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.
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.
'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.
The hulking
frame of the American lay stretched out on his back. He had a
rubber bung wedged between his lips, an oiled wooden plug jammed
deep into his rectum, two silver clamps that bit into his nipples
and leather bonds on his wrists and ankles. Apart from that he was
stark-naked. His erection rose from his belly like a great
branch.
Gossamer
pumped the big tool with quivering fingers. As she did so her huge
white breasts shook above her black leather basque, the nipples
sticking up like clothes pegs, the circles of her areolae the size
of saucers. She fancied she could see her own incredible image
mirrored in the pupils of the man beneath her.
'How many
times has he come off?' she asked.
Amy Tooth
raised her head from Gossamer's crotch. She was on her knees paying
loving homage to her superior's thick-lipped pussy split, toying
with the bush of blonde hair that fluffed from beneath the basque
and plunging her tongue deep into the sugar-sweet pinkness
beneath.
'Five times,
so far,' she said and flicked her tongue across the ruby-red nub of
the Prosecutor's trembling clit.