Lust Under Licence (3 page)

'Oh God!' she
yelled as this irresistible cock invaded her, miraculously unaided
it seemed, and Tom's strong hands on her hips drove her down its
whole length. She rose and fell on the delicious spike, her tongue
down his throat, her fingers twined in his hair. The word 'damn'
echoed somewhere in her head even as her first climax bubbled in
her loins.

Tom did
little. There was no need. The woman was like a wind-up toy - turn
the key and watch her go. The beauty of it was that she had turned
the key all by herself...

Tom opened his
eyes with a start. A Matisse goldfish swam on the wall in front of
him and by the side of his bed sat a plump nurse with an anxious
look on her pretty face. As for Rosemary...

'By God, Eve,
I can remember.'

'Oh, Mr Glass,
how wonderful.' She squeezed his hand.

'I dreamt I
was in my parents' house in Manchester. I can see them all - mum
and dad and my brother Jack.'

And the girl
who was nearly my sister-in-law, he added silently. He could
remember every moment of the day he'd fucked her. Fucked her all
over the house. In the kitchen, in his bedroom, in all the
bedrooms, in the living-room on the rug by the fire - which was
where Jack found them on his return from work. He'd had her every
way by then, from the front, from the back, between her tits and
down her throat. She'd swallowed his spunk like a parched pilgrim,
he recalled.

That's what
she'd been doing when Jack walked in - licking come juice from the
swollen head of his penis as she lay between his spread thighs. Not
that he'd seen Jack make his famous entrance because he'd had his
face buried in the slippery folds of Rosie's crotch, returning the
favour she'd just done him. By that point he'd dropped the pretence
that he didn't know a thing about girls and he'd been giving her
his special cunt-suck: a whistle of hot breath on the clit,
alternating with gentle tongue flicks and accompanied by two
fingers pistoning deep into the vagina. She was coming even as she
screamed out Jack's name.

'Poor Rosie,'
he said out loud. 'I wonder what ever happened to her?'

'Congratulations, Petra,' said Cassie Crow, as she downed a glass
of red wine. 'It's good to see another woman get a grip on the
reins of power.'

'It's only
while Tom's out of commission,' said Petra Rosewater, Deputy
Executive Officer of Glass Mountain.

They were sitting on the roof terrace of Cassie's apartment,
the remains of an alfresco dinner on the table between them. The
late summer sun was setting over the river in spectacular fashion.
It was a fabulous view, expensively acquired. But while
Fragrant
remained the
topselling women's monthly its editor could afford the
best.

'Of course,
you're the exception that proves the rule,' said Cassie. 'You're
much too attractive to be the boss.'

'Come off it,
Cassie, times have changed.'

'Says who?
We're running another article next month on boardroom
discrimination. If you're a woman you still only stand a chance if
you look like a wet weekend. And have no tits.'

'What?'

'It's true.
Thirty-eight double D spells typing pool, thirty A and buck teeth
means you might make upper-echelon workhorse. Apart from me, you're
the only woman I know of with a cleavage and a seat on the
board.'

'Not that big
a cleavage.'

Cassie laughed
and speared a chunk of smelly goat's cheese.

'No one's
going to overlook it, sweety-pie. The way you shake those pretty
little apples I'd say you were a major distraction at any big boys'
meeting.'

Petra did not
dispute the point, there was no arguing with Cassie when she'd put
away two gins and a bottle of wine.

'Anyway,' she
said, 'I thought all this discrimination was changing. That's the
point of The Primrose Court, isn't it?'

'Aha.' Cassie
grinned. 'My lips are sealed.'

'Rubbish. You
know something, don't you?'

Cassie busied
herself pulling the ribbon off a large box of Belgian chocolates
and did not reply.

Petra curbed
her impatience. Cassie was a good friend but her work on the
Corrections Committee of The Primrose Court was a bone of
contention between the two of them. Cassie was sworn to secrecy, of
course, but she enjoyed leaking snippets of information. First,
though, Petra had to jump through hoops.

'Cassie,
please.'

'Have a
chocolate.'

'I don't want
a chocolate. And you shouldn't eat them either. What happened to
your diet?'

'I've got a
new one. Haven't you noticed?'

'I've noticed
you hoovering up cholesterol all evening, if that's what you
mean.'

'And how do
you think I look?'

Cassie stood
up and turned around so Petra could admire her shape.

There was a
lot of shape to admire. Cassie Crow was not a small woman. She was
tall and eye-catching, with long shiny red hair and laughing green
eyes. Her tight white slacks clung to her hips and bottom as if
sprayed on and her curves, though ample, were supple and seductive.
She lifted the hem of her thin blue sweater and displayed an area
of tanned brown midriff.

'See?' she
said, pinching the flesh between finger and thumb. 'No spare
tyre.'

Petra was
impressed. 'You look great,' she admitted, 'you really do. What's
the secret?'

'This.' Cassie plonked a book on the table. 'It's the latest
thing from the States and
Fragrant
dropped a bundle on it for serial. When it came in
I insisted on guinea-pigging it myself.' Petra picked up the slim
volume. The blush-pink front cover typography read:
The Come-Again Lifestyle - Discovering Your POT.
The sensational multi-million-copy bestseller by Chastity
Honeydew
. Filling the entire back page of
the jacket was a portrait of a doll-faced young woman whose
elaborate blonde coiffure was spread across a pillow. Her lips were
full, luscious and parted and her eyes were closed, long eyelashes
resting on a cheek as flawless as a baby's bottom. She appeared to
be in the throes of ecstasy.

'Interesting,'
said Petra, attempting to keep the scepticism out of her voice. She
knew she had to humour Cassie if she were ever to find out who was
next on the hit list of The Primrose Court.

She ran her
eye over the copy on the front flap of the book. There were lots of
separate lines in a big bold face preceded by asterisks:

* Discovering
the way to Honeydew Heaven!

* How to
calculate your revolutionary POT

*
Understanding your POT chart

* Locating
your POG

* Techniques
and positions explained

* Satisfaction
guaranteed - and how!

'It looks a
bit technical,' she said.

'That's just
crap,' said Cassie. 'It's like all these books. It's got one idea
and the rest is window-dressing. I mean, you can't sell a one-page
book, can you?'

'So what's the
idea? Save me ploughing through a hundred and ninety pages.'

'OK. First you
have to find your POT. Mine's eighty-one. That's the number of
letters in your first name, times the month of your birth. Nine
letters in Cassandra times September, the ninth month, equals
eighty-one.'

'OK. I was
born in August so I'd be five times eight - forty.'

Cassie
frowned. 'That's not enough. If it's under fifty you have to add in
the letters in your surname. In your case that's fourteen times
eight, that makes one hundred and twelve. Wow, you lucky girl.'

'So?' Petra
was at a loss.

'You still
don't get it, do you? Let me explain in words of one syllable.'

'Please do.'
Petra helped herself to more wine, Cassie was irritating the hell
out of her.

'POT stands
for Personal Orgasm Target. Mine is eighty-one. That means I must
achieve eighty-one orgasms a calendar month.'

'Good God.'
The blood drained from Petra's face.

'That's the
whole thing. No diets, no aerobics, no workouts, no funny pills.
Just doing it, lots. And it works, as you can see. In the office we
call this "Fucking for Fitness".'

'But,
eighty-one times a month. That's...'

'Two point six
one comes a day in a month of thirty-one days, or two point six six
averaged across a year. That's a minimum. You can do more if you
want to.'

'But how? I
mean, Luke left six months ago...'

'Petra,
there's no need to be embarrassed. We are not talking sex here.
This is not about messy relationships and faking it and finding
some slut's knickers in his briefcase. This is health and fitness
and personal growth.'

'You're not
kidding!' Petra's voice rose an octave. 'I'll have to grow another
clit to make a hundred and twelve orgasms a month!' And she reached
for her wineglass.

'According to
the book, there are some women who are so highly tuned they can do
that in an hour. But that's a bit freakish, if you ask me.'

Cassie took
her calculator out. 'In your case, I make it three point six eight
a day. We're never going to get the smile off your face.'

'But I'm not
doing this!'

'Come on, Petra. I need more guinea pigs. We're going to
profile the first month's progress of half a dozen different women
and Chastity Honeydew is going to provide a commentary. She's
coming over from California to promote and part of our deal is that
she writes some extra stuff for
Fragrant
readers. I've spent hours
with her on the phone already, working out the details. We paid a
fortune for the book. It's dynamite.'

'I don't need
this, Cassie.'

'Yes, you do.
You're a stressed-out female executive who can't enjoy life any
more. Businesswoman X, actually - we reserve your anonymity. You're
perfect for us and it's perfect for you. Trust me.'

'What will
Kelvin say?'

'He'll love
it. He'll be on cloud nine or wherever when you start demanding his
body every night.'

'But he can't
do it a hundred and twelve times a month! Besides, he's not around
half the time.'

'Honey, you are so naive.
He
doesn't have to come, you do and his being away
could be a big advantage.'

'Oh God.'
Petra realised that somewhere along the line she had agreed and she
felt an involuntary twitch between her legs. She was soaking, she
realised. 'You're a terrible influence on me, Cassie Crow.'

'Darling, you
certainly won't regret it. Especially when you see Philippe.'

'Who?'

'Philippe. He's my POG - Personal Orgasm Guide. He studied the
method with Chastity in the States and
Fragrant
assigned him to me. He's
French. You'll adore him.'

Petra gazed at
Cassie in shock though, come to think of it, the existence of a
'Personal Orgasm Guide' wasn't much of a surprise. Only a hot new
lover could work the kind of transformation she saw in Cassie.

'Is this
Philippe due here this evening?' she said.

'At any
second.'

'I'm leaving,'
said Petra and stood up.

'You can't go.
You need to observe the techniques. It's much better than looking
at the book. Besides I need you to take the video.'

'Video.'
Petra's voice was flat, she could not react to any more
surprises.

'Yes. Chastity
says I need to analyse my orgasms so that I can enumerate them
properly. I mean, sometimes I'm not sure when one ends and another
begins. So I need a video I can look at in the cold light of day.
You're the only person I can trust.'

'What about
this Philippe?'

Cassie
laughed. 'Don't be stupid, darling, he'll have his hands full.'

Petra picked
up her handbag. 'I won't take pictures of you and some toyboy
having it off. I mean it, Cassie.'

'Yes, you
will.'

'No.'

Cassie's jaw set firm and for a moment Petra glimpsed the
resolute face that doubtless presided over
Fragrant's
editorial
conferences.

'You will if
you want to find out about today's meeting of the Corrections
Committee,' she said.

'I've changed
my mind about that. It's not important to me.'

'Forgive me, Petra, but I've always thought that anything
concerning Tom Glass was
very
important to you. So why don't you sit down and
I'll explain how my video camera works.'

Petra sat.

'Who's Rosie?'
said a low-pitched female voice, intruding on Tom's reverie of
long-lost seduction. 'Tom, darling, don't tell me you've returned
to the land of the living off your rocker.'

The
silver-blonde vision at the door was tall and slender with an oval
face and a long nose. The eyes were cool and grey and her lips and
pencil-thin eyebrows arched upwards inquisitively. She was at once
familiar and mysterious and she was looking at Tom much as a
collector of coins regards a prized possession. Her face was bright
with expectation.

'Hi there,' said Tom as emphatically as he could. He didn't
know who the hell she was but she looked fabulous and at the back
of his mind a small voice asked:
I wonder
if I'm fucking her?

Nurse Biscuit
came to his aid. She dropped Tom's hand like a hot coal and
scrambled to her feet.

'Oh, Miss
Matthews,' she cried, 'it's such a thrill to see you again. Isn't
it wonderful that Mr Glass has come out of his coma?'

'I dashed here
straight from the studio,' said the newcomer. 'As you can see, I
didn't even have time to change.'