by Noel Amos
And then she began to sob silently, bracing herself against the woman behind her, her legs apart as Inspector Claire Quartermain did things to her vagina with her mouth that robbed her of her sense of self.
Afterwards they buttoned Petra's blouse and laid her on the sofa almost tenderly. She lay as if in a trance, her naked legs spread carelessly.
Amy Tooth surveyed the jewel between her thighs with a mischievous glint in her eye.
'Well, guv, what's the verdict? Sweet, is she?'
Claire grinned, her lips swollen and wet. 'Pure candy floss,' she replied.
Chapter 13
Tom woke from his dreams in the thick heat of the late afternoon. His head was leaden and his throat was parched. Eve Biscuit poured him a glass of water and he drained it in one.
'Why are you always here when I wake up?' he said. 'I'm out of danger now, Eve. You can go and save lives elsewhere.'
'I've got to keep an eye on you, Mr Glass,' she replied. 'Dr Flint's orders.'
Tom grunted. His headache intensified as he registered the ever-present thump of rock music from the next room. 'What is that bloody awful racket? It never stops.'
'That's our other celebrity patient. Luke Hailsham. He has that music on all the time.'
'Who?'
'You know. From Half Cut.'
'Is that a pop group?'
'Of course it is, Mr Glass. Everybody knows Luke Hailsham. He's in to have his vasectomy reversed. Now his wife's gone off with the kids he wants to have another lot with his new girlfriend. He says he knows you. He used to record for your record label.'
'Oh.'
'You don't remember much, do you, Mr Glass?'
'Some things, Eve, are coming back to me with crystal clarity...'
The group took him back to the flat they shared by the river. It was a large space over an old warehouse and they had the place to themselves.
'It's great,' said the drummer, whose name was Patty. 'We can make as much noise as we like.'
'And we can do what we fucking well like, too,' said Ange, the keyboard player, producing an enormous spliff.
'And what we like to do is fuck!' shouted Patty.
'Don't listen to them, they're all talk,' said Sam the lead guitarist and took hold of Tom's hand.
Shani and Christina had melted away into the darkness and it dawned on Tom that this was the real test of his ability. An initiation test alone in the dark with three smashed and randy musicians.
Sam led him to a far corner of the room. Mattresses had been laid out side by side beneath an enormous window. The stars were bright in an inky black sky and, below, the river lapped against the barges and houseboats moored on the dock.
'This is incredible,' said Tom.
'We lie here at night and get stoned,' Sam murmured. 'We take our clothes off and let the river breeze blow over us. On hot nights like this it's the coolest place in the city.'
She tugged him down to the mattress. He wasn't sure how she had managed it but she was already naked, her limbs glowing pale in the half light. Quick fingers unbuttoned his shirt.
She made him kneel up to get his trousers off and she slipped her hot lips over his cock the moment it was free. Her mouth was small and tight and his tool stuck halfway into her face. She sucked on it happily, one hand on his shaft, the other clutching his arse.
He watched the bobbing spikes of her hair and thought it was strange that she was mouthing his cock when she hadn't even kissed his lips.
There was a rustling behind him and he turned to see Ange and Patty by the bed. Ange was naked, puffing on the joint, a dark mass of hair in the delta of her crotch. Patty was pulling a thin slip over her head, her little breasts jiggling as she did so.
Tom felt somehow disconnected from his body. A woman he didn't know was lying naked between his legs, giving him the most intimate caress imaginable. And two others, it seemed, were lined up for their turn, nude and willing. He looked down the graceful bow of Sam's spine to the flaring white curve of her buttocks and ejaculated down her throat.
Sam drank his seed down then lifted her head.
'Where's that joint?' she said and Ange placed the cigarette to her sticky lips. She inhaled and held it in. Then she hooked an arm round Tom's neck and kissed him, blowing the smoke deep into his lungs. He rolled back onto the bed, his head in a spin.
The others were on him then. Ange knelt over his head pushing the soft curls of her quim into his face. He buried his hands in the firm flesh of her buttocks and, as his tongue found the satiny lips of her pussy, other hands completed the removal of his trousers.
Tom had never partied quite like this before. Not with the dope. Not with three brazen women hungry for his body. Not - as he was later to realise - when a few million pounds and a record company were at stake.
He brought Ange off in seconds it seemed and reached for Patty. He humped her on her back with his tongue down her throat and a finger on her clit. She seemed to like it. He made sure he didn't come.
He had Sam and Ange kneel on all fours in front of him. He smacked their jutting white bum cheeks with his rock-hard tool and also with his hands. He put his cock into Sam and then into Ange. He compared the velvety handshake of each pussy and toyed with their slick-wet lips and the firm buds of their clits. Then he rode Ange to a climax, pulling and clutching her big hanging breasts as he did so.
Sam complained as he lay on his back, catching his breath. 'I wanted you to come inside me. Why did you choose her?'
'Because I'm saving you up,' he heard himself say. 'I'm going to bugger your arse in a minute.'
And he did, stretching the elastic hole of her anus with his big penis, working himself in and out between her smooth white buttocks, while diddling her gaping pussy with his fingers until she howled her orgasm into the cradling arms of one of the others.
They did everything he wanted them to, everything he could think of. They kissed and sucked each other, mashing their tits and pussies together at his whim, sixty-nining in a chain, bringing themselves off tongue to quim, nipple to clit, just as he directed. He felt like a pasha in a harem. And all the time he wondered whether Shani of the midnight black eyes was out there in the darkness, watching and judging.
She appeared in the morning, bringing a mug of coffee to him as he lay on rumpled semen-stained sheets in the harsh light of day. There was no sign of his companions of the night.
'OK,' she said, 'we agree to give it a try. We know you know nothing but that's no different to the other managers we've had. At least you don't pretend you do.'
They shook hands.
'From now on, it's business,' said Shani. 'Last night was a one-off. You're never gonna screw my girls again. Agreed?'
Tom agreed.
'And in particular you won't try anything with Tina. Right?'
'Right.' What choice did he have?
Tom was feverish when he woke. It was evening now but still hot and humid. Though he had slept for most of the day he was exhausted.
Nurse Biscuit's eyes were big blue pools of concern.
'Christ, Eve, I'm having some weird dreams. It's like my life is being played back to me. I'd forgotten about those three.'
'Those three who?'
'The Shagbags. A group - you won't remember them. I'd forgotten some of the crazy things we got up to.'
'Such as?'
'I can't tell you.'
'Oh, like that, was it? Go on, I'm not a virgin, you know.' She leaned forward and took his hand. The blouse of her tunic gaped just as it had the moment he regained consciousness the day before. He looked with longing at the upper slopes of her milky white breasts, his mind and loins still afire from his memories.
She placed his hand in the neck of her shirt and smiled at him.
'Oh, Eve,' he groaned, 'you won't leave me alone in here, will you?'
'Not if you promise to tell me all about these naughty dreams of yours. If you do, I might stay with you all night.' And she bent her head so her soft br
eath mingled with his.
As his lips touched hers, his hand slipped deep inside her cleavage to close on the warm globes of her beautiful bosom.
Chapter 14
Kelvin was not sure exactly how he had ended up in the cells below The Primrose Court but he didn't care. He was drunk on two Negronis, a bottle of Venetian Chardonnay - and the intoxicating presence of Gossamer Hawk.
Dinner had gone well, so well that Gossamer had promised to show him round afterwards 'below stairs at the PC'. And so here he was, boozily following the Prosecutor into a meanly furnished reception area. A skinny woman in a lurid shell-suit sat behind the desk, boredom stitched across her forehead. A nasty glint shone in her small currant-black eyes when she saw Kelvin.
'Got a customer for us, have you, Prosecutor?' she asked Gossamer.
'A very special visitor, Gloria,' said Gossamer in her crystal tones. 'One of the gentlemen of the press, Mr Kelvin Priest of Nouveau magazine. I'd like you to give him your most particular attention.'
Had Kelvin been less tipsy or less excited by his proximity to the gorgeous Gossamer he might at this point have smelt a rat. But he smelt only T'Adore, the Prosecutor's perfume, and he smiled benignly at her as she explained she had an urgent call to make upstairs and that she was leaving him in the very capable hands of Sergeant Gloria Just.
The sergeant waited until the door had closed behind the silk-suited form of Gossamer before she spoke.
'Fiona,' she shouted while staring beadily into Kelvin's face, 'get your skinny arse out here. We've got a visitor. He's a VIP,' she added as a tall blonde in a skinny white top and a purple mini appeared in the doorway behind the reception desk.
The blonde was very young and very sullen but her pout of boredom was replaced by a malicious smile at the sight of Kelvin.
'Ooh,' she said, 'that's nice. We haven't had a VIP for ages.'
Kelvin grinned squiffily.
'In this office,' said the sergeant, 'VIP stands for Very Insignificant Pillock.'
'Or Very Insubstantial Penis,' said Fiona.
'He'll be a great disappointment to her highness in that case,' said the sergeant.
Puzzled, Kelvin looked from one to the other, the mist of euphoria slowly clearing from his brain.
'Let's check him in, then,' said the sergeant and suddenly the blonde was at Kelvin's side, pushing him forward.
'Hey,' he said as his wallet was pulled from his pocket and his briefcase emptied onto the desk.
'What's this?' said Sergeant Just, seizing two paperbacks of female erotica that Ted Flinch had asked him to review that morning. Her fingers eagerly flicked through the pages of - Kelvin winced as he saw the cover - Beat Me to a Silken Pulp by Labiella De Cruz.
Gloria Just's thin mouth set in an unforgiving line as she scanned a page. 'My God,' she cried, 'this is grade-one filth!'
'It's perfectly legal,' protested Kelvin. 'You can buy it in every bookshop in the land.'
'Listen to this,' said Fiona, snatching the book and reading out loud. '"As Gawain's honeyed threats flowed like molten lava through her veins and her tender wrists chafed against the iron manacles of the dungeon wall, she became aware of his burgeoning manhood throbbing against the sensitive skin of her perineum." Cor, this is hot stuff!'
'It's OK,' yelled Kelvin. 'It's politically correct - it's written by a woman!'
'So how come you're reading it? It says on the back here, "Not for sale to men." Come on, Fiona, let's book the creep.'
Suddenly Kelvin's wrists were seized and his fingers pressed onto a pad of ink.
'Get off me,' he shouted but one drunk new-man journalist was no match for two skilled and determined officers of The Primrose Court. In a trice, his jacket was stripped from his shoulders and his belt pulled from his trouser pants.
'Help!' he shouted. 'Gossamer, help - oof!'
The punch in the stomach doubled him up and Fiona slammed his head onto the desk top while Gloria handcuffed his hands behind his back.
'It's no use you shouting, pretty boy,' said the blonde. 'She's three floors up.'
'Let's gag him anyway,' said the other.
'Right - I've got just the thing.'
And, before Kelvin's shocked gaze, the blonde reached beneath her skirt and dragged her knickers down her long white thighs.
She held up the scrap of pale blue cotton. 'Have a sniff, you dirty sod,' she said, trailing the material across his face. It was warm and musky.
There was a coarse chuckle from behind Kelvin. Then a hand seized his nose and jerked his head back. As he opened his mouth to breathe, Fiona shoved the balled-up panties between his lips.
'You like doing that, don't you?' said Sergeant Just.
The blonde wrapped two-inch parcel tape around Kelvin's mouth. 'You bet,' she agreed. 'I love shoving a bit of my arse down men's throats. Not that it makes up for what they've done to women. Bastards!' And she slapped Kelvin hard on both cheeks.
Kelvin's eyes watered and he howled soundlessly into the wad of cotton, the mist of euphoria now replaced by the fog of pain and humiliation.
They took him into a cell that was as grim and depressing as any prison room of his imagination. The door seemed six inches thick, with bars on the window. The floor was of grey stone and a bare light bulb cast shadows across a sloping metal bed frame in the centre of the room. The air was chilly - the heat of summer did not permeate these walls.
They stripped him naked with relish, leaving the handcuffs in place and slicing his shirt off with a razor. Gloria did the cutting and Kelvin could tell she enjoyed it. Then Fiona began to rub talcum powder into his body, over his chest and up and down his thighs, pulling apart his buttocks to spread it into his crack, an impudent leer on her face.
The pair of them fitted him into a skintight rubber body-suit. Despite the powder and their evident expertise it took a while to get it just right, especially when they had to release his hands to fit it over his shoulders. But at last he was encased from neck to toe in the supple embrace of rubber. The weird garment had no crotch, leaving his cock and balls lewdly exposed to the open air.
They pushed him onto the bare bed and tied him across the chest with a strap. His hands were fastened above his head; his legs were bent up and apart, his feet fixed so they couldn't move. He was helpless: bound, gagged and immobile with his penis and testicles lolling obscenely between his spread thighs.
Kelvin was shocked, afraid and in pain. He told himself to get a grip. He tried to be philosophical. He reminded himself that, whatever happened, this was bloody good copy. He reckoned he was doing pretty well.
But when Gloria Just leaned between his legs with a pair of scissors he fainted dead away.
Chapter 15
It was easy to gauge how much Maeve Slack's circumstances had changed. The steps leading down to her basement flat were steep and treacherous and there was a cracked pane of glass in the door. Tom rang the bell and steeled himself for a necessary but doubtless painful encounter. The memory of Lionel's abandoned wife drifting like a lost soul around the city-centre Sainsbury's was still fresh in his mind.
So it was with relief that he viewed the elegant figure in a scarlet kimono who answered his knock, her thick brown hair tied back from her handsome face, a surprised smile on her lips.
'She'll remember you,' Christina had said. 'Go on Thursday, after lunch. Sam and Mandy will be at school. It'll be perfect.'
'Well, praise the Lord, it's Thomas Glass,' said Mrs Slack. 'Miracles will never cease.'
Tom was hesitant, his prepared speech gone from his mind. Her rich brown eyes seemed all-knowing. 'I'm sorry I haven't come before,' he said, thrusting a bunch of roses into her arms. 'I meant to,' he added, hoping that the lie didn't show.
'If you say so,' she said, taking his arm and pulling him inside.
In the narrow hallway her presence was overwhelming. She was nearly as tall as Tom and she smelt of perfume, wine and - the thought seized Tom like a caress on his cock - bare flesh. As she
walked ahead of him he could see the globes of her bottom outlined against the thin silk of her robe and he knew she was naked beneath it. This was not what he had expected.
She led him to the rear of the flat and out onto a small sunbaked patio. A battered sun-lounger and two white plastic garden chairs stood by a small shaded table on which lay a bowl of fruit and the remains of a salad. Without asking, she pushed a glass of white wine into his hand and pointed to a chair. Tom sat, unable to take his eyes off her long tanned legs as she arranged herself on the sun bed. The flowers had been magically positioned in a vase on the table. He couldn't recall her doing it.
'So, why have you come to see me?' she said. 'I presume it's not solely out of concern for my welfare.'
Those brown eyes were on him, darker, more tempestuous than her daughter's. He took a large gulp of wine, this was the tricky part. 'Christina,' he began but she cut him off.
'Have you any idea, young man, how painful it is to be abandoned by both your husband and your eldest daughter within the space of six months? That's a rhetorical question, by the way, there's no need to answer it.'
'Christina hasn't abandoned you, Mrs Slack. She's very concerned.'
'Huh. If she's so concerned why isn't she here? Why isn't she at school using her God-given brains instead of dancing on a stage half naked like a little slut?'
'She says you threw her out.'
'I gave her an ultimatum. I told her if she was to continue living under my roof she had to take her A levels and steer clear of clubs and pop groups. Oh God!' She threw back her head and shouted in frustration. The rich chestnut hair fell free of restraint across her half-exposed shoulders and the rounded flesh of her bosom strained against the kimono. She looked fabulous.
She held her empty glass out to Tom and turned her fierce gaze on him as he filled it. 'Don't ever get married and have children, Tom, unless you want to be kicked in the teeth.'
'Have you considered, Mrs Slack, that Christina might be pursuing a legitimate career in the music industry? That she has the potential to be very successful in a way that might not seem obvious to you?'