Lust Under Licence (35 page)

'Oh yes! Put
it in me please, Bill.'

'All in good
time, girl. First it's going between these handsome tits, we
agreed.'

'And you'll
pay an extra twenty.'

'I shan't but the board of Oversell Supermarkets will. As
their nominated representative in secret negotiations for a licence
from The Primrose Court, I should be failing in duty if I did not
insist on my pound of flesh. In your case my darling,
many
pounds.'

'How
repulsive!' said Petra with vehemence.

'Yes, he's
truly disgusting,' said Kelvin. 'He's just the kind of sexist pig
The Primrose Court was created to stamp out.'

'Not him. Her.
Lady Harmony Sharp. She's the mean spirited judge at Tom's trial.
But you know that, don't you?'

Kelvin nodded,
satisfaction etched into his features.

'Oh Kelvin,
how I've missed you!' She knocked over her wineglass in her rush to
fold him in her arms. The wine dropped unheeded onto the floor as
they kissed long and hard.

He sat on the
small wicker settee in the corner of the kitchen and pulled her
down into his lap. He began to unbutton the jacket of her dark
suit.

'How on earth
did you get that recording, Kelvin? What have you been up to?'

He held her
jacket and her blouse open and bent to kiss the pale flesh of her
breasts just above the scalloped edge of her white lace
brassiere.

'Stop, Kelvin!
No, I don't mean it really but tell me, please what's going
on?'

'OK.' He
lifted his head from her bosom, now bare in his hands, the nipples
dark and hard as he fingered them.

'I've been
undercover, on the trail of a real story. Now I've got it. The tape
you've heard is not the only one. I can prove that The Primrose
Court is running a racket. The hierarchy - Gossamer Hawk, Lady
Harmony Sharp, Naomi Picket - they're like the mafia. They're
selling protection from the Sex Police.'

'You mean the
licence that Bill Oates spoke about? The half a million
pounds?'

'That's
right.' Kelvin removed Petra's jacket and blouse and laid them on
the side table. Her bra joined the pile. 'Of course they still want
to drive the dinosaurs in pinstripes - that's what Gossamer calls
them - out of the boardroom but they're also milking companies for
serious money.'

'It's a
scandal!' said Petra as Kelvin moved her off his lap and knelt on
the floor to remove her shoes. 'Do you think Tom could have bought
his way out? Why is he being persecuted when that pig Bill Oates
gets off?'

Kelvin had
unzipped Petra's skirt and was now drawing it down her slim
gleaming thighs. She lifted her bottom to allow him access and sat
down again without regard for his actions, her mind focused
elsewhere.

'Tom Glass is
too big a fish,' he said. 'He's a fabulously wealthy, high-profile
captain of industry. He's a trophy, not a cash cow. If The Primrose
Court can bring him down they're made.'

Kelvin
contemplated the slim but curvaceous figure of Petra as she sat in
front of him. Just the thin scrap of white lace across her loins
now remained between her and total nudity. He took his glass of
wine from the table behind him and toasted her near-naked
perfection.

'What are you
going to do with your story?' she said, taking the glass from him
and raising it to her lips.

'First I thought I'd sell it to the highest bidder. The
Dog
or the
Rabbit
would pay me a
fortune. But they'd exploit it to the hilt and me with it. And
after the fuss had died down I'd be on my own. I don't fancy
spending the rest of my life dodging the hit-women of the Sex
Police. They'd peel my dick like a banana and eat my balls on
toast, just to start with.'

'So?'

'So then I
thought I should be more subtle - use the information as a lever.
Maybe get The Primrose Court to toe the line.'

'But how,
Kelvin? As you say, they'll eat you alive.'

'They won't
eat Tom Glass alive, not when you've got off tomorrow. He'll be
untouchable and he's powerful. With this information he can break
up the mafia, get some sensible men on the Corrections Committee.
And some women like you.'

'Me?'

'That's right.
Women who are smart, honest and don't have a vendetta against the
opposite sex.'

Petra grinned
at him, the realisation that there was a way out fizzing through
her veins like liquid joy. She dipped a finger in the glass and
anointed the saucers of her areolae with wine.

'Lick it off,'
she commanded. He did so, nuzzling his head into her chest, taking
her hard little nipples between his lips.

'How should I
play it tomorrow?' she asked as she cradled him to her.

'See the Judge
before the court resumes. Give her that tape. I've got a transcript
for you, too. Tell her that unless she calls the trial off at once,
copies will go to the press.'

'I thought you
didn't want that?'

He sat back on his haunches and placed his hands on her knees.
'Ted Flinch of
Nouveau
is in on it. We fell out and I was going to go for the big
bucks but... as you know I've had second thoughts. To be honest, he
put me on the story in the first place. He'll front for me, if
necessary, and the IBG lawyers are shit-hot.'

Petra thought
for a moment, considering her plan of action. 'I'll take Cassie,'
she said. 'We'll have Tom Glass free by lunch. I never knew you had
it in you, Kelvin.'

He pushed her
knees apart and gazed with longing on the smooth lines of her
spread thighs, right up to the lacy triangle stretched over the
bulge of her mons. He hooked a finger into the strip of material
where it disappeared below her seat into the crack of her buttocks.
She shivered in anticipation, but there was one more thing she had
to know.

'Just how did
you find out all this red-hot information, Kelvin?'

He pulled the
thin strip of lace to one side, laying bare the black knot of hair
and the pink puffy lips of her excited pussy. He feasted his
eyes.

'I can't
possibly reveal the tricks of my trade,' he said. 'But I can
demonstrate one of my most effective investigative techniques.'

And he lowered
his mouth to her wet, throbbing sex.

Tom was no
longer used to crowds. He slipped away from celebrations at Glass
Mountain as soon as he decently could. He knew nearly everyone, of
course, they were his own hand-picked staff but it was hard to step
from solitary confinement into a room containing hundreds of
well-wishers all desperate to shake his hand. Apart from anything
else he had a couple of things to take care of.

As he slid out
of the door he caught Petra's eye. She was on the far side of the
room surrounded by people, a champagne glass in her hand. When she
realised he was leaving she made as if to press through the throng
towards him. He held up his hand and indicated that she should
remain. She'd done enough for him already today. In fact, she was a
miracle-worker.'

He stepped
into his office and, for a moment, was stunned to see another man
sitting at his desk, barking into the phone. Then he remembered who
it was. Charles Kite, the disgraced executive whom Petra had
rehabilitated. Well, thank God; someone was taking care of business
amidst the chaos. Tom backed out of the room and found an empty
office down the corridor.

The people at Black Raven refused to call Marianne to the
phone. They explained that she was busy preparing for a
Gravitas
special. Tom left
her a message instead. It said: 'The wedding's off. There's a
cheque in the post. Good luck in the job. Love, Tom.' It was a bit
curt perhaps but he was sure the size of the cheque would assuage
any hurt feelings.

His next task
was not so easy to accomplish. He called Partridge Place and
Spilling Grange without success. Then he spoke to Inspector Claire
Quartermain and found her surprisingly cooperative.

They'd kept
his Porsche in pristine condition in the basement garage. The
engine fired at first asking and the car purred as he swung onto
the City roads and headed across town.

It was one of
those narrow, west London streets full of five-year-old Sunnys and
Cortinas and builder's muck. The houses were turn-of-the-century
terraced, always in need of repair. Green mould clogged the
gutters, plastic wheelie-bins occupied the front gardens and
satellite dishes sprouted beneath the eaves.

The woman on
the first floor looked with half an eye as the sparkling white
Porsche manoeuvred into a tight space between an overflowing skip
and a rusty motorbike. Porsches were not common in this street and
other eyes watched with keen curiosity. The woman turned away, not
much interested. Nothing interested her at the moment.

So she did not
see the tall man with a shock of dark hair get out of the car and
head purposefully for her front gate. She ignored the sounds from
downstairs, one of the other tenants would see to it. Nobody would
be visiting her.

But she
couldn't ignore the knocking at her door. It was loud and
insistent. Maybe if she stayed completely silent whoever it was
would give up.

The door burst
open.

'Eve, thank
God, I've found you.'

The sight of
Tom Glass in her room, the man she had betrayed and caused to be
beaten, persecuted and publicly humiliated was too much for Eve
Biscuit. She fainted.

She came round
and found herself lying on the bed. Tom was dabbing at her forehead
with a wet flannel. When she opened her eyes he smiled.

'I'm sorry,'
she said.

'I should hope
so too. You're the nurse, you're not meant to faint.'

'I don't mean
that. I mean—'

'Ssh,' he shut
her up with a kiss. It lasted some while. Time enough for them to
cling together and drink from each other's mouths as if they were
dying of thirst.

'But—' she
began as they pulled apart.

'Don't say
anything, Eve. Not just now. I know they forced you to do it but
now I'm free and so are you. It's all over.' And he stretched out
beside her on the narrow bed and kissed her again.

'Actually,' he
said as he pulled her T-shirt from the waist of her jeans and eased
it upwards over the satin-smooth skin of her stomach, 'I was hoping
that this was the beginning.'

'Of what?
Ooh.' His hands were on her breasts through the thin cups of her
brassiere. She reached behind her back to undo the fastening.

'Well,' he
said, 'I've had some painful weeks of deprivation. I've been
bullied and beaten up and deprived of - these...'

Her big
beautiful breasts were bare in his hands now and he stroked them
with reverence, savouring the rolling weight of their familiar
mass.

'God, I've
missed your kind of nursing, Eve,' he breathed as he lowered his
mouth to take a stiff puckered nipple between his lips.

'So that's
what you're after,' she said, feeding her breast to him and
stroking the hair from his brow.

He lifted his
head. 'That's not all,' he said, his fingers now busy at the zip on
her jeans and tugging the thick denim over her hips. She found
herself clawing at his belt.

'What else
then?'

Her jeans were
down her thighs now, her knickers too. They hung from one foot then
dropped to the floor.

'I need round
the clock care. Twenty-four-hour personal attendance.'

His shirt was
unbuttoned, his trousers kicked off, his briefs yanked down to
spill his cock and balls into her groping hands.

'You don't
want a nurse,' she panted as, breathless with want, she jammed the
big purple head of his penis into the welcoming mouth of her
vagina.

His hands
reached beneath her, found the full creamy smooth orbs of her
buttocks, and thrust.

'OH!' she
cried.

His pulsing
tool was deep within her, her legs wrapped around his waist, their
bodies wedged together in the small space as close as they could
get. Their hips undulated together, their pelvises danced, their
pubic bones rub-rub-rubbed in urgent need.

She unglued
her lips from his. 'You don't want a nurse,' she repeated, 'you
want a body slave.'

'Could be,' he
said, now slowing the pace and spearing into her deliberately.
'What I'm really after is a wife.'

Eve went
rigid. There was a rising tide in her veins and bells began to
hammer in her head.

'You've got a
wife,' she breathed, 'or will have. Haven't you forgotten
Marianne?'

'I sacked her
today.' His cock thrust faster and faster now, driving them to the
edge. 'The situation's vacant.'

'Oh God,' she
groaned, as the first ripples of orgasm washed over her.

'So will you
take the job?' he whispered.

Her loins
spasmed out of control as the wave broke and carried her away and
the words came tumbling in a stream from her lips.

He smiled as
he came too, the sounds of her excitement echoing from far off.

'Yes oh yes oh
yes,' she cried. 'Yes, Tom, YES!'

Petra was
euphoric as she took her place amongst the audience in the Black
Raven studio. So far it had been a fabulous day.

That morning
the confrontation with the Judge at The Primrose Court had gone
more smoothly than she could have hoped for. As the first echoes of
Kelvin's secret recording rang round her office, Lady Harmony
Sharp's face was a picture. Disbelief, outrage, embarrassment -
these were all evident but one other emotion burned brightest of
all. Fear.