Lust on the Line

by Noel Amos

  So he watched with disbelief and excitement as she turned away from him to hitch up her skirt and yank down her knickers. Then she began to pull the tight pink stretchy material up her slim legs.

  'Cam, what are you doing?' he said unnecessarily.

  No words came from her lips, they would have been superfluous - her arse was doing all the talking. Lucian drooled as she tugged the shorts to the top of her thighs and began to wriggle her glistening buttock flesh into the constricting band of pink. The shorts squeezed and her bum billowed, overflowing the waistband. Cam pushed out and bore down, her cheeks flaring and broadening, exposing for a moment the thrilling fissure in between, whose delights Lucian knew so well.

  'I think it's got tangled up,' she said, looking at him over her shoulder. 'Help me, Lucian.'

  He fell to his knees in a trance. He could see no impediment to the garment's progress but nevertheless he reached out a hand to touch the magical flesh of his lost lover.

  'Hey, Lucian, do you want a beer?' the voice shattered the intimacy of the moment. Lucian snapped his head round to see Tania standing in the doorway, gazing at the pair of them in astonishment.

  'Gee, I'm sorry,' she said, stepping back out of sight. The sound of her footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.

  Caroline had whirled away from Lucian at the interruption.

  The grey skirt now concealed her loins and she was already sliding the pink shorts back down her legs as she hissed at him, 'You bastard.'

  'That's Tania,' he said feebly, still on his knees.

  'You little shit,' she said, retrieving her knickers and pulling them on, her face a mask of rage.

  'She must have come back while we were up here.'

  'It didn't take you long, did it? I've only been gone a week and you've got some scrubber in here.'

  'She's my lodger, Cam. She needed somewhere to stay. She's sleeping in the spare room, I swear.'

  But Caroline didn't appear to be listening. She was pulling dresses and trousers off their hangers and bundling them into her suitcase. The silence was ominous as her nimble fingers went to work.

  She glanced at the remainder of her clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. 'You can send those on in a few days. I'll let you know where.' Her voice was full of frost. It began to soften, however, as she continued.

  'Let me get to the point, Lucian, then I'll leave you and your little girlfriend in peace.'

  'What point?' said Lucian, thankful she no longer looked as if she were going to castrate him.

  'I need some money.'

  Lucian sighed. How many times had he heard these words from her lips? It was a mystery to him how a woman who earned twice what he did was always broke. At least this time he would have no hesitation in refusing her. Even in the depths of his recent lovelorn misery he had taken comfort from the fact that she could no longer make demands on his pocket.

  'It's not what you think,' she said. 'I'm not asking for another loan and I haven't forgotten the others.'

  'Well, I have,' he said. 'There's no need to pay me back, Caro, just don't ask me for any more. I haven't got it.'

  She smiled at him and his heart at once began to soften. He knew it and loathed himself for it.

  'Here,' she said and gave him a sheaf of papers she had taken from the zipped compartment of her suitcase.

  'What is it?'

  'It's a submission for your new list. You can commission me to write an erotic novel.' Lucian was struck dumb.

  'What's the matter? Aren't you looking for books?'

  'Yes, desperately, but...'

  'But what? Don't you think I can write? I'm a professional journalist, don't forget. I can hammer out three or four thousand words a day, no problem. Give me six weeks and you'll have a red-hot rude read sitting on your desk, I guarantee. I haven't got an agent at the moment but I'm sure you'll give me the best possible deal you can. For old time's sake, eh darling?'

  She laid her palm upon his cheek and kissed his lips.

  'But I can't just give you a contract,' protested Lucian. 'I've got to evaluate the project and discuss it with my colleagues and—'

  'Come off it, Lucian. All you've got to do is read ten pages, then you'll see how brilliant it is. If you don't buy it, I'll hawk it round to Pervertimento and I'll run that piece about you in Dog's Diary.

  'Caro - no! You wouldn't surely?'

  'Just joking, darling. Ring me at the paper ASAP. I need a cheque soon.'

  After she'd gone, Lucian slumped at the kitchen table and got the whisky out.

  A moment later Tania emerged from her room. 'Is the coast clear?' she said.

  'That was Caroline,' said Lucian, reaching for another glass.

  'I figured as much. I'm really sorry I barged in like that. I guess I screwed it up for you.'

  Lucian poured her a large one. 'Who knows? You probably saved me from myself.'

  'You've still got the hots for her, haven't you? You looked like you were about to snog her arse when I came in.'

  Lucian gave a wry grin. 'You have a very direct turn of phrase, Miss Pilgrim. How did Uncle Basil ever imagine your style was suitable for Whimsical Walks?'

  'He didn't. I had to persuade him. The same way I suggest you get Caroline with the big bum to persuade you.'

  'You mean—'

  'Sure. I told you I had to get down on my knees for your Uncle Basil and suck his cock till he was convinced I had the skill to write the book. You could do the same with her.'

  Lucian couldn't help smiling, the thought was so delicious. 'You mean, put Caroline through the same rigorous editorial selection procedure that you went through?'

  'Absolutely. And if I were you, considering how that snooty bitch has trampled all over you, I'd make it extra rigorous. You want to stand up for yourself, Lucian. Next time it's her turn to kiss your butt!'

  Chapter 10

  'I hope you've made progress with the erotica, Lucian,' said Miranda Lynch, 'we haven't got much time.' Her grey eyes surveyed him critically. The day of judgement was at hand.

  Lucian tried to look confident. A couple of plums had fallen into his lap and all he had to do was tell Miranda how juicy they were. He had decided his best strategy was to let her taste the fruit herself.

  'Actually, I reckon I've got a couple of possibles for the launch list. Take a look at this.' He handed across the desk two pages of Caroline's proposal and Miranda took it without a word.

  Lucian watched her intently as she began to read. Her gleaming blonde helmet of hair hung in immaculate precision and her small picture-perfect features were rapt in concentration - as if she were absorbing a board report or assessing a computer print-out. But she wasn't. She was reading this:

  Marietta surveyed the artist's studio with dismay. She saw an unmade bed, paint and canvasses strewn around, bare boards and piles of dusty books. Everywhere she looked, grime and squalor filled her sight. It was worse than she had expected.

  Bruno appraised her with a wolfish grin. 'Take off your clothes, Contessa Strepponi.'

  'What!'

  'I can tell from the sneer on your beautiful face that you fear contamination from the unpretentious nature of my humble home. So take off your expensive designer gown, my dear, so it will not spoil.'

  She laughed nervously.

  'Remove it at once,' he said, his voice soft and sinister, 'or I will rip it from your exquisitely beautiful back.'

  With a sob of despair, Marietta obeyed. She fumbled as she unfastened the tiny pearl buttons on the bodice and her fingers shook as she slipped the embroidered silk down her slender legs. He took the flimsy garment from her and folded it with mock ceremony over a broken-legged chair.

  'And the rest,' he commanded.

  'No!' she cried, hugging her arms to her chest, one hand fanning over the bulge revealed beneath the slender protection of her gossamer-thin knickers.

  'Oh yes,' he said, implacable. 'How else am I going to paint you if not naked?'

  Marietta was fro
zen with despair. Yet the blood was singing in her veins as she allowed him to divest her of the last vestiges of modesty. Her camisole was pulled over her head, her shoes were plucked from her feet and her drawers were tugged down her thighs. Then the Contessa Marietta Strepponi stood as utterly nude as she had been at her moment of birth.

  'Bella, bella,' muttered Bruno beneath his breath, blinded by the exquisite perfection of her beauty. 'Maybe,' he breathed, 'you are the one I have been looking for. Get on the bed.'

  'But—'

  'On the bed, my lady, and spread those pretty legs.'

  'I hate you!' cried Marietta even as she allowed him to position her limbs. And when his cool strong fingers touched her burning flesh a flame leapt in the pit of her belly, as if he had lit a fire within her. 'Oh!' she moaned, unable to contain herself, helpless with need and dripping with want.

  'And now, Contessa,' he said, sitting opposite her with a sketchpad in his hand, 'I want you to show me just how much of a woman you really are. Touch yourself between the legs.'

  'No!'

  'Why so coy? You are spread before me, wet and naked. Show me how you give yourself pleasure and together we will make great art.'

  'You brute!' she cried but her fingers were there, among the folds, teasing her petals, releasing the river of desire that flowed - at last - from the very core of her sensuality.

  'Yes!' he cried in triumph as his pencil flew across the paper, capturing the flush of ecstasy in her eyes as she yielded to her deepest darkest urges.

  And the hand between her legs moved in a blur as the river of her desire burst its banks...

  'Is this all there is?' said Miranda, a note of regret in her voice.

  'No, there's another ten pages and a synopsis. You see, the Contessa's a bored and beautiful socialite who falls for a wild and brutal artist who shows her the depravity of real life. She's always lived within a pampered and protected circle and she's never been able to really feel—'

  'You mean she can't have an orgasm?'

  'Well, yes, but her inability to respond is indicative of the paucity of her shallow existence. Bruno the artist is a force of nature, a symbol of a brutal world where the reality of sensation—'

  'Spare me the symbolism, Lucian, for goodness sake. Just tell me, is there a lot of fucking in it?'

  Lucian gulped. 'Er, yes, according to the synopsis. Anyhow the author will bung in as much as we want.'

  'Good.' Miranda leaned back, a smile of satisfaction on her lips. 'Tell the author we want lots. Who is it, by the way?'

  'A journalist on the Daily Dog. Caroline Fitzjohn, though I doubt if we can use her real name.'

  The pink lips pursed. 'Pity. When can she deliver?'

  'In six weeks, so she says, but she's never written a book before.'

  'Give her two months then and keep a close eye on her. Try her on two grand.'

  'Really?'

  'Of course really. Pay her a bit more if you have to, just get it in on time and make sure it's full of filth.'

  Lucian couldn't believe his ears. Normally The Whimsical Press spent weeks deliberating over the most insignificant acquisitions. That was obviously not Miranda's style.

  'Next?' she said and before he knew it she had agreed to transfer Tania's book out of limbo and onto the new list.

  'We're calling it Blue Desire,' she said.

  'I think,' said Lucian, 'the author's rather keen on A Walk on the Wild Side. It started off as a walking book, you see, and—'

  'I'm talking about the imprint name, Lucian. Blue Desire Books. I'm sure you'll like it when your brain catches up. I've briefed the Art Department and they're working on cover styles. All you've got to do is get more books. Off you go.'

  Lucian was dismissed. The meeting had lasted just five minutes but he still had his job.

  He rang Caroline at once.

  'OK, Caro, you're on. We'll pay you two thousand pounds advance against royalties.'

  'God, darling, can't you do better that?'

  'I thought you needed money?'

  'I don't call two grand money, I call it an insult.'

  Lucian sighed. Nothing was ever easy with Caroline - he'd thought she would be pleased.

  'I suppose I could find you a bit more.'

  'How much?'

  'Five hundred. But you've got to deliver eighty thousand words within two months - and come to a weekly editorial review of progress.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'You and I meet up to see how you're getting on. You show me what you've written and I make sure you're on the right lines.'

  She gave a sigh of exasperation. 'All right then, I'll do it. I suppose I can stand a weekly lunch at Grimaldi's.'

  'No lunches, Caro. An evening session at my place every Tuesday night. If you want that delivery cheque.'

  'For God's sake, Lucian, when did you learn to be such a bully?'

  When I read your book proposal, thought Lucian, and found out what really turns you on.

  Lucian was in a mood for celebration when he burst into Tania's room after work. She was sitting in front of the computer screen in her bra and pants with a fan blowing in her face full blast. She looked up in surprise to see him brandishing a champagne bottle.

  'Party time?' she said.

  'You bet,' he said and popped the cork in an eruption of fizz. 'Here's to you, Ms Pilgrim, author of the very first Blue Desire book. My Fuhrer has sanctioned the publication of your masturbatory masterpiece.'

  'Hey - erotic literature if you don't mind and I'm just in the middle of a particularly erotic bit.'

  'Excellent,' said Lucian and hooked his finger in the webbing between the cups of her bra and pulled upwards, baring her big brown breasts. She shrieked as he splashed champagne on her chest but there was a gleam in her eye as he bent to lick the wine from her nipples.

  'Can I assume,' she said, 'that you're in the mood to give me some editorial guidance?'

  'You bet,' he said and pushed her backwards towards the bed. She sat on it and unbuckled his trouser belt.

  'What happened about Miss Snooty?' she said and uncovered his raging erection. There was no doubt that all of him was in the mood for celebration.

  'Don't be rude about your fellow author.'

  'So you're going to publish her kinky rubbish?'

  'Erotic literature, Tania. As you yourself said.'

  She had both hands on his cock and balls now and was wanking him slyly. His shaft seemed vast in her hand, bigger than he'd ever seen it. As he stood there with his trousers round his ankles and his penis twitching in her face, his self-satisfaction was palpable.

  'Has Caroline agreed to your terms?' said Tania as he pushed her flat on the bed and pulled her panties over her hips.

  'She has.'

  'She's agreed to your hands-on editing?'

  'She's got no choice.'

  He bent his head and insinuated his tongue into the lightly furred groove of her pussy. His finger found her clit.

  Tania chuckled. 'No wonder you're looking so bloody smug then. I hope you don't back off when it comes to the crunch.'

  'No chance.'

  He moved over her body till the fat head of his cock was at her entrance, nosing between her labia. Fortunately her literary efforts of the afternoon had ensured that she was already well lubricated. 'Just think,' she said as he plunged his tool all the way home, 'you'll soon have Caroline at your mercy—'

  'Yes!'

  He was thrusting hard already... 'Stark-naked for your pleasure—'

  'Yes!'

  Driving and butting and poking...

  'Her mouth open and her legs spread—'

  'Yes! Yes!'

  Plunging and jabbing and squirming...

  'That juicy little arse bent over just for you—'

  'Yes! Oh God - OH!'

  ...Both of them out of control.

  They lay in a sticky heap, glued together by sweat, the whirr of the fan suddenly loud in their ears.

  'Thanks,
Lucian,' said Tania at last, 'that's just the kind of editorial input I need!'

  Two - To the Hilt

  Chapter 11

  Percy Carmichael gazed on the shimmering calm of the Mediterranean as he sipped his third beer of the morning. For the first time since leaving home the previous day with his wife and three children he felt he really was on holiday. Felicity was having a sailing lesson, the kids had been packed off to the children's activity clubs that were the chief selling-point (to Percy's mind) of the holiday package and he was getting gently smashed in the beach bar. This was more bloody like it.

  He watched the whizz and dip of the wind-surfers and the scud of the small sailboats out in the bay. The sand was dotted with eager sunbathers, pink and white blobs straight off the plane from England now sweltering beneath a layer of Factor 15. Some of them were young, nubile and almost naked. This was the life. Percy was practically inspired.

  It occurred to him, as the bronzed barman set beer number four in front of him with a wink, that after a few days of this he might be able to think of writing seriously again. Not the advertising brochures and dreary company histories that were the mainstay of his existence as a freelance writer but a creation to stir the soul and stimulate the intellect. He could taste it already - a volume that would solicit fawning reviews, win prizes and speak to succeeding generations.

  On the other hand, he thought as he watched a fat man in a deck chair page through a John Grisham, writing a blockbusting bestseller might be a better idea.

  Perhaps it had not been such a bad thing after all that the promised contract from The Whimsical Press had not come through - not that Percy was of a mind to forgive Lucian Swan just yet. Maybe it was not Lucian's fault that the new owners had pulled the chain on Whimsical Walks but someone had to bear the brunt of Percy's animus. It served the little snot right to be forced to turn his pedantic editorial pencil to the production of porn.