Langley Circle Formation

Author's note: The following is a work of fiction that contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts and is intended for adults only. All people, places, and events are a product of my imagination and any characters described as engaging in sexual acts are over the age of eighteen. Thank you for reading. All feedback is greatly appreciated.

Thanks for sticking around for the next instalment. Heads-up, this episode is heavy on voyeurism and there is a depiction of non-consensual sex, along with more traditional good stuff.

Previously on Langley Circle... With the idea of "the circle" being conceived during the discussion at the Parker's home, all those involved were charged with giving the concept some thought over the coming week. Later that day, Josh successfully challenged Dean in a truly unique duel for "control" of Trudy, and he and Nicky celebrated his victory with a threesome that saw everyone very satisfied.

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Season Two, Episode Three

The watcher lightly gripped the high-end tablet as tired eyes blinked away the remnants of sleep. A video displaying a deserted street streamed into a feed window that occupied two thirds of the screen. A drone was relaying the images, along with a shed load of meta data as it flew a pre-programmed route towards the next set of coordinates. The previous stops had yielded little of interest; seventeen and twenty-three had shown only mundane activity, whilst fifty-seven, which more often than not was good for at least a flash, had been completely dark.

The birds-eye view of the suburban street lit only by the breaking dawn zipped past on the screen, the glassy eyes of the watcher reflecting the bright pictures back into the darkened bedroom. Battery life seventeen minutes; good enough. Altitude 40 metres, sufficient to be nigh on silent from the ground. Wind six kph from the south-west, well within the operational parameters of the auto-stability system. The watcher absorbed this and other technical data flowing around the edges of the feed window, an action well-practised and as familiar to him as breathing.

The view slowed as the drone decreased speed and altitude, finally stabilizing as it settled into a hover. The feed flicked over from the top-down camera to the high definition one mounted in the nose of the unit. Switching to manual, fingers delicately adjusted the controls to orientate the view on the upstairs window of a house across the street. The Curtains were open; that was a good start.

With the drone switched back to auto hover, allowing it to compensate for all but the most severe environmental changes, the watcher moved to the camera controls, zooming in closer. The room looked empty, the bed neatly made. The watcher sneered; another dead stop.

But wait, what's this? Fingers hesitated above the touch screen of the tablet as a woman bustled in through the open door. Perhaps not a wasted trip after all. The woman wore a smart black knee-length skirt, heels and, most interestingly to the watcher, only a bra.

"Well good morning Mrs. Beaton," the watcher whispered.

Creamy white flesh wobbled and bulged enticingly over the low cut cups of Mrs. Beaton's pale pink bra as she hurried across the room, a white blouse gripped in her hand. The watcher's sneer turned to a lecherous grin when a generous cleavage was revealed as the woman bent over the edge of the bed and began fussing with the blouse.

"Hmm, Julie, what are you doing?"

Julie Beaton seemed to be smoothing the garment out and inspecting one particular spot, a tear, or a stain perhaps? Did it matter? Not really, as long as she kept bending over.

The slender woman, probably in her early forties, was in three-quarter profile to the powerful camera lens, affording excellent views of both her voluptuous chest and bubble butt. Both ample features had garnered lustful appreciation from the watcher in the past, and it looked like today's foray might add another juicy snippet to the collection. Skilful Fingers flicked across the screen and the image zoomed in, Mrs. Beaton's well-rounded arse swaying hypnotically in the view. The watcher leered and reached a hand beneath the duvet, wriggling it inside the front of his boxers. A low growl escaped his lips as fingers curled around the warm hard flesh of his erection. Eyes remained glued on the screen as one hand began to stroke slowly up and down, while the other continued to work the controls of the drone's camera, gliding it along the woman's body, zeroing in on her breasts.

A grunt and the hand sped up. Nice big, fat tits, that's the way he liked them. The large breasts on the screen wobbled and jiggled as the woman continued to fuss over the blouse. How he'd love to touch those massive mounds, to grab them, squeeze them, pinch the nipples, slap them. Another grunt. Yeah he'd slap them as he pushed his dick between them and used her cleavage like a pussy. She'd love it! Or not, who cared, he didn't. In truth if she didn't that might actually be better. Protesting meekly and struggling as he fucked her tits and tanned red marks onto her skin.

A man's hand suddenly slid into view on the feed, squeezing one breast. The watcher paused his stroking and blinked in confusion. He zoomed back out and saw that the hand belonged to Mrs. Beaton's husband, who was leaning over her, speaking unheard words into her ear as he pawed at her chest.

Mrs. Beaton was craning her neck back and responding with what looked like a mixture of surprise and frustration at her portly husband, who grinned as he ground his pyjama-clad groin against her behind. She wasn't grinning; she was scowling as she spoke. The watcher couldn't hear the words, but he could take a guess as to the general intent they carried. The woman shifted and tried to straighten up, but her husband held her in place and began kissing her back.

"Come on Julie, don't be a spoil sport," the watcher said with a chuckle, his heart rate increasing as his arousal grew. "Mr. Beaton needs some."

The watcher would rather it was him giving Julie Beaton a good groping, but if it couldn't be him then he'd have to settle for watching hubby do it. Despite the watcher's encouragement however, Mrs. Beaton didn't seem to be getting into the swing of things. She wasn't actually pushing the man away, and once or twice a smirk wormed onto her face as she wiggled her arse back against him, but her body language and facial expressions were definitely saying, 'I don't have time for this right now'.

Hubby tried to tug up her skirt, and that was when she decided enough was enough. She jerked hard and hubby stumbled backwards, forced to release his grip. He looked defeated and chastened, but when his wife returned her attention to her blouse, his face screwed up into a dismissive snarl as he grabbed at his crotch, adjusting the bulge of his erection.

The watcher's anger flared; he'd been deprived of the lurid show he'd been hoping for. His hand stopped moving beneath the covers and he growled in frustration. "God dammit. She's your wife man. It's your right. Why you letting her push you around. Bloody limp-dicked weasel."

Mr. Beaton stood there staring at his wife's arse, nose wrinkled and teeth bared, hands clenching into fists. Then he suddenly deflated, the tension leaving him as if he'd been pricked with a pin. He turned away and took a step towards the door, much to the disgust of the watcher.

"Pussy!" The watcher hissed as his Fingers moved to the controls, preparing to send the drone on its way. He hesitated though, finger poised millimetres above the touch screen as in the feed window Mr. Beaton paused and turned to look back at his wife. The watcher drew in a sharp breath as the man suddenly took a step towards her, his expression setting into a determined snarl. Reaching her, he set his feet and grabbed at her, causing the woman to tense up and bark something over her shoulder as she tried to shove him off again. This time however, hubby wasn't giving in so easily. The watcher's eyes widened with renewed interest as the man grasped the hem of his wife's business skirt, tugging it forcefully up to expose pale firm thighs. Mrs. Beaton struggled, reaching behind her to pull the skirt back into place as she angrily spoke over her shoulder. Hubby slapped her hands away roughly and crouched lower, using his weight to pin her in place, her arms now trapped beneath her own body, her head pressed into the bed. He fumbled beneath him and finally got the skirt up over her arse revealing pale pink knickers that matched her bra.

The watcher resumed his stroking as excitement surged through him. It turned out William Beaton might have a set of balls on him after all. "Go on Bill, give it to her. You know she wants it."

Julie Beaton was struggling frantically, her head twisting from side to side, her hair falling around her face as she tried to free her arms to escape the unwelcome intentions of her husband. The muscles in hubby's arms rippled with effort as he held her in place. He grabbed at her underwear and tried to pull them down, but seemed to find this simple task too difficult because of her persistent struggling, so grabbed a fistful of the material and jerked back. Nothing seemed to happen other than the garment stretching, and Julie finally managing to get one hand free, which she used to try to push him away. On the second forceful tug, the pink material tore apart.

The watcher paused. That only worked in stories and movies, didn't it? Actually ripping someone's underwear off seemed like it would be pretty difficult, but surprisingly Bill was up to the challenge. He grinned and resumed his self-pleasure, fingers gripping tighter, his fist jerking faster as the delightfully dark scene continued to play out before his eyes.

Mr. Beaton tossed the piece of shredded underwear to one side and fumbled at his groin. He fished out his erection and with no warning, let alone foreplay, attempted to enter his wife. Mrs. Beaton continued to struggle and complain, making the task all the more difficult. He frowned and angrily kicked at her foot, forcing her to widen her stance as she lost balance when one of her shoes came off. Again, he tried to enter her, but she repeatedly moved her hips from side to side denying him access.

The watcher licked his lips in fascination as the cat and mouse game continued. Mr. Beaton growled and slapped his wife hard on her exposed bottom, causing her head to jerk back, mouth open wide in a silent scream. She was temporarily paralyzed by the action, and Mr. Beaton capitalized on the moment and shoved into her, moving his hands to her hips and pulling her back onto him. He tensed and gritted his teeth as Mrs. Beaton's eyes flew wide in shock and anger, her back arching as if she had been struck by lightning. The watcher's cock twitched violently at the forceful actions of Mr. Beaton, his pulse throbbing in his ears as the silent movie continued for his pleasure; He desperately wished he could have audio.

Mr Beaton began to thrust hard and fast into his wife, her arse wobbling and shaking as his thighs banged against her. She dropped her head down and then, finally having wrestled both arms free, lifted up, her back arching downward. Her whole body rocked back and forth as hubby roughly penetrated her from behind, grabbing onto the bunched up tangle of skirt at her waist. Her hair fell around her face, hiding her expression from the watcher, but his attention was elsewhere, glued to her large breasts which were heaving back and forth, barely being contained in her bra.

As if reading the watcher's mind, Mr. Beaton reached forward and wrenched the shoulder straps of the bra down, and after fumbling with the clasp at her back for a second, simply wrenched the two halves apart. Her large breasts spilled from their prison. They were fleshy and sagged under the pull of gravity, but the watcher didn't care; he liked them big. He imagined fucking Julie Beaton from behind, grabbing at those huge tits. Filling his hands with the soft creamy pillows, letting them squeeze through his splayed fingers, digging his nails into her skin. He'd grab those big saggy tits and pull her back onto him, grasping at her nipples as he rammed his cock into her. He'd slap those massive mounds and watch them swing and wobble, rejoicing at the sound of her squeals as he'd pinched her nipples.

The Watcher grunted as he tugged forcefully at his balls. A shock of pain and pleasure flushing through him. He could feel the lust rising, the power, the hunger surging to the surface.

"Yeah fuck the shit out of her Bill. She deserves it."

Mrs. Beaton's long brown hair flicked onto her back as she jerked her head up. She panted, straining as she tried to avoid being squashed back onto the bed by her husband's bulk. She craned her head around and spat unheard words in his direction, prompting hubby to slap her hard on the arse again. She scowled and gritted her teeth. The watcher noticed that she wasn't trying so hard to free herself anymore, even rocking back against hubby as he pounded into her.

The watcher leered. "Go Julie! She's enjoying it Bill, the dirty slut."

Mrs. Beaton did appear to be more compliant now, although her expression looked to be a combination of contempt and annoyed resignation more than anything else. Hubby didn't seem to care; he was entirely oblivious to the wants and needs of his wife. He hunched over, grabbing her large breasts and rutted at her relentlessly. He looked almost bestial as he clung to his wife's body, holding her in place while he sated his carnal desires.

Pressure began to build in the Watcher's groin as his hand sped up. Hubby also increased his pace, lifting up to lean on his wife's back as his feet urged her legs still wider. Mrs. Beaton collapsed forward onto the bed, her legs splaying apart in an uncomfortable looking, and thoroughly undignified position. Hubby didn't miss a beat, placing one hand on the back of her head and pushing her face into the mattress, he thrust even harder. A moment later his whole body tensed and he stared to the ceiling, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl, one hand curled into a fist in his wife's hair as his thrusting slowed to spasmodic savage jerks.

"No no no, not yet you bastard," the watcher hissed, But to no avail. Mr. Beaton was obviously coming inside his wife, who had ceased struggling or resisting completely. Her face was turned towards the window, half hidden amongst the bed sheets, but the expression was visible; it was one of utter defeat. The watcher slapped the screen in frustration. The whole incident had been over in a couple of minutes, far too soon for him to find his own release.

Mr. Beaton pulled out and lifted off his wife, slapping her on the arse as a string of cum stretched from his softening penis to the floor. He breathed hard, said something unheard as he tucked his dick away, and left the room without so much as a backwards glance.

The Watcher ceased his stroking, staring at Julie Beaton, who lay, face down on the bed, a trail of her husband's emission running down her thigh. She didn't move, although her fingers trembled as they wiped at her face. The watcher expertly zoomed in and traced the line of a tear that ran freely down the woman's miserable face. He frowned, his arousal wilting, replaced by a feeling of regret and sympathy. Maybe she did deserve a fucking, but she deserved something better than that old bastard had given her.

He pulled back the zoom as Julie Beaton awkwardly pushed off the bed discarding the remains of the underwear that hung in tatters at her waist. As she hobbled towards the door, the watcher sighed with frustration and set the drone on its way. On to the next stop, the one he always left to last. It was the one he looked forward to most.

As the streets flashed through the feed window, his heart began to race and an excited tremble unsteadied his fingers. Gripping the tablet tighter, he held his breath as the drone slowed and dropped down, eventually coming to rest on a chimney across the road from an ordinary looking semi-detached house.

Letting out his breath, he switch to the camera controls and slowly moved to frame the bedroom window. He gasped as he saw her. A young woman sat before a dressing table wearing a gown, carefully applying makeup. A surge of desire rushed through the watcher, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. A vision of loveliness; an angel. She delicately dabbed at her eyes as she leant forward, peering in the mirror, her blonde hair tied back revealing the contours of her graceful neck.

"Bella." The word left the watcher's mouth, whispered onto a dancing breath of air.

He sighed, the frustration and tension leaving his body, to be replaced with a feeling of excitement. The hand slipped back into his boxer's, fingers curling around his shaft as he gazed at the beautiful woman on the screen and once more began to masturbate.

Bella pouted her lips, applied a subtle shade of lipstick then leaned back to admire the result. Apparently satisfied, she stood, shrugging off the gown as she turned to the bed and picked up a skirt.

The watcher's breath hitched at the sight of her exquisite body. She wore only a bra and knickers, and as she bent to pick up the skirt, her body tightened in delicious ways. His cock throbbed and his desire thrummed in his ears. His mouth gaped as she stepped into the garment and slid it up her firm thighs, fastening it at her slender waist. She turned to the window and he groaned at her flat stomach and firm ample breasts that filled the dark blue bra. His hand slid up and down his shaft, almost no effort needed as the lust surged to the surface; his orgasm was already approaching, such was the attraction to this woman.

Bella gazed sideways into the mirror, smoothed down her skirt, then slid her hands upwards and adjusted her bra, cupping her large breasts and coaxing them into the right position. With a gasp, the watcher tensed as cum erupted from his cock, hitting the sheets and dripping back down onto his hand. He grunted and puffed out staccato breaths as jet after jet of cum shot forth, his gaze remaining fixed on the screen. As if sensing he was done, Bella turned away, shrugging on a blouse as she walked out of view.

The watcher lay panting heavily, heart thumping as his seed cooled, running down his hand onto his thighs. He sagged, the euphoria fading, replaced by shameful dirtiness. Tapping the "return home" macro button, He tossed the tablet aside, groaning at the mess he had made as he lifted the covers. He reached for the tissue box as the drone lifted up into the air and sped away, fleeing the scene.

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Bella smoothed a bit of fluff from the ball and gently squeezed it before squinting through the bright sunshine at Sally waiting on the other side of the net.

"You gonna serve anytime soon, or keep massaging your balls?" Sally grinned as she bobbed nimbly on her toes.

Bella giggled before tossing the ball into the air and slamming it over the net, expelling a loud squeak of exertion as both feet briefly left the ground. Sally's eyes widened as she dived left intercepting the serve, sending it back with a loud grunt, the hem of her short white tennis skirt swishing up to reveal a tantalising flash of gorgeous thigh. Bella found Sally very distracting to play against, especially now she had spent the weekend enjoying every naked inch of that athletic body.

The return shot was lacking in power, and Bella easily caught it on her backhand, twisting as she hit the ball cross-court with another exaggerated squeak. Sally seemed to have anticipated this and was heading to intercept.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, bitch," Sally called and grunted as she powered the ball down the tramline. Bella only just managed to reach it at full stretch, and was lucky to pull off a diagonal short shot that made the ball kick up as it clipped the net. Sally faltered as she ran to return it; she tripped and almost went arse over tit into the net, managing to twist at the last moment avoiding the fall and giving Bella a flash of her white and blue polka-dot knickers as she wildly swung at the ball.