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of
harpies picking on their competitors and paying off old scores?
    Those were the things he should have asked. Instead he had
allowed her to shoot the breeze in her delicious fashion, to
hypothesise about arses on girls in the street and barbarians in
suits. Some of that stuff would be fine for the average Nouveau reader who was
always in need of guidelines on how to think correctly. But Kelvin
wanted to give Nouveau man more. He could see the heading now: 'Are we heading for a
sexually correct police state? Kelvin Priest puts Prosecutor Hawk
on the rack.' That would get the quiche and branflake set
buzzing.
    There was
nothing for it, he would have to pick up the gauntlet thrown down
by Gossamer and invite her out to dinner. His tool twitched in his
fingers - Y-front man said yes.
    He pushed the
bedclothes down and looked his cock in the eye. The head was as red
as a beet and the shaft pulsed in his hand. It had never looked so
big. Not that it was especially large - he didn't kid himself he
was spectacularly endowed. But what he had, had never been cause
for complaint. It had kept Petra happy for two years and he was
sure it could give Gossamer a thrill too. Hypothetically speaking,
of course.
    The chug of a
diesel engine in the street below alerted him to Petra's arrival.
It was not an unusual situation for him to be tucked up in bed and
for her to return home in a taxi. She had a big-deal job at Glass
Mountain and she often worked late, and since Glass's accident she
had not once shown up before midnight.
    He heard the
sound of her footsteps in the hall and he covered up his twitching
cock and balls.
    Petra burst
into the room and chucked her briefcase onto a chair.
    'Hello,
darling,' said Kelvin, 'tough day?'
    'Don't ask,'
she snapped. She appeared flustered. Her lustrous dark hair,
normally held under control by an assortment of bands and
barrettes, was flowing loose and her pale cheeks were flushed. She
was pulling at her clothes and throwing garments onto the floor.
This was not her normal behaviour.
    'You must be
tired,' said Kelvin, wondering what the hell had got into her.
'Come to bed.'
    'You bet,'
said Petra, now reduced to a tiny pair of scarlet silk panties. She
was not a big girl, being slim and light of foot, nevertheless she
was pleasingly curved. She had high pouting breasts with nut-brown
nipples and a waist Kelvin could almost span with his hands. But
her hips swelled and her bottom cheeks swayed with all the womanly
allure a man could want. And the neatly trimmed black muff at the
fork of her thighs was bursting out of the scrap of silk that
encircled her loins.
    Kelvin
couldn't help observing that the scarlet panties were stained a
darker hue in the vee of her crotch. In fact, he would have been
blind not to notice as the material was now poised an inch in front
of his nose. Her hands were in his hair and her lean thighs on
either side of his torso as she straddled him on the bed. His
confusion was overwhelming.
    'What's up,
Petra? Are you all right?'
    'Shut up,
Kelvin. I want you to eat my pussy.'
    'But, Petra, I
think you—'
    'Christ,
Kelvin, can't you do what you're told for once?' she cried and
jammed his face onto her pantied mons. 'Now, eat me out. Suck me
through my panties. Oh God, that's better!'
     
    It was the
best fuck they'd had for ages, probably since the start of their
romance. Not that this was a meeting of mind as well as body - one
of those cosmic exchanges between lovers in which the giving is as
important as the receiving. In this carnal bout the receiving was
all-important to both parties.
    As Petra rode
on Kelvin's face she pictured herself upside down on Philippe's
tongue, clinging to the Frenchman's tree-trunk of a body, her lips
around his formidable baton, his fingers playing on the cheeks of
her upturned arse the way he had pleasured Cassie.
    It took her
only moments to come and she slid from Kelvin's chest eager for
more. Kelvin's generous tumescence was sympathetically