The Amorous Agatha Christie 01

Trent was a keen lover of all sports and had been captivated by the fairly new pastime of auto racing for competition. Brooklands Race Track in 1923 was a 2.75-mile circuit and aerodrome and was the world's first purpose-built motor racing facility. The motor circuit was the brainchild of Hugh Fortescue Locke-King, formerly of the Royal Artillery, and work had begun in 1906.

The track had opened on 17 June 1907 with a luncheon attended by most of Britain's motor manufacturers. This was followed by an informal inauguration of the track by a procession of 43 cars, one of which was driven by Charles Rolls. The first competitive event was held on 28--29 June, with three cars competing to break the world record for distance covered in 24 hours, and the first race meeting was held on 6 July, attracting over 10,000 spectators.

After the war had ended, motor racing resumed in 1920 after extensive track repairs. Major Trent had followed the progress of British drivers with keen interest, going as far as to sponsor the young up-and-coming racer, Hugh Bonneville. He drove a Leyland Eight four-seater tourer with a 6.9--litre engine capable of reaching a speed of 100 mph.

"He is keen as mustard to try to emulate the French and Italian drivers. We all hope to hold our own British Grand Prix one of these days."

"How thrilling!"

They made a pit stop at the clubhouse where they enjoyed a pink gin.

"He must be in the garage. He's always tinkering with the engine."

It was a quick stroll to the garage where they found the main door closed. Trent opened a side door and they both entered. Agatha yelped when she nearly put her brand new T-strap pump in a puddle of black motor oil. When she looked up she saw that her cry had turned four heads her way. These men looked to be between twenty and thirty and were all standing in just their undershorts.

"I say chaps," said Trent. "Lady on the premises."

Agatha lifted her chin and let her gaze linger on all four near-naked fellows. They all looked fit and healthy as they looked back at the redhead in the daring knee-high dress.

"Ah. There you both are."

"Hugh, old sport. How the devil are you? Meet Mrs. Christie."

"Do call me Agatha."

They shook hands and she studied the tall racing driver. At just over six feet tall he had a huge stature with slicked-back brown hair and a thin moustache. He had an engaging smile that showed off his dimpled cheeks. Rather a handsome sort she thought, and well worth getting to know better.

"I see that you've met my crew of mechanics. From the left, that's Grimshaw, Simpkins, Morris, and Smith. Splendid chaps all."

As they dressed in a white button-down jacket and matching trousers, Agatha unashamedly noted their wedding tackle. All shapes and sizes. Grimshaw had the biggest package and poor Smith seemed to possess a very tiny todger. Poor lamb.

"Well. Here she is. My pride and joy."

Morris dragged a sheet of tarpaulin from the sleek-looking open-topped vehicle and Agatha and the Major looked it over.

"What a remarkable automobile," she said in awe.

"Isn't it? The engine has a cylinder block and upper crankcase cast in one piece and a single centrally-mounted overhead camshaft. The crankshaft runs in five bearings. Ignition is by coil and distributor rather than magneto, which is the more usual British practice at the moment."

Agatha smiled weakly as he twittered on in a language she did not comprehend.

"Transmission is through a single plate clutch to a separately mounted four-speed gearbox. The spiral bevel crown wheel and pinion arrangement have two crown wheels each attached to a half shaft allowing them to be arranged at an angle to each other to give the rear wheels a positive camber."

"Heavens! Aren't you the brainbox? Well done."

"Would you like to for a spin?"

"Ra-ther!"

"That's the spirit. Morris? Fetch a spare helmet and goggles."

Agatha took the soft brown leather headpiece and tied it under her chin. Next, she tied off a pair of safety goggles around her head and blinked hard at the restricting protective shields. Hugh was already good to go in his moleskin cloth shirt and khaki corduroy breeches.

"I've only the one seat so you'll have to sit in my lap as I drive."

"I'm game if you are."

They squeezed into the car and Hugh gunned the engine. He took off and joined the circuit, leaving thick swirls of dust and dirt in his wake.

"I'll take the first lap at a reasonable speed so that you get used to the width of the track and curves."

"Right you are," she shouted back over the noise of the engine.

Hugh was obviously an expert driver, using the mirrors, changing gears, and applying heel-to-toe change downs. His right foot lifted and fell on the brakes as he wrenched the steering wheel in his firm grip.

"Here we go!"

On the second lap, he increased the speed, taking her up to 50 mph. For the young redhead, this was utterly thrilling, indulging in such a male-like activity. She clutched her helmet as she squirmed in Hugh's lap and yelled out in excitement. She got the most enjoyment out of the curves rather than the long straight bits, especially when Hugh shifted gear. In her unladylike position, the horny beauty could not conceal her delight in having the stick shaft ride up between her legs.

"I say!"

As the car reached a speed of 70 mph, Agatha put her hand on Hugh's and jammed the stick against her sex under her dress. She could feel the sweat on her palms and her thighs trembled as her muff leaked due to the sublime vibrations which were sufficient enough to reward the accomplished writer with an exquisite orgasm. She felt herself squirt in her bloomers as Hugh temporarily fought for control of the racing car. He slowed up enough to steer the auto off of the circuit and onto a strip road by a line of hedgerows.

"I say, old thing. That was dashed risky."

Agatha caught her breath and ripped the goggles and hat off of her mussed bob.

She turned in the driver's lap and flung her arms around his neck.

"Nonsense! That was one of the singularly most riveting things I've ever done in my life."

As she got to get out, Hugh glanced at her dress which had ridden up to show the ridging of her stocking top. He lifted off the cowling over the engine to double-check everything, and as he leaned over Agatha could see the muscular shape of his buttocks through his corduroys. A man's backside always had an appeal for the ever-horny redhead. The thrilling sight of a nicely shaped rear on a man never ceased to excite the thirty-year-old. As he tinkered with some kind of a tool, she noted his trousers were just as well-filled at the front as they were at the back. Her cunt ached with anticipation as the modern female made the first move.

She suddenly took his hand in hers and led him to the hedgerows.

"Come. I fancy you something rotten. I have a notion to make love with you in the open air."

Hugh looked around and saw nobody else about as the free and abandoned vixen removed her dress and laid it on the grass. Beneath it she wore but an ivory chemise with white drawers. Her silk stockings were kept in place by two garters.

The erotic sight of her in this state of undress quickly turned his mind to one of a carnal inclination.He took off his shirt and displayed his hairy chest to the excited writer. As he dropped his corduroys, Agatha discovered why he favoured a baggy type of clothing. He was very well equipped down there and sported a rather fine specimen of manhood. She was pleasantly surprised by how erect he was already and smiled up at him as he pulled his undergarments down to expose his seven inches of thick, knobbly flesh. As his foreskin peeled back. Agatha took inventory again. Make that EIGHT inches of rock-hard cock that poked out of his greasy groin.

"You're a brazen one, aren't you?" she said as he posed and strutted before her.

"Ever seen a dick such as this? Does it not arouse you? You'll find none bigger in a hundred-mile radius."

This one was fully aware he was blessed by nature and that his massive organ would be highly sought after by many a lecherous female. Agatha Christie included.

"Agreed. Do you desire this frail creature?"

"We do."

"We?"

"Say hello to Percy."

Good lord, she thought. He even has a name for his prick! How sickeningly vain.

Returning out to him, she leaned forward and deftly swallowed half of his stiff cock. Her wet mouth managed to consume the top of his throbbing shaft, and as she closed her eyes, she swallowed, creating a tight seal with her lips. Hugh gasped as she immediately began sucking him as fast and as hard as she could. With her hand at the root of his stalk, Agatha let her tongue slither around his bloated glans, thereby creating a copious amount of saliva that dribbled down the underside of his upright pole. The cock hungry redhead showed off her prowess as she drove down his length and then rose back up to slobber on his bell end.

"Lall, lall, loll, loll, lool, lool, lool, lool!"

The racing driver was fascinated by her technique of deep downward bobs of her head, combined with an odd tongue lashing of his flared knob. The vibrations and friction were completely new to the man. And he had seduced quite a few ladies in his time.

"This is out of this world! Percy likes that!"

Agatha hummed a thank you as she repeatedly swallowed his stiff rod. She made almost obscene gagging noises mixed with the odd cough. They fell back into the soft carpet of grass and leaves as his hands danced over her thighs. His caress left smudges of motor oil on her pale skin as she lay on her back. Every fibre in her body was vibrant and alive with the pure pleasure of the man's touch. She licked her fingers and brought them down to her pussy. She slowly rubbed herself as she moaned quietly and pouted her lips at him.

"I'm counting on you to give me what I need. Your nice hard cock deep inside my cunny."

"Percy agrees."

Hugh pinned her back to the cool grass and aligned himself with her sopping entrance. He thrust all the way into the hilt, causing her to cry out as he filled her with hard cock. As he began to fuck her, Agatha gave as good as she got, pushing up as he rocked her world. He was so much more than average in width, meaning that her quim was stretched to the maximum. Already, the renowned author could feel her first orgasm approaching, thanks to how horny she had been all day combined with Hugh's generously sized shaft.

"Oh, my God!" She moaned as she looked into his eyes.

"You like that? You like Percy ripping you up?"

"Oh my word, yes! He's so big."

This was no romance however, and the pair of them bucked and writhed in each other's arms in the broad daylight, engaged as they were in a purely lust-fueled act of animalistic sexual intercourse.

"Fuck me harder, Percy! I said harder!"

Agatha gripped his taut biceps as her climax built and built. Hugh was damned impressive as he effortlessly reared back to the point where he was almost out of her, before slamming back inside her weeping muff. Her cunt tightened around his cock as she came with a scream, but her orgasm did not deter him from continuing to stroke her with lightning speed. Her steamy cunt bubbled around his length as he doubled his efforts.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

As the grateful thirty-year-old embraced her release, Hugh also erupted, shooting spurt after spurt of white cum into her saturated quim. He fell on top of her and they both enjoyed the moment. After a couple of minutes, Agatha propped herself up on her elbows.

"My god, Hugh. That was the BEST! Oh, and thank you Percy for a most enjoyable engagement."

They returned to the racing car where Hugh offered Agatha a rag with which to clean up the grease and smudges on her panting body. He revved up the engine and they drove back to the garage in post-coital bliss. Without admitting her spur-of-the-moment love tryst to the Major, she told her escort of the thrill of the fast car.

"Blood and sand!"

All heads turned to Bonneville as he gazed angrily into his now empty personal locker.

"Some blackguard has stolen my diamond-encrusted, 18K gold watch and chain. A family heirloom worth 10,000 pounds. I distinctly remembered locking it up in here. Gentlemen. We have a thief in our midst."

"Right. Stand still, everybody," barked Major Trent authoritatively. "Hugh? Lock the door. Nobody leaves until I notify the Police."

Agatha perceived all those present. Hugh, Timothy, and the four mechanics in their white overalls.

"Look no further. There is the culprit! Smith. The game is up."

"Not I!" protested the mechanic.

"Perceive," continued Bonneville. "We all know the man is hung like a baby carrot, and yet his trouser pocket is bulging."

"Hold there, Smith."

Simpkins and Morris held him fast as Major Trent rifled his pocket and retrieved the said watch.

"Poor show, Smith."

"I never even knew it was there. You must believe me."

Trent handed over the purloined item to Bonneville who examined it closely.

"The six diamonds have been removed. Smith must have them stashed. Get the Police."

"Begging your pardon, chaps." Piped the amateur sleuth. This is a ruse. And the ruse very nearly succeeded. I have great pleasure in returning this!"

With a dramatic gesture, Agatha Christie produced the polished gold watch that Bonneville had announced stolen. Complete with diamonds.

"I don't understand." Major Trent confessed with spread hands.

"No?" said she. "It makes no matter."

"But how did you come by the watch?"

"From Mr. Bonneville."

"Hugh?"

"Precisely. I discovered it quite by accident secreted under the seat of the Leyland Eight."

"But why should he steal his own watch?"

"Ah, there's the rub. THIS is the real 18K watch. And that is an inferior 10K copy. He was ordered by Hug himself to falsely accuse young Smith. He made sure the substitute was discovered. Without any diamonds, I might add, to dupe his Insurance company into paying out the money. And he will still have the diamond-encrusted watch! Smith will be unable to conjure up the nonexistent diamonds and be made to carry the can."

Bonneville turned to run but was tackled expertly by Grimshaw and Morris.

"Well. This IS a rum do and no mistake. But why?"

"The chap is no doubt consumed by greed for money. It's an age-old story. In a short time, I've noted an intense and selfish air about the fellow. He also has an exceptional interest in and admiration for himself. I find that kind of vanity to be most abhorrent."

"My dear. You are a clever brainbox."

"It was a trifling matter. Come. We shall return to London where I shall allow you to buy me dinner."

xxx

Chapter Three.

The Strange Disappearance Of Mr. Davenheim Solved.

Agatha sighed as she stretched out on the sofa in the living room of her flat and rested her head in the Major's lap. They had returned to London two hours earlier and had dined at the Ritz. She had not informed him of her one-off with Bonneville, nor did she intend to.

"A trifling matter."

"What?"

As he cradled her head he looked down into her quizzical face.

"You said the unveiling Smith as the thief was a trifling matter."

"Yes, I did."

"So, now you've become a crime writer, you think you can also solve crimes in real life?"

"I suppose. I seem to have a certain understanding of the criminal mind."

"Really?"

Agatha sat up a little and looked back at Timothy.

"Are you questioning my intelligence? Scotland Yard has even asked me for my opinion of the Davenheim case."

The Major pricked up his ears. For the last three days, the newspapers had been full of the strange disappearance of Mr. Davenheim, senior partner of Davenheim and Salmon, the well-known bankers and financiers. On Saturday last he had walked out of his house and had never been seen since.

"I should have thought that it would be almost impossible for anyone to 'disappear' nowadays."

"There are in fact THREE categories of disappearance," said the affronted redhead. "First, and most common, the voluntary disappearance. Second, the much abused 'loss of memory' case. Third, murder, and more or less successful disposal of the body."

"People don't just vanish into thin air. Sooner or later they turn up, concealed in lonely places, or in trunks. Murder will out. In the same way, the absconding clerk, or the domestic defaulter, is bound to be run down in these days of wireless telegraphy. He can be headed off from foreign countries. But in the end, one is up against civilization."

"On the contrary. A person might bring intelligence, talent, and a careful calculation of detail to the task. I do not see why he or she should not be successful in baffling the police force."

"But not you, I suppose? He couldn't baffle you, hmm?"

"I'll wager you that I can solve the mystery from this very room in the time it takes for you to make love to me."

Agatha sat up and folded her arms.

"Interesting. Without clues or leaving the flat, you think you can solve the problem?"

"I'm sure of it. Granted the facts were placed before me. I regard myself as a consulting specialist. The body is an extraordinary vessel. Sex stimulates me physically and as a result my brain. It's the little grey cells I rely on. I shall sleuth, deduce, hypothesize, and shag my way to find the solution. Now take me to the bedroom."

x

When she closed the door, she slipped out of the evening gown she wore and slid off her stockings and bloomers. Agatha fell onto her back on top of the covers with her willowy legs splayed open. Trent removed his clothing and joined her on the bed. His fingertips brushed her cheek and her neck, his eyes never wavering from hers, He cupped her left breast and felt her heart pounding. They embraced and the novelist relished the feel of his bare body against hers. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him hard on the mouth. As their mouths met, their tongues wrestled in a lingering French kiss, their hot breath laced with their after-dinner brandy. With his hands firmly on her buttocks, he humped her as he settled on top of her. Agatha purred as she rubbed her pelvis against him, searching for his stiffening length with her hungry loins.

"Kiss me. There."

Trent lowered his face to her pink pussy lips and ran his tongue along the moist folds. She squirmed as he teased her by sliding the point of his tongue up and down her succulent slit. With a smile, the Major moved to her clitoris, gently pulling back the hood so he could graze her hard button with his teeth. Her back arched as he nibbled and sucked on it. He also used his middle digit to probe her quim as her hips jumped on the bed.

"Oh, mmm, right. That is so nice. Now, where are my notes."

As he ate her out, Agatha collected some pages from a notepad and ran a finger down one page.

"Here. On Saturday last, Mr. Davenheim took the 12:40 train from Victoria Station to Chingside, where his palatial country place called The Cedars, is situated. After lunch, he strolled around the grounds and gave various directions to the gardeners. Everybody agrees that his manner was absolutely normal and as usual. After tea, he told his wife that he was going to the village to post some letters. He added that he was expecting a Mr. Lowen, on business. If he should come early, he was to be shown into the study and asked to wait. Mr. Davenheim then left the house by the front door, passed leisurely down the drive, and out at the gate, and was never seen again. From that hour, he vanished completely. Ooooh, right there, my darling."

The Major had widened her thighs and was frigging the wanton minx with no less than three glistening fingers.

"This is helping?"

"Mmmm. Oh, yes. Now, a stranger called at the house and gave the name of Lowen, and by the banker's instructions was shown in the study. Nearly an hour passed without the return of Davenheim. Finally, Mr. Lowen announced he could wait no longer as he had a train back to town to catch."