Lust Under Licence

Lust Under Licence
Our Price:  £3.99Earn 3 Loyalty Points
Preferred Format:  

ISBN:  9781780800356
Author:  Noel Amos
Word Count:  91,451
Format:  eBook



Lust at LargeLust at Large
Lust on the LineLust on the Line
Lust on the LooseLust on the Loose

Tom watched in astonishment as Sergeant Amy Tooth of the Sex Police unzipped her uniform and emerged from it like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Her creamy midriff was bared to shiny black PVC shorts, cut high on the thigh and tight across the bulge of her pouting mons veneris. And when she turned to rummage in her bag, she thrust out her posterior in heart-stopping provocation.
   Amy straightened and turned, one hand now sheathed in a rubber surgical glove, the other holding a small plastic bottle. 
   'Don't be alarmed, Mr Glass,' said Inspector Quartermain. 'She's just going to take a sample.'
   'What sample?' said Tom.
   'It's standard procedure,' grunted Amy as her gloved fingers closed on Tom's most intimate portion...

The beautiful and cruel mistresses of The Primrose Court are enforcing - Lust Under Licence. They're putting men under the microscope, altering the way they behave, challenging the male establishment.

A tycoon is lying in hospital trying to regain his memory after falling from his penthouse apartment, his past enveloping him in stark erotic detail, leaving him in need of the gentle mercies of his personal nurse.

Is he really engaged to the blonde television weathergirl with an inventive way with his bedside equipment? Is his lovely assistant really experimenting with a fitness plan based on multiple orgasms? And most significantly, is he really under investigation by the ruthless she devils of the Sex Police?

Tom was dreaming. But, like last time, the dream had the solidity of real life. His past life.
   He was in an attic room in a large Victorian house. The dormer windows were open wide and a warm breeze puffed the flowery Habitat curtains into the cramped space, making it even smaller. Jeans, a T-shirt, a crumpled summer dress and a pair of M&S panties lay in a pool of sunlight on the rush-mat floor. He was squashed into a narrow single bed with the owner of the panties. There wasn't much room but neither of them was complaining. On the contrary.
   'Aiee,' groaned Elvira, 'is too much, too much!'
   Tom laughed and thrust deeper between the fabulous olive cheeks of her upturned bum. His hand was beneath her body exploring the thicket of her crotch, diddling her throbbing clit towards orgasm.
   The clock on the bedside table said 11.30. Tom was supposed to be at a lecture on As You Like It, currently being delivered a mile down the hill in the English Department by his tutor, Lionel Slack. He didn't care. Buggering an Italian sex-pot with a bum like a ripe peach was an education in itself, possibly one with more long-term advantages. The beauty of it was that Elvira was also Professor Slack's au pair.
   'Si, si!,' muttered Elvira into the sheets as Tom began to ram with urgency into the velvety pillows of her broad buttocks. 'Give it to me, Tomas. Shoot your hot spunk inside my ass!'
   The real purpose of Elvira's foreign sojourn was to improve her English. That she had succeeded in broadening her bedroom vocabulary was a matter in which Tom took pride. He did not, however, kid himself that he was her only teacher.
   He pushed himself up on both hands to get a good view of his thick stem see-sawing in and out of her bottom hole. The white shaft made an exciting contrast with the pink mouth of her elastic anus and the delicate sheen of her brown buttock flesh.
   It was amazing to him that he could fuck her up the arse, that she would want him to do it to her that way. In truth, it was the only way she would let him penetrate her - apart from in the mouth. She had left Italy a virgin, she said, and she would return intacta between the legs or her father would kill her. But between the bum cheeks was another matter, she had to have some way of paying for her bedside English lessons. Besides, so Tom had concluded after a couple of visits, she just loved to be poked in the butt. It drove her wild.
   'Ah, ah, ah!' she squealed, wriggling back onto his prong, trying to ram every centimetre of available cock flesh up her fundament, her own fingers now busy on her clitoris. 'Yes, yes, I'm coming! I'm coming!'
   And so was Tom, there was no denying the honey-sweet suction valve between her cheeks and the fleshy kiss of her creamy moons on his belly as he pumped and banged and finally shot off deep into her hungry bowels.
   'God, Elvira,' murmured Tom into the coal-black tangle of her curls now spread across the pillow, 'that was fantastico.'
   She just grunted and a moment later, as Tom had anticipated, her breathing deepened and she cradled her head in her arms. Tom slipped from the bed and pulled the covers over her. She had made it clear the last time they made love that she liked to be left to recover alone in her small bed. He had pretended to be sorry about it but in fact it suited him well.
   He dressed quickly and slipped down the stairs. The house was quiet. He presumed that Lionel's wife was out and the kids were at school. A good time to snoop in the Professor's study.
   The study was on the first floor at the front. Tom had been there several times that summer term for tutorials and once, in his first term, for a freshmen's cocktail party. Tom knew his way about.
   He knew, for example, that Lionel kept the key to the filing cabinet by his desk in a pretty china cup on the mantelpiece next to the framed photographs of his children. He opened the cabinet and soon found what he was looking for.
   The Professor's study was large and well appointed. Lionel preferred to work in its airy luxury than in his stuffy room in the English Department. In a corner of its book-lined splendour stood a photocopier. From Tom's point of view, the arrangement could not have been handier. Tuesday mornings were turning out to be a piece of cake. Get up late, stroll to the Prof's, sneak in the garden door, fuck Elvira senseless, sneak into the study, find the text of last week's lecture and copy it. Simple.
   It helped that Professor Slack was a creature of habit. His lectures were finely honed - as they should be, he'd been giving the same ones for nearly ten years. Now they were scripted down to each significant pause and impromptu aside. The scripts were neatly typed and filed in order, ready to be pulled out at the appointed time in the academic year. Fortunately Tom didn't have to sit and listen to them. He had discovered a short cut.
   He had discovered other things of Lionel's too. For example, his mark book. It was Lionel's practice to return a student's essay after scrupulous evaluation and to record its worth in a green directory. Once returned, of course, there was no way Lionel could check that the mark on the essay and the mark in the green book remained the same. Using the red fountain pen that the Professor kept by his book - fussy old fart - it was a simple matter for Tom to subtly amend his past performances. It was surprising how many essays of Tom's improved with time. He soon had better marks than any other student on the course, despite the fact that he rarely appeared at lectures.
   Tom was feeling pretty cocky today. After making his copies, he began to flick through the correspondence in the Professor's in-tray. It was boring stuff but he couldn't tear himself away. A fortnight earlier he'd come across a letter from his own father urging Professor Slack to treat him with particular sensitivity because of his feud with his elder brother. Tom had laughed at that.
   Right at the bottom of the tray he struck lucky. There were seven or eight Polaroid photographs in a brown envelope. They were very explicit. Despite lousy lighting and red eye, Elvira looked pretty good, Tom thought. Good enough to set his cock twanging like a tuning fork even though the Italian minx had drained him dry less than twenty minutes earlier. Here was Elvira lying naked, playing with her bush. Elvira bending over and spreading her buttocks in invitation. Elvira holding herself open with one hand and aiming a vibrator with the other. Then, even more interesting, there was Elvira sucking cock - taken at a distorting angle as the suckee pointed the camera downwards. Then - Good Lord - there was the suckee himself with his head on Elvira's thigh, tongue extended towards the spread lips of her honeypot. The suckee was Professor Lionel Slack.
   Tom's heart hammered in his chest. The revered man of letters was dipping his nib in the Italian inkwell in the attic, just like Tom himself. And making a record of his extra-curricular activity. How bizarre.
   Tom knew this discovery had to be to his advantage though quite how, as yet, was not clear.
   He heard the sound of the front door opening on the floor below. Shit!
   Without thinking, he pocketed a photo, one that clearly showed Lionel in contravention of his matrimonial commitments, and replaced the envelope at the bottom of the in-tray. He grabbed one of the Professor's own scholarly works on Shakespeare from the shelves and stuffed inside it the sheaf of papers he had copied. Then he marched smartly into the corridor.
   At the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the sound of his descending footsteps, was a slender girl in a baggy brown school uniform. Tom knew who this was from the framed pictures on Lionel's mantelpiece - Christina, the eldest daughter. She was older than in the pictures, though. And despite the ugly shapeless clothes, it was clear from her porcelain-perfect complexion and almond eyes that she was a beauty.
   'Hello,' said Tom, more heartily than he intended. 'I'm one of your father's students. The au pair let me in. I came by to get a book your father promised to lend me.'
   All of this was true and he met her curious gaze with as much sincerity as he could muster. Her eyes were caramel brown and her blonde hair hung in a single braid down her back like thick rope.
   'He says that one's his best.'
   For a moment Tom was bemused. Then he realised she meant the book. He almost laughed out loud. She didn't suspect a thing.
   'Got to rush,' he said, pushing past her still form and striding for the front door. 'I'm late for my next lecture.'
   He ran down the front steps aware that those beautiful brown eyes were burning into his back.

Tom woke up suddenly. It was as if someone had flicked a switch and pitched him forward twenty years in the blink of an eye. He had reclaimed another segment of his past and the taste of it was in his mouth.
   Two women stood by his bed, looking down at him. One was about forty with a tired face, wearing a light summer raincoat and holding a scuffed briefcase. The other was taller and younger with peroxide curls, pink lipstick and a sulky expression. She was dressed in a rainbow-coloured shell-suit with stripes on the sleeve - could it be some kind of uniform? She looked mean.
   'Thomas Glass?' said the weary one.
   'I'm Inspector Claire Quartermain of the TCU and this is Sergeant Tooth. We'd like some of your time.'
   'The TCU, Mr Glass.'
   'What's that?'
   'The Thought Correction Unit.'
   'I still don't understand.'
   'Tell him, Amy,' said the inspector and slumped into a chair.
   'The Sex Police,' said the sergeant. 'You're on our list, Mr Big-shot. We're going to eat your bollocks.'

Be the first to Write a Review for this item!

Customers who bought this item also bought: