by Paul Kenyon
"It worked, then?"
"Looks like it."
"That'll teach them to ignore Spoiler," Tony said. There was a satisfied edge to his voice. "Well, that gives us a little more time. Three weeks, at least. How's our number seven hole doing?"
At her table, the Baroness stiffened with sudden attention. What was Tony up to? Why the cloak-and-dagger routine about not using his name? And what was this about "Spoiler"?
"Number seven's still sending up methane," Callum's muffled voice buzzed in her ear, "but there's a little of the black stuff mixed in with it."
"We're on our way, then, as long as Illingford's holes keep going bad. I'll leak the information right away. Can you get aboard the Illingford rig again?"
"Aye, they'll not be suspecting me yet. I'm still on the payroll as engineer's assistant."
"Good, good," Tony said. "Keep up the good work."
There was a click in Penelope's ear as Tony hung up. She tried to sort out what she'd heard. Tony was involved in some kind of industrial espionage. And sabotage. Well, she'd always known he was a ruthless bastard. It was part of his charm.
There was another jingle, this time so loud that it made her head ring. Tony was making another call. And this time he'd used the bugged two-pence piece. It was resting in the coin box now, continuing to transmit Tony's voice.
"…give me the editor… Hello?…" He was disguising his voice. "…no, never mind who this is. I have a story for you. It's about Illingford Development Ltd… Yes, they're the company whose shares went up when they struck oil in the North Sea. Well, it might be worth your while to send someone to inquire about what happened aboard their number three drilling rig…"
Tony came back to the table looking like a cat who's swallowed the canary and managed to get the dog blamed for it. He sat down and gave her his charmer's smile.
"Finished your omelet? Sorry I was so long. Business thing. You don't want dessert. Why don't I order a bottle of champagne?"
"What are you celebrating?"
Tony grinned wolfishly. "Celebrating? I'm not celebrating anything. I'm just feeling good."
"That's nice, darling. So am I."
It was a relief to know that Tony hadn't called The Tattletale. She didn't care what kind of a scoundrel he was, as long as he didn't double-cross her.
"It's a shame to let it go to waste, then."
She gave him a long, slow look. "It won't go to waste, darling." She stood up. "Let's skip the champagne."
* * *
"Still feeling good?" Penelope said lazily.
"Good, better, best," Tony said. "What comes after best?"
"Breast, darling. Why don't you try it?"
Obediently, he bent over her and kissed the left one. The stubble on his cheek scraped the nipple. It raised itself into a pink gumdrop. Penelope felt a diffused tingling that made her sigh. Tony raised his head and looked critically at the other nipple. It was struggling to come erect, a hard button in a rosy bull's-eye.
"And now the other one to match," he said.
He lowered his head again and fastened his mouth on the little drooping cone. His lips were pleasantly dry and rough. He popped the nipple in and out of his mouth until it was standing as rigidly as its twin, then took it gently between his teeth. Penelope drew in her breath sharply. Still grasping it with his teeth, he stroked it with the tip of his tongue. She sighed. It was a little zone of delicious sensation.
They were in the basement gym of her Georgian town-house in Mayfair. The house had been in the English branch of the St. John-Orsini family for generations, and she had no intention of giving it up, despite the encroachment of modern buildings. She used it whenever she was in London for more than a few days at a time. The gym was a new addition. It had everything, including a sauna and a small swimming pool.
She and Tony were lying naked on one of the wrestling mats, surrounded by the looming shapes of vaulting horses and parallel bars and exercise machines. Climbing ropes and flying rings dangled like jungle vines from the ceiling. Sumo's oversized swords leaned carelessly against one wall along with the more conventional fencing equipment over near the punching bags. Barbells and medicine balls were scattered around.
She reached between his legs and grabbed him by the tiller. It was already huge again, a rigid post that was still wet and slick from their last joining.
"You have marvelous manners, Tony, darling," she murmured. "Never fail to rise for a lady."
He unfastened his mouth for a moment. "Yes, well, it's been all of five minutes, hasn't it? You're doing fairly well yourself."
He was probing her swollen portal with a forefinger. She shivered with pleasure as he swabbed the finger around. He withdrew the finger and held it up to the light, looking approvingly at its wetness. He popped it into his mouth for a taste. "Mmm, vintage stuff," he said. He bent down for a more direct sample.
Penelope closed her eyes, lying back on the rough canvas of the wrestling mat, savoring the expert explorations of Tony's tongue. It was a very useful tongue, long and muscular, and fantastically supple. It curled upward like an elephant's trunk at the end of each stroke. He had both thumbs hooked into the outer lips, spreading them apart while that marvelous tongue of his lapped away at the fleshy bud that was blooming now with a growing urgency. He was giving her extras, tracing her inner seams with the balls of his thumbs. Tony always did everything well.
She waited until it was almost too much to bear, then sat up with a quick jackknife movement. Just in time; she'd almost come. She cradled Tony's bobbing head between her hands like a basketball and lifted him gently away.
"Let's not fill up on the hors d'oeuvres," she said in a throaty whisper.
He straightened up, kneeling between her legs, and looked at her questioningly. There was a little shiny patch at the end of his nose. His prong was standing out at a slight upward angle, looking heavy and unwieldy, pointing directly at her. The swollen end of it was as purple as a plum and very nearly as big. It looked uncannily like a little blind head with a mouth that, as she watched, oozed a single clear dewdrop that hung trembling. Tony groaned. He grasped her behind both knees and began hauling her toward him.
The rough canvas scraped her behind agreeably for a moment, and then the rubbery plum was poking her mons, a little too high. She raised herself on her heels and palms and pushed forward. The plum shoved its way between her labia, and she held it inside her vestibule, wiggling to make the little joy pops come. Tony was starting to look a little glazed. His face was getting redder. She felt with one hand for the sac swinging between his thighs. It was heavy and dense as a sandbag. It crawled in her hand, and Tony drew in his breath sharply. Instantly she popped his glans out of her slithery clutch. They faced one another, panting. The color of Tony's face slowly subsided to the approximate color of brick.
When they'd both recovered a little, she grasped his cock by the hilt and thrust it just a little way inside her again. There was an electric shock that made her jump as the bulbous tip parted her flesh. She stirred herself with him. She was as swollen as a balloon down there, and there were waves of heat pulsing through her body. Her teeth were chattering. She bore the sweet agony as long as she was able, then pulled him out of her again.
She inserted him four or five times, always stopping short of dissolution. Tony was groaning like a man in pain. His big hands were splayed against her breasts while she worked, the fingers kneading the pneumatic softness, the palms brushing the protuberant nipples. He held on for dear life, his breath coming in great spasmodic gasps, his teeth clenched in a rictus of ecstasy.
She stabbed herself with him one last time, then looked at the froth-covered thing in her hand, sprouting from her fist like some impossibly elongated ice-cream cone. She bent over and licked it a couple of times. His entire body shook.
"Now," he said. "Right now!"
The ice-cream cone twitched. The raspberry scoop deepened a shade. Another drop came out, this time milky in color.
She let go hastil
y and dug her thumb deftly into the base of the scrotum, where the vas deferens is closest to the surface. He grunted; it must have hurt, but the milky dribbling stopped.
"I'm all right, love," he said. "Let's go to it."
She was washed by a sudden flood of longing at his words, but she shook her head and mastered herself. The gym swam back into temporary focus.
"Come on, sweet," he begged. "You said let's not fill up on hors d'oeuvres."
She looked at him pitilessly. "First, a little exercise. For the appetite."
"Appetite?" he roared. "My appetite's bloody out of control already!" He reached for her.
But she'd already sprung to her feet. "That's why the exercise, darling. To take the edge off."
She leaped atop one of the vaulting horses and beckoned to him. Straddling its padded back, she made a wildly improbable erotic vision, black hair flying, breasts quivering, their maraschino tips standing out. He stared at her like a stunned man, then hobbled awkwardly to his feet and padded toward her, his swollen mast bobbing in front of him. He jumped aboard the vaulting horse, but she was already gone, leaving a damp patch where she'd sat.
"Slowpoke!" she laughed.
He caught sight of her at the monkey bars, hanging upside down by her knees. Her hair was a dangling black flag. Her breasts, in that position, were an interesting pear shape. He trotted over and managed to plant a kiss on her upside-down mouth before she untwined herself from the bars and escaped him again.
She was chinning herself on the parallel bars now. Her superb muscles stood out like ropes under the creamy skin, making her arms bulge and tightening her breasts. It was indescribably erotic. Tony hauled himself up on the opposite bar. She kissed him once going up and once coming down, then wrapped her legs around his waist. She lowered her bottom, and his protruding peter swiped along her cleft. He lost his grip and fell to the mat.
Before he could pick himself up, she swung herself out and caught a trapeze that carried her in a great swooping arc across the floor. Tony aimed a frustrated swing at a punching bag and jogged after her. She transferred to a climbing rope and slid down to a pair of flying rings. Tony stood below, swearing, his hands on his hips, the matted black hair on his chest damp with sweat. She swung toward him, her knees hooked in the steel rings. She grabbed his erect tool like a stanchion and brought herself to a halt. Tony winced, but he had enough presence of mind to wrap his arms around her hips and hang on.
"Give it to me, darling," she breathed.
He shifted his grip till he had her by the knees. He caught hold of the steel rings and hauled back. Between her rosy buttocks, the yawning crack of her vulva smiled at him, red-lipped and shiny. He penetrated her with buttered ease. His legs braced apart, he slid in and out of her, whimpering with urgency.
Somehow he lost his grip, and she swung away from him. When she swung back, she was hanging from the trapeze, too high for him. Her face was a blind mask of lust.
"Up on the horse!" she flung at him impatiently as she swung past.
He scrambled up to the broad canvas back of the vaulting horse and lay back, waiting. His penis pointed accusingly upward. He held his breath while she swooped toward him again, hanging upside down by her knees. Her magnificent muscles writhed, and she caught the ropes in her strong fingers. She was directly over him, bottom down. She dropped downward, a sensual yo-yo, and impaled herself precisely on his waiting mast.
He heaved upward immediately, sobbing with relief. She could feel the long shaft piercing her, straight as a broomstick. She pulled up and down on the ropes, feeling him within her like a piston. He was gripping the vaulting horse with his knees so as not to fall off. The little involuntary movements he was making in order to keep his balance added spice to the long thrusts.
It gave her a marvelous, primeval sense of freedom, hanging in midair while that long rod stroked her interior, nothing touching the rest of her body except air. She gave a little half-twist on the ropes, and spun on his penis like a top. He grunted in surprise and stopped pumping.
"Keep it up, darling," she urged him, and he began again to arch his back rhythmically. She rose and fell on the long stem while turning like a wheel on its axle.
"Oh, my God!" she heard Tony cry beneath her. She knew how he felt. It was an entirely new sensation.
It was too much for both of them. They set to work in earnest. Neither of them could have waited for the few seconds it would have taken for her to unwrap herself from the trapeze and mount him properly. His fingers were digging into her hips while he moved her up and down. She could feel his fingernails sharply against her skin. Her breasts were crammed against her knees as she hauled on the ropes in concert with him. Once she slipped out entirely, and they both went crazy until he could fit her onto him again. She could hear him chugging away like a steam engine, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Her own breath was coming faster and faster now. There was a beautiful blind urgency bubbling from that point of contact, surging upward in waves through her whole body.
She gave a little cry as the first trembling spasm clutched at her innards. Her vagina clenched his pole in a sudden paroxysm, and she moaned while she tried to push him deeper and deeper inside her. Again there was a delicious convulsion, bigger this time. She hovered, trembling, on the edge of a gigantic explosion.
Beneath her, Tony gave a great hoarse cry and came. He arched upward in a sudden convulsion, pressing himself into her a last, impossible fraction of an inch. His penis twitched and shook itself within her, and she was filled with the warm flood of his semen. With a sob, she let herself go and gave herself up to a huge, shattering orgasm.
It went on and on till she thought she'd die, a delicious string of sunbursts that peaked into a final shuddering release. The universe dissolved, and she let go of the trapeze.
Off balance, they rolled off the edge of the vaulting horse to the floor. Tony clutched her instinctively, and they fell to the mat together, his stick still inside her. The shock as they hit gave her another, unexpected, flutter of release.
She was lying on her back, stretched across Tony's hairy chest. His hands were cupping her breasts, his instrument a hard core within her. She pried herself loose and stood up. The warm semen gushed out and ran down her leg. Tony struggled to a sitting position, looking drained.
"Enjoy your workout, darling?" she said.
They steamed themselves together in the sauna, then plunged, sizzling, into the icy water of the pool. They showered together and shared a big fluffy towel.
"Penny," he said as they got dressed, "why can't we have a real holiday — spend some time together?"
"You know how busy I'm going to be. What do you have in mind?"
"Scotland. The grouse season is almost here. I thought I might fit in a little shooting while I looked after my interests up there."
"Your oil explorations in the North Sea?"
"That's right."
She shook her head. "Sorry, darling. I've got four more commercials to make. Besides, I have no intention of competing with a hole in the ground."
"It's a hole in the bottom of the sea. And there's nothing in this world that could compete with you."
"That's nice, darling, but the answer's still no." She lowered her breasts into the cups of her bra and arranged them in place. Tony helped her hook up in back.
"Change your mind," he said.
"I never mix business with pleasure. Have a good trip, darling."
He looked unhappy. "I have to go." He hesitated. "Something came up."
I'll bet it did, she thought, remembering the bugged phone conversation. Aloud, she said, "It'll have to stay up then, won't it?"
He looked so woebegone that she felt sorry for him. She gave him a penny. It was one of Sumo's electronic coins. She slipped it into his pocket along with his other change while she helped him zip up his pants. She hoped he wouldn't spend it too soon.
Spoiled oil. A competitor in trouble. How convenient for Tony. It certainly was worth fi
nding out more about it.
"I'll call," he said.
"Don't bother," she told him.
Chapter 2
The captain peered across a fifth of a mile of broad steel deck at the ocean beyond. It was a calm, hot day, with a blue sky so clear and deep that you could almost forget that you were sailing a gigantic bomb. Underneath him was five hundred thousand tons of crude oil giving off hydrocarbon vapor. A cigarette, a worn wire, a spark from a nail in a shoe — any one of these was enough to blow them all sky-high.
Fortunately, accidents like that didn't happen much anymore. Not with the safety routines that were performed with almost religious fervor these days on all the supertankers. The crewmen weren't even allowed to wear nylon shirts for fear of static electricity.
"A fine day, Mulchahy," he said to the first officer, standing beside him on the bridge.
"Aye, skipper, that it is," the first officer said.
The sea, a hundred feet below where they stood, was a sparkling sapphire. They were sailing on a course that would take them around the Cape of Good Hope and up the African coast to Rotterdam. Their speed was a respectable twelve knots. They had two months ahead of them with practically nothing to do. Everything was automated. A computer made the navigation decisions. The immense ship, a floating steel island of more than four acres, practically ran itself.
"Boring, Mulchahy," the skipper said.
"Aye," Mulchahy said. "Not like the old days."
The captain yawned. "Keep an eye on things. I'm going down to my office to catch up on the paperwork."
He was halfway to the door when the alarm sounded. He froze, fear showing on his face, and turned back.
"What is it?"
The first officer was scanning the banks of dials and meters. "Pressure in number four tank!"
He located the dial. "Good God! Vent it man, vent it!"
"It's not gas pressure, Captain. Something's pressing against the bulkheads, as if the oil were expanding."
"That's impossible!"
Another flashing light went on. The great ship shuddered.
