Lust Under Licence (29 page)

He smacked her
buttocks some more as she convulsed beneath him in her third or
fourth orgasm. Then he exploded deep inside the magic tunnel of her
incredible derriere. The funny thing was, he didn't even like
her.

The light
shining directly into his eyes wrenched him from sleep. At once the
pain and discomfort came flooding back. 'Look at the dirty
bastard,' said a voice Tom couldn't quite place, 'he's got a
hard-on.'

'He's always
got a hard-on,' said another - Fiona, Tom was sure about that.

'I bet he's
having another of his sex dreams. Reliving the good old days when
he fucked over every female he could get his hands on. Isn't that
right, Mr Pervert?'

The torch
wavered as his persecutor smacked a hand across the barrel of his
exposed tool. Tom caught a glimpse of peroxide hair and beady eyes.
Sergeant Amy Tooth. He might have known.

She smacked
him again, harder this time and he couldn't suppress a grunt of
pain. Amy Tooth's cruel voluptuous mouth split into a grin.

'You've had
kid-glove treatment up to now, Mr Glass, but that's about to
change. I want a full confession of your sex crimes or I'm taking
the gloves off.'

Tom said
nothing though his heart hammered in his ribs and his cock twitched
on his belly. He was determined not to tell this bitch a thing.
Particularly not about Laura.

They crawled
up the remaining stairs to her bedroom, not able to walk. They
collapsed on the bed and he tore the remains of her dress from her
body.

'Bang goes
five thousand bucks,' she said.

'Who cares?'
he said placing his head reverently between her spectacular
breasts. 'I'll buy you a dozen more.'

'What would I
have to do to earn them?' She slicked his foreskin up and down his
prick.

'I'll think of
a few things.' He sucked a thick chocolate-brown nipple between his
lips.

'Don't think,'
she said, 'let's just do.'

And they
did.

The phone woke
them at eight in the morning. Laura stretched a slender olive-brown
arm across Tom to answer it. In the morning light her skin was as
flawless as an infant's. She looked as if she had slept for twelve
hours as opposed to three or four. He kissed her throat and she
turned a lazy soot-black eye on him. His cock came instantly erect
as she spoke into the phone.

'The joint
stinks, daddy, but it didn't matter.'

Tom wasn't
listening to what she was saying. He pulled her on top of him, his
hands sinking into the satin-soft swell of her hips, his mouth
caressing the delicate stem of her neck.

'I gotta tell
you I cursed you for over an hour...'

He nudged the
tip of his tool into the groove of her sex.

'...but I've
been thanking you ever since.'

He slid up her
in one smooth movement and she settled onto him with an
imperceptible sigh.

'You were
right, daddy. You always are. Oh!'

His hands were
toying with her fabulous bum, cupping and separating the globes,
ringing the honeyed circlet of her anus with a fingertip.

'You'd better
talk to him yourself, daddy.'

He had one
hand in her bush now, seeking her tiny pulsing clit. She held the
phone to his head and the unmistakable voice of Ralph Simons filled
his ears.

'Say, Tom,
you're not married, are you?'

'No, I'm not.'
What was the crazy old coot on about?

'A businessman
ought to be married. You ought to settle down, son. Have a
family.'

Laura began to
kiss the corner of his mouth and the sharp points of her breasts
burned into his chest as her belly rubbed against his. It was hard
to concentrate on what Ralph was saying.

'My daughter
loves England. Why don't you take her back with you? Just while I'm
studying the contract.'

'But we have a
deal, Ralph. You don't need to study the contract, just sign
it!'

Laura was
becoming agitated now, breathing hard into his shoulder, little
shudders rippling through her as she ground her pubis into his.

'Things have
changed, Tommy. We're not talking business now, we're talking
family merger. Think about it, son.'

And Tom did
think about it as Laura came in heaves and pants, her sinuous body
slithering on top of his, her passion picking him up and sweeping
him away into a shaking, quaking orgasm that rocked him to his
bones.

It was a
ridiculous idea. Quite insane. But there was something about this
perverse and elegant beauty now slumbering on his chest that had
turned Tom upside down. Maybe her father wasn't so crazy after
all.

The hostility
rose from Amy Tooth like steam as she showed Petra into the cramped
meeting room on the ground floor of The Primrose Court. Petra
avoided the policewoman's belligerent gaze as she took her seat and
waited for Tom. Claire had warned her that she would not be made
welcome.'

Tom's
appearance, however, wiped all other concerns from her mind. His
face was drawn and hollow-eyed and his hands were shackled behind
his back.

'Is that
necessary?' demanded Petra of the blonde warder who ushered him
in.

'Sorry, love,'
she said. 'Sergeant Tooth's orders. She had a shit-fit when she
heard he was allowed a visit. I daren't take 'em off.' And she
slipped out of the room before Petra could protest further.

Petra wrapped
her arms around Tom and hugged him tight. His body twitched and
jumped in her embrace.

'You've got a
fever,' she said.

'It's sexual
frustration,' he whispered in her ear. Beneath the baggy grey
jogging pants he wore she felt the solid bulge of an erection bump
against her hip. 'You know how I've been since the accident. Those
harpies work me up but won't give any relief.'

'You poor
man!' She stroked the bulge.

'It's OK. I'm
not telling them anything. Ooh!' He flinched at her touch.

'What's the
matter?'

'The Tooth
woman singed the hair off my balls with a cigarette lighter.'

'What!'

'I'm a bit
sore in places but don't take your hand away. If we sit down would
you mind just fondling me a little?'

'Wouldn't my
mouth be better? I mean, if you're sensitive down there.'

'God, Petra,
don't you tease me too.'

'Don't worry.
I'm going to suck you dry.'

'You're an
angel.'

'I'm just
being practical. I want to talk to a man who can think straight not
someone with his brains in his balls.'

'I don't
fucking believe it!'

The big globes
of Meredith's breasts were shaking with passion and Tom couldn't
take his eyes off them. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off
them ten minutes earlier when she'd bounced to orgasm on his penis
but now they wobbled with a different kind of emotion. Anger.
Disbelief. The lust for revenge. He'd just told her that he'd
married Laura Simons three days ago in Las Vegas.

She came at
him with a champagne bottle, 130 pounds of nude and spitting fury.
Her hair flew around her head in an auburn tangle and her tit flesh
quivered as she aimed blows at his head. She looked magnificent. He
took the force of the bottle on his arms and crushed her to him.
She bit his neck.

He had known
there would be no easy way to break the news to Meredith but he
guessed that fucking her first had not been the most politic. The
trouble was, she had been begging for it and she was too damned
gorgeous to resist.

'Bastard!
Bastard!' she spat into his face. 'How could you leave me here to
flash my butt at Simons for two weeks while you're off shagging his
daughter? How could you do it?'

Tom didn't
answer. He should have told her at once that he'd fallen for Laura
but she would never have consented to stick around and keep the old
boy happy under those circumstances.

'And how could
you breeze in here and take me to bed without mentioning that you
married her?'

'I'm sorry,
Meredith. I'm a bastard, I know. But I had to have you one last
time.'

'You utter
sod. I'll kill you for this.'

'Are you sure
she said that?'

'Positive. I
remember a lot more now, Petra. And the more I remember, the more
suspects there are.'

Tom was
looking less haggard already. The tension had eased from his face
in direct proportion to the amount of spunk that had erupted from
his balls. And there had been plenty of that, Petra could still
taste it. She ran a friendly finger along the length of his shaft.
Even detumescent he was an impressive size.

Their
conversation followed on from one instigated at Spilling Grange in
the rare quiet moments of a threesome with Eve. As they'd
established, it seemed that every woman Tom had ever bedded in his
past had grounds for pursuing a grudge against him. And now here
was Meredith.

'What about
your wife?' said Petra.

'Who?'

'This Laura
person. I never knew you had a wife. I've worked with you for three
years, Tom, and there's never been any mention of wives or
ex-wives. Just fiancées. Like Marianne.'

'Oh yes. The
one with the voice.'

'Yes, that
one. My God, Tom, you're incredible. No wonder women are lining up
to kill you.'

'Do you think
Marianne might have pushed me then?'

'No. I think
she's a little gold-digger who'll leave you alone now she's got her
job at Black Raven. There's someone else though who deserves some
decent treatment from you.'

'I know.' In
her hand, Tom's cock suddenly swelled. 'I think about Eve all the
time.'

Petra gave the
thickening shaft a squeeze. 'You'd like her to be doing this to
you, wouldn't you?'

Tom gave a
sheepish grin, his red-tipped shaft bounding shamelessly in her
hand.

'Close your
eyes. Imagine Eve's here, with her big pink titties in your
hands—'

'Oh yes!'

'—her wet
mouth on yours—'

'Yes,
yes!'

'—and her
tight warm pussy round your cock!'

As Petra
pumped the big tool in her fist, her other hand stole under her
skirt. She wouldn't mind a little fun with the blonde nurse
herself. Putting her head up her skirt and baring that pretty pink
pussy and sliding her tongue up and down the plump-lipped notch.
Sixty-nining with Eve on a bed and feeling those big succulent
breasts press like hot pillows into her stomach as the nurse kissed
her cunt and licked her clit and made her—

'OH!' yelled
Tom.

'Oh yes!'
screamed Petra.

—
come...

Petra removed
her hand from beneath her skirt, the fingers sticky with pussy
juice; her other hand was sticky with spunk.

Shame flooded
over her. She couldn't believe she had behaved like this in such a
place! But Tom's smiling face washed away all other emotions. She
was glad for his sake they had done it. She'd bring him off again
if they got the chance. The poor man didn't have much else to look
forward to - apart from his trial.

Five - Tried and Found
Wanton

'Makes you sick, doesn't it?' said the woman next to Marianne.
They were standing in an overcrowded bookshop in the City,
observing an author's signing session. Marianne had already
conducted her interview for
Gravitas
with the man of the moment, Edward Timberland,
author of
Uncaging the
Beast
. Now she was watching a phenomenon
she had thought extinct, a writer receiving homage from an adoring
public.

'I love you, man,' said a youth in an anorak as he hesitantly
pushed forward his copy of
Beast
for signature. The author, a rugged blond giant in
a plaid shirt, rose to his feet and embraced the boy to applause
from the queue, which now snaked out onto the pavement and round
the block.

'Puke,' said
Marianne's neighbour with a yawn of distaste, 'I've got another
four days of this. Cystitis would be preferable.'

Marianne
looked at her more closely. She couldn't have been much over
twenty-five but she wore the world-weary air of one ten years
older. She had remarkably pretty features, with beech-brown eyes
and a neat turned-up nose, but her hair was in a tangle, her blouse
was creased and her fingernails were bitten to the quick.

'I work for
the publisher,' she said in response to Marianne's unspoken
question. 'I'm handling Tree-Top Ted's publicity. God help me.'

'Surely it
can't be that bad? He's a great success.'

'That's easy
for you to say. You don't have to be by his side every waking hour
- which includes a dawn work-out in the park so he can commune with
nature. Not to mention fighting off his weedy fans. Would you
believe that inside every one of these nerds there's a caveman
trying to get out?'

Marianne
surveyed the crush of admirers pushing around the table where Ted
was autographing copies. They were all ages, some greying and
flabby, others pink with adolescent acne. They wore grungy T-shirts
and grubby jeans and suits shiny with daily use. Apart from the
bulky copies of Ted's book clutched in their hands they had just
one thing in common. They were all male.

'Just look,'
said the publicist, 'two hundred men standing right in front of me
and I don't fancy any of them.'

Marianne could
see her point. Amongst the sea of squints, naff beards and receding
hairlines there wasn't a face which stirred a flicker of interest
in Marianne's libido. Except one...

'What about
Ted? You're glued to his side all day, couldn't you stick a little
closer at night?'