crowd, is it?’

  ‘Sorry Heather. I really can’t.’

  ‘Take this then.’

  ‘Twenty pounds? What for?’

  ‘Ten for pulling me, ten for pulling Jonjo.’

  ‘Heather . . .’

  ‘Humour me, Joanna. Please.’

  * * *

  ‘Paint stripper!’

  Andy nodded. ‘We’ve been targeted.’

  Sean leant across The Meeting Room Table. ‘Who’ve they got?’

  ‘Three of Marco’s more select customers. None of mine drive on a Saturday night.’

  ‘What about your pride and joy?’ Sean grinned. ‘Or can’t you tell?’

  ‘Cheeky sod. It’s in dock, if you must know.’

  ‘It must be nearly brand-new by now, number of spare parts on the fucker.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like you give a toss.’

  ‘It’s your name above the door, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Andy. ‘And there’s a sign in the car park disclaiming liability. That’s not the point though, is it?’

  ‘Okay. Keep your hair on. I know it’s aimed at me. I’m as pissed off as anyone.’

  ‘You don’t look as though you are.’

  ‘Well I am.’ Sean expression became grim. ‘Shall we do some sorting?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Get on the blower to Marco. He can tell everyone Kings Cars will fix the damage, FOC. Better let Joe know too, while you’re at it. Tell him to use his contacts to do it right . . . without breaking the bank, of course. And to send me the invoices. I’ll pay them.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sean, do you want more water in that?’

  ‘No thanks. I’m stopping after this.’ Sean raised a mostly empty glass in salute. ‘I’ll need a clear head to work out what Williamson’s up to.’

  ‘He’s attacking us. Isn’t that obvious?’

  ‘By scratching a few motors?’

  ‘Scratching? Those bastards are down to the metal.’

  ‘We shot Burrows’ motor to bits, and him with it. Hardly tit for tat, in my opinion.’

  ‘Maybe Harry’s had enough.’

  ‘And fallen soft with a wishy-washy splash of paint stripper?’ Sean finished his drink and poured more Johnnie Red after all. ‘Nice thought, Andy. Not sure I can buy it.’

  Andy rea
ched for the bottle and refilled his own glass.

  ‘You reckon it’s a bluff?’

  ‘Yeah. That or he’s cracked altogether. Either way, it’s not time to lie back and think of England.’

  * * *

  Jonjo reckoned it was the eyes. He'd been fucking Heather for ages without needing to finish. Ages and ages and ages. Lights full on and in ten different positions. Watching his cock go into her again and again, easily holding back while making her cum every few minutes, feeling very, very New Age. Now, however, the first time they were nose-to-nose . . .

  ‘Come on,' she said, grinning up at him, 'empty yourself into me.'

  It was a big temptation, not least because condoms were no longer involved. According to Heather, condoms were only required to keep cum off her clothes. Once she was naked, cum should be squirted anywhere and everywhere. And there was no need to mention his bed sheets: she was going to drench them anyway, so why worry? Why when he seemed to have gallons of hot cum and she wanted it in her?

  Jesus but she was hard to refuse, particularly now, with those eyes greener and more hypnotic than ever.

  ‘Please,' she urged, 'give me what I want.'

  Heather was currently on her back, heels anchored into the mattress, knees apart to make a welcoming V-shaped valley for Jonjo's body. Not that she was lying there all passive. Jonjo was thrusting strongly but had to admit she was counterthrusting with twice as much strength and simply huggins of skill. No, not skill . . . this was natural talent. Even though she was climaxing at every drop of a hat, she never faltered or missed a beat.

  ‘Come on,' she gasped, 'fill me, fill me, fill me!'

  Jonjo suspected he was already leaking into her. Steeling himself, he pounded onwards. Heather pounded right back at him, getting more vigorous by the second. The rapid, hollow and wet sounds of their mating grew louder and louder. And those eyes . . .

  ‘Come on,' she implored again. 'Fill me, Blake! Empty into me!'

  It was impossible not to. Not when she unanchored her heels and locked her legs around him instead. Suddenly restricted to short, sharp grinds instead of long, luxurious stabs Jonjo lost his self-control.

  ‘Okay,’ he grunted, ‘here I come.’

  Heather's reaction was cataclysmic. He'd felt her tightly clenching before but this time it was like being caught in a vice.

  ‘Jesus,' he yelled, his second and third squirts not so much voluntary as forcibly squeezed out of him.