Lust Under Licence (10 page)

'Not if you
promise to tell me all about these naughty dreams of yours. If you
do, I might stay with you all night.' And she bent her head so her
soft breath mingled with his.

As his lips
touched hers, his hand slipped deep inside her cleavage to close on
the warm globes of her beautiful bosom.

Kelvin was not
sure exactly how he had ended up in the cells below The Primrose
Court but he didn't care. He was drunk on two Negronis, a bottle of
Venetian Chardonnay - and the intoxicating presence of Gossamer
Hawk.

Dinner had
gone well, so well that Gossamer had promised to show him round
afterwards 'below stairs at the PC'. And so here he was, boozily
following the Prosecutor into a meanly furnished reception area. A
skinny woman in a lurid shell-suit sat behind the desk, boredom
stitched across her forehead. A nasty glint shone in her small
currant-black eyes when she saw Kelvin.

'Got a
customer for us, have you, Prosecutor?' she asked Gossamer.

'A very special visitor, Gloria,' said Gossamer in her crystal
tones. 'One of the gentlemen of the press, Mr Kelvin Priest
of
Nouveau
magazine. I'd like you to give him your most particular
attention.'

Had Kelvin been less tipsy or less excited by his proximity to
the gorgeous Gossamer he might at this point have smelt a rat. But
he smelt only T'Adore, the Prosecutor's perfume, and he smiled
benignly at her as she explained she had an urgent call to make
upstairs and that she was leaving him in the
very
capable hands of Sergeant Gloria
Just.

The sergeant
waited until the door had closed behind the silk-suited form of
Gossamer before she spoke.

'Fiona,' she
shouted while staring beadily into Kelvin's face, 'get your skinny
arse out here. We've got a visitor. He's a VIP,' she added as a
tall blonde in a skinny white top and a purple mini appeared in the
doorway behind the reception desk.

The blonde was
very young and very sullen but her pout of boredom was replaced by
a malicious smile at the sight of Kelvin.

'Ooh,' she
said, 'that's nice. We haven't had a VIP for ages.'

Kelvin grinned
squiffily.

'In this
office,' said the sergeant, 'VIP stands for Very Insignificant
Pillock.'

'Or Very
Insubstantial Penis,' said Fiona.

'He'll be a
great disappointment to her highness in that case,' said the
sergeant.

Puzzled,
Kelvin looked from one to the other, the mist of euphoria slowly
clearing from his brain.

'Let's check
him in, then,' said the sergeant and suddenly the blonde was at
Kelvin's side, pushing him forward.

'Hey,' he said
as his wallet was pulled from his pocket and his briefcase emptied
onto the desk.

'What's this?' said Sergeant Just, seizing two paperbacks of
female erotica that Ted Flinch had asked him to review that
morning. Her fingers eagerly flicked through the pages of - Kelvin
winced as he saw the cover -
Beat Me to a
Silken Pulp
by Labiella De Cruz.

Gloria Just's thin mouth set in an unforgiving line as she
scanned a page. 'My God,' she cried, 'this is grade-one
filth!
'

'It's
perfectly legal,' protested Kelvin. 'You can buy it in every
bookshop in the land.'

'Listen to
this,' said Fiona, snatching the book and reading out loud. '"As
Gawain's honeyed threats flowed like molten lava through her veins
and her tender wrists chafed against the iron manacles of the
dungeon wall, she became aware of his burgeoning manhood throbbing
against the sensitive skin of her perineum." Cor, this is hot
stuff!'

'It's OK,'
yelled Kelvin. 'It's politically correct - it's written by a
woman!'

'So how come
you're reading it? It says on the back here, "Not for sale to men."
Come on, Fiona, let's book the creep.'

Suddenly
Kelvin's wrists were seized and his fingers pressed onto a pad of
ink.

'Get off me,'
he shouted but one drunk new-man journalist was no match for two
skilled and determined officers of The Primrose Court. In a trice,
his jacket was stripped from his shoulders and his belt pulled from
his trouser pants.

'Help!' he
shouted. 'Gossamer, help - oof!'

The punch in
the stomach doubled him up and Fiona slammed his head onto the desk
top while Gloria handcuffed his hands behind his back.

'It's no use
you shouting, pretty boy,' said the blonde. 'She's three floors
up.'

'Let's gag him
anyway,' said the other.

'Right - I've
got just the thing.'

And, before
Kelvin's shocked gaze, the blonde reached beneath her skirt and
dragged her knickers down her long white thighs.

She held up
the scrap of pale blue cotton. 'Have a sniff, you dirty sod,' she
said, trailing the material across his face. It was warm and
musky.

There was a
coarse chuckle from behind Kelvin. Then a hand seized his nose and
jerked his head back. As he opened his mouth to breathe, Fiona
shoved the balled-up panties between his lips.

'You like
doing that, don't you?' said Sergeant Just.

The blonde
wrapped two-inch parcel tape around Kelvin's mouth. 'You bet,' she
agreed. 'I love shoving a bit of my arse down men's throats. Not
that it makes up for what they've done to women. Bastards!' And she
slapped Kelvin hard on both cheeks.

Kelvin's eyes
watered and he howled soundlessly into the wad of cotton, the mist
of euphoria now replaced by the fog of pain and humiliation.

They took him
into a cell that was as grim and depressing as any prison room of
his imagination. The door seemed six inches thick, with bars on the
window. The floor was of grey stone and a bare light bulb cast
shadows across a sloping metal bed frame in the centre of the room.
The air was chilly - the heat of summer did not permeate these
walls.

They stripped
him naked with relish, leaving the handcuffs in place and slicing
his shirt off with a razor. Gloria did the cutting and Kelvin could
tell she enjoyed it. Then Fiona began to rub talcum powder into his
body, over his chest and up and down his thighs, pulling apart his
buttocks to spread it into his crack, an impudent leer on her
face.

The pair of
them fitted him into a skintight rubber body-suit. Despite the
powder and their evident expertise it took a while to get it just
right, especially when they had to release his hands to fit it over
his shoulders. But at last he was encased from neck to toe in the
supple embrace of rubber. The weird garment had no crotch, leaving
his cock and balls lewdly exposed to the open air.

They pushed
him onto the bare bed and tied him across the chest with a strap.
His hands were fastened above his head; his legs were bent up and
apart, his feet fixed so they couldn't move. He was helpless:
bound, gagged and immobile with his penis and testicles lolling
obscenely between his spread thighs.

Kelvin was
shocked, afraid and in pain. He told himself to get a grip. He
tried to be philosophical. He reminded himself that, whatever
happened, this was bloody good copy. He reckoned he was doing
pretty well.

But when
Gloria Just leaned between his legs with a pair of scissors he
fainted dead away.

It was easy to
gauge how much Maeve Slack's circumstances had changed. The steps
leading down to her basement flat were steep and treacherous and
there was a cracked pane of glass in the door. Tom rang the bell
and steeled himself for a necessary but doubtless painful
encounter. The memory of Lionel's abandoned wife drifting like a
lost soul around the city-centre Sainsbury's was still fresh in his
mind.

So it was with
relief that he viewed the elegant figure in a scarlet kimono who
answered his knock, her thick brown hair tied back from her
handsome face, a surprised smile on her lips.

'She'll
remember you,' Christina had said. 'Go on Thursday, after lunch.
Sam and Mandy will be at school. It'll be perfect.'

'Well, praise
the Lord, it's Thomas Glass,' said Mrs Slack. 'Miracles will never
cease.'

Tom was
hesitant, his prepared speech gone from his mind. Her rich brown
eyes seemed all-knowing. 'I'm sorry I haven't come before,' he
said, thrusting a bunch of roses into her arms. 'I meant to,' he
added, hoping that the lie didn't show.

'If you say
so,' she said, taking his arm and pulling him inside.

In the narrow
hallway her presence was overwhelming. She was nearly as tall as
Tom and she smelt of perfume, wine and - the thought seized Tom
like a caress on his cock - bare flesh. As she walked ahead of him
he could see the globes of her bottom outlined against the thin
silk of her robe and he knew she was naked beneath it. This was not
what he had expected.

She led him to
the rear of the flat and out onto a small sunbaked patio. A
battered sun-lounger and two white plastic garden chairs stood by a
small shaded table on which lay a bowl of fruit and the remains of
a salad. Without asking, she pushed a glass of white wine into his
hand and pointed to a chair. Tom sat, unable to take his eyes off
her long tanned legs as she arranged herself on the sun bed. The
flowers had been magically positioned in a vase on the table. He
couldn't recall her doing it.

'So, why have
you come to see me?' she said. 'I presume it's not solely out of
concern for my welfare.'

Those brown
eyes were on him, darker, more tempestuous than her daughter's. He
took a large gulp of wine, this was the tricky part. 'Christina,'
he began but she cut him off.

'Have you any
idea, young man, how painful it is to be abandoned by both your
husband and your eldest daughter within the space of six months?
That's a rhetorical question, by the way, there's no need to answer
it.'

'Christina
hasn't abandoned you, Mrs Slack. She's very concerned.'

'Huh. If she's
so concerned why isn't she here? Why isn't she at school using her
God-given brains instead of dancing on a stage half naked like a
little slut?'

'She says you
threw her out.'

'I gave her an
ultimatum. I told her if she was to continue living under my roof
she had to take her A levels and steer clear of clubs and pop
groups. Oh God!' She threw back her head and shouted in
frustration. The rich chestnut hair fell free of restraint across
her half-exposed shoulders and the rounded flesh of her bosom
strained against the kimono. She looked fabulous.

She held her
empty glass out to Tom and turned her fierce gaze on him as he
filled it. 'Don't ever get married and have children, Tom, unless
you want to be kicked in the teeth.'

'Have you
considered, Mrs Slack, that Christina might be pursuing a
legitimate career in the music industry? That she has the potential
to be very successful in a way that might not seem obvious to
you?'

'What do you
mean?' Maeve's glass was empty already but her gaze was steady. Tom
did not dare look away.

'I mean that
this group is going to be big.'

'How do you
know?' There was interest in those glittering brown eyes - and not
just in what Tom was saying. 'You must be hot in that jacket and
tie. Take them off, don't mind me.'

Tom got to his
feet and gratefully stripped to his shirt. As he did so he gazed
down the gaping ravine of her cleavage, at the plump tawny flesh
spreading beneath the flimsy neckline of her robe. She caught him
looking and grinned. Her lower lip was full and wet with wine.

'Tell me
then,' she said, 'why my daughter is going to be a superstar.'

'I didn't say
that,' Tom replied. 'I said that the group is going to be
successful. The singer is going to be the superstar.'

'Really?' Her
tone was not entirely sarcastic. Tom had said something that was
making her reconsider matters.

'I've seen
them, you know,' she continued. 'Tina made me go to some frightful
dive. It wasn't my idea of entertainment. But I suppose there was
something about the woman singing. I could understand why all those
little boys in the crowd were coming in their pants. I just didn't
want them doing it with my daughter up on the stage.'

Tom nodded
sympathetically.

'What's your
interest in this?' she asked.

'I'm the
group's new manager. That's why I'm convinced Christina is not
wasting her time. She's writing songs for Shani. We've got great
plans.'

'My God.'
Maeve Slack shook her head, whether in amusement or disbelief Tom
couldn't make out. He pressed on.

'That's really
why I've come, Mrs Slack. To say that I'm looking after Christina's
welfare and that everything's looking good. I've got them a TV spot
next month. You're going to be very proud of her, I promise.'

She grabbed
the bottle herself this time and emptied it into her glass.

'I can see I'm
destined to be publicly humiliated all over again,' she said.
'First I'm depicted to the nation as the dreary wife of the dirty
professor. Now I am to be the mortified mother of a half-naked,
underage Shagbag. That is the name of the group, isn't it?'

'It's a
headline-grabber, Mrs Slack. Personally I think it's ghastly but
you've got to get people's attention these days. Actually, I'm glad
you brought up the question of Christina's age because she's not
yet old enough to sign the management agreement and I wondered if
you, as her parent, would be kind enough to...'

'You little
shit,' she cried and knocked him off his chair with a swing of her
arm that came from nowhere.

The next thing
he knew she was on top of him in a whirl of perfumed silk,
pummelling and smacking his face, her warm weight grinding him into
the flagstones of the patio. Such was his surprise he made no
attempt to fight back but raised his arms to ward off the blows.
Despite the pain of her attack he registered that her kimono had
burst open and that her big tawny breasts were swinging free only
partially hidden by the curtain of hair that now cascaded over both
of them.