by Noel Amos
She stopped him. 'Basil, I...'
Her large green eyes implored. There was still doubt in her mind.
An unanswered question that Basil knew he'd have to address in the end. Fortunately, he'd now thought of how to do it.
'You want to know why I had a hard-on, don't you?'
'Yes!'
'While I was talking to Miranda I remembered what you'd told me about your last day at Whimsical.' He lifted her thighs, folding her legs into her body. 'How you'd seduced my nephew in the boardroom.' Obligingly she took her knees in her hands and drew her legs back, thrusting her softly furred and glistening pubis up from the seat. 'I was thinking about you dancing on the table for him. And how you fucked him where Miranda sat. And it turned me on.'
'I'll dance for you one day,' she murmured, spreading her gleaming divide for him and welcoming his swollen member deep into her butter-soft folds. 'If you'd like that.'
He didn't reply, he let his rejuvenated cock do the talking and fucked her like a teenager.
Basil's car had good suspension. It was just as well.
Chapter 35
The morning after the dinner party Percy did not wake up till ten. This was extraordinary. Nobody in a household containing three children under six sleeps till ten - unless they have help. As Percy blinked at the digital clock on Felicity's - empty - side of the bed, he remembered they did indeed have help. And he remembered precisely the kind of help that had been given to him on this bed the evening before...
He was instantly struck by guilt. To have made love to Carol-Anne here on the marital bed while his wife and children were in the same house filled him with remorse. How foul and bestial his nature was! Though he had been unfaithful on holiday, that had been far away and under extraordinary circumstances - in researching a book an author was surely allowed some artistic licence.
But that was then and things were different now. For all the talk last night of persuading Carol-Anne and Brendan to stay, it must not be allowed to happen. It would be grossly unfair to Felicity. The moral fall from grace of the previous evening must never ever be allowed to take place again.
The door opened and Carol-Anne came in, bearing a tea tray. 'Morning, Percy,' she said, placing the tray on the bedside table and drawing the curtains. 'Felicity reckoned you'd be surfacing about now. I hope I didn't wake you.'
'No,' he said, quite devastated by the sight of her. She poured his tea and sat companionably on the side of the bed. Her face was in shadow but her big eyes gleamed and her white teeth shone as she smiled at him. The pale winter sun behind her lit up her hair in a golden halo. 'You're such a beautiful girl,' he said, his voice mournful with his impending loss.
'Thanks. I guess you'd like to see a bit more of me in that case.' And without waiting for an answer she pulled her top over her head and reached behind her back to unfasten her bra.
'No, no!' cried Percy - in his mind. From his mouth there issued just a feeble croak of surprise. And lust.
Carol-Anne maintained her pose, both hands behind her back, thrusting forward her full round bosom which was encased in a white semi-transparent bra. 'Here's the big moment,' she said. 'Perhaps I should make you wait until you've drunk your tea.'
'Carol-Anne, I...'
'Yeah, I know. You want to do it yourself, don't you?' And she leaned forward and rested her forearms on his shoulders, her little snub nose pressing on his large one, her hair falling around his face. In disobedience of all resolutions his hands rose to span her narrow waist and slide upwards along the firm glowing flesh of her back to find the flimsy strap of her brassiere. She chuckled, her breath blowing directly into his mouth, as he discovered only warm skin.
'I undid it anyway, figured you were out of practice,' she murmured as his hands travelled round her ribcage to close on the hanging fruits of her breasts, each globe filling his palm with a soft and precious weight.
'Oh,' he grunted with the thrill of holding her tits and the sudden sensation of her tongue corkscrewing between his lips.
She slipped one arm round his neck and her other burrowed beneath the bedclothes.
'Oh yeah,' she murmured as her fingers closed on his burning erection. 'I think I'm gonna bring you breakfast in bed every morning. Move over, Percy, I'm getting in.'
'But, Carol-Anne, you can't. We mustn't. What about—?'
'Felicity?' She sat back on the bed and looked at him for a moment. Her brassiere had slipped down one arm and her pneumatic breasts pointed at him, the nipples swollen and pink. Her hand ringed the base of his cock which thrust up from his belly like an extra limb.
'Felicity and Brendan have taken Crispin to a swimming lesson. Then they're going to the park.'
'Oh.' Relief flooded over him. He couldn't help thinking that at least he'd have the morning in bed with Carol-Anne before saying goodbye for good.
'So,' she continued, moving her hand up and down his shaft in a slow delicious wanking motion. 'Don't tell me we can't because we can. Don't say you don't want to because I can see you do. But if you think it's unprofessional to fuck your live-in nanny and housekeeper say so right now.'
'What do you mean?'
'Gee, Perce, I thought you knew. Felicity said you discussed it last night. She's offered us the job and we've said yes.'
'Both of you?'
'Yeah - I think it's fantastic. You won't regret it, I promise, and neither will this guy here.' She dipped her head and took his knob into her mouth for a second. A flame of desire licked up his belly. Her head came up, eyes blazing and lips smiling. She jumped off the bed and unzipped her skirt. 'As I say, Perce, if you have any objection to fucking your employees...' She stepped out of the skirt and yanked her panties to mid-thigh. 'I mean, if you're uncomfortable having my tits and arse available to you at any time, day or night...' She straddled his hips and reclaimed his shaft with one hand. The other delved between her thighs to spread her labia, revealing to him the coral pink of her succulent interior. '...You've only got to say so.'
She spread juice from her pussy onto the head of his tool and poised herself over it.
'Well?' she said.
'No,' said Percy, his emotional U-turn completed by the inflammatory sight of his cock disappearing into the hairless mouth of her vagina, 'I've no objection at all.'
'Ohhh Brendan, that feels glorious,' moaned Felicity as his hands manipulated her back. 'You know all the right spots, don't you?'
That I do, Brendan thought to himself as he looked down at the nude woman spread out beneath him, his to treat as he wished. Felicity lay face down on the bed with a pillow under her loins, thrusting her glorious white buttocks high and wide. He too was naked, kneeling up between her spread thighs, his tool half embedded in the back-thrust purse of her vagina. It was a highly pleasurable position for both parties.
Brendan pushed his thumbs into the creamy dimpled flesh on either side of her spine and heard the sharp intake of breath as the discomfort bit. He butted his pelvis forward a fraction and noted with satisfaction her answering sigh of pleasure as his penis slid deeper inside her. She was putty in his hands.
They'd had a very successful morning playing with Crispin, now it was Carol-Anne's turn to give the toddler lunch and put him to bed for a nap. Which gave Brendan the opportunity to continue his treatment of Felicity's aches and pains. He was determined to give his new employer unparalleled service.
'Oh! Oh! Oh!' she cried as his hands worked on her back and his cock thrust back and forth in the greedy mouth of her yearning pussy.
He finished massaging her neck and leaned back to savour the sight of her abundant flesh. From the waist up she was relaxed and de-stressed, her head pillowed on her arms, the luscious white undercurve of her breast bulging out from beneath her. But from the waist down she was a mass of jangling nerve-ends. Her incredible buttocks were jumping and quivering, her glistening pink pussy lips were gorging on his shaft and even the brown star of her anus appeared to wink with desire. Felicity vocalised the need tha
t was so evident - 'Fuck me, Brendan, please! Stuff it up me hard.'
'Anything you say, Mrs Carmichael,' the Irishman replied and slammed his tool all the way home. Felicity groaned with pleasure. And when, a few minutes later, he transferred his cock to her arsehole and his magic fingers began to tickle her clit, she howled loud enough to be heard across the street.
One floor down, Percy Carmichael sat in his study, doodling on a foolscap pad. He didn't seem to be able to get his thoughts around the tedious history of Stamp & Mame just at present. He was thinking of sex. Of the absence of it for years, of the wonder of it in sudden abundance. Of the golden limbs of Carol-Anne twined around his own, her hot mouth on his and her velvet cunt kissing his cock. The smell of her pussy was on his fingers as he absent-mindedly scratched his nose.
From above came the sound of Felicity moaning. Her back must be really bad, poor thing. How fortunate that Brendan was a skilled masseur. Felicity cried out again, with a rising note that recalled to Percy more intimate times with his wife. He tried to shake the thought from his head. He seemed to have sex on the brain at present. In which case...
He turned to a fresh page on his pad and wrote: 'Max Daventree's penis swelled beneath the thin fabric of his swimming trunks as he contemplated the swollen halves of his wife's sumptuous bikini-clad bottom. How he longed to rip the wet panties from her flesh and explore the line that divided her pouting rear cheeks.' Yes! Inspiration had struck. He'd dash off another sexy novel for Lucian Swan and stuff Stamp & bloody Mame. It would be about the dirty deals that must be struck to keep a marriage alive. He could call it The Bottom line...
As he scribbled feverishly, images of pulsing cocks and wobbling breasts scudding like fast-moving clouds across his mind's eye, he silently acknowledged his debt to Brendan. The Irishman had turned up the day before with the idea of helping Percy with a new book - 'I've done tons more research,' he'd said - and Percy had laughed at the notion. Yet here he was, a few hours later, actually writing it. Brendan was a miracle-worker, no doubt about it. Perhaps when he had fixed Flick's back he could give her a game of tennis, squire her around the local antique fairs and escort her to a matinee or two - activities that Percy never had time for. And if Brendan could help Felicity relax a little then maybe husband and wife could put some real love back into their marriage. Now that would be a proper miracle.
'Oh God! Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh, oh yes!' howled Felicity from above as Percy's pen flew across the page.
Chapter 36
It was only the second time Miranda Lynch had had a man's cock in her mouth and, as she shifted uncomfortably on her knees on the floor of Basil Swan's office, she swore it would be her last. Some twelve years had spanned the two events and, in her opinion, time had not improved the experience. The first occasion had been at university, with a rugger-bugger boyfriend who had insisted she fellate him on pain of chucking her the night before the May ball. After she had allowed him to maul her hair and jab his thin dick in and out of her face for what seemed like hours, she had done the chucking. She had counted that as her first act as an independent woman.
Perhaps that was what was so galling about sucking Basil's - the memory of being subjugated by a man. Miranda did not have a high opinion of the trousered sex. Most of them were fawning little boys, blinded by their own self-importance and too scared to take hard decisions. At bottom, all they wanted was to squirt their juices into a woman and take the applause.
'Ouch!' yelled Basil as Miranda's jaw closed on the bursting flesh in her mouth.
'Sorry,' she said, lifting her lips from the bobbing shaft, 'I'm a bit out of practice.'
'I'll say you are, my sweet. Why don't you kiss it there? Mmm, that's it. Now lick gently all the way up to the tip and open those pretty pink lips of yours. Oh yes, that's lovely!'
Miranda forced herself to comply. Much as she wanted to wrench this throbbing broom-handle of flesh from her lips and squeeze the big hairy balls in her hand until his pips burst, she kept herself under control. She wasn't doing this for the fun of it. She mustn't spoil it now.
Basil had opened the door to her at eleven sharp that morning and ushered her graciously into a book-lined room overlooking a sumptuous back garden, flecked with winter frost. He had offered her coffee and made her welcome in a manner that suggested she were the person he most wanted to see in the whole world at that moment. Miranda wasn't to be deflected from her purpose, however - she'd gone straight for the jugular.
'We've turned up some discrepancies in the accounts from your time at Whimsical. Signature advances paid out on books that were never published and the money never repaid.'
'How annoying, darling,' Basil said, crunching into a biscuit. 'Fact of publishing life. Happens all the time.'
'It's still unacceptable. Particularly something like this,' and from her briefcase she produced a legal-looking document. 'This is the contract for "My Lucky Lucky Life, a memoir of an East End childhood by Adeline Summer". Fifteen thousand pounds was paid on signature eight years ago. Since then, no typescript has been delivered and no money refunded. Am I right in thinking that Adeline Summer is your aunt?'
'Indeed. Dear Aunty Adeline had a rare talent as a writer.
Unfortunately she died before she could complete the book. A reasonable excuse, I'm sure you'll agree.'
'What about this one? Eighteen thousand pounds paid on signature for a biography of Tania Tingle by Georgina Swan. It's the same story - no delivery and no refund of the advance. Georgina's your daughter, isn't she?'
'And a freelance journalist of some repute. Unfortunately Tania Tingle overdosed before she could give Georgina the access she needed to write the book.'
'Don't you find this a little embarrassing, Basil - over thirty thousand pounds missing from our accounts and paid to members of your family? It's not something I can overlook.'
'What's your point, exactly, Miranda? And what's this deal mentioned to me last night?'
Miranda's perfect pink lips flirted with a smile. At last she was getting somewhere.
'Let me tell you about a sensational novel we will be publishing next spring. I believe the author would be the ideal recipient of the Baxendale Prize.'
'Ah.'
So there it was, out in the open. The mention of the most coveted literary award in the publishing calendar clarified the picture for both parties.
'Why do you assume I have any say in the matter?' said Basil
'Because you're the chairman of the panel of judges. Don't deny it.'
'What's the book?'
'A Novelist's Wife by Karen Hastings. The lead title in our new imprint, Blue Desire.'
'One of Lucian's porno books! You can't be serious.'
'I am, Basil. It's a magnificent, ground-breaking novel which validates one woman's emotional needs through the language of sex. It's going to be a sensation anyway but the Baxendale would give it just that aura of literary respectability which would make it a bestselling phenomenon. It might be possible to write off the thirty-three thousand pounds you owe us from the publishing profit.'
Basil thought for a moment. He looked grave.
'The panel is made up of five people. One voice won't carry it.'
'You'll find a way. I've seen you in action. You're a very clever manipulator of events.'
Basil's pale eyes focused on the white silk hillocks pushing against the ash grey of Miranda's business suit.
'You feel passionately about this book, don't you?'
'I do indeed.'
'I'd like a demonstration of that passion. How about taking your clothes off.'
'What?'
'As I remember from last night, Miranda, you said that sex was one way to get my attention. Right now I'm all yours.'
'You slimeball.'
'We are discussing a sex book, aren't we? The Sturm und Drang of fuck and suck in which, I assume, women show their naked bodies to men. Let me have a look at yours.'
Miranda crashed her fist onto the contracts lying
on the desk. 'Your family owes us a significant sum of money. You have a week to pay or I'll start proceedings.'
Basil grinned at this display of indignation. 'Come off it, Miranda. Thirty grand is not the issue.' He pointed to a glass-panelled bookcase on the opposite wall. 'A handful of first editions from my collection would raise that money in no time. If you want me to use my influence in your cause you'll have to come up with something unique. Like your beautiful body.'
Miranda pursed her lips. This was the moment of truth. Despite her blatant approach to Basil the night before, she did not find him in the least desirable. But she had not lied about her feelings for Karen's book and, what's more, she saw it as the salvation of The Whimsical Press. How she would enjoy flaunting its success before her be-jowelled and be-suited competitors! But first she must bring home the Baxendale.
She stood and shrugged off her jacket. As her fingers slipped the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse through the eyelets she thought of Karen Hastings debasing herself in the name of artistic expression. She even remembered, as she stepped out of her skirt to display her remarkable dancer's legs, Lucian's sacrifice as he tongued the vagina of a buxom journalist beneath a restaurant table to clinch a serial deal. If author and editor were prepared to give their all, then she should be too.
'Faabulous!' drawled Basil as Miranda stood before him stark-naked. 'You're even more beautiful than I imagined.' He pushed his chair away from his desk and leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. Miranda's eyes were drawn to the bulge in his trousers. It was immense.
'Now, darling, walk around the room for me. I want to admire your movable parts.'
Miranda walked - what else could she do? As she did so, she could feel her sizable breasts in motion with each step and her bottom cheeks, small and boyish as they were, flexing and undulating. She shivered under Basil's lecherous gaze, her nipples puckering. She blushed. Basil's lewd commentary did nothing to alleviate her discomfort.