by Noel Amos
'Oh yes,' she cried, 'yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!'
And she came in a final, bucking lurch that pitched Sophie backwards onto the floor and left her looking up at her superior's widespread thighs scissoring back and forth in her orgasmic spasms.
Silence was resumed. Both parties sprawled as they were, catching their breath. Within Sophie's loins there was an unbearable itch but she didn't dare do anything about it. Finally Ambrosia spoke.
'Look in the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk.'
Sophie obeyed. 'There's nothing in it. Just a truncheon.'
'Exactly. Bring it here and take your knickers off.'
'Ambrosia, you can't!'
'Oh yes, I can. Besides, I know you, you're mad about sex. You must be dying to come off. And since we all know how much you prefer a big thick staff to a delicate feminine hand then this will do very well.'
'You can't make me!'
But Sophie was already unfastening her skirt to reveal her long tanned legs and shapely loins barely covered by a wisp of panty that was undeniably wet.
'On your knees, your arse facing me. I'm going to fuck you doggie-fashion.'
'You're a bitch, Ambrosia.'
'You said it. Oooh, you are wet, aren't you? It's slipping straight in.'
'Oh God, Ambrosia! It's too big! I can't take it!'
'Nonsense, it's up you already.'
And it was too, some eight inches of wooden pole were buried deep in Sophie's snatch as she bent over in front of the still-seated Ambrosia. Her smooth broad bum cheeks were thrust high and spread wide to reveal the long furrow of her arse-crack, the pink star of her anus winking up at Ambrosia as she worked the truncheon in and out of the pouting pussy lips below.
'How do you like that, Sophie? You can play with your clit at the same time. In fact, that's an order.'
'Oh God, Ambrosia, this is so rude! Suppose someone comes in!'
'You weren't worried about that when you were sucking me. Besides, they're probably peeping through the keyhole.'
'Oh no!'
'I'm going to make you come lots, Starkers. It aids my concentration. Especially if I imagine I'm doing this to your friend Patsy Fretwork.'
'Oh Ambrosia! Oh, I'm coming! Oh! OH!'
'Patsy Fretwork is the one we've got to get to. I think I'll give that reporter bitch a grilling. I won't get anywhere but it might freak Patsy out.'
'Ambrosia, please! Oh God, I think I'm going to come again!'
'Then it'll be up to you to crack Mrs Fretwork. Got that, Sophie?'
'Yes, Ambrosia, yes!'
'Good. Do you want me to stop now, Sophie?'
'Don't you bloody dare! Oh, Ambrosia, that's fantastic!'
Chapter 44
Billy watched Brick closely as they drove to St John's Wood in a taxi. Beyond asking Billy if he was sure Arnold was a real doctor - to which Billy had responded that he was an alternative practitioner - Brick had lapsed into his former state of sullen silence.
As they alighted outside Candy's house, Billy checked his watch. It was twenty-five minutes silence Brick had taken Arnold's wonder drops, at any moment now he should achieve lift-off.
A male flunky ushered them into the house - a young handsome male flunky, Billy noted. Doubtless he doubled as an artist's model as part of his duties.
Candy emerged in a cocoon of seductive perfume, her face a picture of ecstasy at the sight of her longtime idol. She offered him a slender hand and Billy watched with trepidation. This should be it, he calculated: the first touch of finely groomed female flesh on a man starved of sexual frisson for five years. This surely was the ultimate test of Arnold's skill.
Billy was not disappointed. As he later told Arnold, it was like plugging a man into the national grid. A bolt of electricity seemed to shoot from Candy's small hand into Brick's large one. His eyes flicked fully open for the first time in Billy's short acquaintance and all those grimly etched lines on his face suddenly danced into life as he bent forward and kissed Candy on both cheeks.
'I sure am delighted to meet you, ma'am. It's a privilege to be invited onto your Gala programme and into your lovely home.'
'How do you do, Mr Tempo?' said Candy, gazing upward into Brick's crinkly smiling face, familiar to her for so many years and now actually here in the handsome, larger-than-life flesh. 'I hope Billy is taking good care of you.'
'I've just got one complaint about Billy,' he said, his eyes dancing with mischief, his face close to hers, 'he never told me what a beautiful woman you are.'
'Oh, Mr Tempo!' Candy was a lost soul already, Billy could see that. He dropped his eyes to the crotch of Brick's jeans. Just as he thought - this could be a most interesting social occasion.
A buffet lunch had been laid in Candy's vast sunlit dining-room and her guests were well into the aperitif champagne by the time Brick made his entrance. The hum of conversation was already substantial but it noticeably kicked up a level after the rock star's broad shoulders appeared in the doorway. There was even a spontaneous burst of applause which Brick acknowledged with a modest wave of the hand.
As forecast by Katie, the ladies at Candy's lunch were of a certain age, best defined as 'middle'. However, they were all women who had suffered the passage of time with the wherewithal to cushion its worst blows. Here were trim, pampered and elegantly preserved females dressed to kill in the most lavish of designer garments. But though they sported the most expensive accessories that the fashion houses of Milan, Paris and New York had to offer they were themselves far from simply decorative. These women wielded influence and chequebooks. Candy certainly knew her market.
Brick inclined his mouth to Billy's ear and said simply, 'Hot damn!' From then on he was borne away into the throng, with Candy on his arm, prodding and patting his handsome frame at every opportunity as she began the serious business of introducing him to wealthy wives, business executives, aggressive charity fund-raisers and even a newly appointed Cabinet minister.
A hand tugged at Billy's elbow and he turned to face a tall brunette with a crimson mouth. Her simple summer frock successfully showed off a body comprised of tempting curves.
'Excuse me, young man,' she said, 'are you associated with our guest of honour?'
'I'm with his management team,' Billy replied, trying not to look down the fascinating crevasse of her cleavage, 'I suppose you could call me his minder.'
'So you know all his movements?'
'Yes. It's my job to make sure he turns up.'
'I see. My name is Joanna Knickerbocker and this is my daughter, Nicole.'
Billy turned his attention to the intriguing figure by her side. Amidst this well-groomed throng Nicole Knickerbocker stuck out like a sore thumb. Her hair was a wild hennaed tangle and around her slender neck she wore a leather choker with silver studs. The lower half of her spectacular form was encased in black tights over which she wore a tiny pair of skin-tight blue shorts. On her top was a loose white vest with the legend 'Poll the F**k Tax' which did nothing to distract from the elastic thrust of the pert boobs that billowed unrestrained beneath. Billy found himself gazing into a sulky face whose milky blue eyes and swollen pouting lips were drawn into an expression of utter distaste.
'Pleased to meet you, Nicole,' he said, his cock rearing in his underpants at this vision of teenage lust.
'Nicky insisted on accompanying me when she heard Brick was going to be here. We are both such fans,' said the elder Knickerbocker. 'It's about the only thing we have in common these days,' she muttered as an afterthought.
'I can think of something else,' chipped in her daughter in a squeaky voice loaded with venom. 'She can't keep her hands off men,' she said to Billy, 'randy old tart!'
'Youth is so embarrassing,' said Joanna, her hand on Billy's arm. 'The thing is, we would both so love to meet Brick properly, away from this crush.'
'Yes,' said Nicole, her face suddenly perky and pretty, 'I want to ask him what it was like to play with Bob Dylan.'
'And I'm dying t
o hear first-hand how he managed to escape from the plane crash on Woodsmoke Mountain.'
'Well...' said Billy, a multitude of lascivious opportunities racing through his brain.
'Please,' implored Joanna, 'it would be so good for Nicky to meet someone from an older generation whom she admires. 'And,' she added, squeezing Billy's forearm meaningfully, 'I'd be most grateful.'
Billy finally managed to separate Candy from the throng. 'Oh Billy,' she gushed, 'isn't he cute? I could just eat him up.'
'You're not the only one. Just about every woman here is dying to kiss his feet.'
They looked across the crowded room to the knot of women surrounding Brick. He was smiling and answering questions and shaking hands but Billy thought he could detect a look of sheer panic in his eyes. And Billy knew what was causing it.
'May I confide in you, Candy?'
'Of course. We're old friends now, aren't we, Billy?' And she rubbed her hip surreptitiously against his thigh.
'Brick Tempo hasn't made love to a woman for five years. He can't. He's had a mechanical breakdown and nobody has been able to fix it.'
'Oh my God.' Candy looked genuinely shocked and Billy could guess why. 'That's terrible.'
'Indeed it is. But I think I've mended it.'
'The breakdown?'
'Yes. With a little help, of course.'
Candy's big brown eyes narrowed as she gave him a significant look. 'You mean he's like you were last week...?'
'Quite.'
They both looked back at Brick who now had his arm round a willowy blonde with a long toothy face. As they watched he appeared to place his other hand into the neck of her blouse and paddle with the pale white flesh at the top of her bust.
'My God!' exclaimed Candy. 'That's the Honourable Vanessa Crumble - he's fondling her breasts in public!'
'He'll ravish your entire guest list on the floor if we don't do something. Think of it, no sweeties for five years and suddenly he's loose in the candy store. That's a man with a mighty appetite.'
'What are we going to do, Billy? There are reporters here. Scandal would ruin my Gala!'
'Well, Candy, as it happens I've got a plan...'
Chapter 45
Betsy Toast was becoming suspicious. Amongst her usual clientele had been a crop of new punters who had been surprisingly reluctant to avail themselves of her services. She was used to men turning up at her door full of unlikely excuses as to how they came to be there. She wasn't fooled, however, because she knew what they really wanted - her high creamy breasts, long tanned legs and the pink treasure concealed in her golden fork. Though their desires may be masked by furtive grins and embarrassed smiles, she prided herself on cutting through the usual anal bullshit of the Brits.
These new visitors, however, were not like that. First there had been a paunchy fellow in a fake-leather car coat who had exhausted himself by climbing three flights of stairs to her door.
'I'm looking for the geezer downstairs. Don't know where he is, do you, love?'
'What?'
'Billy Dazzle. Don't know where he is, do you?'
This kind of British double-speak always got on Betsy's nerves. She was an English major, after all. 'I know where he isn't, if that's what you mean,' she replied.
'Where's that?'
'Here.'
'He's here?'
'No, he's not here.'
'But I thought you just said he was.'
Betsy could see this obtuse exchange going on for ever. She decided to cut it short.
'Look, mister, pardon the cliche but my time is money and I'm wasting it talking to you. Do you want to party?'
'Eh?'
'You know - boogie, fool around, get your rocks off. Christ, man, we have a real communications problem. Do you want to fuck me - yes or no?'
Car Coat shuffled his feet and squinted shiftily at Betsy's protruding nipples before declining her offer. Then he produced a card and a £10 note.
'Look, love, do us a favour - when Dazzle shows up give us a bell on this number.'
'A bell?'
'A tinkle. On the dog and bone.'
'What!'
They'd sorted it out in the end to their mutual satisfaction. Betsy had relieved him of another nine notes, promised to undertake the telephonic service and jerked him off in the hall while he groped her breasts and tongued her big brown nipples. She'd not given it another thought until the second man turned up.
He was big, tanned and barrel-chested; he wore dark glasses and a baseball cap. Fortunately, he was easier to understand.
'Excuse me, young lady, I am looking for Mr Billy Dazzle.'
'One flight down.'
'He's not there at present - do you know where I can contact him?'
'Sorry, I don't.'
'Is he likely to be back soon?'
'Look, buster, he's nothing to do with me. We're in a separate line of business. His is closed.'
'I see.'
'But mine is open. Why don't you step into my showroom for a demonstration? I'm the model. All parts are movable if you get my drift.'
If he did he didn't want to; he disappeared downstairs without one curious glance in her direction, leaving Betsy snarling. She didn't often let a fish off the hook.
In the afternoon Barrel Chest was back. He'd changed his appearance and now sported a blazer, a tie and a beard but there was no disguising the tan or the torso. Betsy opened the exchange, she was getting fed up.
'Look, buddy, he ain't back yet.'
'I'm sorry?'
'You're looking for Dazzle, right? You were here this morning and, my God, that's some five o'clock shadow.'
'It's true I am trying to get in touch with Mr Dazzle but I've never been here before.'
'Oh, OK, so I can ask you for the first time today if you'd care to step next door with me and have what you Brits refer to as a nice time.'
For the first time she thought she detected a flicker of interest in his icy blue eyes. On reflection he was rather an attractive man.
On impulse she stepped right up to him and bumped her pelvis suggestively into his as she growled, 'Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?'
But he was gone, off down the stairs like a startled rabbit.
'Damn,' she muttered to herself, 'too corny.'
She returned to her parlour quite put out. Something else was worrying her apart from this last failure. She had felt something with her bumping pelvis and it wasn't an erection. Funnily enough, it might just have been a pistol...
Chapter 46
So far Billy's plan was succeeding. While Candy addressed her guests in the dining-room Billy had ushered Brick to a first floor sitting-room equipped with easy chairs, occasional tables and, more significantly, a large and comfortable sofa. It had been difficult to tear Brick away from the women. He was almost frothing at the mouth with excitement.
'Christ, Billy, it worked - it WORKED! I've got a hard-on like a steel rail! Look!'
'No thanks, Brick, I'll take your word for it.'
'And all that hungry pussy downstairs - I feel like I could shish-kebab the lot of them!'
'Well, you're going to get the chance. Sit down and listen.'
Brick obeyed but he could barely sit still as Billy outlined future events; the somnolent sloth had been turned into a jumping jack rabbit.
'Candy is downstairs making an appeal on behalf of Poor Pussy Rescue. Then she's going to announce that those who are prepared to make exceptional donations to the fund can buy an interview with you. A personal interview. Alone. In here. On this sofa.'
'Oh boy!'
'Will you do it?'
'You're asking me to be a whore?'
'I'm asking you to sell kisses for the Milk Fund - like Monroe in Some Like It Hot.'
'Who's going first?'
'Minty Hush, the TV presenter.'
'Which one's that?'
'The doe-eyed brunette in scarlet and cream. The one with the cocksucker's mouth.'
/>
'I'll do it.'
Things had got off to a slow start because Candy had insisted on 'a private word' with Brick before proceedings began - an interview which lasted a good ten minutes. Billy had dashed upstairs to investigate the hold-up and discovered Candy breathlessly quitting Brick's room.
'Hurry up!' he hissed. 'Minty's going spare.'
Candy smiled weakly at him as she hurriedly tucked her blouse into her skirt. 'Do I look OK?'
'Christ, Candy, you didn't fuck him, did you?'
'I couldn't resist, not after you'd told me he hadn't had a woman for five years.'
'You horny cow.'
'Don't be crude, darling.'
'You owe the fund a thousand quid.'
'Worth every penny, believe me.'
As it turned out Candy had used her time to excellent advantage. After she had ushered Minty Hush into Brick's presence she grabbed Billy's hand and dragged him to the next door along the corridor. This room backed onto Brick's sitting-room and was connected by a serving hatch with a sliding door which Candy had already opened a tiny crack. The crack, however, was sufficient for a pair of observers to view the goings-on in Brick's room. Thus, with Candy in front and Billy behind, his chin resting on the top of her head, the two of them settled down to watch events unfold.
Araminta Hush was one of the acknowledged beauties of the television age. Her face, with its enormous liquid brown eyes and full Cupid's-bow mouth, was made for the small screen. For the past twenty years she had been seen in various guises, as anchor-woman and field correspondent, as contentious interviewer and special investigator. It was not known whether she had a sense of humour, certainly she was never glimpsed on any programme that had a hint of frivolity. Come Christmas, when other reporters were tap-dancing with the professional comics, Minty was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless it was guaranteed she would re-emerge in early January reporting on some foreign war, the mud and sweat on her brow only serving to accentuate her angelic good looks. But - to her everlasting chagrin - all her serious reports on the ills of the world passed over the heads of the heterosexual males in her audience. When it came to the gorgeous Minty Hush, masculine interest was purely carnal.