Chapter One

               He reached for her urgent, demanding and very erect. It was touch and go. Should he get up and relieve his aching bladder, or make use of the thumping great morning glory pulsating between his thighs?

The warm smell of still sleepy, post coital woman won the day.  He moved closer to Clarissa, giving the elegant thigh a rude prod.

�Good day,  Lady Braithwaite. I�m here with your early morning special.�

�Doctor Long,� she sighed, and then smiled at him. �My, you are happy to see me, aren�t you. Tell me, you eager little beaver-basher,� she teased. �Do you want to fuck me or do you really need a pee?�

� Oo aye, yeah. Bothbut definitely fucking first.�

He mounted the gorgeous red-haired Clarissa Braithwaite. They settled into a slow rhythmic pumping. As he worked into his stroke he thought how fortunate that the good professorhis faculty headhad gone to Cologne for a conference this weekend. He, in turn had drawn a botanical society in Irelandalong with the professor�s lovely missus.

�Oh Declan, fuck me, darling. Yes just there. That�s wonderful ... Come, come in my sweet, sweet cunt.�

Dirty talk turned Clarissa on like mad, he knew. Mind you, it was having pretty much the same effect on him as well. His cock was stiff as a rod, the barrel engorged to its limit.

�Oh�oh�ah�ah yes!� he sputtered, as his overheated member discharged its load into the honey sweet patch of heaven that was Clarissa�s tight pink pussy. She gurgled in appreciation, clinging to the cheeks of his arse and pulling them apart. Her middle finger had found its expert way through the sphincter and up to touch his prostate, urging it to new heights.

�Whoa. Hey there, my lad,� she puffed. �That was quite a load. I�m going to dribble all morning now. But thank you anyway.�

As their breathing eased he leapt up and ran to the loo. His bladder emptied in loud whooshing relief.

�What a way to start the day� he called to her.

�A world class fuckwhich, can you believe, she thanks me forand a hearty slash; followed by a hot soapy shower and sodding great, bugger-the-cholesterol breakfast.�

Maybe they�d be able to squeeze in a matinee after the luncheon meeting where he was delivering a piece on orchid growing  his professional passion.

Clarissa joined him in the shower. That of course led to the soft washing of each other�s more intimate parts. He thrust his semi-tumescent member at her. � I�m ready for you, you red-haired hussy� he threatened.

�Anytime sailor. In fact, you can bring him here right now,� she said, kneeling down and slipping his fast growing length into the glorious, bright red mouth.

After last night�s performanceand the one just pastDeclan couldn�t, with the best will and plain randiness, manage to deliver a full-on explosive shot. But Clarissahis fingers hard at work masturbating her stiffened little clitoriswas eager to come, hard. She shuddered again and again as she rose, unsteady, to her full height and planted a hot kiss on his mouth, her tongue thrusting into him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

               The good Irish country breakfast was all they could have wished for. They followed the shamaless cholesterol bombardment with a slow amble around quaint, picture-postcard-perfect Ballyfair village. At the appointed time they strolled to the gathering of Orchid Fanciers in the church hall. The society welcomed them with smiles and handshakes, addressing Clarissa as Mrs Long. They smiled coylyclearly, they had no intention of correcting the assumption.

Declan felt a glow at the thought of Clarissa as his wife. This was followed by a sharpdrop in his spirits as he realised that his beloved mistressfor several million reasons, the title and a large country housewouldn�t leave Professor Lord Richard Braithwaite for a bog standard, plant geneticist and lecturer.

Why she had initiated their affairand what she saw in him was hard to guess. At thirty-seven Declan was greying, beginning to bald and wore thick spectacles.

He stooped when he walked or stood. The paunch was incipient, and he had become frankly flabby. What he couldn�t see was his kindness, decency and innate sense of fun. He also just happened to be a superb natural lover.  The fact that he adored her and devoted his entire love life to their occasional couplings flattered her ego more than somewhat

The perfect day continued. Even the hoped for matinee was consummated, leaving them dreamy and drained. Well over-indulged sexually, their lovemaking was a gentle homage of the one to the other. Declan massaged the silky smooth body from her toes upwards. Of course several obstacles stood in the path of a smooth ascent. The short shorn mons resembled a red toothbrush moustache above the generous pouting petals of her pussy.

How lovely it was, plump and pink. Like a little girl, presented to him so intimately. He often thought how like an orchid she was. Fingering the petals apart he thrust his tongue against the sweet clitoris. As it hardened, he thrust his tongue further into her. It touched the mouth of the urethra, the fabled U-spot. He nuzzled away, her greedy hips rose and thrust hard at his buried face.

After that came the soft tummy-mound between the mons and belly button. The gentle give of its velvety softness never failed to arouse him. And then of course, the lovely rounded soft-firm mounds of breastswith their little pink rosebud nipples, hard and thrilling. Massaging Clarissa�s breasts involved the problem of his elongated cock prodding into her oh-so-inviting pubic bowl.

But that was soon remedied by simply plugging him in. Their kiss was long and tender, their tongues intertwining enticingly. The language of love is often no more than hungry moans and grunts. Thus did they speak their love as the conjoined loins took on a separate life, driving them to orgasm and love-sweaty clutching.

Afterwards they lay quietly in each other�s embrace, coming down from the sexual high. This time the shower scene was more composed, tinged with sadness at the thought of their all too soon departure.

Once dressed, all that was left was to pack up and drive through to the airport. Declan put his few pieces into a little togbag, which went into her small suitcase. They hadn�t come to dress upjust the opposite. He took all the money he had in cash from his wallet and slipped it into the top pocket of his worn tweed jacket. 

They checked out, he placed the suitcase on the back seat, and drove off.

Somewhere far away Fate chuckled slyly, as she moved the next piece into the game.

That piece was Auld Tom Cleary, a gardener at Ballywoods Academy. The Academy catered to the needs of wealthy young ladies from all over the world. It was recommended as a steadying influence on girls growing into young womanhood. A college to prepare them for the hardships of life in the real world. The curriculum prepared students for university life by clearing any confusion they may feel about their chosen field of study. To this end, the courses were widely diverse, covering a little of everything. The Academy was a successful and prestigious establishment.

It ranthought Fatefar too smoothly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

            Auld Tom had spent a lifetime killing himself the slow way with booze and cigarettes. His heart was irreparably damaged, but as he attended to his ablutions his ill health didn�t bother him. Tom Cleary was something of a savant. Brilliant with plants, his major interest was natural homeopathic remedies.

Through exhaustive efforts to cure the mortally damaged heart, he�d uncovered a myriad of efficacious old Celtic potions, lotions, pastes, unguents, elixirs and ointments. He had an instinct for knowing what to cross with what for the most effective, often amazing results.

Tom�s remedies didn�t do his heart any real good. However, �Tom�s Special�, his Tonic, had restored his hair colour, among other manifestations. He�d lost weight and firmed up in body. The most remarkable result of the self-administered medication was the complete restoration with a vengeance of his libido. He had the thick, ever tumescent cock of an eighteen-year-old. When he rode on the upper deck of the bus now it gave him a monstrous erectionthat inexplicable, embarrassing condition suffered by youths the world over. Getting off the bus with bulging trousers didn�t bother him one little bit. Now he was proud to display his priapic condition , advertising his manhood to anyone who�d care to notice.

At some stage, relief of his regained desire required more than masturbation, and indeed became a pressing priority. He was pulling his pudding at least four times a day!

So, neatly barbered, bathed and cologned dressed in his Sunday best Auld Tom had gone on the hunt for nookie, and found the widow Harrison.

He courted her with quiet formality for a few weeks, bulging trousers and all. She�d noticed the phenomenonglancing fascinated at his crotch, much longer than necessary, to confirm her suspicions. A few times she�d given him a surreptitious rub up in passing. He�d encouraged her returning the gesture until at last it got too much and he�d blurted out his desire for her.

� Can you not feel my love for you, Mrs Harrison. For heaven�s sake, woman?�

� Mr Cleary I have felt your love for mequite often as wellto be honest with you. I can see it now, trying to push its way out of your trousers. It�s trying to get at me.�

�Yes, it�s doing that all right. And a fine sight it is too, ain�t it? It�s your girlish beauty that does it�

Suddenly his hand went into his inside jacket pocket, extracting an envelope, which he placed on the mantelpiece. �This is a little consideration for your housekeeping, ma�am.�

He paused as he looked deep into her still lovely deep blue eyes. Then summoning all his couragebuoyed by lusthe mumbled, � I was hoping my love could be accommodated in your housekeeping, me darlin� love,� he insinuated the sly offer. A deal was struck between them..

Each Sunday afternoon, and the occasional Wednesday evening, Auld Tom was treated like a young courtier. For a man who was way past it, he gave her a thorough, hearty seeing to whenever his budget permitted. These visitations had become, over a few months, a familiar routine between them.

Mrs Harrison no longer faked her eagerness to accommodate Auld Tom�s lust. If the truth be told, his thickvery large prodderwhich he exercised with youthful, ever ready vigour upon her, was an utter and complete delight.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

             As she awaited Tom�s arrival, Mona Harrison�s muse carried her back to her days as an exotic dancer in the Soho of the 60s. To the strains of Peter Gunn and Harlem Nocturne, Mona Stubbs had shimmied her way out of frothy costumes, slowly, bewitchingly and enticingly. The heat of raw sexual passion pervaded the club she worked in, Grotta Azurathe Blue Grottomore popularly known as Grotty-as-Urine.

And oh, how bold she�d been. Her performances were for the �in crowd� of the swinging 60s only. Not a stitch, no coy patches of glitter, covered the smallest part of her well displayed form. She was the real thing all right. Her shapely round pudding breasts pointed skyward and jiggled busily.

Her form was greatly admired byand regarded by the wise, as the property ofTough Terry Malloya �hard face�, a comer; already with his own firm. This same shapely form was also adored and lusted after by a shy insurance salesman, little Bob Harrison. Through sheer perseverance he�d become a well-known face in the crowd.

Bob Harrison was blindly in love with Mona Stubbs. As she stripped, moving from small stage to the front tables, rubbing her lovely young breasts against the faces of the fortunate fewpermitted and carefully chosen by TerryBob masturbated recklessly beneath his table. The onanistic action of regular masturbators didn�t go unnoticed by the rest of the audience or staff..  It was an accepted practice, often performed by the waitresses for a small consideration. Bob was not alone that daywanking wildly in the darkness of the clubbut he was the most enthusiastic when Mona did her number.

Dirty Mavis, a trifle bored, sneaked up on him that evening. She put her head on his shoulder and announced in stentorian tones, �Havin� a good wank are we? You dirty little pervert!� Heads swivelled to see who�d been caught in the act. Several men froze into momentary immobility, before their hands emerged from their laps onto the tabletops.

Poor Bob shrivelled to nothing. What could he do, after all he�d been caught red handed, so to speak. He put the offending stub away and stood, ready to run from the club. But he couldn�t resist a last look at the object of his deepest desire, his only love. It was the first time Mona had seen him. The tears starting at the corners of his eyesand the utter anguish in his face as he looked at his love for the last timemade an indelible impression on her.

�How awful,� she thought later, �To be so in love with mehis impossible dream.�

Miss Stubbs wasn�t in the least bit modest. She enjoyed the fact that her shapely form drove men to uncontrolled, desperate acts of passion. Sitting in the shabby dressing room she gazed into the mirror. She was lovely, no doubt about that. Without thinking about it, she began fingering herself, absorbed in her mirror image.

The familiar fantasies took hold of her imagination. This time she fantasised Billy Fury and Steve McQueen in the audience, tossing off for her as Bob had donean act of fealty and adoration.

She�d give them the performance of the century. They both fall hopelessly in love and have to fight each other for her attentions. Terrytough as he was receded into never-never-land. Quickening the tempo of her fingers, she dreamed of fucking both starshead and tailto decide who�d take her home. She was on her back now, arching deep, approaching divine orgasm at a good canter.

Just then, Charlie Moltenoalso known as The Maltese Monsterthe Grottie�s resident magician who shared the dressing room with Mona, came in. He�d seen her naked of course, but never in such exquisite abandonment or excitation.

�Holy  fucking - shit,� he exclaimed drawing out the words one at a time. She was stunned, but not for long. Emboldened by her overheated libido she recovered fast, not even missing a stroke. �Come on Chas� What�s keepin� you,� she hissed at him.

Well, we�ve heard the expression �big man, big cock; small man all cock.� This had to be the definitive description of Charlie�s memberthe Maltese Monsterexposed now, the origin of its name patently on display. It was huge by any standards, and as it cranked up slowly, it gained both size and weight. She was sopping wet, giving the man in the boat a rough fingering as The Monster prepared to enter the fray. Chas stripped for action while his frightening cock just kept on growing. It steadied itself in a plane not quite parallel to the ground. The Monster was just too bloody heavy to support its own vast weight. The great head resembled a throbbing heart, magnificently veined and empurpled. It glowed with purpose.

As a matter of urgency, Charlie dispensed with foreplay. He and the mighty monster plunged. Grabbing her breasts for leverage he pummelled her pussy energetically. It was like the huge fists of Henry Cooper punching her in the cunt. Thump, thumpity, thump.

�Whoa cowboy,� she squealed, �Gimme a chance. Chasfor fuck�s sake, hang about a bit!� She took both hands and pulled her labia as wide as she could. Slowly, slowly the great one entered her domain.

�Shit - oh shit� she yelped, � You�re tearing me apart, Charlieeee�� she moaned, enjoying every second of the exquisite agony, clasping him tight. And then came the pleasureand with it, the pride of achievementfilling her as full as did The Monster.

She was nailed, impaled by the cruel staff. His thrusts drove her back and back, so that it was like swimming against the current, just to stay in place. She came again and again, any last forgotten vestiges of hymen and maidenhead vaporised. This was an experience she�d never have believed possible had she not been there was there, doing it.

And then incredibly, she felt The Monster swell bigger, as it prepared to fire. She struggled frantically for escape, but there was none. She was going to be fucked to death by this little man with the giant member. It felt as if his whole body had mutated into this terrible, impaling machine, in fancy two-toned shoes. The gush of his release was awesome. She felt it smack high up at the back of her vaginal wall and then, flooded, flow like lava from the bruised orifice that used to be her much fancied pussy.

Charlie collapsed on top of her. �No bloody wonder.� She observed, �He�s fainted from loss of blood.�

Charlie was drained. Always the showman, he�d put all he had which was prodigious into his performance.

Mona wriggled out from under him, dripping thick cum richly onto the floor. She straightened carefully, feeling her pubic surrounds for any permanent injuries. Finding herself intact just stretched to the absolute limit she looked at the little man whose penis had now shrunken to what could be described in human terms as very large.

�Kin�ell, Charlie. There wasn�t no trick to that was there, matey. That was pure fuckin� magic, luv. Beauty an� the beast, hey!� She�d scaled the heights and felt justified in boasting a little.

�Much obliged Mona,� Charlie smiled at her. �Any time you need a seeing to, just lemme know. The Monster�s always happy to help out, like.�

That was a performance all right. She wished it could have been live. Show those big mouths she could survive The Monster. Mind you, a few months of that and she�d be stretched so wide, she�d have to keep Charlie.

Bob Harrison never heard the story, but his heroic moment was close at hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

                Tough Terry was doing well, but poor Mona Stubbs wasn�t. His increased commercial ambitions had him strung to concert pitch. The growing stable of working girls kept him fully occupied in every possible way. Mona became his punching bag. The so-called exciting life of the worshipped formthe queen of stripperswas a shoddy gilded cage.

She thought of herself as the lost love-object of that poor young man with the desolate, haunted eyes. She saw again his tortured agony and empathised. She�d lost him as surely as he had lost her.

As his greed grew, Terry was demanding she get more playful with the faces in the front seats. It was no longer a matter of giving their hungry phizogs a quick rub with her soft young tits. She now had to allow them a good grope and general feel-up. When she was altogether naked she had to stroll among the tables again, without rushing. The more important punters got in a feel not only of her beautifully ripe bristols, but managed a quick fingering as well. Sometimes she had to sit on their laps and grind herself against their stiff cocks. 

Now they even came into her dressing room where she had to open their trousers and masturbate them, sometimes two at a time, watching them spray the worn carpet, laughing their coarse laughs. She knew it wasn�t long before she�d be sucking them off and then gang-banging them. Terry�s punishment would be terrible if she stepped out of line.

It was about this time that Marianne Faithfull�s flagging career was given a boost. Not by a hit song but by Mick Jagger and the infamous Mars Bar incident. Mona saw a faint light at the end of her tunnel that wasn�t an express train bearing down on her. A stalling action at best, it would suffice until she got up the guts to run away from Terry and her soured life.

Once she was starkers, instead of parading herself for the grand feel-up, she perched on a small sofa onstage. The spotlight picked her out in stark relief. Suddenly she�d produce a Mars Bar. She�d unwrap it as seductively as she�d just unwrapped herself. To the driving beat of the blues, she inserted the sweet into the short pink passage of her pussy. Mona then beckoned to the audience. There was always some drunk young hopeful who�d come forward and eat the bar greedily. His progress brought loud applause. As soon as he finished she bowed and ran from the stage. The ruse worked. 

Lovelorn Bob Harrison hadn�t given up. He�d grown a ratty Frank Zappa type droopy moustache and sideboards as disguise. Fighting his raging priapism, he�d re-established himself as an integral part of the audience.

The insurance company for whom he worked, had offered him a transfer to the Dublin office. This suited him down to the ground. Blinded by love, he planned to steal Mona and take her with him. Reason didn�t enter the equation at any level. His plan was simple. As she inserted the Mars Bar, he�d make sure it was he who got to do the honours. He�d tug off his overcoat and wrap it around her. Brandishing a pistol he�d pick her up and carry her out to a well-bribed taxi and a desperate flight to freedom, changing cabs three times before taking a hired car to the airport.

The fateful night came. Bob was in position, ready to leap into action. Terry sat ensconced at the next table, in animated conference with some most unattractive Neasden faces. They were looking for a nice healthy little earner in Central London, and in their opinion, the Grottie was it.

Terry was getting the short end of the negotiations. What they wanted was a large chunk of his assets, but they weren�t that keen to pay.

�A workin� partnership, Terry. Workin� for our mutual benefit in the long term,� was how they�d put it.

He�d rabbited on about his gorgeous bird, who�d give them a sorting out after her show. This didn�t impress Gay George who�d remained truculent all evening. He�d heard about the Mars Bar trick. He smiled a nasty smile to himself as a dreadful idea was born in his twisted mind.

The moment was now.

Bob Harrison started for the stage, but a determined, muscle-bound Gay George shoved him out of the way. George strode up, oozing menace, to confront the naked girl. She quailed. Something bad was about to happen. And it did.

Plucking the sweet roughly from her pussy, Gordie shoved it quickly, efficiently and very rudely, up her arse. She was overcome with fear, outrage, and a sudden searing pain. The gangster smiled his nastiest smile at Terry.

�She�s your fuckin� little angel. You come and eat it, wanker! � Challenged George. The men at the tables froze. The terrified Mona let out a screech that would have put an air-raid siren out of business. She heaved great heart-torn sobs. All eyes turned to her. Perched on the sofa�s edge, the tip of the confection protruded from a place in which it really didn�t belong.

Each sobbing heave from the beautiful girl had the peculiar effect of working the bar out of her deflowered sphincter, inch by aching inch. Finally a long sob popped it out completely. It lay at her feet like a new laid egg. As if to salute their achievement, the abused lips farted, emitting a modest raspberry at the wide-eyed audience.

The audience loved it. Loud cheering and clapping ensued. She was restorednot only to dignitybut even to a degree of adulation. This was her finest moment. It didn�t last, however. Terry threw a bottle at Gay George and pretty soon a free-for-all was underway.

To his utter surprise, Bob Harrison found the path to his beloved Mona unimpeded. Picking her up in his armsnaked and wriggling delightfullyhe carried her out to the waiting taxi. His shining armour was a Marks and Spencer mac, but he�d saved her just as surely as Lancelot could ever have done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

                The rest, as they are wont to say, is history. The two young people married as soon as they got to Dublin. For thirty years they�d lived a quiet and contented life. Mona remained the most beautiful thing Bob Harrison had ever seen. She performed her dances and Mars Bar trick for him whenever they got in the mood. The illusion of encapsulated, captured youth fed her ego and gave her stability. Neither ever set foot near London again.

The quantity of chocolate bars Bob had consumed over the years had thickened his waist considerably. The confections had become a masturbatory placebo when he was away from his precious love. Finally, three years ago, he�d succumbed to diabetes. Mona had danced at his bedside right to the end.

Coming back to the present, Mona sighed, fluffed her hair and gave herself the once over in the hall miror. It was almost Tom�s calling time.

At four o�clock on the dot he knocked at the widow�s cottage door. Rat-a-tat-tat. He�d arrived. She welcomed him with honest sincerity.

�And a tr�iffic day to ya, Mrs Harrison. I�m here as alwaysan� eager ta commence festivities. But first ye�ll join me in a wee drop of the cratur won�tya?� It was his standard opening.

 �Of course, Mr Cleary. Get yerself in here and we can commence without delay.�

Still a handsome woman, she curtsied him into the small living room. He put the usual envelope on the mantel, turning to embrace her with one arm, the other holding a bottle of whiskey.

The routine began. First they toasted each other, drinking in large gulps. She did this to put him at ease. He continued at a cracking pace. She�d put a scratched vinyl long-playing record on the old turntable and begin her dance. She�d parade around the room, shedding garments one by one. As she got into the familiar rhythm of the act, Auld Tom saw the gorgeous young showgirl emerge from the matronly chrysalis before him.

As the liquor began to take hold, the sagging, overripe breasts became once more proud thrusting mounds of promise. The stubby, cellulite-dimpled legs became those of the nubile showgirl, long and elegant. Mona Harrison was restored to the beautiful young woman of thirty years ago. She was, however, well aware of the alcohol-induced illusion and grateful for it. She was careful to keep the lighting artfully low.

Mrs Harrison, now naked, sashayed over to Auld Tom, who was sitting with the glass in one hand, his weapon in the other. Quite content with the programme, he worked his hand up and down, enjoying a gentle wank while he built his erectionwaiting for her. She spread her labia until she was wide open for him. Now he could direct his shaft straight at the target.

�Ah, t�ank ya Lord� he wheezed as she lowered herself on to him. They sat like that about a minute, she wiggled her bottom about in his lap, creating the mood for the main event.

Tom then rose. Cupping her cheeks in his large coarse hands she sat atop his great pole as he waddled her over to the sofa. Now he was ready.

Heaving and thrusting, fondling her breasts tenderly, Tom picked up the tempo and pretty soon they were rushing along the road to the great crescendo. She moaned in ecstasy.

She realised at that moment that he had become an integral part of her life. She loved him. Taking his face in her hands she squinted into his eyes, murmuring endearments and encouragement. But something in his face was horribly wrong.

The red-veined face was changing from its usual outdoor ruddiness to fierce purple, the bloodshot eyes bulging grotesquely. His poor damaged heart died on him.

With a great grunt, lurch and shuddering orgasmic gush he expired. Not realising his unfortunate condition, she kissed him, tonguing the dead mouth. Mona clung tight to him, whispering, �Oh Tom, don�t never leave me, me darlin�.�  No one had ever said that to him in life. And now in death, eyes staring, his member rigored inside her, he�d missed it forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

              Declan and Clarissa had been on the road for some time and had just travelled through Ballybrook, another postcard-perfect village. �How long will we have to wait until we can get away again, darling?� Declan asked his lovely red-haired mistress.

�I have no idea, lover, but I�m looking forward to it with panting anticipation� she answered with a facetious smirk.

�You�re quite sincere aren�t you Clarissa,� he mused. � You�re not just a loose woman.�

And then to himself he pondered, �I don�t know, I really don�t. Why me?�

�Oh my dear, sweet darling.  Fishing for compliments are we� she said. �Maybe you want a quickie demonstration of my devotion. Huh. Huh?� She leered at him, rolling her eyes in a hammy-slut way.

Clarissa leaned over. Kissing Declan on his ear and blowing into it, she loosed his flies extracting the willinghow he�d never knowpurple-headed trouser snake. �Little friend,� she said, breathing into his ear, but plainly addressing his cock, �Be true to me, and I�ll fulfil all your fantasies.�

The glossy head of flaming red bent to the task. She fellated him with loud sucking noises. Her actions had the desired effect on both of them.

� Oh my love,� he moaned.� I�m going to come again. I can feel it. You�re fucking magic, girl. Fucking magic, not necessarily� in�oh�that�mmm�order. Oh shit, too fucking much.�

Declan looked down at Clarissa�s rapidly bobbing head. He could smell her fresh, shampooed hair, her perfume, his own heat. Her clear green eyes stared up at him brazenly, the glossy red lips encasing his fat cock. There was a smear of her lipstick on the shaft. For some reason this sent him over the edge. He shot off into the lovely mouth. It gushed erotically down to her chin. He couldn�t take his eyes away. He was transfixedwith love, passion and overwhelming desire for this woman.

His eyes rooted to Clarissa�s face, he didn�t see the bendmuch less the tree.

The car missed the bend, flew down the bank and hit the tree head-on. She was thrown againstand under the dashboard. His member was pulled from her mouth so rudely it made a loud popping soundas a cork from a bottle. Neither of them heard it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

                 Clarissa came to slowly. She was sore all over. Moving carefully, she ran a mental checklist for any injuries. No, nothing was broken, or really even damaged. She�d live. The sudden realisation of where she wasand who she washit her as hard as she�d hit the dashboard.

�Oh shit!� she exclaimed volubly. She sat up and looked around her. It was then she thought of Declan. He wasn�t moving and lay at a funny angle. For all her sins, Clarissa was not cold-heartedly treacherous. She was, however, a most practical girl. She checked Declan over very, very carefully, even tucking his lipstick-smeared penis back into his trousers. His breathing was even and his limbs articulated without any trouble. He was out cold, but uninjured.

The extent of his wounds comprised a terrific bump to his forehead. Thank heavens for seat belts, not even a black eye. She put his ruined glasses into his jacket pocket, where she found the little clip of notes. At least he�d be able to get back to England. She kissed him guiltily, wishing him luck.

�And you, my girl,� she admonished herself, � had better get your cheating fanny back home to your husband.� She�d walk back to Ballybrook, from where she�d catch a taxi to the airport. She always carried money on her. And big sister Sarah could provide an alibi in case of emergency.

Grabbing the suitcase, Clarissa climbed out of the wreck with a good few �Ouches�, �Fucks� and �Shits!� and a last, �Goodbye my love,� to Declan. Once on the road she could see the village lights begin to twinkle on. It was getting dark, time to move.

An hour later Lady Braithwaite sat in the passenger seat of a taxi, safely on her way to the airport. Sarah had been briefed to cope with any contingency. Thinking of her brush with deatheven worse, the spectre of divorceClarissa shivered. Close, but she was home free. She�d be back before Richard.

Not so poor old Declan. It took him almost an hour to regain consciousness. He woke cold, shivering and not knowing where the hell he was, who he was or what he was doing therewherever there was. As in grand soap opera he had been buffeted into total amnesia!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

                   He struggled out of the car. With no recollection of the accident, he wasn�t tracking at all. He wouldn�t report the incident because he simply didn�t know why he�d been in the car. All he knew was that his head hurt and that he was cold.

Scrambling up to the road, he looked about. Not wearing his glasses didn�t help. Was that a glow of far-off lights? No, wait, those looked much closer. He started shuffling off to the closer looking lights.

Fate chuckled. Everything was going according to plan. The closer looking lights belonged to an approaching pantechnicon, that soon swept by him. Doctor Declan Long strode off to Ballywoods and destiny. By the time he�d reached the village he�d forgotten about the crash. He was as vulnerable as a newborn baby.

The pub beckoned. At least amnesia leaves us with the most important essential skills. He entered and immediately felt more secure in the universal atmosphere and bonhomie of good pubs. Along the way he�d discovered his smashed specs and the little clip of money. But that was the sum of what he carried. He had nothing to go by, nothing to discover who he was. He ordered a large whisky and got whiskey. It dawned on him that he was in Ireland. That was a start, he was Irish. In fact his voice hadn�t lost its original Irish lilt entirely, so he didn�t draw funny looks from the locals. Halfway through his second whiskey he began to feel quietly happy and secure.

The talk in the pub centred on the unusual death of Auld Tom Cleary. A tearful widow Harrison had called Brendan Sweeney, the local joiner and part-time mortician. He�d repeated the story at least six times, but as the news spread, his audience changed and grew. He told of how he�d had to fetch a coffin in which to remove the body from Mrs Harrison�s cottage. She was dressed in a strange �sorta stagey costume,� he said. It looked as if she�d thrown her clothes on quickly. But the highlight of his story was dead Tom�s staring eyes and enormous cockstand, thrusting from his trousers, pointing unwaveringly heavenward, as if to signal his intention of going straight to pearly gates-land.

�And how�d ye get the coffin lid on, Brendan?� asked one of the lads.

�Well, I�m tellin� youse, I had to tie his fuckin� prick doon to his leg, And I fastened the lid down real gude, that�s for sure,� he answered to loud hoots of laughter.

� Do ya often go around playing wi� men�s tool then Brenda?� loud cheers.

�And how�d it get to be like that in the fust place, d�you think?�

� Well, I�d be askin� the widow Harrison that one, Kevin.� More hoots, guffaws, banging of mugs and silly talk followed. Declan was buoyed along by the camaraderie.

 He addressed Brendan. �Were they engaged in sexual activity at the time of his untimely demise?�

�If you�re askin� were they fuckin�, I�d have to say yes� he replied. More laughter followed.

� Ye could cal it comin� an� going at the same time,� said someone from the side.

�At least that�s better than not knowin� if you�re comin� or goin�.� The floor was in fine form. Declan felt a strong sense of belonging.

As the chatter proceeded he asked more about Auld Tom Cleary. When it emerged that Tom had been a gardener, Declan brightened.

 �That�s what I am, a gardener� he pronounced, mostly to himself.

�Tom was more than jist a gardener ya know. He was an Orchid Fancier.�

 �Yes. That�s what I am� Declan declared, addressing the room with confidence this time. A grin split his face. �Where can I get a job like that?�

�You�d be after Auld Tom�s job then,� said someone from behind him.

�Yes I suppose so,� said Declan, looking at a large ruddy man, with thick salt and pepper hair and merry blue eyes. The man was ruggedly good looking, a man�s man.

�Weel � all right then. I�m Brian O�Shaunessy.� He shook Declan�s hand warmly.

�Tom worked for me up at The Academy. Come along tomorrow an� we�ll find out how much you know aboot orchids and gardens.�

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

                 Declan spent the night at the inn, falling into bed without washing. Several whiskeys had followed his meeting Brian. The excitement of the day and general fatigue had wiped him out. At some stage he�d bought the pub a drink, cementing the new friendship.

When asked his name, he�d squinted at the bar�s rows of displayed bottles. He made out Tullamore Dew, Bushmills and John Powers. Survival instinct kicked in.

�Tully Powers,� he�d beamed at everyone, grinning broadly and repeating it twice. �Tully Powers, that�s me.� He�d found a homeBallywoods, possibly a jobwonderful friends and a name. On a subconscious level, Declan was sublimely happy.

It wasn�t difficult finding The Academy and O�Shaunessy. Tully�s appearance wasn�t good, but as a prospective labourer, he was perfect. His hair was a tangle, his eyes bloodshot. The broken specs hung crookedly on his nose. His breath betrayed the drinks from last night. He winced at loud sounds. His old tweed jacket had suffered a tear at the shoulder, the poloneck and denims worn and scuffedas were his tatty desert boots.

Big Brian showed him around the grounds, which were impressive by any standards. The family had suffered the usual ups and downs of Irish nobility. One of the ups had seen Capability Brown planning gardens that today were among the country�s most beautiful. An Italian sculptor had built great ornamental fountains, there were three conservatories, several gazebos and a large boating lake with a wooded island in its middle.

The gardens were not only lovely to look at, but commercially viable as well. They supplied fresh flowers to the surrounding area and one small city. Auld Tom�s orchid fancying was rooted in commerce. Declan saw too, that the beds contained combinations of plants. Looking more closely he got excited. �Brian. I see you have a thorough understanding of sympathy planting. And natural insecticides including cannabis!�

�Tully, for fuck�s sake call it hemp, but rather call it nothin�.

�That�s all Auld Tom�s work. He was a genius at making plants grow bigger and better. Coulda been a university man, if t�weren�t for the whiskey. But, Tully, can ye tell us more about what he was up to.� Tully was in his element and moved quickly from bed to bed, terrace to terrace, fairly racing to the conservatories and rhapsodising over the exotic blooms flourishing there. He was sure some were new varieties, especially among the orchids. Tom had been a man of many talents.

O�Shaughnessy was tremendously impressed. He was swept up in Tully�s enthusiasm. So much so that he confirmed the new appointment on the spot.

 � Although The Director must clear it fust,� he admonished. �Ye�ll be living in Cleary�s cottage. And start as soon as you like. We take meals and tea in the staff hall at back o� the kitchens.�

They walked over to the dead man�s cottage. There wasn�t much in the way of personal effects. Those they bundled up for storage. Auld Tom had no kin, so Tully found himself heir to the cottage�s accoutrementswhich were adequate, even comfortableat a rudimentary level. It was the bookshelves and notebooks that surprised him. He shook with excitement.

The books contained classics of botanical science and plant genetics. Some Tully hadn�t heard ofhe supposed. Perhaps it�d come back to him. Remember, dear reader, he was working on instinct and recognition. At some stage surely, he figured, all would become clear. No matter what his past life, he liked this one.

They went up to the main building. O�Shaughnessy announced to reception that he was here with Mr Powers, the new gardener and Orchid Fancier. They weren�t invited in, but told to wait. The Director, Doctor de Mornay would be with them shortly. The Academy liked to Capitalise Important Words.

�She�s a Snotty-Old-Froggy-Bitch, but generally leaves us alone to get on with it,� said Brian, �Just be polite like.�

The doors swung open. An athletic, pleasantly plain figure in large gold-framed glasses appeared. She smiled a broad welcome but was shouldered aside by a tall, graceful woman with a heavy French roll of rich glistening honey-blonde.

�Blimey, it�s fucking Catherine Deneuve�s little sister,� thought Tully, his loins twitching as his subconscious libido equated his recent amnesiac rutting with the promise emergent in this new life.

De Mornay/Deneuve strode up to Tully. Then backed away, her nose wrinkling. �You are Mr Powers, the Orchid Fancier,� she declared, just to remind him.

�Yes ma�am� said Tully, automatically tugging his forelock. She had that effect.

�Mr O�Shaughnessy tells me you seem to know your way around a garden.� She turned to the plain one, � Smells more like a midden than a garden to me!� She harumphed haughtily.

�Still, you people seem to be a breed unto yourselves. Get on with it. Tell him the rules Mr O�Shaughnessy. Give your details to Mrs Landers so she can work out your wages.� She motioned to the smiling young woman.

The Director wheeled like some supermodel on a catwalk  and strode off, her buttocks pumping away like two steam pistons. The pleasant one gave them each an apologetic bob of the head before following The Director inside. Tully was glued to the spot.

� Tully. Oi, Tully. Come on lad. And forget it boyo. I doubt anyone�s good enough to sniff her brookies.� He shook his head. � Snotty bitch� he repeated. Tully wondered if Brian wasn�t protesting too much. The mere mention of sniffing the panties of The Gorgeous Director renewed the twitching in his own grimy under garments.

The rest of the morning was taken up with moving in, cleaning himself and the cottage. Luxuriating in the bath, Tully examined his red rimmed penis, bemused by its red streaks as he washed it. Ambling into the village later, he bought a few sturdy work outfits and some good heavy boots. His glasses were a thing of the past, however. He�d have get by for a while without them, seeing life from an up-close-and-personal viewpoint. All in all, when he came to lunch he looked decidedly more refined than earlier that day. His appearance was decidedly more executive than that of a garden labourer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

                 Tully worked in the flowerbeds that afternoon, acquainting himself with the state of the area under his care. At twilight he visited the conservatory.  He was soon engrossed in studying a collection of orchids he didn�t recognise. A voice chuckled at him.

 �Mr Powers. I see you clean up handsomely.� It was the athletic, healthy looking, Mrs Landers, the pleasant secretary of  The Academy.

�Oh, uh thank you Mrs �� Damn, he�d forgotten her name.

�Mrs Landers, Mr Powers, � She came around to stand square in front of him.

� And what d�you think of The Academy�s gardens?� Tully fell right into it. He couldn�t stop himself. The words flowed passionately as he rhapsodised about the beauty of Ballywoods. He was articulate as befitted a senior lecturer. Mrs Landers had moved up very close to him now, mesmerised by the poetic delivery, the expressive movements of his slender fingers, his earnestness. He was clearly well educated. His soft blue eyes were gentle and searching. This was no common gardener, she thought. This was a poet of the soil, a sylvan emperor, a god of Pan. The Stirring began. She couldn�t stop it.

Mrs Landers often felt The Stirring. It had started shortly after Andrew�s accident. Andrew was her husband, the local veterinarian. The accident occurred while Andrew was busy gelding a large stallion. Inspecting his handiwork, he didn�t see that the gelding�s legs were not bound properly. The de-balled victim sent a large ironclad hoof at his tormentor.

The swift hoof caught him smack in the groin, bursting his left testicle and damaging the right severely. His tool was torn open and somewhat shredded. Healed to some extent in a violent pattern of scars, it bent oddly. The trauma of this sad trick of Fate left Andrew Landers totally and depressingly impotent. Matters between the couple, who had enjoyed a healthy and oft enjoyed sex life, deteriorated. He couldn�t bear to think of Lucretia tied to less than half a man. He practised in the village, but now she saw him seldom, staying instead at The Academy. Their meetings were sad sweet interludes of forced pleasantries, hand-holding and empty worded encouragement.

The Stirrring begged for and then suddenly demanded release. She was horny as hell and bound to do something about it. This nice Mr Powers was patently the man for the job.

� Mr Powers,� she began, �I hope you won�t find me forward or anything improper, but well� You�re a fascinating� and very attractive man.�

She blushed red, immediately regretting her boldness. Tully stopped his narrative, caught by something in her voice. He was disoriented for a moment. And then it struck him. Mrs Landers had made a gentle, but definite pass at him.

� Oh my dear Mrs Landers, how awfully kind of you. Bless me. I �uh �Thank you. I�d like to return the compliment if that doesn�t sound too forward� He was aware now, not of her plainness, but of the strong, athletic legs and broad shouldersthe smell of clean hair and fresh soap on healthy skin. He saw the pretty sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She was a girl-guide, a scout-mistress, a gym teacher. Tully�s libido clickedno, actually it crashedinto gear.

All at once there was no other woman for him. She would be his first in The New Life. His recycled virginity was about to be laid to rest.

Blushing at his response, Mrs Landers looked younger than ever. They weren�t quite sure of quite what to do next. She fumbled in her bag and after a frantic search pulled out two well-scuffed packages.

�Protection,� she said, her face turning deep scarlet. Tully�s breathing had become laboured with passion. Her blushing made her all the more desirable. His penis pushed hard for release from the confines of his drawers.

�Protection for what?� he asked her, his amnesia playing up. � For ...You know�Protection� she mumbled.

�Oh � yeah �protection. Right� Mrs Landers may have been embarrassed, but The Stirring would not be averted by temerity. She barged in boldly, �You really don�t know, do you?� He was an innocent. She�d known it all along. Emboldened by love, she explained that he was to �Put it on your thing, you know ... to catch the seed. Because we don�t want any accidents do we now.�

Tully, mystified, suggested she demonstrate. That proved to be the catalyst Mrs Landers needed. She was about to initiate a virgin into the carnal arts of the late 90s. The bulging in his trousers was proof enough that he was more than willing.

�Let�s first get undressed,� she said to him, pulling her jumper over her head, exposing the sensible white sports bra. Tully hadn�t moved. He was fascinated. Then it dawned on him that he should get weaving. He dropped his trousers and tore off his shoes and socks. His underpants followed, unleashing his throbbing manhood.

Mrs Landers was delighted. There it stood, wanting her. Ready, stiff and well proportioned. She thought it was beautiful. Shrugging off the sensible bra, skirt and sensible white panties, she stood in bobbysox and walking shoes. The fine sprinkle of freckles extended to her chest. Her breasts were long and conical, though broad at the base. They belonged to that small sorority of breasts with large aureoleae that engorge and stand proud of the breast itselfliterally two sets of nipples. It was incredibly arousing. Declan reached for them with his tongue. They were wonderful, the double-deckers comprising three glorious, different textures of absolute tactile perfection. Lucretia knew she had to take charge before too long. Penetration was imminent!

�Now then, Mr Powers. Let me help you on with your protection.� He stopped his nuzzling, but continued his fondling. She let the device unfurl. � Now, the ads tell us that putting it on is half the fun, � she snickered bashfully. � So let�s find out, shall we.� Pulling him close, she took the condom and with awkward manipulations pulled it over the head of his penis. She then started rolling it down the shaft.

Tully was twitching convulsively. Her touch was just so provocative. He doubted he could hold out for long. As she was about to complete the task, she felt her own stirring and a solid spasm of approaching orgasm. This caused her to grip his member tight in a double-handed grip. The sudden pressure and shuddering touch set him off. His penis lurched into life, gushing forth in a powerful ejaculation. The tiny reservoir at the end of the infernal device filled, creating a hanging bulb of thick, warm cum. The fresh hotness nudged her hand, sending her over the edge. Grasping his still erect penis she went into a succession of spasms.

It had been far too long. She should have attended to The Stirring long ago.

The premature ejaculators stared at each other. At last Lucretia smiled ruefully � I think we got a little excited, I�m afraid, Mr Powers.�

�Oo aye, yeah. But it was the most exciting thing I can remember, Mrs Landers. When can we do it again?�

She relaxed. This man was a gem, no guilt, recriminations or vanity. � Wait a few minutes,� she said, removing the filled sheath and tossing it aside. She cupped water into her hands and washed him off. She then embraced him, working her warm, healthy young body into his. The proximity was amazingly comforting. She abandoned all modesty and guided his fingers into her hot slit, guiding them and showing him how to agitate her clitoris. Had it a mind of its own it would have yelled with glee. The starved little delight was consumed by the lavish attention, showing its appreciation by sending her real mind, wave after wave of thrilling sensation.

The thrilling pressure of those marvellous double-decker tits had the inevitable effect of returning our hero�s member back to the game. � I think it�s time Mrs Landers,� Tully�s shy murmur announced the resurrection..

�You�re dead right Mr Powers,� she replied checking his stiff weapon. This time the thin latex sheath went on easily and action commenced. Tully lay supine on a workbench, Lucretia Landers astride him, finding places inside her pussy to explore and titillate. She forgot herself to some extent. Always somewhat voluble in lovemaking, her release now had her singing out the joy she felt in clear, carrying notes of  orgasmic joy.

Brian O�Shaugnessy had intended popping in on Tully. Maybe they�d stroll down to the village pub for a couple of pints. He was brought up sharply, however, by the unmistakable aria of love emanating from the conservatory. He stood, considering, but only for a moment.

Silently he crept up to a half-open window and gazed in. What he saw was a lovely young woman riding the bejesus out of a very stiff prick. He couldn�t quite see whom she was, not that that mattered. The action was hot!  Looking about and seeing no one, he couldn�t help himself. He pulled out his own bulging stiffness and joined in vicariously as a spectator.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

               Sally Carter-Brown was a victim of The Stirring as much as Lucretia Landers. Plucked from Mayfair to cool her hot little round heels in this backwater wasn�t her idea of preparing for the real world of smart business wheeling and dealing, which she knew was her vocation.

She�d already been there and done a lot of that. As a small consolation for being stuck in The Academy, she had changed roommates. She now shared with Lizette Marie, an industrialist�s daughter from the Southern France. Sally had long before decided that she wanted to get into the lovely Lizette�s French, designer label brookies.

She�d started off flattering the French girl�s beauty, playing with her hair, showing her a dozen ways to change her look with make-up and hairstyle. Kissing each other goodnight had become an ardently awaited ritual for Sally. She�d move in as tight as she could to the comely girl with the hot musky smell, feeling their breasts pushing against each other. Her nipples gave her away, but Lizette had never objected.

Last night Sally had felt an answering hardness push at her. It made her wet as she tongued the French girl�s warm mouth. Lizettehesitant at first responded bit by bitand then returned her ardour frenziedly. It was only when Sally�s hands moved from fondling the round orbs of Lizette�s breastsher hands were doing the same to Sally�s stupendous D cupsand moved south, that Lizette pulled away.

Sally was mortified. Had she fucked it up? Lizette smiled, giving her a soft, tender kiss. �You are so greedy, Sally� she said reasonably. �You must give me time to think about this. Remember, matey ,I love Guy. He is to be my first.�

Fuck him thought Sally, very hot now and damn near out of control.

 � He can be your first man, Lizette. But you must learn what to do and what to expect from it, darling. I mean, you�d hate to disappoint him, wouldn�t you. Don�t try an� tell me he isn�t  running around poking the local peasants. Probably has an older mistress to instruct him as well. I mean that�s the French way, ain�t it?� Sally had coached Lizette in Mayfair cockney.

Lizette put her arms about Sally, � I think you are right, cheri. But let me think first.� She kissed Sally long and deep.

Poor Sally was a fire with desire. Her attempt at a feel of the sweet mons was rebuffed again. �So bloody close, � she said. �There has to be a way to into your fanny. For Pete�sake, Lizette, help me here. I need it, please.

� You know darling,� Sally continued, �I like men perfectly well. I�m not lesbian or anything of that sort. But with no suitable men around here, helping each other cope is quite acceptable.� She said this as she sloped off to her bed.

Sally lay there, aflame with desire. Her hands were beyond her control. She played with her sensitive clitoris, pushing her other hand deep inside her. Sally Carter-Brown was a most attractive girl. Her six feet and two inches in height gave her a coltish elegance augmented by the finest shapeliest legs, a long neck and rich streaky blonde hair.

She would have gone into modelling, except that with a small back she was a 34D her magnificent orbital breasts put her straight into the centrefold area. She wasn�t that vain and certainly felt no need to display her gorgeous tits and succulent twat to every little snot on the block. Fuck them!

Besides, she was Bill Carter Brown�s daughter, destined to follow in his hugely successful business footsteps.

Sally�s wild masturbating had reached fever pitch. She couldn�t mute the obvious noises created by her thrashing about.

� Sally. What are you doing?� asked Lizette politely, but gratuitously.

� I�m thinking of you, you hard-nosed slut. I�m dreaming of fucking you and coming all over your mouth, cunt. That�s what I�m doing.�

Lizette gazed at her, eyes widening. She felt something inside her go. Sally suddenly kicked off her bedclothes, exposing her furious rubbing. Her lovely pussy was wet as a rain-soaked lawn. Lizette�s eyes popped. Without knowing it she was at it herself.

� Look at you darling, You�re loving it,� Sally told her unnecessarily. For a second Lizette paused. And then she was on top of Sally, joyously entangled in the sweet smells of rampant young hormones. Their clothes seemed to discard themselves. They devoured each other like a pack of wild dogs caught up in a feeding frenzy.

Tongues were thrust deep into cunts, fingers probed, eliciting shuddering response. They collapsed in a sweaty, sighing heap of contentment.

� That was not what I thought it would be,� said the newly awakened Lizette. �It�s much, much better. Ma cher, let�s have another bash.� Sally smiled what a triumph, what a prize. She�d show her protégé everything.

Copyright (c) 1999 Sandor James. All rights reserved.