You Ought to See Her Box : Wank Wednesday

Wank Wednesday rolls around again and this time the prompt word is #box. For more info on Wank Wednesday check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook. You'll find links to all the stories there. And don't forget to let the writers know if you liked their story.

I owe the title of my story to the classic rude novelty song of the same name by Faye Richmonde.

You Ought to See Her Box

Clara Bow

"I'm going to gut her grandparents!" growled Greta looking straight into the eye of the television camera. "When I've finished with her, Brandy will not only wish she'd never been born, she'll wish she'd never been conceived."

"So this time it's personal?" queried the commentator with great seriousness.

"It's been personal since our first fight," Greta replied. "There's a certain level of respect that's expected towards one's opponent in this sport, and making rabbit ears behind my head while the press are snapping photos is simply against the code."

"Some are saying that your transition from Flyweight to Light Bantamweight has left you feeling cocky," the commentator informed her.

"I'm heavier than I was," she replied. "It's all muscle. That means I can do more damage. And, believe me, I intend to."

The interview was over. Greta acknowledge the applause and met me back stage.

"Gut her grandparents?" I queried.

"A little too Tysonesque, you think," she smiled cheekily.

Greta's been boxing professionally for four years. I've been a trainer for fifteen. I used to train male boxers, but Greta's been getting my full attention since she hit the big time last year.

I can't say my motives for working exclusively with Greta are professional. She's no "million dollar baby". But money isn't everything.

My life changed on May 17 last year. I was all padded up and Greta was slamming her gloved fists into my chest and belly. The slap of leather on leather echoed around the empty gym. It was past midnight.

Perhaps I should explain that I've always had a thing for athletic women. Something about firm muscles and sweat. I'd fancied Greta since I first met her, but so far our relationship had been professional.

Then she landed that killer right hook to my head. I had the helmet on, but it still knocked me off my feet. I fell hard onto the canvass. It had been a long night, and I didn't feel like getting up right away. I looked up through bleary eyes to see Greta counting me out.

"And Greta wins the Flyweight Championship of the World!" she cried gleefully.

"That's enough for tonight," I panted.

"I'm too much for you, aren't I?" she crowed.

Clara Bow

"Right now you are," I agreed.

"All the time I am," she teased, pulling off her gloves. And then, to my surprise, she turned around, pulled down her shorts and panties and waved her bare bum at me. The glaring lights of the gym reflected off of the rivulets of sweat that ran down over her pale but muscular buttocks.

"What do you think you're doing!?!" I cried.

"Don't worry," she replied. "Tomorrow I'll be back to being the good little fighter, but right now I'm sick of all that discipline and taking orders. And now that you are down on the canvas, like one of my loser bitch opponents, you can kiss my ass, coach!"

With that she squatted down and rubbed her sweaty butt-cheeks against my face. They were clammy with the cooling perspiration.

She didn't know what she did to me. This wasn't an attempt at seduction, but playful humiliation, but it was too much for me. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down over my face, thrusting my tongue deep into her hairy warm snatch.

"Fuck! You dirty dog!" she exclaimed, surprised but not displeased by this turn of events. "Suck my sweaty cunt! I deserve it after such a hard workout. And it looks like that isn't the only thing that's hard!"

Soon my shorts were down and my raging hard-on was sliding in and out of Greta's warm wet mouth.

It was a frenzied exchange between two individuals whose inhibitions had disappeared with the late hour, leaking away in the sweat of strenuous exercise.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," I moaned as my cum coated Greta's attentive tongue. And then her thighs twitched in a shivering orgasm of her own. After that we lay on the canvas for about an hour, talking tenderly, sometimes laughing, sometimes gently teasing each others satiated erogenous zones. Then we showered and went to our separate homes.

From that time onwards our training sessions took on a sexual tone. Greta would do her exercises - jumping rope, stretching, etc. - naked, while I watched and jacked off. This always made her laugh. And Greta could always earn sexual forfeits from me by performing well against me in the ring.

Busty Ellen

*          *          *

"I want you to throw the match," I told Greta on the evening before she was to take on her arch enemy Brandy.

"No way!" she insisted. "How can you even suggest such a thing!"

"You don't want to stay in this business too long," I explained to her. "You don't want to end up with brain damage and cauliflower ears."

"But what about my integrity?" she insisted. "What about my loyalty to my fans?"

"Your fans!?!" I exclaimed. "Why should you feel any loyalty to them? To them you're just a piece of meat. They don't care if you bleed. Boxing's a mug's game, unless you pull a scam and get out early. And losing this match could make you a lot of money. The odds are heavily in your favour."

"How can I let Brandy win?" she wanted to know.

"You'll be the winner. You'll  have the cash," I pointed out.

She wasn't easy to convince. I had to organise a movie marathon at her place - The Harder They Come with Humphrey Bogart, Raging Bull, Tyson and, finally, Million Dollar Baby. That was the deciding factor.

"I don't want to die for my sport," she mused, "even if it does lead to an Oscar-winning movie."

*          *          *

"In the red corner, weighing in at 114.3 pounds, we have Brandy Alexander! And in the blue corner, weighing in at 115.1 pounds we have Greta Good, the reigning champion!" the announcer yelled into his microphone.

"I want a good clean fight. No punching below the belt. No taking a dive for the quick cash before you end up a punch drunk has-been living on the streets," insisted the referee.

When the bell went off, Greta and Brandy leapt out and then began to dance forward and back looking to get in an opening blow. I'd told Greta to put up a good fight until the third round and then go down.

Brandy dove in close, her arm swinging out, her fist smacking hard into Greta's temple. Greta staggered back. The bell for the round went. She returned to her corner and I handed her her water bottle.

"Get in some blows," I told her, "but make sure they aren't too hard."

Greta really made her presence felt in the second round, but I could tell she was holding herself back. She could have beaten Brandy by now.

I sponged the sweat off of her face and sent her in for the decisive round.

And then it happened. Greta swung at Brandy and Brandy went down hard.

"I never even hit her!" Greta cried to me.

"Shut up!" I yelled. "Everyone can hear you."

"Did I do good?" Brandy was asking her couch, as the referee continued to count her out.

"Shut up!" yelled Brandy's coach. "Everyone can hear you."

"And the winner is Greta Good!" announced the referee.

Clara Bow

*          *          *

"The mob's not going to take kindly to this," I explained to Greta, when we got back to her changing room.

"There was nothing I could do," she insisted.

"I know. I know," I assured her. "But we are going to have to find some place to hide out."

"For the time being you can hide out at our gym," suggested Brandy, whom we turned to discover listening in the doorway. "They'll never look for you there."

"Why should you help us, you cunt?" asked Greta.

"I'm gonna need to hide, too," she pointed out, "once I get my money."

"My money you mean!" yelled Greta.

"We can sort that out later," Brandy insisted. "But at the moment it is obvious to everybody that the fight was fixed and we were all involved. So, if we hang around here, we won't be alive to spend the money."

*          *          *

"My coach did a runner with the money," explained Brandy when we arrived at the gym where she trained.

"I'm going to kick you in the cunt, you fuckin' bitch!" screamed Greta, making a dive for her.

"Now! Now! No fighting," I insisted, throwing myself between them.

"Get out of the way!" shrieked Greta. "I'm going to gargle with her gizzards! And I'm going to do it right now!"

I was facing Brandy, holding my arms out to protect her from the banshee that was Greta.

The next thing I knew my pants and underpants where around my ankles and Brandy was laughing at my exposed cock and balls.

"Fuck it!" I declared. "You two deserve each other." And so I stepped aside, taking care not to over-balance with my pants around my ankles.

They may have been pretending in the ring, but they weren't now. They went at each other like mad dogs, fangs bared, tearing at each other's clothing until they stood scratched and bleeding and stark naked. And then things changed.

It happened in an instant. Their mouths came together in a passionate kiss. Their hands began forcefully fondling each other's naked buttocks and each began rubbing her pussy against the other's thigh.

"That's better," I told them, slipping out of my own clothes. "You two make up and be friends." I came up close and began running my hands over their sweaty bodies as my cock stiffened and insinuated itself between their bellies.

"Who said you could join in?" asked Greta, pulling her lips away from Brandy's. Then she turned to her and added, "He's such a perv. He even jacks off while I do my workouts."

"What a dirty old man," Brandy replied, running her fingers up and down my stiff cock.

"I'm not that old," I pointed out.

"Certainly not old enough to know better," huffed Greta.

"O.K.," I said, putting on my referee's voice, "I want a good dirty lezzyfest. I want plenty of licking below the belt. A plethora of pussy gouging. And may the biggest slut win."

I wanked off as I watched them writhing away on the mat on the floor for a full hour, licking and fingering each other's pussies, and having multiple orgasms, before, finally, Brandy lost consciousness.

"And the winner is Greta!" I cried, holding her arm aloft with one hand and using the other to point my cock and cover her with a celebratory coating of jism.

The End

Boxing Gloves by Jason Glasser

Rude Health

Carolina from Girls Out West demonstrates some Pilates

"We can help you lose a few inches!" How often have we heard that? Almost as often as, "We can help you gain a few inches!"

Working out and getting fit is often presented as the way to make ourselves sexy. The only problem is that a lot of pain has to come before the gain. And there is something puritanistic about this mortification of the too too flabby flesh.

But perhaps the process might be sexy in itself. When Olivia Newton-John sang Let's Get Physical she was suggesting something more than what Richard Simmons has to offer. Gyms are places where men and women wear skimpy or tight-fitting clothing, moving their bodies around and sweating a lot. There can be something sexy in all this.

Then there is massage. Even when it isn't just a code word for the old rub and tug, it can still be a very sensual experience.

If you are attracted to your own sex, what better place than the communal showers at the gym to check them out?

And the supposed health benefits of nudism should not be forgotten. Lots and lots of Vitamin D from all that sun on skin exposure, plus endless games of volleyball.

Long before the establishment of Playboy in 1953, guys were jacking off to Health & Efficiency, the British nudist magazine founded in 1900. I'm not sure what the "Efficiency" bit refers to. Perhaps the fact that you can save so much time in the morning if you don't have to get dressed.

Television's Trinny and Susannah go nudist

Although getting fit is always on my "to do" list for tomorrow if not the day after, I have explored some of its sexy possibilities in a couple of my stories.

In Chapter Nine of my novel Vanessa's Island (soon to be available as an e-book), our would-be reclusive artist hero David reads aloud from a lesbian fantasy story written by his lover Vanessa :

At first it seemed a bit strange to be reading aloud a story written in the first person by a woman. But somehow, knowing that Vanessa had written the story, I found it a tremendous turn-on. It was as if I was not just possessing her body from the outside as I had already, but from the inside. When she played with her body or the bodies of other women in the story it was with my hands. When she saw them it was with my eyes.

"'I run a health club for women only'," I began. "'Alot of women would rather work-out away from the lustful eyes of men. What the women who frequent my establishment didn't know up until recently, is that they were still being lusted after as they worked out. Only by a woman. Me.

"'Oh, I've had boyfriends and lived a normal life. My passion for women was secret until recently, but it was the deciding factor in my career choice. The sight of women working out has always been a turn-on for me. Not that I like tight hardbodies, not at all. But most of the women who come to work out are not like that. They think they could afford to lose a few pounds. I like them just as they are. And in the showers I get to see every inch of them.

"'Of course, I used to have to be careful to make sure they didn't notice me looking at them. Now all that has changed. This is the story of how it happened.

"'It all began with Samantha. Samantha was five foot ten, a brunette, with the breasts and ass of a swimsuit model. Watching her work-out in her tightly stretched leotards got me so worked up that I often had to go and get changed in the middle of a session lest she or any of my other customers notice the wet patch forming in my crotch. They must have thought I suffered from some form of obssessive compulsive disorder, but it was better than letting them find out that I lusted after their bodies.

"'I remember the first day that Samantha joined our aerobics class. How my heart beat hard at the prospect of seeing her naked. I always showered with the clients. Under the shower no-one could tell how wet the sight of their naked bodies made me.

"'At last that first session ended and I followed Samantha into the shower room, my eyes rivetted to her gently rolling ass encased as it was in sweat-soaked lycra. Slowly she peeled of the lycra and I tried not to stare too obviously as her soft pale breasts with their small pink nipples sprang free. Then she pulled her leotard down further, having to wriggle to get it over the swelling, snow-white cheeks of her bottom.'

By this stage my stiff cock was crying out for some attention. I grabbed Vanessa's hand and pushed her soft palm against it.

"Hey," she cried, "there aren't any cocks in this story. This is girl's only."

"But I need it," I pleaded. "I need to use both hands to keep my place with the pages."

"Oh, all right," she agreed, slowly beginning to wank my stiff dick. "You can be hiding in the towel bin, sneaking peeks at us girlies in the shower and jerking yourself off. O.K. Just think how the towels that surround your naked, masturbating body were used to wipe off every part of our bodies, our boobs, our bottoms and particularly our sweet little pussies."

I couldn't hold out any longer. Pleasure coursed through my body as Vanessa's soft hand coaxed spurt after spurt of hot cum out of my cock. It splattered all over the front of her leotards.

"If you think I'm going to take off my leotards just because you've shot your load all over them, you've got another thing coming," Vanessa informed me with a pout. She wiped up some of my cum on her finger and then sucked on it playfully. "Now on with the story."

"'I could stand to loose a little bit off of my butt,' she laughed [that was Samantha, wasn't it], giving me an excuse to look.

"'Couldn't we all,' I replied, frustrated that I couldn't tell her what I really thought.

"'I quickly stripped off my own leotard and laid it down carefully in such a way that the sopping crotch was not visible. Then I joined the rest of the ladies in the shower. I was so tempted to take up a position next to Samantha, but I thought that if I did I might not be able to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her soft, wet, soapy skin.

The soapy bottom of Anna from Girls Out West

 "'One by one, the girls stepped out, dried themselves, got dressed and left. Samantha was one of the last to go. When I was alone, I did what I always did. I played with myself. I played back everything in my mind, especially Samantha stripping out of her sweaty leotard, while I slid two soapy fingers in and out of my juiced up pussy.

"'This routine continued for several weeks, until that fateful day when Samantha left her car keys in her locker.

"'On that day, as always, I stayed under the shower, after the others had gone, and imagined what I would like to do with Samantha. I imagined undressing her slowly from her sensible business suit, kissing her nipples, kissing her lips, the ones on her face and the ones between her legs. I imagined her in her leotards. How they stretched across that luscious ass.

"'As I fantasized I let my hands wander sensuously and soapily across my body. The fingers of one hand gently tweaked my hard nipples, while my other hand slid slowly down over my stomach and through my pubes into my waiting pussy. I slid one finger in on either side of my sensitive clit. I love that sensation. My fingers glided across my stiffening clit, while also giving me that satisfying sensation of being filled. Only it wasn't some guy's cock filling me, but Samantha's long and versatile tongue.

"'I felt that delicious warmth glowing in my belly as I slowly sank to my knees, feeling the spray of the shower carressing every inch of my skin. I had been dying to do this all the time I had been watching Samantha and the other girls work-out. I loved playing with myself. But if only I could play with them. Give them the pleasure I was giving myself.

"'"For this next exercise," I said, speaking aloud in the heat of my fantasy, "I want you all to strip naked for me, so that I can lick out your pussies one by one. You first, Samantha."

"'My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when Samantha's voice answered me casually.

"'"Sounds good to me," she said, and I looked up to see that she was standing there in her grey business suit watching me blatantly finger-fuck myself.'"

And in How Meggie Made Me Hard (one of the 13 stories contained in my e-book Inappropriate Behavior and Other Stories), Meggie decides to take on the role of personal trainer to an out of condition delivery man, but her motives are decidedly self-indulgent :

I was a bit of a slob until Meggie took me in hand. Took me in hand. There I go again, whenever I think about Meggie my mind turns to sex.

It all started when I delivered her exercise equipment. When I pushed the buzzer on the door it was answered by an attractive woman in her late 40’s with curly reddish brown hair and a sweet slightly shy smile. She was wearing a light blue summer dress.

“Bring it all in,” she said, seeing the truck and realising that her equipment had arrived. “I’ll show you where to put it.

Normally I get the smaller things to deliver as I’m not very fit. As I carried Meggie’s walking machine through the door I panted and wheezed.

“I can see you don’t keep yourself in shape,” Meggie commented patting me on my beer belly as I went past. I thought it was rather forward of her.

I brought in the excercise bike and the ab-roller, then I was finished.

It was a hot day and I was tired and sweaty. Meggie offered me a cold drink. I accepted.

“Pew! You stink,” she said, proving once more that tactfulness was not her stong suit. “You’d better have a shower before you go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I could do with freshening up a little.”

“Go ahead,” she replied, “the bathroom is that way.”

Once I got to the bathroom, I shut the door and stripped off my sweaty t-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off. When I was naked I turned on the shower and stepped in. Because it was such a hot day I left the water on lukewarm.

I was just enjoying the feel of the refreshing water running over my body and beginning to apply soap to me face, when the door opened. Quickly, I rinsed the soap off of my face. I mustn’t have been too thorough because my eyes stung as I opened them just in time to see Meggie opening the shower door.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked. “Can’t a guy have a bit of privacy?”

Meggie smiled so sweetly that I couldn’t help but forgive her instantly. “I just wanted to see if you were really as out of shape as you looked with your clothes on,” she explained.

She reached out her right hand and brought it up against my belly, just inches above the spot where my hands were clasped protectively over my cock.

“You could stand to lose a bit of that,” she said.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Now let me shower in peace.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Meggie chided me, pushing my hands gently away from my prick. “If I let you use my shower, the least you could do is give me a look at your cock. I like looking at guys’ cocks. Mmmmm, I don’t think you really mind me looking, otherwise it wouldn’t be swelling up like that.”

She was right. I loved the idea of having a sexy woman like herself looking at my nude body with undisguised lust. I had only tried to hide my cock in the first place because it seemed the polite thing to do. How was I to know that politeness was not high on Meggie’s list of priorities.

“I could really do something with that body of yours,” Meggie mused, deep in thought. “Oh, wow! Look how your cock jumped when I said that. You thought I meant sex, didn’t you? No, I mean if you let me be your personal trainer I could really whip you into shape. If you got yourself into shape, then a little sex might not be out of the question.”

In my mind I imagined taking Meggie right away, right there, just lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties and slipping my prick into her sweet pussy.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve really made your cock go stiff,” she said, teasingly. “I think you’d better pull yourself off. Then you’ll feel much more relaxed.”

“What, with you standing there watching?” I asked, in disbelief.

“I can tell you don’t mind the idea,” replied Meggie with a smile.  “If your dick gets any harder it’s going to burst. Come on let’s see how a naughty boy likes to stroke his stiff dick in the shower.”

That was it. There was no point resisting. I grabbed my rock-hard prick in my soapy right-hand and began to wank myself off. My soapy hand slid up and down my cock as I watched Meggie watching me. There was a twinkle in those sexy brown eyes of hers as she watched me masturbate.

“Feel good, honey?” she asked looking me in the eyes briefly before returning her attention to my slippery stiff cock.

“You bet,” I sighed.

“Would it give you a bit of inspiration if I let you see how wet my panties are getting?” she asked, lifting her skirt and leaning back with her legs spread so that I could see the spreading patch of wetness on her pale pink knickers. She gently teased the area through the wet material with the tip of the index finger of her right hand.”

To feel my hot, hard cock in my hand, and to know that the sight of it was making her drip pussy juice into her fresh clean panties, sent me over the edge. My cock jerked in my hand and spurted a shower of hot cum across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah!” cried Meggie, dropping her skirt and clapping her hands.

*    *    *

“Now these are the rules,” said Meggie, “if you want me to be your personal trainer.

“’1. You have to come over at 7.00 ever night and stay until 10.00.

“’2. You have to do anything that I tell you to without question.

“’3. As soon as you arrive you have to take off all of your clothes and remain completely naked  until it is time for you to go. (This has nothing to do with the effectiveness of the workout, you understand. It’s just my reward for helping you.)

“’4. You are not allowed to touch me in any way. That is your reward when you have achieved our goal.

“Sound O.K.?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “How will you be dressed?”

“I’ll start off the way I am, but if you do well, I’ll gradually wear less, is that a deal?” she asked. “I reckon you need to lose about ten inches from around that waist of yours. Let’s say that by the time you have lost two inches, I’ll be totally nude. Then while you lose those last eight inches you will have a bare-bottomed, hairy-pussied, bouncing-boobed totally naked trainer giving you the encouragement you need. But still no touching until you lose those other eight inches.”

“Oh, God,” I sighed, rubbing the crotch of my jeans, where my cock was once more making his presence felt.

“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured me, “you  can have as many masturbation breaks as you want. And if I’m feeling really horny I might just join in.”

Check out Inappropriate Behavior for the rest of the story.

Book Review

Confessions from a Health Farm by Timothy Lea

Back in my very first post on this blog I briefly discussed the Confessions series of books and films. These were an institution in Britain (as well as Australia) back in the Seventies.

Author Christopher Wood, who would later write the screenplays (and novelizations) for two James Bond films - The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, wrote a novel called Confessions of a Window Cleaner in 1971. The hero, a loveable rogue and bungler by the name of Timothy Lea, related his picaresque adventures in the window cleaning trade in the first person, and Wood hid his identity behind that of his fictional hero by giving Lea the author credit. Many more books were to follow in which Timmy took on jobs ranging from travelling salesman to private soldier to icecream man. He even spent time in jail and as a member of a committee investigating the pornography trade in Confessions from the Clink. Whatever occupation he was pursuing it would always lead to a multitude of sexual encounters, many of them ending disastrously with angry husbands chasing him down the street in the nude or sexually aggressive women ganging up on him and fucking him within an inch of his life.

In 1974 Confessions of a Window Cleaner was made into a movie starring Robin Askwith as Timmy Lea. It was the top-grossing British film of the year and spawned three sequels, based loosely on other books in the series.

The appeal of these books is perhaps limited by two factors which, I'm sure, endear them to fans. Lea uses loads of colloquial expressions, some presumably of his own invention, others traditional Cockney rhyming slang, to tell his story. To those who are used to these kinds of expressions, e.g. a beak is a judge, a Hampton (i.e. Hampton Wick, i.e. dick) is a penis, etc., this adds to the amusement, but others may feel that they are reading something approaching Clockwork Orange when it comes to mysterious forms of expression. There is, however, something amusing about a book in which the hero plunges his "action man kit" into a girl's "spasm chasm". The other aspect which might alienate some modern readers is the political incorrectness of Lea's world view. One can look on it as a satire of that world view a la 'Til Death Us Do Part or All in the Family, but there are no doubt some who will fail to warm to a character who refers to women as "bints" and black women as "jungle bunnies" and says that the subservience of Japanese women is almost appealing enough to make up for the buck teeth one would no doubt have if Japanese. (And in the distaff Confessions series which Wood wrote under the pseudonym of Rosie Dixon most the humour revolves around farcical ways for Rosie to get raped or molested.) For some of us, however, this kind of bad taste has its own appeal, and the fact that Timmy usually ends up being the butt of the joke keeps it from being mean-spirited.

While these novels are no great works of literature, and are seriously dated by all sorts of 1970s cultural and political references, when it comes to creating hilariously farcical situations, Wood sometimes recalls even such masters of the form as P.G. Wodehouse and Tom Sharpe. Only sometimes mind you. There are also lots of cheap gags and run-of-the-mill bedroom capers. But the books are always a quick fun read.

Confessions from a Health Farm (1974) was the tenth in the series. As with all the other books it begins with a scheme cooked up by Timmy's brother-in-law Sid. Having recently had a lucky escape from managing one of the world's worst rock bands (Confessions from the Pop Scene), he has now decided to start up a health farm. A certain massage therapist by the name of Wanda Zonker has incriminating photos of Lord Baulkit, thus allowing her to persuade him to let her convert his country seat Long Hall into Beauty Manor, a luxurious health farm. The manor is full of secret passageways and spy holes. The horny Lady Baulkit shows Timmy around and also shows him a good time. Then Sid tries to prove that he is fitter than Timmy by challenging him to a pentathlon on Clapham Common during which both cheat shamelessly and also get in trouble with the police. Timmy has to go undercover at Bosky Dell Health Clinic to see how these organisations are run. There he has an erotic encounter with the insatiable Mrs. Chalfont and is so hungry due to the minimal diet that he is reduced to eating dog food. When he gets back to Beauty Manor he finds himself at the centre of various anarchic adventures involving sex in the sauna, overly-energetic Japanese nude masseuses and a mud-machine full of horse manure that breaks loose and runs rampant through the establishment. And everything comes to climax with a visit by Omar Gord and his fellow oil sheiks.

This is neither the best nor the worst of the series. But it is a fun romp. If it has any particular weakness it is that Wood seems to have decided to really run the rhyming slang into the ground. I love this stuff, but a sentence like "She has a large Mahatma Gandhi to pull herself together and though I fancy a pint of apple fritter I have to settle for Gunga Din because there is not an Aristotle of pig's ear in the Mickey Mouse" is too much even for me!