Lust Under Licence (30 page)

The girl shot
Marianne the kind of look that suggested she'd hit a nerve. 'What's
the point? His whole philosophy is based on conserving his vital
juices.'

'I know,' said
Marianne. 'What a waste.'

Marianne had Gerald Goldring to thank for the addition of Ted
Timberland to her first
Gravitas
programme. It was officially listed as 'an
investigation into the sexual self-help phenomenon' but known
throughout Black Raven as 'the wankers' special'. At first Marianne
had resisted Ted's inclusion on proprietorial grounds - i.e. she
hadn't thought of it herself. The influence of Chastity Honeydew -
whose cooperation had somehow been guaranteed by Philippe was, she
maintained, sufficient to sustain the entire programme. But when
Gerald had told her about Ted she had made a graceful retreat,
earning approbation from Charles Mastiff as a
'team-player'.

What attracted
Marianne's interest in Ted's beliefs was not his assertion that
inside every bloodless, pre-programmed modern man there was a wild,
hairy savage longing to ride into the sunset with a naked woman
slung across his back. She was also indifferent to his all-male
breast-beating session in the woods when accountants and dentists
threw off their uniforms of conformity and straddled tree trunks
starkers, howling at the moon. As far as she was concerned guys on
their own could freeze their balls off and behave like prats
provided she wasn't obliged to attend. Which she wouldn't be, since
her very female presence - so the Timberland philosophy went -
would threaten the essential male fluids from which derived man's
strength.

It was this
aspect of Ted's thinking that intrigued Marianne. He believed that
man drew mental and physical inspiration from hoarding his sex
juices. His was a no-spunking regime. No sticky patches on the
sheets, no sodden wads of Kleenex in the toilet bowl, no stained
men's magazines under the bed. More to the point, there was no
shooting off down a woman's throat or over her shaking tits or even
- incredible to think - deep within the tight warm suction-valve of
her pussy.

In Marianne's
observation, this was a mode of behaviour completely foreign to
every man she had ever known. Except Philippe. He had told her
that, for the year before he had met her, he had conserved his
sperm. Nowadays, of course, with his happiness in her hands,
Philippe's juice spurted like oil from a well. 'It's fortunate you
used to bank it, darling,' she'd say as she coaxed another gusher
from his loins, 'you must have been saving it all up for me.'

The notion of Ted and his acolytes conserving their essential
juices fascinated Marianne - intellectually, that is. She was not,
after all, much interested in sex. But from the point of view of
the presenter of
Gravitas
, there was no doubt the
Timberland philosophy represented a rigorous intellectual
challenge.

She took up
the gauntlet with Gerald.

'So you've
turned into a tree-hugger, have you?' she said as they stood in the
queue in the Black Raven canteen. 'I can just see you out there
under the stars in your loincloth dancing in the embers of the camp
fire.'

'Ha, ha,' he
said without mirth. 'I've had all this from my wife. You'll belt up
if you know what's good for you, Marianne.' And he plonked a
low-fat yoghurt on his tray with some venom.

'And what does
she say about the spunk conservation part of the new
lifestyle?'

'As far as
she's concerned I've been practising the Timberland regime since
Whitney was born and she's three. Satisfied?'

'Regularly,
darling, but it doesn't sound as if you are.' They were through the
check-out now, searching for an empty table. 'We'd better not sit
next to the researcher with the tits, you'll only get
uncomfortable.'

Gerald scowled
at her but followed the sway of her slim hips in her tight black
mini to the corner of a crowded table by the window. They squeezed
in beside a crew of technicians with hairy arms and beery bellies
who looked at her with undisguised lust.

'This should
suit you,' said Marianne, the length of thigh hard against
Gerald's, 'you can empathise with your fellow apes.'

'Shut up,' he
hissed.

She was amused
to see the anger boiling in his eyes. Their faces were inches
apart.

'I'm sorry
we're so squashed up,' she said. 'Do tell me if female proximity is
threatening the retention of your male essence.'

'If you keep
this up, Marianne, I'm going to smack your behind,' he
whispered.

'I'd rather
you buggered it. You're good at that.' She smiled at him sweetly,
noting the flush on his cheeks. 'Of course, now you're a
tree-hugger you wouldn't be able to go all the way and spunk off up
my bottom, would you?'

'Marianne,
please!' His whisper was fierce and attracted sidelong glances from
around the table.

'I'm sorry,
Gerald, I'm only trying to get things clear from an intellectual
perspective. I mean, theoretically, would you be allowed to stick
your penis into my arse provided you didn't actually come?'

He was staring
down at his salad, refusing to look at her.

'I mean, is it
the fluid retention that's the real issue? Or are you prohibited
from actually handling me?'

He forked
beansprouts into his mouth, his face and neck beet red.

'As you're
only a beginner maybe you're allowed partial penetration. You could
put your lovely big cock halfway up my bum. Or my pussy. Or between
my titties and I could lick it a little. I promise I wouldn't
swallow any juice you leaked.'

He made a
strangled sound, as if he were choking.

'And if you
did come in my mouth then I'd kiss you and give it all back and you
wouldn't lose a drop...'

Fortunately
for him, Gerald's squeal of frustration was drowned by the squeak
of chairs and rattle of cutlery as the technicians rose as one from
the table. As they left, one of them bent over and said to Gerald.
'I'd give her one sharpish, if I were you, mate. Or would you like
us to do it for you?'

'Oafs,'
snapped Marianne as they wandered off chortling. 'Mind you, if I
went off with them I reckon I'd soon be bathing in spunk. They say
that sperm is very good for the skin. I could rub it into my
breasts and my thighs—'

He grabbed her
by both arms and shook her. 'Shut up, Marianne!' he hissed. 'Shut
up!'

She fell
across him, giggling into his neck, one hand dropping into his lap
where it closed on a big solid bulge tenting out his trousers.

'I'm sorry, Gerald,' she whispered. 'I'm only teasing. There's
no need to get so worked up. My, you're
huge
down there - would it help if I
just squeezed—'

Suddenly he
froze, his eyes bulging and his mouth working soundlessly. His
pelvis was jumping and twitching against her hand and she leaned
all her soft weight into his body as he lost control.

Laughter
gurgled from her lips like water over pebbles. 'Oh dear, Gerald,
you're all wet. Don't tell me you've lost some of your essential
oils.'

'You bitch,'
he breathed into the silver-blonde locks that fell over his face,
'you complete and utter bitch. I really am going to tan your arse
now.'

She snuggled
into his body and licked his ear. 'Go on, Gerald, agree you lost
the argument.'

'Never.'

'Come on, the
evidence is dripping down your leg!'

'So what? You
didn't play fair.'

'Admit one
thing then - a woman is much nicer to hug than a tree.'

He said
nothing but his arms were tight around Marianne's delectable body.
She wondered if Tree-Top Ted would be more of a challenge.
Intellectually, of course.

'So? What do you think?' Cassie's voice was tense, expectant.
The special Honeydew issue of
Fragrant
was in Petra's hands and the
editor was desperate for a reaction.

'It looks
fabulous,' said Petra with as much genuine enthusiasm as she could
muster. 'The front photo is just right.' The full face of a winsome
beauty with plucked eyebrows stared out of the page, her eyelids
half lowered, the tips of two squeaky white teeth biting into her
swollen lower lip. The effect was of an exquisite nymphet
struggling to stem the rising tide of onrushing ecstasy, or - so it
occurred to Petra - a schoolgirl about to wet herself with exam
stress. She did not share this last thought with Cassie.

'I love these
headlines,' she said. '"The Big O Eight Days A Week", "How To
Double Your Targets In Love" - that should shift a few copies.'

Cassie wasn't
satisfied. 'But what do you think of your profile? Businesswoman X,
that's you. You're top of the POTs, you've beaten your target by
about seventy orgasms a month. That's phenomenal.'

'Is it?'

'Are you
kidding, Petra? Six comes a day, rain or shine, that's amazing. No
wonder you're the boss of a multinational corporation. You're
living proof of the power of the orgasm. The ultimate vindication
of the Honeydew theory!'

As Cassie's
voice rose in jubilation Petra's face fell.

'What's the
matter, Petra? I thought you'd be pleased.'

Petra slumped
onto the sofa in Cassie's living room. 'I'm sorry, Cassie, it's
just that this is all crap.' She dropped the magazine onto the
table in front of her. 'This makes out that I'm wonderwoman, taking
control of my life, running a business, enjoying fantastic sex -
it's completely false. Thank God I'm not identifiable.'

Cassie stood
over her, her face hard. 'You didn't make up those results, did
you? If that got out I'd be in deep trouble.'

'No, no, it's
all true. It's just that—' She started to sob and an alarmed Cassie
sat next to her and put her arms around her heaving shoulders. It
was a minute or two before Petra felt composed enough to speak.

'You see? I'm
going to pieces. The truth is I've been so worried about Tom and
bound up with his situation that I've not actually been running the
business. I've employed someone else to cover for me.'

'Who?'

Petra gave her
a tear-stained grin. 'A man called Charles Kite. The Primrose Court
had him removed as Chief Executive of Stamp & Marne and demoted
him to office administrator. I rescued him from a life counting
hand towels and loo rolls. He's a complete bully but
brilliant.'

'Well done
you. I always say delegation is the key to good management.'

'Then there's
Kelvin. He moved into another room and we have no relationship at
all. I haven't seen him for weeks.'

'So he's got
nothing to do with your amazing results?'

'No, but
they're correct, I swear to you.'

Cassie got up
and fetched the wine bottle. She topped the glasses on the table
and waited. It was a long wait.

'Cassie, what
would you say if I told you I was a lesbian?'

'Holy shit!'
Cassie's hand flew to her mouth. 'I mean, how come?'

Petra told her
about the incident with Inspector Quartermain and Sergeant Tooth in
her office, then about Morticia Chekhov on the train and Eve
Biscuit at Spilling Grange and, finally, of the afternoon in bed
with Claire.

Cassie sipped
her wine and looked thoughtful. 'I can see why your results were so
good, you sexy thing, but I'm not sure that it demonstrates you're
an out-and-out lesbo. Fifty-seven per cent of women feel good about
the idea of sex with another woman and not all of them are gay.
After all, you do seem to like a bit of cock as well.'

Petra thought
about that and it appeared to cheer her up. 'Of course,' she said,
'I haven't told you the real reason I scored so heavily.' She
picked up her bag and reached inside. 'It's this.'

Cassie took
the glass dildo in her hands and held it as if it were a sacred
object. It glowed in her grasp, warming her fingers, a mist of
swirling colour rising up the thick smooth shaft.

'My God,' was
all she could say.

'Meet The
Magic Wand,' said Petra. 'He's the real man in my life.'

'I've got to
have him,' breathed Cassie, squirming her bottom into the cushions
of the sofa.

'That can be
arranged - at a price.'

Cassie looked
up. There was a sparkle in Petra's eyes and a grin on her lips as
she said, 'Where do you stand, Cassie? Are you among the
fifty-seven per cent?'

'Are you
propositioning me?'

'Why not? You
started all this when you made me take a video of you having
sex.'

Cassie
giggled. She remembered it had been a turn-on having Petra watch
her with Philippe.

'I was
fascinated by your nipples,' said Petra, 'all long and red like
loganberries. I wanted them in my mouth but would never have dared
to ask you. Then.'

'I see,' said
Cassie and pulled her thin cashmere sweater up over her jutting
breasts. The white cups of her brassiere seemed enormous. Petra put
her hand on one and squeezed.

'Be gentle
with me,' said Cassie as Petra tugged the bra cup over the bulging
breast and a big white globe of flesh tumbled into her palm.

'No chance,' she said. 'It's about time we got to grips
with
your
orgasm
targets.'

On the
afternoon that Tom heard from New York that Ralph Simons had been
ousted as President of the Simons Corporation he rang a detective
agency.

'I want
someone with a video camera. Someone discreet, and experienced. I
want them here in half an hour, if not sooner.'

'Blimey, Mr
Glass,' said a young woman's voice, 'they're out.'

'Can
you
use a
video camera?'