Lust Under Licence (21 page)

Phil was
turning the panties over in his hand. He fingered the damp
gusset.

'Wet, aren't
they?' said the woman. 'She can't help having such a juicy quim.
Would you like to look at it?'

Phil was
speechless now but the bulge in the grey serge of his trousers was
unmistakable and spoke volumes.

The woman had
removed Petra's bag from her lap and was looking at her. Petra knew
what she was expected to do - and she did it.

'There!' cried
the woman in triumph as Petra slowly pulled her skirt up her
thighs. Her little black bush, framing two pink-frilled pussy lips,
sprang into view. 'Isn't that a pretty sight?'

Loquacious
Phil was lost for words. Just a grunt issued from his dry throat
but his appreciation of Petra's charms was obvious.

'Perhaps you'd like a closer inspection,
Inspector?
Why don't you spread your
legs, my dear, and let the gentleman have a good look.'

Petra did as
she was told, sliding forward on the seat and parting her thighs.
Both her inner and outer lips were on full view and at the top of
her glistening sex-furrow her impatient clitoris throbbed.

'Play with
yourself,' came the order and Petra obeyed. She drew her fingers
through her muff, fluffing out the silky hair. She ran a slim index
finger around the edge of her gaping hole and up to the pearl of
her clit. She nudged it with her varnished nail and her whole
pelvis rippled in response. Breath hissed between her teeth. She
stroked herself again.

'Put your
fingers in.' She did so, one then two. Then the whole of her hand
as she rubbed the nub of her clit, ramming her knuckles into her
juicy slot and moaning out loud. She couldn't have stopped herself
from coming if the entire railway inspectorate had entered the
carriage.

'She's a
complete slut, isn't she, Phil?' said the dark woman, amusement and
contempt in her voice. 'Have you seen enough yet? Or is there
something else my friend can do for you?'

Petra hoped
there was. Her hand was still between her legs, gently fingering
her labia, keeping her raging desire on the boil. Her eyes were on
Phil's flushed face - and on the swelling at his crotch. He looked
as if he might burst out of his trousers at any minute.

Finally he
spoke. 'By Christ, I've got to fuck her!' he growled, and took a
step towards Petra's enticing form.

The dark woman
seized his arm and held him back. 'Don't touch her,' she hissed. 'I
want to look at you first.'

To Petra's
surprise, he obeyed her. At the woman's bidding he stripped down to
brief blue jockey shorts that barely contained his excitement.
Beneath his uniform his tall sinewy body bore the remains of a
Mediterranean tan and his stomach was as flat as a board.

'My, we're in
luck,' said the woman and pulled his briefs to his knees.

Petra gave an
involuntary moan as his cock sprang into view. It was sparsely
haired and thick, the flaming-red head gleaming with excitement.
For two pins, she would have sunk it between her legs at once. But
that was not permitted. Yet.

'Not bad,'
said the orchestrator of this bizarre occasion. She peered closely
at the bobbing organ through her spectacles and, taking a pencil
from her jacket pocket, she used it to lift his heavy scrotum.
'Turn round,' she commanded and the two women surveyed his bronzed
back and the tight white moons of his buttocks.

'Do you want
him?' the woman said to Petra.

She nodded,
her eyes bright.

'Very well.
But you'll both have to do what I say.'

She made Petra
take off her dress and allowed Phil to fill his hands with her
small swaying breasts. She positioned their bodies to her liking,
with him standing and Petra in his arms, her legs scissored round
his waist, her hands holding on to the luggage rack. Thus, wrapped
around each other in a hurtling train, the two of them made
intimate acquaintance.

The dark woman
took charge of their genitals, pressing the plum of his stiff tool
into the hungry vagina suspended above it. And then feeding the fat
length of him inside her.

The weight of
Petra's body drove her down onto Phil's broad penis. He stretched
her wide and she howled as she sat on him, bumping and shifting
with the rush of the train. His mouth was on her upturned breasts
and his hands held her up by her arse cheeks, his fingers curling
into the crack of her behind. Petra felt helpless, suspended in mid
air, balancing on a stranger's cock, hanging on to the rail above
her lest he should be thrown off his feet by a sudden jolt.

It was
incredible. Every judder and shake of the train rubbed their sex
membranes together and sent electric thrills jolting down to their
nerve ends.

Below them, the choreographer of this erotic
pas de deux
sat making
notes. Petra looked down in amazement to see the woman peering
intently at their writhing bodies and jotting things on her pad.
What the hell was she doing?

But Petra was
no longer capable of rational thought. Her body was one mass of
sensation. The difficulty of sustaining the position had delayed
her satisfaction long enough - and she guessed her partner felt the
same way too. He thrust up into her with carnal intent and bit down
on her nipple. As a finger pushed at the dimple of her anus and
then sank in to the second knuckle she squealed and rubbed her
belly furiously against his. If only he would reach round and
diddle her clit...

And then she
felt something hard and slim nose into the gap between their
lunging loins. With remarkable accuracy it approached the hood of
her clitoris and applied the exact point of pressure that she
required. Petra looked down and saw the dark-haired woman leaning
close to their lunging bodies. With one hand she appeared to be
groping between Phil's legs - fondling his balls maybe from the way
he was now bucking into her. And with the other she was poking the
tip of a pencil onto Petra's aching, yearning clit.

'AAH!' Petra's
squeal of ecstasy was drowned out by a shout from Phil that
reverberated throughout the carriage.

'Oh God!' he
yelled again as he emptied his balls into her and the two of them
collapsed onto the floor. At that precise moment, the train began
to slow down.

'Oh shit, I'm
late!' cried Phil as he disentangled himself and scrabbled
frantically for his clothes. 'You're two wild women, I've got to
say that,' he added, grinning from ear to ear and hopping into his
trousers. Suddenly he grabbed Petra's hand. 'Just tell me one
thing, darling - did the train move for you?' And he backed out of
the door laughing, his good humour quite restored.

On arrival at
Spilling Grange, Petra accepted the offer of a drink with alacrity.
The ice shook in the tumbler as she gulped a generous gin and tonic
poured for her by the ever-solicitous Nurse Biscuit.

'Is there a
problem, Petra?' asked Tom. 'You look a bit frazzled this morning.'
He himself looked a picture of health, lounging in a deck chair on
the sun-dappled lawn.

'No problem,
Tom,' said Petra as emphatically as she could. What else could she
say?

The truth was
she had just experienced the train ride of her life and she was
still in shock at her own behaviour. She had never done anything
quite so outrageous before as fucking a total stranger on a train.
But it wasn't so much the hip-hugging pelvic dance on Phil's thick
cock that disturbed her, it was the way she had allowed the
dark-haired woman to manipulate her, the fact that she had
positively gloried in handing over to another person the
responsibility for her own insatiable libido.

Well, at least
she had solved one mystery about her erotic companion. Her
identity. And that was as bizarre a coincidence as any she had ever
come across. As they parted the woman had handed Petra a business
card with a sardonic smile. It read: Morticia Chekhov, Author and
Purveyor of the Erotic Arts. So now Petra was the proud possessor
of an authentically autographed and spunk-stained pornographic
novel. She intended to put it back on Kelvin's shelf as soon as
possible. Let him work it out.

'Another
drink, Petra? You look as if you're about to eat the glass.'

'Perhaps you'd
like a shower,' suggested Eve Biscuit

'Oh yes,'
Petra said at once. The expression 'travel worn' hardly covered how
she felt.

Under the
splash of warm water she began to feel better. But her mind was
still in turmoil and two quick gins hadn't helped. She stepped out
of the shower stall and felt giddy. She subsided onto a stool and
buried her head in a towel.

'Are you all
right, Miss Rosewater?' Nurse Biscuit was at the door, concern on
her pretty face.

Petra opened
her mouth to say, 'I'm fine' but nothing came out.

The nurse took
over, gently towelling her dry, providing a bathrobe and producing
a hairdryer. In seconds, it seemed, Petra found herself sitting in
front of a dressing table. The small room also contained an easy
chair, a portable television and a bed. As Eve dried her hair she
said, 'This is where I sleep. It's right next to Mr Glass so I can
keep an eye on him at night.'

Petra glanced
quizzically at the voluptuous blonde nurse. Who was she kidding?
She spent most of her nights in Tom's bed, it was well known.

The bathrobe
was open almost to Petra's nipples and Eve's eyes in the mirror
were on her breasts. More specifically, they were on the raw marks
of Phil's ardent attentions. The nurse put down the hairdryer to
examine them.

'That looks
sore,' she said. 'How did you do it?'

Petra was
caught by surprise. 'My boyfriend,' she said hastily, 'he's very
passionate.'

'I can see
that,' said Eve, opening a jar of ointment. 'The marks are very
recent.'

'Yes. They
are.'

There was a
silence as Eve began to rub the cream into Petra's abraded tits.
Her fingers were soothing and supple. The bathrobe fell to Petra's
waist as Eve sought and found further sore spots. Her nipples were
red and swollen. There were bite marks on the undercurves of her
high pointed breasts.

'Ooh,' cried
Petra.

'Did that
hurt?'

'No, not
exactly.' It was the opposite, in fact. Petra's flesh was singing,
her nerves still jangling from her adventures on the train, from
ceaseless application of the Wand, from her constant search for
orgasmic release in the cause of Honeydew heaven...

'Oh yes,' she
moaned between closed lips as Eve found a sensitive spot on the
back of her neck.

'Stand up,'
said the nurse and Petra obeyed without a thought, presenting
herself nude, every square inch of her sensitive flesh alert to
Eve's ministrations.

The nurse
found the marks of rough fingers on Petra's bottom cheeks. She saw
the fresh bruises on her inner thighs. She noted that her labia
were puffed and swollen. 'I can guess what you've been up to, Miss
Rosewater,' she said. 'You took a lover on the train, didn't
you?'

Petra nodded.
Eve was rubbing cream into her bum now and she found herself
pushing her arse cheeks back onto the girl's hand. She couldn't
help it. It felt delicious.

'I suspected
something like that when you turned up all wobbly at the knees,
with your hair messed up,' said Eve. 'But I knew for sure when I
picked up your clothes while you were in the shower.'

Petra looked
at her blankly.

'There were no
knickers.'

'He must have
kept them,' said Petra.

'How romantic.
Was he handsome?'

'Very.' It was
true. Phil had been a hunk. She'd been lucky. The mood she'd been
in she'd have shagged Quasimodo.

'Are you going
to see him again?'

'I hope not,'
said Petra, aghast at the thought.

'You're a bit
stiff across the shoulders,' said Eve. 'Would you like me to
massage you? I know what I'm doing.'

Petra had no
doubt of that. As she lay face down on the bed, Eve busied around
fetching what she needed and soon those strong knowing fingers were
working their magic across Petra's shoulders. She felt as if she
were in a dream. So it was a few moments before she identified the
weighty kiss of flesh across her back that was not generated by Eve
Biscuit's hands. She turned her head to look at Eve and her heart
thudded in shock. The nurse was bending over her stark naked. Petra
was in receipt of a double massage, from Eve's hands and from the
biggest pair of breasts she had ever seen.

'My God, Eve,
do you ever massage men?'

'Only the ones
I really like.'

'I bet they
like it too.'

Eve giggled
and smacked Petra on the rump. 'Turn over, Miss Rosewater, and let
me do the other side.'

Petra had
never before contemplated the fleshy opulence of one of her own
gender. Until recently she had not taken any interest in women in a
sexual sense. But from Claire Quartermain to the woman on the
train, the next step was obviously meant to be someone like Eve
Biscuit.

As the
curvaceous nurse stood over her, massaging her limbs, Petra felt
she understood for the first time the lure of a woman's body.
Watching all that glorious nude flesh on the move, the thrust and
swing of the girl's big bosom, the curve of the hip and the dome of
the belly as it sloped down to the mystery of her pubic delta,
Petra reacted as she imagined a man might. First she wanted to
explore all that tumbling creaminess - to roam those big bouncing
hills, to explore the winding curves, to lose herself in the secret
nooks and crannies of Eve's generous flesh. And then, if only she
had the Wand to hand, she'd fuck her stupid.

'Oh, Eve,' she
breathed as the nurse worked on her upper thigh, the little finger
of her left hand a millimetre away from the pouting lips of her
yearning pussy. 'That's so good!'