by Noel Amos
Tina rubbed ointment into his penis. Her fingers were like flames on his skin as she smoothed it in and the sensation was exquisite. His big erection bounded in her hands, by far the most frisky part of his body.
Then it was Shani's turn. From a plastic bag she took lumps of what looked like clay, a soft and malleable material that she moulded around his loins. Soon his genitals were completely encased in the stuff. The women looked at him with satisfaction. He grinned back stupidly. He couldn't help it.
'It will take an hour to dry,' said Shani. 'In the meantime, we need your signature.'
Tina took some papers and a pen from the case. Somewhere in Tom's confused head a red alert sounded.
The last thing he must do, he knew, was sign anything.
Shani propped him up and pulled the table close so that he could reach the papers. On his belly the congealed mass of gunk was drying on his tumescent cock. She took care not to move his lower body.
'I... won't,' he said carefully, his tongue thick and useless in his mouth.
'Oh yes, you will,' said Shani and lowered her lips to his. She kissed him gently, like a soft summer breeze. The smell of her, rich and intoxicating, filled his nostrils.
'You'll sign for us,' said Tina smoothing a small slender hand across his chest, leaving a trail of tingling sparks in its wake.
Together they worked on his heightened senses, every touch and caress sending a crackle of electricity through his frame. He had never felt so sensually alive - and yet so helpless. Then Shani produced a feather. Each touch was like a lick of fire. Exquisite torture.
'Sign,' said Shani.
'No,' said Tom, his mind and body in turmoil. When they put the pen in his hand they couldn't make him grip.
'We'll spend the night with you,' said Shani. 'You can have us together. We'll do anything you want.'
A memory bubble burst in his head: Shani's glistening brown body lying on a bed, her black hair on a pillow tangled with Tina's blonde tresses, the sight of Shani strapping a pink dildo to her dark loins, the pair of them crying out in endless singing climax.
Tom's resistance broke. He signed. They took the dried gunk from off his loins, carefully cutting the mould away with a gleaming scalpel. He lost no blood, just a few hairs, and his cock stood up free, flaming pink and as stiff as an hour before.
Laughing, they produced stockings and suspenders and a camera. They put the underwear on him with some difficulty, and posed him on the sofa. Tom tried hard to spoil the shots but he was helpless. He couldn't even remove the vacant grin from his face.
Tina stripped to her knickers and posed with him in some of the pictures. He noticed she kept her face out of the frame. Then she took her panties off and put them on his head. Shani clicked away, with Tina naked by her side, Tom gazed at the fluffy bush between the blonde's legs and cursed the pair of them. He was being set up and he had no control over events at all. On his belly his rock-hard cock throbbed in torment. They took lots of close-ups.
Then, worst of all, they ignored him. Tina put her clothes on and Shani cleared away the plastic sheet and took off her overall and gloves. Tina disappeared and returned after some time with two mugs of tea. She did not offer Tom anything. He lay on the sofa with stockings on his legs and Tina's knickers on his head. She didn't even bother to retrieve them.'
So they weren't paying him any attention when he escaped. He'd been aware that the paralysis of his limbs was coming to an end. He wondered if he should make a grab for the gun but it was on the table just by Tina. He didn't think he'd manage to claim it. He wasn't sure he had the strength to do any more than make a run for it.
He thought that if he could get into the lift then he'd be whisked down to the street. Maybe he could raise the security guard from the office entrance next door in time to apprehend the women when they followed him. At least that way he'd have a witness. What the hell, it was worth a try. He didn't really think they'd shoot him.
He ran for it, springing off the sofa, lunging for the door, stepping out into the dark. But his bearings were awry and the instructions from his brain somehow became scrambled. He knew he'd blown it even as he lurched through the wrong door, onto the balcony and over the edge.
And now, as he tumbled through the night air, past the windows of his own office building, down into the street below - he remembered nothing...
Chapter 52
'Oh no,' wailed Petra as she opened the front door of her flat.
'Oh yes,' said Kelvin, taking her by the arm and leading into the kitchen. The table was laid and pans bubbled on the hob. A bottle of rich red wine stood on the table. Kelvin poured two glasses.
Petra looked at it all in dismay. Another night - almost any night during the previous three months in fact - she would have welcomed a domestic evening with Kelvin. But not tonight, not after the traumas of The Primrose Court.
'We have to talk,' said Kelvin, pressing the glass into her hand.
'Yes but not now. I don't have time. I've got to prepare a defence for Tom Glass.'
Kelvin beamed at her, that familiar lop-sided grin suddenly taking her breath away. It had been a long time since she had seen it.
'That's why we must talk,' he said. 'I have his defence right here.' And he held up an audio cassette with a grin of triumph.
The two voices echoed around the little kitchen. There was a lot of background hiss but the words they spoke and the sounds they made were plain. Petra sipped her wine and the rosy encroachment of intoxication was enhanced by the wonder of Kelvin's revelation.
The first voice was male, a confident northern foghorn.
'By gum, Harmony, you're a handsome woman for your age.'
'You're not so bad yourself, Mr Oates.' The second was female and more refined, possibly from Edinburgh. Petra sucked in her breath - she knew that voice all too well.
'You've got better tits on you than lasses half your age. And your arse isn't bad either.'
'Do you have to be so coarse, Bill?'
'I do when I'm with you, your ladyship. It brings out the gamekeeper in me. Tell you what, if you let me spunk off between those big knockers of yours, I'll bung another ten grand into your fighting fund.'
'That's a disgusting suggestion. I've never heard of such a thing.'
'Come, come, Harmony, don't tell me your Archie hasn't put his sword in that scabbard from time to time.'
'What a man does to his wife is another matter entirely. Besides it's a messy business.'
'OK, I'll up the price. Ten grand a tit.'
'Really, Bill - ooh!'
'You like that, don't you? My second wife liked having her pussy lips pinched too. She had long ones like you.'
'Bill, please! Do stop talking and get on with it, if you insist.'
'Well, I do insist. And so would you if you had agreed to pay nigh on half a million for the privilege of not being harassed and put upon by a crew of silly bitches who want to stop a man running his business how he chooses. I don't hold with it and well you know it.'
'Bill, don't get excited.'
'I'll get excited how I like from now on. I've paid for it and you conniving, money-grubbing witches from The Petticoat Court or whatever you call it are not going to stop me!'
A rasping cough, followed by loud panting and spluttering, interrupted the dialogue.
'Bill Oates has got a heart condition and he must be twenty stone,' said Kelvin. 'He almost flattened me when he got into bed.'
'What do you mean?' asked Petra.
'I was underneath. Ssh, now listen.'
'Are you all right, Bill?'
'Yes, lass, I'm OK now. Thank God for you, that's what I say. You might come over as a tight-arsed lesbian like the others but I know better.'
'Do you now?' She giggled - Petra found it a disturbing sound - and there was a silence, interrupted by bumps and slithers, as of bodies moving on sheets.
'You see, underneath you're just a horny Scottish cow who likes a big prick.'
'Oh yes! Put it in me
please, Bill.'
'All in good time, girl. First it's going between these handsome tits, we agreed.'
'And you'll pay an extra twenty.'
'I shan't but the board of Oversell Supermarkets will. As their nominated representative in secret negotiations for a licence from The Primrose Court, I should be failing in duty if I did not insist on my pound of flesh. In your case my darling, many pounds.'
'How repulsive!' said Petra with vehemence.
'Yes, he's truly disgusting,' said Kelvin. 'He's just the kind of sexist pig The Primrose Court was created to stamp out.'
'Not him. Her. Lady Harmony Sharp. She's the mean spirited judge at Tom's trial. But you know that, don't you?'
Kelvin nodded, satisfaction etched into his features.
'Oh Kelvin, how I've missed you!' She knocked over her wineglass in her rush to fold him in her arms. The wine dropped unheeded onto the floor as they kissed long and hard.
He sat on the small wicker settee in the corner of the kitchen and pulled her down into his lap. He began to unbutton the jacket of her dark suit.
'How on earth did you get that recording, Kelvin? What have you been up to?'
He held her jacket and her blouse open and bent to kiss the pale flesh of her breasts just above the scalloped edge of her white lace brassiere.
'Stop, Kelvin! No, I don't mean it really but tell me, please what's going on?'
'OK.' He lifted his head from her bosom, now bare in his hands, the nipples dark and hard as he fingered them.
'I've been undercover, on the trail of a real story. Now I've got it. The tape you've heard is not the only one. I can prove that The Primrose Court is running a racket. The hierarchy - Gossamer Hawk, Lady Harmony Sharp, Naomi Picket - they're like the mafia. They're selling protection from the Sex Police.'
'You mean the licence that Bill Oates spoke about? The half a million pounds?'
'That's right.' Kelvin removed Petra's jacket and blouse and laid them on the side table. Her bra joined the pile. 'Of course they still want to drive the dinosaurs in pinstripes - that's what Gossamer calls them - out of the boardroom but they're also milking companies for serious money.'
'It's a scandal!' said Petra as Kelvin moved her off his lap and knelt on the floor to remove her shoes. 'Do you think Tom could have bought his way out? Why is he being persecuted when that pig Bill Oates gets off?'
Kelvin had unzipped Petra's skirt and was now drawing it down her slim gleaming thighs. She lifted her bottom to allow him access and sat down again without regard for his actions, her mind focused elsewhere.
'Tom Glass is too big a fish,' he said. 'He's a fabulously wealthy, high-profile captain of industry. He's a trophy, not a cash cow. If The Primrose Court can bring him down they're made.'
Kelvin contemplated the slim but curvaceous figure of Petra as she sat in front of him. Just the thin scrap of white lace across her loins now remained between her and total nudity. He took his glass of wine from the table behind him and toasted her near-naked perfection.
'What are you going to do with your story?' she said, taking the glass from him and raising it to her lips.
'First I thought I'd sell it to the highest bidder. The Dog or the Rabbit would pay me a fortune. But they'd exploit it to the hilt and me with it. And after the fuss had died down I'd be on my own. I don't fancy spending the rest of my life dodging the hit-women of the Sex Police. They'd peel my dick like a banana and eat my balls on toast, just to start with.'
'So?'
'So then I thought I should be more subtle - use the information as a lever. Maybe get The Primrose Court to toe the line.'
'But how, Kelvin? As you say, they'll eat you alive.'
'They won't eat Tom Glass alive, not when you've got off tomorrow. He'll be untouchable and he's powerful. With this information he can break up the mafia, get some sensible men on the Corrections Committee. And some women like you.'
'Me?'
'That's right. Women who are smart, honest and don't have a vendetta against the opposite sex.'
Petra grinned at him, the realisation that there was a way out fizzing through her veins like liquid joy. She dipped a finger in the glass and anointed the saucers of her areolae with wine.
'Lick it off,' she commanded. He did so, nuzzling his head into her chest, taking her hard little nipples between his lips.
'How should I play it tomorrow?' she asked as she cradled him to her.
'See the Judge before the court resumes. Give her that tape. I've got a transcript for you, too. Tell her that unless she calls the trial off at once, copies will go to the press.'
'I thought you didn't want that?'
He sat back on his haunches and placed his hands on her knees. 'Ted Flinch of Nouveau is in on it. We fell out and I was going to go for the big bucks but... as you know I've had second thoughts. To be honest, he put me on the story in the first place. He'll front for me, if necessary, and the IBG lawyers are shit-hot.'
Petra thought for a moment, considering her plan of action. 'I'll take Cassie,' she said. 'We'll have Tom Glass free by lunch. I never knew you had it in you, Kelvin.'
He pushed her knees apart and gazed with longing on the smooth lines of her spread thighs, right up to the lacy triangle stretched over the bulge of her mons. He hooked a finger into the strip of material where it disappeared below her seat into the crack of her buttocks. She shivered in anticipation, but there was one more thing she had to know.
'Just how did you find out all this red-hot information, Kelvin?'
He pulled the thin strip of lace to one side, laying bare the black knot of hair and the pink puffy lips of her excited pussy. He feasted his eyes.
'I can't possibly reveal the tricks of my trade,' he said. 'But I can demonstrate one of my most effective investigative techniques.'
And he lowered his mouth to her wet, throbbing sex.
Chapter 53
Tom was no longer used to crowds. He slipped away from celebrations at Glass Mountain as soon as he decently could. He knew nearly everyone, of course, they were his own hand-picked staff but it was hard to step from solitary confinement into a room containing hundreds of well-wishers all desperate to shake his hand. Apart from anything else he had a couple of things to take care of.
As he slid out of the door he caught Petra's eye. She was on the far side of the room surrounded by people, a champagne glass in her hand. When she realised he was leaving she made as if to press through the throng towards him. He held up his hand and indicated that she should remain. She'd done enough for him already today. In fact, she was a miracle-worker.'
He stepped into his office and, for a moment, was stunned to see another man sitting at his desk, barking into the phone. Then he remembered who it was. Charles Kite, the disgraced executive whom Petra had rehabilitated. Well, thank God; someone was taking care of business amidst the chaos. Tom backed out of the room and found an empty office down the corridor.
The people at Black Raven refused to call Marianne to the phone. They explained that she was busy preparing for a Gravitas special. Tom left her a message instead. It said: 'The wedding's off. There's a cheque in the post. Good luck in the job. Love, Tom.' It was a bit curt perhaps but he was sure the size of the cheque would assuage any hurt feelings.
His next task was not so easy to accomplish. He called Partridge Place and Spilling Grange without success. Then he spoke to Inspector Claire Quartermain and found her surprisingly cooperative.
They'd kept his Porsche in pristine condition in the basement garage. The engine fired at first asking and the car purred as he swung onto the City roads and headed across town.
It was one of those narrow, west London streets full of five-year-old Sunnys and Cortinas and builder's muck. The houses were turn-of-the-century terraced, always in need of repair. Green mould clogged the gutters, plastic wheelie-bins occupied the front gardens and satellite dishes sprouted beneath the eaves.
The woman on the first floor looked with half an
eye as the sparkling white Porsche manoeuvred into a tight space between an overflowing skip and a rusty motorbike. Porsches were not common in this street and other eyes watched with keen curiosity. The woman turned away, not much interested. Nothing interested her at the moment.
So she did not see the tall man with a shock of dark hair get out of the car and head purposefully for her front gate. She ignored the sounds from downstairs, one of the other tenants would see to it. Nobody would be visiting her.
But she couldn't ignore the knocking at her door. It was loud and insistent. Maybe if she stayed completely silent whoever it was would give up.
The door burst open.
'Eve, thank God, I've found you.'
The sight of Tom Glass in her room, the man she had betrayed and caused to be beaten, persecuted and publicly humiliated was too much for Eve Biscuit. She fainted.
She came round and found herself lying on the bed. Tom was dabbing at her forehead with a wet flannel. When she opened her eyes he smiled.
'I'm sorry,' she said.
'I should hope so too. You're the nurse, you're not meant to faint.'
'I don't mean that. I mean—'
'Ssh,' he shut her up with a kiss. It lasted some while. Time enough for them to cling together and drink from each other's mouths as if they were dying of thirst.
'But—' she began as they pulled apart.
'Don't say anything, Eve. Not just now. I know they forced you to do it but now I'm free and so are you. It's all over.' And he stretched out beside her on the narrow bed and kissed her again.
'Actually,' he said as he pulled her T-shirt from the waist of her jeans and eased it upwards over the satin-smooth skin of her stomach, 'I was hoping that this was the beginning.'
'Of what? Ooh.' His hands were on her breasts through the thin cups of her brassiere. She reached behind her back to undo the fastening.
'Well,' he said, 'I've had some painful weeks of deprivation. I've been bullied and beaten up and deprived of - these...'