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A Taste of Lilith

Book By: Mandi Stone

An erotic Anthology

Submitted:Nov 21, 2010    Reads: 246    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

A Taste of Lilith
Copyright © 2010 Mandi Stone

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.


Melody McIntyre edged the gas pedal of her sleek bullet-silver convertible closer to the floor, and shook out long hair as red as the sand and rock of the surrounding wilderness. She whooped with exhilaration, thrilling to the feel of the hot desert wind whipping back her shiny tresses, and the way it caressed her face and slipped inside her clothing like the uninhibited fingers of a lover.

The car growled with pleasure as Melody curled her slender fingers around the gleaming head of the gear shift and stroked it into place. The shaft throbbed in her hand, the potency of the engine building, the growl intensifying to a roar as Melody seduced the Lexus into a raw, several-thousand-rev orgasm. One-hundred-and-fifty miles an hour on a straight road -- a strip of superheated tarmac bisecting a thousand square miles of Martian-red Arizona desert.

"Fucking crazy bitch!" Jenna laughed from the back. "Did you see the look on that cop's face?"

"Priceless!" Serena giggled beside her, and Melody flashed a grin at the both of them through the rearview mirror before throwing back her head and whooping again.

They were three days into the inaugural event of the Speed Demon 3000 illegal road race, and making great time in spite of the legions of traffic cops mobilised to police the interstate highways. Little did the police realise just how much they were a part of the thrill! After all, nothing quite compared to the andrenalin rush of running a roadblock, and then leaving the hapless law enforcers far behind with only the taste of burnt rubber in their mouths.

Melody shook her head, incredulous. If the cops wanted to intercept a hundred-strong field of high performance sports cars, you'd think they'd make sure they at least had the horsepower to try and play catch up!

"I think we can safely say we lost him," she announced, checking her mirrors again for any sign of the motorcycle cop and seeing nothing but a watery shimmer of midday heat. Which was a bit of a shame, she admitted to herself. Cop or not, he'd been a damned sexy one! And with a noticeable bulge straining at the inside of his tight-fitting pants, unless she'd mistaken his .44 Magnum for something else!

"In that case, can we please stop?" Serena pleaded. "Only I'm dying for a pee."


"It's all the excitement," Serena began to explain, but Jenna snorted sceptically as she hooked her dark, Katie Holmes-style bob behind an ear.

"More like psychological incontinence," she teased. "Just because you know there isn't a decent bathroom for the next hundred miles!"

Their petite, pixie-like friend pouted and thumped Jenna's arm good-naturedly as Melody laughed and swung off the deserted highway, crunching over sand and rock for fifty yards, where she gunned the engine for a second or two before turning it off. The silence folded in. Blissful, unadulterated quietude.

Serena scrambled out of the back seat and made for a patch of scrub surrounding a tall finger of rock that cast its own shadow like a gnomon.

"Back in a minute!" she called.

Melody and Jenna exchanged amused glances. "So make that ten, then!" they both laughed. Serena's sensitive bladder was legendary!

To kill the time, Melody switched on the CB radio and scanned the channels that might warn them the cops were nearby. But there was none. Only a hiss of background static spoiled the silence.

"Seems like we're alone," she murmured.


Melody jumped at Jenna's loud whisper right next to her ear, and she swivelled sharply in her seat.

"For God's sake!" she protested amiably, but the quick kiss on her lips muted her token complaint.

"And what was that for?" she asked with a smile as she removed her shades.

Jenna shrugged and smiled back. "Because you're gorgeous and I felt like it," she replied. "And because Kyle is a lying bastard."

Melody sighed. "And I guess I'm supposed to be flattered to be your revenge in high heels."

"Not to mention your simply amazing thirty-eight double-D accessories"

Melody shook her head. Just as legendary as Serena's waterworks was the volatile relationship enjoyed by Jenna and her longterm boyfriend, Kyle. Inseparable one day, fighting like cat and dog the next. The soap opera had gone on for as long as Melody cared to remember. The most recent verbal punch-up had been provoked by Jenna's increasing conviction that Kyle had been fucking a girl at the mall where he worked as head of security.

"Look, Jen," she tried to reason with her friend for what must have been the thousandth time. "You've no real proof that Kyle's done anything."

"Oh, no?" Jenna answered in disbelief. "Then what about the condoms in his pocket? We're supposed to be trying for a baby, remember? Then there's the text messages, the perfume on his clothes that I wouldn't wear even if the only other option were to reek like a skunk, the -- "

"Okay, okay, enough already!" Melody cried, holding up her hands. "So Kyle is a lying bastard. What you gonna do about it?"

"Well," Jenna purred, leaning forward again, "where was I?"

"Jenna," Melody began to protest as her friend kissed her again. But as Jenna's lips fastened firmly over her own, she found that she had neither the ability nor the inclination to object.

Well, what the hell! she thought submissively.

Unable to resist her increasing arousal, Melody climbed over the seats to join Jenna in the back. She had to admit to herself that she secretly loved it whenever Jenna and Kyle fell out! She was always happy to give Jenna this kind of solace!

As she lay back in the seat, Jenna's hands did all the talking. Her slender fingers stroked upwards over Melody's bare thighs to the edge of her denim shorts, moving higher to lazily traverse the silky material of her white short-sleeved blouse. Melody sighed deeply into their passionate kiss as Jenna halted at her left breast and gently squeezed.

"Oh, God," she whispered before Jenna's hungry lips silenced her once more. Meanwhile, Melody felt Jenna's fingers slowly negotiating the buttons of her blouse. The garment parted like the Red Sea to gradually reveal more and more of the giddying plunge of Melody's seen-to-be-believed cleavage. The blouse fell open at last to expose the ample swell of her breasts to the touch of the blazing Arizona sun. Jenna pushed the blouse back from Melody's creamy shoulders and with a soft murmer of appreciation, reverently cupped one of the naked mounds and lowered her head to suckle on the erect nipple.

Breathing her encouragement, Melody stroked Jenna's hair, thrilling to the electrifying sensation of the moist lips and tongue eagerly drawing on her breast. Her desire gauge was climbing in leaps and bounds, like a thermometer plunged into a lava pool! Her shimmering green eyes fluttered closed in response. When she opened them again a few seconds later, she saw that Serena had returned and was staring down at her from beside the car, gaping in astonishment. But Melody could not miss the hint of yearning in her incredulous expression. Clutching Jenna's head to her breast with one hand, she held out her other towards Serena in a wordless invitation.

"Melody," Serena breathed. "Oh, Melody."

She half reached out, but as the dazzling sunlight glinted on the ring on her finger, she hesitated.

"Oh, Mel," she said ruefully, evidently torn. "I want to. God knows, I really do." She waved her hand slightly. "But Tony...."

The engagement. Of course. Tony and Serena were made for each other, everybody said so. And Serena was intensely loyal....

Melody's body bucked almost involuntarily as Jenna's probing fingers homed in on the centre of her moist thighs. She had not felt Jenna unfasten her shorts, or pull down the zip and her touch summoned a loud moan from Melody's lips and she clutced at her other breast as she arched slightly on the hot leather seat.

Turned on to distraction, Melody reached round to undo the tie of Jenna's saffron-coloured bikini top which fell away from her own voluptuous breasts, their full curves garnished with glistening beads of sweat, some of which trickled down into her cleavage and flowed south towards her silver navel piercing. As she caressed Melody's pussy, Jenna shifted slightly to allow Melody's lips to close over her own rock hard nipples, to savour each erect bud in turn.

Melody felt a touch on her shoulder. Not Jenna's. The caress was more tentative, gentler. As her body shuddered to the sensation which Jenna's fingers were generating, Melody glanced to see Serena next to her. She managed to smile before her beautiful features contorted to a sudden wave of pleasure which only made her look even more gorgeous.

"Couldn't resist?" she asked huskily, and Serena shook her head a little, her blue eyes wide with admiration.

"You are just so beautiful," shesaid softly, her fingers cupping Melody's breast. "These --" She broke off, unable to express her wonder in words. "And Jenna's."

"Glad to hear I'm not invisible!" Jenna retorted wryly, raising her head, her own grey eyes misty with the passion of the moment. Her gaze lingered on Serena's tight-fitting t-shirt. "Why don't you take that thing off?"

"Yeah, Serena," Melody urged, admiring her friend's flawless curves. "Remind us just how beautiful you are."

She looked as though she might hesitate again, but Melody noticed that the yearning in Serena's eyes had intensified. Without another word, she hooked her fingertips under the hem of her t-shirt and peeled it upwards. Her petite yet stunningly curvaceous figure emerged, like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

Jenna gaped. "Mel is so right you know," she complimented her. "Tony is one lucky son of a bitch!"

Melody nodded silent agreement, drinking in the sight of Serena's naked body. The hourglass curve of her hips, and the perfect breasts. Smaller than her own and Jenna's, but exquisitely formed. Two flawless peaks of satin flesh, half-hidden by her tumbling blonde hair, and crowned with dusky pink nipples standing proudly now to attention.

"Serena," Melody whispered, half-dumbstruck by the vision, deciding that she must have died and gone to heaven! She slipped her arm around Serena's smooth waist and drew her in to make the threesome complete. Her moist lips sought out Serena's and trailed a line of gentle kisses from there to her throat. Nuzzling more caresses into Serena's neck, she only pulled back as Jenna's fingers slipped fully inside her. The sudden penetration caused her to gasp and buck again, and she entwined her fingers in her long red hair as a slight flush tinged her breasts.

"Fuck me!" she pleaded hoarsely. "Fuck me hard!"

Jenna's fingers thrust rapidly into her. Serena stifled Melody's cry of pleasure with a kiss, thrusting her tongue confidently into her sweet velvet mouth so that a trickle of warm saliva bubbled between their parted lips and ran back over Melody's cheek. And all the time, Serena fondled Melody's tits, squeezing to the rhythm of Jenna's expert fingers.

"Make me come!" Melody gasped, her heart pounding with the promise of an impending orgasmic cataclysm. "Fuck me!"

She almost wept as she went into meltdown. A long, lingering groan gave voice to the all-consuming pleasure building between her legs before it billowed out like an unstoppable tidal surge to swamp each and every inch of her sweat-drenched body. Serena offered her one of her pert little breasts, and Melody ravenously devoured the nipple, clenching it so hard between her teeth that Serena moaned at the slight discomfort. Melody only released the sore nipple as her climax waned, leaving her spent and breathing hard as Jenna leaned across to kiss her tenderly.

"I can never believe how wet you get," she purred.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Melody smiled breathlessly.

"I sincerely hope that's a promise."

"You bet."

The silence of the desert was suddenly broken by the crackle of the radio.

"Alpha five-oh-four, receiving. Possible sighting of suspects on Highway Nineteen. In pursuit, over...."

"Shit! Guys, we gotta fly!"

Melody leapt up, pulling on her blouse and scrambling over into the front seat. Somewhere, not too far away, she could hear the distinctive wail of a siren.

"Guys?" she repeated, looking in her rearview mirror in time to see Jenna burying her face deep between Serena's thighs.

"Okay," she said slowly, amused as Serena moaned loudly. She gunned the engine and rammed home the gear shift, kicking up a spray of red dust as she roared back on to the highway. "But you'd better hold on back there."

You little minx, Serena, she thought as she pulled on her shades and floored the gas pedal. So much for poor old Tony....


Vivienne shivered. She didn't believe for one moment that the station was actually haunted, but at two in the morning it was easy for the mind to play tricks.

Once again she felt an inexplicable draught on the back of her neck and she whirled round in slight panic, only to find the platform lying deserted under the sallow electric light.

"There are no such things as ghosts," she whispered mantra-like to herself. "There are no such things as ghosts."

Despite working for a leading magazine devoted to the investigation of all things paranormal, Vivienne had seen nothing in her past five years as a feature writer to convince her that there was anything remotely objective beyond the physical world. Photographs of ghosts, stories of alien abduction, and the claims of mediums to be able to talk to the dead -- as far as Vivienne was concerned it was all just a load of horse-shit!

Still, it made good copy and kept the magazine subscriptions rolling in. And while that happened, it meant that she could carry on paying the bills. Even horse-shit was good for the roses!

But there was just something about this place that was affecting her like nothing she had ever experienced before. She shook her head to clear it. Probably just too much coffee. She really needed to get a grip.

Flipping open her notebook, she read through the jottings she had already made about the small, now abandoned subway station, and the main points from her interviews with several witnesses to unexplained events that had supposedly occurred down here. A small faded photograph slipped from between the leaves, and she caught it before it could flutter to the floor.

Captain Charles 'Chuck' Robinson of the United States Airforce. At least twenty people had told her that they had seen him down here in the musty, oversized rabbit hole.And ordinarily, Vivienne would have believed them -- were it not for the fact that the dashing airforce officer had been dead for more than sixty years!

What some people would believe, she thought cynically. Just because they had heard a few things go bump in the night and knew that subway station sat directly beneath a former airbase. Talk about putting two and two together and making five!

She studied the photograph. Old Chuck had certainly been a looker in his day, she had to admit! Dark-haired and clean-shaven, he stared back at her from beneath his cap through eyes that could have lured a mother superior into bed! The smile into which his perfectly proportioned lips were formed seemed to reach across time to her to suggest an impossible intimacy.

God, if she had only been born several decades earlier!

She felt suddenly lightheaded. Damn coffee, she thought again, although it didn't feel like the effects of a caffeine overdose. Once more she felt the draught on her neck, but this time it was warm and slightly moist, and she could have sworn that she heard a breath. And this time she did not flinch, even when it continued to caress her skin.

Her eyes were still fixed on the photograph when she felt the hands slipping smoothly around her waist....

The old subway lights flickered. She should have been panicking! Screaming the place down in a wild fit of hysteria! But the sensation was anything but terrifying.The hands slid all the way round her midriff, gliding effortlessly over her cotton blouse.

And then, very slowly, they began to move higher....

The lights shimmered again, and Vivienne unconsciously held her breath as the pressure around her waist shifted upwards. She felt fingertips pause fractionally at the curve of her breasts, before they curled round her fastened themselves firmly over the full tits. The gentle pressure she felt drew the air from her lips as a long and protracted sigh.

She heard a crackle of electricity and the lights went out completely, plunging the platform into an impentrable darkness. At the same time, a tingling sensation like static washed over her whole body and turned her sigh into a loud gasp.

"Oh God," she managed to murmur as she was turned slowly round, one hand unbuttoning her blouse before continuing to fondle her bare breasts in turn; the other hand invisibly drawing up her tight-fitting pencil skirt....

The presence that loomed over her was irresistibly masculine! At once determined but gentle.Warm breath stroked her throat, her cheek; then lips brushed hers for a fleeting instant that left her yearning for more!

"Please!" she whispered, craning her neck to seek out the lips which had tantilized her own so sweetly! She reached out, her hands making contact with a tight muscular body within a fitted jacket over which she slid the flats of her hands. They drifted to the shoulders of the figure, clawing at the lapels she found there as her body was pressed against the cold subway wall and her legs were pushed gently open....

Vivienne thought that she would surely pass out, the penetration was so slow and delicious! She tore at the lapels, heard a button rattle as it skittered across the platform. The breath was hot against her face now, and Vivienne silently screamed for the absent lips she had tasted moments before as her body trembled to the rhythmic thrusting deep into her soaking pussy.

She caught her breath, beginning to sweat, her long dark hair sticking to her damp shoulders where her blouse had been pushed away. She clutched at the figure which pressed itself against her so firmly, and yet without any air of menace, pulling at it so desperately as if she could fully merge herself with her unseen lover. Each movement of the huge cock she could feel between her legs made her head whirl, caused her breath to become more and more ragged, and fanned the flames of an approaching orgasmic inferno that she was convinced would just consume her completely!

And then like some uncontrollable backdraft, the climax struck!

Had it not been for the body pressed to hers, she would have collapsed she knew! Her legs promised to buckle, their strength sapped by the burning pleasure exploding out from between her thighs and scorching every nerve! Every thrust, every surge of the unseen hips pounding into her left her fighting for breath until tears squeezed from between her closed eyelids as she almost sobbed with pleasure.

No man had ever fucked her like this!

The loud flapping of wings intruded on her reverie and burst it like a pin popping a balloon! Her eyes snapped open to see a scruffy pigeon descend from the corroded girders overhead and settle on the dirty platform where it pecked vainly at the brittle concrete. Still breathing hard, Vivienne stared down at the photograph she still held in her hands, and she patted at her clothes which were all still securely zipped and buttoned. Her confused mind struggled to make sense of what had just happened!

She couldn't stop shaking; it had all seemed so incredibly real!

She cast a glance at the deserted platform still bathed in sickly yellow light. Not a sound disturbed the silence. She was definitely alone.

God! she thought. She had been in this business for too long!

And then she saw it. The glint on the edge of her vision drew her gaze to the ground just a few feet away. Trembling, she stooped to pick up the shiny object.

It was a button, inscribed with the words....

"United States Airforce," she mouthed in disbelief.


"You thieving son of a bitch!"

Megan sighed and rolled her eyes as Detective Alex Farley vented his rage on the perennially malfunctioning coffee machine and hammered his fist into it, adding a further dent to the collection he had built up over the past months.

"That's the third time," he spat, turning to her and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "The third fucking time this week that it's taken my goddammed fucking money for nothing!"

Megan merely nodded and smiled as she moved past him and began to slip her own coin into the slot.

"Total waste of your time and dime, Cross," Alex snorted as she selected her choice of drink and pushed the relevant button. The machine clunked ominously for a few seconds before obediently providing Megan with a steaming black instant. Alex just stared in disbelief as she retrieved the brimming plastic cup and took a careful sip.

"Just have to be gentle, Farley, that's all," she murmured as she strolled off down the corridor. But her advice fell on deaf ears as behind her Alex swore again and aimed a well-placed kick into the bottom of the vending machine.

Megan shook her head and smirked. That guy was worse than a temperamental three year old sometimes!

The corridors of West 15 Police Precinct were humming with even more activity than usual, and Megan had to take care not to spill her coffee as she shouldered through the milling uniforms. She frowned quizzically as she reached her desk and called across to her partner, Detective Harvey Miller, who was leaning back in his seat with his size thirteen feet swung up on to a corner of his desk.

"So what's with the morning rush hour," she asked. Miller raised an eyebrow and sighed.

"The East Side Fire Raiser. They hauled him in two hours ago. Got a tip-off that he was up to his old tricks in an abandoned warehouse on the corner of twelfth and seventeenth."

Megan pursed her lips. "Great. It's about time that bastard faced the music."

"Trouble is," Miller went on, "we know the little jerk isn't working alone. That string of fires that started simultaneously last month, for example? He must have accomplices. But he refuses to talk, give us any names. And without them...."

Miller shrugged and Megan nodded ruefully. "Without them, the whole town could just carry on going to blazes."

Miller pointed at her and clicked his tongue. "Go to the top of the class, Detective Cross."


Megan was sipping her second cup of coffee in an hour as she stood looking through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. Inside she could see the suspect just sitting staring into space and grinning broadly whenever he was asked a question. After a few minutes, the detective in charge rose to his feet and stormed from the room.

"Smart ass!" he hissed over his shoulder as he exited. He ran his fingers through his untidy mop of greying hair and loosened his tie a little more.

"No luck, Michaels?" Megan asked needlessly, and the detective blew out his cheeks.

"Like hell! Refuses point blank to answer any of my questions."

Megan knocked back the last of her tepid coffee and screwed up the cup in her fist in an unconscious sign of her determination.

"Mind if I try?"

Michaels looked hesitant. "Mm, I don't know," he murmured dubiously. "The chief assigned me and Haversham to this case..."

"So who cares?" Megan interrupted. "If I can get him to spill, you can take the credit. Important thing is we get those names. Right?"

Her colleague sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Guess so," he agreed. He stepped back and swept an arm towards the door. "Be my guest. I don't rate your chances with that dumb piece of shit, though. I'm off to lunch."

"We'll see," Megan muttered.

Almost as soon as she entered the room, she saw the suspect react. Uncertainty flickered across his craggy, smoke-blackened face and he shifted in his seat as she closed the door again behind her.

"Hey, where's the other guy?" he blurted as Megan loomed over him.

"Oh, so you do have a tongue?" she answered wryly. She circled the desk and picked up a typewritten sheet which she scanned briefly. "Edmund Biggins," she read aloud the name. "Hell, I can see why you prefer to be known as the East Side Fire Raiser with a crappy name like that!"

Biggins opened his mouth to say something, and abruptly closed it again. Megan took the seat opposite him and leaned forward a little.

"Look, all we want are names," she began quietly. "Half the city has been incinerated, so we know you aren't working alone. And why should you take all the wrap? I mean there must be six or seven life sentences to share out among all your so-called buddies."

She paused as she saw Biggins' mouth opening. She frowned as she waited for him to say something, only noticing after a long moment that his attention was focused on her chest and not on what she had been saying. She made a show of clearing her throat, but it was only enough to distract Biggins for a second. His misty gaze snapped back to her ample cleavage like a rubber band.

Oh my God, she thought at first. This guy was something else altogether!

She had already decided that Biggins was a lost cause and was beginning to rise from her seat when she stopped. She had shocked even herself with the crazy thought that had flashed into her mind. It was almost certainly entrapment, and could kill off her career before it had barely started.

Her eyes took in Biggins. Crappy name aside, he was quite a good looking guy under all that grime....

"Just a few names, that's all," she repeated, lightly drumming the fingers of one hand on the desk as she allowed her other to slip to her blouse and slowly loosen another button. Biggins visibly trembled as she felt the draught of the air-conditioning play around her half-naked breasts, and she was surprised at the slight thril of excitment which coursed through her own body.

She kept her eyes fixed on Biggins, reading his own rising excitement as she continued undoing more buttons. Her fingers worked lower and lower -- until the blouse opened soundlessly to fully expose the creamy swell of her full, firm tits.

Biggins looked for all the world as though he would begin to drool. As though he had been hypnotised, he reached across the desk like a zombie, but Megan caught his hand in her own.

"Mm, looking is free. But touching -- " She held Biggins' quivering fingers just an inch or two from her right breast. "Touching will cost you extra."

She inclined her head as Biggins whispered something.

"Yes?" she purred.

"Malone!" he blurted suddenly. "Jimmy Malone! He helped rig the firebomb in the shopping mall."

There was a strange pleading in his voice, and a desperate longing in his green eyes that Megan just couldn't resist. She smiled and nodded and very, very gently pressed his hand over the peak of her breast.

He groaned loudly and Megan felt her nipple spring up hard against his palm as he squeezed her flesh hungrily. She closed her eyes and threw back her long red hair, thrilling to the sensations which Biggins' caress was generating in her.

Oh God! This was all so wrong! So very, very wrong!

But it was too late. Biggins had woken something in her that she hadn't felt in months. Not since Jerry had left her for that Barbie who'd posed as his secretary at the insurance firm where he worked.

Gone suddenly was the rational, professional woman, and in her place was the raving succubus. Like a woman possessed, she climbed on to the desk and slid across the faded surface scarred with cigarette burns. In three seconds flat, she was sat squarely in Biggins' lap, with his face buried deep in her cleavage.

"Karl Manson," Biggins said suddenly, his voice muffled by her breasts. "And Ernie Carruthers."

Some tiny part of Megan's brain that was still capable of lucid thought noted the names which Biggins was reeling off now like lotto numbers. The remaining ninety-nine percent of her mind was preoccupied with the complexities of Biggins's trouser zip, which finally opened at the third time of trying and allowed the huge bulge inside to spring free.

"Gary Carlton, Marvin Clark, Stan -- "

Biggins' words were lost to a gasp as Megan hitched up her short pencil skirt and slipped his massive erection smoothly between her damp thighs. He was shaking like a tree caught in a gale, and Megan twisted her fingers into his hair, the scent of the smoke and fire of his crimes wafting around her like complicity. Her blood was pumping in her ears like the rapids, and she heard her own voice cry out above the cascade as she rode Biggins wildly.

"Fuck me!" she demanded, only half-aware of what she was saying. Her head lolled backwards, eyes fluttering shut, then open, as she felt herself hurtling towards that line where self-control no longer existed. Biggins jerked beneath her, thrusting upwards and pushing her to the very edge of the precipice.

"God, yes!" she groaned without a care. "Yes!"

Like a boat tipping over the brim of a waterfall, Megan was suddenly plummeting headlong into ecstasy. She gasped and groaned again, caught in the throes of an orgasm of tectonic proportions. It shook her to the core of her flushed body, and sent fire burning through every vein and nerve and fibre of her being. Biggins moved beneath her, his own breathing faster and more ragged now, and as Megan felt her own climax wane, he spurted long and hard inside her.

"Jack Armstrong! Kenny and Ali Hoffmann!" he cried out wantonly, and Megan clutched him tightly as he bucked for what seemed like an age, pouring his lust into her as he buried his face once more in her breasts, spent and panting as if he had run a marathon.

It was some minutes before she could move. When she had finally recovered the use of her legs, she climbed out of Biggins' lap, straightened her skirt, and began to do up her blouse again.

"Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Biggins," she said. "It will be taken into due consideration at your trial."

"B...but there's more!" Biggins stammered behind her as she made her way out. "Last month's payroll heist at the steelworks? Who do you think supplied the charge that blew the door off the fucking armoured car?"

Megan turned. "Supplied who?" she asked, folding her arms.

But Biggins just grinned and set his mouth in a firm line.

"Okay," she said slowly, ripping open her blouse so that buttons flew into every corner of the room. "Let's see just how much willpower you actually do have."

God, she really, really hoped that Michaels was having a long lunch!


As a rule Holly Chambers would have avoided Shakespeare like the plague. But the sight of possibly the sexiest Lady Macbeth ever to tread the boards was doing wonders for her theatrical tastes!

The evening had begun as a mistake, a booking error on the theatre's part. Arriving in high-spirited expectation of seeing the latest Irish dance spectacular, she found that the tickets she had reserved over the phone were for the wrong show altogether! By way of their profuse apologies, the theatre management had offered to refund her money and invited her to see the Macbeth performance for free. She had hardly been thrilled at the prospect of sitting through three hours or more of dry old Bill Shakespeare. The very thought brought back memories of insufferable English lessons spent analysing texts that might just as well have been written in bloody Swahili for all the sense they made to her! Still, she had reasoned, it was a free night out, and her appreciation for the Bard might well have altered in the twelve years since she had left high school.

She was wrong. After less than fifteen minutes, Holly found herself fidgeting in her seat, earning herself some disapproving stares from people occupying the row in front. But she couldn't help herself. The 'thees and thous' bounced off her eardrums, driving her to distraction. Holly doubted that she'd be able to endure it until the end of Act One without having to leave. But just as she was trying to choose a moment when her exit from the middle-row seat would cause the least disturbance for the other theatre-goers, she was suddenly transfixed by the stunning vision of Lady Macbeth gliding on to the stage.

Holly was some distance from the stage, but even so she could appreciate the beauty of the actress. The sleek black hair falling to the waist, the figure-hugging electric blue gown which flattered the fabulous hourglass curves. Holly quickly fumbled for twenty pence to free the opera glasses from a holder set into the rear of the seat in front. Ignoring more annoyed stares, Holly hooked her blonde hair behind an ear, raised the glasses to her eyes and drank in a closer view of the actress's mouthwatering decolletage. God, she thought. All these years she had never imagined Lady M being so absolutely drop-dead gorgeous!

A tingle of desire deep between Holly's thighs only increased in intensity as the play progressed. She could barely tear her eyes away from the opera glasses, so entranced was she by the sex goddess whose sizzling sensuality dominated the stage. By the interval, Holly was so turned on that she spent most of the twenty minutes in the ladies, standing against a cubicle wall and biting on her lip to stop herself crying out as she masturbated!

But any relief she obtained was shortlived. No sooner had she set eyes on Lady Macbeth again than Holly was burning with rekindled desire. Her pussy began to moisten, and it was all she could do not to relieve herself once more there and then in her seat! She had rarely been so aroused as the curtain finally fell on the performance.

Holly lingered in her seat as the rest of the audience began to mill around her. She was breathless, her heart racing, with a deep yearning that clawed at the pit of her stomach. Then after a few minutes she told herself to stop being so ridiculous and made to leave.

"Excuse me?"

Holly turned at the well-spoken voice to see an attractive brunette in a flattering little red outfit smiling down at her.

"Yes?" Holly said, returning the smile, and the woman took the now empty seat beside her.

"I believe these may be yours," the woman whispered, and discreetly opened her hand to show Holly a pair of very daring black panties scrunched up in her palm.

If Holly hadn't been so startled, if she'd had time to think about her reply, then she would doubtless have denied any knowledge of the wayward lingerie. But as it was, she reacted instinctively, clutching a hand to her mouth in shock.

"Oh my God!" she breathed. She had never even realised. But how could this woman possibly know...?

The amused brunette saw the question in Holly's wide, horrified gaze.

"I was in the cubicle next door," she explained.

"But I thought -- " Holly croaked before uncharacteristic embarrassment stole her voice.

"Relax sweetheart," the woman soothed, humour playing attractively around the corners of her glossy lips. "So you got a little more carried away with yourself than you realised -- there's no crime in that. Besides, no one else heard a thing. I saw you leave, spotted these and put two and two together."

Still blushing, Holly took the panties and quickly stuffed them into her clutch purse.

"I'm Jenny," the young woman introduced herself, and after Holly had somewhat self-consciously reciprocated, Jenny added: "So what got you so hot under the collar anyway?"

Holly froze. It was one thing someone finding out what she'd been up to at the interval, but quite another admitting to a total stranger that she had lesbian inclinations! She was about to brush off the question, or lie that it was Macduff or Banquo who'd driven her to play with herself in the loo when Jenny said quietly, "Lady Macbethh, right?"

Holly stared, But as Jenny grinned knowingly, Holly relaxed and felt colour flood her cheeks again.

"I knew it!" Jenny laughed.

"Was it that obvious?" Holly asked, and Jenny nodded.

"Let's just say that gorgeous Lady M can have that kind of effect on a girl!"

Holly studied Jenny closely. "You too?"

"Well what do you think I was doing in the ladies?" she retorted, and both women broke into muffled laughter.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Jenny offered as their humour eased. Holly glanced up, thought she saw something more than just cordiality flash in Jenny's seagreen eyes. Their gaze locked for a long moment as Holly agreed.

They left the almost empty auditorium and made their way out of the theatre into the cool evening. Jenny pointed to a small bar just across the road and automatically reached for Holly's hand as they crossed the busy thoroughfare. Their fingers intertwined and Holly felt a thrill of excitement course through her veins at the contact.

The bar was crowded but they managed to find themselves a small table in one corner. They sat down with their drinks and exchanged smalltalk about themselves -- their careers, their cars, their lovelives. It was in the wake of recounting their respective litanies of failed relationships with lousy blokes that they once again lapsed into eloquent silence and locked eyes.

"I've got a confession," Jenny admitted at length, eyeing Holly over the rim of her glass. She put down the tumbler and leaned forward a little, reaching under the table to run her fingers up over Holly's thigh.

"You have?" Holly feigned innocence, all the while wishing Jenny's fingers higher, longing for her to edge ever nearer her wet pussy, to touch her, to slip inside.... "I can't imagine what."

"I so want to make love to you!" Jenny sighed. "Even more than Lady Macbeth!"

"And that kind of flattery will get you everywhere," Holly smiled.

Jenny's apartment was only a ten minute drive away, but they never made it. In the dimness of the multistorey car park, they could resist their mutual desire no longer. Holly moaned as her blouse was torn open, feeling her bra wrenched off so that the straps dug into her flesh in a delicious merger of discomfort and pleasure. Jenny descended on her bare breasts with relish, cupping each of them and drawing on the hardened nipples with famished lips. Holly held Jenny's head close as she suckled, and for the second time that evening she was unbearably aroused as the aching hunger deep between her thighs demanded that it be sated. She was trembling as Jenny pushed her back on to the bonnet of the car and pushed up her skirt.

As Holly opened her legs, Jenny slid her hands up the insides of her glistening thighs. Holly thought that she would go mad with desire, and then as Jenny's tongue began to probe deep between her legs, Holly groaned so loudly that her wanton cry echoed around the deserted car park.

"Now!" she pleaded, entwining her fingers in Jenny's long dark hair as she was edged ever closer to the abyss of total sexual abandon. And as Jenny slowly slipped her fingers inside of her, Holly was at last overwhelmed by the orgasmic inferno. She bucked, gasping as the huge climax robbed her of breath, and she clutched at her own breasts, squeezing them hard in a feverish reaction to the unquenchable heat of her coming. And as the orgasm waned all too soon, Holly sat up and pulled Jenny to herself, kissing her passionately.

A loud cough caused them both to look round sharply. A fair-haired young man in a car park attendant's uniform stood some feet away, his expression betraying an obvious struggle to mask voyeuristic excitement with an air of authority.

"I -- I think you'll find that your -- your ticket expired fifteen minutes ago," he stammered, but Jenny simply flashed him a melting smile.

"Well I'm sorry about that," she breathed, "but I'm sure I can make it up to you."

She turned in Holly's loose embrace and leaned back, opening her own legs wide in an action that most definitely spoke louder than words. The attendant hesitated, torn between sense of duty and sheer animal instinct. Seconds later he was eating clumsy kisses into Jenny's slender throat!

As Jenny leaned back against her, Holly slowly unzipped Jenny's sexy red dress and helped to peel it down her beautiful, curvaceous body. Holly felt a renewed stirring of irrepressible desire at the sight of Jenny's flawless figure, momentarily jealous that she was expected to share it with this awkward stranger who had disturbed their lovemaking so prematurely. But the jealousy passed in an instant as Holly allowed herself to yield to the excitement of this unexpected threesome!

Unhooking Jenny's bra, Holly tossed the flimsy lace aside and clasped her hands over her full tits, grinding her palms down against Jenny's erect nipples and squeezing her fingertips deep into the succulent mounds of firm flesh. Jenny whimpered, turning her neck to the young man's ravenous caresses and reaching up to clutch at Holly's silky hair.

"Don't stop," she rasped, and Holly was only too pleased to oblige, kneading Jenny's breasts harder as she returned the kisses of the attendant and wrapped her long legs around his waist, drawing him closer to her.

"What are you waiting for?" Jenny purred. "A written invitation?"

The young man could hardly unbutton his trousers fast enough. In no time at all they were round his knees and he was slipping deep between Jenny's creamy thighs. As he pushed further into her, Jenny snatched a breath and caught again at Holly's hair.

"God!" she gasped as though he were not there, responding to the sensation of his being inside her by sharing another lingering kiss with an increasingly excited Holly. Holly felt Jenny's body shaking as the attendant began to pump hard between her legs, his own hands rubbing over her breasts. His hips began to move with an even greater urgency now, and Holly let her fingers slip down to intimately caress Jenny too.

Jenny came just seconds before he did. Stroked into the embrace of a sweeping orgasm, Jenny recoiled into Holly's arms with a loud moan of release, her body damp with sweat, and her head tossing side to side insensibly. And before her own climax could subside, a deep growl of satisfaction sounded in the attendant's throat as he came too, emptying himself completely into her.

"Spectacular performance, darling," Holly whispered moments later as Jenny lay panting against her. Jenny looked round, flushed, her eyes sparkling.

"Fancy an encore?" she suggested, and Holly smiled.

God, she loved William Shakespeare!


Genevieve couldn't sleep. She paced the lounge, hands balled up inside the long sleeves of her dressing gown, pausing to stare out of the window, at the moonlight reflected on the lake.

She still couldn't believe it. After all of her hopes and dreams. To have them all dashed by a bloody piece of paper!

The psychological evaluation had been the one last obstacle. Fitness and aptitude training she had passed with flying colours. And she was top of her class in flight simulation where she had proved that she could land a lunar module on a goddammed postage stamp if need be.

She had triumphed in every discipline that could possibly matter. Only for the men in white coats to dash her dreams now with the conclusion that she was not sufficiently sound psychologically to be among the first humans in forty years to set foot on the moon.

"Shit!" she hissed, clenching her fists tighter as she looked up at the elusive moon which seemed to taunt her with its glare in the clear night sky. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Ever since she was a girl, she had dreamed of blasting off into that final frontier. When other girls had been playing with their dolls houses, she had been gluing together plastic models of the space shuttle! And no teen gossip magazines had ever been pushed through her letterbox, just subscriptions to the leading astronomy periodicals.

But for what? When she had joined the airforce, and had been selected for the astronaut training programme, she thought that all of her dreams were about to be realised. How wrong she had been!

She picked up a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff from the coffee table and placed her lips to it. She took a huge swig and ran her hand across her lips, showing the moon the finger.

Her life was as good as over!


Genevieve McCourt struck an imposing figure as she marched down the brightly lit NASA corridor. Out of her airforce flight suit, she looked every inch the catwalk model. The daring split in her figure-hugging pencil skirt revealed an extra glimpse of the long slender legs that promised to go on for ever, while the flattering decolletage of her short-sleeved top drew more than one admiring glance. But the flowing chocolate coloured hair that framed her face did nothing to soften her features which were fixed firmer than a statue's.

She halted at the unassuming office door in a corridor filled with dozens of them. With no more hesitation, she curled up her fingers and rapped hard on the frosted glass three times.

No answer.

Genevieve took a deep breath and chewed lightly on the corner of her lip in irritation before knocking again.

There was a similar protracted pause which saw Genevieve's icy expression begin to crack under the strain. The line of her mouth shifted as she ground her jaw in response to her increasing rancour....

"Come in."

Her rising tension released itself as a long yet inaudible sigh. Genevieve took hold of the door knob, twisted it as though she were ringing the psychiatrist's scrawny neck, and entered.

She marched into the room with all the air of a woman on a mission. She had taken several steps beyond the threshold of the small office when she thought better of it and turned back to close the door. This wasn't going to be a conversation suitable for the ears of anyone of a sensitive disposition who might just be passing!

Doctor Marcus Stephens peered at her over the top of his rimless round glasses as she stalked across to where he sat behind his cluttered desk.

"Can I help you, Ms McCourt?" he asked slowly.

"The hell you can!" Genevieve retorted sharply as she reached the desk and thrust the evaluation result towards him. "You can tell me just what the fuck this is supposed to mean?"

Stephen's eyed the printout and shrugged. "I think it's all fairly clear," he said.

"Flying a spacecraft is about more than pushing a few buttons. You also need to possess the right frame of mind."

Stephens looked up at her and pursed his lips. "And you, Ms McCourt -- as you are so ably demonstrating at this moment -- do not."

"Bullshit!" Geneveive hissed, leaning forward on the desk and staring Stephens straight in the eye. "This is all to do with your frame of mind, not mine!"

Stephens shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Ms McCourt -- "

Genevieve smiled knowingly. "Just because you can't handle your testosterone levels when I'm around!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Stephens said, unable to hide the croak in his voice. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He returned his attention to his computer screen, his fingers visibly trembling as they hovered over the keyboard. Still evidently perturbed by Genevieve's continued presence, he sniffed and glanced up.

"Ms McCourt, I must insist," he began -- but the rest of the sentence was lost to a gasp as his eyes came to rest once more on Genevieve who had stripped down to her white lace underwear!

"Really?" she whispered, slowly circling the desk and trailing her fingertips lightly over the tabletop as she advanced on the dumbstruck doctor. "I mean, I've seen how you can't take your eyes off me. It must be hell for you to be able to look, but never touch."

Stephens swallowed as Genevieve reached his chair and spun it round slowly. "Well, let's just say that today is your lucky day, doctor."

He offered about as much resistance as a rag doll as she pulled him to his feet. She removed his glasses and placed them on the desk, appreciating for probably the first time just how good looking he was -- for a psychriatrist at least! He was clearing his throat self-consciously, but Genevieve silenced his bashfulness with a sudden but slow and lingering kiss. As she gently slipped her tongue between his lips, she reached around her back and unfastened her bra, which fell noiselessly to the office floor.

She pulled out of their kiss, and Stephens sighed as his eyes caught sight of her. Genvieve smiled and took his wavering fingers, which she pressed firmly over the peak of one of her naked breasts, his hand instinctively squeezing as it closed over the firm, full mound. Another kiss, and this time Stephens himself responded, meeting her tongue with his own and kneading his fingers harder into her breast as his inhibitions rapidly evaporated in the heat of this moment. Genevieve pushed his jacket from his shoulders and began to rip open his shirt, smoothing her palms over his bare chest and drawing a further sigh of satisfaction from him.

Both of her breasts were in his grasp now, and Genevieve deepened their kiss yet further, prolonging the searching caress as she allowed her hand to drift to his belt. With one smooth movement, she released the buckle to a murmur of encouragement from the doctor, and then loosened the button which permitted her to slide her probing fingers beyond it. She paused, deliberately teasing him, but the increased eagerness of his kiss urged her not to stop!

He groaned as her fingers closed over the huge bulge which her presence had generated inside his briefs. She deftly released him, and suddenly Stephens could restrain his lust for her no longer. Desperately, he pushed her back onto the desk, sending books and stacks of paper crashing to the floor. Genevieve was surprised at how hungry she was for him too, and wriggled out of her panties as his fingers slid them down to her calves.

He entered her with all the urgency of an invading army breaching a city wall! She caught her breath as he slipped so easily into her and settled into a frantic movement there. She closed her eyes, gripping his shoulders and focusing on the sensation which his famished thrusting was building between her legs. Part of her wanted him to slow down so that she could savour the delicious wave of pleasure washing over her like the sea lapping on to a beach. But another part screamed for him to drive her with all the force of a launching space shuttle straight into the orgasmic void!

She was sure that she called out far louder than she had intended when she came suddenly. Stars flashed before her eyes as her head spun, and the whites of her knuckles showed as she gripped Stephens' shoulders like a vice. Her whole body bucked, meeting his continued thrusting which was growing more urgent with each passing nanosecond! And before her own release had subsided, he exploded like a nova inside her!

"God, oh God!" he groaned, entwining his fingers in her long hair as he came. "Oh dear God!"

Just moments later, he had collapsed on top of her, exhausted. He lay there for a few minutes, then pushed himself wearily from Genevieve's naked and slightly flushed body.

"I...er...I suppose I may have been a little misguided in my evaluation," he said breathlessly as he stared down at her.

Genevieve grinned. "You were?"

Stephens nodded, his eyes roving appreciatively over her alluring figure. Genevieve noted the continued desire in his gaze and reached for his hand once more, pulling him down on top of her.

"Okay," she whispered next to his ear, "that's my trip to the moon sorted out. In the meantime, how about you take me to heaven one more time?"


Edward Anthony Morgan was an asshole of the highest degree. That was the conclusion which Meredith Shaw had arrived at as she stared at the jumped-up little creep over the tea trolley.

´One or two lumps, dear?´

Meredith only half-registered Sally´s tremulous enquiry.

´Er, none,´ she mumbled to the elderly tea lady, still distracted by Morgan´s irritating swagger as he walked past the photocopier. ´I have sweetener.´

She slowly rose from her seat, ignoring Sally´s disapproving cluck of her tonge. Meredith was simply too angry right now to care about the old woman´s opinion that nothing could ever replace real sugar. Setting her full lips in a determined line, she marched resolutely towards Morgan who was laughing and flirting openly with one of the temps from the typing pool.

´Er, excuse me, Mister Morgan,´ she butted in, unable to keep the contempt she held him in from her tone.

Morgan only half-turned, as if he had merely been momentarily distracted by a fly that didn't deserve any more of his precious attention than a cursory glance. To Meredith´s rising annoyance, he continued to laugh like an overgrown schoolboy with the weary looking secretary.

´Mister Morgan!´

The words came out louder than even she had intended. A slight hush descended over the immediate vicinity of the large open-plan office, and Morgan turned to face her fully now. Raising himself to his full height, he looked down at her in patent disapproval, his face reddening a little in the sure sign of his irritation.

´Yes?´ he said slowly, like an headmaster addressing an impertinent student. And ordinarily, Meredith might have quavered beneath his glowering expression. But not now. Her anger made her impervious to any such effect!

She cleared her throat and tried to match Morgan´s attempt at exaggerating his stature by standing as tall as her high heels would allow her.

´I believe that you recently received an application from a friend of mine,´ she began. Morgan began to shake his head but Meredith added impatiently: ´Sarah Hardcastle?´

Morgan still looked nonplussed for a second or two, then recognition flickered across his face.

´Mm, yes, I remember now.´ He shrugged dismissively. ´And?´

Meredith silently fumed, although she knew that her anger must be showing on her face. ´And you didn´t even give her the courtesy of an interview,´ she replied.

Morgan´s eyes widened. ´And of what business is that to you? Do you expect me to consult you about every decision my department makes?´

Meredith shook her head. ´Of course not,´ she snapped. ´But Sarah has qualifications and experience by the bucketload. And the position of personal assistant is still being advertised!´

´Qualifications and experience aren´t everything, Miss Vernon,´ he growled, and began to walk away. ´Attitude is important too.´

Meredith frowned. That kind of excuse made no sense whatsoever. Sarah was one of the nicest and most conscientious people she had ever known. And she wasn´t just saying that because she was a friend.

But then it clicked, the implication of Morgan´s words, and she stared after him in loathing.

´You mean just because she was immune to your charms, you slimey creep,´ she murmured.

Well, she thought bitterly. When it came to that kind of immunity, Sarah wasn´t the only one!


Meredith spent the rest of the morning and all of her lunch hour getting progressively angrier about Morgan. He had the gall to accuse others of an attitude, when his positively stank! By the time she returned to her desk in the early afternoon, she felt like smashing the computer monitor over his head every time he sauntered past. She was glad when the hands on her watch finally crept round to 5.30 so that she could go home.

As she stood waiting for the elevator, she closed her eyes, dreaming of the long hot bath waiting for her at home which would help soak away the cares of the day. She looked forward to letting Morgan drain down the plughole!

She heard the tell-tale ping of the lift doors and opened her eyes.

And there stood Morgan!

Oh God, she thought, hesitating for a second. Not now!

She took a deep breath as she forced herself to get into the lift. She´d put up with the patronising bastard this far; another minute or so wouldn´t make any difference.

Meredith stared at her feet as the doors slid shut and the lift began to descend. She didn´t trust herself not to say anything if she diverted her gaze even a fraction in Morgan´s direction. She was trying to think of something to help take her mind off the fact that she was in the company of the biggest creep in the entire company when the lift suddenly ground to an unexpected halt. She snapped up her eyes to find Morgan with his hand hovering over the control panel.

She returned his stare, as coldly as she could possibly make it, which wasn´t hard after the day she´


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