Appleby Blush Ch. 10

She didn't hesitate, even for a second. Pushing up to her feet, her eyes held his gaze as she leant back against the cool leather top of the desk. Her growl came from the back of her throat as she dragged the tight skirt up to her waist. He didn't need to tell her, she'd read his thoughts. Her hands went to her black thong and roughly yanked it down her thighs.

As Appleby's eyes were magnetically drawn to the thin dark wedge above the entrance to her sex, she spread her legs and ran a shaking hand along her labial lips. Another growl escaped from her throat.

"Show me," he commanded, stroking his lengthening shaft. His eyes stayed on her smooth mound. "Show me how much you want it."

The hand between her legs stroked along her wet folds again. Her fingers found her clit, rubbing the slippery nub as she began to pant. Her eyes narrowed and her spare hand reached inside her open blouse to clutch a breast. All of a sudden, it wasn't enough. She slipped her middle finger inside her wetness, moving it slowly at first and then beginning to ram it in and out. The sound of her palm slapping against her pussy, and the wet sloshing sound of her juices, intermingled into a sexual cocktail of mesmerizing sound.

The businessman's cock grew further. He didn't think that was possible.

With a snarl, he covered the short distance between them and pulled her legs up to his waist. He rubbed his hardness against her sex but Wilson had no intention of allowing herself to be teased. She needed more and she needed it now. Reaching for his shaft, she dragged him to her opening and gasped out as she easily fitted the head inside.

Appleby lunged forward and he drove into her. Her frantic need for him was infectious. He wanted her. This was the Head of the London Met's Vice Squad and she'd been unable to resist his clutches. No woman could. He was invincible...

The sexy bitch clutched his heaving back as she hiked her left leg up and wrapped it around his back. His large hand supported her thigh as he slowly withdrew until just his crown remained inside her. Their eyes met, Wilson whimpered in anticipation.

Thrusting forward, he drove his rigid manhood back inside her tight sex again. The large desk creaked under her weight. He began to fuck her with an easy rhythm, but her bucking body refused to let him have all his own way. She needed it hard and fast and was determined to get her own way. Suddenly everything was desperate and frantic.

Wilson shuffled back on the leather desk top, giving more room to thrust back against him. Her throaty growls increased. Appleby gripped under her thighs, holding her in position as her right leg joined her left around his broad back. Her hands circled his neck just as her ankles locked around his muscular body.

"Fuck me," she grunted, pulling him into a kiss. It was hot, their tongues entwining and their teeth clashing. His thickness felt wonderful sheathed in her tightness.

She was squeezing him as she thrust upwards and for a moment Appleby nearly lost it. He gripped her hair again, roughly jerking her head as if in warning. If she didn't slow her pace, the familiar sensations he could feel building would overwhelm him.

His lips curled back in a snarl. He was the one in control, not her. His jaw set and his teeth clenched and unclenched as he began to fuck her again. Wilson arched her back with each pump of his hips, letting go of his neck and falling back. Flat on the desk, she grabbed her small firm breasts and flicked her thumbs across her round little nipples.

Appleby roared again. He drilled into her harder. In all the times he'd fucked Angela on the desk it had never creaked and moved like this. He closed his eyes. The feeling as his veiny cock drove into her London Met pussy and the way she responded by increasing the pace of her upward pumps, was intoxicating, even for him.

His fingernails dug into her thighs, going for broke. He grunted like an animal. Wilson screamed. Her body began to shudder. Reaching down, he wrapped some of her sweat stained hair in his hand again and yanked her head up, suspending it in mid air.

"Cum bitch," he spat out, unable to disguise the triumph in his tone. "Cum..."

His command reinforced the climax building inside her. She wasn't just on the edge. She was way beyond it. When he yanked her hair a second time, her sex spasmed and contracted around his cock. When her flowing juices covered his pumping member, he loosened his grip on her hair and let her collapse back down onto the desk.

His well-worked balls tensed as he stared down at the sexy bitch. She'd never forget this fucking...

Three more violent pumps and he was there, too. He grunted again and again as he began to fire into her body for a second time. Her clutching pussy felt even better than her thirsty mouth. Wilson gasped. His grip on her trembling hips tightened with his release. Grunting hard with each new explosion, he emptied his balls and roared again.

He was Donald Appleby—Master of the Universe...

***

Kirsten giggled like an excited schoolgirl. The Jumeirah Essex House hotel, nestled between the beauty of Central Park and the buzz of Broadway, was simply perfect. And the deluxe suite she was sharing with Carmella was like out of a dream. She'd never stayed anywhere as grand as this in her life. Nor had she ever travelled first class before. It made up, so Carmella had said, for the unavailability of Donald's private jet.

She'd already visited every room in the suite—twice—and the sunlight pouring in provided a magical feel. "I can't believe this," she shrilled, staring at the stunning view from the windows for the umpteenth time.

Carmella smiled like a benevolent parent as she revelled in the brunette's excitement. "Didn't I tell you?" she asked casually, pushing a hand through her perfectly groomed hair. "I keep my promises. That's why we're here. Today, we relax. Tomorrow, it's rehearsals."

The Fashion Show opened in two days time, which was long enough to coach the brunette in what was required. It would be the first step in establishing her as a world renowned model. That would vastly increase her worth to the organisation as an escort.

Kirsten dragged her gaze away from the captivating view and turned towards Carmella. It hadn't been easy to tender her resignation, but after a couple of meetings Sandra Wilson had understood and granted her the holiday leave she was due. She hadn't explained—how could she?—exactly why she was leaving. She'd worry about that some other time.

All that remained was for her to call into the Met next week, to tidy up all loose ends. She'd spent so much time on the Appleby investigation that she didn't have much other work on her plate. Okay, there were reams of paperwork, but who cared? She was here in the Big Apple and would soon be featuring in a Fashion Show.

Right now, she'd do anything for Carmella.

Her eyes flitted across the Columbian woman's body. That was something else—since her session with Alice at the party, she'd begun to look at women in a different light. Everything about Carmella was classy and hot, from her accent to the way she dressed, from her could-do-anything attitude to her voluptuous body. Kirsten had found herself wondering...

"Have you decided what you'd like to do tonight?" the older woman asked, breaking into her thoughts. She was beaming as she picked up the bottle of champagne on the table.

There was no doubt about it, Kirsten re-affirmed to herself. Carmella was a sexy woman. She was braless under the haltered top of her light green dress and it wasn't difficult to visualise her topless. Was that why she was growing moister by the second?

"Let me see," she breathlessly answered, trying to concentrate on the question. "What were the options? We could have dinner in a top restaurant or see a Broadway show?"

"I said dinner and a show," Carmella laughed, a second before she uncorked the champagne. It foamed over the sides of the bottle before she could direct the bubbly into the two glasses and a few fizzing drops found its way onto her dress.

Unfazed, the Columbian woman replaced the bottle on the table and reached behind her neck. With a simple flick of her fingers, she untied the flimsy top, letting the halter dress slide down her body and pool on the plush carpet.

Kirsten's breath caught. The olive skinned beauty wore nothing beneath except for the lacy thong.

"I have an idea," Carmella continued. Her hands were already freeing the tie in her hair and she shook out the silken locks so that they hung long and wavy over her shoulders.

The brunette's gaze covered the near naked body. Her full breasts were the equal of women half her age and those deep chocolate brown nipples looked like they were begging to be sucked. "Yes?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse. Had she really just had that thought?

"Before we get ready for our evening, we have some time on our hands," Carmella purred in that sexy accent. She closed the distance between them and her hands went to Kirsten's cream blouse. Her fingers confidently opened one button, then another, as she spoke. "Let's relax in the Jacuzzi while we think about how we can work up an appetite. I don't think we'll need a bathing suit. Do you?"

***

"You're tied to an agency?"

"No, not at all." The young woman was tense, but her coy grin and attractive giggle were infectious.

Tony Daly found himself warming to her. Quite how Donald Appleby's secretary knew this girl puzzled him. Ellen had an Eastern European accent—Russian if he wasn't mistaken. It was quite a contrast to Angela's upper class tones. Yet it was Appleby's secretary's recommendation that had brought the woman here.

"But you've done some modelling work?"

"A little," she told him, apprehensively running a hand through her tinted blonde-brown hair.

"That's good." His keen gaze didn't leave her sparkling brown eyes. There was something about her warm innocence that was particularly sexy. And years of experience told him that under the unpretentious clothes, she had a body to match. "You're just what we're looking for."

"Thank you." There was that giggle again. His cock flexed.

"We need new, fresh talent," he continued, pushing the glass of Blush towards her. She uncrossed her legs to lean forward, and took a quick sip. When Daly smiled, she took a longer gulp. That was better. "It's Ellen, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know Mr. Appleby's secretary?"

She gave him that bashful smile again. "Angela. Yes. She recommended me.

He chuckled. "I know that, Ellen, and I'm pleased she did. How did you two meet?" Not that it mattered. But he was interested.

"Through her husband," she eagerly answered. Her Eastern European accent sounded even cuter. She nervously crossed her legs again and took another drink. "You really think I might have a chance of making it as a model?"

"That depends on you," he answered, with a shrug. Let's not get ahead of himself, at least not until he'd tested the waters. "Tell me, Ellen, we do all sorts of work. Glamour, topless, even some stuff a little more risqué."

"Risque?" Even her frown was adorable.

"A little riskier. For an adult audience, shall we say? Where are your limits?"

Her smile instantly returned. This time her shuffle on her seat was to enthusiastically emphasise her answer. "I'm happy to do anything, Mr. Daly, if it means becoming a model."

The black photographer's smile broadened. She really was too good to be true. He flicked the switch on his computer, watching as the screen changed from dark to light. It gave a clear view of the dressing rooms, and served as a signal that they'd shortly be broadcasting to their pay per view audience. "The next step is the audition. How you look infront of a camera will determine whether there's any point in taking this further."

The patter was so familiar he could say it in his sleep.

"Okay..."

"Good, good. Let's get started then. I'm sure you'll look good in a bikini..."

***

"Are you okay?" Alex Goodwin asked, pushing his head around the doorframe to Sandra Wilson's office. She'd buried herself in her room ever since she'd returned from her appointment with Appleby and hadn't even emerged for a lunchtime sandwich. Even her window blinds were closed. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was worried..."

"I'm fine," she told him, trying to ignore the fire burning between her thighs. The sex with Donald Appleby still had her body raging with need and just the sight of Alex made her want to drag him into her office, close the door and fuck his brains out.

Going back to the Met hadn't been easy. Not after what she'd done. Had it not been for her forthcoming appointment with Sir Peter Richardson, she'd have found some place to hide away. She'd needed time to compose herself, to try to work out what was happening.

Shutting herself away in her room had given her time to think and she'd reached the only conclusion possible. Appleby had fed her something and it was still in her system.

It must have been in the drink. On reflection, she'd experienced the same wanton need for sex at her open night audition. And at the party, too. That was why she'd been easy prey for the redhead. And why she'd given herself so willingly to Donald Appleby. At one stage, she was sure he'd called her his slut. That's what she had been. It was how she'd felt.

It must have been some sort of aphrodisiac, and yet in all her years in the Met she'd never come across anything with as powerful an effect. But it was the only realistic assumption.

Dammit, on the day she was about to resign, she'd stumbled on the very thing she'd set the investigation up to find. She'd known her instincts had been good!

The problem was what to do about it.

She could tell Richardson during her meeting with him, but it was likely the Commissioner dismiss the accusation without formal evidence. It would be political suicide to support unfounded allegations against someone as powerful as the business magnate. That meant she'd have to disclose all the gaudy details. That wouldn't be the brightest move when she'd soon be formally looking for another job. People wouldn't touch her with a barge pole.

Then there was Kirsten and Alice. It was inconceivable that they hadn't been drugged, too. Yet, like her, they'd kept it to themselves—probably afraid of the consequences. If she confided in Sir Peter, their part in this would come out, too. It would be held against them, particularly as the investigation had been unofficial. That would lead to the same situation as with Donny Webster and Jack Palmer. Careers ruined—unfairly—only in this case there'd be the added complication of a sex scandal being broadcast across the national media.

She couldn't do that. She'd seen Donny, Jack and Taffy's careers destroyed and she wasn't going to be responsible for doing the same to the two young women.

Then there was Alex. He'd be devastated if news leaked out of his daughter, and he'd rightly blame it on her. With Kirsten on holiday in New York and Alice on her day off, she couldn't quiz the two of them. But her gut told her they'd been given the same aphrodisiac. What a fucking mess. And it was one of her own making. That meant that protecting them was even more important to her than exposing Appleby.

Yet there had to be a way of bringing the businessman to justice!?! How many more innocents would be affected otherwise? He'd become overconfident and, if she had her way, his desire to add her to his list would be his downfall. Now that she knew what she was up against, it placed her in a stronger position. Except that she was about to resign before Colin Turner could make an example of her...

Or would she? Another memory flickered back into her mind. "I've already fed some information to your Commissioner," Appleby had said. "I think you'll find there'll be no need for you to leave the Met." What the fuck did that mean? How did he know?

"Sandra. Sandra."

It was Alex's voice, sounding urgent. She realised he'd been repeating her name, trying to attract her attention. God, was she really that far gone?

"Come in, Alex," she said, her aroused eyes homing in on the barrel chested cop's groin. "And close the door."

She pushed up from her desk as the door clicked shut behind him. Giving him a blow job would set her up nicely for her meeting with Sir Peter Richardson. Then afterwards, she'd take him straight back to her apartment and keep him there until she'd obliterated the burning need from her system

***

"Oh, Goddd..." Kirsten raised her head from the bed to stare into the knowing eyes looking up at her. With a soft grunt, she flopped it back down onto the pillow again and whimpered like a tiny animal as yet another orgasm swept through her.

Carmella smiled appreciatively. She had the big, black vibrator on high and continued to twist it inside the brunette as she spent, twisting and moaning on the damp sheets. Her free hand kneaded the wonderfully full breasts as she pleasured the younger woman and her tongue swept up and down her sweat-dampened neck as Kirsten came again.

They'd been fucking in the large bed for the last hour and, to begin with, she'd allowed the eager brunette to lead the way. Kirsten's over enthusiastic technique may have needed a little fine tuning, but she would turn the girl into an expert by the time they left New York.

Then she'd taken over...

Every time Kirsten screamed out that her body couldn't take any more, she took the former cop to another sexual high—stretching out her climaxes like plugging in a battery charger.

"You like that?" she teased, changing position so that she could roll the very tip of her experienced tongue around Kirsten's slippery clit. She knew just the right amount of pressure to keep her younger lover's hips bucking upwards in search of yet another release.

Kirsten's clutching fingers dragged their way through her long dark hair. Her sweat covered body thrust upwards on the bed. She was there again. "Oh shit... of fuck..."

Carmella lapped at the delicious juices, feeling her own need returning. Her whole body was buzzing and her damp hair clung to her perspiring brow. Wiping it away, and then blowing a strand away from her eyes, she switched around with the grace of a cat. Her full breasts bounced deliciously as she repositioned her fabulous body over the younger woman's face.

"Lick me again, baby," she encouraged.

The ferocity of Kirsten's response made her growl like a cougar. But that's just what she was, she chuckled to herself. She and Donald adored young flesh. The sexy bitch was wrapping her hands around her olive skinned buttocks now, frantically dragging her glistening sex downwards to her waiting mouth. Fuck, that was good.

"Slower, a little slower... like that... that's it... like that..." she guided, her accent always more pronounced in the throes of sex. At first, she'd slotted Kirsten into a specific category of the escort side of the business, but the wider capabilities she'd shown with Alice—and again this afternoon—confirmed she could be used in any situation.

The thought enhanced her arousal. So did the quickly learning tongue that was flicking all around her smooth mound. Was there an inch of her saliva covered flesh that Kirsten had failed to worship? "Oh, God, that's good, honey. I need more..."

Pushing upright onto her haunches, she began to rotate her hips. Small, circular rotations, slowly at first but building as her need increased. Kirsten stayed with her—good girl— slurping at her flowing juices. Carmella's heart raced. Leaning forward, she grinded down a little harder, running her overheated sex up and down the hard tongue that continued to offer itself.

The pace grew. She could hear Kirsten's slurps with each sweep of her flesh.