by Noel Amos
'A masculine approach,' said Katie. 'Tracy has fairly predictable taste. She likes tall slim men with designer stubble in Armani suits and loud ties.'
'Men with dark wavy hair, pale blue eyes and the wherewithal to pour champagne down her throat all day,' said Imogen.
'And the stamina to keep a stiff cock up her all night,' added Katie in her most business-like tones.
Imogen placed her hand on Billy's arm, taking the material of his jacket between thumb and forefinger. 'You do have an Armani suit, I take it?'
As they left the building, Billy hissed angrily in Katie's ear. 'You've got some nerve. Don't you realise I'm a professional private detective. I'm not some bloody stud-for-hire.'
She turned to face him on the steps. 'In that case, why didn't you say no?'
'Because—' He wanted to explain that the pair of them had so unnerved him that only now had he realised precisely what he had agreed to do.
'Don't tell me that an unscrupulous opportunist like you wouldn't kill for a job like this. If you ask me, you should be paying us.'
'But you are paying me, aren't you?'
She made no direct reply but began peeling £50 notes from a wad she had taken from her briefcase. 'This is for a retainer and the suit,' she said.
'That reminds me, what with my phone being cut off...'
She peeled off more notes and thrust the bundle into his hand. 'All right. Pay some bills. I'll keep account for Imogen. If you do this properly there are a few other tasks you may be able to help her with.'
'Really?' Billy gratefully pocketed the cash as she turned from him and walked briskly to her car. Obviously he had now been dismissed.
Billy watched her retreating back with interest. He had never noticed that little wiggle in her walk before. As she bent to put the key in the lock, her buttocks rounded enticingly beneath the constriction of the tight grey skirt.
'Hey, Katie,' he called, 'just what was it you said to Imogen about me?'
But she was inside the little car, firing the engine into life. She didn't look at him as she pulled away.
He headed towards Bond Street with a spring in his step. For once in his life his pockets were bulging with cash, and he had just been hired to sleep with the nation's biggest sex symbol. Things were looking up.
Chapter 4
The call Sophie had been expecting came as she sat hunched over her desk the next morning, trying to avoid the eyes of her colleagues. They were whispering about her, she knew. They often did but this time they really had something to gossip about. This time she had gone too far.
Which was precisely what DCI Ambrosia Spicer was about to say to her face to face. 'In my office, Stark. Right now.' That was all she'd said on the phone. Sophie feared the worst. Severe reprimand. Disciplinary proceedings. The sack. Sophie made her way upstairs with a heavy heart.
Ambrosia Spicer was the most senior policewoman in the building. As such she was respected, reviled, speculated upon, schemed against, lusted after and frankly loathed by every male in the force. Even the women treated her with suspicion. And yet to see her petite eight-stone frame shaking with fury as she bested her coarser colleagues in an argument or to observe her strength of will bearing down on some mean-spirited villain in an interrogation was inspiring. Sophie worshipped her. And as she stood smartly to attention on the carpet in Spicer's office she knew she was for it.
Ambrosia was at her desk leafing through a sheaf of type-written pages. Eventually she looked up at Sophie. Her light brown hair was short and stylish, though in need of a cut. Behind her tortoise-shell spectacles her eyes were bright like a bird's and there were frown lines around the mouth, pulling the full lips down at the corners. She wore neither lipstick, nail varnish nor wedding ring but the middle finger of her right hand bore a faint nicotine stain on the first knuckle. She looked tired.
'I've got lots of problems, Stark, and one of them is that I don't know where to start. Did you know I've been up all night?'
Sophie didn't answer.
'But then you've not been getting much sleep either, I gather. Did you know they call you Starkers?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'It's a bit obvious, really, with a name like yours but some of your behaviour does ask for it, wouldn't you say? I mean being caught in flagrante with a wanted man... I'd call that pretty blatant, Starkers. And you were starkers at the time, weren't you?'
'I—'
'No, don't tell me. Let me read to you what Constable Napless has to say.' And she paged through the report in front of her until she reached the passage she wanted: '"When I entered the room with Sergeant Bacon the first thing I saw was this great big bottom bouncing up and down. There were two people on the bed, a man and a woman and she was bouncing up and down on his penis which was in a state of erection. As far as I could tell they were both stark bollock naked. I was amazed at what I saw and could not move. Then Sergeant Bacon shouted out, 'For God's sake, Sophie,' and the woman turned to look at us. Then I recognised her as Sergeant Sophie Stark. Her mouth was hanging open but she did not say anything to us but carried on bouncing like she was riding a bucking bronco, up and down, with her hair flying and everything, you know, bouncing. I'd never seen anything like it in my life. It was then that I came over funny and I don't remember anything else." That's from Napless's statement taken last night at his hospital bedside.'
'How is he, ma'am?'
'Oh, he's much better now the shock of seeing you in action has worn off.'
'I know it doesn't make up for it but I am terribly sorry about Constable Napless, ma'am.' And she was, why on earth Mark Bacon had turned up with a dummy like Hapless Napless she couldn't think. Mind you, she hadn't intended anybody should catch her in such an embarrassing situation.
'What I can't fathom, Stark, is why you were actually on the job when the help you had summoned made their expected appearance. I understand that you seduced Kingsley in order to apprehend him and I can understand that subduing a vigorous young man of his type might call for considerable expertise. But having succeeded in tying him up and then ringing Sergeant Bacon for assistance why in God's name didn't you leave him alone?'
There was a long silence. Sophie stood stock still though inside she was squirming. Ambrosia stood up and walked round her desk to stare directly into Sophie's face.
'I know Kingsley is a pretty boy,' she continued, 'but am I right in thinking he's also particularly well-hung?'
Sophie tried avoiding Ambrosia's burning gaze but couldn't. Her cheeks flushed.
'Eh? Tell me. Has he got a big cock?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'And you like that, don't you? You're just crazy for a big cock. Say it.'
'Yes, I am.'
'You couldn't resist another go, could you? While your pal Bacon was heading over to your place you thought you'd just climb back on board for another ride. Admit it.'
'Yes, ma'am. I didn't think they'd be round so soon.'
'Tell me,' Ambrosia was very close now, her face within an inch of Sophie's, and there was just a hint of amusement in her eyes as she asked, 'was it worth it?'
Indeed it had been, catastrophic though the consequences might yet turn out to be. After Sophie had rung Mark Bacon and requested his help in untying and arresting Kingsley she had unlocked the front door and then returned to the bedroom to get dressed.
At first she hadn't looked at Kingsley, she felt a degree of remorse at making love to him and then trussing him up for capture. On the other hand, he was a villain and he deserved what was coming to him.
The room was a complete tip and she had quickly bundled up the clothes on the floor and returned them to the dressing table. Then, as she bent to retrieve her panties from beneath the bed, her eyes fell on the loins of the naked man spread out in front of her. His cock was at full stretch, a great white tower soaring from the dark hair of his groin. As she looked at it from such mouth-wateringly close quarters, it began to jerk and twitch. Kingsley was arching his back and waving
his cock in front of her like a flag. She glanced up at his face and saw a look of desperate need.
Careful, she told herself, he can't move, he can't talk but this bastard is still dangerous. On the other hand, she thought, as unthinkingly she stretched out and clasped the meat of his tool in her palm, on the other hand the poor sod is due to spend the next few years without any kind of feminine release. It's not his cock's fault, she thought as she slipped her lips over the taut red glans. It's a shame such a beautiful big cock like this won't have some proper comfort for years.
The next thing she knew she was sitting on top of him, the petals of her cunt poised over that long white stem. She took it into her slowly, savouring the fat solid heat of him sliding within her. She moved gently, slowly up then slowly down, agitating the length of his organ with the slick sucking warmth of the hungry mouth between her legs.
Leaning forward she dangled her breasts in his face, drawing her nipples delicately across the skin of his cheeks, then rocking from side to side and smacking the weight of them against him so he could remember the exact feel of a great pair of tits throughout the long breast-less years that lay ahead of him.
Emotional now, aroused to a fine pitch by the captive male beneath her and the nobility of her giving, Sophie began to fuck in earnest, grinding down on that massive pole faster and faster. She sat back on it so it thrust right up through her centre and reached behind her to stroke and fondle the furry eggs of his testicles. There was a grunt from deep in his throat and she became aware that he had been crying out all the while, the noise not completely silenced by his gag, and the realisation of his silent passion thrilled her. Without quite knowing what she was doing she placed both her hands on the flat of his stomach and stretched her thumbs back to rub over the spot where the base of his member emerged from her pussy lips. And she began to play with herself rhythmically, scratching at the nub of her clit as that special feeling began to build within her.
Next she was stroking herself shamelessly and riding as hard as she could, the orgasm building with the irresistible pull of a great wave. And then the door opened and somewhere in her brain she realised that the asked-for assistance had arrived - early, dammit! - but she couldn't stop now, couldn't possibly stop until he came and then, my God, he did, in an explosion of spunk fountaining up into her as the wave broke...
Was it worth it? Ambrosia wanted to know.
'You bet,' replied Sophie. 'The best fuck I've ever had.' And that's my career down the tubes, she added to herself.
But DCI Spicer didn't seem to have heard. She had walked away to the window and was looking out into the summer sunshine. Sophie noted the stylish cut of her beige linen suit, the curve of her hip, the upright tilt of her head. How old would she be? Forty, forty-five, no more than that. She was very attractive, whatever her age.
Ambrosia turned to face her again, her reverie over. She started on a new tack, her voice pitched low, her tone less aggressive.
'You know they're all a bloody lot of chauvinists in here, don't you? Because I'm a woman I have to be twice as good as the rest of them to get on. If I slip up, I'm out and they'd like that. It's all politics where I am. You know what I'm saying, don't you?'
'Well, not exactly, ma'am.'
'I'm saying that us girls should stick together. I'm saying that I'm tempted to give you the benefit of the doubt and that's the kind of benefit you wouldn't get from a male officer. But I want you to tell me why I should.'
'Oh.'
'Go on. Tell me why I should go to the trouble of smoothing over Hapless Napless and gagging your so-called buddy, Bacon, and generally putting the lid on this.'
'Well, I suppose that if you didn't it would rebound on you. It would be embarrassing for all female detectives. What will you do about Kingsley, though?'
'Oh, he won't talk. A macho man like him trussed up and half fucked to death by a saucy piece of skirt. He'll just treasure the memory in his lonely bunk. But you're evading the question, why should I give you another chance?'
'Because I'm good, and I always get my man.'
'That's what I wanted you to say - even if it is not entirely accurate.'
'Oh?'
'There's one that got away, isn't there?'
'There's only Danny Fretwork and he legged it to Spain. He won't be back.'
'Do you want to bet?
'Why would he? He'd be a fool.'
'Well, Miss Stark, even the brightest of us make mistakes and, like you, Danny sometimes keeps his brains in his pants.'
'Anything you say, ma'am.'
'Quite. We'll talk about this later.' Ambrosia scribbled something on a pad on her desk and tore off the slip of paper. 'Be at this address at eight o'clock tonight.'
Sophie took the piece of paper. She was confused.
'It's my flat. I'm cooking. Wear something casual.'
Sophie stood where she was, uncertain she had heard correctly.
'Get going. I'll see you later... Starkers.'
Chapter 5
No elaborate subterfuge was required for Billy Dazzle to infiltrate Tracy Pert's hotel suite. Or even, for that matter, to see her adorable 42-inch double D-cup bazookas in all their awesome glory. In the event, she simply welcomed him in and stripped off.
Not, of course, that Billy hadn't planned a cunning means of entry. Togged out as ordained in a brand-new designer suit of grey slub silk, a bottle of pink champagne in one hand and an ostentatious bunch of blooms in the other, he announced himself to Reception as Signor Orlando Verdi. After only a few minutes, Reception snootily indicated that he should take the lift to Room 320. He did so and was greeted by a seemingly waist-high blonde in a towelling robe with a shower cap on her head.
'Allo,' she said cheerfully in piercing Cockney, 'you must be from the paper. You're a bit bloody early but never mind. Are those for me? Ta ever so. You open the fizz and I'll find something to bung these flowers in.'
And that was that. Billy had no qualms about switching identities. In fact, being a reporter was better, he could ask as many leading questions as he liked and she'd not smell a rat.
'Ooh, these roses are lovely, aren't they? Even if I can't get 'em all in this funny vase.'
'That's a chamberpot.'
'Really? We used to 'ave a bucket when we were little, all six of us would piss into it and I got to empty it in the morning.'
Billy's incredulity was obvious. She winked at him and laughed.
'Well, we would have done if we hadn't been living in a three-bedroom house in Stratford with bathrooms en suite. Me dad's a builder so we got the lot. Put in a sauna when I sold me first pictures. Swimming-pool went in last year.'
She stood back from the floral display which she had been arranging throughout her speech. Somehow the roses seemed to fit exactly right and she gave him a big grin of satisfaction. Obviously she wasn't as much of a dingbat as she appeared.
She couldn't have been more than five foot tall and her hair was piled messily on top of her head, with blonde corkscrews escaping haphazardly from beneath the cap. In her fluffy pink mules and bulky robe she was far from a picture of nubile temptation. On the other hand, the amateur photographer in Billy recognised the potential of her enormous blue eyes and high cheekbones, the flawless complexion and the pouting lower lip.
He handed her a glass of champagne which she downed in one gulp.
'Right then,' she said, 'where shall we do it?'
'Well—'
'I rather fancied the bathroom, meself. Come on.' And she thrust her empty glass at him and set off, leaving him to follow.
Somewhat bemused by the turn of events Billy grabbed the bottle and headed after her through the door of the sitting-room and into the bedroom. The room was empty but the sound of running water from behind the door in the far corner betrayed Ms Pert's whereabouts. The door opened a few degrees and Tracy's head popped out.
'Have you ever interviewed anyone in the bath before?' A slim naked leg appeared from behind the door, t
he foot prettily pointed, fuscia pink toenails gleaming. 'Give me a minute,' she said, 'then I'm all yours.' Head and leg then vanished.
Billy looked frantically round the room. Evidently he had been mistaken for a reporter about to do an interview and in that capacity he was missing a couple of vital accessories. He put the champagne and glasses amongst the clutter on the dressing-table and searched his pockets in vain. Whatever the virtues of Gio. Armani suits they do not come equipped with pencil and paper.
'OK, Maurice,' came Tracy's voice, 'I'm ready.'
Billy grabbed the phone pad and pen from the bedside table, snatched up the champagne and stepped eagerly into the bathroom. Whoever this Maurice was, he was missing out.
Tracy Pert, Britain's Bustiest Beauty (according to the Dog), was reclining in an enormous bathtub filled almost to the brim with steaming froth. Only her beaming face rose impishly above the bubbles and, to Billy's heartfelt disappointment, of the National Treasure Chest there was no sign. Yet the thought of what pink and succulent feminine delights were concealed by a mere carpet of foam set his imagination racing. As he sat on the stool at the side of the bath he smiled his best wolfish smile and handed her a replenished glass.
'What do you think?' she said, stretching out one rosy arm to take her drink. 'I read that all the big stars do this so I got some bubble bath special. Only don't tell Pandora. Cheers!'
They clinked glasses conspiratorially, Billy ogling the dimpled hollows of her throat as the steam rose and the bubbles popped around them. What Maurice may say to Pandora he had no idea but he, Billy Dazzle, was on a separate mission and so far he was doing brilliantly. All that he desired was in his grasp, so to speak.
'Right, Tracy,' he began, 'tell me all about your role in Two-way Letch: That was the title of the TV sitcom she was shooting - he knew that much.
'Oh Gawd,' she moaned, 'must I? It's only a walk-on, more of a wobble-on, if you ask me. They didn't hire Tracy Pert the actress, they hired a pair of charlies. As I see it, I'm being exploited.'