Lezzers & Slam Ons

#1
Further to this (rather more serious) thread.

http://www.arrse.co.uk/intelligence-cell/179927-insurance-fraud.html

Which hopefully will remain factual, and be of some assistance to you all, I did get a request from a less than subtle perv, ;-) for some 'Jeffery Archer' type musings with a somewhat erotic twist.

Throw in a few dusky lezzers, Arte and you'll knock Jeffrey Archer off no. 1 spot. Don't make it a heavy book though, must be able to hold it with just the one hand.....
So with (or without) your permission I'll make a start. If it falls at the first hurdle so be it.

The case of the two dusky lezzers and the steely eyed Investigator.

Chapter One.


It was late evening; the mercury in the cheap thermometer indicated quite clearly the falling temperature outside my window.

Somewhere an owl hooted.

From the comfortable womb of my drawing room, I closed my book, a heavy tome beloved of Fraud Investigators, and treated somewhat reverently. 'The Hounds of Southwell' by Arthur Conan Khalid, was our bible, if you will.

I rubbed my eyes. "Christ I was tired." I mumbled to nobody in particular, and forced my aching body towards the small kitchen where the kettle was bubbling away.

A loud banging at the front door startled me, the heavy oak timber literally rattling on its faux verdigris hinges. I wasn't expecting visitors, and my nearest neighbour was nearly a mile away. Who could it possibly be?

I opened the door and was confronted with two rather cute, but somewhat disheveled young ladies, both of dusky hue.

"Good evening ladies. Blessings unto thee." I simpered, adding. "And what pray brings you to my door on such a winter’s night?" I cursed myself, that bloody Conan Khalid and his use of the English vernacular was getting far too ingrained in my psyche.

"Sorry to have intruded." Purred the taller of the two. "Yes, we are really sorry." Whispered the smaller one through red glossed lipstick. "We have had an accident and need to use a phone." I was unsure as to who had spoken, my eyes transfixed on a set of finely sculptured breasts that quivered slightly underneath what was obviously a totally inappropriate silk blouse, given the weather conditions.

"Of course, of course, come in. Please." I stood to one side and gestured grandly with my right arm. "El Casa de mi Casa,"

They slipped past me, a faint whiff of Christian Dior gently assaulted my nostrils, and they glided past the securely locked cellar door and on towards the warmth of the kitchen.

The front door shut with a heavy 'snick' (sorry) and I followed them in.

My tailored Michael Bastian dressing gown inadvertently slipped to one side as I observed the taller of the two, her crafted derriere seemed to swing along, encased in the dark blue cotton of a designer boiler suit. My investigative eyes swept towards the floor, both young dusky maidens were wearing comfortable shoes…

Chapter Two.

The girls were explaining their predicament to me, over a freshly brewed cafetiere of Jamaican Blue coffee beans. I listened sympathetically as first Mia, the taller of the two, and then Saffron, the ruby red lipped goddess with the short, somewhat boyish head of short blonde tussled hair, gushed out their extraordinary tale of woe.

After I had introduced myself properly, I left the room and slipped on a pair of Comme des Garçon Homme Plus strides. Well, it was bad form to let the old chap start hanging out before coffee. I had neglected to don my colour matched Maison Martin Margiela tailored shirt, preferring to let my pectoral muscles gleam in the soft glow of the coal fire in the corner of the kitchen.

The dusky duo had set off from Slough some six hours earlier, hoping to reach Manchester before the sun went down, as they had an appointment with a shady sounding character called Mustafa Queeky. They were a little coy in explaining this further; however the bottom line appeared to be that their little Ford Fiesta’s engine had decided to play up, so they decided on leaving the Motorway in order to find a garage. The small motor had finally given up, leaving them stranded.

The glimmering lights of my recently built barn conversion had caught their attention, and after a chilly ten minute walk, they had arrived at my door.

Arte, the Good Samaritan.

Arte, with a securely locked cellar.

“It would appear that the phone lines are down ladies.” I tentatively explained. “Often happens out here in the sticks. Nothing to worry about, it’s usually fixed before breakfast.”

The girls looked at each other, the chemistry between them sending a shock of chilled pleasure down to my Commando based chap.

“Well…” Mia stalled. Her deep hazel eyes meeting mine for fleeting moment before turning to Saffron. “Well, what do you reckon babe?”

Although my pulse was racing, I managed to slide in with a cool. “Ladies, I’ll leave it entirely up to you. No pressure.”

I then rather slyly added. “But…there are no public call boxes left in the county, I don’t have a mobile phone, and as you know yourselves, there is no signal coverage here anyway. In fact there is nothing before the village, some ten miles away.”

The girls remained silent, so I ploughed on.

“I have plenty of food, hot drinks, a spare room and you are welcome to stay. I have a good friend called Joe who lives in the village, he has a tow truck and is an absolute whizz when it comes to things mechanical.”

Saffron parted her soft lips. “Couldn’t you give us a lift up to Joe’s now?”

“I could.” I replied. “But he’ll be in the pub now. Disturbing him when he’s supping a pint of Old Peculiar, is cruising for a bruising.”

I laughed. Not at the fact that my 1960’s whimsical Americanism was particularly amusing, but with the secret knowledge that Joe was not only crap at anything mechanical, he’d died of liver failure some three years ago. Haha!

“Well…” Mia repeated. “I suppose we’re stuck with you for now, what do reckon babe?”

Soft, soft red lips. Did I spot a touch of moistness on her upper lip? Fear perhaps? Or maybe, just maybe…Excitement.

The old chap was exercising his right to freedom; his swollen, purple, gland like head was pressed painfully against my muscular thigh.

“Fuck it.” Stated Saffron, a determined glint in her eye. “Fuck it: fuck Mustapha: Fuck the poxy car: Fuck the weather. Let’s crash here. It’s only a couple of hours.”

She looked directly at me, a challenge. “Got any Jackie D?”

“I sure as hell fucking do.” I replied, letting it be known that I was more than happy to allow a bit of jocular profanity to enter the conversation. “It’s in the cellar.”​
 
#5
Lezzer story Walt.
Ah, now I understand. However...

This tale of woe is not just about our friends from the beautiful Isle of Lesbos, do not be deceived, there are twists and turns, piles of s(crap) stories within stories and tales of lust upon the slowly cooling bonnets of smashed up hatchbacks.
SCRAPYARD MONTHLY

The authors empirical observations, based on years of experience and hyperbolic turn of phrase make this a prodigious read.
POSH WORDS WEEKLY

A smashing read from an author who really knows how to turn a boiler suited girls eye.
SHOP FLOOR WHORES

Get home now you twat, you're late for dinner.
ARTE's MUM
 
#6
Could you work the words/phrases:

"Dripping quim"
"Bicycle pump"
"Hamster"
"Magnificent specimen"
"Like an epelectic tortoise"

Into the next installment please? Ta.
 

RezzaDue

Old-Salt
Book Reviewer
#7
Could you work the words/phrases:

"Dripping quim"
"Bicycle pump"
"Hamster"
"Magnificent specimen"
"Like an epelectic tortoise"

Into the next installment please? Ta.
If he gets that then one of the girls gets to say his cock still isnt as big as rezzas. :winkrazz:
 
#20
Chapter Three.

It was then a case of escorting the ladies to the back of the building, and introducing them to my spare room. It was a simple affair, but clean and tidy, and built to my own exacting standard.

“The bathroom is in here.” I said, opening the pine door to the en-suite.

I explained the water heater system settings and pointed out the other various fixings and fittings, careful though, not to draw attention to the little hole in the tiles, opposite the shower.

“Make yourselves at home whilst I sort out the drinks. No rush.”

The bedroom door closed behind me, and I heard the dusky duo giggling like a couple of naughty schoolgirls.

Not wishing to intrude into their privacy, yeah right! I placed my ear to the door and listened.

“What a nice chap.” I heard Mia say. “Cor, did you see the lump in his pants?” offered Saffron, adding. “It looked like a magnificent specimen.” (Mattb)

“You dirty cow Saffy, come here and give me a kiss…” There followed a series of rustling noises and the unmistakable sound of two girls embraced in passion.

I made my way hurriedly to the adjoining room and locked the door behind me. I hadn’t used this place for a number of months, but I was well rehearsed and moved directly to the small, but powerful, personal computer in the corner of the room and stabbed the on button.

The bespoke software package crackled into life, and as I adjusted the volume control, a crystal clear picture of the bathroom appeared on screen.

I waited patiently as muffled voices emanated from behind the closed bathroom door.

Saffron entered first, naked except for a pair of flimsy panties that left nothing to the imagination. She leaned into the shower and turned on the taps, her pert breasts looked firm and solid, her erect brown nipples reminded me of Scammel wheel nuts, as she absently pulled on them with fine tender fingers.

Of course my chap was straining at the leash. “Not yet son.” I mumbled. “Plenty of time for that.” Although the temptation to unbutton my bursting fly was huge, I knew that there was more to be seen, and quietly waited.

Steam from the shower began to fill the room as Saffron slipped off her panties. She was as bald as a coot, her body appeared to glow, and droplets of water had already started to drip from her beautifully crafted navel down towards her moist pudenda. (filthyphil)

She stepped under the hot spray and began to soap her body. I tracked the suds as they slid south from her slender neck and curled around her breasts, her delicate hands gripped the sponge, then squeezed and relaxed her fingers methodically as she covered herself in lather. My chap was screaming at me to be released from within his cotton prison.

The bathroom door opened once more, and Mia stole quietly into the steam filled room, her breasts were larger than Saffrons, but that didn’t detract from the fact that they too were firm. Her lithe and dusky body moved towards the shower, and Saffron let out a little squeal of delight when Mia stroked her back.

“Hold me.” Muttered Saffron. “Hold me tight.” Mia obliged, and her body squashed up against Mia’s back as she reached around and gently cupped her friend’s breasts. “Touch me.” Saffron ordered, and Mia slowly dropped one hand towards Mia’s dripping quim (Mattb) and began to massage her friend.

I then watched transfixed as Mia deftly slid a finger into Saffrons soapy mud-button. (goatruter) Saffron gasped with pleasure as Mia’s soapy finger went to work on Saffrons quivering anus. (filthyphil) She fought back tears of pleasure and continued moaning softly as Mia turned her around and kissed one of her straining nipples.

Mia’s fingers continued to work their magic on Saffrons erogenous zones, building up a head of speed as her hand harpooned back and forth, her fingers blurred with movement, as Saffron stifled a scream. Her short blonde hair now mixed with sweat and hot water as she threw her head back into the spray. Her eyes wide open, her mouth agape, gasping for air as she entered her orgasm.

They kissed. Softly at first a slow build-up of passion before Saffron offered her tongue to Mia’s open mouth. Their lips squashed together as they turned slowly around under the shower.

I heard the office phone ringing. Shit! How did I manage to forget that one when I unplugged the others? Quickly shutting down the power on the PC, I took a last lingering look at the monitor. Mia was gasping and heaving as Saffrons tongue lashed at an exposed clitoris, her neck muscles clearly defined as she shook her head wildly from side to side, like an epileptic tortoise. (Mattb)

With an erection the size of a bicycle pump, (Mattb) I limped towards the office and silenced the phone. My plans would have been well and truly scotched had the dusky duo heard the damn thing.

I picked up a bunch of keys from a hook behind the door, and headed towards the cellar.