Little Flashmarket 11 101. Bob Turns Himself In Bob Brentwood was numb. It started when he finally staggered into the rail station only to learn from the station mistress that no one was allowed to buy tickets out. Something about a detective inspector. Well, no: it had started when he learned Laura had been unfaithful. But Bob wasn't letting himself think about that. Then Anne Thomson found him wandering. She talked to him, calmly and sensibly. He listened. She told him that he had to talk to the inspector. If he hadn't done anything wrong, there was nothing to worry about, was there? But best he leave Laura alone. Laura needed to find her own solution. He wept at that. The vicar walked by. Bob looked at him. "This town has done me in," he said. "It's the Devil's work." "Be brave," Anne told him that night in her guest bedroom. "You're doing a good thing." With expert hands and mouth she brought his cock to hardness and fucked him. It didn't matter. Laura was gone. No matter how brutally he fucked Anne, how long, he didn't come. That part was numb. He cried into her neck afterwards because now he had been unfaithful, too, and he was still leaving Laura. A brief interview and he could buy a ticket out of here. When Anne Thomson came up the next morning, he accepted her touches and returned them, doing everything Laura had ever liked, and more. He didn't come until he had Anne from behind, her cries muffled by a pillow, and his eyes half-closed so her back was Laura's. The dam burst, and he wailed as he came. "Oh, that was good," Anne said. "What a pity you're going away." Bob felt empty. Of come, of tears, of love. "I'm ready now," he said. * * * 102. Ian Makes a Decision Ian Winston was sitting at his desk, looking down into an open drawer, when he heard his secretary's voice. "I'm just going to go for lunch, Ian," she said. "Can I bring you anything?" "No, thanks, Carol. I'm fine," Ian said, closing the drawer. "But I might have a ten minute nap. Will you lock the outer door when you go?" "Roger wilco, skipper," she said. As soon as he heard Carol's key turn in the lock, Ian opened the drawer again. Inside was a small wireless receiver linked to a miniature digital recorder. Ian picked up a pair of mini- headphones and put them on. He heard his wife Pepper moaning softly, "Yes, oh yes, just like that. That feels so good!" and knew someone was licking her pussy. Almost breathless with excitement, Ian unzipped his trousers and began to masturbate, his cock huge and hard in his fist. Ian had loved listening to the sound of a woman having sex since he was 13 and knew enough about electronics to install tiny microphones in the bedrooms of his mother and older sister. Without fail, one or the other was fucked every day. But what he hadn't expected, and found powerfully erotic, was that both women had a lover in common: his father. Now he found listening to his wife being fucked just as powerfully erotic. The rhythm of his masturbation matched Pepper's moans of delight, and he knew he would come when she did. "Yes, oh God, yes!" Pepper screamed in climax, and Ian cried out as semen gushed from his cock over his fingers. A moment later, Ian heard Pepper whisper: "Thank you for my wonderful gift." A man's voice responded: "My pleasure." Ian removed the headphones. It was time to confront that womanizing bastard, Andy Brock. * * * 103. Dickens Passes The Case Dickens was tempted to answer the phone even though Mrs. Lawford was not quite finished negotiating a lower fee for her husband's will, her head still bobbing up and down the length of his penis. She was not as skilled as some, but he would come soon anyway. Dickens was a gourmand of sex, not a gourmet. The phone rang again five minutes later, before Dickens had tucked himself back in but after Mrs. Lawford had reapplied her lipstick. "Little and Dickens, Solicitors. Dickens speaking." "Bryce? It's Bob Brentwood." The man sounded frantic. Dickens remembered him -- standard transaction, pretty wife, no chance of a discount there and then. "Bob, what can I do for you?" He waved Mrs. Lawford out. "They've arrested me for Tom Redman's murder!" "Oh, dear," Dickens intoned solemnly. "You know I don't handle criminal cases, Bob." "I need a barrister. They'll send me up the river. I'll be some Scottish thug's bitch." Little Flashmarket simply had no call for barristers. Most people settled affairs themselves. Two barristers were sufficient for the entire town. "Someone good," said Brentwood. "Not someone local. For pity's sake, not a local." Dickens was mildly offended by this, but clients were rarely rational. He flipped through his Rolodex for the names of women barristers. They were ordered by bust size and Dickens never forgot a set of tits. In Winchester. Diana Slade. Stunning rack, even in business suits. Hadn't given in yet, and throwing a little business her way might mean he could give her the business later. "Diana Slade," Dickens said. "I'll give her a call right now." "You need to tell her I'm innocent." "Bob, I don't think there's anyone in town who doesn't believe you're an innocent." He thought about her tits. "I'll go talk to her personally." * * * 104. Pepper's Coitus Interrupted Pepper Winston didn't know what upset her more -- the fact that the microphone meant her husband Ian now had conclusive proof that she was being unfaithful, and with whom, or that Andy Brock was so totally unconcerned that he was standing nude in the kitchen as he drank the coffee she'd made. "Andy!" Pepper hissed. "For God's sake, Ian could be here any minute! I'm still his wife, you know." She was wearing a robe and pulled the cord tied at her waist even tighter as she stood up and took her cup to the sink. "I do know, darling," Andy said, leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. "That's what makes it so delightful. Buggering the blushing little bride who loves my big dick sliding back and forth past her sphincter, the greedy girl." Pepper shivered because she knew what Andy was saying was true. Unfortunately he took it as a sign of desire and moved behind her, trapping her against the sink as he reached down and took the hem of her robe in his hands and lifted it slowly to bare her buttocks to his lustful gaze. "Please, Andy. Not now." "Yes, now," Andy said. "You know you want it again." He bent his knees, rubbing his cock along the furrow until it was positioned on Pepper's anus, slippery with K-Y and his sperm. Then he straightened his legs and slid his prick into her rectum, at the same time reaching round to pull open her robe and fill his hands with her huge, bare breasts. Pepper sighed and closed her eyes in pleasure. And then she nearly collapsed in shock as she heard her husband's voice behind her. "Dammit, Brock," Ian Winston snarled. "Get your prick out of my wife's bum!" * * * 105. A Dash of Cinnamon Detective Inspector Hugh Crombie was feeling lucky. His loins were seeing as much action as in his youth. His gout was clearing, and now he'd stumbled across a vibrant redhead, who liked to talk - Cinnamon Whitlake. "I'm just home from sabbatical," she'd said. There was a bit of mystery there, DI Crombie was sure of it. Tomorrow he would investigate the background of Miss Whitlake. But for now, he'd be content to pump her, first for information, as any respectable Inspector would do, and later, for medicinal purposes. This was Little Flashmarket, after all. The only spot in Hampshire where a man could fuck a chit young enough to be his daughter and not have to worry about repercussions. A lovely town. "Cinnamon is an unusual name. Is your mum a chef?" "Huh-uh. She just did most of her shagging in the condiment pantry at Huntshead Manor. She's gone now." "I'm sorry." Hugh reflexively made the sign of the cross. "Oh, she's not dead. She's just moved to Canard, waitresses at the Clive and Coffin." "Three star beer at the Clive," Hugh said aloud, but no waitress came to memory. "So, you said Pepper Winston is your sister?" "Older sister, yes. I hope I'm as lucky as she is when I get married." "Ah, so her husband Ian, he's a good catch, nice fellow, and all that?" "Ian? Oh, he's just regular like most men, I suppose, but his name is Winston." "I don't follow. Are the Winston's a good family then?" "No silly, don't you see? Winston. Whitlake. No need to change your monogram." Cinnamon gazed wistfully at her ale. "My only hope is one of the Watson boys." DI Crombie realised respectable information gathering had come to a close. It was time to move on. * * * 106. Ian Sees Red Ian Winston might have found listening to his wife being fucked extremely erotic, but seeing it happen in front of him was very different. The sight of Andy Brock standing behind Pepper, repeatedly thrusting his prick glistening with lube and semen into her beautiful behind while he filled his hands to overflowing with the weight of her breasts, made Ian see red with rage. He wanted to assault Andy Brock, and do it so the philanderer would never again be able to seduce someone else's wife, much less his own beloved Pepper. But knew he had to be careful. One rash act in a moment of fury, and he might well spend the rest of his life behind bars. Or worse, lose Andy Brock's accounting business. "Just stop that. . . now!" Ian demanded. "No, old chap, I don't think I will," Andy replied, speaking with difficulty as he luxuriated in buggering Pepper. "You invited me to partake of this delicious morsel initially, and Pepper has been inviting me on her own behalf ever since." At a loss for words in the face of Brock's defiance, Ian appealed to his wife. "Pepper, stop him!" he cried. "Oh -- God -- Ian -- darling -- I -- " Ian watched as she reached back to pull open the cheeks of her buttocks, enabling Andy to thrust even deeper into her rectum, his prick making loud squelching noises as his balls slapped against the wet lips of her cunt. Ian was bewildered by Pepper's lack of resistance. "Pepper," he said weakly. "Don't you love me?" "Of course I do, darling, but. . . " "That's IT!" Ian shouted. "I won't watch this spectacle a moment longer. I'm going to the pub!" He banged the kitchen door behind him. "And I may be gone some time!" * * * 107. Diana, Princess of the Bar Superbly conditioned barrister Diana Slade zipped down to Little Flashmarket in her superbly conditioned 1973 V12 E-type Jaguar Series 3 --- silk black, of course, twin open seater, with wire wheels -- to interview her client, Bob Brentwood. Her career was on fast track, and she was hoping for murder with attitude. Bob, out on bail and shacked up in a room at the Flashmarket Arms, felt his spirits soar when he set his eyes on Diana Slade. Wow. Eyes the colour of flecked agate, dark hair long and straight, and a figure to die for. But more than that. Bob could see immediately that she was a winner. Ms. Slade's spirits dropped darkly, however. She could see immediately that her client was a loser. Her eyes swept him like a vacuum cleaner. "I was hoping you'd be black, or at least Muslim," she said. "No, I'm just innocent," Bob said. A loser, Diana decided definitely. She'd have to come up with something to grab the spotlight. Police corruption, bureaucratic bungling, maybe a misogynist judge. There had to be an issue. She'd find it. She planned to enter politics at 32, and she would be 29 next month. She wouldn't be wasting a week in court on an insignificant client. She'd find something to make a splash. Meanwhile, she'd spotted a strapping yokel in the bar on her way to Brentwood's room. Big, handsome, cocky, stupid. All action, no talk. Just the way she liked them. She'd fuck him and throw him away. No sense in wasting the drive down. "We'll talk again," she said to Brentwood. Bob blinked at her. That was it? "But I'm innocent," he said. Diana Slade, bored, left him to his irrelevant innocence. It was time to fuck a farm boy. * * * 108. Peter Provides a Solution "Another whisky?" Peter Willing, publican of the Flashmarket Arms, asked Ian Winston. "Atsh nice," said Ian, the six he'd already drunk making him slur his words. "You're a nish man, Pee-Der. You wooden fuck 'nother man's wife, woodew?" "Is that the problem, Mr Winston?" Peter asked, trying his hardest to keep a straight face. "Has someone been making advances towards your lovely wife?" He knew bloody well someone had, and who it was. Like most of the men in the village, he'd rented the video and marvelled at Pepper Winston's voluptuous body shaking with ecstasy as Andy Brock laboured in the tightly gripping sheath of her back passage. "We're frendsh!" Ian cried as Peter put the drink in front him. "Call me Ian." Peter leaned closer to Ian. "We have a way with these things in the village, Ian," he said and several of the nearby drinkers murmured in agreement. "If a man has a grievance, then he comes here to sort it out." "Wod, over drinksh? Bet I can drink you under the table, that short of thing?" "No, not quite," said Peter and he led Ian over to above the fireplace to something covered by a small curtain. He drew the curtain back and revealed a small wooden plaque. Ian read the words on the plaque: "When a woman cannot choose, 'twixt her husband and another, Then must the two here fight, That the winner be her lover." "We've been settling disputes by bare knuckle fighting since the pub was built in 1610," Peter said. "You just go and challenge the bastard who's wronged you. If he refuses to fight, the whole village will brand him a coward." "That's shit!" Ian roared, and rushed out into the night, leaving the pub's patrons roaring helplessly with laughter. * * * 109. Cinnamon, Let Me In. Lunchtime, Andy Brock's favourite time of day. Routine quickies with Pepper Winston were becoming a habit. He licked his lips in anticipation. Strolling through the front door of the Winston home, he called out, "Baby, it's me." He'd quit knocking weeks ago. But no Pepper. Instead, he was greeted by an auburn-haired beauty clutching a butcher's knife. Andy did a quick assessment: great tits, rounded ass, fuckable. "Who are you?" he asked. She waved the knife in front of her, steel blade gleaming. "That's a question you should be answering." Andy knew when to back off, if temporarily. "I'm Andy Brock." "You're Andy Brock?" "Do I know you?" "Pepper's my sister. She tells me everything." Andy relaxed. Pepper had mentioned a sister. Cinnamon Whitlake. Now he could see the similarity -- same nose, same chin. But Cinnamon was feistier -- topaz eyes, flushed cheeks -- Andy immediately wanted her. "She tells you everything?" he smarmed, inching closer. "Yes. Everything." Her breasts heaved. "Stay where you are." Visions of threesomes -- Cinnamon, him, Pepper -- danced in Andy's head. He'd have her, all right. He only had to turn on the charm. He unzipped his pants. "Check it out, baby." His prick surged above his trolleys. "Surely Pepper's told you how good I am." "Keep your bum tickler away from me, Mr. Brock. You may plug my sister, but you're not coming near me!" "But I'm a winner, baby. The best sex you'll ever have." "You lose with me!" "I don't like losing," he quipped, thrusting his pelvis forward. Cinnamon glanced at Andy's cock, the purple head, the engorged shaft, and finally the accompanying knackers. "You should learn to cut your losses, Andy Brock," she said, raising her eyes and gripping the butcher's knife tighter. "Or I'll cut them for you!" * * * 110. Swif Pitié for Val "And then the drunken bastard slapped me and demanded satisfaction," Andy Brock said to his wife, Val, as he helped himself to a large gin and tonic. "I mean, how could I bloody climax with him raving some rubbish about 'the winner be her lover'? Put me right off." Val knew Andy was being deliberately callous, but she didn't dare protest. The reason she did not, and why she accepted his philandering, was that she was deeply, viscerally, scared of her husband. "What will you do?" "Fight him, of course. I've seen that plaque in Willing's pub. Just thought it was a bloody joke. I mean, bare knuckle fighting? How positively medieval!" "Swif pitié, as I understand it," Val said, her voice cool. "Fuck's that mean?" She could see Andy was simmering with anger as he finished his drink and poured another. "Without pity. Until one of you is beaten senseless." "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Andy said, and Val could see he was directing his rage and frustration at her. "Irritating, really. He marched in just as I was about to come. Left me feeling quite backed up." Val shuddered as Andy put his drink down on the coffee table and walked over to where she was sitting on the sofa. He grabbed her legs and pulled them up and open, causing her skirt to ride up her thighs and expose her stockings and suspender belt. "Mmm," Andy said as he unzipped and bared his already hard prick. "You know I love you wearing those." "Andy, no, not like this," Val said, tears in her eyes. "Bloody gorgeous asshole Pepper Winston's got," Andy said, as he reached down and pulled down Val's panties. "Sucks the come right out of me. Just like yours is going to do, my love."