Songs of the Beasts

The Yellow Emperor summoned the Twelve Beasts of the Cosmic Zodiac and bade each sing him a song

I Will Survive, squeaked Rat

Ox  lowed, Everything’s Alright

I Light the Night, roared Tiger

Rabbit whispered, Imagine All at Peace

Higher and Higher, sang Dragon

Snake hissed, I Have No Hands To Be Tied

I Wanna Be Free, neighed Horse

Sheep bleated,  All I Need Is Love

Let Me Entertain You, chattered Monkey

Rooster crowed, Look At Me Now

I’m Your Best Friend, barked Dog

Pig grunted, I’m Everybody’s Friend

Huang Ti clapped in applause.  ‘What about you, Boss?’ chorused the Beasts.

‘Well done, Beasts,’ declared the Emperor, ‘for minimising YouTube ad pollution….’

‘Sing!’ they yelled.

You won’t get any sleep,’ he said.  See what they thought of his song.

What Beast are you?  Do you like your Song?  Or what Song would you like instead?

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Love To Die For 10/27 THE ALICE AFFAIRE

Nicole Kidman face, white-blonde hair, black alice-band, honey-colored angel-dress, trumpet sleeves, bare honey legs, Courreges boots: the Colonel’s daughter. Sitting beside Harry’s wife: brunette, blue alice-band, tie-dye top, blue bell-bottoms, flip-flops, children.  He felt their eyes on him as he dismounted at the pony lines and walked across the field, treading in. The divots weren’t too bad in the dry. Footballers got upset when the horses carved the ground up. A bank of girls in dark glasses filled the pavilion stand. She put hers on as he approached.  ‘Hello darling, this is Alice Baker, just out from UK. She’s dying to meet you.’ He knew who she was. He worked for her father. Making the morning reports he would try not to look too obviously at her photograph, framed in silver on the Colonel’s desk.

‘Hello Alice.’ Did her hand squeeze a moment longer than convention? Harry felt both excited and uneasy. Same symptoms. He kissed Anne and their little ones, Georgina and Justin, little hippies in flower-power dungarees.

He’d always wondered about dark glasses. Never wore them himself, preferring sunlight. He bought a pair next day, very dark with thick sides so Anne couldn’t see where his eyes went. Convincing himself the squeeze was deliberate he wanted more, still thinking like a bachelor after four years of marriage, acting like one too when chance was there to be taken.

 Next polo day, Duty Officer, war-room keys chained to his wrist, Harry had to sleep in the Officers Club across the field from the pavilion. Lunch, mulligatawny soup, kedgeree, gin pyoz: big slug of gin, a little warm water, tiny pearl onions sozzling at the bottom, served up in a shallow glass, dash of angostura to make it pink and interesting like the best things in life. A few of those, anything goes. Including Harry. Once he stepped out of the bar, onto his pony, fell off the other side.  It was OK to play on duty. If the Chinese invaded the orderly could run on the field and tell him. He would Paul Revere to the war-room. They always said they’d take Hong Kong with a phone call.

After the game, tea in the pavilion. Cucumber sandwiches, brought from the Club, delicate china cups decorated with green crossed kukris, silver sugar bowls, linen napkins, white-gloved orderlies, the Raj in remnant. Anne took the kids home for tub time.  Alice, tea cup balanced on knee, sat talking with a dark-haired Gunner lieutenant and a couple of young Hussars in striped polo shirts, sweaty white riding breeches, brown polo boots, sprawled in rattan chairs. From where he hoped he couldn’t be seen ogling her legs, Harry stood chatting with Robin, old bachelor major, kind face with lines of glory, passed over for promotion. Like Harry, bored in peace time, unlike Harry, OK with it, Robin ran the rifle range out in the sticks and came in to Sek Kong for the polo. Ball-player more than horseman, he would steal goals while the cavalry rode each other off.

 People drifted away to homes and barracks dotted around the New Territories. Alice’s parents had gone, as had the young Gunner. A few lingered, Mac, short, bearded Texan who ran the civilian stables, Tod, cynical Long Islander, typical big American. Tod claimed to represent an import-export firm called Ciao but asked what it was they imp or ex ported would grin, ‘Just stuff, y’know. Products.’ Harry liked to hang out with them and listen to them avoid talking about what they really did for a job. 

She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, looking edgy, Ray-Bans pushed back, glancing his way often. Dark eyebrows, clear gray eyes.  ‘Anyone for a drink in the Club?’ Harry made the invitation general. People had things to do, places to go, people to see. He needed one or two, for cover.  Mac said he had business to attend and drove off with Tod in an aerial-encrusted van, American Laundry painted on the sides. No-one ever saw Mac take in any shirts and once when Harry asked him to do a few he stared at him like he was stupid.

 ‘Come on, Robin,’ said Alice, flirting, ‘let’s keep Harry company. Someone has to.’  The three strolled across the field. A group of soldiers were converting it back for soccer, tamping wood blocks into the polo goalpost holes, setting up for another week of pedestrian sport.

Leaving Alice and Robin in the bar, empty on a late Wednesday afternoon, Harry checked out the Duty Officer’s quarters. He thought of taking a shower but didn’t want to be away too long. There were stories of Robin’s preferences as there were always stories of bachelors in their forties but you never knew, and Alice had an air of sexual charge that made men hard from twenty yards. And Harry wanted to keep the smell of horse-sweat, the energy of having ridden the afternoon with a huge animal vibrating between his legs.  Polo, he thought, sexiest game ever. Sweating heaving galloping horses, slapping leather and drumming hooves, fierce rivalry between riding warriors. Boxing was violent, football tough and baseball elegant. Polo combined everything in a divine blend of war and sport, and girls do love horses! Watching the blondes at the matches he knew why they wore dark glasses and bit their lips and crossed their legs, nostrils aflare – like the horses.

He returned to the bar. Robin was telling a Gurkha story, one where a young soldier just out of training had been given the task of washing Robin’s car.  ‘…and he did. Buckets of warm soapy water, sponge and cloth, he washed it. Outside and in. He washed the dashboard, carpet, seats, trunk, opened the hood and washed the engine. He only stopped when the battery spouted sparks and he realized maybe some parts don’t need washing. It’s not that he was stupid. They don’t have cars in the Himalayas. He was carrying out instructions. Without question.’  ‘Isn’t that a bit scary?’ she said.  ‘It’s where they have the edge.’

She was drinking brandy and ginger. Robin looked settled, holding a beer. The Sherpa bartender stood at ease, smiling, impassive, starched white jacket, colorful Nepali topi on his head. Harry orders a Tiger, bartender springs to attention, clicks open the can, pours into a silver goblet with grapes and flowers in high relief, places it on a salver engraved with the name of a long-gone comrade, comes round the bar to present it like priest offering communion. About turn, back to the bar. Robin starts another story. Alice and Harry look at each other. It is enough.  ‘I need the bathroom,’ she said and went out.  ‘What’s going on with you and Alice?’ said Robin.  ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Come off it, Harry. You’re playing a dangerous game.’

‘For God’s sake, Robin! Nothing’s happened. Why, she say something?’

‘Didn’t have to, old boy. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Others must have noticed.’


‘Don’t let it hit the fan, mate. What about Anne, your kids for Chrissake. You’re lucky, Harry. Not many men have what you have,’ raising his voice, ‘and more to the point she’s only seventeen – and her father’s your C.O.’

‘OK, OK, I’ll take her home. Stand in for me for an hour?’

‘She lives ten minutes away.’


‘No, dammit. If there’s nothing going on then I’ll take her home.’

She came back to her bar stool. Harry got in first. ‘Robin and I can’t decide who should take you home.’

Robin said quickly, ‘He can’t anyway. He’s Duty Officer.’

‘Oh, Robin,’ Alice pleaded, ‘couldn’t you take over for him? Just for a couple of hours?’

 And so it began. Discreetly at first. After handing the war-room keys to reluctant Robin they walked to the long grass at the end of the polo field, Alice in step at Harry’s side. The opposite way from the parking lot. Neither said anything. He thought she could hear his heart. He still had on his polo gear. ‘Should we pretend to hunt for a ball or something?’ she said. He liked her voice, clear, like her eyes, like her skin, like her way. She could not pretend.  ‘It’s nearly dark,’ he said.  ‘Never too dark to find balls.’ Her hand reached out as they kissed, that first sweet taste of honeysuckle, but the polo-breeches were tougher than denim. ‘Get these off,’ she said, husky, pushing him down in the grass after a few moments of standing struggle.  ‘They don’t come off that easy. Boots first. Needs a boot-jack. You put your heel in the V and pull.’  ‘I know! I’ve got a V. I can jack. And pull.’ Yeah, thought Harry, as she turned her back, knelt and poked her butt out. The dress rode up – nothing underneath. Natural blonde.

Sitting behind he put one leg between her thighs and, hoarse with excitement, rasped, ‘OK, pull! Mind the spur.’  Grabbing the heel in both hands she lifted his booted foot to her crotch and started to ride. His breeches were ready to burst as she rocked on the leather, breath loud and fast. He lay back and struggled with his fly, wrenching at the heavy metal buttons until he came free. He was about to pump in time with her when she looked back at him over her shoulder gasping, ‘It won’t come off.’

‘Hold tight,’ he said, lifted his other foot, placed it against her bare buttocks and shoved.  ‘Wheeee!’ she cried and fell forward, holding the now empty boot and they didn’t wait for the other one to come off because his manhood was out and roaring rampant and he knelt behind, rammed in, and they mated like the survival of the human race was at stake.  ‘No underwear?’ Harry said later as they lay catching their breath.  ‘Took ’em off in the john.’ That got him going again, the thought she’d planned it.  ‘Oh, it was long before that,’ she said. ‘I’ve been squeezing my legs round you all afternoon, watching you ride that pony, thrusting your hips, it was all I could do not to make myself come sitting next to your wife, thinking about you fucking her and me. Talk about wet!’

Fishing in her purse Alice pulled out a scrap of white cotton with a pink teddy motif and threw it in his face. He breathed in her fragrance and she buried her face in his groin. ‘Ah, horse,’ she murmured and her hand went down to find his already there. They lay side by side in the grass, rubbing each other to ecstasy, watching their blurring hands, feeling their hot juices and smearing them over their flesh.  ‘Pink Teddy bears?’ Harry said, looking at her panties now soaking up both their come.  Alice grinned, really naughty. ‘I love my Teddy.’


‘You must meet him. You can watch us.’  In all my philandering, thought Harry, I had not met anyone quite like her. Since Holly.  ‘I love to love my little Teddy.’ She was exciting herself again, breath coming faster. ‘More,’ she cried, ‘come on, do it again, yes, now rub my panties on me, yes, right there, yes, that’s it, oh God, that’s it, yes, yes, yeeeees!’  Mounting again he rode her hard until the night air chilled their drying sweat. He dropped her home with whatever story she had, and took himself back to the Duty Officer’s quarters. They knew they’d see each other soon. Can’t help it in a small military community like Hong Kong…


*Yes, there’s more to this story, so read on with a click here!

Extract from a Story a Week for 27 Weeks, so come back soon – or take the short cut and buy them now with a click!


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Sweetening Sweetie

We’d had her a while but she looked like she was pining after we moved house.  You know how it is, you’re busy, you think ‘I’ll deal with it tomorrow,’ and next thing you have a crisis.  I asked someone who knew about these matters, but what they told me was too vague, really, didn’t give me the confidence I needed to take action.  So I went online to one of those web sites that give specialist advice.  I had to spend a little money and a day or two later the items arrived, with chillingly comprehensive instructions.  Couldn’t go wrong.  I printed them out in large font – didn’t want my glasses getting in the way in the struggle I knew was to come.

Gently I lifted her up, cleaned her up down there, and following the exact format probed around with a chopstick to get rid of the clingy bits.  Then came the challenge, holding her still while I snipped and trimmed.  Finally, moistening the bed, I stood her up and tied her in place with the special wire provided.

Now it’s a matter of wait and see.  She does look good.  We always knew they needed extra care and attention and sure thing I’ll make sure she gets it in the future.  Just looking at her gives me pleasure.  I completely understand Mr Miyagi’s love for his.  Now she is re-potted perhaps she will love me back.  When we bought her years ago we named her Sweetie 2, after our first bonsai went to bonsai heaven.

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Love to Die For 9/27 MARRIED LIFE

Things with Lisa ended after a mini-scandal rippled through the community. Her parents found out Harry was getting married and forbade her seeing him. Her father, a bigwig in Shell, threatened to tell the C.O. ‘Outrageous,’ he cried. Lisa took his car, drove to the base and was stopped at the perimeter gate. Harry got a call in Bravo Company office. ‘West-Saheb, there is a Memsaheb asking for you.’

They’d met at one of those regimental occasions dotting the peace time backdrop to sporadic jungle forays, overt ops, covert ops, playing ‘Enemy’ for visiting forces to practice on before dying at Binh Ba.

Short of girls for a ball to celebrate the ‘150th Anniversary of the Raising of the Regiment,’ Willymac had gone to Singapore to trawl his connections in the Tai Pan aristocracy.

He returned with six daughters of the great merchant trading houses when trade had become respectable, at least in the East. Lodged with the married officers they turned up gorgeous at the cocktail party that began the event. It was a great success: the military band played on the lawn till nine, a civilian band replaced them and everyone danced sedately until the official end at 2 am. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts rocked till dawn and Ruby Tuesday saw bodies star-scattered on the grass, tipples toppled at their side.

With military resilience they were up by lunchtime for a beach party sixty miles away and Lisa was Harry’s date from the night before. Now she wanted more than he could give. He picked her up at the gate, took her to Ho’s Hotel where they fucked their brains out for the last time, and said goodbye.

 Harry broke the news to Holly with, ‘I guess I can’t drive you to Singapore any more. Nothing to do, nowhere to stay.’

‘Stay with me and Ricky.’

‘Won’t he find out?’

‘No. How many times d’you think I’ve arrived dripping with your come and he didn’t notice? By the time we get there he’s full of Martini – hey, you should meet him just for that!’

‘I don’t know, Holly. What would I do all weekend?’

‘Laze around the pool, smoke a little pot, fuck his friend Pippa to a whiter shade of pale. She’s looking. And good looking.’


Ricky and Harry became friends, and he sure made a great Martini. ‘Just pour the gin gently and look hard at the vermouth, Harry, that’s the trick.’

 Harry found his mind blown by the creativity of Ricky’s world; Ricky was spellbound by tales of war and jungle. They’d drive around in the Galaxy, through the colored nights of Singapore City, ‘Windmills of Your Mind’ on the stereo, eat at stalls in Bugis Street watching the transvestites pull drunken British squaddies, drink Jack Daniels in the new Shangri-La – Raffles is so fusty, said Holly, (and full of people we know, thought Harry.)

Pippa was a passing passion, great butt in the Pippa tradition, but too skinny, and Harry’s return to London was looming. He told himself, without conviction, he shouldn’t overdo things before the wedding, should be happy just to hang out by the pool and pleasure himself to ‘Puff the Magic Dragon.’

Spending time with Holly and Ricky he couldn’t help learning more about their sex life, a lot less than he’d imagined: Ricky loved Mr Martini so much. Some nights Harry heard him snoring and Holly convulsing on her own and wished she’d come in. On the way back he asked her why not.

‘When I’m with Ricky I’m with Ricky. I can wait for the journey back with you. In fact that’s what I think about when I’m wanking next to him. Your cock squirting in my cunt.’

‘So you’re only with him in body?’

‘Whoever got burned for what they were thinking about?’ she said.

‘Anyone who got caught.’

‘There you are. They had to be caught. They must have done more than just think. It would be the telling, or the writing.’

He said, ‘So keep our secrets secret.’

‘Then no-one gets hurt,’ she said.

‘And we can still have fun.’

‘With a K. There’s the fuckery. Make me come, Harry.’

 When Anne joined him after the wedding the four of them spent most of their free weekends together. Anne and Holly got on like sisters. A striking pair, the first time they went to Barbarella’ s together to see Jane Fonda’s writhing image projected on the wall, Holly wore a crochet black cat-suit with nothing underneath, Anne likewise in gold. The dance-floor packed with Singapore’s young and beautiful stopped and stared.

Then Anne fell pregnant and felt less like traveling the hundred miles once or twice a month. Harry would stay, on unnecessarily frequent military business trips, with Ricky, and Holly who’d moved in. They drank quantities of alcohol and Ricky passed out. He always had a few on the way home from the office. One of those nights Holly wanted to put on a face-pack.

‘You next,’ she said to Harry as he watched.


‘You mustn’t move your face when it’s on. We can’t speak or even smile.’

‘How long for?’

‘About an hour.’

They sat on stools in her fragrant dressing-room, facing each other, jaws clenched, trying so hard not to laugh at green landscape faces, eyes like volcano craters and lips like red rubber. Ricky’s snores from the next room made it worse.

 They both realized in the same moment that for the first time in weeks they were alone, almost. Holly loosened the belt to her bathrobe, let it fall open. Harry opened his, stiffening. They looked at each other, savoring the moment of knowing what was to come, together as ever. She touched herself for a minute or two, bringing those beautiful breasts to life, then stood, went to him, climbed on his lap, spread herself open, and lowered onto his throbbing hardness.

Ah, the relief. Ice cold in Alex. Hot rod in Holly. The relief, the intense relief of going into her, into the aching comfort of that familiar, tight, hot, wet grip, feeling that squeeze down every inch of his buried shaft. They made slow, lingering, luxurious love in their face-packs, and they did not crack.

Then they smoked. She had introduced Harry to pot, Gold-Spot, deodorant, and sex that he would remember forever as transcendental copulation.

 After peeling off the face-packs they lay side by side on the floor, blowing smoke at the ceiling, free hands resting on each other’s genitals, not moving. Ricky snored from the bedroom.


‘Yes?’ He turned to look at her, Holly, the first woman with whom he felt in harmony, mind and body. In that moment he wanted to drown in her eyes, and want no more.

‘You know what we’ve never done?’

His mind ran the movie of that first time together in Willymac’s car, the first night patrol and uncounted encunters since. What had they never done? Sado-masochism, bondage, group orgies … Harry’s experience of these at that time was pretty much limited to what he’d read: not much.

‘What have we never done, Holly?’

‘We’ve never done what lovers do.’

‘We haven’t? I’d have thought we’ve done everything that…’

‘Come closer.’

They had kept the bathrobes on, open. She turned on her side and pulled him to her so their bodies touched. He felt her breasts cushion his chest, her belly press his, his sex touch hers, their thighs and knees touching, even their feet. Then he felt her hand push the robe off his shoulder and slide up his back, and hold him gently at the nape. Her other arm went round his waist. He could smell the honey of her skin.

‘Hold me,’ she whispered. He did, bringing their faces so close they could feel each other’s breath. They held each other in a love embrace outlasting the space between lightning and thunder.

And then she kissed him. Her lips opened, and she kissed him. Her mouth touched his. He looked in her eyes, wide open. Lips touching, they gazed. He had no thought, no wish, nor desire, nor fear. And then she lowered those beautiful long-lashed eyelids, and with her tongue, parted his lips. Her tongue, soft, warm, moist, he had never felt on his lips, slid into his mouth.

Their first kiss.

They stayed in that kiss, that caress of lips, that most tender sweetness, and breathed each other’s breath, and heard their two hearts beat as one, and felt that beat quicken, and their breath quicken, and their loins quicken until sweet caress became raging lust. But now, this time, it was different. This passion made pale fire of all before. Together they climaxed and he filled her, and they filled each other’s hearts, until the tide receded and they lay together, one mind, one heart, one love.

‘Why didn’t we do this before?’

What might have been? One destiny? Might they once, on that first recognition of twin free spirits, have said, ‘I love you, you are the only one who fits my skin.’ The night the jungle fell silent, and the moon hung still, waiting, listening for the words that never came.

Then again, what might not have been? Harry might not have gone through with the wedding to Anne, not had their children, not broken more hearts, nor had his shattered. Holly might not have gone with Ricky to California and the good life, cash and sunshine. Now, on their last night patrol, after their first and last kiss, one of them said, ‘Shall we run away together?’

 What’s in a word? How would their lives have been, had those words been ‘Let’s’ instead of ‘Shall we’? And how different Harry’s adventures from those that followed. The question was, could he now live without honey?


*Yes, there’s more to this story, so read on with a click here!

Extract from a Story a Week for 27 Weeks, so come back soon – or take the short cut and buy them now with a click!

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What a beautiful feeling!  I love and enjoy my work.  After a really intensive 8-day teaching with a lovely group of people I awake this morning filled with the pleasure at the prospect of a day of idleness, rest, recovery, recuperation.  So what am I doing sitting at the computer?  I’m enjoying the fact that I can, or I can go into the garden and say Hello to the Sun, or  wander to the garden centre and find something to protect my growing little hollyhocks when I plant them out from their little box, that I can mooch down to the supermarket, go to the movies, walk in the park, lie on the sofa missing my beloved (that miss will underlay whatever I do today and tomorrow and all the desert days after)…and lots of etcs before writing to my lovely group of people to thank them for being there, and starting to climb the paper mountain that accumulated (can mountains accumulate?) during my week of teaching.  All after a leisurely bath and an indolent breakfast.  I’m feeling idle.  I can go anywhere and do anything.  I can go nowhere and do nothing.  Today, it’s choice.  That’s the luxury.  There are those who have none.  Thinking of them helps me appreciate what I have.

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Love To Die For 8/27 MOTHER LOVE

Holly wore a yellow flowered sarong tied above her breasts, covering her to the knee. Not her usual going-out get-up, thought Harry, the standard garb for Malay women, but that night they were going somewhere very new, at least for him. She invited Harry in to the house, with ‘They’d like to meet you.’

‘Is this a new boyfriend routine?’

‘No. They know about Ricky. Anyway, they don’t care. They know what I’m like.’

Taking his hand she led him up the wooden steps to the verandah, long, low, dim in the brief twilight. He could smell mosquito-coils, red tips glowing under a bamboo table. Cynthia made her entrance. Smile as sultry as the night, sarong of bright colors tied behind her neck, showing ample shoulders. As she glided down the verandah the sarong opened a little with each step, showing glimpses of flesh and shadow.

‘Harry,’ she murmured, took his hand and held it. Older version of Holly, face a little lined, breasts a little heavier, and he could see the outline of her nipples. He felt Holly’s hand on his shoulder and her firmer fuller breasts at his back.

‘Let’s go in,’ said Cynthia, leading through double glass doors into a cool dark room, polished mahogany furniture reflecting points of candle light.

‘Holly tells me you’re wonderful.’

In bed or as a person? Potential son-in-law, or simple stud? ‘One tries to please,’ Harry replied.

‘Then please please me!’ she sang, pushing him down on to a couch

‘And me,’ giggled Holly. She walked over to a cabinet and moments later a pair of massive Pioneers filled the room with Je T’aime Moi Non Plus.

Swaying to the music, hands started on each other’s shoulders and then began to stray. Like swans embracing, their bodies rubbed together, fingertips touching, drifting. Cynthia pulled Holly close. Holly’s hands went behind. Lifting the hem of the sarong she turned her mother’s back towards Harry, looking at him over her mother’s shoulder, showing him her mother’s fleshy naked buttocks, kneading them, rubbing them together, spreading them open, in time to the music.

Cynthia’s hands came up to untie the knot at the back of her neck and now the only thing holding the sarong was the pressure of their bodies together. Holly turned her mother to face Harry and cupped her breasts from behind, rubbing the dark nipples already erect. The sarong fell, a heap of color at their feet. Cynthia’s head went back on her daughter’s shoulder and her hands went down the front of her own body. They swayed, eyes closed, lost in the pictures in their mind, the music in their ears, and the touch of their hands.

And Harry? Fully erect but not sure what to do with it. Should I take off my pants and join in? he wondered. And what of Mike, still outside on the verandah? Both naked now, the two women were embracing. Cynthia’s hand went down and started rubbing Holly. Holly did the same to her mother. As their rhythm left the music behind they bestrode each other’s legs. Holly looked towards him, that look on her face he was getting to know so well, when she knew she had to orgasm and nothing would stop her but she would make herself wait. She panted, ‘Get your cock out, Harry, show my Mom what you’ve got.’

He pulled his pants down below his buttocks. His member leapt free.

‘Ah,’ murmured Cynthia, ‘beautiful.’ She moved to the couch, straddled him and rubbed him against her sex. She was shaven, and very wet. Holly straddled his face and they both moved in rhythm. He felt himself go inside Cynthia. She could do the same tricks in there as Holly. Their movements became frantic until all three came.

‘Enjoy your weekend,’ said Cynthia. Holly and Harry dressed, got in the car and headed for Singapore. By the time they reached what Holly called ‘our fuckery’ they were both ready for more.

‘So as soon as I told them I lost my virginity they put me on the pill and the fun really began. Tub-time was favorite. And always different. They used to get those contact magazines from the top shelf in the corner store and play out the fantasies in the stories. Dad’s kind of gone off things since we came out here. He just lets us get on with it, says it’s too hot. Maybe he’s seeing someone. Maybe starting to like boys. Some men do, you know, when they get older. I saw him down the bazaar once, going behind a curtain in the carpet shop. Mom and I have our fun. She likes doing it with me but most of all with our vibrators. She takes a long time. I love to watch her. She starts by dancing in front of the mirror, just moving her hips to the music, always wearing something sexy. She goes into her own strip routine. The first time I saw her it was quite dark, just a light showing her skin and she had on this see-through negligee with a black bra and panties, stockings, garters, heels, the lot. She didn’t know I was there, just lost in her own world and the music…’

As Holly told the story she was going through the motions in the passenger seat. ‘She rubbed her hands all over herself, stroking her wrists and arms, stroking her shoulders, stroking her neck, her eyes were closed and that smile on her face she gets when she knows she’s going to enjoy herself. She was caressing her face and tracing the shape of her nose and ears and eyebrows and lips and then when her fingers went into her mouth I felt myself getting hotter and hotter down there, so I started to copy her. I was still in my school clothes. She was sucking her fingers and I was sucking mine.’

Holly’s tongue flicked over her fingertips.

‘Did she know you were watching?’

‘She acted like she was alone. Her hands rubbed down her body leaving damp streaks of saliva. She reached behind and undid her bra, black, lacy, pulled it through the sleeve of her negligee and her breasts were free. I loved those breasts, still do, and so does she. She spent ages going round and round the nipples, then beneath and holding them up. She could reach them with her tongue. As her bra fell to the floor I dropped my satchel and it landed with a thud but she took no notice. That’s when I thought she must know I was there but pretending not to, and that got me more excited. I wriggled out of my blue school tunic. It fell round my ankles. Mom kept dancing and swaying and undid her stockings, slowly, just like a real stripper.’

‘You ever see one?’

‘I hadn’t then but when I did I realized Mom could have done that job. I just sat on the floor and pulled off my shoes and white school socks. I still had on the white shirt and blue striped tie and my bra and the big blue underwear but they came off as Mom slid her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Now she had just the negligee and was dancing a little bit faster, rubbing it over her skin, her shoulders and breasts and up and down her arms and legs, and then she lifted one arm straight up in the air and with her other hand held the end of the sleeve, so it stayed up as her arm came down and she was naked. She rolled the silk and moved it between her legs, turned and poked her butt out at the mirror, bent down and looked at herself between her legs and then she started to rub very slowly. I was copying but I didn’t have a mirror. I was dripping wet by now but forced myself to take it at her pace, using my school shirt. Then the music stopped. I thought she was going to play another record but she didn’t, instead picked up a pink vibrator from the chair, switched it on and away she went. She started standing looking in the mirror but then went on to her knees. She could still see the mirror but then she fell onto her back and her hips were bucking and she was screaming with pleasure…I was wanking myself like crazy, stop Harry, stop the car, you’ve got to fuck me now, now, now.’

He did.

‘My first boyfriend called me a nympho. Because I was doing his best buddy as well. He dumped me, then wanted to get back together. I said OK as long as I could do them both.’


‘Not at first but then we got drunk and that’s how we ended up and that’s how it went on till I came out here. I just like sex, I need to come every day, at least once, I think about it all the time and want to fuck almost every man I see.’

‘You fucking anyone besides Ricky?’

‘Only you.’

‘Why only me?’

‘You and me, Harry, we’re …we just fit.’

‘Does he know?’

‘No. He thinks I’m a good girl. I am a good girl. Wanting to and doing it are different.’

‘And he’s going to marry you and take you back to California.’

‘The good life! Cash and sunshine.’

‘You worried about him finding out?’

‘You going to tell him?’

‘I don’t talk. Saving it for my memoirs…


*Yes, there’s more to this story, so read on with a click here!

Extract from a Story a Week for 27 Weeks, so come back soon – or take the short cut and buy them now with a click!

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Holly clambered naked, glorious in the moonlight, up onto the hood of the Mustang and spread herself out. Harry felt the smooth warm metal beneath his knees and elbows and her firm full breasts under his chest. Her hand came round on to the base of his spine and she held him, tight against her, held him still while she made tiny slow circles with her hips that made their pubic mounds rub together until again that orgasm came up from the depths of her being and the night echoed the sounds of her pleasure and then his, as excitement spilled over and he discovered the ecstasy of a slow climax.

Her skin smelt like honey and he could not get enough of it. They went again like rabbits, rocking that car again and again, and then again a few nights later, but Harry hadn’t checked the training schedules and they were interrupted by explosions. A yellow flare brightened the night sky and a platoon of Gurkhas rushed by shouting ‘Ayo Gorkhali!’ firing blanks, throwing thunderflashes, smell of cordite drowning tropical fragrance. The Gurkha officer in charge recognized Harry naked on the hood and saluted.

‘Ram Ram, Saheb.’

‘Ram Ram,’ Harry answered, thinking how appropriate.

The Gurkha grinned. ‘Training exercise, Saheb?’

‘Night patrol.’

Harry knew where this story would go. He also knew it wouldn’t go further than the Gurkhas.

‘What were they shouting?’ Holly looked excited.

‘Ayo Gorkhali – here come the Gurkhas.’

‘Me too. Come on, Harry…..Ayo Holleeeeeeeeeee!’ as a red Verey light soared into the night sky.

Willymac kept wanting his car back so Harry went into debt and bought a beige Renault station-wagon with a bench back seat that folded flat. Front-wheel drive made it good across country and the bouncy suspension was perfect for pleasure.

The road to Singapore wound through small towns, rubber plantations and virgin jungle getting deflorated (when I was twelve, said Holly) by loggers. Harry spotted a clearing about halfway on the two- (now three-) hour journey where they could park but the first time they didn’t even make it into the back. Holly tormented him by getting herself off from the moment they got out of town, hand moving in crotch, Anglo-Saxon language streaming from her mouth, hem of her dress rising and top falling to show those amazing breasts not just to Harry but any passing driver. ‘For God’s sake, Holly, it’s a Muslim country, we’ll get arrested.’

‘Not in a Christian one?’

‘The penalties are different. Cover up, please!’

She had a great pout and covered her top but the hem stayed round her waist and he had problems trying to concentrate. They found the clearing, pulled in. He ran to open the back but she yelled, ‘No, come round here,’ and there she was, sideways on the seat, door open, legs spread and fingers frantic. ‘Now,’ she cried, ‘fuck me now, make me come, fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck fuck.’ He stood, entered, started ramming away, but couldn’t hold it and erupted inside.

‘Ah that’s nice. Finish me off, come on, lickety-spit,’ grabbing his head in both hands she pulled him down so he was kneeling on the grass. He licked and sucked until she convulsed.

He loved the smooth creamy feel of her skin, always hot. Not too hot, sexy hot, sensual. And she did certain things, down there, that he hadn’t experienced before, and would not again until he discovered tantra.

‘Where d’you learn that?’

‘From my Mom.’


‘Family tradition. My great-grand mom was a working girl in Calcutta.’

‘What did she work at?’

‘Really, Harry, for a serial shagger you’re quite naïve, aren’t you. She worked at being a woman. Great-grandpa was a quartermaster with Skinners Horse, married her at nineteen, same as me now. She gave birth to my gran and as she grew up taught her all she knew, but when great-grandpa retired and took her back to Colchester she pined away, lack of cash, not enough sunshine. He died of a broken heart, gran went to work at the army base, bagged herself a Corporal, gave birth to Mom and as she grew up, taught her all she knew.’

‘Who, as you grew up…’

‘Taught me all I know! To make my future husband happy, she said.’ Then, with a wicked grin, ‘We’re a very loving family.’

Harry was getting a feeling of revulsion but tinged with arousal. She was watching his face with those brown eyes he could get lost in. He kept it straight. He said, ‘Do you want to tell me more?’

‘D’you want to hear more?’

Arousal won. ‘Yes.’

The story continued over the following weeks. It had started when she was twelve. Harry had watched Kubrick’s Lolita on his previous furlough in the UK and now imagined Holly as Sue Lyon, heart-shaped sunglasses and all. Her descriptions were graphic and she had a lot less of the innocence, in fact relished the telling.

‘As soon as my breasts started to sprout Mom and Dad told me the facts of life and the family history. Of course I knew about the birds and the bees, caught them at it a few times and they’d never seemed embarrassed like the other kids’ parents in the playground stories. After they told me, next time I caught them they made me watch.’

‘Made you?’

‘Let me. Didn’t tell me to go back to my room. I wanted to watch. It became a regular thing. They showed me different positions while I rubbed myself. Then we would all rub together. My Dad had a lovely cock and Mom taught me a special way of sliding my tongue up that groove and around the ridge. Then I wanted to do it with them but they said I had to wait. Well I couldn’t so I ran straight out and fucked one of the boys in school who’d been hanging around me. He was our neighbor and we did it in the garden shed. He was really clumsy but he managed OK.’ Harry knew the feeling…


*Yes, there’s more to this story, so read on with a click here!

Extract from a Story a Week for 27 Weeks, so come back soon – or take the short cut and buy them now with a click!

Posted in adult fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment