BIMBEAUVILLE PART 2 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter II: Tuesday Morning

It was late when Roger awoke the next morning. Bright sunshine streamed through the big window facing the street. Gina was gone. She had thoughtfully pulled back the curtains. A pitcher of cold water stood on the night stand. Roger poured himself a glass, appreciated after the over-indulgence of the night before, and walked over to the window.

He found himself looking out on the stately houses across the street. Several were half-covered in deep green ivy. A chorus of flowers and birds greeted the morning. A few cars passed. Roger yawned.

As he had hoped, a pedestrian passed by. She was dressed for the day in a yellow-patterned sun dress and wide-brimmed hat. The curve-clinging dress flowed barely half-way up the slopes of her gigantic breasts and then gave up trying. The bottom was no more successful at covering her tanned and toned thighs. She wore cute yellow slides on her feet and yellow lace gloves on her hands, one of which clutched a yellow purse. Glossy hair as dark as midnight tumbled down her back.

“Sweet merciful heaven,” Roger said, admiring the yellow-clad knock-out. He watched her until she disappeared around a corner. He needed to re-assure himself that she was real. He half suspected that the babe fest of the previous evening was some sort of erotic dream.

“We’ll separate today,” Sarah said over breakfast that morning. “I’ll take the Land Rover and start checking pressure along the system. You can inspect the pumping station. It should be down here.” She pointed to a square on a map of the town spread out before them.

Roger finished his toast. He brushed crumbs off his hands. “Can you give me a lift down to the pumphouse?”

“Why don’t you walk? It’s not that far. I have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Roger groaned theatrically. “How far is not that far’?” he wondered.

Sarah shrugged. “A twenty minute walk, probably less. Take a look at the map.” She tossed back her hair and took a deep drink of water.

Roger looked at her instead. “No coffee for you today?” He was convinced Sarah’s metabolism ran on pure caffeine.

“I don’t feel like coffee this morning. Besides, this water is really, really good. We should try to find out what’s in it. Maybe do a chemical profile.”

She emptied her glass and immediately refilled it. Gina, looking delicious this morning in a shiny red microdress, had thoughtfully placed a pitcher of water on the table for them. Roger was having orange juice.

He had heard Sarah’s enthusiasm for the town water already. He studied her covertly. Sarah didn’t seem as grumpy this morning as usual. “Did you sleep well?” he asked idly.

“Like a lamb. Very comfortable bed.” She brushed back her hair again. “I think I need a haircut. What are you looking at?”

“Sorry. I was . . . You look . . . have you ever seen a pub with so many flowers in it?”

Sarah drained the last of her water. “You can admire the flowers later. Today we have work to do. I’ll meet you back here about five. Let’s get moving.”

In her usual abrupt way she got up from the table and marched out of the room. Roger watched her go. More than Sarah’s mood seemed different this morning. She was kind of pretty, if you looked closely; her nose didn’t seem as sharp as he remembered.

As soon as she was gone, Gina came over to the table. “Would you like anything else, sweetie?” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That was a big breakfast.”

He grinned. “I have a big appetite. Besides, I have a lot of work to oof!” Without warning he found himself with a blonde, busty beauty perched in his lap.

Gina kissed him thoroughly. “I was thinking,” she whispered, crossing her knees, “maybe before you leave we could go back to your room and say good-bye properly.” She kissed him again to make her meaning clear.

Roger quickly weighed the benefits of another romp with Gina against the prospect of getting sacked by Sarah. It was a toss-up. “Sorry, but I don’t think I should,” he said reluctantly. “I really do have a lot to do today.”

Gina gave him that deadly pout. “Does this mean you don’t like me any more?” she demanded. “You seemed so friendly last night.” She kissed him again before he could answer. She was wearing different boots this morning, tight red ones that matched her tiny dress.

Eventually she let his lips slide off hers a few millimetres. “Are you sure you don’t have time for me?” she whispered. She caught one of Roger’s hands, which might have been trying to ease her off his lap, and guided it to her right breast.

“Ah!” he cried, “well, uhm, if, if you put it there I mean, if you put it like that, I, uh maybe for a few mmmmmm!” Another kiss, warm and wet. He felt the softness of her through the microfibre dress.

“But, but, Sarah will be back any moment,” he gasped.

Gina began undoing his shirt buttons. “Why don’t you come back to the kitchen for a moment luv,” she suggested softly. “There’s something there I want to show you.”

Roger heard footsteps on the back staircase. Gina lept gracefully to her feet. Taking his hand, she led him docilely toward the door behind the bar. Just watching the sway of her ass beneath the red dress was making his blood quicken.

What Gina wanted to show him in the immaculate kitchen was an old oak table. It was worn with age and smooth as polished glass. It was exactly the right height, Gina explained, that if she sat up on it (like this) and spread her legs wide (like this!), Roger could step between them and aim his beam at her pussy without having to bend or stretch at all.

Roger tested that supposition. He discovered to his delight that she was right. The old table was so solid that it hardly shook as Roger pistoned in and out of his willing hostess, even after she lifted both legs and locked her booted ankles around his back. It accepted both their weights when Roger ejaculated inside her with a series of sharp groans and then half collapsed on top of her, spent and winded.

“Have a pleasant day luv,” Gina giggled, much later, as Roger stepped out into the morning sunshine. She kissed him on the cheek. Roger had a map of the town in one hand and a valise full of water-testing instruments in the other. He memorized the receding view of Gina as she wiggled back into her pub. He started off toward the pumping station.

Oddly, the well for Bimbeauville was at the edge of town, near the river. Usually the wells were sited uphill from town, so gravity helped maintain water pressure. Roger wasn’t terribly concerned. It was a fine morning. His bombshell innkeeper had seduced him again. The smell of roses permeated the air. The orderly buildings and party-coloured houses of Bimbeauville formed a backdrop for the endless flower gardens.

There seemed to be gorgeous women everywhere.

Roger couldn’t stop staring. Whether mothers out shopping with children in tow, or housewives running errands, or shop clerks leaning in the doorway to catch the morning sun, or office girls slipping out for a cup of tea, every woman who caught his eye was stunning.

They wore their hair long and combed. Roger wondered when the babe sweeping the floor of her hairstyling shop ever got to cut hair. The women all had sensational figures: narrow waists, full hips and round, undulating backsides that looked mouthwatering in the tight jeans and skimpy shorts that were so popular here.

They were all super-busty. The proportion of dazzlingly over-proportioned women went well beyond any reasonable probability. In fact, Roger reflected as he admired a short-skirted brunette bounce across the street, these girls were so big that “busty” didn’t quite cover it rather like that girl’s top didn’t quite cover it.

Every woman he saw had a rack that a man could happily get lost in for a week. The parade of jugs and curves at the inn the night before was apparently not an aberration but a cross-section of the town. It was beyond amazing. Would a fourteen-year-old boy in this town ever lose his erection?

Roger was beginning to feel like a fourteen-year-old boy himself, when yet another sex-vision stepped into view. The woman was walking her dog. She was tottering along the walk in a blue-jean miniskirt and a yellow tank top that made no secret of her stupendous curves. Her broad sun-hat was yellow and white. Her white sandals had yellow flowers over the toe-straps and extravagantly high heels.

“Oh, good morning then!” she said, when Roger drew closer. Her smile was dazzling.

“G-good morning,” Roger replied. He was working hard not to stare. Or to stop staring so obviously. Or something. The shoulders straps on the woman’s tank extended outward almost horizontally.

“Grand morning to be out, isn’t it? Oh, Timmy, don’t do that.” She was talking now to her small white dog, who was investigating whether Roger’s leg was worth humping.

“Oh, that’s all right, he’s only being friendly,” Roger said amiably. “I don’t m-m-m-ind.” His unexpected stutter began when the woman knelt to pick up her dog. The view straight down her tank top allowed Roger to confirm both the size and perfection of her breasts. At the same time her miniskirt, brief to begin with, slid to the top of her thighs. Roger nearly started biting his fingers.

The woman stood up. “Hi!” she said, “I’m Daphne.” She extended a delicate right hand. The other held the squirming dog against her chest.

Lucky dog, thought Roger. Out loud he said, “Roger. My pleasure.” He shook hands.

“We don’t get enough visitors here,” Daphne said. “Where ya goin’ with all that serious-looking stuff?”

“Oh, I’m with the Drinking Water Inspectorate,” Roger explained. “We’re in town to check on the water supply. It’s routine to check things out five years after a new ”

“Oh, the water in Bimbeauville is like the best, isn’t it!” Daphne enthused. “I love it! Water everywhere else doesn’t taste the same!”

“Uh . . . right. Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Means the water is probably good quality. But I have to inspect the pumping station to be sure ”

“Oh my goodness, are you walking all the way down to the river?” Daphne interrupted again.

“Well, if that’s where the pumphouse is, then yes.”

She looked concerned. “Roger, honey, that’s way too far to walk with all that stuff you’re carrying. At least without a break. Why don’t you come back to my place? Put your feet up for a few minutes.” She looked at him imploringly. She had fabulous green eyes.

Roger hesitated. Another spectacularly built woman he had barely met was inviting him in. It was tempting. “Well, thank you Daphne, but I do have to get going . . .” His voice held little conviction.

She leaned in closer. The dog squirmed. “Are you sure, honey? I live right around the corner. I could fix you some breakfast. Oh!” The little dog suddenly jumped out of her arms. It landed deftly and took off down the street, trailing its leash behind. Daphne wobbled off after it. In her super-high heels she had no chance of catching up.

Gallantly, Roger ran after the dog, which had disappeared down a side street. He found Timmy where he had stopped by a lamp post to relieve himself. Roger picked up the leash. He handed it to Daphne, who was wiggling along behind them. Her enormous rack bounced with each step.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Bad dog, Timmy,” she scolded the dog. The dog hung his head.

Daphne swept yard-long, deep brown hair out of her eyes. “Now you’re my hero. Really, you must come back to my place so I can thank you properly.” She was standing very close.

Roger said: “Well I " Unexpectedly, Daphne leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were moist and warm.

“Come home with me, honey,” she whispered. “Let me make you breakfast.”

“Wonderful idea,” Roger said dreamily. Daphne smiled. She slipped an arm around his back. They continued down the side street toward Daphne’s flat, the dog gambolling behind. Daphne planted little kisses on Roger’s cheek from time to time.

As promised, she did make him a second breakfast. Eventually.

It was almost lunch time before Roger finally extracted himself from Daphne’s eager embrace and continued on his way. She waved good-bye from the open door of her flat. She was dressed now in a tight, white one-piece. The zipper was half-undone to accommodate her astonishing tits. As Roger left, Timmy the dog barked at him, wagging his tail.

The day was warm, the sun was bright, there were flowers everywhere. Roger felt on top of the world. He hadn’t even arrived at the pumphouse yet.

The street was narrow and very old. Here and there the old cobblestones poked through the asphalt. The street wound slowly downhill, past inviting houses with well-kept gardens. One block was walled with red-brick row houses, topped with lines of identical chimneys. Even these however, had been cleaned and repainted, sooty black replaced with red and blue and green. There were few people on the street. That was just as well, Roger decided; if he kept meeting women like Gina and Daphne he would never get any work done.

The walk was not without distractions, however. A couple of young women giggling and wiggling along the far side of the street almost made Roger drop his equipment. They were both wearing exceedingly brief, sleeveless summer dresses, along with high-high heels, sun hats and gloves. And they were both stacked.

Farther along, Roger passed another hot babe, perhaps a young housewife, pruning the hedge around her overflowing garden. She looked up as Roger passed, smiling.

“Good day, luv!” she sang.

“Hello,” Roger replied. “Your garden is beautiful.” Though it was hardly the garden he was looking at. The woman was blonde, with the kind of impossible figure that seemed to be the norm in Bimbeauville. Those have to be at least F cups, he thought to himself. He admired the twin melons falling out of the wispy summer dress she was wearing. Her gardening gloves were forest green. They matched her high-heeled, suede boots. Who dressed like that to work in the garden?

The woman beamed. “Why thank you! I do put a lot of time into it. I’m home by myself . . . all day long.” She gave him a meaningful look.

Roger felt his composure slipping. The fabric of the woman’s dress was semi-transparent. “Well, uhm. . . uh,” Roger stuttered, “you have simply amazing big boobs . . . I mean . . . uh, b-bee’s-balm! That’s it. Your uh, flowers are amazing. I’m sorry, it’s just so very sheer, I can see every No! I mean, I mean, I can see you’re doing some f-fine work with those shears.”

“Oh, I’m so flattered you noticed,” the over-built babe cooed. “I do like to keep my bush neatly trimmed. Would you like a closer look?”

“Wh-what?” said Roger stupidly.

“At my garden, silly. I love to show it all off. Come on, let me show you everything that’s blooming.”

“Uhm, uh, no I- I, I mean, I would love to, but I really should be going. Supposed to be checking the water supply.” He hoisted the valise of equipment in his hands.

“Really now? I loooove the water here! I’m dead sure the water is the reason my garden grows so big and healthy. Bimbeauville water just makes everything grow so good! Don’t you think so?” She indicated her expansive flowerbeds with a wave of one gloved hand. Her chest bobbled.

Roger gulped. “They’re . . . bursting . . . w-with life!”

“Come on in and let me show you everything.”

“No, I-I really, I . . . supposed to be working . . . water supply . . .”

“I won’t keep you long, I promise,” the gorgeous gardener replied. “Just a quickie.” She beckoned with one finger.

Roger groaned. “I shouldn’t be doing this!” he said to himself. But his feet were already moving toward the gate that led to the woman’s yard. He set down his heavy equipment on the grass.

The woman wrapped herself around one arm. One pneumatic breast pressed against his chest. “I’m Rosie,” she said. “And you are . . . ?

“In heaven.” He was staring downward.

“What was that” She snuggled closer.

“Oh, uhm, R-Roger. I’m Roger.”

She stroked his arm. “You’re not like, from around here, are you.”

“Uh, no, I’m up from the city for a few days. We’re with the Drinking Waa !” He looked down. One of Rosie’s green-gloved hands was feathering lovingly along the erection bulging his trousers.

“And you brought something so lovely with you,” she murmured, still stroking. “Please, can I can I see?” She began to deftly lower his zipper.

“No, wait!” Roger protested, though he didn’t stop her. “You can’t just we’re outside in the middle of I mean I can’t " He abandoned the sentence when he realized he had no idea how it ended. Anyway, Rosie was already defeating his belt buckle. Moments later his trousers were sliding down his legs.

She gazed admiringly at the bulge in his shorts. “Please, Roger darling,” she said, “Rosie wants to play with your garden hose.” She peeled off her gloves and tossed them away. Then she returned to finger-teasing his shaft, more effectively now that only one layer of cloth protected it. Roger twitched. “Mmmmm, darling,” Rosie whispered, “let me welcome you to our town.”

She was already sliding to her knees on the plush grass. Her boobs rubbed excruciatingly against Roger all the way down. She gently lifted his shorts over the end of his shaft and shoved them down his legs. Despite the earlier romp with Daphne, his prick was standing hard and proud, ready for action.

Rosie grasped him gently in both hands, as if she were lifting a sacred chalice. She made murmuring sounds of appreciation. She kissed the helmet, then licked up and down the underside with her tongue. Then she leaned forward and slid his length between pursed red lips.

Roger looked about. They were standing in Rosie’s front yard, in full view of the street. Only the hedge hid Roger’s lower half, and the boob-erific blonde whose head was now bobbing up and down. “Oh fuck I’m going to get arrested,” he muttered. “If a copper comes along I’m for it.”

Rosie let him slip out of her mouth with a loud slurp. “I’m sure I know what you want,” she said. She shrugged her loose dress off her shoulders, then tugged it down her arms. Her breasts came into view, hardly contained in a pink half-bra as bright as the giant dahlias in her garden. Rosie lifted her boobs out of the cups. She gently folded them around Roger’s shaft. Roger’s pre-cum soon lubricated the groove between her breasts as she slid them up and down along his member. She leaned forward a little to kiss his cockhead.

Fortunately, the street was deserted. A young man on a bicycle pedalled by. He waved to Roger as he passed. Roger waved back, grinning sheepishly. He felt his breath growing short. Rosie looked up at him as she worked his wang. Roger was trying to decide whether he should come in her mouth or on her tits when he heard the tap of high heels from down the street.

He looked up. “Uh-oh,” he whispered.

A woman was approaching on his side of the street. She was splendid, of course, and dressed in a travesty of a business suit. The pin-stripe skirt was micro-length with a long slit up one leg. The close-fitting jacket looked like it might burst open at any moment. Her legs were dressed in red, fish-net stockings and shiny black heels. She carried a thick book in one hand. It was decorated in bands of colour.

The newcomer noticed Roger before he had a chance to disengage from Rosie’s heavenly titjob. “Hullo!” she cried. “Lovely day, isn’t it.”

“F-fabulous,” Roger replied. His eyes dropped to her capacious chest. “And getting better all the time.”

The woman had auburn hair done up on top of her head like a crown. She wore glittery earrings. A gold pendant shaped like a unicorn nestled in her cleavage. Only the privet hedge between them shielded her from seeing Roger’s naked, thrusting bottom half. He desperately hoped she wouldn’t look down.

The redhead seemed oblivious. “Is this your garden then?” she asked. “It’s splendid.”

Roger felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. “Oh, oh no, this isn’t mine. I just dropped by to . . . uhm, drop off . . . a load of fertilizer!” He jerked as Rosie licked the end of his wang.

“Oh, you’re not from around here then, are you.”

“N-no, just up from from from the city for a few d-days.”

“Well, that’s lovely isn’t it. I hope you like, enjoy your stay.” She leaned toward him a little. “We do try to be friendly, you know?”

“I I’ve n-noticed that.”

She giggled prettily. “Oh gosh, I almost forgot. I’m Rainbeau. Friends call me Bo.” She extended a slender hand.

“Roger,” said Roger, shaking hands. “The pleasure is all mine.” He meant that sincerely. He would have declared Bo’s breasts the most spectacular he had ever seen, if he hadn’t already met Gina and Daphne and Rosie.

Bo held his hand in hers. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you. Look, I’ve just met you and already I want to give you a big hug.”

Roger was grinning idiotically. Bo still hadn’t noticed the back and forth thrust of his hips. “With with a kiss?” he asked.

Bo giggled again. She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “That depends where you want to kiss me,” she said. Suddenly she pulled her hand away. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Oh, darn. I’m sorry luv, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for court.”

“You you work at the courthouse?”

“Why of course. See?” She held up the thick book in her other hand. It was a glossary of legal terms.

Roger was trying to reconcile the walking centrefold in front of him with the grim sobriety of court. He did not succeed. “That’s your dictionary, Rainbeau?” he asked. “You’re what, a recorder? A m-m-magistrate’s ass-assistant?”

“No silly! I’m a barrister!”

“Oh fuck!” Roger blurted, as Rosie did something magical down below.

Rainbeau looked sad. “I do have to run now, Roger darling. Mr. Ludmenkov gets so upset when I’m late.” She leaned over the hedge to share a secret. “Last time, he spanked me!”

Roger was breathing hard. “You, you had b-better go before I cum I mean before I cum-pletely make you late!”

“Bye-bye,” the over-built barrister warbled, before hurrying off down the street. Her high heels made her attempt at speed into an almost comical wobble. The hem on her skirt skimmed above mid-thigh.

Roger came. With a guttural cry he spewed a load of cum all over Rosie’s tits. The release felt fabulous.

Roger was a little surprised at how much he had. It kept coming and coming. By the time he was finished, Rosie’s boobs were coated with white jism like icing on puff-pastries, Rosie was eagerly licking it up, and Roger was ready to collapse in happy exhaustion.

“Ooh, I hope that makes my bulbs grow,” the gorgeous gardener cooed.

BIMBEAUVILLE PART 1 OF 7 by Downing Street

Chapter I: Monday Afternoon

“Wait! Did you see that sign?”

“I saw it.”

“Is that for real? Is this town really called ”

“You can stow the teenage snigger, Roger. I’m sure the people of Bimbeauville have heard all the jokes.”

“Well, you can’t help admitting it’s an evocative name. I wonder if the women here ”

Sarah cut him off again. “Look dirt-brain. We are going to be here for three days and I have no intention of tolerating your adolescent humour for the entire time. Get over it. It happens that the name has nothing to do with your taste in women. It’s derived from the French, “bande d’eau” band of water probably a reference to that narrow lake we just passed.”

He shot her a glance. The car bumped over an old stone bridge. “How do you know that?”

“Because I looked it up, moron. Unlike some of the people I am forced to work with, I do occasionally indulge my intellectual curiosity.”

Sarah swerved to avoid another rut. The road was old and in ill repair. It wound through a narrow valley between craggy hills. A small river called Afon Geo on the map occupied much of the valley floor; the river broadened at one point into the lake that Sarah had described.

Most of the higher land was forest. Rocky sheep pastures bordered the river. It was a scenic, empty landscape.

The Land Rover rounded another corner. The town of Bimbeauville came into view. The road transformed itself into the central street. Roger’s eyes widened. ”This is a mining town?” he asked.

Sarah’s reply was unusually hesitant. “Well . . . not any more I suppose . . . the mine closed five years ago. The main shaft flooded. Contaminated the water supply. Still . . .” She was looking around in bewilderment.

Bimbeauville was not what either of them expected. Instead of squat blocks of flats in dirty red and soot-black, the street was lined with stately townhouses with traditional slate roofs. The houses and shops were neat and well-kept, freshly painted in jellybean colours: red, green, yellow, blue. The streets were smooth, the pavements level and clean. Streetlights on quaint iron lamp posts lined the high street.

There were flowers everywhere. Every house, it seemed, had a garden in front, fairly overflowing with eager blooms. Flowers spilled out of window baskets and burst out of pots hanging from the street lamps; roses trailed over arbours and sprawled across dry-stone fences, blooming profligately.

“My god, it’s like the Chelsea Flower Show,” Roger said, “except without the old ladies in silly hats. For a mining town, this place is . . . Whoa!” His eyes grew even wider.

The woman was walking, or rather sauntering, down the street, a sack of groceries in the crook of one arm. She was the walking definition of the word “stacked.” A sleeveless top and tiny shorts clung to her voluptuous figure without covering anything more than necessary. Brown hair spilled over her shoulders and far down her back. Her white, wide-brimmed hat matched the lace gloves on her wrists and the high-heeled, cowboy-style boots on her feet.

Did she smile when she caught his eye?

“Holy shipyard,” Roger muttered under his breath. If this was the kind of women one found in mining towns, he would buy a pick and a helmet-light tomorrow.

“You can pick your jaw up off the floor now,” Sarah said coldly. “Honestly Roger, what is wrong with you? If you must ogle every tart on the street you could at least be subtle about it.”

Roger uncraned his neck, which had been turning like an owl’s. “Sorry,” he said, “but, uhm, I just wasn’t expecting . . .”

Sarah snorted. “Men,” she said with some bitterness. “You’re all the same.”

Roger said nothing. Sarah’s disdainful attitude toward her co-workers was well known. Around the office she was famous for her ice-cold put-downs of anyone she felt was her intellectual inferior, a group that included much of the staff. She was barely more tolerant of lesser women, especially the skittish young things that did the junior work. And heaven help the fellow who tried to chip through the frost and become her friend. Roger was her first assistant who hadn’t asked for a transfer inside six months.

It wasn’t that Sarah was unattractive particularly. A little plain perhaps. Her figure was a trifle thin. The aquiline nose tended to emphasize the keen intensity in her small, blue eyes.

The road entered a roundabout in the middle of town. Other streets radiated outward like spokes on a wagon wheel. The hub had been planted as a garden park. At its centre stood a statue of a Greek goddess (at least, Roger guessed she was a Greek goddess) forever bathing in a waterfall spilling out above her. The goddess was emphatically female, and quite undressed. She too looked out of place in what was supposed to be a grey industrial village.

“So then, where are we going?” Roger asked, mostly to break the silence.

She was studying the electronic map on the dashboard. “There should be a pub along here, with a few rooms. I think it’s called ”

“The Winking Fox?” He pointed to the hanging sign.

“That’s not the name in my notes,” Sarah said, perplexed. Nevertheless she parked the Land Rover in front of the building. The sign depicted a male red fox, standing on its haunches with it’s long tongue lolling out, winking at the viewer as if sharing a lewd joke. The sign swayed in the breeze. Flowers in the window boxes scented the early evening air.

“Get the stuff,” Sarah ordered, climbing out. “I’ll get us rooms.”

Roger watched her march into the pub like a commander. She was dressed in the khaki field clothes she always wore. He sighed heavily. In addition to their personal things, there was an array of water-testing equipment in the back of the Land Rover. Standard policy was that it had to be brought inside, to deter theft. Sarah never carried anything.

A few minutes later, Roger stumbled into the alehouse. He had two bags in each hand and another wedged under his arm. He looked around, surprised again.

The room was both cleaner and brighter than what he expected of a drinking establishment in a small industrial town. There were flowers on some of the tables and atop the upright piano in the back. There was even a classic jukebox in one corner. At the moment the room was empty but for a man in a farmer’s cap lingering over a pint and reading the newspaper. Over by the bar, Sarah was negotiating rooms with a honey-blonde who almost made Roger drop something.

The girl looked to be in her early twenties. She had long, thick blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a figure every bit as lush as the woman on the street. She sported a tight jersey with zig-zag lines of different colours, straining over a spectacular pair of headlights.

“No, no, no,” Sarah was saying in a voice heavy with exasperation. “I want two rooms, each with one bed. Two people, two rooms. Got it?”

The girl was puzzled. “But, why do you need two rooms? I could put you both in the front room, it’s really comfy. There’s a nice big bed, and if there’s only two of you . . .” She had a sweet voice with the natural lilt that identified people of this region.

Sarah’s temper, never very even to begin with, was wearing thin. “Look,” she almost snarled. “I’m travelling with my assistant. We each need a room. By ourselves. With one bed in each room. Do you want me to write it out for you?”

“Well, that’s tidy then. I’m sorry, I just thought that oh, hellllo!” Her voice changed instantly into a sexy purr when she laid eyes on Roger. “Welcome to the Winking Fox. I was just sorting out your rooms with your assistant.”

“He is the assistant!” Sarah cried. “Can’t you understand anything?“

The girl was clearly confused again. “There’s no need to shout,” she said softly. Her pout would convince a condemned man to give her his last meal.

Roger dumped a pile of bags on the floor and approached the counter. “Can I help out?” he asked, mostly as an excuse to talk to the well-endowed hostess.

Sarah’s voice was cold. “I was trying to explain to wind-in-the-ears here that we each need a room. Counting to two seems to be a problem.”

“Sarah,” Roger chided. Her sarcasm could be cruel. He turned his attention back to Girl of the Giant Jugs. “Hi,” he said, grinning. “Please forgive my colleague. She’s had a long day driving here. I’m Roger.” He extended his hand.

“Gina,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “So you like, just got into town then?”

Beside him, Roger heard Sarah snort. He ignored her. “That’s right. We’ll be here for three nights, I think. And we will need a couple of rooms. One for her, one for me. OK?”

“OK!” Gina said brightly. “You can have the front room, and the back room across the hall can be for your assistant.” She lowered her eyes for a moment. “The front room has a big comfy bed.”

“For crying out loud!” Sarah broke in, “I’m not the ”

“Like, whatever,” Gina said. She was still looking at Roger. She let go of his hand reluctantly. She took up a pen and made an entry in the guest register. “You need to like, sign here,” she said to Roger, pointing at the page. Her fingernails were shiny red.

“Oh, give me that!” Sarah demanded, snatching up the pen. She signed the book with a few aggressive strokes. “There. We’ll pay as we leave. Now may we please see our rooms?”

“ Course,” Gina said easily. Her attention was still on Roger. “Follow me.” She picked up some keys off a rack.

I’d follow you anywhere, Roger thought privately as he turned to pick up his gear. “Oh, don’t worry about your things,” Gina said, “Uncle Gord will bring them up for you.” She gestured vaguely toward the man reading the paper.

Relieved, Roger abandoned everything except his and Sarah’s bags, and turned to follow Gina. Sarah did not offer to help. When Gina stepped out from behind the bar Roger determined that her appearance below the waist was as spectacular as the upper half. A white, pleated miniskirt ended far up on her thighs, coupled with white, 60s-style, stretch boots.

Roger suppressed the urge to whistle. Instead, he followed her down a short corridor and up a narrow flight of stairs. He didn’t really mean to look up her skirt it was just that the combination of her thigh-riding hemline and the steep steps made it so darned easy. He grinned broadly.

“Roger!” Sarah whispered harshly, behind him. “Cut that out!”

Roger averted his eyes. He was still grinning.

The trio arrived at the next floor. Gina unlocked a room with one of her keys, then handed it to Roger. “This will be your room,” she explained. “With the big bed.” She handed another key to Sarah. “I guess you’ll be sleeping across the hall.” Her tone suggested that she thought this very odd.

“Thanks Gina,” Roger said.

“Oh, please, it’s like, no trouble, isn’t it,” the girl replied. She stepped up a little closer to him. “There’s a water closet at the end of the hall. And you can come down for dinner any time. I’ll be here until closing if you want anything.” Another step. “Anything at all.” She bit her lip.

Roger found himself very close to Gina’s blue eyes and ballooning bust. He was momentarily tongue-tied. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Sarah interceded. “You can run along now.”

“See you later,” Gina said, pretty much ignoring Sarah. She looked back over her shoulder at Roger as she walked away, clearly aware that his eyes were on her nyloned legs again. She winked at him.

“I like this town,” Roger declared, when Gina’s undulating rear finally disappeared down the stairs.

“Never mind the local tarts,” Sarah said, “we have work to do. We’ll plan the survey over dinner. Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes.” She picked up her bag and marched into her room. She closed the door.

Roger stood there in the corridor for a moment. How did he get saddled with this bitch? Then he thought about Gina and he smiled again.

The front room did have a big, comfy bed. Roger was just stretching out on it, later that evening, when there came a gentle rap at the door. “Yes, come in,” he said.

The door opened. Gina stood there, silhouetted by the soft light from the hallway. It was after midnight. “I’m just closing up,” she whispered. “I came by to see if you like, wanted anything.”

“Uhm, want? Me?” Roger replied. He was too occupied staring at her chest to say anything intelligent. He had had too much to drink.

It had been a peculiar evening. By the time he and Sarah came down to dinner there were a scattering of people in the pub. More drifted in as the evening progressed. Roger and Sarah had fish for dinner. Roger ordered the local brew; he liked to sample when he was on the road. Sarah had water.

“We’ll start tomorrow morning,” she said as she sipped. “You check out the pumping station and I’ll start surveying the water mains.” The town had needed a new water system when the mine flooded. “We have to check the " She stopped. She was looking at the glass.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. That water is really good.” She took another drink, longer this time.

“Are you sure you should be drinking it before we’ve checked the system?”

“Nonsense, this is just routine verification, you know that. Wow. That is really, really good.” It was unusual for Sarah to be so enthusiastic. “Here, try it.” She handed him the glass.

Roger took a drink. It tasted like water. “I’ll stick with my beer,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” She lifted the glass and drained it in a few swallows. “Mmmmm, that is good.” She signaled the waitress. “Refill please,” she said, when the girl arrived.

“Of course,” the waitress chirped. She refilled the glass clumsily from a pitcher on her tray. She spilled a lot. “Another pint for you, luv?”

“I, I’m good,” Roger stammered. The waitress, who had already introduced herself as Megan, was a dark-haired beauty in a tight white top and a flouncy black micro-mini. She too was deliciously well proportioned, especially on top. She looked at Roger in a way that made his crotch tingle.

“Good then,” she husked, “enjoy yourself.” She touched Roger on one arm, lightly drawing her fingers up to his shoulder. Roger turned to ogle her splendid legs as she walked away. She was wearing narrow-toed, black ankle boots whose startling high heels made no sense for someone who was on her feet all evening.

Sarah didn’t notice. She was too busy drinking her water. Over the course of the next hour she finished four more glasses. She exclaimed about how good it tasted until Roger was tired of hearing it.

Megan flirted every time she came by. She bent over more than necessary to pour water for Sarah. She flashed her metallic blue panties every time. At first Roger hardly believed she was wearing stockings with a skirt that short. But the second and third flash confirmed it. He drank more beer.

After an hour or so Sarah began to yawn. They were poring over a schematic of the water distribution system. “We uhm, need to, uhm, check pressures at, uh, the ends of the network,” Sarah was saying. She was leaning on one elbow, studying the map that was spread out on the table. “That would be here, and uh, here and " She paused to yawn again. “Oh god I’m knackered. That long drive. Look, I’m going to bed. We’ll sort this out tomorrow.” She got to her feet and headed off upstairs, a little unsteadily. She took her water glass with her.

Roger was left by himself. That suited him fine. It would be good to relax for a while before turning in. He had been watching the people as they drifted into the pub for the evening. The men were a ruddy, solid lot for the most part. They seemed both fit and healthy. The women, on the other hand, were amazing.

Every female that walked through the door could have modelled for a men’s magazine. Without exception they had hour-glass figures with gravity-defying breasts ranging in size from big to very big to jaw-droppingly enormous. They wore their hair long. They wore their skirts short. They wiggled and jiggled along in sky-high heels or platform boots or, in one case, hot pink training shoes decorated with crimson hearts.

The pub was a babe bonanza. Roger ordered more beer just so he could watch. It was hard not too. There was never an unattractive, or even slightly less than gorgeous, woman in the pub. They were all young, too. The women mostly arrived as parts of couples, often hanging on the arms of men much older.

Roger was nonplussed. Where were the middle-aged farm women in sensible shoes and scarfs? Where were the affable grandmothers, or the hard-bitten miners’ wives, or the slender, athletic cops, or the plump, bespectacled shop clerks? There didn’t seem to be any. Some of the women were clearly a few years older, maybe in their thirties, but that didn’t seem to deter them from skin-tight jeans and sparkly tube tops.

Everyone seemed to be having a great time. Someone picked out party songs on the piano. The men laughed and joked and played darts. They perched girls on their laps and fondled Megan’s ass every time she came by with more drinks. The women laughed and flirted and kissed and happily tolerated male hands everywhere. They seemed to be getting plastered.

Roger grew more puzzled moment to moment. The girls didn’t seem to be drinking particularly heavily. Some of the men were outpacing them two to one. Yet it was the women who were soon giggling foolishly, and slurring their words, and spilling their beer down their half-bare cleavage. It was like they had the alcohol capacity of a five-year-old.

It was all very peculiar. It was also, Roger had to admit, very arousing. He was quite certain he had never been in a room with so many busty, boozing beauties before. It only made things worse that Megan kept coming by to offer him a fresh pint.

Now that Sarah was gone she was even more bold. She deliberately rubbed her boobs against him as she bent over to replace his empty glass, or stood close beside him, sleek thighs rubbing against his arm as she asked for his next order. At one point she even slid her knee up on the arm of his chair. It was all Roger could do to avoid slamming her down on the table and having his way with her right then and there.

Wisely, he decided instead to go to bed. He put down some money for the beer. He left the extra as a tip. Megan seemed to find a serious challenge in making change. Roger waved to Gina behind the bar, who fluttered a delicate hand at him in reply, and wandered up the stairs. He was tipsy, and tired, and very horny. This explained his sputtering reaction when the delectable Gina entered his room a half hour later.

“If there’s anything I can do to like, make you more comfortable, you’ll like, ask then?” the bodacious barkeep asked, stepping into the room. The only light was a lamp by the bed. She closed the door.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll be sure to let you know. Right now I’m kind of tired and it’s been a long day, so maybe you should . . . uhm . . . you should . . . uh . . . ohmygod.” Gina was standing beside the king-size bed. She was deftly removing her jersey.

She dropped it on the floor. “Do you like me, Roger?” she asked, in the voice of a timid teenager.

Roger worked to pick up his jaw so he could talk with it. Beneath the tight, bright jumper, Gina wore a flesh-tone, lace bra that presented her heavy chest like a gift. Her hands were busy behind her back. “I mean, like I hope so, because I really like you. And I think we had sort of a connection, you know? Here, let me get this off.”

She had unfastened her brassiere. She leaned forward to uncup her breasts, then straightened proudly. “You like me now, don’t you?” She sat down on the bed, turning to face him.

“Well, I, I, of course, I mean, you’re beautiful and . . . and . . . what are you doing?” Gina’s left hand was snaking over to his crotch. He was in his pajamas and a dressing gown. Before he could stop her, or even formulate an idea of why he would want to, his top-heavy hostess had her hand on his hardness. Roger grunted in surprise. He sat upright.

“You must be very tired after your long drive from the city,” Gina cooed, stroking him gently. “You need a little relaxation so you can sleep. I can help with that!”

“Gina, I I mean, we hardly we just or, well, I guess, if you really want to . . .”

She was already leaning over his crotch. “Oh, I want to,” she breathed.

A moment later Roger felt soft female lips descend over his tool. He groaned, and flopped back on the bed. “I really like this town,” he declared, as Gina went to work.

Celebrity Bimbo - Jenna Louise Coleman In Sexy Latex

Business Professional by Dynamoob

HOME BY NINE by Mightysopor

Harriet’s watch struck the hour, six o’clock, and with a rare satisfaction she slammed shut her laptop and stood up, ignoring the twinge in her back where she’d been hunched over all day reading reports. Today she was leaving work on time! She’d get home at least two hours earlier than any other day for the past fortnight. She could see her kids while they were awake! She could spend some sorely needed quality time with Fred…

The phone rang on her desk. Speak of the devil!

“Hey, babes.”

“Freddy! Perfect timing, I’m just packing up. I was thinking, since I’ll finally be home at a human hour, maybe we could make it a special night. After the kids are asleep, we’ll break out the wine and have a candlelit—”

“Yeah, sounds good, babes, cool. But listen: since you were going to get home by nine and you’d be here to put the kids to bed, I actually told the guys I’d go out with them tonight.”

“But this is my only night off…”

“And you deserve it, babes, with all the work they give you. By the way, Hannah had an accident with the pizza so she’s got tomato sauce all down her princess dress.”

“Why was she eating pizza in her princess dress? Why was she eating pizza at all? You gave them pizza twice already this week!”

“I just didn’t really feel like cooking. You know how it is. But, anyway, I left the dress on top of the laundry basket so when you do the washing you can work your magic on it.”

“You’ve been home all day!”

“But you’re so much better at it than me. Also, there are some dishes in the sink.”

“Did you even arrange a job interview?”

“No, but what do I need a job for? You earn enough for the both of us. Anyway, enjoy your night off. Relax! Put your feet up a bit, you’ve earned it. I might have already gone when you get here. Love you! Bye!”

Harriet stood, rigid with disbelief. The line was already dead. She replaced the receiver in a slow, restrained movement. She wouldn’t cry or scream or rant or rave. What would be the point? She was used to this kind of thing by now. Restraint was her watchword.

As she stood in the middle of the office, staring into thin air, the excitement of having a night off fading, she became aware of how tired and run down she was. The light was irritating her eyes and her head was pounding, her back ached, and her feet were killing her from wearing her high heels all day. On top of it all, she’d been looking forward to a night with Fred. They hadn’t had proper sex in months; even then he was about as considerate in the bedroom as anywhere else. She fumbled for the bottle of aspirin at the back of her desk drawer and swallowed two pills.

“Mrs Finn, before you go.”

Harriet turned to her boss, switching on a bright smile with practiced ease. He was carrying a new report; judging by its thickness, it was at least 200 pages.

“Would you mind reviewing the expense report? I need a summary for a meeting tomorrow morning.”

‘Harriet Finn, Corporate Services Director’, it said on her business card. Ha. Corporate Goddamn workhorse was more like it.

“That’s fine. Apparently I don’t have any other plans this evening.”

“Thank you, Mrs Finn. Have a good evening.”

He never called her Harriet, although he knew the male directors by their first names. People always said she’d done well to make it in such a male-dominated company. The trick, as she always explained, was perfection. Look perfect; be perfect. Take the high heels or the hip-hugging knee skirt she wore, for example. They were horribly uncomfortable, but they sent a message that she was feminine, pretty and, most importantly, professional: not one of the old boys, but not sleeping her way to the top either.

But perfection was exhausting, stressful, and sometimes even painful to maintain. Sometimes… sometimes she just needed to unwind and let go.

She couldn’t do that at home and she certainly couldn’t do it at work, but there was one place she could go… one man who could make everything feel better…

* * *

The masseur was wonderful!

She’d phoned ahead before leaving and he’d happily given her an appointment with barely a quarter of an hour’s notice.

“Anything for my favourite customer,” he said.

She’d arrived at the massage parlour with minutes to spare. The receptionist on the counter said that she could go straight through if she wanted, but she took a moment to clip open her compact and examine herself in the small mirror. She touched up her lipstick, probably unnecessarily, and brushed a stray hair behind her ear. There, perfection restored.

It was silly to be so nervous. The masseur was just a tradesman, after all. She paid him for his service. Still… she always liked to look perfect, and she especially liked to look perfect for him.

His hands were like magic. When he kneaded her tight muscles and stroked her smooth skin, she really could feel herself just melt. When he was done, she felt completely rejuvenated and ready to face whatever life had to throw at her. She’d first visited the salon three or four months ago, on the recommendation of a friend in the law firm down the street. She’d become an instant devotee. It was without doubt the best recommendation she’d ever followed up!

The massage room itself was brightly lit and open, although there were no windows. There was a massage table in the middle of the floor and a privacy curtain to one side, and some other cupboards and a desk. Otherwise the room was bare, almost sterile, like a doctor’s clinic. The effect was somewhat ruined by the masseur’s Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals. He didn’t have to worry about being professional or pretty. Although, clothes aside, Harriet thought he was very pretty indeed, in a boyish sort of way.

An image popped into her mind of the masseur without clothes, tall and manly and breathtakingly nude, like some ancient Adonis; of herself running into his arms, his big strong arms with their magic fingers; of him looking down at her with that cocky smile… She quickly swept the thought away and hoped he didn’t notice her blushing. She was a married woman, and as such she just couldn’t do things like that with other men, no matter how handsome the men were.

“Good evening,” he said with a warm smile. “How is my favourite client today?”

“Unbelievably tense,” Harriet told him.

“Well, that’s why you’re here. So, would you like a full work up and a bit of deep conditioning?”

Harriet sighed. That sounded so good. “I wish I could, but I don’t have a lot of time. I promised my husband I’d get home no later than nine so that I could take care of the kids.”

“Just a quick de-stress then? There are towels behind the changing curtain then hop onto the table and we’ll get started.”

Once she was comfortably in place, face-down with her head resting in the snug horseshoe cushion, the masseur got started with her back.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This tension is incredible.” He jammed a knuckle under her shoulder blade to work out a knot and heard her grunt between her teeth. “I know exactly what you need.”

He stepped over to her feet, pressing his thumbs into the soles of first her left, then her right foot, taking away the pain from her heels. Then he moved up her legs, working the calf muscles then the thighs, then the buttocks.

“There you go. Just relax and feel my fingers doing their work. Let your muscles relax one by one, let their strength just flow out into my hands. Let me take away all the tension. You can’t even feel your legs anymore. They’re relaxed and free, and soon the rest of you will follow.”

Now he was at the small of her back, making the tiny circles and shapes that her conscious mind could barely register, then the nape of her neck.

“Mmm…”

“You like that?”

“Oh God, you’re a miracle worker…”

“That’s it. Close your eyes. Your whole body is relaxed now. You don’t have to think about work anymore. In fact, you don’t have to think about anything. Let your mind just drift away into relaxation.”

Now his hands were on her temples, stroking in slow, even circles, winding backwards.

“Your mind is relaxed now too. No conscious thoughts, just my hands and my words. Let yourself sink into deep trance. Now as I continue to stroke your temples, you’ll sink deeper and deeper, become less and less able to think. I’ll count to three and when I’m done you’ll be completely empty and relaxed. Do you understand?”

“Yes…” It was barely a whisper.

“One… getting harder to think now… two… just floating nice and warm and safe… three… totally hypnotised.”

* * *

The masseur couldn’t help but grin. This was the perfect job. All day long, gorgeous, uptight business women would willingly take off their clothes and lie down on his table. With his special talents in tactile hypnotic induction, coupled with some minor verbal reinforcement, he could send them easily into deep, suggestible trance, and for the duration of their appointment he could make them do or become whatever he wanted. And when he brought them out of it, they’d actually pay him for the pleasure and beg to come back for more. That wasn’t even a post-hypnotic suggestion; he just made them feel too good.

And Harriet really was his favourite client. She was a MILF in the truest sense of the word (in that she actually had two kids aged five and eight). He ran his hands gently over her unconscious body, fingers fluttering over the sides of her big, soft tits and the contours of her round ass, a taster of what was to come. But she wasn’t just a stunner on the surface; as he’d found out to his delight, she was a starving, nympho sexpot underneath. All he had to do was replace her controlling, repressed personality with something wilder, and suddenly she’d be up for anything.

If she had to be home for nine o’clock, that didn’t leave them much time. Fortunately, she’d been under his hands a dozen times now, so when she went under she went deep, and he’d had plenty of time in previous sessions to leave some fun personalities behind for just such an occasion.

If time was short, he mused, he’d best just get to the good stuff, right?

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a soft and breathy monotone.

“Feel the personality of Harriet Finn coming out of you. Picture it as a ball of light emerging from your chest. Can you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Take that ball and put it on the shelf, where it’s safe. Look at the other personalities on the shelf, the ones that we put there before. Find the one called Candi Cumshot. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Take down Candi’s personality. Do you have it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you remember about Candi.”

“Candi is a teenage bimbo… very… sexy… horny… dumb… gullible… Wants to be a porn star.”

“That’s right, very good. Hold Candi’s personality close to your chest. Let it move inside you. Can you feel this new personality filling you?”

“Yes.”

“Now I’m going to wake you up by counting back from three to one, and when you wake up it’ll be as Candi Cumshot. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Three… becoming aware of your surroundings… two… feeling rejuvenated… one… fully awake! How do you feel, Candi?”

“Like, amazing! Doc, you’re, like, totally awesome.”

“I’m done with your back now, Candi. Roll over so I can see your tits, please.”

“Okay!”

Without a moment’s hesitation Harriet—now the vapid Candi Cumshot—spun herself over on the table, tipping the white towel that had been preserving her modesty onto the floor. Her large breasts jiggled for several seconds before coming to rest.

“You have magnificent tits, Candi.”

“Thanks,” she said with a giggle. “I think they’re, like, definitely my best feature!”

“I don’t think so. I think your pussy is even more glorious.” He rubbed a hand through her pubic hair.

“Well, yeah, duh, I mean obviously that’s what I meant. Geez!”

“I have some last minute things to do before we get started. Why don’t you take this lotion and rub yourself down with it?”

She practically snatched it from his hands and squeezed it onto her chest.

“This lotion is making me all tingly.”

“That’s okay. Make sure you get it absolutely everywhere!”

He stepped behind the curtain and listened for a moment to the squelching noises as she rubbed the lotion into her skin. Satisfied that she was doing as instructed, he whipped off his shirt and shorts and kicked off his sandals, taking everything off but his lucky necklace. Even before he was fully naked the squelches had been joined by other noises: long moans of pleasure punctuated with short, frustrated grunts.

“MmmmMMMMmm—ugh!—oooooOOO-mmm-ugh!”

He swept back the curtain with a flourish and stepped into the room. Harriet Finn—high-powered company director turned mindless bimbo—had one hand buried in her pussy, and the other in her ass. It looked like she was trying to fist herself in both holes at once, but couldn’t reach.

“I couldn’t get the lotion all the way in,” she said, shamefaced. “Are you mad?”

Keeping a straight face, the masseur shook his head and tutted. “I’m not mad,” he said, “just disappointed. Do you need my help?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Very well then. You’ll need to put some of that lotion on my cock.”

“Your cock?”

“Yes. It’s the only thing long enough to reach all the way inside.”

“Really? Awesome!”

“Can I trust you to get this right?”

“Geez, get off my case, okay? I, like, totally know what I’m doing!”

“Then begin.” And he thrust his crotch towards her. She couldn’t help but stare at his ten inches of cock, engorged with desire, bobbing slightly.

“So pretty…” she gasped.

“Get on with it!”

“Sorry.” With a warm hand she held the underside of the shaft, then drizzled lotion onto the top, catching the spillage in her hand and then rubbing it over the entire length. She ran a hand over the egg-sized head, making him shiver, then all the way down where she cupped and rubbed his balls.

“Enough,” he said after a while. “We need to get this inside your pussy. Hold it steady.”

Sitting on the edge of the table, she spread open her legs and positioned the throbbing head at the entrance to her cunt. But before she had a chance to say she was ready, he rammed into her as deep as he could, making her gasp in pleasure. Then he was like a piston, ramming her again and again, deeper and deeper, so Goddamn good she could barely breathe.

“Candi! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I… don’t know…”

“If you want to be a porn star you mustn’t close your eyes when I’m fucking you. Look at me, let me see your pleasure.”

She lifted her bright blue eyes up to his. She couldn’t even focus on him. It was incredible…

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Hold nothing back.”

“It’s so good. I love your cock. I… I… so close. Fuck. Fuck me! So great! Oh—oh! Fuck!”

She twitched and spasmed as the orgasm washed over her. The masseur was more experienced than this and was ready for more. “I think that side’s done,” he said smartly. “Time to turn over.”

With a strong hand he flipped Harriet onto her knees before she could say “What?” and lined his cock up with her butthole.

“Take a deep breath, Candi,” he ordered, and though she had no idea what was happening she obeyed immediately. Then he was pushing against her ass… pushing… inside! And she let out all her breath in a throaty groan. He started rocking back and forth, pulling out and easing ever further in.

“UGHHhhh… UGHHhhh… UGHHhhh… So big… I can feel it… So…”

The last inch was sudden, as he pulled her onto him and reached around to grab at her tits. Hoisting her upright, he bounced her on his cock, squeezing and teasing her tits as he nuzzled the hollow of her neck.

“You like that, slut? Feel me fucking your ass?”

“Oh yeah…”

“I’m gonna fill your ass with jizz, bitch.”

“Oh God, fill me!”

“You gonna cum? Work your pussy. I want you screaming when I cum in your ass.”

Immediately her hands went to work. As he pounded her ass, she crammed two… three… four fingers into her aching pussy, desperate to cum when he did. It didn’t take long to get up to speed.

“Fuck fuck! Yes! Fuck! Yes! I…! Oh! Oh God I feel… so full! Fuck! Yes!AAAAohhh!”

* * *

Candi didn’t even notice when the masseur dumped her unceremoniously back on the table; she was still riding the blissful high from the best fucking of her life. She’d lost count after the first two orgasms, and wouldn’t have been able to say whether she’d come three times or, like, fifty.

She didn’t notice when he started working his hands over her body, and barely registered when he started counting up to three. To Candi, it was just like falling asleep.

“Relaxed again. Now take Candi Cumshot’s personality, squeeze it back into a ball and put it on the shelf. Take Harriet Finn’s personality down from the shelf again. Let it flow back into you. Can you feel it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now in a moment I will wake you up, and you will feel as refreshed and rejuvenated as if you’ve spent a week in an expensive spa.” He glanced at the clock. “One last thing: As soon as you realise that it has gone nine o’clock, you will remember the pleasure that you felt as Candi Cumshot and you will immediately and uncontrollably orgasm. Tell me what you’ll do.”

“Uncontrollably orgasm at nine o’clock.”

“Good. Three… becoming aware of your surroundings… two… feeling rejuvenated… one… fully awake! How do you feel, Mrs Finn?”

Harriet sat up on the table, one arm across her bosom.

“I feel fantastic, like always. How did you do it?”

“I let Candi out for some fun.”

“Oh!” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Naughty boy! No wonder I feel so good. I hope you gave her a proper workout.”

“Of course.”

“And I hope she ‘paid’ you well in return?”

“Of course!”

Harriet lowered herself off the table and walked back over to the changing curtain to put her clothes back on.

“I’ll pay the receptionist on the way out,” she said through the curtain as she zipped up her skirt.

“That would be much appreciated.”

“Anything else I should be aware of?”

“Not really. We finished in time for you to get home by nine. Oh, but on the hour I suggest you find somewhere private. Somewhere the kids won’t be able to hear you.”

“Why…? Oh, you! You left a trigger, didn’t you? How much extra?”

“Free of charge, for my favourite client.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” She stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. She got the urge to squeeze his dick playfully through his shorts, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When Harriet had regained her own personality, she’d also regained all of her inhibitions. She just couldn’t have sex with another man behind her husband’s back, no matter how tense and repressed and utterly, utterly frustrated she was… or at least, she couldn’t do it consciously. A lot of male directors in her company, she happened to know, went to regular (if expensive) prostitutes to release their tension. Harriet, however, needed a very special kind to enable her to let go and go wild. She’d definitely found a good one.

“See you next time!”

“I look forward to it.”

“So do I, sweetie. Always.”

Harriet had a new spring in her step as she sashayed out of the parlour. Yes, she thought, this masseur was the best recommendation she’d ever followed up on!