by Noel Amos
Maeve collapsed on the sun-lounger, Tom's spunk glistening in the corner of her mouth, her legs spread carelessly. As he watched, his head still thick from the rush of orgasm, he saw her untie her robe and slide forward, presenting the open gash of her sex to him. It was clear where his duty lay.
He took his time positioning himself between her firm bronzed thighs. He admired the smooth sheen of the skin on her long legs, the slender turn of her ankles and the titillating contrast of the white flesh tones beneath her bikini line.
'You're very brown,' he said.
'I've spent a lot of time out here this summer.'
'Like this?' he said, lightly brushing his hand over her bush of chestnut-coloured pubic hair.
'No.'
'But you do go topless, don't you? Your breasts are as brown as the rest of you. It's just this fascinating triangle here that's quite white.' And he traced the line of creamy skin across her belly with the tip of his tongue. He could see a dewdrop of moisture pearling the inside of her thigh. He licked it up and she shivered involuntarily.
Her vagina was open before him like a rose in bloom, its fragrance as heady, its petals quivering in anticipation. Her outer lips were long and brown, a fascinating furl of flesh just begging to be kissed. Tom obliged.
'Oh,' said Maeve as he took her labia between his lips.
'Oh yes,' she moaned as he separated them with his tongue and pushed gently into her moist interior.
'Oh God,' she shouted as he slid his tongue up the length of her crack to tickle the throbbing pearl of her clitoris.
She twined her fingers in his hair and jammed his mouth into her crack. He had meant to tease her, to make her wait but now the juice was pouring from her like water from a tap, and she was bucking her pelvis into his bruised and battered face. Within seconds, it seemed, she was coming all over him.
She was still shivering like a jelly, her sumptuous breasts quivering on her chest, when he crawled on top of her and sank his pulsating cock into the hungry hole between her thighs.
He kissed the spunk off her lips and she sucked the cunt juice from his tongue while they fucked, feasting on each other's bodies like starving people. As they came, together, the sun-lounger collapsed, pitching them onto the stone floor and gashing Maeve's hand.
She laughed as Tom helped her bind the wound. 'You realise I won't be able to sign your contract now,' she said. 'You'll have to come back some other time.'
'How about tomorrow?' he suggested.
Chapter 18
Kelvin regained his senses to a tingling sensation on the skin of his scrotum and the drone of a woman's voice. He looked down his rubber-suited body to see Sergeant Gloria Just wiping foam from the blade of a cutthroat razor. Across the room, Fiona of the long legs and the purple mini was perched on a chair, orating the work of Labiella De Cruz.
Gloria looked up and caught Kelvin's panic-stricken stare. She smiled almost kindly.
'Don't worry,' she said, 'I'm just making you more presentable.'
Kelvin eyed the mound of hair clippings on the floor and the glint of the razor in her hand as she bent over his loins. The bloody woman was shaving his bollocks! He jerked against his bonds in fury.
'Careful,' said Gloria, 'or you might go out less of a man than when you came in.'
Kelvin froze as the razor descended. A tug of her fingers, the kiss of steel on skin and another strip of white foam was deposited into the soapy bowl at her side. In other circumstances, he might have felt a frisson of excitement at these intimate attentions. But not now - which was a pity from more than one point of view.
'What would be most helpful,' said Gloria, 'would be an erection. Could you possibly lend a hand, Fiona?'
The sound of the blonde's breathy Cockney rose in pitch and the words she was uttering suddenly began to impress themselves on Kelvin's brain.
'"'More, more,' pleaded Sanctimonia whimperingly as the ground glass pressed into the sensitive skin of her womanly breasts. 'Thrash me, oh Master, until my crimson gore mingles with the copious fluids of my sensuous loins!'"'
'Get off your bum, Fiona, and do something,' said Gloria. 'He's no bigger than a cocktail sausage.'
Fiona was aggrieved. 'I'm reading him his porn, aren't I? It's what turns him on.'
'Turns you on, you mean,' snapped Gloria.
Kelvin saw that what she said was true. The way Fiona squirmed in her seat, her eyes glued to the page, suggested that her interest was fully engaged. And, as he followed the curve of her legs up to the shadows below the hem of her tiny skirt, he remembered that she wore no panties. Suddenly his interest was fully engaged too.
'Blimey,' said Gloria, 'I think you may be right.'
'Told you,' said Fiona, easing forward in her chair so that her long white thighs pointed in an open vee towards Kelvin. Her mini was now a band of purple around her waist and a goatee of dark pubic hair was fully revealed in her spread crotch. Fiona, Kelvin could see, was not a natural blonde.
The silken whip fell again and again on the abraded skin of the beauteous slave. Her Master's eyes were cruel slits, glinting in the leather mask, obsidian and immutable. The tempests of orgasm echoed far off in Sanctimonia's loins as she beseeched him for more.
Fiona's free hand stroked the silky hairs of her pussy beard. Her fingers played with the loose dark lips of her opening, pulling and pinching. Kelvin was transfixed as she inserted a finger, her wetness gleaming on the knuckle as she pushed in and out. Then she had three digits inside and was rubbing the swollen peg of her clit between thumb and forefinger. This was plainly a girl who knew how to give herself a good time. By now Kelvin's penis was suitably distended.
Gossamer timed her entrance to perfection. As Fiona prepared to yield to the Labiella-inspired tempests of orgasm and Gloria wiped the last smudge of soap from the quivering tower of Kelvin's tool, the Prosecutor flung wide the door.
'Goodness gracious,' she cried. 'What on earth is going on?'
Kelvin's two tormentors jumped to their feet.
'We're preparing the prisoner,' said Gloria. 'He gave us a bit of trouble at first but now he's as sweet as pie. You can see for yourself.'
Gossamer was apoplectic. 'This man isn't a prisoner, you stupid clod. He's my special guest, a reporter for a magazine with a significant impact on the national consciousness!'
Fiona spoke up. 'He's a pervert like all the rest, Prosecutor. We found this disgusting filth in his bag.' And she held up the copy of Beat Me to a Silken Pulp.
Gossamer studied the volume for a moment. 'Not for sale to men,' she muttered to herself. 'Oh dear.'
She looked into Kelvin's eyes and his stomach flipped. God, she was magnificent! Surely she didn't believe in this preposterous rubbish?
'Get out of here, you two idiots,' she said. 'I shall deal with him myself.'
'Yes, Prosecutor,' they muttered and backed out of the door.
'My poor, poor darling,' cried Gossamer, rushing to the helpless Kelvin and stripping the tape from his lips. He spat the cotton gag from his mouth.
'Gossamer, thank God!' he cried in a cracked voice. 'It was ghastly!'
She found him some water and dried his mouth with the sleeve of her blouse when it dribbled down his chin.
Before he could say anything she kissed him. Gently at first, then in a hungry, deep-throated tongue-rape that thrilled him to the toes of his rubber-suited feet.
'My God, Gossamer,' he spluttered when she let him up for air.
'I'm sorry, darling, I get rather carried away when I'm with a man I find so utterly scrummy.' And she squeezed the shaft of his recently denuded penis with an enthusiasm that was almost overwhelming.
'Gossamer, you really are the most fabulous creature. I would die for you, I swear—'
'Oh good,' she said, two hands now on his twitching genitals.
'—but aren't you going to set me free?'
'I can't just yet. Sergeant Just would be suspicious.'
'Suspicious of what? For God's sak
e, Gossamer, I've been wrongfully imprisoned and abused!'
'Did they abuse you like this?' she asked, delicately running a finger up the underside of his shaft. 'Or like this?' She bent her head and ran her tongue lightly across the swollen helmet of his glans. The sensation was exquisite. He jerked his loins upwards, wanting to bury his burning tool in the warmth of her mouth, but his bonds restrained him.
'Don't tease me, Gossamer,' he cried. 'Set me free so I can hold you.'
But Gossamer took no notice. She stepped back from the bed frame and began to unbutton her blouse.
Kelvin's protests died in his throat as he watched her strip down to a basque of shiny black latex that offered up her big pink breasts to his hungry gaze and left bare the white dome of her belly, down to a hairless slit.
'Oh Gossamer,' he breathed.
'How do you like me?' she said, loosening her hair so it fell in a blonde cloud across her satiny shoulders and taking a step towards him.
Kelvin did not reply. The sight of those longed-for breasts soaring above him, their jutting overhang accentuated by the upthrust of the basque, was overwhelming. He longed to cup their soft weight in his hands, to bury his face in that perfumed expanse of luscious tit-flesh, to feed one by one those succulent brown nipples into his mouth... But he couldn't, he was pinned down, utterly at her mercy. He almost fountained his spunk at the thought.
She was rearranging his legs, lowering his feet so he lay flat on the bed. As he gorged his eyes on her naked hanging breasts, the rounded curves elongating as she bent over, he was aware she was refastening the bonds round his ankles. He did not fight her, the visual rape of his senses had undermined all thought of resistance.
When she was satisfied with the arrangement, she produced a bottle of baby oil and poured a handful onto his chest. She began to slick it into the rubber surface of his skin, over his torso and up and down his legs and arms, the great breasts swaying above him as she did so. She paused at his cock and balls, examining them closely. Then she lowered her head to his loins and suddenly a jolt of pain shot through his shaft.
'Ow,' yelped Kelvin.
'Sorry, darling,' said Gossamer. 'Gloria missed a hair,' and she extracted it from between her teeth. 'I can't abide any hair down there at all. Look.' And she placed a foot on the frame of the bed by Kelvin's head, displaying her pussy split in all its shaven glory.
Kelvin gazed at the shocking expanse of bare skin - the prominent pink pearl of her clitoris, the wet crinkle of her labia and the moist dark opening between - and gasped. This was the most naked vagina he had ever seen. He had never wanted anything so badly in his life.
'Please, Gossamer,' he croaked, 'please...' It was all he could manage.
Gossamer smiled. She knew what he wanted and now she was prepared to give it to him - on her own terms.
First she oiled his cock, then she climbed on top of him, her broad thighs on either side of his slim hips. She knelt up and placed the head of his throbbing tool at the mouth of her pussy, a bare inch from her wet lips.
'Now,' she said, 'let me show you how we press charges in the cells of The Primrose Court.'
It was the most sensational sex sensation Kelvin had ever had. The kiss of shaved and oiled cunt on cock was more intimate than anything he had ever felt before.
She lowered herself slowly, taking his length millimetre by millimetre into the furnace of her sex, until he was sheathed to the hilt. She sat completely still for a moment, her full weight on his loins.
Her huge breasts trembled above him, her honeyed thighs gleamed in the harsh light and her wide mouth smiled down at him. He longed to thrust his cock in and out of her creamy white belly, to devour her with his mouth, to ransack her voluptuous flesh with his hands - to fuck her properly, for God's sake. But he couldn't, he just had to lie back and take it.
He watched as she slid a finger into the groove of her pussy and her other hand began to pull and tweak her nipples. The colour rose in her cheeks as she pleasured herself, her breath shortening and her breasts heaving. She came twice before she even moved her hips in any kind of motion that might bring him release. When she came, he felt a fluttering inside her, a delicate beating of butterfly wings against his weeping penis - but it was not enough to bring him off.
'Mmm,' sighed Gossamer as she fell forward on top of him and settled her flesh on the oil-slick slipperiness of his rubber embrace. 'This is heaven, darling. I could go on like this all night, couldn't you?'
Kelvin wasn't sure, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.
Chapter 19
Tom took the stairs to the flat above the warehouse three at a time. He had some good news for Shani and the girls. He couldn't wait to tell them how he planned to land a record deal.
The key to it was Maeve Slack. She was a generous woman, generous with her body, her wine and her time. For the past two weeks they had spent most afternoons in bed together. Between bouts of energetic lovemaking she had listened to his schemes to get the Shagbags off the ground - and to his frustrations as each plan came adrift. He told her how difficult it was to get through to the people that counted. He had a tape of Shani and the girls but he couldn't get anyone important to listen to it.
'I know Chas Cross,' Maeve told him during one languorous siesta. Though she was on the point of burying his impatient cock between her wet red lips, Tom stopped her. Chas Cross was the boss of Euphoria, an independent label which had minted money in the days before punk with a table of dreamy singer-songwriters. Euphoria was now off the pace, Tom knew that much. He also knew that Chas Cross was a laid-back maverick who might see the potential in Shani - if only Tom could get his attention.
'You're kidding,' he said.
Maeve grinned at him, her mouth poised over his cock, her lingers moving on the white stem.
'Lionel taught him at Fleetmore. He stood up for him over some drugs fuss and stopped him being sent down. His mother was very grateful. I've kept in touch.'
'Maeve, you're a bloody marvel,' he'd said, plunging his straining tool into her face. 'Just get me his home phone number.'
That had been ten days ago. Since then he'd phoned Cross nightly. Most of the time the phone was engaged. The time he spoke to Cross it was after midnight. Tom played, the Lionel Slack card at once and introduced himself as the student manager of a band. Cross was polite, Tom kept it short but rang again the next night and the night after that. On the fourth night Cross picked up the phone and said, 'Hi Tom,' but he turned down Tom's requests to listen to the tape of the Shagbags himself. 'Send it 'to the office,' he said, 'Phil will give it a spin.' Tom told him he'd already sent two copies and got no response. 'Too bad,' said Cross. It sounded like he meant it.
Tom changed tack after that. He rang every night, between one and five in the morning, but he dropped the direct sell. He asked Cross's advice, discussed the record business in general and bitched about Euphoria's competitors. Cross was unfailingly good-humoured - and always wide awake. In his shoes, Tom would have been neither.
On the seventh night Cross asked Tom why he had stopped pitching his group. Tom told him he was waiting till Euphoria came begging.
And now, if things went according to plan, they would do just that.
The door to the flat wasn't locked which didn't surprise Tom. It never was. The big loft looked unoccupied. There were clothes and unwashed plates and stage gear everywhere; it smelt of stale food and perfume and dope. He picked his way through mattresses, past the makeshift hanging wardrobe bulging with unpressed clothes, heading for the far corner of the open space. Here there was a more conventional layout, a corridor with small rooms leading off it - a kitchen, a bathroom and bedrooms.
This, he knew, was Shani's area. It was her he really wanted to talk to.
Through the half-open door he saw her long coffee-coloured legs, stretched out on the white sheet of a bed. He stopped to one side of the door, suddenly transformed into intruder - and voyeur.
He knew at once she was n
ot alone. There were sounds in the air. Soft feminine sighs, a low-pitched giggle, a sudden intake of breath. Shani was making love - and her partner was not a man.
Tom wasn't altogether surprised. Unlike the others she did not have male hangers-on. And there was something aggressive about her that went beyond attitude. She was possessive about the girls in her band, that was clear, her black impenetrable eyes following them as they flirted with their admirers. Like the leader of a pack, she was formidable.
He stepped closer, peering through the doorjamb, hidden from the couple on the bed.
He should have expected the other girl to be Christina but he hadn't and it was a shock. She looked small and vulnerable in Shani's arms, her thin white limbs glowing pale in the bigger woman's dark embrace. And though she looked defenceless, she was certainly not reluctant.
Their heads lay side by side on the pillow, their lips glued together in an endless kiss. Clothes lay crumpled on the floor but neither girl was naked. Shani wore panties and a thin black bra; the curve of her left breast bulging against its constraint as she lay on her side. Her fingers were picking at the ribbons of a peach camisole, laying bare the alabaster swell of Tina's delicate bosom. As the small pink nub of a nipple came into view Shani covered it with her mouth and Tina held her close, eyes tight shut, shivering with passion.
Tom was shivering too. He leaned against the doorway, hoping the hammering of his heart could not be heard. He felt, stupidly, betrayed - not only because he wanted these women for himself but because he could imagine with what horror Maeve might view the proceedings. And had he not promised her he would look after her estranged daughter? Yet here he was watching her being devoured by a predatory lesbian - and enjoying every second.
Shani's hand was in Tina's panties, Tom could see her fingers moving beneath the thin peach silk, a match to the camisole which was now off her slim shoulders. Shani lifted her head from Tina's breast, leaving the nipple swollen and red and wet. She put her face to the younger girl's and pushed a long pink tongue into her mouth. Tina sucked on it, moving her hips now to the rhythm of the singer's hand between her legs. She put her own hand on the outside of the material and pressed Shani's fingers harder into her. They broke the kiss, Tina was breathing hard. Shani pulled her hand away and stripped the panties down the girl's thighs.