Lust Under Licence (22 page)
Nurse Biscuit
smiled. 'Would you like a body hug, Miss Rosewater? It's my
speciality.'
Petra nodded.
She'd have agreed to anything.
The nurse
mounted the bed and straddled Petra's thighs. For a moment she
loomed over the supine woman, the cloud of her fair hair and the
rounded mass of her sumptuous body blocking out the light from the
window. Then she slowly lowered herself on top of Petra. She
covered her like a silky blanket of warm flesh: the big breasts
crushing against the smaller woman's chest, the firm columns of her
thighs capturing Petra's slim ones, her entire body cleaving to
Petra in an incredible all-over embrace.
'My God,'
whispered Petra, her arms automatically folding around the other
woman's back, accepting the soft weight. 'Oh Eve,' she muttered
into the nurse's neck as she felt, for the first time, the pressure
of another woman's belly on hers.
Eve was
wriggling now, searching for the right connection between their
forms, taking the weight off Petra's chest but increasing it on her
pubic bone until - 'Oh!' cried Petra in surprise - their vaginal
slits were joined in an open-mouthed kiss.
Petra swooned.
It was too much - the heat, the gin, the incredible body rub. And
now this, the feel of another woman between her thighs, pressing
her cunt into hers, their clits rubbing together, rushing them both
towards an orgasm of unique intensity. What a day for Honeydew, she
thought as her loins rippled to the first thrill.
She found she
was kissing Eve Biscuit like a lustful male, her tongue halfway
down her throat, her hands palming and stroking the silky globes of
the other's swollen teats where they stuck out between their
heaving bodies. 'Oh Eve, oh Eve,' she muttered over and over like a
mantra, as her lips flicked over the sweet curve of the other's
neck and her hands found the girl's nipple - big and fat and
rubbery in her fingers.
Eve had set up
a masterful rhythm now: rolling her pelvis down and across Petra's,
driving their hungry pussies together, marching them to the summit
of their first come. A high-pitched squeal rose from both throats
as they reached their destination together.
Outside, on
the lawn, a discordant yet thrilling sound roused Tom Glass from
sun-baked slumber. These days, the once nervy hard-edged business
tycoon tended to drift off into a sensuous reverie in any spare
moment - and, between shagging his delicious medical attendant,
there were plenty of those.
He came to his
senses fast, the noise from the room next to his reaching a
crescendo. He knew at once what it was, though he could hardly
believe his ears. The sound of Eve's excitement was a familiar one
but this was even more intense than usual. What was she up to?
Tom stepped
slyly into Eve's room, expecting to find her pleasuring herself and
fully intending to give her a helping hand. What he did not expect
to see was another woman in her arms on the small bed, the two of
them quite nude, their loins dancing in tandem as the insistent
cries of female orgasm echoed around the small space. Tom had quite
forgotten about his visitor but now, as he took in the implication
of the dark hair tangled in Eve's blonde mane, the slim arm clasped
tightly around her neck and the small feet with their wriggling,
scarlet-painted toes scrabbling against the bedsheet, Tom
remembered Petra.
He had been
erect already, of course. But if it had been anatomically possible,
this realisation would have put another six inches on his
straining, throbbing tool. Petra, his petite and curvy deputy, with
her air of ever-vigilant efficiency, who gave the impression she
kept a clipboard between her legs - he couldn't believe it. And yet
here she was in a position that clearly revealed she kept something
much more interesting in that location.
The two women
had not noticed him, their pleasure was too exclusive. He
approached the bed as if sleep-walking, his eyes fixed on the apex
of their splayed legs where the rivers of their gratification
mingled. Above were the pale swollen moons of Eve's shaking arse
cheeks, the deep shadow bisecting the smooth spheres pointing down
to the brown-tufted maw he knew so well. And beneath that, winking
and gaping, thrusting upwards like a thirsty mouth at a water
fountain, was the pretty pussy slit of Petra Rosewater, framed by
the succulent flesh of her trim but well-rounded thighs and
buttocks.
The line that
ran from the base of the blonde girl's spine down to the bedsheet,
encompassing two arseholes, two cunts and a myriad of dizzying
possibilities, hypnotised Tom. He fell to his knees and leant
forward as close as he could. The scent of female excitement was
overwhelming and the proximity of their abandon intoxicating. He
could see their labia rubbing together, the slippery folds of skin
clinging and sucking as they kissed. And, deeper, in the heart of
their connection, he could glimpse the two clitorises - Eve's small
and pink, Petra's longer, redder - glued together, keeping the
women on a never-ending roundabout of sensual pleasure.
Tom knew it
was rude - an inexcusable breach of sexual etiquette - but without
previously announcing his presence he thrust his face into the
double-cunted fissure of flesh in front of him and began to slake
his thirst.
Later, when
the afternoon had come and gone and the two women were lying in
Tom's arms, Petra said, 'That's the most enjoyable business meeting
I've ever attended.'
Eve rolled
over onto her back and stretched. The three of them were sprawled
across two mattresses on the floor - hospital beds not being wide
enough for the afternoon's activities. 'Is that what happens at
business meetings,' she said. 'I've often wondered.'
Tom said
nothing, he was still in a reverie of sexual intoxication. The
impact of these two different but equally delicious women had
rendered him incapable of idle speech. He still savoured in
particular the look of horror and of expectation on Petra's face
when she had finally registered his presence - and that had not
been for some while after he had begun lapping her delicious cunt.
Since then he had been forced to revise his opinion of his
colleague. She was a perfectionist at everything she did and she
did much more than he had suspected.
'I came up
here for a reason,' she was saying.
Tom nodded and
idly stroked her silky smooth hip.
'I don't think
the police are interested in finding out about your accident,' she
continued. 'Quartermain just wants to nail you for sex crimes. It's
up to us to find out who pushed you off the balcony.'
'We've talked
about this before, Petra.'
'I know.' She
was sitting up now, her face earnest, her pouting breasts shaking
as she made her point. 'But now you remember so much more of your
life, can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?'
'No.' Really
those little tits were quite delicious.
'But you must
have made enemies. People in your past who might bear a
grudge.'
'No.' He'd
never have imagined he was still capable but his cock was suddenly
at full stretch. Again.
'Don't be
stupid, Tom,' said Eve. 'Present company excepted, what about every
woman you've ever slept with?' Tom gave it some thought.
Rosie, Elvira,
Shani, the Shagbags, Maeve - Christ, yes, she'd skin him alive!
Every one of them had a motive - and that's all he could remember
so far. Good God.
Suddenly his
erection had disappeared.
33
Throughout the
summer, as the business community relaxed and dreamt of weekends in
the country and buckets of brandy sours on foreign beaches, The
Primrose Court continued its work. There could be no relaxation for
those who toiled in its name: they were women with a mission.
Officially, this was to purge the male establishment of its
outmoded attitudes. Unofficially, as Gossamer Hawk often remarked,
it was to take the prick out of his pinstripes and replace him
with, well, a woman like her.
Overnight, it
seemed, many prominent company men took hasty vacations or long
weekends or fell prey to their first illness in years. And when
they returned to their offices they were paler and softer than
before - in manner, rather than appearance. 'The old bastard's lost
his balls,' was said often in ladies' loos throughout the City when
some long-feared despot was heard to say 'please' twice in the same
sentence.
These were the
kind of men who had never been known to bother with common civility
unless it were to their advantage; captains of the company ship,
they cracked the whip from dawn to dusk. But now the office
galley-slaves were showered with enquiries about their health and
told that those urgent figures for the chairman could wait till
tomorrow, or next week, or whenever convenient. In the past, the
meaning of this kind of conduct had always been clear - the boss
wanted to get his leg over. And once that had been achieved it was
back to the oars for the slave in question, though doubtless she
then rowed with a silver chain around her neck.
The
consequence, in many cases, was that businesses went soft, like
their executives. Without the mad-eyed fanatic on bridge, driving
the crew on at speeds they didn't know possible, the ship tended to
drift without direction. And the consequence of this failure was
inevitable - a change of leadership. Many new captains were
appointed that summer. They were youthful, vigorous, efficient and
they soon got their ships back on course. From the galley-slaves'
point of view nothing much had changed. Apart from one thing - the
new captains were all female.
'It's not right,' said a well-upholstered blonde to her friend
as she applied lipstick at the end of the working day. 'Charlie
Kite could be a beast but you knew where you were with him.' Her
friend nodded. They both knew where the blonde had been with Kite -
on his office chesterfield every Friday night. Now his office was
the domain of the new boss, a Ms Snippy with an MBA and a wardrobe
of white blouses that tied at the neck in a bow. The old leather
chesterfield had been replaced by a glass table and a bank of
computers. It was funny how she missed the smelly old thing, the
blonde mused as she finished her make-up - both the sofa
and
her former lord and
master.
And in the
basement of The Primrose Court the hard work of executive
retraining ground on.
'Mr Kite, I
would like you to cast your mind back to the evening of Saturday
April thirtieth.'
'Why?'
'Do you
remember what you were doing?'
'No. It had
been a bloody awful week, I can tell you that. We'd had the
auditors in and we were fighting off a hostile bid from DungCo. I
should imagine I got pissed.'
'You were
watching the Eurovision Song Contest.'
'If you say
so. That's not a crime these days, is it?'
'Perhaps you
recall the Latvian entry?'
'Oh, vividly.
It was called "Boom-bang-a-bang-ski".'
'There's no
need to be sarcastic, Mr Kite. In fact it was called "My Love is as
Wild as a Sheep" and sung by two young men with leather trousers
and long hair.'
'Fascinating.
Is the tax-payer really footing the bill for this ridiculous
charade?'
'Do you
remember saying, "Get those two heart-throbs. I bet they're up to
their ears in Latvian pussy"?'
'So?'
'Are you not
aware that a sexist comment of that nature is a category B crime of
conscience?'
'
If
I said
it.'
'Are you
denying it? We have a witness.'
'Who?'
'Your
wife.'
'What!'
'Her statement says that after dinner, which you ate while
watching the television, you made crude and derogatory remarks at
the contestants in the song contest. When the Irish entrant sang,
"I'll Come Running Back" you said, "With those knockers, darling,
you'll get a black eye", and at the German entry,
"
Ich Liebe Dich
",
you shouted out, "You can suck my
Dich
any time,
Fraulein
".'
'I just told
you, I was drunk.'
'So you admit
these offences.'
'No, I do
not.'
'You maintain
that your wife is lying then.'
'She was
drunk, too.'
'Not so drunk
I don't remember your piggish behaviour.'
'Veronica!
What are you doing here? Is this a trick? Where are you?'
'She's in the
observation booth, Mr Kite. She can see you but you can't see
her.'
'This is
outrageous! Hey, what are you doing with those wires?'
'I'm fastening
electrodes to your testicles. As you show no remorse of any kind,
it is time for your retraining to begin. Mrs Kite, would you like
to press the red button on the console in front of you?'
'This
one?'
'Veronica,
don't you dare - aah!'
'That's the
one. It seems to be working.'
'What's this
little clock thing?'
'That's the
discomfort dial, Mrs Kite. If you turn it to the left you increase
the intensity of the correction.'
'Like
this?'
'AAH!'
Excellent, Mrs
Kite, you seem to have mastered the technology already. Now, I
believe we asked you to prepare questions for your husband that you
think are relevant to our line of enquiry.'
'There's
rather a lot of them, I'm afraid.'
'Don't worry
about that, Mrs Kite, we have all night.'
'Oh
Christ.'
'Shut up,
Charles, and listen to me for once. Tell me about your trip to
Paris with that bitch Tricia Markham.'