Lust Under Licence

by Noel Amos

  Kelvin had no doubt it did. After he'd finished between her legs she would smoke two cigarettes on the trot. On one memorable occasion she'd smoked three, it had taken her that long to recover from his attentions. Now when she ordered him beneath the desk, she'd say, 'I want a three-fag come this afternoon, slave. You'll not get off your knees otherwise.'

  It gave Kelvin a perverse pleasure to be called 'slave', to wear a collar and chain around his neck, to drink water from a bowl in the kitchen downstairs like a dog. It answered a need in him that Petra had never fed. To give up, for a few hours each day, the responsibility of being uncertain, insecure Kelvin Priest and to be the property of strong women like Gossamer Hawk and Naomi Picket was bliss. What's more, it was going to make his name.

  The phone rang on the desk, the bell reverberating through the wood. As Naomi's hand descended on his head Kelvin anticipated her needs and relaxed his pressure on her throbbing genitals. The journey to orgasm could wait.

  'Lord Swankie, how delightful to hear from you,' said La Picket in her smarmiest tones. She was like a chameleon, Kelvin had observed, able to trim her accent and demeanour to suit her audience. If she hadn't been a politician she could have taken the West End stage by storm.

  Lord James Swankie was the chairman of a family-owned bank whose female employees never rose above the rank of counter clerk and were obliged to wear low-cut cerise blouses and matching mini-skirts over fishnet tights. Lord Jim himself had a well-publicised liking for field sports and blondes of an age half their bust size. As far as Kelvin knew, he had not so far come to the attention of Inspector Claire Quartermain of the TCU. Beneath the desk he nuzzled the peachy skin of Naomi's inner thigh and pricked up his ears.

  'Now now, my lord,' Naomi was saying, 'you know very well it would not be wise for you and I to be seen in public.'

  From her point of view Kelvin knew this to be true, her party colleagues would be aghast to find her socialising with a traditional chauvinist like Swankie. He, on the other hand, was happy to be seen with a pretty woman anywhere. What lay between her ears was of no account to him in comparison with what lay between her legs.

  And what lay between Naomi Picket's legs was a delicacy to be savoured. Kelvin began to lap the long curling pussy lips, sucking first one, then the other, into his mouth. At first the hand on his head threatened to push him away and then it slipped to his neck and hugged him to her crotch. He began to French-kiss her cunt like a departing lover.

  'Look, make it six-thirty here this evening,' said Naomi, wriggling in her seat, keen now to concentrate on her pleasure. She put the phone down with a bang. 'I wonder what that old lecher would have said if I'd told him I was being sucked off under the desk. What do you think, slave?'

  Kelvin knew better than to answer. Instead he pushed two fingers into the long slippery tunnel of her cunt and circled her clit with the point of his tongue. Her breath was expelled from her lungs with a hiss like a steam kettle as she began to boil over. It wasn't always men, Kelvin reflected as he manipulated her soft perfumed pussy, who were predictable in matters of sex.

  It was risky - God knows what The Primrose Court harpies would do to him if he were caught - but Kelvin knew he had to take a chance. He hid in the downstairs sitting room to witness the meeting between Naomi and Lord James Swankie.

  He guessed she would receive him there. It was a small room at the back of the house with a sofa and comfortable chairs where Naomi liked to relax with a drink after office hours. On occasions she had relaxed there with Kelvin's cock in her quim but he suspected she preferred the head-under-the-desk routine. He didn't mind much either way, in the service of Gossamer Hawk he was content simply to satisfy.

  He hid beneath a small circular table whose mahogany top had been scarred by the careless use of hot cups and discarded cigarette ends. As a consequence it was now covered by a thick woven cloth with a fringe that fell right down to the floor. Provided he didn't sneeze, Kelvin thought he was pretty safe hiding beneath it. Naomi had dismissed him, as usual, after he had performed his afternoon service and she had no idea he was still in the house.

  Just as he was checking his cassette recorder he heard voices at the door. He hoped his luck was in - it was too late to back out now.

  Lord James Swankie, it was evident, had turned up in a merry mood. He accepted a drink with alacrity and requested another before Naomi joined him on the sofa - Kelvin assumed they were sitting on the sofa from the direction of their voices.

  'I must say,' boomed Swankie, 'that I thought this malarkey of yours was a bit steep when you lot put the arm on me last year. But now I've seen what's happened to some of my pals I think it was worth it.'

  'I'm so glad you take a positive point of view, my lord.'

  'Oh, I'm always positive. What's life if you can't have a bit of fun? All the money in the world's no good if you can't persuade a pretty totty to put your dick in her mouth.'

  'Quite.'

  'I don't shock you, young woman?'

  'This is a private conversation, my lord.'

  'I don't care about that, though I dare say you do. I've considered spilling the beans about our arrangement, you know.'

  'Really? There wouldn't be much point. As I'm sure you're aware, we're empowered to levy severe fines for corporate misbehaviour. You would simply end up paying much more. And the personal inconvenience that you and the members of your board might suffer during the investigation—'

  'Oh quite,' Swankie cut her off. 'I only said I'd considered it.'

  Kelvin was agog. He knew he'd been onto something and here was confirmation. Swankie had bought off the court and the TCU!

  'Besides, in time I expect it to be an accepted part of our policy to issue licences to businesses which will ensure their on-going integrity.'

  Swankie laughed. 'Licences to fuck around you mean - a licence to lust! That's rich. Give us another drink, there's a good girl. I adore the way you stick your arse out when you bend down to get the bottle.'

  Kelvin held his breath. To address Naomi Picket in this fashion was to risk disfigurement. Emasculation at the very least.

  Naomi chuckled. 'You don't disappoint, do you, my lord? You're nothing but a penis in a suit.'

  'I can soon remove the suit, my dear.'

  'Give me the cheque.'

  'Give me the licence.'

  There was a rustling sound, as of paper exchanging hands.

  'Isn't it usual to shake hands on a deal, my lord?'

  'I intend to shake more than that, my dear. Why don't you slip out of your skirt so we can celebrate our arrangement we did last year.'

  'Jim, you know that was a mistake. I swore to myself it would never happen again.'

  'And I swore that it was worth the entire sum of money I paid you at the time. Drop your drawers, girl. A hundred grand buys me something, surely.'

  There came more rustling noises, this time of clothing being removed.

  'Satisfied?' asked Naomi.

  'Not yet. Turn round. My, my - I declare you've got a little larger than last year. I like it, mind you. There's nothing beats a big bum in suspenders.'

  'You're an old traditionalist, Jim. And though that's not a point of view I hold, I can appreciate any set of deeply held beliefs.'

  'Appreciate this then, you big-arsed trollop!'

  There was a smack, followed by a squeal and then silence. Silence as in an absence of speech but not of movement. There was slithering and scuffing, a hiss of breath and a rhythmic deep-throated moan. Kelvin was transfixed. He had the information he needed and he knew he must keep cool. The last thing he should do was to lift the cloth which concealed him and peek.

  Kelvin peeked.

  Lord Swankie was a virile man of late middle years. At present his virility rose from the fly of his handmade charcoal suit and disappeared between Naomi Picket's pink lips. She was gumming the fat knob of his pulsating cock with admirable skill at the same time as she fondled the bulging sac of his testicles.

&
nbsp; 'Enough!' he barked suddenly and threw her face down over his knees. At first she laughed as he smacked the wobbling rounds of her fair white bottom then, as the flesh turned a flaming scarlet, she burst into tears.

  Kelvin was rigid with shock. This was the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. How he wished there was some way he could have filmed the events that unfolded before him in that stuffy little room as his cock wept into his pants and the mismatched twosome in front of him ran the gamut of carnal pleasures.

  Without visual evidence, he reflected as the lush nude figure of the Opposition spokesperson for Gender Discrimination prostrated herself on all fours to allow the notorious reprobate Lord James Swankie to penetrate the pretty pink dimple of her anus, nobody would believe him.

  Chapter 35

  A little of a person, Cassie Crow well knew, could go a long way. Particularly when that person was unutterably gorgeous, indisputably talented and unconscionably rich. And was sitting in your office, behind your desk, having hijacked your entire magazine. It had been two days since Chastity Honeydew and her entourage had entered the offices of Fragrant - 'The indispensable lifestyle bible for the independent woman that is YOU' - and Cassie had never spent a longer forty-eight hours.

  Chastity had materialised in the building almost unnoticed, such was the pandemonium caused by the prior arrival of four muscle-bound young men in shorts, sweatshirts and mirrored sun-glasses. Jogging in formation, they swept at speed past the arm-flapping receptionist on the front desk. Her screech of protest alerted the magazine staff but there was little they could do to eject these bronzed hulks as they took up strategic positions along the corridor and barked into walkie-talkies.

  'It's wet-dream time,' muttered Rita the production editor, 'we've been invaded by the Chippendales.'

  At that moment a much smaller figure in a baggy zip-up jacket and a baseball cap trotted along the corridor right into Cassie's office.

  Cassie was dialling the emergency services as the intruder pulled off the cap and a mane of golden hair spilled down her back.

  'Hiya, Cass,' said the blonde one, shucking the baggy jacket off her shoulders and stepping out of loose training pants. Chastity Honeydew emerged like a sunburst: her toothy smile gleaming from ear to ear, the upthrust of her bosom straining her lemon singlet, her to-die-for legs showcased in tiny white shorts. She looked about nineteen years old, the picture of California-girl perfection. At that moment, deep down, the entire staff of Fragrant wanted to wring her slender, unlined, flawless neck.

  They hadn't, of course. They had fawned over her as if she were visiting royalty, which she was in a manner of speaking. She and 'her people', as she referred to them, at once commandeered Cassie's office, leaving Cassie herself to the small spare desk she had intended for her visiting American contributor. Chastity's boys filled the fridge with organically purified water, installed their own fax and word-processor and rigged up a satellite TV outside Cassie's office which was permanently tuned to CNN.

  Cassie had thought that she and Chastity would be working side by side, preparing the orgasm-regime profiles and other features for the special Honeydew issue. But Chastity wasn't playing. 'Give all the stuff to Randy,' she said to Cassie when she produced the copy she had prepared, 'I'll go through it later.' Then the five Americans had barricaded themselves in Cassie's room.

  By the end of day two Cassie was tearing her hair. She was homeless in her own office. What's more, she watched with increasing anxiety as her staff were summoned, one by one, into Chastity's presence. They emerged with dopey smiles on their faces as if they'd been brainwashed.

  'What's going on?' she demanded of Rita. 'What the fuck are they doing in there?'

  'Fuck is what they're doing,' said Rita, dragging on her cigarette. 'What did you expect?'

  Cassie's face was a mask of rage. 'I expect loyalty and support. I expect to be told what's happening. I don't expect my magazine to go down the toilet in five minutes just because some blonde witch from LA turns up with an army of toyboys.'

  Rita raised an eyebrow. Cassie's fury was not a new phenomenon to her. 'You invited her, darling. You blew a load of money on a book about bonking and now she's here doing it you start complaining. You've only yourself to blame.'

  Cassie could see the logic in this but she wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. 'Do you mean they are actually fucking? Fucking my staff in my office?'

  Rita laughed. 'She doesn't call it that, of course. She's reviewing everyone's standing vis-à-vis their orgasm targets. You know the whole shtick - you started it off. And, surprise surprise, Chastity is recommending everyone to have more orgasms. That's where the Chippendales come in.'

  'Oh my God.'

  'Don't knock it. Amanda in Sales has just had a stiffie between her legs for the first time since the Silver Jubilee. As far as she's concerned this is the next best thing to the Second Coming. Of course, as far as she's concerned, it is the Second Coming.'

  'Knock it off, Rita.' Cassie scowled at her. 'As far as I'm concerned it isn't funny.'

  'Chastity doesn't think it's funny either. She's dead serious. She's a single-issue fanatic on the subject of female orgasm. She told me my cough would clear up if had more of them. I said I was looking forward to the day when they sold them in packets of twenty. She didn't laugh.'

  And neither did Cassie. She was considering smacking the smirk off her editor's red lips when one of the Honeydew men entered the room. He was carrying a clipboard and he consulted his notes before addressing Rita.

  'Are you ready for your treatment, Ms Lawrence?'

  'You bet, Randy.'

  'If you'd care to step this way, you're next in line for the treatment centre.'

  Cassie stifled a snort of displeasure. Rita grinned and stubbed out her cigarette.

  'That's great, Randy, but I've got a better idea. My flat's just round the corner and I've got all the equipment you need right there.'

  'Well, I don't know if Chastity would be happy—'

  'Of course she would. I've already talked to her about it. She wants me to give you a home-cooked dinner and show you a good time in a foreign city.'

  'Provided you show her a good time first,' muttered Cassie, heading for the door. This was getting to be more than she could stand. If even Rita was defecting to the enemy she was really on her own.

  Behind her she heard the boy say, 'OK but please call me Rhett.'

  'Why?'

  'Because that's my name.'

  'If you insist,' said Rita, 'but I'll never remember it.'

  It was ten o'clock at night and the building was almost deserted. As far as Cassie could tell, all of the magazine staff had gone home but the invaders from LA remained in her office. She was getting fed up with waiting them out. She wanted them to clear off so she could snoop around and see what evidence remained of their activities. However, this was getting ridiculous. She decided to barge in, on the pretext of saying goodnight. It was her office after all.

  She strode down the corridor and into the workspace outside her room. Her assistant had long gone but the television was still there, a man in a brown suit was addressing the empty room on pork-belly prices. Fortunately the volume had been turned right down.

  Cassie paused with her hand on the door to her office. Then, changing her mind, she leant over her assistant's desk and peeped behind a propped-up notice board through the glass panelling into the room beyond. When she saw what was going on, she was glad she had taken this precaution.

  There were three people behind the glass: Chastity and two of her boys. Between them they wore hardly a stitch. Chastity was bending over Cassie's desk, the top of her bowed blonde head pointing directly at Cassie. Behind her, spearing his cock into her outthrust rump was boy number one. His face was set in a rictus of concentration as he gazed down at the taut and creamy buttocks buffeting his flat belly. Reclining on the sofa, paging through the Herald Tribune, was boy number two. He wore a small white towel around his waist. Every so often
he yawned. Chastity lifted her head. Her voice could be clearly heard above the drone of the television.'

  'Hey, Carter,' she said, 'get cranking, I'm gonna need you in a moment.'

  The man on the sofa sighed and flipped the towel from his loins, revealing to Cassie's prurient gaze a slumbering serpent coiled on his thigh. He took the lazy member in one hand and began to pull on it without enthusiasm, his eyes never leaving the sports section.'

  Cassie sighed too and her heart thumped in her chest. Amidst this acrimony and politicking, she had neglected her own fitness-training and now she was reminded of all those orgasms she had yet to achieve. She was dreading the moment when she had to reveal the failings of her own regime to Chastity.

  'Ooh, yeah!' yelled the blonde suddenly, shimmying her buttocks back into the loins of the boy behind her with a burst of energy. 'Gimme, gimme, Troy. Go for it now!'

  The boy's face was a picture of concentration as he gazed down at Chastity's spread buttocks and his penis plunging to and fro in her gaping pussy mouth. His big hands gripped her hips tight, sweat dripping from his brow onto her bobbing arse as he gave her his all.

  'Yeah, yeah!' implored Chastity, raising her upper body from the desk top, her impossibly round breasts swinging free, her blonde hair cascading over her bronzed shoulders. 'Gimme all you got, baby. Sock me with your sugar-stick!'

  The boy on the sofa had now diddled his tool to an impressive length though Cassie noted that it was still only semi-erect. For the first time he looked at the copulating couple on the desk. With an expression of complete indifference, he began to fold away his paper.

  'Go for it, baby, go for it!' yelled Chastity. 'Do it! Take me there! Gimme the big one now!'

  The boy at her rear was beet red in the face. As he twitched into orgasm his great body became rigid, every tendon straining. He looked like an Olympic weightlifter attempting a world record. Then he spasmed his last and slumped forward across the golden form beneath him. He had gone for the big one.