Lust on the Line

by Noel Amos

  In a drawer below the printer lay the source material for the husband's story. There were a few documents: a copy of a decree nisi naming Montgomery Hastings as co-respondent in the separation of Madeleine Bennett and Professor Hieronymus Bennett, accompanied by a newspaper cutting ('Double-First Student Steals Prof's Wife'); an affidavit drawn up by Marvin B. Flugle, public notary, of Orange County, California, on behalf of Brenda de la Costa, actress, detailing Monty's relationship with her and her friends during a fifteen-week period less than two years ago; and hard copy of an indiscreet e-mail correspondence between Monty and a fan in northwest London which Karen had managed to lift off his computer in the days before Harriet Pugh, when she herself had acted as Monty's handmaiden of the keyboard.

  This was a role she had performed for Monty from the very beginning of their relationship. After the Hollywood episode she had found it hard to sustain. Converting his precious 300-word a day output from fountain pen to disk had become a chore she could no longer bear. Particularly the 'analysis' he required of his secretary, i.e. the fawning post mortems of his genius which she had given so generously in the days when she revered him as a writer, BLA - Before Los Angeles. Now Harriet provided those commentaries on the sensitivity of his observation, on the brilliance of his perception, on the wit of his mots justes - and so on.

  And Harriet also provided other services for Monty that were almost as precious to him. Karen knew all about the cosy relationship between Monty and Harriet, far more than she really wanted to know. In fact she had it taped - on the dozens of audio-cassettes that lay in her drawer on top of those incriminating papers. Every evening, when Monty was out of the way, she would remove the tape from the concealed recorder in the office and replace it with a new one. So far, Karen had ten weeks' worth of material. If the Hastings' marital disillusion should ever reach the lawyers, Monty wouldn't have a leg, or any other pelvic appendage, to stand on.

  The tape-recorder ran on a timer. At the beginning, Karen had experimented and discovered, unsurprisingly, that Monty was more likely to incriminate himself if she was not around. As a consequence she had developed a routine: every day she left the house on the dot of eleven. A quarter of an hour later the machine switched itself on and, for the next hour, recorded every sigh, whisper and indelicate comment uttered in the room. Concealed in the base of a large table lamp, Karen had no doubt that this piece of technological cunning would remain undetected for as long as required.

  It had not been Karen who had fixed it up, of course. For that she had had to obtain the services of Benjie Allsop, a shy lanky youth who worked at the electrical goods store in Long Swivenham. Benjie, not long out of school and in awe of the female sex, had not needed much persuading once Karen had lured him into the house and poured a couple of Monty's favourite malt whiskies down his throat.

  In the event, by way of payment, she had relieved him of his virginity on the desk in the study where Harriet Pugh toiled daily.

  And she had been so impressed with his work, both technical and personal, that she had secured his services on a retainer. Once a month now he would drop by and Karen would entertain him royally in her bedroom. She told him that if he ever breathed a word about the recorder or their lovemaking he would never have the pleasure of her company again. She did not tell him that their liaison also formed the basis of the third chapter of her novel. 'There was nothing,' she wrote in the persona of her heroine, Evangelista, 'nothing quite like the silken smooth, rapid, eager and volcanically eruptive action of an unschooled virgin cock...'

  Just wait till you read my book, Monty Hastings, she thought as she slipped her index finger into the mouth of her slick vagina. You're not going to rob me of this baby.

  Chapter 5

  It was late when Lucian returned home. The thrill of the encounter with Lorna had worn off and his thoughts were all of Caroline as he stumped up to his attic bedroom. Some of her clothes still hung in the wardrobe and her perfume lingered. The tussle with Lorna had awoken his sexual desire but not assuaged it. He knew even before he took off his jacket that, despite all his vows to forsake carnal thoughts, he would have to masturbate - and masturbate with Caroline in mind. He pulled off all his clothes and looked at his prick. It was thick, half hard and salivating. It smelt of Lorna's juices and his own. It was a red and bestial organ whose throbbing needs could not be ignored.

  With a pounding pulse he took from the bedside drawer two objects that were fast becoming a fetish to him. First was a pair of Caroline's pink cotton panties, an unremarkable undergarment to all but the lovelorn. He had found them beneath the bed the night she left and he imagined they still smelt of her. The other item was a Polaroid photograph. It showed Caroline kneeling, half naked, one band holding her blonde hair off her face so the camera could capture her pretty pouting lips ringing an erect penis. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were hollow with the force of her sucking and the cock in her mouth did not belong to Lucian.

  He had no idea who it did belong to. Maybe it was someone he knew, maybe not. The thought tormented him. He had found the photo on Caroline's dresser just a week ago. The row had been predictable and so had been the result. She had planned it, he had no doubt, for she already had a bag packed. After one phone call to a lover he assumed - she had disappeared into a black Jaguar which purred along the street ten minutes later, leaving him with a broken heart and these pathetic mementos. He knew he should destroy them. He couldn't.

  He wrapped the panties round his cock and groaned with unhappy lust. This worthless piece of fabric had once encircled his lover's fabulous arse - how he himself longed to do so again! He held the Polaroid close to his face so he could drink in every detail - the bead of sweat on her lip, the curve of her graceful neck, the flawless skin of her cheek stretched to receive the hideous organ of her brutish lover... 'Caro,' he moaned aloud as his hand rubbed the panties up and down the shaft of his cock. His body trembled as passion shook him and the photo slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.

  It broke the spell and disrupted his rhythm. He looked for the photo but it had vanished. Maybe it had fallen behind the bed. He stepped forward, squeezing behind the bedside table to reach down. It was an awkward position, for the attic ceiling sloped and there was an angled skylight over the bed which had been left open. For a second he looked out through the window and then froze. In that spot, half bent, his gaze aimed obliquely through the glass, he could see directly into the top bedroom of a house diagonally across the street. And what he saw, in the fickle way of lust and prurience, drove faithless Caroline from his thoughts.

  He saw a woman taking off her clothes. Her thick chestnut ringlets obscured her face as she bent to unzip her skirt and slide it down her legs. Lucian was instantly entranced as she slowly began to unbutton her blouse. It slipped from her shoulders and joined the skirt on the floor. The white cups of her brassiere gleamed against the bronze hue of her skin and the dark shadow of her pubic bush was clearly visible through the thin cotton of her panties. Her hips were rounded and her legs as long and spectacular as a showgirl's.

  Wearily, it seemed, the woman bent to pick up her clothes and moved out of sight - to hang them up, Lucian presumed. By now he lad worked out who this vision was: Nicole, the wife of his neighbour and occasional tennis partner, Hugh Sessions. He'd always thought she was a looker but had never realised quite how fabulous she really was.

  Nicole returned and sat in front of the dressing-table. Her upper half was still visible. As Lucian watched, his pulse racing, she reached behind her and unhooked the white bra. She tossed it aside and reached for her hairbrush, shaking her dark tresses. Her golden breasts shook too. They were big and round and heavy and the breath hissed from Lucian's throat as he imagined burying his face in their bounty. She brushed her hair vigorously, working the bristles through the thick curls, every pull of her arm echoed in the shifting of her full bosom.

  Lucian was so entranced by the flow of her brush and the lift and sway of her
flesh that it was a moment before he realised that she was talking to someone in the mirror in front of her. She shrugged and pulled a face. Her eyes flashed. Lucian thought she was delightful.

  Lucian recognised Hugh at once, of course. His naked body was familiar to him from the tennis club changing-room - though he had never before seen him with an erection. It was an impressive sight, he had to admit. Hugh was an athletic fellow, shorter than Lucian but more compact, with a deep chest and thick muscular thighs. The hair on his head was fair but on his belly it grew reddish brown and, from this thicket, thrust the bulging barrel of his tool.

  He stepped behind the seated figure of his wife and slipped his hands around her body to still those trembling breasts. Lucian could magine his yearning penis pressing into the warm skin of her back.

  She stopped her brushing and allowed Hugh to cup and stroke her tits. He had one in each hand and the flesh overflowed his fingers. He pinched her nipples and her mouth opened in an O of pleasure - or pain, Lucian couldn't tell. Hugh pulled down on the soft globes, then pressed them close together to create a dark line of cleavage in between. There was a tight, humourless grin on his face as he gazed at the work of his hands in the mirror. Lucian wondered if this was a nightly ritual - and what would happen next.

  He didn't have long to wait. Hugh suddenly released Nicole's bosom and yanked her to her feet. He pulled the chair she had been sitting on out of the way and then bent her over the dressing-table. Obediently she supported herself on her arms and thrust her bottom back towards him. She looked straight ahead into the mirror and Lucian tried to read her expression. Was that lust or disgust in her eyes? He was too far away to tell.

  Not too far, though, to see Hugh working her panties off her proffered posterior and gazing intently at the exposed and outthrust cheeks. If only, Lucian thought, he could see what Hugh could see but, regrettably, Nicole's naked bottom was hidden from his view. He had no doubt, however, that it was as glorious as the rest of her.

  Hugh obviously thought so, for his cock was straining upwards from his belly. He spat into his hand and worked the spittle into the crimson plum of his knob and down the shaft. He spat again and pushed the wet fingers between her legs. She stiffened and then pushed back as he closed on her. Lucian could imagine the bend of his knees, the positioning of his tool, the aligning of pelvis to crotch. And then he was in her. She seemed to slump forward as he thrust but he pulled her up again by the hair. Her head went back and her slender throat gleamed whitely in Lucian's vision and, below that, her extravagant bosom danced as Hugh pumped into her, making her whole frame shudder.

  It didn't last long, not the way Hugh went at it. And, with a final lunge that sent her sprawling face down among her make-up and perfume bottles, he shuddered to halt. For a moment they were still, locked in position like statues. Then he backed away from her and disappeared from sight.

  Nicole slowly stood up and, for a moment, Lucian saw her naked to mid-thigh. As he had thought, her pussy mound was thickly forested, with hair a shade darker than on her head. Below, on the perfect curve of her inner thighs, the evidence of their coupling gleamed.

  Nicole took a handful of paper tissues from a box on the table and wedged them between her legs. Then she sat down and picked up her hairbrush. As she resumed her rhythmic brushing, her big beautiful breasts once more began to sway.

  Lucian became aware of a stabbing pain in his neck. So mesmerised had he been, he had no idea how long he had been standing in such a twisted crouch. Nor did he remember reaching his own climax. Yet, when he looked down, he saw his cock had dwindled between his thighs and, in his hand, Caroline's panties were dripping with spunk.

  Chapter 6

  Karen felt the sales assistant's eyes upon her as she stood in the bookshop. Maybe it was because she had been browsing too long or, more likely, it was the nature of the books she held in her hand. Whatever it was, the girl's gaze followed her everywhere.

  Karen was used to being stared at. Her beauty had won her admiring glances ever since she was a little girl. Only recently had she been able to hold her head high under these looks of admiration, envy and - the most frequent of all - lust. Not too long ago she would have resented this stranger's curiosity. Now, since she had embarked on her secret research project, she had come to welcome such appraisals. So far they had proved most fruitful.

  She took her selections to the till and laid them face up on the counter. They were paperback erotic novels from the New Threshold range. The assistant's hazel eyes met hers and Karen read something in them that set her blood singing in a familiar way. But not that familiar. She had never slept with another woman. It was an aspect of her research she had not yet come to terms with.

  On impulse she said, 'Are these any good?'

  The girl seemed taken aback. 'They're very popular,' she said after a moment's thought.

  'Have you read any?'

  The assistant blushed. She was taller than Karen and very slim. Her fair brown hair was fastened with a wooden barrette, showing off her oval face and long slender neck. Karen could imagine her lying naked on a bed in a Modigliani painting. She wore no make-up and her pale complexion was as unlined as an egg. Karen guessed, however, that she was not as inexperienced as she looked.

  'I've dipped into this one,' she said and tapped the top book on Karen's pile: Love or Chains - 'One woman's erotic odyssey', said a line on the cover. 'It's about a student who fucks her way through college.' The obscenity seemed incongruous emerging from that schoolgirlish mouth. 'Some of it's pretty horny, actually, though it depends on your taste.'

  The way the girl looked at her made Karen's throat go dry. 'What's your taste?' she heard herself say.

  The assistant chuckled, a naughty little sound. 'I don't think I should say. You're the customer.'

  'That's why you should tell me.'

  The girl grinned. 'I thought the scenes with the philosophy tutor were really rude. The female philosophy tutor,' she added, challenging Karen with those hazel eyes.

  'I'll take it then,' said Karen.

  As the girl gave Karen her change it seemed to leap from her hand. Both of them bent to retrieve the scattered coins, their heads close together as they crouched.

  'My name's Adele,' said the girl, her breath like a scented breeze in Karen's face, her eyes now fixed on the beckoning slope of Karen's breast revealed in the neck of her white summer cardigan.

  Karen took the coins, returning the squeeze from the girl's long fingers.

  'I've done enough shopping, Adele. Where can I go to get a cup of coffee?'

  Twenty minutes later the girl from the bookshop appeared at Karen's table in the chintzy cafe across the street. She didn't sit down.

  'Let's go,' she said. 'I told them I've got an emergency dental appointment. I've got two hours.'

  She led Karen to a car park behind the shops and unlocked an ancient mini. Inside, squashed together, she seized Karen's face in her hands and pressed her sugar-pink lips to her mouth. She plunged in her tongue and kissed Karen fiercely.

  Karen let her do what she wanted, her stomach bubbling and fluttering, telling herself all the time that she must remember every sensation so she could record it. Oh how Monty would hate her for this!

  Adele drove for ten minutes until they reached a row of whitewashed terraced houses in a part of Long Swivenham that Karen did not know. Inside the tiny hallway she was surprised to see a man's jacket on the newel post and a large pair of muddy trainers sitting by a bag of golf clubs. Adele caught her glance.

  'Don't worry,' she said, 'my boyfriend's at work.'

  There were more signs of the boyfriend in the bedroom but Karen wasn't bothered about the boxer shorts on the floor or the pile of motor-racing magazines. She was more interested in Adele's hot mouth whispering in her ear and her long fingers unzipping her skirt.

  However catholic her tastes, Adele knew how to strip a woman. Within seconds, it seemed, Karen was naked but for her knickers and Adele's lips were
on her breasts.

  'My God,' whispered the girl as she slipped to her knees and lowered Karen's panties. 'You are just gorgeous.' Her fingers were now in Karen's exposed muff of black hair and then she was pressing kisses to the soft skin of her inner thigh. As the tip of her tongue flicked like a snake between the frill of her labia, Karen's knees gave way and she toppled onto the bed.

  'Are you all right, darling?' asked Adele as she lay on the mattress beside her.

  'Oh yes. You just took me by surprise.'

  'Am I going too fast for you?'

  'It's OK. You've not got much time, you said.'

  The girl grinned and squeezed Karen's breast till the nipple stood up, scarlet with blood and excitement. 'Actually, I think my toothache's getting worse. I might have to spend the rest of the day in bed.'

  A mass of thoughts filled Karen's head as Adele went to work between her legs, sending her racing to the quickest climax she could remember. She thought of the new promiscuous purpose to her life; of Monty and Harriet doubtless screwing without thought of her at this very moment; of the funny creaking bed that she found herself in, which must creak even louder when the owner of the trainers downstairs was in occupation. And she thought of the unknown girl whose innocent-seeming mouth was breathing such heavenly sensations onto her sensitive flesh.

  She'd always imagined that women were more languorous and less bull-at-a-gate than men. Evidently this was not always the case. Adele had been as eager to bed her as any over-juiced teenage lad. But Adele was better at pleasing her, that was certain.

  Karen stroked the dark head bobbing at the junction of her thighs and wondered how it would be when it was her turn to press her lips and tongue to the other girl's sex. She didn't feel repulsed at the thought of it. Kissing the girl's mouth had been different to kissing a man, softer and sweeter - and just as sexy in a sly sort of way. To taste the other mouth between her legs might be even more exciting. There was only one way to find out.