Noble Vices
Valentina’s Rules
Wild in the Country
Wild by Nature
19 July, 10.45 a.m. – Lucy Doyle arrives at St Bernold’s Parochial House.
19 July, 2.40 p.m. – Father Donald Jessop delivers a lecture on morality, with particular emphasis on the impropriety of accepting the lingam in the oral cavity.
19 July, 2.41 p.m. – Lucy Doyle is advised to seek alternative employment.
‘“ACCEPTING THE LINGAM in the oral cavity!” Pompous old fart. If he doesn’t want me to give the gardener blowjobs, why can’t he just say so?’
What else was I supposed to do? The job was beyond boring, and all the stuff they’d given me about developing my spiritual side was just crap. Forty pounds a week, to play skivvy to a bunch of priests! There is such a thing as a minimum wage, and I told Father Jessop this in no uncertain terms. He said I should be honoured to serve God. That was lecture number two. Lecture number one was on being late, because I was supposed to be there from seven-thirty, followed by the unsuitability of wearing a skinny top and low-rise jeans while working for him. Lecture number three was about the cock-sucking.
OK, so if I’d wanted to keep the job perhaps I should have offered to suck Father Jessop off as well – or rather, to take his lingam in my oral cavity – but I’m not that sort of girl. He’d dropped enough hints, in-between lecturing me. Even when he’d told me off for showing too much flesh his eyes had been firmly on what he wanted covered. Then came the compliments. First there was how pretty my curly orange hair looks like against my white skin – or, to put it another way, I look like a partially bleached carrot but he’d still like to get into my knickers. Then there was how ‘decorative’ I looked, a true ‘flower of Erin’ – meaning firm little tits and a toned round bum which he would dearly like to get out of my knickers. Lastly there’s how fragile and innocent I looked, how naïve; maybe naïve enough to be talked into wanking him off with my knickers?
Maybe not, but that’s what Father Emanuel Slyrm wanted our Siobhan to do, and she a choir girl, too. I wouldn’t, not with either of them, but I would with Todd Byrne, and I did. He was my type of man, six foot and more, with hands so big I could imagine sitting on one and him lifting me up. Strong too, like a bull, all muscle, and mature; mature enough to know what he wanted; mature enough to accept my approach at face value.
I was only supposed to take him a mug of tea, but just the smell of man and earth was enough to get me horny, never mind the sight of him. I was bored. I was pissed off with the way Father Jessop treated me. I wanted to feel like a woman, not an accessory. Todd was nice, too, joking with me and making me feel good about myself. So I took his cock out and sucked him off, with my mouth full of hot tea, which is a great way to get the boys going.
He took it right in his stride, stroking my hair as he grew hard in my mouth, and letting me decide how deep he went. I’d seldom had such a gorgeous cock to play with, so big and smooth and silky. He didn’t rush, or try to push me further, but let me take my time, really getting the taste and feel of him into my senses, until I wanted to come. I’d have done it too. One hand down my knickers, a few deft touches and I’d have been there, in heaven. Maybe not Father Jessop’s heaven but heaven all the same, with my mouth full of big, hard cock and my fingers well down in the crease of my pussy. I pulled my bra out so I could play with my nipples, and was just unfastening my jeans when Father Jessop came in.
So there I was, standing in a Kilburn back street on a hot summer’s afternoon, my pre-university work experience well up the Swanee and wondering what to do with myself. Home was out, because Mum was not going to be pleased, and no doubt Father Jessop would have already been on the phone. I’d get a lecture. I’d get compared with Mary. I’d get compared with Mary and Siobhan. Maybe I’d even get compared with Mary and Siobhan and Tara.
What I needed was to come home with a job that paid real money. That would shut them up. On second thoughts, knowing them it probably wouldn’t, but it would make me feel better. Not that I was feeling bad, not really. I knew I should have felt guilty, but I didn’t. Guilt just isn’t my thing, which is odd, because my family do guilt like we do drink. I guess it’s the Irish Catholic prerogative.
Instead I felt happy and excited, with the memory of sucking Todd Byrne’s cock fresh in my mind and the prospect of freedom ahead of me. I could do anything, anything at all . . . well, almost anything. Well, not a lot really, but I didn’t care. Flipping burgers was better than Father Jessop.
Maybe a McJob was the answer. I wanted a slice of life, to meet new people, different people, fun girls, sexy men. Working in a burger bar, a pub, a restaurant, I’d get plenty. On the other hand, I wouldn’t get much money and I’d be at work in the evenings. I wanted my evenings to myself, and the insultingly small amount I’d been offered at the parochial house had made me want to earn more.
I’d been wandering aimlessly down Maida Vale, and stopped at a newsagents to buy a notebook and a pen. There was a coffee bar nearby, but one look at the price of an espresso and I’d decided against it. A low wall and a can of something cold served instead of the coffee and fancy-looking tables and chairs, and after a moment’s thought I opened my notebook and began writing.
What does Lucy want to do?
The answer was, laze around, get pissed with my girlfriends and shag lots of cute men, so I crossed it out very carefully and wrote:
What can Lucy do?
Cook, sort of.
Use a computer, just about.
Dance, better than most.
Drink, more than most without falling over.
Discuss James Joyce, pointillism or glacial features well enough to earn me three As.
After another moment’s thought I wrote:
What can’t Lucy do?
Work hard.
Get up in the morning.
As she’s told.
That seemed to narrow it down nicely, so I made three columns and filled them in slowly as I sipped my drink.
| Job | Good | Bad |
| McJob | Lots of people | Not much money |
| No evenings | ||
| Bosses | ||
| Office job | More money | Bosses |
| Evenings | Boring | |
| Stripping | Lots of money | Family freak |
| Lots of people | No evenings | |
| Bosses |
There was one big problem – the bosses. It didn’t matter if it was a little Hitler in a burger bar, a stuffed shirt in an office or a sleazeball in a lap dancing club. A boss is a boss, and bosses and I are a bad mixture. A few other options flicked through my mind – librarian? Mime-artist? Pickpocket? All of them had drawbacks. I also needed to be able to return home within three hours with the triumphant announcement of my new job. Telling Mum that I’d decided to become a pickpocket was really going to be popular.
I walked on, up to the Edgware Road. I ate a doughnut and let serendipity take its course. I had just about finished it when I realised I was standing under a sign for a temp agency – Super Staff. It had to be worth a shot. Cramming the remains of the doughnut into my mouth, I pushed the intercom bell. A woman’s voice answered and I was let up, into a small room with five blue plastic seats and a potted plant. The voice, now coming through a slightly open door, told me to wait. A second voice sounded, male, nervous and addressed to the first.
‘ . . . anything, really. You see, I’m really just waiting to see what comes up in my field. My PhD’s on cultural assimilation among the peoples of . . .’
‘Yes, Mr Robins.’
‘Dr Robins.’
‘Quite, Dr Robins, but unfortunately your qualifications are not suitable for us. Here at Super Staff we need commitment, a willingness to work to a flexible, efficient timetable. Personal presentation is also important.’
I quickly wiped my mouth in case there were any stray doughnut crumbs, simultaneously wishing it was as easy to put my bra back on as it had been to get it off. It was in my bag, where I’d stuffed it hastily after being caught by Father Jessop. I was very glad indeed that I hadn’t worn lippy. The guy had a PhD and they didn’t want him. What hope did I have?
Two minutes later he’d been bundled out, looking crestfallen, and I was face to face with the voice, a middle-aged woman called Mrs Maryam Smith, because that was what it said on her desk. She didn’t have glasses to peer at me over, but she should have done. Instead she looked down a long nose, then opened a file.
‘Miss Davenport?’
‘No. Miss Doyle.’
‘I have Miss Davenport for four o’clock.’
‘It’s only five to.’
She gave a click of her tongue and began to sort through a heap of files. I decided I ought to say something.
‘I don’t have an appointment.’
She looked at me as if I’d just confessed to being a serial killer.
‘I was just hoping to sign up with you, for temporary work.’
She gave a heartfelt sigh and shook her head. A brief flurry of paper and she was ready.
‘What experience do you have, Miss Doyle?’
Secretary to Father Donald Jessop of St Bernold’s Parochial House sounded good.
‘Until recently I was secretary to Father Donald Jessop of St Bernold’s Parochial House.’
‘Indeed? And why did you leave?’
‘Sadly Father Jessop passed away.’
‘I see. My condolences. Presumably Father Jessop’s successors will be able to provide references?’
Not good at all.
‘No, er . . . I’m afraid not. The er . . . the parochial house burnt down.’
‘How awful!’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘I understand, of course.’
The intercom buzzed. She spoke into it, then to me.
‘That is Miss Davenport. Please fill in these forms and I will be with you shortly.’
I took the forms, a white one, a pink one and a green one. In the outer room, a girl with long brown hair and serious heels – evidently Miss Davenport – was sitting on one of the blue chairs. We exchanged smiles as we swapped places and I began to do the forms. The white one wanted to know all about me, so I told them. The pink one wanted to know what I’d done and with whom, so I made it up. The green one had lots of boxes to tick, so I ticked them.
Miss Davenport had shut the door so I didn’t get a chance to earwig her conversation, although I’d caught a few words. She had a cut glass accent, public school for sure, which went with her appearance: a two-piece skirt suit of fine dove-grey wool, crisp white blouse with a thin black ribbon at her throat, silk tights, maybe even stockings. Little-Miss-Snooty all through, except for the heels. Her heels were four-inch stilettos in shiny black patent with a tiny scarlet logo at the outside, what looked like a burning H.
She came out not long after I’d finished doing my forms, gave me a glance I’d swear was pity, and left. I looked after her, thinking what a stuck-up bitch she was, before answering Mrs Maryam Smith’s call. Back in her inner sanctum she took my forms, glancing over them. By the time she’d got to the bottom of the one with all the little boxes, her frosty, formal expression had faded to something approaching affability. She nodded as she put them down.
‘Well, Miss Doyle, you’re certainly very well qualified, remarkably well for your age.’
‘The Church set very exacting standards.’
‘So I see. But still, with us you will be working in a business environment, under pressure, often called on to work unusual hours, and in general to maintain a proactive attitude to both ourselves and our clients.’
I nodded and smiled. I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, except for the bit about unusual hours.
‘I was required to start work at the parochial house at seven-thirty in the morning.’
Her eyebrows rose a fraction.
‘I doubt that will be necessary. But let us say, for the sake of example, a client were to ask you to accompany him for a weekend conference?’
I hesitated. The answer was that it depended how horny he was, but that didn’t seem likely to be what she wanted to hear. On top of Miss Davenport’s folder was a stapled sheaf of paper headed – Guidelines for Staff.
‘Naturally I’d follow the Super Staff guidelines.’
Her smile grew broader. It was the correct answer. She handed me a copy of the guidelines, three pages of small, closely spaced print. I bit down a grimace as she went on.
‘One last question, Miss Doyle. What would you bring to us here at Super Staff?’
I was ready for that one.
‘First and foremost, commitment, also good personal presentation and a willingness to work to a flexible, efficient timetable.’
She gave another pleased smile.
‘Well, Miss Doyle, naturally we’ll need to check your references, but I think I may fairly say that you will fit in very well with us here at Super Staff.’
‘I’m sure I will. Thank you.’
I got up, left and that was it. I had a job, or, rather, I would have a job if I managed to talk the people I’d given as references into covering for me. That was an itsy-bitsy problem, and something I needed to attend to sharpish. Not that sharpish, because a tot of Power’s was called for, to celebrate and to toughen myself up for the inevitable blow-up when I got home.
There was a pub directly over the road, the Bull. They didn’t have Powers, but they did have Jameson’s. I ordered a double. After all, for the first time in my life I was going to have some money to spare. As I turned away from the bar I realised that among the few others getting an early drink in was Miss Davenport. She was scowling as she read the document Super Staff had given her. I went towards her, hoping her heels said more about her than her dress, her looks, her accent.
‘Hi? You were in Super Staff, over the road?’
‘Yeah, daft bitch.’
She scrumpled up the document and dropped it into an ashtray with a motion of fastidious distaste.
‘Fuck that for a laugh.’
I was a bit taken aback. To hear her speak she might have been royalty, but she swore like my uncles.
‘What was it?’
‘First formal warning.’
‘Oh, right. What are they like at Super Staff? Strict?’
‘The usual bollocks. They expect everything for fuck all.’
‘Don’t they pay much?’
‘Depends. Generally ten or twelve an hour.’
‘Ten or twelve pounds an hour?’
‘Yes, mean bitch.’
Not in my books she wasn’t. Even at ten pounds an hour I would be taking home ten times what the parochial house had meant to pay me. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to look totally naïve, and she went on.
‘You get a specific rate with each job, depending on the skills you’ll be using. Half the time you end up filing anyway, and making tea and coffee. You’ll find that wherever you go there’s some guy on a power trip who wants you to be his personal tea maid. Women are worse.’
‘I can cope. I’m Lucy, by the way.’
‘Bobbie. Would you like another?’
‘I’d love to, only I’m a bit broke.’
‘Whatever. When I get kicked out you can sub me.’
‘OK, it’s Jameson’s.’
She went for the drinks, leaving me a little surprised, and quite pleased. I hadn’t expected her to be so friendly, but it was as if working for Super Staff made us instant friends. She seemed to know what she was doing too, which had to help. The moment she got back I put the question which had been uppermost in my mind.
‘Could you give me some advice?’
‘Sure.’
‘How quickly does Mrs Smith check our references?’
She laughed.
‘Did you give email addresses?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ve got until maybe Thursday to sort out whatever you’ve been up to. She never rings, but I wouldn’t hang around if I were you.’
I nodded thankfully.
‘How does it work then, with jobs?’
‘It’s simple. You get a call in the morning, telling you where to go and who to see, then at the end of the week, or whenever, you get your boss to sign a time sheet.’
‘Sounds OK. What’s a “proactive attitude”?’
‘It means you have to give the male clients blow-jobs on demand.’
‘You’re joking!’
She nearly choked on her wine, clutching at her neck in her effort not to laugh before she managed to get herself under control.
‘Of course I’m joking! It just means you’re expected to volunteer to work late if it would help, that sort of stuff. Basically, be a good little wage slave.’
‘Do any of the men hit on you?’
She shrugged, utterly indifferent.
‘Sure, sometimes. Sometimes I go for it, if they’re cute. You’re not supposed to, but then it’s none of SS’s business.’
‘SS as in Super Staff?’
‘Yes. It suits them. Don’t worry about it, because if you’re good they need you a lot more than you need them.’
I picked up the guidelines.
‘How about all this?’
‘It’s churn. Bin it.’
‘Churn?’
‘Stuff that’s forever being rewritten, so there’s no point in reading it. The only thing they’re really hot on is moonlighting, if you accept private offers for work from their clients.’
‘Is that why you got your warning?’
‘No, that was for flashing a window cleaner.’
‘Flashing a window cleaner?’
‘Yes. He was cute too, and he was staring in at me while I was filing. I thought, maybe after work. So I flashed my tits.’
‘Couldn’t you just have asked him?’
‘Don’t be silly, he was outside the window on the fifteenth floor. He got the message all right too, only there was CCTV in the room. Nosy bastards.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, and warm to her. She was as much of a bad girl as I was, propositioning men and drinking shorts in the afternoon. I just had to top her story.
‘I know the feeling,’ I casually slipped in. ‘I got sacked earlier today, for sucking the gardener off.’
‘You dirty bitch!’
It was not a criticism, far from it. She was laughing.
‘Tell all, and I want the details.’
My head was already spinning a little. No surprise, with four shots of whiskey on a nearly empty stomach.
‘OK. I’m going to university in September. To Edinburgh, and my family had set it up for me to work at this parochial house, that’s where priests live. It was dead, and I won’t even tell you how much they were going to pay me, but the gardener was huge, hands like spades, and just all man.’
‘Rough?’
‘Rough, yeah.’
Her eyes were glittering and her hand was tight on the stem of her wine glass. I suppressed a giggle as her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips.
‘Just how rough?’
‘Rough, but he wasn’t a pig about it. You know how some men are, trying to get the whole thing down your throat. He wasn’t like that, he stroked my hair and tickled my neck. I love that, with a cock in my mouth and my man’s hands holding my head.’
She shook her head.
‘That’s nice, but I like really rough, the sort of guy who won’t think twice about doing it in front of his mates.’
It was my turn to wet my lips, thinking back to Dalkey, and kneeling in the long, warm grass behind my Nan’s house with Shaun Cullen’s cock in my mouth while his mates watched me suck him off. I nodded.
‘I know, but there were only the priests. Father Jessop caught me at it, so I got kicked out. That’s why I was at Super Staff.’
She nodded in turn. Her face was a little flushed, and I could feel the heat at my own neck. My pussy was beginning to feel more than a little in need of attention. I wanted to talk.
‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this, because I haven’t even told my sisters, but last summer, in Ireland, a man I’d been going out with got me to suck him off – with three of his friends watching.’
I giggled. Bobbie had closed her eyes, her face set in dreamy pleasure. When she spoke it was a sigh.
‘Yes, please. Where they very rough with you? Did your boyfriend make you take your clothes off?’
‘He pulled my top up. I wasn’t wearing a bra.’
She purred.
‘I wish!’
‘Haven’t you? Like that?’
Suddenly her tone had changed completely.
‘No! Men are such cowards, or else stupidly jealous, or they can’t get hard in front of their mates.’
‘Shaun Cullen didn’t have any trouble. He was well up for it, so he could show off in front of them.’
‘He didn’t . . . make you do them too, did he?’
‘No!’
‘Pity.’
‘You’re terrible, worse than me!’
‘I want it like that, but I seem to scare them off.’
‘Maybe because you’re too tall, and you do sound . . . you know . . .’ I’d been going to say stuck up, but decided against it. She made a face.
‘It’s just me,’ she said, anticipating what it was I was going to say. ‘I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. The window cleaner, Jack, he was good. He still had his overalls on, and he took me down a back alley, right in the middle of the city, behind a church. I went up against the wall. He just picked me up, under my bum, pulled my knickers aside and lifted me onto his cock. All I could do was cling on tight while he had me. It was like being fucked by a bear.’
‘How do you know? Do you often get fucked by bears?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘I don’t know . . . maybe. I don’t want him to start thinking I’m his. Do you want another whiskey, or shall we share a bottle of wine? The Sancerre here is OK.’
‘Fine, that would be great, yes.’
I’d glanced up to where a list of wines was written on a blackboard, with the names in red and white chalk within a fringe of grape leaves. The Sancerre was a white, and cost twenty-five pounds a bottle. Bobbie wasn’t bothered, making sure the barman took a really cold one from the back of the fridge. He brought it back with two glasses on a tray. I knew it was stupid to drink wine on top of whiskey, but I didn’t feel I could refuse her. She poured and we chinked glasses.
‘Here’s to big, rough men.’
My response was a giggle. I felt happy, accepted, and had no desire whatsoever to start for home. Much better to drink with my new friend, and talk dirty, only the pub was beginning to fill up as people came out of work. A group of young men had sat down at the table beside us, five of them, talking in loud, brash voices about money, cars, girls. I caught a snatch of conversation.
‘. . . and the girls go down under the table, right. Blow-jobs all round, right, and afterwards, they get up on the stage to do a strip, only one of them’s a tranny!’
The others burst into raucous laughter and I found myself giggling, imagining the men he was talking about, all as pleased as punch because they’d had their cocks sucked, and then finding out one of the girls was really a man. Two of them were quite attractive, in a slick sort of way. I glanced at Bobbie, wondering if she was thinking the same, just as the buzz of general conversation and the music hit a lull at the same instant. The voice of the biggest of the five came to me, clear as a bell.
‘Who d’you reckon on, Pinky or Perky?’
It wasn’t hard to guess who he was talking about, or why. Talking sex with Bobbie, my nipples had gone stiff, and were sticking up through my top as if making a determined effort to escape, upwards. I could see why Bobbie was Pinky too, because she was flushed from her neck up. So was I, as my temper flared with my embarrassment. I rounded on them, wanting some really biting put-down – just the sort which always comes ten minutes after you need it. Bobbie just laughed.
‘Show them what they can’t have, Lucy!’
I didn’t even think. My hands went to the hem of my top and up it came, tits bare to the room, perky nipples pointing more or less at the ceiling. There was a wonderful moment as the guy’s jaw dropped and his eyes went round. The guy next to him saw too, and swore. Their mates realised something was up and jerked around, too late. I’d already covered up, trying to look sweet and innocent as I raised my glass to my lips. Bobbie dissolved in laughter, and so did I, unable to stop myself.
For just an instant all five men looked completely stunned, before they all began to talk at once, the three who hadn’t seen demanding to know what had happened and the two who had telling them. I got up, walked slowly around to the big guy who’d called me Perky and put my hands on my hips, looking down at him. I meant to give him a moment to take me in, maybe wonder if I was interested, before telling him he would never, ever, have the least chance of getting his hands on what he’d seen. The barman got in first.
‘You two, out!’
I rounded on him.
‘What’s it to you, you great gobshite? I’ll –’
He started around the table. Bobbie was already on her feet, giggling and shaking her head, the bottle of Sancerre clutched in her hand. I made for the door, laughing so hard I tripped and had to clutch on to a lamppost for support as I fell out onto the pavement. Bobbie came after me, stumbling on her heels, and we ended up in each other’s arms, laughing too hard to stand properly.
The barman had had enough of us, and didn’t follow, leaving us to move off up the road, arm in arm and drinking Sancerre from the bottle. We hadn’t gone ten yards when the guy from the pub appeared, overtaking us, to turn and walk backwards . . .
‘Hey, girls . . .’
. . . straight into a huge black guy who’d just come out of a doorway. Both of them went down, and Bobbie and I were clutching onto each other for support. The guy from the pub was babbling apologies immediately and the black guy didn’t look best pleased, but when he did manage to get up it was Bobbie and me he rounded on.
‘What’s so fucking funny?’
Bobby made a little purring noise in her throat.
‘Ooh, big man!’
‘Are you taking the piss, ’cause . . .’
I’d stepped in-between them, sure he was going to hit her. I caught the scent of him, totally male, my face level with a heavily muscled chest half covered by a vest.
‘Sh! Cool down!’
He was going to push me aside, until I squeezed his crotch, filling my hand with his cock and balls, or rather, not filling my hand, because he was packing more meat than a steak house. A shiver ran right through me as I stepped back, my tummy fluttering, a little scared, but hoping he was man enough to react to me the way a man should. He gave a sharp shake of his head.
‘You want to watch who you tease, girl!’
‘Who says I’m teasing?’
He just picked me up, one big hand under my bum, one on my back, pressing his lips to mine. For just an instant I was fighting, shocked, before I melted. My mouth came open under his, our tongues met and we were kissing. His hand was kneading my bottom, my body right off the ground, and all I could do was cling to him, my legs up around his huge hips, the bulge of his cock pushing up against my pussy, already growing hard. I wanted to be fucked, then and there, on the pavement of the Edgware Road, my clothes ripped off and my legs spread wide, his lovely big cock in my mouth and up my pussy, filling my body right completely.
I was drunk. I was horny. I’d have done it if he’d made me, maybe. Not really, no, because no man is that much of an animal, more’s the pity. He put me down and I let go of him, my legs shaking as my feet met the pavement. Bobbie was staring at me. She looked as flushed as I felt. The guy from the pub had stepped back a little, and glanced between us, hopeful but unsure of himself.
Something inside me wanted to tell the black guy to fuck off. Maybe it was social conscience. Bollocks. I took his arm.
‘Well, are we going?’
He looked down, and just nodded. Bobbie took his other arm and the three of us had started up the street, with the guy from the pub trailing along behind. I had no idea where we were going; maybe to another pub, maybe to somewhere our new friend could fuck our brains out, only I was leading them, so . . .
‘Where the fuck are we going?’ I blurted out.
The black guy answered me.
‘If you want what I think you want, that’s my rig. Otherwise, you’d better run, girl.’
He’d nodded to where a huge great articulated lorry was blocking half the road. Bobbie looked towards it, her mouth a little open, her eyes wide, just creaming herself as she spoke.
‘You’re a trucker?’
He nodded and said something under his breath, maybe “posh skirt”. My stomach was fluttering terribly as we made for the cab of his lorry, with Mum’s warnings about not going with strange men fighting the raw lust in my head. Lust won hands down, and a moment later he was pushing me up into the cab with a hand on my bum. The rig was spacious, with a flat shelf behind the seats where he could sleep. The smell of him – and the diesel of the truck – was thick in my nostrils as I climbed in. Bobbie followed and he went to the far side, leaving the guy from the pub standing on the pavement.
‘Hey, do I get to come?’ he asked.
Truck man was going to speak, probably to put him down, but Bobbie already had a hand out. He climbed in, and the black guy kissed his teeth as he took his seat, but said nothing. I felt better, because they couldn’t both be psychos, surely?
As the engine rumbled to life, I made myself comfortable on my tummy in his sleeping space, looking forward between a pair of tatty orange and brown curtains. Bobbie was in front of me, between the men, and spoke as we began to move.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked again.
The driver took a moment to concentrate on pulling out into the evening traffic before he answered, his voice full of lust and laughter.
‘Never mind that. You just keep yourselves warm.’
The guy from the pub turned to us, his voice very different, eager and nervous, as he spoke.
‘What are your names? I’m Luke.’
I answered.
‘Lucy.’
And on a whim, ‘But you can call me Miss Doyle.’
It was right, for him, not for the driver, who answered with a grunt.
‘Frazer.’
Bobbie didn’t answer at all, because she was trying to get Frazer’s zip down. He slapped her hand.
‘You want it, girl, you’ve got it, but not here, yeah?’
She stopped, giggling happily as she stretched. The bottle was still in her hand, and I took it, swallowing down a big gulp of wine, cold and sharp in my throat. We were moving north, slowly, the cars stretching in front of us in a multi-coloured metal line as far as we could see. Bobbie sighed, almost whining.
‘Nobody can see, let me play with you!’
Frazer grunted and glanced out at the ranks of windows to his side, most of them with a prime view into his cab, including those of Super Staff. The first bus we passed was going to get an even better view. Bobbie didn’t care, burrowing for his fly as he tried to fight her off, one handed. He was getting hard in his trousers, a wide ridge extending down one leg, extending a long way, I noticed to my delight. I swallowed, imagining how he’d look with it out, thick and dark and proud in Bobbie’s hand, in her mouth, in my mouth . . .
I had to have him, and Luke just wasn’t the same. He was cute maybe, but too much the lad. The way things were going he’d have Bobbie and I’d end up with second best, or nothing at all. I had to stick my oar in.
‘Wait, you greedy cow, you’ll get us arrested,’ I warned her, careless as to how she might react. She seemed like a good sport but I’d known her less than a couple of hours. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to criticism.
Too late. His zip was down. Her hand burrowed in and closed on his cock. He grunted in pleasure and she was purring as she began to rub on him, heedless to my protestations. The other guy, Luke, was staring, his mouth open, one hand on his own crotch. I could smell the musky scent of Frazer’s cock, and I reached down, determined to get my share. His trouser button popped open as I tried to force my hand in beside Bobbie’s, and suddenly he was out: a thick, dark column of meat over two fat balls pushed up where she’d shoved his briefs down to get him out. I took it, wanking him, as she was, and we were both giggling hysterically.
‘Ladies! Somebody’s going to see! Shit!’
The traffic had loosened up and we were moving, Frazer struggling to shift gear as we tossed at his cock. We’d punctured his cool, shocking him, and the last of my doubts just vanished. I wanted his cock in me, to ride him and let him ride me, to be lifted and popped on the way the window cleaner had fucked Bobbie up against the wall. I wanted to be bent over and have it slid up me from behind, good and deep with his hard six-pack pressed to my bare bum; to go down on my knees with him on my back, doggy style.
If I didn’t watch what I was doing all I would get would be a charge for riotous behaviour, or whatever it’s called when a girl gets caught tossing off her boyfriend in public. I stopped, and slapped Bobbie’s hand for her.
‘Bad girl! Put him down!’
There was a rug at the back, over Frazer’s makeshift bed, and I pulled it away, to cover his lap. He shook his head, grinning as he sped up. Luke let out his breath.
‘You girls are hot,’ he said.
I answered him, eager to get my own back, to turn him on and make him beg.
‘And you’re a cheeky git. Pinky and Perky, is it?’
Bobbie laughed. ‘It suits you,’ she said
‘Hey,’ I cried. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side! Anyway, it’s better than Pinky!’
Luke laughed, just a little forced,
‘I like it.’
‘Miss Doyle, I said, if you want . . .’
‘OK, Miss Doyle, Miss Perky Doyle!’
‘Oi!’
I gave him a clip on one ear, not hard. He had to suffer. Frazer held his peace, very much the man in charge, guiding his huge rig skilfully through Maida Vale with the rest of us joking and laughing, drinking too, the bottle quickly finished to leave me relaxed and eager to go.
We were barely through Kilburn when he turned off onto some sort of service road, between blocks of flats, red-brown brick and several stories high, out into a huge open lorry park, something I’d never even guessed existed so close to home. It was perfect, hardly a soul in view, save for a bored security guard in a hut by the gates and a cluster of truckers idling by a hot dog van.
My insides were tight in anticipation of what was coming to me as we drove down between ranks of parked lorries to the far end, where a few cabless trailers stood beside the high spiked fence. Frazer parked, grinning as the lorry hissed and the hydraulics calmed down before it shuddered to a stop. Luke gave me a nervous glance. Bobbie twitched the rug away from Frazer’s lap, exposing our plaything.
His cock had gone soft, but it was still impressive. I like big cocks, and I don’t care what anyone says. Big is nice, thick especially, to look at, to hold, to suck, and if it won’t all go in, I just have to do my best. Frazer had it all, and I was wriggling forward immediately, my body half off the shelf of his sleeping compartment in my eagerness to get my fill. He sat back laughing as Bobbie took him in hand to feed him straight into my mouth.
My senses filled with the taste of cock and I was sucking him, mouthing on the fat, meaty head before trying to get as much in as I could, with Bobbie wanking him into my mouth. He was getting hard, swelling in my mouth, longer and fatter, enough to fill me right up. Bobbie’s voice cut into my mounting bliss.
‘Now who’s a greedy pig?’
I was nearly off the shelf, and she smacked my bottom, but I ignored her, revelling in the in the big, hard thing in my mouth, now rock solid. Bobbie smacked me again, harder, and this time he took me by the hair, gently disengaging my mouth as he spoke, his voice now hoarse and low.
‘Up in the back, yeah?’
I nodded and scrambled quickly back, rolling onto his bed as Bobbie climbed in after me. Frazer followed, Luke waiting, hesitant. I didn’t have time to worry about him, as I was pulling my top off to let Frazer take my tits in hand; his big, rough thumbs were on my already stiff nipples. Bobbie had his cock, tossing him as he played with my tits, and guiding it between them for a tit-wank. I took hold, making a slide for him and kissing at his cock head as it bobbed up and down in my cleavage.
Bobbie had begun to strip as Frazer gave me my titty fucking. Her smart jacket shrugged off, her blouse tweaked open, and her bra lifted over small, firm breasts. Her skirt came up and I saw that she was in stay-ups with lacy tops, and tiny silk knickers with the wet crotch pulled tight over her pussy lips. Frazer had seen this too, and gave a pleased grunt as he pulled her close, still fucking my tits as he slid a hand around her bum. She gasped and her face went slack with pleasure as a finger found her pussy hole.
He moved back, sitting on his bed with his long, powerful legs splayed out and his cock rearing up from his open fly, beckoning to us. We came, crawling in, to lick and suck and kiss at his erection. Bobbie took his balls in her mouth, her jaw as wide as it would go, and I was on his cock alone, taking as much as I could fit in. He settled back, his hands folded behind his head, cool and easy as the two of us worked on his cock and balls. I heard Luke’s voice from behind me, weak and pleading, an eager puppy.
‘How about me?’ he whined.
Bobbie’s bum was right in his face, silky white knickers stretched taut over her neat cheeks. A man would have pulled them down and fucked her. I answered him, cool and mocking, as I pulled up from Frazer’s cock.
‘You get to watch, if you’re a good boy, but you keep your hands to yourself.’
Frazer gave a chuckle and reached out to tweak Bobbie’s knickers down at the back, leaving her bare to Luke’s wide-eyed gaze. I could see the lust and jealousy in his eyes, so strong, and a truly gloriously wicked thought hit me.
‘I’ll make a deal,’ I said. ‘I’ll suck you, all the way, but only if you suck Frazer.’
Bobbie had come off Frazer’s balls, and burst into laughter. I took his cock, waggling it at Luke, who had gone bright pink and was stammering something about how he wasn’t gay but would I suck him anyway. I wagged my finger.
‘Uh, uh, no blow-job from Lucy, not until you’ve found out how it feels to have a great big cock stuck in your mouth!’
‘Yeah, but you’re a girl. You like it. Come on!’
‘I love it, but it’s hard work. Now come on, open wide, Lukey baby.’
I’ll swear Luke was going to do it, but Frazer cut in.
‘Choh! Will you two mad bitches just shut up and lick?’ said Frazer. ‘I ain’t having no guy suck me.’
I went back down on him, feeling full of mischief as I began to suck again, wishing he’d let Luke suck him, no, made Luke suck him; maybe after he’d fucked us both, and come in his mouth. It was a great thought, and I held on to it as I sat up to undo my jeans, keen to get Frazer inside me. Bobbie stayed down, holding his erection and licking at the shaft and the bulging deep purple sac of his balls. I watched as I pushed my jeans down, taking my knickers with them, kicking it all off. Bare but for my lifted top I crawled close.