Chapter 2

“Glenis you’re a bit of a hot shot with IT aren’t you?” ventured Sunitra.

“Hot shot?? She fucking dynamite Suni,” screamed Suze in her usual over excited shrill way.

Sunitra rolled her eyes both at the interjection and the wilful shortening of her name. Suze was trying to get her brassiere comfortable on her mammoth breasts, by stooping and hanging them in with a shaking wriggle. The black girl from Belize straightened up, arched her back, puffed and clipped the red, hammock like 48HH underwear satisfactorily, then patting the whole stiffly wired garment.

“Got a problem Sunitra?” queried Glenis, easing her white jogging bottoms up, wriggling her butt.

“Yes my dad’s computer, his personal one, in his study at home, not the one he does all the business on, he’s moaning like fuck about it and the usual bloke he goes to is on holiday. What you reckon?” quizzed the brown toned daughter of Dick Power. “Oh this fucking bra, driving me nuts...”

Glenis hoped for more.

“Let me help you,” suggested the always organised, bespectacled, frizzy haired, primary school teacher and self styled leader Clare, fully dressed and ready to leave the other three members of burlesque group Shapes with Style after a very successful if unusually subdued and refined evening performance for the local Women’s Institute fund raising event in the village hall.

Clare wrestled with the white bra clasp and declared it broken, noticing it was very cheap from Matalan and grimaced, thinking you get what you pay for.

“Don’t know why you bother with one anyway, your tits are perfect Sunitra, not an ounce of sag, like mine,” chipped in Helen, admiring the coloured girl’s superb firm cones.

Sunitra dumped the broken garment in her bag and thanked Clare, who bade the girls goodbye and left, hoping she would never bloom to Helen’s large, still shapely if you liked that sort of thing, which a lot of the blokes did, frame and thinking four kids in six years hadn’t helped the thirty five year old civil servant.

“Give me a shout Sunitra, we’ll have a look,” called an excited Glenis as she left, getting a wave and a nod back.

“Everything all right girls ... oh I’m terribly sorry I thought I heard some going ... sorreeee,” gushed Penelope, the frumpy WI president, stomping manfully into one of the two dressing rooms in the hall and mocking shielding her eyes from the semi naked sight.

“S’Ok Penny,” chuckled Suze, wriggling her butt into tight, white denim jeans, her enormous unruly and fettered black boobs swaying and jiggling.

“It’s Penelope if you don’t mind miss,” came the prim pompous reply, averting her eyes, then finding them on Sunitra’s magnificent naked and upright, smudged brown breasts. The officious lady turned and marched out.

Suze pulled a face, Sunitra grinned and shrugged her shoulders and slid a silk ethnic design blouse on. “Fuck her majesty, we did this for free.”

Days later.

Dick Power made a call to an old friend of his Maurice Standforth, who he’d met recently by chance at a car boot sale, he’d attended under duress, then enjoyed, with his daughter Sunitra. They’d swapped cards and Dick wanted Sunitra to buy what Dick would term a trinket Maurice had for sale and time had run out. He also had an idea about Sunitra’s future, as there wasn’t a bloke on her radar, Maurice could be a catch and a half for her, sensing at the sale they seemed to have made an impression on each other.

“What are you up to you devious old bugger?” snickered Sandra, smiling, blowing a kiss, walking into Dick’s study half way through his phone call.

“I told you I met Maury...” he started, getting a nod from his wife. “I’m going up there with Sunitra next Wednesday, only five miles and his address sounds a bit smartish ... You can come if you like.”

“Does she know?”

“She will when she gets up ... fuck where’s Sniffy, she’ll be hours ... ah there you are,” Dick greeted the Labrador who ambled in from the terrace. The dog followed Sandra, who cleared the breakfast stuff to one end of the big oak refectory table in the capacious kitchen for the Ukrainian immigrant cleaner and laid out the patterns for a new Kurti she was making for Sunitra. Dick left the kitchen and returned. She commenced pinning and marking, loving the exotic material her daughter had bought, envying in a small way, the wonderful dress culture the Bangladeshis had compared with the mundane Midlands garments she had worn when in her home town of Tewkesbury.

Sandra leaned forward smoothing the silk and lurched upright, yelling. “Sniffyyyyy! I know you like it but you can’t lick it yet, I’m busy, you naughty dog,” she chuckled flapping the hound from under her denim skirt. She stroked his handsome head, patted and cuddled the dog. “Maybe later...”

Dick chuckled, hearing the happy commotion. Only last evening when he came home from The Old Bag pub, his wife and daughter were naked on the sofa, watching a Beast Forum video showing two very glamorous girls sucking and being fucked, one knotted, by an Akita, a large powerful Japanese breed very popular with bestial lovers of both sexes. Sandra had actually mentioned it would be nice to have one, but Dick had talked her down arguing that one big dog was enough and while he enjoyed having Sniffy smell and fuck his arsehole now and then, the tool the Akita had on the video ... fuck! no way was that going up his shitter. His ladies giggled and called him a light weight.

He went off to his various pubs and brewery businesses. Sandra finished the start stage of dress making and took Sniffy out for a long walk on the common. Sunitra wandered downstairs at just after 9 am and made a slice of toast and cup of coffee, strolling about the kitchen in her tee-shirt and nothing else. She had to open one of their pubs, officially at eleven, but would be there at 10 as usual for staff arriving. Her mobile trilled, it was Glenis.

“Still want your dad’s computer sorted?”

“Shit yes, forgot. I know he’s at a beer festival this weekend, it’ll be quiet here, s’pose you’re at work then?” She spotted a note from her mum about walking Sniffy. A hand snuck down her front and fiddled with her cunt, the dog always bringing out the beast in her. It was immediately on fire and juicy.

“No - my weekend off in four apart from later. When we’re all in for stock taking. Lucky yeah ... lets do it ... Yeah OK ten on Saturday. It’s a Dell right? Yeah bit ancient but we’ll do our best ... See ya.”

Saturday

Glenis Sleep was high for two reasons. One was a chance to get inside the Power residence with the gorgeous Dick away. Plans needed - but first things first. The other reason was her position in bed. She tensed her vagina to no avail. Below, the owner of the soft flaccidity inside her very welcoming pussy didn’t sense the muscular suggestion, so she leaned forward and kissed Cyril on his wet lips.

“Looks like no more takers Grand-dad,” she chuckled smiling down at his weathered bristly face.

“No luv, it’s been reet grand,” Cyril wheezed back in his Yorkshire accent. “Only manage one a day now. Those were the days,” he snickered, pulling her pale, slender frame back down for another slobber on her nineteen year old face.

“You stay in bed as long as you like,” she replied, her lips clearing his saliva, “No work until this afternoon but I’m on a mission early. I’ll shower, then set up your breakfast, take care of Nan and then be off. I’ll leave a phone number where I’ll be if there’s anything but you’re usually OK.”

“That’s fine luv. I’m on what you call it – a missing ... mission today too. Got to open the hall for a group of something and of course the choir will be practising.”

She nodded, acknowledged and and raised of the loveable old rogue she knew he was and wriggled out of the bed. She gave his winkle, as they’d called it for years, a wet wipe grinning at the life size colour image she had pasted on the inside of the bedroom door, patting a kiss on the photographed penis of the then sixty eight year old Cyril Windebank. She had taken the shot ten years back, posing his well tanned upright body, in his beloved sweet pea glasshouse, naked, half hard winkle erection, which she had helped to pump up, advising Cyril, that semi-erect would make a better photo and to add some humour to the picture there was a spouting hose pipe positioned to enhance his dick. In those days he had a mass of white hair, but glancing back as she left the bedroom she shared with him, Cyril was down to a few wisps over his rugged ex miner’s head.

In the bathroom mirror, she grimaced at her everlasting despair of nothing more than gentle bumps on her chest, what Cyril jokingly called her Bee stings – hating them. She wished for bigger boobs, but knew that wouldn’t happen now and fuck the idea of having them operated on. No – hating, was a silly term, she was stuck with them, just not the right tits for one aspect of her second love – dancing, particularly burlesque. The slender fair haired girl loved dancing, being schooled in ballet from when she was five, but because of the reaction of some uncouth members of the public, she was toying with ceasing her burlesque activities - but not just yet...

She did like her large nipples, thick and sturdy, pale in almost indiscernible areolae. Cyril had expertise in peeking them to maximum, learned over the young formative years, when he had introduced her to the incestuous family doings. Glenis shaved her hirsute armpits and legs, then carefully scissor shaped the fair forest between her legs, leaving the growth on her forearms actually rather liking it. She showered her minge carefully, having the usual little fiddle on her clit, which was still alive after the old man’s expert administrations and decided she needed a shit, did that, then back into the shower, sluiced her bum. Make up and hair completed her ritual and she went back to the bedroom and dressed as Cyril ogled her from the bed.

“Love those thong things you wear luv,” he chuckled, as she examined the wisp of black lace material, to determine which was the gusset. She managed it on the correct way, then removed it, Cyril puzzled until she put on a pair of briefs, being more substantial in material area and inserted a liner, knowing she could still leak Cyril’s thin cum an hour later.

“Yesterdays are there Grand dad...” she smiled, then corrected herself as he flourished a pair of knickers from under his pillow. Glenis buttoned on a smart crisp yellow cotton shirt, no brassiere, and completed her ensemble with a pair of navy blue shorts and trainers. Then she packed a bag with her Bookers Cash and Carry uniform for later. She patted Cyril on the head and went through to Sybil, his seventy year old stricken wife’s room.

Sybil Windebank had a bad case of Alzheimers. Sometimes she recognised her grand-daughter, other times not. This time Glenis got nothing in return for her cheery greeting and remarks. She fluffed up the pillow, managed to stuff Sybil’s large, empty, saggy, blue veined tits back from where the once proud, school head mistress had hefted them. She did that often and Glenis wondered why but she was also envious she hadn’t inherited that side of the family genes. Sybil had a professional carer visiting and Glenis knew that the heavily soiled nappy the old gal wore would be changed along with the usual full bed wash. She remembered two weeks ago, when the carer had called in sick and Glenis had done the wash and change, getting Cyril to help, who couldn’t resist having a little play with his wife’s raddled, wrinkled ancient vagina – how sad it looked and with zilch reaction.

Kitchen stuff sorted, a couple slices of toast and two cups of tea, goodbyes said, saw a very exuberant Glenis on her way, her bag a little more laden with extra IT equipment she hoped she might need. Through town in her Smart car, passing where her father’s photography shop used to be, she giggled and silently thanked Wyne Sleep, for his untidy and unprotected computer and the secret voyeurism she had discovered with her, one of the main, if not the main subject on hidden cameras.

“Sniffy – here ... here ... oh fuck,” Sandra groaned watching the Labrador scampering over the common, chasing a sandy and tan coloured Irish Terrier. The small, in some eyes – pretty affectionate bitch, for it was in heat, as her owner hadn’t realised, raced around enjoying the chase. It’s owner, handler, whatever - was a smartly dressed young black man and wasn’t bothering to call it, thinking it was great fun to watch ... until - Sniffy was alongside it and they both stopped, circling, diving in, diving out, little short bursts of speed then more circling, sniffing, more circling - snouts buried. Sniffy - going frantic, was raising his forelegs and trying to mount as the two animals rotated getting slower.

Sandra puffing heavily, neared them as the Labrador secured and dwarfed his finally submitting prey, his rear becoming a blur - rutting, forelegs encasing her, the terrier chilling, holding firm and wanting to be mated, but not getting dog cock. Sandra grabbed her dog’s collar, thankful he hadn’t yet found her vagina, holding him with a lot of effort, as the youth arrived and grabbed the equally reluctant to be interrupted terrier. Words were exchanged, mostly by an angry Mrs Power, between gasps from being tired from the chase and holding her excited, rampant, big mutt. They both snapped leads on the pooches and separated, Sniffy’s and the terrier’s necks doubled back in a sad farewells.

Back at Chez Power, Sandra realised Sniffy was still excited by his first scent of a moist canine fanny, for a while. She was excited too, her intentions clear, checked Sunitra’s room finding it empty – strange, she was expecting a friend Sandra thought, found Magda the Ukrainian cleaner in the utility room ironing a pile of washing and took Sniffy across the garden to the sun room. Her husband Dick had left her unsatisfied that morning. Words had been exchanged between them, as they sat in bed with a cup of tea and the morning papers, about food for dinner that evening, as daft as that, and when they finally made up and he climbed on her fifty eight year old lumpy body, he had a man shag, orgasmed and sauntered off. Very unlike him.

I need fulfilment too mate, Sandra mused and it’s here in the shape of a horny Golden Labrador, who knows my cunt and it’s desires as much as you fucking do, she muttered to herself, pulling one of the blinds shielding the sunny, comfy room from the house. She was dressed in black, baggy jogging bottoms and typically a tee-shirt with no brassiere. Sniffy was alert as soon as she commenced fiddling her bottoms and thong down. He knew the signs and started prancing eagerly round her, trying to lever himself up, mounting her before she’d got the garments down to her knees. The thong tangled within itself as usual and she puffed impatiently as did Sniffy – sniffing.

Sandra kneeling, was instantly mounted, Sniffy anxiously rutting at her, his penis quickly boned to a vivid red, thick and dripping rod, trying to penetrate a hole somewhere on her right buttock. She was so used to this and reached between her legs to grasp it, shift her butt and secure his tip in her moist slit. Sandra could read him as she did Dick and sensed the hound had been frustrated with the coitus interruptus earlier, much as she had similarly been, letting Sniffy shaft her vigorously, not worrying about the odd rasp of his dew claws. Dog saliva drooled over her shoulders, his unsavoury breath wafted round her – she loved the urgency the Labrador, just like little Corky, Ming’s cute Dachshund and the many dogs who had had the pleasure of mounting and knotting her.

The big greasy bulb entered her easily and her cunt gripped it, making his penile bone stiffen more, Sniffy calming as he pumped his seed inside. He panted happily, in orgasmic reverie, still and gazing into the garden while Sandra frigged her clit and climaxed herself, an accomplished frigger under a satiated motherfucker. She shifted and helped him get his leg over her back and they stayed happily knotted rear to rear. Sandra heard a car on the gravel drive and guessed it must be Sunitra’s friend. She didn’t stir, ceasing the knot had to happen naturally and she was happy to let Sniffy have his pleasure for as long as necessary. Magda would answer the door if Sunitra didn’t.

The smoky brown girl had been in Dick’s study, making sure business papers were out of sight, securing his business Apple Mac, drawers were locked and a batch of photographs Dick had received from a Bangladeshi cousin were stored away. Hard copy was rare in this internet world but cousin Ashik didn’t have a computer and the secret voyeuristic scenes of his fat Aunty taking a bath in the ramshackle back yard in Dhaka, whilst not being illegal, were very revealing.

“Good grief! ... hello darling,” gasped Cyril, dressed only in a voluminous pair of striped under shorts, one black sock and a sleeveless vest, peering over the small girl on his doorstep looking both ways across the small front garden both ways down the quiet road. “Where’s your mu... ?”

“Can I come and live with you Gramps?” interjected, the not pretty Becky Windebank, whimpering and falling into his outstretched welcome. The old man, closed the door, hardly able because his sobbing grand daughter gripped his waist so strongly. He took her through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Enda - his wife’s Irish carer, was hand washing some of Sybil’s bloomers, reminding him to get the washing machine fixed. He smoothed Becky’s straggly, auburn locks as Enda spotted the need for family privacy in the girl’s distress and left the kitchen having rinsed the old girl’s knickers and left them to soak in the second sink.

Becky sat and sipped at the glass of orange juice he’d given her, as he unfastened her anorak and peeled it off her chunky body. Cyril being Cyril could not avoid a total glance over her, noting her pugnacious face, thick lips, the definite bumps on her chest hmm growing up nicely below her school uniform, her chubby, scratched knees and thighs and white socks. If he had been able to kneel, he reckoned he would have had a good view up her grey, pleated, school skirt – calm down Cyril, it’s your son’s girl, but why the fuck is she here in school gear and it’s Saturday?