Lust Under Licence (32 page)

'Sure thing. I
guess I just need a little reassurance that everything is in
working order.'

'But you swore
to me it was! You said you could have the orgasms now.'

'And how,
sugar.'

'So why don't
you play with one of your boy-toys? And you should keep your
promise to go on the television programme of my friend.'

Chastity
chuckled and ran her free hand across the muscled expanse of his
chest. She let it fall onto his thigh, where it came to rest just
an inch away from his limp baton of pleasure.

'Tell me about
your friend,' she said.

Philippe sighed. 'What can I say? She is
magnifique
. I am in love. It is
a
coup defoudre
.'

Somehow
Chastity's finger had found its way into the warm nook between the
underside of his shaft and the swell of his balls. She stroked him
lightly.

'So why are
you here then?' she asked.

'To make sure
you keep your deal, Chastity. This is business.'

'No question,'
she said, running the tip of her finger along the underside of his
shaft. The sleepy weapon was beginning to raise its head. She
tickled it under its chin.

He had two
fingers buried to the knuckle in her pussy. She was no longer
pressing them to her pleasure zone, they seemed to have lodged
there of their own accord.

'Swear to me
you will keep your word, Chastity.'

'Mmm, if you
keep doing that I will.'

'So there will
be no more talk of pulling out?'

His penis had
swollen in her hand. She smoothed a finger around the rim of his
glans.

'I won't
mention it again,' she said, lying back and spreading her long
bronzed legs. 'You must love her very much.'

'Oh yes,'
breathed Philippe, sliding between her thighs, cock rubbing against
her silken flesh. 'There is nothing I would not do for her.'

'Obviously,'
muttered Chastity as the head of his French prick plunged between
her wet labia and filled her to the hilt.

Sonja's
prediction was accurate. Ted reappeared in the room half an hour
later, his clothes and hair wet with summer rain, his face red.
Marianne was unsure whether he'd run around the park or simply
jogged to the pub. One thing was certain, his breath stank of
alcohol. Which was OK by her, she and Sonja had hit the bourbon
with gusto in his absence.

'Still here?'
he roared. 'God save me from city-smart females polluting my
airspace and drinking my booze.'

'Now, now,
Ted,' said Sonja. 'The Whimsical Press is paying your hotel
bill.'

He appeared
not to hear but attacked the door of the fridge as if he might tear
it off its hinges. He seized a bottle of Arctic Fox beer and
slammed the top against the mahogany writing desk, sending the cap
spinning across the carpet and splintering the wood.

He took a long
draught and fixed Marianne with his mad-man's stare. 'If you think
I'm getting up on television with that Californian nympho you've
got your head up your sweet ass, sister.'

Marianne could
not deny she was intimidated. This hulking drunken bear was a
different proposition to the smooth blond charmer she had met the
day before. However, her programme - indeed her new career as a TV
arts presenter - was at stake. She decided to take the bear by the
balls.

'Why are you
afraid of her, Ted? Is she too much of a challenge for you?'

He laughed
without mirth. 'She's a sperm-sucker, that's what she is. A floozy
with a snatch between her legs. A thief of men's strength like all
you painted Delilahs.'

'Oh God, he's
off,' muttered Sonja, topping up her glass.

Marianne got
to her feet.

'Why don't you
come on my programme and say that, Ted?'

His reply was
so vehement, spittle sprayed into her face. 'Because I refuse to
promote the work of a whore.'

'But she'll be
promoting your work too. Especially if we show the interview with
you first.'

He hesitated
and Marianne carried on.

'To be honest,
Ted, it might do you a lot of harm to pull out now. All my
journalist friends will be very curious.'

His eyes
narrowed. 'Tell them you've come up against a man of principle for
a change.'

Marianne
smiled sweetly. 'I could say you behaved like a big prick because
you've only got a little one.'

Behind her
Sonja snorted into her drink.

Ted's jaw
dropped and a growl of rage burst from his throat. Marianne ignored
him.

'I've also heard that you prefer boys to girls. Of course, I
wouldn't
want
to
repeat that.'

Ted's face
turned puce and the growl turned into a yelp of incoherence. He
bunched his great fist and took a pace towards Marianne. She stood
her ground.

'What I
will
tell everybody if you pull out is that you aren't capable of
expressing yourself on camera.'

It was as if
she had delivered a kung-fu kick to his chest. He staggered back.
The blood drained from his face. The ham-like fist unfolded. He
placed the beer bottle carefully on the table and walked slowly to
his bedroom.

'I'll see you
at the studio, Miss Matthews,' he said and closed the door behind
him.

'Bloody hell,'
said Sonja, 'you were wasted on the weather.'

'I'm sorry, Mr
Glass,' said Roxy, 'I can't hold the camera steady any more - my
arms are tired.'

It wasn't just
that, Tom could see. She was shivering all over as if in a high
fever and her denimed pelvis, on a level with Tom's face, was
making tiny thrusts backwards and forwards in mid-air. He had no
doubt what she was in need of.

He took the
camera from her and put it on the floor. She made no move to get
off the chair but stood there quivering, her eyes big with wonder
as she gazed at the threesome next door.

Tom lifted the
hem of her skirt to her waist. She wore pretty cotton panties
embroidered with tiny white daisies around the waistband. In the
vee of her legs the material was dark with her juices and clung
wetly to the mound of her sex. The aroma of a woman on heat met
Tom's nostrils as he moved in close to her, so close that her
undulating mons almost brushed his lips.

'Please,' she
whimpered in a small voice. He wasn't sure whether she meant him or
the entwined lovers next door. In any case, though his heart was
hammering beneath his ribs and his cock was pulsing in his pants,
he made her wait. He wanted to savour the sight of this teenage
wet-dream dancing with helpless desire.

He tugged her
skirt off, pulling the elasticated waist over her hips. For a small
girl they were rounded and womanly, as was her bottom. He
contemplated her from the rear. Her buttocks were full and firm,
threatening to burst from the tight pink panties as she squirmed on
the chair before him. He yanked her knickers down without ceremony,
savouring the sight of the wet gusset clinging to the folds of her
moist pussy. She placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as
she stepped out of them. It remained there, her small fingers
finding the nape of his neck and pulling him softly, maybe
unconsciously, towards her naked sex.

Still he made
her wait, unbuttoning her shirt to gaze on her small freckled
breasts, their nipples carnation pink and sticking up like little
pegs. He reached up and felt them, the soft hot flesh seeming to
glow in his hand.

'Oh,' she
murmured, 'oh blimey.'

He turned and
looked through the mirror. The threesome had changed position. Ray
now sat in the chair and Laura was sitting on his loins with her
back to him. In the double vee of their spread thighs could be seen
the lolling pouch of his testicles and the root of his shaft
spearing up between the spread lips of her vagina. She had a hand
in the knot of hair at the base of her belly and was rubbing and
stroking her clit.

The thin boy
stood in front of them, presenting his genitals for stimulation.
Laura was sucking his balls, taking them in turns into her mouth.
Ray was licking his ruby-red glans and pumping the shaft of his
cock with dexterity.

Tom turned
back to Roxy. He traced his tongue at snail-like pace up the
insides of her thighs, which were wet with her excitement. She
shuffled her feet apart and made little mewing sounds as he
approached her weeping pussy. The hand on the back of his neck was
more insistent now, he could feel the sharp pressure of her
fingertips as her agitation grew to boiling point.

The lips of
her quim were pink and puffy beneath a down of hair. He blew on the
curly wisps and her whole body shook. He extended his tongue tip
and slyly insinuated it into the blonde bush, touching her sex for
the first time. She squealed as if stung by an electric current and
yanked his head into her crotch with both hands.

He held her
bottom cheeks as he worked his tongue into her vagina. He licked
her from north to south and back again, squeezing that pliant bum
flesh as he did so, savouring the youthful succulence of her cunt
and arse.

She was
breathing heavily now, both her hands entangled in his hair, her
hips undulating to an urgent rhythm as he pleasured her. He
transferred juice from her sex to his and ran it round the tiny
circlet between her bottom cheeks.

'Oh, oh,' she
cried as he kissed her pussy in earnest, finding her clit with his
lips and breaching her anus with his finger.

Then she was
coming off all over his face, flooding his mouth with salty juices,
and jumping and hopping on the chair so hard that Tom had a vision
of them both toppling over and crashing through the wall into the
bedroom door just as Laura came to a climax on Ray's cock and thin
boy fountained his spunk down the tennis coach's throat.

'It didn't
happen, though, did it? I presume you got out of there undetected.'
Petra's second visit with Tom was fast running out but she couldn't
resist pressing him for the prurient details of his latest
recollection.

'We waited
till they got going again and slipped out of the house the way we
came in. I took Roxy straight to a hotel and she pulled my clothes
off in the lift. We almost didn't make it to the room in time.'

Petra smiled.
'At least that's one of your lovers who didn't end up wanting to
kill you.'

'True, but her
mother threatened to cut my balls off if I saw Roxy again and the
agency complained that I'd ruined their YTS trainee because she was
refusing to sit in the office and answer the phone. Mind you, she
was wasted. She'd have made a brilliant film technician, the stuff
she took of LA was perfect.'

'So that's why
I've never heard of Laura,' said Petra. 'You split up.'

'Once I'd got
the goods on her she went without a murmur. She packed up and
returned to the States. Swearing vengeance, of course.'

'Of course.
We'll add her to the list of suspects. It's getting longer by the
minute.'

Tom looked
unperturbed, he grinned at Petra. 'Everything's coming back quickly
now. I reckon I've only got a three-year gap.' Even in the drab
confines of The Primrose Court meeting room, his optimism shone
through. Petra didn't want to dampen it but there were important
things to discuss.

'You know you
won't be properly represented at this trial, don't you?'

'I still don't
understand why not.'

'It's because
it's not really a trial. It's an arrangement on behalf of the New
Leaf campaign for policing business practice. It's not subject to
the normal procedures of the justice system.'

'It's a
kangaroo court run by harpies bent on seizing control of businesses
and humiliating the male sex into the bargain. I've gathered that
much.'

'Well, at
least they can't jail you, they can only disbar you from
directorships, demote you and seize assets.'

'Christ,
Petra, tell me some good news.'

'A female
representative of the business community can speak on your behalf
at the hearing. I've only just found out.'

'Really? Thank
God for that.'

'We have to
decide who it's going to be. Oh Tom, please don't look at me like
that!'

'Why not?
There's only one candidate. You will say yes, won't you,
Petra?'

Petra didn't
say anything. She knew she had no choice.

The courtroom
was a small, circular room with no windows, panelled in oak. On a
dais at one end was the Judge's chair and, around the perimeter of
the room, sat the members the Corrections Committee. In the well of
the court a table had been placed for the Prosecutor and in the
very centre, in the blazing focus of a pair of spotlights, stood
the accused, former captain of industry, darling of the gossip
columns self-made billionaire, Tom Glass.

Tom forced himself to stand tall, to breathe calmly, to
prevent any sign of the emotion that boiled within appearing on his
face. He was uncomfortable in the clothes they had made him wear -
flimsy pyjamas a size too small for his tall frame. He was acutely
conscious that he wore underwear and his genitals bulged against
the tight cotton.
Let the bitches
look
, he thought in defiance and set his
features in a mask of cold contempt.

He was the only man in the room. In the glare of the light it
was hard to make out the features of the tormentors who surrounded
him. Many of them wore masks, probably women he knew and had dealt
with in business. Now they came to watch his humiliation,
preserving the secrets of their identity.
Well fuck them
, he thought. And the
thought was appropriate for, beneath this charade of justice and
the fear like a weight on his chest, was the raw presence of
sex.