Lust on the Line

Lust on the Line
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ISBN:  9781780800318
Author:  Noel Amos
Word Count:  86,311
Format:  eBook

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Lust at LargeLust at Large
Lust on the LooseLust on the Loose
Lust Under LicenceLust Under Licence

'There you are, you swine,' muttered Caroline, shrugging the coat from her shoulders. Beneath it she was all but naked. She wore just a thin white camisole that reached to her waist with matching stockings and suspenders. The points of her nipples and the circles of her areolae were plainly visible through the flimsy top. The pale dome of her belly and the strip of honey-coloured curls at the junction of her thighs were framed by the suspender straps. To Lucian's eye she had never looked more ravishing.
   'I hope you're satisfied,' she said bitterly.
   'Not yet,' replied Lucian, 'but I intend to be...'

Out of the red - and into the blue.

Once-grand publishers The Whimsical Press are on their uppers but chief executive Miranda Lynch has a plan - to publish a line of bestselling erotic novels. So, if dreamy editor Lucian Swan wants to keep his job he'd better find some sexy books - fast.

Though the world of the clitorati is new to Lucian, he soon gets to grips with lustful lady writers who believe in the value of hands-on research. There's angel-faced Karen Hastings, out to shaft everyone but her husband, and swivel-hipped Caroline Fitzjohn who redefines the meaning of editorial input - not to mention Marilyn Savage, the industry's most insatiable literary agent...

Will Lucian pull it off? Will Blue Desire Books save the company's fortunes? And will Miranda's below-the-belt initiative bring home the coveted Baxendale Prize?

Lucian put down the last page at midnight. The novel wasn't yet complete but he had read more than enough to know that The Novelist's Wife was the most sensational book of the year. Correction - the decade, at least. Provided it wasn't a hoax, of course.
   He got up and prowled around his room, his brain gnawing at this sudden possibility. He'd have to meet the author, see the famous incriminating evidence, watch the video... The thought of the divine Mrs Hastings recording her husband as he ploughed his big-breasted secretary and then masturbating to a series of explosive climaxes with her skirt around her waist on top of a fire escape set Lucian's cock beating a tattoo against his belly. That had been the last scene, so vividly described, in the manuscript.
   So, did that videotape really exist? Was that what he would see - the voluptuous assistant thrusting her muff into the novelist's face, her big satiny buttocks wobbling in his fingers as he sucked her off? And would the angel-faced author sit by his side as he watched her husband betray her in graphic, shaky close-up? And would she then confirm that the lewd spectacle had so excited her that she had plunged her hand between her legs and brought herself off then and there, over and over again?
   Lucian's imagination was in lurid overdrive and his loins were in a fever. He could have wept with frustration - not sexual frustration but frustration of purpose. He had - he really had - promised himself that for the present there would be no sex.
   He rushed downstairs and knocked on Tania's door. No reply.
   He pushed it open and cursed at the empty room. Where was she when he needed her? He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that question.
   Returning to his room, Lucian slumped on his bed, his penis an uncomfortable bar across his stomach. It was no use, he was going to have to jerk off. Perhaps he should dig out that photo of Caro? No - that was the one thing he mustn't do. His relationship with Ms Fitzjohn was about to enter a new phase and this time he would be in charge. No back-sliding.
   He looked out of the skylight window at the house across the street. Since his first sighting of Nicole Sessions in her bedroom window he had not glimpsed her at all. What with one thing and another - in a word, Tania - he had scarcely looked. A part of him strongly disapproved of this Peeping Tom activity. On the other hand, given what he had seen last time, how could he resist?
   His luck was in tonight. A light burned in the bedroom across the street. As before, Nicole sat at her dressing-table brushing her hair. This time her fabulous breasts were encased in a black, push-up brassiere with sculpted cups that squeezed her pretty orbs together to form a deep ravine of cleavage.
   Instantly all thoughts of other women, of pert-bottomed Caro, of bronzed and bubbly Tania, of the dark mysterious gaze of Karen Hastings, were driven from Lucian's mind. All he could think of now was the swing and pull of Nicole's slim brown arm as she brushed her hair and the beckoning vee of her golden breast flesh. How he wished he could reach out an invisible hand and slip it beneath the black wisp of material to cup a pouting globe and pull it into view.
   It was as if she were listening to his thoughts for, as she continued to work her brush with one hand, she slid the other into the front of her bra and pulled her right breast into the open. It hung there, trembling in the light, and she began to fondle it, running her fingers into the crease beneath and cupping the gourd of flesh, then palpating the areola between her fingers, making the brown nipple jut up like a hat peg.
   She put down the brush and brought out the other tit, offering them both up to the mirror before her as she weighed them in her hands. Then she released them and the spheres of flesh settled and separated a fraction on her chest. She wiggled her shoulders and the movement rippled and flowed through her golden bosom, like wind blowing through a ripe cornfield. As she took a nipple between the finger and thumb of each hand and began to pull, Lucian's loins erupted, the spunk shooting unbidden from his tormented tool.
   Why, he thought to himself, in the dizzy afterglow of his unexpected orgasm, was Nicole behaving like this? It was hard to believe that this display was for her own benefit. But, of course, it wasn't. For there stood Hugh, his cock in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face as he appeared from stage left, as it were, and sat on a chair by the foot of the bed. He held his hand out to his wife.
   Nicole stood in front of him, holding the hairbrush. He took it from her and she laid her sumptuous body across his lap, her black be-knickered bottom face up. Hugh surveyed it for a moment, running a proprietorial palm across each upthrust cheek. Then he tugged at the waistband and yanked the flimsy material downwards, baring the broad and beautiful ovals of her milky white buttocks. Lucian's cock was now once more straining upwards from his loins.
   Hugh hit her first with the bristle side of the brush, a smart swipe onto each fleshy crescent. Then he pressed the brush downwards into her yielding flesh, working it round and across. Her hips twitched under his ministrations and he slapped down smartly with his open palm as if to say, Be still!
   Methodically he began to spank her with the flat of the hairbrush. Whack! Smack! Whack! The night was quiet and, through his open window, Lucian could plainly hear the collision of wood on flesh. And was that a tearful sob, audible between the blows?
   Nicole's bum had turned puce now and she couldn't help moving. After each strike she grabbed at her belaboured arse and twitched and writhed. Hugh waited until she was perfectly still again before bringing the brush down once more.
   Lucian could hear a woman's voice amidst the erotic sounds. A smack, a cry, a moan and then a shout. The shouts preceded the blows, like commands.
   'Nineteen!'
   The brush descended, the pink arse danced and Lucian realised that Nicole was calling out the number of her punishment. My God, to think people actually did these things! He'd read about it - in the past few days he'd read rather a lot - but to think he knew people who actually behaved like this!
   'Twenty! Aah!'
   Hugh threw down the brush and reached behind him. He unscrewed a small jar and dipped in his fingers. Then, very slowly, he began to rub ointment into Nicole's flaming derriere. The rounds of flesh squirmed beneath his fingers. Lucian could imagine the cooling balm being smoothed into that abused behind. Could imagine too the pleasure of feeling her silky flesh beneath his fingers. Of soothing the burning skin of her seat, then peeling apart the satiny globes to gaze on the dark and secret valley between - just as Hugh was doing now.
   Lucian had a perfect view up Nicole's rear crack. From the black-fringed mouth of her cunt purse up to the pink whorl of her anus, all was revealed. The insides of her thighs were slick with juice and the unfurled outer lips of her pussy glistened. Hugh dipped a finger into the pool within and trailed the evidence of her excitement up the crease of her arse. She wriggled at his touch, bucking her hips in unmistakable need. Lucian held his breath as Hugh pulled her body upwards.
   Nicole straddled her husband. Throwing one dancer's leg over his lap she sat down facing him and, for a moment, her fabulous bust was suspended in his face as she held on to his shoulders and he positioned the big egg of his glans in the junction of her legs. Then she was slithering downwards, the barrel of his tool swallowed in the gullet of her sex as she settled in his arms. Their arms entwined, their mouths locked and her dark curls mingled with his blond locks as their loins enmeshed.
   Lucian's stomach churned with lust and envy. Husband and wife had pleasured each other obscenely and now melted into one before him. As he watched, they toppled slowly backwards onto the bed and, a moment later, the light went out. The lewd entertainment had been thrilling and his cock danced between his legs. He suddenly felt an awful emptiness inside. 'Oh Caro,' he muttered out loud.
   From below came the sound of a door opening and he shook himself out of his self-pity. What the hell was he doing? Lucian the lovelorn wimp was banished. He was a man with a new resolve, a man with a purpose - and that purpose was Blue Desire Books.
   He wondered, as he descended the stairs naked and fully erect, whether it was obligatory for editors of erotica to sample all forms of sexual expression.
   And whether Tania liked having her bottom spanked.

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