Lust Under Licence (5 page)

Philippe had
stripped off too and was on his hands and knees, suspended above
Cassie's body. Petra watched in fascination as he lowered himself
till he was just inches above her and he began to move, from side
to side and up and down. It took her a moment to realise that he
was brushing her body with his cock, drawing the tip of his hanging
member backwards and forwards across the dimpled dome of her belly.
As he did so, he caressed the tips of her nipples with the great
slab of his chest, occasionally pressing down on her and then
pushing up to relieve the pressure. Petra wondered what it must be
like to be body-kissed by a man mountain who could crush you at any
moment.

Certainly
Cassie liked it. She had hold of his teak-hard buttocks and was
thrusting her pelvis up at him, trying to work the head of his
elusive tool into the hungry hole between her legs.

'Please,
please,' Petra heard her saying, 'put it in, Philippe. Fill me up
and fuck me. Oh please - OH!'

Petra saw that
his great cock had nosed into her bush and with one flick of his
hips he was into her.

'Oh my GOD!'
screamed Cassie and exploded into a flurry of jerks and
twitches.

'
Deux fois
,'
Philippe announced as dispassionately as a tennis umpire. 'You want
to go for more? I think you are well ahead of your weekly
score.'

'No, don't
stop! I need at least three, maybe four!' howled Cassie, jerking
her loins up at him as he held himself impassively over her.

'OK but I
don't want you to overdo it,' he lectured. 'I have seen people too
keen at the beginning, they end up with strained ligaments and
pulled muscles.'

'Sod that,
Philippe,' said Cassie. 'I think there's only one way to learn and
that's on the job. Let's go for it! Oh yes!'

Philippe
didn't argue further, he just swung into action as if to prove his
point, pistoning his powerful cock between her legs in a blur.

Petra tried
hard to record the meaningful action as requested, keeping the
camera focused on Cassie's face as she moaned and howled through a
succession of orgasms. But Petra's camera hand was shaking with
excitement. She couldn't resist staring at Philippe's lean buttocks
as they thrust and flexed and hollowed, driving his menacing cudgel
of flesh up into Cassie's loins. She was mesmerized too by the
sight of her friend's swollen pussy as it engulfed the big cock.
Yielding yet strong, soft yet resilient, it joyfully embraced the
pounding weapon.

'AAH!' yelled
Cassie finally and passed out.

It took a few moments, in which time Philippe bid them
au revoir
, before Cassie
was able to speak.

'Didn't I tell
you, Petra? That's what I call personal training.'

'Well, he
certainly pressed your little red button. It's not very romantic,
though, is it?'

'My God,
woman, what do you want?' Cassie sat up and reached for the glass
of water Petra was offering her. 'This is lifestyle sex not
romance, health and fitness not emotional dependence. We're talking
work-out fucking here, perfect for today's independent woman. This
way, just think of all the time you save in not having rows and
pretending to be seduced and pussyfooting around before the guy
gets down to your actual pussy. Mind you, there is one thing I
regret.'

'Oh?'

'I wish I
could get that bastard Philippe to come inside me.' Petra was
astonished, though it was true that in the blur of orgasmic action
she'd seen no evidence of Philippe ejaculating.

'Doesn't he
ever?'

'No. Not one
drop of his precious fluid does he shed. Mind you, I'm his ten p.m.
appointment. He probably saves it so he can spunk off over lucky
Miss Midnight. What the hell are you laughing at?'

Kelvin Priest sat in bed doodling on a notepad and stroking
his penis. The pad contained impressions of his interview that
morning with Gossamer Hawk and his penis was similarly inspired.
Kelvin was struggling to put some shape to the article he was
preparing for
Nouveau
. He was not finding it easy.

Gossamer had
knocked Kelvin for six. The combination of larky sixth-former and
mature woman, of high-pitched giggle and low-slung cleavage, of
flirtatious blonde and stern officer of the court had him in
thrall. She had virtually propositioned him, had held out the image
of herself stripped to the waist with the expanse of her soft
perfumed bosom at the mercy of his roving hands. How he had longed
to take up that proposition.

But had it
been a trap? Had his natural timidity saved him from a trip
downstairs to the cells? There, it was rumoured, transgressors were
held in soundproofed confinement, subjected to a rigorous programme
of 'attitude realignment' conducted by twenty-stone bull dykes who
looked on men as an inferior subspecies.

Here, of
course, lay the crux of the matter. As an enquiring journalist he
should have probed more deeply, asked Gossamer searching questions
about the business of The Primrose Court. How, for example, did
they decide who to investigate? Who sat on the Corrections
Committee? Was it really, as officially stated, an advisory body
peopled by female business leaders and concerned only with
self-regulation of the business community? Or was it a gang of
harpies picking on their competitors and paying off old scores?

Those were the things he should have asked. Instead he had
allowed her to shoot the breeze in her delicious fashion, to
hypothesise about arses on girls in the street and barbarians in
suits. Some of that stuff would be fine for the average
Nouveau
reader who was
always in need of guidelines on how to think correctly. But Kelvin
wanted to give
Nouveau
man more. He could see the heading now: 'Are we heading for a
sexually correct police state? Kelvin Priest puts Prosecutor Hawk
on the rack.' That would get the quiche and branflake set
buzzing.

There was
nothing for it, he would have to pick up the gauntlet thrown down
by Gossamer and invite her out to dinner. His tool twitched in his
fingers - Y-front man said yes.

He pushed the
bedclothes down and looked his cock in the eye. The head was as red
as a beet and the shaft pulsed in his hand. It had never looked so
big. Not that it was especially large - he didn't kid himself he
was spectacularly endowed. But what he had, had never been cause
for complaint. It had kept Petra happy for two years and he was
sure it could give Gossamer a thrill too. Hypothetically speaking,
of course.

The chug of a
diesel engine in the street below alerted him to Petra's arrival.
It was not an unusual situation for him to be tucked up in bed and
for her to return home in a taxi. She had a big-deal job at Glass
Mountain and she often worked late, and since Glass's accident she
had not once shown up before midnight.

He heard the
sound of her footsteps in the hall and he covered up his twitching
cock and balls.

Petra burst
into the room and chucked her briefcase onto a chair.

'Hello,
darling,' said Kelvin, 'tough day?'

'Don't ask,'
she snapped. She appeared flustered. Her lustrous dark hair,
normally held under control by an assortment of bands and
barrettes, was flowing loose and her pale cheeks were flushed. She
was pulling at her clothes and throwing garments onto the floor.
This was not her normal behaviour.

'You must be
tired,' said Kelvin, wondering what the hell had got into her.
'Come to bed.'

'You bet,'
said Petra, now reduced to a tiny pair of scarlet silk panties. She
was not a big girl, being slim and light of foot, nevertheless she
was pleasingly curved. She had high pouting breasts with nut-brown
nipples and a waist Kelvin could almost span with his hands. But
her hips swelled and her bottom cheeks swayed with all the womanly
allure a man could want. And the neatly trimmed black muff at the
fork of her thighs was bursting out of the scrap of silk that
encircled her loins.

Kelvin
couldn't help observing that the scarlet panties were stained a
darker hue in the vee of her crotch. In fact, he would have been
blind not to notice as the material was now poised an inch in front
of his nose. Her hands were in his hair and her lean thighs on
either side of his torso as she straddled him on the bed. His
confusion was overwhelming.

'What's up,
Petra? Are you all right?'

'Shut up,
Kelvin. I want you to eat my pussy.'

'But, Petra, I
think you—'

'Christ,
Kelvin, can't you do what you're told for once?' she cried and
jammed his face onto her pantied mons. 'Now, eat me out. Suck me
through my panties. Oh God, that's better!'

It was the
best fuck they'd had for ages, probably since the start of their
romance. Not that this was a meeting of mind as well as body - one
of those cosmic exchanges between lovers in which the giving is as
important as the receiving. In this carnal bout the receiving was
all-important to both parties.

As Petra rode
on Kelvin's face she pictured herself upside down on Philippe's
tongue, clinging to the Frenchman's tree-trunk of a body, her lips
around his formidable baton, his fingers playing on the cheeks of
her upturned arse the way he had pleasured Cassie.

It took her
only moments to come and she slid from Kelvin's chest eager for
more. Kelvin's generous tumescence was sympathetically received,
first of all in her mouth though she didn't keep it there long -
the damned thing looked as though it might go off at any second -
and then where it truly belonged, up her well-juiced cunt.

It didn't last
long there either but she came at the same time he did, in a
long-drawn-out spiral of pleasure that radiated up her spine and
down her legs as he speared his tool up, up, up into her very
centre. Then he did a very surprising thing. Even though he had
just exploded inside her, he kept his cock jammed deep between her
legs and gently stroked her pussy lips and clit, all the while
tonguing and kissing her nipples, until she had had another orgasm
- a slow deep soul-stirrer that left her floating on a cloud.

'
Troisfois
,'
she murmured into his hair, her hips undulating to his
rhythm.

But Kelvin
didn't hear. As he mouthed the cherry pits of her nipples he
dreamed of the fuller, lusher pastures of Gossamer Hawk's bosom
where, for the moment at least, it was still safe to let his
imagination roam.

'I'm sorry I was such a witch,' said Petra as she snuggled
into Kelvin's body
post
coitus
.

'I'm not
complaining,' said Kelvin. 'You can stay late at the office every
night if you come home like that.'

'I wasn't at
the office, I had dinner at Cassie's.'

'Aha.' That
explained one mystery. 'I had a phone call from Partridge Place. I
wondered why they couldn't get you at work.'

'You've got a
message about Tom?' Petra sat bolt upright. 'Why didn't you tell
me?'

'I couldn't. I
had a mouth full of pussy, remember? Don't panic, Glass is out of
his coma and feeling fine.'

'Thank God.'
She subsided onto the pillow, relief mingling with a series of
thoughts, chief among them the news she .had finally extracted from
a shagged-out Cassie. The Corrections Committee had forwarded Tom
Glass's name for investigation. Petra had to let Tom know as soon
as possible. Still, there wasn't much she could do about it at the
moment. She put her hand on Kelvin's shrunken cock and gave it an
inquisitive squeeze.

'What's got
into you tonight, Petra?' he said. 'Not that I'm complaining.'

'If you must
know, it's Cassie. She's made me promise to go on a new diet.'

'But you don't
need a diet.'

'It's more a health regime. For
Fragrant
.' His prick was big in her
hand now.

'That smelly
rag.'

'Shut up and
fuck me. I want it hot and hard. I want to come again.'

He put his
hand between her legs. Juice was running out of her like a river.
His come and hers, mixed.

'Any other
orders, mistress?' he asked, four fingers inside her and
churning.

'Yes, do you
speak French?'

'I can say
soixante-neuf
. Will that
do?'

'
Parfait
. Just
be quick.'

Tom was
dreaming. But, like last time, the dream had the solidity of real
life. His past life.

He was in an
attic room in a large Victorian house. The dormer windows were open
wide and a warm breeze puffed the flowery Habitat curtains into the
cramped space, making it even smaller. Jeans, a T-shirt, a crumpled
summer dress and a pair of M&S panties lay in a pool of
sunlight on the rush-mat floor. He was squashed into a narrow
single bed with the owner of the panties. There wasn't much room
but neither of them was complaining. On the contrary.

'
Aiee
,'
groaned Elvira, 'is too much, too much!'

Tom laughed
and thrust deeper between the fabulous olive cheeks of her upturned
bum. His hand was beneath her body exploring the thicket of her
crotch, diddling her throbbing clit towards orgasm.

The clock on the bedside table said 11.30. Tom was supposed to
be at a lecture on
As You Like
It
, currently being delivered a mile down
the hill in the English Department by his tutor, Lionel Slack. He
didn't care. Buggering an Italian sex-pot with a bum like a ripe
peach was an education in itself, possibly one with more long-term
advantages. The beauty of it was that Elvira was also Professor
Slack's au pair.