Lust Under Licence (2 page)

She had no
objection to Kelvin, however. She had a soft spot for broody
English types - they never gave her any trouble.

'Speaking as a
male,' he was saying, 'how do I know when my thoughts need
correcting? I mean, if I see an attractive woman in the street and
I think to myself, well, something overtly sexist like—'

'"Cor, get a
load of the arse on that"?' Gossamer's tinkling tones enunciated
every syllable and brought a blush to Kelvin's cheeks.

'Yes, that
kind of thing.'

Gossamer
beamed at him and pushed a lock of thick honey-hued hair from off
her forehead. 'Well, Kelvin, that is an obvious misdemeanour and
you should be ashamed of yourself.'

Kelvin looked
suitably ashamed but persisted.

'But suppose
I'm walking behind this woman, thinking about something else, and I
can't help staring at her, um, figure even though my mind is
elsewhere.'

'You mean the
way you're staring now.'

'I'm
sorry?'

'I have no
doubt, Mr Priest, that you are a conscientious journalist and that
your sole concern in interviewing me is to faithfully interpret my
remarks for your readers, however...'

'However?'

'You haven't
taken your eyes off my breasts since you sat down.'

Kelvin's face
was crimson. It was true that his glance had strayed once or twice
to the divide of Gossamer's cleavage, prettily exposed in the vee
of her open-necked blouse. He opened his mouth to deny it but no
sound emerged. There was a degree of intensity in her big blue eyes
that prevented him. They bored into his like a searchlight on a
black night. Not many men, in or out of the dock, found it easy to
lie to Prosecutor Hawk.

'Don't worry, Mr Priest, I know you are just doing your job as
best you can,' she said with a deprecating smile. 'After all, the
male of the species is a rudimentary organism at best and it would
be unreasonable of me to expect a lusty young man like you to be
able to rise above the imperatives of his genitalia. Just so long
as you understand that when you contemplate stripping off my blouse
and manhandling my breasts then you are simply rising to the siren
song of lust that men have answered down the ages. Inside every man
in a suit and tie is a shaggy-haired barbarian longing to rape and
defile and thrust his hard brutal flesh into a woman's soft and
yielding femininity. Believe me, Mr Priest, in my line of work
I
know
. Would you
like some coffee?'

Kelvin nodded. He couldn't speak, he didn't trust himself to
be coherent through the tangle of emotions that currently
overwhelmed him. He was intimidated by Gossamer's eloquence and
ashamed of his masculine inheritance. Yet the urge to
manhandle
her, now it had
been openly acknowledged, had not diminished. Far from it.
Somewhere in his mind, he was speculating on the size, the shape,
the weight, the actual
feel
of her tits. He couldn't help it.

'Alberto,
sweetie,' said Gossamer to a slim Latin fellow who had appeared in
the doorway, 'pop out and get us a couple of cappuccinos, there's a
love.'

Alberto
flashed a toothy smile and swivelled on his Cuban heels. His black
trousers were cinched at the waist and pulled as tight as
cellophane across the hard round peach of his bum.

'My new
assistant,' explained Gossamer. 'He'll run to the Italian cafe over
the road. The coffee in this place tastes like pee.'

'He looks like
a waiter,' ventured Kelvin.

'He used to be
one - his father owns the cafe. Now he's a computer whizz. Can't
spell for toffee but can boot up and download all night long, if
you get my drift.'

Kelvin didn't
think he did but he smiled all the same. Seconds later Alberto was
arranging cups on the desk, a gold necklace dangling from the open
neck of his sparkling white shirt.

'What kept you, sweetheart?' said Gossamer. 'I suppose you
were drooling over Maria's
melanzane
again?'

Alberto's face
froze in a pantomime of horror.

'Miss
Gossamer, how could you say that? You know there is only one woman
in my life,' he paused, his handsome face inches from Gossamer's,
'my mother.'

The pair of
them laughed fit to bust and Alberto turned to go. As he did so he
looked at Kelvin and rolled his eyes to heaven.

'Alberto,
you're a wicked boy,' said Gossamer to his twinkling buttocks as he
glided from the room.

Kelvin sipped
foam from his cup, quite bemused.

'Lovely man,'
said Gossamer. 'A complete pussy-hound, of course. He'll be off as
soon as he's piddled on all the lampposts round here, worse
luck.'

'But,
Prosecutor Hawk—'

'Kelvin,
please. Any man who admires my breasts as much as you obviously do,
must call me Gossamer.'

'Gossamer, the
man's a classic macho male, a gigolo, a pimp - surely he represents
everything you wish to change in the male sex?'

Gossamer
laughed, a long-drawn-out peal of high-pitched merriment that set
her substantial titties atremble.

'Poor Kelvin,'
she said at last, 'you really don't understand, do you? Perhaps
you'd like to take me to dinner some time and I'll raise your
awareness.'

The moment the
confused Kelvin had picked up his notes and gone, Gossamer summoned
Alberto with an urgency born of pent-up desperation.

'Quick, take
them down.'

'But, Miss
Gossamer—'

'Shut up. I
want your thick dick in my hand in thirty seconds or you're back on
the dole queue.'

Alberto
shrugged and dropped his pants, he knew there was no point in
arguing.

His long
curving Latin prong did not share its owner's reluctance. As he
stood beside her desk it waved in the Prosecutor's face like a
truncheon. She plunged her mouth over the broad brown tip like a
starving woman.

'OH!' he
groaned in pleasure and pain as sharp fingernails dragged his
scrotum downwards.

She took her
mouth away and replaced it with her other hand, staring greedily at
the tumescent genitals in her grasp.

'You're hung
like a horse,' she muttered. 'Put me over the desk and fuck me
silly or I'll have you gelded.' She grinned to herself at the
prospect.

Alberto took
no notice of her last remark, he was already pulling her to her
feet and hauling her skirt upwards. Thin peach panties descended
over matching suspenders and stockings and pooled around her
ankles. Bent across her desk the twin globes of her bottom cheeks
jutted like great white moons. Alberto peeled apart the flesh to
gaze on the winking star of her arsehole. Below it, the gaping pink
purse of her pussy bubbled with juice.

He ran the
glans of his cock up and down the bum crevice and fingered the wet
lips of her overflowing honeypot. He gave her left buttock a soft
enquiring slap.

'Yes!' she
snapped. 'Smack me. Oh! Smack me hard!'

Broad strong
hands descended in measured blows. Left, right, then left again,
turning the creamy globes into quivering spheres of crimson.

'YES, YES!'
she yelled. 'Now put it in.'

Alberto
obeyed. It was more than his job was worth to do otherwise.

Gossamer
thrust her big beautiful buttocks backwards into his crotch,
spearing herself on his stiff tool. Oh, it was heaven. The
interview with dishy Kelvin had turned her on. It was a pity he was
such a wimp. She'd bet he'd only have half the stamina of
Alberto.

She came once
and slowed her thrusting, content to pace herself now the first
tide of desire had washed over her. Alberto could stay hard for as
long as she wanted, he wouldn't dare come till she said so. She
thanked the day she had landed this job, if only for the perks.
'Perks spelt P-R-I-C-K-S,' she told herself, jamming back onto his
rearing organ and laughing out loud.

Alberto muttered, '
Mamma
,' and began to gently diddle her
clit, the agitation of his fingers in her cleft pushing her into
the path of her next wave of pleasure.

'Oh gosh, oh
gosh,' she cried, jerking her head from side to side, the flailing
locks of her hair lashing down onto the yellow folder which had
occupied her attention that morning.

The file
marked 'Glass'.

In his head,
Tom Glass was sitting in the kitchen of his parents' house in
Manchester marvelling at the slim white legs of his brother's
fiancée as her babydoll nightie rode up her thighs.

'There you
are, Tommy,' said Rosemary as she set a cup of tea on the table in
front of him. She ruffled his uncombed mop of black hair
affectionately, as if she were petting a dog. 'Rosie—'

'Yes,
Tommy?'

'Do you know
how old I am?'

She stopped in
the act of cracking eggs into a bowl. 'Of course - you're
seventeen.'

'I'm two
months away from having the vote. Three months off going to
university. Old enough to get married and have kids.'

'Yes?' There
was confusion in her large brown eyes.

'Old enough
not to be called Tommy. Call me Tom, call me Thomas, but please
don't call me Tommy. OK?'

'I'm sorry,
Tommy - Tom! I didn't know you felt like that. It's just that
everyone—'

'Quite.
Everyone around here wants me to stay in short pants and be cute
little Tommy. It reinforces their own sense of worth - I've read
about it. Mum even wanted me to be a pageboy at your wedding—'

'That was a
joke. She didn't mean it.'

'It was
indicative of her underlying feelings, Rosie. No one round here
wants me to grow up.'

'Tommy, that's
unfair.' Rosemary had abandoned the eggs and taken a seat at the
table beside Tom. This was important. 'Oops, I said it again, I'm
sorry. But look, Jack's on your side.'

'Jack's the
worst. He wants me to be a little brother for ever. Someone he can
impress, someone he can beat.'

'What do you
mean?' Rosemary was agitated now.

'I mean he's
got everything round here. He's got a job, he's got a car, he's got
money. He's got you.'

'Me?'

'Absolutely.
He's got a girl with great legs sleeping in his bed every other
night at his parents' home and they aren't even married yet.'

'I didn't know
you were such a puritan.'

'I'm no
puritan, Rosie, but I don't appreciate you two hammering the
mattress all night long in the room next door when I'm not even
allowed out till closing time.'

'You're
jealous, Tommy.'

'You bet I'm
jealous. Two years past the age of consent and no luck and there's
my brother making love to the most gorgeous woman in the city night
after night about three feet away.'

'Oh God,
Tommy, I'm sorry. I never thought. I mean, we - can you really
hear?'

'Yes.'

'I'm
embarrassed. We try and keep the noise down.'

There was a
pause in the conversation. The boy's dark brooding eyes were boring
into hers and she had to look away. 'Do you really think I'm
gorgeous?'

'Utterly.'

'And you think
I've got great legs?'

'I love the
way you move. You're like a dancer.'

'You're a bit
of a smooth-talker, Tom Glass.'

'That's
better. I like it when you call me Tom.'

He was smiling
now and it was as if the sun had come out.

'I don't
believe you're as shy with the girls as you make out.'

'I've hardly
ever kissed one.'

'Oh, come
on!'

'It's
true.'

'You must
have.'

'Not properly.
It's been a fiasco so far.'

'Well, for
God's sake, we can soon fix that.'

Rosie leaned
forward and placed a hand on the back of Tom's neck. The nightie
rode higher. Her lips were soft as satin and her breath was sweet.
He let her hold her mouth to his, resisting the urge to devour her.
A small pointed tongue suddenly slipped between his lips.

'Oh,' he
murmured as she explored his mouth. Still he did not respond.

'You can kiss
me back, Tom,' she said, 'it's all right. I won't bite. Oh, that's
nice.'

And it was.
His tongue was in her mouth and she was sucking on it, eager to
teach her pupil some of the skills she practised at night in the
room next to his.

'You mustn't
sit there like a block of wood, you know. Put your arms around
me.'

She was on the
bench beside him now and the nightie was almost up to her groin.
Her body heat flowed into him through two thin layers of
clothing.

'Wow,' she
said, disengaging her lips. 'You see, Tom, you can kiss very well.'
Her face was flushed and her eyes were dancing. The soft pressure
of her left breast on his chest was burning a hole through his
pyjamas.

'I'm not sure,
Rosie.' Bashful, he looked down - to the creamy flesh of her thighs
exposed nearly to her hips. A wisp of fair brown hair nosed into
view beneath the embroidered pink hem. He lowered his mouth to
hers.

Without
thinking she leaned into him, mouth wide, breasts thrusting, her
hands beneath his pyjama jacket to grasp his muscular torso. His
hands too began to wander, pulling the pink babydoll confection up
to her waist and closing over the hot smooth flesh of her
buttocks.

'Oh Tom!' she
squealed as he pulled her onto his lap and her legs automatically
scissored around his waist, pressing her most intimate folds
against a column of flesh that rose vertically from his crotch.

As she
realised what she was doing she tried to pull away but it was too
late. Somehow her wriggling and squirming only managed to lodge the
head of the biggest, smoothest, firmest penis she had ever
encountered into the wet and hungry mouth between her thighs.