Bob-a-Job, Sir?

"Moldova does have tax collectors, but no, they don't bother me."

"I bet they don't, big boy! Heh heh, we need a few good citizens like you over here. What do you earn then?"

"Last year I made 200 million leu before tax, and, heh heh, I pay no tax!"

200 million leu, thought Virginia. It was 50 leu to the pound in the Financial Times this morning. That'll do nicely.

Virginia licked her index finger very deliberately, held it up in front of Major Jizz, and then smilingly applied it to her clitoris. Up and down she rubbed it, licking her lips as she did so. Then she gave him The Look.

He wriggled very uncomfortably in his seat.

"Who is that fat man whose knee you're perched on? Is he your husband?"

"No, he's my faithful butler. He's warming my fanny, but I'm thinking you could do that, handsome."

And with that, he rushed her. Catching up the delighted McGrott in one massive arm and plunging through the nearest bedroom door. They heard McGrott screaming – first with laughter; then with delight; and then (after a zipping noise) with shock and awe.

It was as if a whirlwind had passed through the room. It stopped the cocktail chatter stone dead! At this display of raw sexuality, Eleanor, Jenny and Fenella cowered together.

"Now", said Mr Shaft hastily, "for the second part of the auction. I may have forgotten to mention that these dossiers are each in two folders!"

"Dr Twatte and Ms Pratt have successfully bid for the first half of the Bob-a-Job dossier. And Miss Blowett has secured the first volume of the hockey dossier. Now what am I bid for Volume 2? How about selling these as a combined lot? In order to register an interest in these two dossiers, could I please have an immediate down payment of three bras?!!"

An electric silence now fell on the room. (Well, it wasn't totally silent! From the adjoining bedroom there came the steady squeaking of a mattress. Deep, growling, snuffling grunts, plus orgasmic screams in a much higher pitch. Dr Virginia McGrott, MA (Edinburgh University), was clearly getting the pasting of a lifetime.)

Then Dr Twatte (showing great leadership) sadly unclipped her bra. Jenny Pratt followed suit. And off the bras came!

With their arms concealing their breasts, the two women shuffled forward to present their bras to the auctioneer. They were surrounded, though, by grinning men, eager to congratulate them. And of course shake their hands!

Knocker show!!

Now, readers, we've got a pretty fair knowledge of Jenny's beautiful breasts. After all, they only appeared a few pages ago.

Dr Twatte's, though, have been eagerly awaited. The headmistress's jugs did NOT disappoint. They were heavy, mind, and swung quite ponderously to and fro as their owner moved. They sagged a bit, it's true. But they were so large, so beautifully 'tear drop' shaped, so smooth, so round..... So utterly jaw-droppingly splendid, that the only sensible response to Dr Twatte's breasts had to be "ga ga ga", or maybe "goo goo".

Follow that, Fenella!

Well of course, Fenella was built on different lines altogether from Jenny and Eleanor. There wasn't going to be the same sense of Biblical revelation when Fenella Blowett took off her bra.

But there were a few reasons why the blokes turned eagerly to Fenella, now that it was her turn to 'make a deposit'.

Firstly, Fenella's wrinkled, baggy underwear looked bloody awful, and simply had to be removed. On aesthetic grounds, you understand!

Secondly, Fenella's nipples were making quite a statement!

Thirdly, these were sophisticated, broad-minded guys, with a catholic taste in women. Hourglass Marilyn Monroe figures are great. But so too are women who are long, lean, limber and toned. Basically, these blokes heartily approved of naked women. Full stop!

So Fenella found the audience very positive indeed about her auction bid.

Crimson with embarrassment, Fenella turned her back to the audience and removed her bra. She hunched her shoulders, as if to cover up, but then she realised the hopelessness of her plight. So she turned round, and showed everyone the 'assets' she'd brought to the auction.

Relatively small breasts, but lovely little round handfuls. With rosy-pink, urgent-looking nipples. Well done, Fenella!

Mr Shaft hurried on, understandably keen to keep up the momentum.

"Congratulations, ladies, a successful down payment! You are now preferred bidders for these items! Please join me in a formal viewing."

This 'formal viewing' ruse was of course just an excuse for getting the poor bare-breasted women to the front of the room, where they had to stand behind a very low table, and turn the pages of the folders. This had the double benefit of: (1) keeping the women's arms down and their beautiful melons in full, lip-smacking view; and (2) getting them to lean forward and 'dangle'.

The guys found it a fantastic display of 'low-hanging fruit'. They loudly discussed the competing merits of the small, sweet and perky ones (Fenella); the large and juicy ones (Jenny) and huge, awesome belters (Dr Twatte).

Mark Swordsman did everything he could to humiliate the fuming, topless teachers. He asked them to smile for photographs, and made 'helpful' comments like: "lads, don't grope Eleanor's tits – yet!"

Another indignity for the bosomy beauties lay in the Nipple factor. In her embarrassment, Fenella's nipples had been jutting out from the moment she took off her dress.

Eleanor and Jenny were a bit less self-conscious. But their appalling situation did start to get to them. And so their cheeks got pinker and their nipples more showy. To the point where the three bare chests looked like six very pervy coat pegs all in a row.

Anyway, all good things must come to an end, and the fun and laughter gradually calmed. Mr Shaft said: "Thank you, ladies. Now for your final payment! I do require three pairs of knickers, you know....!"

NOW YOU'RE BLOODY TALKING, MAN!!

The atmosphere became very highly charged. For any right-thinking man, this would have to be the pivotal moment of the whole evening.

The three teachers must have seen this coming. But maybe they'd been hoping against hope for some stay of execution. At any rate, their shoulders suddenly sagged. (Hey, that was a lovely knocker avalanche you did there with your shoulders, Dr Twatte! Bet you can't do it again!)

Oddly enough, though, all three of them had a slightly pulpy, squelchy feeling in their panties. It was horrible, but it was sort of thrilling.

Dr Twatte made one last desperate bid to keep her knickers. Clasping her hands together, the poor topless headmistress pleaded: "Mr Shaft... Jim! Don't let this happen to us!"

Mr Shaft weakened at the sight of Dr Twatte's beautiful dark eyes and beautiful white bazoomas. And there was a murmur of sympathy for the lovely and well-stacked damsels in distress.

But that rotter Mark Swordsman broke the spell.

"Come on, Eleanor, don't play so hard to get! " he jeered. "There's a lot in this for you, dear. Your job, for example! Get them off!"

Well there was nothing to be done. The knickers had to go!

Eleanor, Jenny and Fenella slowly, unhappily bent over, slipped their knickers down over their bottoms, down their legs, and off entirely. Mark Swordsman scooped the knickers up, swept a courtly bow to the three mortified strippers, and handed them to the auctioneer.

"Thank you, ladies" croaked Mr Shaft. In his excitement, he was barely able to make speaking noises. "That's most satisfactory! Please mingle with the chaps, while I ... errr ... document your payment.

The three naked women didn't seem at all keen to 'mingle'. Instead they huddled together miserably, while Mr Shaft gravely made an entry in some ledger or other. (Probably his football pools.)

The nude teachers looked very wistfully at their knickers, as Mr Shaft put them on the table, on top of their other clothes. So near, and yet so far!

But then, as if reading their minds, Mark Swordsman grabbed the clothes and stuffed them into a wall safe. CLANG! He swung the safe door shut. The noise struck a chill to their fannies.

"Right then, that's the time lock on!" said Swordsman.

"Time lock? Till when?" quavered Eleanor.

"Seven o'clock tomorrow morning! Tomorrow's Sunday, isn't it, so I thought we could all make a night of it!! This suite has got bedrooms, as (heh! heh!) your colleague Dr McGrott has discovered. Mind you, there aren't enough beds to go round, so we'll probably need to (heh! heh!) pair up!"

Seven o'clock tomorrow morning! But it was only 10 pm now! NINE MORE HOURS in the nude!

It was an appalling prospect. And yet, so indomitable is the human spirit, that our three heroines did start to come to terms with the situation. All three of them felt a tiny little thrill. Who knows, there just might be some compensations...

After all, there was no point in trying to cover up your boobs, butt and pussy for nine hours. So the bare-assed trio let their arms fall to their sides and they squared their shoulders. There was a slight sucking in of tummies, puffing out of chests and inching apart of feet. Well, if you're at the gates of hell, you might as well look good.

There was a short silence, while the men smacked their lips over the naked women, and the red-faced women tried to look nonchalant.

Through the adjoining wall, there came a rough, wet, scraping noise. It sounded like a great big Moldovan tongue licking a sticky ginger thatch. Then a harsh little female voice cried out in a kind of orgasmic sing-song:

"AH! AHH!! AAAHHHHH!!!*!!" "UH! UHH!! UUUUHHHH!!*!!!" "YURR! YUURRRR!! YURROOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!*!!@!!"

Was that English, or was it Romanian? Fenella, Eleanor and Jenny thought "Virginia's having a good time! Why can't we?"

In the meantime, Jim Shaft and Mark Swordsman were conferring. They too had heard the party sounds from next door.

"Listen, Swordsman", said Mr Shaft, "we need to change our approach. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's all going unbelievably well so far. But the stakes have risen."

"There's a big economic factor, you see. They've just discovered natural gas under Punk. It could become the boom town of Eastern Europe. 'Mayor' Jizz is the key guy in the region. Well, he's not really a properly elected Mayor – he's just the strongest gang leader in town, but look at him – you wouldn't want to challenge him on the bloody hustings, would you!"

"So we've got this incredible stroke of luck – that in some dusty old pan-European local government accord, Humpton is twinned with Punk. So we get the Mayor over here, to impress him with Humpton know-how and glamour."

"And what happens? He hates the Morris dancers. He turns up his nose at our haute cuisine, and goes off looking for roadkill. We try him out with the choicest hookers in town – Sharon Spreddam, for God's sake, and he says she's got no personality! He gives the impression that we're the most boring bunch of bloody wimps he's ever met. And he brings forward his flight, to go back tomorrow. Total disaster."

"But then he meets that crazy little witch, McGrott, and she stops him dead! Just listen to that row next door!"

"Look here, Mark, my considered opinion, as the commercial and business leader of this town, is that Dr Virginia McGrott is Humpton-on-Thames's biggest asset. And Humpton Girls School is therefore our most valuable institution. Right?"

"Now, I know that you've got a few scores to settle with Dr Twatte. But we don't want to slaughter her, do we? Personally, when I look at Dr Twatte, I feel like making Love, not War."

"And I know your young assistant Curtis has blotted his copybook with Jenny Pratt, and would do anything to get back between her legs. And do I or don't I see a soft, romantic gleam in your eye whenever Fenella Blowett's lovely bare body comes near?"

"So let's be a bit more positive now. You've taken Dr Twatte down a peg. Let's give the school our support; let's help these poor bare naked ladies through the night; the town prospers; and WE ALL GET LAID!!"

Swordsman had to agree, so the two men broke apart. Jim Shaft clapped his hands and said:

"Ladies, where are our manners?! We invited you here to show our support for the school, and ... errr ....our respect for you as professionals. By your actions tonight, you have successfully averted disaster for Humpton Girls School – well done! Dr Twatte, let me ceremonially present you with the dossiers you've bid for, and then I have a very interesting proposition for you....!"

And so, Dr Eleanor Twatte, MA (Cantab), found herself starring at an award ceremony. In the course of her distinguished career, Dr Twatte had collected many prizes. But this was a bit different!

For one thing, she had never displayed quite so much of her cunt on a podium before. For another thing, she'd never before received an award from a guy who shook her hand with his right hand, and groped her arse crack with his left.

But most important of all, she'd never been so relieved to actually take possession of an award in her life! It might be only a few grubby folders, but getting hold of them meant salvation for the school.

Dr Twatte squatted in front of the fire, feeding each page to the flames. She was past caring about the fact that every guy in the room was getting a lovely view of her minge by the firelight. It was just such a relief!

Mr Shaft courteously stayed very close to the large-breasted nude academic. Once she had done her essential admin work, he beckoned her to a far corner of the room.

Mr Shaft guided Dr Twatte with his arm as they walked there. And if he occasionally brushed a lovely bare bosom, one could hardly blame him. Her tits were so big that they were very hard to avoid.

Fenella and Jenny looked at them curiously. And the rest of the men looked at Fenella and Jenny.

Through the walls came Dr McGrott's voice. She was giving an instruction, presumably in Romanian. Then she said "Fuck it! 'Doggy style' doesn't translate literally in Romanian. I'm buggered if I can remember the idiomatic phrase."

Then (obviously miming it to Mayor Jizz), she sad "Woof! Woof!" There was a deep chuckle, and a steady thumping started up again. Followed soon by cries of delight from McGrott.

Fenella and Jenny couldn't hear what Mr Shaft was proposing to Dr Twatte. But they were relieved to see their leader's body language. Whatever it was that Mr Shaft was saying, Dr Twatte seemed to be finding it acceptable.

First Dr Twatte started to smile. Then she inched closer to Mr Shaft, so that her naked side, hip and thigh were jammed against him. Dr Twatte uncrossed her legs. She cupped her huge breasts and pointed them playfully at Mr Shaft, evidently to underline some point she was making.

Then Dr Twatte opened her legs wide, thrust out her crotch, and twisted her body to face Mr Shaft full on. Then she climbed on top of Mr Shaft and started eating his face. Flinging a beautiful white leg over Mr Shaft as she did so, and humping her substantial bare backside up and down.

The couple slid on the floor, and Eleanor reluctantly scrambled to her feet. But not without a playful little dab at Mr Shaft's flies. She stood over him, legs naughtily apart. Dangling her tits in Mr Shaft's face and grinding her bottom, Eleanor whispered something to him that made him go cross-eyed with delight.

Then Dr Twatte skipped back to her colleagues, making absolutely no attempt to steady her bouncing breasts and jiggling buttocks. The watching men nodded their heads up and down. As they followed Twatte's boing-ing body, they looked like little toy dogs in the back windows of cars,.

Fenella and Jenny were glad to see Eleanor's flushed face and protruding nipples. Also to smell the faint odour of musk on her. She must have good news for them! The three naked women got into a huddle, with their bottoms sticking out.

Eleanor quickly explained the seven point plan:-

(1) All school debts to be written off by the bank on Monday morning (2)Grovelling apology from the editor of the Humpton Helmet to Jenny Pratt for ordering Vladimir Curtis to his act of betrayal. Vladimir only obeying orders, not his fault, deeply in love with Jenny, etc (3)Guaranteed good publicity from the Helmet for the school for evermore (4)Humpton School to become the Chamber of Commerce's preferred charity. (The Chamber of Commerce's 'charity' slush fund was known to be worth a bloody fortune! The official charity, "Brain-damaged Humpton kangaroos" had never been paid a penny, for the simple reason that it didn't exist. It was a notorious tax scam) (5)Talking of notorious tax criminals, Dr Virginia McGrott must continue her valuable work at the school! As soon as she had finished fucking the Mayor of Punk, Dr McGrott would be presented with a five-year contract offering double her current pay. (Funded by the Chamber of Commerce.) Dr McGrott would be relieved of any duties involving finance, in order to concentrate better on her vital work of teaching, research and ... errr ... liaison with the Mayor (6)Eleanor Twatte, Jenny Pratt and Fenella Blowett also to be given a pay rise (7)In return for (1) to (6) above, Twatte, Blowett & Pratt should provide the entertainment for the Chamber of Commerce for the rest of the night. (Well there was nothing else to do, was there?!!)

The bare bottoms waggled in agreement. All this sounded very reasonable.

"And I think Virginia will be happy with that," said Dr Twatte. At that point, there was a massive vibration from the room next door, followed by a throaty howl of feminine joy. "Yes, I think Virginia would be happy with anything right now! Oh, I do hope they haven't broken that bed..."

"But what about this 'entertainment' we're meant to provide?" worried Fenella. "It's so embarrassing being naked with all these men. I really couldn't dance in front of them and do magic tricks and things."

"Poor Fenella!" thought the other two sympathetically. There'll be a bit more required of you, dear, than doing card tricks."

"Never mind, Fenella", said Jenny. "You'll be surprised how naturally it comes to you. When I did this the other night – errr.... I mean, I hear that it's all quite easy to improvise."

"Look, Fenella," said Dr Twatte. "Jenny and I will start with a little floor show and you can watch. I suggest you sit on Bill Swett's lap [winking at Jenny]. You'll get a good view there, and it will keep Bill happy."

"Oh yes, good idea!" said Jenny. "Bill won't mind if you ask him nicely."

So Fenella walked over to Bill, blushing from head to toe, and from tits to ass. She asked Bill shyly if she could sit on his lap, and guess what? Bill said yes.

Then silence fell, as Jenny and Eleanor stood together. Each of the nude beauties had an arm around the other's waist.

From the bedroom there came a slobbering, slurping, sucking sort of noise. It sounded as if somebody was trying to swallow a rather large, stiff, pink, throbbing, Moldovan kind of object. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and listened as the gobbling and gulping grew noisier. What a messy eater!

Then, in a low, rumbling key, a very happy grunting started up. It grew louder and jollier. And then it climaxed with a big belching sort of roar. Somebody choked and spat. And then two people started to laugh. (The gobbler and the grunter?) What on earth was going on in there?

Now, where were we? Ah yes...

Everyone turned back to look at Eleanor and Jenny. Who were well worth looking at. What a tasty pair of naked, curvy, cunty lovelies!

Clearly the ladies were a bit nervous. But deep breathing is very good when you're nervous. So the men were very glad to see the nude women's knockers rising and falling, swinging and swaying. Excellent!

"Evening, gentlemen!" said Dr Twatte. "We hope you're having a good time." (Whistles and cheers.) "Here's my friend Jenny Pratt." Jenny slapped her thigh – ripple! – and blew the guys a kiss.