Lust Under Licence (25 page)

'You bet,'
breathed Cassie.

'Imagine you 'ave a
citron
. Now squeeze that wiz your
buttocks,' purred the Frenchman. The camera framed his lean tight
buns as he demonstrated. '
Qui,
oui
, squeeze that
citron
for me!'

Cassie squeezed her
citron
. She felt good, like she always
did with Philippe. What a shame she now had to share him with an
audience of five million. The dirty,
dirty
rat!

Marianne Matthews also squeezed her
citron
while Philippe strutted his
stuff. It gave her enormous satisfaction to watch him flex his
fabulous frame as Badger TV's new fitness guru. This was in some
measure because she had made the necessary introductions - 'my
parting gift to Badger' she called it - but mostly because their
affair still burned white-hot.

Philippe
gyrated his muscle-packed butt on the bedroom television as
Marianne ground the heel of her hand into her pubic bone. The
pressure tugged the flesh of her pussy up and down, stretching her
clit, tickling her all-but-sated nerve ends. The room smelt of last
night's fucking and now the aroma of her present excitement
thickened the atmosphere still further.

Pump pump
went Philippe's tight bum on
the small screen and
pump pump
went Marianne's silky buttocks on the bed sheet.
She pushed two fingers between the swollen frills of her labia into
the hot swamp of her cunt. She was in a fever and couldn't help
herself - just as she hadn't been able to help herself last night.
She had intended Philippe to have a good night's rest and had sworn
to herself she would leave his irresistible body alone. Somehow it
hadn't worked out like that. At two in the morning she'd had her
ankles round his ears and when the alarm had gone at four to get
him to the studio he'd had to remove his beautiful cock from
halfway down her throat.

And now here
she was, inspired by the sight of her lover on television, wanking
her raw and swollen pussy to yet another orgasm.

'
Formidable
,'
said the pink-suited TV presenter. 'Thank you, Monsieur Muscles.
All the ladies will be rushing out to buy lemons after
that.'

Let them
, thought Marianne, pinching
her clit between thumb and forefinger.
Just
so long as I can keep his banana
.

Chastity
Honeydew removed her spectacles from the bridge of her nose and
tossed them onto the desk. She stared up at the ceiling for a
moment before fixing Cassie with her milky-blue eyes. She sighed.
It was an expression of profound disappointment.

'Well,
Cassie,' she said at length, a furrow of displeasure on her
flawless forehead, 'it hurts me to say it, but I suspected as
much.'

She tapped the
notebook she had been reading. 'Your POT results are pitiful, the
worst I've seen in months. I can see now why your operation here is
on the skids.'

Cassie's jaw dropped, she had expected personal vilification
but to condemn
Fragrant
was like threatening her own child. 'I beg your pardon,' she
said.

'Just look at
this outfit, Cass. Low morale, no motivation, poor time-keeping. I
mean, it's eight-thirty in the morning and where is everybody?'

Cassie opened
her mouth to tell her that office hours began at nine but Chastity
had already moved on.

'I've worked on magazines in New York and I tell you, sister,
they make this set-up look like amateur night. Remember
Pink Pajamas?
The hottest
rag in the Big Apple when you were still learning how to sharpen a
pencil. I doubled its circulation in five months. Believe me, Cass,
I've seen pros in action and this bunch you've got working for you
couldn't cut it in a kindergarten.'

'So how come
our circulation has just hit half a million and I'm the Women's
Magazine Editor of the Year?' said Cassie with acid in her
voice.

Maybe Chastity
did not hear, at any rate she did not answer. There were other
things on her mind. 'Take a good look at yourself. You're the boss
- at present anyway - but you mooch around here like you haven't
had a big one for a month. And when I look at your results, I see
that you haven't. OK, there's a few ups on your graph here and
there, and you obviously made some kind of effort last night for
which I am grateful, but basically there's zilch. I mean, it
explains why you look so terrible and all. But you started off so
well. What happened? Did you forget to change the batteries in your
vibrator?'

During this
speech Cassie considered murder, maybe she could glue up Chastity's
lips and nostrils and let her suffocate on her own wind. Instead
she said, 'My Personal Orgasm Guide quit. I don't seem to have got
on very well without him.'

The furrow on
the flawless brow lengthened and something approaching concern
flickered in the milky-blue eyes.

'Shit, honey,
you should have said. We'd have got you another.'

'I kept hoping
he'd come back. He was - he is - a bit special.'

'Do I know
him? What's his name?'

'Philippe.'

'
Philippe?
'
Chastity looked thunderstruck. 'French guy built like a young Arnie
Schwarzenegger? With a
schlong
like a jumbo
bratwurst?
'

'I like to
think of it as a loaf of French bread.'

'Whatever.
Something you can make a regular meal out of. And your meal ticket
ran off. Poor you.'

Cassie was
amazed to find that Chastity was holding her hand. The gesture was
so unexpected she began to cry.

'Hey, come on,
sister,' said the American and she produced a handful of paper
tissues from somewhere to stem the flow.

'I remember
that guy,' she said as Cassie mopped up. 'I trained him personally
out in LA. Though, believe me, he didn't need much training. He had
complete control of his body and could keep it up for hours. And he
knew all the little places where a woman likes to be...'

The milky-blue
eyes began to cloud with nostalgia and other emotions. She reached
for the tissues herself.

'I thought
he'd gone back to France. He left about a year ago. I tell you,
Cass, it's been a bloody year since he went.'

'Really?'
Cassie was rapt. This conversation had taken an unexpected turn.
Having let slip her own guard she was interested in any admission
Chastity might make. She opened her mind to the possibility that
she might come to like the bitch after all.

'You see, Cass, I believe in the Honeydew method. It's my
life's work. Healthy living through orgasm, that's my philosophy.
By the way, my next book's called
Multiple
Orgasms, Multiple Choices
, it's about
freedom and liberty and all that stuff - do you like
it?'

'Fabulous.'

'So, you see,
I'm a business, I got commitments, I got turnover to generate
through books and seminars and spreading the Honeydew philosophy
all over the world. So how do you think it would be if it got round
that Chastity Honeydew couldn't come any more?'

'
What?
'

'You see.
You're shocked. You've gone white.'

'You mean you
can't have an orgasm?'

'Haven't had
one for a year.'

The
implications of what she had witnessed in her office last night
flashed through Cassie's mind. It was true, Chastity had not come,
despite the efforts of her trained studs.

Chastity
sighed a heartfelt sigh.

'I shouldn't
tell you, Cassie, but I need to tell someone. I haven't got my
rocks off since that Frenchman packed up his breadstick and left me
last year.'

An idea
dawned. 'Would you like to meet Philippe again?'

Chastity
pursed her pretty pink lips in a wan smile. 'Sometimes I think that
if I could just get into his pants one more time the lights would
go on again. You know, that I'd be OK after that.'

'Right,' said
Cassie, getting to her feet with renewed energy. 'You and I are
going to pay a visit to a certain television studio tomorrow
morning.'

'What
for?'

'It's a
surprise. Just bring the boys with you.'

'Why?'

'I want to go
in with all goons blazing.'

'I don't get
it.'

'Never mind.
Just remember I'm doing you a big favour and I want something in
return.'

'What's
that?'

'I want my
office back.'

Unaware of the
fate awaiting him, Philippe pushed open the door to Marianne's
bedroom, dropping with fatigue. He had been awake half the night
making love and up before dawn to give his all to his new job. Then
he had made straight for the gym - keeping himself in shape was now
more important than ever. He had been longing for the moment when
he could pitch face down onto the soft mattress and bury his face
in the pillows and allow sleep to descend on him like a soft warm
blanket...

'Darling.' The
husky voice was in his ear and Marianne's fingers were on his back,
plucking at his shirt like little mice. 'You can't go to bed with
all your clothes on. Let me help you.'

'No, no,
cherie
,' he murmured. 'Just leave me. I'm so
fatigue
...'

'Philippe, I
insist. At least let me take your jeans off. Lift your hips, that's
right. Oho! I thought you said you were sleepy.'

'Marianne,
please.'

'My, my, look
at this. I swear that's a part of you that never sleeps. I bet I
know where he'd like to go.'

'No,
cherie
,
no.'

'Oh yes, my darling,
yes!
'

'Here we are,
Miss Rosewater, the best table for you, as promised. May I bring
you an aperitif?'

'Make it a
mineral water, Josef. I've got to keep a clear head.'

Petra
Rosewater had thought hard about this lunch meeting. Her intention
was to establish some kind of ascendancy over her guest and so she
had selected the venue with care (a converted boathouse overlooking
the river packed with media trendies) and had power dressed for the
occasion (a white silk suit with padded shoulders, buttoned to the
throat). Her plan was to take the bull by the horns - or the dyke
by the dugs, as she'd said to Harriet when she'd left the office.
She was lunching Inspector Claire Quartermain and she was scared
shitless.

'Petra, my
dear, what a delightful place!'

Petra stood
shakily and allowed her cheeks to be bussed by a vision of summer
sunshine in a pink and cream dress with a scooped neck and short
sleeves. Claire Quartermain's arms were tanned and her hair fell
onto her shoulders in loose brown curls. The lines of weariness
around her eyes and mouth were crinkled into a smile and, most
terrifying of all, she was wearing lipstick. The waiter's eyes
caressed her shapely hips as he eased her into her chair.

'You must have
some clout to get a table here,' continued the policewoman. 'I hear
it's all the rage.'

'Tom has the
clout,' said Petra. 'He put money in the business.'

'How
philanthropic of him. Cheers!' And she drained a tumbler full of
fizzing clear liquid a-chink with crushed ice. 'I hope you don't
mind, I ordered a cocktail on my way in. Delicious.'

'It looks it,'
said Petra whose best intentions were evaporating as fast as her
Perrier.

'Here, taste.'
Claire pressed the glass into Petra's hand. It bore the clear pink
imprint of the policewoman's lips. Petra pressed her own to the
other side of the glass and the liquid bubbled down her throat like
iced nectar.

'Waiter,' said
Claire to the alert Josef, 'you'd better fetch a couple of these at
the double. And bring the menu and wine list while you're at it.'
Petra still had the cocktail glass in her hand. She took another
gulp. Already things seemed to have slipped from her control.

'Look,
Inspector—'

'Claire.'

'Look, Claire,
the reason I've asked you here is to discuss Tom's accident.'

Josef returned
with the drinks and fussed. Petra could have done without the
recitation of the day's specials but Claire was agog. She made him
repeat the list so she could fix the details in her mind. Petra
ploughed on.

'I think I've
got some idea who he saw that night. It was a secret meeting that
he didn't discuss with any of us.'

'I think I'll
have guinea fowl, they say this chef is very good with game. Shall
we have some wine?'

'If you
like.'

'I'd prefer
red. How about a beaujolais? That's not too heavy.'

'OK.'

'I rather like
the look of the St Amour. What do you think?'

'Please, order
what you like.' Petra was fast realising that there was no point in
trying to talk seriously to the inspector until she had eaten. Or
maybe the woman was deliberately trying to put her off. In which
case she was succeeding.

'I'll have the same,' she said to Josef as he hovered, pencil
poised.
What the hell
, she thought and drained her cocktail.

The wine was a success. They ordered a second bottle to go
with the cheese. Petra watched Claire lick a runny dollop of brie
from the side of her thumb. Her long pink tongue scooped up the
creamy cheese with relish.
She's like a
cat
, thought Petra,
lithe and sensual and clever. With sharp
claws
.