Joyce stood at the bed in the brightly-lit suite in the grand Dorchester Hotel, arms above her head, twirling twice as she enjoyed Winston's manly hands gliding over her hips, buttocks, and breasts. He was seated on the bed, trying to still her as she laughed teasingly. Clutching his brandy snifter with one hand, he pulled her close so that her arse nestled into his lap. As the fingers of his free hand began to cup her breasts and glide over her hips neatly wrapped in her slip dress, she wiggled into him and attempted to bounce, half her dress slipping down her shoulder to fully expose the satiny underthings beneath it.

“You have done this before, have you?” she asked as Winston slipped the other half of her dress off the other shoulder while taking a sip of his brandy. “Removing a lady's dress with only one hand?”

“A lady?” He pushed her away, mocking a disgruntled expression. “I must apologise, as I rather intended to get my hands on a trollop for the night, not a lady. A tramp, a woman of ill repute. Shall I see you out?”

“No, it is I who must apologise,” she replied in a comically dramatic tone. “A lady? Whatever was I thinking?” She grabbed his hands and held them to her bosom. “These are the tits of a trollop, and my repute is quite ill, I can assure you!” She flashed a cheeky smile.

“Ah, then we are both in the right place!” He gave her backside a smack, and pulled the shoulders of her dress down further, firmly, catching her wrists so that her arms we pinned to her sides. He admired the lacy cups of her lingerie, covering one with a hand. He quickly stood and spun her so that her arse was to the bed, and sent her backward with a push. Draining the rest of the liquid from his snifter, Winston dropped the empty vessel to the rug at his feet, watching Joyce stretch out seductively.

As he bent over her to pull her dress down, she gave the brim of his homburg hat a flick, sending it to the floor. “Can't make love properly with that in the way, can you?” she teased, letting her tongue out, wiggling and licking it lewdly at him.

“Trollops don't get made love to,” Winston replied, pulling her dress the rest of the way off. “Trollops get fucked. But not till they get a good tongue-lashing!”

Joyce spread her legs and laughed, the lace demi cups of her bustier and gusset of her tiny knickers barely covering her naughtiest bits. “My mistake again. Seems as I am having quite some difficulty shedding my proper upbringing.” He stood and shrugged his coat off while she scooted back on the bed, kicking the heels of her shoes against each other to dislodge them. His starched shirt had buttons, but she didn't use more than the top two. After loosening his tie, she pulled the whole thing up over his head in one swoop.

Climbing onto the bed between her legs, he leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth, hard. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth as their tongues engaged sloppily. His hand went to her breast, pulling down the lace to expose the fleshy globe for a moment. He pulled the strap off her shoulder and down, giving him better access to grope her aggressively.

She held his face still with her palms against his cheeks, grabbing the waxed ends of his prominent moustache between her fingers, licking his upper lip and tasting the brandy that had wet his whiskers. Her nipple twinged with pain at his pinches, but instead of recoiling, she reciprocated, giving his facial hair a strong double tug that made the corners of his mouth burn.

Down came the other strap and cup of her garment, and down went his mouth to attend to her nipples. Tongue and lips circled and sucked and bathed her areolae. Soon, teeth tugged at the stiff nipples. He growled as she moaned and squealed, neither having any intention of suppressing their animal lusts.

Winston wasted no time giving his tramp the aforementioned tongue-lashing. He knelt on the floor between her feet, hooking his fingers inside the elastic of her silky knickers, and gave them a tug, pulling them down her long, smooth legs.

“What have we here?” Winston smiled as he flung her undergarment aside. “Have you been taking a razor to your nether regions?” He stood to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers, watching the giggling Joyce wiggle further up the bed, legs open, caressing her mound and spreading her hairless labia apart.

“I was feeling quite naughty when I knew I was going to be having you this evening. I thought the only hair I would like to see on my quim tonight would be your gorgeous moustache!”

Lying on the bed between her legs, trousers around his shoes as his feet hung off the bed, Winston lowered his face to her cunt and planted dozens of kisses right on their lips in quick succession. As her hips gyrated and pushed forward, her moans and giggles increasing, he leaned in for firmer, deeper, longer kisses, his eyes not releasing hers. His tongue slithered forth, lapping at her slit and caressing her nether lips before snaking inside and probing deeply.

“You are going to make me climax before you even get to that trollop-fucking!” Joyce laughed, her hips coming off the bed, pushing against his moustached face.

“Don't mind if I do!” He crawled up an inch or two, attentive to the nub of her clitoris that had been unsheathed from its hood whilst he had been expertly sucking and digging with his lips and tongue.

Joyce's mouth uttered shocking un-ladylike language as she squirmed under his attack, finally uttering piercing unintelligible shrieks as her orgasm tore through her. Winston's lips, tongue, and tickling moustache slowed but didn't stop, continuing to pleasure her for more than a few moments after her peak.

Moving up her body, over the material of her lingerie, pausing to suckle her swollen exposed teats, he eventually arrived at her face. She grasped his hair and pressed her mouth into his.

Winston shouldn't have been surprised that she would accept, even pursue, the smell and taste of her own sex on his mouth, but these behaviours were still quite taboo even after having had the company of indecorous women such as Joyce in recent months.

“You are in quite a tangle there!” Joyce grabbed and pulled at his trousers that were bunched at his feet. After helping untie his shoes and removing his socks, she freed his trousers from his legs and stood in front of him. “Now these!” She grabbed at his boxer shorts, giving a tug that caught them on his solid erection. The next tug brought them down his legs, and she smiled and giggled at the engorged cock that was now bouncing below her face. “Mmm, that looks good enough to eat!”

Winston scooted back on the bed, grabbing his cock by the base and wiggling it at her. Whilst Joyce crawled up and fluttered her tongue and lips all over Winston's turgid member, he reached behind her to undo all the hooks of her bustier. When he pulled it out from under her and cast it aside, she proceeded to rub her soft breasts and hard nipples all over his head and shaft.

Whilst the hit American Jazz song All of Me wailed on the phonograph in the corner, they couldn't help but giggle at the parallel between Louis Armstrong blowing his trumpet and Joyce holding Winston's cock head to her lips. “Why don't I take All of You?” she paraphrased, taking him deeper into her lasciviously drooling mouth, swaying her arse to the rhythm.

Completely naked now and plenty worked up, Winston and Joyce rolled around on the bed, snogging for a minute. When she was on top, she sat still with his cock aligned with her slit before laughing and moving her hips and giving her tits a shake. When he was on top, her shoulder rested in a wet spot on the bed, which she found more arousing than repelling. They dry-humped each other when their legs were scissored. She even sunk her teeth into his bum cheek when he was turned away, face down for a moment.

“Ow, you cheeky tart!” Winston knelt facing her as she sat with her legs apart, his impressive erection pointing up at her naked body. She dipped her head and made a show of slobbering a large blob of spit onto his head and using her fingers to slowly coat his shaft. Using her spit as a lubricant, she squeezed the nails of one hand into his arse while wanking his cock.

Pushing Joyce backward, Winston mounted her, poising the tip of his cock at her hairless glistening slit for a teasing wait before pushing inside with a grunt. With a cacophony of “ooh”s and “ahh”s, the two fucked each other for a good two minutes, harder and harder, until he pulled out for them to switch positions.

Joyce straddled Winston's hips and fed his slick pecker back into her hole. She bounced so that her breasts flopped toward his face, leaning forward as he grabbed them. “Seems as dirty trollops don't just get fucked,” she grinned down at him. “We do the fucking too!”

Winston pulled out from under her, stuffing a pillow behind himself to recline against the headboard. “And a fine fucking you're giving me! Mount me backwards?”

“Ooo, you are a naughty one, aren't you?” Joyce backed up to him, pitched forward slightly to give him a good angle at which to re-enter her from behind. Of course, he teased by holding still for a few seconds as just the head of his cock penetrated her. Reaching for her gin and tonic on the bedside table, he took a sip, sneaking a piece of ice out as he did. Moments after pulling Joyce back and thrusting into her deeply, he held her tightly around the shoulders with one arm and clamped the ice directly onto her nipple with his other hand.

“Aiiyy,” Joyce yelped at the sensation of the ice. Her thrashing was in vain, though; Winston froze her teat almost until the ice melted, thrusting his cock deeply into her the whole time. He was able to draw one leg up underneath himself, then the other, without slipping out of her, so that he could push her forward onto all fours for a good proper shafting from behind. As he slowed, Joyce blurted out “Don't you stop!” Her fingers were making quick, firm circles on her clitoris, moments away from another climax.

After shrieking and slumping forward in a trembling mess on the bed, she slowly turned halfway over, smiling at her handsome partner. “Whew, I need a smoke.” From the bedside table, she retrieved her cigarette package, tapping one out and inserting it into her long cigarette holder. Striking a match, she paused before lighting the end, and instead decided to light one of the candles.

Winston was face-up on the bed again. Climbing up on him, she gave his cock a few wanks, making sure it was fully stiff before squishing the tip between her labia. She sunk down fully, taking his shaft all the way up her cunt again, then leaned over to retrieve the lit candle.

As Joyce grinned devilishly, Winston looked up at her with excitement. She held the cigarette holder in her mouth and tipped the candle for a light. It was no accident that wax from the candle dripped onto his chest, but he winced even though he was ready for it. She laughed as he ground her hips and took a few puffs.

After fucking for a minute, with another series of wax drips, Winston sat up. “We have to stop for a bit.”

“Too hot for you?” She blew smoke in his face.

“Your cunt is too hot for me. You don't want me shooting off already, do you?”

They sat mostly still for a minute as Winston sucked her breasts, Joyce giggling at the sensation of his moustache brushing her nipples. With her leaning back and puffing, it was his turn to drip candle wax onto her bare tits and stomach, making her squeal. The erotic sensation made her lose her focus, wrapping her legs around him and starting to pump her hips again.

Candle extinguished and cast aside, Winston wrapped Joyce tightly and drove into her. The two breathed heavily as their naked bodies collided, the smell of alcohol and sweat and smouldering tobacco mixing with the scent of her arousal.

Grunts and groans and gasps filled the air. Winston wasn't going to stop this time. He pushed Joyce back, popping to his knees between her legs and leaning over her as he pumped furiously. She lay back, arms outstretched, cigarette glowing in the holder lodged between her lips as she inhaled.

“You going to mess all over me?” she teased.

“That was the arrangement!” He held her hip with one hand and a breast with the other, his slimy cock stroking fully into and out of her as he held back his climax as long as he could.

Joyce removed the cigarette holder from her mouth. “Ah, yes, do it on me,” she groaned with a smoky exhale. “Make a mess on me!”

Winston withdrew, not even having to jerk himself off as he was ready to shoot. Holding his breath and grasping his rod firmly at the base so that it stood remarkably still, he discharged the first spurt of his ejaculation straight up Joyce's naked body, all the way to her neck. He let out his breath with more of a roar than a groan, several streaks of semen making quite a mess out of her chest and abdomen.

“Ooo, lovely!” Joyce giggled, her breasts jiggling with the glistening thick wetness between them. Some of the goop drained down into her navel and ran down her side as she scooted around so that her head was on the pillow at the head of the bed. Winston stood on shaky legs, offering his cock to her face at the bedside. She slurped and sucked as his penis deflated, tasting the residue that continued to ooze.

“You had a tasty orgasm,” Joyce declared, reaching to the bedside table again to tap the ash from her cigarette and consider the other accoutrements. The handcuffs and riding crop weren't her style, and she decided not to use the mask, as she had further plans for watching Winston's handsome moustache dance on her pubic mound. So, she just selected a curved replica phallus that looked like it was made of ivory. “I could use another.”

“You are insatiable!” Winston grabbed the sex toy while she downed the rest of her gin and tonic. As she puffed on the last of her cigarette, he wiggled the tip of the phallic object inside of her engorged, moist labia. He alternated screwing her with it and licking her vaginal opening, which was plenty exposed due to their recent shagging and her widely-spread legs.

“Yes, do it like that!” she moaned as he sucked hard on her clitoris. She stroked his moustache outwardly with her fingertips as he dug deeply with his tongue, upper lip firmly planted on her pubic mound. He turned the highball glass upside down on her breast, letting the remnants of the ice and liquid torture her skin. She yelped and wiggled as he inserted the phallus deep, twisting it, attacking her clitoris with his tongue one final time.

All the sensations brought Joyce to a climax once again, squealing as she convulsed. The sex toy in her cunt and the cold liquid running down her side accentuated the tingling in her swollen nub.

Winston snuffed out her cigarette for her, then used the holder to tease her nipples while her breathing returned to normal. After plenty more nipple kissing and tit sucking, the two sated sex partners snogged sloppily for another minute, groping and squeezing.

Climbing off the bed, they looked at their aftermath. The previous wet spot now had a twin, the slick ivory phallus and cigarette holder side by side between them. Dribbles of candle wax dotted the sheet. One pillow was wedged into the headboard, the others scattered to the floor. Joyce's lacy bustier was tangled with Winston's trousers at the foot of the bed. The smell of sex hung in the air, most likely wafting from their fingers and faces.

“You two were positively lecherous!” a husky female voice behind Joyce breathed into her ear.

She turned to face Candace, the older, very refined-looking woman, dressed elegantly and accompanied by Ming, a younger, solid, stout, well-dressed Oriental man an inch or two shorter than she. “Thank you, darling,” Joyce replied. “This one always makes me a bit...” she tweaked Winston's moustache. “Unrestrained.”

Candace held out one of her two full martini glasses, which Joyce accepted and began to sip.

Dora, a very buxom woman with long, curly, golden hair, had taken her place on the bed, leaning half backward and half sideways as young Miles already had his hands all over her bountiful tits and his lips all over hers. Henry, one of the staff, hurriedly cleared the cigarette holder and picked up the dildo with a handkerchief, before retrieving the scattered candle and pillows.

“Towel, Madame?” Dorothy, one of the other staff, held out a silver platter with several rolled-up hand towels in front of Joyce.

“Oh, thank you, yes!” She and Winston each selected a warm, damp towel and got busy wiping the mess off themselves.

Everyone in the room stood around to watch Miles give Dora a good shagging, cigarettes being passed around and gin and brandy flowing freely. Montgomery's erection had returned in force, as he and Lise were still nude and holding each other close; they were the ones who had warmed and tossed the bed and made the wet spot before Winston and Joyce had their turn. The Oriental lady, Shiu-Tze (Anglicised as “Susie” for the British who couldn't hope to pronounce her name properly), was the calm, quiet one, leaning into the Dutchman Johannes. Well, at least she was calm and quiet right then, but she had previously proved herself to be quite loud and animated when she had a cock in her, which was set to be the case in just a few minutes' time.

While Dora posed on all fours in front of Miles, facing away, he held the tip of his cock between her labia for the next photo. The cameraman's flash popped, at which time Miles was free to penetrate her fully. These were the two most likely to make use of the handcuffs and riding crop.

“My apologies for the wet spot, miss,” Monty told Joyce as the two clinked their glasses. “Lisa and I rather soiled it before you.”

“Lise,” the nude raven-haired woman scolded, correcting his pronunciation.

“Not to worry,” Joyce interjected. “We each have our turn at a fresh bed. I recall Johannes and I went first last week.”

• § • § • § • § • § •

The luxurious Rolls-Royce roared down the motorway South from London, speeding along at upwards of fifty miles per hour, Sir Yancy Blackmoor and his wife Kristina being chauffeured toward the coast. Opening the package he had retrieved from Oliver the photographer when he settled the bill at the Dorchester Hotel for the seventh-floor suite, he slid out the leather case. The couple perused the photographs taken just the night before and developed first thing in the morning.

“Ooo, this may be the best of the lot,” Kristina paused to glide her fingers over one that was strikingly sharp, with hardly the blur that detracted from some of the others. The handsome moustached man's head was thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, his stiff penis hovering over the woman's shaved vulva. “That's a lot!” Kristina purred, admiring the stream of ejaculate reaching up to the woman's chin between the erect nipples peaking her bare breasts.

“Oliver told me some of that is candle wax.”

“Still, quite a shot. Shots.” She put the photos away. “Candle wax, hmm? Kinky fuckers, this group.”

Sir Blackmoor leaned back, relaxing as much as he could for the bouncy ride whilst his wife lowered his zip to fish out his stiffening shaft, her way of showing her appreciation for his business acumen that provided her with a lavish lifestyle. He was the man of means, whose connections had facilitated quite a lucrative operation. With eyes and ears throughout the hospitality industry, he had happened upon a libertine group of employees at the newly-constructed luxury Dorchester Hotel. From housekeepers to managers to maintenance and service staff, the diverse group was keen to engage in sexual indulgences as a form of recreation. At his encouragement, they were enterprising enough to agree to have their venue paid for and earn a fair wage in exchange for having their escapades photographed. Sex sells, even in the midst of the economic depression following the crash of the stock market in America less than three years earlier.

Once in Berlin, this set would easily fetch enough money to pay the participants, finance the trip, and buy a few more drinks, dresses, and diamonds for his wife. Soon, this week's copies would be on their way to Paris and the Riviera, Amsterdam, Milan, and as far as New York and Los Angeles. Scores of men (maybe even some reprobate women, who knows?) with more money than morals would crowd smoky underground film houses to view prints and projections of the smut that clever purveyors had branded “erotic art.” And the Public Nudes – the photographs scheduled for the next week in the ballrooms, hallways, rooftops, balconies, and hopefully daring ones in the lobby of the distinguished Dorchester Hotel – would provide the variety that would keep them coming back, and paying, for more.