Lust Under Licence (28 page)

'You speak
real la-di-da, Mr Glass. I guess it's because you're a Brit.'

'I guess,'
said Tom, unnerved by what looked like another mood swing. 'Look,
you don't like me and I don't like you, so let's go.'

'Where you
gonna take me? If my father found out we split early I'd catch
hell. There's a lowlife bar across the street - how about
that?'

'I'm not going
anywhere with you in that dress. You'll start a riot.'

She got to her
feet, the bosom moving fractionally later than the rest of her. A
man at the next table choked on a mouthful of pancetta.

'It's OK,' she
said, 'I'll keep my coat on.'

They made
their way out slowly, their early departure observed by every eye
in the room. Laura giggled as they stood by the desk waiting for
their bill.

'You know what
they're all thinking, don't you?' she whispered into his ear. 'They
think we're so hot for each other we're going home to ball our eyes
out.'

It was true.
Tom could see it in the faces of the men as their greedy glances
crawled all over Laura's spectacular frame. The women were smirking
at him, exchanging knowing remarks with each other. Suddenly he
realised why - he was massively and very obviously erect.

Laura patted
the bulge in his pants and said, 'Let's skip the bar and go back to
my place. We wouldn't want to disappoint the people, now would
we?'

Tom grunted
his agreement. He wasn't capable of speech.

Philippe
emerged from the studios of Badger Television breathed in the fresh
morning air. Life felt good. He escaped from a world where he was
nothing but a paid gigolo and had discovered a new existence as a
national fitness guru - and heart-throb. He had a sack of fan mail
to prove it. And he also had Marianne, a woman who touched him as
no other could. He knew he owed his spot at Badger to her and he
was determined to make her happy, even if he died trying. Which he
might, since she demanded the kind of lovemaking he was not
accustomed to giving. Here was a woman who wanted every ounce of
his precious sap. Ah well, there were sacrifices to be made in
every sphere of existence.

As he reached
his car, he realised he was not alone. He was flanked by two large
men, almost as big as he was. Two others appeared in front of him.
For once he was outmuscled - what the hell was going on?

The appearance
of the voluptuous redhead did not exactly explain matters.

'Good morning,
Philippe,' said Cassie. 'I believe we have an appointment.'

'Madame Crow,
what are you doing here?'

'You abandoned
me, you rat. You owe me a few sessions - about six weeks'
worth.'

Philippe's
brain was working overtime. He had always liked Cassie, she wasn't
as much of a screaming neurotic as most of his other Honeydew
clients. Could he have misjudged her? 'But, Cassie, that is in the
past. I no longer practise as a personal trainer.'

'One more
session, Philippe. That's all I want.'

For a moment
Philippe wavered. Cassie did look rather fetching with the morning
breeze fluttering through her loose auburn curls and the sharp
points of her big breasts pressing against the weave of her tight
sweater. The tall Australian had always been most responsive, he
recalled.

'I'm sorry,
madame, but I have resigned from the Honeydew programme.'

'Not yet you
haven't, buster.'

The blonde
woman appeared from nowhere, from behind one of the musclemen,
probably. The sight of her froze the Frenchman with fear, like the
touch of a pistol in the small of his back. A lot had happened to
him in the year since he had last looked into those milky-blue eyes
but his newfound confidence was wiped away in an instant.

Chastity
curled an arm round his neck and drew his head down to place her
lips on his. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and held him
close. The embrace went on for some time. When she stepped away
from him, the coveted breadstick in his pants was rigid. Chastity
placed a proprietorial hand upon the bulge.

'Let's go and
have breakfast,' she said.

When they
reached her hotel, Chastity dismissed her boys. 'You did not need
to bring your gorillas to fetch me,' said Philippe. 'I would have
accepted your invitation, Chastity.'

'Would you?
You ran away without saying goodbye, as I recall. I got the
impression you didn't like me any more.'

Philippe
looked out of the window at the tree tops of Hyde Park, though his
mind was far away, reliving his life in California a year earlier.
How could he explain that Chastity had overwhelmed him like a drug?
That he had been compelled to escape before he was hooked forever -
and turned into a zombie like all her other studs.

He shrugged.
'I did not want to be a Stepford man,' he said at last.

Cassie laughed
and pulled her sweater over her head. She wore a black brassiere
with transparent cups. Her long red nipples were very obvious.

'Good for
you,' she said. 'But you owe us both, Philippe. I suggest you pay
up and we'll let bygones be bygones.'

'Great idea,'
said Chastity, kicking off her shoes and unbuckling her jeans.

Philippe's
eyes bulged as the two women in front of him stripped. In his
professional life, he had had vast experience of women and the
display of their bodies. It was rare for him to react as other men
might. But this was different. He had particular sympathy for
Cassie, she seemed to be on his side. And her big creamy body with
its mane of red hair was an undeniable turn-on, particularly when
set beside the gold blonde nudity of his mentor, Chastity Honeydew.
As the two of them pulled off their clothes to reveal their
sumptuous fuckable flesh the Frenchman's cock threatened to
explode.

In a flurry of
shimmering breasts and bouncing buttocks the women were on him.
They dragged him into the bedroom, pulling the clothes from his
athletic frame as they went. For once, Philippe was not in charge.
As the soft weight of Chastity's buttocks settled on his chest and
her blonde-fuzzed pussy inched towards his face, he smiled. He was
about to be raped. Resistance was useless - he might as well lie
back and enjoy it.

In the vee of
Philippe's tree-trunk thighs, Cassie laid claim to his magnificent
prick. It thrust up between her hands in a white tower of
tumescence capped with a ruby-red head so broad it almost didn't
fit in her mouth. She was in heaven as she gorged on the beautiful
monster. She fed on it like a lollipop, running her tongue from
base to tip, gumming the glans and rubbing the knob against her
soft upper palate.

Cassie was
aware of the significance of the moment for her partner in crime.
It seemed that Chastity's career as a sex guru hinged on stuffing
Philippe's big engine up her twat and riding it to satisfaction. In
the circumstances maybe she should give the American first crack.
Maybe.

Above her,
Cassie heard the intake of breath as Chastity ground her pussy into
the Frenchman's face and she hesitated no longer. She too had her
needs and now was no time to hang back. Faint heart, after all,
never got fucked. Cassie swung her leg over Philippe's pelvis and
pushed the length of him up into her aching slot.

The three of
them went at it like one mad, sex-crazed beast; the two women
riding the giant Frenchman, Chastity's fingers in his hair cradling
his face in her crotch, Cassie's arms round Chastity's body,
squeezing the soft fruits of those perfect California tits in her
hands as Philippe's Eiffel Tower of a tool speared up into her
belly.

Cassie
screamed as she came and fell off her supine lover onto the bed, a
warm glow of contentment singing through her veins. As she caught
her breath she watched Chastity writhing on top of Philippe, her
face set in a rictus of frustration that was familiar to Cassie
from her observations of two nights ago. But this time Cassie was
in a position to help out.

She smacked
Chastity round the face, sending the blonde tresses flying. It was
a satisfying moment. The American gaped at her in shock and
bewilderment until Cassie took her hand and placed it on Philippe's
cock. The instant Chastity's fingers closed around the tumescent
organ the tension seemed to drain from her face. Cassie helped her
shift her body backwards, down the Frenchman's gleaming muscular
torso, to the staff of salvation that thrust upwards from his
crotch.

'Thank you,
Cass,' muttered the American as Cassie pointed the big, plum-like
head into the wet opening between her legs.

'My pleasure,'
muttered Cassie as she smoothed the juices from Chastity's pussy
around the glans and down the shaft of the Frenchman's formidable
baton. She savoured the feel of their hot pulsing genitals, the
nobility of her actions swelling her breast. 'You can do the same
for me some day,' she said as she eased the swollen knob into the
mouth of Chastity's yearning cunt.

The American
sat down slowly on Philippe's weapon, muttering to herself as she
took the stiff shaft deep inside her. Her face was slack, her eyes
open but unseeing, her mouth agape, the lower lip full and wet.

'Oh Philippe,'
she whispered, 'how I've missed you, you dirty French fucker.'

His hands were
on her body now, meeting round her waist as he thrust her down onto
his pelvis.

'Ah!' she
screamed, the breath rushing from her body. He lifted her up and
slammed her down again. 'Oh yes!' she cried as he lifted and
dropped her again and again on his mighty cock, using her body like
a great masturbating fist.

'Oh God!' she
shrieked as her first orgasm in a year burst upon her, racking her
body with sensation, sending her peachy tits flying and her hair
whirling and her hips undulating on the incredible invading penis
of Monsieur Muscles.

Laura's place
was a ten-minute cab ride away across the wintery city. Despite the
perishing cold, Tom's cock remained as stiff as a pike-staff
throughout the journey. Perhaps that was because Laura had her warm
fingers wrapped around it the entire time.

Her house was
on three storeys close to the East River. Inside it was full of
dark polished wood and chintzy drapes and Victorian prints. The
atmosphere was almost European. Tom would have commented on this
but the direction the evening was heading did not allow for it. In
any case, he didn't want to talk to this peculiar woman - he wanted
to fuck her.

They kissed
for the first time in the small vestibule. As he had suspected, her
wide flexible mouth was made for pleasure. Beneath his coat his
penis was standing stiff outside his trousers, just as she had
arranged it in the taxi. As she explored his mouth with her agile
tongue she pulled his balls into the open. She examined his
genitals in the dark as if she were a blind woman reading Braille.
He kept his hands to himself and let her have her way. Eventually
she took her mouth from his and pushed his coat off his
shoulders.

'Come
upstairs,' she said.

He followed
her up the steep stairway, the split skirt of her dress swaying in
front of him, displaying the lean lines of her legs with every
step. Near the top he caught her by the ankle.

'Stop,' he
said and she obeyed. 'Pull your skirt up,' he said.

She looked
over her shoulder at him and grinned slyly.

'You look
pretty funny standing there with your dick out,' she said, hitching
her skirt up over her rear.

She wore sheer
black tights with a cutaway seat and the olive ovals of her
exquisite bottom pouted at him in exotic invitation. He fought the
urge to bury his face in their satin perfection.

'Aren't you
cold going around like that?' he said.

She bent over,
resting her elbows on the top of the stairs. 'I find ways of
warming up,' she said.

He smacked the
delectable hemisphere of her left buttock, the sound echoing round
the small space.

'Yes,' she
said, 'like that.'

He smacked the
other cheek, harder this time, leaving the clear imprint of his
palm on the pale flesh. She sucked in her breath with a hiss and
stuck her bottom out further.

He took a
buttock in each hand and gently pulled her open. The circlet of her
arse was a nut-brown whorl and the rear of her vaginal purse was
hairless, the lips long and madder-hued. He ran his tongue the
length of her crack, sucking those long lips into his mouth, then
sliding back up again to tickle the bulls-eye of her anus.

'Oh,' she
murmured.

He tongued her
arsehole thoroughly and then brought the bursting head of his tool
up to lodge between the olive globes of her bum cheeks. If she had
protested at this point he would have retreated. She said nothing
but laid her head flat on the stair. Her spread behind nuzzled back
against his straining penis, rubbing and inflaming him.

He poked the
head of his tool into her behind without ceremony.

'Ah!' she
cried but did not flinch.

The broad
glans stuck in the tight ring but he pushed slowly in. She met him
on the outthrust, arching her back and bracing her legs. She raised
her head up, the riot of black curls tumbling down her back. Now he
was in her to the hilt.

'Do it to me,'
she hissed as his fingers found the knot of curls at the head of
her pussy and pushed down into her slit. He fondled the slippery
lips of her labia as he began to fuck her arse.

He was
determined to make it last, to savour every moment of this bizarre
coupling on a staircase in a strange city. He wanted to make Laura
come and come again, to thrust in and out of her bottom and play
with her clit until she couldn't take any more. Then he'd roll her
over and plug her pussy and play with those big tits that had
tormented him earlier. He wanted to flood Laura with a riot of
sensation and an ocean of sperm.