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Spoils Ch. 01

By: Jazz E.



© 2003 This is part 1 of a 3 part story.

Lucy looked about the apartment as she entered. “Nice,” she whispered to herself. It still amazed her. Laying her keys aside her purse, she hit play on her answering-machine. “Lucille? It’s Stone. Can I see you tomorrow? 2:30 at the condo? Let me know if this is okay. Thanks.”

“2:30 will be just fine, my dear Mr. Stone,” she purred, smiling and, reaching for her Palm Pilot, as she glided gracefully to the couch. The grace – the seductive charm – it was all part of her now; even when she was alone. Tapping in the details of her appointment, she sighed. Her purse held the bounty of her profession, to be further enriched tomorrow. She had just left one of her regulars – a generous, older gentleman – five hundred dollars richer. Stone was good for that again. She gazed out over the city from her thirtieth floor vantage. Her apartment – the spoils of her fate’s remarkable revision – was large, modern, elegantly appointed – though, just tastefully short of ostentatious – and, most importantly, it was completely hers. She went over, once again, how it had happened – the strange, unexpected, indeed, unanticipated turn her life had taken five years earlier, to end up here. She smiled, recollecting, fondly now, how it all started.

It was clear and vivid. She remembered trying hard to maintain her composure. “Jesus,” she’d sworn to herself, looking around once more, “the whole friggin’ team!”

“Aye, Lassie.” A large hand had clasped her shoulder, giving what she figured was supposed to be a meaningful squeeze. “Relax. Have another drink.” She had trembled so violently at his touch he must have felt it, for he moved in front of her – right in her face – and added, with a kind of dopey grin, “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Nothing to be scared of?” She shrieked silently. “Are you fucking crazy?” But she just looked at him blankly – steadying her breath, trying hard to calm herself. Fear – she mustn’t show her fear. Looking furtively about once again; panning past all the leering, lusting gazes, she pumped herself with self-talk. “Don’t they realize this is wrong?” The room had got quiet – or so it felt. They were watching her. “Of course they do. They can’t really expect me to….” She couldn’t bring herself to think it, not even the euphemisms, but her mind, running in overdrive, whispered tauntingly, “…lay for them? Spread my legs? Fuck them all?” Gradually it all seemed to grind to a halt. Everything froze – including her.

Lucy had left college in Vancouver right after spring term. She had saved diligently for this. It was her walkabout. Although she had originally planned the trip with a girlfriend, her friend backed out at the last minute. Lucy had decided to go anyway. Traveling alone was not, perhaps, ideal, but she had a few relatives in Britain, and would take escorted tours. She was confident that she’d be all right.

Her stay in Southhampton had only confirmed that. She had stayed with her mom’s cousin for three days and had been very well taken care of. From there, she had located a second-cousin-once-removed who lived in Scotland. He was about her age, and was effusive in his welcome. He and his wife, who got on the other phone, had insisted that Lucy come up and visit. So arrangements were made and before she knew it, she was disembarking after an incredibly picturesque ride up the centre of England, at the bus depot in Dunkeld, somewhere in central Scotland.

“You must be Lucy.” A pretty woman – maybe late-twenties or thirty-ish – dressed in designer jeans and a tight, fashionable woolen sweater approached, looking her up and down appraisingly. “Welcome.” The warmth and apparent sincerity Lucy felt in the unexpected hug from this stranger surprised her. “I’m Maggie, Torin’s wife. Come on,” she said, taking Lucy’s bag in one hand and holding her arm with the other, “I’ll take you out to the farm – such as it is.”

Lucy’s head was spinning, as she settled into the left-hand seat of the car and let the lilting chatter of her hostess wash over her as they wound their way through labyrinthine country paths. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt with this woman, a veritable stranger, as they drove deep into the countryside, to an isolated, rambling old farmhouse out on the moor.

Once there, Maggie showed her to a small bed in a tiny spare room. “Get yourself freshened up, Luv, while I put on a spot of tea. Torin’s out with his rugger team, but I expect they’ll – he’ll be back in just a bit.”

Lucy had a little time to get settled, and the tea Maggie brought her was rejuvenating. As she was changing her top, after a quick and welcome wash in the sink, the sound of vehicles in the driveway presaged the return of the hordes. The explosion of voices stunned Lucy – shouts and cheers, songs being sung, all rising and moving rapidly closer. An apparition of apprehension swept across Lucy as she stood, poised at the door. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, pulled the handle and stepped into the gathering throng, assembling in the living room.

It turned out to be no big deal. Hardly anyone seemed to notice her at first. There were about twenty-five people milling about, tossing beer bottles from an ice-chest, still laughing and singing. The guys were obviously just showered, for they, every one, had wet slicked-back hair, shiny clean faces under glistening foreheads, and fresh clean jerseys. In the moments before Maggie caught her by the elbow and swept her into the fray, Lucy noted that there were several young women on the arms the guys. “Girlfriends; or wives, I guess.”

“Torin! TORIN!” The jagged edge of Maggie’s demanding shriek was softened by her lilting accent – and by the subtle hint of deep affection. All this Lucy took in as she watched the milling crowd in amazement. “Torin, get your scrawny ass over here, and meet your dear cousin.” While the crowd, for the most part, was staunchly ignoring her, a few people seemed to be stealing glances – their lips curling into tiny grins. And their eyes, if Lucy wasn’t mistaken, twinkling.

Then, out of the crowd came galumphing Torin. Lucy reached for the huge paw extended toward her as, still a step away, he bawled, “Wouldcha lookit you? Welcome, Cuz! Welcome!” His deep voice, so cuddly and warm; the broad smile slicing his round face, so… so… what? – loving, perhaps? Whatever, Lucy immediately felt at home. All the apprehension she had been carrying, seeped away. This was definitely family – Torin and Maggie.

“Give the girl a beer, for God’s sake,” Maggie chirped at her side, while Torin asked briefly about her trip. But the celebration surrounding them was insistent.

“We won the game,” Torin shrugged, nodding at the rest of the noisy team. “Not much of a contest, actually – if you know what I mean.” He smiled, looking at Maggie, then shifting his attention back to Lucy. Laying a hand on her shoulder, an impish sparkle in his deep blue eyes, his gaze rested on her for a single pregnant moment. Although it was very warm and welcoming, Lucy felt herself trying, unsuccessfully, to decipher the sub-text. His huge hand, resting there a moment, was apparently oozing meaning as well, but it was not a language Lucy understood. Torin gave her shoulder a light squeeze as he surveyed the room. Turning back to her, he said, “Anyway, glad you’re here. Excuse me a mo’.” Lucy could hear him laugh as he threaded back into the crowd.

Maggie pressed a beer bottle into Lucy’s hand and took her by the elbow, guiding her into the swarm. “I’ll introduce to some of the lads,” she whispered into Lucy’s ear, her warm breath, tickling, almost sensuous.

“Maggie’s accent,” Lucy observed silently, a tingle of self-conscious embarrassment trickling into her core, “is almost seductive.” The thought surprised Lucy, as she was not at all sexually experienced, and had never, ever even thought of love with another woman, yet here she was, in the most unsuspecting of places, having naughty thoughts. “Shame on you!” she reprimanded herself.

“…and some of the ladies, as well,” Maggie breathed as they moved through the crowd, knots of people parting before them like the seas before Moses. Everyone nodded and smiled. Those to whom she was introduced were effusive in their welcomes. Lucy could feel herself physically mellowing.

“What a strange situation to find myself in,” she observed, looking about, but knowing she meant her own feelings as much as the novel group she had been absorbed into. “Apprehension, tension, sensuality, warm acceptance…, it’s been an emotional rollercoaster already and I’ve just got here.” Unconsciously she let a coy smile curl around from her lips to her eyes.

“Listen, Pet,” Maggie breathed, once again her whispered words sparkling in Lucy’s ear, “me ‘n the girls just gotta slip out for a few errands. You just stay and enjoy yourself. We’ll be back before you know it.” Lucy just nodded, feeling a powerful tranquility descending over her. There was definitely something in the air, she was only vaguely aware of it, but somehow it stayed just beyond her perception. She didn’t see the look of apprehension wash across Maggie’s face, nor did she detect the tone of worry, masked as it was by the delightful accent. Only just aware of the smirking and snickering of the women as they left, Lucy barely gave it a thought. “Private joke,” she surmised, then returned her attention to the rest of the party. She felt happy – safe and comfortable.

Glancing about the room, a rather odd realization surfaced. “I’m the only female here,” she noted. Swept up on the rollercoaster, once more, Lucy’s emotions turned cold. She felt like stone, as she watched various eyes stealing glances her way. “Why would they all have gone – and not taken me? Why would they leave me alone – alone in this group of guys?” Then, observing more closely, scanning the room, subtly and mechanically, she came to an odd deduction “I do believe they’re waiting for something. What?”

Then the rollercoaster’s frightening descent was arrested by the smooth trough of the tracks, throwing her emotions gently skyward again. “Don’t be silly,” she chastised herself. “These are civilized people;” she surveyed the milling group, “in civilized times. There’s nothing to fear.” And, in saying that, she felt better, noting that now her overriding sense was, indeed, more flabbergast than fear. “How the hell did I manage to end up here?” Lucy shook her head slightly as she accepted another beer, her other one having vanished already. She smiled her thanks, oddly amused by the situation. “A lamb among the wolves,” she whispered to herself. She was intensely alert, but strangely dissociated. The babble and banter swirling about her did not seem to touch her. She listened and watched objectively, distantly. For a while she felt invisible – a ghost, observing the mortals, unseen.

“Hey there? Anybody home?” The fellow who’d given her a brew was trying to make conversation.

Lucy smiled. “Sorry,” she muttered, “Just…” just what she wasn’t sure.

“Welcome to earth,” he chided, before taking a long draught on his beer. “D’you make these trips often?”

Lucy wasn’t sure if he was still teasing her about her reverie or not, but she decided not to take the bait. “No, this is the first time I’ve ever traveled any distance.” He gazed at her with a benignly appreciative grin – pleased enough at just being able to chat her up. Lifting the bottle, she nodded, “Thanks,” silently thanking him for his non-threatening attention. A warm smile crept to her face. “It’s really very exciting.” Was there really some sort of understated menace here or was she just being paranoid? “Stop it!” she chided herself, in an effort to quell her swirling emotional miasma. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you.” Looking up and around, before returning her attention to her companion, Lucy could not, now, detect even the slightest menace. “It’s just their way,” she reassured herself. “They’re just being friendly – and curious.” Relaxing slightly, Lucy answered questions about travels so far. After a few moments, her companion politely excused himself, leaving her alone for a bit.

Looking around the room, she tried to locate her cousin. He was, after all, her only connection to this strange circumstance. Furthermore, he was family – even if they’d just met. Soon a subtle parade of men was stepping up to her to exchange a few pleasantries, before taking their leaves, only to be replaced by another. Lucy smiled. It was like being in an impromptu receiving line. Every once in a while someone would grasp her elbow, giving it a squeeze for emphasis. They were all so very nice, she wondered why she had felt so apprehensive, earlier. “Nothing threatening in this,” she assured herself, amazed that, still, somewhere in the back of her head, a warning flag had been raised.

“How’s a beautiful g’el like you travel the world without an escort?” a young fellow asked, standing next to her, almost fraternally, swigging his brew and surveying the group. Lucy explained briefly about her girlfriend jamming on her. “Where’s your boyfriend, then?” he asked, as if that were the obvious next question.

“Oh,” Lucy stumbled, momentarily, “he’s – I – I mean, I don’t really have a boyfriend – I mean, we’re just….” How did she explain simply that she really didn’t expect her relationship with Mark to survive her trip; quite possibly, she didn’t want it to. But she didn’t need to explain that to a stranger, did she? “He’s still in Vancouver – working.”

“Oh.” The chap just shrugged, indicating somehow that it was all beyond him. Staring out into the party, he and Lucy stood side by side, silently. Abruptly, he turned to her and announced, a broad smile warping his face, “He’s a fool, then. I wouldn’t let a girl as sweet as you travel alone, f’you were mine.” Just as suddenly, he grabbed her hand and began pumping. “Jimmy here’d look after you; don’t you mind.”

After an instant of surprised hesitation, Lucy gave him a mischievous grin. “I’ll keep that in mind, Jimmy,” she purred, removing her hand from his grip. It was flattery, of course, but it seemed genuine enough. Jimmy, nodded, and took his leave, soon to be replaced by another grinning lad – then another and another. The reception line seemed to have looped back on itself. This time, she was learning a few names – not that she’d ever keep them all straight. Still, the chatter was light and warm – meaningless fluff, as often as not, but with an undercurrent of something else Lucy couldn’t quite identify.

Lucy basked in the interest and attention, the occasional compliment stroking her ego. Jimmy wasn’t the only one who asked about her boyfriend, nor the only one who offered to escort her through Europe. They seemed like such a really nice bunch of guys. Lucy was touched by the apparent sincerity of their questions and concerns. Of course, a few bottles of the thick local brew didn’t hurt.

Had she already been through the line-up twice? At some unspoken signal, Lucy felt herself being gently steered into the middle of the throng. Suddenly she was the centre of attention. The team was gathering around her, enfolding her into their midst, like one of them. The raucous conversation didn’t diminish, it just, now, included her. Had she passed some sort of test, she wondered to herself, that they no longer needed to handle her with kid gloves?

“So what d’ya do for excitement in Vancouver?” someone asked, stretching out the name, “Vaaaaan-coooooover.”

“You mean when I’m not going to school?” she countered brightly, suddenly joining in to the light and playful atmosphere of the party. “This is more like it,” she thought to herself, “after all, I am nineteen.” Aloud she said, “Oh, not much.”

“Aye, c’mon,” someone else chided, “you must do something for fun.”

Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “Of course,” she teased. “We go to clubs, or go to the beach.”

“I can just imagine,” another voice put in. “Tight tops, gyrating to the loud music…”

“Yeah,” someone continued, “bright lights flashing against tight bodies.”

“You make it sound dirty,” Lucy complained, teasingly.

“Yeah.”

“What about the beach, eh?” Lucy could almost hear his desirous imagination colouring his voice. “Skimpy bikinis splashing in the surf.”

“You don’t get much in the way of surf in Vancouver,” Lucy laughed. “We just lie about and tan.”

“That all?”

“Yeah, or play volleyball,” Lucy added, nostalgic for a moment, wondering what her friends were up to at home.

She was wrenched back to reality as someone next to her laid a hand against her butt and remarked, “Probably not the only balling you do, eh wot?” The room exploded in laughter. Hiding her shock, Lucy pushed the hand away, and chided, “Now, now, don’t be rude.” Rationalizing, Lucy told herself it was just harmless flirting. And the hand on her butt was not really a grope, just a friendly pat. The hand on her shoulder was not threatening, she insisted to herself, just sociable. “This is the way boys in a group behave. No need for alarm.”

Lucy wondered aloud where the rest of the women were. “Oh, they just popped out for a few things. They’ll be back in a bit.” In the ebb and flow of the conversation, Lucy wondered again and again why she was the only woman there, but her attention was repeatedly redirected by a squeeze or a nudge, as someone cracked another dirty joke or made some suggestive remark. As much as she denied it, Lucy couldn’t help but see that the tenor of the place was becoming increasingly lewd and crude.

Furthermore, the now persistent suggestiveness was becoming more and more focused on her. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick to respond to their flirting,” Lucy noted silently. “Now they think I’m just a good-time girl.” Her brow furrowed as she considered her quandary. “I hope I haven’t dug myself too deep of a hole?” Still, Lucy was not willing to even consider what such a hole might contain. “I wish Maggie would get back.” The conversation swirled around her, its innuendo mounting relentlessly.

Over the top, the rollercoaster plunged madly into the depths, fear and foreboding wrestling her psyche into submission. And if Lucy was already frozen with apprehension then, the next moment petrified her.

“Ever fuck a Scotsman?” asked a voice beside her, a hand gently grasping her bicep.

Fear and surprise seemed to smother her. “Don’t be afraid,” Lucy coached herself. “They can smell fear.” Aloud she just muttered, “Never,” and pulled away. Disoriented, Lucy attempted to move out of the crowd of bodies, heading for the edge of the room. Someone stayed with her.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” came the chortled reply, its voice thick with beer and lust. Lucy could no longer kid herself about that. He suddenly sounded crazy horny. Muscling her five foot six frame through this forest of rugby players would, in other circumstances, have been a joke; still, Lucy shouldered her way past, pushing at them – rubbing against them, she realized in horror – until they reluctantly allowed her passage. She could feel them painting her with hungry expectant looks, as she attempted to escape.

Along with the terror pressing down on her, twisting her smile into a grimace, some sort of resignation settled over her, paradoxically buoying, slightly, the terror. “Now you’ve done it,” someone else said, inside her head. She had an urge to look at her shoulder to see if a little version of her, with horns, a tail, and a trident, sat there chiding her – the dark side of conscience, just like in the old cartoons. “What did you expect?”

Her rational side moaned, “I don’t know. Certainly not this!”

“This?!” her demon laughed, “What’s this? Nothing’s happened yet.” Well that was true. Lucy finally made it to the wall at the edge of the parlour. Now, where was the door to her room? Maybe she could still find sanctuary until Maggie and the others got back. “C’mon,” the demon in her coaxed, “you love it. It’s exciting, eh?”


Spoils Ch. 01



“Aye, Lassie.” The hand gave her another meaningful squeeze. “Don’t fret yourself. We’re mostly harmless, we lot here.”

“Mostly harmless?” Lucy almost laughed. “Right!”

“Relax. Have another drink.” He must have felt her body quake, for he stepped in front of her and added, with a kind of dopey grin, “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Nothing to be scared of?” She shrieked silently. “Are you fucking crazy?” But she just looked at him blankly – steadying her breath, trying hard to calm herself. 

As he moved away, apparently in search of another drink for her, she finally let it all seep in. Up till then, she’d tried to keep the menace sub-conscious – insisting to herself it was all in her imagination. Now, she let herself consciously – fully – understand what was actually happening. “Oh, shit,” she murmured, “How did I get into this?” She looked around again, catching her breath. Admitting her situation to herself helped, at least it allowed her to think a little more clearly. “And how am I going to get out of it?” She shivered slightly, a feeling of impending disaster prodding her; then stood straight and proud in an attempt to bolster her courage.

And that was the definitive moment; Lucy remembered with amazing clarity. A frozen silence hung palpable in the air, then almost imperceptibly the voices became audible once more. Faintly at first, then rising. Like a radio, regaining reception after passing around a mountain, Lucy began to detect the odd word, then phrases. The innuendo persisted. The suggestive pall was still in the air. It was odd, she thought. Everyone was still pleasant – no one the least bit nasty – but they were all, every one of them, joining in – persistent and persevering – and lewd. “No,” she muttered in her head, giving it an imperceptible shake, “no, they’re not going to rape me.” She scanned the faces, yet again. All smiling; all friendly; all hungry. “No,” she insisted to herself, “there’s got to be a way out of this.”

“They don’t actually understand,” she explained to herself. “They think it’s okay – what they’re expecting.” Suddenly, she almost felt sorry for them, as if the whole bunch of them were just a little bit too dumb to see the howling error in all this.

But, they were the champions – and Lucy, unbeknownst to her, had been chosen, or, at least, had innocently wandered into the feedlot, and was now destined to be offered up, as their perk – as their reward.

Still, Lucy hoped, maybe Maggie would get back in time to save her. Again, she peered furtively about the room, but apparently none of the woman had sneaked back in I unnoticed. She studied her ‘captors’ intently.

Actually they didn’t look bad – not like actual ‘bad guys’ – just a bunch of twenty and thirty year-olds back from their rugby game. But, they were all watching her. She could feel it, even though most of them were still being marginally surreptitious. Their smiles were all cheerful, and ostensibly benign, but there was something behind it all – something in the air – something she had, perhaps, just begun to decipher – something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up – something there.

Little by little she felt herself being surrounded again by the expectant host. And even as she stood there unmoving, almost unfeeling, the lewd expectation became tactile. The innocuous touches were suddenly pawing; the innocent squeezes now gropes. Lucy flinched; retreating from each new contact in almost a slow dance – the movement graceful and, inadvertently, alluring – but every twist just moved her into the reach of someone else. There was no escape. Fingers and hands began to roam freely, escalating the spectacle – stroking hands alongside pressed bodies; gripped ass-cheeks, powerfully massaged; palmed tits, gently twisted and squeezed; and all the while Lucy watched and waited – waited – waited – for what? The unknown? No, the inevitable.

Still, Lucy was able to step back into herself. “This isn’t right!” she scolded. “They can’t do this to me unless I let them!” Fixing a smile onto her lips, and mustering her resolve, once again, she began to fend off the unwanted advances. If her resistance surprised anyone, no one let on, and for a while there appeared to be a truce.

“Maybe I’m just imagining it,” Lucy heaved a sigh of relief mixed with confusion, “or maybe I’m sending out some wrong signals!” She looked about warily during the lull. Nothing seemed to have changed; they were all still laughing and carrying on.

The light through the small windows indicated that it was getting on in the afternoon. “Where are Maggie and the others?” Lucy asked hopefully. They seemed to have been gone a long time.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout them,” one of the boys replied, slurring his words somewhat. Lucy noted that they were all getting a little sloshed. “They’ll be along in a wink, I s’pose,” he added, giving an exaggerated wink of the eye. Abruptly he straightened up. Staring into Lucy’s face he said, “Give us a kiss, then, Luv.” Lucy only just turned her face in time to receive the sloppy smooch on her cheek. But that was all it took. The gates had opened.

“’Ere, how’s about me?” “My turn.” “Dunna be so’s shy, Dearie.” Like a pack of wolves they were on her. Lucy managed to turn her cheeks for only the first few, then, turning to avoid one, she caught another right on the lips And along with that, all the groping returned full-force Notwithstanding, the kissing frenzy was short-lived. A momentary calm signaled the eye of the storm. Lucy looked about for an avenue of escape, even though she knew there was none. “I haven’t already resigned myself, have I?”

But before she could even respond to herself, a cry arose from the surrounding natives, “‘Show us yer tits!’ as you Americans say.”

“I’m Canadian!” Lucy replied automatically, kicking herself for her lame response.

But the rest of the team seemed to gather at attention and take up the chant as if it were an anthem. “Show – us – yer tits! Show – us – yer tits!”

And it suddenly struck Lucy as so incredibly juvenile it was funny. A bolt of hope suddenly filled her, manifesting itself as a sympathetic smile on her face. “They’re really just a bunch of boys, playing,” she whispered to herself. “I can get through this.”

“Show us yer tits!” The room echoed with the repeated refrain, but as she straightened her shoulders, it changed. “Take off your top!” “Take it all off!” “Strip tease! Strip tease!”

Straightening her shoulders and setting her jaw, Lucy turned to leave. “Boys, boys,” she said, trying to sound strong, and a little impatient. It came out as more of a plea – feeble and helpless. The wall of boys – and, big, big rugby players they were, every one – didn’t part; no one moved to make way for her this time. Her hope fled so swiftly and so completely, it left her shaking. Terrified again, the plunging rollercoaster leaving her stomach, her control, far, far behind, Lucy surveyed the leering crowd, one more time, looking for Torin, hoping for rescue. Every eye was on her. Every shouting face, suddenly silent – grinning with anticipation. And there, in the middle of the group, no better or worse than the rest, was her alleged cousin – his eyes glittering, his mouth virtually drooling.

“Come on, then, Luv, show us some skin!” Roaring their agreement, a note of impatient rang heavy in the air. Maybe they wouldn’t actually rape her, Lucy thought, back in one calmly objective corner of her brain, but they were getting increasingly frustrated that she was not playing the game. “Come on…” someone else pleaded, “Be a sport.” “It’s all in good fun!” “Just a bit, then.” “We’re all counting on you.”

As the coercion continued Lucy felt her will weakening. “It’s just too hard,” she complained to herself. “What to do… what to do….” Lucy felt frozen, watching the milling crowd move about in slow-motion. The faces were still happy and friendly, but couldn’t she detect, just under the surface of their constant overtures and entreaties, intimidation. She wasn’t sure.

“Okay, Lucy,” said a voice nearby, penetrating her cloud of terror, “let’s see you dance, then.” And again, the voices took up the call, incited by a new idea, “C’mon, dance, dance, dance….”

The suggestion trickled through her debilitating confusion and fear to present itself as a possibility. A bit of time to think, that’s what she needed, so with a weak smile, Lucy began to move to the music, her mind racing with the jumbled thoughts of escape – of survival. The cheer that greeted her rhythmic swaying surprised her. Pleased with her small success, Lucy began to move a little more, raising her arms like a charmed snake. Someone behind her put his hands on her hips, swirling her, pulling her back against him, but somehow, done to music, it seemed less threatening; why, hadn’t this happened hundreds of times before, in hundreds of clubs at home? Oddly enough, Lucy felt herself relax a little. Then someone else joined them, moving in front of her, his hands on her waist.

“Oh, yeah!” “Go for it!” “You rock, Lady!” Their encouragement was warm and genuine. The music got louder – good contemporary dance-able rock ‘n roll. And, through the latest trough, Lucy’s emotional rollercoaster sailed smoothly back up toward another crest. Lucy had always loved dancing, so the music and movement effected an escape of another kind. That the hands at her waist had found their way under her top didn’t much matter. And, as twenty-some-odd guys and one lone female ducked and turned and gyrated about the parlour of a modest cottage in central Scotland, it suddenly seemed of little consequence that Lucy’s top was being slowly lifted up to her bra, and over. They were gentle but irresistible.

The one part of her brain still capable of sane thought and concern finally accepted what was fait accompli. Lucy felt her arms cooperate on their own as her top slipped off over her head. She really had no alternative but to comply. “And that,” her logical self admonished, “is the Catch 22; for complicity implies consent.” Lucy continued to wallow in the music, her eyes half-mast, as she felt fingers fiddling with the buttons on her jeans, pulling at the clasp of her bra. Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “At least they like me,” she laughed as she noted an almost paradoxical look of affection on every face, then, escaping into the music, Lucy closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge that she was being inexorably stripped.

Hands played across her body like ripples on a lake, caressing her buttocks, splashing into her bush to gently stroke her lips, and sparkling at her breasts with a pinch or a twiddle at her nipples. Her resignation had settled into a glowing warmth that washed through her. Fluttering her eyes, Lucy now returned avidly the kisses to her lips.

Only nineteen years old, Lucy had had a boyfriend, Mark, in Vancouver, but she didn’t expect their relationship would survive her trip. The sad part was that that didn’t really bother her. She had lost her virginity to him on her nineteenth birthday. They had both been fairly drunk and it had been rather disappointing. Notwithstanding, she had given in to his insistence, again, just before she left on this trip, realizing it would probably be her last chance with him, ever; so, they had had sex a second time. That time it had been much more making love than fucking. Even now, thousands of kilometres away, standing naked and worshipped by a throng of strangers, Lucy felt a tinge of sadness at what she’d most certainly lost. But with the recollection of her first real orgasm she felt her entire body suddenly flush – igniting her arousal and suffusing her with desire. “Maybe, just maybe….”

Hands gripped her gently, lifting the weight from her feet and she felt herself being moved, then laid out on the mattress of a cot that had mysteriously materialized in the crowded salon. Her breath coming in short, delicate gasps, afraid to open her eyes, Lucy waited as the music seemed to retreat to the background, and a close hush enfolded her.

“After you, Aiden. You’re the captain.” It was almost like a whisper in the wind, barely registering.

Laid out like a sacrifice, Lucy fluttered her eyes and watched as Aiden, – “A Scottish Adonis,” Lucy thought serenely – already naked, lowered himself over her. “How can I be so calm?” she wondered, then, surprised to feel her genitals tingling, even before Aiden made contact, “How can I be so aroused?” She waited for the inevitable. Her eyes snapped wide, as she felt his steely erection nudge her labia. “I’m really wet,” she noted, not without some satisfaction. He prodded her opening once, then, without any real sense of urgency, he inserted himself into her cunt with one long smooth push. “Ahhh,” Lucy heard herself gasp. He was much, much bigger than Mark. She could feel his girth stretching her. “Not at all unpleasant,” her inner calmness remarked, as she hissed and puffed, heaving her hips and lifting her back involuntarily. His length was touching places that had never been touched, setting off sparks and surges that excited Lucy’s already stimulated nervous system.

Aiden moved slowly, in and out – no sudden rushes, not violent or rough, just inexorably. Time slowed to a crawl and, at that same crawling pace, Lucy could feel a fire being stoked within her. Joining his rhythm, she rocked her bottom, meeting each thrust with a gentle push; she felt her arousal climbing, climbing, until it was she who forced the matter. Spasms ripped through her vaginal walls every time he touched her deep recesses, and the ensuing jolts of sensation excited and frustrated. Lucy could hardly recognize herself as she muttered, “Harder! Deeper! Come on, push!” She pushed back, rocking hard, accelerating her hips until, legs splayed, her pubis slapped loudly against Aiden’s groin at every stroke. Lucy felt the tremors quiver through his erection, vibrating against her inner walls, and she could feel him swell impossibly inside her, his solidity pounding her innards.

Like distant fireworks, Lucy could see flashes of ignition just before she heard Aiden’s groan. Pushing himself hard against her cervix, Lucy felt Aiden’s cock begin to spit and spurt just as she felt her own psyche explode. Writhing and squirming beneath him, Lucy pulled her lips to his chest and bit, in an effort to stifle her shrieks. She had never before felt anything like it. Her body seemed to fly apart, then reassemble slowly, each part stroking others until they found a fit. Her universe included nothing but genitals – his, pushed deep and still twitching spastically – hers, grabbing and grasping, holding in its hot, liquid grip.

Releasing his nipple, which she still held between her lips, Lucy let her head fall back to the bed with a heavy sigh. “Whoa!” was all she could say, but, at some level, she was thinking, “If what I had with Mark was an orgasm, what, in God’s name, was that?!”

As her conqueror began to disengage, Lucy could detect a rising background noise. “Like applause,” she observed.

Planting light kisses down her glistening, still heaving chest, as he retreated, she heard Aiden whisper, “Absolutely smashing! You’re a gem! Thanks!” When he lifted off her, his momentary absence hardly registered before someone had taken his place. She recognized the intruder through fluttering eyelashes. Of course they had all introduced themselves earlier, but Lucy couldn’t remember names, especially now, in such an elevated post-orgasmic haze. Outside her body there was a cheer and a chant as her next lover began his rut. Lucy could feel him churning her insides in time to the rhythm of the mantra – in, out, in, out. He punctuated the motions with kisses to her lips and eyes and cheeks.

Her emotional rollercoaster had stalled, and seemed to be teetering at the very highest point of the tracks – or, perhaps, it was threatening to jump off, to launch itself into orbit. She couldn’t tell any more.

Writhing and bucking, Lucy took up the measured beat, heaving to meet the thrusts, she surprised herself at how active she had become in her own ravishment. Number two didn’t take long to reach his orgasm, or so it seemed to Lucy, but, then again, who could tell, for time was currently of little significance. More rapid than his predecessor’s, his withdrawal left Lucy’s vagina pulsing and weeping.

Squirming in vain, with a mind of their own, Lucy’s hips swiveled and bounced, seeking something to fill the emptiness. And while it was, in reality, only moments before the next player climbed aboard, her cunt muscle quivered and cried for attention. Grasping and tugging with inner strength she didn’t know she had, Lucy pulled the next fellow quickly into the rhythm that permeated the room – the all-encompassing rhythm of drunken male voices, and pounding rock music, echoing off the walls and through the thick atmosphere. Having found the beat, the new swordsman proved very agile, his long smooth thrusts interspersed with short sharp jabs. Lucy parried expertly, sometimes complementing his steps, sometimes syncopating her replies. The world evaporated, yet again. There was only whatsisname, and the pleasure they could give and take.

Insidiously, though, something else insinuated itself into their isolated, insulated universe. Something was poking Lucy in the cheek, chasing her lips as she turned her head this way and that. What was it? Insistent, the warm, spongy interloper poked and prodded and bounced against her cheeks until she was forced to acknowledge the rest of creation and open her eyes. “Jesus!” she swore under her breath, “That’s huge!” And so it was. An enormous cock, thick and stiff and ready, bumped her nose. Just like the fabled one-eyed snake, it bobbled and jerked, and attempted, in vain, to assault her mouth.

Lucy was, actually, only vaguely aware of the phenomenon of cock-sucking. She hadn’t ever imagined herself doing it, but, right then, she couldn’t really even think about it. The sensations currently being caused by the Steely Dan between her legs demanded virtually all of her attention. As she pondered, ever so briefly, something marvelous detonated deep inside her and shot, tingling and teasing, up her spine to shower like fireworks in her brain. “Ahhhh!” Lucy moaned, throwing her head back. Seeing its opportunity, the hovering cock-head plunged, settling its plum-like tip just inside her lips. To his credit, the owner of the impatient prick did not force his rampant member into Lucy’s throat, but held it still while she explored it with her tongue.

The novelty of having a hot, throbbing penis in her mouth was not lost on Lucy. The warmth it radiated; the texture – intriguing. Swirling her tongue, round and about, Lucy could taste a salty-sweet flavour around the opening.

Without faltering, her hips continued to rock and heave, almost as if on autopilot, sticky, slick juices slathering the invading erection. And she could feel it accelerating – gathering momentum for the final push. Holding the other gently in her mouth, Lucy drew back for an instant, then slammed her hips forward to meet the ultimate thrust. Pubic hairs entwined, she could actually feel the cum spraying against her cervix. The sensation was unbelievably intense, and echoes of her previous orgasm bounced about her fundament like errant skyrockets. After a couple more jabs, her partner hauled himself off.

The ensuing emptiness left a demanding ache in her groin, and without a thought Lucy turned her face to push herself deeper onto the cock in her mouth. She was being consumed with excess, she had to have more – had to have it all. Pushing onto the rock-hard shaft, squeezing her inner cheeks against its invading firmness, Lucy felt, like a blind man, with her tongue sweeping around the glans before pulling back to poke at the slit at the tip. She couldn’t believe what she was doing – neither could the owner of the tool.




Spoils Ch. 01



“My, gawd. She’s a natural,” he breathed, as she raised herself onto one elbow and forced herself back down the fleshy post. Caught up in some kind of sexual frenzy, Lucy scrambled to control her gag reflex as she bumped the back of her throat up against the swollen end. Then, taking a deep, snuffling breath as she pulled back a smidgeon, she began bobbing energetically against the rigid, throbbing beast. Someone else was trying to mount her, pushing back on her shoulders in order to line himself up with her slick blossom. Lucy grabbed at her felatee’s hips, pulling him back down onto the mattress with her, holding him tight in her throat.

Her wantonness shocked her. Where had this person, this slut been living? She had never felt this way in her life; she’d never done or even dreamed about anything like this. Where had it come from? And was it permanent?

Her two partners fell into a complementary rhythm. Taking it from both ends, Lucy felt parts of her she barely knew existed becoming inflamed with wild, carnal arousal. It occurred to her, in that separate part of her mind that could remain objective and uninvolved, that this wasn’t really so much about desire as it was about craving; the sudden need she felt had little to do with anything she ever thought she wanted; no, this was much more to do with obsession.

Lucy could feel another orgasm building – sparks flickering not only in her box, but in her head. Stretching her lips, she pushed herself harder and deeper against the throbbing piece that threatened to choke her, but, every extra centimetre of meat she took into her throat stoked that peculiar fire that was smoldering somewhere – some non-specific-where. She couldn’t determine whether the epicentre was in her head, or her gut, or her crotch. She just knew that something was going to blow, and blow soon.

The cock in her mouth began to swell even more. Its twitching became frenetic. Pulling at the sweating hips, Lucy jammed against the crotch until she could feel the wiry hair tickling her nose, and felt swollen plum jerk and shudder deep, deep in her virgin throat. The violent ejaculation threw her over the edge. Gulping and swallowing the jetted load, she hissed through her nose, flopping about in uncontrollable paroxysms. Convulsive tremours running through her vagina detonated yet another orgasm, as the man atop her threw back his head and yelled in ecstatic triumph as he pumped jet upon jet of semen into the younger visitor. Echoes of the three mutual climaxes rattled and pummeled each of them, until they collapsed into a heap of quivering, shimmering flesh.

As the two men disentangled themselves, another couple, impatient to be part of the spectacle, pushed into position. “Hold it, now,” demanded a deep voice, its authority undeniable. Lucy opened her eyes and stared. She didn’t know who he was – just another one of ‘them’ she thought, but he leaned over her, and, right in her face, asked in a low voice, “You okay? Need a break?”

He may have well have been speaking another language, his accent notwithstanding. Lucy’s stare, eying him like he was crazy, was unsettling. The room went quiet, under the blaring stereo. Everyone, it seemed, was holding their collective breath. Finally Lucy blinked, and licked her lips. “’I’m okay,” she whispered. Inside she was screaming, “Are you crazy!? Don’t stop now! You can’t stop now!” but outside, she simply blinked again drew a heavy breath. The room, too, drew its breath and let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay,” Lucy, breathed again, as the next jockey mounted her, taking a moment to line up with her soggy vee, before stabbing himself balls-deep into the most luscious young crumpet he had ever seen. “’Nothing to fear,’ they said,” Lucy thought, ironically, as she arched her back, pushing her drooling cunt up to welcome this next conquistador. “Fear? Fear? What’s that?” She’d definitely left the rollercoaster now, and was soaring, carefree, above the park.

Another, older teammate grabbed Lucy’s torso and swung her around so that her head hung over the edge of the bed, causing the young fellow, already threaded, to shuffle about in order to stay inserted. The guy at her head fed her his not insignificant root, which she gobbled up eagerly, grabbing his butt and pulling until his balls swung against her nose. “Ahh,” he sighed expressing his satisfaction at the depth of her felatio before beginning to gently fuck her face. Suddenly he called over his shoulder, “’Ere, lookit this. Duncan’s lost it. His pupils have dilated.” Duncan, the young fellow pumping steadily into Lucy’s velvet box, shook himself out of his reverie at the mention of his name.

While his teammate bopped away at Lucy’s face, Duncan showed remarkable control. His strokes were long and deliberate. Reaching down to maul Lucy’s tits, Duncan luxuriated in their softness, incorporating little pinches and flicks at her nipples, he squeezed and kneaded her breasts, while gritting his teeth to keep from coming in her quivering box. Finally his teammate let out a deep growl, fired a load deep into Lucy’s gullet, then slowly pulled out, and as he did, Duncan leaned forward to place his lips on Lucy’s. “You are the absolute living end,” he hissed, pressing his lips against hers and pinching her nipples for emphasis. “I’ve never met anyone so wonderful!”

Duncan could feel the quivers and shivers running over the glistening body beneath him. Even Lucy was surprised at the effect of those words. Her lips trembled under his kiss, and her vagina shuddered and grasp convulsively. He could feel her nails digging into his back as she pulled him hard against her, mashing him into her open mouth and snaking her tongue around his. As white lights flashed behind Duncan’s eyes, Lucy’s eyes rolled back in her head. Explosions of intensity arced between them, as an almost visible aura of lust pulsated around them.

The initial muscle spasms of her climax snapped Lucy rigid, her back arched, her legs out straight, and her vagina gripped Duncan so tight he couldn’t have withdrawn, even if he wanted to. But the vice-like grip on his inflamed rod simply threw the switch on his climax. Erupting in a torrent, he shook and pulsed in her grip, wallowing in the clutches of those warm inner walls, until they loosened their hold, to quaver and milk his hardness with a repetitive squeeze-and-release.

“Get on with it, lad,” laughed a teammate at his side, giving him a shove.

Duncan opened his eyes, to find Lucy’s eyes open, too. Their lips were still joined. “That was fabulous!” he breathed into her mouth.

“Yesss,” she breathed back.

Then he rolled off and was quickly replaced. Someone had already fed her another fully developed tube steak. Duncan shook his head, but Lucy had no time to muse. How long she stayed on her back, fucking and sucking, she didn’t know, but eventually she figured she must be pretty close to having done everyone.

Still there was new ground to cover. Someone flipped her onto her knees. Doggy-style, she discovered, allowed stimulation not achieved in missionary position. Furthermore, being up on all-fours gave her much more leverage, allowed her to be even more active. Savagely deep-throating one member, she could heave on his buttocks while slamming her ass fully back onto the lance in her snatch. Screaming around a mouthful of dick, Lucy discovered G-spot orgasms – repeatedly. Sliding off the cot, Lucy snuffled at a body now supine on the mattress and gobbled him whole, while some anonymous erection speared her weeping cunt, pounding her buttocks and forcing the cock in her mouth tonsil-deep. She had lost count of the number of orgasms she’d had, the loads of cum she’d swallowed, or the shots of jism dripping from her twat. She felt absolutely depraved, but, at the same time, more alive than she’d ever been. While her afternoon had begun, she recalled vaguely, as something of a nightmare – hard to believe she had basically been a virgin once removed – here she was, overcome by raw lust and loving every moment of it.

At one point she was literally thrown back onto the bed, someone straddled her chest, stabbing his swollen prick between her lips. And while he sawed in and out of her mouth, she felt her legs being spread and was rewarded with lips and a tongue kissing at her puffy vulva and laving her slit. With long strokes the tongue ran from the rosebud of her anus up to circle her clitoris. Time after time it stroked from stem to stern without actually touching her engorged clit. At the bottom of its run, it even poked her in the ass a couple of times, swirling and prodding, pushing natural lubricants almost into her rectum. “Most peculiar,” Lucy thought, “but not unpleasant.”

Finally, just has the cock in her face fed her its protein-rich power drink, the anonymous tongue at her gash reached up and flicked her clit. Lucy bounced and bucked after it, trying in vain to find the aggravating appendage. As the tongue returned, Lucy felt a finger tip press against her anus. She would have thought it odd, as the digit forced its way past her sphincter muscle to lodge knuckle-deep in her rectum, but the flickering at her clit possessed all her attention. As the orgasm exploded deep in her core, tentacles of sensation raced up her spine to drown out thought, and a tsumani of electricity rolled through her buttocks causing her to heave and bounce and shudder, forcing the invading finger deep into her butt. As she settled back to earth, the removal of the cheeky digit left yet another odd emptiness. But the luscious lips and teasing tongue were quickly replaced by a rampant, thrusting dick before she could consider anything else.

But, eventually, even the young get fatigued, and the marathon was starting to take its toll. Crouched on all-fours, carpet-burn on her knees, only a pumping cock in her mouth keeping her head up, Lucy felt she must be nearing the end of her ‘ordeal’. She was suddenly so exhausted, she felt she was going to pass out. She just wanted to collapse. “After all,” she mumbled around the thrusting meat, her inaudible words vibrating enticingly against the turgid flesh, “I’ve sucked and fucked so many cocks, I’ve lost count, but I must have done the whole team by now.” Some part of her psyche was still surprised at the ease with which such obscenity rolled from her tongue, not that anyone heard. And, in fact, she was deep into the second round – the boys now delighting in sloppy seconds and thirds. Rocking forward, her vagina empty for the moment, Lucy slurped noisily on yet another anonymous piece of meat – her eyes closed, puffing through her nose, exhaustion threatening to floor her.

The owner of her current fleshy lollipop leaned over a said in a soft voice, “Aye, you’re such a marvelous lass. I’m thinking my soldier would just love to explore your dark side. What do you say to that?” His remark just barely penetrated her swirling miasma, and she paused mid-stroke, opening one eye, to peer questioningly at him from beneath the raised brow.

“Can I put me laddie up your bum?”

Lucy was too enervated to be shocked. She just let his bobbing erection slip from her mouth as her head fell to her arms on the floor between his knees, a weary sigh of resignation her only reply. Her ass remained raised – indeed, as her chest fell, it became prominent – and her partner, considering her move tacit permission, shuffled agilely around to her proffered buttocks. Pulling a handful of ‘natural lubricant’ from her well-used cunt, the excited fellow smeared it over Lucy’s anus, briefly shoving his slick thumb through her tight sphincter, before lining his once more rampant member up with her rosebud.

Threading himself carefully but insistently into her rectum, her sodomizer moaned hungrily. “Owww!” Lucy was surprised, and a little indignant at how much it initially hurt, but she was just too tired to protest much. And a funny thought struck her. “Another taboo bites the dust,” she clucked, “O-my-God!” Even through her bone-weariness, could feel a warm tingling in her genitals, sitting just at the edge of perception, just beyond the pain. Somehow, she knew it would be all right. And sure enough the soreness just seemed to evaporate. Barely able to react, Lucy could feel the rod growing in her bowels; feel the slapping of hips against her ass. She could hear the puffing and panting of the man behind her – in her. He was having a bit of a time of it – being, in fact his third go ‘round – but she just hadn’t the energy to help. With her head on her folded arms, all she could do was rock on her knees, and wait until he came, eventually spurting and throbbing into her back passage.

Two others stepped up to try it too, but Lucy was becoming numb. She hardly felt the prick up her bum, indeed, could barely even acknowledge the one cock presented to her lips. At least the two of them carried the rhythm together; she didn’t really have to do anything except swirl her tongue. When they were finally done, Lucy was momentarily left alone. She was the only one flagging.

“Hey, Torin,” called a voice, breaking into her exhausted trance, “you lie down over here.” Lucy could feel hands lifting her and placing her over someone’s, apparently Torin’s, supine body. Her eyes opened, suddenly wide, as she felt herself being lowered onto yet another straining erection. This was different, again, and, like an energizing second wind – more like twenty-second wind – her fatigue fell away. The boys, holding her up like a rag doll, hadn’t yet detected her curious recovery. “Hold her shoulders, will you, Jimmy, while I thread this lovely arse.” Lucy recognized the voice as Aiden’s. She felt his thick manhood press insistently at her rear door, pushing at the doorstep until, with an audible groan from Aiden and an exhaled whoosh from Lucy, it forced its way past the rubbery guard. Settling fully onto Torin, Lucy pushed herself back onto Aiden’s soldier. She had to admit to herself, she loved being so very full. “So who wants to take the last port?” Aiden asked. “How ‘bout it, Duncan? You gotta be good for one more.”

Able to focus again, Lucy watched as Duncan, the youngster of the group, shuffled up in front of her, looking almost embarrassed. Lucy gazed up into his face and smiled her warmest, most welcoming smile, before leaning into his crotch to kiss his rapidly rising dick. Hesitating a moment, she raised her eyes once again, and surprised them both by giving him a mischievous wink. With that, he pushed his hips ahead to meet her succulent lips as they slipped over his glans and formed to his shaft – stiffening even further as he slid it home.

Once everyone was in place, as it were, they searched for, and surprisingly quickly, found a mutually satisfactory rhythm. With hands at her head and hips, her hands clasping Duncan’s butt, Aiden and Duncan helped Lucy keep the beat. Rocking and rising, up and down, forward and back, Lucy slurped Duncan deep into her throat before heaving her ass back onto Aiden and settling her pussy fully over Torin. Grabbing her swinging breasts, Torin supported their weight in his hands while he manipulated her nipples maddeningly. He lifted his head to nibble at them, then, dropping back, twisted and squeezed the soft, spongy tits relentlessly.

Amazingly, Lucy could feel the pre-ignition sequence firing up in her launch control, yet again. Pushing back to fill her rectum with Aiden’s massive prick, she squirmed down solidly onto Torin, trying to engulf not only his ramrod cock, but his entire pubic region, indeed, his very sexuality, of which he had, she noted with some family pride, an abundance. Still, she wasn’t about to let her gloriously filled bottom deprive her of her meat-sicle, so she pulled Duncan back with her, holding his dick firmly in her mouth, as she did. So violent was her pull, however, Duncan momentarily lost his balance and in falling forward, over Lucy’s head he managed to jam himself deeper than he thought possible. Lucy sputtered and snorted but did not let go. She reveled in the feel of Duncan’s throbbing plum, stretching and opening her larynx, even as Aiden was thrust in so deep she could feel his pubic hairs scraping and rubbing the inside of her anus, while Torin bumped and prodded her cervix.

It amazed her that she hardly even gagged on the colossal sausage pushing past her tonsils. “Hmmmph,” Lucy snorted around Duncan, as he slowly resumed pistoning his penis, in and out of her mouth. “Six hours ago,” she thought, somehow able, amidst all the sweat and lust, to carry on a calm conversation with herself, “Jeez, is that all? – well, maybe eight at the outside – it feels like a goddam lifetime – in any case, short hours ago, I’d never even had a cock in my mouth. Now look at me.” Pausing to concentrate on the growing sensations inundating her body, she concluded sagely, “Didn’t know what I was missing.”

Lucy continued bouncing her bottom and sucking in her cheeks – in her own world – seemingly oblivious of her partners; yet, she was keenly aware of their arousal, both separately and collectively, and she could feel them, each of them getting closer. Deciphering their individual shudders and tremours, the quivers and jerks of each of the members, sheen of sweat and temperature of skin, she somehow knew with absolute certainty how close each of the boys was. And with some innate skill, borne of this astonishing metamorphosis, Lucy knew what to do to bring each of them, herself included, along at just the right speed. Somewhere deep in her soul, the mother of all climaxes was kindling within her even now, but she put that aside, for the time being, to concentrate on her current subjects – all three of them.

Letting him loose for a moment, Lucy drew Duncan slowly back into her mouth, squeezing him with her inner cheeks, as she stroked the underside of his helmet with her tongue, pushing him inexorably into her throat. Duncan moaned and writhed, his hands over her ears, unable to decide whether he wanted to push her off or pull her deeper – as if that were possible. Meanwhile, squirming and twisting, lifting and plunging, Lucy worked her magic on Torin, strengthening her vaginal grip on his tool with every plunge. And all the while Lucy found that she could grasp with her anal sphincter and squeeze with her rectal muscles, holding Aiden tight while she pulled away, stretching his rigid tool, then releasing it as she plunged back to swallow it whole. Her talent delighted everyone, including all those still spectating. A little squeeze here, an extra caress there, Lucy was playing their mutual crescendo like a maestro.

At last, though, she felt pressures within herself going critical. Throwing every ounce of energy into her frenzied dance, Lucy brought her tableau to the edge, held them for just a moment, then let herself go. The orgasmic spasms that jolted her body were visible to all, and were indeed the triggering convulsions that set off all three of the lads as one. Their roars sounded like feeding time in the zoo, and the simultaneous eruptions from their pulsing peckers, flooded Lucy’s body. The feel of scalding nectar splashing both bowels and womb, and the hot syrup spattering her gullet, enflamed her senses, pushing her climax out beyond the bounds of the imaginable.

Lucy could no longer support herself. Falling forward in a swoon, she dropped Duncan’s still drooling tool from her slack jaw, and pulled off Aiden, before tumbling sideways half on and half off Torin. She barely noticed his persistent hardness slipping out of her box. Silence engulfed the scene. Even the stereo had gone off. Then, softly, loathe to break the reverential silence, Maggie said, “Oh my God, are you people still at it?” Moving swiftly to Lucy she touched her cheek. “Oh, my god,” she repeated, “My poor girl. Are you okay?” Lucy, still only semi-conscious, faint with over-exertion and over-stimulation, managed to flutter her eyes and smile. An inarticulate sigh was her only response, but it was a sigh of complete satisfaction – total contentment.




Spoils Ch. 02



© 2003 Jazz E.

This is part 2 of a 3 part story.

Maggie had worried the whole afternoon and evening, and would have come home much, much earlier, had the rest of the ladies only let her. So she and the girls had only just arrived, just in time to witness the massive quadruple climax erupt to the astonishment and delight of the whole libertine team. It was, she had to admit, impressive by anyone’s standards, and she stood, astounded by the vitality of the whole tableau, until it slowly collapsed in front of her. Men and women alike, everyone present seemed awed by the spectacle. No one said a word. Once again, as Maggie stared at the limp figure, sticky with sweat and cum, looking impossibly delicate and petite, entangled there amongst the three hulking brutes, she wondered what she had done. Guilt and fear, and perhaps, some feeling of unfulfilled responsibility, rose to finally move Maggie to action. With nary a word to anyone – including Torin, who still lay, unmoving, half under the insensate sylph – Maggie scooped Lucy’s limp body into her arms and carried her to the bathroom, where she set about running a tub, replete with bath oil and bubbles.

Lucy could feel herself being placed gently in the bath. The hot water felt good on her tired body, and the caresses of soapy cloth were soothing. Through slitted eyes she watched as Maggie clucked and cooed concern over her, but the descent from her final climax had drained her of emotion. Her rollercoaster seemed, once again, grounded. “Where were you, when the whole frigging team was pawing me? Where were you when the rape began?” she thought to herself. No, at that moment, anyway, she wasn’t going to let herself like this woman.

“Thanks, Luv, for being such a sport,” Maggie, whispered. Finally, sitting on the floor next to the tub, she stopped her scrubbing, and let her hands dangle over the edge. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“You knew what was going to happen,” Lucy accused, the extent of Maggie’s complicity suddenly obvious. “You set me up, didn’t you?”

“That we did,” Maggie admitted, ruefully. Then in a rush she added, plaintively, “and I’m so sorry!” Her hand moved to Lucy’s shoulder and stroked tenderly, “So very sorry!”

“But it was a conspiracy.” Lucy observed, flabbergasted, “How could you?” She paused, looking at Maggie, distress flushing her sweet face. “You presented me to them! A sacrifice! Spoils to the victor!” Lucy could feel her blood beginning to boil. Her shoulders stiffened and she sat upright in the tub, her eyes piercing the figure beside her. She had put herself at the mercy of strangers and was torn with rage at her violation – rage and disgust – and disgust with herself for her own strange collusion. Maggie cowered visibly, fixed beneath Lucy’s cold stare, but, as quickly as it rose, vehemence colouring scarlet Lucy’s face and chest, the anger dissipated. Maggie watched in wonder as Lucy’s shoulders relaxed again, and her bright red blush faded back to the pink of content. Slowly Lucy settled back into the tub, her eyes going distant for the moment. “Collusion…” she let the last word of her inner tirade echo in the air. “Complicity. Consent.” Lucy began to ponder her own participation, for hadn’t she, in effect – no, actually – allowed it. Sure they had coerced her to start; pressured her to let them have their way, but in the end it was she who had acquiesced. She had become an active party to her own ravishment, her own degradation. Not only that, but with incredible speed and aplomb.

Maggie watched in wonder at the marvelous and frightening changes washing over the pretty visage, lying there, considering. And she was very much relieved once the awesome, silent anger had past. Under Maggie’s troubled gaze Lucy’s eyes fell closed, and her breathing calmed, her heaving chest almost stilled. Then, more amazing yet, Maggie observed a smile, not a mean smile, or a vengeful smile, but a genuinely contented smile settle on Lucy’s innocent face, igniting some hitherto unknown maternal feelings in Maggie. She gazed affectionately at the peacefully sleeping figure, and wondered if she had not just blown a chance at a great friendship, perhaps even a sister-ship.

But Lucy wasn’t sleeping; she was just reliving her ‘active participation.’ Surely if collusion led to pleasure, why should there be disgust? Surprise, maybe, but disgust? And what superb pleasures they had been. If, indeed, she had been caught in an unsavoury contrivance, weren’t the results worth it? Yes, yes they were, dammit. The smile on her face grew. “So,” she whispered to the air, forgetting for the moment, that Maggie sat silently beside her, “perhaps the ends do sometimes justify the means.”

“Appropo what?” Maggie wondered, puzzled at the sleepily whispered remark. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, staring at the peaceful girl before her, then began. “Please, let me explain,” Maggie whispered, her hands fluttering uselessly over Lucy. At first she thought there was no response at all, but then Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and her hand gently reached up and took Maggie’s in its wet grip, holding it gently, and reassuringly.

“Okay,” Lucy whispered, “go on.”

“Well,” Maggie began, clearing her throat, her voice small and unsure, “I guess it all started a few years ago when the lads, quite unexpectedly, won the championship.” She laughed at the memory. “They were deliriously happy and, afterwards, congregating at the pub, as was their habit, they hatched this absurd idea. You know how it goes, ‘To the victor, the spoils’ they shouted to one another; ‘All for one and one for all,’ and all that kind of nonsense. But they were all wound up and excited. They were high on victory and getting higher on beer. So, I guess,” Lucy could feel Maggie shrug, “like men everywhere, somewhere in all that, their fantasies turned to sex.

“In any case, they all came tumbling back to us waiting girls and wives – we’d skipped the pub to prepare a wee victory party, as it were – and announced that they had decided, ‘In honour of our win…’ that they were going to share a woman for the afternoon. ‘Geroff it!’ we all said. ‘Don’t be daft! And who’d you think that woman might be?’ We laughed and tried to change the subject, but they, each of them, insisted they were serious. ‘Dead serious!’ one of them said. ‘Fucking serious,’ said another, and nobody laughed.” Maggie allowed herself a little chuckle then, recalling their reaction.

“Well, we were shocked, of course; but there was no changing their minds. They were adamant. ‘This act of sacrifice’ they proclaimed, ‘is absolutely necessary – for the good of the team.’ We stood, mouths agape as they went on and on. ‘One of the team-members, one of us’ Jimmy announced, indicating the assembled players, ‘will give up his exclusivity,’ and he gestured to the bunch of us girls, standing in disbelief, ‘for the afternoon – for the good of the team.’ The men loudly cheered their assent, as we girls just looked at one another incredulously.

Maggie smiled affectionately down at Lucy, who, now interested in this remarkable history, had opened her eyes. She returned the smile, and squeezed Maggie’s hand encouragingly. Maggie, licked her lips to go on. She had never told this story to anyone before. Out loud it sounded rather far-fetched, still, she continued. “This is Scotland, of course, so, in their usual chauvinistic way, they didn’t even consider what we would want. They just set about deciding how to ‘fairly choose’ their odalisque. In the end, they drew a name from a hat; ‘Monica,’ they announced, quite pleased with themselves. Monica was Stewart’s girlfriend at the time; they’ve since gotten married and moved away. At the sound of her name, she just looked at us, smiled, shrugged and, to our utter shock and surprise, turned to join the lads. I think, deep down, they were all just as surprised, but they covered it well with their loud bravado.

“’Go down to the pub, you lot,’ Aiden commanded, ‘and give us a few hours.’ So we did. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of their hair-brained scheme if we’d just refused to go – or if they hadn’t drawn Monica first; but, being young and adventurous, she was a player, so we just all left. When we all got back, almost two hours later, Monica was lying there on the couch, under a sheet, with a shit-eating look of complete contentment on her face. Stewart was sitting at her head, stroking her hair and cooing like a proud father. And it was such a success in their eyes that they decided next season they’d celebrate every win that way, not just championships. ‘Share the abundance!’ they declared. ‘Pshaw!’ we retorted, ‘Not bloody likely!’”

“What about Torin?” Lucy asked.

“Oh. He loved it, of course!”

Puzzled, Lucy pushed further. “Weren’t you jealous?”

“Well,” Maggie paused to recollect, “I felt a bit awkward, at first, but he was so happy and loving and grateful, like we had given them this wonderful gift.” She laughed at the thought of it, then, serious again, went on.

“But you know, when they handily won the first game of the next season, they simply drew a name, like there was nothing for it. Marianne, I think it was; and she followed them willingly. After that, well, I guess it was our female pride that kept the ball rolling. None of us wanted to be the first to balk. So we just went along, until, eventually we were all drawn. We’ve all had our turns, some more than others – it’s just part of the game, now.”

“And you?” now quite alert, Lucy watched Maggie’s face carefully, “What did you think of it?”

“Oh, it was strange the first time, let me tell you. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t been with another man in years, and here I was about to gang-banged. Yes, it was exceedingly strange.” She looked up and smiled. “Strange, yes, but really not too bad, once we got going. Good, in fact, really good.” She laughed, ruefully. “I don’t know if I’d want it as a steady diet, but I’ve very much enjoyed my turns ‘under the prick’, as we say.” Maggie could see Lucy formulating another question so she answered it before it was spoken. “Ah, then, Torin is really just like the other lads. They are so proud when it’s their girl’s turn. And afterwards, he fusses about like an expectant father. It’s really quite odd, but quite cute.” She stopped for a moment, in thought. “No, he’s never jealous – none of them are – just very proud.”

“What about…?”

“Oh, other than this, what would you say, anomaly, we’re all pretty much monogamous. I mean, there’s risks in everything, don’t you think?”

Lucy nodded, then waited silently to see if there was more. “The new guys on the team,” Maggie continued, “they’re just bowled over. ‘I’d heard rumours of a tradition,’ they would say, ‘but, I never….’ Only one person ever objected. He was a bit of a poofter, I suspect. But that was all. He just left us alone – left the team.”

“You know,” Maggie remarked, after a long pause, “up until three weeks ago, they’d only lost one game since then. Sexual incentives do wonders for tournaments of testosterone. But then they lost two games in a row, and just about that time, we heard that you were coming.” Maggie stopped, her eyes filled with guilt and embarrassment. She stumbled a bit before proceeding. “We figured maybe they needed ‘fresh meat’. Oh, that’s awful, isn’t it? What with you lying here and all. I’m so sorry.”

Lucy watched Maggie’s eyes damp up, and squeezed her hand consolingly. “S’okay,” she whispered compassionately. “All’s well that end’s well.”

“This had been planned for over a week,” Maggie continued with a wry smile, “before ever I laid eyes on you.” Maggie clasped her other hand over Lucy’s and gave a heartfelt squeeze, “you sweet thing.”

Gazing into Maggie’s eyes, Lucy became confused, yet again. She couldn’t understand the love and warmth she felt for this woman – this woman – this procurer. After all, she had arranged and delivered Lucy into a perverse, ritualistic ravaging. Still, Lucy couldn’t help but like her. It was baffling.

Running a finger lightly across Lucy’s cheek, Maggie continued, “When we knew you were coming, we – the girls – decided to offer you, as a surprise, to the lads.” She stopped and bit her lip, then went on, “I know it was a bit unfair of us.” An sort of bitter laugh caught in her throat. She paused, regaining her composure. “A bit unfair? Totally unfair – but when the idea came up, on our ladies’ night, last week, over a few pints, it just seemed like harmless fun. I guess we’re all so used to it – somehow, we didn’t stop to think about you – a real person.” She shrugged helplessly. “Unforgivable! How could we – how could I have taken such scandalous advantage of you, arriving here all bright and trusting and eager for adventure. Hmmph!” she snorted, “You certainly couldn’t have expected this!” Lucy shook her head slowly, her stunned gaze still fixed on Maggie’s teary eyes. Then Maggie smiled a sad little smile and added hopefully, “But you did enjoy it in the end, didn’t you?” Lucy stared wide-eyed at her hostess; surprised at the question, then, giving a slight, self-conscious nod, she whispered, barely audibly, “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Suddenly all business, Maggie declared, “We’d better get you out of there, before you turn into a prune.” While the bath had been rejuvenating, the conversation had been draining, and what with her physical exertions, Lucy remained almost inert as Maggie fussed about, lifting her nearly limp body from the tub, drying her off and powdering her, cooing and chattering the whole time. Finally, wrapping her in a big towel, Maggie helped Lucy, half-carrying her into the guest room. “You’ll sleep well tonight, anyway.”

“I doubt it,” Lucy thought to herself, her feelings still in a tumult. Notwithstanding, she fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillow. Waking in the morning, in the soft, cosy bed, Lucy felt rested and strong, if still awfully confused. Her mind was reeling at the recollection of the previous day’s activities. Still the jagged shock was blunted somewhat by remembered feelings of bliss. She didn’t know whether to be appalled, outraged, or self-satisfied. Such an unbelievable encounter. “No one back home,” she thought, “would ever believe it.” Awful or wonderful, it had definitely been an incredible experience. So, perhaps she should be appreciative, and let it go at that. She still didn’t know how to properly react, and the confusion left her muddled.

She could hear the rumble of earnest conversation in the kitchen, though it was mostly Maggie. She wondered what they were saying. “Although,” she pointed out to herself, “I can pretty well guess. Maggie feels guilty, and she’s trying to explain that to Torin.”

Slipping on a robe, Lucy padded into the kitchen, making sure they heard her approach. Torin looked a little subdued, and Maggie, standing over the stove, looked a little more flushed than the heat warranted, still they tried to behave normally – however that was. ‘G’morning,” Lucy mumbled, her part, at least, was easy.

“Good morning, my dear,” Maggie effused. “Did you sleep well?”

Lucy nodded, as Torin greeted her, “Morning, my lovely.” Lucy caught Maggie’s glare, even if Torin didn’t. There was an awkward silence as Lucy sat down and Maggie served her breakfast, then Torin jumped right in. “Well, Cuz,” he said, “I must say, you were a real hit.” He smiled a sort of goofy, what-can-I-say sort of smile. “Everyone was very impressed with my Canadian Cousin. Not just a few of them would like to have a go with you before you leave. I mean if you wanted.”

“Torin!” Maggie scolded, “Stop that!”

Lucy stared intently at her plate. Strangely, the lewd suggestion, while completely inappropriate to common etiquette, was not half as offensive as she would have thought. She found herself thinking it was almost tempting – but the very consideration scared her for some reason. “How long are you staying?” Torin asked; but Lucy felt there was a sort of false innocence in the question.

She was visibly perturbed. While her stay there had initially been open-ended, she replied, “I was only planning on staying one night.” Her mind was whirling. “How can they act so normal? They act as though they hadn’t just raped me – hadn’t just subjected me to a huge gang-bang. Then again, who would believe that it was rape? Was it really rape?” Lucy recalled being so bewildered that she’d wanted to go on autopilot, but she hadn’t, had she? “I suppose it wasn’t really obvious that my participation was secured under duress.” Then she realized that even that was only partially true. And, in the end, she had actually been more than willing, even if somewhat overwhelmed. A smile unconsciously settled on her lips, as she recalled the towering pinnacles of pleasure she had ascended “I did,” she reminded herself, “have more than a few fantastic orgasms.” How could she hold against these people what she had really, in the final analysis, enjoyed so much? She couldn’t find an answer, as she picked away at her food. Surely there was something horribly wrong with this picture but she wasn’t sure what it was.

Maggie sat down next to Lucy, and placed a warm hand over hers. Patting it she said, “I understand, dearie. We went ‘way too far. I don’t know what we were thinking. I just hope one day you can forgive us.” Lucy looked into Maggie’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and affection. How could she not forgive this woman – eventually.

Trying to lighten things up, as men are wont to do, Torin added brightly, “Mind you, you’ve certainly got all the single lads in your thrall.” He chuckled at the thought that she had not half of the married blokes enthralled, too, if she wanted them. “They’d do anything for you.”

“Shush!” Maggie scolded again.

“For another piece of me, you mean,” Lucy added under her breath. But it wasn’t bitterness, more puzzling aloud. She looked around, the faces of her cousin and his wife watching her, the memories of the previous evening and all its players, apparitions gliding across her mind. “What’s happening here?” she wondered. “Has there been some kind of a shift? Am I really in control here – now?” Time enough to think about that. She stood to excuse herself from the table and went back to her little room to dress and pack and consider.

Lucy heard a noise at the outside door, heralding the arrival of someone. She hesitated, steeling herself, then waltzed back into the kitchen with a confidence she didn’t feel. As she entered, Duncan, the youngest of the team-members from the night before popped out of his seat like a Jack-in-the-box, and sputtered his greetings. “Uh, hallo, er – Lucy. Nice to see you again!”

His stumbling discomfiture brought a smile to Lucy’s face as she replied, “Hello…”

“Duncan,” he quickly supplied, giving an almost half bow. “Duncan McKay. We met last night. I was…”

Lucy laughed inside, but rescued him by extending her hand and saying, “Nice to see you, Duncan. How are you?” just as if he hadn’t been part of the previous night’s orgy.

“Oh,” he said, shaking his head, while pumping her hand, “Ooh, couldna be better.” He looked into her eyes with such longing, Lucy almost had to turn away, but she held, suddenly realizing where the power of this meeting currently rested. Dropping her hand, Duncan lowered his eyes and mumbled, “You were fantastic, last night.” Then lifting his head to look into her face again, he said with palpable disappointment, “Torin says you’ll be leaving today. There’s a pity. I was hopin’ we might…, I mean I thought we could….” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant.

“Funny,” Lucy thought, “given all that they said and did last night.” She flashed him another warm smile, thinking, “Poor guy is completely tongue-tied.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Maggie take Torin by the hand and lead him out of the room. She could just imagine her clucking, leave the young ones alone. Lucy could feel the power Duncan was conferring on her, and, she realized, she quite liked it. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder, “but I’m trying to get to Aberdeen today.”




Spoils Ch. 02



“Oh, that’s a real shame,” Duncan complained. “I’d really love to…” He got stuck again, and looked forlornly at Lucy, who leaned forward in anticipation, as if she couldn’t guess what he was trying to say. He tried once more. “I’d really love to – er – have another – er – spend some time with you. Know what I mean?”

At any other time, Lucy would have been repulsed and insulted, but now she felt rather proud, and flattered, so she took charge of the conversation. Lowering her voice a little, she asked, mischievously, “D’you mean you’d like to fuck me again, Duncan?” His wide-eyed energetically nodded mute response amused her. Then, somewhere in the back of her mind, a small light bulb flared up. Before she consciously realized what she was doing, she said coyly, “Okay. Give me a ride to Aberdeen, and we can have sex – again.” Smiling benignly, she added, “If that’s what you really want.”

Duncan almost peed himself, he was so surprised, but he recovered fairly quickly. “Right, then,” he said breathlessly. “When d’you want to leave? We can stop at my flat, if you like, before we get onto the motorway.”

While her feelings may have been tumultuously confused, the overriding emotion Lucy felt was one of glee. “My bag’s in there,” she said indicating the little bedroom. “Just let me say good-bye to Maggie and Torin.” As Duncan disappeared after her bag, Lucy headed for the living room.

“Duncan’s driving me to Aberdeen,” she announced. The atmosphere was noticeably strained, and Lucy considered the strange circumstances. She wasn’t sure whether to thank them for their hospitality, or bid them good-riddance.

Torin stood and extended his hand. “It was wonderful to meet you, Lucy,” he said wistfully, not completely unaware of Lucy’s inner distraction. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer.” Dropping her hand, he leaned forward and gave her a warm, brotherly hug. Lucy could tell he wanted to say more, but knew not what to say. She couldn’t help him there. Her emotions swirled as she returned his hug in kind.

Clasping Lucy’s hands between her own, Maggie looked searchingly into Lucy’s eyes. She believed she could almost see the moral quandary raging in the sweet young traveler. “Good bye,” she said quietly. “God be with you.” Leaning into Lucy, Maggie looped an arm around her waist and planted a chaste but meaningful kiss on Lucy’s cheek.

Lucy felt a pang. She liked Maggie, despite everything, and would have liked to stay longer and really get to know her. “Maybe another time,” she whispered, more to herself.

Maggie nodded, softly agreeing, “Maybe.”

Gently releasing herself from Maggie’s embrace, Lucy whispered, “Bye,” and, with a peck at Maggie’s cheek, she turned to join Duncan at the front door. Her tummy was all a-flutter with the realization of what she was about to do. “Bye,” she called again, over her shoulder, then, not exactly sure what she meant, she added, “Thanks for everything!” as she took Duncan by the hand and raced out to his car.

After opening her door for her and getting her seated, Duncan shot off like the legendary Le Mans start, jumping into place and spinning his tires as he took off. “We’ll just stop at my flat, okay?” he asked, as if still not believing his good fortune.

“Of course,” Lucy tittered. “That’s part of the deal.” She felt as light and giddy as a schoolgirl on a first date. There was a sense of the surreal as Duncan careened across the countryside and into town, to pull up in front of a neat little council-house. Curiously, Lucy noted that her panties were damp. They hadn’t been when she’d left Maggie. Her reaction fueled her anticipation and in detecting the dampness, exacerbated it. If she wasn’t careful, the wet spot would show on her jeans before she even got inside. “Oooooh,” she trilled, quietly, as Duncan raced around to open her door, “What a strange whirligig I’ve managed to find.” Her head was swimming with possibilities and outcomes. Just where she was headed she wasn’t sure, but it seemed certain she was picking up speed. Feeling terribly evil, yet delightfully mischievous, Lucy skipped up the stoop and through the opened doorway. Spinning about the entrance, holding her hands out like a pleased child, she giggled and said, “Well? Where do you want me?”

Duncan’s look dripped with lust and self-satisfaction. After all, wasn’t he about to get a dessert his mates might well kill for? As he pointed toward the bedroom, Lucy threw her arms around him and pulled him hard into her, crushing her tits against his chest, and her lips on his. “How ‘bout right here?” she asked innocently, when he broke for a breath, and she began peeling his shirt from his shoulders. Dropping to her knees right there in the hall, she tugged on his zipper, while pulling out his shirt-tails. Recovering his already turgid penis from his shorts she kissed the tip, then, holding it for a moment, she raised her eyes to his face, batting them ever so slightly. A very slight moan escaped his gaping mouth, as he stared down at this sumptuous vixen. The moment their eyes clashed Lucy slowly and deliberately pushed her mouth over the end of his prick and kept on pushing until it had vanished from his sight. Holding him deep, for a long moment, she gently started to bob up and down the swollen manhood, laving it with her tongue. Moving her hands up under his shirt, she ran them across his chest to dance her fingertips over his nipples. She could feel him trembling at the abrupt escalation of his already inflamed ardour; he wouldn’t last long at this rate. Stilling her fingers and pulling back until only the tip of her tongue stayed in contact with his throbbing and bouncing prick, she asked simply, “What do you want me to do?”

“Ah, ah,” he stuttered, and Lucy was thrilled to realize she was actually calling the shots – she, in fact, held all the power. “Ah, let’s get naked – on the bed, okay?”

“You’re the boss,” she replied, smug with the new understanding that he wasn’t at all.

Scrambling into the bedroom, hopping and tripping, Duncan, tore his remaining clothes from his body and fell to the bed. Lucy followed without his urgency, sashaying into the room removing articles of clothing as she sauntered. Standing next to the bed, she took her time with her bra and panties, turning the two flimsy undergarments into a full-fledged burlesque. Duncan watched, awestruck. It amazed Lucy that she could do it so well, as the only strippers she had ever seen were in a short choppy bar scene in some forgettable B-movie.

Finally naked, she climbed onto the bed next to Duncan, and proceeded to straddle his loins, lowering herself gracefully until she was fully impaled on his twitching erection. As she hit bottom, they moaned in unison. Duncan reached for her tits as she began pumping herself with her thighs. Off and on, on and off, up and down, down and up. Lucy would slow down and pause if she thought Duncan was getting too close, then she’d accelerate briefly just for the effect. She could feel an orgasm growing deep within – sparks flying every time Duncan pinched her nipples, or bumped her cervix with his soldier. Playing him like a fine instrument, Lucy expertly raised him to fever-pitch, then let him down, until, at long last she decided they’d had enough. With a huff and a puff, she suddenly began pogo-ing at high-speed, then sweeping the full-length of his impressive erection, she grazed her clit with the tip before plunging hard against his abdomen. Holding herself tight among his pubic hair Lucy threw her body forward and mashed her lips into his. Everything stopped for an instant, even, it seemed their hearts, then Duncan’s prick began pulsing and spewing, jerking against her inner walls as it spurted again and again. The first splash of semen against her hyper-sensitive womb set off a series of explosions that rocked the very foundations of Lucy’s soul. Her heart pounded and her eyes swam, her cunt wept, its copious juices flowing out into Duncan’s thatch. Pushing her tongue so far into Duncan’s mouth, Lucy threatened to choke him. Duncan could feel his cock, backed by his heaving hips, smashing over and over into the end of Lucy’s box. Eventually their writhing waned and they became still except for their heaving chests and quivering loins. And finally even they were still.

“Well,” Lucy chirped at last, hoisting herself onto one elbow, and smiling mischievously at the splayed, limp figure beside her. “Was that worth a drive to the coast?”

“Ohhhh,” he groaned histrionically, then, swinging his legs off the bed, he replied, his eyes twinkling, “That was worth ‘way more than that. The coast? The world!”

“Well, Aberdeen will be just fine, for now,” Lucy said, reaching down for her clothes. “…’way more than that, eh?” she pondered, filing that remark for future consideration. Aloud she said, “Well, I guess we’d better get going,” and she leaned over to give Duncan a kiss as she wandered off to locate the bathroom.

Hours later, as they buzzed along the motorway, Lucy could feel herself still glowing. There had been something special in that – that midday romp. “Oh, no,” she scolded herself, “this is not love, not even close.” She looked over at Duncan, concentrating on the road, or at least staring intently out the windscreen. Maybe he, too, was revisiting their earlier activities. He was cute, she decided; even lovable, perhaps, but lovable like a puppy is lovable. “No, it’s not love. More like lust – or the power of lust – or, more accurately, the power conferred by lust.” The afternoon sun played across her secret smile, as she reclined contentedly in the speeding car.

As they approached Aberdeen, a wicked thought occurred to Lucy. “Duncan,” she said, as coyly as she could, “how would you like another shot at me?”

Duncan’s head swiveled on his neck like it was on bearings. “What?” His wide eyes had left the road, to stare fixedly on Lucy’s cherubic smile.

“Watch where you’re going, dear,” she said, benignly. His gaze snapped back ahead. Lucy could almost feel the intensity with which he was listening as she asked, “Would you like another go ‘round – with me?”

She smiled at his almost frenetically nodding head. “Would I?” he repeated, incredulously, “Ab-so-fucking-lutely!”

“Why don’t you get us a room for the night? Then we can spend all the time we want – doing just exactly what we want.”

“But I gotta be a work in the morning,” Duncan complained, not believing his bad luck.

However, Lucy just blew it off, pointing out, “You don’t have to stay the whole night. You could leave me there whenever you needed to, eh?”

Duncan’s eyes lit up as he acquiesced. Their clothes didn’t stay on much after the closing of the door, and Duncan was already filling Lucy’s snatch before dark. Donning clothes afterwards, they went out to get something to eat – Duncan’s treat, of course; and, before they’d finished eating, Lucy said, a hint of sadness in her voice, “You don’t have to leave yet, do you?”

“Well,” Duncan allowed, “I could stay another hour or so.”

“Oh, goody,” Lucy chirped, seeming genuinely pleased, which she maybe was, but wheels were turning in her head. He seemed more than willing to meet her demands. As much as she enjoyed the sex – and she really, truly did, there was no question of that – she should make it worth as much as she could. Lucy had idly looked at a map during the drive, so, picking a destination out of the air as much as anything, she asked, timidly, “Do you think you could give me bus fare – coach fare to Blackpool?” Cocking her head slightly, and batting her eyes, she added, coyly, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Duncan hesitated only briefly – they determined the cost from the desk clerk at the hotel – before he handed the necessary cash to Lucy, lust streaming from his glazed eyes. Ascending back to the room for another quick roll in the hay before heading back home, Duncan marveled at his luck.

Later, he held her hands as they stood staring at one another. It had been very good, again. Duncan’s gaze was glassy-eyed, and he felt he was wandering a dream. Lucy wondered how she had, so quickly, got to this. “Thanks, Lucy,” he said, holding her hands and giving her a kiss in the lobby of the hotel. “That was wonderful – better than wonderful. I can’t believe that I won’t see you again. Please come back, sometime.” Lucy could feel the sincerity in his hug, and she felt almost sad leaving him like that, but…

The next morning Duncan was gone – history, and Lucy, breakfasting alone, was filled with ambivalence. What had she done? She had prostituted herself, manipulating an innocent. Her actions yesterday, she argued, were as bad as the ordeal to which she’d been subjected the day before. Her emotions swirled, having seemingly found another rollercoaster to ride – one moment, she felt guilty and awful and wicked – yet, the next, she felt empowered and free and in control. Despite her upbringing, and her morals, for what they were worth, she decided she liked the latter feeling better – much, much better. And there was a little voice in her head – whether it was the voice of reason, or depravity – that urged her forward. “Go on! Go for it!”

She smiled, looking around her hotel dining room. “I can do this,” she declared aloud, finally feeling a hunger for the breakfast at which she had only toyed. After eating, over her morning coffee, Lucy scanned a free map of the city she had picked up from the desk. Puzzling and deducing she finally figured out her objective.

Every big city has its sleaze – a ‘red light’, sex trade district – if you know where to look. Lucy determined that, in Aberdeen, it would probably be the harbour area, starting around Virginia Street, running down along all the narrow ways – Water Lane, Mearns Street, or James Street – to Regent Quay and along to Waterloo Quay. So, making her way into the harbourside labyrinth, Lucy browsed the local sleaze shops she, indeed, found there, picking up a few items, before heading to the depot to board her coach for Blackpool.

She amazed herself at how calm she felt – how empowered. She had almost no idea what to expect in Blackpool, but that just added to the adventure. Changing in the station washroom, she emerged looking rather less innocent than she had been a mere three days earlier, arriving on a different bus at a small Scottish town. Now, instead of jeans, she wore a short, stretchy skirt; and her new tee-shirt sexily revealed a not insubstantial cleavage.

Continued in Spoils- Part 3.



Spoils Ch. 03



© 2003 Jazz E.

This is the conclusion of a 3 part story.

Giving her best come-on to the fellow passenger ogling her from across the aisle of the bus, Lucy wondered what she could get from him. She certainly knew what she could give him, and the thought of what that might entail sparked a warmth deep inside her. Fluttering her eyelids, and licking her lips, her tits pressed out to fill her tee, she could feel her pussy beginning to moisten at the prospect of what might ensue. It didn’t take long before the fellow stood up and came over to her. “This seat taken?” he asked, and when she made no response but to raise an eyebrow and look at the empty place next to her, as if surprised, he added, “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” she whispered, flashing him a charming smile. As soon as he was seated, Lucy surprised herself by grasping his arm and snuggling into his shoulder. “I’m Lucy,” she whispered, “Lonely Lucy.”

“Hi,” he replied succinctly, blatant in his refusal to identify himself, but, snaking an arm, nevertheless, around her shoulder to palm her boob.

“Mmmmm,” Lucy cooed contentedly, as he gave her tit a squeeze.

Nuzzling into his chest, Lucy allowed one hand to explore the access his shirt provided, while she dropped the other hand to his crotch to boldly fondle the growing package she found there. “It’s odd,” she thought, luxuriating in the liquid feelings that bubbled within her. “It’s almost like a high,” – not that she had ever been high on anything except alcohol – “Almost like I’m becoming addicted to exceptional naughtiness.” She pondered this, as she managed to unbutton the shirt of her anonymous admirer, and find his nipples with her fingers and tongue. There was something sinfully seductive in what she was doing; the effects of her magic were becoming obvious in the rising stiffness beneath the zipper she struggled to open. Her nameless partner’s breath was becoming increasingly ragged, when she looked up and said, very matter-of-factly, “I need a nice place to stay tonight in Blackpool.” He nodded slightly as if to say, “And…?” so, without skipping a beat Lucy asked, “Is there a toilet on this bus – er – coach?”

Without a word, her mysterious lover pushed her away, pulled his clothes together, then pulled her from the seat to lead her to the back of the coach. A few of the other passengers eyed them as they passed, but nobody seemed to actually watch as they both entered the closet-sized lavatory. As soon as the door closed Lucy pushed her companion into a half-sit against the sink and, crouched between his legs, squishing in beside the commode, fished his erection out into the open with more grace, she thought, than she had a right to. Rounding her lips, she pushed the straining pole deep into the back of her throat before pausing to accommodate his impressive girth. Then she began a slow withdrawal, applying suction to the tool, while caressing the underside with her tongue and squeezing its length with her cheeks. Catching his flanged helmet gently with her teeth she held him still a moment, resisting the pressure of his hands at her ears, to swirl her tongue on his glans and poke briefly into his pee-hole before pushing back onto him. Taking her time she engulfed his now quivering cock, pushing the tip well past the end of her mouth and into her throat, until her face pressed against his pubic hair.

Lucy danced her fingers up under his shirt to tickle at his nipples, as she reached her apogee and paused, before beginning her inevitable withdrawal once more. She could hear her partner fighting to keep quiet in the cramped cabinet, his hips jolting spasmodically as she brought him nearer and nearer to climax. Speeding up, then slowing down, she could feel his arousal echoing in the sparkles of her own sex. She could feel her wetness starting to run down her legs, and the thin material of her panties rub against her gaping lips. It was becoming a matter of self-perpetuating arousal. And while she could see nothing but the tails of his shirt, his pubic beard, and his glistening hardness as it disappeared once more into her face, the objective vision of the tableau that she drew in her head was erotic beyond reason.

Suddenly twitching and jerking, Lucy allowed the disembodied hands to pull her impossibly tight onto the swollen rod. Puffing through her nose she gasped and gagged and swallowed, again and again, as the paroxysm of climax spat and spurted deep into her gullet. “Had he held on just a little longer,” she thought with disappointment, while struggling to maintain her vacuum-like hold on him and breathe at the same time, “I could have joined him in orgasm.”

When at last he withdrew, finding the continued caressing stroke of her tongue just too intense, Lucy gathered with a finger the overflowing juices from around her mouth, and, sitting back on her haunches, asked, smiling up impishly at him, “Well, was that good enough for a room?”

The look of disgust the he gave her in response, shocked and chilled her. No one had ever looked at her with such repugnance. Reaching into his pocket he dropped a ten-pound note and spat out, “Get a hostel.” Then he turned and fled, striding up the aisle of the coach, leaving her crouched in the stall with the door swinging. Mortified, Lucy reached for the door as she stood, straightening her clothes. She stared a long time at the bill in her hand, then, finally stuffed it in her pocket. She felt awful. “How am I going to walk out of this room and back to my seat?” she wondered, almost frozen with shame, but as she pushed the door open again and stepped out, a hand closed on her arm.

“Hey,” a voice whispered, the hand pulling her toward it, “won’t you join me?” A young man was sitting alone in the very back seat of the coach. “Don’t worry,” he offered, flashing her a wide smile, “I’m mostly harmless.”

“Where have I heard that before,” she thought, wryly, though she couldn’t help but return his earnest smile. Yielding to the insistent tugging, Lucy sat down beside him and let him gather her back onto the seat, somewhat out of sight behind the next seat-back.

“You need some help?” he asked, in a seemingly guileless voice.

A plethora of answers flew into her head – “I need an orgasm; I need help regaining my equilibrium after the crushing blow of that asshole’s disgust; I need someone to appreciate me; I need someone to succumb to my fledgling powers; I need sex and lust and plenty of it; I need…” – but all she said, quietly was, “I kinda need a place to stay tonight, you know what I mean?” and she looked at him hopefully.

“Oh, I can probably get you someplace to stay, all right,” he replied in a voice thick with emotion and hidden meanings. And if there was a note of danger in what he said, it was the kind of lustful, erotic danger that Lucy was rapidly coming to relish.

“That’s really kind of you,” Lucy said sweetly, turning in the seat to face him, throwing her chest out as if offering her tightly encased breasts for his approval. “How can I – what can I do to thank you?”

“Judging on what my admittedly wild imagination believes just happened in there,” he said, nodding toward the lavatory, “I think you’ll think of something.

Although Lucy lowered her face in shame, blushing to a deep crimson, she was amazed had how quickly her quim had responded, oozing warm lubricants through the already wet crotch of her panties, onto the material of the seat. Could he smell her feminine arousal, she wondered, curling up around them like smoke from a smouldering fire?

Leaning over to plant a kiss on his lips, Lucy was gratified by the hunger and vivacity with which he returned her lingual caress. Almost instantly they were engaged in a full-contact contest of sucking-face. Pulling one another close with one hand each, his free hand immediately settled on Lucy’s boob, squeezing and mashing with a frantic urgency. Lucy’s free hand dropped to his crotch, where she found the big-top already raised. Precious moments wasted fiddling with the snap and zip, Lucy was pleased to discover the absence of briefs. Pulling the proud lance free, she stroked it lovingly while dueling with his tongue. The heat emanating from the throbbing erection as she glided her hand up and down, and the energy being generated by his wonderful tit manipulation, taken with the intensity of their tonsil hockey, mashed lips and tangled tongues was almost too much for both of them.

While staying pressed forward to keep their mouths in full contact, Lucy heaved herself to her knees on the bench seat. Then she reached under her skirt to tear out the crotch of her skimpy panties with a single sudden yank. Placing her hands on the bewildered fellow’s shoulders, she swung a knee across his lap to straddle him, chest-to-chest. And he just sat there, not quite passively receiving her oral attentions – his tongue swirling across her teeth and mixing it up with hers – his hands now each in full possession of soft, yet firm and swollen breasts, manipulating them like a pilot maneuvering his plane through the storm.

Steadying herself against him she positioned her dripping bush over his straining member, locating him by Braille – like the expert she really was not – then, slowly and deliberately, mewing gently into his mouth, Lucy lowered herself onto his pole, pushing herself down until their pubic hairs entwined and they could come together no more.

“Oh, my fucking God!” her mount moaned, pulling his mouth away for a moment, before Lucy chased him down to pierce his lips and parry her tongue with his once again.

“Ah! Ah!” they both complained, their sighs and moans mutually swallowed. Holding herself still and deep for a long moment, Lucy slowly began to lift her weight from his lap, dragging her dripping labia against the induced suction, her stretched pinkness conforming seamlessly to the veiny surface of his iron shank. Slowly, she raised herself until only his plum remained insinuated, her vagina gasping about him, vainly trying to suck, or pull, or coax him back inside. Lucy could feel the imminence of her orgasm, building in pressure, pushing up her spine to arc in flashes behind her eyes. She could feel the sap rising in the anonymous colossus between her legs, and could hear the urgency in the ragged breath of her partner. Slowly, deliberately, resisting the terrific need to push past the apex to her climax, Lucy lowered her loins inexorably down, down to the very bottom.

She could feel the body beneath her beginning to shake as its tenuous control began to crumble. Then the sequence began. Pulling herself suddenly back up his column of stone to the very tip, Lucy felt the electricity surge along her spine, whipping her into a frenzy. Pounding herself into his lap she began bouncing on his spurting pole with wild abandon, slapping her bottom against his thrusting hips and biting his lips to keep herself from screaming. Their violent conjunction, squeaking the seat and rocking the one in front, went on at length. 

When their mutually muffled moans finally ceased, their breath coming in panting gasps, and they finally held still, their genitals seeming to be suddenly fused, they slowly became aware, once more of their surroundings. “’Ere, ‘ere, you two,” the driver called back, trying to see what the commotion was in his rearview mirror. The only response, though, was a few quiet giggles and a smattering of light applause from some of the more appreciative passengers.

Holding tight until the ensuing quiet once again left nothing but the noise of the road and the wind, Lucy pulled her lips away and said, “Hi. I’m Lucy.” An open dreamy smile covered her face. “My God,” she thought staring vacantly into the strangers face and marveling at how much she’d enjoyed her naughtiness.

“I’m Mike,” he whispered, leaning forward to peck at her lips. Lucy could feel him wilting inside her and gripped at his slippery appendage with her vaginal walls – to no avail. Shifting her weight with her knees, the flaccid tool finally slipped from its slick glove. Pungent juices flowed in a gush over Mike’s hairy balls and into his gaping pants. “Guess I’d better clean that up,” Mike whispered, his voice still hoarse and thick with sexual energy. They both looked around futilely for a moment before Lucy hoisted herself off Mike’s lap and, standing bent kneed, cramped between the seats, wrenched off the remains of her panties and used them to wipe her own crotch.

Looking down affectionately on the limp, glistening penis, Lucy muttered, “Don’t worry, you poor thing. Lucy’ll fix you up.” Hands on his thighs, Lucy gently lowered herself between his knees. Mike watched, unbelieving, as this beautiful foreign vixen slurped at his slimy slug and began to wash him with her tongue. In fact, he could feel his ardour rising again, but he could wait. He’d have her home in a while. “Have her at home,” he silently corrected himself, smiling down on her bobbing head.

Presently, hopping a cab from the depot, they arrived in front of his place. Lucy studied the building critically. Helping her out of the taxi, Mike ushered her through the door of his flat, mumbling apologetically, “It’s not much, but….”

Still Lucy couldn’t help turning up her nose. “It’s a little seedy,” she observed, trying not to be too brutal, but inside, she decided definitely “No! There’s no way I’m staying in this grotty little cave.” She looked around again, to indicate that she was weighing the options, then settling a grim smile on Mike, Lucy said sweetly, “If you get me a hotel room, Mike, we could make love all night in comfort.” Flexing her feminine powers of persuasion, she found that she didn’t even need to resort to pleading; her coaxing, she realized, much pleased with herself, could be very, very subtle. A delightfully warm glow of satisfaction, very much like the prelude to another climax, tickled her nervous system as Mike acceded to her wishes, and hired them a modest hotel room for the evening.

The room, only minutes from Mike’s flat, was neat and clean, and the bed more than adequate for their calisthenics. After the heat of their passion on the bus, their sex that evening was calm and gentle. Mike was, in fact, a thoughtful lover, and Lucy felt warm and safe, sitting with him eating the room service meal she let him think was his idea. Their urgencies both dissipated, the last intercourse of the night was nearly laconic in comparison. Lucy gently and insistently wrung a final ejaculation from her exhausted mate, then she laid back basking in the easy companionship his warm body offered next to hers.

Much later, Mike quietly rose from the bed and gathered his clothes, trying to dress without waking the slumbering beauty before him. When Lucy opened her eyes and propped her head up in her hand, Mike said, awkwardly, “I really should get back to my own place. You know, stuff to do, people to see, and all.” Lucy smiled at him, understandingly. He wasn’t even going to ask for her number, but that was all right.

“D’ya know anybody who might be going into London tomorrow? Who could give me a lift?” Without really knowing why, Lucy added, “for fair exchange.” Maybe she was just trying it out. How would this new idiom she was cultivating, really feel?

“You won’t be leaving here too early, will you?” The question was so neutral, Mike’s voice so mundane, for a moment Lucy thought, as she silently shook her head, she might just have to turn on the charm again, but, on second thought, why? What they’d had was obviously already over. “I’ll call around, see what I can find,” Mike said, giving her a friendly wink.

“At least he doesn’t despise me,” she thought, remembering, with a shiver, the other guy on the bus. Then Mike leaned over and kissed her – on the cheek, as a friend might.

“Thanks,” he said, almost sadly, as he reached for the door. “See you sometime,” although they both knew how unlikely that was. Still just as he gently closed the door, he called back in, “I’ll see what I can do about a ride,” and he was gone.

Lucy sat in bed nibbling on the breakfast she’d had sent up, when the ringing house phone made her jump. A voice on the other end introduced itself as Bob, an acquaintance of Mike’s, calling her from the lobby. “I hear you’re looking for a ride to London.”

Lucy smiled. “Thank you, Mike, you dear, dear man,” she said silently, but aloud she answered with an eager, “Yes, I am.” One part of her realized what a chance she was taking, and smiling at the doorman as she got into the flashy old sports car, a very chilling thought struck Lucy. “He may just be the last person to ever see me alive.” A shiver ran the length of her spine, but she shook it off. Mike had been a really nice guy, and Bob looked okay – just on his way to London for a dear friend’s wedding, he’d said – and hadn’t it been chance that had brought her this far along. “After all, you can’t have life without risk,” she rationalized.

Later, as they left Blackpool behind, Lucy exclaimed, “Thank you again. This is so great.” The wind mussed her hair and flushed her cheeks. A sense of regret, which, coupled with shame, had been trying to regain purchase of her morality earlier in the morning, was all but blown away. She felt very much alive again. After a while, basking in the freedom of an open cockpit, Lucy asked, “How can I repay you – for the ride?” The question was loaded with innuendo, so she was not surprised by Bob’s answer.

“From the little I heard from Mike,” he snickered, a sly smile touching the corners of his mouth, “I’m sure we can work something out.” Lucy expressed her understanding with an open smile which he returned. They were quiet, each in their own thoughts for several miles, then, out of the blue, Bob asked, “Ever do parties?”

Perplexed at first, Lucy felt her heart suddenly constrict as his meaning dawned on her. As much as she loved the recollections of most her recent experiences – her new-found power – such a question seemed almost too blatant – too raw. “Uh,” she sputtered, at a loss for the instant, but Bob didn’t seem to notice as he went on to explain.

“I’m helping organize the stag – you know, for the groom – of the wedding I’m going to. One o’ me mates got the room reserved, and I’m trying to arrange some entertainment – a little bump ‘n grind, y’know – a little T ‘n A.” He turned again to admire the cutie seated next to him. “D’ya thnk you might be up for that.”

Lucy studied him. His friendliness and forthright were a little disarming, still, she felt her heart unclench slightly. She mulled over the unexpected prospect. “He looks earnest,” she thought, “and really, I’ve ‘been there, done that’ already.” Turning in her seat, she said aloud, “Well, are they nice guys?” – certainly a pointless question, she realized, once she asked.

The negotiations that followed were simple and friendly. In the end, Bob agreed to pay for several days’ room in a nice hotel, and assured her that the ‘gratuities’ from the twenty-five or so revelers would be substantial. Excited, Bob got on his mobile, as soon as the agreement was closed, to give the good news to his cohorts.

Pleased with herself, for her part, Lucy reached deftly over the console to fondle Bob’s package as they sped toward London on the motorway. Unzipping his pants, she leaned across into his lap and gobbled him up. It was not easy, bobbing her head without stabbing herself on the brake lever or knocking the car out of gear, but as the meat in her mouth swelled and stiffened to impressive proportions, Lucy could hear Bob’s laboured breath and amazed exultations to his buddies still on the phone. Lucy felt his balls tighten, as, relatively quickly, he reached ignition. Struggling to stay in control of the speeding vehicle, Bob tucked the still connected cell phone into his breast pocket, and firmly gripping the steering wheel, howled to the wind, as he exploded in ecstasy, shooting volley after volley of cum into the delightfully talented mouth servicing his loins. Lucy tried, with reasonable success, to swallow the copious load so that he wouldn’t get any on his trousers.




Spoils Ch. 03



“I guess that seals it, eh?” Lucy remarked sardonically, sitting up and wiping her mouth.

Bob laughed gleefully, eying Lucy, then he concluded his call with, “Got a winner, here, Malcolm. See you later, mate.” And Lucy graced him with a knowing, and rather self-satisfied chuckle of her own.

Bob delivered Lucy to a nice mid-range hotel in Chelsea. He paid for three nights and carried her bag up to her room. As he put down her pack, she looked at him inquisitively and asked, “And just what will you be expecting of me tomorrow night?”

A little taken aback he shrugged and said, “I don’t know, exactly. Just a bit of a strip tease, I s’pose,” he paused, staring at her appraisingly, “then whatever comes naturally, I guess.”

Lucy smiled, relieved. “Okay,” she chirped. “That’s okay, then.”

Bob turned to leave, saying, with his hand on the door handle, “So, I’ll pick you up about seven, tomorrow, right?” Then just as he stepped over the threshold he stopped again and turned, a sad, worried look on his face. “You’re not going to bolt on me, are you?”

Lucy felt both insulted at the suggestion and sorry for him having to ask it. “Of course not,” she said comfortingly and reached to give his hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry. See you, tomorrow, at seven.”

The underbelly of London was rather easy to find – a few rather circumlocutory inquiries of the cabbies, and voila, they dropped her off in a rather quaint lane lousy with local working girls plying their trade. The surrounding shops, while all a bit tatty, were obviously exactly what she wanted – places where the indigenous sex trade acquired its accoutrements. Lucy thoroughly enjoyed herself throughout the morning, and catching another cab, arrived back at her hotel in the early afternoon. She marveled at how much she had changed in such a short while, thrilled at purchases of exotic clothing she would have, only days ago, considered scandalous. Exchanging the neat jeans and T-shirts of North American traveling innocence for the glitter and borderline sleaze of sexual intent, Lucy felt like she was getting dressed for her debut.

Following a wonderfully invigorating shower, Lucy carefully trimmed her bush, pulled on her black net stockings, and slipped her feet into her new strappy, stiletto-heeled sandals. They had been an extravagance, “But,” she figured, “it’s sort of an investment, I guess,” refusing to pursue that line of thought any further for the moment. Standing naked from the thighs up, she inspected herself in the mirror. They’d been expensive, her spiky shoes, but man they were hot. “Yeah,” she said, addressing her reflection, admiring her flat tummy and thrust out chest, “they could do worse, those boys, a lot worse that you, you harlot.” Her laugh was more than a little nervous, as she turned to don the rest of her outfit: a silvery, low-cut, push-up bra with a front clasp; a matching garter belt to complement her stockings; and the G-string panties, to complete the set; all under a white stretchy top with a plunging vee neck, laced tight across her bare back; and a stretchy leather-look micro-skirt, similar to the one she’d got in Aberdeen, but in black.

Carefully applying her make-up, Lucy strategically overdid her eyes, figuring if she was going to do the deed, she may as well play the part. Notwithstanding, she was sitting, quietly wringing her hands like a forlorn school girl worried about being stood up, when the knock came just before seven.

Bob’s look, as she opened the door, said all he needed to say. His jaw dropped and his eyes glazed fleetingly as he drew a sudden breath and seemed to hold it. Lucy stood, pleased, waiting for him to finish scanning up and down her dolled up bod. Finally, obviously satisfied with what he saw, he muttered, “You ready?” Grabbing her new clutch purse, which held little more than her key, her lipstick and a bit of cash, Lucy accompanied Bob through the lobby – and the gauntlet of stares and low whistles – to his car.

The boys erupted into loud cheers and catcalls the moment she entered the private banquet room. Slightly thrown by the tremendous reception, Lucy took only a moment to recover. Accepting a drink, as she determined who the guest of honour was, Lucy strode directly over and laid an electric kiss on the flabbergasted lad. “Well, Damon,” she purred, “last night to cut lose, eh?” With that, she set her glass down and began to dance right in front of him – just for him. Once again Lucy was astounded at how natural it seemed – how natural it was to writhe and twist suggestively in a room full of strangers. The party focused immediately, gathering in a loose circle around her, but she kept her eyes on Damon – focusing fully on his astonished, yet somehow grateful face.

The hoots and whistles faded to appreciative oohs and aahs, as Lucy moved sensuously to the now discernable music. Her understated eroticism gradually gave way to a blatant sexuality that had all eyes riveted. Slowly her suggestiveness became explicit, as she loosened the lace that bound her chest and bared her shoulders with an evocative grace that spoke of carnal delights. When she finally peeled her top off to reveal her silver encased bust, the sexual tension in the room was palpable. Squirming out of her skirt, Lucy could feel the audience’s temperature rise, so as soon as she had daintily stepped from it, she expertly released the building pressure by kicking it up into the groom’s face.

“How did I know to do that?” she wondered as the laughter of friends grounded everyone momentarily. Pushing her target back into a chair, Lucy straddled him and began to rub her crotch on his leg while threatening his face with her bust. After pushing herself up a few times, to create a deliciously false cleavage, Lucy unclasped her bra, letting the cups fall away, and to the collective gasp of the crowd, she pulled Damon’s cheeks hard against her breasts. Encouraged by the growing cheers, Lucy held him there as she reached between his legs to fondle his throbbing erection.

The circle had closed in tight around the lucky groom as Lucy worked at his fly-front with one hand, stroking his face against her chest with the other. At last she felt his tongue tentatively lap at the sweat running down between her boobs. “Oh, you naughty boy,” she squealed, releasing his head and gliding like liquid down to the floor between his knees. She could her a few expletives whispered in amazement around her. “Fuck, I love this!” she admitted to herself, surprised at the strength of her conviction.

Pulling out the poor fellow’s raging hard-on, she slurped it up in one gulp, pushing herself down until she could feel his pubes against her nose. “Careful now,” Lucy warned herself, “gotta try to make this last at least a bit. We wouldn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends by having him blow early, would we?” Pushing and retreating, sucking and stroking, swirling and nibbling, Lucy employed all the tricks she didn’t even know she knew, to keep Damon, the hapless groom, right on the edge.

The invitation implicit in raising her ass off her heels while she worked, was not missed, and soon Lucy felt her panty-ties being pulled and the tiny triangle of material being drawn across her wet and puffy labia to vanish behind her. Lips and hands played a while at her cheeks until, at long last, she felt someone spreading them, drawing a finger along her slit to check for lubrication. Without missing a beat on the fevered cock in her mouth, Lucy spread her knees to flare her ass. She didn’t wait long before she felt the investigative probing of the large, spongy end of some anonymous appendage. Pushing abruptly into her, the cocksman paused a moment to allow for the crowd’s favorable response, letting her warm interior form to him like a velvet glove, then, with a slap on her buttock he began to fuck in earnest. The force with which he ploughed her channel, over and over, kept her off balance. Only the sturdy tool still pummeling her mouth saved her from being knocked over. While the hunk behind her churned and stabbed with a fierce expertise, the resulting increase in activity pushed Damon, the innocent groom, irrevocably over the edge. With a feral howl, he seized Lucy’s head and slammed it down against his pubes, letting loose a torrent of semen. Lucy felt his climax erupting and thought she was ready, but the strength of his hold on her head surprised her, and the abundance of his ejaculation, splashing off the back of her throat, threatened to drown her. To make matters worse, she had been fighting to keep her own arousal in check but the ferocity of Damon’s orgasm triggered the release of her own. Snorting and gasping and screaming, writhing out of control and pushing back hard against her back-side intrusion, Lucy felt close to passing out, as she heard, yet another voice bellow in triumph, and felt her womb scalded with his seed.

Collapsing limp onto the lap of the groom, Lucy let his softening dick slip from her lips. Closing her eyes for a sec Lucy sniffed and wiped at the cum that dripped from her nose. Despite the pulsing emptiness left by the withdrawal from her cunt, she remained motionless. But the floodgates had opened, the starting bell rung. The rest of the evening was a blur of sucking and fucking, – anally, orally, vaginally or any combination, breathing new life into wilting soldiers, Lucy worked hard – harder, even, than she had for ‘the team’, for this time she had knew was happening – this time she was in control.

And eventually she had drained them all, most twice, some even more. Damon didn’t yet realize the trouble it was likely to cause in his wedding bed the next night. “Eat lots of oysters,” she whispered in his ear at one point. She didn’t know if it worked, but she had heard about it once, and, after all, she was supposed to be the expert. As Lucy retrieved and donned her clothes, and the event wound down, she watched with interest as the men – “Boys, really,” she decided though they were all older than her – watched as the boys buttoned their trousers and gathered their jackets. They all wished Damon good luck, then, though few actually spoke to her, most of them gave her an almost embarrassed smile and nod, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. “I s’pose, in a way they have,” she realized, thinking that the number of wives or girlfriends who would hear about this was probably pretty close to absolute zero.

Lucy stood aside and watched until, after most of the crew had left, Bob approached her holding a shoe box sized container in his hands. “Ready?” he asked, a sudden weariness slumping his shoulders. When Lucy nodded, he held out the box and added, “This is for you.”

“Thanks.” Sitting silently next to him, she held the carton primly on her lap the whole way back to her hotel.

As they pulled up, Bob looked at her and remarked, “It’s late.” Lucy blushed, suddenly aware of what a mess she must be. “I’ll ring for the clerk,” he said rushing ahead to the door. Lucy extricated herself from the car, and moved to stand with quiet dignity, holding her box, as a man finally appeared, shuffling into the lobby. Seeing him coming, Bob turned to her and said, “Thanks.” He smiled awkwardly, then added, “You were great!” Nipping in to kiss her quickly on the cheek, he fled back to his car as the nightman indicated through the glass that he needed to see Lucy’s key, before he would open the door.

Safely locked in her room, her costume discarded on the bathroom floor, Lucy considered whether to bathe first, or open the box. She opened the box. Eight hundred and fourteen pounds! She couldn’t believe it.

The next morning, waking from a sound sleep, Lucy pulled the soft covers around her as she tentatively let consciousness take hold. Suddenly the recollection of the previous night jolted her into alertness. Sitting up and staring at the non-descript box on the table, Lucy felt herself fill with emotion, but she wasn’t sure if it was despair or regret or joy. How could she reconcile the last few days with the person she had always thought she was? Was she depraved or entrepreneurial? She knew what her friends and family would say. No, on second thought, she couldn’t imagine what her friends and family would say. What could they say? Here she was, sweet, young Lucy Masters, erotic dancer – and slut. No, even she didn’t like slut, “and the erotic dancing,” she argued, “let’s face it, was just incidental. Prostitute, maybe – an old and venerable profession – yeah, prostitute, or maybe all-girl, but not hooker or whore.”

She discussed her position with herself all morning, sometimes silently, sometimes aloud – over the light breakfast room service brought, or pacing the room. It was terrifically confusing. But, in the final analysis, she just liked it – she really liked it. She liked the sex; she liked the power; she liked the money; and she liked the prospect of freedom she expected the money would buy.

Lucy decided, there, in that hotel room in Chelsea, that she could, at least, finance the rest of her British stay with sex. And having made that decision, she went out to the shops to buy a few nice clothes.

Later, descending to the lounge after a light supper in her room, Lucy looked like elegance personified. She moved into the smoky room with a confidence she’d previously been unaware of. Heads turned as she made her way to the bar. “This is good,” she said to herself.

“A paid sex toy?” she mused, sipping thoughtfully on her wine and inspecting the recollections of the previous evening’s events once more. “A sexual therapist? Erotic entertainer? Geisha?” Even a careful examination of her own feelings revealed little more that she could grasp onto.

Lucy could now see, these five years later, that the gnawing uncertainty about choices made and not made during those few days would probably never completely go away, and while all those early experiences didn’t exactly scar her, they certainly altered her social perceptions and interactions. That being said, in the intervening years, she had often thought it “a very fortunate happenstance,” swirling the term around her head like a familiar fine wine. 

But then and there, sitting in the lounge of a respectable hotel in Chelsea, swirling her wine around her glass, she asked herself, “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Before she could answer herself, a well-dressed gentleman of maybe thirty-five or forty rose from his table and moved onto the stool next to Lucy.  “Hi there, gorgeous,” he said in a strong New York accent. “I couldn’t help hearing your accent, or lack of, when you ordered your drink. It’s nice to meet a fellow American.”

“I’m Canadian, actually.”

“Is that right?” he countered, and launched smoothly into a friendly, if somewhat probing conversation. Lucy suspected that it was the prelude to a pick up, but – or maybe, so – she accepted his pleasant patter, being only slightly evasive as necessary. Eventually, after buying her a couple of drinks, he leaned over conspiratorially and asked, in a voice heavy with desire, “How much would it cost me to buy your company for the night?”

“Two hundred and fifty pounds,” Lucy replied without missing a beat – basically pulling the figure out of the air. She held his gaze, interested in his reaction; careful not to reveal her inexperience.

“Hmmph.” He looked at her intensely, trying, she felt, to make her reveal her hand, but she held it close to her chest, willing an indifference into her silent stare. Finally he blinked. With a smile, he said, “I think you just might be worth it. Come with me, Lucille.” Taking her hand he patted it, pleased with his contrived familiarity, and his apparent success. “I’m in twelve sixty-two.”

“And so,” she thought, as she entered the elevator, “begins my career as a call girl.”

Returning to her own room the next morning, Lucy felt okay – no, she felt better than okay. The evening had been quite pleasant. They had, at first, just chatted over drinks. “I’m going to have to be very careful in the future,” she noted to herself, for she was not used to so much booze and had felt rather tipsy far too early in the evening. Although she felt a little wobbly while she undressed, the client had, nonetheless, loved her performance. And he, Peter, had remained a gentleman all night. He had shown great control during the initial felatio, and the intercourse on the bed had been traditional – undemanding, mellow and calm. Later, while trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to get him up for a third round, Lucy had gotten somewhat more vigorous. He accepted her ministrations eagerly, if somewhat bemused, and, when she finally had to admit defeat, he cradled her, calling her his dear, wild, little minx. They fell asleep entwined, and woke fresh, with Lucy, anyway, not feeling the least bit of regret.

After breakfast, Peter said, “It’s so nice of you to leave the money thing until last. Most of the girls I’ve ever met, in cities all over, demand payment up front,” then, after he’d counted out the cash, and handed it to her, he leaned in and kissed her. “You’re something special, you know. An absolute doll. Thanks.” Oddly, Lucy felt herself blush at his compliments, and with a quiet goodbye, she slipped out the door.

“Thirteen twenties,” she counted, as she waited for the elevator. “Yeah, he was nice. I didn’t think he’d rip me off.” But she thought about what he had said – about others girls taking their payment in advance. She’d have to keep that in mind – play it by ear, maybe, depending on the client.

Later that week, after a couple more lucrative evenings, Lucy decided to move closer to the heart of London. It had barely been a fortnight since she had arrived in Britain. My how things had changed. Notwithstanding, she packed up her belongings, neatly folding even her old traveler’s backpack, placed everything neatly into her new, matching luggage set, and took a cab into London proper. She was amazed at how easy it was. Installing herself in a rather majestic old hotel, she hardly waited at all until the flow of traffic found her. Young studs, killing time; rich bachelors, looking for solace; weary old travelers; and hungry businessmen. Lucy loved it – the excitement and the diversity.

But that being said, she still felt a paradoxical pang of something – remorse or distaste – at the idea of prostitution. Lucy liked what she did, she enjoyed, not only the sex, but the power and financial freedom, and she wasn’t really ashamed of it; yet, occasionally, she still felt an odd conflict raging within her. Even now, she still had difficulty reconciling her actions with her ingrained morals. Notwithstanding, her six month vacation gradually stretched to a year in the highbrow hotels of London, and her shoestring budget blossomed into a modest fortune.

Arriving home after her year away had presented some problems, though nothing insurmountable. Lucy signed on to an escort agency and worked pretty steady until school started up. Although most of her clients were traveling businessmen and conference attendees, she developed a small list of regulars, whom she ‘dated’ through the next few years of university, still taking the odd referral from the agency. During that time she nurtured contacts and slowly worked her way into the ‘escort’ network – the community of call-girls. After graduating with a degree in commerce – and the knowledge to handle her increasingly complex finances – Lucy left the escort agency to work on her own out of a posh downtown hotel, gradually cultivating a serious client list of eighteen to twenty gentlemen who kept her well-heeled. Lucy still took the occasional referral, usually as a favour to a trusted regular, but it was rare enough now to make it novel. Amazingly, going out with someone new had become a little bit of excitement in an otherwise routine career.




Spoils Ch. 03



Concealing the nature of her business from her family and the few old friends she maintained took a little bit of craft. As much as she hated being deceitful, Lucy couldn’t imagine her parents finding out what she had been doing for the past five years; hence, she had had to come up with an answer to the question of what she did for a living. Rather than being constantly evasive, she worked out a stock answer. “I’m a Value Consultant,” she told everyone. “I work with an association that looks after big money – buying and selling services. Not stocks, as such, but luxuries. It’s really quite a unique position, rather esoteric and hard to describe.” She’d pause, then add with a laugh, “but the money’s pretty good.” Her ambiguity usually fended of any further prying. When she moved to her ritzy, upscale Yaletown apartment, she explained away her ability to purchase it outright as having won a lottery. “And,” she often thought, “in some sort of way, that’s exactly what happened.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucy smiled, shrugging away her reminiscence. Stepping into the opulent bathroom, she leaned over to run herself a tub. “And, I doubt the members of that silly Scottish rugby club,” she chuckled, “have ever imagined the life-altering – world-shifting effect their ribald little tradition had on my life – Torin’s young Canadian cousin.”

With, perhaps, one exception, as fate would later have it.

The End, for now.