The Escort

By Harry Gardiner

Terry Young is a London criminal working for a vicious West London crime gang who run their part of the capital with an iron fist. He is tempted to start his own crooked venture but falls afoul of the gang when he is responsible for the jailing of the oldest gangs son, who on this occasion is totally innocent of the charges against him.

Terry is forced to flee abroad and, when his English bank accounts are frozen, works as an escort, where his physical attributes are valuable. But his pursuers are never far behind, and a top assassin soon finds his hiding place. He escapes from an attempt on his life and decides to confront his formidable enemies back in London.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496985040

Harry Gardiner

Harry Gardiner has been a London Detective Inspector and a private detective.He has also run pubs and discotheques in Scotland, Spain and Germany, before starting a career as a writer.

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© 2014 Harry Gardiner. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/26/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8503-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8504-0 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

A s soon as I saw the familiar flashings lights and heard the thumping noise from the giant base speakers, I wanted to turn back, but the latest one had flown home three days ago and the need to find a replacement drove me on into the flickering darkness. I carefully threaded my way through the crowd lining the long bar until reaching the small gap at the far end. Most tourists unfamiliar with the Cafe Benidorm congregated near the entrance and waited impatiently until one of the harassed Spanish barmen found time to take their order.

Those in the know, the locals and expats, came to the far end of the bar, some of which was reserved for waiter service. The elderly barmen in charge of this part of the chaotic bar scene was under less pressure and usually found time to attend to the regulars quickly. He gave me a friendly smile and immediately handed me a cool bottle of San Miguel.

Grab-a-Granny. The in-place on the Costa Blanca to pick up a member of the opposite sex. I placed my cigarettes and lighter close to the bottle of beer on the counter and carefully surveyed the evening’s crowd.

Several of the gigolos were in attendance. Most were Spanish but the expat population of the Costa Blanca was also represented. I could see Jim, the small Ulsterman, heading for the dance floor with a large overweight woman, whose bulging behind wobbled alarmingly as she dragged her prey along behind her.

Paco, the handsome Spaniard with the velvet voice, nodded to me when our eyes met. Although we were in direct competition for the available females, there was no animosity between us; there were enough fish in this particular sea to sustain us all.

While studying the dance floor which contained several suitable ladies swaying to the loud music, I was suddenly interrupted by a quiet female voice almost in my ear.

Have you got a light, please?

I automatically tried to place the accent. Was it Yorkshire? Perhaps from the south - Barnsley? No, it had to be further north, maybe Leeds or Bradford. During my four-month stay in Benidorm, ever since my enforced exile from my native London, I had become quite adept at placing regional accents. I tended to avoid London accents, just in case. There were some people back home who would like to know my present whereabouts, and these were not particularly pleasant people, in fact they were unpleasant enough to have placed a large bounty on my head. I would have to continue being careful.

I studied her face as I held out the cigarette lighter. It had once been pretty but time had taken its toll. Still, the lips were full and the eyes reasonably clear. The hair was a short auburn with ginger tips. The small earrings looked real and the mouth was not unduly lined.

Her close proximity to my position and the fact that I was several inches taller than her, made it difficult to observe the rest of her. When an impatient customer pushed his way nearer to the bar, she was lightly propelled against me. I could feel the swell of soft breasts and smelled her strong perfume. At the same time I felt slightly ridiculous when I realised that this light encounter with a stranger had caused me to have an erection.

I moved to one side and asked, Are you on holiday?

Yeah.

The voice was friendly and I knew that the game was on.

I said, How long are you here for?

Only a week. We arrived three days ago.

We. That could be bad news. Maybe the husband, a six-foot wide Yorkshire man, was about to join us.

Where’s your husband then?

In a cemetery in Leeds. He’s been dead for two years. I’m here with my daughter.

My mood improved immediately. The top of her head was in line with my chin and another thirsty customer pushed us together again. The short hair was soft and smelled as though she had used a proper shampoo. Not like that lady from Cumberland who used foul-smelling washing up liquid.

I kept close to her and said, Are you enjoying your holiday?

Not bad.

In typical Yorkshire fashion, she didn’t have much to say, but nor did she move away from our close position. Her last remark could have meant that she had already found someone; she had come to the right place after all. But I still had my hard-on.

I asked, Where do you come from?

The game ran its usual course and she accepted my invitation to dance. I watched her trim figure when I followed her to the dance floor. She actually had a waist, a quality lacking in many of the visitors to this hot spot on the Costa, especially those of a certain age. I guessed that my companion had reached her half-century fairly recently. Unfortunately the local anthem started playing when we reached the dance floor. Most of the dancers immediately raised their hands above their heads, even though only the first few bars of the introductory music started playing.

´Simply the best. Better than all the rest’.

It pleased me that she had better taste than to join in and hastily dropped my half-raised arms. After the briefest attempt at on the spot dancing, she smiled gratefully when I took her in my arms and tried some proper dance steps among the chaos all around. She seemed a perfect fit for my bulky frame.

Unfortunately my interest started to wander when I spotted Jim, the Ulsterman, only a short distance away from us. He was gyrating in front of his huge companion and both were enthusiastically waving their hands above their heads. The large woman was smiling happily and didn’t take her eyes from Jim’s groin region. She was smiling because she had found her unexpected prize. The Ulsterman had the biggest cock in Benidorm. If he ever lined up his lunchbox against Linford Christie, the female population of the country would undoubtedly vote the Irishman sportsman of the year.

I whispered in my dancing partner’s ear.

What’s your name? I had forgotten to ask earlier and was surprised at my un-gentlemanly conduct. Still, there had been many nameless ones, did it really matter? Maybe this one would be different. I could not help but push my growing erection against her, and her tightening grip around my waist seemed to indicate that she didn’t mind.

After pushing our way around the dance floor to the Tina Turner song, the DJ decided that his largely middle-aged audience shared his taste in rap music and we left to go to the quieter club next door. This one had a floorshow of reasonable quality and the higher prices kept the lager-swilling idiots away. It was just possible to walk to a corner table without falling over pushchairs containing sleeping or crying babies.

Jean, the widow, did hail from Leeds. She had come to Benidorm with her married daughter for a short holiday, as both women wanted a break from unhappy relationships back home. The usual story. I made the obligatory sympathetic noises before asking Jean to come back to my apartment for a drink. She declined, but invited me back to her hotel for a nightcap.

I had arrived in Benidorm four months previously, calculating that those people from London would not look for me here. They would have expected me to flee to the Costa del Sol, Majorca, Tenerife or one of the other destinations chosen by Londoners for their holidays, including those who went on permanent ones. Londoners did not come to Benidorm, this was a place for Northerners. The British bars were owned by people from Newcastle, Bradford, Blackpool, Glasgow and some from Cardiff, but not from London. I felt safe among all the strangers in this vast holiday resort, the biggest and brashest in the world. But I was always careful.

Jean’s hotel was the large Los Pelicanos, in the Rincoln de Loix part of Benidorm. It was massive, functional and forever full of British tourists. At nearly four in the morning, we were sitting on the small balcony of her tenth floor hotel room, overlooking the two swimming pools. The June weather was already hitting late summer temperatures.

Her voice was quite slurred, which did not surprise me after watching her drink at least four giant measures of Bacardi since our arrival at the hotel.

Do you know that little Irishman who said hallo to you as we left Cafe Benidorm? As well as slurring badly, her head was now nodding from side to side in that funny way of drunks.

I said, He’s one of the regulars. I’ve spoken to him a few times.

She leaned forward unsteadily. Can I ask you a question? Is that a toilet roll he’s got stuffed down the front of his trousers?

I started laughing and nearly dropped the tall glass of almost neat Bacardi. No, it’s real. It’s enormous. On a drunken night a few weeks ago, one of the Spaniards challenged him, and he had a reputation for having a big dick. I was there to watch it. The Spaniard bet 20 Mil on himself, that’s nearly a hundred Pounds, and some of his mates were taking side bets. I was a bit pissed so I put a hundred Pounds on Jim.

Did you win? She was leaning forward, listening intently.

I sure did. The Spaniard started off by putting his cock on the table. It was big all right, but not that big. I even fancied myself against him but that was because of the beer I’d had. Anyway, when Paddy put his monster on the table, there was no need for tape measures or judges. The Spaniards paid up without any argument.

Although the balcony was in darkness, I thought I could see her licking her lips. I leaned over and touched her arm.

Shall we go into the bedroom, your daughter will be home shortly.

She laughed drunkenly. No, she found another Spanish waiter earlier on tonight. It’s her third one since we arrived. She added, with surprising spite in her voice, The lucky cow.

This had to be my cue. I stood up, lifted her into my arms and whispered, Your luck’s about to change.

Her little tongue was deep inside my mouth as I carried her the few steps into the hotel room behind us. I sat her down on the nearest single bed and she suddenly put both her hands on my trouser belt and was furiously trying to undo it. I tried to help her but her impatient hands kept pushing mine away. But eventually we succeeded and my trousers fell to the floor. I had copied the Spanish habit of not bothering with underpants in the hot weather.

Jean sighed and managed to say, Are you sure you couldn’t have beaten that little Paddy, before her mouth closed around my straining cock.

The compliment increased my feelings of fondness towards this small lady from Leeds, who was now showing me her considerable expertise. She had one hand on the shaft and another cupping my balls, and both were moving in perfect rhythm with her frantic mouth.

I was mesmerised by the ginger tips on her short hair; they seemed to glow in the semi-darkness of the hotel room, but the movement was making me dizzy. I also knew that climax was very near and wanted to prolong the pleasure.

I gently lifted her head and disengaged her mouth and hands, much to her annoyance. But when I stepped out of my crumpled trousers and unbuttoned my shirt, she was suddenly removing skirt, top, bra and knickers as though she was in a race. Then the small white body was reclining on the bed and she was looking up at me expectantly.

Come on big boy. Fuck me hard. The quiet voice from earlier had become much louder and now had a pronounced Yorkshire accent.

It took a supreme effort not to immediately accede to the lady’s request, but for some reason I suddenly wanted to tease my companion first. I knelt on the edge of the bed and slowly put my head between her legs. Her fanny was swollen and hot, with only a sparse bush and a delightfully small clitoris. I licked her gently and felt a shudder running through the tiny body.

She started moaning when I continued to probe the tight hole with my lips and tongue. Both her hands were now on my head, gripping and pulling my hair. But I had to stop when she went into mad convulsions and started pulling my ears.

Her legs were so wide apart that it looked as though she was doing the splits. I moved my bulk until I was on top of her and my cock needed no further guidance from either of us. It quite naturally inched into an extremely tight hole. Suddenly both her legs clamped themselves around my waist and we immediately found a frantic rhythm.

But for some reason I was still able to avoid climax and found myself slowly withdrawing from her frenzied grip.

Keep it in. Keep it in. She was trying to force me back into her vice-like embrace but I was too strong for her.

When I finally managed to withdraw my cock, I knew that I was close. I whispered hoarsely, Turn over.

She immediately understood and moments later she was kneeling in front of me exposing a very trim and white backside for my attention. When I pushed my raging cock into her from behind and watched the little white cheeks twitch when I hit bottom, it was all over, there and then.

I no longer wanted to tease her, I no longer wanted to delay my climax, and I just wanted to shove my steaming hot dick into that tight little arse until it burst.

The first cigarette after sex is always the most pleasing one and probably the sole reason why I have never managed to stop smoking entirely, but I hadn’t even half-smoked this one when Jean’s hand was back on my cock. We were cuddled up on the small bed and my breathing hadn’t even returned to normal.

Her voice was urgent as she whispered in my ear.

I would like you to fuck my arse this time. I really like it that way.

My rapidly rising cock signalled that at least he would not refuse a lady in such obvious need. Jean had already got up from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom from which she emerged seconds later clutching a large bottle of sun tan lotion.

We’ll have to use this, she said. It’s coconut oil, factor 15.

Unfortunately her words sent me into a giggling fit, even as I watched her crouching over the edge of the bed on all fours, furiously trying to apply the oil in the appropriate place. A lot of it was dripping on to the bedclothes and on to the floor.

She handed me the bottle and hissed, Stop laughing and put it on yourself. You’ll have to start off slowly with that big cock of yours.

My hilarity stopped when I kneeled on the bed behind her. My cock seemed to swell to even larger proportions when I smeared the coconut oil all over it. Her small bum was already covered in oil but I applied some more, and knew that I would never be able to penetrate that tiny hole no matter how much factor 15 was splashed on to it. It barely took my index finger.

But try I did. My cock seemed bigger than her entire arse. Yet somehow it slipped into her fanny and she started rocking immediately. But suddenly she stopped.

The voice was hoarse and urgent

You promised, I want it up the arse.

I edged the head of the well-oiled monster up to the entrance of the tight little hole and pushed, slowly and without much hope of success. I sensed that she was pushing herself against me in an effort to help the process.

Then, to my utter amazement, and extreme pleasure, the head of my cock suddenly slipped into the tightest hole it had ever visited. It took a long time but more and more of my cock eventually bored into the little arse in front of me.

This time she wasn’t moaning, she was shouting at the top of her voice. I joined in and we shouted obscenities at each other while I rode her mercilessly. She became almost doubled over and our hands were slipping all over each other’s bodies.

At some stage I suddenly came to my senses when I felt a small hand caressing my arse and looked down to see that my partner was gripping a pillow with both hands. I half turned with shock and surprise and found myself looking into the face of a young, tousle-haired blonde woman, who was only inches away and suddenly planted a wet kiss on my surprised lips.

I responded automatically, and reached a shuddering climax immediately. My cock was gripped in a tight vice and I was savouring the darting tongue of a young stranger at the same time. Jean was oblivious to the drama behind her and continued to shout obscenities of the vilest nature.

When some sort of sanity returned and I was able to disentangle myself at both ends, I fled to the toilet where I sat on the bidet and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. It was perhaps the most enjoyable one I had ever smoked, especially once I had regulated the running water to provide much needed relief at the right temperature to the right place.

I smoked another cigarette before returning to the adjoining bedroom, wondering what would await me there. Luckily the lights were still off and in the semi-darkness I could see that both women were in the room’s twin beds, with the bedcovers drawn up to their chins. I was measuring the distance to the door, when Jean spoke.

This is my daughter Belinda. There was absolutely no embarrassment in her voice. I believe you have already met.

I didn’t know what to say or do and just stood there in the faint light feeling foolish. Jean came to my rescue.

We are very open with each other. Don’t just stand there looking silly, come into bed with me. Mind you, I can’t do anything else, I am well and truly fucked.

I should have got dressed and left quickly, but something stopped me. It could have been the slow smile on Belinda’s face and the memory of our kiss under such strange circumstances only minutes earlier, but I wordlessly climbed into Jean’s bed. She turned her back to me and seemed to fall asleep immediately.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but for some ridiculous reason the strong smell of coconut oil and an ubelievable hard-on kept me awake. Suddenly I heard Belinda’s voice in the darkness.

I’m going on to the balcony for a smoke. Care to join me?

It wasn’t easy to climb out of the small bed with an uncomfortable erection and my trousers were nowhere to be seen. Luckily I had stepped on to one of the small and inadequate bath towels and I half tied the object to my waist before heading for the balcony. Belinda was just in front of me and when she stepped into the extra light on the outside terrace, I could see that she was stark naked. She had her mother’s trim figure, but it looked much firmer.

Almost immediately I bumped my big toe against the metal bed frame and nearly crashed to the floor in pain. I gritted my teeth and limped on to the balcony. Belinda was standing at the edge of the terrace and looked at me with concerned eyes.

She whispered, What have you done?

I limped over and sat on one of the two plastic chairs on the balcony, rubbing my big toe in the process. I couldn’t speak with the pain and just pointed at my throbbing toe. The young girl came over to me and knelt in front of me.

Here, let me.

She lifted my foot gently and immediately started to suck my injured toe. As well as soothing the pain, it also provided me with the most erotic sensation. The small cloth around my waist couldn’t contain a sudden gigantic erection and I just managed to stop the towel from slipping on to the floor.

The plastic chair had started to wobble dangerously because of my sudden movement and Belinda lifted her head briefly to mutter, Be careful, before resuming her task. I held the towel in place with one hand but couldn’t resist reaching down with my free one. I fondled both of the young woman’s breasts in turn and they were indeed much firmer than her mother’s, with rock-hard nipples.

My fondling seemed to disrupt the daughter because she suddenly stood up and without much ado took the towel from my grasp and threw it on to the floor. Then she climbed on to my lap, facing me, and my still well-oiled cock immediately found its target.

I had had experience with flimsy Spanish terrace chairs before and wanted to say something, but a wet and eager tongue was in my mouth and I couldn’t speak. The young woman wasn’t as tight as her mother but moved twice as fast. Above the squelching noises from our frantic riding session, I could hear alarming noises from the plastic chair but it was all too late.

The thin plastic disintegrated beneath us and we went crashing on to the stone floor of the balcony. When we were both still laughing and fucking a few moments later, I realised that neither of us had suffered any damage from the chair’s demise. We carried on among the debris until our laughing and giggling turned into moans of animal pleasure.

I thought I could see Jean’s naked figure silhouetted against the balcony door, but the time for stopping had long passed. I grasped the tight buttocks of the young woman above me and pushed into her with all my might.

Chapter Two

E very time I waved goodbye to a woman as she walked into the departure lounge at Alicante airport, I became incredibly sad and severely homesick. This time I was waving goodbye to two of them; Jean and her daughter, Belinda, the two ladies from Leeds who had brightened my life for the past three days. After the mishap on the balcony of their hotel, Jean moved into my apartment for the remainder of her holiday, leaving her daughter to pursue yet more Spanish waiters of whom there was no shortage in Benidorm. When she moved in with a small plastic bag containing her possessions, I was pleased to see that the bottle of coconut oil, factor 15, was among them.

I had already potted Paco, the Spanish gigolo with the velvet voice, among the crowd at