Entertaining The Neighbours Dagmar And Trudy Part 2
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Entertaining At Large Ch. 10 free porn video
Susan first appeared in Entertaining at Home. Other characters mentioned joined the story in subsequent episodes. If you like the look of this it might be worth checking them out to discover people’s back story. I’ve changed the category to Novels and Novellas. After 130,000 words it seemed about time. Comments, suggestions and support welcomed as always and thanks to those of you who already have.
Climbing onto your bike the morning after being energetically bonked up the bum is not the best idea. Surprisingly it took me the best part of five miles of discomfort to come to that conclusion. The physical reminders of my pussy stretching to accommodate George’s monster cock also made themselves felt as I struggled up hills and through cold, biting winds.
New Year’s Days are generally a time for regrets and new resolution. I regretted getting out of bed and resolved to get back there as soon as I could. It was strange. Usually I woke on the first day of the year with a hang over. For the past decade I had started my year trying to coax a hard on out of my now departed husband, this year I had tiptoed to the shower leaving Scarlett and James snoring gently in the wreckage of my bed.
The absence of drink-related pain was novel and I was almost chirpy when I made it home and was able at last to ease my bottom off the saddle. I heard the sound of conversation in the kitchen as I shivered my way down the hall. I was looking forward to a cup of hot coffee. I pushed on the door.
‘Fuck its cold out there.’
Was not the thing to say judging by the shocked expression on Mr J’s face. He was sitting primly at the table sipping from a cup. Opposite him was a woman I did not recognise. She was probably only a few years older than me, but dressed like the wife of an old-fashioned vicar. I stifled a giggle, her two-piece tweed suit and pearls were the spit of the outfit I had modelled for my soft porn photo debut.
‘Apologies. I didn’t realise I had guests.’
I crossed the kitchen and pecked Mr J on his cheek. He had the bleary look of a man trying to pretend the night before had not happened.
‘This is Jane. She’s James’s mother.’
‘I’m Susan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your son is a very talented photographer.’
If life has taught me anything it’s that no woman can resist someone flattering her children. I pasted on my broadest smile and held out a hand. She took it in a barely perceptible grip between her thumb and limp fingers. It was clear the pleasure was one sided. The look on her face as she examined my skin-tight, Lycra cycling clothes fell somewhere between disgust and disbelief.
We were saved further embarrassment by James’s arrival. His face was bright red and he was simultaneously trying to straighten his T-shirt and pat down unruly hair. His mother stood immediately and too over the task. I suppressed a grin. Mr J looked as if he was trying hard to swallow his tea cup.
‘Get your coat James, your father is expecting you.’
I hadn’t notice him appear. Jane stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from her immaculate suit and straightening the collar of the silk blouse she was wearing beneath her jacket. James took the opportunity to pull away from her ministrations over his clothing and hair and fled to the front room to retrieve the errant coat. I smiled to myself. I’d had one-night stands eager to leave before, but never one whose mum had turned up to drag him away..
‘I’ll call you in the week to catch up on the project.’
I called out to his retreating back and started looking for a mug for the now desperately needed caffeine boost. Mr J and I smiled at each other in mutual appreciation of the curious start to our day and relief that it was not going to be prolonged.
‘Could have been worse, I suppose.’
He whispered to me as we waited for the sound of the front door closing. He spoke too soon, we had forgotten the other house guest. There was a rush of pounding feet on the stairs. Scarlett had emerged from her slumbers.
‘Typical bloke. I was hoping for another shag before you pissed off. Oh, hello. I’m Scarlett.’
She sounded chirpy, so I was sure it was not her who shrieked. Mr J and I held our collective breathes until the door slammed and then collapsed into uncontrollable laughter. As I wiped tears from my eyes a minute or two later I caught sight of Scarlett leaning against the kitchen door jamb. She glanced from Mr J to me and back as if expecting an explanation. We both fell into a new bout of giggles.
Her bed-head hair topped a face smeared with yesterday’s make up and bodily fluids, the crumpled T-shirt she had dragged on over skimpy knickers carried the legend ‘Whore’. She had not had time to pull on a skirt or jeans to cover her bare legs. She looked confused. Mr J recovered himself first.
‘I think you’d better put any plans for a quick wedding on hold.’
He eventually managed. I decided I had better go for a shower before I wet myself laughing and left a bemused-looking Scarlett sniffing my coffee and looking around for the sugar bowl.
The three of us spent a pleasant day together. Scarlett downloaded an expensive-looking graphics package onto my computer and spent most of the time designing the logo for the team’s new strip. Mr J busied himself sorting and counting my earnings from the night before. I did all those things you do on New Year’s Day: cleaned the house, did laundry, phoned my mother. We all adjourned to Mr J’s for lunch and then left him to telephone his children and carry out his own domestic duties. Scarlett went back to her design work and I spent the rest of the day texting, and being texted as the mobile phone networks caught up with the backlog of New Year’s messages.
It was, well, pleasant. Most people, like me, had simply sent out greetings to their entire contacts list. It was nice to have the opportunity to reconnect with people I hadn’t seen or spoken to in a while. I was touched by the mass of friendly messages from work contacts and old friends and I filled my diary with coffee-dates and weekends away.
The boys were a constant interruption. I eventually managed to get their kit sizes from them, but most of the five-way exchanges concerned who had the worst hangover. Luke revelled in conveying to the world the number of times he had thrown up on the train which was carrying him south from Yorkshire. Piotr and Wot kept us up to date with their trans-European journey from Warsaw which seemed to engage every form of transport known to man except the bicycle. Steve just kept moaning about his partner’s obsession with monogamy.
The only slight thorn in the proceedings was the message from Dave. I presumed I had received it because my number was still in his phone. It announced his engagement to someone called Paula and the news that they were expecting a baby in the summer. I sat staring at it in my kitchen for a good ten minutes whilst I tested my reaction. It didn’t take me all that long to shrug off any vestigial regrets and I let out a silent cheer that I had avoided children with him.
My early ride on Sunday morning showed me the world was returning to normal. The streets were no longer empty as shopping centre workers struggled themselves into work and the roads began to fill with those most eager for bargains. Scarlett had stayed over and we had slept chastely in my bed. We had cuddled and kissed before dozing off and I had left her smiling sleepily when I crawled across her at dawn.
Red and JD were waiting for us at the sports shop when we arrived promptly at ten. They both stood when we were ushered into Red’s office by a lad with more acne than I would have thought until then it was physically possible to cram onto one face. The four of us performed one of those awkward social gavottes while we tried to work out whether we should shake hands, kiss or merely nod at each other. We ended up doing all three and sat awkwardly arou
nd the table coughing and muttering small talk while we waited for coffee to arrive.
Our discomfort was rendered moot when, after a gentle knock, James entered saying he hoped he wasn’t intruding. Scarlett leapt up with a whoop and rushed at him. She threw herself onto him, gripped her thighs around his waist and proceeded to try and suck off most of his facial features. I was surprised. Clearly Scarlett was more taken with him than she had been willing to admit. I looked at the two older men and shared one of those patronising smiles we mature people use when confronted by displays of hormonal passion in our youngers.
‘Thank god we don’t sell beds.’
Red managed to break the tension and we all laughed cathartically and arranged ourselves around the table again. Once I had picked out the precise design of shirts and shorts I wanted from a large catalogue I was superfluous to the conversation. Red dispatched the be-acned one to a distant stock room to see if he could locate a matching shirt and then he, James and Scarlett began an intense and highly technical discussion about finishing the design. JD and I stared at each other and shrugged. We both went to our phones to fill the time with messages.
The arrival of the vivid fuchsia jersey gave me pause. Could I really get the lads to wear them? JD’s chortling enthusiasm put any doubts to rest.
‘Oh, yes. They’ll look a picture.’
‘You really think so?’
He looked at me quizzically.
‘Not having second thoughts are you?’
‘Of course not.’
In that moment my mind was definitely made up. JD’s combination of admiration and amusement gave me a picture of the discomfort the lads would feel when they first saw it. I laughed to myself as JD busied himself with well-thumbed paint swatches. He beckoned me over to agree the tint which would adorn the Crown. It took a minute to decide between two almost identical shades and we both sat back grinning at each other. JD stood and held out a hand for me to take.
‘Best get on, I suppose. The pub’s not going to paint itself.’
He pressed a number on his phone and started reading the technical specifications off the swatch to the dealer at the other end as he left the room. I looked around wondering what I would do whilst the others finished. James suddenly sat bolt upright and smacked his palm against his forehead.
‘Shit. I forgot. Justin asked if you could pop in if you have a minute. He’s got stuff to show you.’
He looked across at me guiltily. I smiled away his concern.
‘Don’t worry. It’ll give me something to do. Do you want me to pop back and give you two a lift?’
Scarlett and James looked at each other, she grinning, he blushing. Scarlett winked at me.
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m taking him back to mine to shag him senseless.’
She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone ignoring James’s embarrassed squawks and my and Red’s laughter.
‘Alright for some, I suppose. I’ll catch you all later.’
‘The kit will only take a few days when the order’s put in. I’ll call you when we get it.’
I nodded at Red and hustled out through the store packed with shoppers hypnotised by the massive savings on sportswear about to become ‘so last year’. The big chains don’t sell cycle wear so I allowed myself a few minutes of self-indulgent smugness feeling only a little guilty.
Justin was bright as a button when he eventually responded to my pounding of his locked, but well-lit shop. If I wasn’t on day two of my New Year’s sobriety I would have hated him.
‘Peachy cheeks.’
He kissed the air four inches from each side of my head whilst holding my shoulders to fend me off should I attempt closer intimacy.
‘What ho, Justin. James said you were looking for me.’
‘Bless his sweet face and perfectly rounded buttocks.’
He relocked the door and almost skipped into the back room beckoning me to follow.
‘You’re very spry all of a sudden. Any particular reason?’
‘Many, my flower, many.’
He gave me one of those knowing looks which just begged for follow up questions. He was almost wriggling with excitement inside his high-collared, flowery blouse and jeans so tight they looked as if they had been painted on.
‘You’ve been voted one of Britain’s ten best dressed men by GQ?’
His giggle was so high pitched I expected dogs in the neighbourhood to start howling. He flapped a hand at me before taking on a more conspiratorial demeanour.
‘Love and money, darling. Love and money.’
‘Don’t tell me, Rupert Murdoch’s come out and is whisking you away to a little island hideaway he owns. Like Australia.’
The shrieked laughter this time notched up an octave or two. I hurriedly checked I was not near any delicate glass. There was a very real danger of shattering. He flopped theatrically into his office chair before taking a moment to rearrange his pose.
‘No. No. There is a new man in my life. God bless parties. Perceptive of you to notice.’
I grinned to myself. It’s always nice to see someone you like so happy.
‘But that’s not the reason I asked you to come. I’m guessing you are not particularly interested in a blow-by-blow description of my forty-eight hours of passion.’
‘I don’t know.’
I tried to sound neutral.
‘I’ve sucked a few cocks in my time.’
My attempt at an innocent grin received a grimace in reply. Justin rearranged himself in the chair and took on a more business-like pose. He began his next sentence with a cough.
‘You’re in the process of making me a lot of money.’
‘I am?’
Justin nodded rapidly, almost toppling forward in his eagerness to tell his tale.
‘First, I got a note from that horrible fat man at the Crown and Anchor.’
It was my turn to look surprised.
‘George?’
‘That’s him. He wants a full set of artist-quality prints of both your session and the original. Large size. Framed in light ash.’
He clapped his hands together in his excitement before holding up a perfectly manicured finger to stop me interrupting.
‘Then I met a darling publisher at a select soirée I was invited to down in London on New Year’s Eve. You know, a few drinkIe-poos, artisan hors d’oeuvres, that sort of thing.’
I tried to look as if such gatherings occupied most of my free time.
‘Said he would love to see some of my work. Well.’
He took a deep breath.
‘All I had with me on my tablet were the shots from your session – I wanted to double check for cellulite. Don’t worry. All clear.’
He nodded reassurance I neither needed, nor cared about. But his excitement was infectious, I had no intention of breaking the flow.
‘He loved them. And when I showed him a few shots of uncle’s original session, he freaked. Positively freaked.’
When I realised he was at last pausing for a response from me I tried to compose my face into a reflection of his excitement. It clearly passed muster.
‘I know, I know. We could be on our way.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘He’s talking exhibitions, coffee table books, numbered prints, posters. All sorts of promotion. He thinks the market’s crying out for nostalgia-porn.’
It was still no clearer to me why this was quite so ground-breaking. Justin obviously picked up on my bemusement and took a different tack. He lowered his voice and adopted a serious tone. He embarked on a monologue which started with artistic lighting and the beauty of the human form, diverted into a brief history of men’s magazines and ended with images of ageing, middle-class blokes in designer underwear tossing themselves off on the privacy of their own bidets. I had to admit that by the time he had come to a breathless conclusion I sort of got what he was talking about.
‘It’s the perfect scenario. Well-heeled punters having an excuse to leer at tits and clits safe in the knowledge that they’re
really connoisseurs.’
He opened his palms towards me with a look of triumph. I was still not wholly convinced, but had to admit that his enthusiasm was infectious. I responded tentatively.
‘So where do I fit in. Apart from having my lady parts adorning the dining rooms of every semi-detached in the suburbs?’
‘I need someone to go through these.’
He placed his hand on a pile of dusty old ledgers on the side of his desk.
‘They’re Uncle Dick’s.’
He still couldn’t mention the name without an undertone of disgust.
‘He kept meticulous notes of each session. And what happened before and afterwards.’
I turned the pile towards me and opened the top volume and flicked through a few pages at random. Much of what was written covered the technicalities of the shoots. I presumed the numbers and letters were something to do with camera settings, exposure times, lens sizes and the like.
‘What’s ‘spot, midnight blue’ mean?’
It was a term I had seen in a number of the entries.
‘That’s the lighting instructions. Spot’s obvious, midnight blue is the colour of the filter he used. Even though I hated the old bastard I have to admit he was imaginative and innovative. He clearly thought a lot about what lighting to use for each set and what would suit the models best.’
I glanced back at the diaries and wrinkled my nose. Uncle Dick’s view of the girls he was photographing was pretty explicit. After the careful notations of the technical aspects of the shoots, the descriptions of how he recruited the women he snapped, how he persuaded them to pose and what he did to and with them after the session had finished were, not to put too fine a point on it, disgusting.
‘I need you to go through them for me, match the stories to these.’
He patted the computer. The screen powered up and I could see loads of folders with girl’s names and a code number underneath them.
‘You’ve got pictures to go with all of these?’
‘Probably. That’s another reason I want it checking. I’ve looked through a few of them and found the entries but, you know, there are limits.’
He pushed a button and a picture of a naked woman, legs akimbo, filled the screen. Justin shuddered. I laughed. The model was red-haired with small breasts. Her bush was thick but parted to expose her glistening pussy lips. She was laughing. Something about her insouciance reminded me of Scarlett. Justin looked as if he had smeared dog mess under his nose. I reached over and patted his hand. As I expected, he flinched away.
‘James mentioned something about this. I told him I wasn’t the person you needed.’
Justin’s face fell.
‘Don’t worry I’ve got just the man.’
I reminded him of Mr J’s background and particular interests. His eyes lit up when he realised it was my idea for a present for Mr J which had started us down this path to what in Justin’s world might be untold of riches.
‘Put James with him to do the computer stuff and it’ll be a labour of love.’
I smiled and got a non-committal giggle in return. I stood and picked up the books.
‘OK if I take these?’
‘But I was going to tell you all about my new beau. He’s a professional footballer, knows four-four-two and everything.’
‘Sorry Justin, there’s only so many tales of buggery and blow-jobs a girl can listen to before she has to take off all her clothes and grab the nearest man.’
I winked and licked my lips lasciviously. Justin sighed and tried not to look too nauseated. We repeated our air kissing at the door and I called Mr J to invite him to lunch. It went swimmingly. My neighbour was more or less recovered from the excesses of the Eve and satisfied that family obligations were over for the time being. He rubbed his hands excitedly when I outlined Justin’s plans. It was all I could do to stop him diving into the ledgers I had placed beside us in the quiet pub where we had met.
‘These are descriptions of all the photo shoots.’
‘Yup. From the nineteen fifties to the mid-seventies.’
‘Bloody hell.’
He was beaming. His hand kept wandering to the pile, his thumb flicking at the thick cardboard cover of the topmost book. When I explained there were files of almost all the shoots he almost shouted his excitement. We both looked around guiltily at the startled faces of the few other customers.
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