Black Lace Quickies 9

by Kerri Sharpe

  ‘As it goes, I’m not sure I can wait,’ Jim Levens said suddenly.

  ‘You’ll just bloody have to,’ Larry Ryan answered him with a grunt. ‘I ain’t rushing this.’ Then he turned to me and said, ‘Having a good suck down there, love? I’d love to do it all over your face. Ooh, you’re going to make me come any second.’

  I nodded on my mouthful of cock, took him as deep as I could one more time and moved down to lick at his sac and gently fondle his balls, rolling them over my tongue to make him gasp and shiver. Jim Levens gave a low groan.

  ‘I’ve got to fuck her or I’m going to come in my pants. Be a mate, Larry, and move your chair back. I need some room.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, but you’d better be quick.’

  I was separated from Larry Ryan’s equipment for a couple of seconds as he pushed his chair back on its rollers.

  ‘Hey, no,’ I protested, but Jim Levens was already pulling down his fly, to extract a long, pale cock, already erect.

  ‘Skirt up, ducks,’ he ordered, ‘and don’t worry, it won’t take a minute.’

  Mr Hawkridge coughed.

  ‘I think not, gentlemen, at least, not without further concessions.’

  ‘Fuck that!’ Jim swore. ‘Equal rights, that’s what I want, and that’s what I’m having.’

  ‘No argument there, Mr Levens,’ Mr Hawkridge said coolly. ‘Once Mr Ryan has taken his pleasure with Ms Tisbury Jones, you may take yours, in her mouth, as previously agreed.’

  Jim Levens’s mouth came open, shut again, opened again, like a goldfish. Then he spoke. ‘OK, you corporate running dog, what do you want?’

  ‘This year’s pay linked to inflation?’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Frances, would you be good enough to lift your skirt?’

  ‘But Mr Hawkridge . . .’

  ‘Your skirt, please, Frances. I wish to demonstrate to Mr Levens precisely what he is missing.’

  ‘But Mr Hawkridge . . .’

  ‘Frances,’ he said patiently, ‘I really do think matters would be a great deal easier if you simply did as you were told, don’t you?’

  ‘But Mr Hawkridge . . .’

  ‘Frances?’

  I threw him a last, desperate look, but my hands were already on my skirt. All four of them were staring at me as I tugged it up, to show off my expensive scarlet silk knickers, and my bottom, most of which was spilling from the sides. I was already kneeling, which showed plenty, but pulled my back in a little to make the best of myself. I know how much men like to see that inbending curve twixt breasts and hips.

  ‘Fucking gorgeous,’ Reg Davies breathed. ‘Now that is an arse!’

  Larry Ryan was leaning sideways out of his chair to get a better view, erect cock in his hand. He blew his breath out.

  ‘What a peach!’

  ‘Red knickers,’ Jim Levens drawled. ‘I love red knickers.’

  ‘Stockings too,’ Larry Ryan added. ‘Real class. Stick it out a bit more, love.’

  I threw him a resentful look but did as I was told, pulling my back in as tight as it would go.

  ‘Fucking gorgeous,’ Reg Davies repeated. ‘There used to be this bird worked in the union president’s office, back in the sixties it was. She used to wear red knickers and a skirt so short you could see ’em when she bent down. The Red Flag, the lads used to call her, and –’

  ‘Mr Davies, perhaps if we could proceed?’ Mr Hawkridge broke in politely.

  Jim Levens stood up, rubbing his hands.

  ‘The pay–inflation linkage, Mr Levens?’ Mr Hawkridge enquired.

  Jim nodded, his eyes never leaving my out-thrust bottom.

  ‘For a period of five years?’ Mr Hawkridge added.

  ‘Five years? Fuck that!’

  ‘No, Mr Levens, fuck that,’ Mr Hawkridge responded, pointing to where my knickers were pulled tight over my pussy.

  Jim Levens swallowed. His cock looked as if it was about to explode.

  ‘OK, OK, five years,’ he panted.

  ‘Hold on just a minute, you’re forgetting something here,’ Reg Davies put in. ‘What about the T.S.W.U.?’

  ‘What about them?’ Jim Levens demanded impatiently.

  ‘Well, I want mine, that’s what,’ Reg answered him. ‘And I’m not having your sloppy seconds, Jim Levens. Come on, love, pop your knicks down; you need a man for this job, not a boy.’

  ‘Just one moment,’ Jim snapped. ‘May I remind you who has seniority here? Three times your members, I’ve got, Brother Davies, so I reckon that gives me the right to go first.’

  ‘Seniority?’ Reg Davies demanded. ‘The U.W.R. may be the bigger union, but that does not mean you have seniority, my lad, not by a very long way indeed. Founded in eighteen-sixty-four, we were, eighteen-sixty-four.’

  ‘By you?’ Jim Levens enquired.

  ‘I’m not that bloody old, you young pup,’ Reg answered him. ‘But, if you’re to make an issue of it, I’ll remind you that I was holding picket lines when you were in nappies, and before, so how about a bit of respect for your elders, eh?’

  ‘Maybe you were,’ Jim Levens retorted, ‘but where were you boys the year before last when four of our boys were accused of kipping on the job, eh? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘Secondary action, secondary action,’ Reg Davies interrupted. ‘And the lazy buggers were asleep, and all –’

  ‘Are you saying my members sleep on the job?’

  ‘I’m saying what I know, plain and straight.’

  ‘Oh, you are, are you, well, just you –’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake!’ I yelled. ‘One of you can sodomise me if you really have to, but please stop arguing!’

  All three men went quiet.

  Reg Davies nodded. ‘Seems fair.’

  ‘Seems fair, brother,’ Jim Levens agreed. ‘Er . . . who goes where then?’

  ‘I’m in the fanny, you’re up the bum,’ Reg answered. ‘Stands to reason, that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to go underneath, I do,’ Reg asserted. ‘On account of my weight and my age, you see. I haven’t the puff I had when I was a young man. You, though, you look like you’ve the right equipment for the back door, so Fanny here, she climbs on top of me, like, and you slip it in up the back way, see?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Jim answered, glancing down at his old chap. ‘Come on then, Fanny, get ’em down.’

  I nodded, feeling slightly weak, and reached back to pull down my knickers. They were going to get in the way so I took them right off and crawled forwards, to take Larry’s cock in my mouth again as Reg lay down. I was watching him from the corner of my eye as I resumed sucking. Reg pulled his cock out, already hard for me, thick and stubby, maybe even thicker than Larry’s, but not nearly as long.

  He gave me a happy nod as he saw I was looking. I came off Larry and mounted up, straddling his huge hips to ease myself down on his erection. He fitted me beautifully, and I couldn’t help but sigh as my pussy filled, right up, bringing me that wonderful, glorious, incomparable sensation of being really open around a big man’s cock. He was so comfy too, like being mounted on a well-stuffed sofa, only a sofa I could fuck and fuck and fuck.

  I’d begun to bounce up and down, I couldn’t help myself. His huge tummy was right on my pussy, which was very rude, but it was going to make me come, and soon. Larry wheeled his chair in closer, beside me, and I opened wide to take him in, sucking happily as I rode Reg’s cock. I could see Mr Hawkridge, sat back with a satisfied smile, steepling his fingers over his stomach, his eyes firmly on the junction between my mouth and Larry Ryan’s cock.

  ‘Hold it still a minute, ducks,’ Jim said, as his long, strong hands closed on my hips.

  He gripped tight, holding my bottom for penetration. I felt his cock touch me between my cheeks. I felt myself open. I felt myself fill, and all three of them were in me – three rough, tough, working men, sharing me, their lovely hard cocks in my body, my mouth, my bum and pussy, all at the same time.
It was so good, perfect, and, as they began to get their rhythm inside me, I knew I’d be coming in just seconds. They’d taken over: Larry’s hands in my hair as he slid his huge cock in and out between my lips; Jim in my bottom so deep I could feel his hair tickling between my cheeks; Reg filling me completely, pussy stretched so wide and pressed hard to his flesh, so good . . . so good I was already coming, and, if I hadn’t had a good six inches of thick brown cock in my mouth, I’d have screamed the building down.

  As it was, I gave a little muffled gasp as, through the angle of my skirt, I discreetly pulled the ridge of my panties tightly over my clit for about the hundredth time for the past fifteen minutes. I was actually coming, licking my lips as I did so, revelling in the delicious explosion in my knickers.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Frances, did you say something?’ Mr Hawkridge asked.

  I looked him in the eyes, my cunt still pulsing between my legs. ‘No, no, nothing at all, Mr Hawkridge,’ I replied as I snapped out of my daydream and back to the mundane reality of the union meeting. ‘I was just thinking how we might resolve this issue.’

  Monica Belle is the author of the Black Lace novels Noble Vices, Valentina’s Rules, Wild in the Country, Wild by Nature, Office Perks, Pagan Heat, Bound in Blue and The Boss

  Cabin Pressure

  Maya Hess

  NATALIE BEAUMAN WATCHED from the jump seat as Dubai disappeared into the desert. The ochre landscape was soon replaced by a mountain range she had never heard of and then the view from the porthole transformed into the indigo expanse of the Gulf of Oman. Natalie unbuckled her harness while the 747–400 juddered its way through cloud and mild turbulence, causing her to momentarily lose her balance as she headed for the first-class galley. She briefly checked her appearance in the stainless-steel door of a locker, straightened her red and white neck scarf and clasped her hands together ready for duty.

  ‘Shall I begin serving?’ Natalie asked Angela, her superior. Angela turned and stared at Natalie with a taut facial expression. Her eyes flicked to Natalie’s breast to read her name badge suggesting that she had already forgotten her name.

  ‘Captain Wild always has black coffee with two sugars when we break from the circuit. You can serve him first and then return to help me with the bar.’ Angela’s face loosened briefly into a wry smile and she ran her finger over her own name badge, which was decorated with five small sparkling gems. Natalie mirrored the action, tracing her finger over her own undecorated badge. One day she hoped to make it to purser too.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I’ll sort that out right away.’

  Natalie busied herself preparing the captain’s tray, adding a couple of Viennese biscuits and a linen napkin before striding confidently to the cockpit. All the weeks of intensive training were finally being put to good use and already Natalie loved her new job passionately. During the flight from London to Dubai, she hadn’t had a chance to get to know Angela and the rest of the first-class team. She had been dealing out headsets and trays of food in economy and, unbeknown to her, had been requested to work in first class for the final leg of the journey to Sydney. Now, as she slid past Angela and another senior member of the cabin crew, she became acutely aware that the two more experienced women were vetting her every move, watching how she performed in detail. Natalie couldn’t quite hear their comments as she knocked on the cockpit door but she certainly heard their amused laughs as she clicked the door shut behind her.

  ‘Your coffee, Captain Wild.’ She’d seen it many times before during training but now it was the real thing, now she was actually working for Voyage-Air and she was standing before the flight crew in the nerve centre of Boeing’s most impressive aircraft. Natalie felt her knees give a little. Her eyes blurred as banks of lights and digital displays spewed technical information at her from all angles and her hands shook, causing coffee to pool in the saucer. If there had been a spare seat, she would have taken it. She had barely noticed that the captain, his co-pilot and the navigator were all smirking at her.

  ‘Your reputation precedes you across the world, Jim.’ The co-pilot winked at Natalie and took the tray from her. ‘Nothing for us?’ he asked, eyeing the single coffee disdainfully.

  ‘Of course. I’ll –’

  ‘My name is not Wild. I’m Captain Wilkinson.’ His voice was deep and assertive and filled with the confidence of having spoken across the skies to the entire world’s air traffic control centres. The pilot loosened the harness that stretched across his broad black-and-gold-clad shoulders and removed a pair of impenetrable aviation sunglasses. Natalie lowered her eyes as the captain’s gaze flicked casually over her.

  ‘It’s just that Angela said you were –’ Again, more laughter from the flight crew.

  ‘Angela Cartwright is allowed to call me whatever she wishes.’ Captain Wilkinson took a sip of his coffee and nodded in approval. ‘She’s earned her stripes.’

  Natalie suddenly felt like her clothes had been removed and her skin was being abraded by the Captain’s now scouring eyes. She wanted to take orders for the other drinks but stupidly felt rooted to the spot and quite unable to speak. Captain Wilkinson surveyed every part of Natalie, from the neat chignon secured by Voyage-Air’s red and white pillbox hat, right down her sheer-stockinged legs to her patent red court shoes.

  ‘You’re new, right?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Natalie replied.

  ‘Has Angela informed you of the initiation process yet? It’s something we do for all new recruits as a kind of . . .’ The captain’s voice trailed off and he turned to his controls, making several adjustments to various instruments. ‘Straight and level at thirty-three. See to the cabin announcements would you, Alan?’ Captain Wilkinson turned his attention once more to Natalie. ‘Call it a kind of welcome. As one of Voyage-Air’s longest-serving captains, I like to get to know all my long-haul crew personally.’

  Natalie relaxed and smiled. ‘Shall I bring more coffee?’

  The co-pilot and navigator gave her their requests and then swiftly resumed their duties, speaking a language punctuated by figures, safety checks and radio static. Natalie returned to the galley, assisting an elderly and extremely fussy passenger along the way. She wore her smile as stoically and genuinely as she wore the prestigious uniform of Voyage-Air.

  ‘You look gorgeous. Did he love you?’ Angela’s stiff tone had dissolved and she gave a classic stewardess smile, elevating her otherwise determined features into a moment of camaraderie.

  ‘Who?’ Natalie frowned.

  ‘Captain Wild, of course. He’s the one that requested you work first class to Sydney.’ Angela regained control of her professionalism and strode away from Natalie with the drinks trolley. Further down the aisle, she turned and delivered a slow wink to her bemused associate while trailing her finger over her gem-decorated badge.

  Five hours into the flight, when the first-class passengers were fed and most of them reclined and dozing from too much champagne, Natalie lowered the cabin lights. There was a satisfied atmosphere aboard the aircraft. Exhausted herself, Natalie wouldn’t have minded curling up in one of the luxurious seats and settling into a movie. She was desperate to kick off her heels and let down her tightly pinned hair and the prospect of a hot bath was as far away as the hotel in Sydney itself. As proud of it as she was, Natalie was desperate to shed her Voyage-Air uniform. Her intensive training had covered every aspect of long-haul work but had done little to prepare her for the exhaustion she was now suffering. She wondered if she’d ever get used to leaping across the time zones.

  ‘I’m going for my break now. I’ll be half an hour and then you can take yours. Shelley’s also on duty so ask her if there are any problems.’ Angela strode to the rear of the cabin and descended the small staircase, her long legs scissoring down the narrow aisle. Natalie decided to take another walk around the first-class cabin to make sure all her passengers’ needs were met.

  The old lady she had helped previously was now asleep with her head bent
sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Natalie reached up into the overhead locker and took down a feather pillow and a satin-edged blanket. She skilfully positioned the woman’s head on the pillow and only when she draped the blanket over her frail body did the woman stir and offer her a thankful smile. Natalie was filled with a feeling she couldn’t explain. It was the sense of serving, without being subservient, that she relished so much.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Natalie turned to whoever was whispering. In the subtle light she could see that a dark-haired man was beckoning to her and holding up his empty glass.

  ‘Be a doll and get me another, would you?’

  Natalie breathed in the sweet whiff of Voyage-Air’s best Scotch as she approached the man. She considered advising him to take a large drink of water as she had already plied him with countless drinks over the last few hours. But he was behaving himself and appeared harmless and Natalie assumed that he would soon drift off into a deep sleep and wake up with a banging headache in Sydney. So she obliged him and returned with more Scotch and a tray of nibbles.

  ‘Thought you might like these too,’ she said as she lowered his table. Natalie struggled with the catch and the man’s fingers momentarily collided with hers as he tried to help. Finally, the table opened.

  ‘See,’ he said. ‘I’m not drunk at all.’

  Natalie grinned, her face only inches away from his. ‘Did I say you were?’ Politeness was imperative. The man’s eyes narrowed, still at close range, and Natalie caught a flash of her scarlet uniform in his jet pupils. At first sight, he looked the most unlikely first-class passenger she had ever encountered. His hair was tousled and shoulder length, although undeniably charming the way it was pushed back off his tanned face, and he wore jeans and sneakers and a loose white shirt. Natalie had been surprised during boarding that, amongst all the designer suits and smart dresses and expensive hand luggage, this particular passenger had arrived wearing a beat-up leather jacket and carrying a vintage holdall. But it was not her duty to judge.