The Whist Drivebydummers©
Mrs Diana Fortescue-Slagg was very pleased. She was chairing the Annual General Meeting of the Middle England Whist Club, and there had been a highly satisfactory agenda item. It was the Treasurer's Report.
The Treasurer, Marjorie Snatch, wasn't a very exciting speaker. (She was a Chartered Accountant, you see.) And the Whist Club was skint.
But Marjorie was a great planner and forecaster. Which is a kind of 'creative accounting' term for fantasist. And Marjorie's report hadn't focussed much on the Club's lack of money. After all, there are only a small number of ways in which you can say "we're broke". Instead, Marjorie had projected what the Club might do next year to celebrate its 10th birthday – if only it could get hold of some bloody cash.
Marjorie's proposals had fired the imagination of the whole meeting. The meeting numbered the total membership of the Whist Club – four ladies. Diana, Marjorie and their two dear friends, Veronica Panting and Dolly Harder.
Before we go on to talk about Marjorie's fantasies, let's take stock of these mature and lovely women.
DIANA FORTESCUE-SLAGG, our heroine, an elegant and well-preserved redhead. She dresses in well-tailored clothes, and through these you can see the outlines of a still-scrumptious body.
When first clapping eyes on Diana, you'd say "Mmmm! Classy middle-aged crumpet!!" But then, when you get closer, your passion cools a bit. Maybe something to do with her haughty expression and posh, bullying voice.
The Fortescues are an old Surrey family, and have enjoyed centuries of feudal authority. But they fell on hard times in the 1990's, and so Diana became a Slagg.
Sorry, I'll rephrase that! Diana married Bill Slagg, a well-off (but dead common) hotelier. So Diana moved to Bill's home town, Stuffett. Stuffett is not a classy place. It's Northern and coarse. But Diana has found a few soulmates there, including ....
MARJORIE SNATCH. Marjorie is an Oxford graduate (double First in Pure Maths) and a chartered accountant with a genius IQ. Unfortunately she's a bit of a dope.
Imagine Professor Branestawm inside the body of a full-figured blonde of about 42, and that's Marjorie. Oh, and Marjorie's too vain to wear glasses. Remember that fact.
VERONICA PANTING. Veronica is a long, lean, limber, blonde posho, who looks sensational when riding to hounds. Watch her bouncing on her horse, and see how her jodhpurs ripple!
Veronica's best admired from a distance, though! She's tough and snooty. And her ice-cube grey eyes could fillet a shark at 15 paces.
DOLLY HARDER. Dolly is about as close as you can get to blue blood in the town of Stuffett. Harder Hall used to be the palace of the West Riding. Now it's mortgaged to the hilt, and Dolly's only remaining asset is her knock-out figure.
Ah, there's many a middle-aged man in Stuffett who'd love a romp with Dolly Harder. But Dolly's cold and snobby and cruel to the lower orders.
So this was the 'Middle England' Whist Club. A little oasis of refinement in a dreadful, rough Northern town. Very elegant and superior, of course. But not exactly dripping with popular appeal.
So what was Marjorie's bright idea? And why did it turn the ladies on so strongly?
Marjorie had handed round some glossy leaflets advertising next year's World Whist Conference. "We simply MUST be there, girls!" she shrieked. Diana, Veronica and Dolly picked up the leaflets without much enthusiasm – after all, they weren't really that keen on whist. But then they saw the venue – Coksf'yoo!
The tiny Indian Ocean island of Coksf'yoo had recently come into worldwide fame. Coksf'yoo was one of the Spice Islands, in the Zanzibar archipelago, off the east coast of Africa.
Coksf'yoo was a superb unspoiled tourist spot, with its marvellous climate, unique flora and fauna, etc. But its really unique selling point was not Nature. It was Man. Or rather, men.
By some demographic oddity, the population of Coksf'yoo was swamped by adult men under 40. Coksf'yoo men were excellent physical specimens, friendly and outgoing. And (how can we put this) very conscious of the island's dependence on the tourist dollar.
As a result, Coksf'yoo became the No 1 global choice for hen parties, Womens Institute 'fact-finding' missions, and tired businesswomen on a winter break.
Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly rented out a top-shelf DVD recently about the island. The DVD followed some lucky middle-aged women from Essex on a week's holiday in Coksf'yoo. (Awful chavs, no class at all, but loaded.) The Whist Club ladies had watched enviously, as the Essex girls encountered a stream of nude, charming, well-hung young Africans.
The DVD ended, with the chavs staggering bandy-legged off the plane at Stanstead Airport. And as the end-credits rolled, our Whist Club heroines each made a solemn vow. "I'm going to get me some of that African cock!"
Now the opportunity has fallen into their laps! A week's 'networking' in the sunshine with these beautiful young guys. But nothing sordid – all in the good name of Whist.
This will be especially helpful to Diana. Bill might jib at bankrolling her for a week's bonking in a hen party resort. But Whist will give a touch of class to the whole thing. Bloody hell, they were always playing whist in 'Pride and Prejudice'.
So what about the tasteless topic of Cost, Marjorie? Marjorie has done her homework all right. By her calculations, the fares and hotel bills will be £5,000 each.
"A lot of money," Marjorie says. "But running costs are quite low once you get out there. If you give one of these gorgeous young guys a digital camera, he'll be your personal nude wine waiter. Throw in a camera case, and he'll probably stir your drinks with his erection."
The four ladies think about that for a while, wriggling slightly in their chairs. But then back to reality. "£20,000! How could we possibly raise that?"
As ever, it was Diana who supplied the leadership. Looking thoughtfully at her slightly time-worn (but still very lovely) friends, she said:
Sex always sells, doesn't it, girls? No, nothing crude. You know, something light-hearted and naughty like 'Calendar Girls'? Why not have some sort of saucy sponsorship thing?"
"Yes, Diana, but calendars are no good" Veronica pointed out. "'Calendar Girls' is old hat now. Too soft-core. That 'naughty but nice' market is all played out. Our calendars would have to be gang bangs in dungeons now."
"That's true" they all acknowledged. "The sex is getting sexier these days."
"We need to do something that looks sexy, but isn't", Diana pondered. "How about a prize which NOBODY CAN WIN?"
That principle certainly appeals to the four grasping women! And so the great Naked Whist Drive lottery was born.
The principle was quite simple.....
Every working mens' club in the North of England and Scotland was invited to buy a £10 ticket. That got your club entered in a prize draw.
If your club won the draw, you entered a whist drive with the Middle England Whist Club. The game was Strip Whist! If you won that, you got to watch a game of Naked Croquet, played by Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly!!
The four ladies posed for some good publicity shots, which made them look friendly, gorgeous and on the level. (Well, one out of three ain't bad.) This fired the imagination of every red-blooded male in the North, and entrance fees flooded in.
At the next meeting of the Whist Club, Marjorie was gloating over the figures. "We've raised over £14,000, girls!" she said. And I've drafted the tightest contract you ever saw, so nobody's going to be able to take this money away from us."
"Well done, Marj!" said Diana. "We can pinch the balance of the £20,000 from Bill". (They'd been swindling Bill Slagg for years.) "Now the next step is to make sure that we don't lose the whist drive."
Diana had been giving this problem a lot of thought. Like most card games, whist involves some skill and some luck. Diana and her pals were OK, but not champs. They could beat novices quite easily – maybe four wins in every five games. So the key thing was to play opponents who they knew to be pretty crap.
How to do this? Quite easy really – just rig the draw! "Let's have a look at the entries, girls – any local people?" Of course there were local people – every bloke in Stuffett had put in for it.
"Now" said Diana, scanning the names. "Which pair do we KNOW can't play whist for toffee?" Well of course there was one name there which Diana felt certain of. Her ever-loving husband, Bill. "Girls" she said "we have a winner!"
THE WHIST DRIVE
So Bill Slagg and his partner Joe Worsley arrived at Harder Hall for the great whist drive.
Joe Worsley was a jolly, but hopelessly lower-class, middle-aged guy. He owned a big haulage company, and was pretty well off. Joe liked football and women, but not to anyone's knowledge, whist.
Diana was a bit puzzled by the blokes' attitude. They really didn't seem that keyed up. And she hadn't seen any signs at home of Bill practising whist. Anyway, let's get it over with, earn the money and then book the flight.
Diana and Veronica were the Club's two champion players. They sat down with Bill and Joe.
"Right, gentlemen", said Diana. "Can I just remind you of the rules? The game to continue until both players in a team are naked. Shoes, socks and tights to count as one 'footwear' garment. If you two are the losers, you put on your clothes, go home and that's the end of it. If Veronica and I are the losers, you get to referee a 30-minute nude game of croquet involving all four members of the Whist Club".
"OK" said Bill and Joe.
"No hidden cameras, gentlemen. No selling off the story to lads' mags. No marked cards. Everything as per the contract?"
"Word of honour!" said Bill and Joe.
So they played the first hand. Bill and Joe had a couple of lucky breaks, but the ladies' greater skill gave them a narrow victory.
"Right, Bill", said Diana, with a bit of a yawn. "Take something off."
Bill undid his left cuff, rolled up the sleeve and removed a copper bracelet.
"You can't do that, Bill" said Diana. "It's got to be clothes. Jewellery doesn't count."
"That's right", said Bill. "Lasses' jewellery don't count. Male jewellery counts as a legitimate extra on top of the five garments. Look in the contract, love!"
"MARJORIE! Where's that contract! (You know that 'really tight' one, you silly cow!)"
Well guess what? In very small print, the contract did say that male jewellery was OK. Marjorie hadn't been wearing glasses when she signed the thing. And Bill knew that Marj wouldn't be wearing glasses. And so Bill had got a bit 'creative' with some of the fine detail.
So they played another round, which Diana and Veronica won easily. This time, Joe had to take something off. And blow me down, he had a copper bracelet too!
"How many bracelets have you two got on?" demanded Diana. By way of an answer, Bill and Joe rolled up their sleeves. Their arms were clattering and clinking! They must have had 20 bracelets on each arm.
"Joe and I are just mad about these copper bracelets", said Bill. "They combat stress, you know. I tell you what, love, they really seem to work! I don't feel at all stressed! In fact, I'm quite content."
Well, it was Diana and Veronica who started to feel stressed. Because though they won 9 games out of every 10, the 10th game always did them. Bill and Joe lost plenty of bracelets. But Diana and Veronica were losing skirts and bras and knickers. Until the final game was lost. And our heroines were left wearing nothing but a scowl.
Diana and Veronica blushed from head to toe (and all points in between). And how their tits juddered, as they angrily threw down their cards, and stomped off to 'change' for croquet.
And so the game of croquet began. Bill and Joe went out on to the croquet lawn at Harder Hall and waited for the players.
If they had any hopes of watching a joyous naked frolic, those hopes were soon dashed. The Whist Club ladies disrobed in the drawing room and came very slowly out on to the lawn. Hands shielding private parts; shoulders hunched; cross little faces.
The blokes discovered that croquet is a pretty slow game. Especially when you have only one player at a time in any sort of action, while the other three crouch down in a sulky little ball.
Frankly, it was a let-down. The only gleam of fun was caused by Marjorie, who was obviously in the dog house. Diana 'accidentally' tripped Marjorie up at one point, and she went arse-over-tit into Joe's arms. Joe thoroughly enjoyed that, because Marjorie was definitely his idea of a fine, generously built woman.
But otherwise, it was no fun at all. After ten minutes, Bill called a halt.
"OK, ladies", he said, "that's enough croquet."
The naked women scurried off, but discovered to their horror that the French windows were locked. With their clothes inside.
Bill and Joe followed on. "Well I've still got 20 minutes" said Bill, "so I'll supervise you in your post-match shower. Go on, into them bike sheds."
And our heroines had to follow Bill towards the grotty old brick shelter by the disused pig sty.
"What do you mean, 'shower', Bill?" snapped Diana. "We're not dirty."
"Mebbe not yet" said Bill, a bit grimly. "But see how you look after you've crawled through that there pigsty! Go on, get down on your hands and knees."
The fuming nude ladies had no option. Down they got, white bottoms wobbling and goose-pimpled breasts a-dangle. Fortunately the pigs had long since gone, but there was still plenty of pig shit left behind.
"Couldn't you have got this filthy place cleaned up, Dolly?" snarled Veronica.
Marjorie, Diana, Veronica and Dolly crawled in single file through the pig sty. The dainty nose of each lady against the bare backside and pussy of the one in front.
Marjorie proved a bit of a blockage, what with her wide hips and generous butt. Marjorie was a bit slow, a bit clumsy, and kept stopping to ponder on where she had gone wrong.
In the end, Diana unceremoniously yanked Marjorie's legs out from under her, just as Marj was negotiating a big puddle. Splosh! Marjorie belly-flopped nude into the puddle. There was a bubbling noise, as her cunt and arse crack filled with muddy water.
After that, the ladies made better progress. They tottered to their feet and stumbled into the bike shed.
[By this point Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly were no longer bothering to cover up. So, dear reader, please imagine the rest of this scene against a back drop of fully-exposed, juicy, mature knockers, bottoms and fannies.]
Bill picked up a hose and said "Right, ladies, shower time!"
Diana was now absolutely beside herself. "Bill, you've gone too far!"
"No", said Bill. "I've not gone half far enough yet. It's YOU who've gone too far, you bloody crooks! You've been stealing from me for years, haven't you? Those fake invoices, quoting Veronica and Dolly's bank accounts. Your 'cash drawings' from my till, Diana. And everything covered up by your precious Chartered Accountant."
"I've had a full audit done by Joe's accountant, and this dossier here will be a bloody godsend for the police. Ted and Eric would love to see you down the cop shop, wouldn't they, Diana?"
(Diana had rather a love-hate relationship with Sgt Ted Grabbitt and Inspector Eric Mugg. She didn't consider that their cops took a firm enough line with the lower orders, and had pointed this out in many letters to the Chief Constable.)
"So, ladies, think of this as a taster for the prison showers. No bloody jacuzzi at Armley Jail, you know! Just a communal cold shower, plus de-lousing. And maybe the screws taking pictures of you, 'for security'." And with that, Bill hoses the women down.
As the jet of icy cold water hit the naked lovelies, they reacted in the appropriate way. Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly stumbled, swore, squealed and clattered into each other. Their nipples stood out; their breasts heaved; and their dripping cunts puckered and dilated.
Just as Bill and Joe had planned. But, a bit like the croquet match, it wasn't really as much fun as they'd hoped. Because the ladies looked so haggard and miserable. In fact, Diana crawled towards Bill, her face the colour of clay, and started pleading with him.
Bill hadn't bargained for this at all! It did remind him that he still loved Diana. Also that he would like to screw her several times a night, even though she was very annoying.
Bill turned off the hose and threw Diana the key to the French windows. "Right!" he said gruffly. "Get dried. Get dressed. And we'll talk it over in the drawing room."
Five minutes later, the Whist Club reassembled. Bill took the floor.
"I'll make this brief, ladies" he said. "You've been tekking the piss for years. You owe me. But you also owe this town. You're not better than the folks here. In fact, you're a damn sight worse in some ways. Well I won't go to the police. But on one condition."
"Anything, Mr Slagg" whimpered Dolly.
"Well" said Bill, "this is what I want you to do......"
THE OPEN EVENING
A week later, Jim Buggit and Bert Stench are walking down the drive at Harder Hall. Jim and Bert used to be in Dolly Harder's primary school class and used to carry her books to school. Dolly was a nice little girl then.
In adult life, Bert did the occasional building job at the Hall, and Jim helped out with the gardening. They carried a torch for Dolly, but she never seemed to know who they were.
So imagine their surprise when they both received an invite to an event at the Hall!
The Middle England Whist Club
An Open Evening
Free drinks and party fun!
First act comes on at 8pm – don't be late!
Following their timid knock, the door is opened by Dolly herself. She is about 60% inside and about 40% outside of a shimmering black strapless ball gown. Instead of the usual frozen sneer, Dolly's lovely features are fixed in a kind of welcoming smile. (Though it does also have a touch of the snarl about it.)
"Welcome, welcome!" she coos, between gritted teeth. "Err...Jim, isn't it? And ... Carter, I mean 'Bert'. How kind of you to come, gentlemen! Let me help you with your coats. A drink? Diana, dear, could you serve our friends?"
And what's this? Diana Fortescue-Slagg, wearing a cheeky little French maid's outfit!! Bearing a drinks tray! Also with that fixed toothy grin and strangulated voice – honeyed, but a little bit curdled at the edges.
"Gentlemen! What would you like? Is there anything else I can do for you? ANYTHING AT ALL??!"
And my God, there's Veronica Panting! Looking kinky and delicious in a VERY tight riding outfit, complete with helmet and crop. Veronica rises to her feet, slaps one of her magnificent thighs, and calls out "Jim, darling! Bert! Over here!"
Again, there's a contrast between Veronica's body and costume, which look great fun, and her slightly strained smile and voice, but who cares? Veronica looks good enough to eat, and this is the friendliest she's been in years.
As Jim and Bert totter across the carpet to Veronica, they pass Bill Slagg. What's Bill doing here? He can't stand Dolly and Veronica at any price.
Bill winks, says "Alreet lads?" and then catches Veronica's eye. Bill nods in the direction of Jim and Bert, and puckers his lips slightly. Almost as if Bill has given her some direction, Veronica meets Jim and Bert, and what's happening now? She kisses them on the cheek, arm round the shoulders and snuggles up to them on the sofa. Then Veronica starts chattering brightly (if a bit hysterically) about rugby league.
There were more knocks on the door, and other blokes came in looking bewildered but happy. In the end there were about a dozen there.