“Bad news?” Blond echoed, watching the girl reach behind her back and sink two fingers deep into her well-spunked anal sheath. “What is this bad news that’s so bad it’s bad news?”
“I lied to you.”
“You lied?” Blond frowned, his spermed cock snaking over his hairy ball bag as he rubbed his chin. “You’re the Prime Minister, and you tell lies? I simply can’t believe it.”
“Of course you can’t believe it, it’s a lie.”
“What is?”
“Everything I say is a lie. Everything that dribbles from my mouth is a blatant lie. Apart from my secretary’s vaginal juice, that is. Anyway, forget about that. The bad news is that you’re to remain here until you die. And that’s the truth of the matter.”
“Shit, that could be fucking years!”
“Shit, it could be longer than that. I’m sorry, Blond, but I have no choice. I’m choiceless.”
“Sounds nasty.”
“It is. I know that you’re a decent sort of chap and ...”
“No, I’m not.”
“That’s true. The thing is, I’m the Prime Minister and I have to do these dreadful things.
It’s a sad and depraved part of the job. Believe me, I don’t like it.”
“How can I believe you when you’re a liar?”
“Good point. Anyway, let’s stop talking crap. On second thoughts, I’m pretty good at talking crap. I talked crap at Brighton and I’ll talk crap again.”
63
“Am I going to get another fuck or what?” the young girl asked as she slipped her fingers out of her well-spunked bottom-hole.
“Shut up, Marianne,” the PM returned. “Can’t you see that I’m talking to the infamous Haynes Blond?”
“That’s all you ever do. Talk, talk, fucking talk.”
“Go back to my office and use the vibrator if you’re that desperate to come.” Turning to Blond as the girl strutted off, the PM smiled. “You see, Haynes ... You don’t mind if I call you Haynes?”
“It’s better than cunt face.”
“Yes, it is. Who calls you cunt face?”
“My mother.”
“My mother’s a right bitch. She calls me bog face. The thing is, Haynes ... Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.”
“Prime Minister, would you mind awfully if I were to move my car? It’s the wheel clampers, you see.”
“They’re a right bunch of fucking bastards. You go and move your car and by the time you get back I’ll have remembered what it was I was going to say.”
“That’s awfully good of you.”
“Mention it not.”
“Thank you. I won’t mention it, either.”
Hurriedly donning his boilersuit, Blond left the room and made his escape. The PM was as thick as two short planks, he mused as he reached his car. There again, that’s why he was the Prime Minister.
No wonder the country’s fucked
, Blond reflected, noticing a dead wheel-clamper 64
lying on the ground by the Robin Reliant. Starting the engine, he decided to pop into the Trotsky Club. Spew would only bollock him for not rescuing Miss Flange, so it was best to spend the night leaning on the bar getting totally pissed and chatting up any young floozie who happened to come his way, or come over his face, or in her knickers, or over his rolling balls, or ...
“Good evening, Mr Blond,” the man on the door said as Blond entered the club.
“Boilersuits aren’t allowed, I’m afraid.”
“Aren’t allowed to do what?” Blond frowned.
“To enter the club.”
“But
I
’m entering the club, not the ... Oh, I see what you mean.”
“I’ll let you off this time.”
“Thanks, you’re a mate. Well, you’re not. In fact, I don’t even like you let alone look upon you as a mate. Come to think of it, I can’t stand the sight of you. But thanks anyway.”
“You’re most unwelcome, Mr Blond.”
Making his way to the bar, Blond again cursed Spew for forcing him to wear a boilersuit.
Fucking prat
, he reflected, brushing his hair back with his fingers as the barmaid smiled at him.
Ordering a pint of strong lager, he sat on a bar stool and adjusted his sperm-sticky cock. The barmaid was a right little tart, he mused, eyeing her deep cleavage as she placed his beer on the counter. She was also a stuffy bitch because she always rejected his crude and usually highly illegal sexual advances.
“How are you this evening, Caroline?” he smiled. “Hot and wet in the cuntal area?”
65
“More to the point, how are
you
, Mr Blond?” she asked, leaning on the counter and deliberately forcing her tits up to accentuate her mammary cleavage.
“The same as I was last night,” he replied.
“You’re unhappy?”
“Am I?”
“You were last night.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t serve me.”
“You were unconscious, Mr Blond. How could I serve you when you were unconscious on the floor?”
“By ripping your skirt off and ... Yes, well ... We won’t go into that.”
“Into what?”
“Your knickers. I’d like to get inside your cunny-wet knickers, Caroline. Of course, if you won’t let me, there’s not much I can do about it. There again, I could always pull them down with my teeth and suck and lick ...”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she interrupted him. “There’s a woman sitting at the corner table over there who’s waiting to meet you.”
“A woman? I could do with meeting a woman. I could also do with pulling a woman’s knickers down with my teeth and sucking and licking ... I wonder whether she fucks?”
“I have no idea, Mr Blond. Perhaps you should ask her.”
“Perhaps I should. It’s a shame that you don’t fuck, Caroline. Still, it’s your loss. I’d better go and join her. Dearly beloved, we are joined here today in sexual intercourse. You will excuse me, won’t you?”
“Why, what have you done?”
“Nothing, yet.”
66
Wandering across the bar with his drink, Blond scrutinized the attractive young lady sitting alone in the corner. In her mid-twenties with long blonde hair framing her angelic face, she was a real stunner and he wondered whether or not she fucked rotten.
Biggish tits
, he observed, gazing at her tight blouse straining to contain her massive breasts. He couldn’t abide big tits. Apart from the nipples ending up in the armpits, which was a real turn off, what the hell were you supposed to do with them? Push them together and fuck the cleavage?
“I hate big tits,” he mumbled as he approached the table.
“Charming!” the woman returned.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean ... I was thinking aloud. Not about you, you understand.”
“Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want?”
“To answer your first question first, that is, before the second question, my name’s Blond
- Haynes Blond. As for your second question which I shall now answer seeing as I’ve answered the first, which makes the next question the second question ...”
“Sit down and shut up, Mr Blond. My name’s Eva Titsky.”
“Eva. That’s a nice name. No, I cannot tell a lie. To be honest, I don’t like it at all. It’s a crap name. It stinks.”
“What’s in a name?”
“Not a lot. The barmaid said that you were waiting for me.”
“I’ve been watching you for some time now, Mr Blond.”
“Damn! You didn’t notice me picking my nose, did you?”
“Please, this is of the utmost importance. I would have approached you last night but you passed out.”
67
“Someone spiked my drinks.”
“Fucking bastards.”
“They’re a right bunch of cunt-faced ... Wait a minute, if you know who I am, then why did you ask who the hell I was and what the fuck I wanted?”
“It was a clever ploy on my part. The point is, Mr Blond ...”
“Haynes, call me Haynes.”
“Why?”
“Why not? It’s better than cunt face.”
“OK, Haynes. I’m your London contact.”
Blond frowned. “What time is it?” he whispered.
“Just gone six. The thing is ...”
“Are you sure it’s not twelve-fifteen?”
“Twelve-fifteen? Mr Blond, it’s five past six.”
“No, no ...”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“If you’re my contact, then ... No, I can’t tell you.”
“What do you know about twelve-fifteen?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not a lot, apart from the fact that it’s fifteen minutes past midday - or midnight, come to that. It’s also fifteen minutes past twelve.”
“You know nothing else about that particular time?”
“No, why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
68
Looking around the bar, she pulled a piece of paper out of her cleavage. She looked nervous, Blond observed as she fiddled with her hair, twisting her golden locks around her slender fingers. She wasn’t a foreign agent, that was for sure. If she was his London contact, then it was odd that Spew hadn’t mentioned her. There again, what with the excitement of the Robin Reliant and the non-mobile phone, perhaps he’d forgotten to mention it. Scrutinising the woman’s nipples clearly defined by her tight blouse, Blond’s penis stiffened as she passed him the piece of paper.
“Meet me at this address,” she whispered. “Be there at eight this evening.”
“Why?” he asked, reading the address.
“To receive your instructions.”
“I know that Spew was overly excited about the car, but he mentioned nothing about this.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you at eight.”
As she left the table, Blond caught sight of her stockinged legs as he downed his pint.
Wondering what colour her knickers were, and whether or not they were well cunny-juiced, he ambled back to the bar and sat on a stool.
Eva Titsky
, he mused, sure that he knew the name from somewhere as he eyed the barmaid’s deep cleavage. Ordering another drink, he checked his watch. He had just under two hours before meeting the mysterious woman - enough time to get really plastered.
“You want to take it easy, Mr Blond,” Caroline grinned as she passed him a pint of lager.
“This stuff’s six percent by volume.”
69
“All the better to blow my bollocks clean off,” he quipped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. Well, I suppose I fucking did mean to swear but ... That woman I was with. She said that she was here last night.”
“That’s right. In fact, I’ve seen her in here several times over the last week or so.”
Blond looked around the empty bar and leaned forward. “Caroline, would you do me a great favour?” he whispered.
“If I can.”
“This is very important. Show me your clitoris.”
“Certainly not!”
“Go on, just a quick look. I promise not to touch it.”
“Mr Blond, will you get it into your thick head that I am not going to show you my clitoris, or any of my other naughty bits that you continually demand to see.”
“When you’re in your bed at night, do you ...”
“And don’t ask me whether I masturbate. Is that
all
you think about?”
“Well, yes. I can’t help but picture you with your fingers up your ...”
“Spare me the sordid details, please. Night after night you put me through this.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never ask you again.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Tell me, how big is your clitoris?”
“Mr Blond!”
“OK, OK. It’s quiet in here tonight. Where the hell is everyone?”
“Elsewhere.”
“Where’s that?”
“Anywhere else other than here.”
70
“Oh, right. I’ll have another sixteen pints of lager and then I’ll be going. I have an appointment at eight but don’t tell anyone because it’s a state secret.”
Turning at the sound of the door opening, Blond frowned as a middle-aged man entered the bar. Wearing a Gaberdine mac with a newspaper folded over his arm, his eyes concealed by dark glasses, he looked highly suspicious. He didn’t smell too good either, Blond mused, gazing out of the corner of his eye as the man stood next to him and ordered a large vodka. Turning again as another man walked into the bar, Blond began to feel uneasy. Something was afoot, and an armpit, but what?
Watching as the two men went into the toilets, Blond placed his glass on the counter and followed them. They were either bum boys or foreign agents, he decided, slipping into a cubicle as the men stood at the urinals and whipped their dicks out. Standing on the toilet seat, he peered over the door and watched the suspects. He didn’t reckon that they were gay as they both seemed to ignore each other’s cocks as they pissed all over the floor.
Dirty bastards!
“What time is it?” one asked with a heavy foreign accent.
“Twelve-fifteen,” the other replied.
“Fuck,” Blond murmured. “Twelve fucking fifteen.”
“The meeting is taking place at eight this evening.”
“That is good, comrade. I shall be there.”
Almost slipping off the toilet seat as the men zipped their trousers and walked to the door, Blond pulled the chain to bring credence to his visit to the cubicle.
The meeting is at eight
, he 71
mused, returning to the bar. It was quite a coincidence that his meeting with Eva Titsky should coincide with the meeting the men were coincidentally attending at eight that evening.
Coincidence is a funny thing
, he reflected, sitting on the bar stool and downing his pint. It was also quite a coincidence that this coincidence should take place. But it was nothing more than coincidental. Or was it?
“Another one please, Caroline,” he said, placing his empty glass on the bar as the men left. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. “Have you seen those two before?” he asked.
“Of course I have,” she returned somewhat indignantly, looking down at the half-moons of her firm breasts bulging between her parted blouse.
“No, I don’t mean your tits. Those two men, have you seen them before?”
“Oh, I thought you meant ... No, I’ve never seen them. Why do you ask?”
“I never ask, I only enquire.”
She raised her eyes. “It’s the same thing,” she said.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Anyway, I can’t stand here chatting. I have a busy bar to run.”