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and
twitches.
    ' Deux fois ,'
Philippe announced as dispassionately as a tennis umpire. 'You want
to go for more? I think you are well ahead of your weekly
score.'
    'No, don't
stop! I need at least three, maybe four!' howled Cassie, jerking
her loins up at him as he held himself impassively over her.
    'OK but I
don't want you to overdo it,' he lectured. 'I have seen people too
keen at the beginning, they end up with strained ligaments and
pulled muscles.'
    'Sod that,
Philippe,' said Cassie. 'I think there's only one way to learn and
that's on the job. Let's go for it! Oh yes!'
    Philippe
didn't argue further, he just swung into action as if to prove his
point, pistoning his powerful cock between her legs in a blur.
    Petra tried
hard to record the meaningful action as requested, keeping the
camera focused on Cassie's face as she moaned and howled through a
succession of orgasms. But Petra's camera hand was shaking with
excitement. She couldn't resist staring at Philippe's lean buttocks
as they thrust and flexed and hollowed, driving his menacing cudgel
of flesh up into Cassie's loins. She was mesmerized too by the
sight of her friend's swollen pussy as it engulfed the big cock.
Yielding yet strong, soft yet resilient, it joyfully embraced the
pounding weapon.
    'AAH!' yelled
Cassie finally and passed out.
    It took a few moments, in which time Philippe bid them au revoir , before Cassie
was able to speak.
    'Didn't I tell
you, Petra? That's what I call personal training.'
    'Well, he
certainly pressed your little red button. It's not very romantic,
though, is it?'
    'My God,
woman, what do you want?' Cassie sat up and reached for the glass
of water Petra was offering her. 'This is lifestyle sex not
romance, health and fitness not emotional dependence. We're talking
work-out fucking here, perfect for today's independent woman. This
way, just think of all the time you save in not having rows and
pretending to be seduced and pussyfooting around before the guy
gets down to your actual pussy. Mind you, there is one thing I
regret.'
    'Oh?'
    'I wish I
could get that bastard Philippe to come inside me.' Petra was
astonished, though it was true that in the blur of orgasmic action
she'd seen no evidence of Philippe ejaculating.
    'Doesn't he
ever?'
    'No. Not one
drop of his precious fluid does he shed. Mind you, I'm his ten p.m.
appointment. He probably saves it so he can spunk off over lucky
Miss Midnight. What the hell are you laughing at?'
     
     

Chapter
7
     
    Kelvin Priest sat in bed doodling on a notepad and stroking
his penis. The pad contained impressions of his interview that
morning with Gossamer Hawk and his penis was similarly inspired.
Kelvin was struggling to put some shape to the article he was
preparing for Nouveau . He was not finding it easy.
    Gossamer had
knocked Kelvin for six. The combination of larky sixth-former and
mature woman, of high-pitched giggle and low-slung cleavage, of
flirtatious blonde and stern officer of the court had him in
thrall. She had virtually propositioned him, had held out the image
of herself stripped to the waist with the expanse of her soft
perfumed bosom at the mercy of his roving hands. How he had longed
to take up that proposition.
    But had it
been a trap? Had his natural timidity saved him from a trip
downstairs to the cells? There, it was rumoured, transgressors were
held in soundproofed confinement, subjected to a rigorous programme
of 'attitude realignment' conducted by twenty-stone bull dykes who
looked on men as an inferior subspecies.
    Here, of
course, lay the crux of the matter. As an enquiring journalist he
should have probed more deeply, asked Gossamer searching questions
about the business of The Primrose Court. How, for example, did
they decide who to investigate? Who sat on the Corrections
Committee? Was it really, as officially stated, an advisory body
peopled by female business leaders and concerned only with
self-regulation of the business community? Or was it a gang