Lust Under Licence (31 page)

'I suppose
so.'

'I'll pick you
up in half an hour or you can tell Mr Dazzle I'm closing the
account.'

As a result he
found himself driving home with a blonde in a loose cheesecloth
shirt and a denim skirt cut off at mid-thigh. Roxy looked about
fourteen.

'Shouldn't you
be at school?' he said.

She guffawed,
making a lot of noise for a small person. 'You must be joking, I
left ages ago. I'm not as green as I look, Mr Glass, honest.' And
she gave him the benefit of a bubble grin, revealing two rows of
perfectly white teeth and wrinkling the freckled skin on the bridge
of her turned-up nose. Tom was not convinced but said nothing.

He parked a
street away from his house and led her to the garden gate. There
was a four-year-old Saab standing in front of the garage with a
tennis racket and cage of balls on the back seat. He made her video
it.'

'I'll go
through the kitchen door,' he explained. 'You wait outside and
follow me when I tell you.'

The back door
was locked but he had a key. He'd been carrying it around for
weeks, waiting for just this set of circumstances. He went through
the empty kitchen and into the hall. He listened. From above came
cries and moans. They were the sounds he had anticipated but
nevertheless they set the hairs itching on the back of his neck. It
was the sound of his wife making love.

He ushered
Roxy up the stairs, the camera whirring, recording their progress.
Tom crept into the spare room next to the bedroom and the girl
followed. They moved silently though the precaution was unnecessary
for Laura, as Tom well knew, took her pleasures noisily.

'OH BABY, OH BABY, OH BABY!' she was yelling. 'Take me there,
sugar,
pleeese!
'

Tom locked the
door behind them and placed a chair against the wall adjoining the
bedroom. He indicated to the girl that she should stand on it. Then
he pulled aside the curtain on the mirror in front of her and
watched her pretty mouth fall open as she stared into the room next
door and saw the naked man and woman on the bed.

The two-way
mirror was a toy he had installed years earlier and he'd had a
certain amount of fun out of it in his bachelor days. Now he was
going to use it to record the extra-curricular activities of his
wife.

Laura and a
broad muscular man were entwined on the white sheets. They made a
handsome couple. It occurred to Tom that they would make excellent
models for an upmarket sex manual. Here they were in the missionary
position, for example; she was cradling his thrusting pelvis in the
vee of her outspread thighs, one hand clutching the compact flesh
of his pumping buttocks, the other stroking his neck with agitated
fingers; he was driving into her in measured strokes, his fingers
on the flattened bowl of her breast, his face buried in her
neck.

Laura's black
hair whipped across the pillow as her body shook in orgasm and her
cries, formless shouts of ecstasy, could plainly be heard through
the wall.

The man must
have come too for, after a moment, the pair disentangled themselves
and lay side by side on the bed.

'Get their
faces,' hissed Tom and Roxy obliged. The bed head was against the
wall and she had to stand on tiptoe on her chair and aim the camera
downwards to capture features.

Her rounded
bottom beneath her short skirt was on a level with Tom's face. Her
legs were bare and brown. A schoolgirl's legs, Tom thought.

Then the
doorbell rang and Roxy looked at him. He shrugged. The man on the
bed next door - Ray, Laura's tennis coach, Tom informed Roxy -
lazily got to his feet and padded to the window. Then, stark-naked,
he left the room.

After he'd
gone Laura pulled on a pair of tiny white pants and a robe. Tom
didn't recognise it. It was black and gauzy and almost completely
transparent. Her big breasts and the treacle-dark cones of her
nipples were clearly visible beneath it. The girl filmed her, the
tip of her small pink tongue protruding over her bottom lip as she
concentrated.

The bedroom
door opened and Ray returned with another younger man. He was lean
and tall and wore tennis whites. He had a sandy shock of hair that
flopped over his forehead. He held out a big hand to Laura as if to
shake hers and she laughed and pressed it to her left breast over
the flimsy garment she wore. Tom could imagine the silky warmth in
the boy's hand, the wonderful weight of flesh and the imprint of
the hard nipple in his palm. He groaned.

'Are you all
right?' said Roxy, her voice full of concern. 'This must be
terrible for you.'

'I'm fine,'
hissed Tom. 'Just get it on film.' But he felt far from fine. There
was nausea in the pit of his stomach and his cock was twisted in
his pants. He eased it straight, hoping the girl wouldn't notice.
How could he feel sick and turned on at the same time?

Next door Ray
had produced a bottle of Scotch. Laura and the boy used tooth
glasses from the bathroom and Ray drank from the bottle. The three
stood close together, as if they were chatting in a crowd at a
cocktail party. They looked awkward and there was much unnecessary
laughter. Ray slid his arm round Laura's waist and kissed her. His
cock was flying like a flag, the bared helmet a flaming red.

After a bit
Laura pulled her mouth away from Ray and offered it to the boy. He
dived at her, plunging his tongue down her throat. As he kissed her
Ray pulled the robe open to her waist, baring her tits, cupping and
mauling them in his hands. The boy broke off the kiss to fondle her
breasts as well. Then Ray took the whisky bottle and sprinkled
drops on her puckered brown nipples. She laughed. The men took
turns in licking the spirit off.

Things
appeared to heat up from that point. The two males became
overeager, crushing her between them as they grabbed and pawed her
silky, opulent flesh. She let them do as they liked for a minute or
two, the three of them still standing, groping and kissing and
laughing. The robe was off her by now, pooled in a heap on the
floor, and Ray was tugging at her tiny knickers, sliding his
fingers under the waistband to paddle with the flesh of her
bum.

She tore
herself away from them and walked to the big easy chair in the
window alcove. She leaned over from the waist and placed her hands
on the arms of the chair. Then she bent her knees and waggled her
bottom at them. The white cotton of her knickers stretched tight
over the rotund globes of her buttocks.

'Female apes
show their arses like that,' muttered Roxy, 'I've seen 'em at the
zoo. Guaranteed to get the fellers going.'

Too true,
thought Tom as he watched the tall boy impatiently tug his singlet
over his head and kick off his shorts and jockstrap. Like his body,
his penis was thin and long, it stood up against his belly, the tip
covering his navel.

Laura reached
behind her and eased the material of her panties off her bottom
cheeks until her knickers were just a line of white in the divide
of her shapely bottom. She pulled the strip tight, exaggerating the
outthrust of her arse, defining the pouting bulge of her pussy.

Tom wondered
how long it would take before they cut short the teasing and fell
on her. He was almost of a mind to go in there and show them how it
should be done.

The thin boy
couldn't wait any longer. He tore the flimsy material from her rear
and covered Laura like a dog on a bitch. His big spade-like hands
grappled beneath her to catch her hanging tits and his buttock
cheeks hollowed as he pistoned into her full steam.

It was over in
a flash - jab, jab, jab and he was finished.

'I thought
so,' said Roxy. 'Just like an animal. No staying power.'

Ray was at
Laura now, on his knees in the crook of her outthrust rear, feeling
between her legs for the slippery warm of her opening and then
guiding his stiff tool up and in. She leaned her head back as he
pressed against the cushions of her buttocks and the two of them
kissed, a long probing embrace.

'That's more
like it,' said Roxy, obviously lost in the drama of the moment.

The pair were
fucking in a steady rhythm now, savouring every nuance of their
pleasure. The boy stood over them, eyes wide and - Tom was
impressed - half erect once more. The copulating pair looked up at
him and Laura said something Tom didn't catch. The boy moved closer
and Laura craned her long neck to capture the tip of his tool in
her mouth.

It was fully
erect now and she bobbed her head on it but the position was too
difficult - the chair was in the way. They retreated and, to Tom's
shock and excitement, Ray put an arm around his waist.

'Oh yes,'
whispered Roxy. The boy turned to the man on his knees as he
steadily buffeted his loins against the soft buttocks of the woman.
For a moment Ray contemplated the long wet wand of flesh swaying in
his face, then he wrapped his fingers round the shaft and plunged
the glans between his lips.

'Oh
yes
,' said
Roxy.

Ray had one
hand hidden beneath Laura's body, at work between her legs, the
other cupped and explored the thin boy's sandy-haired balls. He
licked and loved the long white shaft of his cock from stem to
stern and then took as much of it in his mouth as he could. Ray was
obviously skilled at more leisure activities than tennis.

Laura thought
so too, Tom could see that. She was watching over her shoulder as
Ray sucked the boy. Her eyes were half shut and smoky with desire.
Tom knew that look well. She was only just getting going. It looked
like being a long afternoon.

Marianne felt like screaming. The
Gravitas
special was just days away
and suddenly it looked as if the whole package might come apart at
the seams. That morning Chastity had threatened to pull out of the
programme - she was objecting to the inclusion of Edward
Timberland. First Marianne, then Gerald and finally Sir Charles,
had failed to appease her.

In desperation
Marianne had cancelled dinner with Philippe and sent him off to
talk Chastity round - if she didn't listen to him then all was
lost. What cheesed Marianne off was that she had scarcely seen
Philippe all week and she had promised herself a truly romantic
evening with her lover. She had put champagne on ice, bought a new
apricot silk teddy and changed the sheets. As she faced the
prospect of an evening alone she was well and truly fed up.

Another
complication now fuelled her ire. She'd had a call from Sonja,
Timberland's publicity lady, to say that Ted was talking of
withdrawing from the programme.

'Why?'

'He doesn't
want to appear in the studio with Chastity Honeydew.'

'For God's
sake!' Marianne was furious, what was wrong with these bloody
authors? 'He's always known she's going to be in it,' she
wailed.

'Yes, but he's developed a phobia about her. He thinks her
book's better displayed in the shops than his. And when he saw her
plastered all over my copy of
Fragrant
he went ape. Do you want to
come over here and talk to him yourself? Please say yes, Marianne,
he's driving me up the wall!'

Sonja let Marianne into Ted's hotel suite. The elegant
Edwardian lounge was littered with incongruous paraphernalia.
Copies of
Uncaging the Beast
were piled on every face, a set of weights and a
ski machine blocked off one corner of the room and a pair of muddy
running shoes sat in the middle of the Turkish rug. The remains of
a very rare steak was congealing on a room-service trolley and a
half-empty bottle of bourbon stood on the coffee table. Of Tree-Top
Ted there was no sign.

'He's in the
bedroom,' said Sonja. 'Sulking.'

As she spoke,
a door to her left swung open and crashed back on its hinges. The
great author loomed in the doorframe wearing shorts, trainers and a
T-shirt. He stared at Marianne with a mad glint in his eye.

'I'm outta
here,' he boomed. 'Don't none of you bitches try to stop me!' And
he dashed across the room and out into the corridor without a
backward glance.

Marianne
blinked in alarm. 'Shouldn't you follow him?' she said to Sonja. 'I
thought you dogged his every footstep. You might lose him.'

The publicity
girl shrugged. 'Chance would be a fine thing.' She delved into her
handbag. 'At least I can have a cigarette while he's gone.'

Marianne was
peeved. 'What am I supposed to do? I've rearranged my entire
evening to talk to your author and he's just run out on me.
Literally.'

Sonja grinned
at her unperturbed, a blue plume of smoke already curling from her
lips. 'Don't worry, darling, he'll be back to mummy all too soon -
he's lost without the hired help. Sit down and have a drink. We can
swap stories of glamorous media life. Didn't you once read the
weather on TV?'

In another
hotel suite in another part of town, more authorial fur was being
stroked. The fur in question was the delicious blonde fleece
situated between the bronzed and perfect thighs of Chastity
Honeydew. The stroker was Philippe. They lay on the king-sized bed,
their naked bodies slick with the sweat of sexual exertion.
Chastity pressed the Frenchman's hand tight to the base of her
dimpled belly and said: 'More!'

Even as his fingers insinuated themselves into the soft wet
folds of her yearning fig, Philippe shook his head. 'This is unfair
of you, Chastity. You asked me to test some of your physical
reflexes and in return you agreed to appear on my friend's
television programme. We have a bargain,
n'est-ce pas?
'