The Boss (10 page)

‘I imagine not, but you don't object?'

‘I'm not homophobic, if that's what you mean. I think everyone should be allowed to express themselves the way they want to, so long as they're not hurting anybody.'

‘A most enlightened attitude.'

He walked away, and as he went I found myself wondering if he himself was gay. It certainly explained the way he'd turned me down, and I was pretty sure he wasn't married and he didn't seem to be with anybody. He also seemed pleased that I took a tolerant attitude and in no hurry to report the two men.

I couldn't be sure, but it helped me to relax a little as I went back to work and to think more clearly about the problem of the cameras. Obviously I'd have to tell Dave, who would make sure the news got passed around his brother's friends in double-quick time.

With that thought, I had the solution.

The rest of the week passed quietly enough. I found myself settling into the routine of the office, answering calls and doing the post and making the coffee, generally behaving as dogsbody to Stephen and Paul. I still felt put upon, but telling myself that Stephen was gay made life a lot easier. It was fun to imagine him in the role of the older guy who'd been so assertive about getting his cock sucked, even if I couldn't help but imagine myself as the one on my knees.

We had the gig at the American airbase on the Saturday, which meant a major change of image. I looked far too wholesome and different clothes would only go so far. That meant food dye and a serious gel attack. It took me most of the afternoon, with endless disapproving looks from Mum, and the others getting in a state because I was hogging the bathroom. By the time I was finished my hair was a riot of tall blonde spikes, each tipped with brilliant green, which looked great. I also felt like me, really for the first time since joining Black Knight Securities.

I was already drumming out beats as I finished getting ready, all in black with an insanely short miniskirt, a carefully ripped top, fishnets and big clumpy shoes. A wide metal belt and some black and green make-up and I was ready, and so utterly different from the prim and proper girl I'd been all week it made me want to shout in triumph.

Steve was taking us, and had already loaded my drum kit into his van by the time I got downstairs. He was leaning against the bonnet, smoking, and threw me an appreciative glance as I came out.

‘That's the Fizz I know. You've not got a bra on, have you?'

‘No.'

‘Nice. You know you're going to have to suck me for your lift, don't you?'

He clicked his tongue on the word ‘suck', sending a little shiver through me as I imagined myself going down for him at the end of the night, but I simply stuck my tongue out and climbed in. I knew he could see up my skirt but I didn't expect him to take a handful, and had to quickly slap his hand away.

‘Steve, not here! Mum might see.'

‘She's knows I'm just kidding about.'

‘Groping my bum is hardly kidding about. Now come on.'

He laughed and walked around to the driver's door. I stuck the new Tortured Souls CD on as we set off and twisted the volume up, following the fast aggressive beat and ignoring Steve's continued efforts to tease me. He left off when we'd picked up Josie and Sam, and we were left with the music as we drove out past Hockwold.

I'd known the base since I was a toddler, but only
really as a towering wire fence beyond which uniformed men marched up and down while huge aircraft lifted off and set down again. It had always seemed like an alien world, and the feeling was reinforced as the rough heathland and woods gave way to neatly trimmed verges and great white concrete road obstacles.

We had all the necessary passes but their security guys were fanatical, checking and double-checking our identity and then making us wait for what seemed like an age with armed men standing to either side of the van. Finally we were cleared to go in, and parked the van in an open area to one side of the gates, where it was unloaded and given a second more thorough check.

For all their vigilance they were extremely friendly, joking with us, flirting and tripping over each other to help us with our kit. After Stephen's attitude that was just what I needed, and I found myself responding, cheeking them back and being deliberately bossy as they carried everything into what I at first thought was an aircraft hangar.

It wasn't, just a mess of sorts set aside for entertainment, with ranks of chairs already out and an impromptu stage at one end. We began to set up, searching out power sockets and making sure everything worked, with half a dozen Americans helping us and wolf-whistling every time one of us bent over or did anything to show a little leg. Sam's boyfriend was there, a lanky corporal who was soon in earnest conversation with Steve as they set up a makeshift bar at the far end of the room.

I was already feeling high when we began to practise, and a bit drunk. There seemed to be an infinite supply of beer and plenty of people willing to press
bottles into my hands. I prefer playing drunk, if not completely plastered, because that way the beat of all the songs I know comes by instinct and I don't even have to think about what I'm doing. It gives me a better high too and just makes it all work.

Sam had made Josie promise not to play anything anti-American, but I don't think it would have mattered if we'd put three chairs together and played pattacake. They loved us, clapping and yelling for more even while we were practising, and the room was packed long before we were due to start. I was in my element, lapping up the attention and showing off as I played, and I already decided my top was coming off, not at the end the way I usually did, but early on so I'd have to play the rest of the gig topless and drive them absolutely nuts.

Just knowing I was going to do it felt good, and when Josie called for ‘God Save the Queen' I really threw myself into it. Of course it's the one everybody recognises, and they lapped it up, yelling and stamping and calling for more, especially when I stood up to salute at the end. We gave them some
Fat Lip
, then
Ever Fallen in Love
as loud as we could play. That was enough for me. The entire crowd whistled and catcalled, obviously far more into us than the music, and as Josie picked out the opening bar for our own title song I stood up and stripped off my top in full view of maybe two hundred cheering Americans.

They went wild, yelling for more, and I stayed on my feet, letting all of them see. I was struggling to play properly, but I didn't care, and that's pure punk, noise and show and being rude for the sake of it. If all two hundred of them had stormed the stage and just had me then and there I'd have gone for it, and I was
already determined that I'd be getting mine before the night was through.

Somebody had pushed a beer close to me from behind the stage and as the song finished I picked it up, lifting it to my lips to let the chilly liquid slide down my throat, then higher, to pour the full contents out over my face and down my chest, to run down my tummy and drip from my stiff nipples as I posed with my hands behind my head and my chest thrust out, making a deliberate show of myself. Immediately more beers had been thrust towards us and I did the same again, this time shaking my wet tits to spatter the stage with droplets. Sam was no better, her thin cotton top plastered to her chest to leave her nipples showing through. As more yells of approval went up she'd tugged up the front of her skirt and pressed the bottle she was holding to her knickers, rubbing it slowly and provocatively up and down to send the audience into a screaming frenzy.

I thought they'd stop it, because somebody, surely, had to object to our behaviour, but I didn't care. The worst they could do was throw us off the base, and except for one thing that would be a triumph. That one thing was that I wouldn't get the stiff fucking I so badly needed, and as Josie called out the next song I was praying the authorities would hold off long enough for me to get taken care of.

Billy had come up on stage, singing the words to ‘Homicide' with Sam, and I knew the whole thing was going to fall to pieces anyway. Sure enough, they ended up snogging to the delight of the rest of the audience and, as another beer was pushed my way, I saw that my provider was a big young man with the blackest
skin I'd ever seen and a come-on smile, which was all the encouragement I needed.

I abandoned the drums and came down into his arms, kissing him immediately. He slid a hand under my bottom, so strong he lifted me bodily down from the stage with one arm. I clung on, wriggling myself against him where I could feel the bulge of his cock through his trousers and a moment later I'd been taken in behind the drapes and turned with my back to the wall.

He was still supporting me under my bum, his smallest finger pushed in between my cheeks to tickle my anus. I managed to call him a dirty pig as he went inside, but that didn't stop him and I didn't want it to. He began to wriggle his finger about as he freed his cock, hot and hard between my open thighs as I wrapped my legs around his powerful body. My knickers were pulled aside, two firm thrusts and he was inside me, fucking me with my body pushed against the wall as I clung onto him, kissing in furious passion and wriggling myself onto his cock and his finger too.

I never even realised anything was wrong until the last moment, when I'd just managed to tell him not to come in me. He'd whipped his cock out, pushing me down so quickly I ended up sat sprawled on the floor with my legs apart even as he fed his erection into my mouth. I could taste myself, and I took his balls in my hand as I started to suck, eager for what he had to give me, and to come myself while he was still in my mouth. He was too quick, thrusting himself deep before I could even get my hand down my knickers, and I was forced to swallow as best I could as he came in my mouth.

By then I'd realised we were being watched, with several grinning faces peering around either end of the curtains. I really thought they were going to take turns with me, maybe bend me over the back of the stage and fuck me from behind while I kept the next one warm in my mouth. Unfortunately they seemed to have decided that the big black guy had taken charge of me, and he was the same, helping me tidy up and pushing yet another beer into my hand.

The gig was plainly over, and despite wanting to come I contented myself with sitting on my lover's lap, still topless and with his hand up my skirt, the centre of a ring of men. It felt particularly good to be near nude when all of them were in full uniform, and I didn't mind being fondled at all. If anything I'd have been ready for more, but before Martin, my black airman, was ready some bunch of pushy types arrived to announce that it was time to go home.

I felt frustrated but there was nothing to be done, with the lights up and no chance for more than a quick grope and an exchange of mobile numbers before we were being hustled off the base. It had been good and I was telling myself I should be content, but I hadn't come, and I wasn't. There was only one thing for it. As soon as we'd dropped Josie and Sam off I told Steve I needed him and that he could have what he liked in return. I got masturbated, brought off under his fingers as I sucked lovingly on his cock, thinking of how easily Martin had handled me and trying not to wish it had been Stephen English.

I KNOW WOMEN
are supposed to be romantic creatures who fall deeply in love with one man and reject all others with a haughty sniff, or at least with one man at a time, but it really is bollocks. Maybe my day will come, although I've had some pretty intense relationships as a teenager and it's never once stopped me being rude with Steve, or indulging myself when I know it's not going to get back to the boyfriend. If that makes me a bad girl or a slut or whatever, then fair enough, but men are no better and I refuse to accept that the rules are different depending on which sex you are.

I'd enjoyed Martin, and I wouldn't have missed the fucking he'd given me for the world, while not getting it quite perfect had only left me eager for more. It had also left me feeling a great deal better about myself, because his desire for me had been so strong. That didn't change my feelings for Stephen at all, except to give me renewed confidence and determination to either find out if he was gay or work it so that he got me into the sack, or up against the wall, or over his desk at the office, according to circumstance.

A good deal of Sunday was spent washing my hair out so that I'd be able to be Miss Felicity Cotton again on the Monday morning. Steve was around too, for lunch, teasing me about how eager I'd been the night before and eventually cajoling me into a blow job
before he went home. It was risky, with him sitting on my bed as I knelt between his legs and the door shut but not locked, which had my heart hammering at the possibility of Mum walking in on us.

Monday morning I was back in my work clothes and thoroughly respectable, walking through town to work with all the other busy bees. Stephen was already there, and I was immediately told to make coffee, which seemed to be a bit of a power trip for him. He asked about my weekend in a perfectly casual way, but I couldn't resist a little test to see if I could get any interest out of him, one way or another.

‘It was fun, thanks. I went out to the big American airbase at Hockwold.'

‘Did you? I'm surprised they let anybody in.'

‘We had passes. One of my friends' boyfriend is stationed there. In fact it's full of good-looking young men.'

He chuckled.

‘Anyone special?'

‘Sort of. I met someone, Martin. Not that it's serious.'

‘An officer, I trust?'

‘No.'

His eyebrows rose slightly.

‘Not an officer? Tut, tut, Felicity, that will never do.'

He was joking, but it was the most bizarre reaction, neither the jealousy I might have expected if he'd been interested in me, nor the sort of response he might have given if he'd been gay, but a peculiar and unexpected snobbery. I couldn't help but be defensive.