Close Observation Ch. 09

Vicky seemed to sigh, loudly, every time Layla went into her. This reminded Ron of when Marie had been with Lucien, the man with the large penis. It was like she wasn't trying to achieve orgasm, she was getting so much wild pleasure out of being fucked, with such a large (albeit now rubber) penis, that an orgasm seemed like an irrelevance. So, they just kept going, having sex rhythmically, mechanically, until Layla needed a breather. Layla rested for a bit, then they carried on.

Mike the punter was hard again. Ron wasn't surprised that he was. Layla noticed that he was holding his erect penis in his hand. She stopped thrusting the dildo into Victoria. She gestured to him but was breathing too heavily to say anything. She sat up, moving her knees in front of her.

'Come here,' said Vicky. He shifted himself over to her, on his knees on the bed. She put her arm round his waist and pulled him nearer, then she masturbated his penis over her breasts. Layla started thrusting again. Vicky took Mike's left hand; she held his index finger down against her clitoris as Layla kept going in and out of her. Vicky kept masturbating him. He was looking down at her breasts, and at what Layla was doing to her. He ejaculated on to her. Then Vicky came. She screamed,' YES! ...YES! ...YES! Her eyes seemed to roll in her head.

Layla got off of her. She started licking the semen off of Vicky's breasts. She kissed Vicky. Ron had seen Layla with Emma, and Vicky with Marie, and Layla and Annabelle. This was the same, this was two people who were incredibly attracted to each other.

Vicky lifted her legs up and brought them across Layla. She lay on her side. She brought her knees in front of her. She wiggled her hips and looked over her shoulder at Layla.

Layla got down on her side behind Vicky. She fumbled with the dildo, putting the tip against Vicky's anus, before slowly penetrating her. They started to have sex, both lying on their side. Layla reached round and cupped Vicky's breast. Vicky had that look on her face again. Ron thought she looked exactly like a small child on Christmas morning, just going to open their presents.

They had sex for a while. Both of them were having fun, but Vicky looked to Ron like she was having the time of her life, with Layla's dildo piling in and out of her. Mike got hard again. He went around them and walked up so that his groin was in front of Vicky's face. Mike was obscuring Ron's view at this point, but Ron assumed that Vicky brought him off with her mouth. It didn't take long. Mike backed off a bit and stood enjoying the show. Vicky and Layla kept going. Vicky went from sighing loudly to crying out, to screaming, until she came. Her whole body was shaking when she climaxed. When it was over, she looked almost in shock.

***

In the car, Vicky and Layla were in the back. They were kissing passionately. They stayed like that all the way back to Pimlico, where they both got out. Layla leaned over and kissed Ron's cheek and thanked him. Vicky touched his arm as she got out. He liked both of them, but he couldn't help thinking of Emma. She was probably in her flat, not feeling great, hoping Layla would come.

He got to the Jamaican takeaway in time. He ate his food at home. It was still relatively early. He drove over to Emma's place. He went in and rang her doorbell. She had a spyhole on her door. He thought he heard her coming, and assumed she was looking through it. When she opened the door, she looked disappointed, and he felt bad for getting her hopes up.

'Hi. How are you feeling now?' he asked her. She smiled.

'I'm ok. Would you like to come in?' she said.

She was watching TV. He sat next to her on the settee and they watched a programme about drug smugglers in Columbia. She cuddled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Ron enjoyed the programme; he liked the actor who played the leader of the drug dealing gang. When the programme finished, he asked her if she was ok on her own in the and offered to sleep on the settee. He said he lived around the corner and it was no bother. She said she'd feel better if he stayed. She got him a duvet and a pillow. He slept ok on the settee.

***

Emma let Ron out in the morning. She hugged him and kissed him again. It felt nice again.

'How are you feeling now?' asked Ron.

'I'm ok,' said Emma. She smiled at him. She had a dazzling smile, her teeth were very white.

'When are you working again?' asked Ron.

'Tonight,' said Emma.

'I'm glad you're getting back into it,' said Ron.

'You're going to be with us, aren't you?' asked Emma.

'I'll be there, yes. Who's us?' said Ron.

'Layla and Annabelle. It's a stag do,' said Emma.

'Ok. Should be interesting,' said Ron. He wondered how many men would be there.

'Maybe,' said Emma. There was something in her tone of voice, or in her mannerisms, and he'd noticed it ever since they'd got back to the flat after the guy had strangled her. She seemed to have this air of resignation about her. She hadn't had a good few days, with strangly piss guy, and Layla distancing herself.

'Ok, I'll see you later,' said Ron.

'Yes, see you,' said Emma. She touched his arm gently as he left.

***

Katie told him that it would be six men. They were senior members of a gentlemen's club in Mayfair. They were the club's committee or something. One of them was getting married, so they were having a blowout. Ron asked her about Emma and Annabelle working together. Katie said they wouldn't be; Annabelle had told her that she wasn't prepared to be in a room with Emma, so Marie was going to do it.

Toby's Japanese guy was arriving tomorrow. Ron had to take Annabelle to a job in Marylebone at eleven but afterwards he had the afternoon to himself. He realised he didn't know what to do. He also realised he had some money in his pocket. The money from Katie was cash in hand, and he hadn't had time to buy much more than food and petrol.

He picked Annabelle up and took her to Marylebone. There was nowhere to park, and there wasn't going to be anywhere to park within fucking miles. He double-parked and resolved himself to physically hurting anyone who had anything to say about it. He chatted to Annabelle as they drove. He thought Annabelle was great, a really genuinely charming girl. He enjoyed her company and looked forward to seeing her.

The flat was another one that different agencies used. Annabelle got changed and walked back and forth, not remotely bothered about being naked in front of him. She'd cut her hair slightly shorter, in a very precise, sheer line, an inch or so above her shoulders. Ron thought she looked good. The punter had asked for leather boots. She wore thigh high black leather boots, with studs all the way up the sides of them. She had a fantastic body. Ron thought her face wasn't too bad either. He tried to imagine what the punter would think, walking in and seeing her looking like that.

Ron didn't see the guy, he just heard him. He was old, a public-school type, polite and well mannered. He kept calling Annabelle 'young lady.' She told Ron afterwards that he'd been sweet and kind. She expected him to book again. She said a lot of punters would see a girl and then keep seeing her. She said that she and Vicky had a few regulars, and Marie was starting to accrue them.

He took Annabelle back to Pimlico. Every time he went there, the sun always seemed to be shining and it looked like paradise, with the big white houses fronting onto the square. He asked Annabelle how much the rent was. It was a lot. She said they had a room available. It was a small room, but she said that they would love to have him there in case punters came around. He hadn't realised they saw people at their own flats. He told her he would stay there if they needed him to.

In the afternoon, Ron went to Piccadilly. He'd lived in London all his life. Even when he'd been in the army, he'd spent a lot of the time in barracks on Birdcage Walk. That was the best part of forty years, but he still couldn't, to save his own life, tell which exit from Piccadilly tube station he needed. He had never, ever, even once, come out of this station where he intended to. He wondered if it was some sort of Bermuda Triangle phenomenon. He came out on the wrong side of Lower Regent Street, swore, and had to wait for the traffic lights to allow him across.

Ron was reading a lot again, and he had money. He was going to Hatchards. It was a bookshop on Piccadilly, just down from Fortnum and Mason's. Ron had been around, he'd once been in a shop in Hong Kong where you could buy midgets, but Hatchards was still his favourite shop anywhere.

He bought eleven books, mostly military history. He loved buying books. He knew he could have got them cheaper on the internet (if he'd asked his niece to show him how), but he loved actually going into bookshops and buying books. One of the books was about the battle of Waterloo, which his regiment had played an important part in. He also bought a biography of the actor Jack Lemon. Ron had seen his face on Emma's poster from the film 'The Apartment.' He'd seen the film about twenty times when he was a child because his mum had loved it. The Jack Lemon book was one of the ones that the staff had placed front side-on on the shelves. Ron had noticed it, thought it was a coincidence, and bought the book on impulse. He got back to Elephant in time to go running before he had to pick the girls up.

Ron picked Emma up first. She sat in the front next to him. They hugged and kissed. He thought she was brave working again, and he told her so. Marie met them at a pub not far from her place called the Beehive. She didn't want Emma to know where she lived. Ron felt it, that feeling, when he saw her. He felt his pulse quicken. Marie greeted Emma warmly when she got in. She reached through from the back and rubbed Ron's arm affectionately. They made small talk as he drove.

He picked Layla up from outside a huge budget hotel in Chelsea which looked like it took up half the borough. Ron didn't know how it was going to go when she got in. She got in the back next to Marie. Emma smiled at her; her eyes seemed to water when she did. Layla kissed her on the mouth. She hugged and kissed Marie.

'How are you Ron? You look all handsome and sexy,' said Layla. Emma and Marie laughed. Because of Layla's accent, the 'y' on end of a word came out sounding like an 'a.' When she said 'sexy' it came out as 'sex-ay.'

'You do Ron!' said Marie.

'Here we go,' said Ron, laughing.

'I wish you were the customer Ron!' said Layla.

'I do too,' said Emma. They laughed at him. He realised Layla was going to wind him up all the way there.

'I'm going to pretend it's you Ron, when I'm shagging,' said Layla. More laughter. 'I might start shouting, yes Ron, take me Ron!'

'What can I say, I'm a heart-throb,' said Ron.

'You're like that Daniel Craig!' said Layla.

'Fuck off!' said Ron.

'You're all big and handsome and sexy like that Daniel Craig,' said Layla. Marie and Emma were laughing.

'You leave me alone, you!' said Ron to Layla, jokingly.

The journey to Mayfair was mercifully short. The club was an impressive red brick building which was probably a couple of hundred years old. They were on time. Instructions were to use the back entrance. A porter was waiting to let them in. The girls had been asked to be conservatively dressed on the way in and out. It wasn't an area where you attracted attention. They had their gear in their bags, which Ron carried.

The porter who'd let them in was called Paul. They went up two flights of stairs to the top floor. Paul showed them to a room where they could change. It was a large double bedroom, presumably for club members or guests who needed to stay overnight. The furnishing was sumptuous. Ron asked him where he could be while the partying was going on. Paul asked him if he had to be on hand and seeing everything. Ron said that he did. Paul said he could come through to where the gentlemen were.

They went through to what Paul called the games room. It was lit with amber lighting along the walls. There were lots of heavy, expensive looking chesterfield sofas around the room. There were bookshelves full of leather-bound books around the walls, and paintings of distinguished looking men who Ron assumed were former members. The room was lovely. The gentlemen were huddled together in its centre. They were boarding-school types. They were suited and booted.

'Gentlemen, this is Ron, he'll be looking after the ladies tonight,' said Paul the porter. They greeted him.

'Hello gentlemen, pleasure to meet you. I really need to be in a place where I can see what's going on. If the ladies are going to be in different rooms, I must insist that no doors are completely closed,' said Ron.

'That's alright, it'll all be in here. You're welcome to grab a chair somewhere. Would you like anything to drink?' said one of them. He looked about sixty-odd. His hair was very white and, Ron thought, incongruously long, coming down almost to his shoulders. In contrast to his somewhat scruffy hair, he wore a bow tie.

'I'm fine thank you, sir' said Ron. The 'sir' had come out out of habit. For twenty-two years in the army, if someone with an upper-class accent spoke to him, it was an officer, and he called the man 'sir.'

Paul the porter took some drinks orders. He went out the way they'd come in.

'Have we met old chap?' said one of the men. He looked late forties, suave. He was short, thin but fit looking. Ron didn't recognise him.

'I'm not sure, sir,' said Ron.

'Anthony, Anthony Le Brodeur, Kings Royal Hussars,' he said. That made sense, Ron thought. This guy looked like a cavalryman. Ron could see him going after foxes on a Sunday morning, on his charger.

'Ron _____', foot guards,' said Ron.

'Ah, that's the one. We haven't met, but I've seen you shouting at people on the square and waving your stick!' said Le Brodeur.

'That sounds right. Was that at Catterick, or in town?' asked Ron.

'In town. I had some chums in the HCR,' said Le Brodeur. 'Allow me to introduce you around, he said. 'This is Carter-Richards,' Le Brodeur pointed to a portly older gentleman (old enough that Ron hoped he'd got some Viagra down), wearing a grey double-breasted suit. 'Cecil was in intelligence. This is Harding,' he pointed at another chap, a tall, large man who looked late fifties, wearing glasses. 'What were you in, Harding, were you a Greenjacket?' Le Brodeur asked.

'Royal Gurkha Rifles,' said Harding, proudly. The Gurkhas were mercenary soldiers from Nepal who had fought for the British since the nineteenth century. You didn't mess with them. Ron motioned as if to tip his hat to the guy, and he nodded in return.

'The rest of this rabble are civvies, I'm afraid to say,' said Le Brodeur. 'This is Pocock,' Pocock was the long haired one. 'This is Hyde-Wardell,' he pointed to the youngest looking member of the group, a portly, red haired guy. 'And last, but certainly not least, this is my esteemed friend and companion, Mr Arthur Barrington, who will be married tomorrow.' Barrington looked to Ron to be about mid-fifties. He wore wire rimmed glasses. He was quite a handsome man, in Ron's estimation. He had blonde hair, cropped very short. He had a sharp, intelligent look about him. He smiled sheepishly in response to his introduction.

'Pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen, and congratulations, Mr Barrington,' said Ron.

'Thank you, pleasure to meet you too' said Barrington.

Paul the porter had come back with drinks. He put the tray down, then went out. He said he'd see if the ladies were ready. Ron didn't know if they'd had dress requests and found himself guessing what this crowd would be into. On the face of it, they were sophisticated guys, so it might be assumed that they'd want lingerie, but Ron wondered. He didn't have to wonder for long because Paul the porter brought them in. The gentlemen rose from their seats.

They all had thigh-high, black leather boots on, and nothing else. Ron had seen Emma and Layla wearing boots like this before, but he hadn't seen Marie. Ron thought she looked phenomenal. Ron went and sat on a Chesterfield couch towards the edge of the room. He told himself he was going to keep his eyes on Emma and Layla and not look at what was going on with Marie.

Pocock, the one with the impeccable clothes but scruffy hair, introduced himself and the men. Layla introduced the girls. Emma walked straight up to Le Brodeur and cupped his genitals. Marie hugged and kissed Barrington. He went beet red at first but seemed to calm down quickly. He held Marie's rear, gently pressing her to him. He kissed her tentatively. She pressed her groin against his. Ron knew she was turned on. He was getting to know her a bit and he strongly suspected that walking in there, dressed like that, into a room with six men who were going to have sex with her, would get her juices flowing. Her body looked amazing; the boots looked amazing. Her hair was down. Ron thought she looked out of this world. He looked away. Emma was pressing herself up against Le Brodeur. She was grinding her groin against him and they were kissing. Layla emptied a gift bag full of condoms onto a coffee table. She stood in front of the overweight, red-haired guy. He fondled her breasts. He looked embarrassed.

People enjoyed Layla. Every man he'd seen her with had seemed to enjoy her, but it was work. Doing this was like someone working on the checkout at the supermarket for eight hours, or fixing potholes in the road. She made the right noises, she gave people great head, and had sex with them to the point where they were gasping for breath, but her eyes always said, 'I'm doing this to pay the bills.' The only time he saw her really let go was when she was having fun with other girls. He'd seen her with Layla, then with Victoria, and she really had seemed to enjoy herself. He wondered what she would make of Marie.

Ron thought that Marie and Emma were different to Layla. He thought they got off on the work. They seemed to like pleasing men, and when they did, the more they pleased the punters, the more it seemed to get them off. Emma was on her knees now, she had Le Brodeur's penis in her mouth and she looked up at him, into his eyes, as she sucked on it. She cupped his testicles with her left hand. She sucked him quickly. She was turned on.

Barrington, who would be married in a matter of hours, slid his hand down Marie's rear and between her legs. He held one of her breasts with his other hand.

Layla was asking the fat ginger guy what he wanted to do to her. He'd heard her say this to people before, do you want to come in my mouth? Do you want to fuck my arse etc? Ron didn't hear the man's reply but they went to a leather sofa. She got on it, on all fours, and looked back over her shoulder at him. Ron remembered what the guy the other night had done to her, and he hoped she'd brought plenty of lube. The ginger guy penetrated her anally.

Le Brodeur took his penis out of Emma's mouth. He guided her to another sofa, this one almost right in the middle of the group. Soon she too was bent over, being sodomised. She seemed to enjoy the experience. Ron had a feeling she found Le Brodeur impressive.

Ron wondered if he would have to communicate that Marie did not do anal. As he was thinking that, Barrington ejaculated, in his trousers, just from grinding himself against Marie and kissing her. He was embarrassed and there was some laughter. Marie gave him a nice kiss. Another one of them, the intelligence guy, Carter-Richards (these people and their fucking names, Ron thought) went up behind Marie, reached around her and cupped her breasts. She arched her body so that her rear pressed against his groin and began to move her pelvis in a cyclical motion, grinding herself rhythmically against him.