Dark Side of the Moon

by Les Wood

  What the hell was John thinking? Not only had he come into Boddice’s house, his inner sanctum, but the stupid prick had been shagging Boddice’s wife. His bloody wife! This was just about the riskiest thing imaginable. And the glaikit bastard had now involved Campbell as well. If Boddice ever found out, they would both be dead men. And not just dead, but tortured, beaten, hot boiled eggs shoved up their arseholes, dipped in baths of acid and made to beg for sweet mercy beforehand. Campbell had a brief vision of Prentice and Kyle showing up at his door in the wee small hours one night, baseball bats in hand. Death would be the least of their worries.

  Campbell reached the top landing, took his bearings. Christ, but this house was big. The corridor stretched into the distance, all polished floorboards, expensive rugs and fancy wall hangings. Tasteful stuff. Campbell thought he recognised a Vettriano hanging on one of the walls – the real deal, not a print – just a wee one, but it must have cost a small fortune.

  He found the bedroom and went in, the door closing behind him with a tiny snick, like someone tutting. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight, and tea-light candles burned in coloured glass holders on the bedside cabinets. An incense burner sent little coils of patchouli-scented smoke towards the ceiling. The bed was massive – Campbell thought you could probably get a decent five-a-side game on there. Red and black pillows were scattered against the wrought-iron headboard and the black silk sheets were turned down. A regular boudoir. If this was one of the spare bedrooms, what must the master be like?

  Campbell sat on the bed and rubbed his palms on his trousers. There was still time to do a runner. Wherever Boddice’s wife had gone, he could just bolt down the stairs, out the door and down the driveway. Let John deal with the fallout. But if he did that, the whole set-up with himself and John would be exposed. Boddice would find out.

  He had no option but to go through with it.

  Campbell kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, cursing John under his breath. What a bloody mess. He stood and stripped down to his underwear, placing his clothes on a wicker chair in the corner. He settled on the edge of the bed, drumming his fingers on his knee. There was something else worrying him. Boddice’s wife was not exactly his type. If he was being honest, she looked as if she’d seen better days. Was John really that desperate? Then again, John had always been an opportunist – given the chance he would shag the buttonhole in a fur coat. Campbell considered himself to be a bit more discerning. And that was the problem. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to perform, wouldn’t get it up.

  He went through to the en-suite and ran the cold tap. He splashed some water on his face, inspected his pasty reflection in the mirror. His pupils were dilated. Less to do with the gloom of the bedroom than the fear of standing in nothing more than his scraggy grey boxers in Boddice’s spare bedroom, waiting for the man’s wife to show up.

  Christ, what if Boddice had forgotten more than his shaver? What if he’d decided to cancel the whole fucking trip, come home and spend a nice relaxing weekend with the missus in front of the plasma screen? A few glasses of wine and an early night? A wee bit of reading before nodding off? What if the bastard was pulling into the driveway right now? Climbing the stairs, wondering what was that smell of hippy-shit perfume coming from the spare bedroom? Has someone been sleeping in my bed?

  He heard the bedroom door open and close. Campbell’s heart leapt in his chest. Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the saints with their shiny fucking halos, this was it. He was a dead man.

  Campbell peered out from the en-suite. Boddice’s wife leant against the bedroom door – she had changed out of her suit, slipped into something more comfortable as it were. She let her white satin dressing gown slide to the floor as she locked the door behind her.

  ‘Like what you see?’ she asked.

  Campbell stared. Her hair was let down from its pony tail and she was wearing what appeared to be the contents of page one of the Ann Summers lingerie catalogue – black stockings and suspenders, black push-up bra and crotchless panties. The low-level lighting helped of course, but Campbell had to concede she looked sexy. She stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Does this turn you on, lover?’

  Campbell cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It does.’ He began to harden. His cock pushed and throbbed against his boxers.

  She sashayed over to him, dragged her fingernails across his chest and looked down between his legs. ‘So…’ She smiled, licked her lips. ‘Are we going to set him free then? He seems to be knocking at the door down there.’ She reached towards him and tugged his boxers down. His cock sprung free. She gasped and jumped back. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What?’ he asked. He’d never had that reaction before. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’re… you’re…’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘You’re… hairy!’

  ‘Hairy? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Last week,’ she said. ‘Last week, you were bald, shaved down there. You said it was a porno trick, made your cock look bigger.’

  Campbell put his hand to his head. John – the bastard – he was setting him up. He must have believed that yarn the guy at the tattoo shop had told them, shaved his pubes, the idiot. But he had conveniently neglected to let Campbell know that little secret before he sent him off to shag the boss’s wife. The arsehole. It was deliberate. Campbell would cut off more than the wee turd’s pubes the next time he saw him. Time to think fast.

  ‘Oh aye, that!’ he said. ‘Ah wondered what ye were talkin about.’ He shrugged and gave a short laugh. ‘It’s no big deal. We’re all hairy guys in our family, have to shave two, sometimes three, times a day. Just grows back like wildfire, can’t contain it.’ He pointed to his groin. ‘Same down there, one day, out with the shaving foam and a plastic Bic, coupla days later – whoosh! It’s back!’ She was frowning. Campbell could see the doubt on her face. He tried a different tack. ‘It’s a virility thing. All that testosterone.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  ‘Most definitely. Full to the brim with it.’

  She placed her hand on his cock, sliding it down the shaft, and flashed her eyes at him. ‘Why don’t we put that to the test then?’ She took his hand and led him to the bed, pulled his head towards her and kissed him hard, her tongue flicking and probing between his lips. She pushed him and he fell backwards onto the bed.

  ‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ she said, sliding onto the silk sheets to lie beside him. She leaned over him and retrieved a dark blue bottle from under the pillows. She opened it and poured a thin oil onto her hands. ‘Need to get you all lubed up baby,’ she said, slipping her hand around his cock and slowly working it up and down. ‘I want it slippery wet. I want you gliding into me, so slick, so quick… so hard.’

  Campbell gulped, his Adam’s apple like a billiard ball in his throat. She kissed him again, softly this time, while she slid her hand; up and down, up and down.

  ‘Ready?’ she whispered into his mouth.

  ‘Mmm hmm,’ Campbell muttered, not really wanting her to stop.

  ‘I think you are,’ she laughed. ‘But let’s try it this way this time.’ She knelt on the bed, tucking pillows under her chest and settling herself onto them. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m waiting for you lover. Roger me rigid.’

  Campbell shook his head. This was it – the point of no return. He knelt behind her, looked down. He saw the tattoo John had done for her – a red devil on her left buttock, complete with evil grin and a wee trident. Not bad, but Campbell knew he would have done it better, made the grin a bit more wicked, put a little twinkle in the devil’s eyes. Maybe used a deeper shade of red.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked. ‘C’mon baby, do me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. He took a deep breath and guided himself into her. His cock slipped in easily and she wriggled slightly, making herself more comfortable.

  ‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ she said.


  He began to move steadily, setting up a rhythm that would keep him going for a while without losing it too soon.

  He was about to reach round, find her clit, when she lifted her head from the pillows. ‘Make the noises again. They really turned me on the last time.’

  ‘Noises?’ said Campbell. What the fuck was she talking about?

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Like you did before. C’mon lover, pump me hard and do the noises.’

  Campbell began to falter, lose his rhythm. What noises? He could feel himself becoming soft.

  She pushed back onto him, moving her hips against him. His cock perked up again.

  Noises? Noises? What the hell had John been up to?

  ‘Come on babes,’ she said. ‘The noises.’

  He made a stab at it. ‘Eeeee, eeeee…’

  She turned her head, looked at him over her shoulder. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Making noises?’ he suggested.

  ‘That’s not the ones you did the last time, the ones that got my juices going.’ She began thrusting, increasing her speed, making him follow suit. He’d need to be careful – if it got too fast too soon, he’d end up shooting early. She gripped the spars of the headboard, throwing her head back and sending her hair falling along her shoulders. ‘The noises – c’mon sweetcheeks, same as before. Do it!’

  He was at a total loss. He never even knew John made any sounds when he was shagging, let alone what the fuck they might actually be. Maybe he should just own up, tell her the truth, face the consequences. After all, she couldn’t very well complain to Boddice, could she? Could she? That might be the best solution. He would… he would…

  He had a brainwave.

  ‘You first,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ She buried her head in the pillow.

  ‘You make them first this time,’ he said. ‘And I’ll join in.’

  She laughed. ‘You dirty bastard,’ she said. ‘You really do know how to make me hot!’ She slowed down, stretched luxuriously. ‘Alright, you’re on.’ She slipped off his cock, turned round and pushed Campbell onto his back. ‘But if I’m gonna do it, I want you underneath me!’

  She pinned him on the bed and straddled him, guiding him back inside. She stretched behind her, undoing her bra. Her breasts fell out, massive and pendulous. She ran her hands through her hair, rocking back and forth, sliding along his shaft. Moving slowly at first, with each stroke out she moaned ‘hoo!’ and ‘haa!’ with each stroke back. ‘Hoo-haa! Hoo-haa!’

  Hoo-haa? In the name of the wee man – what had John been thinking? Hoo-haa? Did he do that every single time? What a prat. Campbell fought back the urge to laugh.

  She settled down on top of him, letting her tits brush against his chest. ‘Hoo-haa, hoo-haa, c’mon baby, join in. Hoo-haa!’ She was increasing the pace, pushing him deeper inside her.

  ‘Hoo-haa,’ he said weakly.

  ‘No, lover, same as you did before. I want you to shout it! HOOOOO-HAAAA!’ she screamed.

  Christ almighty, this was fucking ridiculous. Was she serious? ‘Hooo-haaa!’ he yelled.

  ‘That’s it! God, I love this so much – do me baby, do me hard! Hoo-haa, hoo-haa!’ She was moving faster still. Campbell could almost imagine a guy at the foot of the bed beating a big kettledrum, oil glistening on his bare chest. Hoooo – left hand, Haaaa – right hand. Hooo! Haaa! Ramming speed!

  He could feel himself getting close; it wouldn’t be long now. He decided to join in, full gusto. They rocked together, thrusting faster and faster, Campbell pumping his hips up into her. ‘Hoo-haa, hoo-haa!’ they shouted in unison. ‘Hoo-haa, hoo-haa!’ faster and faster. ‘Hoohaahoohaahoohaahoohaahoohaahoohaa…’ Campbell was beginning to hyperventilate – he thought he might faint. He felt himself on the edge, tried to hold back for a few more seconds. He gave a final thrust – ‘Hoooooo-HAAAAAAA!!’ He exploded and arched his back, held her above him, his cock twitching and pulsing inside her.

  He collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed. She was laughing. ‘That was even better than last time,’ she said. Campbell suppressed a smirk – that was one he could store up for a bit of ammunition later. Better than last time eh, John? What do you think of that? ‘Only one thing…’ she went on.

  ‘Oh, what’s that then?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, last time I got myself off too, you know? My little cherry bomb. And it was just delicious for me, remember?’

  ‘Eh, aye,’ Campbell said.

  She rolled off him onto her back. ‘So, what are you gonna do about it lover? Tongues or fingers? It’s up to you.’ She took his hand, steered him between her legs. ‘And you can forget all the hoo-haa this time,’ she said. ‘Just get down to business.’

  Private Dancer

  ‘Noises?’ asked John. ‘Noises? What the hell are ye talking about?’

  The twins were in the front shop of Two’s Tattoos, making a half-hearted attempt to tidy the place. Putting everything in some semblance of order in preparation for their enforced shutdown, however long that might last. John was still trying to argue that they didn’t need to close up, that business could carry on while they were working for Boddice.

  Boddice had put them straight on that, however. There was no fucking way he would risk some punter coming in and recognising them from Trusdale and Needham’s.

  But the real reason they were mooching around the shop today was to meet Boddice, to give him the feedback on how their tasks had gone, how well they had done. Neither of them was looking forward to it. There could be trouble.

  The Closed sign hung in the front door and Campbell had pulled down the blinds, making it clear to any potential customer they’d have to seek their body art elsewhere. He was just as put out by this as John was. Two’s Tattoos was their business, their livelihood. It had taken them years to build up their clientele, their good name, and now Boddice wanted them to put everything on hold for some daft idea that sounded as if it had as much chance of success as John had of winning the Nobel Prize for Physics and Astronomy.

  And now this. It was the first time they had met since Campbell’s near disastrous encounter with Boddice’s wife. Campbell had blasted John for not telling him about her requirement for audio accompaniment while they had been fucking, how that little secret had almost blown the whole thing. John had frowned, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘Noises?’ he asked. ‘Noises? What the hell are ye talkin about?’

  ‘You know damn well what Ah mean,’ Campbell replied. ‘Don’t act the goat with me.’

  John laughed. ‘Sorry, Campbell, but Ah haven’t a scooby what ye’re on about. Ah don’t know anything about making any noises, especially when Ah’m supposed to be on the job.’

  ‘Hoo-haa?’ Campbell prompted. ‘Doesnae mean anything to ye? Doesnae ring any bells?’

  John shrugged, shook his head, his mouth turned down in a beats-me expression.

  It was Campbell’s turn to frown. ‘Ye mean, she never asked ye to do anything like that at all? No noises? Nuthin?’

  John looked at the floor, bent down to pick up a fragment of paper towel, took it over to the bin, keeping his back turned to Campbell. ‘John?’ Campbell said. ‘She did, didn’t she? Didn’t she? Ya wee shite, ye knew she would ask me and ye kept it from me.’

  John shook his head and turned to look at him. Campbell recognised the expression on his face. After all, did he not have the same one himself from time to time? It was embarrassment.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Campbell, waving his forefinger. ‘Hang on, there’s something else isn’t there? No noises, eh?’

  John shook his head again.

  Campbell narrowed his eyes, set his mouth in a firm line. He sensed John’s evasiveness. His discomfort. ‘Alright,’ Campbell said. ‘What was it she asked you to do then?’

  John looked away, began studying the contents of the open drawer under one of the counters. ‘Ah thought she’d get you to do the same thing,’ he said. ‘Ah thought it would be a laugh to think of you in t
hat situation.’

  ‘What situation?’

  ‘Dancin.’

  ‘Dancin?’ Campbell raised an eyebrow. ‘Ye mean ye had to dance with her first?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. She didn’t want me to dance with her. More on my own, like.’

  ‘What do ye mean?’

  ‘Exotic dancin, she called it. Just me.’

  Campbell smirked. ‘Ah don’t get ye. Ye’d better explain.’

  ‘She said it turned her on.’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Me!’ John shouted, exasperated by Campbell’s pretence of failing to understand him. ‘Me, dancin in the middle of the livin room. She made me wear this thing. A posing pouch. Leopard-skin pattern.’

  Campbell couldn’t hold it in any longer. He let out a long bray of laughter.

  ‘She lay back on the sofa,’ John went on, ignoring him, ‘fingering herself while she watched me doing this stupid fucking dance on the rug in the middle of the floor, waving my arms about and swivelling my hips and stuff.’

  Campbell could hardly picture it. ‘Was there music?’ he asked through his tears of laughter.

  ‘Of course there was bloody music,’ John said. ‘It was… it was…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was… it was… the theme from Star Trek, if ye must know!’

  Campbell completely lost it then. He doubled up, clutching his side. ‘Oh man,’ he said. ‘That’s fucking classic. Star Trek! Lieutenant Yahoorye, that’s you that is.’

  ‘Get to fuck, ya prick,’ John said. ‘At least when we finally got down to it, it was just normal stuff. Ah didn’t have to hoo this and haa that like a fucking monkey.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ said Campbell, wiping the tears from his eyes, ‘she seemed to make a monkey out of the both of us. In fact, she…’ He stopped, his smile fading quickly. ‘Hang on though,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case, then that means that…oh, shit.’