Lust Under Licence (14 page)

For the
performance, Tom had insisted that Tina abandon her punk uniform.
So now she wore a thin white shift that left her arms and shoulders
bare and flowed around her long coltish body. She had also dropped
the pretence that she could play the guitar, so now she stood to
the side of the stage mouthing the chorus harmony into a
microphone. To Tom's eye, she looked like a virgin sacrifice.

As the number
moved to its climax, Shani took hold of Tina and pulled her to the
centre of the stage. The contrast between them was exciting: the
voluptuous black woman in leather side by side with the slim blonde
maiden. They were singing into the same mike so their mouths were
close. As Shani hit her last note she closed her lips over Tina's,
holding the girl tight in an uninhibited kiss.

For Tina,
there was no escape. Surprise flickered in her liquid brown eyes
and then they closed as she surrendered to her lover's embrace.
'Soul Kissing' was the name of the song and that's what they did,
mouths locked, tongues entwined, the bootlace thin strap of Tina's
dress falling off her shoulder as Shani's arms crushed her with
uncompromising fervour. Behind them the Shagbags played on into the
fadeout and the producer held the shot tight on the two women
eating each other alive before someone elbowed him in the ribs and
he cut to a traffic report.

Tom had the next morning's edition of the
Daily Skunk
delivered to Chas Cross by
messenger, together with another tape of Shani and the girls. On a
slow news day, the paper had run a photo of Shani and Tina with
their tongues down each other's throats across half the front page
above the heading SHAGGED ROTTEN! The article read:

Move over
Johnny Rotten! Punk rock moved into a new era yesterday when
girl-group Shani and the Shagbags flaunted their deviant sexuality
on television. Soon after two of their number kissed and pawed each
other before an audience of millions, a spokesperson for the group
said, 'We're taking music away from politics and putting it back
where it belongs - in the bedroom. And if the bed is shared by two
women, so what? We're not ashamed to say it's OK if girls want to
shag each other. In fact, it's great!'

More followed
inside, including the revelation that Tina was the runaway daughter
of Professor Lionel Slack who had himself fled the country when he
had been caught with his hand up his female students' skirts the
previous year. There were provocative pictures of Shani, showing a
ravine of glistening cleavage, and a shot of Tina which made her
look about ten. A sanctimonious leader comment complained of
falling standards of moral guidance provided by teachers. What
pleased Tom most however was the reporter's conclusion:

If this kind of behaviour is designed to attract attention to
the group's music, there is really no need for it. In the
Skunk's
opinion Shani is
the most sensational new singing talent we have produced in years
and her material is as strong as her voice. Our advice to these
ambitious young women is - drop the stunts and get down to the
recording studio. Quick!

As far as Tom
was concerned, it couldn't have been better if he had written the
copy himself.

It had the
desired effect. The phone call he had been hoping for came at
midday.

'All right,
Tom,' said Chas Cross, 'exactly what kind of a deal are you looking
for?'

Three - Arse for Art's
Sake

Cassie Crow had no doubt that
The
Come-Again Lifestyle
was going to be a
raging success. The kids at
Fragrant
were pulling out all the stops on the extracts and
she had the book publishers - what a sad sack of wimps they were -
eating out of her hand. And Chastity Honeydew, the author, was due
to fly in shortly from California to provide an exclusive interview
and oversee the volunteer profiles.

Just one thing was bothering her - her own
Come-Again
regime. Under Philippe's
gloriously rigid tutelage she had been busting her targets but for
the past week the Frenchman had been ducking appointments. First he
claimed to have a cold and now to have damaged his back.

'How?' she had
demanded on receiving the news. 'You're built like a brick
shithouse - don't tell me your plunger's bust.' When sincerely
annoyed, Cassie's New South Wales origins tended to show.

The long and
the short of it was that Cassie had been robbed of her very
personal trainer and had to fall back on her own resources to make
her targets. This had proved difficult. Though she womanfully
massaged and kneaded, probed and stroked - with a full battery of
sex aids - she found wanking hard work. She needed that ridiculous
sausage of flesh that all males, no matter how cretinous, carried
with them wherever they went. But what she did not need was the
whole baggage of personal politics that inevitably accompanied the
sausage. 'Gimme the toad without the whole,' was her philosophy
these days.

Many times she
had flicked through her bulging Filofax and lifted the phone to
call some past or would-be lover and then thought better of it. She
didn't have the time or the emotional energy. Damn that fornicating
Frenchman!

Cassie was
churning the situation over in her head as she jogged round the
pond in the park. Philippe had insisted on early morning exercise
as part of the regime and she had kept it up. She might be failing
her POT but she was damned if she was going to develop one.

It was a
beautiful day - an azure blue sky, a low sun slanting through the
leaves, ducks and moorhens afloat on the green water without a care
in the world. The air was clean and pure - except around a bench
occupied by two scruffy erks who were chain-smoking in a toxic
haze.

'Hey, this is
a smoke-free zone,' yelled Cassie as she passed them for a second
time. 'Why don't you stick your head in the oven? It's quicker,'
she said on the third. Until a year ago Cassie had been a
sixty-a-day girl and she had all the zeal of a convert.

Now she had
their full attention. She could feel their eyes on the pump of her
sun-browned thighs, on the twinkle of her buttocks in her tiny
white shorts, on the rise and fall of her bosom as she bounded
along the path. One of them, she noticed, was broad and muscular
with tattoos on his bare arms, the other was blond, skinny and very
young. The first had piercing blue eyes and the blond's were a
liquid brown - she saw this when she plumped herself down between
them at the end of her fourth circuit.

'Hi, guys,'
she said. 'Great morning, isn't it?'

The one with
blue eyes said something in a Glaswegian accent that took her a
moment to decipher. Unscrambled, it was revealed as 'A great
morning to fuck your big arse.'

She looked
back at him steadily. 'Why don't you then?' she said.

He grinned,
his teeth were big and white and his lips petal pink. Cassie's
heart was pounding - and not just from her exertions.

He placed a
large gnarled hand on her right breast and squeezed her tit. 'Give
us a kiss,' he said but by the time she realised that's what it was
his tongue was halfway down her throat.

She clung to
his muscular torso, sucking on him. He pulled her T-shirt from her
waistband and up to her neck. 'Let's see what you've got,' he
muttered, yanking her sports bra upwards and spilling her big white
breasts out into the sunlight.

'Bloody hell!'
whispered the blond boy, his eyes out on stalks at this fabulous
display. His Adam's apple bobbed in his long thin neck as he
spoke.

'Touch me,'
she said to him. 'Feel my tits. Pinch my nipples. Go on.'

As the boy's
shaking hands closed on her, she shivered. This was more like it!
She was acting like a mad slut and she didn't care.

The one with
blue eyes was looking over to the other side of the pond. A
middle-aged woman with a dog was slowly moving in their direction.
She hadn't seen them yet.

Blue-eyes
pulled the T-shirt down over her quivering tits, Blondie's fingers
still cupping the big globes.

'You're a
crazy bitch,' the Scot said. 'What's your game?'

Cassie had a
hand in each of their laps, searching out the outline of their
genitals beneath the denim of their jeans. There's a sausage to
each cretin, she reminded herself as she found two taut bulges. Big
sausages too.

'Take me
somewhere and fuck me,' she said. 'You know you want to.' There was
no doubt about that. Blondie's cock was twitching beneath her
fingers. It would be fun to make him come in his pants if it wasn't
such a waste.

'Let's take
her with us, Jimbo,' said the blond boy. 'Please.'

Jimbo
reflected for a moment. Cassie scratched a long nail across the
hard baton of flesh trapped against his thigh.

'OK,' he said
at last. 'We'll take her to the house.'

'What house?'
she said, a note of caution sounding for the first time in her
head.

'It's just by
here, we're doing it up. The owner should have left by now so we'll
be OK.'

Jimbo made her
walk in front of them as they left the park and he kept up a
commentary for the benefit of his young companion.

'She's a big
lass, this one. Classy though. You're in for a treat. Look at those
legs, Ally, firm and strong - I bet they could squeeze the life out
of a man. What a way to go, eh?'

'Fantastic!'
cried Ally. Cassie wondered if he was a virgin. 'She's got a good
cunt on her too, you can tell by the gap at the top of her legs. If
it's too wide then she'll be slack, no friction on your dick, you
see. But that looks just about right, not too tight to strangle
your tackle and broad enough in the hips to give you a good
ride.'

'And her arse,
Jimbo! Fantastic.'

Cassie swung
her hips in an exaggerated fashion.

'Too right,
chummy. I can't wait to climb on board.'

Cassie
thrilled to the sound of these half-baked crudities. What arrogant
pigs they were! If they didn't give her what she wanted maybe she'd
hand them over to Claire Quartermain. Not that the TCD would bother
with proles like these two.

They stopped
in front of a terraced house festooned with scaffolding. The front
door was open and a grizzled giant of about sixty was mixing
plaster in a bucket.

'Where you
bin?' he said when he caught sight of Jimbo and Ally. 'Mrs
Shackleton wanted to talk to you but she had to go.' He addressed
the Scot but his eyes were on Cassie.

'Good,' said
Jimbo. 'This is Mrs Smith,' he added. 'She's come to look at how
we're getting on. She's thinking of having a loft extension, aren't
you, Mrs Smith?' He shot Cassie a meaningful look.

'That's
right,' she said, playing along. 'Can I go in?' and she strode up
the garden path without waiting for a reply. Jimbo and Ally fell in
behind her, leaving the bemused giant to continue with his
plaster.

'Don't worry
about him,' said Jimbo, directing her up the stairs with a hand on
her bottom, 'he's as thick as two short planks.'

On the walk to
the house Cassie had worried about being ravished in a building
site. It was one thing to have two eager roughs between your thighs
in the heat of the moment, but quite another to spend the rest of
the day pulling splinters out of your bum. She need not have
worried. From what she could see the loft space was in building
chaos, but the rest of the house was obviously lived in -
presumably by Mrs Shackleton.

'In here,'
said Jimbo, opening a door on the first-floor landing and pushing
Cassie into a large and comfortable bedroom. The big bed dominated
the space, the cream bedspread and blue duvet calling out to be
tumbled on. But the two men were all over Cassie already, Ally
grinding his pelvis into her buttocks and Jimbo pulling her tits
into the open. They showed all the signs of wanting to fuck her
standing up.

'Put me on the
bed,' she ordered as their hands plucked at her clothes. God, it
was marvellous to be stripped naked by these two horny brutes! She
didn't make it easy for them, only lifting her arms when she feared
they would tear her T-shirt from her body.

The three of
them toppled onto the bed. There were four hands and two mouths
upon her, Jimbo's unshaven chin was rough on the tender skin of her
breasts. She shivered with pleasure. She'd never had two men at her
before. She was going to savour every moment.

The men had
their cocks out now. The stiff poles of flesh were rubbing against
her hips and belly. Maybe now was the time to impose some
order.

'I want the
boy first,' she said firmly, pushing Jimbo away. The Scot backed
off, seeing the sense in what she said.

Ally's tool
stood out from his body, the long pink shaft pulsing, the helmet a
blood-engorged purple. It was obvious he might explode at any
moment.

Cassie spread
her legs for him and threaded the quivering member inside her. She
was running with juice. It was like plunging a brush into a glue
pot. He sank down on her and stuck fast. She scissored her thighs
over his back, holding him deep inside.

His tongue was
in her mouth and his fingers were everywhere, exploring the satin
opulence of her nakedness. They fluttered from her hips to her
bottom cheeks to the rounds of her bosom flattened against his bony
chest. He thrust his pelvis against her, sending the long needle of
his penis deep into her hungry vagina. 'Oh!' she heard herself cry.
'Oh, yes please.'

But he
couldn't last long enough for her. Not that she cared for she
pushed his slim body from her almost before he had finished
spunking and reached for her other lover.