Entertaining at Large Ch. 11

It was a very male peace offering. I took the pint glass half-filled with Perrier. There was another, opened but unpoured, bottle next to it. Mr J got another pint and a double whiskey chaser. God only knows what was in James's glass. Stacey stared at her vodka and coke. Judging by the large amount of coke left in the bottle and the almost full glass, it was at least a quadruple. I looked across at Scarlett who was now behind the bar. She grinned, shrugged her shoulders and pointed at Steve as he carried a tray of lager and beer back to the other table.

Both James and Stacey grimaced as they took their first sips. We then all turned back to the screen. There were dozens of pictures of the unnamed woman as she slowly disrobed. After my own shoot I was used to the stereotypical poses in most of them. There were others though in which she was clearly giggling perhaps in embarrassment. I stayed Stacey's hand to pause on one where she was drinking from a glass of something.

'The old bastard got her drunk or I don't think she would have done it. She was the wife of one of his friends apparently.'

'Mr J's editing an archive of the original shooting notes.'

I explained as Stacey started flicking through the pictures again. In the final shot the totally naked woman lay back on a couch, legs splayed and arms stretched over her head. Her face bore a beatific grin.

'She looks like she had a good time, didn't she?'

Stacey was more reassuring herself than soliciting comments. I nodded at her and squeezed her knee.

'So when are we going to do it? I'm off to London on Friday morning. That only leaves tomorrow really.'

Mr J looked crestfallen.

'That could be difficult. There's the costume.'

'I've got a nightie just like that one in my suitcase. I bought it as a treat for him.'

She tossed her hair contemptuously, roughly in the direction of her husband. Mr J's face softened a little. Stacey was flicking the pictures backwards. It was funny to see the anonymous model suddenly more clothed than before.

'We've a neglige like that one. We found all sorts of things when we were sorting through store rooms and the attic.'

'The knickers and bra I'm wearing now are not that different from those. I always wear suspenders and stockings.'

After a sly look around she unbuttoned her blouse and leaned forwards. Mr J and I both gasped as her full breasts fell forwards from her chest. James just yelped and looked guiltily towards Scarlett. I stopped her hoiking up her skirt too far, but she spread her legs for Mr J to get a better look at her panties. He reached to a pocket for a handkerchief that was no longer there.

'Very nice. Very nice indeed. Would you mind getting your hair styled like that?'

'Not at all. It looks fab.'

She laughed at her own use of the old fashioned slang. Stacey was definitely getting drunk.

'Justin, he's James's boss, has an arrangement with a friend of his. May I have your number? I'm sure he'll be able to fit you in tomorrow morning. What time will the studio be free James?'

'About fourish.'

'That suit?'

'Perfect.'

'Four o'clock it is then. Take taxis to the hairdressers and the photography shop; we'll reimburse you. And of course there will be a small fee.'

Stacey clapped her hands together. She had clearly more than warmed to the prospect. I returned her grin. I hoped a little less glassily. Mr J gave a slight cough to get our attention.

'There is one other thing. It's rather delicate.'

He had lowered his voice and leaned towards us as he spoke. Stacey had clumsily rebuttoned her blouse after flashing us all but they were in the wrong position. She giggled as her boobs fell out again. I smiled as Mr J struggled to avert his eyes. He managed in the end.

'Yes?'

'Please forgive me for being so direct, but you will have noticed that the model in the photograph had particularly luxuriant pubic hair. There's no need to show us, but do you mind if I ask whether yours is anything like that?'

Stacey looked at him seriously for a minute before dissolving into laughter.

'You're so, so sweet. I bet you've talked a few lasses out of their knickers in your time.'

She winked so exaggeratedly that she almost fell sideways off the chair. I reached out a hand to steady her. I wasn't sure whether Mr J was looking flattered or just embarrassed. I smiled at him reassuringly. He re-straightened his tie for about the ninth time since Stacey and I had come over to join him and James. Stacey was looking for something in her bag again. She had a look of triumph on her face when her hand emerged with Carl's phone.

'The whole bloody pub's seen these so I might as well show you as well.'

She let out a grunt of triumph as the security code she punched in worked first time.

'Silly sod never changes it. If he did I'd know he was having an affair.'

Her face was studious as she pressed buttons to find her photos. I could almost tell when she got to the one she wanted by the expression of triumph on her face. She held her arm out towards Mr J with the phone in her hand screen upwards. It wobbled like she was holding a live jelly so he gently took her hand in both his and studied the picture with a professional eye.

'Very nice. We definitely don't need to do anything down there. James?'

He semi-stood and guided her hand in an arc towards the nervous boy. He had to release one hand to steady himself on the table but the whole sequence was almost reverential. James waited for the hand/phone to arrive in front of him, gave a cursory glance, blushed and then looked quickly at the computer.

'Yup.'

There was a definite pause.

'Yup? Yup. Is that all you can say. Blooming kids, they think they've seen it all. The woman's a goddess you dunderhead. You might live to be my age and never see another pussy so beautiful. Yup, indeed. I should have words with your mother.'

He took a playful swipe at James's head. The younger man ducked back with ease. The two grinned at each other across the table; they had clearly become close over the last few days. I smiled at both of them. It was sweet. He handed me the phone as if seeking arbitration. In the photograph Stacey was lying back on a double bed. Her face was split by a big smile, her boobs hung firmly over the top of a thin, black, see-through bustier which emphasised her slender frame. The black stockinged legs were stretched wide; they seemed to go on forever. But she had, indeed, a muff to write home about. It was thick and black almost shining in the room lighting. If her pussy lips had not been clearly visible beneath the undergrowth I would have said it would have been almost impenetrable. I dropped the phone back into her bag and nodded to Mr J. He was right, "yup" definitely didn't cut it. I'd have swapped bodies with her any day of the week.

Meanwhile Stacey was attempting to get to her feet. She needed both the table and the back of the chair for leverage.

'Gotta go for a piss. You stay there mister nice man. I'll wanna hear more sweet things from you when I get back.'

She bowed towards Mr J and her momentum, and the weight of her head and upper body, almost toppled her into his lap. He held out an arm to prevent her falling and ended up holding one of her breasts. He didn't look like that was a problem for him. I jumped to my feet and grabbed her shoulders. Between us we got her upright.

'You can take your hand away now, Mr J. Come on, the toilets are this way.'

'No don't, s'nice.'

She looked for a moment as if she was going to fall on Mr J again, but the combination of my gentle direction and the natural unsteadiness of her drunken gait led to a last minute swerve and we stumbled our way to the door. It was a good job JD had removed most of the tables; we didn't manage a very direct route.

Once through we both leaned back against the wall enjoying the coolness of the corridor. It seemed to sober Stacey up a bit and she spent a minute staring around a bit like an owl and tucking various parts of her blouse back into the top of her skirt. I offered her my arm for the next leg of the journey.

'Wassat?'

'Pardon?'

'The noise?'

'What noise?'

I stood and listened and watched as she twisted her head from side to side trying to identify whatever had attracted her attention. All I could hear were the normal pub sounds you'd expect on a Wednesday night: music from the bar, muffled by the door; the hum of conversation with the occasional rise in volume as a dispute broke out; a glass smashed and a cheer went up - strange how that one never gets old. But Stacey had homed in on something else. She suddenly pushed herself away from the wall and stumbled across to the door of the Snug.

As she opened the door a crack and inserted her head I realised what she had picked up on. A different song was playing on the cheap CD player George kept in there. It was his favourite old-style burlesque album. Beneath it, and out of synch with the beat of the music, was a different rhythm track. Stacey was frozen to the spot, the need to sway to stay upright gone. Every few seconds we could hear the sound of a man grunting or exhaling a deep breath. Each time this was followed by a woman's pant or squeal as air was forced out of her. I didn't need to look to work out George was fucking one or both of the giggling women from the bar, but I did anyway.

There were women's clothes all over the room; a bra hung from one of the lights by its strap casting shadows as it swung in time with the big man's pounding. Both women were completely naked. The one with the bigger bottom was stretched over one of the old tables, legs on the floor as George's huge belly enveloped her arse from behind. She was vainly trying to support her upper half on her elbows. It was like watching someone drown. Each time he pushed into her her big breasts - they were Ds at least - flattened on the shiny, mahogany surface as her arms gave way. The squeals may have been as much from discomfort as pleasure, her eyes were closed and her face contorted each time he went deeper into her.

George was still mostly dressed. His trousers and pants were around his ankles; the voluminous white shirt he always wore was flapping open revealing an old fashioned vest which did little to disguise the rolling folds of fat which undulated as he worked. He was holding himself upright on two arms which looked like tree trunks beside the woman's hips. He was frowning in concentration and his face was beetroot red. He had clearly been at it for some time.

I almost missed the other woman, hidden as she was by the size of the fat man's legs and the flapping of his oversize clothes. She was half-crouching, half-lying beneath the table and was sucking the ball sac so big it was clearly visible beneath the mountain of flesh. He'd had her first that was easy to tell. Her hair was in disarray, her new style arranged by sweat and possibly spunk. Her face was red and when she opened her eyes they were glazed. At one point she looked across in our direction. I doubt she had any idea we were there though. I could almost feel the sweat as it trickled beneath her breasts. They sort of jiggled as she went backwards and forwards with the big man's movements. They were smaller than mine, possibly Bs, but big enough to shake as she moved. They were dominated by huge brown nipples which stuck out at least an inch. Proper chapel hat pegs, I thought.

Her mouth was working overtime. She was licking frantically at the dangling balls as they slapped against her face. As we watched she attempted to draw one into her mouth; she coughed it back immediately, it was just too big. I wondered at the strength she must have in her shoulders and neck, they were all she was moving to keep up with the action above her.

The centrepiece of the tableau, though, and the reason Stacey and I were both transfixed was George's enormous member. We've all heard euphemistic descriptions of large cocks, mostly from porn movies, though I did once have a drunk in a night club tell me his dick was like a baby's arm with a fist at the end of it. It wasn't. If George was going to use the same analogy it would have to be the junior arm-wrestling world champion. On steroids.

His very obesity made it impossible to make a scientific estimation. But I felt my mouth open in wonder each time he withdrew. Twelve inches? No, fifteen? He never pulled out completely while we watched. It was bright pink and at least as wide as the table leg. The condom stretched over it glistened and creased as he powered back in. It was fascinating to watch. I found myself stroking my jaw as I wondered how I had ever got that monster inside it. My pussy, which normally tingles to let me know I was getting turned on, felt like it was gaping. I could almost feel my juices flowing down my leg. I remembered the exquisite pain, the stretching and soreness when he had entered me; but most of all I remembered the debilitating orgasm which had almost shattered me. My hand was outside my sweatpants, strong fingers pushing down in time with George's rhythm.

The busty woman's scream broke us out of our hypnotic state. We both stepped back; Stacey pinned herself against the wall beside the door. Her skirt was now as dishevelled as her blouse. I tried to guess whether her hand had been outside, like mine, or whether she had been slipping fingers inside the luxuriant mane between her legs. Both hands were balled in tight fists so it was impossible to see any tell-tale signs of vaginal moisture. The awesome display did seem to have sobered her up a little. The disjointed conversation was more due to amazement than intoxication.

'They were.'

'Yes.'

'Did you?'

'I did.'

'It was.'

'Huge.'

'I've never.'

'Me either.'

She let out a low whistle and we both smiled. I turned towards the toilet but she stopped me. There was more suspicion in her eyes.

'Have you?'

All I could do was nod.

'Wow.'

She let go of my arm. There was some kind of admiration in her eyes, but we both had other priorities.

'I'm busting.'

'Me too.'

I led the way to the Ladies and we both pushed in eager to find an empty stall as quickly as possible, We had, of course, completely forgotten about Tracey and Luke.

If George's ravaging of the two women had been a display of sheer power, these two looked like a couple of old-time heavyweight boxers who had battered each other into submission, each giving as good as they got.

Tracey was sitting on the shelf between two sinks. Her legs were raised and her thighs clamped over Luke's hips. She had her arms around his shoulders and her head resting against his. Her eyes were closed and her blonde hair hung in lifeless rattails soaked from her exhaustion. Whimpering most closely described the soft sound emanating from her closed lips. Her skirt was as thin as a belt at her waist. Apart from that she was naked. I picked her knickers up off the floor beside Luke's feet and dropped them gently next to her on the shelf. Her bra and the blouse she had been so worried about earlier were scrumpled together in the sink. One shoe was still clinging on to her toes, the other was on the floor beneath her.

Luke was almost motionless. Only the occasional twitch of his hips gave any indication he was inside her. I winced at the sight of long, livid scratches which scarred his back. They clearly had not always been this inert. I had to stifle a laugh when I looked down. His leggings were inside out near the far wall. It looked like one of his trainers was still inside the leg. The other was on his foot giving a curiously one-sided look to his posture. The sock on his bare foot hung loose like a drooping condom on a flaccid cock. The way he was slumped I guessed Tracey was taking most of the weight from his torso.

'Don't mind us, we've just come for a pee. You just carry on.'

'Jeez, our Luke. Don't you ever stop. It's the Ladies for goodness sake.'

Stacey was as transfixed as I was by the scene. I noticed we were both hopping from one foot to the other, but neither of us made a move for the toilets.

'Gotta go. If I don't wee soon I think I'll explode.'

'Say it again.'

Luke's voice was hoarse as if he'd been chanting football songs all night. I remembered his fetish as he suddenly seemed to gain new vigour and start thrusting into Tracey. She shook with pleasure and tightened her grip with arms and thighs. They were both panting in unison.

'I said I'm going to go into that stall, pull down my lacy panties and let go a stream of piss that's likely to crack the porcelain. It'll be steaming and hot. I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't overflow the bowl and run all over the floor.'

'Ugh. You're as bad as he is. I've told you before, our Luke, I was sixteen and pissed. I'm never letting you do that again.'

She almost ran into the farthest stall and banged the door. The sound of a lock sliding home ricocheted around the tiled walls. It competed with the weak groans coming from Luke and the regular exhalations as he struggled to come. A long moan from both of them marked the end of the marathon. I had already turned to the nearest stall and was pulling down my clothing as I hurried to sit.

The relief from the slow easing of the ache in my bladder as the stream began to flow was delightful. I stretched my head back to rest it uncomfortably against the cold cistern and closed my eyes. There was a tap on the door strong enough to push it open; I felt the door brush my knees as it passed by. I smiled to myself, trying to make sense of the mixed images flooding my brain: Stacey's bouncing boobs; her thick, wiry pubes and George's monster cock.

'Wider.'

I opened my thighs at Luke's insistent whisper and felt his hand slip between my legs and into the still-strong stream of urine. I caught myself speculating as to why I had managed to go so long without peeing given the amount of fizzy water I had consumed. I grimaced as I heard him slurping, but still felt compelled to shove my own finger into the flow and suck it afterwards.

'And Sharon told me you made her pee in your mouth at our wedding, you know?'

Stacey's voice seemed loud enough to come from the next stall. But I winced at the volume of Luke's reply.

'Which one was she?'

'The bridesmaid you fucked. Big boobs, fat bum.'

'I think I had them all that night. And they all had nice tits as I remember.'

'She pissed in your mouth, you pig. How could you forget?'

'There were five of them, weren't there?'

'You two really are weird, you know?'

I opened my eyes at the sound of Tracey's voice and saw her grinning down at me. She was fastening her bra beneath the open blouse before moving on to the buttons. She tutted as she examined the creases and damp patches. Luke turned away from my magic snatch and went to embrace her. She backed away, but he still caught her firmly between his forearms. He bent his head towards hers.

'You're not kissing me with that mouth. You've been drinking her wee. And don't even think about touching me with those hands.'

'I just wanted to say "thanks". You don't know how much I needed that.'

'I think I can guess. He started on his second packet of three, you know? There's four used condoms in the sink, make sure you bin them before you leave. You're not in the Gents now.'

She sounded stern, well stern for Tracey, but was laughing as she turned towards the door.

'Can I see you again?'

'Course. I'm in here all the time. But do us a favour will you?'

'Anything.'

'Don't wank before you come in. I don't mind fifteen minutes, half-an-hour even, but these sessions should be kept for special occasions and it's not my birthday 'til June.'

'I'll bear that in mind.'

'You do that. Pencil you in for Friday, shall I?'

The door closed before Luke could answer and he left me to clean the sink, I hoped, and put his clothes back on, I was certain. I had forgotten Tracey had an Xmas diary and smiled at the thought of her keeping score of her couplings. Jane Austen-type balls with their dance cards and formality would never seem the same again.