Lust Under Licence (24 page)

Chastity had
materialised in the building almost unnoticed, such was the
pandemonium caused by the prior arrival of four muscle-bound young
men in shorts, sweatshirts and mirrored sun-glasses. Jogging in
formation, they swept at speed past the arm-flapping receptionist
on the front desk. Her screech of protest alerted the magazine
staff but there was little they could do to eject these bronzed
hulks as they took up strategic positions along the corridor and
barked into walkie-talkies.

'It's
wet-dream time,' muttered Rita the production editor, 'we've been
invaded by the Chippendales.'

At that moment
a much smaller figure in a baggy zip-up jacket and a baseball cap
trotted along the corridor right into Cassie's office.

Cassie was
dialling the emergency services as the intruder pulled off the cap
and a mane of golden hair spilled down her back.

'Hiya, Cass,' said the blonde one, shucking the baggy jacket
off her shoulders and stepping out of loose training pants.
Chastity Honeydew emerged like a sunburst: her toothy smile
gleaming from ear to ear, the upthrust of her bosom straining her
lemon singlet, her to-die-for legs showcased in tiny white shorts.
She looked about nineteen years old, the picture of California-girl
perfection. At that moment, deep down, the entire staff of
Fragrant
wanted to wring
her slender, unlined, flawless neck.

They hadn't,
of course. They had fawned over her as if she were visiting
royalty, which she was in a manner of speaking. She and 'her
people', as she referred to them, at once commandeered Cassie's
office, leaving Cassie herself to the small spare desk she had
intended for her visiting American contributor. Chastity's boys
filled the fridge with organically purified water, installed their
own fax and word-processor and rigged up a satellite TV outside
Cassie's office which was permanently tuned to CNN.

Cassie had
thought that she and Chastity would be working side by side,
preparing the orgasm-regime profiles and other features for the
special Honeydew issue. But Chastity wasn't playing. 'Give all the
stuff to Randy,' she said to Cassie when she produced the copy she
had prepared, 'I'll go through it later.' Then the five Americans
had barricaded themselves in Cassie's room.

By the end of
day two Cassie was tearing her hair. She was homeless in her own
office. What's more, she watched with increasing anxiety as her
staff were summoned, one by one, into Chastity's presence. They
emerged with dopey smiles on their faces as if they'd been
brainwashed.

'What's going
on?' she demanded of Rita. 'What the fuck are they doing in
there?'

'Fuck is what
they're doing,' said Rita, dragging on her cigarette. 'What did you
expect?'

Cassie's face
was a mask of rage. 'I expect loyalty and support. I expect to be
told what's happening. I don't expect my magazine to go down the
toilet in five minutes just because some blonde witch from LA turns
up with an army of toyboys.'

Rita raised an
eyebrow. Cassie's fury was not a new phenomenon to her. 'You
invited her, darling. You blew a load of money on a book about
bonking and now she's here doing it you start complaining. You've
only yourself to blame.'

Cassie could
see the logic in this but she wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.
'Do you mean they are actually fucking? Fucking my staff in my
office?'

Rita laughed.
'She doesn't call it that, of course. She's reviewing everyone's
standing vis-à-vis their orgasm targets. You know the whole shtick
- you started it off. And, surprise surprise, Chastity is
recommending everyone to have more orgasms. That's where the
Chippendales come in.'

'Oh my
God.'

'Don't knock it. Amanda in Sales has just had a stiffie
between her legs for the first time since the Silver Jubilee. As
far as she's concerned this is the next best thing to the Second
Coming. Of course, as far as she's concerned, it
is
the Second
Coming.'

'Knock it off, Rita.' Cassie scowled at her. 'As far as
I'm
concerned it isn't
funny.'

'Chastity
doesn't think it's funny either. She's dead serious. She's a
single-issue fanatic on the subject of female orgasm. She told me
my cough would clear up if had more of them. I said I was looking
forward to the day when they sold them in packets of twenty. She
didn't laugh.'

And neither
did Cassie. She was considering smacking the smirk off her editor's
red lips when one of the Honeydew men entered the room. He was
carrying a clipboard and he consulted his notes before addressing
Rita.

'Are you ready
for your treatment, Ms Lawrence?'

'You bet,
Randy.'

'If you'd care
to step this way, you're next in line for the treatment
centre.'

Cassie stifled
a snort of displeasure. Rita grinned and stubbed out her
cigarette.

'That's great,
Randy, but I've got a better idea. My flat's just round the corner
and I've got all the equipment you need right there.'

'Well, I don't
know if Chastity would be happy—'

'Of course she
would. I've already talked to her about it. She wants me to give
you a home-cooked dinner and show you a good time in a foreign
city.'

'Provided you
show her a good time first,' muttered Cassie, heading for the door.
This was getting to be more than she could stand. If even Rita was
defecting to the enemy she was really on her own.

Behind her she
heard the boy say, 'OK but please call me Rhett.'

'Why?'

'Because
that's my name.'

'If you
insist,' said Rita, 'but I'll never remember it.'

It was ten o'clock at night and the building was almost
deserted. As far as Cassie could tell, all of the magazine staff
had gone home but the invaders from LA remained in her office. She
was getting fed up with waiting them out. She wanted them to clear
off so she could snoop around and see what evidence remained of
their activities. However, this was getting ridiculous. She decided
to barge in, on the pretext of saying goodnight. It
was
her office after
all.

She strode
down the corridor and into the workspace outside her room. Her
assistant had long gone but the television was still there, a man
in a brown suit was addressing the empty room on pork-belly prices.
Fortunately the volume had been turned right down.

Cassie paused
with her hand on the door to her office. Then, changing her mind,
she leant over her assistant's desk and peeped behind a propped-up
notice board through the glass panelling into the room beyond. When
she saw what was going on, she was glad she had taken this
precaution.

There were three people behind the glass: Chastity and two of
her boys. Between them they wore hardly a stitch. Chastity was
bending over Cassie's desk, the top of her bowed blonde head
pointing directly at Cassie. Behind her, spearing his cock into her
outthrust rump was boy number one. His face was set in a rictus of
concentration as he gazed down at the taut and creamy buttocks
buffeting his flat belly. Reclining on the sofa, paging through
the
Herald Tribune
,
was boy number two. He wore a small white towel around his waist.
Every so often he yawned. Chastity lifted her head. Her voice could
be clearly heard above the drone of the television.'

'Hey, Carter,'
she said, 'get cranking, I'm gonna need you in a moment.'

The man on the
sofa sighed and flipped the towel from his loins, revealing to
Cassie's prurient gaze a slumbering serpent coiled on his thigh. He
took the lazy member in one hand and began to pull on it without
enthusiasm, his eyes never leaving the sports section.'

Cassie sighed
too and her heart thumped in her chest. Amidst this acrimony and
politicking, she had neglected her own fitness-training and now she
was reminded of all those orgasms she had yet to achieve. She was
dreading the moment when she had to reveal the failings of her own
regime to Chastity.

'Ooh, yeah!'
yelled the blonde suddenly, shimmying her buttocks back into the
loins of the boy behind her with a burst of energy. 'Gimme, gimme,
Troy. Go for it now!'

The boy's face
was a picture of concentration as he gazed down at Chastity's
spread buttocks and his penis plunging to and fro in her gaping
pussy mouth. His big hands gripped her hips tight, sweat dripping
from his brow onto her bobbing arse as he gave her his all.

'Yeah, yeah!'
implored Chastity, raising her upper body from the desk top, her
impossibly round breasts swinging free, her blonde hair cascading
over her bronzed shoulders. 'Gimme all you got, baby. Sock me with
your sugar-stick!'

The boy on the
sofa had now diddled his tool to an impressive length though Cassie
noted that it was still only semi-erect. For the first time he
looked at the copulating couple on the desk. With an expression of
complete indifference, he began to fold away his paper.

'Go for it,
baby, go for it!' yelled Chastity. 'Do it! Take me there! Gimme the
big one now!'

The boy at her
rear was beet red in the face. As he twitched into orgasm his great
body became rigid, every tendon straining. He looked like an
Olympic weightlifter attempting a world record. Then he spasmed his
last and slumped forward across the golden form beneath him. He had
gone for the big one.

And
missed.

'Oh SHIT!'
screamed Chastity. 'I never got there! Get off me, you great
ox!'

Troy pulled
himself away from her, his face now that of a little boy on the
verge of tears. 'God, I'm sorry, Chastity. I thought we were
together, I thought—'

'Shut your
moronic mouth and get lost,' hissed his employer. 'Carter, bring
your dick over here, you're on.'

With a weary
sigh, the boy on the sofa strode over to the desk, his half-hard
penis swinging in front of him. The blonde grabbed it and tugged
him towards her by the root. His broad frame loomed over her as she
laid her forehead on his gleaming pectorals and pressed the soft
swellings of her chest into the hardness of his torso.

In a
little-girl voice she said, 'You won't let me down, will you,
Carter?'

'Of course
not, baby,' he replied and brushed the top of her head with his
lips. In her small hands his big penis was now at full stretch, the
helmet a shiny scarlet. She ran a blush-pink nail along the
underside of his shaft and it jumped at her touch. She parked her
bottom on the edge of the desk and pulled him into position between
her spread thighs.

Troy sat on
the sofa, his head in his hands, his tool snail-like between the
bronzed slabs of his thighs.

Outside Cassie
gazed on, not sure what to make of this bizarre scene. But, as she
watched Carter run the head of his big stalk up the length of
Chastity's pouting split, her body began to throb to its own
rhythm. Without thinking, she dragged her knickers down her thighs
and jammed her hand between her legs. Watching that bitch Chastity
getting it had made her wet. Very wet. She was on the brink of
coming already.

The sound of
footsteps made her look round in panic. The last of Chastity's boys
stood there, a box of pizzas in his ham-like fist, his eyes bulging
at the sight of her.

'Ms Crow?' he
said. 'Are you all right?'

Cassie was
still bent over the desk in the position she had adopted to peer
through the glass. Her skirt was above her waist, her panties round
her ankles and her large fleshy rump was thrust towards the
newcomer. Her fingers, though stilled by his presence, were wedged
in her throbbing pussy.

'I work with
Ms Honeydew,' he said.

'I know.'
Cassie removed her hand from between her legs and began to clamber
off the desk.

'I'm Randy,'
he continued in embarrassment.

'Thank God for
that,' said Cassie, removing the pizzas from his grasp and placing
those big hands on the soft, quivering cheeks of her arse. 'So am
I.'

It was a
first, Cassie knew, and probably a last. She had never arrived at
work at six-thirty before but today it had been necessary to beat
the opposition. She sat at her assistant's desk in the solitude of
the empty office suite and nursed a cup of tea in front of the
television. Thanks to Randy, she felt better. The warm glow of his
attentions the previous night had not yet faded from her loins. He
had also done wonders for her orgasm chart. Though her POT was
still well down at least she would be able to demonstrate to
Chastity some recent activity.

Cassie was a secret fan of breakfast television. The marketing
people had once told her that a significant proportion of
Fragrant
readers tuned in
every morning, so she felt an obligation to watch. At any rate that
was her excuse for ogling the soapy-smooth Irish presenters and the
tanned hunks who urged the bleary-eyed world to work out on the way
to work. And today, more than ever, she had cause to wet her
panties at the invitation to tug on the Lycra and flex her pees.
For the hunk in a leopard skin jumpsuit, his wedding tackle on
display like a vacuum-packed lunch, was known to Cassie. She had
unpacked that lunchbox and munched on his sausage many times. She
was hungry for him still.

Philippe.

So that was
why the rat had never resumed her sessions and had fobbed off all
her approaches. Obviously he had not been suffering from a bad back
after all. He'd been planning a change of career.

'OK,
everybody,' said Philippe on the TV screen as the producer closed
in on his pumping thighs, 'imagine you 'ave something 'ard and firm
between your buttocks.'