‘– a bit too strong for the Watch?’
Bowle laughed.
‘It’s not for the Watch, darling. I’m arts editor for the adult division of our magazines group.’
‘You know,’ Giles put in unnecessarily, ‘Hot Gun, Slap and Tickle, Lusty Legs, Black Booty, Boobie Babes . . .’
‘You’d be great for Boobie Babes,’ Bowle cut in. ‘I’ll introduce you to Sid if you like? Earn a bit extra, you know?’
He nudged her and winked, but she was too confused to respond in any way at all. They were heading towards a pub on the far side of the plaza, the Wharfingers, a building of dirty yellow brick completely out of keeping with the steel and concrete all around them but presumably there long before any of it had been built. Bowle continued as they walked, either unaware of her embarrassment and confusion or indifferent to it.
‘We’re launching Giles’ strip in Hot Gun, that’s our lead title, with a circulation just under a hundred thou, which puts us number two in the market. Your girlie character is just perfect, smart, sassy and sex on legs. We pay twelve hundred a page, split sixty/forty, fixed rate, so I can’t go higher, but it’s a double-page spread.’
Sarah had been bracing herself to tell them there had been an awful mistake, but stopped. Forty percent of two thousand four hundred pounds made nearly a thousand pounds, and if Hot Gun was monthly it would be enough to live on. She would be more than just a paid artist, but a full-time professional artist, her dream since childhood, and the magazine sounded masculine and crude, but not actually pornographic.
‘So that’s forty percent of two thousand four hundred, and that’s monthly?’ she asked cautiously, sure there would be a catch.
‘Sixty percent, darling,’ Bowle corrected her.
‘The artist gets the lion’s share,’ Giles added. ‘Takes so much longer, you see.’
Sarah responded with a weak nod, although she was making frantic calculations in her head. By the time they reached the door of the pub she had realised she would be on around three hundred and fifty pounds a week, more than she had dared to dream she could earn for anything, let alone to draw. She was in a daze as the men led her inside, their words barely penetrating, so that when they reached the bar Bowle had to repeat himself.
‘I said what’s yours, darling? Oi, earth to Sarah, what are you drinking?’
‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘I was miles away. May I have a glass of white wine, please, if that’s okay?’
‘Have a bottle if you want, doll,’ he offered, patting his pocket. ‘It’s all on expenses.’
‘Thank you,’ she answered, and found herself face to face with Giles Compton-Bassett as Bowle pushed in to get to the bar.
Somebody pushed against her back, making her stumble forward so that her breasts squashed against him, bringing the blood to her cheeks and a flood of stammered apologies to her lips.
‘Any time,’ he answered her, ‘any time at all. Shall we go outside?’
‘Yes, why not?’ Sarah answered, and allowed herself to be shepherded through the throng.
A single table remained empty and they took it, Sarah speaking as soon as she had sat down.
‘Could you tell me how this works, and exactly what you want me to draw? I’m new to this, and I thought I’d be doing my own strip, you see.’
‘I write the story and you illustrate it,’ he answered her, ‘but I promise not to be a pain about it. Your character will make a great heroine and I don’t want you to change her at all.’
‘Thanks. How about her name? I’d like to keep her as Céleste du Musigny if that’s okay?’
‘Fine. I see her as a New York …’
‘Paris.’
‘Paris then. Yes, Paris is good, too many things are set in New York. She’s a Parisienne socialite, from one of the old aristocratic families, single, independent, maybe a trifle bored by fashionable life.’
‘Exactly,’ Sarah agreed, now warming to Giles despite what seemed to be entirely unconscious arrogance and his habit of talking either to her breasts or over the top of her head, ‘which is why I wanted her to be a spy.’
‘A detective is just as good,’ he went on, ‘but she only takes on the really top-flight cases.’
‘Fair enough,’ Sarah answered, ‘I can cope with that. Um … how sexual does it have to be?’
‘Enough to keep Hugh happy,’ he told her. ‘I’m more in it for the story, but she needs to end up at least half naked in every issue, preferably tits out, because that’s what Hugh likes. Do you know what they used to call him when he was deputy photographic editor? Boobman Bowle. We need a bit of bum too, and the odd flash of pussy.’
‘Oh,’ Sarah responded, colouring slightly, but more at the thought of drawing Céleste bare for public consumption than at Giles’ language.
Bowle had come out, carrying a tray with a pint of dark ale, a bottle of white wine frosted with condensation, two glasses and a large cigar. He put the tray down and began to set things out on the table. Sarah poured herself a glass of wine, immediately taking a badly needed swallow. She had expected a formal interview, with one or more intimidating men or women examining her work and asking difficult questions. Instead, both Hugh Bowle and Giles Compton-Bassett could hardly have been more casual, and simply assumed she was competent from the samples she’d originally sent in. It was hard to take in, and yet as she began to study the menu, the men had already begun to talk cricket, Giles with his glass lifted halfway to his mouth and Bowle waving his cigar to illustrate his remarks, as if the vast change they’d brought to her life was completely ordinary.
Three hours and two bottles of wine later, they were still talking, although Sarah had contributed only the occasional word to the conversation. For the rest of the time she had concentrated on the food and let herself dream, imagining all the situations she would create for Céleste and how it would feel to be able to call herself an artist and not immediately feel it was a mere pretence. She was drunk, having taken more than her fair share of the wine, and already feeling sleepy when Bowle finally pulled himself to his feet.
‘Better get back, I suppose,’ he yawned. ‘Do you two want me to put another bottle on the tab?’
‘Why not?’ Giles answered before Sarah could decline the offer. ‘A nice meaty Aussie Grenache this time, I think.’
Bowle made a vague gesture of acceptance and moved off towards the pub door.
‘I really should be getting back,’ Sarah said, knowing that another couple of glasses of wine would put her to sleep.
‘Oh,’ Giles answered. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘Stepney,’ Sarah told him.
‘I’ll walk with you if you like,’ he offered. ‘Maybe we can go over the story?’
She nodded as she got to her feet, wishing she didn’t feel quite so unsteady, but enjoying the warmth of the alcohol. Halfway through the meal Hugh Bowle had produced a contract from his pocket, a scruffy thing she had merely glanced at before signing, not really caring what it said as long as she had the job. That had been the final stamp on her happiness, which had been growing ever since, along with alcohol-fuelled confidence. She could do the job, she was sure of that, and Céleste would just have to put up with going naked now and then. After all, she had created Céleste, so the bossy cow could jolly well do as she was told.
‘I’ve got plenty of plots,’ Giles was saying as they started across the plaza, he swinging the open bottle of red wine in one hand, ‘but we need to kick off with something special. We need cars, we need guns, we need sex, lots and lots of sex.’
‘It’s the first issue that’s really going to matter,’ Sarah responded.
‘Exactly,’ he agreed. ‘We get one chance to grab their attention. Lose that, and we’re fucked. Now this is how I see it. The last two frames we have Céleste taking off her bra, then a rear view with her thumbs in her knickers, like she’s about to take them down. That’s the sort of thing Hot Gun readers will love.’
‘I’ve n
ever read it, I’m afraid,’ Sarah admitted, with the image of Céleste doing what was effectively a striptease hot in her mind.
‘Take it from me,’ Giles assured her. ‘They love that stuff. Tease ’em, that’s the knack, but you’ve got to give it all up in the end, or they feel cheated. So what do you reckon?’
‘I’m sure you’re right about what they like,’ Sarah answered him, ‘but shouldn’t we start at the beginning? What’s the story about? Why is Céleste undressing?’
‘Who cares? No, really, I’ve got a great plot.’
‘Hang on a second,’ she broke in. ‘I’ve got an even better idea. Céleste is rich and bored, so we know she’s only really playing at being a detective, and she only works for her own sort of people, and they like to employ her because she’s one of them.’
‘Yes.’
‘So what if she does the crimes herself, then sets somebody else up to take the blame? That way we can make her wicked instead of good, which is much more fun!’
Sarah knew it was the wine talking. Sober, she would never have dared make such a suggestion, but where Céleste represented everything she looked up to normally, a few glasses of wine and she always found herself resenting her creation. Now was no different, and Céleste had grown as much in her mind during the last few hours as since she’d first put a 4B to paper with nothing more than a vague idea of how the ideal woman should look.
For a moment she thought Giles didn’t like the idea, as he had walked on in absolute silence, but when he did speak there was a trace of awe in his voice.
‘Brilliant! You are brilliant, Sarah! Yes, we can make her a villainess. She should be a villainess, shouldn’t she, with that sultry look. Hang on, are you after my job?’
‘No,’ Sarah promised, flushing with pride at his words.
‘Just joking,’ he assured her, and as they left the plaza he put an arm around her shoulders.
Sarah felt herself start to melt. She was drunk, she had the job she’d wanted since childhood, and a tall handsome man was walking her up the street, just the sort of man she always assumed could not possibly be interested in her. Giles was obviously interested, and not just in her bust either. He appreciated her talent as an artist, her imagination too. When he bent to kiss her there was no resistance, her mouth opening to his just as eagerly as his to hers. Only when his fingers began to inch up the back of her dress did she gently push him away, thrilled by the prospect of being exposed in the street but completely unable to go through with it, drink or no drink.
Giles merely laughed and put his arm around her again as they walked on. Sarah snuggled into his side, blissfully happy, and in no doubt at all about what was going to happen once they reached her flat. He was no different, if anything more urgent still, hailing the first cab they saw. Ten minutes later they were in her room, kissing as his fingers found the zip to her dress, and this time she didn’t stop him.
A shiver ran through her as the zip was eased down, and again as the dress was pushed gently off her shoulders. She wriggled her arms free and it fell loose at the front, exposing the cups of her bra. A trace of embarrassment hit her for her sheer size, sure he would think her clumsy, inelegant, overweight, but the expression of rapture on his face told a very different story.
‘Christ, you’re big!’ he breathed, and he buried his face in her cleavage, his hands already fumbling at her bra catch.
It came loose, her cups fell free as he pulled at them and her chest was bare in his face. She closed her eyes as he took hold of her breasts, squashing them around his face, his tongue flicking out to lap at her cleavage, groping and kissing at her in a reverent ecstasy. Her hands met in his hair, holding his head to her chest, even as she was eased gently back onto the bed with him on top of her. She let her thighs come open, accepting him between them, only for him to stand back, take hold of her dress and pull it up off her hips and legs with one smooth motion.
He stood looking down at her, his face flushed with arousal, the tip of his tongue flicking out briefly to moisten his lips as he shook. Sarah found herself giggling, flattered and surprised by the sheer intensity of his lust for her. Taking her breasts in her hands, she gave them a meaningful squeeze, deliberately showing off as she spoke.
‘I thought you said Hugh was the one who liked big breasts.’
‘He is,’ Giles answered, and reached down to take a grip on her hips.
Sarah gave a squeak of surprise as she was turned over, face down on the bed and bottom up to Giles. For a second time she felt a flush of embarrassment for the sheer expanse of lace-covered bottom she was showing to him, and for the second time his reaction was not at all what she would have expected. He gave a low moan and his hands were in the waistband of her panties, pulling them slowly down, to expose her bottom inch by inch, until the whole plump globe was naked to him and Sarah was shivering hard for her exposure.
‘Beautiful,’ he sighed, ‘so beautiful. God, I love a juicy fat-bottomed girl.’
Sarah opened her mouth to say something, despite feeling more flattered than offended, but all that came out was a squeak of shock as Giles abruptly buried his face between her bottom cheeks, and a second as his tongue found the hole between them, not her sex, but her anus. She began to protest, but all that came out was a sigh. It felt too good, far too good, and before she could stop herself she was pushing her bottom out to let him get his tongue deeper still.
He obliged, lapping between her cheeks and burrowing his tongue in up the tiny hole, until Sarah was gasping and clutching at the bed. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, that it was too dirty, and she was scared he might try and bugger her. Still no words would come as she was licked and fondled, his hands now on her bottom cheeks, squeezing and pulling them wide to make them spread in his face.
When he did finally stop, Sarah wriggled around to find him standing over her, a long pale cock protruding from his fly into one grasping hand. He looked ready to come, and she reached out, her mouth open to take him in, wanting to suck and not wanting it to be over too quickly.
‘Let me,’ she offered as she took his cock, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
His erection felt hot and hard, and it was good to be sitting in front of him in nothing but shoes and half-pulled-down panties, tugging his cock towards her naked breasts. He watched, letting her pleasure him, but only for a moment. Then he had taken her breasts in hand, moving forward to straddle her and squeezing both fat globes around his straining erection.
‘Christ, you’re big,’ he muttered as he began to fuck her breasts, ‘so big, so fucking big. I want to spunk all over your fat tits, Sarah, I … no, I have to do your bum. Roll over, Sarah, you fat little tart, show me that gorgeous big bum … let me spunk over your cheeks … I’m going to spunk, Sarah, do it … roll over!’
‘Look, I …’ Sarah managed, but he’d already pushed her down on the bed and was tugging at her body.
With more than a touch of chagrin she let him do it, rolling her over onto her belly and humping her bottom up as he straddled her legs. She felt used, and yet it was good, to be manipulated so rudely, lying face down on the bed, her panties around her thighs, her bare bottom stuck up for a man to come over, his cock jerking in his hand as he masturbated over her.
‘You – you can have me, Giles,’ she managed. ‘Go on.’
His answer was a grunt as he pressed the head of his cock down between her bottom cheeks. Sarah pushed her hips up, her mouth wide in ecstasy as she savoured the exquisite moment before she was penetrated, something she hadn’t had for so long, and wanted so badly. His cock pressed down, the head firm and rubbery between her cheeks, too high, pressing not to her sex, but to her spit-wet anus.
‘No!’ she squealed, her ecstasy breaking as she realised she was going to be sodomised. ‘No, Giles, not up my bum, you dirty pig!’
‘Oh go on,’ he answered her, still pressing down, with her bumhole spread out to his helmet. ‘Go on, Sarah, please … I want to fuck your big bo
ttom … please?’
‘No,’ Sarah protested, trying to wriggle away, ‘I’m too tight, I’ve never …’
‘Oh you’re virgin,’ he sighed, ‘a virgin bumhole, and such a big fat bottom, a fat girlie bottom …’
‘Giles, look, I don’t …’
‘Oh Sarah, please. You need it … you need your bottom fucked, you really do, oh shit!’
As he’d been speaking he’d been pulling at his cock, with the head still pressed between her bottom cheeks. Now he’d come, filling her gaping anus with spunk, and more splattered between her cheeks as he began to fuck in her bottom slit, grunting and gasping, calling her a tart and a slut as he finished himself off in his own mess.
‘You dirty pig!’ Sarah managed as he finally stopped rutting her bottom.
‘Yes, I know,’ he sighed, his weight slowly settling on her body as he went limp. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
‘Could you get off, please?’ she asked, not wanting to admit how nice what he had done to her had felt.
‘Sure,’ he answered, and rolled off to lie spread-eagled on the bed with his slowly deflating cock sticking up from his trousers, the pale skin slippery with come.
Sarah ignored the urge to go down on him and suck him clean, making for the bathroom instead. His come felt sticky between her cheeks, a sensation at once disgusting and compelling. In the bathroom she locked the door, telling herself she wasn’t going to do it, but knowing she was. Sure enough, as she pushed a double piece of loo paper between her cheeks to wipe herself it took a single touch to her slippery half-open anus and she had given in.
Her leg came up, cocked over the loo with her bottom stuck out in a thoroughly rude position that felt just right. She dropped the paper and began to tease the slippery little hole, her eyes already closed in bliss. He really had used her, fucking her breasts and licking her bottom hole, so uninhibited and so dirty, licking it to get her ready for a buggering. It didn’t bear thinking about, and yet her finger was up that same rude hole, made slippery with come.
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