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It was morning. She stretched like a cat, pushing aside covers that were musky and sweet from the night before. Her blond hair fell about her as she rose, rippling down her spine like platinum snakes of tangled silk. She padded to the kitchen, yawning wide, tawny skin bare and beautiful without a thread of clothing to cover her. At the kitchen table Max sat, nude in the summer air, his french blue eyes scanning the newspaper spread before him. Delia's hand smoothed over his shoulder as she passed, headed for the ancient coffee pot that sang on the stove. She poured them both a cup, hers thick and sweet with cream, his black as his byzantine curls. They sat together and looked across the table at each other. Something good and dirty flashed between their eyes, a spark of igniting fire over the rims of their mugs. “When does your husband come home?” Max asked. “Not until this evening,” she answered. In one smooth motion he rose, reaching for her as she left her chair and dove into. "So many tits," he said. "I'm spoilt for choice. The older women or the daughters. Ah, difficult decisions. Ella you come here."I pulled her up and pushed her towards Clegg. The girl joined the three others beside Freddie. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and pushed her to her knees. Without pausing he wrenched away the tape that gagged her and pulled out the wad of cloth that filled her mouth. "Stay quiet," he warned, pushing the barrel of his gun between her lips. "Now what you're going to do for me is to see if we can't get Aunty Carol's tits to perk up a bit. You're going to kiss and nuzzle at them and see if Aunty Carol likes that." Ella gave a choked grunt of objection. Freddie thumbed back the hammer on the gun. Ella gave a muffled squeal. Alice tried to struggle away from Clegg. He grinned at their ineffectual protests, pulled the pistol barrel from Ella's mouth and jerked his hand back, catching Alice full in the face with the back of his hand with the weight of the.
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