Lust Under Licence (13 page)

'Now,' she
said, 'let me show you how we press charges in the cells of The
Primrose Court.'

It was the
most sensational sex sensation Kelvin had ever had. The kiss of
shaved and oiled cunt on cock was more intimate than anything he
had ever felt before.

She lowered
herself slowly, taking his length millimetre by millimetre into the
furnace of her sex, until he was sheathed to the hilt. She sat
completely still for a moment, her full weight on his loins.

Her huge breasts trembled above him, her honeyed thighs
gleamed in the harsh light and her wide mouth smiled down at him.
He longed to thrust his cock in and out of her creamy white belly,
to devour her with his mouth, to ransack her voluptuous flesh with
his hands - to
fuck
her properly, for God's sake. But he couldn't, he just had to
lie back and take it.

He watched as
she slid a finger into the groove of her pussy and her other hand
began to pull and tweak her nipples. The colour rose in her cheeks
as she pleasured herself, her breath shortening and her breasts
heaving. She came twice before she even moved her hips in any kind
of motion that might bring him release. When she came, he felt a
fluttering inside her, a delicate beating of butterfly wings
against his weeping penis - but it was not enough to bring him
off.

'Mmm,' sighed
Gossamer as she fell forward on top of him and settled her flesh on
the oil-slick slipperiness of his rubber embrace. 'This is heaven,
darling. I could go on like this all night, couldn't you?'

Kelvin wasn't
sure, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

Tom took the
stairs to the flat above the warehouse three at a time. He had some
good news for Shani and the girls. He couldn't wait to tell them
how he planned to land a record deal.

The key to it
was Maeve Slack. She was a generous woman, generous with her body,
her wine and her time. For the past two weeks they had spent most
afternoons in bed together. Between bouts of energetic lovemaking
she had listened to his schemes to get the Shagbags off the ground
- and to his frustrations as each plan came adrift. He told her how
difficult it was to get through to the people that counted. He had
a tape of Shani and the girls but he couldn't get anyone important
to listen to it.

'I know Chas
Cross,' Maeve told him during one languorous siesta. Though she was
on the point of burying his impatient cock between her wet red
lips, Tom stopped her. Chas Cross was the boss of Euphoria, an
independent label which had minted money in the days before punk
with a table of dreamy singer-songwriters. Euphoria was now off the
pace, Tom knew that much. He also knew that Chas Cross was a
laid-back maverick who might see the potential in Shani - if only
Tom could get his attention.

'You're
kidding,' he said.

Maeve grinned
at him, her mouth poised over his cock, her lingers moving on the
white stem.

'Lionel taught
him at Fleetmore. He stood up for him over some drugs fuss and
stopped him being sent down. His mother was very grateful. I've
kept in touch.'

'Maeve, you're
a bloody marvel,' he'd said, plunging his straining tool into her
face. 'Just get me his home phone number.'

That had been
ten days ago. Since then he'd phoned Cross nightly. Most of the
time the phone was engaged. The time he spoke to Cross it was after
midnight. Tom played, the Lionel Slack card at once and introduced
himself as the student manager of a band. Cross was polite, Tom
kept it short but rang again the next night and the night after
that. On the fourth night Cross picked up the phone and said, 'Hi
Tom,' but he turned down Tom's requests to listen to the tape of
the Shagbags himself. 'Send it 'to the office,' he said, 'Phil will
give it a spin.' Tom told him he'd already sent two copies and got
no response. 'Too bad,' said Cross. It sounded like he meant
it.

Tom changed
tack after that. He rang every night, between one and five in the
morning, but he dropped the direct sell. He asked Cross's advice,
discussed the record business in general and bitched about
Euphoria's competitors. Cross was unfailingly good-humoured - and
always wide awake. In his shoes, Tom would have been neither.

On the seventh
night Cross asked Tom why he had stopped pitching his group. Tom
told him he was waiting till Euphoria came begging.

And now, if
things went according to plan, they would do just that.

The door to
the flat wasn't locked which didn't surprise Tom. It never was. The
big loft looked unoccupied. There were clothes and unwashed plates
and stage gear everywhere; it smelt of stale food and perfume and
dope. He picked his way through mattresses, past the makeshift
hanging wardrobe bulging with unpressed clothes, heading for the
far corner of the open space. Here there was a more conventional
layout, a corridor with small rooms leading off it - a kitchen, a
bathroom and bedrooms.

This, he knew,
was Shani's area. It was her he really wanted to talk to.

Through the
half-open door he saw her long coffee-coloured legs, stretched out
on the white sheet of a bed. He stopped to one side of the door,
suddenly transformed into intruder - and voyeur.

He knew at
once she was not alone. There were sounds in the air. Soft feminine
sighs, a low-pitched giggle, a sudden intake of breath. Shani was
making love - and her partner was not a man.

Tom wasn't
altogether surprised. Unlike the others she did not have male
hangers-on. And there was something aggressive about her that went
beyond attitude. She was possessive about the girls in her band,
that was clear, her black impenetrable eyes following them as they
flirted with their admirers. Like the leader of a pack, she was
formidable.

He stepped
closer, peering through the doorjamb, hidden from the couple on the
bed.

He should have
expected the other girl to be Christina but he hadn't and it was a
shock. She looked small and vulnerable in Shani's arms, her thin
white limbs glowing pale in the bigger woman's dark embrace. And
though she looked defenceless, she was certainly not reluctant.

Their heads
lay side by side on the pillow, their lips glued together in an
endless kiss. Clothes lay crumpled on the floor but neither girl
was naked. Shani wore panties and a thin black bra; the curve of
her left breast bulging against its constraint as she lay on her
side. Her fingers were picking at the ribbons of a peach camisole,
laying bare the alabaster swell of Tina's delicate bosom. As the
small pink nub of a nipple came into view Shani covered it with her
mouth and Tina held her close, eyes tight shut, shivering with
passion.

Tom was
shivering too. He leaned against the doorway, hoping the hammering
of his heart could not be heard. He felt, stupidly, betrayed - not
only because he wanted these women for himself but because he could
imagine with what horror Maeve might view the proceedings. And had
he not promised her he would look after her estranged daughter? Yet
here he was watching her being devoured by a predatory lesbian -
and enjoying every second.

Shani's hand
was in Tina's panties, Tom could see her fingers moving beneath the
thin peach silk, a match to the camisole which was now off her slim
shoulders. Shani lifted her head from Tina's breast, leaving the
nipple swollen and red and wet. She put her face to the younger
girl's and pushed a long pink tongue into her mouth. Tina sucked on
it, moving her hips now to the rhythm of the singer's hand between
her legs. She put her own hand on the outside of the material and
pressed Shani's fingers harder into her. They broke the kiss, Tina
was breathing hard. Shani pulled her hand away and stripped the
panties down the girl's thighs.

'Hurry,'
sighed Tina, kicking the flimsy garment from her foot and
displaying to Tom the candy-pink split of her open-mouthed pussy,
wisps of fine blonde hair curling on the apex of her mound, the
spread lips wet and eager. Then the thrilling sight was blotted
from his view by the dark shape of Shani's head as she plunged
between Tina's legs, her glossy black locks covering the girl's
slim white thighs.

Tom shut his
eyes and leaned his head against the wall. It was wrong of him to
watch, he knew, he was trespassing on a private moment of
significance. This performance, however, was not to be scorned.
Shani made love like she sang - with passion and commitment. He
opened his eyes again.

The women had shifted position. Tina was on her back, her
knees lifted, her thighs spread, her bottom on the edge of the bed.
Shani was on her knees on the floor, her head dipping to Tina's
crotch, her hands roaming the flesh of her lover's supine body.
Her
cafe au lait
skin glistened in the morning sunlight as she worked, her
brown fingers now pressing hard into the girl's inner thigh,
leaving pink fingerprints on the white skin. Her broad rear jutted
towards the doorway, the black panties cutting into the flesh of
her spread buttocks. As she sucked and kissed the younger girl, her
back hollowed and her arse swayed. She was eating the girl
alive.

There was a
low keening in the air which rose to a sob. Tina's hand was pressed
to her mouth, as if she were trying to suppress the sound, but the
rush of orgasm was now upon her and she was screaming through her
fingers at a pitch that threatened to shatter glass. Shani was
remorseless. Her arms were a band of steel around the girl's thighs
and her mouth was locked to her vagina. At last the high-pitched
cry cracked and broke into sobs. Tina reached down to pull Shani
into her arms and the pair of them lay on the bed in a shuddering
embrace.

There was
silence. Tom wanted to move his position but he didn't dare. Then
the girls began to whisper.

'I love you,'
he heard Tina say and the singer mumbled something into her
ear.

'No,' said
Tina, 'please not now.'

'That's
tough,' said Shani, 'because you got no choice,' and she got off
the bed and walked towards the door. Tom had no idea what he would
have done if she had taken a pace further but she didn't. She stood
in front of a chest of drawers and pulled something from it. Then
she unhooked her bra, spilling forth her big brown breasts, the
nipples a bluish black, the dark circles of her areolae gleaming.
She stepped out of her panties and dried herself with them between
her legs. The thick black hair of her pussy was cropped short and
the deep crease of her cunt split was fully on view. Then she
strapped on the dummy penis.

Tom wondered
later why he hadn't come in his pants - or maybe he had. His entire
crotch seemed soaked yet his cock was as hard as a rock. As his
shell-shocked brain devoured the incredible sight before him he
wondered if it would ever go down again.

Despite her
protests, Tina's eyes were wide with excitement as Shani returned
to the bed. Shani found cream and Tina rubbed it onto the pink
plastic truncheon thrusting from Shani's crotch.

'It's so big,'
she said, anointing the gleaming tip. 'I'll never take all
that.'

But she did
and Tom could see that she loved the sensation as it disappeared up
her hungry little snatch. From his position by the door he could
savour every nuance of this unusual coupling: woman on woman, brown
skin on white, heavy breasts crushed against swollen strawberry
buds, black locks mingling with blonde - and the glistening dark
ovals of Shani's buttocks rising and falling between Tina's slender
white thighs, driving the plastic monster home to cries of mingled
delight.

Tom had never
seen two women making love before and the sight of it thrilled him
to the core. It also gave him an idea.

The women sang
their way to orgasm. One voice low and guttural, the other sweet
and high-pitched. They balanced each other, the notes spiralling up
the scale in harmony they fucked each other to ecstasy.

They were
making so much noise there was little need of Tom to take
precautions, nevertheless he tiptoed away. What he had to say to
Shani could wait, in any case it needed refining in the light of
what had just occurred to him. Right now he had to see Maeve
urgently. Unless he buried his rock hard erection between her
willing thighs soon he felt it would be with him for ever. However,
he didn't intend telling her how he had acquired such a passionate
need.

As he closed
the door of the flat behind him the women sang on, their duet far
from its conclusion.

Once Tom had
sold his big idea to Shani he knew things would go according to
plan. He'd always known she was ambitious but not until he'd seen
her standing over Tina - that big pink dildo thrusting like a
weapon from her loins, a fierce intensity burning in her face - had
he realised that she was also ruthless. She had simply nodded when
he explained what he wanted her to do. She didn't like it but she
would do it. And God help him if it didn't work.

By a stroke of luck the Shagbags had landed a spot on a local
TV magazine show
Newspoint Sou'-Sou'
West
- the keyboard player's brother worked
on the show as a researcher. Tom knew that no one would take any
notice of a poxy three minutes on regional late-afternoon telly but
that didn't matter. What did matter was what the papers would say
the next morning. His original contact on the
Sunday Skunk
had now moved to the
daily version. Tom made the call.

To Tom's way
of thinking, Shani and the girls put on a sensational performance.
The song was one of Christina's, moody and mellow and - the way
Shani put it over - very sexy. Of course, Tom couldn't look at her
without imagining the raw passion which she had displayed when
making love. He pictured her big black-nippled breasts quivering
and the broad ovals of her buttocks undulating as she thrust
between Tina's pale thighs. The image had haunted his thoughts for
days.