The Mayor of Bayswater's Daughter

If you've never heard "The Mayor of Bayswater's Daughter" being sung by a gaggle of sozzled men or women, usually in a rugby setting, you may want to back out of this story now. Otherwise, you'll end up as confused as a confused thing.

For those who have: to be honest, I've always felt a little sorry for her. Personal grooming escapes us all on occasion.

Features: UK English, nudity, an out-of-control bush, and a very handyman.

Votes and comments mean the world to me. Truly.

Txxx

P.S. will include my own true story about a "hairy escapade" in the comments. Hehe.

***

The Mayor of Bayswater's daughter stared sadly down at her pubic area. She knew that her grooming regime had become a little lax of late, but she hadn't realised that it would become an international joke. To say her father, the mayor, was pissed off was an understatement. And all her exes were texting, remonstrating with her. It was partly their fault too -- they had liked the wild tangle of bush between her slender thighs.

To her knees though? Was it really that long?

She tried finger-combing the rampant bush out, but it was too tangled. In the shower would have been a good time to check, but her plans that day consisted solely of sunbathing naked on her private rooftop terrace, and she'd already applied her suntan lotion. She wouldn't dress all day, and she had no plans to go out. No leaving her house to be laughed at.

Perhaps they were getting confused with the hair on her head? The waterfall of jet black currently piled haphazardly on top of her head would reach to her knees if they were held against her chest. Or on her knees, face down. That was one of her favourite positions.

Her teasing unearthed a strand of five inches, and she groaned. Not quite knee length, but it was long enough. Rugby men were renowned for exaggeration, and the cursed song had emanated from a local club. Someone had uploaded an extended performance by the choir boys, and the clip had gone viral within hours.

That's when her phone began ceaselessly beeping and ringing. One of the first calls was from her irate father. She had always had his support, even through her multiple, short-lived marriages. For him to be upset meant that it was bad. Really bad.

A few clicks later, and she was listening in horror. Her entire world fell apart.

There were so, so many verses, each focussed on different events in her life. How had they found out so much about her?

What she found awfully upsetting was a whole line of the chorus focussed on that one time. One time. Once. The only time when she hadn't wiped properly. Everyone missed a bit of shit sometimes, didn't they?

The fairy light had been part of fairy fancy dress costume the previous Christmas. Now, that part was a total lie as the twinkling bulbs had lined her cleavage and went nowhere near her crotch. (Instead, a fleshy-and-wonderfully-engorged bulb had. That memory she did enjoy.)

And what woman

really

cared about pelvic floor exercises until she started pissing herself when she coughed or sneezed?

She sighed, grabbed her laptop from the table beside her and found a local Pilates class to sign up for. Starting as soon as she returned from her summer holiday. For which she was currently working on her tan. The swimming costumes she had chosen were all high-legged and low-cut, ideal to show off her trim body.

Which brought her back to her bikini line, which definitely wasn't suitable for a bikini. Not for lying on a public beach in the Caribbean, escaping from said outfit. She sighed again. There wasn't even a line. The thick mass of soft black was...hang on, what was that? She found a white hair and ruthlessly plucked it out. It curled around her finger, and she tried flicking it away. To no avail, a sticky substance almost glued it to her finger.

'Gross,' she muttered. 'Bloody useless shower gel.'

She'd slept with that Damon bloke two days ago now, and she was still finding his secretions all over her body. She may piss like a fountain, but he had come like one, a geyser of hot, white, glue-like lava. None of her exes, including the Italian and Spaniard, had been able to come as much. Then he disappeared, leaving a fiery whiff of hellish proportions behind.

Bloody typical man: shag, fart, and run.

Which reminded her, did they seriously think she would fuck a male horse?

Not that she wasn't horny enough to at times, but the logistics would be a killer. Wearing steel-toe-capped boots to protect her feet from stray hooves was just...not sexy. And her vag would no way fit a horse's cock, would it?

If they thought it would, perhaps she needed to start the Pilates regime a little earlier?

A few pelvic floor squeezes just reminded her that it had been a couple of days since she'd had cock, and even longer since she'd had a decent shag.

Fuck, she was horny. Discarding clothes to bathe on the sun-drenched terrace always did that to her. She loved being naked. Clothes disguised her hairy quim, but would sometimes painfully snag. And if she wore anything tight, the bushy mound was visible.

But, it wouldn't be if she tidied up down there. Though, relying on people to notice the change wouldn't work, and she didn't want to walk around naked. So, how?

With a triumphant hiss, the answer came to her. She needed to shag someone who would tell the world that it wasn't a mess down there any more! And she had the ideal fellow in mind - the captain of the rugby team who were fierce rivals to the club who'd sung about her. He had flirted with her for a while but she hadn't got around to sleeping with him.

An exchange of flirtatious-slash-salacious texts later, and she had plans to meet him the next evening.

First, she would need to tidy up her pubic area. Razors wouldn't do the trick -- her hair, though soft as velvet, had blunted many a razor -- and she didn't like the pre-pubescent schoolgirl look. So, cutting the bulk to start, then a bit of shaping. Topiary, as it were.

Drastic action was required. Grabbing her laptop again, she started searching for shops that would deliver to her door the same day for a not-inconsiderable charge. Dear Daddy Mayor would be paying for it, of course.

She didn't even know what she needed though. Scissors? Shears? A hedge trimmer?

It wasn't that bad, surely?

An epilator?

She crossed her legs at the thought of plucking out the hairs. Why were long pubes unacceptable yet a raw, red and spotty rash was totally fine? It was so, totally unfair.

She needed to call her best friend. She could help. After all, Dinah had been sung about for years and it had never really bothered her. As long as she got a shag out of it, she didn't care.

'Dinah? Depilation? Urgent.'

A husky laugh greeted her. 'Salon?'

'Blacklisted.'

'What? All of them?'

'Yes, darling. After the time that technician ran out screaming. Apparently, she can't pass the fishmonger now without crossing the road.'

There was a muffled moan from Dinah's end.

'Have I caught you at a bad time?'

'Cariad, it's always a good time with me,' giggled the red-haired temptress. 'I'll send you the deets. I know a fabulous place which'll deliver to your door. Hang on a mo'.' There was a pause, some whispering, and a beep of an arriving email. 'There you go. You'll need the heavy-duty treatment to trim that beast.'

'Thanks, sweetie. I don't have much time, I'm seeing Olly Pratt tomorrow night and it has to be done by then.'

'Excellent plan of attack, hun. He's one of the biggest gossipmongers out there.'

'It was either him or Rafe Dicker.'

'Stick with Olly. Rafe's dicker wouldn't touch the sides. Olly's a big boy.' Dinah sighed lustfully and someone grumbled in the background. She whispered, 'Not you darling, you're bigger than the two of them put together.' She squeaked, 'Have to go now. Ciao!' The sound of squeaking bedsprings was joined by Dinah's loud hollers, 'Fuck me Piers! Fuck me with your massive schlong!'

The call terminated and the soon-to-be-depilated swapped the phone for her laptop. A few clicks, and Dinah's recommendations were en route.

She lay back and relaxed in the blazing sun. At least she had an all-over base tan. An impossibility if she had taken refuge with her mother up that mountain in Wales. Morgan (of a massive organ) was a constant visitor, giving her mother the regular seeings-to she required. It was difficult to sleep when your parent was screaming in ecstasy a couple of rooms over.

So, staying in the warmer south-east and in her affluent father's good books was her best plan. Yes, there may have been local whispers about her before, but it was no use leaving now it had gone viral.

At least the singers thought she was pretty. That thought mollified her as she dozed.

***

She must have fallen asleep, because the ringing of the doorbell woke her. Luckily, shade from the parasol had prevented her burning as the sun continued its arc across the sky.

The doorbell rang again.

'OK, OK, I'm coming,' she yelled, knowing her voice would carry enough to be heard at the front door. She grabbed a sarong, wound it hastily around her body, and capered down the two flights of stairs. Her large-but-perky breasts bounced with her.

The doorbell shrilled again as she stepped onto the hall's polished parquet floor. 'Hold your horses, for fuck's sake.' A quick glance in the mirror assured her that she didn't look so bad. Glowing.

Another ring.

'Hold on!' As she yanked open the door, the trailing fabric caught on a doorknob and the precarious sarong was stripped away.

Hello neighbours! And rather-attractive delivery man holding a rather large box.

His jaw dropped open. He flipped up his sunglasses to reveal goggling brown eyes dropping down her naked body, to the infamous area between her legs. He visibly gulped.

'Oops,' she giggled. 'Give me a moment.'

She stepped back inside, pushing the door to, and fumbled for the errant sarong, tying it more securely that time.

'I hope you're not covering up on my accord.' The delivery man had recovered his aplomb, and was casually leaning against the doorjamb of the re-opened door. 'That's a shame.'

She took him in. He didn't look like your average low-paid worker. In fact, his shirt was designer, his snug jeans well-worn CKs, and no delivery man she had ever seen wore deck shoes. 'You have something for me?' she asked, suspiciously.

'An express order of personal care equipment. I was asked to ensure that it was safely installed and tested by a...' Deft fingers pulled a phone from his back pocket.

His actions attracted her attention to his groin area. She admired the bulge in the front of his jeans. He certainly filled them well.

'A...Dinah Jones,' he read from the phone. 'My brother, Piers, runs Farquar's, the chain of department stores.'

Piers of the massive schlong? She wondered if certain traits ran in the family.

'I'm Ralph Farquar, by the way. At your service.'

'Fucker?' His drawl made it sound that way and she hadn't sounded it out loud when she'd ordered.

He smiled wryly. 'Farquar, spelt with a A and the beginning and an A at the end.'

'And an 'ooh' in the middle?

'Sure. As the customer, you're always right.' He had a faint American accent and shiny white and straight teeth. Definitely not your average delivery man. She owed Dinah a magnum for this.

He gestured to the box. 'Where do you want it?'

Flat on your back in my bed please. Naked. With your massive cock ready to go in my box. I'll ride you for the rest of today and tomorrow.

'Hey there?' He frowned at her silence. 'Is your bedroom upstairs? I'll take my shoes off, to save your carpet.' He nodded at the shagpile runner and revealed his bare, masculine feet. Sexy.

She nodded. 'Come.' Like she would soon, going by the heat in his eyes and his willingness to flirt.

She could hear his feet creaking the stairs behind her as she sashayed up. She was already more than ready to take him, the horniness from earlier hadn't dissipated at all and naked sunbathing made her feel sexy as fuck.

They reached her bedroom on the first floor. Only a couple of late-evening rays scattered across the rumpled white linen partly shrouding an iron-framed bed. She wasn't the tidiest, but luckily the cleaner had been the previous day, and only a layer of lacy underwear was strewn across the room.

'Hmmm. Lovely, but not ideal for this procedure. Anywhere light with wipe-clean surfaces? Otherwise, hair will get everywhere.'

She creased her brow. 'There's the roof terrace where I sunbathe. It captures the sun at this time of day and is tiled.'

'Does it have power, and can you strip off?'

'Weather proof sockets, and I've been naked all day.'

His eyes steamed. 'Sounds perfect. Go take a quick shower, we'll need the relevant areas fully cleansed. I'll set everything up ready.'

***

She took a comb into the shower to remove the majority of tangles (and any last traces of Damon's excessive expulsions). The ebony-haired beauty was curious as to what Ralph had for her, in more ways than one.

Once dry, the mass between her legs curled back up. She looked down at it fondly, experiencing a moment of sadness to be seeing it go. Then, the thought of being cut off by her father, and, even worse, being outcast as a social pariah, spurred her into wrapping the sarong around her waist, donning her sunglasses, and lightly skipping up the steps to the terrace.

The setting sun highlighted an intimate setting. A sheet had been draped across her sunbed, cushions placed at the end to protect his knees. She quivered.

To the side were champagne flutes, and a pop came from the bottle-holding naked man standing at the head of the bed. Her eyes boggled at his exceedingly-upstanding cockstand.

'To early to be popping my cork?' Ralph smiled.

'That cork, no,' she almost moaned. Fuck, she was horny.

'And you're a little overdressed.'

'Good point,' she conceded.

'Two lovely points.' He brushed the cold bottle over her nipples and watched as they knotted. 'But you're still overdressed.'

As she eagerly discarded the sarong yet again, he expertly filled the glasses and passed one over.

'To..?' He paused, waiting for her to complete the toast.

She beamed with a cheeky thought. 'To Farquars?'

'And to lovely ladies in urgent need of assistance?' he grinned back as they clinked glasses. 'Now, would you like to take a seat, or a sunbed, as it were?'

The longer they talked, the more he lost his US twang and returned to his obviously-public school roots. As they chatted, she reclined on the sunbed, and he perched next to her. She had to restrain herself from caressing his generous erection, thinking it may be a little forward and thankful that the sunglasses covered the fascinated direction of her view. 'How long have you been in the UK?'

'I grew up here, but I used to run the Chicago branch. I'm here for the summer, until the rumours die down a bit.'

'Rumours?'

He grinned wickedly. 'There were a lot of women customers needing various essentials. I tried my best to please them. Piers thinks I went a bit too far, because Chicago Farquar's got a bit of a reputation.'

She gasped. 'That was you?' She had heard about a store which had gone out of its way to please.

His grin broadened. 'I have many skills. Including personal care.' He ran his free hand up her thigh and softly touched the current bane of her life. 'First, I shall investigate how this is affecting you.'

She was melting onto the sunbed. She'd never had a man pay such detailed attention to her pubic area. He combed through it with his fingers, lightly tugging the odd strand. She wished she could see his eyes, but the way his cock was twitching, he definitely wasn't disgusted.

'Soft as a piece of velvet,' he hummed appreciatively. 'Now, I need to take a closer look, a proper evaluation.'

This time, he knelt at the end of the bed. From beneath the sheet, he produced a head torch and switched it on.

The lamp on the top of his head made him resemble a coal miner. All he was lacking was a helmet. Well, at least not on his head. She giggled to herself, then groaned as he split her legs. She could feel the heat of his stare, and his gently stroking fingers parting the bush.

He sniffed, 'You smell like chocolate biscuits. Yum. I really must have a taste.'

He cupped her firm, round arse to tilt her towards him. She lay back on the sunbed, intent on enjoying the forthcoming licking. After a few moments of inactivity, she sat back up. He was mumbling to himself. She yanked his head up by his quiff.

'Give me a moment please, I'm counting!'

'Why the fuck are you counting my pubes?'

He had grace enough to blush. 'Ummm...for statistical purposes.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake.' She rolled her eyes, then her eyes rolled back in her head as he finally began eating her out. 'Ohhhhh!'

He was as dedicated as the rumours she had heard suggested, not letting her go until she had come three times and soaked the sheet beneath her. The sunshine dazzled her eyes, and he dazzled her body.

Eventually, the sun sank below the horizon, the air began to cool and his mining and quarrying ceased. He moved his way up her body and held himself above her. 'That's the investigation phase completed.'

She could feel his weeping erection nosing at a thigh. 'Really? What comes next?'

'The elimination phase.' He sounded quite morose.

'What if I object on the grounds that the investigation hasn't been completed satisfactorily?'

He brightened, and she felt his cock jerk. 'As the customer is always right, we can extend that phase.'

She produced a pack of condoms that had been hidden in the folds of her sarong. 'Let's do that, I'll furnish the equipment and my expense.' Her fingers nimbly clothed him.

'You're a diamond gal.'

She laughed as he eased inside her. 'It's a bit early for that kind of talk.'

'I adore an honourable woman.' He smiled happily as he nestled inside her, and her legs wrapped around him. He traced her neckline. 'Though I think a pearl choker would look spectacular on you.'

'You can test that one out later. Of course, I have need of several of your personal skills, including a back door which needs fixing, nails which need hammering, and a carpet fitted.'

'I'm at your service. We can settle my fees as we go along.'

'As long as I don't have to recommend you to my friends. I'm strictly a one-Farquar woman.'

'A very admirable stand.' He thrust deeply inside her and they both gasped and groaned. 'Now, I must continue to fulfil your order.'

She offered her honour, he honoured her offer.

And all through the night he was on her and off her.