by Noel Amos
'Oh yes,' whispered Roxy. The boy turned to the man on his knees as he steadily buffeted his loins against the soft buttocks of the woman. For a moment Ray contemplated the long wet wand of flesh swaying in his face, then he wrapped his fingers round the shaft and plunged the glans between his lips.
'Oh yes,' said Roxy.
Ray had one hand hidden beneath Laura's body, at work between her legs, the other cupped and explored the thin boy's sandy-haired balls. He licked and loved the long white shaft of his cock from stem to stern and then took as much of it in his mouth as he could. Ray was obviously skilled at more leisure activities than tennis.
Laura thought so too, Tom could see that. She was watching over her shoulder as Ray sucked the boy. Her eyes were half shut and smoky with desire. Tom knew that look well. She was only just getting going. It looked like being a long afternoon.
Chapter 47
Marianne felt like screaming. The Gravitas special was just days away and suddenly it looked as if the whole package might come apart at the seams. That morning Chastity had threatened to pull out of the programme - she was objecting to the inclusion of Edward Timberland. First Marianne, then Gerald and finally Sir Charles, had failed to appease her.
In desperation Marianne had cancelled dinner with Philippe and sent him off to talk Chastity round - if she didn't listen to him then all was lost. What cheesed Marianne off was that she had scarcely seen Philippe all week and she had promised herself a truly romantic evening with her lover. She had put champagne on ice, bought a new apricot silk teddy and changed the sheets. As she faced the prospect of an evening alone she was well and truly fed up.
Another complication now fuelled her ire. She'd had a call from Sonja, Timberland's publicity lady, to say that Ted was talking of withdrawing from the programme.
'Why?'
'He doesn't want to appear in the studio with Chastity Honeydew.'
'For God's sake!' Marianne was furious, what was wrong with these bloody authors? 'He's always known she's going to be in it,' she wailed.
'Yes, but he's developed a phobia about her. He thinks her book's better displayed in the shops than his. And when he saw her plastered all over my copy of Fragrant he went ape. Do you want to come over here and talk to him yourself? Please say yes, Marianne, he's driving me up the wall!'
Sonja let Marianne into Ted's hotel suite. The elegant Edwardian lounge was littered with incongruous paraphernalia. Copies of Uncaging the Beast were piled on every face, a set of weights and a ski machine blocked off one corner of the room and a pair of muddy running shoes sat in the middle of the Turkish rug. The remains of a very rare steak was congealing on a room-service trolley and a half-empty bottle of bourbon stood on the coffee table. Of Tree-Top Ted there was no sign.
'He's in the bedroom,' said Sonja. 'Sulking.'
As she spoke, a door to her left swung open and crashed back on its hinges. The great author loomed in the doorframe wearing shorts, trainers and a T-shirt. He stared at Marianne with a mad glint in his eye.
'I'm outta here,' he boomed. 'Don't none of you bitches try to stop me!' And he dashed across the room and out into the corridor without a backward glance.
Marianne blinked in alarm. 'Shouldn't you follow him?' she said to Sonja. 'I thought you dogged his every footstep. You might lose him.'
The publicity girl shrugged. 'Chance would be a fine thing.' She delved into her handbag. 'At least I can have a cigarette while he's gone.'
Marianne was peeved. 'What am I supposed to do? I've rearranged my entire evening to talk to your author and he's just run out on me. Literally.'
Sonja grinned at her unperturbed, a blue plume of smoke already curling from her lips. 'Don't worry, darling, he'll be back to mummy all too soon - he's lost without the hired help. Sit down and have a drink. We can swap stories of glamorous media life. Didn't you once read the weather on TV?'
In another hotel suite in another part of town, more authorial fur was being stroked. The fur in question was the delicious blonde fleece situated between the bronzed and perfect thighs of Chastity Honeydew. The stroker was Philippe. They lay on the king-sized bed, their naked bodies slick with the sweat of sexual exertion. Chastity pressed the Frenchman's hand tight to the base of her dimpled belly and said: 'More!'
Even as his fingers insinuated themselves into the soft wet folds of her yearning fig, Philippe shook his head. 'This is unfair of you, Chastity. You asked me to test some of your physical reflexes and in return you agreed to appear on my friend's television programme. We have a bargain, n'est-ce pas?'
'Sure thing. I guess I just need a little reassurance that everything is in working order.'
'But you swore to me it was! You said you could have the orgasms now.'
'And how, sugar.'
'So why don't you play with one of your boy-toys? And you should keep your promise to go on the television programme of my friend.'
Chastity chuckled and ran her free hand across the muscled expanse of his chest. She let it fall onto his thigh, where it came to rest just an inch away from his limp baton of pleasure.
'Tell me about your friend,' she said.
Philippe sighed. 'What can I say? She is magnifique. I am in love. It is a coup defoudre.'
Somehow Chastity's finger had found its way into the warm nook between the underside of his shaft and the swell of his balls. She stroked him lightly.
'So why are you here then?' she asked.
'To make sure you keep your deal, Chastity. This is business.'
'No question,' she said, running the tip of her finger along the underside of his shaft. The sleepy weapon was beginning to raise its head. She tickled it under its chin.
He had two fingers buried to the knuckle in her pussy. She was no longer pressing them to her pleasure zone, they seemed to have lodged there of their own accord.
'Swear to me you will keep your word, Chastity.'
'Mmm, if you keep doing that I will.'
'So there will be no more talk of pulling out?'
His penis had swollen in her hand. She smoothed a finger around the rim of his glans.
'I won't mention it again,' she said, lying back and spreading her long bronzed legs. 'You must love her very much.'
'Oh yes,' breathed Philippe, sliding between her thighs, cock rubbing against her silken flesh. 'There is nothing I would not do for her.'
'Obviously,' muttered Chastity as the head of his French prick plunged between her wet labia and filled her to the hilt.
Sonja's prediction was accurate. Ted reappeared in the room half an hour later, his clothes and hair wet with summer rain, his face red. Marianne was unsure whether he'd run around the park or simply jogged to the pub. One thing was certain, his breath stank of alcohol. Which was OK by her, she and Sonja had hit the bourbon with gusto in his absence.
'Still here?' he roared. 'God save me from city-smart females polluting my airspace and drinking my booze.'
'Now, now, Ted,' said Sonja. 'The Whimsical Press is paying your hotel bill.'
He appeared not to hear but attacked the door of the fridge as if he might tear it off its hinges. He seized a bottle of Arctic Fox beer and slammed the top against the mahogany writing desk, sending the cap spinning across the carpet and splintering the wood.
He took a long draught and fixed Marianne with his mad-man's stare. 'If you think I'm getting up on television with that Californian nympho you've got your head up your sweet ass, sister.'
Marianne could not deny she was intimidated. This hulking drunken bear was a different proposition to the smooth blond charmer she had met the day before. However, her programme - indeed her new career as a TV arts presenter - was at stake. She decided to take the bear by the balls.
'Why are you afraid of her, Ted? Is she too much of a challenge for you?'
He laughed without mirth. 'She's a sperm-sucker, that's what she is. A floozy with a snatch between her legs. A thief of men's strength like all you painted Delilahs.'
'
Oh God, he's off,' muttered Sonja, topping up her glass.
Marianne got to her feet.
'Why don't you come on my programme and say that, Ted?'
His reply was so vehement, spittle sprayed into her face. 'Because I refuse to promote the work of a whore.'
'But she'll be promoting your work too. Especially if we show the interview with you first.'
He hesitated and Marianne carried on.
'To be honest, Ted, it might do you a lot of harm to pull out now. All my journalist friends will be very curious.'
His eyes narrowed. 'Tell them you've come up against a man of principle for a change.'
Marianne smiled sweetly. 'I could say you behaved like a big prick because you've only got a little one.'
Behind her Sonja snorted into her drink.
Ted's jaw dropped and a growl of rage burst from his throat. Marianne ignored him.
'I've also heard that you prefer boys to girls. Of course, I wouldn't want to repeat that.'
Ted's face turned puce and the growl turned into a yelp of incoherence. He bunched his great fist and took a pace towards Marianne. She stood her ground.
'What I will tell everybody if you pull out is that you aren't capable of expressing yourself on camera.'
It was as if she had delivered a kung-fu kick to his chest. He staggered back. The blood drained from his face. The ham-like fist unfolded. He placed the beer bottle carefully on the table and walked slowly to his bedroom.
'I'll see you at the studio, Miss Matthews,' he said and closed the door behind him.
'Bloody hell,' said Sonja, 'you were wasted on the weather.'
Chapter 48
'I'm sorry, Mr Glass,' said Roxy, 'I can't hold the camera steady any more - my arms are tired.'
It wasn't just that, Tom could see. She was shivering all over as if in a high fever and her denimed pelvis, on a level with Tom's face, was making tiny thrusts backwards and forwards in mid-air. He had no doubt what she was in need of.
He took the camera from her and put it on the floor. She made no move to get off the chair but stood there quivering, her eyes big with wonder as she gazed at the threesome next door.
Tom lifted the hem of her skirt to her waist. She wore pretty cotton panties embroidered with tiny white daisies around the waistband. In the vee of her legs the material was dark with her juices and clung wetly to the mound of her sex. The aroma of a woman on heat met Tom's nostrils as he moved in close to her, so close that her undulating mons almost brushed his lips.
'Please,' she whimpered in a small voice. He wasn't sure whether she meant him or the entwined lovers next door. In any case, though his heart was hammering beneath his ribs and his cock was pulsing in his pants, he made her wait. He wanted to savour the sight of this teenage wet-dream dancing with helpless desire.
He tugged her skirt off, pulling the elasticated waist over her hips. For a small girl they were rounded and womanly, as was her bottom. He contemplated her from the rear. Her buttocks were full and firm, threatening to burst from the tight pink panties as she squirmed on the chair before him. He yanked her knickers down without ceremony, savouring the sight of the wet gusset clinging to the folds of her moist pussy. She placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she stepped out of them. It remained there, her small fingers finding the nape of his neck and pulling him softly, maybe unconsciously, towards her naked sex.
Still he made her wait, unbuttoning her shirt to gaze on her small freckled breasts, their nipples carnation pink and sticking up like little pegs. He reached up and felt them, the soft hot flesh seeming to glow in his hand.
'Oh,' she murmured, 'oh blimey.'
He turned and looked through the mirror. The threesome had changed position. Ray now sat in the chair and Laura was sitting on his loins with her back to him. In the double vee of their spread thighs could be seen the lolling pouch of his testicles and the root of his shaft spearing up between the spread lips of her vagina. She had a hand in the knot of hair at the base of her belly and was rubbing and stroking her clit.
The thin boy stood in front of them, presenting his genitals for stimulation. Laura was sucking his balls, taking them in turns into her mouth. Ray was licking his ruby-red glans and pumping the shaft of his cock with dexterity.
Tom turned back to Roxy. He traced his tongue at snail-like pace up the insides of her thighs, which were wet with her excitement. She shuffled her feet apart and made little mewing sounds as he approached her weeping pussy. The hand on the back of his neck was more insistent now, he could feel the sharp pressure of her fingertips as her agitation grew to boiling point.
The lips of her quim were pink and puffy beneath a down of hair. He blew on the curly wisps and her whole body shook. He extended his tongue tip and slyly insinuated it into the blonde bush, touching her sex for the first time. She squealed as if stung by an electric current and yanked his head into her crotch with both hands.
He held her bottom cheeks as he worked his tongue into her vagina. He licked her from north to south and back again, squeezing that pliant bum flesh as he did so, savouring the youthful succulence of her cunt and arse.
She was breathing heavily now, both her hands entangled in his hair, her hips undulating to an urgent rhythm as he pleasured her. He transferred juice from her sex to his and ran it round the tiny circlet between her bottom cheeks.
'Oh, oh,' she cried as he kissed her pussy in earnest, finding her clit with his lips and breaching her anus with his finger.
Then she was coming off all over his face, flooding his mouth with salty juices, and jumping and hopping on the chair so hard that Tom had a vision of them both toppling over and crashing through the wall into the bedroom door just as Laura came to a climax on Ray's cock and thin boy fountained his spunk down the tennis coach's throat.
'It didn't happen, though, did it? I presume you got out of there undetected.' Petra's second visit with Tom was fast running out but she couldn't resist pressing him for the prurient details of his latest recollection.
'We waited till they got going again and slipped out of the house the way we came in. I took Roxy straight to a hotel and she pulled my clothes off in the lift. We almost didn't make it to the room in time.'
Petra smiled. 'At least that's one of your lovers who didn't end up wanting to kill you.'
'True, but her mother threatened to cut my balls off if I saw Roxy again and the agency complained that I'd ruined their YTS trainee because she was refusing to sit in the office and answer the phone. Mind you, she was wasted. She'd have made a brilliant film technician, the stuff she took of LA was perfect.'
'So that's why I've never heard of Laura,' said Petra. 'You split up.'
'Once I'd got the goods on her she went without a murmur. She packed up and returned to the States. Swearing vengeance, of course.'
'Of course. We'll add her to the list of suspects. It's getting longer by the minute.'
Tom looked unperturbed, he grinned at Petra. 'Everything's coming back quickly now. I reckon I've only got a three-year gap.' Even in the drab confines of The Primrose Court meeting room, his optimism shone through. Petra didn't want to dampen it but there were important things to discuss.
'You know you won't be properly represented at this trial, don't you?'
'I still don't understand why not.'
'It's because it's not really a trial. It's an arrangement on behalf of the New Leaf campaign for policing business practice. It's not subject to the normal procedures of the justice system.'
'It's a kangaroo court run by harpies bent on seizing control of businesses and humiliating the male sex into the bargain. I've gathered that much.'
'Well, at least they can't jail you, they can only disbar you from directorships, demote you and seize assets.'
'Christ, Petra, tell me some good news.'
'A female representative of the business community can speak on your behalf at the hearing. I've only just found out.'
'Really? Thank God for
that.'
'We have to decide who it's going to be. Oh Tom, please don't look at me like that!'
'Why not? There's only one candidate. You will say yes, won't you, Petra?'
Petra didn't say anything. She knew she had no choice.
Chapter 49
The courtroom was a small, circular room with no windows, panelled in oak. On a dais at one end was the Judge's chair and, around the perimeter of the room, sat the members the Corrections Committee. In the well of the court a table had been placed for the Prosecutor and in the very centre, in the blazing focus of a pair of spotlights, stood the accused, former captain of industry, darling of the gossip columns self-made billionaire, Tom Glass.
Tom forced himself to stand tall, to breathe calmly, to prevent any sign of the emotion that boiled within appearing on his face. He was uncomfortable in the clothes they had made him wear - flimsy pyjamas a size too small for his tall frame. He was acutely conscious that he wore underwear and his genitals bulged against the tight cotton. Let the bitches look, he thought in defiance and set his features in a mask of cold contempt.
He was the only man in the room. In the glare of the light it was hard to make out the features of the tormentors who surrounded him. Many of them wore masks, probably women he knew and had dealt with in business. Now they came to watch his humiliation, preserving the secrets of their identity. Well fuck them, he thought. And the thought was appropriate for, beneath this charade of justice and the fear like a weight on his chest, was the raw presence of sex.
As Tom's eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could make out the shapes around him: rounded, curved, dressed to kill. Below the tables in front of them he could see the gleam of slender legs and hear the slither of nylon as thigh kissed thigh. Their scent was rich in his nostrils, an expensive amalgam of designer perfume overlaying something more earthy. He knew that particular scent well, the smell of women on heat. These chic pampered females had turned out to see his most intimate secrets laid bare and the prospect was turning them on.