Lust Under Licence (27 page)

Her bedroom
door opened.

'I've done the
best I can with your suit,' said Claire. 'I'm afraid it's never
going to be the same.'

'It doesn't
matter,' said Petra. 'It was my fault.'

'I had the
impression it was mine. I shouldn't have sprung the news about Tom
on you like that. I'm sorry.'

'What's going
to happen to him?'

'There'll be a
trial.'

'A show trial,
you mean.'

Claire
shrugged and sat on the bed. 'Let me be your friend.'

'I can't trust
you.'

'No? What
would you say if I told you this may work out to your
advantage?'

'How could
it?'

'See? You're
curious.'

'I am not.
Take your hands off me please.'

'But you're
shaking and you're cold. Let me hold you.'

'Please,
Claire. Oh—'

The kiss lasted a long time. At first Petra struggled then she
tried a different kind of resistance and flopped like a spineless
doll. Then she found herself kissing back, pushing her tongue deep
into Claire's hot mouth.
Spineless
, she thought to herself as
the policewoman reached for her breasts,
that just about sums me up
.

Claire sucked
her nipples to swollen points.

'Bite them,'
Petra heard herself say, 'bite them hard. Ooh yes!'

'You're a real
livewire, aren't you, darling?' said the other, stripping the
bedclothes from Petra's nude body.

Petra grabbed
Claire's hand and thrust it between her legs. 'I hate you,' she
said, pressing the fingers into her hairy mound, 'you're making me
behave like this.'

Claire pulled
her hand away. Her fingers were wet. 'You're on heat, woman,' she
said. 'Bring yourself off. I want to watch.'

Petra pulled
her knees back to her chest and used both hands, spreading herself
and stroking the pink stalk of her clitoris with her left and
thrusting four fingers of her right deep into her vaginal
tunnel.

Claire leaned
over her to drink in the view. Petra fancied she could feel the
policewoman's eyes burning into her most intimate flesh as she
manipulated herself. What she was doing was crazy, obscene,
degrading. Yet she yearned to exhibit her weeping cunt to Claire,
to finger and fondle her tingling flesh, to share her most secret
parts and revel in the hot flush of shame. She couldn't help
it.

'OH!' The cry
broke from her throat like a surfacing bubble, to be followed by
more bubbles of ecstasy as her hips writhed and her arse shook and
her fingers moved in a blur. 'OH YES!' she shouted at the moment of
release.

'Oh yes,' said
Claire as she removed the now-still hands and replaced them with
her warm lips, rimming the labial frill of Petra's hungry vagina
and pushing her tongue inside as deep as it would go. She cupped
the bowl of Petra's suspended buttocks and drank the juices which
ran from her steaming sex. She bathed her with her lips and tongue
until the intensity of the self-pleasuring faded and Petra yearned
for more.

Then Claire
stood and stripped. The summer dress was thrown carelessly to the
floor, followed by her brassiere. She retained her white panties
which were cut high on the hip. Through the thin cotton could be
seen the brown hair of her pubic beard. Her breasts were full and
pink and they jutted out to the sides of her body - to Petra's eyes
they looked huge as they hung over her. The areolae were as big as
saucers with small dark nipples like cherry stones. Petra buried
her face in the soft globes and sucked like a starving puppy.

Claire
insinuated a lean thigh between Petra's legs and ground her pelvis
down onto the younger woman's pubis. Petra answered the pressure,
buffeting her loins back into the policewoman's pantied mons. The
two of them set up rhythm, pushing, jostling, squeezing their
pliant flesh together, lost in a whirl of lust.

Petra came
first, Claire made sure of it, pushing a hand between their bodies
to finger the brunette's throbbing clit, bringing her to the edge.
And over it.

'Oh, Claire!'
she sobbed into the policewoman's neck and bit down hard. Claire
squealed with the pain and the thrill of it and smacked the taut
sphere of Petra's right buttock.

'You little
bitch,' she said, fingering her wound, 'you've drawn blood.'

'I'm sorry,
Claire. Punish me. Beat me. Please.'

The
policewoman needed no encouragement, throwing the wriggling woman
over her knees and smacking her arse cheeks until they glowed
crimson. Petra twisted and turned under the blows, tears flowing
from her eyes to match the river of her excitement running from her
burning cunt.

'Harder,
harder!' she moaned, surprising herself with the intensity of her
passion. And as she squirmed under the blows, the smack of cruel
hand on yielding buttock echoing through the room, her thoughts
turned to the strange novels of Morticia Chekhov. Maybe they
weren't so outlandish as she had first thought.

Later, after
Petra had recovered, they returned to their earlier
conversation.

'I know this
may be unpalatable to you,' said Claire, 'but you do stand to gain
if Glass is successfully prosecuted.'

'What do you
mean?'

'You could end
up running his business. This whole thing is about replacing men
with women, don't you see?'

'But I
couldn't.'

'Why not?
You're doing the job already. And if you don't, they'll find some
other smart cow to put in his place.'

'But he's done
nothing wrong! It's his company!'

'Then put
yourself in a position to help him if the worst comes to the worst.
Do you know anyone with connections to The Primrose Court?'

'Cassie Crow,
I suppose.'

'There you
are. And I can put in a word for you too. Maybe.'

'What do you
mean "maybe"?'

'Put it like
this, Petra, there's a hole between my legs which needs plugging.
With your face.'

Petra grinned.
She had a better idea. She showed Claire The Magic Wand.

Claire turned
the strange glass object over in her hand. 'My, my,' she said, a
flush of appreciation on her cheeks.

As she
examined the Wand, Petra slid her hand into the policewoman's
sopping knickers.

'This is made
by Glass Tools of Glendrockit,' she said, her fingers roving the
hairy jewel of the other's capacious, loose-lipped cunt. 'Would you
like me to show you how it works?'

Claire grunted
as Petra located her clit. The policewoman's fingers were wrapped
tight around the Wand's glowing shaft and her eyes were smoky with
want.

'Then you can
use it on me,' continued Petra, stroking and tickling Claire's
jumping flesh.

'Mm, yes!'

'We'll have a
fabulous time.'

'For God's
sake, woman, put it up me!'

'If you
promise to let me see Tom.'

'OK.'

'Soon. Do you
promise?'

'Yes,
yes!
Just put it in and shag me silly.
Now!
'

Petra was a
good citizen. She was only too happy to obey an officer of the
law.

It was late
afternoon by the time Tom and Meredith left Ralph Simons' penthouse
and returned to their hotel. It had been a lengthy session. Tom
supported Meredith around the waist as they approached the door of
their suite in the Bluestone Towers.

'God, I can't
wait to get under a shower,' she said. 'I feel like I've been
swimming in spunk.'

'Who would
have thought the old goat had so much juice in him?' whispered Tom
into her ear. He felt high on sex and success.

'It's OK for
you - it wasn't your ass he spunked over,' said Meredith.

This was true.
For a finale to his orgy of voyeurism, Simons had made Meredith
kneel between Tom's legs and take his cock in her mouth. Then he'd
pulled a gnarled but virile penis from his pants and shot off all
over her beautiful derriere. Tom hadn't been able to prevent
himself spunking down her throat at the same time.

'Just think,'
he said as he ushered her into the palatial sitting room that had
been their home for the past week, 'you'll be able to tell your
grandchildren you once got it at both ends from two
millionaires.'

She stopped in
the middle of pulling her clothes off. 'Sometimes you disgust me,
Glass.'

'Sounds like
you could do with a drink. How about some champagne to toast the
deal of the decade?'

'No,' she
said. 'I want a shower, coffee and bed - on my own. Ring room
service if you want to be useful.'

Tom watched
her sumptuous white buttocks wink at him as she strode to the
bathroom. He ordered the coffee and followed her; there was a
serious point to be made.

He perched on
the side of the bath while she stood beneath the teeming water.

'What's it
going to take to persuade you to stay here and keep that old lecher
sweet while the deal goes through?'

She considered
the matter as she soaped her voluptuous body. Tom watched the
lather glisten on the gentle dome of her belly and gather in the
luxurious vee of curls in her crotch.

'I'd settle
for a piece of jewellery,' she said, holding out her left hand.
'Like a ring on my third finger.'

His eyes
focused on the big wet globes of her breasts while his brain took
in the implications of her words. He said nothing.

Meredith
sighed. 'It's OK, Tom, I'm only joking. Why would I want to marry a
man who'd sell my ass to Ralph Simons? Just give me a cheque.'

'Ten grand?'
said Tom quickly.

'Make it
twenty. It's a high-class ass.'

Tom did not
disagree.

The phone rang
in the sitting room. It was Simons. 'Are you alone?' he said.

'Yes,
why?'

'There's a
restaurant round the corner called The Blue Rhinoceros - meet me at
the bar in ten minutes. Just you.'

Tom was
pissed. He'd had more than he could stand of the old villain for
one day.

'I'm sorry,
Ralph, Meredith and I have other plans and I can't just—'

'Hey,
partner
,
remember I haven't signed the contract yet. Be there in ten
minutes. Alone.' And he hung up.

Tom pushed
through the crush of people waiting to check their coats in the
foyer of The Blue Rhinoceros. He was fifteen minutes late - a small
rebellion but the best he could do.

He found Ralph
Simons in the crowded bar. He was wearing a white tuxedo and
sipping what looked like a very large Scotch. When he saw Tom his
face split into a melon-sized grin.

'Hey, Tommy,'
he shouted above the din, gripping Tom round the shoulders,
'whatdya think of this place?'

'Busy,' said
Tom.

'Of course it
is. It's the hottest place in the city. Swifty Levine and Marian
Mortadella eat here every night. Howdja like the decor?'

Tom followed
the direction of Ralph's gesticulating arm and took in a vast
dining room whose domed roof was painted to resemble some kind of
African plain. The kind populated by leaping green wildebeest,
scarlet lions and, surprise surprise, blue rhinoceroses.

'I say gimme a
steak house any day,' continued Simons. 'Here it's third-world food
at first-world prices. You pay fifty bucks for a burnt red pepper
and a baby olive, whatever that is. But I'm old-fashioned, you're
gonna love it. Especially when you see your date.'

'My date?'

'Here she
comes now. Ain't that a fabulous-looking woman?'

Tom couldn't
deny it. The olive-skinned, almond-eyed beauty seemed to float
through the crush towards them. Heads turned and conversations
halted along her route. She was tall, nearly six foot Tom guessed,
and the mountain of black ringlets piled high on her head,
cascading down her slender neck set her high above the crowd. She
wore the kind of black dress designed to make headlines at film
premieres and charity galas; so cunningly cut away and cinched
together across acres of gleaming flesh that it gave the impression
she was both fully dressed and stark-naked at the same time.

In his ear
Ralph said, 'May I present the Senior Vice-President of the Simons
Corporation. Tom Glass, meet my daughter, Laura.'

Tom's head was
spinning. He was seated at a table opposite Laura Simons, trying
hard not to stare at her breasts. This was difficult because he had
nothing to distract him from their impossible pneumatic thrust,
artfully displayed beneath a whisper of black chiffon. Ralph had
long gone - to the opera, he said - urging them to get better
acquainted and not to talk business. Frankly Tom would have been
happy to talk anything at all but each of his overtures was met
with a monosyllabic response. All that remained was for him to sit
in silence, magnetised by the shift and fall of his companion's
near-naked bosom every time she breathed.

'Look,' she
said suddenly, her coal-black eyes sparking into life, 'this wasn't
my idea you know.'

'What
wasn't?'

'This whole
ritzy dinner shtick. Me sitting here like dog-meat and you ogling
my tits.'

'It wasn't my
idea either.'

'And if that's
all you wanna do, jerk-off, you can go down Times Square and stick
money in the slots.'

'I think
there's some kind of misunderstanding here.'

'No there
isn't. You're just some tourist thrill-seeker. I wonder what kind
of hold you've got on my father to make him pimp for you, that's
all.'

'Please, Miss
Simons, I don't know what you're talking about. I can only suggest
that if you find my company so objectionable we should terminate
the evening immediately.'

She grinned at
him suddenly. She had a big mouth, wide and fleshy with full
pouting lips. The kind that would look good, the thought popped
into Tom's head unbidden, poised above his stiff cock.