Stone and the Gangster's Girls

This was no tender lovemaking, this was an all out assault on that girl's tender body. What really got me raging, though, was the filth that poured out of her mouth. The face of an angel and the vocabulary of a docker, that was my first experience of my princess.

"I put things in my pussy and imagine it's your big cock, Daddy," Amy gasped. "I'll show you. When you come to my room to kiss me goodnight, I'll show you how I fuck my little cunt with a big rubber cock."

"Oh, Jesus," I blasphemed again. "You're a bad girl."

"I am, Daddy," Amy squealed. She pushed herself onto me, her buttocks shivering under the force of my stabbing lunges and her backward thrusts. Our bodies slap-slapped together, water squelching and farting between us as the shower continued to rain down on us. "I'm a wicked, naughty girl who thinks about nasty stuff all the time. You should punish me, Daddy. You should make me sorry."

"I'm going to come again," I groaned, unable to take any more of this exquisite torture. "Amy, I'm ..."

"Take me there with you, Daddy!" Amy cried. I felt something nudge the root of my cock as I fucked the lovely girl with hard, urgent thrusts. Craning my neck I leaned over Amy's slender back and saw she had an arm beneath her body. I realised the girl's fingers had bumped my cock while she rubbed at her clitoris just as the surge overwhelmed my senses.

"I'm coming," I grunted.

"Me too," Amy gasped as her body began to twitch. "It feels so fucking good. Oh, yes! I'm fucking coming." Amy reached back and grabbed one of my wrists. "My tits," she grunted. "Squeeze my tits while I come."

Her nipples felt like pebbles in my palms as I squeezed the pliant, softly yielding fruit of Amy's breasts. I massaged her and jabbed my cock into her body as we climaxed together, until, with my cock smeared with our combined greasy fluids, Amy pushed me away from her body and I slid out of her.

Panting with effort and the effects of her orgasm, Amy swivelled her torso and encircled me with an arm. "Kiss me, Daddy," she managed as she fought for air. "Kiss your princess."

Then, abruptly, following another long kiss, Amy left me stunned, with my cock shrivelling as the water sluiced the evidence of yet another of my transgressions against Dave Devine down the drain.

"Don't forget, Daddy," Amy said with a waggle of her fingers as she calmly walked away from me. "I expect a goodnight kiss tonight."

"Oh, shit," I sighed when the enormity of my situation hit me. "Amy and Julie," I muttered.

I'd done it again! I'd compounded the error of dicking the boss's wife by fucking his daughter.

Two -- Drinking Gin with Julie Devine

How did I manage to get myself into this? A mother and daughter on the go might be the stuff of any red-blooded male's dreams, but the two I was fucking were both loony tunes in their own right, as well as being the wife and daughter of an even bigger lunatic -- the danger to life and limb that was the gangster boss, Dave Devine.

Despite the number of times I'd been in shitty situations in my days in the army, Belfast with the danger of snipers and bombs or Iraq's western desert, this was probably as close to death as I'd been. I shudder to think what Dave would do to me if he found out. It wouldn't be pleasant I imagine.

Amy's seduction, if that's the right way to describe it, in the shower meant I'd compromised myself. She had power over me now, and as sexy and gorgeous as she was, drinking from the cup of Amy was a poisoned chalice. I suspected the girl was as barking mad as her mother, with the crux of her issues being, as with Julie, Dave Devine himself.

OK, her calling me daddy turns me on, I'll admit it. There's something so wrong with it that it gives me a kinky, illicit thrill, the taboo I suppose, but with my own homespun psychology I put her little penchant for applying that appellation to me as something missing from her own life. She'd admitted to me as much in the shower -- her father never pays her any attention.

With Julie, so she told me, it's the same story. According to her, the night she seduced me, Dave courted her and wooed her, but once they'd married and she fell for a belly full of arms and legs with Amy, Dave never touched her again.

I should have known better than to accede to Julie's request to visit her that night three months before. Dave was over in Amsterdam on business. Tommo, my second-in-command, was with him, along with two more of the lads. I'd wanted to give Tommo, a bright bloke with a professional outlook from the same background as myself, a chance to run things without my eye on him all the time. Amsterdam seemed a good opportunity. And so with a light load for a change I enjoyed a little down time in the UK. I'd planned to tidy up a few loose ends in the business and then head over to Wales, to the Beacons, where I could have a leisurely time refreshing my map reading skills while enjoying the view. Familiar enough territory since, for a part of my life, those undulations were like a second home. It would be great to stretch my legs and lungs without sixty pound plus of bergan rucksack on my back -- If it wasn't raining, of course.

With two days until my planned jaunt, I'd been in my office when my mobile rang. It was the work phone, the one that only a few people had the number to, and I was surprised to hear Julie Devine on the other end of the device.

"Stone," she said, "could you do something for me?" The tremor in her voice alerted me to the fact that there was something wrong with Mrs Devine. I'd find out, when it was too late of course, that Julie Devine was a nymphomaniac alcoholic ... OK, the nympho part is a bit of an exaggeration, but our Julie does like cock, the alcoholic part is about right though. Not that it's obvious, Julie's veneer never cracks, but once you suss it all the signs are there.

Anyway, at that time I didn't know Julie well at all. We hardly ever met, and when we did rarely spoke. I remembered Julie from the old days, just; I'd been vaguely aware of her at school, but had little to do with her back then. I'd met her again just after I'd started working for Dave of course, and she'd mentioned that she recalled me from the old days, but we hadn't grown close at all. We weren't friends.

"If I can help, Mrs Devine," I said -- Oh, the benefit of hindsight! If only I'd known then what I know now.

"I wonder, Stone, uh ... that is, I'd like to talk to you. It's a bit personal and I hate to ask you, but I'm almost at my wits end." She paused for a few seconds, inhaling deeply, and I realised that she'd probably just sparked up a cigarette. Julie sounded troubled, her voice had trembled and she'd stuttered a couple of times, so I waited for Julie to spit it out, whatever the problem was. "Yuh ... you're the only one that knew Dave when we were kids. I just wondered if you could come over to the house tonight, say about nine? I really need to talk to somebody about Dave. Somebody who knows him."

My first instinct, and upon reflection it was right on the money, was to refuse. Popping round to visit the boss's wife, mission of mercy or not, didn't seem to be the wisest move in the world. Especially since it involved Dave and a problem of some kind. What goes on between a married couple should remain private, between them, not for the likes of me to get involved in. There are counsellors and other nosey fuckers around for that, professionals with degrees and qualifications. What use would I be? I'd failed as a husband myself. I had no clue about any marital issues that Julie might be facing.

I should have politely refused and hung up.

But I didn't.

Julie Devine, like me, like her husband, is forty years of age, and she looks incredible on it. A good-looking woman, petite in stature, she's got great legs that look even better when she wears heels -- which is all the time, sometimes even in bed, especially in bed, as I'd come to know. Julie wears her hair short and shaggy. It's blonde, dyed of course, with the fringe all feathered above those disconcerting green eyes, the same eyes she passed on to her daughter, Amy. She's had a little work done, nothing too extreme, not like those plastic-faced gargoyles I see on telly sometimes, but she's had her boobs done twice if the rumour mill is to be believed. As it happens, having assessed the cosmetic surgeon's work at close range and at length, I can say that Julie's tits are a first rate job, the work of an artist. Julie, despite her proclivity for gin, is a gym nut, often giving herself a good beasting before Ralph, the team physical training instructor -- or sadistic cunt if I can describe him that way -- puts me and the lads through our paces.

In short, Julie Devine is fucking sexy. And I can see where Amy gets her looks and sex appeal from.

"Please, Stone," Julie asked, her voice warbling. She must have sensed my reluctance, repeating the plea, even sniffing back tears. "Please, Stone. I just want to talk about Dave. There's something wrong and ... I ... I just need to talk about the old days with someone who knew him then."

So, there I was, outside Dave's house, or palace as it seemed to me. What a huge place. All for just three people! This gaff was a long, long way -- to the moon and back -- from the pokey shithole on the fifteenth floor of a grey tower block that Dave had once called home. Even the drive leading up to the roundabout -- I kid you not, complete with a turning circle at the end of the drive -- is as long as some city streets.

I parked the Range Rover and walked to the front door. The sight that greeted me when Julie opened it had my eyes on stalks.

For a lady in distress, Mrs Devine certainly looked good. But then I remembered that Julie was legendary for her immaculate turnout, never a hair out of place. I've since seen her less than perfect, hair mussed up, make-up smudged and smeared, and with her pretty face dripping with semen, but that night Julie had certainly scrubbed up well.

"I'm so glad you could come, Stone," Julie said as she stepped back and gestured for me to enter.

She didn't look like she had a care in the world, and her voice showed absolutely no trace of her earlier, tremulous emotion. She would have been halfway down the neck of the gin bottle by then, I know that now, but at that time I didn't know about Julie's drinking.

"You sounded upset, Mrs Devine," I said.

"Oh, come on, Stone," Julie chuckled. "We were in the same year at school. Call me Julie. In private anyway."

I got a hint of sly seductiveness in her expression as she uttered those words. My antennae twitched. There was something not right about this whole situation.

"Where's Amy?" I asked in the hope that if her daughter was present, or at least in the house, somewhere in one of the umpteen rooms. I would feel a lot more comfortable with someone else there. Not like I was there up to no good, it wasn't as though I had designs on the boss's wife.

A lead pill dropped into the pit of my stomach when Julie replied. "Oh, Amy's out with one of her friends," she said with a vague wave of a hand. "She's hardly ever here. She'll probably not even be home until tomorrow ... or the next day." Julie shrugged. "So it'll be just us, Stone," she breathed.

Julie led me along a high-ceilinged hallway. As she walked towards the door at the far end of the long corridor, I couldn't help but admire her tight backside swinging inside a Royal blue dress. The dress clung to her curves, and I'd already clocked her vertiginous cleavage as I'd walked past her into the house. The gown, with its bootlace straps over her tanned shoulders, supported Julie's artistically sculpted tits in a way that defied Newtonian theory, and I couldn't help but ogle the smooth flanks of Julie's boobs as my eyes flicked down to that deep crevice.

"Drink?" Julie asked. "A finger of gin for each of us?" she added as she poured the stuff into two heavy tumblers. I estimated Julie's measures were the width of the Pilsbury Dough Man's fingers when I almost choked on the first sip. And was there any tonic in there, or had she just wafted the tonic bottle top around the rim of the glass?

I sat my arse into a plush armchair at Julie's invitation while the woman herself settled onto a sofa opposite me and sipped her drink.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to come over, Stone?"

I nodded, for the thought had crossed my mind.

"It's a delicate subject," Julie continued. "It's to do with me and Dave."

Julie, in spite of all the trappings of Dave's vast wealth, both legitimate and hooky, still carried the roots of her upbringing in her speech. There was an element of refinement in her diction, but, and maybe it's because it was me there with her, perhaps she felt she could let her guard down a little, I could still hear the East End in her speech.

I sipped my own gin and winced. Fucking hell but it was strong.

"Why don' you tell me about it, Julie?" I asked.

"In a little while," Julie said. And there was that vulpine expression again. I squirmed in my seat, the sense of something amiss deepening. I got the distinct impression that Julie had a hidden agenda. However, because she was the boss's wife, and because she'd sounded so concerned on the phone, and because I was too polite to make an excuse and leave, it all happened. "Why don't we catch up a little, Stone? Tell me a little bit about some of your adventures. Please, I'd like to hear about your army days.

So forty minutes and another two gins later and I'd given Julie a condensed run-down on a few memorable highlights of my career. As usual I played it down, made it sound like the reality that soldiering can be -- freezing cold, roasting hot or piss wet through, with lots of hurry up and wait; frantic activity of preparation, all urgency and orders before, often inexplicably, a long period of sitting on your arse waiting to go and wondering what the fuck the flap had been for in the first place.

I'd hit a nice buzz due to the Soviet strength industrial gin that Julie had siped into my veins, and I'd like to blame all of what followed on the alcohol, but of course the booze, as Julie no doubt intended, had merely outflanked my inhibitions. If I'd truly, in my heart of hearts, wanted nothing to do with the sex she offered, then I'd have left her alone in the big house. But the booze didn't help me, putting me in that rosy place where it seems such a great idea at the time.

"It's Dave," Julie said after my final anecdote and another refill. I swear her bottom lip wobbled, the sly bitch. "He ... he hasn't touched me since just after we married."

I remember thinking, Oh, shit, and that this wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to hear.

But Julie continued before my gin-soaked brain could tell my mouth to form an excuse to get the hell out of there. "Uh ... I ..." I gurgled.

"I don't know why, Stone. I don't think I'm unattractive. Even now, although I'm no spring chicken, I do my best. But he hasn't really bothered with me for nineteen years. And I just wondered, Stone ..." She turned those eyes on me then. "... I wondered if you knew of anything from the old days that might explain it."

I knew about the visits Dave made. There were times when he'd slip out from under the protective net that our team provided. He'd set up a 'decoy Dave' as he called it. One of the lads sitting in the back of the car dressed in his clothes and wearing a wig to give the appearance that it was Dave with his distinctive dark curls in the car moving about town while the real Dave went off in a standard black cab. Of course, these little disappearing acts were something I'd only known about since I began working for the man. If Dave was playing away from home, what did I care? But, while that might explain a more conventional mid-life crisis, it didn't gel with Julie's claims that Dave had ignored the marital bed for a goodly chunk of his life. Almost all his married life in fact.

So I kept quiet about the decoy Dave and what not and just shrugged my shoulders. "Sorry, Julie," I said, noticing I slurred a little slur on the sibilant. I pulled a face that suggested ignorance. "I can't think of a thing. Nothing."

Julie sighed and swigged heavily. "I'll just get another bottle," she said when she discovered we'd apparently exhausted the previous one. "You'll stay for another drink, won't you Stone?"

Julie left the room when I nodded. I'd need a cab back to my flat because there was no way I could drive back into town in the state I was in.

When she returned, bottle in hand, all I could do was stare in utter disbelief.

"Fucking hell ..." I managed to gasp eventually.

"I don't understand it, Stone," Julie said with a grin. "I mean, why won't Dave touch me? What's there not to like?"

I shook my head, my eyes locked on the sight of Julie, holding the gin bottle carelessly at its neck, naked except for a garter belt and black stockings and her trademark heels.

"Fancy a long drink and nice little fuck, Stone" Julie asked.

It's easy to sit in judgement and tell me what an idiot I've been. Looking back myself I can see the set-up and how big a fool I was to fall for it. The great military commander caught out by a skinful of gin and a naked woman. When I thought about the idiocy, the sheer bloody lunacy at what I'd done, and the potential for a stern lesson from Dave, I went cold, but the fact is I did it, I allowed myself to be drawn in. There's just something about the Devine women, both Julie, and latterly, Amy, that attracts me.

Back then, three months ago, right at the start, Julie's green eyes teased me as she flaunted that incredible body at me. She posed provocatively, hip cocked as she thrust her sex towards me. I looked at her breasts and the promise between her legs, savoured the shape of her, all sweeping curves and taut flesh. Her thighs tensed as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, the movement making her breasts sway. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Forget the drink, Julie," I growled. "I've had enough." Nodding at her boobs, I added, "But I haven't started on you yet."

"Oh, Stone," Julie sighed. She turned and gave me my first glimpse of her tight buttocks in the flesh. Hip-swaying away from me, the swing of her hips exaggerated because of the heels, she placed the gin bottle onto an ornately carved sideboard before turning to face me again. Julie slowly walked to me, her sly grin fixed in place. This was a woman who knew how to squeeze a man's cock by the way she moved and a smouldering look alone, and by the time she got within touching distance my erection was already huge and throbbing. "I'm so neglected, Stone," Julie murmured. "He never touches me. And all I want is to be desired." Julie reached for my hand and placed the flat of my palm against the springy muscle of her stomach. "You want me, don't you? I think you do. I can see it in your face. I make you hot, Stone, don't I?"

"Julie," I croaked, my throat dry. I unzipped my jeans, deciding to show Julie how much I wanted her.

"Take your clothes off, Stone," Julie said quietly, her attention focussed on the length of stiff gristle jutting from my flies. "I want to suck you. Let me taste your big cock before you fuck me with it."

As I scrabbled out of my jeans and hurriedly unbuttoned my shirt, shoes and socks already kicked across the room, Julie settled onto a huge sofa, sitting in an almost demure pose with her legs crossed. Her positioning, all very probably contrived, accentuated the pleasing taper of her legs. Julie sat in a three-quarter pose, her flank exposed to me in a way that showed off the sweep of her waist as it flared into her hip. The profile of her bottom against the seat cushion, the taut and tanned tension of her thigh, the stockings and shoes, not to mention the rack of Julie's ribs and the rounded overhang of her breasts all combined to swell my ardour.