by Noel Amos
'Well, well, Miranda, you are a sight for sore eyes. Come closer and stand in front of my chair. What big bouncy tits you've got for such a slim girl. And I just adore the blonde curls on your pussy. Open up so I can get a good look. Come on, use your fingers. It's a bit late to be shy.'
To her shame she did as he requested, standing with legs apart and spreading her labia to show him the pink stripe of her split. Then he commanded her to perform sundry small salacious acts for his pleasure. Like fluffing out her bush and pulling back the hood of her clit, putting her finger inside herself and wetting the length of her crack with it.
Then, at his bidding, she turned round and bent forward to thrust her bottom back into his face. He made her spread apart her buttocks and show him the dimple of her most secret hole and while she did that he leant and put his face into the fissure of her gaping cheeks. His hands came round to grasp the weight of her hanging breasts and he squeezed them like a farmer milking a cow as his tongue flickered over the lips of her quim, setting her nerves aflame. And just when she was at the brink of the ultimate humiliation, an orgasm on his loathsome tongue, he stopped and ordered her to suck his penis.
And now she was gorging herself on his fleshy stalk, caressing the plum of his glans with tongue and palate and working her hand up and down his shaft. It was thick and firm in her face, harder and stronger than she could ever have imagined it would be. And big. Bigger than most male equipment though, if truth be told, she had had no dealings with erect cocks in many years. The thought of it invading any of her other orifices was terrifying. If only she could make him come then she might avoid that fate.
'Ugh!' he cried suddenly, then 'Ugh, ugh!' again as his hands, wrapped in her hair, jerked her head into his steaming crotch and his mighty erection shot gouts of salty come deep into her mouth. She tried to pull away but he held her fast, thrusting and pumping his tool into her face until his balls were empty. Then he slumped back in his chair.
She was on her feet in a flash and scrabbling for her clothes. He seemed to have deposited a pint of semen over her. It was in her hair and running down her chest and the taste was thick in her mouth. As she pulled on her knickers they stuck to her thighs.
'Don't run off, darling,' he drawled. 'Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready again, wait and see.'
'I've got to go Basil. I'm late.'
'But I've only just come. Ha-ha!' His laugh was revolting to her. She wanted only the drumming of hot water in her ears and the feel of soft soap on her skin as she cleansed herself of Basil Swan.
'Before you go, sweetheart, I've just remembered something. It came to me while you were gobbling my tool with such vigour. Not the best blow-job I've ever had, to be candid, but not bad for someone so obviously rusty. We'll have to work on your technique.'
'Cut it out, Basil. That's all you're getting and you know it. That's the bargain.'
'Well, actually...' He looked at her with such self-satisfaction that her fingers stopped in the act of buttoning her blouse. 'That's what I wanted to tell you. I remembered that we salvaged what there was of Aunt Adeline's memoirs and put them out as I've Never Seen a Straight Banana under the pseudonym of A Cockney Sparrow - you probably didn't look under that title. And we cancelled the Tania Tingle book when she died because the market was flooded. We agreed Georgina could keep the proportion of signature money she'd invested on travel and research. Which was - I came across the correspondence recently, yes, here it is - seventeen thousand four hundred pounds. She sent back the six hundred as you can see.'
Basil offered Miranda a piece of paper which she snatched from his hand. It was a letter signed by the former financial director of Whimsical, a Basil puppet as she well knew, which confirmed what he had just said.
'Our agreement still stands,' she insisted.
Basil shrugged. 'It's hard to see how.'
'Stick to it, you bastard, or I'll tell the press what you've been up to.'
'What! That you attempted to bribe me by showing me your minge and putting my cock in your mouth? Go ahead, my dear, it will do my reputation a world of good.'
'I'll tell your wife!' she screamed but the threat was hollow and they both knew it. Sophie Swan had no illusions about Basil.
'I'll tell you what you can do, darling. Come round the same time next week - it's Lorna's morning off, you see. Dress up a little bit; I'm sure Whimsical will foot the bill for some sexy stockings and suspenders. You can economise on knickers. Then we'll discuss the matter further.'
'Never!'
'But I've a meeting with my Baxendale colleagues in the interim. Very hush-hush. Whisper not on pain of death etcetera. But I might whisper to you if you bend over my desk and let me put my willy up your pretty arse.'
The door slammed behind Miranda with enough force to rattle the glass on all the bookcases.
Chapter 37
As Miranda strode in fury down the drive of Basil's house she realised she was stranded. Basil lived deep in the heart of London's leafy western suburbs, some distance from the nearest railway station. She had arrived by cab and had intended to ask Basil to call another before departure. In the circumstances she could hardly return and request the favour.
As she stood at the end of the drive, with the winter wind blowing flecks of snow into her face, the poop of a car horn made her look over her shoulder. A woman with shoulder-length russet hair was smiling at her through the open window of a smart navy convertible. It took her a moment to realise who it was - Sophie Swan, Basil's wife.
'You must be Basil's eleven o'clock,' she said. 'Can I give you a lift?'
Miranda hesitated, her thoughts in turmoil. She'd only met Sophie once or twice and obviously the woman hadn't recognised her. Considering that her clothes were in disarray and she was covered in Basil's spunk, it might be best to find her own way out of this salubrious wilderness.
'Good Lord,' said Sophie, 'it's Miranda Lynch. Hop in.' So that solved that problem.
In the car Miranda began to shiver violently. Sophie was suggesting that, as she was going into town, she could drop Miranda near her office when she noticed her passenger's condition.
'I'm OK,' said Miranda.
'You're not. You've either got flu—
'No, no. I'm fine.'
'—or you've been tussling with Basil. Did he - touch you?'
'It's OK, Sophie, honestly. It's just a reaction to - I mean—'
'Don't say a thing, Miranda. I understand how you feel. And I'm going to make you feel a damn sight better.'
Sophie Swan was as good as her word. She parked in a private bay behind a large house on the embankment and led Miranda into what looked like a hotel.
'We're going upstairs, Mathilde,' she said to a pretty flaxen-haired girl behind a reception desk and scribbled something in a leather-bound book.
'Number ten, madam,' said the girl and handed over a key with a smile. It occurred to Miranda that Sophie was well known in this place.
She watched in a daze as Sophie led her into a high-ceilinged bedroom which looked across the river, the water a silver grey in the winter sun. Sophie left her to admire the view and bustled through another door - a bathroom - from whence came the sound of running water.
Miranda lay in the bath and bubbles popped beneath her chin. She tried to take stock of her situation and failed. For once she was not in control. She had a moment of panic.
Sophie appeared with a crystal glass full of a bubbling gin and tonic. Miranda, a one-unit-a-week girl, sank it in two gulps and sucked the lemon. Sophie brought her another. With an alcoholic glow in her stomach, Miranda allowed the other woman to wash her hair.
'Mathilde will fix it for you later,' she said as she wrapped Miranda in a towelling robe and ushered her to a sofa by the window where a lunch of steaming soup and smoked salmon sandwiches was waiting. They ate in silence and, for the first time in recent memory, Miranda was hungry. She devoured all before her but refused Sophie's offer of further refreshment.
'So
,' said Sophie, 'do you want to talk about it?'
It hadn't occurred to Miranda that she could possibly confide in Sophie. Apart from anything else, she would probably have to commit adultery with the woman's husband to get what she really wanted. To be precise, she might have to bend over Basil's desk wearing suspenders and stockings and allow him to plunder her arse. The image had been haunting her in the bath. So too the knowledge that, if it came to it, she would let him. Just so long as she got what she wanted in the end.
Sophie was talking. 'I imagine he propositioned you. He's always been susceptible to pretty women but it's got much worse since the operation.'
'The operation?'
'Yes. We went on this continental cruise but that was really cover for the medical treatment they offered on board. Not everyone went in for it, of course, but there were lots of middle-aged men like Basil who'd lost their oomph, as it were.'
'Really?' Miranda was all ears.
'I know I shouldn't be telling you because Basil's very secretive about it. But I can see he's given you a bit of a shock and I'm trying to explain. He probably showed you that great big willy of his, didn't he?'
Miranda fought back the urge to say he had hosed her down with it as well and simply nodded.
'He's immensely proud of it but I can't say I'm thrilled. The damn thing never goes down these days. I was glad when he hired that girl who used to work for you.'
'Lorna.'
'She earns her wages. Some days, I swear, she's positively boss-eyed with bonking.'
A peal of merriment split the air. Miranda was amazed to find it came from her.
Sophie made a face. 'Sorry - that was a bit crude.'
'That's OK,' said Miranda. 'He can screw another hole in the little bitch for all I care. Oops, that's a bit crude too.'
'The funny thing is,' continued Sophie, 'when it wouldn't go hard, I felt insulted. Now it's hard all the time, I just lock the bedroom door. Frankly there are worse things than having a husband who can't do it.'
'Did he really have a lot of trouble before the, er, treatment?'
'My dear, I've got some wonderful stories. And so have other women too. He never stopped imagining he was Casanova even when he had a week-old stick of celery between his legs.'
'I'd like to hear some of those stories,' said Miranda, wheels turning in her mind.
There was a gentle tap on the door.
'Maybe later,' said Sophie. 'Here's Mathilde to do your hair.' It was the flaxen-haired girl from downstairs. She carried with her a case full of accoutrements for female beautification. As she laid out her things on the table, Miranda became aware that Sophie was watching her every movement with rapt attention.
'Lovely, isn't she?' she said as Miranda caught her eye. Miranda couldn't deny it. In the glow of the pale sunlight by the window, Mathilde's complexion was as flawless as glass and the blonde plait of her hair gleamed like silver rope.
The girl looked up, her eyes a startling turquoise. 'Would you like me to undress, madam?'
'Of course, Thilde. Do what you always do. My friend will enjoy it, I'm sure.'
Miranda was bemused but she watched closely nevertheless as Mathilde slipped out of her uniform jacket and began to unbutton her high-necked blouse. Underneath she wore a little cream camisole top which she pulled over her head and dropped on a chair. She wore no bra - she didn't need to. Her breasts were gently curving bowls which swelled into little peaks, the nipples cherry ripe and mouthwatering even to Miranda.
For ten years Miranda had fought shy of sexual contact with other human beings. It had been a decision she had never regretted. That way she avoided sticky patches on the sheets and someone else's laundry in her machine, not to mention heartache and career-wrecking threat of children. She was never short of escorts or companions or - most important of all - time. She could work an eighty-hour week if she wanted to and she often did. And if she required the fleeting pleasures of an orgasm she could give herself one of those, too - not that she often did these days.
So, to find herself within the space of a few hours parading naked for a man, sucking his cock and, now, ogling another woman's breasts was a hammer blow to her system. Particularly with the knowledge that she wanted those breasts in her hands.
Sophie had beaten her to it. She was stroking the creamy hillocks of flesh and pinching the tiny red points to hardness. Mathilde had stopped in the act of unfastening her skirt and now leaned against the older woman, her eyes closed and cheeks flushed, allowing her mistress to do with her as she pleased.
'This is all Basil's fault,' Sophie murmured as she bent to plant a kiss on the white tulip stem of the girl's neck. 'I can't stand any more of that jabbing, thrusting maleness. Men are so hard and coarse and hairy. Girls are soft and tender and sensual. Especially girls like Mathilde. Aren't you, darling?'
Mathilde didn't reply, she just raised Sophie's head with her hands and their lips met. Miranda watched in shock, a pulse hammering in her temple, as the two women kissed for a long, long minute.
Lights were dancing in Sophie's toffee-brown eyes as she turned to Miranda. She reached for the publisher's hand and placed it on the girl's right breast. The flesh was warm and pliant and the hard little nipple burned into her palm. The girl moaned as Miranda's fingers began to explore. She slumped onto the sofa next to Miranda and pulled her other hand to her bosom. Miranda looked into the girl's eyes. The blue depths were smoky with desire.
'You're very beautiful,' the girl murmured. 'May I make love to you?'
'I don't think—'
'Yes,' said Sophie firmly.
Mathilde drew Miranda's head down to her warm white breast.
'Show me how,' said Miranda as a cherry-sweet nipple invaded her mouth.
Within seconds Miranda's surrender was complete. Her robe was pulled off, she was laid naked on the bed and held fast in the kind of embrace she had never dared to dream of. She and Matilda rolled on the bed, slippery with juices from mouth and pussy, their compliant flesh on fire as they hugged and squeezed and probed. Mathilde was very skilled, her little fingers dancing across Miranda's body, her mouth skimming and caressing then biting, sending a current of excitement flaring along the publisher's nerves, awakening long-neglected circuits of pleasure.
'No, no, you mustn't,' she cried as the girl's lips skittered across her belly and small hands pried apart her knees. But her thighs spread and her pelvis lifted and her vagina opened like a blooming rose to the girl's caress and she came with indecent haste on Mathilde's pretty face. Then the girl did it to her again, each strange and wonderful orgasm like a present of new life.
Miranda swiftly passed from uncertain compliance to greedy assertion. The mysterious white body in her arms was delicious. It was like discovering a new taste and she couldn't get enough. She wanted to devour Mathilde whole and she did so - tonguing the velvet-lipped vagina and slaking her thirst on the girl's love juice till her jaw ached. And Mathilde shook and shivered in turn, twining her fingers in Miranda's hair, calling out in ecstasy as the woman rimmed her clitoris with the tip of her tongue.
At some point in this sensual storm, Miranda wondered how Mathilde could pleasure her in so many places at once, but with her head buried between the girl's legs and her senses ablaze she was in no position to discover. And when the truth dawned on her, as different perfume mingled in the air and heavier flesh pressed against her own, Miranda was past caring. A string of orgasms rippled through her body, bursting like stars in her head and she heard herself keening with delight in a way she had never done before. If Sophie Swan could do this to her then Miranda had no complaints.
Later, after Mathilde had gone, Miranda squeezed Sophie's hand and said, 'You seduced me. You're as bad as your husband.'
Sophie turned on her side and looked into Miranda's eyes. 'But I succeeded, didn't I? And he failed.'
'I'd like to know more about Basil's failures. You were going to tell me.'
'So I was.'
'Well then
? Tell me about his limp celery days - and the operation.'
Sophie studied Miranda's face. 'Are you just out for revenge?'
'No. Leverage. To save my bottom.'
Sophie's brown eyes darkened. 'From Basil?'
'Yes.'
She chuckled. 'Can I have it instead?' and Miranda felt a hand slide down from her hip to cup the curve of her buttock.
Miranda shifted forward in the bed until her belly met Sophie's furry mound. 'It's all yours.'
Sophie smiled and her fingers began to play across the proffered cheeks. 'Well, then,' she said. 'Let me tell you all about our summer cruise on the SS Augmentia...'
Chapter 38
While his wife was introducing Miranda Lynch to a new world of sensual delight, Basil Swan was pondering the publisher's visit to his study that morning. It had given him much satisfaction to have her at his command and he looked forward to continuing this new relationship with barely containable excitement. So much so that his cock was already chafing uncomfortably in his pants. He was going to relish corking Miss Mealy Mouth's arse on this desk. In the meantime, he needed some relief.
'Lorna,' he yelled. The girl had only turned up ten minutes before, still looking sleepy-headed. What was the matter with youngsters these days? He had an idea how to wake her up.
'Yes, Basil,' she said, appearing obediently in the doorway. She looked ridiculously tempting in a tiny skirt over long black leggings, like a coltish ballet dancer.
'Come here,' he said, getting up from his seat and unbuckling his trousers.
'No, Basil,' she said as she noted the wolfish gleam in his eye. 'I'm not feeling in the mood today.'
'What's up, my darling? Come over here.'