by Noel Amos
'Mm, yes!'
'We'll have a fabulous time.'
'For God's sake, woman, put it up me!'
'If you promise to let me see Tom.'
'OK.'
'Soon. Do you promise?'
'Yes, yes! Just put it in and shag me silly. Now!'
Petra was a good citizen. She was only too happy to obey an officer of the law.
Chapter 40
It was late afternoon by the time Tom and Meredith left Ralph Simons' penthouse and returned to their hotel. It had been a lengthy session. Tom supported Meredith around the waist as they approached the door of their suite in the Bluestone Towers.
'God, I can't wait to get under a shower,' she said. 'I feel like I've been swimming in spunk.'
'Who would have thought the old goat had so much juice in him?' whispered Tom into her ear. He felt high on sex and success.
'It's OK for you - it wasn't your ass he spunked over,' said Meredith.
This was true. For a finale to his orgy of voyeurism, Simons had made Meredith kneel between Tom's legs and take his cock in her mouth. Then he'd pulled a gnarled but virile penis from his pants and shot off all over her beautiful derriere. Tom hadn't been able to prevent himself spunking down her throat at the same time.
'Just think,' he said as he ushered her into the palatial sitting room that had been their home for the past week, 'you'll be able to tell your grandchildren you once got it at both ends from two millionaires.'
She stopped in the middle of pulling her clothes off. 'Sometimes you disgust me, Glass.'
'Sounds like you could do with a drink. How about some champagne to toast the deal of the decade?'
'No,' she said. 'I want a shower, coffee and bed - on my own. Ring room service if you want to be useful.'
Tom watched her sumptuous white buttocks wink at him as she strode to the bathroom. He ordered the coffee and followed her; there was a serious point to be made.
He perched on the side of the bath while she stood beneath the teeming water.
'What's it going to take to persuade you to stay here and keep that old lecher sweet while the deal goes through?'
She considered the matter as she soaped her voluptuous body. Tom watched the lather glisten on the gentle dome of her belly and gather in the luxurious vee of curls in her crotch.
'I'd settle for a piece of jewellery,' she said, holding out her left hand. 'Like a ring on my third finger.'
His eyes focused on the big wet globes of her breasts while his brain took in the implications of her words. He said nothing.
Meredith sighed. 'It's OK, Tom, I'm only joking. Why would I want to marry a man who'd sell my ass to Ralph Simons? Just give me a cheque.'
'Ten grand?' said Tom quickly.
'Make it twenty. It's a high-class ass.'
Tom did not disagree.
The phone rang in the sitting room. It was Simons. 'Are you alone?' he said.
'Yes, why?'
'There's a restaurant round the corner called The Blue Rhinoceros - meet me at the bar in ten minutes. Just you.'
Tom was pissed. He'd had more than he could stand of the old villain for one day.
'I'm sorry, Ralph, Meredith and I have other plans and I can't just—'
'Hey, partner, remember I haven't signed the contract yet. Be there in ten minutes. Alone.' And he hung up.
Tom pushed through the crush of people waiting to check their coats in the foyer of The Blue Rhinoceros. He was fifteen minutes late - a small rebellion but the best he could do.
He found Ralph Simons in the crowded bar. He was wearing a white tuxedo and sipping what looked like a very large Scotch. When he saw Tom his face split into a melon-sized grin.
'Hey, Tommy,' he shouted above the din, gripping Tom round the shoulders, 'whatdya think of this place?'
'Busy,' said Tom.
'Of course it is. It's the hottest place in the city. Swifty Levine and Marian Mortadella eat here every night. Howdja like the decor?'
Tom followed the direction of Ralph's gesticulating arm and took in a vast dining room whose domed roof was painted to resemble some kind of African plain. The kind populated by leaping green wildebeest, scarlet lions and, surprise surprise, blue rhinoceroses.
'I say gimme a steak house any day,' continued Simons. 'Here it's third-world food at first-world prices. You pay fifty bucks for a burnt red pepper and a baby olive, whatever that is. But I'm old-fashioned, you're gonna love it. Especially when you see your date.'
'My date?'
'Here she comes now. Ain't that a fabulous-looking woman?'
Tom couldn't deny it. The olive-skinned, almond-eyed beauty seemed to float through the crush towards them. Heads turned and conversations halted along her route. She was tall, nearly six foot Tom guessed, and the mountain of black ringlets piled high on her head, cascading down her slender neck set her high above the crowd. She wore the kind of black dress designed to make headlines at film premieres and charity galas; so cunningly cut away and cinched together across acres of gleaming flesh that it gave the impression she was both fully dressed and stark-naked at the same time.
In his ear Ralph said, 'May I present the Senior Vice-President of the Simons Corporation. Tom Glass, meet my daughter, Laura.'
Tom's head was spinning. He was seated at a table opposite Laura Simons, trying hard not to stare at her breasts. This was difficult because he had nothing to distract him from their impossible pneumatic thrust, artfully displayed beneath a whisper of black chiffon. Ralph had long gone - to the opera, he said - urging them to get better acquainted and not to talk business. Frankly Tom would have been happy to talk anything at all but each of his overtures was met with a monosyllabic response. All that remained was for him to sit in silence, magnetised by the shift and fall of his companion's near-naked bosom every time she breathed.
'Look,' she said suddenly, her coal-black eyes sparking into life, 'this wasn't my idea you know.'
'What wasn't?'
'This whole ritzy dinner shtick. Me sitting here like dog-meat and you ogling my tits.'
'It wasn't my idea either.'
'And if that's all you wanna do, jerk-off, you can go down Times Square and stick money in the slots.'
'I think there's some kind of misunderstanding here.'
'No there isn't. You're just some tourist thrill-seeker. I wonder what kind of hold you've got on my father to make him pimp for you, that's all.'
'Please, Miss Simons, I don't know what you're talking about. I can only suggest that if you find my company so objectionable we should terminate the evening immediately.'
She grinned at him suddenly. She had a big mouth, wide and fleshy with full pouting lips. The kind that would look good, the thought popped into Tom's head unbidden, poised above his stiff cock.
'You speak real la-di-da, Mr Glass. I guess it's because you're a Brit.'
'I guess,' said Tom, unnerved by what looked like another mood swing. 'Look, you don't like me and I don't like you, so let's go.'
'Where you gonna take me? If my father found out we split early I'd catch hell. There's a lowlife bar across the street - how about that?'
'I'm not going anywhere with you in that dress. You'll start a riot.'
She got to her feet, the bosom moving fractionally later than the rest of her. A man at the next table choked on a mouthful of pancetta.
'It's OK,' she said, 'I'll keep my coat on.'
They made their way out slowly, their early departure observed by every eye in the room. Laura giggled as they stood by the desk waiting for their bill.
'You know what they're all thinking, don't you?' she whispered into his ear. 'They think we're so hot for each other we're going home to ball our eyes out.'
It was true. Tom could see it in the faces of the men as their greedy glances crawled all over Laura's spectacular frame. The women were smirking at him, exchanging knowing remarks with each other. Suddenly he realised why - he was massively and very obviously erect.
Laura patted the bulge in his pants and said, 'Let's skip the bar and go back to my place. We wouldn't want to disappoint the people, now would we?'
Tom grunted his agreement. He wasn't capable of speech.
Chapter 41
Philippe emerged from the studios of Badger Television breathed in the fresh morning air. Life felt good. He escaped from a world where he was nothing but a paid gigolo and had discovered a new existence as a national fitness guru - and heart-throb. He had a sack of fan mail to prove it. And he also had Marianne, a woman who touched him as no other could. He knew he owed his spot at Badger to her and he was determined to make her happy, even if he died trying. Which he might, since she demanded the kind of lovemaking he was not accustomed to giving. Here was a woman who wanted every ounce of his precious sap. Ah well, there were sacrifices to be made in every sphere of existence.
As he reached his car, he realised he was not alone. He was flanked by two large men, almost as big as he was. Two others appeared in front of him. For once he was outmuscled - what the hell was going on?
The appearance of the voluptuous redhead did not exactly explain matters.
'Good morning, Philippe,' said Cassie. 'I believe we have an appointment.'
'Madame Crow, what are you doing here?'
'You abandoned me, you rat. You owe me a few sessions - about six weeks' worth.'
Philippe's brain was working overtime. He had always liked Cassie, she wasn't as much of a screaming neurotic as most of his other Honeydew clients. Could he have misjudged her? 'But, Cassie, that is in the past. I no longer practise as a personal trainer.'
'One more session, Philippe. That's all I want.'
For a moment Philippe wavered. Cassie did look rather fetching with the morning breeze fluttering through her loose auburn curls and the sharp points of her big breasts pressing against the weave of her tight sweater. The tall Australian had always been most responsive, he recalled.
'I'm sorry, madame, but I have resigned from the Honeydew programme.'
'Not yet you haven't, buster.'
The blonde woman appeared from nowhere, from behind one of the musclemen, probably. The sight of her froze the Frenchman with fear, like the touch of a pistol in the small of his back. A lot had happened to him in the year since he had last looked into those milky-blue eyes but his newfound confidence was wiped away in an instant.
Chastity curled an arm round his neck and drew his head down to place her lips on his. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and held him close. The embrace went on for some time. When she stepped away from him, the coveted breadstick in his pants was rigid. Chastity placed a proprietorial hand upon the bulge.
'Let's go and have breakfast,' she said.
When they reached her hotel, Chastity dismissed her boys. 'You did not need to bring your gorillas to fetch me,' said Philippe. 'I would have accepted your invitation, Chastity.'
'Would you? You ran away without saying goodbye, as I recall. I got the impression you didn't like me any more.'
Philippe looked out of the window at the tree tops of Hyde Park, though his mind was far away, reliving his life in California a year earlier. How could he explain that Chastity had overwhelmed him like a drug? That he had been compelled to escape before he was hooked forever - and turned into a zombie like all her other studs.
He shrugged. 'I did not want to be a Stepford man,' he said at last.
Cassie laughed and pulled her sweater over her head. She wore a black brassiere with transparent cups. Her long red nipples were very obvious.
'Good for you,' she said. 'But you owe us both, Philippe. I suggest you pay up and we'll let bygones be bygones.'
'Great idea,' said Chastity, kicking off her shoes and unbuckling her jeans.
Philippe's eyes bulged as the two women in front of him stripped. In his professional life, he had had vast experience of women and the display of their bodies. It was rare for him to react as other men might. But this was different. He had particular sympathy for Cassie, she seemed to be on his side. And her big creamy body with its mane of red hair was an undeniable turn-on, particularly when set beside the gold blonde nudity of his mentor, Chastity Honeydew. As the two of them pulled off their clothes to reveal their sumptuous fuckable flesh the Frenchman's cock threatened to explode.
In a flurry of shimmering breasts and bouncing buttocks the women were on him. They dragged him into the bedroom, pulling the clothes from his athletic frame as they went. For once, Philippe was not in charge. As the soft weight of Chastity's buttocks settled on his chest and her blonde-fuzzed pussy inched towards his face, he smiled. He was about to be raped. Resistance was useless - he might as well lie back and enjoy it.
In the vee of Philippe's tree-trunk thighs, Cassie laid claim to his magnificent prick. It thrust up between her hands in a white tower of tumescence capped with a ruby-red head so broad it almost didn't fit in her mouth. She was in heaven as she gorged on the beautiful monster. She fed on it like a lollipop, running her tongue from base to tip, gumming the glans and rubbing the knob against her soft upper palate.
Cassie was aware of the significance of the moment for her partner in crime. It seemed that Chastity's career as a sex guru hinged on stuffing Philippe's big engine up her twat and riding it to satisfaction. In the circumstances maybe she should give the American first crack. Maybe.
Above her, Cassie heard the intake of breath as Chastity ground her pussy into the Frenchman's face and she hesitated no longer. She too had her needs and now was no time to hang back. Faint heart, after all, never got fucked. Cassie swung her leg over Philippe's pelvis and pushed the length of him up into her aching slot.
The three of them went at it like one mad, sex-crazed beast; the two women riding the giant Frenchman, Chastity's fingers in his hair cradling his face in her crotch, Cassie's arms round Chastity's body, squeezing the soft fruits of those perfect California tits in her hands as Philippe's Eiffel Tower of a tool speared up into her belly.
Cassie screamed as she came and fell off her supine lover onto the bed, a warm glow of contentment singing through her veins. As she caught her breath she watched Chastity writhing on top of Philippe, her face set in a rictus of frustration that was familiar to Cassie from her observations of two nights ago. But this time Cassie was in a position to help out.
She smacked Chastity round the face, sending the blonde tresses flying. It was a satisfying moment. The American gaped at her in shock and bewilderment until Cassie took her hand and placed it on Philippe's cock. The instant Chastity's fingers closed around the tumescent organ the tension seemed to drain from her face. Cassie helped her shift her body backwards, down the Frenchman's gleaming muscular torso, to the staff of salvation that thrust upwards from his crotch.
'Thank you, Cass,' muttered the American as Cassie pointed the big, plum-like head into the wet opening between her legs.
'My pleasure,' muttered Cassie as she smoothed the juices from Chastity's pussy around the glans and down the shaft of the Frenchman's formidable baton. She savoured the feel of their hot pulsing genitals, the nobility of her actions swelling her breast. 'You can do the same for me some day,' she said as she eased the swollen knob into the mouth of Chastity's yearning cunt.
The American sat down slowly on Philippe's weapon, muttering to herself as she took the stiff shaft deep inside her. Her face was slack, her eyes open but unseeing, her mouth agape, the lower lip full and wet.
'Oh Philippe,' she whispered, 'how I've missed you, you dirty French fucker.'
His hands were on her body now, meeting round her waist as he thrust her down onto his pelvis.
'Ah!' she screamed, the breath rushing from her body. He lifted her up and slammed her down again. 'Oh yes!' she cried as he lifted and dropped her again and again on his mighty cock, using her body like a great masturbating fist.
'Oh God!' she shrieked as her first orgasm in a year burst upon her, racking her body with sensation, sending her peachy tits flying and her hair whir
ling and her hips undulating on the incredible invading penis of Monsieur Muscles.
Chapter 42
Laura's place was a ten-minute cab ride away across the wintery city. Despite the perishing cold, Tom's cock remained as stiff as a pike-staff throughout the journey. Perhaps that was because Laura had her warm fingers wrapped around it the entire time.
Her house was on three storeys close to the East River. Inside it was full of dark polished wood and chintzy drapes and Victorian prints. The atmosphere was almost European. Tom would have commented on this but the direction the evening was heading did not allow for it. In any case, he didn't want to talk to this peculiar woman - he wanted to fuck her.
They kissed for the first time in the small vestibule. As he had suspected, her wide flexible mouth was made for pleasure. Beneath his coat his penis was standing stiff outside his trousers, just as she had arranged it in the taxi. As she explored his mouth with her agile tongue she pulled his balls into the open. She examined his genitals in the dark as if she were a blind woman reading Braille. He kept his hands to himself and let her have her way. Eventually she took her mouth from his and pushed his coat off his shoulders.
'Come upstairs,' she said.
He followed her up the steep stairway, the split skirt of her dress swaying in front of him, displaying the lean lines of her legs with every step. Near the top he caught her by the ankle.
'Stop,' he said and she obeyed. 'Pull your skirt up,' he said.
She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned slyly.
'You look pretty funny standing there with your dick out,' she said, hitching her skirt up over her rear.
She wore sheer black tights with a cutaway seat and the olive ovals of her exquisite bottom pouted at him in exotic invitation. He fought the urge to bury his face in their satin perfection.
'Aren't you cold going around like that?' he said.
She bent over, resting her elbows on the top of the stairs. 'I find ways of warming up,' she said.