Lust Under Licence (7 page)

He could not
deny it. The swollen hemispheres of flesh filled his vision and his
exposed cock pulsed with guilty desire.

Amy
straightened and turned, one hand now sheathed in a rubber surgical
glove, the other holding a small plastic bottle.

'Don't be
alarmed, Mr Glass,' said Inspector Quartermain. 'She's just going
to take a sample.'

'A sample?'
said Tom as Amy stepped up to the bed. 'What sample?'

'Tell him,
Sergeant,' said Quartermain, a smile licking her thin lips.

'A sperm
sample,' grunted Amy as her gloved fingers closed on the shaft of
Tom's penis. 'We need a sample of your filthy, pervert's spunk.
It's standard procedure, isn't it, guv?'

'Just
routine,' said the inspector. 'I'd lie back and enjoy it if I were
you. Sergeant Tooth is renowned for her technique.'

Amy shot the
elder woman a poisonous glance and began to pump Tom's cock with no
attempt at finesse. Her breasts thrust against her halter, the
nipples like big buttons beneath the satin. Her mouth was set in a
hard line and her eyes were fierce.

'Hey!' shouted
Tom as she almost lifted him off the bed by the root.

'Pardon me,
darling,' she drawled sarcastically and smacked his cock from side
to side across his belly.

'Do it
properly, Amy,' said Quartermain.

'Sorry, guv,'
the girl said and began to massage the head of Tom's tool in
earnest.

'That's
better,' said the inspector. 'She does know what she's doing
really, Mr Glass. She's had lots of practice.'

Amy's hand
speeded up, flicking Tom's foreskin up and down the crimson glans.
Her brow was furrowed with concentration and the pink tip of her
tongue protruded from between her pursed lips.

Tom stared
ahead at the junction of his abuser's white thighs and at the mound
of her sex encased in gleaming black. He was paralysed by lust and
fear.

Claire's voice
broke the silence.

'She's pretty,
isn't she, Tom? I bet you'd like to see her naked. Peel off those
pants and get your hands on her creamy bum. Spread her legs and
stick your tongue up her puss. She tastes of sea, did you know
that? Some girls are sweet. Pussies made out of spun sugar and
candied fruit. Like your little Petra, I bet. Amy's just the
opposite. She's musky and tangy, all salt and spray. She's got a
savoury cunt, haven't you, Amy? I bet you'd like to make a meal of
it, Tom - Oh, I say! That's more than enough for a sample, Mr
Glass, you've quite filled up the jar.'

'So what did
you make of him, then?' said Claire Quartermain to Amy Tooth as
they made their way along the corridor outside Tom's room.

'He's just
your average offender, guv.'

'Average
offenders don't run billion-pound businesses, Sergeant.'

'You know what
I mean. Out of his smart suit he's a pervert like all the
rest.'

'Better
endowed though, wouldn't you say?'

'I
wouldn't.'

'I see. You've
had so many that size, you're blasé.'

'Oh please,
guv.'

The inspector
grabbed her subordinate by the arm and shoved her roughly towards a
door marked 'Toilet. Staff only.'

'In here,' she
said, bundling the sergeant inside and locking the door. 'Strip. I
want everything off.'

'Claire, for
God's sake!' cried Amy.

'Get your tits
on parade at the double, Sergeant. Now.'

Amy fumbled at
the zip of her shell-suit. Her hands were shaking as she peeled it
off her trembling body.

'You made me
do it, Claire,' she protested. 'You made me jerk him off. He could
have done it himself - or the nurse—'

'What's the
point of that, you little fool? I wanted to see how you would
handle it. And you liked it, didn't you?'

'No, I swear.'
Amy was almost naked now, her big breasts dangling as she bent to
ease the skin-tight pants over the bulging mounds of her buttocks.
Claire took a nipple between finger and thumb and squeezed.

'You adored
it, Amy, you little tart. You love a big prick, don't you? For two
pins you'd have stuck it in your mouth, wouldn't you?'

'No! Layoff,
Claire - you're hurting!'

'Not until you
admit you're a cock-happy nympho at heart. God, you're
sopping!'

Claire had two
fingers buried deep between the girl's legs and now she forced two
more fingers inside. They slid into the wetness without resistance.
Her other hand continued to pull at Amy's nipple viciously. Their
bodies were moulded against each other, one clothed, one naked. Amy
slipped a hand beneath the other's skirt.

'I'm sorry,
Claire, I couldn't help it. I mean, with that sodding great thing
in my hands...'

'So you admit
it?'

Her eyes bored
into Amy's face.

'I admit his
cock turned me on but the rest of him turns me off! He's a
degenerate like all the rest.'

Amy's hands
were now inside the inspector's knickers. The two women stood
eyeball to eyeball, their fingers busy between each other's
legs.

'So you're not
fucking men on the side and doing me just to help your career?'

'No, Claire.
Honest.'

They kissed at
length, both of them shaking with passion.

'Stand up on
the seat,' hissed the inspector and Amy scrambled to obey,
presenting her drooling vagina at head height to her superior.

Claire spread
the thick lips of the puffy pink pussy on offer and teased its
length with the tip of her tongue. Her hands slid up the back of
Amy's thighs to her shapely buttocks.

'Oh yes,'
muttered Amy, her fingers in the other's soft brown hair, urging
her to mouth her aching cunt.

The inspector
began to chuckle. 'Of course, Sergeant, if you're very good to me I
might let you handle Mr Glass again in the near future. When we get
him in the cells.' And she pressed her mouth to Amy's vagina and
went to work.

'Oh yes,'
sighed Amy, on the brink of her first orgasm, 'when we get him in
the cells...'

Two - Shagged
Rotten

Kelvin arrived at the offices of
Nouveau
feeling light-headed. He hoped
it wasn't the onset of a cold or one of those inexplicable viruses
that afflicted people in the summer - usually during Wimbledon
fortnight, in his observation. Kelvin took some pills and examined
his eyes in a small hand mirror for signs of strain. If he were
honest he well knew the cause of his fatigue - sexual excess. He
and Petra had been at it like rabbits most of the night and again
that morning. What had got into her? he wondered. Not that he was
complaining.

'No
recreational drugs in the office,' said a beery voice in his ear,
'not unless you share them with me.'

Kelvin looked
up guiltily into the puffy face of Ted Flinch, the editor, and
quickly tipped the aspirins and mirror into his desk drawer.

'Of course,'
Ted rumbled on, 'you kids know naff-all about dope. You think
coke's just a sticky drink, don't you? If I said, "Give me a hit"
you'd think I was asking for a punch on the nose.'

This was a familiar theme of Ted's, a survivor of many a youth
trend - and the magazines that went with them. In the heyday of
flower-power he had launched
Wow,
Babe!
, to be followed a couple of years
later by
F**k
, a
journal of street cred printed in multi-coloured inks on black
paper. At this point he had sold out to IBG, the magazine big boys,
and had presided over a variety of offerings ever since. As he
often said, at least twice a day by Kelvin's reckoning, his heart
was in the sixties but his pension was in the next century. Someone
on the top floor had had a good laugh when they saddled him
with
Nouveau
, a
politically correct magazine for the nervous nineties.

'Congratulations,' said Ted. 'You're now our chief correspondent on
contemporary human relations. In old-fashioned parlance, our sex
writer. Write about these.' And he dumped a bundle of thick
paperbacks on Kelvin's desk.

'What's the
big deal, Ted?'

'That feminist rag
Neurotica
is running a mail-order offer on female sex
novels. Take a look.'

'It says on
the back, "Not for sale to men."'

'Yes. That's
the angle. These aren't ordinary old wanking fodder - pass the
Kleenex, let's toss off in the bog, kind of thing. This is
sensitive, politically aware, blessed by the sisterhood, erotic
literature, for God's sake. Anyhow, it's all yours. Talk to a few
women, see what they think of it. Then I want an in-depth
evaluation for our readers.'

'Thanks a
bunch, Ted,' said Kelvin.

'Don't sound
so glum, man. Don't quote me but I bet if you can persuade a woman
to actually read that mush you'll soon have her screaming for the
real thing. Play your cards right and you'll shag your way to two
thousand words. Speaking of shagging, I want your piece on
Prosecutor Cuntface on my desk by Friday night.'

'Neanderthal,'
muttered Kelvin under his breath as his boss shambled off. He
wondered for the umpteenth time how Ted had ended up editing a
magazine for the thinking man.

The reference
to Gossamer, however, had him reaching for the phone. Despite his
recent exertions with Petra, the thought of Prosecutor Hawk had his
prick at a stretch to equal, he presumed, the heroes of the
literary works that now adorned his desk.

Tom was still
shaking when Petra arrived at the hospital.

'He's already
had one lot of visitors this morning,' said Nurse Biscuit as she
ushered Petra into his room, 'and I think they've tired him out.
Perhaps you'd better not stay too long.'

Tom looked at
this new arrival with suspicion. She had an intelligent face and
there was kindness in her round brown eyes. But she wore a business
suit and carried a briefcase that looked like a newer version of
Claire Quartermain's. Surely this wasn't some other crazed official
come to torment him?

'Who the hell
are you?' he snapped.

Petra was
flabbergasted. She had been thrilled to see Tom conscious, sitting
up in bed, his eyes once more alive with fierce intelligence. But
there was something else there, too. Surely it couldn't be
fear?

Nurse Biscuit
spoke up. 'Tom, surely you remember Miss Rosewater? She's been here
every day while you've been unconscious.'

The suspicion
vanished from Tom's face but his eyes bored into hers, as if
looking for a clue.

'It's great to
see you alive again, Tom,' said Petra. She wanted to touch him but
she didn't dare.

'Leave us
alone please, Eve,' he said and then he grinned in his old familiar
way. 'I'll be all right with Miss Rosewater, I promise.'

The smile
vanished as soon as the nurse did. Petra cleared her throat
nervously. He leaned forward suddenly and grabbed her hand.

'Are you
really a friend of mine?' he hissed.

His grasp was
painful but she didn't want to break it. 'I like to think so,' she
said. 'Why are you behaving like this? If it's a joke it's in poor
taste, Tom. I've been really worried about you. So has everyone at
the office.'

'Aha.' He
relaxed his grip. 'So you work for me, then?'

'I'm your
Deputy Executive Officer, for God's sake. Why are you asking me
these things?'

'Just one more
question. This is important, believe me. Are we, or have we ever
been, er, lovers?'

'For crying
out loud!' she shouted and smacked him round the face with her free
hand. Then she froze, shocked at what she had done.

He didn't move
a muscle but his cheek began to pulse scarlet as he said, 'That
doesn't exactly answer my question.'

'No, damn
you,' said Petra. 'We haven't, we don't and we never will. I'm
sorry I hit you.'

'Oh, that's
OK.' He leaned back on his pillows and grinned at her. 'It's just
that I've lost my memory. Well, my recent memory. I don't even know
your first name.'

'Petra.'

'Ah.' A
thought stirred in his head but he remained silent.

'Look, Tom,
we've got a lot of business to discuss.'

He shook his
head. 'You deal with it. Use my name. Just while I get myself
together.'

'Really?'

'I mean it.
I'm going to trust you. But there's one thing I want you to do.
Ring whoever runs Black Raven and tell them to talk to Marianne
Matthews about their new arts programme.'

Petra grinned.
'So you haven't forgotten everything?'

'Marianne came
to see me. She reminded me of a few things.'

'Like your
forthcoming wedding?'

He didn't
reply. Instead he closed his eyes and his chin settled on his
chest.

'There's one
more thing, Tom. I'd rather leave it but I've got no choice. The
Primrose Court is investigating you for sex crimes. I think you
need some advice.'

He laughed.
'It's too late.'

'What?'

'Two witches
from something called the TCU were here just before you. To be
honest, Petra, I feel like I've suddenly woken up in a world gone
mad. I can't remember anything that's happened in the last twenty
years. The best thing you can do for me is to tell me what The
Primrose Court does and why there are stormtroopers marching around
in PVC pants calling themselves the Sex Police.'

'OK.'

'And when
you've done that, Petra Rosewater, you can explain how come
Inspector Claire Quartermain says your vagina tastes like spun
sugar.'

Her jaw
dropped.

He grinned.
'That's what she said. I mean, how would I know? Not that I doubt
it for a moment.'

She didn't hit
him again. But she wanted to.