Red Hot

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Copyright © 1999 by Ray Gordon. First published in Great Britain in 1999 by Hodder & Stoughton A division of Hodder Headline PLC First published in paperback in 1999 By Hodder & Stoughton First published as an E-book in 2004 by Ray Gordon. The rights of Ray Gordon to be identified as the author of Red Hot has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

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ajor Bernard Bentley paced his office floor, his hands clasped behind his back, his greying hair smarmed down with Brylcreem. Lifting his head and

adjusting his bow tie, he turned and cleared his throat, peering over his gold-rimmed glasses at his young deputy manager.

“There’s a saboteur on the loose, Balforth,” he declared gravely. “A saboteur, sir?” Balforth echoed nonchalantly. “I can think of no other explanation. There have been far too many shocking incidents of late for my liking. This is a respectable family holiday camp and I will not tolerate used contracept ... Vulgar items scattered around the Pirate’s Courtyard, or disgusting graffiti on the walls. It’s extremely antisocial.” “These days I’m finding it increasingly difficult to determine what is socially acceptable within society and what isn’t. One might say that my ethical knickers are in a twist.” “Shut up, Balforth.” “Yes, sir.” “As for the obscene incident involving certain items of women’s soiled underwear the other day ... Someone’s deliberately causing trouble and trying to undermine the smooth running of this camp, Balforth.” “It looks that way, sir. Might I call your attention to an incident in the toilets?” “I don’t like the word toilets mentioned in my office, Balforth. It’s distasteful.”

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“Sorry, sir. Er ... It’s rather difficult to use tasteful words when recapitulating an incident of a lascivious nature in the, er ... in the latrines,” Balforth replied hesitantly, rubbing his chiselled chin. “Just report the incident without resorting to disgusting language. And don’t try to undermine my authority by using words that you believe I don’t know the meaning of. Just because you’re an old Etonian ...” “Roedeanian, sir.” “Roedean ... I thought that was a girls’ school?” “Er ... Is it?” “Don’t you know?” “I really can’t remember. Do you know, sir?” “Do I know what?” “What?” “Shut up, Balforth! Whatever you are, don’t come in here showing off by airing your comprehensive vocabulary.” “I do apologize for my oratory, sir. Returning to the incident, if I may be so bold. There was a girlie in the ... in the latrines.” “A girlie?” “A girl, sir,” Balforth enlightened, his expression becoming pained. “Male or female?” “I would have thought that obvious, sir.” “Why?” “From what I recall of my time as a girl guide leader ...” “Don’t you mean a boy scout leader, Balforth?”

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“No, I ... Oh, yes, of course! As I was saying, as luck would have it, girls are usually female and ...” “Why?” “Why what, sir?” “Why is it lucky?” “Well, it wouldn’t be much fun if girls were male. Sexually speaking, we’d be hermaphrodites if we were all male. Actually, we wouldn’t because ...” “Balforth, are you naturally idiotic or is it something you’ve worked hard to develop?” “The latter, sir. Did you know that the word idiot comes from the Latin idiota meaning ...” “I worry about you, Balforth,” Bentley interrupted, straightening the picture of the Queen hanging on the oak panelled wall above the fireplace. “I harbour a deepseated concern for your mental state.” “That’s profound, sir.” “It’s a simple fact. The male or female toilets, which was she in?” “Er ... female. Wash Block B, to be precisely precise.” Balforth hesitated, his face grimacing as he bit his lip. “As were the young men.”

Bentley stood rigid, his beady eyes frowning, his nose twitching. His nose always twitched when he suspected that he was about to be confronted with an insurmountable problem, or when his temper rose. Over the years, Balforth had come to regard Bentley’s twitching nose as a sign of imminent fun and always took the opportunity to rile him.

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“Young men?” Bentley finally echoed. “Where, sir?” “In the female toilets.” “Are there? Goodness me!” “You just said that there were young men in the ...” “Oh, that’s right.” “What were they doing in the female toilets? It’s against the rules.” “They were ... I’ll try to refrain from using distasteful words, sir. They were doing it to the girl - simultaneously.” “Doing what, Balforth? Don’t speak in riddles, man!” Screwing her! Balforth tried not to snigger. “Er ... they were copulating, sir.” “What?” “Sex.” “They were doing sex?” “Having sex, sir.” “Good God!” Bentley paused, staring hard at Balforth, his nose twitching violently. “It’s a disgusting subject, and one that I do not intend to discuss in detail, but ... How can two males and one female have sex simultaneously? It’s a physical impossibility.” “Believe me, with recourse to KY Gel, it’s perfectly possible to ... Er, what I mean is, they were sort of ...” “Sort of what, Balforth?” “Simultaneously speaking, one in front and one behind, sir.” “One in front and one behind?” One up her hot cunt and one up her tight arse!

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Balforth grinned, delighting in the major’s rising anger. There was nothing better than dumping bucket loads of problems on the old sod, he reflected - and the fun was only just beginning!

“What do you mean?” Bentley asked irritably, moving to his desk. “One up the front and the other up the back, so to speak.” A double fucking. “Good grief! I have never heard of anything so utterly foul and disgusting in all my life!” “Bollocks, I have ... I mean, haven’t.” “Don’t swear!” “Sorry, sir.” “This is what comes of allowing vulgar commoners into Fannymead Holiday Camp, Balforth! I’m fed up with uncouth riffraff! Larger louts, gamblers, yobbos, middle-aged hoodlums in red nylon vests, braces and knotted handkerchiefs adorning their balding heads! I recall the days when Fannymead was a pleasant camp, an establishment to be proud of! Those were the days, Balforth - the good old days.”

Pacing to the corner of the office, Bentley took a long playing record from a shelf. Placing it on his old gramophone, he turned the volume up and began conducting to Beethoven’s Fifth. “Those were the days,” he sighed nostalgically. “The days when ladies wore full swimsuits with decorative frills to conceal the triangular area between their legs, not these scanty bikinis and ...”

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But Balforth wasn’t listening to the old fool’s recollections of the good old days. His mind on the more stimulating incident in the toilets, and the brazen hussy’s chalet number, so far as he was concerned these were wonderful days! As he’d chaperoned the young tart back to her chalet, he’d learned that she was on holiday with her best friend, another eighteen-year-old delicacy. It was their last day, and she’d asked him if he’d like to join them at their leaving party that night. Leaving orgy? Would I, hell!

“Yes, those were the days! Couples dancing to Victor Sylvester and ...” “We did win the Camp Of The Year award again, sir,” Balforth finally broke in. “That’s as maybe, but we’ll not win it this year unless we get down to some class cleansing!” “Class cleansing, sir?” Balforth echoed as the music crescendoed. “Cultural cleansing. We must rid the camp of commoners, the lower classes, the impudent masses.” “You shouldn’t be thinking along those lines, sir. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s a somewhat fascist approach to ...” “Shut up, Balforth! I’m not in the least interested in your politics. ” “No, sir.” “What’s KY Gel?” “What’s what smell?” “What’s KY ... Oh, never mind!”

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Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket Balforth pulled out his cigarettes, immediately replacing them as he observed his boss’s beady eyes on him. A nonsmoker, a teetotaller, Bentley couldn’t abide vices of any kind, unlike his minion who indulged heavily in every one going.

“This incident in Wash Block B - what disciplinary action did you take?” Bentley asked, turning the volume down slightly. “I orally advised them, sir.” “Orally advised them to do what?” “To do it orally. I mean, not to do it orally, or any other way, for that matter.”

Shaking his head, Bentley sat at his oak desk and opened a drawer. Pulling out a leather-bound ledger, he placed it on the desk and opened it, flattening the blank page. Taking his gold fountain pen from his Harris Tweed jacket pocket, he carefully unscrewed the cap and adjusted his glasses.

Balforth gazed slyly at his boss as he began to write in the book. Taking his chance to leave, to sneak into one of the bars for a quadruple scotch, he sidled across the room to the door. But as he was about to make his escape, Bentley cleared his throat.

“You never cease to amaze me, Balforth,” the major grunted without looking up from the ledger. “You discover a most lewd and indecent, illegal act taking place in the female toilets, and the only course of disciplinary action you take is to advise

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the guilty parties not to do it.” Suspicion reflected in his owlish eyes as he finally looked up, he scrutinized his prey. “How old are you, Balforth?” “Er ... forty, sir.” “A difficult age. The male menopause, I remember it well. A good dose of Beethoven twice a day works wonders. Or Vivaldi, come to that.” “I had the male menopause this morning, sir.” “You had the ... Don’t be ridiculous! What were you doing in the female toilets?” “I often hang around the ... I mean ...” Balforth turned and gazed out of the window. “Ah, the sun’s coming out. We can go ahead with the Biggest Bikini-Clad Pregnant Woman competition.” “Biggest Bikini-Clad Pregnant ... Whose disgusting and wholly offensive idea was that?” “Dickie’s, sir. There are a number of heavily pregnant women in the camp and he deemed it a good idea to ...” “What are heavily pregnant women doing in the camp?” “I would imagine they’re on holiday, sir.” “They shouldn’t be here, this isn’t a labour camp! What will the kiddies think? Round them up and lock them in Number Two Dining Hall until I’ve decided what to do with them!” “The kiddies, sir?” “No, you imbecile - the heavily pregnant women!” “Lock them in Number Two Dining Hall, sir?” “Yes! I can’t have pregnant women roaming around the camp, it’s unhealthy.”

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“Please excuse my ignorance in these matters, sir, but I’m not with you. What do you mean, it’s unhealthy?” “Pregnancy is a blatant confession to having performed vile acts of a disgusting carnal nature.” “If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s a rather unenlightened statement. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for pregnancy.” “Shut up, Balforth! For a supposedly educated man, most of the time you talk rot.” “I never take pot, sir. Well, not very often.” “I said you talk rot! I will not tolerate pregnant women in my camp! And there’ll be no obscene bikini-clad competition, either! There’s no place for sleaze and debauchery in my camp.” “No, sir. Er ... you never married, did you?” “Of course not, the idea’s ludicrous! We don’t need women, Balforth! They don’t appreciate good music, and they smell funny.” “Smell funny, sir?” “Perfume and certain unmentionable female smalls ... I mean, smells. And they’re not at all masculine.”

Balforth had long since concluded that Major Bentley was asexual. Given a free rein, he was sure the cantankerous old fart would ban all females from the camp. The old school, he mused, eyeing the tell-tale Albert dangling from the major’s waistcoat pocket. Old school, old fashioned - old git!

“Answer the question, Balforth!” Bentley snapped.

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“Which question?” “What were you doing in the female toilets?” Spying beneath the cubicle doors. “I had good cause to enter the female toilets, sir.” A rampant erection! “Good cause? No man of high moral ethics has good cause to enter female toilets! You wouldn’t catch me stealing around female urinals!” “No, sir, I don’t suppose I would.” Stealing around the gents, more than likely! “I heard whimpering noises coming from the latrines, sir - a sort of soft cooing.” “A soft cooing? Describe the cooing.” “I’d rather not, sir.” “Was the soft cooing similar to the mating call of a pigeon?” More like the mating call of a teenage girl! “Not exactly, sir.” “It must have been a pigeon, they perch on the eaves of Wash Block B.” “It wasn’t a pigeon, sir. I thought someone might be in lavatorial distress, so I took the liberty of entering the toilets.” “Lavatorial ... You’ll not take lavatories ... I mean, liberties, Balforth! I run this camp - only I take lavatories.” “Yes, of course, sir.”

Balforth rubbed his chin again as Bentley lowered his head and continued writing. Lazily moving to a wall chart, he gazed at the names on the duties rota. Running his finger down the list, humming to himself as he noticed his name against Thursday’s Custard Pie Throwing Target, he jumped to attention as Bentley slammed the ledger shut.

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“Name?” Bentley roared. “Er ... Balforth, sir.” “Not your name, you idiot! The name of the girl participating in the unmentionable sexual act in the female toilets.” “Oh, I see. Er ... I don’t know her name, sir.” “You don’t know her name?” “I didn’t consider it necessary to ask. Might I suggest that we call her Miss X?” “Miss X?” “The newspapers refer to women of ill repute as Miss X. I thought it rather fitting in this case.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Bentley raised his eyes to the ceiling in despair as Balforth began humming again. “Do you have to do that?” he asked irritably. “Do what, sir?” “Hum, do you have to hum?” “Bum, sir?” “Hum, man - hum!” “Sorry, sir, it’s just that I find it therapeutic.” “Go and find Dickie Dubious and have him report to me. Biggest Bikini-Clad Pregnant Woman competition, indeed! It’s absolutely disgusting!” “I thought the idea rather ... er ... The floor, sir - shall I have it cleaned?” “The floor?” “In the female toilets.”

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Balforth’s lips furled into a sardonic grin. He knew only too well how to wind the tetchy major up, and never let an opportunity pass by. Recalling the lewd scene, picturing the two solid cocks driving in and out of the whimpering girl’s tight sex sheaths, the spunk dripping onto the floor, he tried not to snigger.

“There’s rather a mess where ... where the girl was standing, sir. It might be hazardous to life and limb.” “Life and limb?” “The floor’s slippery where ...” Holding his hand to his mouth, he desperately tried to stifle a snigger. “Where the cocktail of orgasmic products formed a neat little pool between her feet.” “There’s something very wrong with you, Balforth,” Bentley growled. “You seem to have an unhealthy predilection with the carnal aspects of life.” That’s true! “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it that the floor’s cleaned fifthwith.” “Fifthwith?” “Er ... just my little joke, sir. I mean, forthwith.” “There’s no room for pathetic jokes in my camp! I’ll not tolerate joking and laughing! And there’ll be no more talk of illegal sexual activities in the toilets, Balforth! Or orgasmic products, for that matter!” “No, sir.”

As Balforth was about to leave the office, a young woman knocked on the door and marched into the room. Her mousey-brown hair in a bob, framing her pale, rounded face, she stood before Bentley’s desk adjusting her tie and flattening the lapels of her blue blazer.

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“Ah, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial,” Bentley greeted her, looking up and rising to his feet. “Has the sanitary towel ... the menstrual dispensing ... Has the machine in the female section of Wash Block C been repaired?” “Yes, sir - it was jammed,” the military mouse squeaked, standing to attention with a salute. Balforth held his hand to his mouth and tittered, immediately wishing he hadn’t. “Do you mind sharing the joke?” Bentley snapped. “Jammed, sir.” “What’s funny about that?” “Jam, as in rag ... er ...” “Balforth, if you’ve nothing intelligent to say, then shut up!” “Yes, sir.” “Sir, there’s a disturbance in the chapel,” Miss Perennial declared. “A disturbance?” “There’s a naked woman sitting on the altar.” “Did you hear that, Balforth?” Bentley rasped, his nose twitching furiously.

Gazing out of the window at a curvaceous, bikinied, teenaged girl, wondering whether her slender fingers had masturbated her swollen clitoris to orgasm, delved into her tight, wet cunt, Balforth hadn’t been listening.

“Balforth, did you hear that?” Bentley snapped irritably.

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“Er ... hear what, sir?” Balforth asked nonchalantly, wondering whether the girl was into bondage and spanking. “There’s a naked woman sitting on the altar.” “Is there? How odd.” Balforth rubbed his chin and began humming again. “Do you think we might have had a visitation from the Virgin Mary, sir?” “Is that supposed to be funny, Balforth?” “No, sir. I wonder why she’s sitting on the altar?” “More to the point, why is she naked?” “Perhaps she’s praying for divine guidance, sir.” Or guiding a church candle up her divine cock-hole. “Don’t be absurd! Deal with it, Balforth! Arrest her for indecent exposure and sacrilegious defilement of a holy place.” “Arrest her, sir?” “A citizen’s arrest. Good God, man, have you no initiative?” “I’ll see to it right away, sir.”

Balforth strode down the corridor and out of the building. Passing the toddlers’ paddling pool, he rounded the corner of Number Two Dining Hall and followed the flower-lined cobble path to the chapel doors. A naked woman, he pondered excitedly, passing a gathering crowd and going inside. Sounds interesting! His eyes slowly adjusting to the darkened chapel, he felt the adrenaline charge as he gazed down the aisle at the altar.

“Now then, Miss!” he called authoritatively. “We can’t have naked women sitting on the altar! Not unless I can ... er ...” Nearing the curvaceous female form, he

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stopped and averted his head. “Come on, you’ll get piles sitting on cold stone! Where are your clothes?” Gazing at the alluring nymph out of the corner of his eye, wondering why she wasn’t answering, he slowly turned to face her. “Look, you must cover yourself! What will God think? This is a place of worship, not a ...”

Moving closer, Balforth focused on the woman’s face and frowned. “Bollocks!” he breathed, taking her sensuously soft arm and lifting her off the altar. “A blow-up doll!” Carrying Latex Lil up the aisle, he paused, wondering what to do. “I can’t take you outside, you’re not decent,” he murmured pensively.

Examining the triangular thatch of golden pubes between her thighs, he looked furtively around the empty chapel. His penis stiffening as he thought of committing an obscene sexual act with the doll, he held her upside down, her legs dangling wide open.

“Most authentic,” he breathed, gazing at the pink plastic folds ensconcing the doll’s privates. Cautiously taking another look around the chapel before tentatively slipping his finger into her slippery vulval duct, he grinned lasciviously. “Oh, you’re very wet!”

He jumped as Latex Lil’s tight vagina unexpectedly burst into life, rhythmically gripping his finger and buzzing loudly. “Good, God!” Balforth exclaimed, quickly withdrawing his slimy digit. “I seem to have pressed the right button!” Tiptoeing back down the aisle, he lay the plastic bimbo over the altar, her

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rounded buttocks projected, her vaginal entrance crudely exposed beneath her neat bottom-hole - her femininity irresistibly bared.

“Might as well try you out,” he murmured, whipping his ardent penis out. Sliding the solid organ deep into the doll’s supple vaginal sheath, the vibrations permeating his swollen knob, Balforth breathed heavily. “God, you’re almost as good as the real thing!” he gasped as his penis swelled within the tight plastic duct. “Ah, ah! God, talk about good vibrations! I’m ... I’m coming already!”

His sperm baptizing the plastic sheath as the delicious vibrations tormented his throbbing glans, he grabbed her hips and thrust his cock in and out of her cuntal duct, grimacing as his swinging balls drained. “God, you’re something else!” he cried as her right arm catapulted through the air, knocking a huge candlestick off the altar. “Ah, ah! God, you’re good!”

His spunk lubricating his pistoning penis, he thrust into the juddering doll again and again, filling her plastic love hole until she overflowed and his sperm consecrated the tapestry decorating the altar. Finally coming to rest, his cock embedded deep inside her vibrating pussy, his breathing heavy, he wondered whether to take the insatiable temptress to his chalet. She might come in useful, he pondered, imagining her in his bed, her legs open, her electric pussy ever-eager for his solid cock.

Finally slipping his wet penis out of her buzzing vagina, Balforth zipped his trousers and retrieved the blasphemed candlestick. “Bloody hell, I needed that!” he

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breathed, grabbing the doll and lurching down the aisle, his spunk bathing her inner thighs as her pussy hole drained. There was only one thing for it, he concluded conceal her naughty bits as best he could and face the crowd.

Emerging from the chapel into the bright sunlight to be greeted by gasps of disbelief from the growing congregation, Balforth clasped the doll’s luscious breasts close to his chest. Trying to cover her buttocks with his free hand as a middle-aged woman keeled over in shock, he realized how happy he was working at Fannnymead Holiday Camp. Well-heeled, comfortably solvent, he certainly didn’t need the money. For the laughs alone, he’d have worked there for nothing. And this was one of the best laughs yet!

“It’s all right,” he grinned, moving towards the flabbergasted crowd. “She’s not real, it’s only a doll. Er ... get on with your holidays.” “Really give it to me, baby!” Latex Lil screeched in an awful American drawl. “I like it up my arse! Give me a damned good shagging!” “Bloody hell!”

Squeezing the impossible nympho harder against his chest, his face flushing, Balforth fought his way through the astonished crowd and hurriedly followed the path. “Give me a good fucking!” Her legs akimbo as he passed Number Two Dining Hall, he dashed past the toddlers’ paddling pool and hurtled into the main building.

“Come in my mouth!” the sex fiend cried as he sped down the corridor, heading for Bentley’s office. “Fuck my hot cunt!”

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“Shut up, for God’s sake!” Balforth whispered through gritted teeth as he knocked on the office door. “Come!” Bentley called. I just have! Opening the door, Balforth leaped into the room. “Er ... I have a slight problem,” he grinned. “Spunk up my tight cunt!” the doll cried. “Fuck my hot cunt!” “Good grief!” Bentley exclaimed, eyeing the gaping brown hole between her parted buttocks. “Balforth, what ever ...” “She was in the chapel, sir - on the altar.” “Shag my wet cunt!” “Can’t you shut the ruddy thing up, man?” “Give it to me rotten! Finger my cunt hole!” “I don’t know where the switch is, sir.” “What’s that white stuff running down her legs?” “Er ... I have no idea, sir. Vaginally speaking, do you think she might be sexually aroused?” “Fuck my cunt hole!” “Sexually aroused? Here, give her to me!” “Surely, not in here, sir?” “Shut up, Balforth!”

Tossing him the demented doll, Balforth watched his boss struggle to switch the thing off. He sniggered as, in the affray, Bentley somehow managed to wrap the doll’s thighs around his head, its vaginal opening forced against his mouth. As he

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debated whether or not to go to the panicking major’s assistance, Bentley finally broke free from the vulgar position, yanking the sopping muff out of his mouth. Turning the doll this way and that, her arms and legs thrashing as she screamed her lewd expletives, Bentley could find no sign of a switch, finally concluding that the best course of action was to lock the thing in the stationery cupboard.

“Whatever next?” he grunted, stuffing the crazed doll into the cupboard and slamming the door closed. Clearing his throat, he straightened his bow tie and smarmed down his dishevelled hair. “First, there’s an indecent sexual act performed in Wash Block B, and now this vulgar incident! You see what I mean by a saboteur, Balforth?” “Yes, sir,” Balforth grinned as Miss Perennial put her head round the door. “Excuse me, sir,” she whined. “There’s a disorderly queue forming outside. It seems that some of the campers have been deeply psychologically disturbed by the event that took place outside the chapel.” “I’ll be addressing the campers about the unfortunate incident later, Miss Perennial.” “Might I make a suggestion, sir?” Balforth asked. “What is it?” “It might be an idea for Hardy Perennial to take the most severely distressed campers to the camp doctor for counselling.” “My name is not Hardy!” Miss Perennial protested. “I’m fed up with you calling me Hardy!” “Stop behaving like a schoolboy, Balforth,” Bentley rejoined. “You’ll address Miss Perennial in the proper manner.”

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“Yes, sir.” “Apart from anything else, the term is hardy annual.” “About my suggestion ...” “Yes, I’m glad I thought of it. Miss Perennial, take the most severely distressed campers to the camp doctor for counselling.” “Yes, sir.” “Fuck my wet cunt!” “Oh!” Miss Perennial gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. “Who ... who said that?” “Give my wet cunt a good tongue fucking!”

Crumpling to the floor, Miss Perennial lay in the doorway with her legs apart, her black suspenders and bulging red panties blatantly displayed. Dropping to his knees and hurriedly tugging her skirt down to conceal her damp, cunny-stained panties, Bentley shook his head in despair.

“This has gone too far!” he complained, slipping his jacket off and placing it beneath the young woman’s head. “Spunk up my tight arse!” “Balforth, get that foul-mouthed ruddy doll out of here!” “Er ... yes, sir. Where do you suggest I ...” “Use your initiative, man! Do away with it!” “Spunk down my throat!” “Bugger the thing!” Balforth exclaimed, yanking open the cupboard door. “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Balforth! Good grief, have you no morals?”

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None whatsoever!

Grabbing the horny hustler, Balforth stepped over Miss Perennial and bolted down the corridor, wondering what to do. In a flash of inspiration, he held Latex Lil by the neck and ran out of the building. Leaping into the toddlers’ paddling pool, he dropped to his knees and plunged the screaming doll’s head beneath the water.

“For God’s sake, shut up!” he cried, pressing his thumbs into her frustratingly resilient throat. “Shove your stiff cock right up my cunt!” “Shut up, woman!” “Spunk up my tight arse!” “Expire! Die, for God’s sake!” “Fuck my hot cunt hole!” “I’ll rip your tits off in a minute!”

As a flock of children fled the pool screaming for their mothers, Balforth looked up at the gathering crowd, suddenly realizing that he was the cause of the commotion.

“Murder!” a buxom peroxided young mother screamed as she rounded her children up. “Murder!” “Rape!” another unhappy camper cried as the doll’s buoyant legs shot out of the water, its thighs wide apart, exposing its hairy vaginal entrance. “He’s raping the poor girl!”

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“Madam, I am not raping her!” Balforth returned. “I’m trying to shut her up!” “Murder!” “I’ll murder you in a minute!”

Leaping out of the pool with his intended victim, his clothes soaked, Balforth ran across the Pirate’s Courtyard and dashed into the bingo hall. “Key of the door, twenty-one,” droned the caller. “All the ones, legs eleven.” “Sixty-nine!” the doll shrieked. “Bingo!”

Realizing his fatal mistake as a hallful of ample-busted, wide-buttocked women turned and stared open-mouthed at him, Balforth headed off for the wooded area by the boating lake. Under cover of the trees, he grabbed a stout twig and stabbed the doll through the left breast, the air hissing through her pierced nipple as she slowly deflated.

“Shag my wet cunt!” she persisted, although close to death. “Will you shut up!” Balforth cried, rolling the limp plastic carcass up into a ball and stuffing it beneath a bush. “Shove your stiff cock up my tight arse!” “Shut the fuck up!” “Fuck my ... my cunt, my cunt, my cunt, my ...” “Thank God for that!” “My cunt!”

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Emerging from the trees, Balforth combed his dark hair back with his fingers and made his way to the main building, composing himself as best he could as he passed the chattering crowd gathering around the Pirate’s Courtyard. The mob moving back to make way for him, he marched on, his head held high as blue accusations of rape and murder filled the air.

“Are you all right now, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial?” Bentley enquired as the woman finally came round and clambered to her feet, her face blanched with shock. “Yes, I think so, sir. Who said those disgusting things?” “It was a ... never mind.” “When I heard those dreadful words I was reminded of a horrendous incident that took place at one of our girl guide camps.” “What happened, Miss Perennial?” “Our leader turned out to be a man dressed as a woman.” “A man dressed as a woman?” Bentley paused, recalling Balforth’s words about being a girl guide leader. “What did he look like?” “Well, he ...” “Did he bear any resemblance to Balforth?” “Come to think of it, he looked very much like Balforth.” “When was this, Miss Perennial?” “About twelve years ago, sir. I was only sixteen, it was most distressing. We’d been swimming in the lake and ... and we were naked and ...” “Yes, all right, Miss Perennial. There’s no need to go into the sordid details. If you feel up to it, you’d better return to your duties.”

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“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Entering the main building, Balforth walked briskly down the corridor towards Bentley’s office. “Ah, Hardy Perennial,” he grinned, almost bumping into his favourite funpiece. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” “Ask me what?” “We’re alone in the corridor, Miss Labial. No one can hear or see us.” “Don’t be offensive! My name’s ...” “I’m going to ask you something of a personal nature.” “What are you going to ask me?” “Do you masturbate?” “Oh, Balforth!” the young woman gasped, leaning against the wall to steady her sagging body. “I’ll report you to Major Bentley for ...” “Bollocks, he’d never believe you. Besides, there are no witnesses. Well, do you finger your wet cunt hole and frig your erect clitty to orgasm? I’ll take that as a yes, then!” he chuckled, stepping over Miss Perennial’s lifeless form as he went gleefully on his way.

“Attention, attention!” Bentley’s voice came over the Tannoy. “All pregnant women are to pack their cases and assemble in Number Two Dining Hall! No matter what stage of gestation!” “God, he’s mad,” Balforth muttered, knocking on the office door. “Stark raving, bloody mad.” “Ah, Balforth,” Bentley murmured, switching the Tannoy off. “I trust you’ve dealt with the doll?”

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“Yes, sir, she won’t trouble us again,” Balforth smirked, his wet brogues squelching. “Balforth, what were you doing twelve years ago?” “I haven’t had twelve beers.” “Years, Balforth! Twelve years ago! You really must have your ears looked at.” “I haven’t got twelve ears, sir.” “Good grief! What were you doing twelve years ago?” “Oh, I really can’t remember.” “You said that you were a girl ... a boy scout leader. When was that?” “Er ... as it happens, about twelve beers ago, sir.” “Do you have a criminal record, Balforth?” “No, sir!” “Are you criminally insane?” “Bollocks! I mean, certainly not!” “I’ll check.” “Er ... Of course I haven’t got a criminal record, sir. And I’m far from criminally insane. Guide’s ... I mean, scout’s honour.” “Come!” Bentley called, responding to a loud knock on the door.

Balforth squirmed as two police officers entered the room and stood before Bentley’s desk. Their business wasn’t hard to guess. But it would be easy enough to explain the blow-up doll, he reflected as water pooled on the carpet around his feet. Easy enough to explain - after he’d had his fun!

27

“DI Smart,” the senior officer introduced himself, flashing his ID card at Bentley. “And this is Inspector Brookes.” “I’m Major Bentley. How can I be of assistance, gentlemen?” “We’ve received dozens of triple nine calls alleging a gruesome murder at Fannymead Holiday Camp, Major.” “A gruesome murder at Fannymead?” Bentley gasped. “Is this some sort of joke?” “Homicide can hardly be described as a joke!” “Has a homosexual been murdered?” Balforth tittered. “Shut up, Balforth!” Bentley growled. “You’re behaving like a schoolboy again.” “Murder by drowning, to be precise,” the officer continued, staring hard at Balforth. “Allegedly, a young naked woman was dragged to the toddlers’ paddling pool by a middle-aged man. Her head was brutally forced beneath the water until she expired. Her body was then carried off to the bingo hall. There are dozens of witnesses.” “But ...” Bentley gasped, his nose twitching furiously as Balforth began sniggering. “From there, the body was taken to a wooded area by the boating lake.” “What’s this all about?” Bentley snapped. “There’s not been a murder ...” “Allow me to explain,” Balforth broke in, donning a slight smile. “You see, I forced her head under the water to keep her quiet and ...” “Ah, a confession!” DI Smart grinned, grabbing Balforth’s arms and cuffing his hands behind his back. “Make a note of that, Brookes.”

28

“No, no you see ...” Balforth began hesitantly. “She’d been locked in the stationery cupboard, but she kept shouting obscenities.” “I’m not surprised! Any naked woman locked in a stationery cupboard would shout obscenities.” “No, she was shouting obscenities before she was bundled into the cupboard. I took it upon myself to transport her to the paddling pool and hold her under the water until I’d silenced her.” “You deliberately drowned her?” “I didn’t drown her, exactly.” “You held her head under the water to silence her? I’d call that drowning. You killed her in cold blood!” “There’s no old mud in the toddlers’ paddling ...” “Cold blood!” “I’m sorry, I’m a little hard of hearing.” “What happened next?” “She continued shouting so I took her to the woods by the boating lake, via the bingo hall.” “She was still able to speak at that time?” “Speak? Good God, she was screaming obscenities!” “I’m not surprised!” “I used my girl guide ... my boy scout training, and stabbed her through the left breast with a long twig.” “My God!” the officer gasped. “Where’s the body?” “I stuffed her beneath a bush.” “You’d better take me to the scene of the horrendous crime.”

29

“Yes, yes of course.”

Bentley shook his head in despair as Balforth led the officers out of the room. “Illegal sex in the toilets, obscenities in the chapel, and now this!” he breathed as a portly, middle-aged woman burst into his office.

“Are you in charge here?” she bellowed, planting her clenched fists on her ample hips. “Yes, madam, I am.” “I have a complaint.” “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the nature of your complaint?” “I was in one of the wash rooms, sitting on the toilet, when a man stuck his erect penis through a hole in the door.” “Good God! I’ve never heard of anything so obscene! I don’t suppose you got a look at him?” “No, but I did see his shoes beneath the cubicle door. Brown brogues, they were.” “Brown ... All right, I’ll look into the matter. I’ll also have the hole in the door repaired.” “I want a written apology, and my money back. I was severely shocked, to say the least!” “Yes, er ... Leave it with me. I apologise profusely for the disgusting incident.” “I want the culprit castrated.” “Yes, I understand how you feel.”

30

“I’m in chalet eighteen, let me know when you’ve caught him.”

Sighing as the woman stormed out of the room, Bentley shook his head. Brown brogues, he pondered. Balforth wore brown brogues, but it wouldn’t have been him ... would it? Deciding to keep his eyes open for anyone wearing brogues, he grabbed the ringing phone.

“Bentley speaking,” he intoned. “Major Bentley, this is Miss Perennial reporting.” “Ah, Miss Perennial.” “I’m in Number Two Dining Hall, sir. There’s something of a kerfuffle going on.” “A kerfuffle?” “It’s the pregnant women, sir. They’re close to rioting.” “Unbalanced hormones, more than likely. I’ll be right over, Miss Perennial. Keep the peace until I get there.”

Leaving his office, his baton under his arm, Bentley marched to Number Two Dining Hall to be confronted by a horde of pregnant women and a host of irate husbands. Joining Miss Perennial on the platform at the far end of the hall, he called for quiet among the noisy masses.

“What’s the big idea?” one young man yelled angrily. “The idea ...” Bentley began, before being cut short.

31

“Why do we have to meet here with our cases?” a voluptuous woman demanded breathlessly, obviously over ripe with pregnancy. “I will not tolerate pregnant women in the camp!” Bentley expounded. “The very idea is ludicrous, obscene, even.” “You can’t throw us out!” “My dear lady, I’m not throwing anyone out - I’m asking you all to leave.” “Why?” “Because it’s unhealthy. What the kiddies think, God only knows! Pregnant women should be at home knitting baby boots, not cavorting around holiday camps in bikinis, it stands to reason. Besides, it’s against the rules.” “Nothing was mentioned about it on the booking form!” a tatooed man called from the back of the hall. “Nothing is mentioned about bringing pet elephants to the holiday camp, but no one in their right mind would do such a thing. Obviously, there are some unwritten rules.” “Bastard! You can’t compare my wife with an elephant!” “That, sir, is debatable! Now, if you’ll be good enough to sort out your travel arrangements, I’ll expect every woman who’s heavy with child to have left Fannymead by seven o’clock this evening. Thank you, that will be all.”

Marching out of the dining hall under a barrage of abuse, Bentley left Miss Perennial to deal with the problem and hurriedly returned to the safety of his office. Sitting at his desk, pleased with his first cleansing efforts, he decided that to elevate the camp to a high standard several major changes would be called for.

32

“Fascist approach,” he breathed pensively, recalling Balforth’s remark. “A strict régime, totalitarianism.” Rubbing his chin, he contemplated his new plan as he took a blank sheet of paper from the desk drawer. Alcohol causes problems, he reflected, making a note of it. Gaming machines, bingo, heavy drinking, pregnant women, double-bedded chalets ...

“Ah, Dickie Dubious!” he growled, looking up as a ginger-haired young man knocked on the door and sauntered into the office. “What’s all this I hear about a Biggest Bikini-Clad Pregnant Woman competition? And salute when you enter my office!” “Yes, sir. Er ... it was a joke,” Dickie smiled, loosening his bright yellow tie and unbuttoning the top button of his florescent-pink shirt. “A joke of a grossly distasteful nature, if you ask me!” “Yes, sir. I came to tell you that Balforth’s been arrested for murder.” “Murder? Didn’t he explain that it was a blow-up doll?” “I was talking to one of the police officers just now. He told me what had happened and, apparently, there was no sign of the doll. Balforth swore that he’d left it beneath a bush, but it had gone.” “Gone? This is all I need!” “Now the police are looking for a real body. But don’t worry, sir - I’ve arranged for the under-thirteens to search for the doll.” “The under-thirteens? Good God, Dubious! What sort of entertainments manager arranges for children under thirteen to search for a blow-up sex doll? And a foul-mouthed one at that!” “I told the kiddies that it was Noddy’s mum.”

33

“Noddy’s mum? You’re mentally deranged, Dubious! You’ll call the search off immediately! And do your tie up, man. You look like an American gangster.” “Yes, sir.” “When you’ve called the search off, go to the Merrydick Bar and inform the steward that closing time is now nine o’clock.” “At night, sir?” “I would hardly have the bar close at nine in the morning, Dubious! There’s far too much alcohol consumption in this camp, it’s unhealthy. Nine o’clock is a perfectly respectable time for any bar to close. Also inform the steward of the Hot Jungle Juice Bar of my decision.” “But, sir ...” “Just do as you’re told, Dubious! And another thing, I want the name of the Hot Jungle Juice Bar changed. It’s obscene, conjures up all sorts of lewd pictures. We’ll rename it the Happy Campers’ Bar. See to it right away, Dubious.” “Yes, sir. Oh, there was one other thing.” “What?” “The padre seems to have lost something.” “Lost what?” “I don’t know, he wouldn’t say. He seemed very flustered when he left the chapel. He was mumbling something about mounting Sylvia and getting stoned on tablets.” “Mount Sinai and the stone tablets, I would imagine. He’s probably planning his next sermon. Should you happen to see him, ask him to report to me, will you?” “Yes, sir.” “Er ... You don’t wear brown brogues, do you?”

34

“No, I don’t.” “All right, that will be all.”

Striding over to the gramophone, Bentley wondered what other horrendous incidents could occur that day. “Sabotage,” he murmured, determined to catch the culprit. “Oh to return to the good old days!” he sighed as Beethoven’s Fifth filled the room. “Victor Sylvester, ballroom dancing ... Happy, happy days.”

35

Chapter Two

B

entley rubbed his chin as he paced the floor. “At ease!” he ordered his senior staff authoritatively as they assembled in his office. “I’ve called this meeting

because there have been too many incidents of late - dreadful incidents! I firmly believe that there’s a saboteur on the loose.” “A saboteur?” Dickie grinned. “We’ve had graffiti sprayed on the walls, the gas supply to the kitchens was disconnected, and there was the fire which destroyed the helter skelter, to name but a few terrible incidents. As you’re no doubt aware, Balforth is under police arrest for the murder of a young woman. In fact, she was a life size blow-up doll, but until we can find her and prove the point to the police, there’s little we can do to help Balforth.” “A life-size doll, sir?” Miss Perennial frowned. “Yes, a doll for ... for adults.” “Why would adults want to play with a doll, sir? It’s rather childish, isn’t it?” “Er ... well, because ... It doesn’t matter why, Miss Perennial.” “I’ll tell you why!” Dickie chuckled. “Because dolls open their legs whenever ...” “Shut up, Dubious! What I’d like to know is who put the doll on the altar? And I’m sure the padre would be interested to know who blatantly desecrated his chapel.” “Oh, yes, very interested!” the balding padre grinned rather too eagerly, adjusting his tenting cassock. “I want Sylvia back. Er ... what I mean is, we must find the doll in order to help Balforth.” 36

“I still don’t understand why adults ...” “Miss Perennial, it’s not necessary to understand, just accept it as a sad fact of life,” Bentley interrupted her. “Taking stock of the situation, Balforth’s in police custody and there’s a blow-up ... a deflated doll lurking somewhere in the camp.” “Easily identifiable by a hole in her left tit!” Dickie sniggered. “Oh, poor Sylvia!” the padre sighed. “Who’s Sylvia?” Bentley demanded, his beady eyes narrowing. “Er ... my auntie, sir. She passed away recently.” “Do your grieving in the chapel, Padre. With all due respect to your late aunt, this is my office, not a mourning room! Right, we’ll start by searching the grounds for the wretched doll. Off you go, and report to me the minute the little hussy’s been located.”

Remaining behind as Dubious and the eager padre left the office, Miss Perennial closed the door and stood coyly before Bentley’s desk. Her face flushing with embarrassment as she wrung her hands, she gave a little cough to let the major know that she was there.

“What is it, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial?” Bentley asked, looking up from his desk. “Why aren’t you joining in the search? And why’s your face scarlet?” “It’s about Balforth, sir. He ... he asked me something.” “Asked you what?” “He asked me something of a most personal nature. It was obscene, sir! I thought I’d better report the incident.”

37

“The incidents book is filling up fast,” Bentley muttered, taking the ledger from the desk drawer. “What did he ask you?” “Whether I ... you know, whether I did it or not.” “Did it? Did what, Miss Perennial?” “It’s a word I never thought would fall from my lips, sir. I can’t bring myself to repeat it.” “But you must!” “Through God, I’ll try and find the inner strength, sir. He asked me whether or not I ...” Making the sign of the cross across her chest, the trembling bluecoat squeezed her eyes shut. “Whether or not I masturbate, sir.” “Good grief! Balforth asked you that?” “Yes, sir, in the corridor earlier. I was most distressed, as you can imagine. I passed out - it was the shock.” “I really can’t believe this of Balforth.” “It’s true, sir!” “All right, Miss Perennial, don’t distress yourself further. I’ll deal with the blighter. You did the right thing by coming to me.” “Yes, sir, thank you. By the way, three toilet seats have been stolen from Wash Block A.” “They’ve only just been replaced! Good God, whatever next? All right, I’ll get maintenance onto it. Off you go and join the search party.” “Yes, sir.”

Shaking his head as Miss Perennial marched off, Bentley really couldn’t believe that Balforth would have asked her such a question. Contemplating the male

38

menopause again, he recalled his early forties when he’d taken to ogling the young girls modelling underwear in clothing catalogues. Shuddering as he pictured something not only obscene but highly illegal, he wondered how Balforth was fairing at the police station.

“It was a blow-up doll!” Balforth told the interrogating officer for the umpteenth time. “Yes, sir, so you’ve said. Where is the doll now?” “How the hell do I know? Someone must have taken it from beneath the bush.” “A likely story.” “Anyway, you can’t charge me with murder without a body.” “There are dozens of witnesses.” “Witnesses as to the fact that it was a doll!” “Not according to their statements, sir. Look at the facts. You were seen plunging a naked woman into the toddlers’ paddling pool and holding her head beneath the water in an attempt to drown her.” “She was a doll!” “According to the witnesses, the young woman was shouting and her legs were thrashing about. A lifeless plastic doll wouldn’t do that, would it?” “This is ridiculous!” Balforth complained. “The thing appeared to thrash about because it was inflated. And its voice was electronic.” “You’ve already admitted to stabbing her through her breast with a long twig.” “To stabbing the doll through her breast with a long twig!”

39

Menacingly approaching the table where Balforth was sullenly seated, the officer lit a cigarette. Staring hard at his suspect, he drew on his cigarette, blowing smoke into his face as another officer tapped on the door and entered the room with a sheet of paper. Whispering in a corner of the room, the officers turned from their conference to gaze at Balforth accusingly.

“It’s just been brought to my attention that you’ve served three years for indecently molesting naked girl guides,” the interrogating officer announced proudly. “Bollocks, I thought you might dig that up.” “Dig? Why use the word dig?” “Dig up the information.” “Psychology,” the officer grinned triumphantly. “You used the word dig because you dug a hole. I put it to you that you buried the deceased, Mr Balforth.” “Of course I didn’t bury her!” “It says here that, twelve years ago, you were arrested for running a girl guide camp dressed as a woman. Your record also shows that you’ve been apprehended on three occasions for grossly indecent exposure in female toilets. You’ve appeared in court charged with possession of illegal pornographic material. You’ve been arrested for stealing convent schoolgirls’ undergarments from a washing line, and for ... My God, it says here that you were arrested for streaking across a school netball pitch and masturbating in front of the team!” “Well, yes, I ... I had a difficult childhood.” “Your childhood has nothing to do with the disgusting episode! Or with posing as woman and running a girl guide camp.”

40

“Well, no, I suppose it doesn’t. There was a mix-up, you see. It was rather funny, really. I was supposed to be taking the boy scouts but someone muddled up the paperwork and I ended up taking the girlie guides ... The girl guides.” “That’s not what the report says.” “Excuse me, sir,” a young officer called from the doorway. “The doll’s been located.” “Thank God, for that!” Balforth gasped. “PC Giles has gone to pick it up, sir.” “Well, Mr Balforth, if the doll has a pierced left breast and the witnesses identify her as the woman you were drowning in the pool, that will be the end of the matter - for the time being.” “For the time being?” “We intend to keep a close eye on you. With your appalling record of obscene sex crimes, I’m sure you’ll appreciate our concern.” “Fascist bastard!” “I’ll ignore that remark.”

Bentley frowned, his nose twitching as he stared hard at the relieved padre. “Atop the flagpole?” he echoed. “Yes, sir, the doll was flying in the wind like a kite, her arms and legs flapping about everywhere.” “Good grief! Is the Fannymead ensign intact?” “Yes, sir. It’s back in its rightful place, atop the pole.” “Thank God for small mercies! You say that the doll’s now in police custody?”

41

“Yes, sir. I do hope she’ll be returned because ...” “She’s caused enough trouble Padre. Why in God’s name do you want her returned?” “Er ... the burial, sir. She deserves a decent burial.” “A decent burial? Have you taken leave of your senses, Padre? She’s nothing more than a plastic air bag!” “I know, sir, but it’s the Christian thing to do - in the circumstances.” “All right, Padre, if that’s what you want.” “Yes, it is, sir. I’ll spunk over ... er, rub glue over her breast and give her a good laying ... laying out, I mean.” “Whatever you say. You don’t wear brown brogues, do you?” “No, I wear six-inch red stilettoes ... I mean, Marks and Sparks black slipons.” “I see. All right, that will be all, Padre.” “Right, I’ll leave you to it, sir.”

As the padre gleefully departed, Bentley sauntered over to the window, wondering who the saboteur could be. Someone had placed the doll on the altar and hauled her deflated body up the flagpole. But who? he pondered. And who was the graffiti artist, and the used condom distributor? Perhaps the mysterious sexual pervert in the brown brogues was responsible?

“Hey, you!” a scruffy yob bellowed as he burst into the office. “Have you no manners?” Bentley barked. “There’s no bleedin’ ‘ot water in me chalet.”

42

“Right, I’ll inform maintenance. What’s your chalet number?” “Forty bleedin’ eight. And I want it done now!” “It will be done as soon as I call maintenance.” “The social ‘ave paid good money for me to come ‘ere with me missus, and we ain’t got no bleedin’ ‘ot water!” “The social? Good God, no wonder this country’s ...” “Do you cash giros, mate?” “No, certainly not! You’ll have to go to the post office in town.” “Fuckin’ ‘ell! All I want is a few beers and I ain’t got no fuckin’ money!” “Go to the post office and ...” “Yeah, yeah yeah!”

Raising his eyes to the ceiling as the dosser slouched off, Bentley again resolved to rid the camp of commoners. Making a note to contact his MP and complain about the welfare system, he checked his watch, deciding to take his usual tour of the camp. His baton beneath his arm, he left his office and made his way to the Hot Jungle Juice Bar. Stopping dead in his tracks as he went inside, he stared in disbelief at the notice prominently displayed above the bar.

“What the ...” he gasped. “Bar Steward Keg, what’s the idea of that notice?” “That was Dickie’s idea, sir!” the young barman beamed. “Topless barmaids every night, it’ll pull the punters in.” “Pull the punters in? Take it down this instant! This is a family holiday camp, not a nudist camp!” “But, sir, Dickie said that ...”

43

“Take it down, Keg! Dubious doesn’t run this camp! You’ll take your orders directly from me, and that’s an order!” “Yes, sir.” “What’s happened to the stained glass window depicting a group of happy campers? Who smashed it?” “There have been complaints about the new opening hours, sir. There was a gang of disgruntled men in here earlier. They said that unless the bar stays open until midnight, they’ll trash the place. The window was a taste of what will happen unless ...” “Trash the place? My God, I really can’t abide these ruddy commoners! Right, that’s it, I’ll rid this camp of ill-bred louts if it’s the last thing I do! This is war, Bar Steward!” “Yes, sir. Shall I close at nine or ...” “You’ll close at nine on the dot! You don’t happen to wear brown brogues, do you?” “No, never. Why do you ask, sir?” “No reason.”

Steaming from the Hot Jungle Juice Bar, Bentley’s next port of call was the amusement arcade. Gazing at the rows of fruit machines, the feckless holidaymakers pumping pound coins into slots like there was no tomorrow, he decided that all gaming machines should be removed from the camp.

44

“Ah, Chief Cashier Sterling,” Bentley growled, approaching the cash booth. “I’ve decided to close the amusement arcade. Clear everyone out, switch all the machines off and pull the shutters down.” “Close the arcade, sir?” “Yes.” “For how long?” “Permanently! I’ll not have gambling going on in my camp! Look at the kiddies gawping at their parents, they’re learning bad habits. They’ll all grow up into uncouth yobbos at this rate.” “But, sir ...” “Look at that yob over there! Bermuda shorts, red nylon vest, earrings, tattoos - and he’s shaved his hair off! And that dreadful woman with him would be more suited to street corners than a family holiday camp.” “But we can’t close the arcade, sir!” “We can and we will, as of now.” “Yes, sir, if you say so.” “I do, Chief Cashier Sterling - I do! Do you own a pair of brown brogues?” “No, I don’t.” “All right - evacuate!”

En route to his next stop, the bingo hall, Bentley noticed Balforth standing by the toddlers’ paddling pool, in conversation with Miss Perennial. Wagging her finger and shouting, the red-faced bluecoat appeared to be severely distressed. “Now what?” Bentley muttered as he marched across the Pirate’s Courtyard to discover the nature of the problem. “There’s one thing after another!”

45

“Ah, you’ve returned to the fold, Balforth! Is everything all right?” he asked, turning to the flustered bluecoat. “Oh, Major Bentley!” she sobbed, taking a handkerchief from her blazer pocket. “Balforth asked to see my ...” “What did you ask to see, Balforth?” “Nothing, sir. We were talking about the blow-up doll, that was all.” “He asked me to show him my ... my ...” “Don’t distress yourself, Miss Perennial!” Bentley cried. “Compose yourself and tell me what happened.” “He wanted to see what I have between my legs, sir!” “Good God! Is that correct, Balforth?” “Well, I ... I was talking about the doll, sir. I was saying how realistic and lifelike it was and suggested that I compare ...” “Have you no consideration for ...” “Commiseration? Has someone died, sir?” “You’ll die in a minute! Is it true that you asked Miss Perennial whether or not she masturbates?” “Oh, Major Bentley!” Miss Perennial cried, swooning and crumpling to the ground. “Now see what you’ve done, sir!” Balforth grinned, eyeing the woman’s bulging red panties as her legs fell apart. “She’s passed out.” “She’ll be all right, she’s accustomed to fainting. Did you or did you not ask Miss Perennial about masturbation, Balforth?” “No, sir, of course I didn’t! She must be fantasising.”

46

“Fantasising?”

Swinging on his heels as shouting emanated from Number Two Dining Hall, Bentley watched in amazement as tables and chairs flew out of the doors and smashed to the ground. A mob of young men running inside, Bentley turned to Balforth as the cacophony grew.

“Whatever is going on?” he barked as Miss Perennial came round and staggered to her feet, almost falling backwards into the paddling pool. “A riot, by the look of it, sir,” Balforth grinned, doing his best not to snigger, but failing miserably. “It’s not funny, man!” “No, sir, of course it’s not.” It’s bloody hilarious! “Go and deal with it, Balforth.” “Yes, sir.”

Sauntering over to the dining hall, Balforth couldn’t help laughing as another table flew through the doors and ended up in smithereens on the ground. There was nothing like a little excitement to liven up the day, he mused, watching two rebels pinning a banner above the doors. “Liberty for pregnant women,” he breathed as an excited crowd gathered outside the building. Liberty for my cock!

Noticing Bentley enter the main building with Miss Perennial in tow, obviously seeking refuge in his office, Balforth decided to leave the rioters to their protest and nip over to the Hot Jungle Juice Bar for a large scotch.

47

“What’s going on?” the steward asked as he sank into a bar stool. “A riot in Number Two Dining Hall,” Balforth grinned. “I’ll have a large scotch, please - on the house, of course.” “There’s going to be a riot in here this evening. Bentley’s told me to close the bar at nine o’clock.” “Nine o’clock? God, he’s mental!” “A gang of yobs are going to trash the place unless we stay open until midnight.” “Bentley and his daft bloody ideas will cause real problems, if you ask me.” “I hear that he’s closed the amusement arcade, permanently,” the steward enlightened Balforth as he passed him a large scotch. “No pregnant women, no arcade, the bars closing at nine ... He’ll have problems, all right! Cheers!”

Downing his sustenance, Balforth adjusted his stiffening penis as a young girl drifted into the bar. Her bikini several sizes too small, her boobs bursting out beneath her cascading golden hair, her vaginal lips ballooning either side of the tight material between her thighs, he dragged his gaze to her pretty face and offered her a drink.

“Thanks,” she smiled, sitting next to him, her deep cleavage reminding him of the doll’s buttocks. “Vodka and coke, please.” “Is this your first day?” Balforth smiled, his penis now solid as he imagined driving his tongue deep into her young cunt and lapping up her flowing nectar. “Yes, I’m here for a fortnight. My name’s Tina.”

48

“Balforth, Henry Balforth.” “I’m pleased to meet you.” “Are you here alone?” “Yes, I’m afraid so.” “Look, er ... Why don’t you come over to my chalet for a drink?” Balforth asked, not wasting any time. “I have some KY ... Bollocks, I mean, I have some wine in the fridge.” “Oh, yes, I’d like that. It’ll be nice to have a friend.” “It’ll be nice to have a damned good ... good friend.” “Balforth!” Bentley bellowed as he marched into the bar with his baton under his arm. “What the ruddy hell do you think you’re doing?” Getting to know this horny little tart. “Er ... In my capacity as deputy manager, I was entertaining this young lady, sir.” “Entertaining ... Get over to Number Two Dining Hall and deal with the rioters! They’re smashing the place to pieces!” “I don’t really see that there’s a great deal I can do, sir.” “Use your head, man! Control the impudent masses by threatening them with severe disciplinary action unless they behave themselves.” “Deprave themselves, sir?” “Behave, you ruddy idiot!” “I’ll do my best, sir,” Balforth sighed, winking at the bemused girl as he left the bar. “You’ll do better than that!” Bollocks!

49

Balforth wasn’t really in the mood for trying to control the impudent masses, but he thought it best to go through the motions. Passing the toddlers’ paddling pool, he entered Number Two Dining Hall and shook his head as he surveyed the wreckage strewn over the floor. Smashed plates, broken cups and food splattered everywhere, the place looked as if a bomb had hit it.

“What’s all this about?” he asked a youth who was throwing cups at the chandelier, successfully smashing the candle bulbs. “Freedom!” yelled the angry young man. “This is supposed to be a fucking holiday fucking camp, not a fucking concentration fucking camp!” “Yes, I see your point,” Balforth conceded, unable to do anything other than agree. “But I think it might be best if we talk rather than riot.” “Talk? Fucking talk? The only talking we’ve fucking heard is from that fucking toffee-nosed git who runs the fucking place! No pregnant fucking women, no amusement fucking arcade, the fucking bars closing at nine o’ fucking clock! Fucking Jesus fucking Christ!” “Er ... yes, I see what you mean. Look, I’ll have a word with fucking Major fucking ... I mean, Major Bentley.” “You fucking do that, mate!”

Balforth rubbed his chin, pondering on the problem as he made his way to Bentley’s office. The young man was quite right, of course. It was supposed to be a holiday camp, not a concentration camp. But there was little he could do about it. Bentley was a stubborn old git, and nothing would sway him.

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“Sir, might I have a word?” Balforth asked as he knocked and entered the office. “Ah, Balforth. There’s more graffiti on the wall outside Wash Block B.” “What does it say, sir?” “Hot, creamed and ready - whatever that means.” “Profound.” “I’ve instructed maintenance to deal with it. Are the vulgar masses under control?” “Vulgar arses, sir?” “Masses, vulgar masses!” “Er ... not exactly, sir. I think we should show a little tolerance and allow the bars to stay open until ...” “Tolerance? Show the uncouth commoners tolerance?” “They’re holidaymakers, sir. I really don’t think you should refer to them as the vulgar masses or uncouth commoners.” “They’re scum, Balforth!” “What about their mum, sir?” “Scum, for pity’s sake!” “Not all of them, surely?” “No, not all of them, but the vast majority are the scum of the earth.” “Scum of the firth? That’s off the Scottish coast, isn’t it?” “Earth, you ruddy idiot - scum of the earth!” “Oh, yes, of course.” “Go to the doctor and have your ears seen to.” “Yes, sir. Er ... There’ll be more rioting unless we negotiate, sir.”

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“Negotiate with terrorists?” “Aren’t you letting your imagination run away with you, sir? I mean, they can hardly be described as terrorists.”

As Bentley grabbed the ringing phone, Balforth moved to the window to admire several young girls sunning their bikini-clad bodies on the grass. Bentley was doing his yes sir, no sir routine as he spoke to Burnshaw, the company chairman. Arse licker! Balforth thought as he heard the old git apologizing profusely about the unfortunate incident of the blow-up doll.

Taking little notice of the conversation, Balforth gazed longingly at the swell of tight yellow material between one of the little beauty’s spread legs. For a moment, he thought he could see a black pubic curl protruding from beneath her bikini, and he imagined his tongue licking her gaping sex slit, delving deep into her tight love sheath. Hot, creamed and ready!

“Right!” Bentley growled, replacing the receiver. “That was Burnshaw, and he’s not at all happy.” “Oh, why’s that, sir?” Balforth asked, wondering how much the chairman knew of the recent events at Fannymead. “Did we forget his birthday again?” “Shut up, Balforth! That ruddy idiot Dickie Dubious has been onto him suggesting that he take over as camp manager as I’m unfit for the job.” “Really?” “Yes, really! Burnshaw’s heard about the blow-up doll and the police. He’s also had a number of complaints from the scum of the earth.”

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“I don’t think it a good idea to close the amusement arcade, sir. And as for closing the bars at nine o’clock, I ...” “Whose side are you on, Balforth?” “Oh, yours, sir! Emphatically and absolutely ...” “I’d never have thought so.” “Sir, might I suggest that you talk to the rioters? Logically speaking, there’s little point in allowing them to continue with their campaign of pillage and destruction.” “You go and talk to them, Balforth. I’m in no mood to confront the scum.” “May I make one or two concessions, sir?” “Concessions? No, certainly not.” “Well, I’ll do my best to ...” “You’ll do better than that, Balforth!” Bastard! “Yes, of course, sir.” “By the way, do you wear brown brogues?” “Yes, sir, I do. I’m wearing them now.” “You didn’t go into the female toilets and ... Do you know anything about holes in the cubicle doors?” “Holes? No, no I don’t.” “All right, that will be all, Balforth.”

Sighing with relief as he left the office, Balforth pondered on his job. He’d worked at the camp for five years - five years of putting up with barmy Bentley! But it had been fun, he reflected. The laughs, the scantily-clad young girls, free drinks in the bars, sticking his solid cock through holes in the female toilet doors ... Damned

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good fun! There was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, he decided, entering the shattered remains of Number Two Dining Hall.

“I say, might I have a word?” he asked the hoodlum he’d spoken to earlier, noticing a group of rebels barricading the windows. “What about?” “Well, I ... I think it best if ...” “Attention, attention!” Bentley’s untimely announcement resounded over the Tannoy. “As from now, the wearing of bikinis in the camp is prohibited! Ladies will wear properly fitting, full swimsuits!” “Fucking prohibited?” the young man gasped. “Er ... Major Bentley is somewhat old-fashioned,” Balforth smiled. “Old fucking fashioned? He’s a fucking prat!” “Yes, that’s true, but ...” “Right, that’s fucking it! From now on, there’ll be fucking topless fucking sunbathing! And you can fucking well go and tell your fucking Major Cuntley that!” “Er ... Bentley.” “Cuntley!” “Yes, of course.”

Making his excuses to leave, Balforth realized that the camp might soon be in a state of civil war unless something was done to quash the rising masses. There was little point in trying to reason with the apparently demented major, but he decided to give it one last try. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on Bentley’s door.

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“Ah, welcome to the War Office, Intelligence Agent Balforth,” Bentley greeted him animatedly as he wandered into the room. “What have you to report?” Good God, he’s gone off his rocker! “Unfortunately, your announcement terminated any possibility of negotiating, sir.” “This is ridiculous! Right, I’ll have to deal with the scum myself! If you want something doing properly, do it yourself. That’s what my mother used to say.” “That’s not what my mother used to say.” “What?” “Nothing, sir.”

Watching Bentley lurch to the Tannoy system and grab the microphone, Balforth cringed, wondering what on earth he was going to torment the unhappy campers with this time. To think this all blew up with Latex Lil! he reflected gleefully, pleased that he’d caused yet another horrendous problem for

his senile superior.

Sniggering, he rubbed his chin and began humming as Bentley switched the Tannoy on.

“Attention, attention! Unless the rioting scum of the earth in Number Two Dining Hall vacate the building immediately, all bars will be closed - permanently!”

Shaking his head incredulously, Balforth gazed out of the window, wondering whether it would be a good idea to have Dickie Dubious take Bentley’s place. A Biggest Bikini-clad Pregnant Woman competition would have been fun, he reflected as the nostalgic military installed himself at his war desk and took the ledger from the drawer.

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“That will provoke a response!” Bentley chortled triumphantly. “Good grief, I’m sure it will, sir!” Balforth tittered. “Er ... I’ll go and see what’s going on.” “Yes, you do that.”

Heading down the corridor to Dickie’s office, Balforth decided he’d discover exactly what Dubious had said to Burnshaw about usurping the major. Two-faced though it was, he felt it in his best interest to keep in with both men.

“Dickie, you dreadful man!” Balforth greeted the flamboyant young entertainments manager jovially. “Balforth, how are you, mate?” “Not so bad. What’s all this about you ringing Burnshaw?” “I thought I’d better enlighten him as to what a bloody mess Bentley’s making of things,” Dickie answered forthrightly, perching himself on the edge of his desk and swigging from a bottle of gin. “I suggested an election, and the old man’s considering it.” “An election?” Balforth echoed. “To decide who’s to run the camp. The staff will each be allowed a vote, and I suggested that the campers have a vote, too.” “That would be interesting!” “You’re telling me! Bentley’s out of touch, mate. Take this military stuff, saluting him and all that crap, it’s bloody ridiculous! The old git thinks he’s still in the bloody army!”

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“We’re going to have a full-scale revolution on our hands unless we’re careful,” Balforth murmured pensively. “A revolution!” Dickie cried. “That’s a brilliant idea! Just what we need!” “Dickie, I wouldn’t go around talking about revolutions, you might give the rebels ideas.” “That’s just what I intend to do! See you later.”

Watching Dickie stride down the corridor, Balforth wondered what to do. It was probably best to go into hiding for a few hours, he mused, leaving the building. A huge crowd gathering outside Number Two Dining Hall, he slipped behind the Hot Jungle Juice Bar and made his way over to the West Chalets.

“Number twenty-five,” he recited optimistically , wondering whether the tasty morsel from the toilet block would be in her chalet. There’s nothing like a good anal fucking!

His penis stiffening as he recalled the young hussy with a solid cock

embedded deep within her vagina and another up her tight bottom-sheath, he tapped on the chalet door.

“Oh, it’s you!” the unbeatific blonde beamed, opening the door in her scanty bikini. “Hallo, Angela. I was just passing by and thought I’d drop in.” To your knickers! “I’m glad you did. Please, come in.” “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” “No, I was just having a lie-down.”

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Slipping into the chalet, Balforth perched on the edge of the girl’s bed, his deep, sparkling eyes feasting on the contours of her tight bikini bottom as she popped open two cans of lager. Passing him a can, she sat beside him, her firm breasts ballooning the tight material of her bikini top as she threw her head back and swigged from the can.

“You are coming this evening, aren’t you?” she asked enthusiastically. “I hope I’ll be coming!” “Good! I like older men, they’re more experienced, they know how to treat a girl.” “Oh, I know how to treat a girl all right!” Balforth chuckled, his penis now solid within his tight cords.

Watching the young blonde hoist herself off the bed, he gazed appreciatively at her firm, rounded breasts as she slipped her bikini top off. Her elongated nipples standing proud from her darkening areolae, Balforth licked his lips, imagining his hard rod between the young tart’s dambusters. A stroke of luck - a cleavage fuck! he reflected as she tugged her bikini thong down, revealing her well-trimmed blonde pubes, her youthful sex slit nestling between her full vaginal lips. Better than seeing to the bloody rioters!

As the horny young tart lay her naked body on the bed, her nipples fully erect, her glistening labia swelling in her arousal, Balforth ran his finger up and down her yawning sex crack. Her lust juices oozing from her vaginal entrance, trickling down

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between her taut buttocks as she parted her thighs, he drove his finger deep into her tight sex duct.

“Mmm,” she breathed as he massaged her hot inner flesh. “You certainly know how to please a girl!” “I do,” he murmured huskily, slipping his wet finger out of her irrigating sheath and positioning himself between her shapely thighs.

Parting her swelling pussy lips, exposing her solid clitoris, he licked her pinken sex flesh. Gasping, the girl arched her back, grinding her open cunt hard against his face as his tongue entered her drenched love hole. Her slender fingers massaging her clitoris, she brought out her orgasm, whimpering as Balforth’s expert tongue caressed her inner cuntal flesh. “Ah, God!” she cried as her climax gripped her. “God, don’t stop!”

Drinking her slippery lust juice as she sustained her shuddering orgasm with her vibrating fingertips, Balforth wondered how many young campers he’d seduced during his five years at Fannymead. Several hundred, he concluded, slipping a finger between her taut buttocks and locating her sensitive anal entrance.

“Oh, God!” she cried, her orgasm peaking again as his finger drove deep into her rectal sheath. “Harder! Finger my bum harder!” “Like this?” he breathed, ramming his finger in and out of her tight arsehole. “Ah! Ah, yes!”

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Her slender fingers stretching her rubicund vaginal lips wide apart, exposing her swollen clitoris, she gasped as Balforth sucked her pleasure bud into his hot mouth and pistoned his finger in and out of her velveteen bottom-hole. Her cuntal juices pouring in torrents from her lust hole, running down and lubricating his thrusting finger, she let out long low moans of pleasure as her pleasure peaked again.

Her orgasm finally waning, Balforth finger-fucked her rectal duct and sucked on her pulsating clitoris, quickly taking her to another shuddering climax. Her stomach rising and falling, her firm breasts heaving in her sexual exertion, her ecstasy, she opened her legs to the hilt, wailing her appreciation as her orgasm shook her young body.

Balforth’s penis rock-hard, in dire need of the girl’s tight cunt, he slipped his finger out of her anal duct and hurriedly unzipped his trousers. Positioning his swollen knob between her wet vaginal lips, driving his weapon deep into the heat of her spasming cunt, he gasped. Repeatedly withdrawing and thrusting into her young pussy as she continued to massage her clitoris, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, heightening the girl’s pleasure as he gently bit on her sensitive breast bud.

“Christ, you’re tight!” he breathed, thrusting his swollen plum in and out of her hot cunt. “God, I’m there!” His spunk jetting from his throbbing knob, bathing her young cervix, he continued to thrust his pleasure rod into her yearning chasm until he’d drained his swinging balls.

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“Attention, attention!” Bentley’s bellowing resounded over the Tannoy as Balforth made his last thrusts, filling the girl’s sex sheath with his sperm. “This is a staff announcement! Balforth, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, stop it this instant and report to my office!”

“Bollocks, is there no escaping the old git?” Balforth complained breathlessly as he withdrew his cunny-wet cock from the trembling girl’s tight honeypot and reclined beside her. “You’re bloody good!” she gasped, her wet fingers toying between her rubicund pussy lips, bringing out the last ripples of orgasm from her appreciative clitoris. “I hope you can make it tonight.” “I’ll be here, don’t you worry about that!” Balforth grinned, leaping off the bed and zipping his trousers. “I’d better get going, I’ll see you later.” “Don’t you want to fuck me again?” “Later, my horny little tart - later!”

Cautiously checking that the coast was clear as he left the girl’s chalet, Balforth made his way to the main building, looking like the pussy who got the cream as he pictured the young girl’s naked body, her yawning cuntal slit. Licking his vagina-scented lips as he hurried down the corridor, he knocked on Bentley’s door and slipped in.

“Where the hell have you been, Balforth?” Bentley demanded angrily, rising to his feet. “Er ... I’ve been over by the boating lake, sir.”

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“No, you haven’t!” “Yes, I have.” “Shut up, Balforth!” “I was by the perimeter fence, checking security and ...” “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” “All seems quiet on the western front, sir.” It wasn’t five minutes ago! “Yes, I’ve dealt with the riffraff. As I said, if you want something doing properly, do it yourself.” “How did you deal with them, sir?” “I ... I decided to allow the bars to stay open until midnight.” “You surrendered?” “No, no of course I didn’t! I used tact, Balforth, something you seem to lack. You see, when dealing with the enemy, you have to think the way they do. I’ve also decided that the pregnant women can stay.” “What you’re saying is that you gave in to all their demands.” “Shut up, Balforth!” “I did suggest that we make one or two concessions earlier, but you ...” “Stop rambling! Burnshaw’s been on to me again. In his wisdom, he’s decided on an election to determine who should run the camp. Obviously, I will be running as Conservative candidate, and Dickie Dubious as Labour candidate.” “Conservative and Labour, sir?” “Yes, that’s right. You’ll head my election campaign, Balforth.” “I don’t like champagne, sir.” “Campaign!” “But I ...”

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“Are you sure you’re hard of hearing, Balforth? I find it difficult to believe that you ...” “Excuse me, sir,” Miss Perennial interrupted as she put her head round the office door. “There’s a commotion going on by the boating lake.” “Good grief, now what?” “I’ve just received a report from one of my bluecoats. Apparently, there are a couple of dozen naked women sprawled out on the grass, sir.” “Naked women? My God, the vile tramps! The dirty little hussies! Filthy sluts! Wanton whores!” “Oh, sir!” Miss Perennial gasped, leaning against the wall to steady herself. “The young man in Number Two Dining Hall did say that the women would sunbathe topless, sir,” Balforth grinned. “Why wasn’t I informed of this threatened vulgarity?” “Well, because ... It’s in protest of your bikini ban, sir.” “Right, follow me, Balforth! I’m not having common strumpets in my camp! Miss Perennial, stay here and man my office.”

Shaking his head as he followed Bentley out of the office, Balforth pondered on the election campaign. Dickie was a good entertainments manager, but would he be capable of running the entire show? An old stick- in-the-mud though he was, and a pain in the arse, Bentley’d done a damn good job running the camp - until now! The election would be a close run thing, he was sure - and great fun!

“The election will be interesting, sir,” Balforth remarked as they passed Wash Block B.

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“Obviously, the staff will vote for me,” Bentley replied confidently. “Oh, er ... yes, of course they will, sir.” “We’ll hold the election after the scum of the earth have returned to their vermin holes. That way I’ll be sure to win.” “I wouldn’t underestimate Dickie, sir. He’s extremely popular, both with the campers and the staff.” “Not for much longer, Balforth - not for much longer!”

Approaching the grassy area by the boating lake, Bentley stopped dead in his tracks and gazed in horror at the naked women relaxing beneath the hot afternoon sun. Grinning, Balforth sensed his penis stiffen as he focused on a young girl’s pinken vaginal crack, clearly displayed between her parted thighs.

“My God!” Bentley gasped, standing before the naked women. “This takes the biscuit!” “It certainly does sir!” Balforth sniggered. And the Mars Bar! “Cor, look at that girl’s beautiful inner ... Er, I mean ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “All naked women are to leave the camp this instant!” Bentley bellowed. “I will not tolerate this despicable behaviour, do you hear?” “What are you going to do - physically remove us?” a brazen teenaged beauty grinned, standing defiantly before the disgusted major, projecting her mammary missiles. “Good grief! Er ... Yes, if I have to.”

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“Go on, then - physically remove me!” “Er ... I will not tolerate ...” “Why don’t you drag us all away by our tits?” the girl giggled, cupping her firm boobs, her erect nipples pointing impishly at Bentley. “I like having my nipples pinched and pulled.” “A charming way of expressing yourself!” Bentley breathed. “Expressing? Do you want to suck out my tittie milk?” “Good God! I have never met such a wanton hussy!” “Come on, take me physically! Pull me by my nipples!”

Tentatively reaching out as Balforth began tittering, Bentley dropped his arms to his sides, wondering how to deal with the latest crisis. A group of militant young men gathering, shouting lewd remarks, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively before marching back to his office.

“Er ... I thought you were going to deal with the problem, sir,” Balforth remarked, chasing after the major. “I am, Balforth. But I’ll have to consider my next move before ...” “It’s unlike you to retreat from the front line, sir.” “I am not retreating! We’re regrouping to make our plans.” “Oh, good, I like flans. Especially cheese and bacon flans with ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Might I suggest something, sir?” “No, you might not.”

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Approaching the main building Bentley stopped in his tracks, gazing in horror at the impertinent posters adorning the windows. “Vote Dickie Dubious!” he gasped, turning to face his commander-in-chief. “Balforth!” he barked after the lank figure scurrying off round the corner. “Come back, Balforth! Right, this is all-out war!”

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Chapter Three

T

he evening closing in, Bentley sat in his office drawing up his election plans. He hoped that his manifesto would appeal to the higher classes, the intelligent,

well-educated campers - not the common riffraff he’d come to despise. “Ballroom dancing,” he breathed, making a note of it. “No alcohol or gaming machines! No filthy, disgusting bikinis! No one allowed in the dining halls unless properly dressed in dinner jackets and evening gowns! And certainly no DSS!”

If Dickie Dubious was going to place posters around the camp, then so was he, he decided, wondering who to elect for the printing. He needed a co-ordinator, a campaign leader, he reflected. Miss Perennial was loyal, he knew, but Balforth? Sadly, Balforth was an unknown quantity, he decided, and one that he wasn’t going to trust. He might also be a sexual pervert! Miss Perennial would lead his campaign admirably, he concluded.

“Oh, sir!” Miss Perennial cried as she burst flush-faced into the office. “What is it, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial?” “It’s Balforth, sir. He ... he ...” “He what? What ever is the matter with you?” “He thrust his hand up my skirt, sir!” the young woman screeched hysterically, before passing out. “Good grief!” Bentley roared, leaping up from his desk and hurrying across the room to her aid. “That man will be the death of me!”

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Kneeling on the floor, Bentley gazed at the unhardy Perennial’s spread legs, her bulging red panties alluringly framed by her black suspenders. Tentatively pressing his fingertip into the soft swell of her panties, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful desire to take a peek at her sex crack. He’d never touched a woman down there before, never examined her intimacy. Now, totally out of character though it was, he found himself perilously close to doing so.

Trembling, he cautiously pulled the front of the young woman’s panties down, breathing uneasily as he gazed at her ballooning vaginal lips, her pink petals protruding from her closed sex slit. Agonizing whether or not to part her fleshy hillocks and inspect her secret inner folds, he ran his fingertip up and down her moist crack. His penis stiffening menacingly, he pulled her panties down a little further.

His breathing laboured as he beheld the wilted Miss Perennial in full flower, the indecency of what he was about to do suddenly hit him. Swamped with guilt, he released her panties, covering her beckoning pussy lips and pulling her skirt down before leaping back to the safety of his desk. Sniffing his finger, he tentatively licked it, savouring the unfamiliar, heady taste of girl juice. Then, nervously adjusting his bow tie, the election campaign pushed to the back of his mind, he gazed at the prostrate Miss Perennial, not understanding his emotions as he fought to unfocus his beady eyes from her shapely thighs.

“Oh, Major Bentley!” the young woman wailed as she came round. “Whatever happened?”

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“Er ... You fainted,” he smiled weakly, guiltily, sniffing his finger again as she staggered to her feet. “Oh, I remember - I was telling you about Balforth and ...” “Miss Perennial, I find it difficult to believe that Balforth committed this alleged act of criminal indecency. Where did this incident of vulgarity take place?” “I was over by the boating lake admonishing one of my bluecoats for picking her nose in front of the kiddies when Balforth crept up behind me and thrust his hand up my ... my skirt.” “Disgusting! I put his recent uncharacteristic behaviour down to the male menopause. I’ll have a word with him about it. I’ll also make a note of the sordid affair in the incidents book. I suggest you steer clear of him, Miss Perennial.” “Excellent advice, sir.” “It’s often been said that my advice is excellent. Try to forget the obscene hand-thrusting incident. Think of it as a bad dream and put it behind you.” “Oh sir, I wouldn’t want to picture Balforth’s hand thrusting behind me!” “No, Miss Perennial! I mean, just try and forget about this most regretably sordid incident.” “Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.” “I’d like you to go to the computer room and run off some posters for me. As you’re no doubt aware, there’s to be an election. I’m running as Conservative candidate and Dubious as Labour.” “Yes, sir, I’ve seen his posters.” “Then you know the sort of thing I want.” “Yes, sir - I’ll go and get started. Shall we have some T-shirts printed? Major Bentley for Prime Minister!”

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“There’s no need to go over the top, Miss Perennial.” “No, sir.”

Gazing at the backs of Perennial’s knees as she skipped from the office, Bentley couldn’t get the picture of her delicious sex slit out of his mind. What he’d done was a blatant intrusion of privacy, but he didn’t regret it one jot. He’d sailed close to the wind, he knew, but couldn’t guarantee such gentlemanly behaviour next time the little beauty decided to swoon in his office. Yanking his thoughts back to the election campaign as the young woman closed the door, he resumed work on his manifesto.

“I’ve just told Major Bentley what you did to me,” Miss Perennial informed Balforth as she passed him in the corridor. “Didn’t you like me cupping your cunny-moist, sex-bulged knickers?” Balforth grinned, wondering whether to flash his cock at her. “You’re a vile man, Balforth!” she returned. “A vile, beastly man!” “Do you know, Hardy, I have this recurring dream where you’re sucking my stiff cock and swallowing my gushing spunk. Would you like me to fuck your mouth and shoot my sperm down your ...” “Oh, Balforth!” Miss Perennial gasped, wilting to the floor.

Might as well have a look at her fanny, Balforth decided, dropping to his knees and pulling the woman’s panties down. Parting her fleshy outer lips, he gazed longingly at her clitoris, wondering whether she massaged her pleasure nodule to orgasm as she lay in her bed at night.

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What a shame she was such a prude, he reflected. Her vaginal lips were so inviting, her pink inner folds so alluring, it was a pity that such a beautiful cunt was wasted. She needed to experience his orgasming knob driving deep into her tight lust sheath, he thought wickedly. At least, he needed the experience!

Examining the sweet pinken folds surrounding her love hole, he was about to slip his finger into her tight, wet duct and massage her inner sex flesh when Bentley’s grumpy voice came over the Tannoy.

“Attention, attention! This is a staff announcement! Balforth, stop whatever it is you’re doing and report to my office immediately!” “Bollocks, now what?” Balforth breathed, jumping up and leaving Miss Perennial with her panties around her knees, her vaginal crack blatantly exposed. No peace for the wicked!

Walking briskly down the corridor, he checked his watch, his thoughts turning to the young tart’s leaving party that night. Anal sex, he pondered, imagining his solid penis thrusting deep into her hot bowels. Wondering whether she was into bondage and spanking, he knocked on Bentley’s door and went in.

“Balforth, it’s been brought to my attention that you’ve committed a vulgar act.” “I hope to, sir.” “You hope to? My God, Balforth!”

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“I hope to ... to God that I haven’t.” “So do I, Balforth - so do I! This was an alleged, particularly vulgar act in connection with Miss Perennial’s skirt.” “A particularly vulgar act in connection with Miss Perennial’s pert what, sir?” Balforth asked, nonchalantly moving to the Tannoy as he entertained a wicked idea. “Her skirt! You thrust your hand up her skirt.” “Me, sir?” “Yes, you, sir!” “I would never dream of doing such a thing! Thrust my hand up a woman’s skirt? Good God, perish the thought!” “Are you a sexual deviant, Balforth?” “A sensual gradient, sir?” “Deviant, a sexual deviant!” “No, of course I’m not an asexual deviant! As a matter of interest, are you?” “Don’t be ridiculous! I want you to go to the camp doctor.” “Are you feeling ill, sir?” “No, you blithering idiot!” “Did you know that the word blithering is a variant of blather which ...” “Shut up, Balforth! I want you to undergo psychiatric tests to determine whether or not you’re of a sane mind. It’s my firm belief that you’re clinically insane. Either that or mentally deranged - or all three.” “All three? I’m perfectly sane, sir - and very well arranged.” Particularly in my trousers! “We’ll let the doctor decide, Balforth. Go and report to him this instant.”

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“Yes, sir,” Balforth obliged, discreetly switching the Tannoy on before leaving the office.

Breezing down the corridor, he grinned as he saw Miss Perennial rise to her feet and adjust her clothing. Creeping up behind her, he yanked her skirt up. “Do you normally go around with your knickers around your knees?” he chuckled, tugging her panties down to expose her taut, rounded buttocks.

“Balforth! You pulled my knickers ...” Fainting again, Miss unhardy Perennial crumpled to the floor. “If you keep collapsing and opening your legs like that, someone’s going to give you a damned good knobbing!” Balforth laughed, yanking her silk panties over her feet and slipping them into his pocket. Pulling her skirt up over her stomach and arranging her legs in a compromising position, he scurried out of the building.

Sitting on a bench in the Pirate’s Courtyard he lit a Marlborough, eyeing the young girls’ shapely thighs as they tripped into Number One Dining Hall for their evening meal. Number Two Dining Hall was being revamped after

its near

destruction but, the way Bentley was carrying on, the next uprising couldn’t be far off, he reflected.

Sniggering as he heard Bentley bid Miss Perennial enter the office over the Tannoy, Balforth reclined, puffing on his cigarette as he waited for the fun to begin. Short of a wank, there was nothing better than a bloody good prank, he reflected,

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wondering how long it would take the old git to discover that the Tannoy was switched on.

“What is it, Miss Perennial?” Bentley asked, his crystal clear voice resounding around the camp. “Why are you in a state of severe distress?” “Oh, sir!” the young woman gasped. “Balforth pulled my ...” “Pulled your what?” “He pulled my knickers down!” “Good grief! Why on earth did you allow him to do such a vulgar thing?” “I didn’t allow him, sir! I’d fainted, and he pulled my knickers off and left me in the corridor with my skirt up over my stomach and my legs wide apart! Anyone could have walked down the corridor and seen my privates!” “All right, don’t distress yourself further, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve sent Balforth to the camp doctor for psychiatric tests. It’s my firm belief that the man’s sexually deranged.” “Oh, sir, I was so humiliated, degraded in the extreme! I came round and ... and there I was, displaying ... Well, displaying the most intimate part of my womanly body!” “Calm yourself,” Bentley soothed the hysterical woman. “You’ll do yourself a mischief unless you’re careful.” “He stole my knickers, sir!” “Stole them? Good grief, the man’s a compulsive sex fiend! I suggest you go straight to your chalet and put some more knickers on.”

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Balforth sniggered again as a huge crowd gathered in the courtyard, chuckling as they listened to the unscheduled camp entertainment. This was his best prank yet, he reflected, wondering why he’d not thought of it before.

“But, sir! Balforth has seen my ... No one has ever looked at me there!” Perennial cried. “No one, Miss Perennial? Are you saying that you’re a virgin?” “Absolutely!” “Admirable, Miss Perennial - admirable! I must confess to being a virgin myself.” “Really, sir? How wonderful to be in the company of a man of such high morals. Unlike that vulgar beast, Balforth! He looked at my bottom, too.” “His smutty behaviour leaves me speechless.” “Oh, sir! I ... I feel all unnecessary without my knickers.” “A perfectly normal emotion, Miss Perennial. I’d feel unnecessary without knickers beneath my skirt ... I mean, any woman would feel unnecessary without her knickers.” “Oh, I feel quite ...” “All right, don’t excite yourself. By the way, have you noticed holes in the female toilet doors?” “Yes, there are holes in all the doors, sir.” “It’s been brought to my attention that someone’s been sticking his penis through the holes and terrifying the female toiletees.” “That’s obscene, sir!” “It is, Miss Perennial - it is! And I have a pretty good idea who the culprit is.”

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“Sir! Look, the Tannoy’s switched on! Oh dear, everyone will have heard that my knickers were pulled down and stolen and my bottom was looked at and ...” “Oh, my God! Er ... Good grief!”

Making his way to the camp doctor as Bentley switched the Tannoy off, Balforth couldn’t help laughing. After her humiliating experience, he was sure that Miss Perennial wouldn’t be able to face the campers again. It’s all good, clean fun! he reflected, wondering what other pranks he could play as he tapped on the doctor’s door.

“Come off! I mean, come in!” the medic called. “Hallo, Doctor,” Balforth smiled. “The old man’s sent me here for psychiatric tests.” “Psychiatric tests?” the balding doctor frowned, looking up from his desk and indicating for Balforth to sit down. “Yes, he believes me to be clinically insane.” “Whatever makes him believe that?” “I really don’t know.” “Are you clinically insane?” “Only slightly. Well, a little more than slightly.” “Worry not, Balforth, a simple test will determine your clinical sanity,” the doctor smiled reassuringly, taking a banana from his desk drawer. “What do you see?” he asked, placing the fruit before his patient. “A banana.” “Good. What does it bring to mind?”

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“An erect penis.” “Fascinating. What do you see now?” he persued, taking a peanut from the drawer. “A peanut.” “Excellent. What does it bring to mind?” “An erect clitoris. In fact, an erect clitoris dangerously close to orgasm.” “Most intriguing! OK, now what do you see?” he persisted, taking two oranges from the drawer. “Two oranges.” “And they remind you of?” “A woman’s breasts. Firm, suckable, teenaged breasts, with long, erect nipples. I’d like to spunk over them.” “Right, I’ll certify you straight away, Balforth.” “Certify me, Doctor?” “A certificate of sanity. There’s nothing wrong with you, Balforth! You have an extremely fertile imagination, you’re astute, and your powers of observation are second to none. Do you masturbate?” “Frequently.” “What do you think about while you’re masturbating? What lewd and obscene thoughts fill your dirty mind?” “Schoolgirlies playing netball without their knickers on. Oh, and with shaved cunts.” “Excellent! You’re perfectly normal on the sexual front, too.” “Right, thanks very much, Doctor,” Balforth smiled, rising to his feet. “You might suggest to Bentley that he visit me for a similar test.”

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“Yes, I’ll do that. Oh, I have something for you,” Balforth grinned, taking Perennial’s knickers from his jacket pocket. “I know that you collect ladies’ underwear, so I thought you might ...” “Splendid! Thank you so much, Balforth!” the doctor cried, snatching the red briefs and examining them closely. “Beautifully stained, and still damp! Panties of perfection!” “My pleasure. Have fun!” “I will!” beamed the intoxicated quack, holding the knickers to his face as he inhaled their heady girl-scent. “Mmm, sheer sexual bliss!”

Leaving the medic to masturbate over Perennial’s panties, Balforth rubbed his hands together gleefully, wondering what other fun he could muster during the election campaign. Some more disgusting graffiti on the walls might be fun!

Making his way to Angela’s leaving party, he stopped as he noticed the padre hurriedly slipping into the chapel with the blow-up doll. Dashing over to the holy building, he gazed through a window to see the cleric placing the doll over the candlelit altar. A patch on her left breast, she was fully inflated and ready for sex.

Grinning, Balforth watched the padre lift his cassock, his erect penis waving from side to side, his heavy balls swinging as he stood between the doll’s parted thighs and presented his bulbous knob to her plastic vaginal portal.

“Glory be to God!” Balforth breathed as the depraved pastor audibly entered the doll, his solid fleshpole slipping deep into her plastic sheath with a squelch.

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“Isn’t it more usual to pray to God inside the chapel, Balforth?” Bentley enquired on his approach. “Ah, er ... I was just ...” “Just what, Balforth? What are you doing skulking around here?” “Checking security, sir.” “Checking security? Where’s the padre? I need to speak with him about the election campaign.” “Er ... he went that way, sir,” Balforth volunteered, pointing in the direction of the boating lake. “Give me a good fucking!” The ravenous nympho’s obscene words reverberated around the chapel to the padre’s rhythmic pumping. “Oh, Sylvia! Oh, my lovely Sylvia!” he sang huskily, rising rapidly to a soprano. “What on earth ...” Bentley gasped, dashing to the front of the chapel.

Sniggering, Balforth watched the roused major hammer on the locked door, bellowing his orders to be let in. Wondering whether the old boy wanked, he tried to picture him screwing the doll, but found the mission - the position - impossible. There were some people you just couldn’t imagine having sex, he reflected as Bentley threatened to beat the door down.

“Spunk up my hot arse!” the frenzied doll screamed. “Sperm up my tight arsehole!” “Padre, what the hell’s going on in there?” Bentley bellowed. “Open the door this instant!”

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“Fuck my juiced cunt!” “Padre, let me in!”

Deciding to slip away, Balforth made his way to the girls’ chalet, pleased that he had the real thing, unlike the poor old padre. But the man made in the image of God was happy enough with the image of woman, he reflected. Or he would have been, if Bentley hadn’t stuck his nose in just as the poor sod had stuck his cock in!

Knocking on the girls’ chalet door, his penis solid as he imagined enjoying their most intimate company simultaneously, Balforth prayed that there wouldn’t be a crowd of young men at the party. I want my unfair share of the tarts! he thought, adjusting his aching cock.

“Oh, it’s you!” Angela smiled as she opened the door and grabbed his arm, yanking him into the chalet. “You’re eager!” he chuckled as she slammed the door shut behind them. “We are! This is Rebecca,” she introduced her delectable young friend. “Only the two of you?” Balforth asked, scarcely disguising his joy as he feasted his eyes on Rebecca’s micro skirt, her rounded breasts stretching her tight Tshirt. “How many more girls do you want?” she asked impishly, taking a can of lager from the fridge. “No, no I mean ...” “Here, have a lager.” “Oh, thanks. So, this is your last night.”

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“Yes, and we mean to have some sexy fun!” the unangelic Angela giggled.

Settling on the bed, Balforth watched eagerly as the girls stood before him and tugged their skimpy skirts down. Eyeing their panties swelling with their full sex lips, he reclined on the bed, swigging from the can. Pulling their T-shirts over their heads, revealing their firm, braless breasts, their udder-like teats as they kicked their skirts aside, the young hussies eased their panties down their curvaceous legs provocatively.

Pulling their fleshy labia apart, displaying their pinken sex petals, their erect clitorises, the creamy-wet entrances to their sex ducts, they stood before their lone audience with impish grins across their pretty faces. They were a bit of all right! Balforth mused as they began massaging each other’s inner flesh. Relaxing on the bed as Rebecca knelt before her friend, he was looking forward to the lesbian show.

The girl’s tongue lapping at Angela’s reddening cuntal flesh, bringing out her sex milk, Balforth grinned as she thrust four fingers into her friend’s tight vagina. Gasping, Angela closed her eyes and stood with her feet wide apart as Rebecca licked her pulsating clitoris and finger-fucked her fanny.

“Oh, yes!” Angela cried, her naked body trembling. “God, don’t stop!” “This is your favourite, isn’t it?” Rebecca smiled, slipping a finger deep into the girl’s tight bottom-hole. “Oh, oh! Yes, yes! I’m ... I’m coming!”

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Massaging his knob through his trousers, Balforth gazed in awe as Angela shuddered and cried out as her orgasm erupted within her throbbing clitoris. Fingering her friend’s cunt and arsehole for all she was worth, Rebecca licked and sucked on her exploding cherry, sustaining her incredible pleasure.

This was something else! Balforth thought excitedly as he watched Angela’s copious flow of cunt milk streaming down her friend’s thrusting hand. Her clitoris pulsating in orgasm, her lust holes pistoned with frantic female fingers, this really was something else!

“Drink from my cunt!” Angela gasped as her climax finally waned and her friend slipped her wet fingers out of her seething sex ducts. “Drink my pussy milk!” Greedily complying, Rebecca drove her tongue into the gasping girl’s dripping cunt, sucking out her milk and swallowing hard.

His penis twitching as he focused on Rebecca’s cunny-wet tongue as she lapped up her friend’s lust juice, Balforth slipped his trousers off. Wanking as Rebecca stood up and supported Angela’s sagging body, exposing his magnificent purple warrior to their wide eyes, he knew that they were more than ready for his cock.

“A fine specimen!” Rebecca giggled, kneeling on the bed astride Balforth’s erect penis, her pinken cunny crack gaping below the gentle rise of her mons. Grabbing his penis, she positioned his purple knob between her parted cunny lips and gently lowered her naked body. His shaft gliding into the heat of her drenched sex

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sheath, opening her tight lust duct, she gasped as she completely impaled herself on his monumental organ.

Gyrating her hips, stirring the cream within her simmering sex-pot, she closed her eyes and began breathing deeply. Raising his head, Balforth focused on her outer cunny lips stretched tautly around the broad base of his organ. Her juices of arousal coursing down his veined shaft and trickling over his rolling balls, she massaged her exposed clitoris, gasping as the pleasure permeated her young pelvis.

“What about me?” Angela groused, climbing onto the bed, her knees either side of Balforth’s head, her open cunt hole only inches from his mouth. “Give me a good licking out!” she gasped urgently as he swept his tongue over her inner sex flesh, bringing out her lust milk. “Tongue-fuck my cunt!”

Fannymead was what it was all about, Balforth mused perceptively as he savoured Angela’s sweet nectar - his sort of place, definitely his sort of fun! Fannymead he thought dreamily, lapping at the young blonde’s pussy cream as her friend began bouncing up and down, fucking her tight, sex-juiced cunt with his solid cock. Free drinks, free sex, a laugh a minute ... this was definitely what Fannymead Holiday Vamp was about!

“Ah, ah, you’re so big!” Rebecca gasped, her fresh young cunt tightening around Balforth’s granite-hard cock as she bobbed up and down. His mouth full of Angela’s vaginal delicacy, Balforth couldn’t answer. If only Bentley could see me

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now! he thought wickedly as Angela began gasping and rocking her hips, her clitoris pulsating, her lust juices decanting.

Driving his tongue deep into the girl’s hot vagina, his mouth filling with her lubricious honeydew, his cock driving deep into Rebecca’s tight sex hole, he wished he’d met the young nymphos at the beginning of their holiday, instead of the last day. But there were plenty more young girls for the screwing, he consoled himself - a continuous crop of ripe young beauties for the fucking throughout the summer months. It’s my bloody good looks - and cock! he reflected as he sensed his bulbous glans throb within the wet heat of Rebecca’s tightening cunt.

The girls whimpering as their climaxes neared, Balforth thrust his hips, fucking Rebecca as he sucked Angels’s pulsating clitoris into his mouth and swept his tongue over the sensitive budlette. The girl’s lust juices running over his face, trickling down his neck as she reached her climax, Balforth finally loosed his sperm. Filling Rebecca’s spasming pussy hole as she reached her climax, all three moaned their pleasure as their bodies shuddered and writhed in the three-way coupling.

“God, my cunt!” Angela cried in her crudity, grinding her ballooning clitoris into Balforth’s pussy-wet mouth. “Ah, ah, keep me coming!” “This is the best fuck I’ve had in ages!” Rebecca gasped as her clitoris pulsated against Balforth’s thrusting penis. “Jesus, I’ve never had such a big cock up me!”

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Their trembling bodies finally coming to rest, the sex-dazed girls climbed off Balforth and began licking his wet penis, lapping up the cocktail of sperm and girl juice. His hands behind his head, Balforth relaxed, revelling in the intimate attention as the girls kissed each other with his knob between their wet mouths.

Quickly stiffening again, his cock was ready to drive deep into Angela’s juicy cunt, but the girls had other ideas. Kneeling astride Angela’s head, Rebecca lowered the sexual centre of her curvaceous young body, pressing her spermed vaginal lips against her friend’s thirsty mouth.

Two’s company! Balforth mused happily,

monitoring the sensual lesbian licking as Rebecca rested her head on the bed, her pert buttocks jutting out above Angela’s firm breasts.

“Suck his spunk out of my cunt,” Rebecca urged her friend, her young body shuddering as Angela’s tongue snaked its way into her drenched vagina. Moving between Angela’s open thighs, Balforth lapped up her juices of arousal, his tongue delving between her reddening sex folds and driving deep into her drenched honeypot. Drinking from her fiery cunt, swallowing her slippery lubricant, he stretched her inflamed pussy lips apart, exposing her pink inner flesh to his ravenous mouth.

“Attention, attention!” Balforth started at Bentley’s Tannoy address as he moved up the girl’s sex valley and sucked her erect clitoris into his hot mouth. “This is a staff announcement! Balforth, stop whatever it is you’re doing and report to the War Office ... I mean, to my office, this instant!”

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Ignoring the command, Balforth gave the girl’s clitoris one more suck before positioning his rock-hard cock between her thighs, his purple knob resting between her delicious outer sex lips. Driving deep into her tight cunt, completely impaling the young beauty on his lust staff, he began his fucking motions.

Gazing at Angela’s tongue darting in and out of Rebecca’s dripping pussy hole, he focused on the small brown hole between the girl’s parted

arse orbs,

deciding to fuck her there after he’d spunked up Angela’s spasming cunt. Cunts, mouths, bums, he mused dreamily. I’ll fuck them all!

“God, I’m there!” he cried as his sperm jetted all too soon from his pulsating glans, filling the girl’s love tunnel as her own climax erupted. Ramming into her hot cunt, his throbbing knob battering her young cervix, his balls slapping her tight buttocks, he rode the bucking filly with a vengeance.

Grinding her inflamed cunt hard against Angela’s mouth, Rebecca reached her shuddering climax, her young body glowing, alive with perverted sex as she wailed in her coming. Licking, sucking, fucking, the room resounding with screams of orgasm, this really was what Fannymead was all about!

Balforth finally finished his cervical pummelling, draining his balls for the second time as he watched Angela lick the sensitive brown tissue surrounding Rebecca’s anal entrance. Wet the hole for the mole! he thought speculatively, praying for his penis to find the strength to penetrate the girl’s arse.

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“Attention, attention!” Bentley cried impatiently over the Tannoy as Balforth slipped his spent cock out of Angela’s bubbling sex sheath. “Balforth, report to my office this instant!” “Silly old sod!” Balforth chuckled, wanking his penis to another erection.

Kneeling astride Angela’s succulent breasts, he presented his bulbous knob to Rebecca’s inviting bottom-hole. Holding his shaft, he pushed, his knob gliding into the girl’s tight anal duct to the accompaniment of her gasps of pleasure. His balls resting on Angela’s chin as she lapped the juices flowing from her friend’s burning cunt, Balforth began his anal fucking, driving his tool in and out of Rebecca’s beautiful arsehole.

“God, you’re tight!” he breathed, eyeing the delicate brown tissue stretched tautly around his veined shaft as he fucked her. “There’s nothing like a good arse fuck!” “You’ll split me open!” the girl cried as her clitoris pulsated beneath her friend’s sweeping tongue. “God, you’re bloody huge!”

Fired by the compliment, Balforth grabbed the girl’s hips and increased his rhythm, repeatedly driving his weapon deep into her bowels and withdrawing until her brown ring hugged his swollen glans. His lower belly slapping her taut buttocks, his swinging balls smacking Angela’s chin, he grimaced as his sensed his spunk course up his shaft and explode from his pulsating knob.

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“Jesus!” he gasped as her anal tube tightened around his penis. “God, you’re a tight-arsed bitch!” “Coming!” the girl wailed as Angela mouthed and sucked on her pulsating clitoris, bringing out her climax. “Oh, my arse, my clit!”

Finally stilling his spent cock, his knob embedded deep within the panting girl’s bowels, Balforth grinned as Angela took his balls into her hot, cunny-juiced mouth. The brazen young hussies were a right pair of nymphos! he reflected dreamily as the dynamic blonde nibbled away at her meaty morsels. His cock roosting snugly in the hot depths of one little beauty as the other serviced him, he could have happily stayed that way all day. But Rebecca had other, more perverse, ideas.

Deftly slipping Balforth’s awakening cock out of her tight arsehole, she climbed off the bed and staggered to the corner of the room. Watching as she took a leather belt from the dressing table, Balforth’s dark eyes widened.

“Get off her!” Rebecca instructed him, running the belt through her hand. “Turn over, Angela!” Balforth stood meekly by the bed as obediently, the young blonde lay on her stomach, her pert buttocks projected. “That’s a good girl! Now you can have what you really like!”

Raising the menacing instrument of pleasure above her head, Rebecca brought it down, a loud crack resounding around the room as the harsh hide struck the girl’s tensed arse orbs. Yelping as the thin leather repeatedly struck her bum cheeks, the

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weals of masochism fanning out across her taut flesh, she dug her fingernails into the quilt as again and again, she raised her buttocks to meet the beautiful belt.

Balforth watched with increasing excitement as the belt continued to crack across the girl’s crimsoning anal globes, taking her to some unknown heights of sexual satisfaction. Her bulging cunt lips clearly visible between her parted thighs, Balforth gazed at the vaginal juices flowing from her hot sex duct. Greedily licking his lips, he decided to drink from her honeypot once the lesbian thrashing was over.

“Attention, attention!” Over the cracks of the belt, Bentley’s voice resounded again over the Tannoy. “Staff announcement, staff announcement! Balforth, unless you report to my office within two minutes, you’ll be dismissed!”

Reluctantly pulling his trousers on, Balforth decided that it was Bentley’s turn for appeasement. His rampant lust for young girls was more than satisfied for the time being. Besides, he could always pop back later, he thought, opening the chalet door as the unangelic Angela screamed with the exquisite cocktail of pain and pleasure permeating her quivering young body. He could always pop back later - and fuck them both rotten!

“Hey!” Dickie Dubious called from the shadows as Balforth stole away from the chalet. “Bastard! You made me jump!” Balforth gasped. “Sorry, mate. Guess what?” “What?”

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“Old Bentley’s banned the bluecoats from wearing skirts! He told them to wear trousers and they’ve gone fucking mental, threatening to strike.” “What the hell’s got into the old man?” Balforth asked as they passed the Hot Jungle Juice Bar and approached the main building. “He’s gone off his rocker.” “There’s more. He’s about to announce his latest idiotic rule - no double beds in the chalets.” “Bollocks, no double beds?” “He doesn’t want anyone having sex in the camp and he thinks he’ll put a stop to it by having only single-bedded chalets.” “I’d better go and have a word with him before he cracks up and decides to ban everyone from the camp! I’ll see you later.” “OK, mate.”

Knocking on Bentley’s door, Balforth tentatively entered the office, apprehensive about his mood and intrigued as to whether he’d actually caught the padre in his unholy sexual act with Sylvia. Closing the door, he waited as the major finished scribbling something furiously in the incidents book.

“Balforth, where the hell have you been?” Bentley finally growled, looking up from his desk, his beady eyes staring accusingly over his gold-rimmed glasses. “Er ... I was indecently exposed ... I was indisposed, sir.” “Indecently indisposed? Good grief, I’ve been calling you over the Tannoy! And I’ve had members of staff out searching for you.” “Yes, I’m sorry, sir. The padre ... Did you, er ...”

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“The padre unlocked the chapel doors and explained that he’d been conducting an exorcism. There was a poor woman in there possessed by the Devil.” “Caressed by the Devil? How nice for her! Did you see the woman, sir?” “Yes, she was sitting in the shadows with a shawl around her. Enough about that, Balforth - where have you been?” “Er ... Out and about, sir.” “Out and about?” “Here and there.” “Where?” “In and out, so to speak.” “I do wish you’d stop disappearing, it unnerves me. It’s been brought to my attention that you thrust your hand up ...” “I hear that you’ve banned the wearing of skirts by the bluecoats, sir.” “Yes, they’ll all be wearing trousers from now on. The reason for the new rule is that you have an unhealthy desire to lift Miss Perennial’s skirt up and pull her knickers down, Balforth. Not to mention thrusting your hand up her skirt! The only way to curb your disgusting behaviour is by having the bluecoats wear trousers.” “But, sir, I didn’t pull ...” “It’s no good denying it! Which reminds me, did you switch the Tannoy on when you were last in here?” “The Tannoy? No, not me, sir.” “I don’t believe you, Balforth! It was a highly embarrassing situation, the campers hearing my intimate conversation with Miss Perennial.” “Yes, I was listening. I do wish she’d stop fantasising about me, sir. As if I’d pull her knickers down! Good God, the very idea is ...”

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“I’m determined to get to the bottom of the matter, Balforth.” “Get to the bottom of the matter!” Balforth laughed. “The bottom ...” “For God’s sake, grow up, man!” “Er ... Yes, of course, sir. I hear that you’re doing away with double beds.” “That’s right. I don’t want anyone having sex in the camp, it’s a disgusting way to behave. Returning to the subject of Miss Perennial’s knickers, unless they’re returned to her, I’ll ...”

Shouting coming from outside the building, Bentley leaped up from his desk and peered through the open window. Joining him, Balforth grinned, gazing at a group of young men shinning up a drainpipe onto the roof of the amusement arcade.

“Get out there and find out what’s going on!” Bentley barked, slamming the window shut. “They’re probably admiring the view from the roof, sir.” “Admiring the ... Get out there and demand that they come down this instant!” “Bollocks, I’m off duty!” Balforth complained, checking his watch. “You’re never off duty! And don’t use that foul word in my presence!” Bentley returned, grabbing the microphone and switching the Tannoy on.

Shaking his head, Balforth wondered what on earth the old man was going to announce this time. As if he hasn’t caused enough problems! he reflected, rubbing his chin as he reached into his pocket for his Marlborough. Replacing the packet as Bentley scowled at him, he waited in anticipation for the announcement.

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“Attention, attention!” Bentley growled. “Unless the uncouth yobbos climbing onto the roof of the amusement arcade come down this instant, they’ll be evicted from their chalets and frogmarched from the camp!”

The shouting and jeering growing louder, Balforth slipped out of the office unnoticed. Not relishing the prospect of another riot, he decided to repair to his chalet for a well-earned rest - or a well-fucked rest! Pondering on returning to the young lesbians for another session of perverted sex as he walked down the corridor, he stopped as he heard the main door open.

Darting into Dickie’s office as Miss Perennial marched into the building, he thought it might be interesting to eavesdrop on her conversation with the boss. Creeping down the corridor as the young woman entered Bentley’s office, he pressed his ear to the door.

“Yes, the Tannoy’s switched off,” Bentley reassured her. “Sir, I have to report another incident,” Miss Perennial began. “I know about the yobs on the roof.” “It’s not about that, sir. It’s the female bluecoats, they’ve taken to ... They’re in the bingo hall and ... They’ve decided not to wear skirts.” “Good, I thought they’d see sense in the end! I’m always right, Miss Perennial, remember that.” “Yes, sir, but ... They’re not wearing skirts - or trousers.” “You mean to say ...” “Yes, I do, sir.”

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“The wanton hussies! You’ll have to deal with them, Miss Perennial. After all, you are the Supervising Bluecoat.”

Grinning, Balforth ran gleefully down the corridor in search of the bluecoats to take a good look at their bulging panties. Things were certainly looking up at Fannymead! he mused, dashing across the Pirate’s Courtyard to the bingo hall. Hurrying inside, he stared in disbelief at half-a-dozen bluecoats who were causing a stir as they minced about in their knickers and suspenders.

“It’s disgusting!” an ugly, overweight matron cried, ordering her

ogling

husband to leave the hall. “We’re protesting!” one of the attractive young bluecoats returned. “Get ‘em off!” the bingo caller chuckled into the microphone.

Rubbing his chin as the hall became divided into opposing factions - for the girls not wearing skirts and those disgusted by the blatant exhibitionism - Balforth wondered where it would all end. God, here we go! he thought as Dickie swaggered into the hall and came over to him, grinning as he eyed the girls’ alluring panties.

“Hey, Balforth, this is a bit of all right!” he chuckled. “I reckon we should have a Biggest Clitoris competition.” “There’s going to be trouble,” Balforth warned pensively, gazing at the two factions grouping either side of the hall. “There are men on the roof of the amusement arcade and ...”

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“They’re protesting because the place has been closed down. Wait a minute, I have an idea!”

Watching Dickie make his way to the platform and grab the microphone from the bingo caller, Balforth sensed a crisis nearing. Dickie calling for quiet among the masses, Balforth cringed as, baton under his arm, Major Bentley marched into the hall and stood to attention, his beady eyes glued to the platform.

“All those for the bluecoats not wearing skirts vote for me, Dickie Dubious!” “Dickie! Dickie! Dickie!” the excited crowd to the left of the hall chanted. “Bars and amusement arcade open all night, strip shows and topless barmaids are what you’ll get if I win this election!” “Dickie! Dickie! Dickie!” “And if I win,” Bentley growled, pushing Dickie aside and grabbing the microphone. “If I win, there’ll be no drinking, no smoking, no gambling, no louts and yobbos, no sex, and decently dressed bluecoats for starters!” “Bentley! Bentley! Bentley!” the right half of the hall chanted as Balforth beat a hasty retreat.

Wandering across the Pirate’s Courtyard, he sank onto on a bench and lit another cigarette. With the campers dividing, there were going to be real problems, he knew. Number Two Dining Hall had been wrecked, and it was only a matter of time before ...

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“Good, God!” Balforth gasped as the men on the roof of the amusement arcade tore the corrugated sheeting off. Watching in amazement as the sheeting crashed to the ground, he decided that it was time for bed. “Just another day at Fannymead Mental Camp!” he chuckled, dashing behind the Hot Jungle Juice Bar and heading fast for his chalet.

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Chapter Four

R

esting his elbows on his desk, Bentley stared intently at the attractive young woman sitting opposite him. Wringing her hands, tears streaming down her

flushed cheeks, she took a deep breath.

“It was awful!” she sobbed. “I was sitting on the toilet and ... and I felt something wet splattering the top of my head.” “I’m sure the roof doesn’t leak. Besides, there’s been no rain of late.” “I looked up and saw a man’s penis sticking through the small window above the toilet.” “Good God!” Bentley breathed, unable to find anything more appropriate to say. “The man’s hand was ... was playing with his penis. His ... his sperm landed all over my face!” “This is unbelievable! Never have I heard of anything so crude!” “I was so distressed that I ran out of the toilet screaming.” “Did you see the man?” “No, but there was a ladder at the window.” “I really don’t know what to say, apart from apologize most profusely.” “I ... I want to go home.” “Yes, yes of course. Er ... I’ll get our Supervising Bluecoat to make the arrangements.” “I also want the police called in.” “The police? Er ... I really don’t think it necessary to ...” 97

“I want the pervert arrested!” “Yes, I quite understand. Look, go to your chalet and take a rest and I’ll send our Supervising Bluecoat over to talk to you.” “All right, I’m in chalet twenty-six. But I still want the police called in.”

Finishing breakfast, Balforth left Number One Dining Hall and made his way to Bentley’s office, gazing at the damaged arcade roof as he approached the main building. After the trouble of the previous night, Bentley would be in a foul mood, he knew. But he had to go to the usual morning meeting to discuss the day’s events, and would endeavour to make the most of it by having some fun.

“Where the hell did you get to last night?” Bentley asked irritably as Balforth sauntered into the office. “I went to bed, sir,” Balforth grinned, winking at Miss Perennial who immediately moved to the window to keep her distance from him. “As most people do every night, I had a quick frig and then went to sleep.” “A quick frig? My God, Balforth! I have never ...” “A quick cig, ciggie, cigarette.” “Oh, I see. How on earth could you go to sleep leaving the campers in a state of riot?” “They’re on a diet, sir?” “I said, riot! You never cease to amaze me, Balforth.” “Seemingly not, sir. All I can do is apologize most profusely for sleeping during the night. Perhaps I should read Teach Yourself Nocturnality.” “Don’t be sarcastic, Balforth! Where were you this morning?”

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“I got up, had breakfast, and then came here, sir.” “You’ve not been up a ladder?” “Up a ladder, sir?” “Yes, a ladder.” “No, I haven’t. Should I have been?” “Of course not! Now that you’re here, I’ll enlighten you as to the result of my brilliant intervention in the rioting last night. I managed to calm the scum of the earth by opening the amusement arcade. The roof will have to be ...” “You gave in again, sir?” Balforth tittered. “I did not give in, Balforth!” “No, of course you didn’t.” “I used tact, diplomacy and ...” “Savoir-faire, sir.” “Savoir ... Shut up, Balforth! Miss Perennial, before Balforth arrived you mentioned unease among the kitchen rebels ... I mean, staff.” “The head cook, Mrs Battlement, wants her supply of sherry reinstated, sir. She says that she can’t make trifles without sherry.” “No, and she can’t get drunk, either! I’ll not have the kitchen staff perpetually inebriated, Miss Perennial.” “No, sir. I did point out that two cases of cooking sherry every day was rather a lot to get through.” “Quite right, Miss Perennial. Make a mental note to remind me to have a word with the head cook.” “Yes, sir. By the way, I’ve informed the bluecoats of your decision to allow them to wear skirts.”

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“Even though I say it myself, it was an excellent decision.” “Another concession, sir?” Balforth tittered. “Shut up, Balforth! Miss Perennial, after our meeting I’d like you to go over to chalet twenty-six and see a young woman. She’s been most distressed by ... by an incident that took place in the female toilets earlier.” “Yes, of course, sir.” “She’ll tell you what happened. Oh, and try and dissuade her from calling the police.” “The police? Whatever happened to her, sir?” “Er ... She’ll explain when you see her. Next on this morning’s agenda is ... Balforth, are you with us?”

Lazily admiring a young girl’s thonged buttocks as she gyrated past the window, Balforth was imagining slipping his penis deep into her tight anal sheath and shooting his spunk into her hot bowels. It was high time he screwed a few more young girls, he reflected, his hand in his trouser pocket, massaging his swollen knob. Climbing ladders and wanking through toilet windows was fun, but sperming up young girls’ bottom-holes was infinitely more rewarding!

“Balforth!” Bentley reprimanded him impatiently. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir. Er ... I was dreaming about a randy young ... I was just thinking about the election, wondering how I can be of most use to you during the campaign.”

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“The election campaign comes later on the agenda. And you can be of most use at the moment by paying attention. Right, where was I? Oh, yes, the next item on this morning’s agenda is ...”

Bentley shook his head despairingly as Dickie Dubious burst into the office looking as if he’d been on a three-day bender. His tie crooked, his shirt unbuttoned and creased, his ginger hair dishevelled, the colourful young entertainments man looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.

“Dubious, what time do you call this?” Bentley growled. “Er ... Cor blimey! Is it that time already?” “What time, Dubious?” “What?” “Is it what time already?” “Er ... the time it is, sir. Thinking about it, it’s always the time it is, if you get my drift.” “And what time is it?” “That time. As I said, is it that time already?” “Don’t be ridiculous, man! Now, pay attention - and that goes for you, too, Balforth. Next on the agenda is ...”

As Bentley droned on, Balforth was suddenly taken with a wicked idea. Slowly turning to face Miss Perennial, and out of Bentley’s sight, he discreetly unzipped his trousers and hauled his penis out. Pulling his foreskin back as the

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vulnerable bluecoat caught his gaze, he winked and nodded his head, indicating for her to look down.

“Sir!” Miss Perennial cried as she lowered her eyes and stared in horror at Balforth’s granite-hard veined shaft, his glistening purple knob. “Sir, Balforth’s got his thing out!” “Got his what out?” Bentley barked as Balforth quickly concealed his plaything within his trousers. “His wizzle, sir!” the hysterical young woman screamed, before passing out. “Good grief!” Bentley gasped, eyeing the tight red material covering Perennial’s luscious labia as she lay comatose on the floor. “Balforth, did you ...” “Bollocks! I mean, of course I didn’t, sir!” Balforth retorted. “As if I’d do such a thing in your office, or anywhere else, for that matter! The woman’s obviously sexually demented.” “Why has she fainted, then?” “I really have no idea, sir. She seems to have a propensity to fainting.” “She has a what?” “She has a tendency to faint, sir. She’s inclined to ...” “Shut up, Balforth! You and your ruddy big words! Anyway, I don’t believe you! The way you’ve been behaving lately, it wouldn’t surprise me if you pulled your thing out and ...” “Oh, that reminds me, sir,” Balforth interrupted. “The doctor would like to see you.” “Why, what’s wrong with me?”

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Rampant senile dementia! “Er ... He didn’t say. Actually, he wouldn’t know, not having examined you.” “She has very nice thighs,” Dickie thought aloud, gazing between Perennial’s splayed legs. “Dubious, I will not tolerate such vulgar comments uttered in my presence!” “Sorry, sir.” “Show some decency and pull her skirt down! Where are your morals?” “In my trousers, sir.” “Was that supposed to be funny?” “I was merely answering your question, sir. My laurels are in my trousers I’m resting on them.” “Shut up and pull Miss Perennial’s skirt down.” “Yes, sir.”

Balforth rubbed his chin, humming softly as he watched Dickie yank Perennial’s skirt down to her ankles, exposing her lacy black suspender belt, the smooth skin of her flat stomach. Sitting at his desk and going through his notes, Bentley didn’t notice as Dickie pulled the woman’s panties to one side, exposing her bulging vaginal lips, her alluring, pink sex slit. Sniggering as Dickie sneaked off, Balforth held his hand to his mouth, doing his best not to guffaw as the young woman came round and opened her eyes.

“Oh!” Perennial screamed as she sat up.

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“Ye gods!” Bentley gasped, leaning over the desk and focusing his disbelieving eyes on the distraught woman’s ballooning labia. “Supervising Bluecoat Perennial, what do you think you’re doing?” “Sir, I ...” she stammered, hurriedly concealing her pussy lips and tugging her skirt up. “Sir, someone must have ...” “This is disgraceful behaviour! Never have I witnessed such blatant filth in all my years as camp manager!”

As the distressed young woman leaped to her feet and fled the office in tears, Balforth burst out laughing. What a fine way to begin the day! he chortled inwardly as Bentley’s nose twitched furiously and his face reddened in his rising anger. As the fired major rose to his feet, obviously about to explode, Dickie moved to the window, doing his utmost to stifle his sniggers.

“This has gone too far!” Bentley stormed. “Which one of you pulled Miss Perennial’s skirt down and interfered with her knickers?” “You told me to pull her skirt down, sir,” Dickie replied innocently as Balforth tittered in the corner. “I didn’t mean literally, you damned fool!” “Then, what did you mean? You’ve always told us to take your instructions literally, follow them to the letter.” “I meant ... You know very well what I meant!” Slamming himself down irritably at his desk, Bentley pulled the incidents book out of the drawer and opened it at the page headed Staff Conduct Record. “Two conduct marks, Dubious!” he growled, making a note of it by Dickie’s name.

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“But, sir ...” “Three conduct marks for insubordination! Working with you two is like working with a couple of delinquent schoolboys! Never in my life have I come across such incompetent, childish idiots!”

Gazing out of the window, Balforth began humming, wondering whether they’d ever see Miss Perennial again. The flashing incident was rather good, he reflected, wishing he’d thought of it before. Wondering whether he could somehow arrange for Perennial to catch him wanking, shooting his spunk all over the floor, he turned and faced the desk as Bentley gathered up his notes and cleared his throat.

“We’d better adjourn this morning’s meeting,” the major said grumpily, pulling his watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “We’ll resume as and when Miss Perennial recovers from her dreadful ordeal. Dubious, what entertainment events are planned for today?” “Kill The Rat Race, sir.” “Kill the ...” “There are rats behind the kitchens, by the dustbins. I’m supplying the kiddies with pump-action air rifles. The one who bags the most rats wins.” “What about sub machine guns?” Balforth tittered. “The kiddies would have far more fun ...” “There’ll be no such event!” Bentley stormed. “I was only joking, sir,” Dickie smiled. “This morning, it’s the Fattest Grumpy Granny competition followed by Smelliest Hairy Armpit ...”

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“There’s something very wrong with you, Dubious - and that goes for you too, Balforth.” “May I be excused, sir?” Balforth asked, holding his crotch and wiggling about. “Yes, yes if you have to!”

Gyrating from the room, Balforth breezed down the corridor planning his next prank. The morning sun hot as he wandered across the Pirate’s Courtyard, he decided to ogle the bikini-clad teenaged girls who’d be sunbathing by the boating lake. I might even pull! he thought optimistically, his hands in his pockets manipulating his ever-ready penis.

Noticing Miss Perennial enter the wooded area as he approached the lake, Balforth reckoned that the time had come for another one of his little tricks. Dashing past the sunbathing beauties, he crept into the woods, wondering what Perennial was up to. Observing her disappear behind a tree, he quietly trod his way towards her and hid behind a bush.

“Please, God,” she was beseeching earnestly, her hands clasped before her closed eyes as she knelt in the undergrowth. “Please make Major Bentley fall in love with me! I promise to be a good Christian and ...” “My child,” Balforth whispered in his best celestial tone. “My child, I am come unto you in your time of need.” “Oh! Who’s that?” the startled woman cried, looking about her. “I am the Lord and I will come over you ... I mean, I have come unto you.”

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“Oh, dear! Er ... I don’t know what to say.” “Verily, I say unto you, before Major Bentley takes you as his woman in lust ... Er, his woman in love - you must learn the ways of women.” “The ways of women?” “You must awaken your sexuality.” “Oh, but how ...” “You must experience the great gift of orgasm before you offer yourself completely to the man you love.” “How ... how do I do that?” “You must frig ... You must masturbate vigorously.” “I can’t!” “Bollocks, you must! Heed my words, Miss Perennial! Masturbate for forty days and forty nights and the major will be yours.”

As the traumatized young woman keeled over in shock, Balforth leaped out from behind the bush and knelt by her side. Tugging her knickers down and slipping them over her ankles, he looked about him and grabbed a large round stone. “This’ll awaken your cunt for starters!” he chuckled, easing the stone between her full pussy lips and pushing it deep into her virginal sex sheath.

Sniggering at his crude ingenuity, Balforth slipped Perennial’s pussy-damp knickers into his pocket and crept away, wondering whether she’d take to frigging her clitty to orgasm as she lay in her bed at night. Deciding to drill a hole in her chalet wall so that he could witness her unholy masturbation sessions, he emerged from the woods to linger by the scantily-clad beauties sprawled out on the grass by the lake.

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Surprised by Perennial’s incredible naivety, he wondered whether he should pretend to be the Lord again and instruct her to enter Bentley’s office naked. Just how gullible was she? he pondered as he saw her emerging from the woods.

Slipping behind the boathouse, he watched the troubled bluecoat make her way awkwardly across the grass, looking every inch as if she was carrying the weight of the world in her cunt. The stone would be massaging her inner cuntal flesh, he thought evocatively, watching her wiggle her hips, obviously aware that something was dreadfully wrong on the southern front. Time to pounce and have some more fun! he decided.

“Ah, Miss Perennial,” Balforth smiled, dashing from his hide and walking by her side. “Are you all right?” “Yes, I’m ... I’m perfectly all right - no thanks to you! What you did in the major’s office was most vile and ...” “I thought it was bloody brilliant! Why are you walking like that?” “I ... I’m not walking like anything! Oh, I can feel a draught up my ... Oh, where are my ... Balforth, where were you just now?” “Here and there.” “You weren’t in the woods, were you?” “No, I’ve been in the bingo hall. Why do you ask?” “Because ... No reason.” “By the way, when you were on the floor in Bentley’s office I couldn’t help but notice your lovely, fleshy cunt lips.”

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“Balforth!” “There’s something inherently wrong with women. They have all the equipment, a nice hot hole, a clitty and tits, but they don’t seem to want ...” “Balforth, please, stop it!” “I’ll bet you’re a right little sex-machine! I’d love to stick my tongue up your wet cunt and ...”

Skipping away as Miss Perennial fainted, another wicked plan forming in his murky mind, Balforth made his way to the chapel to see the padre. Finding the man of God stuffing something that looked remarkably like a blow-up sex doll beneath the altar, he crept down the aisle.

“Padre!” he yelled, making the man of the cloth jump. “Oh, Balforth! Er, how are you?” the flustered cleric spluttered, his face flushing with embarrassment as he flattened the front of his tenting cassock with his palms. “I’m fine. How’s the woman who was possessed by the Devil?” “Possessed? I don’t know what you’re ... Oh, er ... Yes, she’s fine.” “I was wondering whether I could borrow Sylvia?” “Er ... Who’s Sylvia?” “Your blow-up sex doll, more commonly known as your late auntie.” “Oh! She’s not mine, Balforth.” “Yes she is! Look, all I want to do is borrow her for a while.” “She’s not here. The police returned her and I gave her a bloody good laying ... I mean, I laid her out and buried her. Thrashes to thrashes, lust to lust ...”

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“Bollocks, she’s beneath the altar.” “Bollocks, she’s not.” “Bollocks, she is.” “She’s bloody not!” “She bloody is!” “Oh, I remember now! Yes, she bloody is.” “Let me have her for an hour or so.” “Have her? That’s obscene! Of course you can’t have her, Balforth!” “Borrow her, not fuck her.” “Oh, right. You’re sure you won’t ... Well, you know, do anything to her.” “Guide’s honour. Dib, dib, dib - knob, knob, knob.” “You must look after her, Balforth. The last time she was in your hands you attempted to drown her and then viciously stabbed her through her left breast with a long twig.” “I’ll look after her, I promise.”

Crawling beneath the altar to retrieve God’s unholy image, the padre kissed her mouth tenderly before reluctantly handing her over. “Be a good girl, Sylvia,” he called as Balforth took a huge candle from the altar and scurried up the aisle. Leaving the chapel, he slipped behind the west chalets and discreetly made his way round the back of the Hot Jungle Juice Bar to Bentley’s office window.

Peering through to see his boss with Miss Perennial, he grinned as his evil plan formulated in his perverted mind. With Bentley installed at his desk

and

Perennial standing facing the window, the scene was strategically set. Perennial

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hadn’t seen the doll before and would believe it to be a real woman, Balforth mused triumphantly, slipping the candle deep into Sylvia’s pliable pussy.

His timing perfect as the impressionable young woman looked up, he crouched beneath the window and lifted the doll up by its ankles, the candle blatantly emerging from its gaping vaginal slit.

“Oh, sir!” Perennial screamed before swooning. “Whatever is the matter?” Bentley exclaimed as Balforth lay the plundered puppet down and spied through the window. Eyeing the young woman’s bulging pussy lips as she lay sprawled out on the floor, Bentley held his hand to his mouth. “Good grief, where are your knickers?” he cried aghast.

Kneeling beside her lifeless form, Bentley cautiously looked about his office before lifting the woman’s skirt up. His eyes wide with disbelief, Balforth watched the old boy gaze longingly at her knickerless pussy, the soft hillocks of her succulent cunny lips below the gentle rise of her mons veneris.

You never know your luck!

he thought incredulously as Bentley parted

Perennial’s fleshy vaginal lips and examined her inner sex folds. Slipping his finger into the woman’s vagina, Bentley frowned. The good old days - stone-age woman! Balforth tittered gleefully. He could scarcely contain his mirth as he watched the bewildered major try and force a second finger into Perennial’s sabotaged sex duct, stretching her voluptuous outer pussy lips until her clitoris was fully exposed. Oh for a camera! he thought, imagining blackmailing the ravaging major.

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The ringing phone sending Bentley scurrying back to his desk, Balforth hid the doll beneath a bush and hurriedly made his way to the office, hoping that Perennial would still be out cold when he arrived. Knocking on the office door, he wondered what other schoolboyish pranks to play to liven up his day.

“Oh, what’s happened to Hardy Perennial?” Balforth exclaimed as Bentley replaced the receiver and looked up. “Er ... She fainted, seemingly for no reason.” “How odd. Sir, might I suggest that we ...” “Oh, sir!” Perennial wailed as she opened her eyes and staggered to her feet. “There was a naked woman at the window with a ... with a candle ...” “At the window?” Bentley frowned. “Yes, sir. It was disgusting! She had a candle up her ...” “I didn’t see anyone,” Bentley countered, moving to the window and looking outside. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” “I’m not, sir! There was a naked woman with a candle up her ...” “I really think you should visit the camp doctor for psychiatric tests,” Balforth grinned. “Are you suggesting that I’m mad?” Perennial shrilled. “Not mad, exactly. But you’ve had several weird fantasies recently, and now you’re seeing things. Hallucinations, that’s what they are. You’re not on dope, are you?” “Of course I’m not!” “Why do you keep wiggling about, do you need the toilet?”

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“No, I ... I think I will go and see the doctor.” “Yes, go to the camp doctor,” Bentley said pensively, watching the woman gyrating her hips. “Balforth will escort you.” “I don’t need an escort, sir,” Perennial asserted as she hurriedly left the office. “I’ll be going, sir,” Balforth said, desperate to chase after his prey to taunt her further. “You were going to suggest something, Balforth,” Bentley said, sniffing his cunny-wet finger. “It was nothing important, sir. Why is your finger wet?” “Er ... It’s not wet.” “It looks wet to me, sir. Sort of creamy-wet.” “Get out of here, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Scurrying down the corridor and out of the building, Balforth could see no sign of his quarry. Scratching his head, he made his way over to the doctor’s surgery, rubbing his hands together gleefully as he noticed Miss Perrenial knocking on the surgery door. Dashing to the rear of the building, he crouched beneath the open surgery window, hoping to eavesdrop on her intimate conversation with the doctor.

“An uncomfortable feeling?” the medic was probing. “Yes, a sort of filling sensation in my pelvis.” “Are you up the duff? I mean, are you pregnant?” “Of course I’m not!” “All right, hop onto the couch and I’ll take a look up you ... At you.”

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“You’re not going to look at my ... my ...” “I have to, Miss Perennial. An internal fertilization ... examination is uncall ... called for.” “Oh, but ...” “No buts, open wide and say ‘oh, Doctor, that’s so nice!’” “Pardon?” “Just open your legs, Miss Perennial.”

On his knees, Balforth spied through the open window, grinning as the doctor donned a rubber glove and slipped his fingers deep into Perennial’s gaping vagina. Almost beside himself with the fun to come, he tried to take a grip on himself as he listened attentively.

“That’s odd,” the doctor murmured meditatively. “Am I all right?” Perennial asked anxiously, lifting her head and focusing on her splayed vaginal lips as the doctor delved deeper into her open canal. “There’s something ... Ah, that’s got it! My God!” he gasped, examining the steaming, dripping stone. “Miss Perennial, why on earth did you ...” “Oh! How did that get there?” the startled mouse squeaked. “Don’t you know?” “I have no idea!” “Someone must have put it there.” “Balforth!”

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Lounging against the wall, Balforth lit a cigarette and pondered on the situation. With no proof of his involvment, there was nothing Perennial could do, he reflected. She might report the incident to Bentley, but the matter wouldn’t be taken further. Bentley was already beginning to believe that the unfortunate woman was mentally disturbed, and if she mentioned the stone he’d have the doctor certify her criminally insane!

“Ah, Major Bentley,” the doctor said brightly, breaking Balforth’s reverie. A stroke of luck! Balforth mused gleefully. “Good morning, Doctor. You wanted to see me?” “Yes, sit down, Major.” “What’s this all about?” “Just a simple test, Major. What do you see in front of you?” “A banana.” “And what does it remind you of?” “Er ... My mother.” “And now?” “Two oranges.” “What do they bring to mind?” “My mother.” “Most interesting! How’s the election campaign going?” “Very well. I’m compiling a dossier ... I’d better not say too much.” “No, I quite understand. What does this peanut remind you of?” “It reminds me of my mother.” “Did you ever have a desperate urge to murder your father?”

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“No, why do you ask?” “Have you ever thought of making love to your mother?” “Good grief! Of course I haven’t!” “Not even a teeny, weeny bit?” “Never! Why are you asking me ...” “Eat-o-puss Rex, Major.”

Creeping away before he burst out laughing, Balforth decided to take the opportunity to rummage through Bentley’s desk drawers. A dossier, he ruminated, crossing the Pirate’s Courtyard. The old boy had always made a point of allowing no one to enter his office unless he was present, and Balforth wondered what the big secret was. Perhaps he’s got a drawer full of dirty mags?

Slipping into the office, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out a red folder marked Top Secret. “Typical!” he chuckled, opening the folder. Noticing Perennial’s name, he read the entry beside it. “Age: 28. Qualifications: 3 A levels, 9 GCSEs. Boring,” he muttered, turning the page. “Ah, this is more like it! Election manifesto notes! West chalets for female campers, east for male. Couples to show marriage certificates before being allowed entry into the camp. All campers to supply references and proof of higher education. God, he’s stark, raving bonkers!” Balforth chortled, flicking the page over.

“Balforth, what are you doing?” Miss Perennial demanded as she stole into the room. “You’re not allowed to enter Major Bentley’s private office!”

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Grinning, Balforth placed the folder in the drawer. “Bollocks, I have no intention of entering Major Bentley’s private orifice! I’m no homosexual!” he chuckled, moving to the door and turning the key. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone, Hardy.” “Balforth, if you dare to ...” “Show me your tits.” “Balforth!” “Oh, come on, Hardy, don’t be such a prude! Would you like me to suck your nipples?” “I’m warning you, Balforth!” “Are you really? Good God, how absolutely amazing! I know, why don’t I get my cock out and have a good old wank and spunk all over your sexy cunt lips?”

Unzipping his flies, Balforth dragged his penis out and began to masturbate. Momentarily mesmerised by the sight of his swollen purple knob, his solid, veined shaft, Miss Perennial gave a shrill cry before collapsing to the floor in a heap of limbs. Chuckling, Balforth continued wanking, hoping that the minute she came to she’d witness his spunk shooting through the air like an unholy dove.

“Come on, baby!” he urged his penis, masturbating faster as his mighty knob swelled. “Let’s show Hardy what we’re made of!” Eyeing Perennial’s smooth thighs, her knickerless pussy, he wanked faster, his orgasm nearing as she finally opened her eyes and sat up. “Here it comes!” Balforth cried as his spunk jetted, landing on the carpet by the horrified woman. “Ah, lovely spunk!” “Oh, mummy!”

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Flaking out again, Miss Perennial lay spreadeagled on the carpet, her naked cunt blatantly displayed as Balforth brought out the last of his jism. “God, I needed that!” he breathed, concealing his dripping cock in his trousers. “She won’t forget that in a hurry!” Quickly leaving the scene of the crude crime, he slipped into Dickie’s office as Bentley entered the building and strode down the corridor.

What a cock-up! he cursed realising that Bentley would find the fresh, incriminating evidence. Dashing out of the building and rapidly formulating a plan as the major entered his office, he sprinted to the chapel and grabbed the padre by his cassock.

“I’ve been in here all the time, OK?” he said threateningly. “But you’ve only just arrived! Where’s my Sylvia?” “I’m holding her hostage. Unless you lie to the old man, I’ll do her in.” “I can’t lie, I’m a man of God!” “Bollocks, a man of the Devil, more like! I’ll cut Sylvia’s tits off unless you ...” “All right, all right! You surprise me, Balforth, I thought you were a decent chap.” “I am, Padre, but I’m in serious trouble and I need your help. Sanitary ... Sanctuary, that’s what I need.” “Why, what have you done?” “Wanked in front of Hardy Perennial and spunked all over Bentley’s office carpet.”

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“Why did you do that?” “Because I have deep-seated sexual problems. OK, ring Bentley and say that you’re sorry for delaying me but I’ve been helping you in the chapel.” “All right,” the defeated deviant conceded as Balforth released him.

Following the padre into the vestry, Balforth leaned in the doorway, listening intently as the cleric rang Bentley. His lies flowing exemplarily for a so-called man of God, he convinced the suspicious major that Balforth had been in the chapel for some time, helping to console a woman possessed by a nymphomaniacal witch who’d been beheaded several hundred years ago.

“He wants to see you right away,” the relieved padre imparted as he replaced the receiver. “OK, thanks.” “What about Sylvia?” “I’ll bring her back later!” Balforth called, bounding down the aisle and out of the chapel.

What with Perennial’s fantasising and hallucinations, and accusations of his wanton wanking, Bentley would believe the woman to be totally insane, he mused gleefully as he headed for the old boy’s office.

Noticing smoke billowing from Number Two Dining Hall as he crossed the Pirate’s Courtyard, he chuckled. Deciding not to raise the alarm, he entered the main

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building and knocked on Bentley’s door. There’s nothing like a fire to brighten up the day - and smouldering evidence of Perennial madness!

“Come!” Bentley called authoritatively. I just have! “You wanted to see me, sir?” Balforth smiled, ambling into the room. “Balforth, some vile and most disturbing news has just reached me.” “Really, sir? How absolutely fascinating.” “It’s not at all fascinating! Miss Perennial has informed me that you masturbated in front of her.” “Wank ...” “Balforth, curb your foul language!” “I was about to say, frankly, I find her accusations ...” “Did you or did you not masturbate in front of her?” “As if I’d do such a beaut ... bestial thing! When did this alleged act of male masturbation take place, sir?” “About five minutes ago, here, in my office! The poor woman’s in such a state of severe shock, she’s taken to her bed.” “I can assure you that this incident is out of my hands, sir. Out of my cock! I’ve been in the chapel assisting the padre.” “Yes, so he said. How do you explain that?” Bentley demanded, pointing to the conspicuously jismed red Axminster. “What is it, sir?” “It’s ... it’s the disgusting evidence of recent male masturbation terminating in a sexual climax, Balforth.”

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“Good God! I’ve never seen anything so repugnant, sir.” “Neither have I! Do you have sexual problems, Balforth?” “Certainly not! Do you?” “Don’t be ridiculous! There have been several disgusting incidents of late, Balforth.” “Really, sir?” “Yes, really! A man put his penis through a hole in a female toilet door, terrifying the occupant of the cubicle. And then a man climbed a ladder and masturbated through the toilet window, showering a young woman with ... wetting a young woman.” “Goodness me, sir! Whatever next?” “You tell me, Balforth - you tell me! And now there’s been this obscene incident in my office which has severely traumatized poor Miss Perennial.” “It would seem that we have a wanker on the loose, sir.” “Don’t be so disgusting!” “What’s digusting about a prankster, sir?” “You didn’t say that, Balforth!” “What did I say then?” “Er ...” “Sorry sir?” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Going back to Miss Perennial, I don’t know what’s got into her, sir. She seems to have it in for me, although I can’t think why. She’s accused me of pulling her knickers down, of stealing her knickers, of flashing my ... my thing at her, and now wank ... masturbating in front of her! She seems to have lost her mind.”

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“She does seem to be mentally disturbed.” “Do you think she might be a Martian, sir?” “A Martian? What are you talking about?” “I was reading about aliens the other day. They reckon that Martians have infiltrated our towns and cities and ...” “Balforth.” “Yes, sir?” “Shut up!”

Moving to the window as Bentley answered the phone, Balforth recalled leaving the blow-up doll beneath the bush. Wondering whether to flash Sylvia’s vaginal crack at Perennial through her chalet window, he noticed thick smoke drifting across the Pirate’s Courtyard. So much for Number Two Dining Hall! he thought, sniggering as he watched the flames leaping through the roof. Frying tonight!

“My God!” Bentley cried as he replaced the receiver and joined Balforth at the window. “A fire! Why didn’t you say something, man?” “You were on the phone. I thought you might consider me ill-mannered if I interrupted you,” Balforth grinned as Bentley grabbed the phone and called the fire brigade. “I’ll go and see if there’s anything I can do to fuel ... To put the fire out, sir.”

Wandering outside, Balforth sat on a bench and lit a cigarette. Watching the excited campers gather outside Number Two Dining Hall, he wondered whether the fire had been started deliberately. The scum of the earth probably did it, he mused as Bentley came blustering out of the main building in a panic.

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“Balforth, why are you sitting there relaxing when there’s a fire raging in our midst?” the major boomed. “My back aches, sir. It’s an old sexual injury.” “Your back ... Good grief, man!” “The fire’s taken quite a hold, sir!” Balforth remarked rather too excitedly as the windows shattered with the intense heat. “You seem to be pleased, Balforth. I’m beginning to wonder whether you started the fire.” “Ars ...” “Curb your foul mouth, Balforth!” “I was about to say, arson isn’t something ...” “Shut up, Balforth! I’d better go and control the scum, they’re becoming rowdy.”

Slipping away as Bentley began shouting at the campers, Balforth skulked off to Perennial’s chalet, wondering whether she was masturbating as the Lord had instructed her. It was about time the woman opened her legs and enjoyed a damned good fuck, he reflected, imagining his solid cock driving deep into her hot vagina, his knob spunking her cervix.

Outside the chalet, he peeped through the window. The young woman sleeping soundly in her bed, he tentatively tried the door handle. As the door opened and he sneaked inside, his devious mind conjured up a most stimulating scheme.

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Slipping under Perennial’s bed as the sirening fire engines awoke her, he waited with bated breath in his cramped hide.

“Whatever’s happening?” Perennial breathed in alarm as the sirens grew louder. “I am the Lord,” Balforth intoned, trying not to chortle. “Oh!” “Miss Perennial, you must frig yourself off ... I mean, you must masturbate.” “Oh, dear! Er ...” “Now! You must masturbate now!” “Well, if you’re sure that ...” “Masturbate, Miss Perennial!” “Yes, yes all right.” “Ah, women! I mean, amen!”

Hearing movements, Balforth grinned, picturing the woman’s slender fingers between her fleshy cunt lips, caressing her clitoris. The bed rocking above him, he slipped his erect penis out and began rolling his foreskin back and forth over his swollen glans.

“Oh, oh, that’s nice!” Miss Perennial cried as the bed rocked faster, the old springs creaking. “Oh, oh dear!” Nearing his climax as Perennial continued her wailing and gasping, Balforth wondered where to shoot his spunk. Noticing a pair of knickers on the floor by the bed, he grabbed them, swathing the sensuous, silk material around his solid cock.

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Reaching her climax, Miss Perennial cried out her pleasure as the bed shook violently. On and on she shrilled as her orgasm gripped her and Balforth found his own joyous rhythm beneath the bed. His spunk finally jetting from his swollen cockhead, soaking into Perennial’s knickers, he stifled his gasps as she screamed in her coming.

The bottom of the bed bouncing up and down, battering Balforth as he brought out the last of his sperm, it finally collapsed on top of him as one of the legs broke. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he groaned, sending Miss Perennial leaping across the room and cowering in the corner. Upturning the bed, the mattress flying through the air, Balforth emerged with the woman’s knickers wrapped around his cock, his spunk dripping from the abused panties.

“Balforth!” she shrieked, doing her best to cover her naked body. “Enjoy your wank, did you?” he chuckled. “I am the Lord and I have come unto you. I should say, come over your knickers!” “You are the most vile man I have ever ...” “Let me suck the girlie juice out of your wet cunt.”

Crumpling to the floor, Perennial’s delectable body lay sprawled out on the carpet. Zipping his trousers, Balforth knelt by her side and parted her swollen, sodden pussy lips. “I’ll put your knickers on for you,” he grinned. “Or, to be more politically correct, I’ll put them in you!” he cried, pushing the panties deep into her open sex hole.

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Closing her rubicund pussy lips, sealing the drenched knickers inside her wet cunt, he took a pair of scissors from the dressing table. Trimming her black pubes, sniggering as her protective pussy curls fell away, he was sure that she’d come to like her schoolgirl look-alike cunny. “Better not go all the way!” he chuckled, cutting rather too much hair off.

Taking two hairgrips from Perennial’s dressing table, he fixed them to her long nipples, wondering what she’d do when she came round and discovered her abused body. “One last thing,” he murmured, taking a lipstick tube from her make-up purse.

Parting her taut bottom cheeks, exposing her tightly closed anal entrance, he pushed the end of the tube against her delicate brown tissue. Sliding it into her rectal sheath so that it protruded between her buttocks, he was about to have another wank and splatter his spunk over her naked body when she stirred. Leaping to his feet, he opened the chalet door, checking that the coast was clear before stealing away from the puerile pillage.

Passing the toddlers’ paddling pool and joining the crowd as they watched the firemen reel their hoses up, Balforth was amused to find that Number Two Dining Hall had been completely gutted.

“Balforth!” Bentley bellowed as he steamed across the Pirate’s Courtyard, his face flushing in his obvious anger. “Balforth, where the hell have you been?”

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“Er ... I had to see the camp doctor about my back, sir,” Balforth grinned. “You’re never here when you’re needed, Balforth!” “No, I don’t seem to be, sir. I see the fire’s out.” “Yes, but the dining hall’s gutted. Good God, what Mr Burnshaw will say, I dread to think.” “Fucking hell.” “Balforth! Your language leaves me speechless!” “That’s what Mr Burnshaw will probably say, sir. Fucking hell.” “Balforth, I ...” “Did you see the camp doctor, sir?” “There’s no time for idle chat, Balforth! God only knows what we’re going to do about the gutted hall.” “We could tell Mr Burnshaw that ...” “Shut up, Balforth! Ah, here comes Miss Perennial.” “Oh, bollocks! I mean, oh, dear.” “She appears somewhat distraught. I wonder what’s happened to her now?” “Oh, Major Bentley!” Perennial wailed as she staggered across the Pirate’s Courtyard in her dressing gown. “Balforth, he ...”

Deeming it wise to slip away, Balforth lost himself in the crowd as, her face blanched with shock, the blue bluecoat sobbed her incredible story out to the major. I wonder whether she’s found her knickers? Balforth pondered, heading towards the Merrydick Bar for a quadruple scotch. Or her lipstick, for that matter!

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Chapter Five

S

itting opposite Major Bentley, Miss Perennial looked about the office nervously, wondering whether or not to tell him about the stone the doctor had

discovered during her internal examination. She knew it was Balforth who’d secreted it into her vagina, but it would be somewhat difficult to explain the circumstances what she’d been doing in the woods and why she’d fainted. Deciding to stick to the latest act of gross indecency, she looked back to the intent major.

“I was sleeping at the time, sir,” she related softly. “And you say that Balforth was beneath the bed when one of the legs broke off?” Bentley murmured pensively. “Yes, sir. He must have crept into my chalet and crawled under the bed.” “Why would he do that? I see no logical reason for Balforth to creep into your chalet while you’re sleeping and hide beneath the bed.” “I ... I don’t know.” “Whatever were you doing to cause the leg to break? Those beds are quite robust! You must have been doing something other than sleeping, Miss Perennial! I’d hazard you were jumping up and down on the bed for the leg to break off like that.” “I was asleep, sir.” “Most odd. What happened next?” “I woke up when the leg broke. I leaped off the bed, wondering what had happened, and Balforth tipped the bed over and jumped up with his ... his thing out.”

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“None of this makes sense, Miss Perennial. Balforth was beneath the bed, you were sleeping, the leg broke off, you leaped up - and then Balforth exposed himself?” “Yes. He also ... I’d fainted, and when I came round, I found my knickers in my ...” “In your what?” “Inside me, sir.” “Inside you? Had you eaten them?” “No, they were inside me, down there, sir.” “Good grief! That’s absolutely disgusting! Do you really believe it was Balforth who committed this blatant violation of your ... your secret place?” “There was no one else there so it must have been Balforth, sir.”

Bentley rose to his feet and walked to the window. Rubbing his chin, he pondered on the young woman’s latest preposterous allegation. Was she lying? he wondered. Or totally mad? Noticing several dozen campers traipsing across the Pirate’s Courtyard with their suitcases, he turned back to Miss Perennial.

“Leave it with me,” he said, moving to the Tannoy. “I’ll have a severe word with Balforth.” “Thank you, sir,” she smiled, rising to her feet. “There was one other thing, sir.” “What’s that?” “My hair ...” “Your hair looks fine to me, Miss Perennial.” “I mean my ... What shall I do about my broken leg, sir?”

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“You’ve broken your leg? I’d go straight to the doctor, if I were you.” “No, the leg on my bed.” “Oh, I see. Report it to maintenance.” “Yes, sir.”

As the troubled woman left the office, Bentley called Balforth over the Tannoy. He was determined to get to the bottom of Perennial’s relentless allegations, particularly her latest incredible claim. He was also none too pleased with the fire officer’s statement that there was no doubt whatsoever that the dining hall fire had been started deliberately.

“Come!” Bentley called, turning as Balforth knocked on the door and sauntered into the office. “Balforth, did you enter Miss Perennial’s chalet and hide beneath her bed?” “I’m rather old for hide-and-seek, sir.” “You could have fooled me! You haven’t entered her chalet, then?” “Entered her valley, sir?” “Her chalet!” “Never, sir. I’m not entirely sure which chalet is hers.” “Odd, most odd.” “Has she been fantasising again, sir?” “It would appear that way. What are the campers doing crossing the Pirate’s Courtyard with their cases?” “They’re dividing, sir.” “Dividing?”

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“Those intending to vote for Dickie are moving into the east chalets, and those intending to vote for you are occupying the west chalets.” “I don’t like divisions, Balforth. United we stand, united we ...” “There are bound to be divisions, sir. It stands to reason.” “I’ll bet this has something to do with Dickie Dubious.” “I rather think that you’ve caused the division, sir. As you said, you want to rid the camp of the scum of the earth and ...” “Shut up, Balforth! Go and snoop around. You’re my number one intelligence agent, see what you can unearth.” “Yes, sir, right away.” “And take this with you.” “What is it, a mobile phone?” “A two-way radio. You’ll carry it on your person wherever you are and whatever you’re doing.” “What ever I’m doing, sir?” “Yes, I intend to stay in communication with my senior staff at all times.” “What a good idea, sir,” Balforth grinned, holding the radio to his face. “Houston this is Apollo Thirteen, bleep!” “Grow up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Slipping the radio into his jacket pocket, Balforth left Bentley pondering on the dividing campers and went to collect Sylvia from beneath the bush. He was pretty sure that there was serious trouble ahead as he wandered outside and walked around the back of the building. With the two factions moving to the east and west chalets, he

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wondered whether the rift would widen further and ultimately get out of control. But there was nothing like a civil war! he mused happily.

Bending down and peering beneath the bush, he was surprised to find Sylvia gone. Frowning, he looked about him, scratching his head as he wondered who would have taken the doll. The padre wouldn’t be too pleased to learn that his beloved Sylvia had gone out of service, but there was little he could do about it. “She’ll probably turn up,” he muttered optimistically, wandering around the building to the Pirate’s Courtyard. Sylvia had a habit of coming - and going!

The campers were still crossing the yard in their droves with their suitcases, glaring at each other as they headed off in opposite directions. A class war, Balforth mused, rubbing his chin as he looked on. Brilliant!

“Testing, testing!” Bentley called over the radio. “Come in Balforth!” Sniggering, Balforth took his radio out of his jacket pocket and turned the volume up. “Balforth, can you hear me?” “Only just, sir.” “Is that better?” “What letter, sir?” “I said, is that better?” “No, I haven’t had a letter.” “Ye gods! Can you hear me now?” “Hear your cow, sir?” “I know you can hear me, so stop playing games! Where are you?”

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“Ah, that’s letter ... I mean, better. Er, where am I?” “Yes, where are you?” “Fannymead Holiday Camp, sir.” “Yes, but where in the camp?” “Oh, I see. I’m in the Pirate’s Courtyard.” “All right, carry on, Balforth.” “Carry on with what, sir?” “With whatever it is you’re doing!” “I’m talking to you, sir. Shall I carry on talking?” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Noticing an unfamiliar, attractive young bluecoat as he slipped his radio into his pocket, he made his way over to her. “Are you new here?” he asked the delectable blonde as she dumped her suitcase on the ground. “Yes, I’m looking for Major Bentley’s office,” she smiled sweetly. “Major Bentley’s orifice?” “His office.” “Ah, right.” Grabbing her case, Balforth grinned. Another conquest! he decided, imagining the girl’s naked body, her perfectly formed teenaged tits. “Follow me,” he smiled, eyeing her ballooning blouse and wondering how long it would take him to delve into her moist panties. “I’m Balforth. Welcome to Fannymead!” “Thanks, my name’s Delphine.” “That’s a nice name,” he remarked, leading the girl towards the main building. “How far have you come?” How far will you go?

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“From Manchester. I see there’s been a fire.” “Yes, you’re just in time for the civil war.” “Civil war?” “I’ll tell you about it later,” he chuckled, knocking on Bentley’s door and showing the girl into the office.

Writing furiously at his desk, Bentley didn’t look up as Balforth closed the door behind them and gave a little cough. Pompous old git, Balforth thought, turning to Delphine. Raising his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head, he smiled at the girl. Returning his smile, her sea-blue eyes sparkled, her succulent glossed lips glistening. She was a rare beauty, Balforth observed, feasting his eyes on the shapely thighs exposed by her short skirt. I’ll bet she’s tight and wet!

“Agent Balforth,” Bentley murmured without raising his head. “What have you unearthed?” “Delphine, sir.” “You’ve unearthed Delphine?” Bentley echoed, looking up and staring hard at the girl. “Oh, yes, Delphine Douche - I’ve been expecting you! I’m Major Bentley,” he smiled, rising to his feet and shaking her hand. “Welcome to Fannymead.” “Thank you.” “Balforth, will you show Miss Douche to chalet number thirty-three, please?” I’d rather show her sixty-nine! “I’d be only too delighted, sir. It’ll be my pleasure.” “It will be nothing of the sort, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

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“We’ll have a chat when you’ve settled in, Miss Douche. Here, take this with you,” Bentley said, opening the desk drawer and passing the girl a blue folder. “It’s the staff rules and regulations, incomplete and abridged. Read it thoroughly, it’ll become your bible. I’ll be testing you later.” “Thank you.”

Grabbing her case and leaving the office, Balforth sensed his penis twitch in anticipation as he led the vulnerable girl down the corridor. Her panties would be straining to contain her full vaginal lips, he mused in his wickedness. The garment was probably of red silk, stained and scented with her seeping girl juice. Wondering whether she masturbated, he finally reached chalet thirty-three and opened the door.

“Well, this will be your home for the summer,” he said brightly, dumping her case on the floor and surveying the room. And mine! “It’s not much, but it’ll do.” “It’s better than I imagined,” the girl beamed, sitting on the bed and bouncing up and down. I hope you’re as I imagine! “I suppose I’d better unpack and then read the rule book.” “I wouldn’t take too much notice of the rules,” Balforth smiled, sitting next to her. “Major Bentley thinks he’s still in the army and we’re his privates.” “His privates? But how can we be his ...” “His soldiers, troops. The staff have to salute him when they enter his office, but I don’t bother.” “I’d better play it by the rules until I get to know the ropes,” the delectable Delphine smiled, her short skirt riding up her thighs.

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“I’ll show you the ropes, Delphine.” And handcuffs, whips and crotchless bodysuit! “The one to watch out for is Miss Perennial, the Supervising Bluecoat.” “Watch out for?” “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.” “Right, well, I’d better unpack.”

Balforth imagined the sex kitten’s pussy lips bulging between her legs like small buttocks as she squatted on the floor and opened her suitcase. He’d fuck this little beauty if it was the last thing he did, he decided as she pulled her clothes out of the case. Placing a short, red leather skirt on the floor, she gasped with embarrassment as a small pink vibrator rolled out of the folded garment. Hurriedly concealing her secret beneath the clothes in the case, she turned to Balforth.

“I ... I’ll unpack later,” she stammered, her face flushing as she rose to her feet. “I’ll read the rule book first.”

Balforth was about to suggest that she join him for a drink in his chalet, with her vibrator, when Bentley’s voice bellowed over the two-way radio. “Balforth, where the hell are you?” Sighing, Balforth took the radio from his jacket pocket. “Er ... I’m here, sir,” he replied. “Here? Where’s here?” “Here, on the radio.” “No, you blithering idiot! Where are you, geographically speaking?”

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“Er ... In England, sir. I would have thought that obvious seeing as I’m in the holiday camp.” “Don’t be ridiculous! Report to my office this instant! There’s been a development.” “A debauchment, sir?” “A development, you ruddy idiot! The scum of the earth have ... I’ll tell you when you get here.” “Can’t you tell me now, sir? I don’t like being kept in suspenders ... Actually, I do quite like it.” “Just get over to my office, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Switching the radio off, Balforth turned back to Delphine, again picturing her naked body, the gentle curves of her teenaged breasts, her extended nipples. Bentley was becoming more of a pain with each passing day, he reflected, watching the girl relax into an armchair with her rule book. If it weren’t for the old git, he’d have probably given her a welcome fuck. But it’s never too late! he consoled himself.

“I’ll see you later,” Balforth said dolefully as he opened the chalet door. “Yes, OK,” she smiled, looking up at him and slipping her blue blazer over her shoulders, revealing her billowing blouse. “And thanks.” “Any time.”

His penis painfully erect, in dire need of the young beauty’s tight cunt, he made his way to Bentley’s office, wondering when he’d sample the delights of

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Delphine’s naked young body. She had a vibrator, he reflected happily, so she was obviously into masturbation. Thinking of self-pleasuring, he again wondered where the blow-up doll had got to as he knocked on Bentley’s office door and mooched in. Might as well give Sylvia another good seeing to when she turns up - or over!

“Balforth, the scum of the earth are worrying me,” Bentley confided, slapping his thigh with his baton as he paced the floor. “We’re heading for trouble, I can feel it in my water.” “I didn’t know you had a daughter, sir.” “Water, you imbecile! I sense trouble brewing.” “I must admit, they are somewhat pugnacious, sir.” “Pug what?” “Pugnacious. Er ... fractious, quarrelsome, they’re disposed to fighting.” “You and your ruddy big words! You think you know everything, don’t you?” “I wouldn’t say that I’m omniscient, sir.” “What?” “I wouldn’t say that I know everything.” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir. I really do think we should show a little tolerance and allow the campers to enjoy their holidays rather than ...” “You don’t know anything about management! You couldn’t even run a men’s outfitters.” I don’t know that I’d want to! “What have the scum ... I mean, the campers, done, exactly?” “There’s growing unrest among the leftists, Balforth.”

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“The nudists, sir?” “Leftists! The militant left are ...” “If the left are to be described as militant, then I feel it only fair that the right be described as ...” “Shut up, Balforth! This whole election idea is ruddy ludicrous! There’ll be nothing but trouble with the camp divided like this. I suggest that we hold a meeting with the Conservative voters and find out what our true numbers are.” “Ah, your corps délite.” “What?” “Your select group, your followers, sir.” “I wish you’d speak English!” “Sorry, sir.” “Our priority is to win this election, Balforth.” “I always thought our priority was to ensure that the campers enjoy themselves, sir.” “Don’t be ridiculous! What do you think this is, a ruddy holiday camp?” “I was under that impression, sir.” “Er ... Well, yes, of course it is. But we mustn’t lose sight of our main objective, which is to win the election. Right, I want you to disguise yourself.” “Despise myself, sir?” “Go to the wardrobe department in the ballroom and find some suitable clothing. Disguise yourself and ...” “Why should I despise myself, sir? I’d always thought myself to be rather a pleasant fellow.”

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“Disguise yourself and infiltrate the scum! Make out that you’re one of the commoners and see what you can discover about their plans.” “Well, I really don’t know ...” “Just do it, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Leaving the office, Balforth began to wonder whether Bentley had finally flipped. Becoming obsessed with the election campaign, the major seemed to have discarded the day-to-day running of the camp. What with Number Two Dining Hall gutted and the campers dividing, Burnshaw would soon be down on Bentley like a ton of bricks, putting an end to the election - and Bentley. Oh, well, Balforth mused as he headed for the ballroom. Might as well play along with the old git.

Behind the ballroom stage, he took a skimpy lycra dress from a rail and held it up before him, admiring himself in the mirror. “Mmm, sexy!” he breathed, wondering whether he could squeeze into it. Spotting several items of women’s underwear spilling out of an open drawer, he grabbed a pair of stockings and a suspender belt and began his transformation.

Standing naked before the mirror, he placed his clothes over the back of a chair and slipped a pair of red silk panties up his hairy legs. The tight material hugging his stiffening cock, he eased the stockings up his legs and fixed the suspender belt around his waist. “Very sexy!” he chuckled, eyeing the bulging panties in the mirror, beautifully framed by the suspender belt.

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The disguise finally complete after a horrendous struggle to squeeze into the dress, he turned to the mirror again and scrutinized himself. The horny little red dress was too tight and too short, but it would suffice, he decided. Once his penis had deflated, the unsightly bulge in the front of the dress would disappear, adding authenticity to his femininity.

The bra stuffed with a few pairs of panties furnished him with the finest, if not lumpiest, pair of breasts imaginable. Wondering what is was like to have real tits, he hoisted the bra up, trying to create a cleavage. Finally giving up, he checked himself in the mirror again, deciding that he was ready.

The six-inch stilettoes made walking extremely difficult, he discovered as he left the ballroom. But he’d do the best he could. The long blonde wig was somewhat crooked and his thick make-up a complete mess, but he looked the part, he concluded. Although which part, he wasn’t sure!

Strutting across the Pirate’s Courtyard with his two-way radio stuffed between his ample breasts, he made his way to the east chalets, praying that he’d get away with his disguise. Eyeing a group of campers sitting at a table as he approached the chalets, he hoisted his tits up and minced over to them.

“May I join you?” he shrilled as the tight panties crushed his balls. “Who are you?” a young man snapped, frowning as he scrutinized Balforth’s hairy legs above his stocking tops. “I’m ... I’m Jane. I’ve just come ... Arrived.”

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“Are you in the east or west chalets?” “Er ... The east chalets, I think. I haven’t booked in yet.” “Labour or Conservative?” “Oh, bleedin’ Labour through and through, mate.” “OK, take a pew.” “Thank you. I hear that there’s going to be an election.” “There’s gonna be more than a fuckin’ election!” a young slut giggled, reclining in her chair and tugging her skirt up, her pink panties blatantly displayed between her naked legs. “We’re gonna ‘ave a fuckin’ war!” “A fuckin’ war?” Balforth frowned. “Yeah, damn right, mate! That ol’ git Bentley’s gonna have ‘is fuckin’ come ... comeup ...” “Comeuppance?” “Yeah, like what you said.” “You wannabe on our side, love?” a scruffy yob asked. “Why, thank you so ... I mean, bleedin’ right, mate,” Balforth grinned. “OK, this is the plan. We’re gonna use this election crap to get our own back on that git Bentley. Tonight, we’re gonna set fire to the fuckin’ boat’ouse.” “Balforth, where are you?” Bentley’s voice bellowed over the radio. “Who the fuck said that?” the yob asked. “Oh, bollocks! Er ... I don’t know,” Balforth grinned sheepishly. “Carry on with what you were saying.” “OK, we’re gonna torch the bleedin’ boat’ouse tonight.” “Come in Balforth, come in Balforth!”

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Adjusting his bra, Balforth managed to press the transmit button on the radio. “I’ll talk to you later,” he whispered down his cleavage. “You talkin’ to your tits, love?” the yob winked. “Er ... Yes, I always chat to Cheeky and Chirpy.” “Cheeky and Chirpy?” he frowned. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Look, can we bleedin’ well get on, or what?” “I do apologize ... I mean, yeah, let’s bleedin’ well get on,” Balforth agreed. “OK, after we’ve torched the boat’ouse we’re gonna break into the bars and nick a load of booze and fags.” “Agent Balforth, what are you playing at?” Bentley stormed. “Come in, Agent Balforth!” “Er ... I won’t be a minute,” Balforth smiled, leaping to his feet. “I need the loo.”

Staggering away on his stilettoes, his tits bouncing, his left stocking falling down to his knee, he managed to cross the Pirate’s Courtyard. Noticing Miss Perennial sitting on a bench by the toddlers’ paddling pool, he decided to have some fun with her before reporting to Bentley. Switching the radio off, he hobbled towards her and sat down.

“Hallo,” he began in his sonorous trill. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you but I’ve just had a nasty shock and I need to sit down.” “A nasty shock?” “I was wanking ... walking by the boating lake when a man came up to me and ... and flashed his thing at me.”

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“Oh, that’s terrible!” “I was rather astounded, I must admit. He asked me whether I’d ever played fuck the cunt and hunt the spunk.” “My goodness, how vile! You should report the incident! What did he look like?” “Dark hair, about forty years old, extremely good-looking and ...” “That’s Balforth!” Perennial gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. “You must tell Major Bentley straight away! He’s the camp manager, he’ll be delighted to hear from you.” “I don’t want to cause trouble.” “You must! Balforth is the deputy manager. He’s a pervert, he’s always flashing his thing at me and thrusting his hand up my skirt.” “Why haven’t you done something about it?” “I can never prove anything. But I’m planning his downfall.” “Are you?” “Oh, yes! No one knows this, but I’ve laid a trap. The next time he comes to my chalet and ... and does something vulgar, he’ll be in real trouble.” “Why, what have you planned?” “I’ve borrowed a video camera from a friend. Whenever I’m in my chalet, I switch the camera on. It’s hidden on top of the wardrobe so no one will see it. When Balforth comes in and commits an indecent sexual act, it’ll be recorded.” “Ingenious, I must say.” “I also intend to follow him and make a note of his movements - which chalets he enters, who he speaks to, how many free drinks he has in the bars, what he gets up to at night ...”

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“You’ve really got it in for him.” I’ve got it in my trousers for you! “Yes, I have. I’m prone to fainting and I’m going to pretend to pass out when he next comes to my chalet. He’ll pull my knickers down and ... Well, it will all be recorded.” “If I were you, I’d pretend to faint and then allow him to go all the way. You’ll really have something on him, then.” “I don’t know whether I could bring myself to ...” “Surely, if you want to be rid of the man, just one quick fu ... just a quick fumble would be worth it.” “Yes, it’s a good idea. I might try it. Look, I’d better be going. It’s been nice talking to you.” “My name’s Jane, by the way.” “I’m Polly, Polly Perennial. No doubt we’ll meet again.” “Yes, I hope so, Polly.”

As she strode off, Balforth rubbed his hands together gleefully. This was a good scam, he reflected, hoisting his sagging tits up and making his way to the ballroom to change. If Perennial was going to pretend to faint and allow him to screw her, he’d have to put the camera out of action beforehand. But that wouldn’t present a problem, he mused as he limped into the ballroom.

Calling Balforth on the radio for the umpteenth time, Bentley began fuming. “Ruddy man!” he cursed, grabbing the ringing phone. “Bentley speaking.” “Major Bentley, this is Miss Perennial.” “Ah, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial.”

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“I’m ringing to report an incident, sir.” “Now what’s happened?” “Balforth exposed himself to a female camper.” “Ye gods!” “I’m in my chalet at the moment. When you see Balforth, would you let it slip that I’m sleeping? I’m sure he’ll come to my chalet and ... Well, I have a plan to prove once and for all that he’s a rampant sexual pervert!” “I have no idea where he is, Miss Perennial. But should I see him, I’ll let him know where you are.” “Thank you, sir.” “Be careful, Miss Perennial! I have to warn you that you’re probably dealing with a sexual psychopath.” “I’m only too aware of that, sir!” “Good woman. I’ll ring you if and when I catch up with Balforth.”

Replacing the receiver, Bentley pondered on Perennial’s words. The woman might well be mad, he reflected, but if she was right and Balforth had exposed himself to a female camper, he’d have to be stopped. Hoping her plan would work, he grabbed his radio.

“Balforth, where are you!” he bellowed. “Here, sir,” Balforth replied. “Where’s here? And don’t say England or I’ll ...” “I’m in your office, standing right behind you.” “Balforth, you blithering idiot!”

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“Why, thank you, sir.” “Where the hell have you been?” “Wanking Dickie Dubious.” “I beg your pardon?” “Thanking Dickie for ...” “For a moment I thought you said ... Did you expose yourself to a female camper?” “I’m always composed.” “Expose, you ruddy fool!” “Expose myself, sir?” “You know what I mean!” “I have never exposed myself to anyone, sir!” “That’s debatable! Never mind about that, what have you discovered?” “That I love dressing up as a ... Er, I discovered that the enemy, as you call them, are going to torch the ... They’re going to blow up Wash Block B tonight.” “My God! Right, good man, Balforth! We’ll be there waiting for the scum. Oh, by the way, Miss Perennial ... I mean, I need Miss Perennial’s help but she’s taken to her bed.” “Really, sir?” “Yes, she’s ... she’s not feeling well. Don’t go to her chalet because she’s sleeping and doesn’t want to be disturbed.” “I believe she’s already disturbed, sir!” “Yes, well ... OK, press on with your snooping, Balforth.” “Yes, sir.”

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Aware of the set-up, that Perennial was ready and waiting for him in her lair, Balforth made his way to her chalet, wondering how to put the camera out of action. Atop the wardrobe, he reflected. All he’d have to do was turn the camera towards the wall and he’d be free to commit his flagrant felony with pretty Polly.

Spying through the window, he saw the woman in her dressing gown, sleeping on her bed. “Candy from a baby!” he murmured, opening the door and slipping into the chalet. As luck would have it, the towel concealing the camera had fallen over the lens. Stupid woman, he laughed to himself, hauling his erect penis out of his trousers and standing by the bed.

“Balforth!” Perennial screamed, opening her eyes and staring in horror at his purple knob as he shook her shoulder. Leaping off the bed, her gown falling off, she crumpled to the floor. Is she faking it? Balforth pondered as she lay motionless, her firm breasts exposed, her alluring vaginal crack blatantly displayed between her parted thighs. Or is it for real?

Noticing her open one eye as he lay on the floor between her spread legs, he stifled a snigger. The bitch was putting on a pretty good act, he reflected. But how would she react when he penetrated her tight cunt and fucked her senseless?

Parting her fleshy pussy lips, he licked her exposed clitoris, wondering whether she’d enjoy being tongued to orgasm. Writhing slightly as he sucked her stiffening pleasure nodule into his hot mouth, she emitted a long, low moan, obviously relishing the beautiful sensations. Would she come? he wondered, licking

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the glistening flesh surrounding her vaginal entrance, lapping up her creamy offering. Would she shudder and cry out as her orgasm gripped her?

Driving his tongue into her virginal cunt, he parted her swelling labia further, exposing her secret inner sex folds as she began to gasp in her rising pleasure. Her fingernails digging into the carpet, she arched her back, her smooth stomach rising and falling as the sensations permeated her quivering body.

This was a turn up for the books! Balforth reflected happily as she moaned again, her firm breasts heaving as he sucked her clitoris into his cunny-wet mouth again. Close to her climax, she raised her buttocks off the floor, grinding her succulent cunt flesh into his appreciative mouth.

“Oh, oh!” she gasped involuntarily as her orgasm rose from her quivering womb and erupted in her solid clitoris. Stifling her moans of pleasure, her young body shaking violently as Balforth licked and sucked her pulsating cumbud, she rode the crest of her orgasm.

Her juices of arousal flowing in torrents from her spasming cunt, she whimpered as Balforth drove his finger into her tight sex duct and massaged her inner flesh. “Oh, oh!” she cried again as her vaginal muscles tightened, gripping his pistoning finger as he sucked her climax from her throbbing cherry.

The hapless woman was giving herself completely in the name of damning evidence, Balforth thought jubilantly. What she’d do when she discovered that the

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towel was over the camera lens he didn’t know - or care! The chances were she’d try to stitch him up again - pretend to faint and then open her legs to him, offer him her tight cunt in the hope of capturing his debauchery on tape.

“Oh, oh!” she cried again as her orgasm peaked, her cunt gripping Balforth’s finger like a velvet-jawed vice, her clitoris swelling like a damson. Her trembling body finally falling limp, she breathed heavily, her head tossing from side to side as he sucked the last ripples of orgasm from her sex bud.

“Now, Miss prim and proper Perennial, I think it’s time you had a damned good fuck,” Balforth breathed, positioning his solid penis between her twitching thighs. Would she really allow him to penetrate her pussy sheath? he wondered as he presented his bulbous knob to her glistening, pinken sex-portal. Or would she leap up screaming, protecting her virginal cunt? To be shot of him, have him dismissed from his job, he was sure that she’d endure the vile act. “Here it comes!” he laughed in his devilry, driving his solid shaft into her hot lust duct.

His knob gliding deep into her wet sex hole, stretching her tight cunt to capacity, he completely impaled her on his broad love staff. His heavy balls resting against her rounded buttocks, he watched her face for a reaction. Again, she opened one eye, spying through her lashes as he withdrew his lethal weapon, dragging her inner petals along his glistening shaft before driving into her again. Perhaps she likes it? he wondered as her sex-juiced cunt tightened around his invading cock. I know I do!

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Grabbing her legs, he lifted them up, pressing her knees against her firm breasts as he fucked her. Her outer sex lips ballooning, her cunt gripping his pistoning cock, she let out little gasps of pleasure as her naked body rhythmically jolted. She might play her fainting game again and again, regularly allowing him the pleasure of her tight cunt, he speculated as he battered her young cervix with his solid knob. After her crude sexual awakening she might even beg him to fuck her! But he doubted it very much.

Her naked body sliding across the floor as he repeatedly drove his cock deep into her snug pussy, the sleeping beauty began shaking violently, her breathing heavy, her body glowing. Wondering whether she’d enjoy anal intercourse, or a good buttock caning, Balforth continued his fervent thrusting, taking Miss Perennial to her first penis-induced orgasm.

Whimpering, the reddened bluecoat

tossed her head from side to side,

obviously loving every minute of the crude fucking as Balforth quickened his rhythm, sustaining her climax as he sensed his sperm course up his penile shaft. “Coming!” he finally cried as his sperm jetted from his pulsating knob.

Desperately trying to stifle her orgasmic cries, Miss Perennial shuddered uncontrollably. Her legs asunder, her feet high in the air, her areolae darkening, her long milk teats stiffening as she reached the peak of her climax, she repeatedly rocked her hips to meet Balforth’s treacherous thrusting.

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Pumping his spunk deep into her spasming cunt, Balforth continued the beautiful fucking until he’d drained his swinging balls. Finally collapsing over her trembling body as she lowered her legs to the floor, he engulfed her sensitive nipple in his mouth and gently sucked, knowing that she was delighting in the debauchery as she continued her soft whimpering.

She’d be a changed woman now, he was sure, as he slipped his deflating cock out of her sperm-drenched vagina. No longer a virgin, she might seek sexual satisfaction whenever and wherever she could. She might even seduce Bentley! he smirked, imaging Perennial on all fours in the old boy’s office as the galloping major fucked her hot cunt and spunked up her young cervix.

Finally climbing off Perennial’s quivering body, Balforth staggered to his feet, wondering whether to slip his knob into her open mouth and shoot his jism down her throat. About to commit the unwholesome act, he sighed as Bentley called him over the radio.

“Balforth, what are you doing?” the major roared. “Fucking Miss Perennial,” he thought aloud as he zipped his trousers. Eyeing the towel covering the camera lens, he grinned triumphantly as he slipped out of the chalet. “Mission accomplished!” he chuckled, heading for the Pirate’s Courtyard.

“Star Ship Balforth to Moon Base, come in Moon Base,” he called over the radio as he sat on a bench. “Stop behaving like a ruddy schoolboy, Balforth!”

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“Roger, Moon Base. I mean, yes, sir.” “What have you been doing?” “Fucking, sir.” “Balforth, how dare you use such foul language over the radio!” “I said nothing, sir.” “Nothing? Have you seen Miss Perennial?” “Seen her what, sir?” “Seen her! Do you know where she is?” “Negative.” “Are you all right, Balforth?” “Affirmative, Captain ... Major.” “Act your age, Balforth! Where have you been?” “Docking my lunar module with the mother ship. She was pretty tight, but the docking was successful.” “What? Report to my office this instant, Balforth!” “That’s a big ten four, sir.” “Ten four?” “It’s what the cops say over the radio, sir.” “We are not the cop ... We are not the police, Balforth.” “Roger, Moon Base. I mean, in and out ... Over and out.”

Slipping the radio into his jacket pocket, Balforth ambled towards the main building, wondering how Miss Perennial was getting on with her spunked pussy. Perhaps she was in her bed, imagining his penis driving deep into her tight cunt as she masturbated her clitoris to another shuddering orgasm?

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Whatever, conquering the little bitch was an incredible feat, he reflected. One he’d never dreamed he’d accomplish in a million years! “God, I’m bloody good!” he chuckled smugly as he was about to knock on Bentley’s door. His radio bursting into life, he was shocked to hear Miss Perennial’s unsteady voice.

“Miss Perennial to ... to Major Bentley.” “I didn’t know she had a radio,” Balforth murmured, rubbing his chin. “Ah, Miss Perennial, where are you?” Bentley replied. “In my chalet, sir.” “Did everything go according to plan?” “Not exactly, sir. I had trouble with my towel, I’ll have to try again.” “Trouble with your towel?” “Yes, sir. It was hanging over the opening.” “London Gatwick, this is charlie victor two seven nine,” Balforth tittered into his radio. “Flight level thirty thousand feet, heading one nine zero.” “Balforth, is that you?” Bentley snapped. “Charlie victor two seven nine, this is London Gatwick. Maintain present heading and flight level.” “Balforth, grow up!”

Entering the office, Balforth couldn’t help grinning as Bentley placed his radio on the desk and turned to face him. Left almost speechless by his deputy’s childish behaviour, the old boy’s face was growing redder by the second. Still sniggering, Balforth took a deep breath, desperately trying to compose himself as the major seethed with anger.

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“Balforth!” Bentley finally hissed through gritted teeth. “Balforth, do you deliberately set out to annoy me or is it that you’re naturally retarded?” “I wasn’t trying to annoy you, sir. It seems that Gatwick Airport are on the same channel as us.” “Don’t be ridiculous! Gatwick Airport, indeed! You’ll use your radio in the proper manner or I’ll take it away.” Bastard! “With all due respect, sir, if you take my radio away, you won’t know where I am.” “I never know where you are, anyway!” “I wonder whether they’re going to Spain or Greece?” “Who?” “Charlie victor two seven ...” “Balforth!” “Sorry, sir.” “I want you to go over to the east chalets and discover what’s going on. I’ve just received a report of a naked woman climbing on a chalet roof. Keep in touch by radio and report to me the minute you’ve apprehended the wanton hussy. Right, off you go!” “Yes, sir.”

Wandering across the Pirate’s Courtyard, Balforth really wasn’t in the mood to go chasing naked women over chalet roofs. Ambling over to the boating lake to take a rest, he pondered on Miss Perennial, wondering again whether she’d lure him to her chalet to play dead. After setting her camera up properly, she’d definitely play her

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fainting game and allow him to screw her, he was positive. He’d have to get to the camera and sabotage it before plundering her again, he mused, adjusting his stiffening cock as he pictured her open cunt hole. With the camera out of action, he’d give her the arse fucking of her life!

Wandering past the boathouse, imagining flames licking up through the roof, Balforth recalled the disused boathouse on the north shore of the lake. Wondering whether to lure Perennial there and give her naked buttocks a damn good caning, he suddenly hit upon what he thought to be a brilliant idea. “My own private sex lair,” he breathed, walking around the lake.

The building was sound, he observed as he prised open the rusty door and switched the light on. Imagining Miss Perennial’s naked body chained to the wall, her vaginal sheath vulnerable, he wondered whether she’d enjoy having her buttocks whipped. Perhaps Delphine Douche was into bondage and whipping, he mused, picturing the young girl masturbating with her vibrator. “Chains, handcuffs, vibrators, nipple clamps ... What better time? What better place?” he chuckled, making a start on the cleaning. “My own secret sex den!”

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Chapter Six

H

er hands planted on her hips, Miss Perennial scowled as she confronted Delphine in Number One Dining Hall. “Why did you allow Balforth to enter

your chalet?” she demanded angrily. “He showed me to my chalet and carried my case in,” Delphine replied, wringing her hands nervously. “You obviously haven’t read the rule book, Miss Douche! No men are allowed in the female staff chalets.” “He only carried my case in, Miss Perennial.” “You’re to keep away from Balforth, he’s a dangerous man.” “Dangerous?” “Yes, he ... Just keep away from him. And if I ever catch a man in your chalet, you’ll be instantly dismissed! Do you understand?” “Yes, Miss Perennial.” “What have you done to your skirt? It’s far too short.” “I took the hem up.” “You’ll wear knee-length skirts, as stated in the rule book.” “Yes, Miss Perennial.” “Now that the evening meals are over and you’re off duty, go to your chalet and let your skirt down. And you must wear your regulation blouse and tie. I’ll expect you to be properly dressed tomorrow morning.” “Yes, Miss Perennial.”

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Leaving the dining hall, Delphine made her way to her chalet, wondering what Miss Perennial had meant by Balforth being dangerous. He’d seemed all right, she reflected. Courteous, helpful, charming - he’d seemed the perfect gentleman!

The word dangerous echoing in her mind, Delphine mooched into her chalet, unaware that Balforth was lurking behind a bush, spying on her. Rubbing his hands together as she closed the door, driven by his voracious lust for young girls, he checked that the coast was clear before creeping behind the row of wooden buildings.

He’d been busy, not only turning the old boathouse into his sex lair, but sneaking a drill from maintenance and making small holes in Perennial and Delphine’s chalet walls. There was nothing more stimulating than spying on young girls in their chalets, he reflected. And this was his first opportunity to reap the fruits of his labour and take a peek through the hole at the delectable young blonde!

His face pressed to the wooden planking, Balforth focused his sparkling eyes on Delphine’s curvaceous thighs as she tugged her skirt down her long legs. His penis stiffening as he eyed her bulging red panties, the indent of her sex slit clearly outlined by the tight material, he watched her take off her blazer and unbutton her blouse. Her bra straining to contain her full breasts as she slipped her blouse off and sat on her bed, he observed her

despondency. Wondering what her problem could be, he

jumped as Bentley called him over the radio.

Balforth drew a sharp intake of breath as Delphine jumped too, turning towards the sound of the radio. Muttering beneath his breath, he switched the radio

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off, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the small hole as she moved slowly towards the wall, her pretty blue eyes frowning. To his great relief, she didn’t appear to notice, wandering nonchalantly back to her bed.

Her firm breasts were perfect specimens, he adjudicated as she peeled the silk bra cups away from her succulent mammary globes. Focusing on her deliciously long nipples, he felt his penis stiffen fully as he imagined sucking her sensitive milk teats into his hot mouth. Perhaps she was going to use her vibrator, he pondered, picturing her on her bed, her thighs wide, the buzzing phallus pressed into her sex valley, swelling her young clitoris.

She was a rare beauty, he decreed, wondering whether to whip his solid cock out and have a quick wank. Delphine kept looking at the wall, suspicion reflected in her bright eyes as she slipped her panties down and kicked them aside. Deep in thought, Balforth rubbed his chin instead of his cock. She couldn’t have known he was there, he was sure.

Gazing longingly at the girl’s sparse blonde pubes, he focused on her alluring sex slit, wondering when he’d get the chance to fuck her as she ambled back to the wall. Had she observed the hole? he wondered anxiously as she seemed to stare hard at the wall.

“Attention, attention!” Bentley bellowed over the Tannoy. “This is a staff announcement! Balforth, switch your radio on this instant!” Quickly moving away

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from the chalet, cursing beneath his breath, Balforth slipped the radio out of his jacket pocket and switched it on.

“Balforth calling, Balforth calling,” he tittered. “Balforth, where the hell are you?” Bentley stormed. “Agent Balforth to Major Bentley, come in Major Bentley.” “Balforth, can you hear me?” “Agent Balforth to Major Bentley, are you receiving? Under ... I mean, over.” “Stop playing the fool, Balforth!” “Calling all cars, calling all cars.” “I can hear you, sir,” Miss Perennial broke in. “Balforth’s radio must be on the blink. Where are you, Miss Perennial?” “Walking around the boating lake, sir. There’s a light on in the old boathouse, I’m going to investigate.” “Kids, more than likely. The old boathouse is supposed to be locked, they’ve probably broken in - ruddy yobs that they are.” “Yes, sir. I’ll report back to you with my findings.”

Running behind the chalets, Balforth rounded the corner of Number Two Dining Hall and dashed past the ballroom, praying that he’d reach the old boathouse before Perennial discovered what he’d been up to. Cursing himself for leaving the light on, he sprinted around the lake just in time to see the young woman entering the wooden building.

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“Shit!” he spat as he reached his sex lair and dashed inside. “Ah, Miss Perennial,” he panted. “I noticed the light on in here and came to investigate.” Ignoring Balforth, the tedious woman walked over to the far wall and ran her hand up and down a thick leather strap hanging from a hook. She wouldn’t realize what the strap was for, Balforth told himself unconvincingly. Would she? “That’s odd,” Perennial murmured, looking at several lengths of rope hanging from hooks on the wall. Scrutinizing a row of church candles adorning a shelf next to a jar of Vaseline, she took a pair of handcuffs from a hook and examined them. What was she thinking? Balforth wondered as she placed the handcuffs on the shelf.

“Let’s switch the light off and lock the place up,” Balforth suggested as the sleuth took her radio out of her blazer pocket. “I’d better call the major,” she breathed, gazing at two heavy leather straps lying across a table positioned beneath the light in the centre of the room. “There’s something odd been going on here.” “Don’t bother Bentley with this,” Balforth advised her, wondering what on earth to do. “I expect some kids have been in here and ...” “You’ve been in here, Balforth!” she gasped. “Me? I haven’t been anywhere near this place for ...” “That riding crop over there - I saw you with it earlier! In fact, you were walking this way with it.” “No, I ...” “And I noticed you leaving the chapel with some candles earlier! I’m going to call the major.”

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Grabbing her radio as she was about call Bentley, Balforth dashed to the door and slid the bolt across. Frowning, her mouth open, Miss Perennial gazed at her captor in rising fear as he placed her radio on a shelf and slipped his jacket off. There was a lustful glint in his eyes, she observed as he approached her menacingly, an evil grin furling his lips.

“Balforth,” she breathed shakily, her legs beginning to sag. “Balforth, what are you going to ...” Passing out as he pulled his penis out and displayed his purple knob, she crumpled to the floor, her legs wide apart, the triangular patch of her panties on customary display.

Balforth was aware of his probable mistake as he lifted the vulnerable woman off the floor and lay her on the table. But he couldn’t allow her to report her discovery to Bentley. Wondering whether to hide the ropes and straps, the evidence of his sex lair, he focused on Perennial’s inner thighs. But even if he hid his sex equipment and managed to convince Bentley that the woman was clinically insane, she’d keep an eye on the place, ruining his chances of running a successful sex den.

“Might as well have some fun before I’m fired!” he chuckled, hurriedly tugging Perennial’s skirt and knickers down. Parting her legs, he gazed at her pinken sex valley, her moist inner petals protruding alluringly from her widening crack. “You have a nice cunt,” he thought aloud, running his finger up and down her warm slit. “Too nice to waste.”

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Unbuttoning her blouse, he lifted her bra away from her firm breasts and gazed lustfully at her succulent nipples. Pinching each teat between his finger and thumb, he watched the brown protrusions grow, standing proud from their areolae. There was no time to waste, he reflected, sitting her up and tugging her blazer and blouse off. Removing her bra, he lay her curvaceous, naked body down on the table.

“This is going to be good!” he laughed, placing her arms behind her head and tying ropes to her wrists. Fixing the ends to the table legs, he moved to her feet. Slinging two lengths of rope over a wooden beam above the table, he tied the ends to her ankles, his devious mind swirling with perverted ideas. Pulling on one rope, her left foot rising high into the air, he secured the end to a hook on the wall. Taking the other rope, he hauled her right foot up and wound the rope round another hook, delighting in her degrading position.

“Miss Perennial, are you there?” Bentley called over the walkie-talkie. Lunging at the shelf, Balforth grabbed the radio. “She’s lying down, sir.” “Lying down? She’s supposed to be investigating the old boathouse.” “Gone into town, sir! I bumped into her a few minutes ago. She asked me to check the boathouse as she had to go into town to purchase something of a personal nature from the chemist.” “I see. I’m pleased that your radio’s working properly now.” “Yes, I had some trouble with it earlier.” “Is everything all right in the old boathouse?” “Yes, sir. I’ve switched the light off and locked the door. I think it must have been kids messing about.”

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“Right, meet me by the bingo hall. I’m determined to catch the yobs in the act of blowing up Wash Block B.” “Yes, sir. I’ll have a quick look around the boating lake before I meet you.” “All right, Balforth. Good man.”

Rubbing his hands together, Balforth placed a chair at the end of the table and sat down. Perennial’s buttocks positioned over the edge of the table, her legs high in the air, her thighs wide apart, her cunt slit gaping alluringly, he began licking the pink flesh surrounding her vaginal entrance. Savouring her girl juice, he parted her fleshy folds and pushed his tongue deep into the wet heat of her vagina. “Mmm,” he moaned through his nose as he withdrew his tongue and licked the reddening flesh surrounding her stiffening clitoris. “Mmm, you taste nice.”

Wondering whether Perennial was still really out for the count, he lifted his head and looked between the rise of her firm, pointed breasts to her serene countenance. She appeared to be out cold, but it wasn’t easy to tell. It had to be for real, he concluded, sucking her swelling clitoris into his hot mouth. There was no way puritan Perennial would put up with being stripped and tied down so demeaningly.

Stretching her outer pussy lips wide apart, he examined her clitoris, gently prodding the erect protrusion with his fingertip. Casting his eyes over the taut pink flesh running down to her vaginal entrance, he parted her fleshy sex lips further, crudely opening the portal to her lust duct. Peering inside her cuntal sheath, he inspected her rubicund inner flesh, the opaque liquid trickling from her hot lust

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sheath. “You have a very nice cunt!” he breathed eagerly, scrutinising every fold, her swelling clitoris, her pinken sex flesh.

Reaching to the shelf and grabbing a candle, he stretched her cock hole wide open again and slipped the waxen phallus deep into her tight vagina. Perennial stirred, her head lolling to one side as he withdrew the girl-wet candle and thrust into her again. If she came round now, she’d ... What the hell! he thought, pistoning the candle in and out of her tightening cunt.

Leaving the candle embedded deep in her vaginal cavern, her fleshy outer lips stretched tautly around the waxen shaft, he moved around the table to her head. Eyeing her open mouth, his penis still protruding crudely from his trousers, he decided to slip his purple delicacy between her succulent lips.

“God, that’s good!” he gasped as his swollen glans slipped into her hot mouth. Gently rocking his hips, his knob gliding over her wet tongue, he reached between her thighs and pistoned the candle in and out of her juicing cunt. Gazing at her bloated cheeks, he frowned, believing he’d noticed her eyes momentarily open. The prude would never let me fuck her mouth! he appeased himself in his rising orgasm.

Quickening his rocking movements, his knob throbbing and swelling, he pulled his foreskin right back. Her tongue caressing his pistoning cockhead, he watched her full, red lips rolling along his wet, veined shaft as he fucked her pretty mouth. He thought he sensed Perennial’s tongue run round his glans, her mouth gently suck on his solid cock. But he couldn’t be sure. Was he imagining it? he

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wondered as his climax neared. The proof of the sucking would be in the drinking! he mused as his cock twitched and his knob pulsated.

His sperm finally jetting from his knob-slit, bathing Perennial’s rolling tongue, filling her cheeks, he gasped. “Ah, God! God, that’s good!” Fucking her hot mouth faster, his spunk pumping over her tongue, he sensed her swallow, and again wondered whether she was faking.

“God, that’s good!” he cried again as he rocked his hips, driving his orgasming glans to the back of her throat. His spunk overflowing, running down her cheek, he continued mouth-fucking the tethered woman until he finally shuddered and leaned on the table to support his sagging body. Faking or not, he didn’t care.

Slowly withdrawing his saliva-wet cock, he grinned as he watched his sperm trickle over her glistening lips. “You’ve been well and truly mouth-spunked!” he chuckled, slipping the candle out of her gripping vagina. “And now to spunk up your lovely cunt!”

His cock stiffening again in his unquenchable thirst for lust, he moved to the end of the table and presented his bulbous knob to her open sex hole, wondering what she’d say if she came round to discover her mouth full of spunk, her cunt full of cock. Sliding his penis deep into her snug cavern, his heavy balls pressing against her taut buttocks, he closed his eyes. His glans absorbing the inner heat of her tight cunt, her sex lips taut around the base of his huge cock, he remained motionless, delighting in the exquisite sensations permeating his solid penis.

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Finally withdrawing his dallying cock, he drove his weapon deep into her cunt again, her inner lips dragging along his wet shaft, his heavy balls swinging as he fucked her. Her legs high in the air, her naked body jolting, he drove his organ into her squelching lust duct again and again, fucking her for all he was worth. “God, I’m going to come again!” he breathed as her spasming pussy tightened around his girlwet shaft. “Ah! Here it comes!”

As he pumped his spunk deep into her hot vagina, she let out a long moan through her nose. Her body quivering as he repeatedly drove his organ into her wet love hole, his balls slapping her rounded buttocks, she began gasping. Her firm breasts heaving, her areolae darkening, Balforth was sure that she was faking her coma as she whimpered in her obvious pleasure.

“Oh, oh!” she cried involuntarily as her cunt spasmed and gripped his pistoning cock. He wouldn’t let on that he knew she was feigning unconsciousness, he decided as he pumped the last of his sperm into her tight pussy hole. She was obviously enjoying herself and would undoubtedly come back for more, so why spoil it?

Finally slipping his spent penis out of her sperm-drenched vaginal sheath, he zipped his trousers and took a long, thin cane from the corner of the room. Her legs wide apart, her rounded buttocks perfectly positioned over the edge of the table for a thrashing, he tapped her bottom orbs lightly with the cane.

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Her body jolting as he struck her buttocks harder, he noticed a slight smile furl her spunked lips as she turned her head. This was more than a turn up for the books! he reflected. A positive revelation! Perennial, the righteous prude, was evidently deriving the greatest satisfaction from her enforced sexual awakening.

She’d not tell Bentley about the sex lair, he was sure as he struck her tensed buttocks again. But he couldn’t understand her sudden transformation from chaste prude to rude nymphomaniac. Perhaps the hand-thrusting incident had aroused her? Or had it been his coarse words, his cock-flashing? Whatever had woken the woman’s latent desires, it didn’t matter now.

“Come in Balforth!” Bentley called over the radio as Miss Perennial transmitted muffled gasps in response to her progressively severe buttock caning. “Shit!” Balforth cursed, placing the cane on the table and grabbing the radio. “Balforth here,” he replied evenly, eyeing his spunk pouring from Perennial’s open cunt hole and streaming down between her reddening bum cheeks. “Where the hell are you, Balforth?” “Er ... I’m still in the old whorehouse ... boathouse. Er ... No, I’m not. I’m lost, sir.” “Lost?” “I was wanking around the lake when darkness fell, and now I’m lost.” “You’re a ruddy idiot, Balforth! Just follow the lake and you’ll find your bearings.” “Find my parings, sir?” “Your bearings! Follow the lake!”

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“Yes, that’s what I’m doing, sir. The thing is, I don’t like the dark. Do you think there might be monsters in the woods?” “Monsters? You’re psychologically disturbed, Balforth - mentally unhinged.” “I haven’t been syringed, sir.” “You need to be!” “I saw something move in the trees, sir. There it is again!” “Get over to Wash Block B this instant!” “Are there vicious cavemen in these parts?” “Vicious cave ... Report to me this instant, Balforth!” “I’ll do my best, sir.” “You’ll do better than that!” “Yes, sir.”

Placing the radio on the shelf, Balforth released Perennial’s naked body and began the difficult task of dressing her. Covering her sperm-drenched pubes with her panties, he decided to completely unveil her vulval area the next time he caught her in his lair. Contemplating dressing her up in a gymslip and white ankle socks as he fastened her bra, he thought of taking photographs of her hairless cunt and selling them for an obscene profit. Better still, nick her video camera and make dirty movies! he decided as he buttoned her blouse.

Leaving Miss Perennial lying on the table fully clothed, Balforth escaped into the night, chuckling as he sprinted around the lake and headed for Wash Block B. An explosion resounding through the night air as he reached the Pirate’s Courtyard, he turned and gazed at the flames billowing from the boathouse.

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“They’ve done it!” he tittered as Bentley’s panic-stricken voice bellowed over the radio. “Balforth, what the hell was that bang?” “Er ... I really don’t know, sir. Perhaps it was Concorde breaking the sound barrier.” “Don’t be ridiculous! Where are you?” “Major Bentley, this is Miss Perennial. I’m running round the lake and I can see ... The boathouse has blown up, sir! Goodness me, it’s on fire!” “The boathouse? Good grief! That’s where the petrol is stored for the motorboats.” “Was stored,” Balforth tittered. “Shut up, Balforth! Where are you now?” “Er ... I’m not entirely sure, sir.” “What do you mean?” “I’m standing here in the dark.” “Find out where you are, man! Use your boy scout training.” “Er, there’s the north star! And if my mammary serves me incorrectly, that’s Pluto - which puts my location somewhere near to Saturn.” “Balforth, you’re beginning to annoy me!” “Ah, wait a minute. Yes, I’m in the middle of the Pirate’s Courtyard.” “Good grief! Both meet me at the boathouse.” “When, sir?” “Now, you blithering idiot!” “Yes, sir.”

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Flames licking high into the night sky, Balforth stood several yards away from the boathouse, sniggering as he waited for Bentley and Perennial to arrive. The scum of the earth had done a good job, he observed as another explosion ripped through the building, propelling the roof high into the night sky across the boating lake.

“My God!” Bentley cried as he approached. “What the ...” “Might I suggest that we display a little notice cancelling all boating trips, sir?” Balforth tittered. Ignoring his tiresome minion, Bentley shook his head despairingly. “This is the work of the saboteur,” he said pensively. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to ...” “Oh, sir!” Miss Perennial cried as she ran full-pelt towards the fire. “Calm yourself, Miss Perennial!” Bentley called. “There’s nothing we can do to save the boathouse.” “But, sir, this is terrible!” “Calm down, you’ll do yourself an injury! Both stay here until the fire burns out. I’m going to my office to fill in the incidents book - if there’s any room left in the blasted book!”

Wondering whether Miss Perennial’s buttocks were burning as he watched the flames reflected in her wide eyes, Balforth recalled spunking in her pretty mouth. He was dying to ask her whether she’d been faking or not, but he daren’t. Could she taste his sperm? he wondered.

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“Why did you leave me alone in the old boathouse?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with the heat of the fire as she provocatively licked her red lips. “You fainted, I couldn’t wait all night.” “I must have been out for quite a time! I hope you didn’t do anything to me.” “Of course I didn’t!” he laughed. “I don’t believe you, Balforth! You’ve thrust your hand up my skirt, you’ve stolen my knickers, you’ve flashed your thing at me, you’ve ...” “You live in a world of fantasy, Hardy.” “Don’t call me Hardy!” “Would you like me to finger-fuck your wet cunt?” “Balforth!” she cried, her body swaying. “I’d like to stick my tongue up your bottom-hole.” “Oh!”

Her legs wide apart as she fell to the ground, her wet panties clearly visible in the light of the fire, unhardy Perennial appeared to be unconscious - but Balforth couldn’t be sure. Noticing her open one eye and spy at him though her lashes, he sniggered. She wanted another good fucking, he surmised, kneeling and tugging her saturated knickers down her legs. Stuffing the aphrodisiacal garment into his jacket pocket, he looked about him, wondering whether to give her another good rogering.

She desperately wanted sex, he knew, as he rose to his feet. Her thighs falling further apart, her gaping cunt slit illuminated in the firelight, she definitely wanted him to fuck her! But no, he decided. He wouldn’t always pander to her passing out fancy, her deceitful carnal whim. He’d allow her libido to rise until she was desperate

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for sex, until her juices coursed down her inner thighs and she begged him to fuck her tight, hot, wet cunt.

Leaving the woman on the ground, Balforth decided to take a peek through the hole in Delphine’s chalet. She might be using her vibrator, he speculated optimistically as he crossed the Pirate’s Courtyard. Stopping to light a Marlborough, he turned slightly as he thought he heard someone behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Perennial hiding in the shadows.

What was she up to? he pondered as he walked on. Was she really that desperate to have herself fucked? Or was she taking notes as she’d said she would compiling a dossier? Deciding to go to his chalet, he walked faster, aware of her following some distance behind. This might be fun! he thought as he approached the chalet and let himself in.

Leaving the door wide open, he sat on his bed, listening for movements outside as he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette. The wooden verandah creaking slightly, Perennial was hovering outside, he knew. Would she come in and pretend to faint? Her new-found sexuality had transformed the woman into a rampant nymphomaniac, he reflected, wondering what to do.

“God, it’s hot tonight,” he breathed, stubbing his cigarette out and slipping his jacket and shirt off. Kicking his shoes aside and tugging his trousers down, he lay naked on his bed. His penis in full view, snaking over his rolling balls as he glimpsed Perennial peeking round the door, he wondered what she was thinking. Was her cunt

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wetting as she gazed at his cock? Was her clitoris stiffening? Was her mouth parched, desperately craving more spunk? Closing his eyes, he pretended to sleep, hoping she’d creep inside.

Partially opening one eye, he watched her steal into the chalet and stand by the bed, her sensuous pink tongue licking her succulent red lips as she focused on his stiffening penis. Am I dreaming? he thought happily. Perennial the puritan standing over his naked body, gazing longingly at his hardening tool! Pigs can fly!

Kneeling by the bed, Perennial tentatively stroked Balforth’s yearning lust pole, stiffening it further with her slender fingers. Cupping his heavy balls in the palm of her hand, she scrutinized his sex equipment. It was the first time she’d had the opportunity to intimately inspect a penis, he knew, as she retracted his foreskin and examined his swollen purple knob. Breathing deeply, feigning sleep, he turned his head to one side, praying for her to wank him to orgasm.

“Hallo, wizzle,” Perennial whispered tenderly, her fingertip tantalizing his sperm slit. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble in the past, but I like you.” Naughty, but nice! Balforth grinned as he averted his head further from the compulsive cock-eater, wondering whether she was going to suck his knob into her thirsty mouth as she pulled his foreskin back further.

“You’ve been a naughty wizzle, but I forgive you,” Perennial continued softly, lowering her head to the tasty morsel. Licking his rolling balls, his veined shaft, she pulled his foreskin back further, exposing his rounded glans to her wide

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eyes. Suck my knob! Balforth urged her mentally as she mouthed on his balls again. Her saliva trickling over his heavy bollocks, she moved up and gently bit on his twitching shaft. Her tongue playing around his glans, tasting him, she gripped his penis tightly in her hand, obviously deriving immense pleasure from his magnificent organ.

Finally taking his knob into her hot mouth, she moaned softly through her nose as she rolled her tongue around his ballooning glans. Was she really going to suck him to orgasm? he wondered incredulously as she moved her head up and down, repeatedly taking his ripening plum to the back of her throat. Wanking his solid shaft, frenziedly sucking and licking, she was definitely going to drink his spunk!

Lost in her arousal, Perennial bobbed her head up and down faster, obviously delighting in her wanton act of oral sex as she moaned loudly through her nose. Kneading his balls, she slipped his purple plum out of her mouth and unbuttoned her blouse. Turning his head and opening one eye, Balforth watched in amazement as she slipped her breast out of her bra and rubbed her erect nipple over his wet knob.

Pressing her milk teat against his sperm-slit, she rolled his foreskin over his glans, covering her nipple with the warm, soft sheath. Wanking him again, her nipple massaged by his rolling foreskin, she gasped. Was she going to sperm her breast bud? he wondered as she wanked him faster, her mammary udder repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside his foreskin.

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Moving her breast away, she engulfed his cockhead within her hot, wet mouth again and sucked. His sperm suddenly jetting from his pulsating knob, gushing into her mouth, bathing her snaking tongue, Balforth became rigid, desperately trying to stifle his gasps of pleasure as the vampire swallowed hard.

The woman had become an insatiable nymphomaniac! he reflected again as she sucked harder on his throbbing glans, swallowing the last of his spunk before slipping his cock out of her mouth. A ravenous whore! Licking the entire length of his deflating shaft, greedily devouring the spilled spunk from his balls, she finally rose to her feet, concealing her aroused breast within her bra as she buttoned her blouse.

Trembling in the aftermath of his incredible climax, Balforth turned his head slowly and slightly opened one eye. Her hand up her skirt, Perennial was obviously toying with her pussy crack, massaging her clitoris. A most satisfying outcome to a sticky situation! he reflected, watching her close her eyes in rapture, her face flushing as she massaged her pleasure nodule faster.

“Miss Perennial!” Bentley’s untimely call resounding from the radio, the frigging bluecoat emitted a long, shrill gasp - of pleasure, or peevishess, Balforth could only guess. “Miss Perennial, this is Major Bentley!” Licking her sticky fingers as she crept hurriedly out of the chalet, the sex-vampire threw her recumbent host a last lingering look before closing the door quietly behind her.

“Well!” Balforth grinned, stunned by the young woman’s transformation as he leaped off the bed and grabbed his radio from his jacket pocket. “Would you credit

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it?” Listening intently to the conversation between Bentley and Perennial, he settled on his bed.

“Is Balforth with you?” Bentley asked. “No, sir, he’s sleeping.” “Sleeping? Good grief, the man’s ruddy useless! Where are you?” “Outside, his ... In the Pirate’s Courtyard, sir.” “Is the fire out?” “Yes, sir.” “Thank God for that! Are you all right, Miss Perennial? You sound a little shaky.” “Yes, yes I’m fine. It was the fire, it shocked me a little.” “Balforth hasn’t been up to his old tricks again, has he?” “Er ... No, sir.” “All right, Miss Perennial, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” “Yes, sir - goodnight.”

Rubbing his chin pensively, Balforth switched his radio off and began humming to himself. Was it really possible for a strident prude to turn into an insatiable nymphomaniac? he wondered. Had Perennial always faked her fainting fits? Perhaps she’d found some sort of sexual turn-on from collapsing on the floor with her legs wide open, her bulging knickers on display?

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He could have some real fun now, he mused as he climbed beneath the quilt. If she believed that he thought she was really prone to fainting, he could flash his cock at her, thrust his hand up her skirt, fuck her rotten - and have some great fun!

After breakfast, Balforth walked briskly to Bentley’s office for the early morning meeting. A small tape recorder in his jacket pocket, another wicked plan formulating in his devious mind, he rubbed his hands together as he strode down the corridor.

Wondering where the blow-up doll was as the padre emerged from Dickie’s office and joined him, he decided to have a look for her later. The old pervert was bound to be missing Sylvia, her electric cunt, her tight arsehole, and it was only fair to find her and return her to him.

“Right!” Bentley snapped as Balforth entered the office with the padre and stood by the window, gazing at Perennial’s shapely legs. “First of all, we have a problem with the boathouse. I’ve inspected the damage and it’s pretty obvious that the fire was started deliberately - as was the fire in Number Two Dining Hall. I blame you for all this trouble, Dubious.” “Me, sir?” Dickie grinned. “Yes, you, sir! Ringing Burnshaw and suggesting that you replace me as camp manager started all this election nonsense. The campers have divided, the amusement arcade roof has been ripped off, Number Two Dining Hall has been gutted by fire, and now the boathouse has exploded! We’ve had trouble with that damned blow-up

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doll, vulgar incidents in the female toilets, contracept ... Offensive items scattered around the camp, graffiti ...” “What do you suggest we do, sir?” Balforth asked, trying not to laugh. “I’ve made contingency plans. In retaliation for the latest incident, I’m closing the arcade.” “Look what happened the last time you closed the ...” “Shut up, Balforth! It was obviously the leftist scum of the earth who destroyed the boathouse and, in return, the amusement arcade will be permanently closed! Miss Perennial, run off some posters and place them in prominent positions around the camp.” “Yes, sir,” Perennial obliged, standing to attention and saluting the major. “For every incident of hooliganism, retaliation will take place in the form of closed bars, closed bingo hall, etc. By order, Major Bentley. Or something along those lines. Do it now, Miss Perennial.” “Yes, sir.”

As Perennial marched from the office, Balforth grinned at Dickie. They both knew what Bentley’s latest move would lead to - civil war! But that was what the colourful young man wanted, he knew. Rioting, arson attacks, vandalism - that was exactly what Dickie wanted in order to usurp Bentley as camp manager. All he wanted was a quiet life - a life of debauched sex! He enjoyed the minor incidents, of course, but he didn’t want a full-scale war! Or did he?

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“Dubious!” Bentley growled. “Go to the east chalets and deal with the riffraff who are going to vote for you! Tell them that, unless this vandalism stops immediately, they’ll all be evicted from their chalets.” “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Balforth remarked. “It will probably provoke ...” “Shut up, Balforth! Dubious, tell your scum that the electricity supply to their chalets will be disconnected unless they ...” “Miss Perennial to Major Bentley.” “Yes, Miss Perennial,” the major replied taking a hold on himself as he grabbed his radio from the desk. “Sir, the Merrydick Bar has been taken over by a group of young men.” “Taken over?” “There’s a notice above the door which says Power To The Campers. And there’s another one on the door saying Fannymead People’s Front. The bar steward has left - apparently, he was paid off.” “Paid off? The no-good traitor! All right, Miss Perennial, leave this to me.” “Yes, sir.”

Pacing the office floor, Bentley scratched his head, his nose twitching violently as he muttered to himself. As Dickie slipped out of the door, Balforth nodded at the padre, indicating for him to leave, too.

“Sir, might I suggest that we ...” Balforth began. “Shut up, Balforth! I’ll have to ring Burnshaw and tell him what’s going on.” “Is that wise, sir? I mean, if Burnshaw discovers your incompetence ...”

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“My incompetence? My incompetence? Good grief, this has nothing to do with my efficient running of the camp, Balforth! This is all down to that ruddy idiot Dubious.” “Dickie didn’t close the arcade, sir. Dickie didn’t ban bikinis, he didn’t close the bars early, he didn’t order the pregnant women to leave, he didn’t threaten to ...” “Shut up, Balforth! Right, the only way to deal with the scum of the earth is to draw up war plans! The Merrydick Bar has fallen to the enemy, so we must ensure that other strategic sites remain in our hands.” “How do we do that, sir?” Balforth tittered. “Intelligence, Balforth! If we know of the enemy’s plans, we’ll be one jump ahead. I want you to disguise yourself again and parachute behind enemy lines.” “Parachute, sir?” “Yes. Er ... I mean ... You know very well what I mean, Balforth! Try and find someone who’ll act as a double agent. We need someone on the inside.” “I’ll do it right after my coffee break, sir.” “Coffee break? Good grief, Balforth, this is war! There’s no time for coffee breaks! Can you imagine Churchill taking a coffee break in the middle of the war?” “Well, I can, actually. He built brick walls when things were hotting up. It was sort of therapeutic and ...” “Get out of here, Balforth!” “I take it that you don’t want me to build a brick wall, sir.” “Get out!” “Yes, sir.”

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Skipping from the office, Balforth took his tape recorder from his pocket as the radio burst into life. Holding the device to the radio, he recorded Bentley ordering Perennial to report to his office.

Now he had Bentley on tape, all he had to do to cause confusion was play the tape over the radio, sending Perennial scuttling to the old boy’s office whenever the fancy took him. Bentley would swear blind that he hadn’t called the woman, and she’d insist that he had. “May chaos reign!” he sniggered as he left the building to encounter Delphine standing dolefully by the toddlers’ paddling pool.

“Ah, Delphine, how are you?” he smiled as he joined her. “Oh, Balforth. Er ... Miss Perennial told me off for allowing you into my chalet. And she ordered me to lower the hem of my skirt.” “Typical!” Balforth chuckled. “I wouldn’t take too much notice of her, she’s prone to insanity. So, you’re settling in OK?” “Yes, I think so.” “You think so?” “Well, I ... I think someone was lurking behind my chalet last night.” “I wouldn’t worry, that’ll be security.” “I was rather concerned.” “They wander around the camp at night with two-way radios making sure everything’s all right.” “There’s a hole in my chalet wall. I thought someone was spying on me.” Fuck! “A hole? That’s odd.” “I’ve hung a picture over it, just to be on the safe side.”

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Double fuck! “Er ... Yes, very wise.” “Oh, there’s Miss Perennial! I’d better make myself scarce.” “Look, Delphine, why don’t you pop over to my chalet this evening for a drink?” “Well, I ...” “Perennial won’t know. Come over for a glass of wine and a chat.” And a fuck! “All right.” “About seven o’clock, chalet number four.” “OK, I’ll see you later.”

Eyeing the girl’s exquisite thighs as she walked away, Balforth rubbed his hands together gleefully. Another conquest! he mused happily, imagining his solid cock driving deep into her tight, wet cunt. It was a shame that she’d discovered the hole, he reflected, but he could always drill another one.

Contemplating dressing up as a woman and infiltrating the enemy again, Balforth finally decided to head home for a cup of coffee. He could always tell Bentley that he’d been behind enemy lines and concoct some story or other about their plans. Refreshment is the priority of the moment, he ruminated, heading for his chalet. And that includes a damned good wank!

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Chapter Seven

B

entley grabbed the microphone. “Attention, attention!” he called over the Tannoy. “Unfortunately, there’ll be no boating on the lake today as the

boathouse was blown up last night. However, as it’s a bright sunny morning, we’re going to hold a Funniest Hat competition on the grass by the lake. Will all those wishing to participate please report to Miss Perennial by the lake.”

“Silly old git,” Balforth muttered as he slipped into the phone box by the camp gates. It was time to have some more fun, he decided, lifting the receiver and ringing Bentley. Trying not to snigger, he disguised his voice, pretending to be Burnshaw, the company chairman.

“Now listen to me, Bentley! We’re going modern.” “Going modern?” Bentley echoed. “Yes. I want all the female bluecoats to wear their skirts very short.” “But, sir ...” “We’ve got to keep up with the times, Bentley! All this knee-length business is totally outdated. Instruct all the female bluecoats to raise the hems of their skirts by twelve inches.” “Twelve inches? But, sir ...” “Do it now, Bentley! I’ll be sending someone down later today to inspect the skirts.” “Yes, sir, if that’s what you want.” “It is, Bentley.” 184

Laughing aloud, Balforth emerged from the phone box and headed for Bentley’s office, another outrageous prank materializing in his warped mind. In the corridor, he took the radio and tape recorder from his jacket pocket. Pressing the transmit button on the radio, he pressed play on the recorder and held the two devices together.

“Miss Perennial, this is Major Bentley! Would you report to my office, please?” the tape recorder blasted into the radio.

Slipping the equipment back into his pocket, Balforth knocked on the door and entered the office. Standing before the desk, grinning as the major picked his radio up and frowned, he rubbed his chin and began humming - just to annoy the old man.

“How did that happen?” Bentley murmured. “How did what happen, sir?” “I just heard my voice on the radio, calling Miss Perennial.” “Yes, I heard you on my radio,” Balforth endorsed, trying not to chortle. “What do you mean, how did it happen?” “I ... I didn’t call her!” “Perhaps it was an apparition, sir?” “How can my voice be described as an apparition?” “I don’t know, but I heard you call her, sir. Your voice was crystal clear.” “But ...”

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Gazing out of the window, Balforth stifled a snigger as Miss Perennial hustled into the office. Visibly stunned, Bentley could only stare in disbelief at the radio as she enquired what it was he wanted. Shaking his head, he finally looked up at the woman.

“Er ... Miss Perennial, I’ve just had a call from Mr Burnshaw. He wants all the female bluecoats to raise the hems of their skirts by twelve inches.” “Twelve inches, sir?” she gasped surprisedly. “Yes, see to it immediately. There’ll be someone coming down from head office later today to inspect the skirts.” “I’ll give you twelve inches!” Balforth grinned. “I mean, I’ll help you with twelve inches.” “Shut up, Balforth!” Bentley snapped. “Miss Perennial, order the female bluecoats to shorten their skirts straight away.” “Well, if you’re sure, sir. But I really don’t think ...” “It’s an order direct from the top. Ours is not to question why, remember that.” “Yes, sir, I’ll see to it straight away. Oh, I almost forgot. All the light bulbs have been taken from the toilet blocks, sir.” “Ruddy thieves! All right, I’ll get onto maintenance.” “Yes, sir.”

The trick with the radio and the tape recorder was another brilliant scam, Balforth mused, lazily surveying a group of teenaged girls through the window as they gambolled across the grass in their scanty bikinis. But he’d better not do it too often or Bentley would become suspicious.

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“Balforth, where have you been?” the major asked, toying with his radio. “Having an enema from behind, sir.” “What? My God, Balforth!” “From behind enemy lines, sir. I’ve been behind enema lines.” “Ah, good! What have you to report?” “I have nothing to deport, sir.” “Balforth, unless you get your ears seen to, you’ll be deported!” “Yes, sir. It seems that they’re planning to take the entire camp over. There was talk of a coup détat.” “A what?” “An overthrow, sir. A rebellion, mutiny ...” “Good grief! Right, this is what we’ll do. Number Two Dining Hall is out of commission, leaving only Number One Hall open for meals. Without food, the scum will have to give up.” “Are you suggesting that we starve them, sir?” “Of course! I’ll have Miss Perennial issue passes to the Conservatives. I’ll post a guard on the dining hall door and only those with passes will be allowed to enter.” “I don’t think that will go down too well, sir.” “It’s not supposed to go down well, you ruddy idiot! Have you recruited a double agent yet?” “Er ... Yes, sir, I have.” “Who is it?” “I’m not at liberty to reveal the identity of my informant, sir.”

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“No, of course not! Well done, Balforth - you’re beginning to learn the politics of warfare. Right, snoop around and keep your ear to the ground while I plan my next move.” “Yes, sir.”

Again wondering where the blow-up doll had got to, Balforth went over to the chapel to inform the padre of Sylvia’s disappearance. Entering the shadowy building of worship, he stopped and gazed in amazement as the padre clambered beneath the tapestry hanging over the altar and disappeared from view.

Gingerly approaching the altar, Balforth knelt down and lifted the tapestry to discover a flagstone pulled aside, revealing a large hole. Peering down the hole, he found himself looking into a well-lit room. A cellar, he mused, wondering what the irreverend padre was up to.

Leaving the chapel, he pondered on his discovery, wondering how big the cellar was and what the cleric was doing down there. The padre was often a little tipsy, and Balforth wondered whether he kept alcohol in the cellar. It would make an ideal sex den, he reflected, planning to inspect the cellar when the padre wasn’t around. The bowels of God’s house a den of rampant sex? Why not?

Deciding to go to Delphine’s chalet to see whether she was shortening her skirt, he froze in his tracks as he rounded the corner of Number One Dining Hall. “What the ...” he gasped as he spotted the padre emerging from his chalet. Wondering

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how he’d got to his chalet from the chapel cellar, he slipped behind a bush as the cleric passed by.

There must be a tunnel, he concluded, rubbing his chin as he walked pensively towards his own chalet. Wondering where the tunnel led to, he stepped into his chalet and rolled the carpet back to discover a wooden hatch set in the floor. Lifting the hatch, he jumped down the hole and found himself in a long tunnel.

Wandering along the tunnel, he looked up to see light streaming through a knothole in the floorboards of one of the chalets. Pressing his face to the boards, he was amazed to find himself peering up a bluecoat’s skirt. “This is incredible,” he breathed, eyeing the young woman’s pink panties bulging between her slender thighs.

The padre certainly had some pretty dark secrets! Balforth mused as he watched the woman slip her skirt down her long legs and move away from the hole. Walking down the tunnel, he noticed another knothole in the neighbouring chalet floor. The padre really was a dirty old bugger! he reflected, peering through the hole.

Wondering whose chalet he was beneath as he watched a young girl slipping her bikini bottom off, he gazed lustfully at her succulent pussy lips, her tightly closed crack. Standing above him with her feet wide apart, she leaned forward and parted her fleshy vaginal lips, gazing at her pinken sex valley.

“God, I’m wet!” she giggled, exposing the dripping entrance to her young cunt.

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“You’ve been eyeing too many men’s bulging swimming trunks!” another girl laughed. “I’d better take a shower and clean my pussy out or I’ll be creaming my knickers all day.” “When did you first start creaming?” the other girl asked. “When I first started masturbating,” the beauty replied, standing upright. “I was twelve years old when I first discovered my clitty. I was in bed one morning playing around with my fanny and I began rubbing my clit. I remember it well, the fantastic feeling as I rubbed myself to my first orgasm.” “I was around the same age. I’d been riding my bike and found that, in a certain position, my fanny rubbed against the saddle. It felt really nice, so when I got home I went up to my room and slipped my hand down my panties and rubbed my clit. I’ve been doing it ever since.”

Grinning as the girl moved away, Balforth looked about him. The tunnel was a fantastic discovery, he reflected, wondering where it led to, apart from the chapel. But it was a shame that he couldn’t view the chalets properly. Spying through knotholes in the floorboards was difficult, and the chances of a girl standing strategically over a hole were slim.

Noticing plastic pipes entering the tunnel from each chalet as he walked on, he stopped and inspected one. Gazing into a glass window at the bottom of the pipe, he realized, to his amazement, that it was a periscope. Through the glass he could see into the chalet, the whole room clearly visible.

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“Christ!” he gasped, working out the position of the periscope in the room. “The air vent in the wall!” The padre was responsible, he was sure as he moved to another periscope and peered into the chalet above to see Delphine sitting on her bed sewing the hem of her skirt.

Each chalet coming equipped with its own periscope, Balforth decided to return that night to see what the female campers and bluecoats got up to in their beds. The viewing possibilities were endless - Perennial and Delphine undressing and masturbating, couples fucking, horny tarts such as Angela and Rebecca coming on to each other ... His chalet peep holes seemed positively prehistoric against the padre’s periscopes! Forget Columbus - this is the best discovery yet! he thought, following the tunnel as it rounded a bend. Reckoning his position to be nearing the chapel, he followed the tunnel back beneath the chalets and round another bend until he came to another periscope.

“Wash Block A,” he thought aloud, peering through the periscope into the female showers. The periscope behind a vent in the shower wall, the ingenious padre had been very busy! he reflected, eyeing a pretty young girl lathering her luscious vulval flesh. The vent directly in line with the girl’s sex slit, he spent some time admiring her fleshy lips, her alert clitoris, as she opened her crack and lathered her inner folds.

The girl finally leaving the shower, Balforth walked on, reckoning that he must be beneath Bentley’s office as he looked up at the floorboards. Sadly, there was no periscope, but he could clearly hear Bentley moving about on the floor above him.

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Time for another trick, he decided taking the tape recorder and radio from his jacket pocket.

Playing the tape into his radio, he waited in gleeful anticipation for a result. “Yes, sir?” Perennial said, marching briskly into the office. “I didn’t call you, Miss Perennial!” Bentley said surprisedly. “I don’t understand it.” “But I heard you on my radio, sir.” “Yes, I heard it, too. I reckon it’s Balforth playing his ridiculous games again.” “But it was your voice, sir.” “He must have a tape recorder. That’s it, he recorded my voice and played it back over the radio, the ruddy idiot! However, now that you’re here, I’d like to have a talk with you.” “What about, sir?” “These accusations you’ve been making about Balforth.” “Oh, he’s stopped all that nonsense now, sir.” “Has he?” “Yes, he seems to have grown up.” “I’d hardly say he’s grown up, Miss Perennial! The man’s a schoolboy prankster, always was, always will be! The things you say he did to you are despicable, they really are! I thought you were going to trap him, prove his wicked debauchery?” “Er ... As I said, he’s stopped all that now.”

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“Don’t be too sure, Miss Perennial - don’t be too sure! I see you’ve taken your skirt up.” “Yes, all the bluecoats have raised their hems by twelve inches. The skirts are very short, making it difficult to sit down or bend over without ... Well, without showing anything.” “I really can’t understand Burnshaw! Like me, he’s always been a stickler for moral etiquette. Why he wants the skirts shortened to prostitutional lengths, I really don’t know.”

Leaving Bentley and Perennial to their chat, Balforth walked on, following the tunnel round a slight curve to the east chalets. More periscopes, he observed, wondering how the padre had found the time and ingenuity for such a feat of engineering. There again, the man of God was always disappearing into the chapel for hours on end, he recollected, rounding another curve until he emerged from the tunnel into the cellar beneath the chapel.

Eyeing another blow-up doll propped up on a bed in the corner of the cellar, her legs open, her plastic vaginal entrance on display, Balforth wondered what other secrets the padre harboured. Opening a small cupboard, he discovered several vibrators, a jar of Vaseline and a leather whip. Closing the Pandora’s box he looked about him, noticing a pile of dirty magazines on a shelf by the bed. He was about to flick through the mags before shagging the blow-up doll when he heard movements above him and dashed into the tunnel.

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Following the tunnel to his chalet, he jumped up through the hatch in the floor. Closing the hatch and rolling the carpet into place, he left the chalet, his mind reeling with wicked ideas.

About to make his way to the chapel to speak to the padre, two bluecoats in skirts so short that their panties were clearly visible caught his eye, spawning another brilliant idea. Dashing to the phone box by the camp gates, he rang Bentley, pretending to be Burnshaw again.

“Ah, Bentley!” he snapped. “I’ve just attended a board meeting and we’ve decided to have all female bluecoats wearing open-neck blouses rather than ties.” “Open-neck blouses, sir? Isn’t that somewhat ...” “We’re updating, Bentley! See to it right away.” “Yes, of course, sir.” “How’s this election business going?” “Very well.” “I would imagine that the campers are finding the campaign great fun.” “Er ... Yes, they are.” “Good. Keep me informed, Bentley. By the way, how’s that Balforth fellow doing?” “Er ... Fine, sir.” “He’s a nice chap. I’m considering nominating him for camp manager.” “Balforth?” “Yes, he’s a good man. He’s responsible, reliable, dependable, efficient, damned well-educated - and very good-looking.”

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“Er ... Yes, I suppose he is.” “Right, I’ll be in touch, Bentley. Open-neck blouses, revealing, sexy ... There’s nothing like a nice display of cleavage to brighten up the male campers’ stay at Fannymead! See to it right away.” “Yes, sir.”

Scurrying from the phone box, Balforth walked towards the main building, wondering what other tricks to play. Noticing a couple of bluecoats by the toddlers’ paddling pool, he gazed at their micro skirts, blatantly billowing with their rounded buttocks. That’s more like it! he thought as one of them bent over, revealing the tight material of her panties hugging the contour of her firm buttocks. It wouldn’t be long before their blouses were open, exposing their fuckable cleavages, he thought excitedly. I could always ring the old man and tell him to order the girls not to wear knickers!

“Ah, it’s you!” Bentley growled as Balforth ambled into the office and closed the door. “Er ... Oh, so it is!” Balforth grinned, looking down at his body. “What a pleasant surprise.” “Don’t be ridiculous! Where’s the tape recorder?” “Tape recorder, sir?” “The one you used to record my voice and play it back over the radio.” “I’m not with you, sir.” “You won’t be with Fannymead Holiday Camp unless you grow up!” “Yes, sir. Er ... Might I bring your attention to another incident?”

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“Now what’s happened?” “Nothing, yet. My informant tells me that there’s going to be a kidnapping. Apparently, one of the female bluecoats will be taken hostage and lesbionically abused by six teenaged girls.” “Taken hostage and lesbionically abused? Good grief, what are things coming to? We’ve got to put a stop to this nonsense, Balforth.” “Yes, of course we have, sir.” “I’ve had Burnshaw on the phone again. He asked about the election campaign and I said that things were fine, but it won’t be long until he discovers what’s been going on here.” “Might I suggest that we ...” “No, you might not.” “Major Bentley, this is Miss Perennial calling.” “What is it, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial?” Bentley asked as he grabbed his radio from the desk. “Sir, there are some men in the ballroom holding a ... a Biggest Thing competition.” “A biggest ... A biggest you know what competition?” “Yes, sir.” “Are you in the ballroom, Miss Perennial?” “Yes, sir.” “Don’t look! I’ll send Balforth over to deal with it. Whatever you do, don’t look at ... at the men’s things.” “Yes ... er, no, sir.”

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His nose twitching violently, Bentley placed his radio on the desk and paced the floor. Holding his hand to his head, he stopped and peered over his gold-rimmed glasses at Balforth who was sniggering helplessly in the corner of the room.

“I suppose you think it’s funny, Balforth?” “It is rather amusing, sir.” “Rather amusing? It’s illegal, it’s indecent, it’s immoral, it’s ...” “I’ll go and deal with it, sir.” “Yes, you do that, Balforth! Take the names of all the men who have their ... their things out. I’ll evict them from the camp for their vulgar behaviour.” “Yes, sir.”

This was going to be fun, Balforth mused as he left the office. With the admirable size of his tackle, he might even join in the competition himself! How Perennial would handle the line-up of penises, he could only guess. He grinned as he imagined a row of purple helmeted warriors, springing to attention as she inspected them - and creamed her knickers.

“Hey, Balforth!” Dickie called, running across the Pirate’s Courtyard dressed in his clown’s outfit. “Dickie, you sad deviant!” “What’s the old man going to do about the siege of the Merrydick Bar?” “I don’t know, apart from try to starve them out. There’s a biggest cock competition going on in the ballroom.” “Yes, it was my idea.”

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“Your idea?” “Yes, good, isn’t it? The young girls love it.” “Is there time for me to join in?” “Yes, of course! I’ve just been to my chalet to get the prize.” “What is it?” “An electric vagina.” “That’ll give the winner a buzz!”

Entering the ballroom, Balforth grinned as he gazed at the row of erect cocks being carefully measured by a blonde bombshell. He had to hand it to Dickie - it was a bloody good idea! he reflected as the audience of rampant young girls cheered and booed excitedly.

Taking his place at the end of the line, Balforth couldn’t wait to exhibit his own magnificent member. Dropping his trousers, he proudly displayed his stiffening cock to the excited audience. “Contestant number fourteen, seven and three quarters!” the dynamic blonde called to her colleague as she measured another penis. “Contestant number fifteen, seven and a half!”

Finally reaching Balforth, she knelt down and gazed in awe at his mighty organ. “You’re a big boy,” she whispered huskily. “Chalet number twenty-eight.” “I’ll see you later,” he grinned, his cock twitching as she ran the tape measure from the base of his penis to his rounded knob. “Contestant number sixteen, ten inches exactly!”

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The crowd cheering as Balforth was announced the winner, a hush fell over the ballroom as Bentley marched in with his baton under his arm. Gazing in disbelief at the row of solid cocks, he scowled at Balforth as Dickie presented him with the electric vagina.

“Come with me, Balforth!” Bentley hollered as he spun round on his heels and marched out of the ballroom, the crowd booing and jeering after him. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Balforth tossed the electric vagina to Dickie for safekeeping and zipped his trousers. There was trouble ahead, he mused, wondering what to say to the major as he hurriedly left the ballroom.

In the refinement of Bentley’s office, the major frowned at his minion. “What is it with you, Balforth?” he asked, his face flushing with anger, his nose twitching violently. “Why do you have this terrible predilection for debased sexual behaviour?” “Well, I ...” “I sent you to the ballroom to deal with the problem, not make a complete cock-up of ...” “Cock up!” Balforth tittered, immediately wishing he hadn’t. “You need psychiatric help!” “I did win the competition, sir. I’m rather proud, actually.” “You won the ... My God, Balforth, this takes the biscuit, it really does! Never in all my years have I seen such a disgusting display! The deputy manager of Fannymead Holiday Camp getting his thing out and having it measured in front of the campers by a young girl? Never have I known anything so ... You’ll be severely punished for your disgraceful behaviour, Balforth!”

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“Are you going to cane me, sir?” “Cane you?” “I quite enjoyed the cane at school. Might I suggest that Miss Perennial canes ...” “Shut up, Balforth! You’ve behaved despicably, you deliberately try to irritate me, you ...” “I don’t deliberately try to masturbate you, sir.” “Masturbate me? Good grief!” “I said exacerbate you - irritate you.” “Shut up, Balforth! You’re confined to barracks for twenty-four hours.” “Inclined to bollocks, sir?” “Confined to barracks, you ruddy imbecile! I’ll post a guard outside your chalet to make sure you don’t leave.” “Yes, sir. Shall we synchronise our watches so that I’ll know when the twentyfour hours are up?” “Yes, good idea. Right, I make it exactly fifteen minutes and thirty-four seconds past ... Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Sniggering as Bentley rang security, Balforth planned to leave his chalet via the tunnel and nip down to the local pub for a few beers. Being confined to his chalet for twenty-four hours was as good as having a day off, he reflected. After a few drinks, he’d go to the chapel basement and shag the padre’s sex doll!

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“Right, go to your chalet, Balforth. A security officer is on his way there, as we speak.” “As we leak, sir? Balforth asked, looking down at the crotch of his trousers. “As we speak, you ruddy fool!” “Yes, sir. I’ll go and enjoy a nice rest and see you tomorrow.” “A nice rest? Balforth, being confined to barracks shouldn’t be looked upon as having a nice rest!” “I said a nice rest, sir - not a nice breast.” “Get out!” “Yes, sir. Until tomorrow.”

Making his way to his chalet, Balforth checked his watch, deciding to examine the tunnel again before leaving for the local pub. This was a stroke of luck, he thought, passing the security officer as he entered his chalet and locked the door. More than a stroke of luck - being inclined to bollocks was bloody brilliant!

Lifting the hatch in the floor, he jumped down the hole and looked about him. For twenty-four hours there’d be no more ‘where are you, Balforth?’ ‘What are you doing, Balforth?’ ‘Where the hell have you been, Balforth?’ ‘Shut up, Balforth!’ “Freedom!” he whooped, making his way along the tunnel to Wash Block A.

“Ah, yes!” he breathed, looking through the periscope and gazing longingly at a young girl taking a shower. Lathering her beautiful sex crack with her slender fingers, she parted her succulent vaginal lips, unknowingly exposing her ripening clitoris to Balforth’s popping eyes. Massaging her pleasure bud, she managed to force

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the shower nozzle deep into her young cunt, the water jetting from her bloated sex sheath and coursing down her inner thighs.

“Jesus Christ!” Balforth gasped as she unwittingly moved closer to the air vent, displaying her most intimate sex folds in her wanton act of masturbation. Easing the nozzle further into her brimming cunt, her outer lips stretched tautly around the shower head, she continued to caress her swelling nodule. Her intimate, inner flesh reddening as her climax neared, she stood with her feet further apart, the hot water streaming out of her open cunt as she began to shudder violently in her imminent coming.

Her orgasm finally erupting within her solid clitoris, she wailed her appreciation. Her legs sagging, her cunt flesh glowing crimson, she thrust the shower nozzle in and out of her lust hole, sustaining her incredible climax as Balforth watched in amazement. “God!” she cried, propelling the nozzle deep into her burning vagina. “God, my cunt!”

Her orgasm finally waning, she leaned against the wall with the shower head embedded deep within her inflamed pussy duct. Water jetting from her vagina and streaming down her twitching thighs, she breathed heavily in the wake of her climax, blissfully unaware that a voyeur was gazing longingly at the most intimate part of her young body.

His cock solid, his balls rolling, Balforth watched the girl ease the shower nozzle out of her cunt and gently caress her swollen clitoris. Her sex duct draining,

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she massaged her clitoris to another incredible orgasm, whimpering and shaking violently as ripples of sex permeated her naked body. Finally sliding down the wall to the floor, she sat with her knees against her firm breasts, her cunt lips ballooning between her shapely thighs, her eyes closing as peace and serenity bathed her very being.

As the girl climbed to her feet and left the shower, Balforth made his way along the tunnel, deciding to peer through the periscopes beneath the east chalets. Passing beneath Bentley’s office, he stopped as he heard the major’s resonant tones.

“We’ll just have to use the old boathouse until the gutted one’s been replaced, Miss Perennial.” “The old boathouse? But, sir, that’s Balforth’s ...” “Balforth’s what?” “Er ... Nothing, sir.” “There’s no other option, I’m afraid.” “But it’s right round the other side of the lake, sir. It’ll be quite a trek for the campers, not to mention the little kiddies.” “Yes, I see your point. What’s happening in the Merrydick Bar?” “It’s still occupied, sir. I’ve printed the passes for the dining hall.” “Good, we’ll distribute them later. I really can’t abide these ruddy yobs. If Burnshaw gets to hear about this, there’ll be trouble. I suggest that we ... Oh, talking of Burnshaw, he wants the female bluecoats to wear open-neck blouses rather than ties. Apparently, he thinks a bit of cleavage is ...” “But sir!”

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“Steady yourself, Miss Perennial! This is an order directly from the company chairman, we can’t argue.” “No, sir, I suppose not.”

Looking about him, Balforth noticed an old metal bucket upturned on the floor of the tunnel. Suddenly having a foolish idea, he grabbed the bucket, sniggering as he put his head inside it.

“This is the ghost of Fannymead!” he groaned, his eerie voice reverberating inside the bucket. “Who said that?” Bentley asked. “I ... I don’t know sir!” “I am the ghost of Fannymead past and I have come to haunt you!” “Oh, oh, sir!” “It’s all right, it’s probably Balforth messing about outside the window. I’ll have to deal with the ruddy idiot once and for all.” “But you told me that he’s in his chalet with a security guard outside, sir.” “Good grief, so he is!” “Miss Perennial has been making up wicked stories about Balforth! She’s been spreading rumours and malicious lies!” “Oh, sir! Who ... who is it?” “Calm yourself, there must be a rational explanation.” “For her sins, Miss Perennial will shave her cunt!” “My God!” Bentley gasped, looking about the room and scratching his head. “I’ve never heard anything so obscene!”

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“Oh, sir!” “In way of

penance for her sins, she shall shave her cunt until she is

completely devoid of pubic hair!” “This is ridiculous! I’m going to Balforth’s chalet to make sure he’s there!” Bentley stormed, flinging the door open. “If I’m right, and I’m sure I am, the ruddy idiot’s escaped and ...” “I’ll come with you, sir.” “You will shave your cunt by dusk or your clitoris will fall off!” “Oh, Major Bentley, wait for me!”

Dashing through the tunnel, Balforth reached his chalet and clambered up through the hatch in the floor. Closing the hatch and hurriedly replacing the carpet, he unlocked the door and leaped onto his bed. Grabbing a book from the bedside table, he opened it just as Bentley stormed into the chalet with Perennial in tow.

“Oh, hallo, sir,” Balforth grinned innocently. “How are things?” “Balforth ... Er ... Have you been here all the time?” “Yes, sir. The security guard will confirm ...” “Who said those dreadful things, sir?” Perennial quavered, standing by the major. “I ... I don’t know.” “Is everything all right?” Balforth asked concernedly, closing his book and sitting up. “Yes, yes everything’s fine. Er ... Miss Perennial, just to be on the safe side, I suggest you do as the ... I suggest that you do as you were told.”

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“What, shave my ...” “We can’t be too careful when dealing with the unknown, the occult. There might well be supernatural forces on the loose in my office.” “Well, I ... I really don’t want to ...” “Vile and thoroughly obscene though it is, I suggest you go to your chalet without further ado. You don’t want your ... your thing falling off, do you?” “Oh, no, sir!” “What’s vile and thoroughly obscene?” Balforth asked innocently. “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “I’m aware that you’re extremely nauseated by the obscene request, Miss Perennial, but I don’t see that you have a choice.” “But, surely ...” “Fannymead was once owned by a group of Satanists, Miss Perennial. There might well be you know what, lurking.” “What, ghosts, sir?” “It’s highly probable, given the camp’s history.” “I’ll go to my chalet now and ... and do it, sir.” “Good woman! Salt of the earth.”

Bentley scowled at Balforth as the disturbed woman left the chalet. Baffled by the bounder’s seeming innocence, he was suspicious. Moving towards the bed, his nose twitching furiously, his beady eyes peering over his gold-rimmed glasses, he frowned.

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“Balforth, if I discover that you’re behind this, there’ll be serious consequences!” “Behind what, sir? I really have no idea what’s happened.” “I’ll say no more for the time being, but be warned, Balforth.” “Warned about what?” “I’m placing two security guards outside your chalet.” “The prerogative’s entirely yours, sir.” “Indeed it is, Balforth - indeed, it is.”

The minute Bentley’d left the chalet, Balforth locked the door and slipped into the tunnel. If Perennial was shaving her cunt there was no way he was going to miss the show! Dashing beneath the chalets, he counted the periscopes, stopping beneath the hapless young woman’s chalet and peering into the small glass window at the bottom of the plastic drainpipe.

“Ah, perfect!” he breathed, watching the unsuspecting bluecoat slip her blazer off. Unzipping her skirt, she tugged the garment down her shapely legs and placed it on the bed. Quivering lasciviously, Balforth recalled taking the scissors to her pubes as she pulled her red panties down, revealing her sparse thatch. Now she was going to complete the job of transforming her vulval lips into a schoolgirlie look-alike cunt.

Taking a razor and a bottle of shampoo from the wash basin in the corner of the room, Perennial sat on a chair with her thighs parted, her yawning pussy crack facing the periscope. Pouring a little shampoo into the palm of her hand, she

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massaged the orange liquid into the gentle rise of her mons, the swell of her fleshy pussy lips.

“Oh, that’s nice!” she breathed, lathering her sex slit, her fingertips sweeping over the sensitive tip of her swelling clitoris. Balforth’s penis on full alert, he watched the woman drag the razor over her vulval flesh, the blade leaving smooth white skin in its wake. Pulling her succulent pussy lips up and apart, repeatedly dragging the razor over her most intimate flesh, she removed her cuntal hairs, gasping now and then with pleasure.

Taking a flannel, she wiped the lather and fallen curls from her soft skin, displaying her prepubescent cuntal flesh to Balforth’s popping eyes. There was nothing better than a shaved cunt! he reflected gleefully, eyeing her pinken inner lips protruding from her naked sex valley. And there was nothing better than tonguing a naked cunt!

As Perennial tugged her panties up, concealing her young sex crack, Balforth wondered whether to play the part of the ghost again and instruct her to finger her tight cunt hole. He could have her do virtually anything he wanted, he reflected, imagining her forcing a cucumber deep into her cuntal duct. He had her in the palm of his hand - in the balm of his penis!

“Miss Perennial, are you there?” Bentley called over the radio. “Yes, sir, I’m in my chalet.” “Will you come to my office as quickly as you can, please?”

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“I’m on my way, sir.” “Good. Er ... Have you done you know what?” “All done, sir.” “Good woman! Right, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Moving away from the periscope, Balforth wondered what the urgency was. There must have been some development or other, he mused as he quickly made his way along the tunnel to Bentley’s office. Beneath the office floorboards, he waited for Perennial to arrive, picturing her shaved fanny, wondering whether or not she liked it.

“Ah, Miss Perennial,” Bentley greeted the woman as she entered the room. “As Balforth is confined to barracks, I’m promoting you to acting deputy camp manager.” “Oh, thank you, sir! Oh, my goodness! This really is an honour!” “All right, calm down - it’s only a temporary post. I’ve just had a call from Cockhead Convent School for Girls. The headmistress asked whether we can accommodate forty eighteen-year-old schoolgirls.” “They’ll be rather tight, sir.” “What? Good grief, Miss Perennial, I ...” “A tight squeeze, sir.” “Oh, yes. I thought for a moment that you meant ... They’ll be sharing, two to a chalet. What I want you to do is organise twenty chalets in a row.” “That won’t be easy, sir.” “Move the campers around. Er ... You’d better put the girls in the west chalets rather than the east where the scum of the earth are.”

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“Yes, sir, I’ll get on to it right away. When are they due to arrive?” “About two hours.” “As soon as that?” “Yes, I had little choice, I’m afraid. Right, to work, Miss Perennial!” “Yes, sir!”

“My God!” Balforth breathed, imagining peeping through the periscopes at naked eighteen-year-old convent schoolgirls. Things were really

hotting up at

Fannymead! His penis twitching at the thought of their fresh young cunts, their rockhard titties topped with beautifully suckable niplettes, he lit a cigarette.

There was something about schoolgirlies, he reflected, recalling the time he’d hidden in some bushes with a pair of binoculars to monitor a netball team. Firm young breasts, fresh shapely thighs, perfectly formed vaginal lips and tight cunts ... Yes, there was definitely something about schoolgirlies!

Wishing he’d had the chance of becoming a PE teacher at a girls’ school, he listened to Bentley moving about above him. Craning his neck as he heard someone burst into the office and slam the door shut, he chuckled.

“I have a serious complaint!” a woman cried. “Really?” Bentley returned. “Yes, really! My daughter hung her underwear out to dry, and it’s been stolen!” “I’m sure it wasn’t stolen, madam. The wind probably blew ...”

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“There was no wind! Later, she was in the toilet and she saw a man peering beneath the cubicle door!” “Ah, that’ll be maintenance. I expect a plumber was checking for ...” “A plumber, my foot! It was a sexual pervert!” “You don’t know that, do you?” “Do plumbers normally look under toilet doors and ask young girls whether they masturbate?” “Well, no.” “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the man who dropped used condoms through the window onto my daughter’s head was an electrician?” “My God, someone did that?” “Yes, they did! It’s despicable!” “Did your daughter get a good look at the man?” “No, but he had brown shoes on - she saw them beneath the cubicle door.” “Brogues?” “I beg your pardon!” “Brogues, madam! Was the man wearing brogues?” “Oh yes, I believe he was.” “All right, I think I know the culprit. I’ll deal with it.” “You’d better! If there’s one more incident, I’ll call in the Sunday tabloids and expose this camp for what it is - a den of sexual perverts!”

As the woman stormed out of the office, Balforth sniggered. His little tricks were causing Bentley real problems, he reflected joyfully. But he’d better not wear his

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brown brogues for a while. Listening as Bentley answered the phone to Burnshaw, he prayed that the major wouldn’t mention short skirts or open-neck blouses.

“Trouble, sir?” Bentley bluffed. “Er ... No, everything’s fine, I can assure you! Well, yes, there was the incident with the blow-up doll and the police, but it’s all been taken care of. Ah, yes, the fire. No, it was only a minor incident in one of the dining halls, sir. Oh, the boathouse. Er ... An electrical fault. Yes, I’ve already done that, sir. Yes, the builders will soon be starting work on the dining hall and the boathouse will ... You’re coming to see me? Oh, er, right. Yes, of course, sir.”

Now the sparks were really going to start flying! Balforth thought, gleefully rubbing his hands together. Making his way to the chapel basement, he pondered on the convent schoolgirlies. If Burnshaw turned up and caught the little beauties swimming naked in the lake, he’d go insane. And as for the rioters, the damaged arcade roof, the occupied Merrydick Bar ... “Bloody hell, this is going to be good!” he chuckled as he emerged from beneath the altar. “I’d best have a few beers down the pub before the fun starts!”

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Chapter Eight

Balforth held his hand to his head. “Doctor, I think I need ... I think I need your help,” he slurred as he staggered into the surgery. “Why, what’s the matter?” the doctor grinned, slipping a spunk-stained dirty magazine into his desk drawer. “Are you drunk?” “Totally pissed! Bollocks, I didn’t realize that you had a patient!” he exclaimed, focusing on a naked, and somehow familiar woman lying on the examination couch. “That’s not a patient, it’s the padre’s sex doll. I’m about to test her out after her horrendous ordeal.” “Horrendous ordeal?” “The padre found her crumpled up behind the east chalets. Gang rape, he reckons. The poor man’s almost unhinged his mind with worry.” “Poor old padre.” “Poor old Sylvia! I inflated her and gave her colonic irrigation, a vaginal douche, and a mouth wash. She’ll be all right when she’s dried out. So, what’s your problem?” “I don’t know whether you’re aware of the new arrivals or not, but eighteen forty-year-old schoolgirlies have just turned up.” “Eighteen forty-year-old ...” “I mean, forty eighteen-year-old girlies.” “Sheer bliss!” “Bollocks, it’s dreadful!” “What do you mean?” 213

“You should see them! They’re wearing short pleated skirts, stockings, bulging panties ... Can you imagine their firm pussy lips, their ripe clitties, their tight, wet cunts? I can’t control myself! I’m suffering from penile dementia! Christ, it’s enough to drive the Pope to commit illegal sexual acts!” “I don’t suppose any normal perverted sexual deviant would find the power to control himself, Balforth. Where are the girlies now?” “Perennial’s got them sitting on the grass by the lake. I’ve been looking at them from the woods, through binoculars. I really can’t take it, Doctor - they’re sitting cross-legged! God, their panties are ...” “All right, Balforth, take it easy. I suggest you look at the girlies’ panties for as long as you can. I know it’ll be difficult, but you must force yourself to look up their skirts.” “Why?” “Why not?” “Yes, good point. I’m confined to barracks, I’ll have to be careful.” “Bentley?” “I won the biggest cock competition and it seemed to upset him.” “Penis envy, I’ve seen it before. He has a fascination for his mother’s vagina, you know.” “Does he?” “Eat your cunt out, Rex ... Eat-O-puss Rex, I’m afraid. A good dose of schoolgirlie cunt juice would cure him, but it’s not easy on the NHS. I reckon he’s traumatized after the biggest cock competition. Your enthusiasm for perverted sex must torment him terribly.” “Yes, I suppose it must.”

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As the doctor answered the phone, Balforth looked around the surgery. Vaginal speculums and vibrators lining a shelf, leather straps fixed to the examination couch and a five-litre tub of Vaseline on the floor, the place looked more like his sex lair than a doctor’s surgery! But it was good to know that the doctor was normal.

“We’re in luck!” the medic grinned as he replaced the receiver. “Slip that white coat on over there and hang this stethoscope round your neck. Our patient’s on her way.” “Patient?” Balforth echoed, donning the coat. “Perennial’s sending one of the schoolgirls to see me. Apparently, she has pains in her lower abdomen. I think an internal examination is in order, don’t you agree?” “Jesus Christ!” “Where? Oh, I see what you mean. You’ll be my assistant, OK?” “Damned right I will!”

Responding to a feeble knock on the door, the doctor hurriedly stuffed Sylvia beneath the examination couch and bid his young patient enter. Her long blonde hair cascading over her pert breasts, her deep cleavage exposed by her open blouse, she was a real stunner. Lady luck was shining! Balforth rejoiced as his partner in sin helped the delectable young beauty onto the couch and enquired exactly where the pain was.

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“Just here,” the girl winced, her succulent lips furling into a slight smile as she pointed to her lower abdomen. “I see,” the doctor smiled, manoeuvring his stiffening penis. “Er ... This is Doctor James. He’s an expert in the field of teenage gynaecology. Lift your skirt right up over your stomach and pull your knickers down to your ankles and we’ll take a look at you.”

Balforth’s penis hardening as he watched the girl pull her pleated skirt up and tug her navy-blue knickers down her youthful thighs, he almost gasped as her tightly closed vaginal slit came into view. Her sparse blonde pubes glistening in the light, her inner lips protruding alluringly from her sweet sex crack, he couldn’t wait to thrust his finger deep into her tight cunt.

“Bring your feet up to your buttocks and part your knees as far as you can,” the quack ordered his gullible patient. “That’s it! I’ll just slip your panties off your feet and take a look at you.” “The pain’s not that far down,” the girl observed as he discarded her knickers and parted her fleshy pussy lips, examining her moist inner petals. “I know, but I have to check you thoroughly. Balforth ... I mean, Doctor James, would you give me your considered vaginal opinion, please?” “Er ... Cor! I mean, certainly,” Balforth sniggered as the doctor parted the girl’s pussy lips further, exposing the wet pinken entrance to her young vagina.

Pushing his finger deep into her hot cunt, Balforth massaged her creamy inner flesh, admiring her tautly stretched outer lips, her exposed clitoris. Wondering

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whether she masturbated, he slipped a second finger deep into her tightening sex sheath.

“Oh!” the girl cried as Balforth attempted to drive a third finger into her bloated cunt. “Ouch! Do you have to do that?” “I’m afraid so,” Balforth smirked, managing to ease three fingers into her drenched duct. “You see, you might well be suffering from vaginus stressus caused by an overactive clitoris.” “Or elementary vaginus juicus,” the doctor rejoined rather too excitedly. “But I only have a stomach pain!” the girl protested as Balforth massaged her exposed clitoris with his free hand. “This might be serious,” he murmured. “Er ... Doctor, would you stretch her cunt ... Stretch her labia majora further apart, please?” “Certainly, Doctor.”

The girl’s face contorting as the quack forced her outer sex hillocks wide apart as Balforth rubbed her clitoris faster, she began gasping. Her sex button swelling beneath Balforth’s vibrating fingertips, her cunt tightening, juicing, gripping his pistoning fingers, she closed her eyes and turned her head to one side.

She was obviously close to her climax, Balforth mused, observing her reddening sex flesh. Panting, writhing, parting her knees further, she was almost there. There was no finer cure for a mild stomach upset then a damned good orgasm!

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“Oh, oh!” she gasped, her young body quivering as she tossed her head from side to side, her golden locks partially concealing her angelic, sex-flushed face. “Oh, I’m ... I’m ...” “Hold tight!” Balforth grinned, pistoning his fingers in and out of her gripping cunt faster. “This will cure you once and for all!” “Oh, but ... Oh, ah!”

Her young body shaking violently as her orgasm rose from her spasming womb and erupted within her pulsating clitoris, she arched her back, writhing uncontrollably and gasping in her coming. Clinging to the sides of the examination couch, she lifted her head, her flushed face grimacing as she rode the peak of her shuddering climax.

Her perspiring body twitching as the waves of pure sexual ecstasy washed her very being, Balforth slowed his clitoral massage, gently slipping his fingers in and out of her drenched young cunt as he brought out the last palpitations of sex. Finally relaxing, she lay on the couch with her legs wide apart, her abused cunt crack gaping, her juices of lust oozing from her tight hole. She was done, Balforth observed perceptively - well and truly done!

Withdrawing his dripping fingers from the girl’s honeypot, he licked them clean, savouring the taste of teenage come as the doctor released the girl’s outer lips, allowing her fleshy sex cushions to close, veiling her drenched vaginal entrance. Shuddering her last shudder, she sighed, her head lolling to one side, her young body tranquil.

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“Do you feel better now?” the doctor smiled, sniffing his cunny-wet fingers. “Oh, oh! Yes, I feel ...” “Just relax for a while, you’ll be as right as rain before long.” “Attention, attention!” The magic of the depraved moment was broken as Bentley resounded over the Tannoy. “Staff announcement! The security guards outside Balforth’s chalet may stand down! Balforth, report to my office this instant!” “Bollocks,” Balforth murmured under his breath. “Er ... I’ll leave you to see to our patient, Doctor.” “I’ll see to her all right! Er ... Right, thank you for your help, Doctor James.”

Petulantly placing the stethoscope on the desk and slipping the white coat off, Balforth left the surgery and headed for the main building, wondering why the tiresome old git had changed his mind and cut short his confinement. He’d desperately wanted to remain in the surgery and examine the young girl further, slip a finger deep into her tight bottom sheath, tweak her succulent niplettes - but it wasn’t to be! Muttering expletives as he crossed the Pirtate’s Courtyard, he consoled himself with the thought that there were thirty-nine other fresh young schoolgirlies to conquer - all with hot, tight, wet cunts!

“Bloody Bentley,” he murmured as he strode down the corridor and knocked on the door. “Ah, Major!” he grinned, stepping into the office. You sad old git! “You wanted to see me?” “Have you been drinking, Balforth?” “Thinking about what, sir?”

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“Drinking!” “Drinking? Me? Good God, no! I’ve been in my chalet with two security guards outside, as you know.” “But you stink of alcohol.” I stink of schoolgirlie cunt! “Ah, that’s because I’ve been cleaning my suit. There was a white stain, on the trousers, close to the zip, and I used an alcohol based cleaner to ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “I’ve called you here because we’re having problems with a group of convent schoolgirls.” I didn’t have a problem! “Would you like me to look into them, sir?” “Look into what?” “The girlies’ knick ... The problems.” “Shut up, Balforth! Miss Perennial has been run off her feet trying to organise accommodation for the forty girls, and now one’s been sent to the doctor with stomach pains! To top it all, their chaperone, Miss Staines, isn’t at all happy with Fannymead.” “Why’s that, sir?” “Because the scum of the earth have been running around drunk in their Bermuda shorts, shouting obscenities.” “I’m sure they’re only getting into the holiday spirit, sir.” “The holiday spirit? The only spirit they’re into is the scotch they’ve looted from the Merrydick Bar! To make matters worse, Burnshaw’s on his way here.”

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“Oh, how nice!” Balforth tittered. “I haven’t seen Mr Burnshaw for quite a time.” “It won’t be nice, Balforth, you ruddy idiot! When he sees the state of the camp, the arcade roof, the dining hall, the boathouse, the scum occupying the Merrydick Bar ... Good grief, he’ll go potty!” “Yes, I see your point, sir. Rather an awkward predicament, if I may say so.” “You may not say so, Balforth!” “No, sir. So, what do you suggest we do?” “For some unknown reason, Burnshaw seems to like you. I want you to deal with him when he arrives.” “But he’ll want to see you, sir. I’m only a humble deputy ...” “I realize that, you blithering idiot! What I want you to do is take the brunt of his anger, calm him down, and then I’ll see him.” “Yes, of course. I must say that I seem to have a certain way with people. I suppose they find me helpful, affable, efficient and ...” “Shut up, Balforth! Burnshaw will be here any time now. Go to the camp gates to greet him. Tell him that I’m temporarily indisposed. Bring him to my office and offer him coffee and ...” “From what I recall, sir, he doesn’t drink coffee. Earl Grey tea is his ...” “Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “After a while, I’ll come to the office and ...” “And I will have calmed him down.” “That’s right. Keep him away from the dining hall, the Merrydick Bar and the arcade. Have you got your radio with you?”

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“Roger. I mean, yes, sir.” “OK, go over to the camp gates and call me the minute Burnshaw arrives. By the way, you haven’t been dropping things through the female toilet window, have you?” “What sort of things, sir?” “Er ... Anything.” “No, of course I haven’t!” “I don’t believe you! Report to the gates and wait for Burnshaw.” “Yes, sir.”

This was a recipe for an absolutely brilliant disaster! Balforth chortled to himself as he left the main building. When Burnshaw saw the bluecoats’ obscenely short skirts and revealing blouses he’d blow his moralistic top! But some careful planning was needed to ensure that the old boy discovered the crimes himself, without his good self being implicated. Innocent in my sweet innocence! Balforth reflected gleefully.

With Dickie’s help, he could alert Burnshaw to the militants’ escapades. Dickie comes into the office and reports an incident of vandalism, he mused as he approached the main gates and sat on a bench. A distraught young girl bursts into the office complaining that someone’s spermed all over her as she sat on the toilet! Nice one, Balforth! As a Rolls Royce glided through the gates, Balforth’s stomach somersaulted with excitement.

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“Ah, Balforth!” Burnshaw grinned as he climbed out of the back of the Rolls with a fat cigar in his mouth. “Nice to see you again, sir,” Balforth smiled, rising to his feet and holding his hand out. “How are things at Fannymead?” “We’ve had one or two glitches, as I believe you know. But, in the main, things are running fairly well.” “Fairly well isn’t good enough,” Burnshaw growled as they strolled to the main building. “All my camps should be running extremely well.” “Yes, sir, I realize that.” “What, or who, do you put the recent problems down to, Balforth?” “Well, I wouldn’t say that there’s one person to blame, sir. I suppose Major Bentley has been under a certain amount of stress of late.” “Can’t he take pressure? He was a major in the army, I would have thought he’d be at his best when the heat’s on.” “To be perfectly honest, I think he still believes that he’s in the army. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s a good leader, a good manager of people, but ... Well, he seems to think that the campers are his troops.” “Yes, I know the major only too well. Would you say that he’s unfit for the job?” “I’d rather not comment on Major Bentley’s ability to run the camp, Mr Burnshaw,” Balforth replied, showing himself to be scrupulously decent as they walked down the corridor.

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Following the chairman into Bentley’s office, Balforth offered him a seat and grabbed the phone, ordering a pot of Earl Grey tea from the staff canteen. Sitting behind the desk, he straightened his tie and smiled, his devious mind spinning with novel, pernicious ideas.

“Tea will be a few minutes, sir.” “You’re a good man, Balforth! I like a chap who remembers little things such as Earl Grey tea.” “Thank you, sir.” “Have you thought of running for camp manager?” “No, I haven’t, sir.” “You should give it some serious thought. Where’s Bentley?” “Er ... He’ll be along shortly, sir.” Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket as his radio burst into life, Balforth stifled a titter. “Balforth, you blithering idiot, where the ruddy hell are you?” Bentley barked. “Er ... I’m in your office, sir,” Balforth replied, grinning as he sensed trouble brewing. “You’re supposed to be by the main gate waiting for ruddy Burnshaw.” “Yes, I was, sir.” “So what the hell are you doing in my ruddy office?” “I’ve just ordered tea, sir.” “Tea? Good grief, man! Get over to the main gate and wait for Burnshaw, you ruddy imbecile.” “There’s no need to wait for Mr Burnshaw, sir.”

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“Isn’t he coming? Oh, thank God for that! The last thing I need is ruddy Burnshaw poking his nose around the camp.” “He’s here, sir.” “Here? Where’s here?” “In your office, sir.” “In my ... Good grief! Er ... Ah, right, yes ... I’m on my way.”

Grinning as he replaced his radio in his jacket pocket, Balforth looked up as a young bluecoat knocked at the door and entered the office with a tray of tea. Her skirt so short that her sex-bulged red panties were clearly visible, her open blouse revealing her naked breasts, her succulent nipples, as she bent over, Balforth waited for Burnshaw to blow his top.

“What’s your name?” the old boy asked sharply, his eyes transfixed on the girl’s long milk teats. “Suzie, sir,” she smiled. “Do you normally wear your skirts so short?” “Er ... I was told ...” “I’ve never seen anything like it! And you’re not wearing a bra!” “Might I explain, sir?” Balforth interrupted as the girl scurried out of the room. “Balforth, that girl’s skirt was absolutely ...” “Yes, er ...” Balforth began as Bentley burst into the office. “Ah, Mr Burnshaw,” the rattled major smiled, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m so terribly sorry about that young bluecoat’s skirt and blouse.”

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“Sorry?” “I’ve discovered that Balforth rang me from the phone box pretending to be ...” “He rang you from the phone box?” Burnshaw frowned. “What are you talking about, Bentley?” “The bluecoats’ ridiculously short skirts and open blouses were Balforth’s doing, sir. He’ll be severely ...” “Your idea, Balforth?” “Well, I ...” “Come on, tell the truth.” “Yes, it was my idea, sir.” “You’re a good man, Balforth!” Burnshaw commended him. “I like it, I like it very much!” “Oh, thank you, sir!” Balforth smiled coyly. “You see, Bentley, Balforth has drive, ambition, fresh ideas ... I’m proud to have you as a member of my staff, Balforth.” “And I’m proud to be a member of your staff, sir.” “Why you never come up with innovative ideas, Bentley, I really don’t know.” “But the regulations ...” “Damn the regulations! Excellent, Balforth! I shall be instructing all camps to follow suit. Short skirts, open blouses, no bras ... Yes, an excellent idea!”

Rising to his feet as Bentley indicated for him to move from his seat, Balforth stood by the desk, humming as the major sat down to face the grumpy chairman. Round one to me! he thought happily as Burnshaw asked about the blow-up sex doll.

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His nose twitching furiously, Bentley began his stammered explanation, flashing accusing looks at his boyant deputy. The fun was only just beginning! Balforth thought joyously. Burnshaw knew nothing yet of the rioters in the Merrydick Bar but he’d soon find out - he’d make sure of that!

“Why you allowed a blow-up sex doll into the camp is beyond me!” Burnshaw growled. “I didn’t allow it, sir,” Bentley replied lamely, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. “There was a blow-up sex doll on the altar, Bentley! As camp manager, you should ensure that such incidents don’t occur! If it wasn’t for Balforth’s intervention, God knows what would have happened!” “Balforth’s intervention, sir?” “From what I heard, he went above and beyond his duty to deal with the problem.” “But Balforth was the one who ...” “And what’s all this I hear about you closing the bars at nine o’clock?” “Ah, yes. You see ...” “Balforth, at what time would you close the bars if you were camp manager?” “Well,” Balforth smirked, confident that he was about to win round two. “Taking into consideration not only the campers’ needs but the company’s profits, I’d allow the bars to stay open until at least two in the morning, sir.” “You hear that, Bentley? Words of wisdom, words of an astute businessman.” “But heavy drinking ...” Bentley stammered, his nose twitching.

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“Heavy drinking brings heavy profits, Bentley! Don’t you understand the rudiments of business? The more drink we sell, the more money we make! Balforth, what else would you do to increase profits and ensure that the campers return to Fannymead year after year?” “The campers come here to have fun and relax, sir. I’d say that live rock music every night would go down well.” “Good, good! That’s modern thinking, I like it.” “I’d also fence off an area by the lake for topless sunbathing,” Balforth ventured boldly. “Topless sunbathing?” Bentley gasped. “You see, sir, he has no idea ...” “Sounds good to me, Balforth,” Burnshaw nodded pensively. “But why stop at topless? If an area by the lake was properly fenced off, why not have nude sunbathing?” “Yes, a very good idea, sir,” Balforth simpered. “We might even set up a bar in the nudist area, and serve snacks.” “Now you’re talking, Balforth! We’ll have people descending on our camps from all over the country!” Rising to his feet, Burnshaw glared at Bentley. “Let’s take a good look around Fannymead,” he growled, opening the door. “I want to discover why you don’t want me poking my nose around the camp, as you put it.” “Er ... Yes, of course, sir,” the major replied meekly, flashing Balforth a scowl as he mooched after his disgruntled superior.

Pouring himself a cup of tea, Balforth chuckled. Poor old Bentley had been shot down in flames, and he now had to show the chairman around what was left of

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the camp. The arcade roof, the boathouse, the dining hall, the Merrydick Bar ... “He’s done for!” Balforth laughed, taking his Marlborough from his pocket.

Suddenly realizing that Bentley might be fired, he pondered on the consequences as he sipped his tea. Dickie would bring a lot of fun to the camp if he replaced the old git. With Biggest Boob and Hairiest Fanny competitions, Fannymead would be a riot in the happier sense of the word. But he didn’t relish the idea of becoming camp manager himself. With the harsh responsibility, there’d be no more room for puerile pranks, fun and games.

Turning as someone knocked on the door, he grinned as Miss Perennial appeared in her open-neck blouse and ridiculously short skirt. Recalling her shaving her fanny, he imagined her hairless sex lips bulging her knickers as he gazed at her shapely thighs. Oh to lick her pre-pubescent-like cunt!

“Where’s Major Bentley?” the young woman asked, closing the door. “He’s taking Burnshaw on a guided tour of the labour camp,” Balforth grinned, his eyes transfixed on her deep cleavage. “I hope you’re not going to do anything obscene, Balforth! Just because we’re alone and I’m completely vulnerable and totally defenceless ...” “Obscene?” Balforth echoed, realizing the nouveau nympho was desperate to put on her fainting act and display her naughty bits. “You know what I mean, Balforth!” she returned. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you got your thing out and ...” “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do that.”

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Failing to disguise her obvious disappointment, Perennial fiddled with the front of her blouse, parting the material to exhibit her firm, braless breasts. Pretending to take no notice, Balforth delighted in her rising arousal as she parted her blouse further, blatantly revealing her erect nipples.

“You weren’t waiting in here for me, were you?” she asked, rather too hopefully. “No, I was just having a cup of tea,” he replied nonchalantly. “Will the major be very long?” “Ages, I would imagine.” “I do hope that you’re not going to do anything vulgar, Balforth! You know that I’m prone to fainting.” “Fear not, Miss Perennial, my days of vulgarity are over.” “Oh, are they?” she sighed. “Well, I’m ... I’m pleased to hear it. I thought you might flash your thing at me so I’d faint and then you could pull my knickers down and ...” “No, no I wouldn’t do that.” “Oh, I see. Well, I’d better be going, seeing as ...”

Grinning, Balforth hauled his erect penis out of his trousers and pulled his foreskin back, revealing his glistening purple plum to Miss Perennial’s wide eyes. Gasping and crumpling to the floor, she performed with her customary verve. Her legs splayed, her short skirt riding up over her stomach, she lay with her knickerless pussy shamelessly on display.

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Kneeling between her legs, Balforth ran his fingers over her smooth, hairless, sex lips, his penis twitching as he parted her soft, fleshy hillocks and focused on her ripening clitoris. Her vaginal entrance oozing with her juices of arousal, she was obviously dying for a good fuck, he mused, stretching her fleshy folds further apart.

Bentley would be some time with Burnshaw, he reflected, stretching out on the floor between Perennial’s legs and licking the full length of her naked vaginal slit. There was time enough to give the woman a damned good cunt licking before the old man returned - and a damned good fucking!

Parting her thighs further, Balforth stretched her baby-smooth outer lips wide apart, exposing her most intimate inner flesh to his eagerly lapping tongue. The young woman emitted stifled moans as her clitoris reddened and swelled and her cunt juice flowed in torrents from her open lust duct. Her head lolling to one side, she shuddered, breathing deeply as the exquisite sensations of sex permeated her pelvis.

“Mmm,” she moaned involuntarily through her nose as Balforth crudely rammed three fingers deep into her drenched cunt and sucked her solid clitoris into his hot mouth. Parting her legs further, her vaginal crack yawning, she obviously couldn’t wait to be speared by Balforth’s huge cock and fucked rotten.

Heightening her arousal, Balforth finger-fucked her tightening cunt and repeatedly licked the sensitive crown of her pulsating clitoris. Unable to stifle her

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gasps of pleasure, Perennial dug her fingernails into the carpet, her stomach rising and falling as her orgasm approached.

“You have a nice juicy cunt,” Balforth murmured, watching her sex-flushed face for a reaction as he pistoned his fingers in and out of her creaming vagina. “I’d like to push my tongue right up your cunt and lick your cervix. I’d also like to roll you over and shove my cock up your bum. There’s nothing better than a good arse fuck! I’ll bet your arse is tight and hot and in dire need of my spunk.”

Perennial’s lips furling into a slight grin, she was obviously deriving great pleasure from Balforth’s foul comments. Her crude sexual awakening was one of the best things that could have happened, he reflected as her clitoris pulsated beneath his sweeping tongue. But whatever had happened to her love for the major?

Again, Balforth wondered whether her fainting fits had ever been genuine. She’d always crumpled to the floor with her legs splayed, apparently exposing her bulging panties deliberately. Perhaps she’d taken both him and the major for a ride, and been faking all along?

Deciding that the time had come to fuck her, he slipped his fingers out of her drenched vaginal duct and took his erect penis in his hand. Perennial moaned slightly as he pulled his foreskin right back and positioned his bulbous knob between her wet, rubicund outer labia. Running his knob up and down her yawning cuntal crack, lubricating his weaponhead in readiness to penetrate her tight vagina, he pondered on the old boathouse.

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He’d have to lure the woman to his sex lair again for a damned good buttock caning, he decided, slipping his solid knob into her hot vaginal orifice. A huge church candle rammed deep into her rectal duct would give her something to think about, too!

“Oh!” Perennial gasped as he drove his rod fully home, his glans pressing against the smooth hardness of her cervix, his balls resting against her taut bottom cheeks. Gazing down at the young woman’s hairless vulval flesh, her schoolgirlie look-alike labia stretched tautly around his wet, veined shaft, her clitoris forced out of its pinken bonnet, Balforth began his fucking motions.

“Oh!” Perennial whimpered again as he repeatedly drove his weapon deep into her tightening cunt. “Ah! Oh!” Wasting no time, Balforth quickened his vaginal fucking, taking the woman closer to her climax with every penile thrust. Bentley and Burnshaw might walk into the room at any moment, he thought, the notion of imminent danger stimulating him to ram into her with

a force that drove her

trembling body jolting across the carpet. “Ooh! Ah!” Perennial cried in her imminent coming. Bentley and Burnshaw coming would really cause a hoo-ha!

“Dear God!” Perennial whispered as her orgasm rose from her quivering womb and erupted in her pulsating clitoris. Balforth’s sperm jetting from his throbbing knob, his balls swinging, battering her rounded buttocks, he gasped, fucking her with a vengeance. “Dear God!” she breathed again, arching her back as she tried to endure her shuddering climax without screaming out her pleasure.

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Making his last thrusts, spunking her hot cervix, his swinging balls drained, Balforth finally withdrew his cunny-wet penis and quickly zipped his trousers as he heard voices in the corridor. Pulling Perennial to her feet as she came round from her massive eruption, he straightened her skirt and propped her quivering body up against the wall as the office door opened.

“I’m appalled!” Burnshaw growled as he stormed into the office followed by a flushed-faced Bentley. “The camp is in a state of riot!” “Yes, I ... I know, sir,” Bentley stammered, his nose twitching as he straightened his bow tie. “Oh, sir!” Perennial gasped, sperm running down her inner thighs and dripping onto the floor, forming a neat little pool between her feet. “Not now, Miss Perennial!” Bentley snapped.

Her face flushed with sex and embarrassment, Perennial pigeon-toed from the room and closed the door as Balforth moved to the window and gazed outside. Now Bentley was in real trouble! he reflected as Burnshaw ranted on about the state of the camp. What the big boss would do, he had no idea - apart from fire Bentley!

“I’ll give you one week, Bentley!” Burnshaw roared. “I’ll be back in seven days from now and I’ll expect this to be the finest camp in the land!” “Oh, it will be, sir,” Bentley fawned as Burnshaw yanked open the office door. “If it’s not one hundred per cent, you’ll be for the high jump!” “Yes, I understand, sir. I promise you that I’ll ...”

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“Goodbye, Balforth,” Burnshaw interrupted. “Do give some serious consideration to running for the position of camp manager.” “I will, sir.” “With you in charge, I’m sure this camp would be efficient, profitable and ... I’ll leave you in charge of the nudist idea. I’ll have the fence erected and you can do the rest.” “Yes, sir, I’ll start planning right away.” “Good man, Balforth.”

Slamming the office door, Burnshaw strode down the corridor leaving Bentley in a state of near panic. Balforth began humming and rubbing his chin as the major’s nose twitched furiously. It had all been great fun, but it was time for a bollocking, he knew only too well. But he’d done nothing to contribute to Bentley’s crisis, had he? Apart from failing to inform him that Burnshaw had arrived, he’d done nothing wrong.

“Balforth, I ... I suppose you think you’re ruddy clever!” Bentley hollered, his face reddening. “Clever, sir? Well, I did do rather well at school and ...” “Burnshaw’s ruddy little pet, aren’t you?” “I do believe he owns a dog so ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “Why didn’t you call me on your radio when Burnshaw arrived?” “I did, sir. I kept calling and calling. It must have been atmospherics.”

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“Atmospherics, my foot!” “What’s wrong with your foot, sir?” “There’ll be something wrong with your head in a minute! The way you handled Burnshaw was ...” “I thought I handled Mr Burnshaw rather well.” “You ... you ...” “Calm down, sir,” Balforth grinned as the major’s face turned bright scarlet and he began foaming at the mouth. “Why don’t you have a large scotch?” “A large ... Get out, Balforth! Get out! Get out!” “What, now, sir?” “Get out!” “Yes, sir.”

Hurriedly leaving the office, Balforth bounded down the corridor and out of the building, sniggering as he imagined Bentley about to suffer an apoplexy. After a good fuck and a bloody good laugh he was in need of a large scotch himself, he decided as he walked briskly to the Hot Jungle Juice Bar.

“A quadruple scotch, please,” he said, smiling at the steward. “You look pleased with yourself, Balforth.” “I am, I am! I’ve just fucked a woman with a shaved cunt!” “A shaved cunt?” the young man echoed, passing Balforth his drink. “Yes, shaved, smooth, schoolgirlie ... God, how I love fucking shaved fannies! So, how are things?” “Things are OK here, but I don’t know about the Merrydick Bar.”

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“Ah, yes, the rioters.” “Word has it that they’re about to take over the bingo hall.” “What do they want to do that for?” “I would imagine that they’re aiming to capture the whole camp.” “Come in, Balforth!” Bentley called over the radio. “Bollocks, now what?” Balforth muttered, taking his radio from his pocket. “Balforth to Major Bentley.” “Where are you, Balforth?” “Out, sir.” “Out?” “You told me to get out, so I did.” “Balforth, just tell me where you are.” “Er ... Now, let me see. Ah, yes, I’m in the Hot Jungle Juice Bar.” “You mean the Happy Campers’ Bar.” “No, the Hot Jungle Juice Bar.” “The name’s been changed, you ruddy idiot! Report to my office this instant!” “Have you calmed down, sir?” “No, I have not!” “It rather worries me when you foam at the mouth, sir. Might I suggest that I see you later when you’re less psychologically disturbed?” “You’ll be in my office within two minutes or I’ll throw you out of the camp for good!” “In that case, I’ll be there just as fast as my little legs can carry me.” “Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

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Shaking his head, Balforth raised his eyes to the ceiling as the bar steward refilled his glass. It would have been nice to relax in the bar and ogle the girlies for an hour or so, but it wasn’t to be, he reflected as the padre approached him.

“Hallo, Balforth, old chap,” the man of God smiled, taking his pew on a bar stool. “How are things with you?” “Not so bad, Padre. Can I get you a drink?” “Thanks, I’ll have a pint of bitter with a double scotch thrown in.” “Are you celebrating something?” the bar steward asked. “Yes, Sylvia’s come back.” “Who’s Sylvia?” “Er ... An intimate friend of mine.” “Is she OK?” Balforth winked, recalling the doll on the doctor’s examination couch. “Yes, as right as rain! God, she went through hell, the poor girl.” “Hell?” the steward frowned, passing the cleric his drink. “It’s a long story,” Balforth smiled as Bentley called him again on the radio. Ignoring the major, Balforth sipped his scotch. “Does the word periscope mean anything to you, Padre?” Choking, spewing out his beer, the padre looked at Balforth aghast. “Periscope?” he echoed. “Tunnel, periscope, cellar ...” “Balforth, how do you ...” “Balforth, where the ruddy hell are you?” Bentley persisted.

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“I’ll talk to you later, Padre,” Balforth grinned, knocking back his scotch. “Enjoy your drink.”

Heading for Bentley’s office, Balforth pondered on Perennial’s shaved cunny lips. His penis stiffening as he imagined slipping his cock deep into her hot vagina as she bent over, he decided to let her know that he’d be in the old boathouse later that evening. He’d make up some excuse or other to check the boathouse and she’d come running, he knew. Swooning, she’d enjoy an hour or two of buttock caning, anal intercourse, and anything else his perverted mind could conjure. Entering the major’s office, Balforth was surprised to see Miss Perennial standing by the desk.

“Balforth!” Bentley stormed. “You were supposed to be here within two minutes!” “I was waylaid, sir,” Balforth grinned, wondering whether Perennial had informed the major of the lewd cock-flashing incident. “Waylaid by whom?” “Er ... I had to help a teenaged girl, sir. She was in the toddler’s paddling pool with her bikini bottom stuck up her ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “I was only helping her, sir. For a moment I thought I might have to perform surgery to remove her bikini bottom.” “Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

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“The reason I sent for you is because Miss Perennial has come up with a good idea. I’m going to employ three male bluecoats to pose as policemen and patrol the camp.” “Ah, the long arm of the law.” “Precisely. What do you think?” “What do I drink? A large scotch would go down nicely.” “I said, what do you think?” “To be completely dishonest, I can’t see the rioters taking a great deal of notice of policemen. In my experience with criminals and the boys in blue ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “I’m sorry, but you did ask.” “Right, this is what we’ll do,” Bentley began as the phone rang.

Balforth winked at Miss Perennial as Bentley answered the phone. Smiling slightly, she couldn’t resist lowering her eyes and focusing on his bulging crotch as he manipulated his stiffening penis. She was probably recalling his huge cock driving deep into her wet cunt, spunking her cervix. Wondering whether she was still knickerless and whether she’d put on her fainting act, allowing the major to see her hairless pussy, he deftly slipped his cock out and pulled his foreskin back.

“Oh!” Perennial gasped, crumpling to the floor as she gazed at his bulbous glans. Her legs splayed, her hairless vulval flesh blatantly exhibited, she looked through her eyelashes at Balforth as he wanked his foreskin back and forth over his swollen knob. Still rambling on the phone with his back to the gall, the major hadn’t seen Perennial’s wares - or Balforth’s cock!

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Slipping his penis into his trousers, Balforth lifted the woman’s skirt up over her smooth stomach and parted her legs further. Her pinken cunt crack gaping, her moist inner flesh bared for all to see, she lay motionless.

“My God!” Bentley cried as he replaced the receiver and turned to see Perennial’s yawning sex crevice. “Balforth what ...” “Oh!” Balforth gasped, turning away from the window. “I didn’t see her faint.” “Good grief, just look at her ...” “She’s shaved her ... her naughty bits, sir.” “Yes, er ... It was because of the ... the ...” “Oh!” Perennial screamed as she opened her eyes and clambered to her feet. “Whatever happened?”

Flush-faced, his penis bulging his trousers, Bentley sat at his desk and mopped his brow with his handkerchief. Balforth reckoned that the old trooper had never set eyes on a hairless fanny before. Would his heart take it? he wondered as the major snatched a bottle of pills from the drawer.

“Er ... That was the police,” Bentley enlightened Balforth, popping four pills as Perennial fled the office. “I wonder why Miss Perennial shaved herself?” Balforth murmured pensively. “Don’t worry about that! It seems that the police are on their way here to see you.”

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“Me, sir?” “Yes, you, sir! There have been several complaints. Apparently, you’ve been taking certain items of women’s undergarments from the laundry room and ...” “I’ve done no such thing, sir!” “Of course you have, Balforth! You’re obsessed with the perverted aspects of sex! You’re a psychopathic sexual deviant! You’ll wait here until they arrive.” “But I ...” “Allegedly, you’ve amassed quite a collection of soiled underwear in your chalet.” “I ...” “The police will search your chalet on their arrival. I suggest you pray.”

Gazing out of the window, Balforth frowned. He’d been set up, he was sure. But who would have done such a thing? The major? he pondered, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets and fondling his semi-erect cock. The bollocking major!

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Chapter Nine

D

I Smart grinned. “Exhibit A,” he announced with an air of triumph as he placed a pair of soiled knickers on the table in front of Balforth. “Exhibit B,

exhibit C, exhibit D ... There are thirty-two pairs of soiled knickers in this bag! Red silk, pink cotton, blue, white, frilly, lace ... They were all found in your chalet! How do you explain that, Mr Balforth?” “I ... I can’t,” Balforth replied uneasily. “Someone must have put them there.” “Oh, yes, we know someone put them there! Only a few days ago you were sitting in this very interview room accused of a gruesome murder. Now you’re back here accused of stealing dirty washing from the camp laundry room. What with your previous record of perverted sexual escapades, I’d say that you’re lying.” “Bollocks, I am not lying!” “We’ll let the judge decide that.” “How can the judge decide? He wasn’t in the laundry room.” “That amounts to a confession, Mr Balforth.” “No, it doesn’t.” “Yes, it does. You must have been in the laundry room to know that the judge wasn’t there.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Life’s ridiculous at times. Can you prove that the judge wasn’t in the laundry room?” “Of course I can’t prove it! What would a judge be doing in a laundry room?” Apart from wanking over a pair of soiled panties?

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“You tell me, Mr Balforth - you tell me! The fact of the matter is that these items were found in your chalet. According to Major Bentley, no one has access to your chalet, other than you.” “I didn’t steal the knickers, and I didn’t put them in my chalet.” “Perhaps it was the fairies.” “Fairies steal men’s underpants, not women’s knickers - everyone knows that.” “What do you know of fairies?” “Not a lot. But I know one when I see one - Detective Inspector.” “What are you implying?” “Nothing. If that’s all, Inspector, I’ll be going.” “That is not all, Mr Balforth! Do you know the law regarding indecent exposure?” “Should I?” “Of course you should, you break it often enough! There’s another little matter that’s been brought to my attention, Mr Balforth.” “How nice for you.” “It won’t be very nice for you.” DI Smart paused and grinned. “Henry Arthur Balforth, I hereby charge you with indecent exposure in the ballroom of Fannymead Holiday Camp on the twenty-fourth of August ...”

Gazing out of the window, Bentley scratched his head, wondering what to do about the Merrydick Bar. The rioters also occupying the bingo hall, things weren’t looking at all good. “One week to sort this ruddy mess out,” he breathed, dreading Burnshaw’s return.

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He’d given the militants what they’d wanted - bikinis, midnight bars, the ban on heavily pregnant women lifted ... What else could he do? he wondered, deciding to strangle Dickie Dubious the next time he ran into him. The sooner the ruddy election was over, the better!

Turning away from the window as Perennial entered the office, Bentley recalled her shaved pussy, her smooth, swollen outer lips, her pinken vaginal crack. His penis stiffening as he focused his beady eyes on her shapely thighs, he wondered whether to do a Balforth - flash his cock at the woman so that in her comatose state he could closely examine her naked intimacy.

“What is it, Miss Perennial?” he asked, steeling himself against committing the act of gross indecency. “Sir, I put the women’s undergarments in Balforth’s chalet,” the young woman confessed. “You? But why ...” “I’d found the bag of ... of things by Wash Block B and was going to return them to the laundry room when I noticed Balforth’s chalet door was open.” “You can’t see the west chalets from Wash Block B, let alone Balforth’s door.” “Er ... I mean ... I found the bag by the toddlers’ paddling pool. I went into Balforth’s chalet and put the bag down. Then I heard a commotion going on outside and left the chalet, closing the door behind me. It was only later that I remembered leaving the bag there.”

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“I see. Right, well, I’d better ring the police station and explain the situation. I wonder what the bag of ... I wonder why the bag was left by the paddling pool?” “I ... I suppose one of the cleaning women left it there.” “Odd, most odd.” “There’s another thing, sir. The ghost ... I heard the ghost again.” “Really? Good grief, where was this?” “In the corridor earlier.” “Well, this proves beyond all doubt that it’s not Balforth as he’s down at the police station. What did the ghost say?” “It said ... I don’t think I can bring myself to repeat it, sir.” “Terribly psychologically disturbing though it might be, please try, Miss Perennial.” “I’ll do my best. It said ... It told me never to wear knickers, sir.” “My God! After all the trouble we’ve had of late, we now have a sexually perverted ghost haunting Fannymead!” “There’s more. To save my thing falling off, I must ... No, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.” “You must what, Miss Perennial? What must you do?” “Oh, sir, I feel giddy! Do you mind if I sit down?” “No, of course not.”

Perching on the edge of Bentley’s desk, Miss Perennial tentatively parted her thighs, displaying her hairless vaginal crack to the major’s wide eyes. Allowing her legs to fall further apart, her arousal soaring with her new-found exhibitionism, she licked her lips provocatively as she smiled at her rivetted boss.

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“I feel a little better now,” she said softly, discreetly tugging her short skirt up. “It’s probably the heat,” the major spluttered, his eyes transfixed on her pink inner petals, protruding beckoningly from her glistening sex valley. “It’s over eighty degrees in here.” “I must admit I do feel very hot today.” “I feel rather hot under the collar!” Bentley exclaimed, eyeing globules of cunt milk clinging to the woman’s unfurling inner lips. “It’s very difficult wearing this short skirt without my knickers, sir. I have to be so careful, as you can imagine.” “Er ... Yes, I can see only too ... I can imagine only too well!”

Pondering on Perennial’s blatant exhibitionism, Bentley began to wonder whether Balforth had anything to do with her uncharacteristic behaviour, her inexplicable sexual awakening. Perhaps, in her sexual fantasies, she’d made up the terrible accusations about Balforth and he was totally innocent of thrusting his hand up her skirt and flashing his penis at her. Deciding to suggest that she visit the doctor, Bentley rose to his feet, desperately trying not to feast his eyes on the delights between her curvaceous young thighs.

“Er ... Would you go over to the doctor, please?” he said brusquely, opening the office door. “The doctor, sir?” Perennial frowned, her skirt riding up and exposing the swell of her hairless vaginal lips as she slipped off the desk.

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“Yes, all staff are having tests. Er ... Mental ability tests. It was Mr Burnshaw’s idea.” “Mental ...” “Don’t worry, Miss Perennial, it’s only a standard test. I took it myself the other day.” “But I’m not mental, sir.” “I realize that, Miss Perennial. This is simply a standard test to determine stress levels among the staff.” “Oh, right. I’ll go and see him now.”

Ringing the doctor as the young woman left the office, Bentley gave him a brief low-down on her peculiar behaviour, requesting that psychiatric tests be carried out. “Blatantly displaying her shaved vulval flesh?” the randy doctor echoed excitedly, agreeing all too eagerly to a comprehensive examination. “I promise to give her a damned good ... I mean, a thorough going over, Major,” he said animatedly. “Not a physical examination,” Bentley returned irritably, his jealousy rising as he imagined the doctor scrutinizing Perennial’s baby-soft fanny. “No, of course not, Major. I’ll put her through psychiatric tests to determine her state of mind, sexually speaking.” “There’ll be no speaking about sex, Doctor!” “No, I mean, I’ll determine her state of mind from a sexual aspect.” “Yes, I see. As camp manager, I have the welfare of my staff to care for, so you’ll report your findings to me.” “But confidentiality between a doctor and his patient is of paramount ...”

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“You’ll report your findings to me or you’ll be seeking employment elsewhere.” “Yes, of course, Major. Oh, I believe she’s here, I’ll talk to you later.”

Entering the doctor’s surgery, Miss Perennial strutted across the room and sat at his desk. Was she deliberately displaying her suckable breasts? he wondered, eyeing her deep cleavage. Her blouse falling open, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra and imagined his penis thrusting between the swell of her mammary globes, his spunk jetting from his throbbing knob and splattering her neck.

Leaning forward, he focused on her darkening areolae, her delectable erect nipples - lickable, suckable. This wasn’t the austere young woman he’d had the misfortune to know in the past! What sort of wonderful sexual trauma could have transformed her almost beyond recognition? he pondered.

“Miss Perennial,” he began, leaning further over the desk. “Er ... Let’s talk about sex.” “Why?” she gasped. “Because sex is a very important aspect of our lives. Tell me, do you masturbate?” he asked unashamedly, his penis twitching as he imagined her slender fingers caressing her swollen clitoris to orgasm. “Er ... Well, I ...” “Come on, I’m a doctor, you can tell me.” “Yes, yes I do,” she confessed, her face flushing. “Do you like cucumbers?”

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“Cucumbers? Well, they’re all right, but I prefer marrows.” Christ! “Yes, of course. How do you feel about exhibitionism?” “What’s that?” “Exhibiting your body, flaunting certain naughty parts of your body.” “It’s disgusting!” “Do you not realize that, as we speak, you’re displaying your firm tit ... Your breasts?” “Oh, my goodness!” Perennial cried, looking down and pulling her blouse together to veil her beautiful mammary teats. “Didn’t you know?” “I had no idea! I’m so ashamed!” “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Perennial. Right, a little test. I want you to stand up and sit on my face desking me ... Sit on my desk facing me.”

Complying, Perennial slid her rounded buttocks onto the doctor’s desk. Facing him, she parted her thighs, displaying her prized, schoolgirlie look-alike vaginal lips to his bulging eyes. Was she really not aware of what she was doing? he pondered, shifting uneasily in his chair as he pictured his solid penis slipping between her smooth vulval pads and driving deep into the wet heat of her tight cunt.

“Very good,” he finally said, perching on the edge of his chair to afford himself a better view of her protruding inner sex petals. “How do you feel, Miss Perennial?” Sexy, horny? “I feel fine.”

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Christ, I’d like to feel your cunt! “Good, good,” he smiled, rubbing his chin as he imagined licking her erect clitoris to orgasm. “OK, now I’d like you to stand by the desk with your back to me and pretend to pick something up off the floor.” “Why do you want me to do that?” So I can have a look at your beautiful cunt from behind! “Er ... To check your movements, the way you move your beautiful female ... The way you move your body when performing certain tasks.” “Oh, a sort of time and motion study?” she smiled. “Yes, you could call it that.”

Standing with her back to the quack, Perennial leaned over and touched the floor. Her feet wide apart, her legs straight, her short skirt riding up over the roundness of her taut buttocks, the doctor could clearly see her vaginal lips swelling beneath her tight bottom-hole. Massaging his solid penis through his trousers, it was all he could do to restrain himself, to hold back from whipping his cock out and thrusting it deep into her inviting roost.

“How am I doing?” she panted, gazing up at the doctor from between her legs. “Christ! I mean ... Yes, very good, Miss Perennial! Is that how you always bend over?” “Yes, it is.” Sheer bliss! “I can see everything clearly now.” “Can you?” “Damned right I ... Er ... All right, stand up and face me. Now I want you to imagine that you’re reaching up to a high shelf.”

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“Like this?” the temptress smiled, turning to face him, her hands above her head, her skirt rising over her stomach. “Bloody hell! Er ... Yes, that’s it,” the doctor grinned, gazing longingly at her ballooning outer sex hillocks, her moist crack. “All right, you may sit on my face ... my desk again.”

It was almost too much for the doctor to bear. His penis close to bursting as he gazed at the intimacy clearly visible between his flagrant patient’s open legs as she perched herself on the edge of his desk, he pondered on her actions. Finally concluding that she wasn’t aware of her blatant exhibitionism, he looked up to her pretty face.

“You’re suffering from vulvus exhibitionus,” he enlightened her. “What’s that?” “Er ... It’s a rare mental disorder.” “Oh, dear! But, what are the symptoms, Doctor? I feel perfectly all right.” “The symptoms are difficult to define. Do you ever have the desire to walk around the camp totally naked?” “No, never!” “Shame. When did you last have sexual intercourse?” “I ... I’ve never had sexual intercourse.” Then it’s high time you did! “I’d better take a look at you. Hop onto my consummation crotch ... I mean, my examination couch.” “You won’t be able to tell whether ... whether I’ve had intercourse, will you, Doctor?”

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“Why do you ask?” “No reason.”

Reclining on the couch, Miss Perennial closed her eyes as the doctor pulled her skirt up and examined her hairless outer labia. “Mmm,” he breathed pensively as he parted her fleshy inner folds and eased a finger into her tight, wet, sex sheath. Massaging her G spot, bringing out her cunt milk, he exposed her ripening clitoris with his free hand and examined the small, erectile protrusion.

“May I ask why you have no pubic hair?” he murmured, pressing on the moist, pink flesh between her gaping sex slit, easing her pleasure nodule out. “I ... I can’t tell you,” she replied softly. “Why don’t you wear knickers?” “I can’t tell you that, either.” “Most intriguing! Right, turn over and I’ll continue the violation ... I mean, the examination,” he instructed, slipping his finger out of her wettening cunt.

Turning her curvaceous young body over and following the doctor’s instructions, Miss Perennial rested on her elbows, her knees against her firm breasts, her buttocks jutting. Eyeing her inflated vaginal lips protruding between her shapely thighs, the doctor massaged the sensitive bridge of skin between her dripping vaginal entrance and her delectable bottom-hole.

“Oh!” she gasped as his finger ran over her anal iris. “Oh, that’s ... that’s very ...”

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“Just relax, Miss Perennial. This test will determine the sensitivity of your perineum and your production of vaginal lubricant.” “But you’re rubbing my back door!” “That’s because I need to ascertain the sensitivity of your anal os,” the quack replied, taking a vibrator from a shelf above the couch. “I’m going to insert a dilator into your vagina to establish the strength of your vaginal muscles.” “Is this really necessary?” Of course not! “Yes, it is.”

Parting his patient’s swollen sex cushions and pushing the large vibrator deep into her drenched cunt, the doctor switched the device on. Perennial let out little gasps of pleasure as the powerful vibrations transmitted through her engorging vaginal walls and played on her solid clitoris. The sensations driving her wild, her young body writhing, she slipped her hand discreetly between her thighs and massaged her throbbing sex button.

“Ah!” she gasped, her body jolting as the doctor thrust his finger into a tub of Vaseline and massaged her anal entrance. Easing his finger deep into her rectal sheath, her sensitive brown tissue stretching, sending electrifying sensations through her quivering body, he thrust the vibrator in and out of her tightening cunt.

“Why are you doing that?” she panted as his finger pistoned her bottom-sheath in time with the thrusting vibrator. “Oh, it’s ... it’s very ...” “Relax and allow the pleasure to come,” the medic purred, turning the vibrator up to full power.

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“God, my ... Oh! Oh, I’m ...”

Quivering uncontrollably, her cunt milk flowing in torrents from her inner sex nectaries, Perennial massaged her clitoris faster, bringing out the best climax of her young life. As her orgasm peaked, the doctor thrust a second well-greased finger into her tightening arsehole, stretching her anal walls. Screaming her debased pleasure, jutting her taut buttocks out further, the flushed bluecoat continued her clitoral massage as the doctor finger-fucked her hot bum-hole.

“Ah! God, I can’t take it!” she cried as her orgasm peaked again, sending shockwaves of pure sexual ecstasy through her trembling body. “Oh, please! Oh, oh!” Pistoning her lust holes faster, wondering whether he could get away with thrusting his rock-hard cock deep into her spasming cunt, the deviant doctor took her to another shuddering sexual peak.

Her climax finally waning, Perennial shuddered, gasping as the last ripples of orgasm emanated from her swollen clitoris. Her body quivering as the doctor gently massaged her inner anal flesh, she let out a long, low moan of satisfaction as serenity swamped her very being.

Deciding against harpooning her hot cunt with his penile spear, the doctor slipped his fingers out of her rectal sheath and gently withdrew the buzzing vibrator from her steaming cunt. Instructing his model patient to roll over onto her back, he slipped his erect penis out of his trousers and massaged his swollen glans. Fully

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reclined, her skirt up over her lower stomach, her inflamed cunt crack gaping, Perennial couldn’t see what he was doing as he wanked his cock faster.

“God!” he gasped as his spunk shot from his knob-slit. “Oh, God!” “What is it?” Perennial asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “Ah, ah! Nothing, it’s ... it’s all right!” “What’s your hand doing beneath the couch? Are you in pain, Doctor?” “No, I ... Ah, that’s better! God, I needed that!”

Slipping his spent penis into his trousers, he yanked his zip up and scrutinized Perennial’s splayed thighs, her oozing vaginal entrance. There was time to give her another multiple orgasm, he decided, shuddering in the aftermath of his orgasm as he grabbed the vibrator and presented the rounded end to her inflamed lust hole.

Ramming the phallus home, watching her stomach rising, her face grimacing, the doctor withdrew the wet shaft and parted her buttocks. The plastic cylinder driving deep into her arse, Perennial gripped the sides of the couch, her knuckles whitening as she took the full length of the vibrator into her rectal duct. “Oh!” she cried as he switched the phallus on and slid the shaft gently in and out of her bottom-hole. “Oh, mummy!”

Taking another vibrator from the shelf, the zealous medic switched it on and drove it deep into the heat of her burning cunt. “Oh, oh!” she cried again as the sensations permeated her trembling womb. Thrusting both phalluses in and out of her tight sex sheaths, jolting her quivering body, the doctor’s lips furled into a wicked

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grin as he imagined whipping her taut buttocks with a cat of nine tails. Best not go too far - yet! he reflected, deciding to thrash the wench during her next visit.

One vibrator rubbing her clitoris and pistoning her tight cunt, the other bringing electrifying sensations to her anal nerve endings, the depraved doctor took his ecstatic patient to another incredible orgasm. The room reverberating with her wails of pure sexual lust, he jumped and yanked her skirt down to conceal the protruding lust toys as someone knocked on the door.

“Oh! Major Bentley!” Perennial gasped as the door opened. “Ah, Doctor, I’ve come for the results. I’m not disturbing you, am I?” “Er ... I was just ... just examining Miss Perennial.” “Is she all right? She seems to be writhing about in agony. And what’s that buzzing noise?” “Er ... She’s fine, Major! The buzzing is ... Yes, that’s it - it’s the fan beneath my desk.” “Oh, God!” Perennial gasped as her cunt tightened around the buzzing phallus. “Oh, oh!” “What’s the matter with her?” Bentley asked, frowning as he observed his bluecoat’s contorting face. “She’s just experienced a severe subconscious trauma. The psychiatric tests seem to have triggered a deep-seated psychological reaction. She’ll be fine after she’s rested.” “I see,” Bentley murmured, frowning as Perennial gasped and tossed her head from side to side. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Doctor.”

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“Right you are. I’ll speak to you later about the results.”

Breathing a sigh of relief as Bentley left, the doctor yanked Perennial’s skirt up again. Parting her legs, hanging her feet down either side of the couch, he focused on her brown anal flesh, tautly distended around the buzzing vibrator. The other phallus embraced by her stretched pussy lips, her swollen clitoris forced from its pink bonnet, the woman wailed again, relishing the electrifying sensations transmitting deep into her quivering pelvis.

“Ah, not again!” she gasped as the demonic doctor pressed a third device against her pulsating clitoris. “Ah, God, that’s ... that’s fantastic!” Lifting her head as her orgasm erupted within her vibrating clitoris, she let out an animalistic cry of pure sexual bliss. Gritting her teeth, her face crimson, she shuddered as the triple vibrating orbited her to her sexual heaven.

Never before had the doctor witnessed a woman experience an orgasm of such intensity and duration. Her body shaking violently, her mouth gasping, Perennial squeezed her eyes shut as another seismic shockwave shook her perspiring body. Her cunt milk flowing around the vibrator protruding from her tight arsehole and pooling on the plastic couch covering, she wailed her carnal pleasure as her tormentor pressed the vibrator harder against her pulsating pleasure nodule. How much more could she take? he wondered as she shuddered again and screamed in her torturous apex. How many more tidal orgasms could she endure?

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Finally released from her incredible climax, Perennial lolled back on the couch, regaining her breath as the doctor withdrew the sticky phalluses from her inflamed lust ducts. She was well and truly done! he observed as her breathing began to slow and her heaving breasts stilled. Well and truly done!

“Excellent!” he praised his amenable patient. “You responded to the treatment admirably.” “Oh, good,” she murmured as she lifted her exhausted body up and perched on the edge of the couch. “What do I have to do now?” Suck me to orgasm and drink my spunk! “Er ... Good question. What would you like to do next?” “You’re the doctor, you tell me.” “Am I? Oh, yes, of course. Er ... Right, I think we’ll call it a day. Come and see me tomorrow morning and we’ll continue with the sexual abuse ... The sexual treatment.” “Right, thank you,” Perennial smiled, glowing with satisfaction as she slipped off the couch, the back of her skirt soaked with her cunny juice. “I’ll come again tomorrow.” “So will I! Er ... Yes, until tomorrow.”

Balforth rose to his feet and walked to the cell door, glaring at DI Smart. “I told you that I had nothing to do with the soiled knickers!” he snapped. “Er ... Yes, Mr Balforth, it would seem that we were mistaken,” Smart conceded in his defeat.

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“The next time you want to arrest someone, don’t come to me! You had no right to keep me here all night.” “Don’t forget that you’ve been charged with indecent exposure in the ballroom. You’ll be hearing about the court date within ...” “I’ll get off, don’t you worry - DI Fart!” “I hardly think so, Mr Balforth. A car’s waiting to take you back to the camp.”

Wondering who could have planted the bag of soiled knickers in his chalet, Balforth thought about Perennial’s story. Either she was covering for someone else, or protecting him. The latter, he decided as the car dropped him at the camp gates. Heading for Bentley’s office, he was determined to solve the mystery of the soiled panties.

“Good morning, Balforth! You’ve returned to the fold, yet again,” Bentley commented as he walked into the office. I’d like to return to Perennial’s folds! “Yes, and I want to know who set me up.” “Set you up? No one set you up, Balforth! Miss Perennial left the bag in your chalet by mistake.” “Did she now? Where is she?” “She’s helping with the breakfasts. Balforth, now that you’re back, I’d like to make some concrete plans to sort this camp out.” “Yes, sir, of course. Might I suggest that we call Dickie in and have a talk about the election?”

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“I don’t know where the blighter is. He’s prone to disappearing for hours on end, as you are, Balforth.” “Yes, sir. Er ... It might be an idea to promulgate the news concerning the bars staying open until two o’clock.” “An idea to what?” “Promulgate the ... Let the campers know about the new opening times. It might appease the rebels.” “I hardly think they’d be interested in the bar opening times - they have the Merrydick Bar to themselves.” “I’ll announce the advent of the nudist area, sir, that will please them.” “You’ll do no such ruddy thing! A nudist area, indeed! It’s obscene!” “But Mr Burnshaw said ...” “I don’t care what he ruddy well said, we are not having naked women parading around the place! The very idea is pornographic.” “But the area will be fenced off.” “You’ll be fenced off in a minute, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “We’ve got to get the scum out of the bingo hall and the Merrydick Bar. They’ve stolen thousands of pounds worth of drink and cigarettes and unless we put a stop to their thieving, we’ll all end up in the ... In trouble.” “Unless you change your attitude ...” “My attitude? Good grief, how can you talk about my attitude when the scum have ...” “Might I suggest that Miss Perennial have a word with them, sir? You know, a woman’s touch and all that.”

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“That might be an idea. She’s been pretty busy with the convent girls, but ...” “How are the schoolgirlies?” “They’ve settled into their chalets. Actually, that reminds me. Their chaperone, Miss Staines, will be here shortly to discuss setting aside a private area for the girls to sunbathe.” “A private area, sir?” “She doesn’t want the young men ogling her girls, which is quite understandable. Go and make yourself useful,” Bentley ordered as the phone rang. “We’ll talk further about our plans for the camp later.” “Yes, sir.”

Wandering out of the main building, Balforth grinned as he noticed the sweet young thing he’d met in the Hot Jungle Juice Bar sitting on a bench by the toddler’s paddling pool. Tina was in dire need of a good fuck, he mused as he approached her. At least, he was in dire need of a good fuck!

Her skimpy bikini barely able to contain her firm breasts, the tight blue material running between her parted thighs swelling with her sex lips, she was in dire need of a good anal fucking!

“Hallo, Tina,” Balforth smiled, gazing into her pretty blue eyes. “Oh, Henry, isn’t it?” “My friends call me Balforth - as do my enemies. How’s your holiday going?” “Fine, except I’m rather lonely.”

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“I’m having a private party this evening. Walk round the lake and you’ll come to an old boathouse. You’re quite welcome to come off ... I mean, to come.” “Oh, that sounds great!” “Be there at seven-thirty.” “Oh, thanks, I will!” the cherub beamed, brushing her long golden locks away from her angelic face. Candy from a baby! “Come in Balforth!” Bentley called over the radio. “Excuse me, Tina,” he smiled, taking the radio from his pocket. “Balforth here, sir.” “Where are ... No, there’s no point in asking where you are! Go over to the chapel and ask the padre to report to my office.” “Yes, right away, sir.”

Making his profuse apologies to Tina, Balforth walked towards the chapel, wondering whether she’d turn up at the boathouse - and whether she fucked! Strapped to the table, she’d fuck all right! And she’d enjoy the cane. Enjoy it or not, she’d get the cane!

“Ah, Padre,” Balforth greeted the man as he entered the chapel. “Oh, er ... What are you doing here?” “Bentley wants to see you.” “I thought you’d been arrested?” “I was, it was mistaken identity.” “But you stole the knickers from the laundry room.”

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“What knickers?” Balforth asked, suddenly having a hunch that it was the padre who’d set him up. “The ones found in your chalet.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was arrested for gross indecency in the female toilets!” “Oh, I see. What did you mean when you asked me about periscopes and tunnels?” “Nothing, Padre - nothing at all. You’d better go and see Bentley.” “Yes, yes I will.”

Slipping beneath the altar as the cleric left the chapel, Balforth jumped down into the cellar and looked about him. The padre would have taken the bag of dirty knickers to the chalet via the tunnel, he mused, noticing a pair of red silk panties on the bed. Picking the garment up, he scrutinized the cunny-stained crotch. This was proof enough, he reflected, slipping the girl-scented panties into his pocket.

Following the tunnel, he discovered another pair of dubious knickers on the ground beneath his chalet. “Guilty as charged,” he muttered, stuffing the garment into his pocket as he walked on. Hearing Perennial’s voice as he came to Bentley’s office, he stopped and grabbed the metal bucket. Time for the ghost of Fannymead past to get the juices flowing!

“Miss Perennial!” Balforth bellowed into the bucket. “Oh, sir, it’s the ghost again!” she screamed hysterically. “There’s something odd about this ghost,” Bentley murmured pensively.

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“There’s something odd about all ghosts, sir!” “Yes, but this one appears to have an unhealthy appetite for perverted sex - as does Balforth.” “Perhaps it’s Balforth’s ghost.” “How can it be? He’s not dead.” “Miss Perennial! At seven o’clock this evening, you will return to the place of your defilement!” “The place of your defilement?” Bentley echoed. “Where’s that?” “Er ... I don’t know, sir. Perhaps he means the place of my birth.” “Return to your mother’s birth canal?” “I really don’t know, sir.”

Chortling to himself as he continued his journey of lust along the tunnel, Balforth decided to take a look at the schoolgirls’ chalets. In his ever increasing depravity, he hoped he might spectate on them masturbating each other to orgasm, or licking each other’s juicy cunts out. Wondering why he never thought of anything other than grossly perverted sex, he stopped as he came to the first periscope.

“Boring,” he murmured disappointedly, gazing through the glass at two delectable young girls sitting on their beds reading books. The scene through the next periscope was a little more exciting - two young beauties wandering around their chalet in their underwear, their bras ballooning with their firm young breasts, their panties faithfully following the contour of their voluptuous sex lips.

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It was one thing watching them through the periscope, Balforth ruminated, but another to join them in their chalet and strip them naked. I’ll soon get my hands inside their wet knickers! he promised himself, gazing at their blatant sex cracks clearly outlined by the tight material of their panties. And my cock up their tight cunts!

Moving to the next periscope, he found his luck was in. Naked on her bed, her feet on the floor, her thighs wide apart, a young blonde was vigorously masturbating. This is more like it! he thought, focusing on the magical opaque liquid oozing from her rubicund lust duct. Her blonde pubes well trimmed, her valley of desire bared, he imagined his tongue licking her reddening inner pasture, lapping at her irrigating honeydew.

To his great delight, a dark-haired beauty emerged from the shower and sat on the bed next to her friend. Stroking the frigging girl’s inner thighs, she ran her slender fingers up to her open hole and eased them into her well-juiced cunt. With a bird’s eye view, Balforth could clearly see the blonde girl’s rubicund sex lips stretched tautly around her friend’s thrusting fingers, her abused cuntal valley gaping.

“Lick me!” the dynamic blonde cried, massaging her clitoris faster and arching her back as her orgasm approached. “Lick my cunt!” Obeying, her friend withdrew her cunt-creamed fingers and leaned over the desperate blonde’s thigh. Her tongue lapping around the wet entrance to her hot vagina, the opaque sex juice clinging to her succulent red lips, the blonde angel was obviously in her sexual heaven.

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Again, Balforth pondered on joining the randy lesbians rather than spectating through the periscope. Heavily into cunts, they might not appreciate a solid penis, he reflected. There again, he had the evening in the old boathouse to look forward to. Perhaps Perennial and Tina would perform lewd lesbian acts for him? With the bluecoat growing bluer daily, she might relish licking another woman’s sex-nub to orgasm.

His thoughts returning to the rampant lesbian show, his eyes widened as he focused on the blonde’s inflamed vaginal lips, her love juice pouring from her simmering cunt to bathe her dusky friend’s lapping tongue. About to whip his solid cock out and have a wank, he turned away from the periscope as he heard footsteps approaching. The padre! he surmised. It had to be.

Running in the opposite direction as the footsteps grew louder, he made his way to his chalet and clambered up through the hatch. Until he’d decided what to do about the man of God setting him up with the soiled knickers, he didn’t want to confront him. No doubt the depraved padre was now enjoying the schoolgirl lesbian show, he thought ruefully, his penis twitching as he imagined the girl writhing and crying out in her coming. The unholy man was probably wanking, spurting his blasphemous seed over the ground as he gazed at the unhallowed lesbian licking.

Wondering how to drop the padre in the shit for setting him up, Balforth decided to kidnap Sylvia. Taking the doll hostage, he could hold her to ransom, threaten to rape her unless the dirty bugger ... “Better still,” he breathed excitedly,

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sitting on his bed in readiness for a quick wank. “I could take photographs of the randy old sod fucking Sylvia!”

Bentley calling over the radio as Balforth hauled his erect penis out, he was in two minds whether to reply or not. Gazing at his solid, purple plum as he pulled his foreskin right back, he began his slow, rhythmical masturbating as Bentley called again.

“Balforth here, sir,” he finally replied, still massaging his cock. “What are you doing?” Bentley asked irritably. “Er ... Wanking, sir.” “I beg you pardon?” “I said, I’m thinking, sir.” “Oh, right. I’m just checking up on you, keeping tabs, so to speak.” “Right you are, sir.” “Keep up the good work, Balforth.” “Ah! I am, I am!”

His penis beginning to throb as he thought about slipping his knob deep into a schoolgirlie’s tight anal sheath, he jumped as someone knocked on the door.

“Bollocks!” he cursed, leaping off the bed and zipping his trousers. “I can’t even have a quick wank without ... Oh, Delphine!” he grinned, opening the door and inviting the young blonde into his chalet. “What are you doing here?” Passing him a long, thin cane, the girl hung her head.

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“I’m in trouble,” she replied dolefully. “Why, what have you done?” “Miss Perennial asked me to check on the tots in the paddling pool and I forgot all about it. She sent me to you to be punished.” “Punished? Miss Perennial sent you to me to be punished?” he asked incredulously. “Yes. She said that you administer punishment to the female bluecoats. She said that I should be caned.”

The delectable Delphine was having him on, he was sure as he gazed at her open blouse, her deep cleavage. There again, in her strange sexual awakening, perhaps Perennial had sent her to him.

“Where do you want me?” the girl asked innocently. Sitting on my face! “Er ... You’d better slip your knickers down and bend over the table,” Balforth replied, stunned by his remarkable good fortune. “Like this?” she asked softly, tugging her panties down to her knees and bending over the table. “Er ... Yes, like that.”

Lifting her short skirt, Balforth gazed longingly at the little beauty’s perfectly rounded buttocks, her tightly closed anal cleavage. Lowering his eyes, his heart leaped as he focused on her beautiful pussy lips bulging invitingly between her shapely thighs. Her inner petals protruding from her sex valley, folded together like

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the wings of a butterfly, her imagined his tongue there, tasting her aphrodisiacal juices of desire.

Her panties drenched with her vaginal honeydew, her outer labia inflamed, she’d been masturbating, he concluded. Obviously not satisfied with her plastic vibrator, she’d decided in her state of awesome arousal to get him thrash her naked buttocks to gratify her desperate craving.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, parting her feet and tensing her bottom cheeks. “Six of the best for failing in your duty!” Balforth grinned. “Miss Perennial said that I should have at least twenty lashes.” “Twenty it is!”

The first stinging blow jolting the girl’s curvaceous young body, Balforth brought the cane down again, leaving thin pink weals across her pale flesh. Whimpering as the cane repeatedly cracked loudly across her jutting arse orbs, she gripped the sides of the table, projecting her buttocks out further.

Parting her feet wider as the merciless thrashing continued, her vaginal crack opening, she appeared to be deliberately displaying her feminine intimacy to her aggressor. Eyeing the cunt milk flowing in torrents from her gaping sex hole and running down her inner thighs, she was obviously in her sexual heaven, he reflected as she cried out with each stinging crack of the cane. But would she allow him to fuck her after the beating?

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Counting to twenty lashes, the girl’s buttocks glowing crimson, lust juice coursing down her inner thighs, Balforth knew that the young masochist wanted more. Her anguished wails of instense pleasure and pain growing progressively louder, spurring him on to continue the frenzied lashing, again and again he brought the cane down across her twitching bum cheeks, fascinated by her dark desire.

“Oh God!” she whimpered in her sexual haze, clinging to the table for dear life as the cane struck her burning buttocks again. Her body trembling uncontrollably, Balforth wondered how much more she could endure as he continued the ruthless thrashing. Thirty, forty, fifty agonizing whacks of the cane and she made no attempt to put a stop to the punishment.

His arm beginning to ache, his penis rock-hard, Balforth finally discarded the cane. About to whip his cock out and drive it deep into her burning cunt, he frowned as she hauled her quivering body up and tugged her panties up her sodden thighs. Was that it? he wondered as she moved towards the door, her face flushed, her sea-blue eyes glazed.

“Thank you,” she smiled sweetly as she opened the door. “But ...” “I’m to report to Miss Perennial, tell her that I’ve been punished.”

As the enigmatic Delphine quietly closed the door behind her, Balforth scratched his head, wondering whether Perennial really had sent the girl to him. Or was Delphine now going to her chalet to appease her yearning clitoris with her

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vibrator? Perplexed, Balforth yanked his twitching cock out of his trousers to drown his confusion and enjoy a much needed wank.

“Balforth, get over to my office this instant! The police are here to see you.” “Shit! I mean ... What do they want?” Balforth answered Bentley over the radio. “Something about an identity parade in connection with the lewd incident in the ballroom.” “Double shit! Er ... I’m on my way, sir.”

Stuffing his erect penis ungraciously back in his trousers, Balforth headed off to the main building. Wondering about the identity parade, he imagined standing with a row of men with their dicks hanging out. But who was the mysterious witness? The teenaged girls had enjoyed the contest, so they wouldn’t have alerted the law. And Perennial wouldn’t have shopped him, he was sure. So who is the telltale witness?

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Chapter Ten

D

ickie Dubious stood in the Merrydick Bar knocking back another large scotch as he talked to the rioters. The young men had revealed their plans to him -

their plans to occupy the entire camp. But there was little Dickie could do, other than try to persuade them to allow the election to go ahead without further incendiary incidents. Their holiday over, many of them should have already left the camp. But in view of the unscheduled fun and games, they had decided to stay on.

“You can’t stay here after your holidays end,” Dickie pointed out. “There’ll be other people arriving who’ve booked your chalets.” “So fuckin’ what?” a yob asked, knocking back another pint of lager. “Yeah, so bleedin’ what?” a young tart echoed. “We want you to run the camp, Dickie,” another young man rejoined. “The biggest cock competition was brilliant! With you in charge, we’ll have a great time.” “I know, but we’ll have to wait for the election results. Wrecking the camp won’t help me win the election. Anarchy won’t get us anywhere.” “Yes, it bleedin’ will! Anyway, it was your fuckin’ idea that we take this bleedin’ bar over,” the yob returned. “Yes, but I didn’t expect you to take the bingo hall, too.” “Let’s have a biggest tit competition!” a teenaged girl giggled, cupping her massive breasts through her tight T-shirt. “Shut up, Christine, you dozy cow! We’re gonna ‘ave you runnin’ the fuckin’ camp, Dickie - whether we win the bloody election or bloody not! What we’re gonna

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do is take the fuckin’ dinin’ room over! Then we’ll nab the fuckin’ ballroom and the Hot fuckin’ Jungle Juice fuckin’ Bar!” “You really do intend to take over the entire camp, don’t you?” Dickie frowned, realizing for the first time the severity of the situation. “Yeah, fuckin’ right, mate! Are you with us or bleedin’ not?” “OK, I’m on your side, but it mustn’t get back to Bentley. I’ll act as your spy, tell you what his plans are, that sort of thing.” “Fuckin’ brilliant!”

Pacing his office floor, Bentley turned and faced Miss Perennial, unable to believe her shocking news. A coach load of holidaymakers turned away from the main gates by a bunch of lager louts was the last straw. They’d obviously go straight to Burnshaw, who’d explode with rage.

“The situation’s totally out of control,” Bentley murmured lamely. “I’ve failed miserably.” “You had the right ideas, sir,” Perennial consoled her boss, adjusting the front of her blouse to display her deep cleavage. “It’s just that your way of thinking is a little old fashioned.” “Old fashioned? All I wanted was a properly run camp, a decent camp where decent people could relax and enjoy themselves.” “I know, but they enjoy drinking and playing the fruit machines.” “Well, they shouldn’t! I suppose it’s a sign of the times, Miss Perennial. Teachers aren’t allowed to cane pupils, and even parents daren’t smack their children for fear of ending up in court.”

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“My teacher used to smack me. I must confess, I rather enjoyed it.” “You enjoyed it?” “I ... I enjoyed the discipline, it did me good. What will you do now, sir?” “What can I do? Dubious is on the scum’s side, Balforth is a ruddy idiot, the padre ... That’s an idea! A sermon, Miss Perennial! Go and instruct the padre to prepare a sermon about decency, morals, etiquette ... The scum won’t listen to me, but they might take notice of a man of the cloth.” “I don’t think they will, sir.” “It’s worth trying, Miss Perennial. God knows, anything’s worth trying! Go and see the padre now.” “Yes, sir.”

Making her way to the chapel, Perennial was sure that the rioters wouldn’t even attend the sermon, let alone listen to it. Major Bentley didn’t seem to understand people, she reflected. Bent on living in his military past, he hadn’t the foggiest idea about running a contemporary holiday camp.

“Ah, Miss Perennial,” the padre smiled as she entered the chapel and walked down the aisle, her short skirt riding up her shapely thighs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your exquisite ... Your visit?” “Major Bentley asked me to come and see you,” she replied, frowning as she found herself gazing at a pink object sticking out beneath the tapestry overhanging the altar.

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Following her gaze, the padre took her arm, turning her away from the altar as he noticed the foot of a blow-up doll protruding beneath the tapestry. Thanking God that she hadn’t arrived ten minutes earlier and discovered him with his knob spunking in the doll’s mouth, he smiled at his visitor.

“What about?” he asked. “What about what?” “The major sent you to see me.” “Oh, yes. He wants you to prepare a sermon about morals,” Perennial replied, turning her head and looking at the doll’s foot again. “Ah, morals. Do you have morals, Miss Perennial?” “What’s that sticking out beneath the tapestry?” “Er ... It’s the plumber’s foot. He’s doing a little drainage job for me.” “He’s not wearing shoes or socks.” “He’s had a difficult life.” “Has he no money?” “No, he’s ... he’s taken his shoes and socks off because he’s hot. So, about the sermon.” “Padre, may I ask you something?” “Yes, of course.” “Sex ...” “Where?” “No, I mean ... Sex is all right, isn’t it?” “All right? It’s brill ... Yes, yes of course sex is all right! Why do you ask?” “Sex before marriage, I mean.”

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“Sex is all right at any time as far as I’m concerned!” “Yes, but ...” “Do you believe that God created you, Miss Perennial?” “Yes, I do.” “He created all you have, including the naughty bits between your legs.” “Oh, Padre!” “It’s true, isn’t it?” “Well, yes.” “Your vagina was created in the image of God.” “You mean, God looks like my vagina?” “Yes, I do. If you’re to be close to God, then you must be close to your vagina. You must have sex in order to be close to God.” “Have you had sex, Padre?” “Bloody right ... Yes, I have been blessed with the experience of intercourse.” “Padre, I think ... I think I’m oversexed.” “So am I! Er ... Oversexed?” “Yes. I’ve been awakened, sexually, I mean.” “Tell me the sordid ... Tell me the details of your awakening, my child.” “Do you believe in ghosts, Padre?” “Ghosts are a load of old bollocks ... Er ... Yes, I believe they exist.” “One spoke to me.” “Really?” “Yes, he told me to shave.” “To shave?” “Down there, Padre.”

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“Fucking ... Er ... Good God!” “He also told me not to wear any knickers.” “He sounds like my kind of ghost! Er ... You’d better show me your ... Show me the beaut ... the dreadful consequences of the ghost, Miss Perennial.” “Show you? But I ...” “This is God’s house, and if you’ve been haunted by a ghost, an evil spirit, you must bare the result of your defilement before God.” “But surely ...” “Remember that your vagina is God. Get onto the altar, Miss Perennial. Your vagina will be able to see God ... I mean, God will be able to see your vagina if you get on the altar and open your legs.” “I really don’t think that I ...” “What if you’re possessed?” “Oh, dear!” “Exactly! Rumour’s had it for some time that there’s a ghost roaming around Fannymead. Apparently, I’m a ... I mean, he’s a sexual pervert, a sex fiend. I put it to you, Miss Perennial, that you’ve had a visitation from the ghost of the foreskins ... I mean, the four sins. Have you had the urge to sin since you first heard the ghost’s ghostly voice?” “Yes, yes I have!” “There we are, then! The four sins, Miss Perennial. The first one is shaving the pubic area, the second is not wearing knickers, the third is ...” “Deliberately exposing one’s genitalia?” “Is it? Er ... Yes, that’s right! Have you had the urge to do that?” “Yes, I have. What’s the fourth ghostly sin?”

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“Er ... Let me think.” Sucking my knob? Sitting on my face? “The fourth ghostly sin is ... is an overactive libido. As you said, you’re oversexed. That, Miss Perennial, is the fourth ghostly sin. You are possessed by the ghost of the foreskins.” “Oh, I’d better get onto the altar and bare my shaved flesh before God!” “Indeed you had!”

As the vulnerable young woman climbed onto the altar and lay down, the padre lifted her skirt up. His eyes almost popping out of his head as his irreverend eyes focused on her hairless vulval flesh, his penis stiffening and twitching in anticipation, he took a huge church candle from the side of the altar, holding the waxen shaft threateningly between her parted thighs.

“This will cleanse you, my child,” he smiled, easing the pointed end of the candle between her ballooning vaginal lips. “Oh!” Perennial cried as the candle glided into her tight lust duct, stretching her vaginal walls to capacity. “Oh, Padre!” “It’s all right, just relax and allow the candle to fuck ... To penetrate you.” “But it’s so big!” “All the better to ... Open your legs wider and yield to the candle of the Lord.”

The end of the candle teasing the woman’s cervix, the priest massaged her exposed clitoris, wondering whether he could get away with rolling her over and spanking her beautiful buttocks. About to commit the dirty deed, he jumped as the chapel door swung open and Major Bentley marched down the aisle.

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“What on earth is going on?” Bentley bellowed as he approached the altar and gazed in disbelief at the massive phallus emerging from his bluecoat’s bloated cunt. “My God, Padre!” “Oh!” Perennial cried, before passing out. “Er ... It’s ... it’s all right, Major,” the flush-faced padre stammered. “Miss Perennial came to see me about ... I’m exercising ... exorcising her. I believe that she’s being hounded by an evil spirit.” “What have you done to the poor woman? Good grief, I have never seen anything so vile and ...” “No, it’s all right! The candle’s sucking the evil spirit out. It’s in her womb, you see.” “The evil spirit is in her womb?” “Er ... Yes, that’s right. That’s not just any old run-of-the-mill, every day, garden candle - it’s been blessed with holy water before the eyes of God.” “I really don’t believe that God would condone such a blatant violation of a woman’s body, Padre.” “Have you not heard of the consummation of women by the holy spirit?” “No, I haven’t.” “The candle represents the penis of the holy spirit. The holy spirit is sucking the evil out of Miss Perennial’s womb via his penis.” “It all sounds rather odd to me.” “Bread is the flesh of Christ, wine is the blood. The candle is the penis of the horny spirit. Miss Perennial is being horned, as we speak. You must leave me to do the work of God, Major.”

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“Right, well ... Report to my office when you’ve finished. I want to talk to you about a sermon.” “Right you are, Major.”

As Bentley marched from the chapel, Miss Perennial opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. Gazing at the candle protruding between her parted thighs, her rubicund pussy lips stretched apart, her exposed clitoris, she turned and looked at the cleric.

“Padre, may I go now?” she asked anxiously. “Go? Er ... No, no. There’s one more thing I have to do. Keep the candle in place and turn over and I’ll complete the defiling ... Cleansing.” “You’re not going to do anything to my bottom, are you?” she asked, holding the candle in place and rolling over. “I must complete the work of violating ... Cleansing your body.”

Gazing at her rounded bottom orbs, the candle emerging from her inflated cunt, the padre massaged his erect penis through his cassock. Wondering whether he could drive another candle deep into her tight anal duct, he parted her buttocks and examined the small brown entrance to her bowels.

“I’m going to push a candle into your bottom,” he announced unashamedly. “My bottom?” Perennial breathed, turning her head and looking at him. “Yes, another blessed candle to drive the spirit from your bowels.”

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“You can’t do that, Padre!” the young woman protested. “This is a chapel, and I’m on the altar with a candle up my ... God would never ...” “Did you or did you not hear the voice of a ghost?” “Yes, but ...” “Then you are possessed, Miss Perennial! If you don’t mind having a ghost living up your bum, then you may leave.” “Living up my bum?” “It’s entirely up to you, Miss Perennial. The derogative ... The prerogative’s yours.” “Well, I suppose it’ll be all right.” “Good, then let’s waste no more time. Open your legs as wide as you can, please.”

Taking another candle, the padre eased her buttocks wide apart and presented the end of the wax shaft to her tightly closed bottom-hole. Her vaginal flesh stretched tautly around the other phallus, her arsehole would be restricted, he mused as he pushed and twisted the shaft. But she could take it, he decided, finally easing the end of the candle past her defeated anal sphincter muscles.

“Oh, Padre!” she cried as the shaft glided into her tight anal duct. “Padre, it’s too big!” “No, it’s not.” “Argh! My bum hurts!” “Relax, Miss Perennial!” “I can’t!”

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“There, that’s it!” he grinned. “It’s gone right in!”

The young woman’s sensitive brown tissue stretched tautly around the massive phallus, her vagina bloated, she gasped as the demonic priest grabbed both candles and began his rhythmical pistoning. Opening her legs wider and projecting her buttocks out, she whimpered as he quickened his double thrusting, taking her to hitherto unknown heights of sexual ecstasy.

“The ghost is leaving you,” the padre enlightened her as she began to shake violently, the birth of her enforced climax stirring within her contracting womb. “Oh, oh! It’s ... it’s heavenly!” “It is!” he cried, sniffing a sticky finger in between driving the wax shafts deep into her tightening lust ducts. “Heavenly scent!” “Ah, ah! It’s beautiful!” Perennial continued gasping, her young body jolting violently with the demonic double fucking. “It’s brilliant!”

Completely immersed in his debauchery, the woman’s outer vaginal lips rolling along the waxen shaft, her cunny juice oozing from her inflamed sex hole, the padre didn’t notice someone slip through the chapel door and creep down the aisle.

“Enough!” Miss Perennial cried as her lust sheaths spasmed and gripped the thrusting candles. “Oh, please! That’s enough!” “There’s one more thing I have to do,” the padre persisted, pushing the candles fully home. “Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.”

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“You won’t be long, will you?” she pleaded. “I don’t want anyone coming in here and seeing me like this.” “Only God can see you! Just relax and allow the candles to do their holy work,” he said, disappearing into the vestry.

Returning to the camp from the police station, Balforth swaggered into Bentley’s office wearing a triumphant grin. “The identification parade was called off because no one would take part,” he enlightened the major. “Think yourself lucky,” Bentley returned, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Let it be a lesson to you, and let there be no more lewd episodes!” “Yes, sir,” Balforth replied meekly, having just thought of a brilliant idea. “By the way, I heard a strange voice in the corridor just now.” “A strange voice?” “Yes, a sort of ghostly voice. It was probably someone messing about outside.” “What did it say?” “I didn’t quite catch all of it, but it said something about Miss Perennial having to stand naked in your office, otherwise something terrible will happen to her. I didn’t hear what, though.” “Good grief!”

Rising from his desk, Bentley paced the floor, obviously deep in thought. Now that he’d pretended to hear the ghost, Bentley would be convinced that it existed and there’d be no limit to the scam, Balforth thought jubilously as the major turned to face him.

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“I’ll let you into a secret, Balforth. The voice you heard was a ghost! Both Miss Perennial and I have heard it.” “That’s profound!” “It’s dreadful! We must be extremely careful, Balforth! It would appear that the ghost has either possessed Miss Perennial or is somehow influencing her. I suggest you go to the chapel and escort her to my office.” “What’s she doing in the chapel, sir?” “Er ... She’s with the padre - he’s de-possessing her.” “Decomposing? She’s not dead, is she?” “Don’t be ridiculous! The padre is ridding her of the evil spirit, the ghost.” “Why not call her over the radio, or the Tannoy?” “No, I don’t want to alert the ghost! Go and get her.” “Yes, sir.”

The ghost scam really was proving to be a laugh, Balforth reflected as he made his way to the chapel. De-possessing the woman? he pondered, wondering what the perverted padre could be up to. The dirty old sod was probably fucking her! he mused as he slipped through the chapel door.

Crouching behind a pew as he noticed Delphine lurking in the shadows, he frowned. She was a strange one, he reflected as she watched intently as the padre spanked Miss Perennial’s naked buttocks. Coming to him for a caning, and now spectating the lewd scene in the chapel, the delectable Delphine was far from the angelic babe he’d initially thought her to be! Sadistic disciplining was right up her

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street - or her delicious arse orbs! Would she join in the irreverend debauchery? he wondered hopefully as Perennial’s wails of ecstasy resounded around the chapel.

“Oh, please!” the wayward bluecoat pleaded as the padre repeatedly slapped her reddening buttocks. “It’s too beautiful to bear!” “All right, I think that’s enough for the time being,” the bum-bashing cleric conceded. “You’d better come back tomorrow and I’ll make sure that the spanking has driven out the ghost of the foreskins.” “Thank you, Padre,” the flush-faced Perennial smiled, climbing off the altar and tugging her skirt down to veil her scarlet buttocks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Tell no one of the spanking, Miss Perennial.” “I won’t! Goodbye, Padre.”

Watching her stagger up the aisle clutching her stinging buttocks, Balforth turned his gaze to the other inscrutable young woman. Unable to believe that Perennial had sent Delphine to him for a thrashing, he wondered whether she’d come back for more. She’d enjoyed it immensely, he reflected, checking his watch and debating whether to lure her into the old boathouse for her unjust desserts.

Creeping out of the chapel, Balforth walked round the lake to his sex lair. With Perennial due there in five minutes, and Tina arriving half-an-hour later, he decided to save sweet Delphine for another time. Two naked women were enough to be getting on with! he reflected as he approached the old boathouse.

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Opening the rickety door, he turned the light on, a wicked grin furling his lips as he checked his watch again. Perennial would arrive at any minute, and Tina would make her timely entrance to discover the woman naked on the table, her cunt crack bared in readiness for crude sex. Praying for everything to go according to plan, he hid behind the door as Perennial crept tentatively into the building.

Jumping as he slammed the door shut, she spun round on her heels, holding her hand to her mouth. “Balforth!” she gasped. “What are you ...” “I was told to be here at seven,” he grinned, locking the door. “But ... So was I!” “I heard a voice, a ghostly voice telling me to be here at seven o’clock. It was probably someone messing about, but I thought I’d turn up to see what was going to happen.” “It was the ghost of the four sins! It told me to be here at seven, too.” “A ghost told us to meet here?” “Yes, but I can’t think why.” “I don’t believe in ghosts!” Balforth laughed. “Well, it’s high time you did! Major Bentley has heard it, too.” “Really?” “Yes - the ghost of the four sins.” “Actually, it also said something about you having to stand naked in Major Bentley’s office, otherwise something dreadful would happen to you.” “Naked in the major’s office?” “That’s what it said.”

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“Oh, dear! Well, I suppose ... I do hope the ghost isn’t taking advantage of me. And, now that we’re here alone, I hope you’re not going to take advantage of me!” “Of course I’m not! As I said before, my days of vulgarity are over.” “I must say that your exuberance for perverted sex wets me. I mean, frets me. Why do you delight in gross indecency, Balforth?” “It’s something I picked up during my early teens.” “I feel for you, Balforth. Well, it seems that we’ve wasted our time coming here.” “Yes, it does.”

Gazing at Perennial’s succulent thighs as she indiscreetly pulled her skirt up, the swell of her shaved pussy lips, her beautiful vaginal crack just visible below her skirt, she was asking for it, he ruminated. Should he whip his penis out, cueing her to faint? Perching on the edge of the table with her thighs parted, her swollen labia displayed in their full glory, she was whoring herself in the extreme!

Unable to restrain his eager cock any longer, Balforth unzipped his trousers and eased the beast out, pulling back the foreskin to display his glistening eye to the hussy’s own widening eyes. Gloriously on cue, she gasped, her curvaceous body falling back onto the table, her legs wide, her skirt up, her naked mons rising gently above her sex valley, her tight cunt on blatant offer to her eager predator.

Placing the apparently helpless woman’s arms by her sides and pulling the leather strap over her stomach, Balforth secured his prey in readiness for an evening

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of unadulterated perverted sex. When Tina arrived, he’d force the girl to lick Perennial’s cunt, to drink her sex milk, to finger her bum-hole and commit every perceivable act of indecency he could imagine.

“This is going to be the best evening ever!” he chuckled, ripping the bluecoat’s blouse apart, the buttons flying in all directions as her firm mammary spheres, her elongated milk teats, came into view.

Noticing Perennial watching him through her eyelashes, Balforth grabbed a cane from the corner of the room, wondering whether she’d enjoy having her firm tits thrashed. Gently striking each rounded breast in turn with the thin cane, he noticed her lips curl into a slight smile. Bringing the cane down a little harder, her body jolting as the pain and pleasure permeated her sensitive mammary globes, he watched her nipples stiffen, standing proud from her darkening areolae.

Harder, he beat her heaving breasts, the cane leaving pink weals across the pale flesh just below her long milk teats as she whimpered in her rising arousal. “Oh, yes!” she murmured as the cane inadvertently struck her sensitive nipple. Realizing the great pleasure she was deriving from the tit thrashing, Balforth struck both nipples in turn, stiffening the erotic projectiles as she cried out in her new-found masochistic pleasure.

Wondering whether the woman would enjoy having her outer cunt lips caned, Balforth continued the breast thrashing, gazing in awe as Perennial’s nipples stood erect from her chocolate-brown areolae like miniature penises. Her whimpering

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growing louder, urgent in her arousal, she jutted her breasts out to meet the cane, her body quivering as she tossed her head from side to side.

Did all women enjoy having their tits thrashed? he wondered as her nipples swelled to an extraordinary size. Perhaps lesbians thrashed each other’s tits, he mused, deciding to turn his attention to the whore’s swollen cunt lips.

Prodding her fleshy pussy pads with the end of the cane, he gently struck each sex hillock in turn, watching Perennial’s face for her reaction. Parting her legs wider, a grin furling her pretty lips as he struck her outer labia a little harder, she was plainly relishing the sexual abuse. What other forms of sexual perversion would she enjoy? he wondered, caning her fleshy vaginal pads harder.

“Oh, oh!” she gasped, her cunt milk squirting from the rubicund opening of her spasming sex duct. Jetting like sperm from her vaginal sheath, Balforth had never witnessed such a copious flow of girl juice. The woman was obviously aroused in the extreme, he observed as he thrashed her cunt lips mercilessly, to the accompaniment of her cries of pure sexual ecstasy.

Halting the caning as a loud knock sounded on the door, Balforth wondered what Tina’s reaction would be when she discovered that the party was in reality an intimate orgy of debauched sex. Would she commit obscene lesbian acts with Perennial’s cunt? he pondered. Would Perennial enjoy having her cunt licked out by another woman? His excitement rising as he unlocked the door, his mouth hung open in astonishment as he stared in disbelief at the balding padre.

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“What ... what are you doing here?” he stammered, standing in the doorway to conceal his victim’s abused body. “I thought I’d come to your party,” the padre smiled. “How did you know ...” “A little bird told me.” “Er ... The party’s off,” Balforth stalled, still blocking the doorway. “Off?” “Er ... Yes, I had to cancel.” “Oh, well - I might as well come in and join you and Miss Perennial,” the wily cleric grinned, peering over Balforth’s shoulder. “She’s out cold, so she won’t mind the two of us fucking her.”

Moving aside, Balforth let the cleric in and closed the door. What Perennial was thinking, he had no idea. Would she miraculously come round? he wondered as the unholy man of God walked to the table and ran his fingers over her weal-lined, swollen pussy lips.

The padre was a bastard, Balforth mused, recalling the bag of soiled panties. But with Perennial listening, this wasn’t the time to discuss the matter. Besides, it would be interesting to see her reaction when she had two penises fucking her, sperming up her sex sheaths.

“Ah, you have her strapped down!” the cleric grinned eagerly, tugging on the leather strap running across her smooth stomach.

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“I saw what you did to her in the chapel,” Balforth said accusingly. “Yes, she ... she was possessed.” “Was she, now?” “Are we going to have some fun with her or not?” “What do you have in mind?” “Her bottom-hole, I think. Yes, I’ll fuck her bottom-hole!”

Watching the decadent padre release the leather strap and lift the woman off the table, Balforth wondered what she would think when he forced his tool deep into her tight arse and fucked her there. She’d changed beyond belief, he reflected as the cleric lay her over the table with her feet on the floor, her buttocks projecting alluringly. But would she enjoy a bum fucking?

Still feigning unconsciousness, she allowed the padre to buckle the strap over her back and part her feet further, displaying her shaved vaginal lips, her dripping sex slit.

“There, now she’s all ready for a good anal screwing!” he grinned, turning to Balforth. “I know you gave her a damned good spanking in the chapel, but I’ll thrash her before you fuck her,” Balforth declared, eyeing the woman’s crimson buttocks. “Women should be thrashed daily,” the priest murmured. “It’s the will of God.” “The will of God, my arse! It’s the will of Satan!” “God, Satan - what’s the bloody difference?”

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“Bollocks, if you don’t know, Padre, no one does!” “Why should I know?” “Well, you’re supposed to be a padre.” “Supposed to be, but I’m not!” he chuckled. “Weren’t you ordained?” “Ordained? I’ve been cocained several times, but never ordained!” “And Perennial’s about to be caned!”

Raising the cane above his head, Balforth began the merciless buttock thrashing. Her body jolting, her buttocks twitching with every lash, Miss Perennial was obviously more than happy to have two men abuse her! But would she be happy to have her tight little lust holes accommodate two huge cocks?

“Alleluia!” the padre cried, grabbing a cane from the corner of the room and standing opposite his partner in grime. “For what we are about to administer, may Miss Perennial be truly ungrateful!” Whacking the cane down across the woman’s buttocks between Balforth’s meeker lashes, the demon of God lost all control. Chanting the Rolling Stones’s Sympathy For The Devil, seemingly possessed by Lucifer, he thrashed his defenceless victim for all he was worth.

Emitting low moans as her buttocks reddened magnificently with the double caning, Miss Perennial parted her feet further, her vaginal crack opening, baring the drenched entrance to her tight vaginal sheath. She was more than dying for it, Balforth perceived as he brought the cane down just below her rounded buttocks, slapping the tops of her shapely thighs. And she was certainly going to get it!

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“Let’s fuck her!” he chuckled, eyeing the woman’s vaginal juice flowing in torrents down her curvaceous legs. “One up her arse and one up her cunt!” the padre rejoiced in his rising wickedness. “Oh, yes!” Perennial gasped, forgetting her coma in the heat of her burning lust.

Discarding the cane as the padre moved aside, Balforth released the leather strap and hauled Perennial’s abused body upright. Wondering how to position her for the double fucking as the padre lay on the table with his cassock up, his solid penis pointing skyward, he unceremoniously raised the sacrificial lamb and plonked her face down on top of the dirty cleric.

“Open her legs!” the padre cried in his excitement, holding the base of his penis in readiness for vaginal penetration. “OK, hang on,” Balforth panted, struggling to position the woman with her yawning cunt crack close to the unholy knob. “That’s it, stuff it right up her!” “Ah, ah! God, she’s tight!” “You’re in!” Balforth grinned triumphantly, watching Perennial’s outer lips gripping the padre’s ample cock.

Scrutinizing the coupling, he focused on the woman’s rubbery inner lips stretched tautly around the invading penis. Her legs wide, the centre of her femininity crudely bared, he took her fleshy outer sex hillocks between his fingers and thumbs,

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pulling the soft cushions apart and exposing her pinken inner flesh hugging the padre’s cunny-wet penis. Easing his finger alongside the solid cock, he massaged her inner flesh, bringing out her cunt milk as she gasped with delight.

His penis solid, he withdrew his drenched finger and leaped onto the table between the odd couple’s legs. “Now for the tradesman’s entrance!” he chuckled, tugging his trousers down. “Try shoving it up her cunt along with my cock!” the padre breathed decadently. “There’s nothing like a double cunt fucking!” “No, it’s her arse I want - and it’s her arse I’ll have!”

Yanking the woman’s taut bottom cheeks apart, Balforth pressed his swollen knob against her brown anal iris, desperate to penetrate her and push his solid knob deep into the heat of her bowels. The padre’s huge cock embedded within her spasming vagina, Balforth pushed against her defending sphincter muscles, wondering whether he’d be able to enter her restricted rectal sheath.

His knob suddenly swallowed by her dank anal duct, he gasped as his veined shaft slowly entered her, opening her tight tube to capacity. Her brown ring taut around his cock, he drove his member fully home, his balls resting on the padre’s as the woman writhed in her new-found pleasure.

“We’ve done it!” Balforth cried jubilantly, parting her buttocks further and gazing in awe at her delicate anal tissue gripping the broad base of his rock-hard penis. “God, we’re both right in!”

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“A double-decker sandwich!” the padre chuckled, turning Perennial’s flushed face aside and winking at Balforth. “With a most tasty filling! OK, let’s do it!”

The young woman’s limp body flopped back and forth like a rag doll as the two men began pistoning her sex holes, simultaneously driving their solid shafts in and out of her tightening lust ducts. Gasping as her pelvic cavity repeatedly inflated and deflated, she became rigid, her hands gripping the sides of the table as she was taken to hitherto unknown depths of sexual depravity.

Her mouth dry, her face flushed, her eyes squeezed shut, she emitted grunts of base satisfaction as the two penises drove into her crudely, stretching her inner flesh, driving her wild in her unquenchable thirst for obscene sex. Rocking her trembling body to meet the thrusting cocks, her orgasm stirring within her tightening womb, she sang out in her lewd pleasure.

Shuddering as her climax erupted within her pulsating clitoris, her cunt spasming around the padre’s cock, her arsehole gripping Balforth’s thrusting organ, she reached behind her back and yanked her buttocks wide apart. Watching her brown ring hugging his pistoning shaft, his balls colliding with the padre’s, Balforth loosed his spunk, filling the wailing woman’s bowels with his lust fruit.

“I’m there!” the padre cried jubilantly as his sperm jetted from his orgasming knob, bathing Perennial’s inner cuntal flesh. “Jesus, I’m there!” “Christ, I love her tight arsehole!” Balforth breathed, his belly slapping her rounded, weal-lined buttocks as he pumped his spunk into her quivering body.

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Wailing as she rode the crest of her incredible climax, Perennial opened her legs as wide as she could, taking both cocks deep into her inflamed holes. She’d never forget this! Balforth reflected, making his last thrusts, draining his swinging balls. Not only would she never forget, but he was sure that she’d come back for more. Would she enjoy three cocks? he mused, imagining a third penis spunking down her throat.

“God, I’m done!” the panting padre gasped as he stilled his bucking hips. “She’s so tight!” “You should be up her arse!” Balforth grinned, slowly withdrawing his spent penis and clambering off the table. “I soon will be!”

Rolling Perennial off the padre’s body, Balforth looked up as someone knocked on the door. “Tina,” he whispered, wondering whether it had been a good idea to invite the girl to the supposed party. As the padre climbed off the table, Balforth tugged his trousers up and opened the door to the attractive young girl.

“Er ... Come in,” he invited her as the padre lay the vibrantly shagged and glowing Perennial on her back with her legs spread, her cuntal slit gaping. “Tina, this is the padre and this is ... This is a friend of ours.” “Oh!” the young girl cried, eyeing the sperm oozing from the recumbent woman’s inflamed lust holes. “What have you done to her?” “Fucked her rotten,” Balforth grinned, going for broke. “She’s shaved!”

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“Yes, what do you think?” “Well, I ... I was expecting a party but ...” “You don’t have to stay,” the padre smiled, stroking Perennial’s swollen outer labia. “There again, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Tina didn’t seem too shocked, Balforth observed as she moved to the table and gazed at Perennial’s blatantly bared cunt crack. What was she thinking? he wondered as she tentatively ran her fingertips over the woman’s weal-lined sex hillocks. Did she want a good fucking - two great cocks thrusting in and out of her tight holes? Or would she rather enjoy the more feminine delights at her fingertips?

“Is she asleep?” Tina finally asked. “She’s fainted,” Balforth smirked, watching her run a finger up and down the woman’s gaping sex valley. “It’s all right, you can do what you like to her.”

Perennial turned her head slowly, gazing at Tina through her eyelashes as the girl coyly circled her sex-wet finger around her vaginal entrance before driving it deep into her spermed cunt. Splaying Perennial’s lush sex-hillocks with her free hand, Tina scrutinized the woman’s clitoris, massaging the reddening flesh surrounding the erect protrusion.

Grinning at Balforth, the padre nodded, indicating for him to view Tina’s panties hugging her rounded buttocks as she leaned over and snaked her tongue around Perennial’s exposed clitoris. Glancing at the tight, red material revealed by the

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girl’s short skirt, Balforth’s eyes were drawn back like a magnet to her busy, lithe, snaking tongue.

“Mmm, she tastes nice,” Tina murmured, lapping up the cocktail of sperm and vaginal juice flowing from Perennial’s cunt. “How did you know that I ...” “I didn’t know what you were into,” Balforth grinned, moving behind the girl and tugging her panties down. “Are you les, bi, or het?” “Everything!” the not-so-demure blonde giggled as she stepped out of her panties. “You name it, and I’m into it!”

Kneeling behind the girl, Balforth lifted her skirt up over her back and parted her spherical bottom cheeks. Eyeing her brown anal eye, he licked the small bridge of skin running between her two lust ducts. Moving down to her open vaginal entrance, he swept his tongue over her glistening pinken flesh, savouring her copious flow of cunt milk as she jutted her buttocks out further.

“What about me?” the padre asked petulantly, lifting his cassock and proudly displaying his rampant erection. “What am I going to do with this?” “I’m sure you can find somewhere to put it,” Tina grinned provocatively, licking her cunny-wet lips. “I’ve found just the place!” Balforth chuckled. “Look, there’s a tight little hole in her bottom crease.”

Wasting no time, the padre stood behind Tina as Balforth moved aside. His blasphemous cock in his hand, he pushed his bulbous knob against the girl’s sensitive

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anal tissue as Balforth held her buttocks wide apart. Easing his glans past her spasming sphincter muscles, he gasped as her anal duct seemed to suck him inside. Her brown ring stretched around the base of his helmet, he pushed slowly, his shaft entering the whimpering girl as she lapped between the older woman’s inflamed outer labia.

“God!” the padre cried as he fully impaled the girl on his solid organ. “God, she’s bloody tight!” Slowly withdrawing his penis from her tightening rectal sheath, he grabbed her hips and drove into her again, his swinging balls slapping her ballooning pussy lips as her anal iris tightened, gripping his pistoning shaft.

Yanking Tina’s tensed buttocks further apart to allow the padre deeper penetration, Balforth wondered what Perennial was thinking. Tina’s tongue snaking into her drenched vagina, sweeping over her solid clitoris, she was now a fullyfledged bisexual nymphomaniac! From now on, he vowed, he wouldn’t let an opportunity to fuck her pass him by.

“Oh, God!” Perennial whimpered as her clitoris pulsated in the beginnings of her girl-induced orgasm. “Oh, yes!” Seemingly unaware that the woman was faking her unconscious state, Tina licked her clitoris fervently, taking her to an earth shuddering climax as the padre loosed his spunk.

“I can feel your sperm!” Tina cried excitedly as Balforth reached between her parted thighs and massaged her clitoris. “Ah, yes! Spunk right up my arse!”

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“I am, I am!” the padre sang, driving his solid weapon deep into the girl’s inflamed arsehole as she continued her clitoral licking.

Massaging Tina’s clitoris to orgasm as the padre baptized her bowels and Perennial shuddered in her tongue-induced coming, Balforth was again in dire need of a female orifice to fuck. Tina’s wet cunt, he decided as the padre withdrew his spent penis from her hot anal sheath. Massaging her solid clitoris, bringing out the last ripples of the girl’s orgasm, Balforth unzipped his trousers and quickly drove his erect cock deep into her drenched cunt.

“Oh, oh!” Tina cried as her vagina bloated, stretching to accommodate Balforth’s magnificent organ. “God, you’re big!” “And you’re bloody hot!” he gasped as she drove her tongue deep into Perennial’s steaming cunt.

Grabbing her hips and fucking Tina for all he was worth as the padre slipped out of the wooden building, Balforth noticed Perennial watching him through her eyelashes. Playing her fainting game, she could enjoy debased sex and yet retain her so-called innocence, he reflected. But at what point would she put a stop to the debauchery? he wondered, hearing a dog barking in the distance. There were limits weren’t there?

His spunk finally jetting from his orgasming knob, filling Tina’s hot cunt as Perennial cried out again in her ecstasy, Balforth thrust into the girl again and again.

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His balls draining, he gasped as the last of his sperm spurted from his sex-slit, bathing the girl’s fiery cunt, her young cervix.

“God, I needed that!” he breathed, slowly withdrawing his cock from the girl’s spermed cuntal sheath. “So did I!” Tina gasped, lapping up Perennial’s come juice. “And me,” Perennial murmured incoherently.

Zipping his trousers as Tina thrust four fingers deep into the woman’s tight cunt, Balforth frowned as an explosion resounded throughout the camp. The militant left, he mused, deciding to enjoy the lesbian show as Tina climbed onto the table and positioned her dripping cunt over Perennial’s pretty face.

“Balforth, where are you?” Bentley called over the radio. “Here, sir,” he replied, grabbing his radio as Perennial pushed her tongue deep into Tina’s cunt. “What was that explosion?” My cock? The padre’s organ? Perennial’s cunt?“Er ... Concorde?” “Concorde, my ... Where the ruddy hell are you?” “Playing doctors and nurses, sir.” “Playing what?” “Er ... Teaching the kiddies how to play doctors and nurses.” “You’re a ruddy imbecile, Balforth! Go and find out what the explosion was.” “Yes, sir, right away.”

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Deciding to drive his penis deep into Perennial’s neglected cunt as the woman drank his sperm from Tina’s irrigating vaginal sheath, Balforth climbed onto the table between the randy bluecoat’s splayed legs. Another explosion ripping through the air as he impaled the woman on his ever-erect penis, he grinned. Just another day at Fannymead, he thought happily, watching Perennial’s tongue sweeping over Tina’s erect clitoris. And just another evening of perverted sex!

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Chapter Eleven

T

he flagpole floating in the lake, the bunting around the Pirate’s Courtyard replaced with rows of panties and bras, the toddlers’ paddling pool three feet

deep in washing powder bubbles, Major Bentley was not experiencing a good start to the day.

“To top it all, Miss Perennial’s not turned up this morning,” he complained to Balforth. “Perhaps she’s overslept, sir.” Or shagged out! “She never oversleeps! I don’t understand it, she disappeared early yesterday evening and I haven’t seen her since.” “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen her wince, either.” “Since, I haven’t seen her since!” “Oh, I see. I’m sure she’ll turn up, sir.” “I hope so. I’m not at all happy, Balforth. Someone obviously took an axe to the flagpole during the night. They also blew up the laundry room and emptied dozens of packets of washing powder into the toddlers’ pool. And as for the bunting ...” “They will have their little joke, sir,” Balforth tittered. “Joke? It’s hardly a joke, it’s wanton vandalism! The militant left are responsible for the damage to the camp, the flagpole, the blown-up laundry room, the washing powder ... But there’s one person responsible for the women’s undergarments, the used contraceptives, the offensive graffiti ...” “What makes you come to that conclusion, sir?”

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“The numerous lewd incidents concerning the female toilets are the work of a sexual pervert, Balforth! They have nothing to do with the scum of the earth. Mindless vandalism is one thing, and gross sexual perversion another.” “The two are worlds apart, I must agree. Although, having said that, sexual perversion could be looked upon as a form of sexual vandalism.” “Shut up, Balforth.” “Yes, sir.” “I received yet another complaint this morning, a complaint of a grossly disturbing nature.” “Oh, what was that, sir?” “Miss Staines, the schoolgirls’ chaperone, came to see me to report a sordid incident that took place in Wash Block A earlier this morning. Apparently, several of her girls were in the showers when a man called through the window.” “What did he say?” “Miss Staines couldn’t bring herself to repeat the obscene words, so she wrote them down on that piece of paper.” Taking the paper from the desk, Balforth grinned. “I’ll bet you girlies love stripping off and licking each other’s ...” “All right, Balforth, that will do!” “Yes, sir. I must say the idea’s absolutely ...” “It’s absolutely disgusting!” “That’s what I was going to say.” “Our man wears brown brogues, Balforth.” “Do we own a man, sir?” “What?”

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“You said our man.” “Balforth ...” “As you know, sir, I own a pair of brown brogues, but I rarely wear them. They’re for best, you see.” “For best exhibitionism?” “Certainly not, sir!” “I worry about you, Balforth.” “I used to worry, but I’ve now resigned myself to certain traits that I have.” “Certain traits?” “Certain idiosyncrasies I appear to have been blessed with.” “The only thing you’ve been blessed with is that you’re a blessed nuisance, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “We’re not here to waste time talking about your weird idiosyncrasies. We must put a stop to this sexual pervert before someone brings the police in. As it is, several women have threatened to call the police. We’ll have the newspapers on to us next! Can you imagine Fannymead Holiday Camp plastered all over the Sunday tabloids?” “They do say that all publicity is good publicity.” “Would you say that telling the world that there’s a sexual pervert on the loose at Fannymead is good publicity?” “No, I don’t suppose they would, sir.” “They?” “The people who said that all publicity is good ...”

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“Shut up, Balforth! I suggest we lay a trap. I want you to hide in the female toilets.” “Oh, good! Er ... What for, sir?” “To catch the pervert, of course! Stand on the toilet, and the minute anyone sticks anything through the window, grab it.” “Grab it? But what if it’s an erect penis?” “Grab it and keep hold of it! Call me on the radio and I’ll rush over to the window and catch the pervert red ...” “He certainly will be red ...” “This isn’t a joke, Balforth, it’s a serious matter.” “Yes, sir. What worries me is that I might be caught. Imagine a young girl coming in and finding me standing on the toilet with an erect penis in my hand.” “You have my permission, Balforth.” “To hold a man’s erect penis?” “To hide in the toilets, you imbecile!” “Oh, I see. Shall I dress up as a woman, sir?” “Whatever for?” “So that the pervert thinks ...” “Don’t be ridiculous, Balforth! Operation red-handed, that’s what we’ll call the toilet vigil.” “Why don’t we call it operation red ...” “Because it’s vulgar and obscene! Go over to Wash Block A and hide in the cubicle beneath the window.” “Yes, sir. I’ll call you the minute I grab hold of my penis. I mean, a penis.”

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“You’re not sexually aroused by the thought of grabbing a man’s erect penis are you, Balforth?” “Certainly not, sir!” “I’m pleased to hear it. Right, off you go.”

This should be fun! Balforth thought as he crossed the Pirate’s Courtyard and made his way to Wash Block A. Standing on the toilet, he’d be able to peer over the dividing walls into the other cubicles and gaze at the girlies. “The ideal place for a quick wank,” he murmured as he slipped unnoticed into the building.

Taking his felt-tip pen from his jacket pocket, he entered the cubicle beneath the window and sat on the toilet. Drawing a huge, erect penis on the door to pass the time, he pondered on a caption. “An extended welcome to Cockmead!” he grinned. “We go to great lengths to ensure your satisfaction!” Scrawling the suggestive words beneath the obscene drawing, he slipped the pen back into his pocket.

There was a certain air about female toilets, he thought, massaging his stiffening penis through his trousers. The hundreds of thousands of pairs of knickers that had been pulled down had left an unmistakable ambience of sex. “Just think of all those juicy cunts,” he sighed lustfully. A miniature camera hidden down the toilet might be fun! On second thoughts ...

Hearing someone enter the adjoining cubicle, Balforth balanced on the toilet and peered over the wall. Gazing at a honey-blonde teenaged girl as she tugged her red panties down, he speculated whether or not she finger-fucked herself as he

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continued to massage his rock-hard penis. Quietly tugging his zip down, he released his straining cock and was about enjoy a quick wank when Bentley’s voice bellowed over the radio.

“Oh!” the startled girl cried, looking about her. “Who’s that?” “Christ!” Balforth yelled as his foot slipped from the toilet and he crashed to the floor. “Bloody hell!” “Major Bentley to Balforth, where are you?” “Oh, there’s a man in here!” the girl screamed as she fled the building. “Balforth, where the ruddy hell are you?”

Climbing to his feet, Balforth zipped his trousers and straightened his jacket. Sitting on the toilet, nursing his bruised leg, he silently cursed Bentley as the old git persisted as to his whereabouts.

“I’m in Wash Block A, sir,” Balforth finally replied. “Have you anything to report?” “Your untimely call sent a young girl running out of the toilet with her knickers round her knees, sir. I suggest we maintain radio silence.” “How do you know they were round her knees?” “What?” “Her knickers.” “They must have been because ... Someone’s coming in, sir.” “Radio silence, Balforth!”

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Resuming his station atop the toilet seat, Balforth found himself peering down at the schoolgirl lesbians he’d voyeured earlier. Mother fortune smiles! he rejoiced as the dark-haired beauty sat on the toilet with the delectable blonde standing before her, her moist panties round her ankles. “Eat me!” the

naughty blonde whispered

urgently, parting her cunny lips, exposing her glistening inner petals, her erect clitoris, to her friend’s sparkling eyes.

Taking a vibrator from her bag, the dark girl switched it on and drove it deep into her young friend’s open cunt. Her eyes closed, her head tossed back, the blonde gasped as the erotic sensations permeated her quivering young body. “Eat me!” she breathed again, parting her swollen cunny lips further. Eagerly complying, the dark girl leaned forward, licking her friend’s open sex crack, her exposed clitoris.

Dragging his erect penis out of his trousers again, Balforth began wanking, wondering whether he could shoot his spunk over the dividing wall and splatter the schoolgirl lesbians.

“Ram it right up my bottom!” the young blonde cried as her friend thrust the buzzing vibrator in and out of her tight vagina. “I know what you like,” the dusky beauty drooled, driving the vibrator harder into the girl’s cunt. “We must have done this a thousand times!” “Do it, then!” “I’ll do it when you’re ready, when you’re really juiced up.”

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Balforth could hardly believe his ears. The vibrator up her bottom? he reflected, wanking faster as his orgasm threatened. Girls will be girls! he mused as the blonde unbuttoned her blouse and lifted her bra clear of her firm breasts. Tweaking her nipples as her friend continued to fuck her with the vibrator, she lowered her head and sucked on each milk teat in turn. Her areolae darkening in her acute arousal, she began to shudder as the expert female tongue tantalized her pulsating nub.

“Yes!” she cried jubilantly in her deliverance, her sexual glory. “Oh yes, I’m there!” Balforth was there, too. His spunk jetting from his sex-geyser as he watched the girl shake violently in the grips of her massive orgasm, he wanked faster, imagining his solid weapon driving deep into her tight anal sheath.

“Come in, Balforth!” Bentley bellowed over the radio. Oblivious to the interruption, the girls continued their lesbian games, the young blonde crying out her pleasure as her friend slipped the vibrator out of her dripping cunt and drove it between her buttocks into her rectal sheath.

“Ah, that’s heaven!” the blonde angel gasped as the vibrator stretched her anal tube wide open. “Pump it!” Thrusting the plastic phallus in and out of her friend’s arsehole, the bold brunette sucked her clitoris into her hot mouth, driving four fingers into her cunt. “Harder! Faster!” the quivering girl cried, leaning on the door to steady her sagging body as her orgasm peaked again. “Fuck my arse harder!”

It was almost too much for Balforth to bear as he massaged his swollen knob, bringing out the last jets of jism. The girl’s crude requests resounding around the

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wash block as the vibrator pistoned her tight anal duct, he groaned as he shuddered in the wake of his own gratification.

“Come in, Agent Balforth!” Bentley yelled again. Zipping his flies, Balforth switched the radio off, cursing the major for his continual, tedious interruptions. Peering over the dividing wall again, he was amazed to see the blonde leaning over and touching her toes, her rounded buttocks facing her friend.

“Really give it to me up my arse!” the girl cried as her lesbian friend drove the buzzing phallus in and out of her distended bum hole. Stunned, Balforth watched the dusky beauty on the toilet thrust her clenched fist up her friend’s cunt, her inner lips stretched tautly around her slender wrist. “God, yes!” the euphoric blonde gasped with the double pistoning. “You really do know what I like!”

Bentley still yelling over the Tannoy, he was obviously in a foul mood, Balforth surmised, deciding to leave the wash block before the old man came storming in to discover the outrageous schoolgirl lesbians. They would remain his own classified information, he decided, begrudgingly calling Bentley over the radio as he emerged from the building.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bentley snapped. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” “I’ve been having trouble with my radio, sir.” “You’ll be having trouble with your employment unless you’re in my office within thirty seconds!”

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“Could you make that forty-five seconds? You see, I’m a fair distance away.” “Shut up, Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Ambling across the Pirate’s Courtyard, Balforth noticed Miss Perennial enter the main building. Smiling as he pictured the nympho’s virtuoso performance in the old boathouse the previous evening, he would have expected her to be staggering on bandy legs. Considering she’d been tit-caned, fanny-caned and fucked rotten, she was moving surprisingly well, he surmised. Wondering how long she’d enjoyed herself with Tina, and what they’d got up to, he followed her into the building.

“Good morning!” he smiled jovially as she opened Bentley’s office door. “Oh, Balforth!” she exclaimed, her face flushing with embarrassment. “How are you this morning?” “I’m ... I’m fine.” “Ah, Balforth!” Bentley hollered as they entered the office. “And Miss Perennial! How nice of you to turn up.” “I didn’t feel well, sir,” the bluecoat smiled sheepishly. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters,” Bentley muttered, turning to Balforth. “And as for you!” “Me, sir?” “Yes, you sir! What have you to report?” “Er ... Well, nothing happened in Wash Block A. But I did discover a lewd picture on the inside of a cubicle door. Oh, and there’s white liquid splattered down the wall and over the floor.”

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“White liquid?” “Yes, sir. It looks remarkably like ... like male ejaculate.” “Oh, sir!” Perennial cried, holding her hand to her mouth as her legs sagged. “Calm yourself, Miss Perennial!” Bentley snapped. “We don’t want any more of your fainting fits.” “I’m not going to faint, sir.” “I’m pleased to hear it.” “I’m not!” Balforth tittered. “Balforth!” “Yes, sir.” “There’s been another incident. Not five minutes ago Miss Staines was in here ...” “When, sir?” Balforth asked, rubbing his chin. “When what?” “When was she in here?” “Not five minutes ago.” “If she wasn’t in here five minutes ago, then surely ...” “Balforth, you’re pushing me to the edge!” “I’ve never pushed you through a hedge, sir!” “Edge, man!” “Henchman? I’ve been called some things in my time, but never a henchman.” “Unless you shut up, I’ll have you certified insane! Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the latest incident. Miss Staines was most distressed, severely shocked and deeply disturbed.” “Why’s that, sir?”

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“Because someone hung a used condom on her chalet door handle.” “How fascinating.” “It’s not at all fascinating, Balforth! There’s more, I’m afraid. When she finally managed to clean up the mess and enter her chalet, she was confronted by a picture of a ... Someone used a felt-tip pen to draw something obscene on the wall by her bed.” “What was it, sir?” Perennial asked innocently. “An erect ... A male organ in a state of severe arousal.” “Good grief!” Balforth chuckled. “Whatever next?” “I’ll tell you whatever next, she’s called the police! They’re on their way, as we speak.” “Oh, it’ll be nice to see DI Fart ... DI Smart again.” “Nice? After your dealings with him, I’d have thought he’d be the last person you’d want to see.”

Moving to the window as he noticed two police officers walking across the Pirate’s Courtyard, Balforth began humming. If they searched him and found the felttip pen he’d have some awkward explaining to do. As Bentley stood next to him muttering about brown brogues, Balforth slipped the pen out of his pocket and discreetly placed it on the filing cabinet.

“Right, they’re here!” Bentley announced, turning to face Miss Perennial. “My God!” he cried, gazing at the stark naked woman. The weals across her breasts clearly visibly, her cunt lips exhibiting signs of a recent thrashing, the major feared he was hallucinating.

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“Miss Perennial! What on earth ...” “The ghost told me to do it, I had no choice!” the hysterical woman cried, dropping her blouse on the floor. “Jesus!” Striding purposefully into the office, DI Smart gasped. “Am I seeing things, Brookes, or is that a naked woman?” “In my considered opinion, I’d say it’s a naked woman, sir,” the officer replied, eyeing Perennial’s pinken inner lips protruding from her inflamed sex valley. “Yes, that’s a naked woman, all right.” “What’s the meaning of this?” Smart demanded, turning to Bentley.

Tittering in the corner of the room, Balforth held his hand to his mouth. Perennial was so gullible it was unbelievable! he reflected as Bentley made the situation worse with his stammered explanation. If the ghost told her to masturbate in the office with a vibrator and a cucumber shoved up her tight arsehole, she’d probably do it!

“It’s illegal!” Smart snapped, turning to Perennial. “No, it’s not,” Bentley returned. “This is gross indecency in a public place.” “But this is my office, it’s not a public place.” “Don’t split hairs, Major!” “She hasn’t got any hairs to split!” Balforth sniggered. “Sorry, I meant ...” “Are you a prostitute, Miss?” Smart enquired, trying to avoid eye contact with Perennial’s striped fanny.

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“No, no I’m not!” she protested. “A ghost told me to take my clothes off.” “A ghost?” “The ghost of the foreskins.” “The ghost of the ... Dress this instant or you’ll find yourself down the nick!” “I wouldn’t want to find myself down the prick!” Balforth chuckled.

As the distressed young woman dressed and fled the office, DI Smart frowned at Balforth, perceptibly aware that he might have had something to do with her untimely disrobing. Smirking, Balforth began humming as Smart took a notebook from his jacket pocket.

“A used condom was discovered by Miss Staines,” Smart declared, turning to Bentley. “There was also an obscene drawing on her chalet wall.” “Yes, we’ve been having trouble of late with a sexual pervert,” Bentley conceded. “We’re dealing with the matter internally.” “You’re dealing with the matter unsuccessfully, Major! We’ve received numerous reports of lewd incidents at this holiday camp. Miss Staines also told me that a man yelled obscenities through the window as her schoolgirls were taking a shower. A young girl rang the station earlier complaining about a man hiding in the female toilets. Another woman rang complaining that a used condom was dropped through the toilet window, landing on her daughter’s head. We’ve also received an anonymous letter from a female concerning a man masturbating and ejaculating through the toilet window, splattering her face with ...” “I’ve been hiding in the toilets waiting to grab an erect penis,” Balforth grinned.

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“Waiting to grab an erect penis?” Smart echoed. “It was Major Bentley’s idea. He told me to do it.” “Is that true?” Smart demanded of the major. “Well, yes. You see ...” “You order your male staff to hide in the toilets and grab erect penises?” “It’s not the way it sounds.” “There’s only one way it can sound! You order your male staff to hide in the toilets and grab erect penises. Used condoms, lewd drawings, men masturbating through the toilet window, your male staff seeking out erect penises - and I arrive to find a naked woman in your office!” “It’s all quite simple,” Bentley grinned sheepishly. “You see ...” “Allow me,” Balforth interrupted. “The major asked me to hide in the female toilets and grab my erect penis. I mean, to discover the pervert’s erect penis ... identity. I was standing on the toilet wanking ... I was waiting for a penis when Major Bentley called me over the radio. I slipped and fell to the floor and the girl in the next cubicle ran away with her knickers round her knees.” “This all sounds rather suspicious to me,” Smart murmured. “Erect penises, knickers around a girl’s knees, ghosts with four skins ... I put it to you, Major, that you’re running a camp full of sexual deviants!” “I am not!” “Then, how do you explain the numerous lewd incidents?” “I ... I can’t.” “It’s also been brought to my notice that ... What’s the meaning of this?” the detective asked, taking the piece of paper from the desk. “I’ll bet you girlies love stripping off and licking each other’s ... Whose is this?”

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“Er ... It’s mine,” Bentley stuttered. “These are the very words someone called through the window when the schoolgirls were in the showers.” “Yes, you see ...” “I see only too well, Major! This is your script!” “No, no it’s ...” “You’re under arrest, Major!” “But ...”

Sniggering as Bentley was handcuffed and marched out of the office, Balforth grabbed the ringing phone. “Fannymead,” he intoned, composing himself. “Is that Major Bentley?” a refined female voice enquired. “Er ... Yes, yes it is.” “This is Miss Lingus, Headmistress of Cockhead Convent. I’ve just received a most distressing call from Miss Staines.” “Really?” Balforth replied, desperately trying not to laugh. “Yes, really! She tells me that there have been several indecent occurrences involving my girls.” “Yes, yes that’s right.” “You don’t deny it?” “No, not at all.” “What have you to say about it?” “Nothing, apart from the fact that the girlies are having a great time at Fannymead!” “A great time?”

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“Yes, they’ve been romping in the showers, fingering each other’s cunts and ...” “Major Bentley!” “What?” “Fingering each other’s ...” “Yes, they love it. And they just love being stripped and bum-fucked over the altar by the uncamp padre.” “Never in all my years have I heard anything so disgusting!” “Haven’t you? How very odd.” “Odd?” “Bollocks, you’re not a hermaphrodite, are you?” “A herm ... I’ll be removing my girls from your camp, Major Bentley! And I’m reporting this to the police! Goodbye!”

Recalling Perennial’s lewd performance with him in the boathouse for the umpteenth time, Balforth imagined slipping his knob into her succulent mouth and bathing her tongue with his spunk as he unzipped his flies.

“Hey, Balforth!” Dickie boomed, bursting into the office. “I was just about to have a wank. What do you want?” “We have a visitor.” “Who?” “Lady Cocks-Pokingham, Burnshaw’s daughter.” “Really?”

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“Yes, and she’s come to see Bentley. She’s at the main gate, she’ll be here any minute now.” “She can’t see the major because he’s been arrested.” “Shit a brick! What for?” “It’s a long story. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with Cocks-Pokingham.” “OK, good luck!”

Straightening his tie as Dickie left the office, Balforth

pondered on the

situation. Lady Cocks-Pokingham! Full of southern promise! Having never lowered herself to visit the camp, he hadn’t yet met the woman. Sensing great fun brewing as he realized that she wouldn’t know him from Adam, he wondered whether to pretend to be Bentley.

Turning as Dickie showed the elegant young woman into the office, Balforth smiled. “Welcome to Fannymead, Lady Cocks-Pokingham!” he greeted her warmly. “Major Bentley, I presume,” the visitor breathed huskily as Dickie scurried out of the room. “Yes, that’s right. Please, do sit down.”

Her long golden tresses cascading over her shoulders, her firm breasts hugged tightly by her turquoise velvet dress, she was a fine aristocratic specimen, Balforth observed. In her early twenties, her cunt would be tight, he mused as she sat down. Tight and in dire need of a solid cock!

“What brings you to Fannymead?” he asked, sitting opposite her.

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“One’s come to inspect one’s inheritance. One day, all this will be mine, and I intend to sell it.” “Sell Fannymead?” “One intends to sell all the seedy little camps. One can hardly own such a bourgeois business, can one?” “No, I suppose one can’t.” “Daddy’s made plenty o f money from the business, money which will be coming to one as soon as he pops off. One will be forced to sell as it’s manifestly below one’s station to own common holiday camps.” Stuck up bitch! “Yes, yes of course.” “Would one be good enough to show one round?” One’s round, manifestly long cock? “Certainly, we’ll start off with the boating lake.”

She was a right little madam! Balforth reflected, discreetly taking a pair of scissors from the drawer as they left the office. A right little madam who needed bringing down a peg or two! An hour or so spent in the old boathouse wouldn’t go amiss, he ruminated, leading her across the Pirate’s Courtyard. And neither would a damned good thrashing across her aristocratic little bottom!

“What’s that burnt-out shed doing there?” she asked as they neared the lake. “That was the boathouse. Unfortunately, there was a fire.” “It’s unsightly.” “Yes, I quite agree.” “The entire place is unsightly.”

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“I’ll show you the new boathouse, it’s on the other side of the lake.” “One is not particularly interested in boathouses, Major.” “No, but this one might interest you, Lady Cocks-Pokingham.” One might not be particularly interested in boathouses, but would one be interested in having one’s cunt fucked?

Rounding the lake, Balforth felt his penis stiffen as he imagined fucking the arrogant young woman. He’d never fucked a titled cunt before, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by. She’d go running to daddy, of course, but what the hell?

“This is it,” he said as they approached the wooden building. “Most plebeian, I must say,” she sighed wearily. “Ah, but wait until you’re inside.” Until I’m inside your knickers! “One has no desire to enter a dirty old shed, Major Bentley.” But one has a desire to enter your tight cunt! “I’m thinking of one’s inheritance, Lady Cocks-Pokingham.” “One really doesn’t see what an old shed has to do with one’s inheritance!” “Come inside and I’ll show you.” My grandiose cock!

Opening the door, Balforth grinned as the cordon bleu tart stepped inside and looked about her. This was going to be bloody good fun! he thought, closing and locking the door. Her sensuously rounded buttocks clearly defined by her tight velvet dress as she bent over to examine the leather strap lying across the table, she was begging for the cane. Begging for it or not, she was going to get it!

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“One really doesn’t see what an old shed has to do with one’s inheritance,” she repeated with more than a hint of disdain as she gazed at a pair of handcuffs hanging from a hook on the wall. “Allow me to show you,” Balforth smiled, taking the handcuffs from the hook. Allow me to tongue-fuck your beautiful cunt! Grabbing her arms, he quickly cuffed her wrists before she realized what he was up to. “What are you playing at?” the horrified woman cried as he lifted her curvaceous body clear of the floor. “I’m playing at teaching stuck-up little rich girls a lesson,” he chuckled, laying her on the table and pulling the strap across her stomach. “Oh, Major Bentley! What ...” “I’ll lift your dress up and have a look at your stuck-up knickers,” he laughed, pulling her arms over her head and securing her hands to the table leg with a length of rope. “If you dare to touch one, one will ...” “One will what?” “One ...”

Yanking the woman’s dress up, Balforth gazed longingly at her silk, scarlet cami-knickers, swollen with her full sex lips. Parting her legs, hanging her feet down either side of the table, he ran his fingers up her smooth inner thighs. Examining her vaginal lips ballooning either side of the narrow strip of material running between her legs, he leaned over her tethered body and sniffed the damp material.

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“Mmm,” he breathed appreciatively. “There’s nothing like the sweet smell of a woman’s cunt-stained cami-knickers.” “My God, you’re obscene!” she cried as he nuzzled the crotch of the delicate material. “Too true, my lady! Too true!”

Struggling and protesting as he moved the woman’s cami-knickers to one side, revealing her sparse blonde pubes, her pink vaginal slit, she was powerless to halt the violation of her most intimate place. Chuckling in his wickedness, Balforth licked her gaping sex valley, her elite pasture, savouring her exquisite lust juices.

“When daddy hears about this, he’ll ...” “He’ll sack me,” Balforth laughed, his tongue sweeping over her moist inner folds. “He’ll do more than that!” “Do you masturbate?” “Certainly not! Unless you release one this minute, one will ...” “Your futile threats are becoming boring, your ladyship. Just relax and allow me to attend your sweet cunt. Look upon me as your manservant. Or, I should say, your cunt servant.” “You’re a disgusting, obscene, vile man!” “How very kind of you to say so.”

Taking the scissors from his pocket, ignoring her ladyship’s hissed protests, Balforth cut through the sensual material of her cami-knickers, exposing the full glory

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of her sweet sex. Cutting her dress, the scissors snipping through her camisole and over her stomach to her full breasts, he chuckled evilly as she lifted her head and gazed in horror at his handiwork.

“You can’t do this!” she cried as he pulled the material apart, displaying her straining bra, her smooth stomach. “I’ve done it,” Balforth replied nonchalantly, snipping through her bra and exposing her firm breasts, her succulent milk teats. “Jesus, you have hard tits!” “Hard ... This is enforced sexual pleasure!” “Of course it’s not!” “It is! You’ve already licked one, and now you’re going to force one to have an orgasm!” “That’s true, but you’ll enjoy it.” “One won’t!” “One will!”

Humming as he took a vibrator from the shelf, Balforth parted the beauty’s fleshy outer labia, exposing the sensitive nub of her clitoris. Her blonde pubes needed trimming, he observed as he switched the vibrator on and pressed the rounded end against her pleasure button. In fact, her lofty mons needed scalping!

“Please, you can’t do this!” she protested as her clitoris visibly swelled. “I am doing it!” “Ah! Oh! No, you must ... You must stop!” she cried as Balforth began singing.

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“So sweet is your slit, so wet is your hole, so hard is your clit, so stiff is my pole.” “Ah! Oh, God!” “So full are your lips, so swollen my knob, so firm are your tits, I need a blow job.” “Ah! Oh!” “You need a good fuck, my spunk up your cunt, and now you’re in luck, for I’ll ... What rhymes with cunt?” “God!” “No, it doesn’t.” “Oh, my ...” “Your what?” “My ... my ...” “My God?” “My goodness!”

Pressing the buzzing phallus harder against her pulsating clitoris, Balforth thrust three fingers deep into her juiced vagina as her orgasm exploded. Her young breasts heaving, she lifted her head, gazing at her abused cunt as her climax took her higher, enveloping the very core of her quivering body.

At least Bentley couldn’t call over the radio and disrupt the beautiful debauchery, he reflected as Lady Cocks-Pokingham screamed out in her enforced pleasure. Her hot cunt milk flooding his thrusting hand as he finger-fucked her, the last thing he needed was the old git asking where he was and what he was doing!

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“Ye Gods!” Cocks-Pokingham cried out again as her orgasm peaked, her spasming cunt gripping Balforth’s fingers like a velvet-jawed vice. “You must stop!” “Never!” “Yes, yes!” “No, no!”

Her orgasm finally waning, Balforth took a second vibrator from the shelf and placed the rounded end between her well-juiced inner lips. Thrusting the pink shaft deep into her cunt, he switched the device on, grinning wickedly as she shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Sliding the plastic phallus out of her sex duct, he thrust it deep into her cunt again. Her stomach rhythmically rising and falling as he pistoned her love hole, her ladyship gasped as he pressed the first vibrator against her solid clitoris again.

“No, no!” she cried, her body trembling as the magnificent vibrations combined, permeating her trembling pelvis. Her engorged vaginal flesh reddening as her second climax threatened to erupt within her ballooning clitoris, her cunt tightened, gripping the thrusting phallus. “No!” she breathed again, her pretty face flushing as her orgasm finally exploded within her pulsating sex nodule.

Expertly controlling the two vibrators, sustaining her massive orgasm, Balforth wondered whether she’d appreciate having her tits caned. Perennial had enjoyed the mammary thrashing, and the vulval caning, but would Lady Cocks-

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Pokingham? In his rising wickedness, he decided to administer the merciless thrashing whether she enjoyed it or not.

“Please, no more!” the exhausted woman gasped as her climax finally subsided, leaving her abused body quivering. Slipping the creamy-wet vibrator out of her hot cunt, Balforth switched both devices off and lay them on the table between her splayed thighs. Taking the cane from the corner of the room, he gently tapped each firm breast in turn.

“No! Please, no!” she cried as he struck her left breast harder, leaving a pink weal across the pale flesh below her elongated nipple. Ignoring her pleas, he struck her other breast, her young body jolting as the exquisite sensations of mingled pain and pleasure permeated her sensitive mammary globe. Her creamy vaginal milk gushing from her open cunt as he thrashed her rounded breasts harder, she struggled in vain to free herself. Giving her no mercy, Balforth continued the tit caning, thrashing her sensitive nipples until they stood erect from the dark discs of her areolae.

Noticing her vaginal lips swelling in her new-found masochistic pleasure, Balforth decided that she was ready for a fanny thrashing. Her thighs wide apart, her sex lips ballooning, he positioned himself at the end of the table and brought the cane down, striking her swollen outer labia.

“God, no!” she screamed as he brought the cane down again, reddening her ovoid sex cushions. “Please, Major Bentley!” Disregarding her ungracious cries for

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mercy, Balforth continued the fanny beating, a salacious grin furling his lips as her cunt juices spurted from her sex sheath to pool on the table.

Discarding the cane after twenty lashes, Balforth tugged his trousers down, exposing his rampant erection to the horrified woman. Clambering onto the table, his bulbous knob hovering threateningly above her drenched vaginal valley, he gazed into her sea-green eyes.

“Here it comes!” he chortled, running his glans up and down the length of her irrigated sex crack. “No, you mustn’t!” she gasped as he drove his shaft deep into her burning cunt. “God, you’re tight!” “No! You mustn’t! You mustn’t!” “I must, I must!”

Her body rocking as he thrust his organ in and out of her tightening cunt, Balforth lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. Biting her sensitive mammary bud, his solid penis stretching her young vagina to capacity as he repeatedly drove into her, he off-loaded all too soon.

“Coming!” he cried as her milk teat slipped out of his mouth. “Ah yes!” she whimpered as her own climax welled and erupted in her throbbing clitoris.

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His draining balls slapping her naked buttocks, Balforth drove his cock into the tethered woman’s cunt again and again, bathing her cervix with his orgasmic milk. Lady Cocks-Pokingham had been well and truly cock poked! he reflected as he made his final thrusts, the last of his spunk jetting from his knob-slit.

“Please, no more!” she cried as her vagina tightened around his broad penis. “God, one can’t take any more!” “Jesus, I needed that!” Balforth gasped, sliding his cock out of her spermed vaginal cavern. “Please, you must let one go now!” “Let one go?” he echoed, climbing off the table. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” “You must!” “I mustn’t! I haven’t caned your noble bottom yet!” “Please!”

Releasing the leather strap, Balforth rolled his perspiring victim over, removing the remains of her sodden dress from her glistening, curvaceous body. Buckling the strap over her back, he grabbed the cane, tapping her rounded buttocks gently as she writhed beneath the leather strap, quivering in her fear and anticipation.

“You have a beautiful bottom,” Balforth remarked. “Firm, perfectly symmetrical buttocks, taut, milk-white skin ... A very beautiful bottom.” “You’ve humiliated and degraded one in the extreme,” the unstuck bitch sobbed as he opened her legs as wide as he could and parted her warm buttocks.

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“Don’t you think you’ve done enough without this?” she whimpered as he inspected her anal iris. “No, I don’t,” Balforth smiled, taking a vibrator and driving it deep into her tight arsehole. “God, no!” she screamed as he switched it on, the vibrations running deep into her bowels. “God, yes!” he laughed, leaving only the end of the plastic cylinder protruding between her tensed buttocks.

Raising the cane above his head, he brought it down across her twitching buttocks with a deafening crack. Her body shaking violently, her screams resounding around the old boathouse, he thrashed her naked bottom, astounded by the copious flow of cunt milk issuing from her crudely exposed vaginal portal.

His radio bursting into life, Balforth reluctantly halted the relentless thrashing. “Balforth, this is Miss Perennial calling. Where are you?” “Out and about,” he panted, prodding his prisoner’s crimson buttocks with the end of the cane. “Report to the major’s office immediately.” “Bollocks, why should I?” “Just get here as quickly as you can!” “Bollocks! I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me what you want.” “I’ll tell you when you get here.” “OK, give me ten minutes.”

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Slipping the radio back into his pocket, Balforth tugged his trousers up. Lady Cocks-Pokingham would be safe enough strapped to the table, he decided, leaving the building as she screamed for her release. He’d soon return to finish the buttock caning, and then give her a good anal fucking before releasing her, he mused, closing and locking the door.

Walking round the lake, wondering what Perennial wanted, he pondered on Bentley’s unfortunate arrest. Bentley, of all people! he chuckled inwardly as he crossed the Pirate’s Courtyard and entered the main building. But the major would soon be back at the war office - if he could convince DI Smart of his innocence!

“Ah, Balforth,” Perennial said relievedly as he walked into the office. “What is it?” he asked, desperate to return to his delectable prisoner and give her a dammed good anal fucking. “I can’t find Major Bentley. He’s left his radio on the desk and disappeared into thin air. I need to tell him about a documentary a television company want to do about holiday camps.” “Bentley’s been arrested for gross indecency.” “What? Major Bentley, arrested?” “He shouted obscenities through the wash block window when the schoolgirlies were in the showers.” “I can’t believe that of the major!” “It’s true. All the lewd incidents were down to Bentley. The used condom Miss Staines found on her chalet door handle, the obscene drawing on her wall, the masturbating through the toilet window ... It was Bentley all along.”

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“That’s impossible!” “Tell the police that. What’s all this about a documentary?” “A film crew want to come to Fannymead.” “A film crew? That should be a laugh! Especially when they see the state of the camp!” “They need the major to sign that consent form on the desk and send it to the address at the top.” “I’ll sign it,” Balforth grinned, slipping the form into his pocket. “You can’t sign it, Balforth! I’m sure the last thing Major Bentley wants is Fannymead on television!” “Don’t worry, I’ll clear it with Burnshaw.” “He won’t agree to it.” “He might.” “Balforth!” Dickie cried as he burst into the office. “A woman has just run out of the camp!” “So?” “She was naked, and her hands were cuffed!” “Bloody hell!” “She was yelling something about going to the police. She got into a car and drove off.” “Er ... How odd. Bollocks! I’d better be going.” “Where to?” Perennial asked as Balforth made for the door. “Er ... I have to meet someone about my knob. I may be some time. I may be quite some time!”

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Chapter Twelve

Bentley frowned. “The blighters kept me in the cells overnight,” he enlightened Miss Perennial as he sat at his desk opening the mail. “It was jolly lucky, really.” “Lucky? Why’s that, sir?” “A woman went to the police station claiming that I’d intercoursed her.” “You intercoursed a woman?” “That was the peculiar term she used. But it’s all right, seeing as I was in the cells at the time of the alleged obscene act, my innocence wasn’t in question. An officer told me that she’d arrived in a state of severe mental derangement, wearing nothing other than a pair of handcuffs. Needless to say, the police packed her off to a psychiatric hospital for tests.” “Goodness me, some people!” “Mad, completely mad! You say that Balforth disappeared yesterday?” “Yes, sir. He said that he had to go and meet someone and no one’s seen him since.” “I don’t know, I really don’t! A mental woman accusing me of intercoursing her, Balforth disappearing ... Whatever next, Miss Perennial?” “That’s strange.” “What is?” “There was an incident here yesterday. Dickie Dubious said that a naked woman ran out of the camp, wearing handcuffs.” “Are you putting two and two together, Miss Perennial?” “Yes, I think I am. As soon as Balforth heard that the woman was going to the police, he disappeared.” 335

“My God, what has he been up to now?” “Perhaps he intercoursed her, sir?” “Why would she say that I’d intercoursed her, if it was Balforth?” “I don’t know, unless she thought Balforth was you.” “Possibly. I’ll speak to him about it, should he have the courtesy to make an appearance. Miss Perennial, I don’t want to harp on about it, but I really must admonish you for stripping off in my office yesterday.” “The ghost told me to do it, sir.” “It’s obscene! What sort of fiendish spectre are we haunted by?” “A rather rude one, sir.” “Rude? I’d say it was a vile sexual pervert! The ghost of a severely sexually depraved man! Ah, here’s a letter from Mr Burnshaw.”

As Bentley read the letter, Miss Perennial hoisted her skirt up, proudly flaunting her hairless vaginal lips, her secret inner folds emerging from her blushing sex valley. Her blatant exhibitionism completely out of control, she stood with her feet wide apart and yanked her skirt up further, revealing her smooth mons rising above her yawning sex crevice.

“Burnshaw’s not happy,” Bentley murmured without looking up. “He’s listed some drastic changes he wants made to Fannymead.” “What sort of changes, sir?” Perennial asked, her vaginal juices flowing from her lust hole and streaming down her inner thighs as her arousal soared. “My God, he wants the female bluecoats to wear thigh-length leather boots! I don’t know what’s come over him.”

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“He does seem to have changed, sir,” Perennial remarked, her stomach somersaulting as she waited for the major to lift his head and focus on her feminine intimacy.

Becoming impatient as the old boy continued to read the letter, she stood by his desk, praying for him to look up at her exquisitely displayed sexual centre. Her clitoris swelling, her cunt milk flowing in torrents, she was about to let out a little cough to attract Bentley’s attention when an eerie voice resounded around the room.

“This is the ghost of Fannymead!” Balforth bellowed into the bucket. “My God!” Bentley cried, leaping up from his desk. “What the ...” “Miss Perennial, you must bend over the desk and allow the major to spank your naked buttocks!” “Oh, sir!” Perennial gasped, her skirt dropping over her mons veneris, veiling her naked pussy. “Steady, Miss Perennial! Don’t fluster yourself.” “You will be spanked like a naughty little schoolgirlie or your nipples will shrivel up into warts and eventually drop off!”

Her legs sagging, Perennial collapsed over the major’s desk. Her buttocks ballooning, fully displayed below her raised skirt, she lay sprawled unceremoniously over the polished wooden desk, her feet wide apart. His heart racing, Bentley stood behind her, gazing in awe at her weal-lined bottom orbs, her swollen vaginal lips nestling seductively between the tops of her luscious thighs.

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“The major must spank your naked buttocks!” Balforth repeated, wondering why the office had gone quiet. As Bentley looked about him, pondering on the ghost’s depraved demand and wondering whether Balforth could have anything to do with it, the phantom repeated its obscenity. Finally deciding that he had no choice other than to administer the ghoulish spanking, Bentley tentatively lifted Perennial’s skirt up over her back.

Gently slapping the woman’s tensed buttocks, he faltered as his conscience got the better of him. Rubbing his chin as he wondered at his debauched behaviour, he shook his head as the ghost spoke again. “To preserve her nipples, you will thrash her to your utmost capacity!” Raising his hand, Bentley resumed spanking Perennial’s girlie buttocks, reddening her tensed flesh. Her curvaceous body quivering, she emitted little gasps of pleasure as he spanked her rounded bottom cheeks a little harder.

Parting her feet further, her cunt milk spewing from her gaping vaginal throat, Perennial began whimpering as her clitoris swelled and pulsated in response to the thrashing. The major losing his senses as his penis stiffened in his arousal, he spanked the young bluecoat for all he was worth, the thrashing turning her buttocks a fire-red.

“Oh, oh!” she breathed, her arms outstretched, her hands gripping the far edge of the desk as Bentley’s palm inadvertently slapped her ballooning vaginal lips. Her cunt juice issuing from her yawning sex crack, he spanked her there again and again, reddening her fleshy sex hillocks to the accompaniment of her gasps of pure carnal bliss.

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Immersed in the ruthless spanking, Bentley didn’t notice Balforth slip into the office. Standing by the door, trying not to snigger, he watched the old trooper slapping Perennial’s crimson cunny lips, wondering whether he’d unzip his trousers and drive his cock deep into the wailing woman’s drenched cunt.

“Oh, God!” Perennial gasped as her sex lips endured the hardest slap yet, jarring her trembling body. Grabbing his baton from the desk, Bentley stepped up the vulval beating, the wooden stick striking the euphoric woman’s cunt lips with loud cracks, plummeting her to frightening depths of sexual depravity.

Jutting her buttocks out and parting her legs further, exposing her full pussy lips to the baton, Perennial gripped the edge of the desk harder, her knuckles whitening as her vulval cushions swelled and her juices flowed in abundance from her crudely bared sex hole.

A rare and wondrous sight! Balforth observed, watching the abused woman’s creamy lubricant spurt from her open vaginal entrance each time the baton lashed her ballooning sex pads. Tittering as the apoplectic major placed the baton on the desk and slipped his erect penis out of his trousers, Balforth laughed aloud as the old boy was about to drive his swollen plum between Perennial’s engorged pussy lips.

“Oh! Er ... Balforth!” Bentley stammered, his face turning scarlet as he quickly concealed his cock and zipped his trousers.

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“What are you doing, sir?” Balforth asked in amazement as the flustered major tugged Perennial’s skirt down, veiling her burning buttocks, her crimson cunt lips. “I was just ... just helping Miss Perennial to ...” “Helping her to do what, sir?” “Oh!” Perennial sang, lifting her trembling body off the desk. “Oh, my puss ... I mean, my bottom stings! What happened?” “Major Bentley was thrashing your bottom with his baton,” Balforth sniggered. “Er ... You see ... It was the ghost, Miss Perennial,” Bentley stammered. “You must remember the ghost ordering me to ... to thrash you?” “A ghost ordered you to thrash her naked buttocks?” Balforth frowned. “I must say that I find that extremely difficult to swallow, sir.” “It’s true!” the major returned, wisely deciding to change the subject. “Where have you been, Balforth? Miss Perennial hasn’t seen you since yesterday. Apparently you vanished.” “I wasn’t anguished, sir.” “Vanished, you ruddy imbecile!” “Vanished? Bollocks! I’ve been around, working, checking security, ensuring that the campers are happy and ...” “I looked everywhere for you!” Perennial interruptedl accusingly, adjusting her clothing. “You were nowhere to be found.” “Balforth, I hear that a naked woman ran out of the camp yesterday. Do you know anything about the lewd incident?” Bentley asked, sitting at his desk and straightening his bow tie.

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“Dickie saw her, sir. Personally, from a personal point of view, I personally know nothing about the incident.” “Stop talking rubbish! She went to the police station claiming that she’d been intercoursed.” “Intercoursed by Major Bentley!” Perennial interjected rather too excitedly as she imagined six burly men crudely taking her naked body. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, after the way you were behaving with Miss Perennial just now, it wouldn’t surprise me if you had intercoursed a woman.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Balforth! I was in police custody at the time, proving my innocence.” “You had your penis out when I came in, sir. You weren’t going to intercourse Miss Perennial, were you?” “I ... I did not have it out! It was circumstantial.” “Yes, I did notice.” “Balforth!” “Yes, sir.”

Moving to the window as Bentley sifted through a pile of papers, Balforth checked his watch. He’d recorded a message on his tape recorder and placed the device in the bucket in the tunnel beneath the office. The message about half-way through an otherwise clean tape, he reckoned it was only a matter of minutes before the ghostly voice activated.

This was going to be the most foul and obscene demand yet! he thought excitedly, watching Perennial lift her skirt to display her abused cunny lips, her

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dripping vaginal slit. In the gullible pair’s minds, it would also prove beyond all doubt that there really was a ghost.

“Where’s Dubious?” Bentley asked. “Er ... I’m not sure, sir,” Perennial replied shakily, hoisting her skirt up higher. “The last time I saw him he was talking to those young ruffians in the Merrydick Bar.” “He’s a ruddy idiot, he really is! I’m putting a stop to this ridiculous election and throwing out the scum who should have left the camp by now! Miss Perennial, I want you to remove all the campaign posters from the camp. This absurd farce is finally over.” “Yes, sir.” “Balforth, I want you to ...” “Miss Perennial, you must push the major’s baton up your fudge box!” “Oh, the ghost!” Perennial gasped as Balforth sniggered in the corner of the room. “What’s a fudge box?” “Lean over the desk and allow the major to push his baton deep into your arse!” “Good grief!” Bentley roared, leaping up from his chair. “This has gone too far, it really has!” “I must say that the ghost is becoming rather intimate, sir,” Balforth grinned. “Intimate? It’s becoming obscene in the extreme!” “Do it now, Miss Perennial, or your clitoris will grow into a twelve-inch penis!” “Oh, sir!”

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“Calm yourself, Miss Perennial! We’re not going to allow this fiendish phantom to get the better of us.” “But sir, I don’t want to grow a twelve-inch penis!” “Sir, might I suggest that you do as the ghost instructed?” Balforth said pensively. “We wouldn’t want a twelve-inch penis sticking out of Miss Perennial’s crack, would we?” “I wouldn’t want a twelve-inch penis sticking out of my crack!” Perennial squealed. No, but I bet you’d like one sticking in it!

Taking his baton from the desk, and viewing it warily, Bentley moved to the window, his nose twitching furiously as he contemplated the ludicrous situation. It had been one thing to spank Miss Perennial’s naked buttocks in order to save her nipples, but to insert his baton into her bottom-hole to prevent her growing a penis?

“Sir, I implore you - you must do it!” Perennial cried, lifting her skirt and leaning over the desk. “You must save me from this dreadful fate.” “This is unheard of,” Bentley muttered, standing behind the woman’s rounded buttocks, his baton in his hand. “Unheard of or not, I wouldn’t take any risks if I were you, sir,” Balforth prompted. “You know what these sex ghouls can be like.” “I suppose you’re right. Leave us, Balforth, I don’t want an audience. And I’m sure Miss Perennial doesn’t, either.” “I ... I don’t mind, sir,” Perennial said sheepishly, parting her feet and jutting her bottom cheeks out to display her feminine wares to the men.

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“I really do feel that I should stay,” Balforth said meditatively. “As a sort of witness.” “A witness?” Bentley frowned, tapping Perennial’s crimson buttocks with his baton. “The ghost might say that the dirty deed didn’t take place.” “Why should it say that?” “To force you to commit another act of indecency with Miss Perennial. Thinking about it, this could go on and on with you having to commit one debased act after another. With me here as a witness ...” “Yes, yes all right, Balforth, I see your point,” Bentley interrupted. “Stay over there and I’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”

Pressing the end of the baton against Perennial’s tightly closed anal iris, Bentley attempted to insert the wooden stick, but failed miserably. Wriggling, trying to align her rectal duct with the baton, to assist the major in his anal inexperience, Perennial parted her feet further, her bottom crease opening to expose her elusive brown bullet hole.

“It’s no use!” Bentley finally conceded. “It won’t go in! Miss Perennial’s bottom-hole simply isn’t designed for batons.” “Balforth could hold my buttocks apart, sir,” Perennial suggested eagerly. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Balforth, hold her buttocks apart and we’ll get this vile act over and done with.”

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Standing behind the eager young woman, Balforth yanked her buttocks wide apart, exposing the delicate brown tissue surrounding her anal eye. The odd couple were gullible beyond belief, he reflected joyfully, watching the major push an inch of the baton into the woman’s dank lust duct.

“Let go of the baton and it’ll spring into alignment with the angle of her rectum,” Balforth suggested helpfully. “Ah, yes, I see,” Bentley murmured as he released the baton. “Now keep it at that angle and push it up her.”

Wondering what other acts of gross indecency the ghost could entice the unlikely pair to indulge in, Balforth suddenly hit upon an idea. Would the old fool parade around the camp in the altogether if the ghost instructed him to? With his balls at stake, he undoubtedly would!

“Oh!” Perennial gasped as the major eased his baton deeper into her anal duct. “Oh, sir, that’s ... that’s amazing!” “Hold on, Miss Perennial!” the major breathed, sliding inch by inch of the wooden stick into her rectal tube. “I realize what an indescribably dreadful experience this must be for you, but grin and bear it if you can.” “Oh! Ah!” “A little more, sir,” Balforth coaxed, concealing a grin as he parted the woman’s buttocks further. “I can feel it right inside me!” Perennial cried joyously.

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“Another few inches,” Bentley murmured, easing the shaft further along her tight passage.

Balforth’s penis solid as he eyed Perennial’s yawning bottom crease, he pictured the major pushing his knob into her anal hole and fucking her there, shooting his spunk deep into her hot bowels. The old man hadn’t screwed her yet, and he wondered whether the illicit coupling would ever happen. Perhaps the ghost should order Bentley to shag her arsehole?

With one foot of the eighteen-inch baton protruding from Perennial’s bottomhole, she had been well and truly speared, Balforth mused as someone knocked on the door. This should be fun! Hurriedly covering the woman’s buttocks with her skirt, the major pulled her upright and straightened his bow tie as Dickie Dubious burst in.

“Ah, Dubious,” Bentley murmured, his face flushing, his nose twitching furiously. “What is it?” “I wanted to see you about ... What’s that sticking out of Miss Perennial’s skirt?” Dickie exclaimed, eyeing the baton between her curvaceous thighs as she moved to the window. “It looks like your baton, sir.” “Er ... Yes, yes it is. I’ve been wondering where I’d left it.” “I borrowed it to ... to keep my knickers up,” Perennial explained bashfully. “To keep your knickers up?” Dickie echoed. “Yes, the elastic broke.” “What do you want to see me about, Dubious?”

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“Some men have arrived, sir. They’re erecting a ten-foot high fence by the boating lake.” “A ten-foot high fence?” “That’ll be for the nudist area, sir,” Balforth broke in. “We’re not having a nudist area!” “You’d better tell Mr Burnshaw that.” “I’ll ring ... Yes, well ...” “Shall I get him on the phone for you, sir?” “No, no. Er ... All right, Dubious, leave them to erect the fence. We’ll use the area for ... for something or other. A kiddie’s play area might be a good ...” “Oh, sir!” Perennial cried, gazing out of the window. “The padre’s carrying a young girl around on his shoulders!” “There’s nothing wrong with that, Supervising Bluecoat Perennial. He’s probably entertaining the children.” “She’s at least eighteen, and she’s wearing a bikini.” “It’s perfectly all right, Miss Perennial. The padre is ...” “Perfectly capable of entertaining her ...” “Shut up, Balforth!” “But she’s facing the wrong way, sir.” “Let me see,” Bentley said irritably as he moved to the window. “My God! Her ... her crotch is pressed against the padre’s face!” “Lucky old padre,” Balforth murmured. “I wouldn’t mind a young girl’s ... Er ...” “It’s obscene! Balforth, get out there and send the padre to see me!” “Yes, sir. Er ... Might I ask what you want to see him about?”

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“About the girl, of course!” “Oh, right.” “I’ll go with him, sir,” Perennial volunteered, moving awkwardly towards the door with the baton sticking out below her skirt. “Yes, do that, Miss Perennial. I would imagine that the girl will be in dire need of counselling after her horrendous ordeal.”

Leaving the office, Balforth followed the buggered young woman down the corridor, grinning as he imagined her to be riding a ghostly hobby horse. Did she really believe in the ghost? he wondered. It might be an idea to put her to the ultimate test, he mused, eyeing the baton lifting the back of her skirt as she opened the main door. Perhaps the ghost should order her to walk around the camp in the nude with a cucumber sticking out of her cunt, a banana up her arse and two clothes pegs clipped to her nipples.

“The padre seems to have disappeared,” Perennial remarked, turning to Balforth as they crossed the Pirate’s Courtyard. “Muff-dived off, I would imagine.” “Muff-dived off?” “You know, muff as in muff your duff.” “Muff your duff?” “Fanny licking, cunt tonguing, pussy eating, cunny drinking, lust hole sucking ...” “Oh, Balforth!” “Are you going to leave the major’s baton up your arse?”

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“I ... Oh, here comes Delphine.” “Get her to pull it out for you. She might enjoy baton-fucking your arsehole.” “Balforth!”

Walking to his chalet as the buggered bluecoat began chatting with Delphine, Balforth decided to nip into the tunnel and record another message from the ghost. It was high time Bentley shagged Perennial’s tight arsehole, he reflected in his rising wickedness. And if the crude act took place in her chalet, he could take photographs through the periscope and then blackmail the old git!

“So you agree in principle?” Bentley asked Dubious as Balforth sat in the tunnel beneath the office. “To be honest, I don’t relish the idea of becoming camp manager,” Dickie confessed. “Initially, I thought it might be a laugh, but now ...” “The post of camp manager can hardly be described as a laugh! It’s a responsible position, a position requiring skills that, frankly, you don’t have.” “What about Mr Burnshaw? He’s expecting an election, and if there isn’t one ... You’d better ring him, sir.” “That’s a call I’m not looking forward to.” “I’ve got it! Let’s make out that the election took place, and you won.” “Good idea, I’m glad I thought of it! I’ll get on to him now.” “The election will take place as planned or your bollocks will drop off!” Balforth bellowed into the bucket. “Who said that?” Dickie exclaimed, looking around the room.

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“The ghost of Fannymead past,” Bentley imparted almost nonchalantly. “It seems to have a hold on us, blackmailing us to commit vile acts, threatening us ...” “Blimey, a ghost?” “Yes, the ghost of the foreskins. It’s been plaguing Miss Perennial for some time now.” “Shit a brick!” “Shut your foul mouth, Dubious! I’ve heard more expletives of late than I’ve heard in my entire life, and I will not tolerate it! And straighten your tie! You look like a bedraggled sheep farmer.” “My mother was a sheep farmer.” “I’m not surprised!” “Sir, what about your bollocks?” “Don’t use that foul word in my office!” “But you don’t want your boll ...” “I intend to ignore the ghost from now on. Bollocks or no ... No matter what the consequences.” “The election will take place or you’ll grow fifty-two inch tits with fucking great nipples!” Balforth bellowed into the bucket. “Fuck me!” “Shut up, Dubious! You, you ghost or whatever you are - I will not be intimidated! Do you hear?” “Then your hairy balls will drop off within twenty-four hours!” “Blimey, I’m out of here!” Dickie cried, fleeing the office.

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Chuckling, Balforth quickly recorded another blasphemous message at the end of the forty-five minute tape. Rewinding the machine, he pressed the play button and checked his watch. There was plenty of time to ensure that Perennial was in Bentley’s office to hear the spook, he mused, placing the tape recorder in the bucket and heading down the tunnel to the chapel. Plenty of time to ensure that she received the obscene demand!

“We can flog off the fuckin’ silver!” a young man shouted excitedly as Balforth emerged from the tunnel and crouched beneath the altar. “This lot must be worth a small bleedin’ fortune!” “Yeah, and we can kip in ‘ere if that old git cuts off the electric to our chalets,” a girl giggled. “I fancy gettin’ meself fucked senseless over an altar!”

Slipping back into the tunnel, Balforth rubbed his chin, wondering what to do about the rebels. They certainly meant business, he reflected as he walked along the tunnel and climbed up through the hatch into his chalet. They’d occupied the chapel, the Merrydick Bar, the bingo hall ... They meant business all right! But what was their goal? he pondered. What was their ultimate aim?

Rolling the carpet back over the hatch, he debated whether to tell the major of the rebels’ latest achievement. The old boy’s nose would twitch furiously and his face would turn scarlet in his anger. There again, the padre had probably already informed him of the loss of his unsacrosanct chapel!

“Come in Balforth!” Bentley called over the radio.

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“Come in where, sir?” Balforth chuckled. In Perennial’s cunt? “I mean, answer me, you damned fool!” “I am answering you.” “Come in means ... Balforth, the police are here in connection with an alleged act of sexual intercourse.” “Sexual intercourse, sir?” “In connection with Mr Burnshaw’s daughter, Lady Cocks-Pokingham.” “Bollocks! Er ... I mean ... I’m somewhat tied up just now, sir.” “Then untie yourself and report to my office this instant!”

The end was nigh, Balforth knew, as he left his chalet and made his way to Bentley’s office. Cocks-Pokingham would cite him as the intercourser and ... Suddenly remembering the tape recorder as he wandered into the main building, he checked his watch. The ghost was due to make his next crude demand within the next five minutes or so, but there was no time to switch the machine off now. What the police would make of the phantom pervert was anyone’s guess!

“Ah, Balforth,” Bentley greeted him as he entered the office and grinned at DI Smart and Lady Cocks-Pokingham. “This young lady was forced to endure an indecent act of sexual intercourse in the old boathouse by someone calling himself Major Bentley.” “Really?” Balforth murmured, turning away and trying to conceal his face. “When did you force the poor defenceless woman to endure the disgusting act, sir?” “That’s him!” Cocks-Pokingham screeched, pointing at Balforth. “He intercoursed me!”

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“This is the man who intercoursed you?” Smart asked. “Yes, he ...” “I didn’t intercourse her!” Balforth protested. “She asked me to give her a good rogering and I obliged, as any perverted ... As any normal man would have.” “You forced one to come!” “How could I force you to come? You don’t have to have multiple orgasms if you don’t want to! Multiple orgasms are a woman’s prerogative, they can’t be forced.” “You interfered with Mr Burnshaw’s daughter’s naughty bits?” Bentley cried incredulously, shaking his head in disgust. “I didn’t interfere with her naughty bits, I just gave her one.” “Gave her one what?” “A good seeing to.” “I’m arresting you, Mr Balforth,” Smart grinned, not disguising his pleasure at having finally snared his man. “Arresting me for what?” “Intercourse.” “That’s not an arrestable offence.” “It is now.” “Fascist bastard!” “I’ll ignore that remark, Mr Balforth.” “Lady Pokingham-Knobs, did I intercourse you?” Balforth asked, grinning and winking at the delectable young woman. “You ... you made one come.” “Yes, but did I intercourse you?”

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“Major Bentley, you will go to Miss Perennial’s chalet and fuck her arsehole!” the ghost’s eerie voice resounded around the room. “What the ...” Smart stammered, turning to the stunned major. “You will force your cock up her tight arse and spunk in her bowels or your knob will explode!” “Bloody hell!” “It’s all right, it’s only the ghost,” Bentley explained calmly. “Fannymead is haunted by a sexually perverted phantom.” “There you are, then!” Balforth returned triumphantly. “There we are what?” Smart leered. “The ghost obviously got to Lady Pokes-Cockingham! The major’s already had to thrash the Supervising Bluecoat’s bottom, and stick his baton up her bumhole.” “Balforth!” Bentley gasped, his nose twitching wildly. “It’s true, isn’t it?” “Major Bentley, what devilish business are you running behind the facade of a family holiday camp?” Smart exploded. “Devilish business? I’ll have you know that we won the Holiday Camp Of The Year award! This is a respectable ...” “Miss Perennial will suck the spunk out of Major Bentley’s cock or her cunt crack will heal up!” the ghost bellowed. “One has never heard of anything so vile!” Cocks-Pokingham cried. “I have!” Balforth tittered. “I mean ...”

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“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Smart snapped, turning to the distraught woman. “But I do believe in sexual deviants! Lady Cocks-Pokingham, as the intercoursee, do you wish to press charges against the alleged intercourser?” “Detective Inspector,” Balforth whispered, taking the man’s arm confidingly and leading him to the corner of the room. “Do you really believe that this woman is of a sane mind?” “Why shouldn’t I believe it?” “Running around the camp naked, driving to the police station wearing only a pair of handcuffs and screaming intercourse ... I ask you, is that how a sane woman would behave?” “Well, put like that, I suppose not. Mind you, women do move in mysterious ways. Take my wife, for example. Only the other day ... Yes, well, we won’t go into that.” “Say you’d been intercoursed by a young girl, Inspector. Would you go running around a holiday camp with nothing on?” “No, I suppose not.” “Anyone with an ounce of sanity would cover themselves, it stands to reason.” “But you did intercourse her.” “Only because she threatened to have her father sack me unless I gave her a good vaginal seeing to.” “You’re saying that you were forced into a position where you had no choice other than to intercourse her?” “Yes, that’s right.” “So you had your back hard against the wall. Lady Poking-Cockholes!” Smart said authoritatively, turning to face the woman.

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“My name is Lady Cocks-Pokingham!” she returned indignantly. “Yes, of course. Lady Pox-Cokingham, I put it to you that you forced Mr Balforth to intercourse you.” “He forced me!” “Did you or did you not mention your father to Mr Balforth?” “Well, yes, one did. He thrashed one’s breasts and nipples with a cane!” “Good grief! Are you now saying that you’re an incestee?” “Pardon?” “You see what I mean?” Balforth whispered in Smart’s ear. “A sandwich short of a picnic.” “I’m inclined to agree, Mr Balforth. Lady Cock-Suckingham, I put it to you that you’re clinically insane.” “One is not clinically insane!” “I’d say that your father ...” “He also whipped one’s vaginal lips with a cane!” “My God, what sort of father would do that?” “No, not one’s father!” “Whose father, then? I’ll have the sex fiend arrested for vulval abuse.” “No one’s father!” “Dropped right out of her tree,” Balforth tittered. “Delusions of vulval incest, my arse! I suggest you have her sectioned under the 1855 Sexually Deranged And Vulvally Deluded Female act.” “Yes, I agree. All right, Lady Cock-Soakingham, I think you’d better come along with me.” “What about Balforth?”

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“We’ll talk about it down at the station. Come along, this way. Tell me, do you hear voices in your head?”

Sniggering as Cocks-Pokingham was escorted from the office, Balforth closed the door. Another little loose end tied up! he reflected gleefully, remembering an obscene story he’d once read in the News Of The World. Must try it sometime! he mused as a frumpy, middle-aged woman burst into the room, almost wrenching the door off its hinges. Standing with her hands on her ample hips, her face scowling, glaring at Bentley as if she was about to murder him, she wagged her finger at him.

“Are you Bentley?” she snapped. “I’m Major Bentley, yes.” “You foul-mouthed, pathetic excuse of a man!” “I beg your pardon, madam?” “I’m Miss Lingus, Headmistress of Cockhead Convent! I’ve come to take my girls away from this dreadful camp of ill-repute!” “But, why?” “Because of the obscene things you said to me on the phone yesterday!” “I didn’t speak to you on the phone yesterday.” “Yes you did!” “I was in police custody.” “I’m not surprised! You should be locked up and the key thrown away!” “Madam, I was not in police custody because I’d committed an offence. It was a misunderstanding.” “Who answered your telephone, then?”

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“I don’t know, I wasn’t here. Balforth, did you answer the phone to Miss Lingus?” “No, sir, I was checking security when she rang.” “When did I ring?” the incensed woman asked, staring accusingly at Balforth. “Yesterday.” “What time?” “I really have no idea.” “Then how do you know that you were checking security when I rang?” “Er ... Intuition. I have a seventh sense, or is it an eighth sense?” “You have no sense at all!” “I’m extremely sensible.” “I recognize your voice.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do!” “You can’t, because I had laryngitis yesterday. I couldn’t speak to anyone. Before you come charging in here making wild accusations, Miss Cunnilingus, I suggest you ...” “My name’s Miss Lingus!” “Look, this is getting us nowhere,” Bentley intervened. “Why don’t we all have a nice cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits?” “Miss Staines rang me and said that my girls had been traumatized in the showers by a sexual pervert.” “Madam, there are no sexual perverts here, this is a respectable family holiday camp,” Bentley reassured the seething woman. “That’s not strictly true,” Balforth muttered. “I mean, what with ...”

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“Shut up, Balforth! Miss Lingus, I think you must have dialled the wrong number. I can assure you that ...” “One of my girls went into the toilet and there was a man in the adjoining cubicle.” “That was the plumber,” Balforth smiled. “We’ve been having trouble with our urinary pipes.” “I’m going to see Miss Staines and the schoolgirls to discover exactly what has been going on here!” “Yes, of course, Miss Lingus,” Bentley smiled appeasingly as the woman stormed out of the room.

As the major sat at his desk and wearily took the incidents book from the drawer, Balforth gazed out of the window, wondering where the padre had got to since his chapel had been seized by the militant left. Probably licking out the beautiful cunt he’d been transporting on his shoulders! he concluded, wishing his face was buried in a teenaged girl’s hot, wet sex-nest.

Watching Bentley scribbling furiously, Balforth decided to slip away and have a few large scotches in the Hot Jungle Juice Bar. There was little point in hanging around waiting for the old man to start ranting and raving, he reflected as he sidled towards the door.

Creeping into the corridor, he decided to seek out Perennial and entice one of her erotic fainting fits. Nothing like a drop of warm cunt milk before the Hot Jungle

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Juice, he ruminated, heading off for the horny bluecoat’s chalet on the off-chance that she was there.

Creeping past Delphine’s chalet, Balforth looked through the window, his eyes widening as he focused on the young blonde. Standing naked, her back to the window, her feet wide apart, her hands flat on the floor, he could hardly believe his eyes. The girl’s succulent vaginal lips clearly displayed between her curvaceous thighs, the alluring brown starfish of her bottom-hole crudely exposed, she needed a damned good fucking! he decreed. At least, he needed a damned good fucking!

What was she up to? he wondered as his penis stiffened in anticipation of an anal rogering. Scrutinizing the delectable girl, he noticed that her wrists were handcuffed to her ankles. Was this some weird form of female masturbation? There was only one way to find out, he concluded, opening the door and slipping into the chalet.

“Oh, Balforth!” Delphine cried, looking up at him from between her long legs. “Delphine, what on earth ...” “Er ... Miss Perennial has gone to find you. I’m to be caned for being rude to her.” “Why are you naked and handcuffed?” “The humiliation, the degradation - it’s all part of my punishment.” “Whatever did you say to her to deserve this sort of treatment?” Balforth asked concernedly, mesmerized by the girl’s sweet inner sex petals, emerging enticingly from her yawning vaginal slit.

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“I told her to fuck off.” “Why?” “She asked me to pull a wooden stick out of her bottom.” “Good God, the woman’s a fiendish nymphomaniac!” “It was the shock, you see. I don’t normally tell people to fuck off.” “I’m not surprised that you were shocked by her demeaning request.” “Please cane me, Balforth! She’ll be back soon, and unless I’ve been punished, there’s no telling what she’ll do to me.”

Rubbing his chin, Balforth pondered on the mysterious Delphine. She knew about the baton, so perhaps Perennial had asked her to slip it out of her bottom-hole. And perhaps Delphine had been genuinely shocked. Even though Perennial had apparently sent the girl to him for a caning before, to have him cane her again for her impertinence was unbelievable!

The delectable Delphine hadn’t yet enjoyed a damn good rogering,

he

reflected, running his finger up and down her gaping bottom crease. As far as he knew, apart from the spanking he’d administered, she’d had no sexual contact with anyone since her arrival at the camp. It was high time she was introduced to the old boathouse! he thought in his rising debauchery. But she was to endure a damned good buttock caning first.

“The cane’s over there, on the bed,” Delphine said huskily, her long blonde hair veiling her pretty face as she lifted her head.

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“Is Miss Perennial coming back?” Balforth asked, grabbing the thin bamboo cane and standing behind the girl’s alluring, bared buttocks. “No, she said that she’d send you here to cane me, and then I’m to report to her in the Hot Jungle Juice Bar. As proof of my punishment, I’m to show her the weals across my bottom.”

If the girl’s story was true, why hadn’t Perennial administered the caning herself? Balforth pondered. She’d certainly shown lesbian tendencies, he reflected, recalling the woman in the old boathouse with Tina. She’d delighted in having her cunt licked out by Tina, and she’d loved pushing her tongue into the girl’s drenched vaginal sheath. But then, women moved in mysterious ways!

There was no point in wasting time analysing the bizarre situation, Balforth decided, tapping Delphine’s rounded buttocks lightly with the cane. Whether Perennial had ordered the girl to take her punishment or not didn’t really matter. The point was that she was here in her naked glory, her hands cuffed to her ankles, completely at his mercy - his every perverted whim.

Cupping Delphine’s succulent pussy lips in the palm of his hand, Balforth waited for her reaction. Surely she wanted more than the cane? he pondered, slipping a finger between her hot, swollen sex cushions and massaging her moist valley. Either she was as innocent as the Virgin Mary, or the Devil’s daughter! But which? About to drive his finger deep into her tight cunt to determine her true sexual leaning, Balforth jumped as the door opened and Perennial marched in.

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“Ah, Balforth,” she grinned, closing and locking the door behind her. “I’ve been looking for you.” “Yes, I ... I ...” “Delphine’s obviously told you that she’s to be caned for her insubordination.” “Yes, yes she has.” “Get on with it, then.” “Yes, right.” “I’ll not tolerate young girls telling me to fuck off! You’ll thrash her buttocks until she begs for mercy! That should put a stop to her continual defiance.” “Isn’t this somewhat unusual?” Balforth asked, wondering at the woman’s latest transformation. “It’s Mr Burnshaw’s new rule. As Supervising Bluecoat, I’m to see that the female bluecoats are disciplined.”

Incredible! Balforth mused, raising the cane above his head. Perennial and her feigned fainting fits, her blatant exhibitionism, her lesbian session with Tina, ordering Delphine to pull the baton out of her arse, then have him thrash her ... It just goes to show, he reflected. Talk about a dark horse. More like the Princess of Darkness!

“Give the cane to me!” Perennial snapped, pulling him back from his reverie. “If you’re not going to thrash her for her disobedience, then I will!” “Be my guest,” Balforth grinned, passing her the cane and moving aside.

Was this Perennial’s true character? he wondered, watching the woman thrash the defenceless young girl’s naked buttocks. It certainly wasn’t the old Perennial -

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Perennial the puritan!

She’d metamorphosed from a shy prude to rampant

nymphomaniac. Now this was something else - sadistic lesbian?

The cane cracking loudly across Delphine’s twitching bottom orbs, the girl cried out in her pain and pleasure as Balforth looked on in amazement. She’d be ripe for an anal fuck, he mused, watching thin pink weals spread out across her pale flesh like the leaves of a fern. Her cunt milk already spewing from her gaping vaginal slit and coursing down her young thighs, she’d soon be ripe for anything!

“Please, no more!” the quivering girl cried as Perennial administered her gruelling thrashing. “Please, stop!” “You’ll take your punishment like the naughty little schoolgirl you are!” Perennial returned, much to Balforth’s surprise. “No, I want to leave! I don’t want to work here anymore!” “You’ll never leave me!”

Perhaps Delphine was an innocent little angel after all, Balforth reflected. Apart from the fact that she had a vibrator to appease her young clitoris, perhaps she was as innocent as the driven snow. She’d seemed more than amenable to his first savage thrashing. But perhaps she really was just a sweet little girl, obediently complying with what she thought to be the established Fannymead punishment procedure.

Whatever, he concluded, if she was going to leave the camp after her caning, it would be his last chance to have his wicked way with the little beauty. Whether or not

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Perennial’s jealousy would rise from the deep and she’d try to put a stop to the enforced fucking, he didn’t know. She’d either join in, guide his solid cock deep into the girl’s tight arsehole - or go running to Bentley with her accusations of perversity.

“Please, I can’t take any more!” Delphine sobbed as the cane lashed her scarlet buttocks for the umpteenth time. “Please, Miss Perennial, I’ll do anything!” “Anything?” Perennial echoed, her eyes wide, a wicked grin furling her pretty lips. “Yes, anything!”

Turning to Balforth as she dropped the cane to the floor, Perennial stared into the dark pools of his deep eyes, perceptibly pondering on the possibility of a session of rampant debauchery. Standing before him, she slowly unzipped his trousers and displayed his magnificent monument, gently massaging his foreskin over his glistening purple plum.

The Devil’s daughter indeed! Balforth thought as the unlikely harlot quickened her rhythm. There was a fire glowing in her eyes, a fire of passion and debauchery he’d never before seen. Through all her sluttish fainting episodes, her blatant exhibitionism, she’d never looked like this, he thought fearfully. It was as if the Devil himself had permeated her very being, devoured her soul and moved into her curvaceous female form to live out his perverted fantasies.

“Well?” the she-devil smiled salaciously, licking her succulent lips as she looked up at him.

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“Well what?” he breathed, his granite penis twitching in her warm hand. “Aren’t you going to fuck her?” “Is that part of her punishment?” “It is.” “Then I’ll fuck her.”

Leading Balforth by his rampant cock, Perennial stood him behind Delphine’s quivering body and presented his purple knob to her gaping vaginal crack. Although whimpering, Delphine didn’t protest as Perennial parted her swollen cunny lips and ordered Balforth to impale her on his penis.

“I want to watch it go right up her,” Perennial grinned as Balforth gripped the girl’s hips and drove his ramrod into her tight cunt. “That’s it, push it all the way in! When you’re going to come, pull it out and put it in my mouth! I want to drink your sperm!”

Rocking his hips back and forth, his glistening cock repeatedly driving into the girl’s drenched vagina, Balforth was again stunned by Perennial’s behaviour. The Devil’s daughter! he echoed fearfully as, parting the girl’s buttocks, she slipped a frenzied finger deep into Delphine’s tight arse, fingering her there as Balforth fucked her exquisitely tight cunt. Perennial was possessed all right - by the Prince of Darkness!

“She’s a sexy little girl,” the perverse woman murmured, driving her finger in and out of Delphine’s tight bottom-hole. “She should be punished more often.”

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“She should be fucked more often!” Balforth gasped, unable to hold back his impending orgasm as the girl’s cunt rhythmically squeezed his throbbing knob. “Come in Balforth!” Bentley called over the radio. “Balforth, where the ruddy hell are you?” “Jesus Christ!” Balforth groaned as his sperm jetted from his pulsating knob, filling Delphine’s vaginal cavern. “Balforth, what are you doing?” “Coming! God, I’m coming!” “Balforth, report to my office this instant!”

Crying out her pleasure as her orgasm exploded within her pulsating clitoris, Delphine shuddered uncontrollably as Perennial slipped another finger into her spasming anal duct and Balforth rammed his solid cock deep into her tight cunt. The last of his spunk jetting from his sex slit, his balls slapping the girl’s mons, he finally rested, his glans buried deep within her hot bowels.

“That was a fuck and a half!” he gasped, watching Perennial finger-fucking the ecstatic girl’s tight anal sheath. “God, did I need that!” Slipping his cunny-wet shaft out of Delphine’s inflamed pussy hole as Bentley roared over the radio again, he zipped his trousers. “I’d better see what the old man wants,” he breathed, making for the door. “I’ll leave you to administer the real punishment!”

Staggering out of the chalet into the bright sunlight, Balforth shaded his eyes with his hand, wondering what Bentley wanted this time. It was one thing after another, he reflected as he walked across the Pirate’s Courtyard - one bloody

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interruption after another! But at least he’d finally enjoyed the delights of Delphine’s sweet pussy, he consoled himself, adjusting his sticky cock as he neared the main building.

As a businesslike couple deep in animated conversation rounded the corner ahead of him, obviously heading for Bentley’s office, Balforth stopped dead in his tracks. “Lady Cocks-Pokingham - and DI Smart!” he gasped. “What the hell are they doing back here?”

Not waiting to find out, he dashed around the toddlers’ paddling pool and headed towards the west chalets. There was only one safe haven, he decided in his rising panic - the tunnel. “If the bitch isn’t going to give up, I’ll have to go down!” he panted as he let himself into his chalet.

Perhaps the time had come to get out of Fannymead while the going was fair to rotten, he thought philosophically as he rolled the carpet back and climbed into the tunnel. But Delphine’s hot, tight, teenaged cunt beckoned. Could he really deny himself the pleasure of her curvaceous young body? Or Perennial, with her ravenous shaved pussy, her spunk-thirsty mouth, the delectable Tina, the horny schoolgirlies and countless other cock-hungry female campers? Satan helps those who help themselves!

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Chapter Thirteen

F

or two days Balforth had taken refuge in the tunnel, emerging only at night for fresh air and to raid the kitchens for food. But he’d learned a lot, spying

through periscopes and listening to conversations. Like a thief in the night, he’d moved through the tunnel from one chalet to another, from Bentley’s office to the chapel - lurking, spying, eavesdropping.

From what he’d surmised, Bentley had come to the conclusion that he’d had to leave the camp in a hurry, probably to visit a terminally ill relative or friend. The idea was appealing, and he decided to confirm the old man’s suspicions as and when he surfaced.

And that shouldn’t be left too long, Balforth decided. Judging from the sounds of the riotous activity, the constant shouting and explosions emanating from around the camp, Bentley needed him desperately - now! In earshot of the flak, from the security of his hide he’d wondered many times how the old boy was coping.

He’d learned a fair amount, too, about Perennial. Cocking his ear beneath her chalet as she’d poured her bisexual heart out to Delphine Douche, he’d gleaned that she’d been desperately in love with the major for several years. Her heart had yearned for him, her body hungered for his touch - until the rude sexual awakening instigated by himself!

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The troubled Perennial had made moves to get her hand inside Delphine’s panties, but she’d been cut short by Bentley calling her over the radio. Balforth knew, though, that it was only a matter of time before the women would be licking between each other’s cunny lips, lapping up each other’s girlie juice. With any luck he’d be there, writhing on the bed with the two naked beauties, his purple knob between their succulent mouths as they kissed in their lesbian frenzy.

Delphine, too, had him to thank for her burgeoning arousal - her first caning, her first vaginal fucking. The two women owed him a lot, he reflected, but they could hardly repay him with their delectable cunts when he was holed-up elsewhere!

The time had come to return to the world, he decided. To show himself and resume his vaginal fucking, his buttock caning, his anal rogering, his tit and fanny thrashing. How he stood with Lady Fucks-Pokingham and DI Fart he had no idea. Things hadn’t looked too good with the two of them consorting, but he’d just have to brazen things out, he told himself as he climbed up through the hatch into his chalet. Whatever had or hadn’t happened, her ladyship could prove nothing.

Walking across the debris of the Pirate’s Courtyard, it seemed there was little left to fight for, he reflected. The courtyard looked as if a bomb had hit it, which was probably the case, the amusement arcade had been completely wrecked while the main building was adorned with graffiti of a most lewd and obscene nature. The early morning breeze blowing litter everywhere, a pile of rubble lying where Wash Block C had once stood, there was virtually nothing left of the camp.

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Rehearsing his lines, he entered the main building and walked down the corridor to the major’s office. Taking a deep breath, he knocked before entering apprehensively, half expecting to find Bentley taken prisoner and the scum in occupation.

“Oh, Balforth!” Bentley exclaimed, rising to his feet. “Where the hell have you been?” “My Aunt Mabel,” Balforth sighed, holding his hand to his head. “I had to go up north to be with her.” “I guessed as much. Has she gone?” “Yes. I couldn’t phone, I was too distressed - shocked to the core.” “I quite understand, Balforth.” “I was very close to her.” “Yes, of course.” “She was like a mother to me.” “Quite.” “Closer, even.” “Yes, I see.” “More like a wife, really.” “Yes, all right, Balforth.” “A wife, a mother, an aunt, a sister ...” “Yes, I understand, Balforth.” “All rolled into one.” “All right, let’s not go over the top! Right, now that you’re here, I’ll tell you what’s been happening. The police have been back. It seems that Lady Cocks-

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Pokingham has retracted her statement - I believe her father intervened. Obviously, he didn’t want Fannymead to get a bad name. Apart from that, the rioters have been rioting again.” “Yes, I saw the results of the fun ... Of the mindless destruction, sir.” “We’ve also lost the chapel to the scum. The poor old padre hasn’t been seen since the desecration, which is quite understandable.” “He’s probably seeking God, sir.” “I would imagine so. I’m sorry to say that we’ve lost, Balforth. I did my best but, apparently, it wasn’t good enough.” “Don’t lose heart, sir.” “Sadly, I’ve already lost heart. Miss Staines and the schoolgirls have left, which is hardly surprising.” “That is disappointing!” “Everything’s disappointing! Dubious and I agreed to call the election off, but Mr Burnshaw wouldn’t hear of it. And that ruddy ghost threatened to ... Election day is tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” “Yes, I’m afraid so. We’d thought of making out that the election had taken place and I’d won. We then thought of rigging the result. Both ideas were dashed because Burnshaw’s coming down to do the count.” “Bollocks! There must be a way to fix the result, sir.” “Don’t swear! There’s no way to fix the result. Burnshaw has sent us sealed ballot boxes, only he has the keys. There’s one for Dubious, one for me, and one for you.” “I don’t want to run for camp manager, sir!”

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“You are running, like it or not.” “What if I win?” “You’ll be camp manager, of course.” “What will you do, sir?” “Retire.” “Oh.”

Winning the election was the last thing Balforth wanted. The work, the responsibilities ... He dreaded the thought! But time was fast running out to save the day, he reflected. He’d have to move like lightening to fix the result so that Bentley won hands down. If, as his intuition told him, Dickie was the favourite, he’d have to devise a plan whereby the voters thought they were voting for Dickie where, in reality, they were voting for the old boy.

“Where are the voting slips, sir?” he asked. “There are no voting slips. Mr Burnshaw has labelled each ballot box with the candidate’s name. As each voter enters the polling station, they’ll be handed a matchstick - the box containing the most matches wins.” “Right, leave it to me, sir.” “What are you going to do?” “It’s best that you don’t know, but I can assure you that you’ll have a landslide victory! Where are the boxes?” “In the spare office.” “Right, I’ll have to put them in Dickie’s office for the time being.”

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Walking down the corridor, pondered on his plan. Dickie was bound to win the election, he was sure - well, ninety per cent sure! All he had to do after the voting was swap the names on the ballot boxes, interchanging the major’s and Dickie’s, and voilà!

Entering the spare office, he scrutinized the black metal ballot boxes, which had not only been padlocked, but sealed with tape. “No problem,” he murmured confidently, eyeing the sticky, peelable labels. Stashing the boxes down the corridor in Dickie’s office, he decided to look round the camp to

assess the vandals’

handiwork.

“Oh, Balforth!” Perennial beamed as she pranced towards him, her skirt shorter than ever. “Where have you been?” “Dead.” “Dead?” “Yes, I died from a massive multiple orgasm. I had an out-of-body experience.” “How come you’re alive now?” “Fate. While I was on the other side, I met the ghost of the four skins, face to face - well, spirit to spirit.” “Goodness me!” “It told me a lot about you.” “Really?” “Oh, yes. It said that you used to masturbate when you were a young girl, before your girlie hairies grew.”

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“I didn’t!” “There’s one thing ghosts don’t do, and that’s lie! It also said that you used to be head-over-heels in love with the major, but I awoke your sexuality, shaking your unshakable love for him.” “Well, I ... Yes, I suppose that’s true. What else did it tell you?” “The bit about you masturbating is true, isn’t it?” “Well, yes.” “How old were you?” “I can’t ... About twelve.” “Yes, that’s what the ghost said! It told me that you’ve been talking to Delphine about sex. Apparently, you’re bisexual.” “Oh! Er ...” “And it seems that your fainting fits were all faked so that you could display your naughty bits in apparent innocence.” “I have never faked a fainting fit!” “Well, that’s what the ghost said. I know more about you than you think.” “What else do you know?” “I can’t say, I’m drawn to pleurisy ... I mean, sworn to secrecy.”

Surveying the rebels’ widespread destruction as he walked with Perennial towards the boating lake, Balforth was touched by a twinge of sadness. Over the years, he’d grown fond of Fannymead - and its fannies! - and seeing the camp in such a sad state was like seeing an old friend on bamboo crutches. The lake littered with rubbish, the remains of shattered furniture, the flagpole, smashed boats ... he’d

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never have dreamed that Fannymead would come to this! And he certainly didn’t envy the task of the new camp manager!

“Balforth, what do you do, exactly?” Perennial asked as they relaxed on the grass by the new fence. “What do I do?” “You never seem to do any work. You just seem to wander around the camp aimlessly.” “I’m the deputy camp manager.” “Yes, but you don’t do much.” “I try not to do anything!” he laughed, eyeing her succulent, freshly-shaved pussy lips nestling between her shapely thighs as she rested her chin on her knees. “What do you do?” “Everything! I’m always run off my feet, organising the bluecoats, seeing to the campers’ needs ...”

Holding her knees together and parting her feet, exhibiting her beautifully formed sex hillocks, her moist inner petals emerging impishly from her girl-slit, the horny little hussy knew damn well what she was doing! Balforth reflected. Her thirst for exhibiting her femininity completely out of control, he reckoned that it wouldn’t be long before she was arrested for gross indecency!

But he was enjoying her new-found mania, he reflected, focusing on her swelling outer labia, the globules of opaque girlie fluid clinging to her unfurling inner

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folds. Imagining his tongue there, lapping up her warm juices, he decided to try and determine her true feelings for him.

“I’m thinking of leaving Fannymead,” he sighed. “You can’t leave, Balforth!” she objected, parting her feet further, her girl crack opening. “Why not?” “Well, I ... I don’t know. But you can’t leave Fannymead.”

Contemplating the idea as he watched several bikini-clad young girls throwing a frisbee to each other, he thought about his bungalow on the south coast. It would be nice to retire, but what would he do all day? Relaxing in the garden, going to the pub, having friends round ... His life would soon become pretty boring - and he’d miss Perennial’s wonderful sex shows! He could always suggest that she go with him, he mused. But there was no rush to come to a decision, it was best to wait for the outcome of the election.

Watching the young woman as she climbed to her feet and wandered through the gate into the fenced-off area, he imagined nudists sunning their naked bodies. Girlies of all ages, shapes and sizes, big tits, small tits, long nipples, stumpy nipples, black pubes, blonde pubes - no pubes! To get the nudist area up and running was number one priority, he decided, leaping to his feet and following Perennial through the gate.

“This is ideal,” he murmured pensively, looking about him.

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“Ideal?” Perennial smiled. “The nudist area, it’s ideal. If we get this place up and running today, we might quell the militants.” “You’ll have a job to get it up and running today.” I never have a job to get it up and running! “Run off some notices announcing the opening of the nudist area.” “Major Bentley would never agree to ...” “Bollocks to Bentley! Go and run off some posters! I’ll organise seating and tables, sun loungers and what have you, and we’ll open the nudist area today.” “If you say so.” “I do.” “All right, I’ll see you later.”

His mind spinning with ideas as Perennial left the area, Balforth again pictured dozens of naked girlies sprawled out on the grass. The rioters wouldn’t bother smashing the camp up if they could ogle naked women all day long! “To work!” he chuckled excitedly, leaving the area and heading for maintenance. “A bar, sun loungers, music ...”

Rising from his desk, Bentley peered over his gold-rimmed glasses at the doctor, contemplating his idea. “It sounds feasible,” he finally said, perching himself on the edge of the desk. “It’ll work, believe me.” “Typhoid, you say?” “Yes, it’s ideal.”

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“All right, we’ll do it! But we mustn’t let the occupants of the west chalets know anything about it.” “It’s all right, only the east chalets will be affected. Once they hear that there’s been a typhoid outbreak, they’ll be out of the camp like lightening.” “I hope so! Without the scum of the earth voting, I’ll win the election. We can get maintenance to rebuild the camp, put everything back in order, and Burnshaw will be over the moon.” “I’ll go to the east chalets now and break the dreadful news.” “Good, I’ll expect to see the scum fleeing the camp within minutes.” “You will, Major - you will!”

Rubbing his hands together as the doctor left the office, Bentley grinned. This was the solution to the problem, he knew. With the east chalets cleaned up ready for new campers, the Merrydick Bar restocked and open for business, the camp would soon be back to normal. Maintenance would soon have the arcade and the bingo hall back in commission, the padre, wherever he’d got to, could have his chapel back ... Grabbing the ringing phone, he felt really positive about the future of Fannymead.

“Ah, Miss Staines,” he said warmly. “I’m considering bringing my girls back.” “Really?” “Yes, really. But I want changes, Major.” “Changes are being instigated as we speak, Miss Staines. The girls can have the east chalets all to themselves.” “And the sexual pervert - has he been apprehended?”

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“Indeed he has!” I wish! “And there’s some more good news - we’ve erected a ten-foot high fence by the boating lake. Your girls can sunbathe in complete nudity ... Complete privacy.” “That’s more like it! Right, we’ll be with you later today.” “I’ll look forward to seeing you, Miss Staines. Goodbye for now.” “Goodbye, Major.”

Straightening his bow tie, Bentley wandered over to his old gramophone and switched it on. Beethoven’s Fifth resounding around the room, he began conducting. “The good old days!” he chuckled. “Ballroom dancing, Victor Sylvester ...” Taking his radio from the desk, he decided to inform Balforth of his brilliant idea.

“Come in, Balforth! Major Bentley to Agent Balforth!” “Balforth here, sir.” “I’ve saved the day!” “You’ve paved the way for what, sir?” “Saved the day, you damned fool! The scum of the earth are probably moving out, as we speak.” “Really?” “Yes, really. The doctor’s announcing a typhoid outbreak.” “Bloody hell! We’d better evacuate the camp!” “No, you imbecile! He’s telling the scum that there’s been an outbreak to get rid of them.” “Ingenious!” “Indeed, it is! And I might add that it was my idea.”

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“Well done, sir.” “Also, Miss Staines is bringing the schoolgirls back. We’re going to use the fenced-off area by the lake exclusively for her girls to sunbathe.” “Oh, are we?” Bollocks! “Yes, the area’s perfect. We’re on our way back to the good old days, Balforth! The camp will soon be running smoothly again.” “I’m pleased to hear it, sir.” “So am I. Er ... Where are you?” “Maintenance, sir.” “Perfect! Tell them to place chairs and tables in the fenced-off area. Oh, and we’ll need a snack bar stocked with soft drinks, sandwiches, crisps and the like.” “Yes, of course.” “Right, get to it, Balforth!” “Right away, sir.”

Pleased with himself, Bentley paced his office floor, wondering how the doctor was getting on. The scum would run like frightened rabbits at the mention of the word typhoid, he was sure. Once they’d left the camp, he’d ring Burnshaw and inform him of the progress being made under his brilliant new management. Things were definitely looking up! he thought happily, turning the volume up on the gramophone.

“Bollocks!” Balforth murmured, abstractly rubbing his chin as he left maintenance. “Bentley’ll never agree to nudists now!” Once the old man saw the posters advertising the revolutionary area it was pretty certain that he’d go insane. But

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it was too late to worry about that, he reflected. Maintenance were already hurriedly installing a mobile bar stocked with booze and snacks.

Standing outside the bingo hall, Balforth began humming, contemplating the grave situation. The major obviously wanted to get back into Burnshaw’s good books, and the best thing he could do to this end would be to construct the finest nudist area possible. But the stubborn old git would never hear of it. There again, if he were to set up the area and have it running perfectly, quelling the scum, Bentley would undoubtedly take all the credit.

Picking his way through the litter strewn across the Pirate’s Courtyard, he tried hard to come up with an idea. If he could get rid of the major for a while, he’d be able to organise the nudist area and, should the doctor fail in his cleansing mission, appease the scum of the earth. He’d soon have the camp running to perfection. But how to get the old man out of the way?

“Ah, Balforth!” the doctor called as he kicked his way through the litter. “Hi, Doc, how’s the plan going?” “It’s not! Have you any lipstick?” “Lipstick?” “Bright red, preferably.” “Er ... Not on me, no.” “Damn!” “I have some red silk panties.” “I’ve got plenty of panties.”

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“Six-inch red stilettos?” “No, I need lipstick.” “What for?” “I need a rash all over my body, and big, fat, ugly spots.” “There’s a nympho in town who’ll give you a dose of ...” “No, not a real rash! A rash to fool people into thinking that I have the pox, that I’m plagued with typhoid.” “Oh, I see. Well, you could go to the ballroom and try wardrobe.” “Yes, that’s it! See you later!”

Shaking his head as the doctor dashed towards the ballroom, Balforth walked to Bentley’s office. There had to be a way to get rid of the old man for a while, he mused. The minute he saw Perennial’s posters advertising the nudist area, he’d go wild! Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he thought as he knocked on the office door and went in.

“Ah, Balforth!” Bentley greeted him, turning the music down. “I think there’s someone poking around in the spare office, sir.” “I’ll bet it’s the ruddy scum of the earth!” Bentley returned, dashing out of the room and running full-pelt down the corridor. “I thought it best to tell you,” Balforth tittered, chasing after him. “Ruddy sabotage, Balforth, I’ll bet that’s their game!”

Quietly locking the door as Bentley burst into the spare office ranting and raving about robbers, Balforth rubbed his hands together gleefully. That’ll keep him at

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bay for a while! he chuckled inwardly. There was no window in the room, and the door was as solid as a cock in orgasm. The old git would never escape!

“Right!” Balforth breathed eagerly. “Let’s get this bloody camp up and running!” Scurrying from the main building, he dashed over to the east chalets to see whether the doctor’s typhoid scare had taken hold. The tarts and yobs sunning themselves outside their chalets, it appeared, disappointingly, that they were no more frightened of typhoid than they were of the major.

“Haven’t you heard?” Balforth asked a purple-haired youth with an earring through his nose. “There’s a typhoid outbreak - you must leave the camp immediately.” “Bollocks!” the yob laughed. “They’ll drop off if you get typhoid!” “We ain’t seen no signs of nothin’. We ain’t got no spots or nothin’.” “On your head be it, mate!” Balforth returned. “I’ll tell you about typhoid, the symptoms. First, you’ll feel a little tipsy, as if you’ve been drinking.” “I ‘ave been drinkin’!” “Then you’ll start to itch all over. The next thing you’ll notice is a nasty rash on your cock.” “I ain’t got no cock!” a young slut giggled. “On your cunt, then!” “Don’t you talk about me bird’s cunt, squire!”

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“I’m not talking about the slag’s ... About her cunt. I’m just saying that ... Oh, never mind! I’ll just have to arrange for the undertaker to turn up in an artic loaded with coffins to take you all to the graveyard.”

Wandering off, Balforth realized that the plan would never work, even if the doctor flashed his lipstick-spotted dick at them! The nudist area was the last resort and, if that failed, the management and staff might as well hand the camp over to the common masses.

“Balforth!” Perennial called as she dashed across the Pirate’s Courtyard towards him. “Balforth, the old boathouse is on fire!” “Bollocks! That was my bloody den of ...” “And some ruffians are lighting fires in the woods by the lake.” “Right, I’ll announce the opening of the nudist area. It’s our last chance.” “I’ve printed the posters.” “OK, put them up around the camp.”

Dashing to Bentley’s office, Balforth grabbed the microphone and switched the Tannoy on. “Attention! Attention! The nudist area by the boating lake is now open. Any girlies ... I mean, any campers wishing to use the facility may do so. The only rule is that all those entering the area must be completely naked, and at least sixteen years old. For your convenience, there’s a snack bar in the area selling alcoholic beverages, crisps and sandwiches.”

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Slinging the microphone down, Balforth ran down the corridor, cringing as he passed the spare office. Hammering on the door and yelling expletives, Bentley was having some kind of mental fit! But it was for his own good, Balforth reflected as he crashed through the main doors into the bright sunshine.

The yobs leaving the Merrydick Bar and the bingo hall and heading towards the lake, Balforth reckoned that his announcement had done the trick. Now was the time to set up the polling station, he decided, watching the militants tumbling out of the wrecked arcade.

“Balforth!” the padre called excitedly as he approached. “The yobs are leaving the chapel!” “Good! Hey, where the hell have you been?” “Er ... Seeing to Sylvia.” “Where?” “I have a ... a hiding place.” “Yes, but where?” “I think you know where, seeing as you hid in the very same place for a couple of days.” “Oh, right. Look, Bentley’s locked in the spare office and ...” “Why?” “It doesn’t matter why! Get over to maintenance and order the lazy gits to sort out the Merrydick Bar, the arcade and the bingo hall. I want this camp spick and span within a few hours!” “A few hours? That’s asking a lot!”

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“It’s about time those lazy bastards in maintenance did some bloody work! And get them to clear the lake, it looks like a bloody cesspit.” “Whatever you say.”

Taking his radio from his jacket pocket, Balforth called Perennial. “Where are you?” he asked urgently. “In the nudist area serving drinks and snacks. And I’m naked.” “Cor! I mean, well done. Are the masses OK?” “Some of them ... I mean, yes, they’re fine. The idea seems to be working well.” “Good. Look, I’m going to set up the polling station. I’ll make the announcement over the Tannoy when I’m ready for the voters.” “All right. I must say that I’m quite enjoying this!” she giggled. “I’ll bet you are!” “Nudity seems to ... Well, seems to do strange things to me.” “You’re a changed woman, Miss Perennial.” “Yes, thanks to you. Oh, I have customers to serve, I’ll see you later.” “Keep up the good work.” “Balforth, when this is all over ...” “Yes?” “Well, I thought we might ...” “Might what?” “Er ... Nothing.”

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Grinning, Balforth knew only too well what Perennial had in mind - perverted sex, obscene sex, and more perverted sex! But first things first, he mused, heading for Dickie’s office in a state of excitement akin to blind panic. “Bollocks, I need matchsticks!” he breathed, turning and dashing towards the kitchens.

Armed with dozens of boxes of matches, he bolted across the courtyard and flew into the main building. The election had to take place that very day - but where to set up the polling station? he pondered, taking the ballot boxes from Dickie’s office. The chapel was the ideal place, he finally decided. The voters could queue up at the main door, each collect a matchstick, and then leave by the vestry door after voting.

“Oh, that’s nice!” Delphine gasped, easing her vibrator deep into her hot vaginal sheath as she lay naked on her bed. Gazing into the mirror she’d placed at the foot of the bed, she thrust the buzzing phallus in and out of her burning cunt, gasping as the vibrations permeated her trembling womb. Her outer lips rolling along the sex-wet shaft, she focused on her exposed clitoris, swollen in her soaring arousal.

Parting her legs wider, her vaginal crack gaping, her juices of desire trickling down to her pert bottom-hole, she massaged her pulsating clitoris to a massive orgasm. Whimpering as her vagina tightened around the vibrator, her sea-blue eyes glazed, she arched her back, her naked body trembling uncontrollably as her climax peaked. On and on the waves of pure sexual bliss crashed through her curvaceous young body, her areolae darkening, her nipples sensitive, erect.

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As her orgasm began to wane, she slowed her thrusting, the vibrator gently massaging her vaginal walls, inducing her cunt milk to flow. But the buzzing phallus was no substitute for the real thing, she thought dreamily. Having experienced Balforth’s magnificent cock thrusting in and out of her cunt, his sperm bathing her young cervix, the vibrator was no substitute at all!

Grabbing the radio she’d stolen from Bentley’s office, she pressed the transmit button. “Balforth, are you there?” she asked in her new-found wickedness, her trembling hand pistoning the vibrator. “Balforth here. Is that you, Miss Perennial?” “No, it wasn’t me,” Perennial replied. “Who was it, then?” “Balforth, it’s me!” Delphine gasped as her clitoris throbbed, sending electrifying sensations of sex through her perspiring body. “Who’s me?” “Your secret admirer. I want your stiff cock up my tight cunt!” “Who is this?” “I’ve just brought myself off, rubbed my clitty to orgasm. I want you to come in my cunt, Balforth! Where are you?” “Setting up the polling station in the chapel. Who the hell is this?” “I’d like to vote for your knob. God, I’m wet! Would you like me to come over to the chapel and come over your face?” “Whoever that is, you’ll be severely punished!” Perennial cried. “Ooh, I’d like that!”

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“Balforth, I’m leaving one of the bluecoats in charge here, I’ll be with you in a minute.” “There’s no need, Miss Perennial.” “Miss Perennial is jealous!” Delphine giggled. “I am not jealous! I’ll find out who you are and have you thrashed for your obscenity!” “I’ll look forward to it!”

Setting the ballot boxes on the altar, Balforth pondered on his secret admirer, his cock stiffening as he imagined sperming into the mysterious girl’s tight pussy. He hadn’t recognized Delphine’s voice, but he had a pretty good idea that it was her. My eighth sense, he thought as Perennial burst through the chapel doors and ran down the aisle.

“Christ, you’re naked!” Balforth gasped, eyeing the beauty’s shaved vulval flesh. “Oh, I forgot my clothes!” she cried, looking down at her pert breasts, her elongated nipples. “I left the nudist area, and forgot my clothes!” “You seem prone to displaying your naughty bits.” “No, I didn’t mean to ...” “Shit, this is God’s house!” “Oh, dear!” “Still, you’ve been fucked by a candle while lying on the altar, so I suppose this is no worse.” “Balforth, who was that girl on the radio?”

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“I don’t know.” “And whose radio is she using? As far as I know there are only three.” “I don’t know.” “Do you like my body?” Perennial smiled, standing with her feet wide apart and running her slender fingers over her lower stomach to her smooth pubis mound.

Resting her buttocks against the altar, she stood with her feet as wide apart as possible and leaned back. Her hairless mons veneris projected, her smooth vaginal lips swelling in her arousal, she flashed a salacious grin at Balforth. She wanted it, he knew, as he gazed lustfully at her pinken inner folds peeping enticingly from her moist sex valley. Her jealousy rising, like a cat on heat she was obviously getting her claws out to ensnare him. But, appealing though the pussy was, he wasn’t going to succumb to her cat-alley antics that easily!

“This will be the polling station,” he said nonchalantly as Perennial cupped her firm breasts in her hands and tweaked her succulent nipples. “Yes, I know.” “Bentley will win, and ...” “Oh, I feel funny all over! Nudity really turns me on.” “Yes, the nudist area has really done the trick,” he remarked, positioning the ballot boxes in a row. “It worked for me.” “It’s worked for the rebels! Shouldn’t you be getting back?” “There’s no rush.” “Right, I think I’m ready for the voters.”

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“Aren’t you ready for me, Balforth?”

Reclining over the altar, her sexual centre crudely projected, her cunny lips gaping between her splayed thighs, Perennial closed her eyes. Blatant or what? Balforth mused, eyeing her creamed, pinken sex crack. Allowing her arousal to soar as he played about with the ballot boxes, he wondered how long it would take before she begged him for sex. There was nothing better than having a woman beg for it!

“Balforth, what are you doing?” she asked irritably, parting her engorged outer lips with her slender fingers and exposing her drenched sex hole. “Setting up the boxes.” “I wish you’d pay me some attention.” “How do you mean?” “You could look at me, for a start!”

Grinning, Balforth looked about the chapel, deliberately ignoring the desperate woman’s blatant exhibitionism. His penis solid within his trousers, he was dying to fuck her tight cunt, but he’d make her wait a little longer.

“This candle’s nice,” Perennial sighed, easing a waxen shaft deep into her yearning cunt. “We’ll need someone on the door to give each voter a matchstick, and someone standing by the boxes to ensure fair play,” Balforth murmured pensively. “God, it’s so big!” “Yes, the chapel’s just the right size for a polling station.”

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“I’d prefer the real thing.” “This will just have to do, I’m afraid.” “I can feel it right inside me!” “My stomach’s somersaulting, it’s pre-election tension.” “I want to come!” “You will, the staff each have a vote.” “Balforth!” “What?” “Look at me!” “Hang on, I’m just wondering whether the boxes would be better placed by the door.” “Balforth!” “No, the altar’s best because ...” “Balforth, for God’s sake, fuck me!”

Turning to face Perennial, Balforth raised his eyebrows. Thrusting the candle in and out of her steaming cunt with one hand whilst vigorously massaging her erect clitoris with the other, she was obviously close to orgasm, ripe for a good fucking. Standing between her quivering legs, Balforth slipped the candle out of her tightening vagina and dropped his trousers.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, proudly displaying his monumental cock, his swollen purple knob. “Yes, yes put it up me!” “What, now?”

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“For God’s sake, fuck me!” “Anything you say.”

Placing his bulbous glans between her parted inner lips, he drove his solid shaft deep into her cunt, the sheer girth of his penis stretching her vaginal sheath to capacity. “God, yes!” she cried, massaging her clitoris faster as he withdrew his organ and drove into her again, jolting her quivering body.

Lifting her legs, Balforth pressed the frantic woman’s knees against her firm breasts, her vaginal lips ballooning between her smooth thighs, devouring his cunnywet shaft as he repeatedly propelled his organ into her drenched cunt. Her climax erupting within her pulsating clitoris, she cried out in her coming, tossing her head from side to side as shockwaves of pure carnal ecstasy rolled through her perspiring body.

“Fuck me harder!” she gasped, her fleshy cunt gripping his veined shaft like a vice. Parting her legs, holding her feet high in the air, Balforth complied to the extent that she had to cling to the tapestry to stop herself from being thrust across the altar. “More, more!” she cried as her orgasm peaked and her girlie juice jetted from her burning cunt and ran down Balforth’s swinging balls.

The woman really was something else! Balforth thought, driving his purpleheaded warrior deep into her spasming girlie-sheath as she gasped her pleasure. His balls spanking her taut buttocks, his lower belly slapping her hairless mons, he grimaced as his throbbing glans triggered his sperm pump.

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His spunk jetting from his knob, bathing her hot cervix, he grunted with each forceful thrust, fucking the wailing woman senseless. Delirious, her eyes rolling, her nostrils flaring, her mouth hanging open, she appeared to pass out in the grips of her violent orgasm. But Balforth thrust on unabated, ramming his solid cock deep into her tight cunt, draining his heavy balls in his demonic communion.

“Jesus bloody Christ!” the padre cried as he entered the chapel and focused on the irreverent coupling. “That’s my fucking altar!” “I know it is!” Balforth gasped. “And that’s exactly what I’m using it for - for fucking!” “Holy Mother of Mary!” “No, it’s Miss Perennial.” “Fuck me!” “No thanks!”

Finally slipping his spent cock out of Perennial’s brimming cunt, Balforth pulled his trousers up and buckled his belt. The padre gazing in awe at the woman’s dripping vaginal slit, his cassock tenting as his penis acknowledged the sordid sight, Balforth wondered whether she’d like to take communion with the man of God.

“No!” Perennial objected, leaping off the altar as the padre stroked her inflamed pussy slit. “I’m not here to be fucked by all and sundry!” “Sorry, I was only ...”

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“I’m Balforth’s woman, and he’s my man!” she declared, folding her arms to cover her pert breasts. “I’m faithful to him, and he’s faithful to me.”

Faithful to one woman? Balforth pondered, shocked at the announcement of his unexpected betrothal and picturing Delphine’s juiced cunt. Faithful? What sort of way was that to behave? Unfair, unjust, inappropriate - inconceivable!

“I’ll marry you,” the padre grinned. “You won’t!” Perennial returned, squeezing her thighs together as Balforth’s sperm oozed from her burning sex crack. “I didn’t know you two were in love,” Balforth sniggered. “We’re not!” Perennial gasped. “I don’t want to marry the padre!” “Neither do I!” Balforth laughed as his radio burst into life. “I’m hot, wet and ready for you, Balforth!” Delphine whispered huskily, doing her utmost to disguise her voice. Snatching Balforth’s radio as he was about to reply to the wanton hussy, Perennial scowled. “Shut up, you vile girl!” “But I want Balforth to fuck me.” “Unless you ... Wait a minute, is that Delphine Douche?” “Er ... No, no it’s not.” “Yes, it is. Right, I’m going to deal with you!”

Thrusting the radio into Balforth’s hand, Perennial dashed down the aisle, baptizing the red carpet with a long trail of sperm. Flinging the door open, she rushed outside, again appearing to have forgotten about her nakedness.

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“Funny woman!” the padre sighed, righting the cunny-wet alter candle. “What are these boxes doing here?” “They’re the ballot boxes, for the election. The chapel is the polling station.” “More like a fucking station, if you ask me!” “Polling, praying, fucking - what’s the difference?” “Not a lot,” the cleric grinned, adjusting his tenting cassock. “How are maintenance getting on?” “They’re working their bollocks off.” “Good. Right, I’ll go and announce the opening of the polling station. You can man the door. Give one matchstick to each voter and tell them to drop it into the box of their choice.” “Right you are.” “The matches are on the pew by the door. OK, I’ll see you later.”

Leaving the chapel, Balforth decided to pass Delphine’s chalet on his way to Bentley’s office. Perennial might well be giving the girl a good buttock caning for her despicable behaviour, and he wasn’t going to miss that!

“You naughty little girl!” Perennial’s shrill voice could be heard two chalets away. “How dare you steal the major’s radio and say those dreadful things to Balforth!” “It wasn’t me!” Delphine protested as Balforth peered through the window, delighted by the debauched spectacle that met his eyes.

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Delphine’s naked body bent over the back of a chair, her wrists and ankles tied to the chair legs, her cunt lips clearly displayed, Perennial was administering a merciless buttock caning. The cane swishing through the air, landing with deafening cracks across the wailing girl’s pale arse orbs, Balforth again wondered at the older woman’s true sexual identity.

“Please, no!” Delphine begged as the cane struck her scarlet bottom spheres again. “I can’t take it!” “And I can’t take your continual insubordination and disgraceful behaviour!” Perennial returned.

The thrashing continuing unabated, Balforth watched the young girl’s lust juices oozing from her inflamed pussy slit and dripping onto the floor. His penis solid, as usual, he recalled Delphine’s demand. I want your stiff cock up my tight cunt! About to enter the chalet and give the girl a damned good fucking, he pondered on Perennial’s words. I’m Balforth’s woman, and he’s my man! I’m faithful to him and he’s faithful to me.

The situation was totally unfair, he mused. Perennial was allowed to cane young girls’ naked bottoms, but he wasn’t allowed to do anything! “Bollocks!” he breathed, perceiving the lesbian passion reflected in Perennial’s eyes as she thrashed Delphine. But there was plenty of time to fuck the young girl yet, he consoled himself. There’d be many opportunities to have his wicked way with her when the supervising bluecoat wasn’t around!

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“This is a staff announcement,” a soft female voice purred over the Tannoy. “Mr Balforth, please report to Major Bentley’s office.” “Lady Cocks-Pokingham!” Balforth gasped, rubbing his chin as he wondered what she was doing back at the camp. Retreat to the tunnel - or face the music?

With the election about to take place, Bentley locked in the spare office, and the nudist area up and running, he didn’t know what to do. Cocks-Pokingham might have brought the police with her. And if they discovered the major ... “Oh, bollocks!”

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Chapter Fourteen

S

tanding in the tunnel beneath Bentley’s office, Balforth listened to the movements above him, wondering what Lady Cocks-Pokingham was up to.

Hearing the desk and filing cabinet drawers opening and closing, he reckoned she was alone. But what was she looking for?

Perhaps the ghost should speak and send her scurrying out of the office, he pondered, eyeing the metal bucket on the floor of the tunnel. She was definitely looking for something, he concluded, hearing the stationery cupboard door open as he picked the bucket up. Frowning as someone entered the office, he listened intently.

“And who, may one enquire, are you?” Cocks-Pokingham asked haughtily. “Dickie Dubious, entertainments manager. Who, may one enquire, are you?” “Dubious by name, dubious by nature, no doubt,” she sneered. “You have the pleasure of addressing Lady Cocks-Pokingham, Mr Burnshaw’s daughter.” “Pleasure?” “Where is Major Bentley?” “I don’t know.” “Where is Mr Balforth?” “I have no idea. Can I help?” “One now owns Fannymead Holiday Camp and one is here to ...” “You own Fannymead?” “That is precisely what one said, Mr Dubious. Does one need to repeat oneself?” 400

“No, it’s just that I ...” “Then one will continue. One’s father has signed the camp over to one because he believes it will give one something to do. How wrong he is, as he will soon discover! One intends to sell the camp to a developer.” “Sell the camp?” “Do you have a hearing problem, Mr Dubious?” “No, but ...” “Then, please refrain from repeating everything one says! The staff will remain until the sale is completed. In the meantime, there’ll be no more holiday bookings. All reservations will be cancelled, and the money returned. Hopefully, the sale will be completed within a month.” “A month?” “Go and find Major Bentley and Mr Balforth immediately! One needs to inform them of one’s plans.” “Er ... Yes, right away.”

Shit! Balforth reflected. Fannymead Holiday Camp ending up in the hands of a developer? The capitalist bastards would undoubtedly raze the camp to the ground and build a poxy shopping mall or a common housing estate. Sticking his head inside the bucket as Dickie left the office, he decided that the ghost’s intervention was the only way to save the situation.

“This is the ghost of Fannymead!” he bellowed. “Oh!” Cocks-Pokingham cried. “Who ...” “If you sell Fannymead, I will forever haunt you!”

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“Oh, gosh!” “You must go to Balforth’s chalet. Chalet number four.” “But ...” “Go now! The ghost of the foreskins has spoken!”

Chuckling as he placed the bucket on the ground, Balforth headed for his chalet, praying for the arrogant bitch to meet him there. He’d had no time to prepare, no time to plan his next move - other than to give her a damned good rogering! He could tell her about the ghost, how it had tormented people, he pondered as he raced through the tunnel. Or he could threaten to ... Best to play it by ear, he decided.

Leaping up through the hatch in the floor, he rolled the carpet back into place and unlocked the door. The bitch needed a good buttock thrashing! he mused, eyeing Delphine’s thin bamboo cane lying ominously in the corner of the room. Rubbing his chin, trying to come up with a concrete plan to save the camp, he jumped as a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Ah, Lady Cocks-Pokingham,” he smiled warmly as he opened the door. “To what does one owe the pleasure of one’s visit to one’s humble abode?” “Balforth, you despicable man!” she hissed, stepping into the chalet. “How nice of one to say so, your ladyship! Please, come in! Oh, one has come in!” “Don’t be sarcastic.” “Sorry. So, how can one help one?” “Is this camp haunted?”

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“Oh, yes! Er ... Please, do sit down,” he invited her, waving his hand at the armchair. “The camp is haunted by the ghost of Fannymead past. They say that it haunts anyone who tries to instigate changes in the camp.” “What does this haunting involve, exactly?” the woman asked fearfully, her turquoise skirt riding up her shapely thighs as she reclined in her chair. “From what I understand, the ghost sexually abuses its victims.” “Rather like you, then!” she mocked. “Yes, well ...” “What you put one through in that old shed was despicable, Balforth!” “I thought one rather enjoyed it.” “Of course one didn’t enjoy it!” “I did!” “Don’t be facetious!” “I was being perfectly serious. Why do you ask about the ghost?” “Because one ... one heard it speak.” “My God! What did it say?” “That one must ... This sexual abuse ... What does the ghost do, exactly?” “Incites women to commit the most vile and perverted sexual acts imaginable.” “Incites women?” “It takes them over, a form of possession, and forces them to masturbate, to shave their pubic hair off and to commit disgusting sexual acts with men’s stiff cocks.” “Gosh!” “Gosh, indeed!”

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“Yes, well ... One now owns this camp, and one’s selling it to a developer.” “Bollocks, I wouldn’t do that! Good God, you’ll have the ghost up in arms! Or, I should say, up your ...” “Ghost or no ghost, the sale is going ahead.” “Well, on your head be it! Between your legs be it!” Up your cunt it is!

The idea wasn’t going to work, he thought sadly as Cocks-Pokingham rose to her feet and walked to the door. The stuck-up bitch! he cogitated, eyeing her shapely calves. An ideal candidate for a good anal fucking! With nothing to lose, he dashed across the room and locked the door, slipping the key into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” the disdainful woman demanded, her pretty, sea-green eyes frowning apprehensively. “Take one’s clothes off.” “Pardon?” “You heard, take one’s clothes off! One wants to see one’s juicy cunt.” “Balforth, you ...” “One is not leaving here until one has been fucked rotten, had one’s hot cunt spunked up.” “You vile man!” “Yes, that’s me!” Balforth chuckled. “What’s it to be - remain here for several days as my prisoner, or get laid?” “One is not prepared to ...” “The ghost is near, lurking, skulking, watching! Should he possess you, even Satan ... I mean, even God won’t be able to help you.”

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To his surprise, the elegant woman began unbuttoning her white blouse, parting the silk material and revealing her full bra to his eager gaze. Slipping her blouse off her shoulders, she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, her eyes transfixed on Balforth as she licked her red lips. Peeling the silk cups away from her pert breasts, displaying her darkening areolae, her succulent nipples, she smiled provocatively.

“One’s doing this under great duress,” she said softly. “One’s doing it because one wants a damned good cuntal fucking!” Balforth returned crudely. “Don’t be ridiculous!” “I see the weals from the cane are still across your tits.” “What you put one through was terrible!” “Where is one’s husband?” “He ... We’re separated.” “I’m not surprised!” “What do you mean?” “Well, one is rather stuck up, isn’t one? I don’t suppose one ever gave him a blow-job! It’s no wonder he muff-dived off!” “My God, you disgust me!” “I’d like to fuck your pretty mouth and spunk down your throat.” “You’ll pay for this!” “Oh, you charge for sex? I’ve got a fiver if ...” “You vile, beastly, hateful man!”

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“I’m also despicable, obscene, a sexual deviant, a pervert, and last but not least, I’m a psychopathic sex maniac!” “You’re also ...” “There’s more?” “No.”

Unzipping her skirt, the woman tugged the garment down her long legs and kicked it aside with her shoes. Standing in her hold-up stockings and panties, she brushed her blonde hair away from her flushed face, trying not to grin as Balforth made lewd comments about her udder-like nipples. Perhaps it was the element of vulgarity, the crudity, that turned her on, but she seemed to be enjoying her disrobing, he perceived. No doubt she’d only ever been with her own kind, he mused - the upper classes, the toffs.

As she rolled her stockings down her slender legs, Balforth’s penis stiffened in readiness for vaginal penetration. He’d sperm her tight cunt, he thought in his wickedness, spunk over her young cervix. Her panties bulging with her full sex lips, she stood upright, her eyes sparkling as if she were waiting for him to order her to unveil her most intimate flesh.

Licking her lips again as she slipped her stockings off her feet, she slipped her thumbs between the tight elastic of her red panties and her shapely hips and slowly tugged the garment down.

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“Does one frig one’s clitty off?” Balforth asked as her blonde pubes came into view, springing to life from the confines of her tight panties. “Of course one doesn’t!” “Bollocks! I’ll bet one loves fingering one’s wet cunt and rubbing one’s clitty to orgasm! Go on, pull one’s knickers down and show one one’s cunt!” A wicked glint in her eyes, the comely bitch tugged her panties down further, exposing her tightly closed vaginal slit. “Don’t be vulgar!” she spat, her panties now round her knees, her inner sex lips unfurling like the petals of a flower. “Vulgarity’s one’s forte!” Balforth laughed. “Vulgarity, obscenity, crudity ... Your forte is filth!” “Filth, filth, and more filth!”

Finally kicking her panties aside, Cocks-Pokingham stood naked before her master, her sumptuous body blatantly on offer. Eyeing her majestic sex slit, her weallined outer labia, Balforth knelt at her feet and kissed her lower stomach, breathing in the aphrodisiacal scent of her aristocratic cunt.

“Mmm,” she moaned through her nose as he licked her smooth skin, working his tongue down to her mons veneris. Running her slender fingers over her firm breasts, she tweaked her nipples, emitting little gasps of pleasure as his tongue played around the top of her sex valley. Her body trembling as she waited in expectation, Balforth decided to tease her, to lick her inner thighs, the soft hillocks of her outer sex lips, neglecting her slit, her yearning clitoris.

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“Please!” she gasped as he sucked her fleshy pussy lips into his hot mouth. “Oh! Oh, please!” Standing with her feet wide apart, she projected her hips forward, forcing her vulval flesh into his face. Again and again he licked her swollen cunny lips, deliberately neglecting her drenched crack, her protruding inner petals. “Please!” she whimpered again in her soaring arousal as she desperately tried to align her sexwet inner folds with his expert mouth.

Sucking on her girl-scented pubes, nibbling her fleshy sex-cushions, he clutched her buttocks, his fingers teasing her anal valley, toying with her brown iris. Tossing her head back, gasping, the frantic woman gripped his head, forcing her drenched cuntal slit into his mouth. “Lick me!” she whimpered. “Lick my cunt!”

Finally conceding to her desperate need, Balforth parted her swollen cunt lips and licked around the entrance to her sex sheath. Swivelling her hips, her solid clitoris beneath his sweeping tongue, she shuddered, her legs sagging as her orgasm began to stir within her trembling womb.

“God, yes!” she murmured as her sex bud swelled and pulsated within the wet heat of his mouth. Easing his finger into her anal tube, massaging her sensitive inner flesh, he repeatedly licked her clitoris, taking her dangerously close to her desperately needed climax. “Coming!” she finally breathed, grinding her burning cunt into his hungry mouth. “Yes, yes! I’m come ... coming!”

Her lust juices decanting, Balforth drove three fingers into her spasming vagina as her climax erupted, adding to her wondrous pleasure. Massaging both sex

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sheaths as he sucked and licked her pulsating clitoris, he thought he was going to come in his trousers as his knob swelled and throbbed. He couldn’t last out much longer, he knew, as he eased a second finger into the shuddering woman’s anal tube.

His cock pining for the welcoming warmth of her wet cunt, he gently licked her clitoris, slowing his rhythm as her orgasm subsided. Now she was well and truly ready for the fucking of her hoity-toity life! he decided, slipping his fingers out of her honeypot and lapping up her orgasmic juices. She was well and truly ready for anything!

“God!” she breathed as he pulled his fingers out of her tight bottom-hole. “God, that was incredible!” “One’s thighs are drenched,” Balforth observed. “Christ, just look at one’s come running down one’s thighs!” “Take me now,” the desperate woman whispered urgently, sitting on the edge of the bed and reclining, her inflamed sex lips parted, eager for his magnificent penis. “Take one now?” he grinned, dropping his trousers. “Give it to me!”

Kneeling between her ladyship’s splayed thighs, his flesh pole in his hand, Balforth drove his purple knob between her dripping cunny lips, deep into her tight vaginal duct. Writhing, squirming, she parted her legs further, gasping as he withdrew his king-cock and thrust into her trembling body again.

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“God, yes!” she screamed as his swinging balls slapped her rounded buttocks. “Really give it to me!” “Attention campers!” Perennial’s soft voice cooed over the Tannoy. “You may begin voting for the new camp manager at your convenience. The polling station is in the chapel.” “Polling station?” Cocks-Pokingham gasped as Balforth drove his tool deep into her gripping cunt again. “It’s a game!” Balforth breathed, lifting her legs high in the air. “Voting for the new camp manager?” “Ah, God! Jesus, you’re tight!” “And you’re so big!”

Fucking the wailing woman for all he was worth, his swollen knob battering her hot cervix, his heavy balls about to drain, Balforth wondered whether her ladyship would return for more crude sex. She appeared to enjoy being used, he observed as he fucked her. Her husband would never have taken her like this! If he had, undoubtedly they’d still be together.

“Want it up your arse?” he gasped as his sperm coursed along his penile shaft. “Coming!” she sang, her naked body quivering uncontrollably. “Do you want me to fuck your arse?” “No, no! I mean, yes! Oh, ah!”

His knob throbbing, his spunk jetting, Balforth repeatedly thrust his solid shaft into the vociferous woman’s cunt, taking her to her shuddering climax. Massaging her

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clitoris with her trembling fingers, she sustained her orgasm, her naked body perspiring, her matted blonde hair veiling her sex-flushed face as she tossed her head from side to side.

Holding her legs higher and further apart, Balforth focused on her inflamed pussy lips rolling along his sex-wet shaft as he fucked her. She really was something else, he reflected as he pumped his sperm into her tight, upper-crust cunt. Her orgasm gripping her trembling body, her pretty mouth gasping, her nipples like mini udders in her burning passion, she was a bloody good fuck!

“Ah! Oh!” she whimpered, massaging her pulsating clitoris as Balforth pumped the last of his spunk into her brimming vagina. “Oh, God!” “You can say that again!” he chuckled, slowing his fucking rhythm. “God, I have never ...” “Never been fucked like this?” “Never ...”

Finally stilling his pistoning cock, his ballooning glans resting against her well-spunked cervix, Balforth watched her slender fingers massage the last ripples of sex from her sated clitoris. His thoughts turning to the sale of the camp as he withdrew his wet organ from her spasming cuntal sheath, he wondered whether he could change her mind.

She was a reasonable woman, he mused, immediately changing his mind as she sat bolt upright, her flushed face scowling. As she began ranting and raving,

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complaining that she’d been forced to endure two massive orgasms, he realized that the time had come to give the spoilt little madam the buttock thrashing of her young life.

“Here, allow me to help you,” he smiled, taking her hand as she attempted to stand on her sagging legs. “Lean on the back of the armchair until you’ve recovered.” “Thank you,” she whispered, grabbing the back of the chair.

Discreetly taking several lengths of rope from the dressing table drawer, Balforth positioned himself behind Lady Cocks-Pokingham. He’d have to bend her over the back of the chair and somehow tie her down before she realized what he was doing and fought him off, which might not be too easy. There was only one thing for it, he concluded, eyeing the legacy of his previous spanking, the pink weals fanning out across her rounded bottom orbs.

Forcing his victim over the back of the chair, her head resting on the cushion, Balforth began his job of bondage. The rope in a loop, running over her back and round her legs, he tied the ends, securing his prisoner in the humiliating position. Struggling and squirming, she could do nothing to free herself as he parted her feet wide and secured her ankles to the chair legs.

“You’ll pay for this!” her ladyship spat in muffled tones. “I’ve already offered you five pounds!” Balforth chuckled, taking each wrist in turn and securing her hands to the chair legs. “Balforth, unless you ...”

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“Right, now your hands and feet are bound to the chair, we don’t need this,” he murmured, untying the rope running round her curvaceous young frame. “Balforth, I mean it, unless you ...” “What have I got to lose? You’re selling the camp, I’ll be out of work ... I might as well have some fun before the show’s over.” “I ... I might not sell the camp.” “That’s a sudden change of heart.” “Release me and we’ll talk about it.” “Yes, I will - after I’ve thrashed you for your pomposity!”

Taking the cane from the corner of the room, Balforth stood behind his victim. Her rounded buttocks tensed, her naked body quivering in anticipation, he raised the cane, grinning as he focused his sparkling eyes on her vaginal lips swelling invitingly between her shapely thighs. This was going to be the thrashing of all thrashings! he thought in his devilment. The haughty little madam was going to be brought down more than a peg or two, she was going to be plunged deep into the murky depths of sexual depravation!

The first deafening crack of the cane striking her trembling buttocks, the woman cried out, begging for mercy. Unperturbed, Balforth brought the cane down again, flogging her majestic bottom to the accompaniment of her screams. She’d come to enjoy it, he knew, as the cane swished through the air, thrashing her glowing spherical buttocks. She’d not only come to enjoy it, she’d come!

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“You merciless bastard!” she cried as her cunt milk spewed from her vaginal slit, splattering her inner thighs. “Ah, oh! You ... you bastard!” “Say you’re sorry!” Balforth ordered her, halting the caning. “No, never!” “Say sorry or I’ll thrash you harder!” “I’m ... I’m sorry.” “I beg for your forgiveness, Master.” “I ... I beg for your forgiveness, Master.” “That’s more like it! Beg me to drink your come from your cunt.” “No!” “Beg me!” “Please, drink my ... my come from my ... my cunt.” “Plead with me to tongue-fuck your juicy cunt.” “Please, tongue-fuck my juicy cunt.”

Discarding the cane, Balforth knelt behind his slave and parted her swollen pussy lips. Eyeing her copious juices flowing from her hot sex hole, he licked her rubicund inner flesh.

“Attention campers!” Perennial called over the Tannoy. “The polling station will close in fifteen minutes. Please be sure to vote, as a wasted vote might be a vote for the wrong man.”

Her arousal rising to frightening heights as Balforth’s tongue swept over her most intimate flesh, Cocks-Pokingham didn’t appear to have heard the announcement.

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Checking his watch, Balforth had, as no doubt old man Bentley would have done from his prison cell, he reflected. Everything was going according to plan - well, almost!

“My clitoris!” Cocks-Pokingham whimpered as her lust juices poured from her open sex hole and coursed down her thighs. Teasing her again, Balforth deliberately neglected her swollen pleasure nodule, his tongue playing around her sex portal. “Please!” the desperate woman wailed in her yearning for orgasmic relief.

Sniggering, Balforth pushed his tongue deep into her cunt, savouring the wondrous taste of her aphrodisiacal sex juices. Gazing at her anal eye nestling between her scarlet buttocks, he wondered whether she’d ever had a solid penis enter her there, spunk deep into her bowels. There was no way she’d ever consent to anal sex! he reflected, lapping up her flowing cunt milk. Not even her husband would have been allowed to trespass there!

Scooping up the woman’s sex lubricant with his fingers, Balforth smeared the opaque liquid over her brown anal ring. Like it or not, she was going to be arsefucked! Climbing to his feet, he licked his lips as he placed his bulbous knob between her crimson buttocks and pressed his glans against her tightly closed secret portal.

“No!” she screamed as he pushed against her defending muscles. “No, you mustn’t!” “Yes, I must!” he returned as his purple plum slipped past her tight ring, absorbing the dank heat of her rectal tube.

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“Take it out!” “Never!” “Balforth, this is ...” “Ah! This is ... this is heaven!” he gasped as his solid shaft glided slowly into her hot anal duct.

Quivering, Cocks-Pokingham remained silent as Balforth withdrew his penis and drove deep into her bowels again. What was she thinking? he wondered, holding her buttocks wide apart and focusing on her delicate brown tissue stretched tautly around his broad penile shaft. Was she enjoying the sensations of crude sex? Or would she hate him forever for committing the vile act?

“Dear God!” she gasped as his lower belly spanked her scarlet buttocks and his heavy balls slapped her bulging vaginal lips. Thrusting his cock in and out of her tightening bottom-hole, Balforth grimaced as his second climax approached. Taking the bitch’s arsehole was the ultimate in humiliation and degradation, he reflected. This would teach her a lesson she’d never forget!

“Fuck me harder!” she cried out, much to his amazement. “Dear God! Please, fuck my arse harder!” Grinning, Balforth complied with her ladyship’s lewd request, driving his cock deep into her hot rectum with such force that the armchair glided across the room. Squealing, her head thrashing about, her lust juices issuing from her burning vaginal slit, she was obviously enjoying every minute of the crude, enforced fucking.

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“Coming!” Balforth breathed, his cock shaft swelling and twitching within the heat of her tight anal duct. Ramming into her, his spunk jetting from his throbbing knob, he drained his balls for the second time. On and on he propelled his demonic cock deep into the trollop’s inflamed arsehole, plummeting her deeper into the pool of perverse sex, filling her bowels with his sperm until she begged him to stop.

“Stop?” he echoed, making his hardest thrust yet. “Please, enough is enough!” “Enough is never enough!” Balforth chuckled wickedly. “Please, please!”

Finally conceding, Balforth stilled his spent cock, allowing his organ to shrink within the woman’s spunked rectal tube. Whimpering, her tears soaking the chair cushion, she lay trembling in the aftermath of her incredible ordeal. Her anal virginity stripped, crudely taken, never would she forget the experience, never would the obscene act of anal debauchery leave her tormented mind.

Slowly withdrawing from her, Balforth stood behind her, watching with fascination as her anal eye closed, sealing in his sperm. Well and truly fucked! he reflected happily as she struggled to free herself. Well and truly arse-fucked!

Releasing the perspiring woman’s naked body, he helped her to stand up, grinning as he observed the sparkle of lust reflected in her tearful eyes. Tugging his trousers up, he watched her take her clothes from the floor and dress, veiling her

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abused young body. Next time, he’d fuck her pretty mouth and spunk down her throat. Next time? he pondered, the cold reality of the situation hitting home.

“You will be dismissed before the sale of Fannymead!” Cocks-Pokingham hissed, easing her firm breasts into her bra. “I will see to it that you’re dismissed today!” “If you dismiss Balforth, I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable days!” an eerie voice resounded around the chalet. “Fucking hell!” Balforth cried, looking about him. “There really is a fucking ghost!” “I thought you knew that?” Cocks-Pokingham frowned as she tugged her skirt up, veiling her sperm-soaked panties. “Yes, I ...” “You dare to sell this camp, you just dare! The ghost of the foreskins ... The four sins has spoken” “Jesus bloody Christ!” Balforth gasped, making for the door. “Shit a brick! Fuck me senseless! Screw my giddy aunt!” “Sell Fannymead, Lady Pox-Smokingham, and I’ll possess you and use your body for perverted sex!”

Outside the chalet, Balforth rubbed his chin as he steadied himself, pondering on the eerie voice. Had his dangerous game summoned an evil spirit from the depths of the unknown? he wondered fearfully. Shit, there really was a ghost of Fannymead past, he concluded as Lady Cocks-Pokingham emerged from the chalet, her face flushed, her blonde hair matted and dishevelled.

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“I ... I’m not going to sell Fannymead,” she stammered, shielding the bright sun from her sea-green eyes. “The ghost?” he asked. “Yes, it spoke again.” “What did it say?” “That my clitoris will ... It doesn’t matter what it said, I’m not going to sell the camp.” “I’m pleased to hear it.” “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll speak with you later, Balforth.” “Yes, of course, my lady,” he smiled as she staggered ungraciously towards the Pirate’s Courtyard.

Heading for the chapel to see how the voting was going, Balforth couldn’t stop thinking about the ghost. Deciding not to venture into the tunnel again until the padre had exorcised it, he entered the chapel and walked down the aisle.

“Balforth!” the padre greeted him as he approached the altar. “You’re just in time to vote! I’m about to take the boxes over to the old man’s office, so be quick about it.” “Oh, right,” Balforth smiled, taking a matchstick from the padre and dropping it into a box. “The turn-out was brilliant - ninety per cent, I’d say.” “Was it?” Balforth muttered. “Are you OK?” “Yes, it’s just that ...”

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“What’s the problem?” “Have you heard any voices?” “Voices?” “Never mind. Right, let’s get the boxes over to the office.”

The boxes safely in the major’s office and the padre out of sight, Balforth deftly swapped the labels, sure that his devious plan would win Bentley the election. Things couldn’t be better, he ruminated. Cocks-Pokingham wasn’t going to sell the camp after all, Bentley would remain as manager, and the fun and sex roller-coaster would continue as usual!

Gleefully rubbing his hands together, Balforth made for the spare office, wondering whether it was the right time to release the old boy. Pausing for thought in the corridor, he decided to free Bentley after the election result had been announced. If he released him now, he’d go wild, he reflected. But once he heard he’d won the contest he’d be over the moon!

“Oh, Balforth!” Perennial smiled as she appeared through the main door. “Ah, Miss Perennial.” “Did you vote?” “Yes, the boxes are in the old man’s office. Burnshaw will be here tomorrow to ...” “He’s on his way here now. He rang earlier, trying to contact his daughter, and I let it slip that the voting had begun.” “Oh, well, the sooner the better, I suppose.”

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“It’s rather exciting, isn’t it?” “Yes, yes it is. Look, I’ll see you later,” Balforth said pensively, making his way out.

With Burnshaw on the way over, he knew he had to do something about the major. If the chairman were to discover that the camp manager had been locked in the spare office, he’d go spare! Problems, problems, he mused, wondering what Lady Cocks-Pokingham’s plans were. To have him hung, more than likely - hung by his balls!

Looking around the Pirate’s Courtyard, he was pleased to see that maintenance had made an excellent start. The rubbish gone, the graffiti painted over, a new flagpole erected, the camp was beginning to look decent again. At least Burnshaw would be pleased, and the major would take the credit.

“Hey, Balforth!” Dickie called, running towards him. “Guess what?” “What?” “You’re going to win the election hands down.” “What?” “I swapped the labels round, you’ll win hands ...” “You did what?” “The labels, I ...” “Shit, so did I!” “When?” “Just now. Christ, I’d better change them back.”

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“I swapped my name with yours.” “Bollocks! I don’t want to be camp manager! Bollocks!”

Dashing into the main building, Balforth pondered on the labels. It would be easy enough, he reflected, running down the corridor and bursting into the office. All he had to do was swap them round and ...

“Balforth!” Perennial cried as he pushed her aside. “What are you doing?” “The names ... I’d swapped them round so that the major would win. What I didn’t know was that Dickie had already swapped them.” “Oh. Er ... I’ve just changed them over, too.” “Fuck my mouth!” “It’s all right, all I did was swap yours with the major’s. Or did I swap the major’s with Dickie’s?” “Fucking bollocks! Now we haven’t got a clue who ...” “I’m sorry, Balforth. I was only trying to help.” “It’s all right, Polly.” “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me Polly.” “Is it? Yes, well ... I know, we’ll weigh the boxes!” “Yes, good idea! I’ll go and get some scales from the kitchens.”

Talk about clutching at matches! Balforth thought ruefully as Perennial dashed from the office. Kitchen scales wouldn’t be discerning enough to register any subtle weight difference between the ballot boxes. A right cock-up! he reflected, wondering

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what the hell to do. “Leave it to lady luck,” he finally muttered, deciding to take a look at the nudists.

Leaving the building, Balforth dashed into the Hot Jungle Juice Bar as he noticed Miss Perennial approaching with Burnshaw. “Shit!” he cursed, watching them through the window. “What’s up?” the bar steward asked. “Burnshaw’s here to ... Never mind,” he sighed, perching on a bar stool. “I could do with a quadruple scotch.” “Coming up! By the way, where’s the old man? I haven’t seen him for some time.” “Locked in the spare office.” “Jesus!” “I’ll let him out after the election results have been announced.” “Who do you reckon will win?” “Seeing as the labels ... It’s anyone’s guess.” “There you go, half-a-pint of scotch - on the house.” “Cheers!”

Grinning at Perennial as he emptied the ballot boxes, the matches in three neat piles on the desk, Burnshaw seated himself. “Well, there’s no need to count them, the result’s conclusive.” “Oh, dear!” Perennial sighed as Lady Cocks-Pokingham glided into the office. “Ah, daddy!” the young woman smiled. “What are those matches doing there?”

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“There was an election for a new camp manager. The contenders were Bentley, Dubious and Balforth. Are you all right, my dear? You look a little flushed.” “I ... I’m fine.” “So what are your plans for the camp?” “I rather think I’ll go by whatever the new manager says. Who’s won?” “It was a landslide. The winner is ... Major Bentley, are you all right?” he exclaimed as the old man crashed into the room, his hair dishevelled, his nose twitching furiously. “I’ve been locked in the spare office! It took me an age to remove the door hinges and escape!” “Locked in?” “It was Balforth, he ... Who won the election?” “It was a landslide victory, Major!”

Delphine sat at the doctor’s desk wringing her hands. “So that’s it,” she said softly, her long blonde hair cascading over her pretty face. “Do you think me awful?” “No, no,” the quack murmured pensively. “You say that your hunger for a naked buttock caning has become insatiable?” “Yes, I just can’t help myself. I was introduced to caning by Balforth.” “That doesn’t surprise me!” “To make matters worse, I long to be caned by a female.” “Ah, lesbionic tendencies.” “There’s something about the female body that excites me.” “I know what you mean! It’s obvious to me that you’re suffering from a bottom fetish which induces a subconscious hatred for your buttocks, leading to an

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uncontrollable desire to cause posterior pain, which in turn leads to extreme sexual arousal.” “What?” “To put it simply, you love having your bum caned by another woman because it really turns you on.” “Yes, that sums it up nicely! You’re a good doctor, you know what you’re talking about.” “Indeed I do! There’s no cure, I’m afraid. All I can suggest is that you bring a girlfriend to my surgery every day and allow me to watch ... I mean, allow her to cane you.” “Is there anything else you can suggest?” “Yes, frequent and regular masturbation. Come here every evening at six, and I’ll frig ... I’ll administer clitoral masturbation.” “You’ll masturbate me?” “Oh, yes! I have to in order to ensure that your orgasms are of the required strength and duration. I learned a lot about puss ... About female genitals during my medical training, Delphine. There is one other thing we could try, and that’s anal intercourse.” “What?” “I’ll administer anal intercourse every evening. The idea is that, by taking a stiff penis deep into your bottom, you’ll avert your subconscious thoughts from your buttocks to your bowels. It’s a tried and tested method.” “All right, Doctor. Er ... Will it be OK if I bring Miss Perennial with me?” “Christ! I mean, yes, of course. Do you think she might enjoy anal ...” “Oh, yes, I’m sure she will!”

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“My luck’s in! Er ... In that case, I agree. I’ll have to charge, of course. A tenner a visit, OK?” “That’s fine.” “Good, good. Right, strip off and I’ll shave your cun ... Your vulval flesh.” “Shave me?” “Ah, did I not mention shaving?” “No, no you didn’t.” “My mistake, how remiss of me! You see, shaving your pubic area will enhance ... It will bring about a subconscious reaction ... Oh, I don’t know what it will do, but it’ll be bloody good .... Look, I don’t have the time to go into the medical details, suffice to say that I must shave you now.” “All right, I’ll get onto the couch.” “Good girl!” “I’m completely in your hands, Doctor.” “I know you are, my horny little ... That’s it, slip your wet knick ... Remove your panties and I’ll prepare my equipment.”

Watching the pretty girl strip, the doctor was about to suggest that she suck him to orgasm and drink the sperm from his pulsating knob, but he thought better of it. Caning, masturbation, anal sex, fanny shaving ... He had more than enough to be getting on with!

“Attention, campers!” Perennial called over the Tannoy. “The election results are now in. In third place, Dickie Dubious. In second place, Major Bentley. And your new camp manager with a landslide victory is - Mr Henry Balforth!”

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“He’s done it!” the doctor cried jubilantly, dropping his razor and dashing out of the surgery. “What about shaving me?” Delphine called after him. “Later! Don’t go away!”

“Bollocks!” Balforth swore as he nearly choked on his scotch. “I don’t want to be the bloody manager!” “Too late, mate!” the bar steward grinned. “I mean, it’s too late, sir!” “Sir, my arse! Shit, now I’ll have to work!” “You’d better get over to the office.” “Yes, I suppose so. Fuck, shit and hairy bollocks!”

Shaking his head in disbelief as he made his way to Bentley’s office, Balforth didn’t know what to do. Perhaps he could ungracefully decline the new post, leaving the major in charge as before, he pondered. But no - Burnshaw wouldn’t hear of it. There again, Lady Fucks-Pokingcunt owned the camp now - she might agree.

“Ah, the new camp manager!” Burnshaw grinned as Balforth wandered into the office, looking decidedly dejected. “Congratulations,” Bentley hissed through gritted teeth, his nose twitching as he straightened his bow tie. “I’ll second that!” Perennial cried excitedly, her skirt so short that her shaved sex flesh, her yawning pussy slit, was blatantly on display.

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Dragging his gaze away from Perennial’s sexy delights to the more delicate Cocks-Pokingham, Balforth smiled. She was a strange one, he mused, eyeing her deep cleavage. Had she really believed in the ghost, or did she relish her debauched visits to Fannymead? Whatever, she wasn’t going to sell the camp, and that was all that mattered. Provocatively licking her lips as she returned his smile, she lowered her eyes to his bulging trousers.

“Well done, Balforth,” she said huskily. “Thank you.” “I hear that you have the nudist area up and running already,” Burnshaw boomed. “Yes, sir. It’s quite a success, although I say it myself.” “You’re a good man, Balforth - ideal for the post! As you’re no doubt aware, my daughter now owns the camp.” “Yes, sir.” “Right, I’ll be on my way,” Burnshaw smiled, opening the office door. “Right you are, sir. Do pop in for a pot of Earl Grey tea when you’re passing.” “Oh, I will, Balforth - I will!”

The major moved to his desk and opened the drawer as Burnshaw left the office. Muttering beneath his breath as he gathered up his papers, he was a sorry sight, Balforth observed sadly. As the old man opened his briefcase, he felt sorry for him. He’d done his best over the years, and now it was all over.

“Er ... Major, you don’t have to go straight away. I mean ...” Balforth began.

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“It’s all right, Balforth - I’ve been too long at Fannymead. I can see that my old-fashioned ways aren’t in keeping with the running of a modern holiday camp. I believe you’re the right man for the job.” “I do hope you’ll call in from time to time, sir.” “Yes, yes of course. If you need any advice or ...” “I’ll come straight to you, sir. I value your opinion most highly and I’d very much appreciate your advice.” “Thank you, it’s nice of you to say so. Well, I’ll be going. I’ll call in to pick up my gramophone and ... Well, I’ll call in some time.” “Goodbye, sir.”

An air of sadness engulfed the room as, clutching his baton and briefcase, the old man left and closed the door. But, as the major had said, he’d been too long at Fannymead., Nothing lasts, Balforth reflected philosophically. A glass of scotch, a cigarette, an orgasm - nothing lasts!

There was work to be done, he mused as Perennial announced that she was going to check up on Delphine. But the work wouldn’t take away from the fun, the debauchery, the free drinks! One important job was to contact several convent schools and offer special weekend breaks for sixth- formers. Attractive rates would apply to bookings of twenty or more sexy girlies, ensuring a constant supply of fresh young pussy!

“So, Balforth,” Lady Cocks-Pokingham smiled once they were alone. “One’s gone up in the world.”

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“Yes, my lady, it seems one has.” “Please, call one Melanie.” “Melanie - it’s a nice name.” “One’s a nice lady.” “Yes, one is.” “One will be moving into the camp. A chalet next to yours will be appropriate. One will rather enjoy ... I really must drop this one nonsense.” “Oh, I rather think it becomes you.” “No, it’s not in keeping with Fannymead - with all due respect.” “Yes, of course.” “Living next door to you will be interesting. I hope you’ll invite me in from time to time for a ... a drink.” A drink of spunk! “I’d be delighted.” “I must say that during my two visits to Fannymead I’ve had my eyes opened.” And your cunt and your arse! “You’ve had your legs ...” “I want you, Balforth! I want you now! Take me!” “Er ...” “As my employee, I’ll expect you to attend my needs.” “Of course I will! Would you excuse me? There are one or two things I have to do.” “What about ...” “I won’t be long, Melanie.” “All right. I’ll go and collect a few personal things from home. I’ll see you later, in your chalet.”

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It was funny how things turned out, Balforth reflected as Melanie left the office. Major Bentley gone, Burnshaw’s daughter owning the camp, and himself camp manager! Whatever will life throw at me next? he wondered, deciding to convene a staff meeting. It didn’t matter what life threw at him, he thought, as long as plenty of young pussy came with it!

“Attention, this is a staff announcement!” he called over the Tannoy. “The padre, Dickie Dubious, Miss Perennial and the doctor, please report to the major’s ... To my office immediately.”

Who really won? he wondered, gazing out of the window at a group of bikinied young girls sprawled out on the grass. Labour, Conservative, the scum of the earth, the major, Burnshaw, Melanie ... Who really won? No one wins! he concluded as Perennial knocked before entering the office.

“Balforth,” she smiled, standing with her feet apart, her hairless pussy lips exhibited. “Balforth, Delphine and I ... Well, we’re quite close and ...” “Say no more, Polly - say no more.” “Oh, you’ve guessed?” “I hope you’ll both be happy together.” “I’d like to pop into your chalet for ...” “It will be my pleasure, Polly.” “And mine! I’m making Delphine my right-hand girl, if that’s all right with you?”

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“Of course. Ah, Padre!” Balforth grinned as the cleric staggered into the office. “I see you’ve been on the piss again.” “A celebration, Balforth! By the way, the ghost of the foreskins did the trick, did he not?” “You? I might have guessed!” “What about the ghost?” Perennial asked. “Nothing,” Balforth murmured as the doctor ambled into the room. “Well done, Balforth!” he chuckled. “Now we’ll have some real fun!” “Indeed we will! Ah, Dickie, come in! Right, I’ve called this staff meeting because ... I really don’t know why I’ve called a meeting!” he laughed. “Do we call you sir?” Dickie asked. “No, of course not!” “By the way, there’s a film crew milling around the Pirate’s Courtyard,” Perennial imparted. “Shit! That’s all I need!” “Shall I get rid of them?” “Yes, tell them to bugger off. OK, we’ll have drink in the Merrydick Bar to celebrate! You all go ahead and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Watching his staff file out of the office, Balforth rubbed his chin. He’d never be able to run the place as Bentley did. Calling a meeting and then not knowing why was ludicrous! But it was early days, he reflected.

“Balforth, when are you going to come and fuck my wet cunt?” Delphine’s soft voice came over the radio.

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“I’ll be there after I’ve had a drink in the bar,” he promised. “You can have a drink from my pussy, if you want to.” “Damned right I do! Don’t go away!” “I’m hot, tight, wet, ready and waiting!”

Humming, Balforth was about to leave the office when a pouting, blonde schoolgirl tapped on the door and bounced in. “I’ve been naughty,” she smiled sweetly, her white blouse ballooning with her pert breasts. “I thought I’d better come to you to be punished.” “Punished?” Balforth echoed, his cock solid as he focused on the young beauty’s firm thighs. “The cane ... I’ve been very bad and I deserve the cane.” “I don’t have a cane in the office but .... You’d better take your knickers off and bend over my desk.”

As the wayward girl slipped her panties off and lifted her skirt, Balforth locked the door. He loved Fannymead! he thought wickedly, eyeing her swollen vaginal lips nestling between her shapely thighs as she leaned over the desk. Running his fingers up and down her warm sex crack, he slipped his penis out. Would she allow him to penetrate her snug vagina? he wondered, pulling his foreskin back and exposing his swollen knob.

“The other girls are queuing up outside,” she said huskily. “They’ve all been very naughty.”

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“Then I shall have to deal with you all one by one!” Balforth chuckled, driving his eager cock deep into her very tight cunt. “Oh, yes! Deal with us all! We’re very naughty little schoolgirls, deal with us all! God, you’re so big!” “You’ll be fucked and spanked for your wickedness!” “Oh, yes! Fuck me and spank me!”

The senior staff incoherent in the bar, Delphine masturbating on her bed, Balforth screwing a line of errant schoolgirlies, Cocks-Pokingham due to return with her beautiful cunt, the sun finally set over the camp. Just another wonderful day in the life of Fannymead! Balforth thought joyously, his spunk jetting into the screaming girl’s spasming lust pot. Just another wonderful fanny!

THE END

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