Lust Under Licence

by Noel Amos

  'What do you think?' she said. 'Give me an interview, at least.'

  'Here?' he said.

  'Why not?'

  She took his hand and put it to her chest. The flesh was hot to his touch. The full smooth orb overflowed his palm.

  'It could take a while,' he said, slipping his other hand over the curve of her hip, 'to really test your suitability.'

  She said nothing to that. She already had her hand in his fly.

  'I didn't realise intellectual programmes were like this,' said Eve as she knelt on the floor and rested her elbows on the side of the bed.

  'You've led a sheltered life,' said Tom, kneeling behind her and anointing her rectum with a whorl of transparent jelly from a tube.

  'God, look at her sucking that big cock!'

  'She's not sucking cock, Eve, she's practising fellatio in the cause of art.' Tom rubbed ointment into the head of his penis and placed it in the dark divide between the cheeks of her bottom.

  'That's a bit of a mouthful,' she said.

  'Whichever way you look at it,' he agreed, plunging into the sweet tight tunnel of her anus.

  'Oh,' she said and pushed back against him. 'God, you've got it all the way up me.'

  'Does it hurt?'

  'Not exactly.'

  'Shall I stop?'

  'Oh no.'

  He found her clit with his fingers and began to tickle. 'Ooh, that's good, Tom!' And she squirmed and bucked, riding backwards and forwards on his fingers and cock in a gallop towards orgasm.

  Suddenly her thrusts faltered and she began to giggle. Tom's eyes had been glued to the shiver and shake of her broad white bottom and the elastic ring of her anus stretched tight around his tool. He looked up and he chuckled too as he took in the familiar face on the television screen.

  'It's funny,' he said as he resumed his thrusts, 'for years I thought Petra had a clipboard between her legs.'

  'Well, you know better now, don't you?' said Eve, squirming beneath him.

  'Me and ten million viewers,' said Tom and shot off deep inside her voluptuous bottom.

  Petra had known Morticia would humiliate her but, of course, that's also what she wanted. She wasn't so sure about involving Kelvin, however. Things were too new this second time around. But it seemed she didn't have a choice.

  They had been watching the orgy from the side but now Morticia led them to the platform where the action raged.

  'Take your clothes off,' said the novelist and, with trembling fingers, Petra obeyed.

  'Take his penis out,' was her next command and, without looking Kelvin in the eye, Petra did as she was told. His cock reared from his trousers, a straining bar of flesh in her hand. She clung on to it as if it were her sanity. Lust and fear boiled in her loins.

  She found herself on her back on the table as Morticia positioned her to her liking. Then she was lying with her legs spread-eagled and hanging down, her pussy at just the right height for any eager male. And suddenly there were lots of those.

  First came a large hairy man with a muscular torso. Petra recognised him as the man in the anorak. He seemed to have undergone a kind of religious conversion.

  He groaned as he sank his big tool inside her and thrust with a purpose that had her moaning with shame and delight. He didn't last long but behind him was another ex-sperm-conserver and another behind him, his cock at the ready.

  Petra took them all, she had no option. And she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Now she had started, she didn't want to stop.

  Between orgasms she looked at Kelvin. He was standing by Morticia's side, watching her intently. On his face was an expression of desire, frustration and - could it be? - pride in her performance.

  As Petra gazed into his eyes, Morticia whispered to him. At her command he took a pace towards Petra, his cock thrusting up from his loins like an angry weapon. Morticia spoke to him again and Petra realised then that Kelvin, too, had fallen under the woman's spell. And somehow, even as a camera zoomed in to capture her taking Kelvin's penis deep down her throat, that made everything all right.

  'I need your help,' said Chastity to Marianne as the presenter stood uncertainly behind a large shambling cameraman who was heroically capturing the scenes of lust and mayhem around him. Marianne had given up on her interviews and was contemplating giving the cameraman some hand relief - God knows the poor fellow was in need of it from the way his trousers were stretched over his bulging crotch. Being a newcomer to this kind of programme, however, she had been uncertain whether it was professional to jack off a working technician. Would the camera shake, for example? Or would it be in contravention of union rules? Marianne had always been wary of touching studio equipment lest she set off some dispute.

  Chastity's request rescued her from this dilemma. The Californian sex-therapist was stripped for action. She wore a man's sports shirt, calf-high white cowboy boots with tassels and a scarlet G-string. The shirt was undone and her big tanned breasts floated ahead of her like two balloons. Her long blonde hair hung wild and loose and there was a crazy light in her eyes. This was her night of ultimate triumph.

  'You're on my side, aren't you?' she said to Marianne, who nodded - what else could she do? Now was no time for debate.

  'Help me get Timberland,' hissed Chastity. 'Come on!'

  Ted was in the thick of the throng, separating bodies with his spade-like hands, hauling wriggling women off fallen men and heaving fornicating couples apart. Occasionally he would stop and take a swig from his flask and hurl curses at no one in particular. Then a curvaceous bottom or a bare breast would catch his eye and he'd lash out, plunging once more into the fray.

  Chastity caught him from behind, leaping onto his broad back and wrapping her arms around his neck. He didn't go down. Instead he swayed unsteadily, surprised for a moment, then bent forward at the waist, pitching Chastity onto the floor. Marianne kicked him on the knee and he fell sideways. Then both women jumped on top of him.

  They wrestled in a panting, wriggling heap with him yelling and cursing, his breath on fire with booze. Chastity tried to pin his arms, her bare breasts in his face, the hard stubs of her nipples rasping across his cheeks. He recognised her.

  'You'll burn in hell, Honeydew,' he shouted. 'You're a corrupter of souls! An evil sex-crazed whore!'

  Chastity said nothing, instead she fastened her mouth to the side of his neck and sank her sharp white teeth into the flesh.

  Marianne heard his roar of anguish as she pressed her to his legs, trying to contain those hard, pumping thighs as he fought against the pressure. Her hand found his belt and she nimbly unbuckled him, pulling open his fly. He howled and bucked beneath her as she delved inside his clothing.

  Chastity was wrapped tight around his torso now, sucking and licking the blood from his neck wound. His mouth found her nipple and he bit her too. Then a strangled moan rose from his throat, pitched somewhere between agony and ecstasy - Marianne had her hand on his cock.

  As she had known he would be, he was vast. Tree-Top Ted had a limb worthy of his name. Marianne wrestled his trousers and shorts down his muscular thighs, baring a gnarled and mighty branch of a penis. It was as hard as teak, as brown as a nut and as erect as a cock can be when it has known no sexual relief for years on end.

  Marianne knew what she had to do to complete Chastity's victory. Above her the warring writers were locked in the kind of clinch that suggested that their antipathy was on hold. There were no more screams and curses, just the licky-sucky noises of lips on flesh.

  Ted was flat on his back and the two women were on top of him. Marianne knelt on his thighs and pulled Chastity backwards so her loins were poised over his. She yanked the tiny triangle of the G-string from Chastity's bulging pussy and thrust Ted's big cock between her silky smooth thighs.

  It wasn't easy to make the right connection. It flashed through Marianne's head that this was what farmers did when helping recalcitrant bulls and cows. But Marianne was a resourceful woman for one who professed to care
little for matters sexual. She knew what angles worked and what didn't, where and how to apply a little lubrication and just what body parts to push.

  'AAH!' roared Ted as his great tool was sheathed in the Honeydew cunt.

  'Oh boy!' breathed Chastity as the quivering organ filled her to the limit.

  'No! No!' cried Ted as the blonde lifted and plunged on top of him, the gleaming orbs of her breasts quivering, the golden mane of her hair enveloping him. And the hot, tight, incredible, long-forgotten-but-now-instantly-recalled pressure of pussy on penis teased and excited and urged him to—

  'NOOO!' burst from his throat as he gushed his long-dammed desire deep into the succulent honeypot of the luscious sex goddess. And, as the flood hit her like a bolt from a geyser, Chastity was swept away in her own glorious orgasm.

  Silence fell throughout the studio. For a moment, all eyes were upon the two warring writers locked in a battle of lust. Then a woman laughed and another cheered and the air was full of female yells of triumph.

  Ted thrust Chastity from him and rose unsteadily to his feet. His shirt hung in rags from his bloodied chest and he was naked from the waist down. His tree trunk of a penis stood at half mast, the shaft glistening wet. From the red swollen glans trailed a string of the precious male essence he had fought so hard to conserve. And failed.

  With a howl of despair, Ted lumbered towards the studio doors. He ran down the corridors, down the stairs, through the reception area and out into the night.

  And straight into the arms of Inspector Claire Quartermain and an elite squad of the Sex Police.

  Chapter 59

  Sonja Sargeant walked into the offices of The Whimsical Press the next day with a beam on her face. Her hair was a bird's nest, there were shadows under her eyes and her blouse was crumpled. These things were par for the course, but not the smile or the light burning in her brown eyes.

  'This,' she proclaimed to her assistant, 'is the first morning of the rest of my life.'

  The assistant looked at her watch. 'Nearly the first afternoon,' she drawled. 'Blow-job's been screaming for you for the past hour. You'd better go and sort him out.'

  'My pleasure,' said Sonja, looking for once as if she meant it. Basil Swan was a self-styled old-fashioned publisher, 'one of a dying breed' as he was fond of saying. As far as his underpaid, overworked staff were concerned, extinction could not come quick enough.

  'Where the bloody hell have you been, Sonja?' he squawked when the publicist strode into his office. 'Now that Timberland's tour is over I won't have you goofing off. Have you seen your in-tray?'

  'Oh fuck off, Basil,' said Sonja and lit up a cigarette.

  'Hey, you can't do that. It's no smoking in this building. We'll be in trouble with the landlord. And don't be rude to me, the staff might hear. These walls are very thin.'

  Sonja placed a white envelope on his desk.

  'What's that?' he said.

  'My resignation.'

  'Not again.'

  'I mean it this time, Basil. I'm out of this ghastly firm and this ghastly business. I've got a job in television.'

  'Good God, have you really?'

  'Black Raven TV. Senior researcher and special consultant on the book industry. Ten grand more than you pay and lots and lots of perks. So you can take your job, Basil, and stuff it.'

  'Oh.' His jowls wobbled in a sulky fashion. 'You'll be working out your notice, of course. Technically it's three months—'

  'Three minutes, Basil. I calculate you owe me two years' holiday. Don't kick up a fuss or I'll tell your wife your nickname around the office. And how you earned it, of course.'

  'Christ, Sonja, what a little bitch you've turned out to be.'

  'I've been well trained. Bye, Basil.'

  'Wait, Sonja. Er, your assistant, Andrea—'

  'Adriana.'

  'Is she any good?'

  'Hopeless. Ambitious though.'

  'She's got good legs.'

  'There you are then. I'm sure she'll shape up under your personal supervision.'

  Basil's beady eyes twinkled. 'So be it,' he said. It paid to be a philosopher in this business - every cloud, after all, had a silver lining.

  Sonja was clearing out her desk when the phone rang.

  'It's the police,' said Adriana. 'About Tree-Top Ted.'

  Sonja took the receiver. 'Can I help you?'

  'This is the Thought Correction Unit,' said a disinterested female voice. 'We're holding a man in custody who claims he's a writer called Edward Timberland. He says you're his publishers.'

  'That's true but there's been a mistake. Mr Timberland flew back to the States this morning.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Certainly. He's been visiting Britain on a publicity tour but his flight left at midday today. He'll be in the air by now.'

  'I see. I wonder who we've got then.'

  'Frankly, officer, Mr Timberland has many devout fans who want to be like him. It's no surprise to me that some of them actually claim to be him.'

  'I see.'

  'It's probably a misguided cry for help. Don't be too hard on the imposter, will you, officer?'

  Tom's guest for lunch arrived twenty minutes late. He wasn't surprised - it was a miracle she had turned up at all. Charlie Kite had moved heaven and earth to track her down at such short notice.

  'I believe we've recently played our long-time-no-see scene,' he said as he rose and took her slender hand.

  Tina looked steadily into his eyes. 'So you do remember?'

  'It's only just come back to me.'

  They sat down and faced each other across the white tablecloth. In the background the noise of the busy restaurant was faint. This was a private corner; Tom's instructions had been specific.

  'Are you expecting me to apologise?' she said.

  'No. I probably owe you an apology first. It was shitty of me to send that photo of your father to the papers. I never realised the trouble it would cause. I'm sorry about that.'

  She shrugged and sipped from her glass. 'It didn't end up badly. Mum remarried and I have two half-brothers in Italy. They're adorable.'

  'Did you - when you and Shani drugged me that night - did you mean to kill me?'

  'No!' Her caramel eyes bored into his. 'Of course not. When you ran out of the room it was completely unexpected.'

  'I wouldn't have fallen off the balcony if you hadn't doped me.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Aha, so you do apologise.'

  'I apologise for causing your accident. I think we're quits.'

  'Apart from this.'

  Tom took the glass object from beneath the table and placed it on the white cloth. The dummy penis glowed, a golden honey colour.

  Tina looked from the Wand to Tom's face. A smile tugged at the corner of her petal-pink lips.

  'You're not trying to get out of the deal, are you?'

  'I signed the contract under duress.'

  'Are you intending to go back to court to prove it?'

  He grinned. 'Of course not. I'm going to mass-produce this thing and sell the hell out of it. From what I've heard, it's a winner.'

  Tina placed her hand upon the glass object and the colours within began to swirl.

  'Do you recognise it?' she said. 'Doesn't the shape seem familiar to you?'

  Tina's fingers stroked up and down the shaft and the broad, plum-shaped glans gleamed crimson.

  Tom frowned as he stared at it. Pennies began to drop. 'You took a cast of my cock that night.'

  'That's right, Tom, and this is the result. Isn't it beautiful?'

  'Good God!'

  'I'd be proud if I were you. Now every woman who's ever lusted after you can possess you. Thousands of them. That should give you a thrill.'

  'It's bigger than I am.'

  'I'd keep that quiet if I were you.'

  They both laughed. They were still laughing when the waiters descended with food and wine. After they'd eaten, Tina put an envelope of photographs on the table.

&n
bsp; 'We needed some of them for the model of your cock,' she explained. 'We took the rest as insurance.'

  'Blackmail, you mean.'

  She didn't bother to deny it but pushed the pile towards him. 'I don't see any need for that now. You keep them.' Tom left them where they were.

  'Tell me one thing, Tina.'

  'Yes?'

  'When I ran through the list of women who might want to harm me - well, there were quite a few.'

  'I'm sure.'

  'I'd slept with them all and somehow things had gone wrong afterwards. They all ended up hating me. But I never slept with you.'

  'Perhaps you should have done.'

  'Oh.'

  'I always wanted you, Tom. You had everyone else - what was wrong with me?'

  'But you were in love with Shani.'

  'I was in love with lots of people. Including you, but you never did anything about it.'

  Tom stared at her in surprise. Did she really mean that all this trouble could have been avoided if, for once, he had not kept his hands to himself?

  'Tina, I don't know what to say.'

  'It's your cue to say come with me to a hotel around the corner where we can discover what we've been missing all these years.'

  Tom was tempted. The mature Tina was even lovelier than the delicious blonde nymph of fifteen years ago. Surely, after his ordeal, he was entitled to drown in those rich brown eyes, to bury his face in that thick honeyed hair, to taste the candy-pink pussy he had once glimpsed as she had lain in Shani's arms in the flat above the river?

  But he hesitated. This was a test of his new mettle. Tina's full pale mouth turned down in disappointment.

  'Is it true you're going to marry the nurse? The one who testified against you.'

  'Yes.'

  'Congratulations. In that case I suppose I'd better make do with this.'

  Tom saw that she was squeezing the Wand. Her hand was wrapped tight around the shaft and from between her slim fingers thrust the big glass glans. It glowed a fiery spitting red.

  In the cells of The Primrose Court another hand was stroking another penis, one no less magical in its dimensions though made of flesh and blood.