by Noel Amos
'My God, Eve, do you ever massage men?'
'Only the ones I really like.'
'I bet they like it too.'
Eve giggled and smacked Petra on the rump. 'Turn over, Miss Rosewater, and let me do the other side.'
Petra had never before contemplated the fleshy opulence of one of her own gender. Until recently she had not taken any interest in women in a sexual sense. But from Claire Quartermain to the woman on the train, the next step was obviously meant to be someone like Eve Biscuit.
As the curvaceous nurse stood over her, massaging her limbs, Petra felt she understood for the first time the lure of a woman's body. Watching all that glorious nude flesh on the move, the thrust and swing of the girl's big bosom, the curve of the hip and the dome of the belly as it sloped down to the mystery of her pubic delta, Petra reacted as she imagined a man might. First she wanted to explore all that tumbling creaminess - to roam those big bouncing hills, to explore the winding curves, to lose herself in the secret nooks and crannies of Eve's generous flesh. And then, if only she had the Wand to hand, she'd fuck her stupid.
'Oh, Eve,' she breathed as the nurse worked on her upper thigh, the little finger of her left hand a millimetre away from the pouting lips of her yearning pussy. 'That's so good!'
Nurse Biscuit smiled. 'Would you like a body hug, Miss Rosewater? It's my speciality.'
Petra nodded. She'd have agreed to anything.
The nurse mounted the bed and straddled Petra's thighs. For a moment she loomed over the supine woman, the cloud of her fair hair and the rounded mass of her sumptuous body blocking out the light from the window. Then she slowly lowered herself on top of Petra. She covered her like a silky blanket of warm flesh: the big breasts crushing against the smaller woman's chest, the firm columns of her thighs capturing Petra's slim ones, her entire body cleaving to Petra in an incredible all-over embrace.
'My God,' whispered Petra, her arms automatically folding around the other woman's back, accepting the soft weight. 'Oh Eve,' she muttered into the nurse's neck as she felt, for the first time, the pressure of another woman's belly on hers.
Eve was wriggling now, searching for the right connection between their forms, taking the weight off Petra's chest but increasing it on her pubic bone until - 'Oh!' cried Petra in surprise - their vaginal slits were joined in an open-mouthed kiss.
Petra swooned. It was too much - the heat, the gin, the incredible body rub. And now this, the feel of another woman between her thighs, pressing her cunt into hers, their clits rubbing together, rushing them both towards an orgasm of unique intensity. What a day for Honeydew, she thought as her loins rippled to the first thrill.
She found she was kissing Eve Biscuit like a lustful male, her tongue halfway down her throat, her hands palming and stroking the silky globes of the other's swollen teats where they stuck out between their heaving bodies. 'Oh Eve, oh Eve,' she muttered over and over like a mantra, as her lips flicked over the sweet curve of the other's neck and her hands found the girl's nipple - big and fat and rubbery in her fingers.
Eve had set up a masterful rhythm now: rolling her pelvis down and across Petra's, driving their hungry pussies together, marching them to the summit of their first come. A high-pitched squeal rose from both throats as they reached their destination together.
Outside, on the lawn, a discordant yet thrilling sound roused Tom Glass from sun-baked slumber. These days, the once nervy hard-edged business tycoon tended to drift off into a sensuous reverie in any spare moment - and, between shagging his delicious medical attendant, there were plenty of those.
He came to his senses fast, the noise from the room next to his reaching a crescendo. He knew at once what it was, though he could hardly believe his ears. The sound of Eve's excitement was a familiar one but this was even more intense than usual. What was she up to?
Tom stepped slyly into Eve's room, expecting to find her pleasuring herself and fully intending to give her a helping hand. What he did not expect to see was another woman in her arms on the small bed, the two of them quite nude, their loins dancing in tandem as the insistent cries of female orgasm echoed around the small space. Tom had quite forgotten about his visitor but now, as he took in the implication of the dark hair tangled in Eve's blonde mane, the slim arm clasped tightly around her neck and the small feet with their wriggling, scarlet-painted toes scrabbling against the bedsheet, Tom remembered Petra.
He had been erect already, of course. But if it had been anatomically possible, this realisation would have put another six inches on his straining, throbbing tool. Petra, his petite and curvy deputy, with her air of ever-vigilant efficiency, who gave the impression she kept a clipboard between her legs - he couldn't believe it. And yet here she was in a position that clearly revealed she kept something much more interesting in that location.
The two women had not noticed him, their pleasure was too exclusive. He approached the bed as if sleep-walking, his eyes fixed on the apex of their splayed legs where the rivers of their gratification mingled. Above were the pale swollen moons of Eve's shaking arse cheeks, the deep shadow bisecting the smooth spheres pointing down to the brown-tufted maw he knew so well. And beneath that, winking and gaping, thrusting upwards like a thirsty mouth at a water fountain, was the pretty pussy slit of Petra Rosewater, framed by the succulent flesh of her trim but well-rounded thighs and buttocks.
The line that ran from the base of the blonde girl's spine down to the bedsheet, encompassing two arseholes, two cunts and a myriad of dizzying possibilities, hypnotised Tom. He fell to his knees and leant forward as close as he could. The scent of female excitement was overwhelming and the proximity of their abandon intoxicating. He could see their labia rubbing together, the slippery folds of skin clinging and sucking as they kissed. And, deeper, in the heart of their connection, he could glimpse the two clitorises - Eve's small and pink, Petra's longer, redder - glued together, keeping the women on a never-ending roundabout of sensual pleasure.
Tom knew it was rude - an inexcusable breach of sexual etiquette - but without previously announcing his presence he thrust his face into the double-cunted fissure of flesh in front of him and began to slake his thirst.
Later, when the afternoon had come and gone and the two women were lying in Tom's arms, Petra said, 'That's the most enjoyable business meeting I've ever attended.'
Eve rolled over onto her back and stretched. The three of them were sprawled across two mattresses on the floor - hospital beds not being wide enough for the afternoon's activities. 'Is that what happens at business meetings,' she said. 'I've often wondered.'
Tom said nothing, he was still in a reverie of sexual intoxication. The impact of these two different but equally delicious women had rendered him incapable of idle speech. He still savoured in particular the look of horror and of expectation on Petra's face when she had finally registered his presence - and that had not been for some while after he had begun lapping her delicious cunt. Since then he had been forced to revise his opinion of his colleague. She was a perfectionist at everything she did and she did much more than he had suspected.
'I came up here for a reason,' she was saying.
Tom nodded and idly stroked her silky smooth hip.
'I don't think the police are interested in finding out about your accident,' she continued. 'Quartermain just wants to nail you for sex crimes. It's up to us to find out who pushed you off the balcony.'
'We've talked about this before, Petra.'
'I know.' She was sitting up now, her face earnest, her pouting breasts shaking as she made her point. 'But now you remember so much more of your life, can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?'
'No.' Really those little tits were quite delicious.
'But you must have made enemies. People in your past who might bear a grudge.'
'No.' He'd never have imagined he was still capable but his cock was suddenly at full stretch. Again.
'Don't be stupid, Tom,' said Eve. 'Present company e
xcepted, what about every woman you've ever slept with?' Tom gave it some thought.
Rosie, Elvira, Shani, the Shagbags, Maeve - Christ, yes, she'd skin him alive! Every one of them had a motive - and that's all he could remember so far. Good God.
Suddenly his erection had disappeared.
Four - Banged Up
Chapter 33
Throughout the summer, as the business community relaxed and dreamt of weekends in the country and buckets of brandy sours on foreign beaches, The Primrose Court continued its work. There could be no relaxation for those who toiled in its name: they were women with a mission. Officially, this was to purge the male establishment of its outmoded attitudes. Unofficially, as Gossamer Hawk often remarked, it was to take the prick out of his pinstripes and replace him with, well, a woman like her.
Overnight, it seemed, many prominent company men took hasty vacations or long weekends or fell prey to their first illness in years. And when they returned to their offices they were paler and softer than before - in manner, rather than appearance. 'The old bastard's lost his balls,' was said often in ladies' loos throughout the City when some long-feared despot was heard to say 'please' twice in the same sentence.
These were the kind of men who had never been known to bother with common civility unless it were to their advantage; captains of the company ship, they cracked the whip from dawn to dusk. But now the office galley-slaves were showered with enquiries about their health and told that those urgent figures for the chairman could wait till tomorrow, or next week, or whenever convenient. In the past, the meaning of this kind of conduct had always been clear - the boss wanted to get his leg over. And once that had been achieved it was back to the oars for the slave in question, though doubtless she then rowed with a silver chain around her neck.
The consequence, in many cases, was that businesses went soft, like their executives. Without the mad-eyed fanatic on bridge, driving the crew on at speeds they didn't know possible, the ship tended to drift without direction. And the consequence of this failure was inevitable - a change of leadership. Many new captains were appointed that summer. They were youthful, vigorous, efficient and they soon got their ships back on course. From the galley-slaves' point of view nothing much had changed. Apart from one thing - the new captains were all female.
'It's not right,' said a well-upholstered blonde to her friend as she applied lipstick at the end of the working day. 'Charlie Kite could be a beast but you knew where you were with him.' Her friend nodded. They both knew where the blonde had been with Kite - on his office chesterfield every Friday night. Now his office was the domain of the new boss, a Ms Snippy with an MBA and a wardrobe of white blouses that tied at the neck in a bow. The old leather chesterfield had been replaced by a glass table and a bank of computers. It was funny how she missed the smelly old thing, the blonde mused as she finished her make-up - both the sofa and her former lord and master.
And in the basement of The Primrose Court the hard work of executive retraining ground on.
'Mr Kite, I would like you to cast your mind back to the evening of Saturday April thirtieth.'
'Why?'
'Do you remember what you were doing?'
'No. It had been a bloody awful week, I can tell you that. We'd had the auditors in and we were fighting off a hostile bid from DungCo. I should imagine I got pissed.'
'You were watching the Eurovision Song Contest.'
'If you say so. That's not a crime these days, is it?'
'Perhaps you recall the Latvian entry?'
'Oh, vividly. It was called "Boom-bang-a-bang-ski".'
'There's no need to be sarcastic, Mr Kite. In fact it was called "My Love is as Wild as a Sheep" and sung by two young men with leather trousers and long hair.'
'Fascinating. Is the tax-payer really footing the bill for this ridiculous charade?'
'Do you remember saying, "Get those two heart-throbs. I bet they're up to their ears in Latvian pussy"?'
'So?'
'Are you not aware that a sexist comment of that nature is a category B crime of conscience?'
'If I said it.'
'Are you denying it? We have a witness.'
'Who?'
'Your wife.'
'What!'
'Her statement says that after dinner, which you ate while watching the television, you made crude and derogatory remarks at the contestants in the song contest. When the Irish entrant sang, "I'll Come Running Back" you said, "With those knockers, darling, you'll get a black eye", and at the German entry, "Ich Liebe Dich", you shouted out, "You can suck my Dich any time, Fraulein".'
'I just told you, I was drunk.'
'So you admit these offences.'
'No, I do not.'
'You maintain that your wife is lying then.'
'She was drunk, too.'
'Not so drunk I don't remember your piggish behaviour.'
'Veronica! What are you doing here? Is this a trick? Where are you?'
'She's in the observation booth, Mr Kite. She can see you but you can't see her.'
'This is outrageous! Hey, what are you doing with those wires?'
'I'm fastening electrodes to your testicles. As you show no remorse of any kind, it is time for your retraining to begin. Mrs Kite, would you like to press the red button on the console in front of you?'
'This one?'
'Veronica, don't you dare - aah!'
'That's the one. It seems to be working.'
'What's this little clock thing?'
'That's the discomfort dial, Mrs Kite. If you turn it to the left you increase the intensity of the correction.'
'Like this?'
'AAH!'
Excellent, Mrs Kite, you seem to have mastered the technology already. Now, I believe we asked you to prepare questions for your husband that you think are relevant to our line of enquiry.'
'There's rather a lot of them, I'm afraid.'
'Don't worry about that, Mrs Kite, we have all night.'
'Oh Christ.'
'Shut up, Charles, and listen to me for once. Tell me about your trip to Paris with that bitch Tricia Markham.'
'Honestly, Veronica, I don't recall—'
'You remember Tricia, Charles - the PA with eyes like a cow and udders to match. Was she a good shag?'
'Please, Veronica - aahh!'
'Better than me?'
'AAAHH!'
'Mrs Kite, would you object if I put my hand on your husband's penis? We find that, in conjunction with the pain, a little pleasurable stimulation is conducive to reprogramming an offender's thought processes.'
'Go ahead but I'd wear a glove if I were you, you don't know where it's been. Does she, Charles?'
'AAAAHHHH!'
These methods were effective for most subjects though there were some for whom the approach was counterproductive. At their weekly progress meeting Gossamer Hawk and Claire Quartermain often discounted action against executives with certain proclivities.
'There's no point in bringing him in,' said Claire, looking at the file Gossamer had just handed her. 'He pays through the nose for this kind of treatment in Shepherd's Market every week. Why give it to him for free?'
'Oh drat,' said Gossamer with unusual emphasis. 'You'd better shop him to the tabloids, then. We have to shift the old turd somehow.'
Claire made a note. She was aware that, beneath the Prosecutor's habitual delicacy of manner, impatience was seething. Suddenly there was an outburst.
'Our work is just not proceeding fast enough, Claire. British business is still stuffed full of antediluvian old farts who think a woman's place is on her back with her knickers round her ankles.'
'There's a lot fewer than there were, Prosecutor. We've got the City running scared.'
'Not scared enough. Not the big boys. We've replaced some ageing middle men but we haven't touched the real tycoons.'
Oh dear. Claire knew where this was going - Tom Glass. She tried to head Gossamer off.
'We're making progress in t
he Glass investigation. It won't be much longer. Dr Flint says—'
'I don't give a flying fig about Dr Flint,' yelled Gossamer, puce in the face. 'That man's made a monkey out of her, Inspector, and I want him arrested. Let's see how he responds to our kind of medicine. I want him in the cells by tonight.'
Claire grinned at her superior. This was more like it. She couldn't wait to tell Amy Tooth.
Chapter 34
Kelvin knew he was onto the biggest story of his life. A scoop that was too hot for Nouveau - and too expensive, for that matter. He'd flog it to the Rabbit or the Dog or the Sunday Skunk in return for a ton of cash - or possibly a job. He'd make that prick Ted Flinch curse the day he'd given him the boot. Which he had done, some three weeks previously, when Kelvin had abandoned the struggle to reconcile the demands of days at the office and nights with Gossamer Hawk. Now his full-time devotion was to the cruel Gossamer while he planned the coup that would relaunch his career.
So, for the moment, Kelvin was keeping his head down. Literally. Right now his head was down below the desk of Naomi Picket, Opposition spokesperson on Gender Discrimination and senior member of the Corrections Committee of The Primrose Court. Kelvin was gently tonguing her quim. For such an aggressive woman she had a dainty little mollusc between her legs, prettily petalled and tasting of the sea. His tongue burrowed into the heart of her open oyster as his arms circled the substantial cushions of her buttocks and his nose rubbed against the tiny pearl at the apex of her slit.
He heard the quick intake of her breath as he pleasured her, coaxing her to her four o'clock orgasm. 'A small indulgence in a life of self-sacrifice,' she'd said, without discernible irony, on the first occasion Gossamer had sent him round. 'It improves the taste of my afternoon ciggy.'