by Monica Belle
3
31 July, 11.45 a.m. – Lucy Doyle wakes up next to Niall Flynn.
1 August, all day – Lucy Doyle is lectured by her mother, two sisters and one brother, until she finally admits where she spent the night. Family reaction – delight. Oh shit!
2 August, 7.45 a.m. – Lucy Doyle discovers she is no longer working for Emblem Insurance. Instead she is attaching stickers to crates, in Tilbury.
NOT GOOD. NOT good at all. OK, so the sex was good, but everything else was crap. Niall was great in bed, no question. The tension inside me had been building up all evening, and I just took it out on him. Let’s face it, he didn’t make me lick every intimate part of him, he let me, because what with Sophie and Bobbie and what we’d done to Keith, I’d never felt so horny in my life. I’d made him come in my face too, deliberately this time, tossing him off as I sucked his balls with my other hand working hard on my clit.
Most men would have crawled into bed and gone to sleep. Not Niall. He asked for a striptease, and he got one. By the time I was nude he was ready again, and I mounted his cock for a long, leisurely shag session. He made me come, again, and that wasn’t the end. Even when I went to wash he came up behind me, held me down over the sink and rubbed himself hard between my cheeks, before giving me another fucking. The last was some time in the dead of night, cuddled together in bed with him on top of me and my thighs spread wide to receive him.
It was good. It was great. I wanted more. I did not want a brief engagement, marriage, and twenty kids, which was what Mum expected of me. So did Mary. Both of them just assumed Niall and I were now an item and would therefore marry. They also assumed I’d drop my place at uni. I didn’t even argue, pretending I was tired on the Sunday night and making for bed early.
The discovery that I was on a new assignment, and in Tilbury, really did not help. We’d all assumed we’d have at least another week at Emblem, because there had been loads to do. There still was, as I discovered by ringing Bobbie on the way to Tilbury. She, Sophie, Kanthi and Keith were still there, along with two other temps I didn’t know. I’d been moved on, and it was nothing to do with my work. The silver-haired guy I’d called a pervert and told to fuck off was Lucas Sherringham, the Managing Director of Emblem Insurance.
The other person who wasn’t there was Talia, and not because she’d been given the boot. She was now shacked up with Lucas Sherringham, apparently in a penthouse flat somewhere in Docklands, with nothing to do but sip champagne and nibble chocolates. Apparently she’d been there all weekend, and he, in her words, was a ‘wonderfully sensitive and mature lover’.
I was brooding over it all the way to Tilbury. It’s so easy; flirt and flatter and fuck and in no time you’ve netted yourself a rich man and you no longer have to worry. Lots of girls did it, and more tried. It made sense too, logically, but I knew I could never do it, not me, not Lucy Doyle. I need to want a man, and I’d rather have had Keith than Lucas Sherringham, with all his penthouses and champagne and cars, but I knew I wouldn’t do it. I was too proud, or too stubborn, or too stupid.
The Tilbury job had to be the dullest ever invented. I was in a huge warehouse, and when I say huge, I mean huge. From the outside it looked like an aircraft hanger. Inside it was almost completely occupied by row upon row of gigantic metal shelves, and every one of them stacked with crates, cases, boxes and packages. Lucy’s job? Label the fuckers.
With every lorry that came in, and there were plenty, I had to check exactly what was in each case, feed the information into a program, print out the labels and stick them on the correct boxes. It wasn’t difficult, but it was endless. To make it worse, my manageress, Mrs Henshaw, could have given Mrs Tench lessons. She never gave me a moment’s peace, and even bawled me out for spending a few minutes chatting to one of the forklift operators.
It was the same all week – up at seven, over an hour to get to work, running around like a blue-arsed fly all day, an hour to get back home, and sinking exhausted into bed. It wasn’t even well paid, at eight pounds an hour. Other than swapping endless texts and calls with Bobbie and Sophie, only three things came up to break the monotony: Niall, Todd and Keith.
Niall I expected. After all, my mum now seemed to think he was my fiancé, and even Ryan was all right with it. He came round on the Tuesday, by which time I was more than glad of his company. I liked the comfort of being held in his arms and slowly fucked in the back of his car after being filled up with Powers and Beamish. It left me wrecked the next day, but it was worth it.
Todd was far more of a surprise. I’d had no idea what had happened to him after I’d been booted out of the Parochial House, and was even wondering if he’d been sacked. He hadn’t, because Father Jessop was a hypocritical old bastard, but he had enjoyed his blow-job, and he wanted more. I gave in, after just a little hesitation, taking him into Willesden Lane cemetery to have his cock sucked and let him finger me.
Keith I sort of expected, but had hoped he would have the common sense to realise that while I hadn’t been as big a bitch to him as Bobbie or Sophie, that didn’t mean I was interested in him. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have any common sense at all, and was bombarding me with texts – first to thank me, presumably because I hadn’t left him to be buggered by bears. Then came the request for a date, which arrived as I was kneeling in the shade of a big yew tree, about to unzip Todd Byrne’s trousers. I declined as soon as I’d done my business.
Todd was on Thursday. Friday night I was meeting the girls after work, Tina and Leanne, at Charlie’s in the West End. It was a riot, getting completely pissed and staggering drunkenly along the embankment in a line, Bobbie, Sophie and I, with the two new girls who were at Emblem with them. A group of lads tagged onto us outside Temple station, passing rude compliments and offering us swigs from their cans of lager. I took one, and drained what was left in it, causing complaints as I handed the empty can back.
‘Hey, you greedy cow,’ one complained. ‘She’s only gone and drunk the whole fucking can!’
His mates just laughed at him and, as he opened another one, I made to grab it. He pulled quickly back.
‘No way,’ he whined.
‘Go on, don’t be a git,’ I said.
He moved back, walking backwards down the pavement.
‘You want a drink, love, you can get your tits out for it first!’
‘No way!’
Sophie and Bobbie backed me up, calling him a bastard, their voices quickly drowned by the lads’ shouting, then as they began to chant.
‘Yeah, go for it. Get yer tits, out, carrot top! Get yer tits out! Get yer tits out for the lads!’
They were singing it, really loud, and dozens of passers-by were staring. I’d have done it too, only Bobbie got in first.
‘Only if you show us yours.’
‘We ain’t got none, love!’
‘Posh, ain’t she?’
‘Here, look!’
One of them, the bulkiest, jerked his football top up, spilling out his huge, pasty beer gut. Two others followed suit. Bobbie just laughed.
‘I meant your cocks, stupid!’
‘No way!’
Sophie chipped in, and so did I.
‘You’re not seeing our tits, then, you cheeky bastard!’
‘Dead right. Get ’em down and I’ll get mine up, or no show!’
‘You serious?’
It was a tall lanky guy, who’d been the quietest so far. I nodded, suddenly tense, because his hands had gone to his fly. We were in the middle of the street, with people everywhere, and only a big plane tree to provide any cover. He didn’t care. Out it came, a fat white cock with a meaty foreskin half rolled back over a bulbous head. We dissolved in laughter. I was about to pull up my top to show him I could give as good as I got, only for Leanne to pull on my arm.
I was running immediately, not knowing why, or where, but in stitches as the lads followed with angry shouts. We didn’t have a hope, in heels and skirts, but it didn’t matter. I got caugh
t by the lanky guy, and pulled down onto one of the piers. It was deserted and, before I really knew it, my top was up, and my bra. He was groping my tits as I struggled to get his trousers open, and kissing and licking at them as he yanked my skirt high.
My knickers came down and he’d buried his face in my fur, licking avidly as he wanked himself. I melted at this, clinging on eagerly as he pushed me up against the cold stone blocks of the Embankment wall. His hands went under my bum, pulling my knickers aside. I felt his cock touch my pussy and he was in, deep in, filling me. We were snogging as he began to pump into me, fast and furious, tangled together in a mess of disarranged clothing. He went harder and faster as he let loose a stream of dirty talk in me ear.
‘I’m going to give it to you hard, you little slut,’ he said. ‘And don’t think you can get away from me – not until I’ve shot my load in your tight little cunt.’ That seemed to do the trick for him. He finished with a grunt, jamming me against the cold stone. I wondered if he’d spoken quite so roughly to previous conquests, or if it was something about me that brought out the beast in the man.
He gave a long, ecstatic sigh as he came down, lowering me to the wooden deck of the pier. My legs were shaking, my breath was coming hard and fast, and I wanted to come. He stood back, grinning as I began to masturbate, my hips thrust forwards at him.
‘Your tits don’t half jiggle, love,’ was the best he could do by way of an observation. I asked him to repeat his dirty talk to me – to say what he had said to make himself come a few moments earlier.
The filthy sod wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to be as foul-mouthed as possible. I came, as hard as I’d ever come, thinking how good it felt to be caught and stripped and fucked, so sudden and so hard. He watched goggle-eyed, well pleased with himself, his cock still hanging out of his trousers. I’d closed my eyes, my ecstasy and the drink singing in my head, in bliss, until a sudden change of light made me realise something was wrong. As my eyes jerked open I realised what. A riverboat was starting in towards the next pier along, the bright lights from the saloon windows illuminating me, tits out, one hand down my knickers, and maybe a hundred thoroughly respectable-looking types in dinner suits and fancy gowns staring right at me. He was long gone.
It was funny, especially because I’d got away with it, and been given a good, rough fucking while the others had got nothing. Not that I discovered until I called Bobbie the next day, because I’d managed to lose them, and ended up going home on my own. I didn’t even know the name of the guy I’d shagged, any more than he knew mine.
They’d only been another few yards down the Embankment when a police cruiser had pulled up and told them to behave, probably more or less at the same instant I was being filled with cock. It had broken the moment, and they’d had no idea what had become of me, so they’d gone on to another bar with the lads. Nothing had come of it, so Bobbie was well jealous of me when I told her what I’d been up to.
She was more jealous still when I told her I couldn’t come out with them the next night because I would be with Niall. They were going to Phatz in Camden Town, which was having a ladies’ night, with free entry and drinks half-price for girls. I was sorry to miss it, and just a little resentful that I seemed to be getting drawn into a full-on relationship with Niall whether I liked it or not.
I wasn’t going to let it happen, but I wanted him; for his easy humour, his stamina and, best of all, the way he made me want to be dirty. Mum seemed to think it was some big first date and, although she knew I was no virgin, she actually cautioned me to play hard to get while I was making up on the Saturday evening. I didn’t answer, pretending to concentrate on my eyelashes.
Bobbie had given me the address of the shop where she bought her heels, and I’d treated myself to a pair from my first paycheque. They were shiny black, with the logo in scarlet and also the actual heels, which were four inches high. My shortest black dress, stay-ups and black ribbon to tie back my hair completed the look, unusual and I hoped a little exotic. Siobhan said I looked like a hooker.
Mr Phibbs two doors up had some gorgeous scarlet roses growing in his front garden, and when Niall came to collect me I pinched one for my hair. It had him drooling, Niall, not Mr Phibbs, and pawing my bottom as he hurried me into the car. I felt good, sexy, a little naughty, ready for both mischief and sex, once I’d been suitably wined and dined. Niall looked well pleased with himself, and I wondered if he had a nice surprise for me, perhaps dinner at some posh restaurant.
‘Where are you taking me, then?’ I asked, fluttering my eyelashes.
‘Gogarty’s.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘No.’
It was certainly a surprise, but not the sort I’d bargain for. Gogarty’s had to be the most Irish of Irish bars east of Dublin. Half the people there would have been to school with me, and nine out of ten would know me or my brothers and sisters. It would be like being paraded, and I wasn’t at all sure I liked the idea. In fact, I definitely didn’t.
‘Why Gogarty’s?’
‘What’s wrong with Gogarty’s?’
‘Nothing, but it’s . . . well, it’s hardly a romantic night out, is it? I’m not dressed for Gogarty’s either.’
He gave me an incurious glance, as if unsure what I was talking about.
‘What’s this, “romantic night out”? A few pints and we’re back to my place, where I aim to fuck the living daylights out of your little arse. How’s that for an evening?’
‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
He just laughed, knowing full well that when the time came I’d be as keen as he was. We drove in silence for a while before he spoke again.
‘So, what’s with your friends, then?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘The ones you were with in the cab. Said I could grope her tits, she did. I heard. Do you think she’d be up for it?’
I just laughed, hearing the eager lust in his voice.
‘Come on, Lucy, I’m serious.’
‘I’ll bet you are, you dirty bastard!’
‘Look who’s talking!’
‘What are you after, Niall?’ I asked.
‘What am I after? You have to ask? I’m after the two of you in bed. Three of you, maybe. There was your other mate there too, wasn’t there? Bobbie. Three girls in my bed, now that would be something!’
‘What makes you think I’d be up for that, Niall Flynn?’
‘Wouldn’t you? You’re a dirty bitch, Lucy Doyle. I thought you’d be up for anything.’
I hit him, but only playfully. We reached Gogarty’s, the front a blaze of green lighting, with the doors thrown open to the warm night air and music blasting out. Inevitably we couldn’t park anywhere near it, and ended up well down a side street before we’d found a space. As he parked I was thinking of what he’d said, how it would be to share him, as Bobbie and I had shared Frazer. It turned me on, but it just couldn’t be done. He’d be sure to tell somebody, and once a rumour like that got going, my name would be all round town as a Grade A whore.
Ryan would find out first, probably, and he could be pretty protective. Siobhan was sure to, and so Mary, and so my Mum, and then there’d be hell to pay. As we started back towards Gogarty’s I was hoping he’d drop the subject. Not Niall Flynn.
‘So, with the girls, then. Fix a date with the one with the big tits first, why not, and . . .’
‘It won’t wash, Niall.’
‘Why’s that? Don’t tell me you’ve gone jealous on me?’
‘I’m not jealous, Niall. I won’t do it because you’d be bragging.’
‘I would not!’
‘Sure, I believe you.’
‘Ah, come on with you, how can you say a thing like that? Did I ever tell when you wanted to know the feel of a man’s cock in your gob, and to know how it’s done, did I now?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’
‘But nothing! Now come on, say you’ll fix a date. We can meet at least.’
‘
No!’
‘Come on, or do I have to make you?’
‘Like how?’
‘Like I make you ring them.’
‘And how do you propose to make me ring them, Niall Flynn?’
‘Perhaps by showing your bare arse to the street if you don’t.’
I stuck out my tongue, turned round, stuck my bum out and flipped up my dress, showing just about everything, as all I had on was a black thong. It made his eyes pop, and I was laughing as I danced away from his clutching fingers. So was he.
‘Your sister’s right, you’re a slut and more, Lucy Doyle. Now get out that phone.’
‘Make me.’
‘I will. I’m thinking, perhaps you’ll not be so cheeky in the club with no knickers under that pretty dress?’
‘You think so, do you?’
‘I do. Now out with the phone.’
‘In your dreams, Niall Flynn.’
‘Come on with you, Lucy, or I’ll have those knickers here and now.’
‘You haven’t the guts!’
‘Oh, haven’t I just?’
‘No, you haven’t. You’re nothing but a great gobshite, Niall Flynn, all mouth and no action.’
‘Am I, by Jesus!’
He dashed forward. I screamed and ran, tripped over my heels and had to clutch onto a lamppost to stop myself landing smack on the pavement. The next instant his hands were on me, my dress had been yanked high and he was groping for my knickers.
‘Not here, Niall, no! I was joking, that’s all!’
I tried to push him off, but I was laughing far too hard to fight back as his thumbs were stuck in my waistband. My knickers were levered down, our of my crack and down to my knees. I caught hold of them, kicking and cursing him and trying desperately not to laugh, but failing. My dress had stayed up, rucked high around my waist, bum and pussy bare to the street. I covered myself by instinct and he’d immediately jerked my knickers right down to my ankles, and off, one foot at a time, with me thumping at his head and calling him every bastard under the sun.
