Adventures of The Golden Goose

Chapter 3 – The Septics are coming

By FermiRefuted

Part 1: The Party

“Goosie, darling! such a pleasure to have you at our humble Daily Grind gala tonight!”

The Golden Goose recoiled from Karen Roth’s unctuous welcome to the uncharacteristically spick and span entrance lobby of Gruntham-on-Sleet's humble local paper. The redheaded owner-editor was looking sensuously graceful that evening in a shimmering drop-waisted evening gown which draped from her athletic shoulders in a waterfall of turquoise silk. A dressmaker’s masterpiece, the backless gown revealed Karen’s immaculately toned dorsal muscles down to the base of her spine, occasionally dipping to reveal a hint of the cleft where the firm cheeks of her rear end curved together. The long, ruched skirt floated over her narrow hips and lanky thighs, parting occasionally to reveal a pale toned leg. An enormous red jewel smouldered in a pectoral necklace which wreathed Karen’s alabaster neck in rose gold filigree curls.

Karen clamped a white-gloved hand around the Golden Goose’s wrist, hauling her into the lobby and a growing crowd of inebriated local businessmen and magnates. Already a lofty 6’ 2”, Karen had added another three inches of high heel, easily lifting her eyeline above the tallest of guests, making her the axis of the party.

“Ms... Ms Roth!” stammered the Golden Goose, unable to pull away as the newspaper editor dragged her through the crush. The masked heroine (now three months into a strictly professional relationship with Karen in her true identity as ace news reporter Titania “Tanya” Harrow), was by now used to being manhandled by her new boss at the office. But not while in costume. Apart from that one time. And the two or three others after that.

“Problem, daaahling?” smiled Karen, drawling out the words in an exaggerated attempt at British Received Pronunciation.

“Babes, I do appreciate the invite and I’m sure you’re just trying to fit in...” said the Golden Goose nervously, “But the accent is really off-putting. Like, a lot. Just leave it out, eh?”

“Hm. OK,” said Karen. Shaking the tension out of her brawny shoulders, she bent down to murmur in the heroine’s ear. “I’m so glad you’re here, Golden Goose, I’m really nervous. We’ve got some... uh... special visitors coming for this, plus with the mayor being here and all, I wanted to put on a good show. I’m just waiting for your buddy Titania to show up, then I’ll be able to breathe.”

“No drama, Ms Roth, I’ve got your back, although about Tanya... there’s been a change of plan...” said the Golden Goose, before being yanked off on a whirlwind tour of the reception by Karen.

The lobby was filled with the assortment of florid, ruddy-cheeked rentier landlords and scrap dealers who formed the core of the Gruntham Business Group. Exclusively middle-aged, male and crammed into stained, ill-fitting dinner suits, the dissipated crowd of entrepreneurs were now starting to point and stare at the town’s only masked vigilante being dragged through the crowd like an untrained puppy by their hostess. The greedy eyes and greasy hands of the GBG sampled her body as she stumbled through the crowd and butterflies of anxiety began to flap in her stomach as she saw not one friendly face in the room.

Never knowingly overdressed, the Golden Goose had nonetheless made a real effort for the party tonight. Her golden-sequined mermaid-skirted evening gown wafted above the floor, sweeping out and nipping in to accentuate her incredibly shapely, if bottom-heavy figure into a dramatic hourglass, before opening like the petals of a tulip to cradle a deep palpitating well of cleavage which was held in place by only two hooks on a heavily-laden strapless bra beneath. The off-the shoulder dress had big bows of sequined fabric around the heroine’s dimpled upper arms, and like Karen she wore long opera gloves in gold lamé. Her real effort, though, had gone into her hair and makeup. With a rich new tan** sprayed on just for the occasion, the Golden Goose had lavished herself with so much foundation, contouring, rouge, eyeshadow and thick black false lashes that her Boots Advantage Card was out of loyalty points for the first time in fifteen years.

Her crimped peroxide curls were heaped in a vintage “Gibson Girl” updo and her golden-feathered Venetian mask swept a full eight inches up from her perfectly plucked eyebrows. The trout pout of her collagen lips had been glossed to a sparkling finish in shell pink. In summary, she looked cheaper than the last hooker standing in Portsmouth on pay night.

“Madam Mayor!” beamed Karen, dragging the Golden Goose through a leering, guffawing gauntlet of local businessmen to the guests of honour: Mayor Lola Muirhead, and her husband, chairman of the GBG, Gerald “Jerry” Muirhead.

Jerry was a squat, broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with a flat bald head that merged into his chest without any discernible neck. He wore a decently cut black dinner suit with the pockets still sewn shut. Lola was a tall brunette in her late forties with the kind of fine bone structure which preserved and enhanced her natural good looks as she aged. Her well-upholstered hourglass figure filled out a royal blue ankle-length bodycon dress, accented with a gold waistbelt, and the shining brass and enamel of Gruntham’s Mayoral Chain which draped into the deep gully of her swan-white bosom.

“Karen, how lovely to see you!” exclaimed Lola with a broad equine grin. The women leaned in for an affectionate air-kiss where they managed to avoid one another’s cheeks by about three inches. “And how gorgeous that dress is. I was just saying to Jerry...”

“Oh god, do shut up, Lola dear, and let me take a look at this chubby little piece Karen’s brought in with her!” said Jerry, planting a pudgy hand on the Golden Goose’s thick waist before sliding it down to shamelessly grope her even thicker bottom.

“Oh, sir!” squawked the Golden Goose, squirming in response to Jerry’s fondling and feeling the heat of excitement build in her hips. “I’m just happy to be supporting… oh… er… the local business community… oh! And helping Ms. Roth with the launch!”

“Now do keep your mouth shut, girl, unless someone asks you to speak,” said Jerry, before turning to the lanky Daily Grind editor. “Now, look here, Karen, you’re absolutely sure the reservoir is genuine? I’ve sold duds to all kinds of imbeciles down the years, to be sure, but this needs to happen, and I’ve got a reputation to maintain in front of our American cousins.”

“Jerry, I’ve had it checked by the geologists, and the contract is being underwritten by your buddies in Downing Street,” said Karen. “This is real. We will land this deal tonight.”

“It would be different,” sniffed Jerry, “If it were the Arabs, or the Nigerians. I wouldn’t mind cheating them. Such a shame about the Russians, too – so many dear friends suffering thanks to these ridiculous sanctions.”

“Cool, it, Jerry...” soothed Karen. “They are going to like what we have to offer.”

“Can I ask what’s going on?” asked the Golden Goose. “Because this all sounds pretty bloody fishy to me, and although I am enjoying your little massage, Mr Muirhead, I feel like a bit of context is in order. OOOH!”

The Golden Goose twisted her hips away in shock as Jerry gave her a cruelly hard pinch in the tender spot where her thighs and buttocks creased together. The Mayor, meanwhile, gasped sympathetically and looked at her husband with disappointed longing.

“I’m having second thoughts about this little tart, Karen,” said Jerry shortly. “Are you certain she’s up to the job?”

“Perfectly, Jerry,” said Karen through gritted teeth, gently drawing the Golden Goose away from the chairman and whispering in her ear. “Golden Goose, I’ll explain in a little bit, OK? But I really need Titania to get here before everything is in place. Do you have any idea where she is?”

The ballgowned vigilante tried to make the lies sound convincing while rubbing her sore hindquarters.

“Ms. Roth... there’s been a little change of plan I’m afraid. Tanya can’t make it tonight. She’s... er... had tooth-whitening complications. She’s feeling really rough.”

Karen’s firm hands on the Golden Goose’s plump upper arms abruptly tightened into twin vices which made the heroine squeal. Helplessly pinned, the blonde shrank back from the editor but could do no more than wriggle her voluptuous breasts from side to side as her risqué dress began to peel off her upper body. Meanwhile, Karen appeared to lose her cool.

“What? She’s not going to be here? But I... I was going to ask her to help me serve drinks! We’ve got another twenty high-profile guests coming! I... I can’t afford to screw this up!”

The Golden Goose, head a little dizzy, looked around at the crowded room and saw that her normally organised boss had forgotten to organise catering or bar staff. She looked again at Karen and saw the dismay in the tall redhead’s widening, luminous green eyes.

“I... I could give you a hand instead, Ms. Roth? I mean... this business networking lark is all in aid of getting the Gruntham economy moving again, right?”

“You would?” said Karen, her strong jaw snapping shut with a click and a wolfish grin spreading over her face. “Fantastic. Let’s get you into uniform immediately.”

“Uniform?” gasped the Golden Goose. “But I didn’t... er... I worked so hard on this outfit...”

“Oh, you’re so pretty...” said Karen, again dragging the Golden Goose across the room under the mocking smiles of the elegantly attired Gruntham businessmen and women, “You’ll look great.”

“She’ll do it, then?” sneered Jerry as Karen hustled the heroine into a back office.

“She’ll serve,” said Karen with a wink.

“Oh, is she going to fill in for the other girl, darling?” asked Lola as her husband turned listless eyes back to her.

“Do try to keep up, Lola,” said Jerry. “Someone needs to offer a full service to our guests to keep them sweet while Karen and I do the talking.”

“Perhaps... perhaps I could help her, dear?” asked Lola eagerly. “If these guests of yours are going to become investors, I’d love to establish a good working relationship with them... I am the Mayor, after all!”

Jerry turned away from his wife, already scanning the room for a younger and firmer bottom to grope. “Yes, of course, dear. Run along and don’t get in Karen’s way, would you?”

***

Behind the brightly decorated lobby of the Daily Grind was a dimly-lit service corridor where Karen Roth had dragged that vulgar masked vigilante the Golden Goose. The walls were streaked with condensation and the whole back area smelled uncomfortably warm and musty with over a decade of mildew.

As stealthily as she could, Lola followed the voices of the ghastly American newspaper editor and the common little tart of a heroine into a makeshift dressing room where Roth had apparently stacked up supplies for the party. Crouching behind a pallet which sagged under the weight of enough lager and alcopops to float a banana boat, Lola watched the altercation between Karen and the Golden Goose.

“Please, Ms Roth…” begged the Golden Goose, “how am I going to fit into this?”

“I had it made specifically for Titania, Goosie…” scolded Karen. “She told me you two were exactly the same size.”

“Ms Roth, you know how I provide… relief… to the pent-up gangster lads on the street,” whimpered the downcast heroine. “Doctor Cruise says I have to swallow every load they give me… I go home full of cum every night and it’s making me fatter and fatter…”

“Doctor Cruise is acting pretty cocky for a two-bit drug pusher if you ask me,” sighed Karen. “Just suck it in and try not to holler.”

The Golden Goose stood trembling in the half-light, her shimmering sequinned dress pooled around her ankles, knees knocking together as Karen Roth struggled with the zip up the back of a frilly maid’s uniform which the heroine had been stuffed into. The Golden Goose’s heaving bronzed bosoms were squeezed into a black-and-white bodice so tight that the neckline cut into her flesh just above her nipples, trapping the delicate knobs behind a teasing froth of lace. Her portly midsection strained against the tight stays of a little white apron. Her already short skirt was lifted up by a rigid crinoline structure and a pure white petticoat that wafted like downy feathers in a hemisphere around the heroine’s hips. The Golden Goose’s plump, quivering legs were sheathed in white silk stockings held up by black frilly garters. These were each tied in a large bow underneath a generous muffin-top of flesh mid-way up each thigh.

Karen had left the heroine’s hair up, perching the uniform’s white lacy bonnet high enough that it would not interfere with the swooping wings of her Venetian mask. The Golden Goose ran her hands over the tightly-stretched fabric of her new uniform as Karen was finally able to force the zip up and into place.

“What the bloody hell is this sticking into me… Ms Roth? Is there some kind of cage under this?”

Karen clicked the first of a row of tiny but incredibly robust padlocks into place on the zipper of the maid’s outfit.

“Oh, yeah. Steel wire substructure. You aren’t taking this uniform off until I say so.”

The Golden Goose gasped and her pink mouth quivered open as she felt herself being bound into her new servile role. While she struggled to regain her power of speech, Karen finished locking the maid’s pinafore to the heroine’s body and drew back in her turquoise finery to survey her handiwork.

“But… why?” stammered the heroine, before yelping as Karen grabbed a soft handful of one of her ripe tits and gave it a vicious twist.

“You’ll be doing a lot more things when I say so tonight, Goosie-Goose. I was going to make Titania my little maid tonight, but you’ll have to do, since she crapped out on me. Think of it as doing some real community service instead of slutting around back alleys for this town’s degenerates. And you can thank me for it.”

“Oh… oh yes!” panted the Golden Goose as Karen tugged persuasively at her nipple. “Thank you, Ms Roth… I won’t let you… won’t let Gruntham down!”

Karen pulled the Golden Goose closer to her with a yank on her boob. The redhead grinned down cruelly at the simpering heroine, who tilted her head back, fluttering her long false eyelashes and pouting her pillowy lips in anticipation of a kiss which never came.

Behind the pallet, Lola felt a blush spread across her cheeks and felt her heart pounding as she watched the lithe, muscular editor play with the submissive heroine.

“Now,” said Karen. “I’m going to introduce you to some special guests a little later and you are going to serve them with that juicy body of yours, understand?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, Ms Roth!” whined the Golden Goose. “I’ll do anything for our town… give anything…”

“Oh, me too!” moaned Lola, from behind the boxes of booze. The towering silken figure of Karen Roth sprang toward the pallet like silk lightning and dragged the mayor out by the wrist.

“Madam Mayor. Now this is a surprise,” said Karen, with a casual, even obsequious politeness which belied the unyielding grip with which she held Lola’s arm. “Did your husband send you to snoop on us?”

“Yes…,” said Lola. “I mean… no… I just wanted to ensure that everything goes well for the investors when they arrive…”

“You want to serve alongside the Golden Goose?” said Karen, her tone more flinty than polite.

“It means the world to Jerry. He’s desperate to pay off the debts we owe to the East India Quay mob and I’ll do anything, Karen… anything to get this deal over the line.”

“Mayor Muirhead…” gaped the Golden Goose. She tugged at her maid’s uniform in an attempt to recover even a scrap of dignity, but discovered there was no give whatsoever in the stiff wire cage.

“Well, alright, Madam Mayor… let’s see what we’re working with here,” purred Karen, pinching a sharp thumbnail into the rear seam of Lola’s tight blue dress where it terminated between her shoulder blades.

“Oh, Karen… wait…” dithered Lola.

“That’s Ms Roth to you, Lola,” said Karen, taking a fistful of Lola’s frock and giving it a ferocious pull.

Lola felt the rip of stitching and the sudden tight pull of the stretchy fabric on her body before Karen peeled it off her like a second skin. Karen tore in a single practiced motion until the dress slid into a blue pile on the floor next to the Golden Goose’s mermaid gown.

Lola stood before Karen and her golden-haired super-maid, suddenly self-conscious and blushing really rose-pink from forehead to cleavage. The mayor’s body was presented for the evening in royal blue lacy bra and knickers, with a matching garter belt and seamed stockings.

Ten years ago, Lola had been an ideal pin-up beauty with a leggy hourglass figure, firm, round tits and a wide, pert peach of a bottom which all enhanced her aristocratic if slightly horsey good looks.

She still had all her fine womanly attributes, but age and gravity had dragged them downwards a couple of inches or so over the years. Karen enjoyed the show as she watched Lola struggle halfway between shame at her exposure and pride in her middle-aged beauty. Taller and slenderer than the Golden Goose, she carried her mature feminine curves more evenly. Unlike the zaftig heroine, whose figure jiggled brazenly with any movement whatsoever, Lola’s body swayed and bounced with a matronly rhythm. Her teardrop-shaped breasts, soft as butter after decades of neglect, pooled in her hands, her nipples pink fuchsia buds that drooped toward the floor even when swelling with excitement.

“You are a bit of alright, aren’t you?” said the Golden Goose approvingly. “Have you had any work done?”

“Certainly not!” exclaimed Lola indignantly. “I’m all-natural. Unlike certain vulgar little trollops at this party.”

“Rude,” sniffed the Golden Goose. “I haven’t been under the knife for almost a month, so shows how much you know.”

“Now, girls, play nice,” soothed Karen, still appraising the mayor’s figure. “You have exceeded my expectations, Lola. Fortunately – and this is a crazy coincidence… I accidentally had another uniform made in something… approximating your size.”

“That… is a coincidence,” quavered Lola, nervously plucking at the enamel badges of office around her neck.

“Like I said, crazy,” shrugged Karen, plucking another maid’s uniform off a rack further down the corridor, and checking over the tiny padlocks. “Now strip for me. But, ah… leave the chain on.”

Part 2: The Boss

The Golden Goose and Mayor Lola Muirhead sashayed out carrying heavily laden silver trays to a cacophony of braying laughter and hooting from the Gruntham Business Group.

The Golden Goose immediately relaxed into the role, proudly thrusting out her enormous torpedo tits and enjoying the pop-eyed reaction from the swinish, tuxedoed financiers in the crowd as they saw her quivering nipples thrusting through the lacy fringe of her uniform.

“Good god,” blurted a cherry-nosed Hugo Featherstonehaugh as Sidney Street Best Reserve Bitter dribbled out of his mouth in frothy streams. “Bring those melons my way, blondie, and there’s a big tip for you at the end of the night!”

“Oh, certainly sir! Please help yourself to absolutely anything I’ve got!” The Golden Goose cooed winsomely, jiggling over with an eager grin, and gasping with pleasure as Hugo helped himself to a rough squeeze of her wobbling jug as well as a fresh beer.

“They’re real, chaps! Get ‘em while they’re hot!” crowed Hugo and the rubicund mass of drunken merchants surged around the heroine like a crowd of hungry penguins pecking at a juicy freshly caught fish. The Golden Goose groaned as her giant knockers were mashed and stretched out by, grasping, insensitive hands and her stiff nipples suckled on by greasy mouths. Within seconds, she was unable to escape from the suited and booted press as a deluge of clammy hands cupped and groped her tender body.

Lola, meanwhile, found herself cornered by some unwelcome guests. Albert “Jonesy” Jones and Tarquin “Worpey” Worplestone of the East India Quay Mob leered like a pair of sweaty hyenas at the buxom mayor, who despite a full fifteen minutes of groping and tweaking by Karen, was now spilling out of her frilly maid’s uniform as much as the Golden Goose. Her creamy-white thighs and rump were just visible below the mass of petticoats which fluffed out her skirt, and Jonesy took full advantage, running a probing finger under the trembling swell of her buttocks and licking his chops as Lola whimpered and blushed under the younger man’s attentions.

“Oh, boys…” she murmured, “Do help yourselves to drinks… I’m here to offer you whatever you like.”

“That’s just as well, Madam Mayor”, sniggered Worpey, “because we’ll be taking it anyway. Just like we’ll be taking the house and lifestyle by the time your husband covers our interest payments.”

The slick-haired city trader, still in his early twenties, ran his hand experimentally down Lola’s exposed pasty shoulder and felt her suppress a flinch. Sniggering at the older woman’s shyness, he firmly gripped the back of her head, extended a long red tongue and licked her neck slowly from collarbone to ear. Lola moaned helplessly as the young men toyed with her.

Karen Roth strode over, silk gown sweeping commandingly. She cackled to see Lola shivering in the arms of her husband’s creditors.

“You can be real rough with Lola here, fellas”, sneered Karen. “Go on, show that flabby ass of hers what it’s been missing all these years.”

Lola squawked in shock and surprise as Jonesy spanked her viciously and Worpey sank his head into the motherly cleft of her cleavage and started to motorboat her, causing the mayoral chain to jingle and tangle around her throat. Their hungry desire was starting to make Lola feel faint and awakening a warmth deep down in her hips as her body was toyed with.

“I don’t want Jerry to miss a second of this…” said Karen. “Where the hell is he?”

“Somewhere out the front”, said Jonesy. “There are a bunch of people parking up in the Market Square.”

“Shit, they’re here!” gasped Karen.

The feeding frenzy around the Golden Goose was at fever pitch. The heroine was being felt up by practically the entire GBG. Unable to tear her uniform off, the businessmen had pinned the blonde’s arms behind her and her collagen-swollen lips being plundered for kisses with copious amounts of cold, slithering tongue.

“Golden Goose”, snarled Karen, “Clean yourself up or I will strap you into that uniform permanently.”

“They won’t let me go!” squealed the blonde vigilante as she was ravished by the tuxedoed men. “I’m trapped, Ms. Roth.”

“Excuses, excuses, Goose… you’re getting lazy!” tutted Karen. Grabbing black silk lapels and undersized wing collars, she tore the entrepreneurs from their voluptuous prey and shoved them to the floor like rag dolls. By the time Karen hauled the Golden Goose free, the braying pile of dizzy businessmen had covered the linoleum floor with an inch or so of vomit.

Lola, meanwhile, fanned her flushed blushing cheeks with her lacy gloved hands and instinctively tugged at her maid’s uniform to restore some semblance of order to her appearance. Karen bustled her forward to the wide revolving doors of the Daily Grind office.

“Karen, how do I look?” asked Lola anxiously.

“Like the dirty, slutty MILF you are.”

“Oh… as long as the Americans like it.”

“They will.”

The sound of the party was broken by a throaty mechanical roar.

In the square outside, the chilly night air was pierced by the dazzling headlights of a fleet of gleaming black Jeep Gladiators. Drunken loiterers in tracksuits scattered left and right as the mighty SUVs ploughed through the drifts of uncollected trash in the square, knocked over burned-out lampposts and smashed the peeling community noticeboard outside the town hall to matchwood.

The hulking Jeeps poured into the square in a tight motorcade formation around a chrome-plated Dodge Ram with a bulky passenger extension to the rear that made the vehicle look like a cross between a steroidal limousine and a tank.

The howls of injured and terrified Gruntham residents echoed throughout the square as Jerry Muirhead spread his arms and bowed in an obsequious gesture of welcome to the passenger who descended from the Dodge.

“My dear Tex! So pleased to welcome you to Gruntham-on-Sleet at long last!”, he wheedled.

“Well, well, well. Little Jerry Muirhead. Does a body good to see a friendly face out here on the far side of the big old ocean blue. Put her there, partner.”

Rex “Tex” Danderville reached out a huge bronzed paw encrusted with gold signet rings and pumped Jerry’s limp hand with fraternal warmth. Tex was six feet of well-aged American beef in a pristine white suit that looked like a cast-off from the final days of Elvis Presley’s Las Vegas show. Rhinestones sparkled on his cuffs and lapels and a monogrammed gold belt buckle the size of a dinner plate covered his waist and groin. Tex wore alligator-skin cowboy boots, a white ten-gallon hat with a nine-inch brim, mirror-finish aviator sunglasses and his hair in a silver mullet.

The Texan pulled his clammy English host into a bear hug and then spotted Karen and Lola hurrying down the steps.

“Karen! And how in tarnation is my favourite city-slicking muck-raking sassafras reporter now she’s gone international, huh?”

“Tex, you dirty old dog!” exclaimed Karen, throwing her opera-gloved arms around Tex’s neck and planting a chaste but affectionate kiss on the leathery mogul’s cheek. “Tell me you brought me a Caddy full of cash like you always promised me you would?”

“All in good time, sweetheart, all in good time.” Smiled Tex, revealing an entire mouth gold teeth. “And who are these fine little honeys?”

Tex abruptly dropped Karen and wrapped his powerful arms around the waists of the Golden Goose and Lola, pulling them both into a tight embrace that squeezed their squashy bosoms against his rhinestone-encrusted chest. The superheroine and the mayor both found themselves trapped in the arms of the magnate, squirming their fertile, rounded hips in helpless discomfort as Tex rubbed his huge but surprisingly soft hands down their backs and cupped their jiggling half-naked bottoms. Both the reluctant maids cooed like doves as he manhandled them but did not dare to protest under the ferocious emerald gaze of Karen.

“Oh… Tex, my mistake… this is my wife, Lola…” burbled Jerry as he genuflected to Danderville.

“Your wife, Jerry? Well, she sure is one fine piece of ass and don’t mind if I help myself.” Boomed Tex, patting Lola’s rump as she writhed uncertainly in his arms.

“She’s the mayor, Tex. For real.” Said Karen, stifling a laugh. “Lola sweetie, why don’t you show Mr Danderville a little love now he’s come to invest in the town, huh?”

Lola blushed deeply at the younger woman’s patronising tone but tilted her head to plant a trembling kiss on Tex’s cheek while he continued to grope her generous rear. Jerry wheezed and muttered incoherently.

“Now ain’t that sweet.” Leered Tex. “A fine English kiss from a fine English Lady. And who,” he asked, his broad palm kneading the Golden Goose’s enormous hindquarters, “Is this little butterball in the mask? Is this…?”

“Oh yeah. This is the Golden Goose.” Said Karen triumphantly. “Remember back in Austin when we used to have to deal with the Lone Gunman? This is who they got in Gruntham-on-Sleet.”

Tex leaned down and breathed in the scent of the Golden Goose’s peroxide blonde curls, before whispering in her ear.

“That trailer trash tan of yours tells me we’re going to get on real well, sweet-cheeks.”

The Golden Goose herself took a sniff of Tex’s tobacco & Bourbon potpourri and put her shell-pink lips to the visitor’s ear.

“You say that, babes”, she whispered back, “Like you didn’t have RAL 3012 ‘Bermuda Baconator’ sprayed on… what, two nights ago? Stop by the Tango Tuesday Salon on The Esplanade tomorrow morning and tell them I sent you, because you absolutely need to get it redone.”

Tex’s eyes went wide for a second and he made a sound like the clutch of a vintage lawnmower. Then he drew back his hand and clapped it so hard on the Golden Goose’s bottom that she shrieked in surprise and pain. Her breasts popped out of her undersized bodice completely and were immediately squashed either side of his chest as he lifted her off her feet, laughing heartily.

“Oh, I like this one, Karen.” Roared Tex. “You were absolutely right about her! Now who are all these other mooks?”

Karen looked around at the array of fawning, crapulent faces of Gruntham’s business class who had assembled to toady to the town’s new benefactor.

“They’re… our guests, Tex.” Said Karen. “They’re here to find out what this is all about.”

“Well now,” grinned Tex, promenading into the crowded room with one of the voluptuous maids on each arm. “The plot, as they say is this…”

Shoving the Golden Goose and the mayor aside, Tex hauled himself onto the Daily Grind reception desk and lifted his arms with a serene benevolence which hushed the chattering of the stuffed shirts who filled the room.

“My friends.” Said Tex. “I’m here today to bring hope and love and truth to this quaint little old town.”

“Truth.” Nodded Karen, looking with up with solemnity at a framed Grind front cover from the 1980s blaming Pakistani immigrants for the failure of British Leyland.

“A few months ago,” said Tex, “My dear friend Jerry Muirhead – hey there, Jerry - called me up and he said ‘Tex, I’ve got a big pot of coffee with your name on it waiting here for you in Gruntham-on-Sleet. And he didn’t mean the kind of coffee the wetbacks to grow for us so we can fight off the shakes on a Monday morning. No, he did not. He meant good, old-fashioned, crude, untapped Texas Coffee!”

The Gruntham business community bobbed their heads and gibbered with enthusiasm like an assembly of baboons as Tex raised his arms with all the mystic power of a tent revival.

“And I don’t mind telling you folks that when I was done with Jerry I bowed my head and spoke to Jesus. And Jesus said to me, Tex, the coffee is real, and Danderville Oil is the business to bring it up out of the ground. There’s a shining star in the east over the little island of Great England, and Danderville dollars will flow like never before!”

Lola looked over at Jerry to see her husband’s face hideously contorted with a delight she had never seen before.

“The largest oil well discovered in Europe for half a century!” boomed Tex, “Just waiting to be fracked out of the ground underneath the town of Grunt-ham!”

Karen started to clap her hands together rhythmically, and the town’s businessmen joined in with abandon as Tex reached his crescendo.

“Today, my friends, I sign the contract with His Majesty’s Department of Energy Security & Net Zero to build the largest on-shore fracking platform the world has ever seen! A thousand metres of steel reaching up to God! Hundreds of American Jobs for American workers! Enough gasoline to keep heating the world for a century! Folks, it brings a tear to my eye – your kids will live and die in the shadow of this rig!”

The GBG leaped and gamboled with wild abandon as they cheered hysterically for Tex Danderville. The American oil baron drew twin ivory-handled revolvers from buckskin holsters on his belt and joyously fired off every round into the ceiling of the Daily Grind’s lobby. Karen and the Golden Goose, hands clasped over their ringing ears, flinched as they saw the white cloud of asbestos dust billowing out over the GBG, but it was too late. Tex was carried shoulder-high through the room by the coughing, hysterical mob. Mad with ecstasy, Jerry Muirhead took Lola in his bandy arms and made eye contact for almost a full second before recoiling with a shudder from his blushing wife.

“Let’s eat! Let’s eat!” roared Karen over the din. Grabbing the Golden Goose and Lola by their apron strings, she dragged the knock-kneed maids to the service area and shoved them toward a massive charcoal grill, a chest freezer full of meat and a couple of IBCs full of cajun and chilli sauce.

“And move fast” snarled Karen, sinking spiteful fingers deep into the flesh of the Golden Goose’, defenceless breasts, “Unless you want these to end up on the grill.”

Part 3; The Dogs

“More pork buns for the gentlemen from Downstream Motors, Goosie… not THAT kind, dear, put those cheeks of yours away!”

Mayor Lola Muirhead nipped at the Golden Goose’s ample hindquarters with her grilling tongs as the heroine pranced past.

“Ouch! Babes, be nice!” squeaked the heroine theatrically as she carried another steaming pile of golden-brown lamb and pork to the paralytically drunk table of gravel merchants. “I’ve already been booked for at least five spit roasts this evening!”

Three terms as Toastmaster for the Snarkshire Hunt had taught Lola everything a human could know about roasting large quantities of meat for wealthy alcoholics. As for the Golden Goose, she could get a barbeque lit on a Tenerife beach in a full Atlantic gale. They now had the crowd under control and a decent floor show going, with the busty mayor ordering the stout heroine around the lobby and chiding her maternally when the pickled guests took advantage to pinch and grope at her low-hanging fruit.

Karen’s disappointment with the unexpected competence of her maids was more than balanced by post-prandial satisfaction. Tex, chewing a toothpick listlessly, stared up into the sad beagle eyes of the portrait of King Charles III which hung on the wall opposite their table.

“That”, said Tex, cocking an imaginary gun and aiming his index finger at the King’s forehead, “Is a real weird thing for a freeborn son of Dixie to see.”

“This is England,” shrugged Karen, “And I was born in Alberta. So.”

“I don’t like it.” Said Tex. “Feels like it’s judging me. We need to talk, Karen honey. There are a couple extra details to iron out on the deal.” the oil magnate muttered.

“Sure thing, Tex…” said Karen, glancing around the room. “I think those two little skanks can manage the herd in here.”

The two Americans gingerly rose from their table and strolled out through the lobby’s front entrance and into the phalanx of waiting black Jeeps. Jerry Muirhead furtively crept after them, a briefcase tucked under his arm. The venetian-masked Golden Goose tracked their progress from behind a stack of roast chicken wings.

“Lola…” she whispered. The mayor was carving up a haunch while rolling her lacy-knickered matronly bottom back and forth in front of the guests from East India Quay. “I’m going to take a comfort break… be a love and look after the lads, will you?”

“Don’t worry, Golden Goose”, said the brunette with a new air of confidence, “I think I can keep them busy. If you see Jerry, do tell him how well I’m doing, won’t you?”

Primping her blonde coiffe, and stuffing her overflowing breasts as far as possible back into her frilly bodice, the Golden Goose trotted outside into the Market Square, and the blazing high-beams of the Danderville Oil motorcade.

Dazzled and blinking in the halogen glare, the Golden Goose straightened her back, thrust out her own generous headlights, and strode with swinging hips toward the centre of the SUV formation and Tex Danderville’s gleaming Dodge. Immediately, she cannoned boobs-first into a solid slab of muscle and staggered back with a gasp of shock.

Blocking her way in the white glow was a line of tall, muscular security guards in grey camo trousers, tight black t-shirts and black berets. They wore Glock 9mm pistols and an array of other personal weapons on their belts. Every one of them was male and the powerful scent of aftershave, gun oil and premium cigars washed over the Golden Goose.

“Stop right there, madame” said the middle guard, a broad-shouldered bear of a man with a French accent and the roughcut face of an unsuccessful boxer. “Monsieur Danderville is in conference and will not be taking additional callers.”

Looking her new opponent up and down, The Golden Goose lingered on the ruddy bulge of his biceps, the rippling pectoral muscles under his shirt, and the masculine bulge in his crotch, and licked her lips. She felt a keen, hungry tingling in her knickers. The insipid groping and pinching of the GBC had kept her libido smouldering all evening, but this virile slab of beef inspired something altogether more interesting between her thighs.

“Oh, blimey…” she murmured, nervously tugging and primping her own uniform. “Men… real men…”

The guard to the left of the burly Frenchman was tall and olive-skinned, black hair neatly swept back, with a champion swimmer’s smooth, streamlined muscles. He grinned and arched a professionally plucked eyebrow.

“Molosse, you don’t know who you’re talking to here”, he said in a smooth Italian accent. “This is the Golden Goose, the local supereroe, in a – may I say – rather fetching new outfit. Are you sure we can’t make an introduction to the boss?”

The guard on the far retched out a hollow laugh. He was paler and balder than his companions, with a thin horseshoe moustache, a kolovrat tattoo on his thick neck and a khinjal dagger on his belt.

“You say this is the Golden Goose, Volpino?”, he said. “The Проститутка who keeps “peace” offering herself to common criminals and making a laughing stock of the law?”

“I certainly hope so, Avcharka”, said the Italian ‘Volpino’, striding up to the Golden Goose and playfully bowing to take her golden-gloved wrist. “Cucciola, I see you are dressed to serve.”

The Golden Goose breathed a little sigh and fought back a swoon as Volpino delicately kissed the back of her hand. She admired the taut muscles of his back sweeping down to tight, round flanks which filled out his tight camouflage trousers

“I’m… I’m here to serve Mr Danderville, if that’s what you mean, babes,” she said, pouting and batting her eyelashes at the three virile guards. “And I’m supposed to offer him absolutely anything he asks for on this visit, so...”

“If you want to see Mr Danderville, donna formosa,” said Volpino with a predatory grin “you will first need to service his DOGS with the same care and attention you would offer to criminal scum.”

The Golden Goose looked nervously at the rank of strapping muscle in front of her and swallowed.

“What… what breeds are we talking about here exactly?” she stuttered. “’Cause… I suppose… there’s a first time for everything… but…”

Molosse, the massive Frenchman, roared with laughter, as did the dozen or so other guards with the exception of the Russian, ‘Avcharka’, who simply shrugged without taking his cold grey eyes from the quailing heroine. Volpino patted her round shoulder reassuringly.

“Danderville Oil Group Security, cara Golden Goose,” he said. “We are the DOGS in question.”

“We are here to take charge of law and order in your Gruntham-on-Sleet while Monsieur Danderville is in town.” said Molosse, mirth fading in his face. He reached out a finger the size of a salami and pushed it deep into the delicate orange flesh of the Golden Goose’s boob. “You are being replaced. From now on, your vigilante activities will be entirely prohibited.”

“But… but this is my town!” squeaked the Golden Goose indignantly. “Nobody knows the streets around here better than me… You.. you’ll never be able to manage all the blokes around here…”

“I find that hard to imagine,” sneered Avcharka. “You offer your criminal element such puny resistance that they control the streets with nothing more than pocket knives. We have with us,” he nodded toward the Jeeps, “Enough firepower to storm your Westminster Parliament at one word from Mr Danderville.”

“Oh…” gasped the Golden Goose, looking up at Molosse. She gripped his big hand and instead of trying to shove it away from her, cupped his wide palm over one of her plump, half-exposed breasts. “Are you… are you going to dominate me too, boys? I don’t know how I’ll manage all of you…”

Molosse gently squeezed the offered tit. He made a rumbling sound like a lion’s purr. The heroine, feeling a yearning surge of heat between her legs, responded with an excited coo.

The DOGS crowded her, forcing the heroine to squeeze between them as she yelped from repeated encouraging blows on her backside by Volpino and the roaming fingers of the other guards, which pinched and tickled her chubby curves wherever she spilled out of her frilly uniform. The only guard of the motley international crew to stand aside was the seemingly joyless Avcharka.

The Golden Goose breathed in the musky scent of the DOGS’ sweat and leather equipment, her head spinning as she was passed from guard to guard. Finally Molosse threw the trembling heroine over his shoulder and jostled his men into something approaching an orderly queue.

“One at a time, mes gens, in le style Anglais. We will all get a piece of the little salope once I have debriefed her.”

The heroine draped herself over Molosse’s back, decorously hiking up her frilly skirt and arching her back to present the orange swell of her bottom for the Security Chief’s attention.

“Oh, please debrief me, sir…” she breathed. “These knickers have been chafing all bloody evening and I don’t think I can stand them any more…”

“I hope your knees are feeling strong, cherie…”, grinned the massive Frenchman as he carried the Golden Goose off into the darkness. “You will be getting them very dirty this evening.”

“Oh, I hope so, love…” said the heroine. “There’s a mattress under the skip* in Carbuncle Row over there. Most of the smell should have washed out with the floods last week. Can we…?”

“I… I don’t think so, cherie…” said Molosse with a shudder.

***

It was half an hour later, and the Golden Goose had a problem.

The blonde heroine tried to relax her throat as Molosse robotically jerked his hips back and forth, pumping his enormous manhood, hard as a steel rod, deep into the heroine’s mouth. Her swollen pink lips left glossy smears in an uneven ring around the Security Chief’s thick rod, as she steadied herself with one dainty hand perched on his broad hip. The other tended his shaggy scrotum, delicately cupping her soft palm around balls the size of grapefruits. Her nostrils were filled with the musk of testosterone and she ached to bury her nose in his pubic hair and fully relax into her role as cock-sleeve.

Molosse, however, despite her best efforts, was not coming.

Far from being flushed with desire, his cheeks were pale. The big man’s eyes bulged unblinking and unseeing as he hammered away at the deep-throated heroine. His thick fingers were wound tight into her peroxide blonde hair, locking her into an uncomfortable piston action against his thrusting hips.

The Golden Goose whimpered as she realised there was absolutely no escape until he reached a climax.

***

“Can I offer you a bit of dulci de latte, signor?”, said the Golden Goose.

Volpino looked up from his minute examination of the gold-plated Vespa scooter to see its owner sauntering out of Carbuncle row, contentedly sucking DOGS cum off her fingers as if it were melted chocolate.

“Now you’re talking my language, formosa.” Said Volpino, unzipping his fly and letting the damp night air waft over his tightly – encased manhood. The purple, glossy head of his cock poked through his fly and the Italian mercenary wrapped a practiced hand around it, one boot still on the Vespa’s footplate.

“I see you found my bike,” said the Golden Goose, playing with her yielding tits in anticipation as she watched him gently ease the engorged meat out of his trousers. “You can have a seat if you want… there’s more than enough room for that tight little arse of yours.”

Volpino settled himself complacently into the extra-wide saddle. Kneeling down by her scooter, the Golden Goose watched with a smile as the mercenary smoothly peeled down his tight camouflage fatigues, freeing his respectable nine-inch erection. Heaving up her soft, semen-encrusted breasts she nestled the Italian’s erect cock between them, and planted a delicate kiss on the wedge-shaped glans. Both the heroine and her new lover moaned eagerly as she ran her tongue in a circle around his foreskin before starting a careful, rhythmic massage around his throbbing shaft with her oversized mammaries.

The Italian lit a cigarette and groaned with enjoyment as the heroine’s creamy breasts squeezed and bobbed around his sensitive meat.

“It may surprise you, cara mia”, said Volpino, “To know that I have actually ridden this… unique model of Vespa before.”

“Is that so, babes?” said the Golden Goose, staring up winsomely at him with her sapphire eyes. “did you do a lot of secret military work back in Italy then?”

“After I was… ah… discharged from the Military Corps of the Sovereign Military Order of Knights of St John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta, I had a brief period as a performance driver for Piaggio. That is how I got involved in this EUROSCOOT ARGUS project.”

“You must have been a hell of a driver.”

“Not good enough… oooh, andare, cara” murmured Volpino, bucking his hips and thrusting between her boobs, “Not good enough… for the Knights to overlook that unfortunate incident at Aviano where the papal Nuncio was sucked into a jet engine”

“I don’t remember hearing about that, babes.” Said the Golden Goose.

“Many bribes were paid to ensure that nobody did.” Said Volpino. “Now… aah.. what I do not understand… is how one of the prototype ARGUS units found its way under the sedere grassa of this puttana Inglese.”

“Such a beautiful language”, moaned the blonde heroine as she rolled the mercenary’s hot cock between her orange pillows. “The scooter was a gift from… uuh… an old friend… you never met…oohh…Werner Hammerzeit, did you?”

“Werner? He was the best mechanic on the programme!” said Volpino, before the Golden Goose wrapped her swollen pink lips around her lover’s pulsing tip and gave it an affectionate suck. Volpino groaned, his legs gave way and he sank back into the mattress while the Golden Goose continued rub her tits up and down his cock. A dribble of pre-cum spurted from the tip of his dick and the heroine thirstily lapped it up.

“Lovely bloke. He was with The Huns Of Anarchy when they came through here last year on the Groβbritannien Ausgangstrafe tour. I must have blown well over four hundred lads that week and he was my favourite…”

Volpino rolled back his head in ecstasy, puffing on his cigarette and enthusiastically fucking the heroine’s increasingly slick, as she slid back and forth over his lap, rubbing every drop of his masculine juice back into her cleavage.

“Hah… that is funny, formosa… small world… well, you let me know if I can be a fraction as generous to you as good old Werner…”

“Alright”, cooed the Golden Goose. “How about you tell me a bit more about what’s wrong with your boss Molosse…

***

Whatever Molosse was staring at, he was no longer in control of his body. The Golden Goose did her best to keep his pumping shaft lubricated with her saliva, but her throat was being utterly reamed out and his balls were barely contracted. Struggling to breathe, the heroine’s eyes darted around desperately for some means of pushing the Security Chief over the edge.

Reaching over to the rusted side of the skip in Carbuncle Row, The Golden Goose banged with her fist on the flaking yellow paint as hard as she could. There was a scurrying, rustling sound inside and a grimy, bearded goblin of a man with bloodshot eyes stuck his head over the side.

“Golden Goose?” said Toothless Terry, looking down from the skip at the curvy heroine where she stood bent over, frilly-knickered rump high in the air, helplessly sucking off the gigantic Molosse in her overstuffed and thoroughly soiled maid’s uniform. “I thought I told you my mattress was off limits to your other tricks.”

“Mmmm. MMM-MMM.” Moaned the Golden Goose around Molosse’s cock. Just get angry, you filthy old sod.

“No need to get personal.” Said Terry. “Alright, I’ve been in a bad way since last week, but the place should be dried out by the weekend.”

“MM! MMM MMM MM-MM!!!” Squeaked the Golden Goose, as the French Security Chief hammered away at her gullet. If you’re on the psionic mushrooms again, Terry, then read my fucking mind. This joker’s completely lost control of himself. Snap him out of it and I’ll get your mattress dry-cleaned, alright?

“You know, Goose, I don’t think I will.” Said Terry with an empty grin. “I don’t much like having my sleep disturbed by slag heroines and their new toyboys at this time of night. So I think I’ll watch while you finish him off.”

“Mmmm… mmmm-mmm MM!” Grunted the Golden Goose. That’s the last time I let you come inside me, Terry.

“Keep telling yourself that,” sneered the vagrant as he dug a fresh spliff out of his pocket and lit it up. “You’ll be begging for my spunk again in a couple of weeks.”

The Golden Goose growled in frustration as she fought to keep her throat supple and relaxed under Molosse’s relentless assault.

***

“…eventually they threw him out.” Said The Dingo, eagerly watching the pendulous descent of the Golden Goose’s heavy orange breast and dark brown nipple toward his waiting lips. “After… he shot up the Islamic Art wing of the Louvre, his gendarme career was over. You can’t just brush seven dead tourists under the rug.”

“So, what, is he traumatised?” Asked the Golden Goose, carefully brushing her erect nipple over the Australian’s stubbled lips.

“Not quite…” chuckled The Dingo. “They… oh, bloody hell love, keep it up… they gave him the old Ludovico treatment. Ooooh, shit.” He clicked his teeth at her breast as she playfully snatched it away. “Yeah. Yeah, more of the same. Aversion therapy. Molosse takes one look at a piece of abstract art and goes fucking catatonic. Poor bloke. Horrible to watch.”

“See, now that explains it. Good boy…” smiled the Golden Goose, slipping her nipple into the mercenary’s mouth and gasping sharply as he bit down harder than expected on the swollen teat. “Oh! That hurts! Be… OW! Be nice!”

“I’m the fucking Dingo, love”, growled the Dingo, his mouth full of boob. “I fucking bite.”

“Uuuuh… oh no…” groaned the Golden Goose, anxiously kneading her free breast in anticipation as the Dingo chewed playfully at her defenceless mammary.

***

“Who’s this, anyway?” rasped Toothless Terry. “He looks like a copper.”

“Mmm. Mmm! Mm.” He is a copper, you dirty junkie. You piss about with him and just you see what happens.

“Now I don’t believe you”, chuckled Terry, blowing a long stream of weed smoke into Molosse’s bulging eyes.

Whether it was the irritation of the smoke, or the hard-restart effect the scent of marijuana had on Molosse’s gendarme brain, the Frenchman grunted, sniffed, and blinked. In a rush of sensory overload, he felt his swollen, throbbing cock deeply buried in the warm, moist sleeve of the Golden Goose’s throat, her hands delicately teasing his tightening nutsack, and the aching event horizon of pleasure glowing at the tip of his shaft. With a growl, Molosse ejaculated and squirted a boiling torrent of semen directly into the Golden Goose’s belly. The heroine squirmed and bucked, desperately suppressing her gag reflex as the security chief’s penis throbbed and contracted inside her. As she felt her stomach fill with semen, the satisfying warmth finally eclipsed the soreness of her gullet where Molosse had abused it.

Slowly withdrawing his wet, slick cock from the heroine’s throat, Molosse ran a beefy finger down the Golden Goose’s cheek.

“Impressive, salope. Not many women have taken my cock with this much enthusiasm. Now it is the turn of my men.”

“Frog, eh?” said Terry, toking again from inside the skip. “Is this like those kraut bikers again, Goose?”

Molosse looked up at Toothless Terry in shock and fury.

“VAGABOND!” the security chief roared, slamming his kettle-bell fist into Terry’s face. There was a wet crack and the bearded tramp keeled over, hitting his head on the steel edge of the skip on the way down. Snorting like an angry bull, Molosse stomped off back to the DOGS motorcade.

“Sorry, Terry…” croaked the Golden Goose, peering into the skip at the spreading pool of blood. “I was in a jam…”

Call it quits, Goose, said Terry’s disembodied voice. I would have let you choke. I think I’m off to another galaxy for now, you stay safe, eh?

“I will”, said the Golden Goose. “I’ll come back and empty those balls of yours soon, alright?”

Good girl, said Terry.

The heroine looked up at where Molosse had been staring. On the wall of Carbuncle Row was an empty billboard frame with a blank void where an advertisement should be. A chill ran down the Golden Goose’s spine.

***

“Oooh… come on lads, baste me. Fucking hose me down. I want it so bad…”

The Golden Goose knelt on the asphalt behind one of the gleaming black jeeps, eagerly tugging at the aching, throbbing rods of Kutta and Ridgeback. The two drivers were braced, quivering like bowstrings as the zaftig Heroine squeezed and teased their cocks, ready to slather their male cream all over her softly heaving bronze tits.

“Damn it, Goose… you.. uuuh… AAAAH…” stammered Ridgeback as he finally climaxed, squirting out a stream of pearly sperm directly into the Golden Goose’s lace-trimmed cleavage as she giggled with delight.

“You… are the best whore… we’ve… OOOOH… UUUH…” trailed off Kutta. His hips jerking, he sprayed is orgasm into the heroine’s face and hair. Glistening drops of semen rolled down over her breasts to further stain the cum-saturated maid’s uniform which still kept her zaftig body caged in steel.

Moaning with satisfaction, the Golden Goose kept plucking and tweaking the two mercenaries’ glans with her cum-sodden fingertips, enjoying the sticky warmth of every gout of hot sperm on her skin.

“Oh, thank you boys… keep going…” she murmured, turning her face to one cock and then the other as she tugged out stream after stream of DOGS spunk for her gratuitous facial. For a second, Ridgeback started to go limp as his testes reached their limit. The Golden Goose delicately took his cock between her lips and firmly gripped his ballsack to squeeze out one final gout of fresh semen which she swallowed with gusto.

With a contented sigh, the two mercenaries and the blonde vigilante leaned back against the jeep gladiator and Kutta passed out the cigarettes.

“For what it’s worth, Kutta love, it all sounds like a love story.” Said the Golden Goose.

“It was” said Kutta. “But until I can recover the final ruby, her father will never relent. My life in Mumbai isn’t worth a day’s purchase.”

“You’ll do it”, said the Golden Goose. “Just promise me I can come to the wedding.”

Kutta looked about to say something witty but a chill fell across their afterglow. The Golden Goose looked up to see the cold eyes and fierce moustache of Avcharka glaring at them from two jeeps away.

“What is his problem?” asked the Golden Goose. “He doesn’t have a nice word for any bugger.”

“Avcharka’s… a weird guy.” Said Ridgeback. “His tastes go in… er… a different direction.”

The Golden Goose shrugged pneumatically.

“Well I’m bloody sorry if I made him uncomfortable, but I work with plenty of gay blokes and there’s at least three clubs I can recommend…”

“He’s not gay”, said Kutta. “Nothing gets between him and his Marinka.”

“Romantic, eh?” said the Golden Goose. “That’s cute. Especially with the way he is, all brooding and needlessly hostile. Who’s the lady?”

“When you’ve done as many black ops as Avcharka”, said Ridgeback, “You can get a little bit… animistic. About weapons. And vehicles.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Said Kutta. “Avcharka has more civilian kills confirmed than half the VKS. If you ask me, that bloody chopper is exhibit A for a lifetime sentence in the Hague.”

“You mean like… war crimes?” said the Golden Goose. “That’s… that’s really awful!”

“Oh, yeah…” said Kutta, exchanging a sheepish, knowing glance with Ridgeback. “Awful.”

“The point is”, said Ridgeback, “The guy only fucks his helicopter.”

“Right…” said the Golden Goose “So he’s hard to get…”

Part 4; the conspirators

“So it’s settled”, said Jerry, almost vibrating in triumph.

“About bloody time” said the distorted voice of Alverton Slump, Minister of State for Energy Security & Net Zero. The choppy wi-fi inside Tex Danderville’s Dodge Ram distorted even the majestic efficiency of Microsoft Teams. “Isn’t your wife supposed to sign this, Jerry?”

“Don’t worry about Lola” said Jerry, scrawling an X at the bottom of the 99-year lease. “I’ll PP it for her, as usual.”

Tex and Karen clinked glasses in the SUV’s cocktail bar as their British hosts signed away sovereignty of Gruntham-on-Sleet.

“I don’t understand the need for all this rigmarole.” Said Slump, over the roar of breaking glass and human screams from inside the Carlton Club. “Why the hell aren’t you the mayor any more, Jerry?”

“You remember why, Alverton”, shouted Karen at the video screen. “Jerry doesn’t do frontline politics. He’s a man of conviction.”

“Oh yes”, said Slump. “Money laundering, wasn’t it?”

“Should never have been caught out at all”, muttered Jerry as he packed away the contracts. “Your chaps rather pulled the ladder up on that one, Alverton.”

“Don’t succumb to the politics of envy, Jerry.” Said Slump. “Must dash now, Dave’s celebrating tonight.”

The mercifully blurry form of a nude former prime minister leading a pig into the club swam into view over Slump’s shoulder and Jerry rapidly cut the feed from London before the camera had time to focus.

“Bloody hell” he gasped, “We’ve done it!”

“Well done, Jerry old pal”, said Tex. “You are quite the businessman”.

“Time for a drink?” asked Jerry.

“Help yourself.” Said Tex. “Now. Karen. Time for the bad news, I’m afraid.”

Karen tossed off the last of her Moscow Mule and put down her glass with an icy stare at the oil man.

“What the hell are you about to tell me, Tex?”

Tex sighed with the folksy resignation of a true southern good old boy preparing to shoot his family dog.

“Karen, honey” Tex said again, leaning back onto the pristine white leather of the Dodge Ram. “Those old survey maps you faxed over were interesting. Maybe a little too interesting. The engineering boys overlaid the archaeological findings with the oil survey and they found something bad.”

“You’re not getting cold feet over an ancient Indian burial ground, Tex.” said Karen grimly. “A little late in your career to find a scruple stuck in your teeth.”

“Hell no, Karen, what do you take me for?” said Tex. “But Roman ruins ain’t just temples and saunas like you see on TV. Them Romans had a major limestone mine under this town. There’s a cavern a hundred feet deep under our feet right now.”

“…oh.” Said Karen. “Oh, crap.”

“Exactly.” Said Tex. “We’ve gone well over budget on extra piling and there’s nothing we can do for the town when we get going with the frack.”

“Right.” Said Karen. “If we get seismic activity like back in Oklahoma…”

“There was no seismic activity in Oklahoma, Karen.” Said Tex. “Leastways, none caused by Danderville Oil.”

“That’s what the press reported, anyway.” Said Karen. “Meaning me.”

“Meaning you”. Smiled Tex. “My point, Karen honey, is about liquidity. Ain’t none of us going to see our share of the finder’s fee until Trenton One is built and we start bringing some of that good old El Paso espresso out of the ground.”

Nostrils flaring and muscular shoulders thrown back, Karen turned with a swirl of silk toward Tex, face twisted in rage.

“Are you shitting me, Danderville?” snarled the editor, “I’m exposed here! I would never have… Madame Razor would never… God damn you! You know how badly I need that money, Tex!”

“Now I know what you’re going to say, Karen…” said Tex, hands raised in paternal condescension. “But you’ve done real well establishing us here. You’ve got the mayor and that whore heroine wrapped around your finger. You just need a little patience.”

Karen rolled her eyes and stifled a curse.

“So now we have a new deal. Conveniently not on paper.” Smouldered Karen. “You disgust me, Tex.”

“Karen baby,” said Tex. “I just spent the last hour watching a bunch of guys who talk like Mrs Doubtfire try to eat ribs with a knife and fork. I think I know a little something about disgust.”

“Don’t mind me.” said Jerry, half-way through a pint of gin.

“I don’t.” said Tex.

There was a brief silence.

“And sure.” Continued Tex, “This ugly little town is going to collapse into a crack in the earth when we finally strike oil. But isn’t it better that way? These people can go to God with the comfort that their lives made us rich. Jesus would want it that way, and deep in your heart you know that’s what we all want.”

“Nobody knows what I want.” Muttered Karen, to nobody.

There was a muffled squawk of indignation outside the Ram’s Saloon. Like lightning, Karen strode across the tiled dance floor, past the swimming pool and driving range, and threw open the SUV door.

Grabbing the semen-encrusted mop of peroxide-blonde hair outside the SUV, with a vicious tug Karen dragged the Golden Goose inside the Dodge Ram and back across the car’s saloon to Tex. The Golden Goose, her maid’s uniform by now in tatters and covered from head to toe in drying semen, whimpered and moaned as Karen cruelly pushed her around the Danderville Oil executive vehicle.

The curvaceous heroine squirmed before them, tugging her ruined uniform back into place to cover up her erect, well-chewed nipples and cellulite-puffed thighs and rump.

“So, the Golden Goose has been snooping.” Sneered Karen. “I guess I should have expected this. Left Lola alone in the office to get fingered by the zoo animals, huh?”

“Last time I checked”, sniffed the Golden Goose, “She was shaking her arse for a table full of loan sharks, and good for her.”

“Oh, bugger.” Said Jerry, bullets of sweat starting from his gleaming forehead. “Not that shit Worplestone.”

“Skinny bloke?” asked the Golden Goose. “Actual real tan? Cocaine all down his lapels?”

“Could be any of them.” said Jerry. “Fuck. I’ve got to go.”

The GBG chairman sprinted for the door of the SUV, the newly completed contracts crumpled tightly under his arm.

Tex Danderville and Karen Roth loomed over the short, round figure of the Golden Goose with twin sneers of menace.

“How much have you heard?” asked Tex.

“Nothing,” said the Golden Goose, defiantly, “that won’t be public information in 24 hours. I’ll be telling Tanya, the Mayor, and the Secretary of State everything I’ve heard here tonight and you and your crew of septics*** will be on the next flight out of RAF Northolt pending fraud charges.”

Karen reached out a broad hand and slapped the Golden Goose’s left breast hard enough to bruise. The heroine squealed, jaw dropping open, and Karen backhanded her right breast. The reluctant maid’s enormous tanned jugs bounced and trembled as she gasped in shock, unable to summon the courage to defend her most vulnerable points against her furious boss.

“You will do no such thing, Golden Goose.”

Instantly, the fight drained out of Golden Goose. Her knees knocked together girlishly and she slowly stroked the hot, inflamed sides of her breasts, gently kneading and squeezing them together.

“But… Ms Roth, He’s… he’s literally going to destroy the town…”

Wrapping an arm around the Golden Goose’s shoulder, she guided the submissive maid’s halting steps toward Tex Danderville, who began the lengthy process of unbuckling his enormous gold belt.

“He’ll be destroying plenty, Goosie. He’s your Big Daddy now, and you had better treat him with respect until he decides to toss you in the garbage like the trash you are.”

“Trailer trash.” Laughed Tex. “Remember, sweetie?”

As the Golden Goose watched Tex drop his rhinestoned chaps, the twin holsters of his gold-chased Colt Single Action Army revolvers hitting the floor with a clunk, she panted and licked her lips.

“Big Daddy…” she whimpered.

Karen took over from the heroine, massaging her big inflamed jugs and bouncing them playfully in her muscular hands. Meanwhile, the Golden Goose’s hands slid down the front of her bulging uniform and slipped into her knickers to delicately finger the swelling petals of her labia. Her womanhood, already throbbing with arousal, began drooling in anticipation of yet another conquest.

“Play with your clittie, baby…” whispered Karen into her ear. “and tell me who it’s for.”

“It’s for Big Daddy…” breathed the Golden Goose, tenderly strumming a fingernail over her own most intimate jewel. “My cunt… my womb… uuhh… it belongs to Big Daddy Tex now.”

“And these big titties…” whispered Karen, still gently kneading the heroine’s breasts like dough. “Who do they belong to?”

“Big… Big Daddy Tex?”

“WRONG!” screamed Karen, digging her fingernails spitefully in to her busty victim’s defenceless jugs. “DEAD WRONG! These funbags belong to EVERYONE on the DANDERVILLE OIL TEAM! WHENEVER WE WANT! WHEREVER WE WANT! And you will be GRATEFUL for WHAT WE ARE DOING IN YOUR TOWN!”

“YES! YES, MS. ROTH!” sobbed the Golden Goose, still frantically rubbing her own clitoris and leaking into her frilly knickers as her Boss pitilessly crushed her sensitive boobs. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!”

“And now, Ms. Goose…” leered the oil magnate, “open wide.”

Tex was ready to rock, nude, except for his aviators and boots. In his hand, he held a big, leathery ten inches of prime Texan dick swollen to bursting point at the sapphic disciplinary taking place before him. The Golden Goose gasped and batted her eyelashes as she felt a flood of nervous butterflies entering her stomach. Feeling a tingle building in his balls, Tex brought a big hand down on the heroine’s tender shoulder and started to push her to her knees.

“Oh, god, Tex, absolutely do not put your cock in her filthy mouth.” Laughed Karen, stopping him. “That’s what the British call the tradesmen’s entrance. She lets every disgusting creep blow their load in there. It’s the only real work she does in this town, right Goosie?”

“Er…” the Golden Goose said, “The tradesmen’s entrance means the back door, Ms Roth, really… really it would mean my arsehole.”

“Then I guess I’ll be using the tradesmen’s entrance…” shrugged Karen, reaching back to unzip her own dress. The Golden Goose, not daring to look round, let out a whimper of excitement.

“Come right this way, little lady…” coaxed Tex, settling himself into Karen’s leather armchair. The Golden Goose bent down low to finally strip off her sopping wet knickers, now beyond caring how high her frilly skirt rode up as she climbed into the Texan’s lap, and slowly, shyly lowered herself onto the pulsing purple head of his thick hog. The slick, quivering lips of her cunt softly kissed the wedge-shaped head of Tex’s penis and both heroine and mogul sighed and shivered at the delicious contact.

“Please, Big Daddy Tex…” whined the Golden Goose… “Please shag me… make me your lover… make me your slave…”

“Big Daddy Tex…” laughed Karen, pressing down on the heroine’s shoulders, “Has far too much class to take on a trashy bimbo like you as a sex slave. Right Tex?”

“Afraid so, sweet-cheeks”, said Tex apologetically. “Usually I just drop off whores like you back at the trailer park with a coupon for a five percent discount on maternity wear at Target.”

The two villains laughed as the Golden Goose was shoved down, white-stockinged thighs trembling, until Tex’s cock was fully impaled in her quivering, sensitive vagina. As she sank down millimetre by millimetre, she let out a long, desparate moan as she felt herself being stretched out over the evil magnate’s deep-drilling manhood. As Tex started to thrust up at her, the heroine was forced to bounce on his erect dick like riding a bronco, her breasts gently slapping him in the face as she surged up and down, her own juices and his semen dripping out of her nether lips with each buck of his hips.

As the Golden Goose settled into a rythym on top of Tex, She suddenly arched her back and gasped as she felt another swollen rod teasing at the nervously contracted bud of her anus. Short of breath and sweat now running down her face underneath her mask, she blurrily saw Karen, now wearing only her towering spike heels the black leather hip-harness for a massive black strap-on. This engineering masterpiece was longer than Tex’s but more slender and fluted.

Karen’s naked body was all muscle and flawless skin, her firm, apple-shaped breasts offering no hint of a jiggle above a washboard stomach that looked strangely similar to the strapping musculature of Madame Razor. As The editor slathered lube along the shaft of her dildo, the Golden Goose pushed her own pillowy tits into Tex’s face and nervously arched her back, biting her lip and trying to relax her sphincter.

A few seconds later, the zaftig blonde moaned as both her holes were filled to bursting point by the dark alliance of Karen and Tex. Unable to keep rythym, she rocked back and forth like a ragdoll as the oil baron and the newspaper editor pistoned in and out of her. Slumping forward into the broad embrace of Tex Danderville, the Golden Goose could think of nothing more useful to do than to moan and plant delicate, desperate kisses on Tex’s lips and cheeks.

“I think we proved a point tonight, Tex…” sighed Karen with satisfaction as she slapped her hips up against the swollen cushion of the Golden Goose’s rear and was rewarded with a pleading little cry from the wiggling heroine. “There are no superheroes in this town worthy of our concern.”

“Karen Honey, this is gonna be easy as cherry pie.” Said Tex.

“That’s right, isn’t it, Goosie?”, murmured Karen into the humping heroine’s ear. The redhead’s voice was husky with arousal as the straps keeping her dildo secure around her hips rubbed slick against her inflamed vulva. “You love it. We’re gonna pump you full of cream and leave you on the streetcorner for everyone to see… and you’re gonna thank us. Right?”

The Golden Goose, hair in disarray as she threw back her head, tried to moan out a sentence but was forced into a squeak as Karen thrust her strap-on especially harshly into her backside. Blushing and humiliated, she nodded vigorously in response to Karen.

“Yes…” she gasped. “I’m such a DIRTY slag… I’m just a TOY for CRIMINALS… please use me… please, Ms. ROTH! Big DADDY! FUCK ME! OH… OH! OH!”

Rearing up and rolling her hips back and forth, the Golden Goose came with a hot rush of fluid which squirted between her thighs, soaking Tex’s silver pubes and tipping him over the edge.

“FUCK YEAH!”, cheered Tex, his own testes boiling over and pumping a thick stream of red-hot Texas style semen straight into the Golden Goose’s thirsty womb. The euphoric Golden Goose kissed the oil boss with an eager passion, her head and heart in turmoil from the delicious double-teaming she had received.

“Big Daddy”, she pleaded with the Texan warlord, as she worked her hips up and down his squirting pole, “I take it all back… I’ll work so hard for you… for Danderville Oil… I’ll be the village bike for the whole company… and I’ll do it all for free… just… just promise to fuck me and use me…”

“Quite… quite a pitch you got there, Goose…” panted Tex, as he enjoyed the warm, clutching embrace of the heroine around his neck and his cock. “And you… you sure picked the best time to make it.”

“I… I’m not DONE!” growled Karen, thrusting harder into the Golden Goose, forcing the heroine to arch painfully up and away from Tex, whimpering on the hook of Karen’s brutally long dildo. Tex abruptly seized the base of the redhead’s strap-on and popped it out of the blonde’s sore, spasming rear.

“Karen, Honey, don’t be a bitch.” Soothed Tex, milking the last spurts of semen out of himself and cradling the exhausted Golden Goose in his lap. “I’m running this little venture and I say where the Goose goes.”

“You HAVE to let me get OFF with her, Tex!” screamed Karen, pent up to the edge and unable to release. “I… I BROUGHT her here FOR YOU!”

“Exactly, Karen, and I thought I was pretty generous to let you join in.” smiled Tex. “Why don’t you just go play with Jerry’s wife? She seems cool with all this.”

Karen vibrated with frustration, veins of tension popping out of her neck and shoulders as she stood naked in front of the spent mogul and the panting heroine.

“Because I want… I WANT HER! Urgh… Tex, you ASSHOLE! You… clam-jamming piece of SHIT!”

Tex grinned with the feline assurance of a lifelong mogul.

“Karen, you’re really killing the buzz in here. Butt out and let me finish up with the girl.”

Karen, white with anger, tensed for a moment as if coiling to strike. Lips trembling, she snatched up the clumped turquoise silk of her discarded gown and stormed out of the SUV, heels clacking on its Italian marble floors.

“Screw you, Danderville. Fuck you.”

Karen Roth found herself stood outside the gleaming white chassis of the Dodge Ram, her dress in one hand and her other furiously unbuckling her strap-on. A few sleepy, post-coital mercenaries gave her sculpted ivory body the once over, but thought better of it when they met the fire in her eyes.

Her mind and cunt roiling with unfulfilled lust, Karen shoved down her disappointment with practiced self-denial. Tossing the silk gown over her shoulder and tucking her strap-on out of sight underneath it, the redhead strode out pugnaciously past the DOGS and back into the hooting crowd of the GBG in the Daily Grind office. Screw them all. Let them see the body of a goddess for once in their sleazy lives.

Meanwhile, inside the Ram, Tex had slipped his hand up the Golden Goose’s tattered skirt to gently massage some feeling back into her thoroughly reamed-out womanhood. His gold teeth gleaming, he chuckled paternally as the heroine’s hips bucked and squirmed in response to his probing.

“Oh, Big Daddy…” gasped the Golden Goose. “Thanks… she was chafing me something awful…”

“Now there, sweetheart, you settle down. Karen, uh… well, she ain’t like us. She don’t really understand the complex relationship between image and reality. Now you on the other hand… I bet you think you got me right under your spell, huh?”

Tex’s gentle massage turned rough. Sliding his thick finger and thumb up into the Golden Goose’s wet, trembling clitoral hood, he pinched her raw bud hard.

“AWWW… DADDY… BIG DADDY, STOP IT…” whined the Golden Goose. “I’M TOO SENSITIVE… PLEASE DON’T…”

Tex started to rhythmically squeeze the heroine’s juicy clitoris while she cried out and clutched her soft thighs ineffectively around his hoary wrist.

“Well consider this. Reximilian Teximilian Danderville ain’t nobody’s fool. I’ve tangled with masks a hundred times more dangerous than you. Some of ‘em smart like the Emerald Agent. Some of ‘em strong like Captain Canaveral. But not one of ‘em gets between me and my oil.”

Tex briefly released his grip on the Golden Goose’s clit and she shivered with relief.

“Ooh... Big Daddy…” sighed the blonde heroine. “What… aaah.. what are you going to do with me?”

“Well that’s just it, sweetheart…” said Tex. “I don’t need to do anything with you at all. The DOGS completely outgun your local hoods, so I don’t need your help securitywise. I’ve got Jerry and his whore wife handling the political side of things, and Karen controls the media. I think a chess player would call that check and mate.”

“Just… just let me stay with you, Big Daddy…” said the Golden Goose huskily “and you can have me too… OOOOH!”

Tex restarted his cruel pinching assault on the Golden Goose’s most sensitive spot. Wriggling, kicking and squealing in his lap, grinding against the tingling mixture of pain and pleasure in her loins, the Golden Goose was unable to dislodge him. Hot sexual lust dripping from her crimson, well-rubbed vulva, the heroine finally slumped back in total surrender. Groaning and bucking her hips, she felt the delicious ache of orgasm building in her yet again, groaned and leaned her peroxide head back against the oil magnate’s silver-haired chest.

“Goose Honey, let’s be honest with each other. You can’t offer me anything. I can call you up any time I want and you’re come running along wet and willing. So can the DOGS. So can Karen. You’re a real old-timey scarlet woman, like a bitch in heat. Ain’t nobody puts any value on something they can get for free. Am I right or am I right?”

“Aaaah… AAAH… you’re RIGHT BABES! YOU’RE RIGHT!”

“And what are you, sweetcheeks?”

“I’M A SLUT! I’M BITCH IN HEEEEEEAAAAAT!”

“And what can you do to stop me?”

“OOOH…OOOOOH…OOOOOOOHHHH!!!!!”

With one final gush and an orgasmic thrashing in her hips, the Golden Goose came all over the marble floor of the SUV. Tex kept her going for a full minute, never releasing the pressure on her swollen nub while she gyrated and groaned and squirted a mix of his semen and her own moisture into the expanding pool at their feet.

Tex lifted her gently and carried her to the door. He chuckled as he felt the heroine nuzzle and mumble dazed, worshipping kisses into the broad rugged mass of his silver-haired chest. As he descended from the Dodge Ram, A couple of the DOGS jumped to attention as they saw their boss’ gnarled nude body on display, and Tex waved them away.

Striding back to the gaping black mouth of Carbuncle Row, Tex found a soft-looking stack of bin bags and dropped The Golden Goose into them. Landing with a squeak, the heroine turned wide blue eyes on Tex from the pile of refuse as he retired to his white command vehicle.

“So long, Golden Goose.” Waved Tex, his spurs jingling as the DOGS fell in behind him and remounted their own vehicles. “I guess I know where to find you if I want you.”

“I guess you do…” sighed the Golden Goose wistfully, watching him go.

Part 5: The Specials

The Danderville Oil motorcade roared back to life, engines burning through gallons of fuel in seconds. The tightly packed Jeeps bumped and crunched into each other in first gear as they all repositioned themselves to allow Tex Danderville to get back out of his Dodge Ram a hundred yards down the road at the Gruntham Palace Hotel.

The Golden Goose was sore, emotionally and physically. The white lace of her maid’s uniform was now completely soiled with mercenary cum and food waste, the torn skirt and bodice hid none of her sensitive spots yet the reeking ensemble remained locked in place around her soft midsection.

“You rotten bitch, Karen”, she grumbled, pulling at the wire cage and trying to get some blood moving back down her body. “Truss me up like a Sunday roast and leave it to a feeble old bloke like Big Daddy to get me off…”

“Golden Goose? Are you quite alright?” said a refined voice from behind. The heroine turned unsteadily.

In front of her stood a tall brunette wearing a blue mask and carrying a Waitrose Bag for Life. She had squeezed her ripe, voluptuous body, softening with middle age, into blue lingerie festooned with ribbons and bows. Already taller than Gruntham’s premier heroine, the mature brunette stood got an extra five inches out of her high-heeled pumps which she wore at the end of shapely long legs sheathed in blue stockings.

The Golden Goose gaped and tried to remember where she had seen this strange woman’s matronly body before, but drew a blank.

“You’re a bit of alright, aren’t you?” she said. “But who the hell are you?”

“You can call me True Blue”, said True Blue. “I’m… a close friend of Mayor Lola Muirhead. She thought you might need some help.”

“What kind of help are you offering, babes?” said the Golden Goose.

From her bag, True Blue pulled out a set of bolt cutters.

“Hold still”, said the Brunette, “And let’s get some of your dignity back.”

As True Blue cut through the wire cage which had trapped the Golden Goose in the maid’s uniform all night, the heroine was finally able to suck in a decent lungful of air and gently rub the vicious red welts which had dug deep into her silky orange flesh.

The soiled rags of the uniform fell away and the Golden Goose stretched, allowing her soft round gut and trembling knockers to swing free and unrestrained. True Blue bit her lip as she watched the rotund heroine flex and jiggle freely for the first time that evening. The brunette’s fingers delicately tugged at the lacy ridge of her brassiere as she watched the naked blonde enjoy her freedom.

Turning, the Golden Goose seized True Blue in a joyful hug, squashing their silky breasts together and sending a shivering thrill through both their bodies.

“You’re a legend for this.” said the Golden Goose, gazing up fondly at the brunette. “But what are you doing helping me? Not sure if you’ve noticed but my reputation around here is a pretty mixed bag.”

“I’ve been so impressed…” said True Blue. “With what you do for this community. And I’m rather worried myself, you see. My… Jerry… I mean… er, Lola’s husband… I’m afraid he’s put the town in terrible danger.”

The Golden Goose bit her lip and pondered as she and True Blue continued to squirm gently in each other’s embrace.

“I think he has as well.” She said. “I heard a lot of stuff this evening about seismic activity and cracks in the earth. The sort of thing you’d normally put in a police report about gross negligence.”

“Someone’s got to do something.” Said True Blue, clutching the blonde tighter. “There’s already so much corruption about these days.”

“Don’t I know it.” Said the Golden Goose. “We’re already past midnight… if the Cruisers or the Relentless Boys find us here...” The blonde thoughtfully rubbed her hand over the swell of True Blue’s round, pale bottom, “naked and helpless… they’ll take us without a second thought…”

For a few minutes the two heroines gently explored one another’s buxom bodies, gasping and moaning as they each imagined what Gruntham-on-Sleet’s drug gangs would do to them. The Golden Goose tenderly kissed each of True Blue’ heavy, sagging breasts as the older heroine whimpered and sank her fingers into the blonde’s tawny love handles.

Reluctantly, True Blue pulled away and rummaged once again in her bag.

“You need to get dressed before you catch your death, Goose”, said the brunette, reaching into one of her bags for life and pulling out a few tiny scraps of gold lamé held together by some extremely precarious straps. “I found that ghastly newspaper editor, Karen Roth, sniffing this in the ladies’ restroom earlier.”

The Golden Goose’s pink lips gaped open.

“This is one of my costumes!” she said “From about… three sizes ago. How did she…”

“God knows”, said True Blue. “Strutting around stark naked, she was. “Appalling woman. I don’t know what Jerry sees in her.”

“Apart from those legs of hers”, said the Golden Goose, shrugging on the spaghetti scraps of her skimpy bra.

“And that flawless porcelain skin.” Said True Blue.

“And those sweet little boobs”, said the Golden Goose, carefully stretching two triangles of golden fabric over her own majestic mammaries. “Like a couple of fresh lychees. Give me a hand here, Blue.”

Placing a knee in the Golden Goose’s back, True Blue wrestled gravity for control of the heroine’s breasts.

The struggle continued for some time as dawn stroked her rosy fingers across the sullen Gruntham sky. Morning found the Golden Goose and True Blue still struggling to fit the tight ring of a golden, feather-trimmed thong over the blonde’s cellulite-dappled upper thighs.

In a final heroic effort, True Blue seized the spaghetti-thin straps with both hands. With the crackle of dying elastic, the brunette hauled the tiny undergarment up over the blonde’s plump hips and deep into the cleft of her quivering buttocks.

“You are getting awfully round, Goose.” Said True Blue, patting the Golden Goose’s plump posterior.

“Oh babes, I know…” murmured the Golden Goose, biting her lip “And with the DOGS on the street now too I’ll have twice as many cocks to suck…”

“A problem shared is a problem halved”, said True Blue. “I can’t let you face the forces of darkness alone.”

“So we’re officially working together then?” asked the Golden Goose with a toothy grin. “Fucking brilliant. I’ve always thought about training up a sidekick.”

“Training up?” said True Blue indignantly. “Your generation hardly invented sex, my dear. I daresay I could…”

The tension was broken by a wet sound from further down Carbuncle Row as Toothless Terry coughed himself back down from the astral plane.

“Alright then, Blue,” said the Golden Goose, slipping a pink fingernail down the front of the mature brunette’s knickers to wind into the well-conditioned bush beneath. “Why don’t we put your mouth where your mouth is. We’ve got a wounded man in that skip who needs his heart starting back up with a nice wet orgasm. Think you can manage it?”

True Blue grasped and wriggled her hips in surprise, but did nothing to resist the Golden Goose as she felt desire and warmth flood into her loins along with the heroine’s probing finger.

“I’d… I’d be honoured,” panted the brunette.

The Golden Goose, finger deep in True Blue’s slippery vulva, led her into the alleyway.

“Welcome to the Sleetside Specials, Blue”, said the Golden Goose. “Going where the old-time coppers fear to tread”.

To Be Continued…

Footnotes

*Note for American audiences: in this context, “skip” translates as dumpster. This is not to be confused with “skip” when it refers to an authority figure – in this context it is short for “skipper”.

**RAL 8001, “Rio Cappuccino”

***Cockney Rhyming Slang: Septic tanks = yanks.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fantasy fiction for entertainment purposes only. The author does not condone violence against women, drug dealing, or organised crime.

All characters, events, and locations depicted (apart from HM United Kingdom which is, at time of writing, a real place) are entirely fictional, original creations by the author, FermiRefuted. If you enjoy this work, I’d love to hear from you at FermiRefuted@hotmail.com.