The Literotica Xmas Bash

'Erica, come in. Eric's just been telling me how well you've all done. Fantastic story on the dog-napping. Well spotted. Sort of crime that's easily overlooked. We're putting it on the front page.'

She simpered and went red. It was touching to see.

'I'm glad I caught you, John.'

I told all the youngsters to call me by my first name. This was the first time she'd used it without me feeling she was waiting for me to bawl her out for being cheeky after she did so. I smiled encouragement.

'There's something up. In town. I think we should look into it.' 'Is it big?' 'Could be, I don't know.' 'Should we take a look?'

I smiled at Eric, just happy I hadn't mentioned the pub to him.

'Well, no peace for the wicked.'

I followed her out of the door trying to remember how many weeks I had to wait until I could safely seek to explore her bum more intimately as it bobbed up and down in front of me. When we got downstairs to the street she looked both ways and then pulled me into the adjacent doorway of an abandoned souvenir shop. There are a lot of those in Bridlington. A private eye trailing a suspect would have no problems at all.

'It's Americans.'

She hissed.

'Americans?'

She nodded vigorously.

'Look.'

I took a step onto the pavement. She pulled me back in as if there was a danger of snipers and made me stretch my neck out instead. She was right. The long street the Globe office was on was packed with outdoor gear shops. There was always a trade in Bridlington for clothing that would keep out rain and wind. There seemed to be dozens of well-nourished, deeply-tanned individuals going in and out of every one.

On the way in they were clad in light trousers and a variety of thin top wear. I even spotted a linen jacket in some sort of pastel tartan. Those leaving the shops were fully togged out for the worst Bridlington could throw at them. Most were carrying bags stuffed with additional purchases. They seemed happy enough.

'Come with me. You don't mind if I take your arm? I'd feel safer.'

She pulled me out into the street once more and we headed for the front. She kept trying to steer me as close to the shop fronts as possible while keeping an iron grip on the crook of my elbow. It was really hard not to laugh.

'Morning sir, ma'am.'

A six-foot Texan would be my guess raised his hat to us as we passed.

'And to you sir, And to you.' 'Shh. You can tell he's not local can't you?'

Erica was clearly a local girl, well tutored in the ignorant prejudices of her parents. I couldn't help thinking - once again - that if they spent half the time warning their kids about the dangers of home-grown perverts, they'd all be better served than by instilling in them a terror and distrust of anyone in the slightest bit different. She was pulling me towards the Spa as I considered how best to broach the subject of her stopping acting like an idiot.

The sea front is Bridlington's glory. The tide goes out for miles. So far in fact that, like now, it was virtually impossible to see the sea in the distance. I drew deep lungfuls of ozone soaked air into my lungs. I felt good about the world As I paced the promenade and thought about the millions who had done just this before me. We were greeted regularly and stopped on one occasion by a young couple looking for a shop which sold camera accessories.

'How do you understand what they're saying?' 'By paying attention in my English classes when I was at school.'

She was beginning to irritate me. I was about to start on what could only be a lecture when she pulled us up short by one of the mock-Victorian lamp posts which dot the route to the Spa. That's a proper conference centre, not whatever fantasy based around a hot tub Kevin was currently entertaining. She hissed for my attention and looked up.

There was a sign high up on the post. It was just low enough to read easily, but placed out of reach of the most agile local vandal unless they had access to a step ladder. It was laminated and zip-tied in the same way as the ones I'd seen at the park. Even the font looked familiar. Sunnydene Shuttle. We'll be along as soon as we can. It was only then I noticed small groups of clearly-Americans hanging about in our vicinity. Erica was watching them with a mixture of wonderment and fear. Some were taking selfies with a local copper, others snapped phone boxes, double-decker buses anything that looked quaint and Englsh in fact.

They were all comparing purchases and talking excitedly about how cheap everything was. Brexit might be ruining the country's future and crashing the currency, but it was nice to see that some people were benefitting. Whenever someone caught me looking at them they smiled or waved, salutations I was happy to return much to Erica's acute and obvious embarrassment. She was making me feel like I really was her dad grooving in my Xmas jumper at a family party. I was about to say something when I heard the fanfare of a car with air horns and someone calling my name. It was Paul.

'Lovely morning. Fancy a lift. We've only room for one I'm afraid.'

His huge car, top now down again, was loaded high with boxes of what looked like groceries. There was a well-muscled black guy slouched against the opposite door, his elbow nonchalantly resting on the lowered window.

'Why don't you take someone else? There's two of us.'

I felt Erica trying to shrink behind me.

'Quite a looker. She your daughter?' 'Work colleague. Erica this is Paul and...' 'Kurt, pleasure to meet you.'

I pushed her forward and watched Paul kiss her hand. Kurt seemed to unfold himself over the Brummie and did the same. If it is possible for fingers to blush, then that's what hers did. She stepped back beside me as soon as Kurt released her. At least she wasn't trying to hide, I thought, more staring as if they were exotic animals in a zoo. I took out my phone and told Eric we were off to Sunnydene and not to expect either of us back in the office.

'You lucky dog. If I was twenty years younger. There was this one time...' 'Sorry Eric, breaking up.'

I hung up on him before things got out of hand. After an impromptu congress a small man about sixty emerged from the small crowd and I helped him install himself and his bags alongside Kurt. We waved as they went off with a throaty roar and an ear-splitting fanfare. I was going to offer Erica the choice of waiting while I fetched the car, but the renewed arm-lock she grasped me in gave me a premature answer. I spent the time between the front and my flat thinking how much more easily Annette and I had slipped into each other' stalking styles. There was a small part of my brain though enjoying the pressure of Erica's much larger breasts despite what I estimated to be at least six layers of clothing between them and my bare skin.

I used the journey out to Sunnydene to give her a proper talking to. I gave her a small heads up about what we were heading into, but mostly told her in no uncertain terms that she could forget a career in journalism if she couldn't bury her prejudices while on the job. Being able to winnow a dog-napping from the chaff of petty burglaries and senseless assaults was going to get her no further than the next town, I said. She was obviously chastened. That made me feel even more like I was her dad. She didn't say anything, but she obviously took on board what I was saying.

If Sunnydene had been a hive the day before, now it was humming like a well-oiled machine. The lad on the gate gave me a sharp salute and handed me a sticker with a large B on it for the car. When we pulled up next to the Chevy? Olds? I really should find someone to explain the differences to me, Bonzo was waiting, collar on but mask off. He held Erica's door for her while she got out and didn't stare at her tits.

'Thank you very much. Where are you from?'

Erica was obviously practising foreign. Bonzo looked as surprised as I was.

'I'm from Stourbridge me.' 'That sounds really nice. I plan to visit one day.'

I knew from the car that Erica had never been further south than Sheffield. Except for the once, when her parents took her to Malaga on holiday and they had to fly from East Midlands Airport. She had described the journey down with the enthusiasm of an explorer returning from the Peruvian high passes. I have no idea where Stourbridge is, but it sounded as good as place as any for her to start exploring the world.

'Vanessa not around?' 'Oh no sir. Mistress Vanessa's in a meeting with the other doms. No subs allowed.' 'Please pass on my regards and do tell her how helpful I thought you'd been.' 'I will, sir. Yes sir. As soon as I see her, sir. Thank you sir'

Erica looked like she was realising she had a long way to go before fully mastering non-Bridlington English.

There was no danger of anyone getting lost at Sunnydene Holiday Park (and Spa). There were signs everywhere. Someone had even measured the distance to the nearest rubbish bin for anyone seeking to dispose of waste. I remembered last night's condom with a smile. It was my turn to grab Erica and hurry her along. I realised if I had to explain what most of them were directing people to, it might take all day.

Joggers were the biggest shock. There were dozens of them. You always see one or two on the beach. In-comers mostly. But never in swelled ranks. I laughed as Erica couldn't help but let her eyes follow the undulating flesh of those we passed. She even managed to return the greeting of an oriental-looking body builder with a huge package flopping about inside his tight Lycra shorts. I had to show my press pass to get into the office. The guy on the door was clearly not from Gay Lit. He let Erica through without a word.

Inside was a haven of calm. We were presented with the sight of three bottoms as their owners leaned over a large map of the complex. The middle, nicely-upholstered one was clearly Cynthia's, the other two belonged to guys who were clearly no strangers to gyms. I went back to the door and knocked to let them know we were here. Cynthia was delighted to see me. The other two stood to attention and looked at me as if they were waiting for instructions to either kill me or shake my hand. Cynthia stepped forward and hugged me.

'John. Great to see you. This is Chuck and Charles.'

The two men said as their names were announced. I nodded, Erica smiled.

'This is John who I was telling you about.' 'Great work with the catering John.' 'And Angela and Annette are a great addition to the corps.'

They each stepped forward and shook my hand as they thanked me. I made a mental note to get it X-rayed for possible fractures as soon as I could.

'Chuck and Charles are ex-military.' 'Second airborne.' 'Marines.'

They smiled at each other over Cynthia's head. I got the impression that in different circumstances their backgrounds might have meant they were much less friendly to each other.

'That's good?'

I had tried to sound positive. It didn't come out that way. The fact that Cynthia was holding her hands nine inches apart and making a choking expression as she pretended to swallow something, had not helped. Erica's giggle told me she knew what had gone on too.

'They've got everything sorted. They're great.'

She slipped an arm through one each of theirs and hugged them tight.

'Where's Kevin then? You keeping him out of trouble?'

The three of them looked at each other and the two men nodded at Cynthia.

'He said he wanted to keep a watching brief. Do a little direct supervision of some of the activities.'

Mona Lisa had nothing on the enigmatic nature of the smile that came next.

'I expect he'll be tied up for some time.'

We men laughed. Cynthia's facial expression didn't change. Erica just looked confused as she stared at us each in turn.

'So you don't need me to do anything, then?' 'No sir. We'd like to keep your number ready if we need any local help.'

I nodded my assent.

'Otherwise, why don't you just take your daughter around and show her the sights. Join in, have fun.'

The daughter thing was getting old. But as I had no evidence of a conspiracy between the people making the observation there was not much I could say. I certainly wasn't going to argue with trained killers. I'd only just managed to scrape my tenderfoot badge in the scouts.

I made my first stop the volunteer editors. They were, on the whole, a friendly bunch though one did hand me a copy of the Globe with "spelling mistakes" highlighted. They were all either English usage or, in a few cases, local place names. I wasn't going to argue, but Erica took him on one side for a good-old Yorkshire tongue-lashing.

The rest of them were OK. I had a tape recorder and asked them a few questions I needed for my more intelligent pieces. They virtually wrote them for me, complete with statistics, references to literary critics and financial and publishing-business analyses. Kerrching.

When the festival/party officially started, they took me out to watch them work. They had appointed themselves gatekeepers. They checked that any authors listed to read were actually who they said they were; made sure no one claiming to be a fetish writer, say, wasn't just a loving wives bod trying to sneak in and generally acted as referees in any disputes between the various factions. One guy among the editors - he looked owlish in his round spectacles and leather-elbowed tweed jacket - came up with the game which cemented the whole crew.

Basically, it was a score card, you had to have sex - or near equivalent - with someone from each of the categories. I was obviously excused Lesbians, for instance. I thought I did pretty well. Annette ticked my loving wife box. She was loving and technically still a wife: the guy in the glasses approved it. When I stayed over with her and Angela in the room Cynthia managed to find for them, Angela confessed it was her first threesome, so that was OK. Vanessa called me over when I was touring the BDSM section. Apparently a female submissive was demanding a spanking from a man and all her male colleagues were busy. I thought I looked quite fetching in the tight leather clothes she found for me, but Erica couldn't stop laughing.

The exhibitionism/voyeur was a piece of cake. Everyone got that one. There was a virtual rolling strip show on stage as their authors read their works. Only the crappest of crap stories didn't get interrupted by someone wanting to have public intercourse, or at least suck someone off. A nice woman from Virginia dragged me up on stage along with three others and used her mouth to bring us to climax one after the other. Someone in the crowd started shouting about it really being group sex until one of the BDSMs threw them bodily from the hall.

They were real champions. The weekend started with a summit between them and the fetish team. They quickly established spheres of influence. The fetish people did the scaring and looking stern, like at the car park; they called in the BDs, as they quickly became known, if a stronger deterrent was needed. As a lot of the fetish fans were into dressing in things other than leather or rubber the camp was split anyway. When one of their number with a penchant for feathers asked in quite a serious way whether they could tickle offenders into behaving, the rest of the crew more-or-less threw in the towel.

I have no idea how old Cynthia is. But she ticked my mature box when I asked her. Fair-dos, she did insist we retire to her chalet and have full sex before she would. Her bed was really comfortable and I had a good few hours sleep afterwards. She woke me with a vibrator and a butt plug. We had fun with those for an hour or so and she ticked my toys box as well before I left.

Santa's Grotto, as you'd expect at a Xmas party, was the highlight of most people's visits. There was something of a dispute between the sci-fi/fantasists, the fetishists and the BDs at the start. With Santa's magical history, all that dressing up and the naughty and nice lists each had a point I thought. In the end they split the burden between themselves. The sci-fis took charge of the costumes and initial screening. There was always a Santa on duty and a few elves in requisite green and red. Admittedly some of the punters tried to object when some of the elves had two heads or tentacles protruding from parts you didn't normally see tentacles grow. But when word got round that dissenters were being relegated to the back of what was a very long queue, argument soon stopped.

It was a sneaky move, but necessary given the numbers involved, when they started pairing up the good boys and girls and quietly passing them through a back entrance into the group sex arena. The surprising number who insisted on being included on the naughty list were handed over to the BD specialists. Lots and lots of them got their 'first time' boxes ticked as well. At peak times the continuous loop of sleigh bells ringing had to be turned up to full volume to cover the sound of bottoms being slapped with various implements ranging from bare hands to quite unpleasant looking whips. Anyone who wanted anything stronger was sent off to the BDSM compound with a special pass.

When Erica and I visited the group sex session - even my press pass couldn't get me in unaccompanied - there was an attempt at the longest chain record in progress. Cocks, pussies, arses and/or mouths had to be in contact with the next person down the line for the attempt to count. There was a lot of quiet negotiation undertaken as sexual preferences and preferred sex acts were sorted out. They got up to about a hundred before someone at position sixteen had an orgasm of such shattering intensity they had to be pulled out and have oxygen administered by a medic who'd been in Iraq with Chuck. I spotted Erica hastily putting her knickers back on when the chain broke up' she was due in at about number one hundred and five. She left soon afterwards with a nice looking guy who came from Italy she told me later.

I needed Erica with me to get into the erotic encounters as well. They had commandeered the pool and also had a non-stop barbecue going. Seemed to fit in with a lot of the stuff their readers were putting out. I spent a very pleasant afternoon floating nude in the pool and later munching on a burger which was about as far from Kevin's offerings as Mars is from Middlesborough. They were probably the most laid-back of the lot of us. I almost thought I was dreaming when a big-breasted blonde who told me she came from Kentucky climbed onto my erection as I sat in the shallow end. I had been watching Erica entertaining the whole crowd with her expert board diving at the other end of the pool. I was almost sorry to leave, but those photos weren't going to take themselves, were they?

It wasn't all sweetness and light, however.

The loving wives were, well, fractious probably sums it up best. I noticed Charles briefing a few guys who looked like they had a similar background to his own when I made a brief visit. There were hardly any women in the audience as an overweight man in Bermuda shorts droned through a tale of a twenty year marriage. There was an eruption when the fictional wife asked permission of her husband, a hard working contractor, to attend a neighbourhood party with a shy teenager she'd met at church. The insults that flew were largely incomprehensible to me. What exactly is a cuck and what's so very wrong about being one? I didn't stick around to try and figure it out for myself. But I did make a point of talking to Annette later to check she was OK leaving her tick in my loving wives box. They looked like the kind of people who know how to bear a grudge.

I met the four voyeurs again hanging around outside the small meeting room which was at the centre of the incest/taboo section. I got my retaliation in first.