“What do you think of it?” Roger asked. “Give it a good manhandle. Go on.”
He’s the kind of man who gives his cock a name. Laura reached down to roll the firm flesh between her palms. “Very nice,” she said blandly. “Very cheeky, though. A naughty cock.”
“Oh yes, Dick Dastardly by name and by nature.”
I should have put some money on it.
She flicked her eyes up to Jeremy’s, hoping to share the joke with him, but his were too busy popping out of his head. That was just as good, though, really.
She bent forward so that her nipples brushed the tip of Roger’s cock, dipping into the dot of precome they found there.
“Watch and learn, darling,” she told Jeremy huskily. “Watch what a real man gets. I’m not dripping candle wax on this big boy, am I? No, I’m getting it ready so it can give me what I need.” She moaned stagily and let her tongue dart across and around the purple head.
“Get on,” panted Roger. “Now.”
“Oh, you sound excited, Roger. I am going to get a good long fucking, aren’t I? You aren’t going to peak too soon, are you?”
“Stop teasing and get your wet fucking pussy on that pole.” Roger’s hands grabbed at her hips, trying to manipulate her up and over.
Roger’s legs still lolled over the side of the bed, so when Laura slid her wet warmth over his hardness, she found herself at a precarious edge, needing his hands to hang on to her to prevent her falling forwards. He held her with confident strength, though, and once she was impaled and filled, she took a moment to lick her lips and groan in Jeremy’s direction before gyrating on that good, fat cock.
“Oh, so good, Roger,” she said, holding Jeremy’s anguished gaze. “So fucking good. I haven’t been filled this full for a long, long time. Perhaps you can come over to my place and give Jeremy lessons. Fuck me in front of him and then see if he can copy your moves. If he can’t, we can give him a good thrashing and stand him in the corner while you take my arse. What do you think?”
Jeremy’s face was beet red now and Laura laughed as she moved surely into a rhythm, pulling up and plunging down, contracting her pelvic floor muscles as tightly as she knew how, draining and milking Dick Dastardly for all he was worth.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Marie, sitting on a red velvet armchair, filing her nails.
“Marie, I’m sure you could join in. Sit on Roger’s face or something?”
“No,” said Roger effortfully. “This show is for Jeremy to watch. He needs to focus on watching Laura get fucked.”
“Can you see it, Jeremy?” asked Laura, upping her pace. “Can you see the cock inside me? God, it feels good. Marie, if I hold my pussy lips apart, can you lick me? Would that work?”
Roger simply grunted, too far gone to make reply, while Marie threw off her robe and knelt between Roger’s jerking knees, finding Laura’s offered clit easily, peeking out from above the rapid pistonings at its rear. She managed to fit her mouth between those distended lips and lapped enthusiastically.
Laura, held in place on a heavenly plateau, bounced and bucked, on and off Roger’s cock, in and out of Marie’s mouth. She let go of her pussy lips and moved her hands to her breasts, fondling and squeezing them, tossing her head, gazing sometimes at the ceiling and sometimes at Jeremy. How fabulously depraved she felt—she would certainly have to do this again. Perhaps with…
Marie’s tongue was taking her to that place outside her control, while Roger thrust his entire midsection up with his cock, ramming her so hard she could barely keep her balance. Jolted like a rider on a bucking bronco, she began to yell out her climax, feeling the steam rush from her ears and Roger’s orgasm boil beneath her.
“Rocky.” she screamed. “Rocky, fuck me, I’m yours.”
Fuck, did I really say his name? she wondered groggily a few moments later, lying spent on the bed while Roger dealt with the condom and Marie pulled her wrap back around her nude body. She eyed Jeremy, who had tears in his eyes, but that was most likely the frustration. His cock was certainly still at full mast.
“What a naughty boy.” She heard Marie’s voice and watched her through half-closed eyes, taking a hairbrush from the vanity. “Nobody gave you permission for an erection, did they?”
Yes, let her deal with Jeremy. Leave me here to float away on orgasm island.
Through the swirl of postclimactic fog, clasped in Roger’s unwelcome embrace, she heard the untying of the bonds, heard Jeremy ordered over Marie’s lap, heard the crisp smack of her hand, followed by the harsher report of the brush against his bottom. Marie must have a strong arm, she mused. I can’t spank for that long.
Jeremy snuffled and howled into his ball gag, then there was a long, shuddering moan and then the spanking noises ceased.
“Oh, you bugger.” she heard Marie exclaim. “This is a new gown. That stain’ll never come out in the wash.”
Marie was still grumbling in the hot tub half an hour later, where the other club members had joined them.
“Jizzed all over my lovely new gown, he did,” she told Louise and Sandra, whose lips were pursed with aghast sympathy.
“That lovely lacy one you got in La Perla? Ooh, no, Marie. What a shame.”
“I paid for it, didn’t I?” Jeremy wheedled, lifting spaniel eyes to his recent disciplinarian.
“I should hope you won’t be sitting comfortably for a week, young man.” Marie’s tone was severe, but she was grinning coquettishly at him.
“These bubbles are taking away some of the pain,” he said.
Laura moved her arm under the froth, placing a hand on his thigh, but he studiedly avoided any response to her touch. I did. I said it out loud. Oh hell.
Clive Evans, a fishmonger and town councillor, turned to her. “Looks like your dad has a fight on his hands over this new planning application.”
Laura gave him her most withering look. Did this boring man really expect her to jaw on about council business at a sex party? Some people had no idea what manners even were.
“Really?” she said frostily.
“We all know he’s in Charles Cordwainer’s pocket, of course, but there isn’t a damn thing any of us can do about it.”
“Clive,” expostulated Roger and Marie simultaneously, exchanging alarm-signal looks. “You can’t say that.”
“What? Why not? Bloody disgrace, I call it. I voted against it. But Cordwainer’s bribed everyone. He tried to bribe me but I turned it down. And I’m sorry to say it but it’s true—young Laura here’s father is taking the biggest backhanders of them all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Laura, fighting to retain her veneer of icy calm, “but you appear to be telling me that my father is colluding with Charles Cordwainer to achieve some kind of undesirable result. Is that right? Have I understood?”
“We don’t want Vegas-style casinos in Goldsands, but Cordwainer does, and what he wants, he gets. He’s bribed Trewin and the rest to pass the license application. I’m against it. It’s fair enough for me to stand up for my beliefs, isn’t it, Rog?”
“This might not be the time or the place…” Roger suggested.
“Bollocks. I call a spade a spade, and I don’t care where it is, or when.”
“If you want to call spades spades, do it in your own house.” Roger was riled now, his chest rising nobly from the fizzing bubbles. “Don’t expect to be invited back if you can’t keep a civil tongue.”
“Excuse me.” Laura rose to her feet and reached for a towel. “But I think it’s time I was getting home. Jeremy.”
He did not react at first, moving up closer to Marie and kissing her shoulder.
“Jeremy. We are leaving.”
“Oh. Right. Good night, everyone. Thank you for having me.”
He followed a furious and dripping Laura along the marble corridor to the nearest bathroom, clothes clutched under his arm.
“We’re getting out of here,” she snarled at him. “Get dressed. I have some things I want
to ask you.”
They dressed in a silence that buzzed with tension and anger, then drove, wordlessly again, to Laura’s house.
Once in her bachelorette pad, she was finally able to let the words fly.
“Is it true?”
She handed him a beer, which he decided against opening.
“Is what true?”
“You’re the resident fucking expert on all things Cordwainer, aren’t you? So is it true that he and Daddy…” She couldn’t repeat the accusation.
“You really didn’t know? I’m surprised. I thought your boyfriend might have told you.”
“My boyfriend? Yes. I thought he might have told me, Jeremy.”
“I don’t mean me. I mean the sainted Rocky Anderson. The real man. Your bit of biker rough.”
“Oh, do fuck off, Jeremy. Don’t you ever fantasise during sex? Just stop being so fucking suburban and monogamous and answer the damn question.”
“Okay. I’ll answer the damn question. Yes, I did know that there were links between your father and Cordwainer. Everyone knows it, Laura. Everyone.”
Laura, trembling too much to stay upright, subsided into the leather couch beside Jeremy.
“Is there any proof, though? What exactly is it between them?”
Jeremy took a breath. “I don’t know exactly. But as Clive said, it’s common knowledge that Cordwainer has been distributing so many sweeteners among the councillors and police of Goldsands that people are starting to call him Willy Wonka. And your dad was especially keen to push this casino license through. We think he’s going to be a major shareholder. There are some tape recordings that have come into the office, conversations he’s had with some of the other councillors. They’re pretty unequivocal. He’s in it up to his neck. I’ve also heard suggestions of building contracts that your dad has obtained improperly, with a little help from his friend. Threats, bullyboy tactics, blackmail. All that good stuff.”
Laura put her palms together and pressed the fingertips to her lips, thinking as fast as her synapses would allow.
“He could get into trouble? There’s enough to get him into serious trouble?”
“Oh yes, Laura. More than enough.”
She turned to him, desperation driving her on. “And you—you are going to expose him, aren’t you? In your grubby little article.”
“Laura, I’m a journalist. It won’t be personal. For what it’s worth, I do care about you. I’ve grown close to you. But I know you’ve been using me all along, so I don’t feel too bad about the way I’ve used you.”
“You bastard.” Laura lashed out, but Jeremy, usually so compliant in any physical situation, discovered his buried strength and caught her before she could do any damage.
“I’m not the bastard, Laura,” he said, clearly and precisely. “Cordwainer is the bastard. Now, do you agree that he needs to be stopped? He’s a loan shark, a protection racketeer, a slum landlord, the lowest of the low. And your father colludes with him. You can see how I’m fixed. Morally, I have no choice.”
“Morally?” Laura spat the word, unable to follow it up, so speechless with rage and fear had he rendered her.
“Yes,” said Jeremy levelly. “Morally.”
“You’d sell me and Daddy for your scoop?”
“If it meant Goldsands didn’t turn into some tin-pot version of Atlantic City, yes.”
“Oh, I see, you care about Goldsands. You’re not just biding your time on the local rag until a London editor comes calling? I was so wrong about you, Jeremy. You have no ambition after all.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’d move to a London paper like a shot. But I grew up here, I have family here and maybe I’ll bring up my own kids here. Maybe I won’t. But I’d like the option. I’m certainly not bringing them up in Sin-on-Sea.”
“Sin-on-Sea. God, you should be working for a tabloid.”
“Thanks. But that’s what Cordwainer wants, d’you see? He’s turning Goldsands into this coastal sleaze pit. He’ll open the casino, then there’ll be brothels, then the drug barons will move in. You know it. And he’ll control them all.”
“What’s wrong with a free market?” Laura sulked. “If that’s what people want.”
“People don’t want it, Laura. Not people here. He has to be stopped. Did you ever go to the China Palace?”
“Yeah, they did the best crispy duck. But you know as well as I do that it burnt down back in the winter.”
“It burnt down because the owner didn’t pay his protection money. I think you’ll find that the man with the flaming torch was your beloved Rocky.”
Laura was silent for a while, chewing on a knuckle. “Supposing you’re right about all this. Supposing it’s all true. Is there any way you can keep Daddy’s name out of your exposé?”
“He’s guilty, Laura.”
“Can’t we go after Rocky instead? Rocky and that Flipp freak? Can’t they be the fall guys?” She turned her most beseeching look on the man she had so seriously underestimated. “I’d help you, Jeremy. If you promise to keep Daddy out of it.”
“The council thing is a big part of it, though…” Jeremy demurred.
“Surely you’ve got enough with the protection racket and all the rest of it? Can’t you stick with that? Spill the beans about Rocky’s part in it all, and mention that he employs runaway mental cases, or whatever that girl is? That’s enough, Jeremy. It really has to be. Because if you decide to involve Daddy…”
Jeremy let that thought hang in the air for a couple of beats.
“What?” he asked softly.
“I…won’t love you anymore. Does it mean anything to you, that I’d sacrifice Rocky so you can have your moment of glory? I’d do that for you. Rocky is nothing to me now.”
Jeremy considered this proposition, frowning at the unopened beer can.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
Laura put a shaking hand on his thigh.
“My hero,” she said, before kissing him tenderly on the lips.
Chapter Nine
“Good morning, Goldsands Gazette, Lynda speaking, how may I help you?”
Michelle put a hand over her mouth, trying to mask her sudden shuddering breath. It wouldn’t do for the receptionist to think she had some kind of pervert on the line. Though actually…
She swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter, drew a breath and uncovered her mouth.
“Hello, yes, I need to speak to a reporter, please. I think I have a story they might be interested in.”
“Okay, is it about a local event?”
“A…local event?”
“Y’know, fete, school concert, charity fun run…?”
“Oh, no, no. It’s something that needs to be looked into. Investigated.”
“Oh, right. Hold on a second. I’ll see if anyone’s free.”
Placed on hold, Michelle contemplated ending the call, but somehow the soothing sounds of Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross” coming through the receiver calmed her into waiting.
“Hi again.” Lynda the receptionist again, sounding mildly flustered. “Sorry, could you give me an idea of what you want to talk about? Is it to do with something controversial, for instance, or a campaign or some kind?”
“I think controversial about covers it,” Michelle said with a bark of a laugh. “If I said the name Charles Cordwainer…” She bit her lip, waiting for the light to dawn.
“Oh. Just a moment, please.”
The albatross batted lazy wings through the blue skies for another few minutes, then the phone was snatched up and Michelle heard a hubbub of background voices before a man spoke.
“Hello, my name’s Jeremy Weill. You have a story regarding Charles Cordwainer?”
“Yes, I do. Could I meet with you, please? I don’t feel I can really do this over the phone.”
“Of course. Are you in Goldsands?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s a good place for you? Could I come to your home?”
Michelle baulked
. The bar was busy already with the midmorning coffee crowd, and there was no telling when Cordwainer might drop by for a look at the books.
“Not really,” she said, her voice low and tense. “What about the nature reserve? Could we meet there? In the car park? Talk while we walk or something?”
“Okay. Nature reserve it is. Can you get there in half an hour?”
“Yes, I can. Yes. Thanks.”
“Oh—what’s your name? How will I know you?”
“My name’s Michelle. I’ll be wearing a floral patterned wrap dress and carrying a red handbag.”
She felt pleasingly like a resistance member setting forth on an espionage mission and she smiled to herself on replacing the receiver in its cradle. The man had sounded eager and interested. At long last, some power of her own lay in her hands.
The nature reserve was rarely busy. It lay on the western coastal fringes of Goldsands, past the broad swathe of caravan parks, beyond the point where the beaches turned to unpopular shingle. A rare and particular type of reedbed meant that it hosted some unusual wildlife, mainly species of birds, but also water rodents and a wide variety of insects.
Michelle crunched across the gravel car park and leaned on the fence that separated the swampy reedbeds from the walkways, looking out across the huge green-brown expanse. Only a few birdwatchers with binoculars kept her company here, lurking in the specially built hides that could be found dotting the walkways.
“If they knew about this,” she murmured to herself, picturing the reeds ripped up and concreted over, the intense stillness replaced with flashing lights and booming loudspeakers. “I’m doing the right thing. I am.”
She heard a car pull up and park with a gravelly flourish and knew straightaway that it must be the journalist. She turned towards the source of the noise and smiled to see a well-dressed young man in an open-necked shirt and linen trousers, slinging a satchel over his shoulder and peering around the car park.
He trotted up to her, shouting, “Michelle?”
“You must be Jeremy.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Traffic’s dreadful today. Have you been here long?”
Erotic Amusements Page 16
