Appleby Blush Ch 04

Chapter 4: Tightening the grip

Jimmy was the older of the twins by less than a minute. He was also the more dominant of the two and his energy had been amazing. Tommy was a different kettle of fish. He needed a little longer to rest than his brother and wasn't so aggressive. Together, they were perfect. Alice had been able to go throughout the night, serviced by one and then the other, and had lost count of the numerous orgasms she'd experienced.

Despite her lack of sleep and the early hour, when the younger twin returned from the bathroom and glanced across at her, she crooked her finger. Her experience in the studio seemed to have triggered a passion inside her that just wouldn't go away.

"Come here," she sexily breathed.

Like his brother, Tommy's cock was an average size, but the sight of it swinging from his naked body as he returned to the room was irresistible. She reckoned she had an hour available before she had to leave to return to the office for her early morning team meeting and she intended to make the most of every single minute.

Even before he reached the bed, she heard a slithering noise behind her. Hands turned her from her side and onto her stomach. "Still up for it, Belinda?" Jimmy whispered in her ear as he raised her ass and positioned himself against her. It took a single thrust to bury himself deep inside.

The feel of Jimmy's cock as he began to take her doggie style made Alice groan. That was the thing with the older twin, throughout the night there'd been nothing subtle with him, just raw, unadulterated fucking. He grabbed her long blonde hair as Tommy approached, roughly pulling her head up like he would the reins of a horse.

Where was his whip, she giggled to herself?

Using his momentum to twist her body towards Tommy, she waited until the younger twin knelt beside her at the foot of the bed, his hard cock once more in front of her face. With a snarl, she wrapped a hand around the base and pushed herself up higher onto her knees, angling the hard cock into her mouth. Jimmy clutched her hips harder, his throbbing shaft pumping easily with the new position.

Her nostrils flared as she felt so wickedly, deliciously horny.

She couldn't remember ever being as turned on as this. Her session with Tony Daly had lit a fire inside her. Why hadn't she tried two guys before? Even though she'd insisted they could only have her one at a time, she'd never felt so used or dirty. Jimmy's grip on her hair tightened and he slapped her asscheeks with the flat of his other hand. She pumped back harder with each stinging slap.

"That's it, Belinda," Jimmy growled into her ear. "Show the Thompson twins exactly how much you love their cocks..."

Her lean body bowed like a suspension bridge between the brothers. Saliva drooled down Tommy's shaft before her jacking hand rubbed it into his hard flesh. Her left arm—her supporting arm—shook under the strain, but held her up enough so she could corkscrew her mouth around this young man's cock.

"Mmm!" she groaned, muffled, as Jimmy's spanking grew more aggressive. This was new, but she kind of liked it. She released his brother's cock from her mouth and slithered her tongue along the outside—more so that she could catch her breath than pleasure him, but he didn't seem to mind.

Jimmy, behind her, finally got serious. He took control of her slim hips, thumbs digging into her firm buttocks, and started yanking her back with each thrust.

Sensing a mutual orgasm, she slipped his brother's cock back into her mouth. Jimmy lunged forward, causing Tommy's cock to bury itself in her throat. She nearly choked before she was able to regain a pretence of control.

Pretence, because that was all it was. And she loved it. Holy shit, she loved it. She was their toy. Their fuck toy. She'd never felt so wrapped in pure virility. The masculinity assaulted her nostrils and saturated her.

"Oh fuck, you bitch!" She wasn't sure if it was Jimmy or Tommy who cried out. Someone grabbed her hair, pulled it hard. Someone—both of them—sandwiched her between them. A three car pile up. A spine numbing, earthshattering crash.

Her own orgasm exploded in her ears. The brothers pulled out in union. Before she could protest, she felt their hot tribute strike her face. Her ass. Her lower back. It went everywhere. She felt it run through her hair and down her neck. She felt it cool on its path between her taut cheeks.

Exhausted, nearly unconscious, she collapsed between them. At last, satisfied.

***

It was an hour and a half later when Alice rushed into the meeting.

"Man, you look rough," Kirsten told her.

The blonde shot her a look suggesting that the comment wasn't helpful infront of her dad.

He picked up on it straightaway, lumbering across to her. "You okay?"

She smiled sweetly. Her father had never been able to resist her dimples. The frown on his face was familiar and she didn't intend to go through any detailed explanations. "Of course, Dad," she softly told him, and then glanced at Wilson. "Sorry I'm late, Sandra. I was at one of my friend's hen night last night. It was quite an evening."

"Apparently," Wilson simply said, her disapproving eyes forming an instant opinion. Despite Alice's best efforts to appear casual, it wasn't difficult to work out what the young blonde had been up to last night. She'd have to have a quiet chat to her at some stage. Maybe she'd shied away from that due to her situation with Goodwin, but the fact Alice was single made it even more important to understand the girl's life outside the Met.

"Where did—" Goodwin began, only for Wilson to cut him off.

"Let's get on with things," she interrupted, saving Alice from any fatherly inquisition. "I don't have much time, so let's start with Alice."

The blonde shot her a grateful look. "Like Kirsten, I got through the first audition, too. They want me back at the studio today." She turned to her brown haired colleague. "You're there, too, Kirsten, aren't you? What time?"

"Not until lunchtime."

"Me too." She swung back to look at Wilson, excitement in her young eyes. "And I had a good chat to Marcia, the receptionist. We said we'd catch up again today and I'm sure I can get some information from her, find out some background to how things work."

"Sounds positive," Wilson said, nodding thoughtfully. Maybe they were getting somewhere after all. "What happens today? More photos?"

Alice shrugged. "I assume so. I really have no idea what the next stage is. They just said to be there by noon and we'd take things from there."

"What about you?" Wilson asked, absent mindedly pointing a pencil at Kirsten. Alice was the girl-next-door, but the dark haired cop—with her high cheekbones dark eyebrows and shiny, brown hair—was the shoo-in to play the fashion model. "Any idea what the second audition will entail?"

"A few more photos, I think. And then they'd decide if they wanted to do a shoot with me. I'll ask Tony Daly a few more questions, just to get a feel for what goes on, and see if it throws up anything worth following up."

"Sounds good," Sandra Wilson acknowledged, dropping the pencil back onto her pad. Their only legitimate hope of making a breakthrough was if either woman was able to sniff something out and they'd both made an encouraging start. "Anything to add, Alex?"

The barrel chested man shook his head. "Nah, nothing positive. I've been through the files twice now and followed up a few new areas but there's nothing so far."

"I guess it's down to us two girls finding something worth following up," Kirsten said, grinning at Alice. "There's not much new there, is there, hun? Or d'you think they'd have any use for a sixty-year-old male model? Of the grumpy variety, of course."

Wilson chuckled to herself as Goodwin snorted. Even back in the Donny Webster and Jack Palmer days, Alex had never been big on repartee.

"Take no notice, Dad," Alice chimed. Her cute smile touched the corners of her lips as she gazed affectionately at her father. "I think you'd be great in front of a camera. Just think... Richard Gere, Sean Connery, George Clooney and now—"

"Don't," Goodwin snapped, "push it..."

Wilson's approving glance ran across the three of them. Alex Goodwin wasn't used to playing second fiddle in an investigation and the banter would make him even more determined to turn something up. She needed that.

"Okay," she murmured, pushing to her feet and resting her hands on her desk. "I have a report to write. Be careful in there today, I don't want Appleby's people getting suspicious. The last thing we need is a complaint to Turner. But dig deep and see what you can find. We have until the end of the week to turn up something or we pull the plug."

***

Donald Appleby glanced over Emmanuel Nmobu's shoulder as they shook hands and watched Douglas McPherson carefully close the door behind him as he left the room.

"Good to see you again, Emmanuel," he said, pointing to a seat. "So what do you think of the Scottish Parliamentary building? Quite impressive, yes?"

"Very," the deep African voice boomed. His smile was warm and friendly. Like his brother, he was in his late forties, maybe, with crinkled black hair and an oval shaped face. The gold coloured suit was garish but undoubtedly expensive. "I had a tour of the Royal Mile earlier. And something I believe they call Arthur's seat. It's a beautiful location."

"I understand your country is beautiful also," Appleby said, reaching for the coffee that McPherson had arranged. "I hope you'll show me around when I visit."

"Of course," the African boomed as he lowered his powerful frame into the heavy chair. Appleby was aware that the African's eyes didn't leave him as he filled two cups and handed one to his guest.

"A barrier between us, Emmanuel," he said, tapping on the table top and then sitting opposite the African. "Hopefully today's meeting will see that barrier removed. We're almost at the end of our journey, Emmanuel..."

Nmobu took a sip from his crested china cup as he nodded. "Joseph and I have the same wish, Donald. That's why he took the trouble to call you last night, to show you our commitment." The African glanced at his watch. "My understanding is that we have half an hour before Douglas returns and ten minutes has already elapsed. Perhaps we should get straight down to business?"

Appleby smiled shrewdly. Emmanuel wasn't one for small talk, but then neither was his brother. "Joseph tells me that the fee remains the only outstanding point," he slowly said. "I thought we had an agreement?"

"The fee," Nmobu repeated, with a slight incline of his head. It was clear he didn't intend giving anything away. "But also we require an understanding of exactly what it is that we'll be producing."

"Ah," Appleby murmured, pursing his lips. So that was it. "That's a problem, of course. Commercial sensitivity prevents me from going into too much detail. I'm sure you understand?"

"Of course," the African said, sitting straight backed in that statesmanlike way of his. "Just as you'll understand, Donald, that we need more than that. We couldn't even begin to allow the production of something that would—how should I put this?—compromise any international laws. You'll understand we are an honest country. Our people and our government believe in doing the right thing—always."

"Of course," Appleby said, nodding deferentially. It was difficult not to smile at such a barefaced lie. So that was why Emmanuel and his brother wanted the money paid to their private bank account in Switzerland? "And I can assure you—"

"Assurances count for very little in today's world, don't you think," Nmobu interrupted, leaning forward and steepling his fingers. "Joseph and I need something much more tangible than simply assurances to provide the comfort that we—and our Government—require in order to proceed."

The smile on Appleby's face remained, despite the African's stubbornness. He'd always known that he'd be pushed on the point and had his story ready. Even so, it was important that Nmobu thought he wasn't giving in too easily. "Tangible," he mused, tapping the tabletop with his fingers. "Okay, Emmanuel, you drive a hard bargain. I'm prepared to disclose our business interest on one condition."

"Condition?" the African repeated. "We don't deal in conditions, Donald..."

Appleby smiled respectfully. "Of course, Emmanuel, I understand that. Just as you know that a partnership spreads both ways, does it not? My condition is simply that what I'm about to tell you remains between you, your brother and myself. That's all."

Nmobu's expression changed instantly. "You have my word."

Of course I do—until it suits you otherwise, Appleby told himself. If Nmobu thought that he trusted either of them he wasn't as bright as the businessman thought. But this was a game he was used to playing and he sent the African a beaming smile. "Thank you for your word, Emmanuel. The truth is, I'm manufacturing a perfume."

"A perfume?"

Appleby smiled to himself at the shock written all over the African's face.

It was partly true; all good lies were. His scientists had found a way to develop Blush into both a perfume and an eau de cologne. That would significantly increase the ease of using the aphrodisiac. But that development would take place in England, after the African's had developed the large quantities needed. 9

"Have you any idea how much the perfume industry is worth, Emmanuel?" he continued, leaning forward across the table to emphasise the point. "Millions. That's why I can afford to pay you the fee you're demanding." He threw his arms out wide in a beneficial gesture. "It significantly eats into my profits of course, but I believe it's important for us all to have a vested interest in the success of our venture."

Nmobu laughed aloud. "Have no doubts, Donald, as long as my brother is in power we share your interests. The combined fee of two and a half million is fundamental to ensuring that Joseph maintains control in our country."

"Two and a half million?" Appleby smiled to himself. He'd anticipated that the African would push for three million. "I distinctly remember we agreed one million each..."

The African spread his arms wide. "Let's call it inflation. The first payment is to be made in advance, of course."

Appleby frowned as if he was being presented with a major problem. Then he shrugged his shoulders, like a man who had been backed into a corner. "This is difficult for me," he slowly said. "I have lots of backers, of course, and need to balance everyone's interests. I need to give them something, so how about this? I agree to the revisions to the fee... and I'll pay half the money up front. In return, you bring the date for the first shipment forward by three months. Miss that date and we return to the original fee."

When Nmobu stared at him, Appleby shrugged his shoulders. The sound of the door opening interrupted the moment and both men glanced across the long room to see Sir Douglas McPherson's face peering at them. "Time is up, I'm afraid," the tall man nervously told them, glancing over his shoulder. "There's another official party on its way."

Appleby stood up and held his hand out towards the African. "It's the best I can do," he lied, staring firmly into Emmanuel Nmobu's dark eyes.

The African's pause lasted no more than a few seconds and then he reached out to shake the proffered hand. "It seems we have a deal, Donald..."

***

Kirsten was sure she'd seen Alice's car when she'd parked, but her blonde friend was nowhere to be seen when she'd entered the building. Not that she'd had much time to think about it. Almost as soon as she'd arrived, Tony Daly had met her and instantly escorted her towards the changing rooms.

"It's a heavy day," he'd said, leaving her at the door. "Have the usual shower before you put on the outfit and make sure you finish the drink I've left for you. It'll calm your nerves and the last thing I want during the shoot is for you to get dehydrated. Okay?"

She'd nodded and got on with it. Her mouth was dry anyway and the drink always seemed to help settle her, help her get into the mood to portray the sexiness she felt. Whatever the reason, she hadn't been able to resist touching herself in the shower again although this time she'd stopped just short of an orgasm. Keeping herself on edge, she reasoned, would bring out the best of her during the session.

What he'd omitted to tell her—deliberately?—was that the so called outfit consisted of just a skimpy thong. Rather than scare her, it simply enhanced her arousal. If only they knew that the hot brunette posing topless for them was a cop? The thought excited her and yet, if Sandra Wilson ever found out she'd be in for some heavy duty trouble. And if the Met discovered what was going on then her career would be at stake.

And then there was Matt...

That was a different story. She had no idea what it was in her, but holding on to a stable relationship seemed an anathema to her. She had itchy feet. Maybe the thrill that came with the audition was simply confirming that it was time to move on? Well... that and the fact that Tony Daly had replaced Wesley Snipes as her number one masturbatory fantasy. The muscled photographer was hot...

She'd stood in front of the huge mirror, posing on one foot and then the other, swivelling to check out her tight ass. Her hand went to her long dark hair, pulling it up onto the top of her head and then allowing it to fall. Dropping a hand to her hip, she practiced the coquettish look she planned to give Daly during the shoot.

She loved her curvy body. One of her boyfriends had said it gave truth to the hourglass expression and she was proud that her deep tan didn't betray any visible bikini lines. She knew the effect that her thrusting breasts had on men, too. Daly was no different. She'd seen the look in his eyes when she'd whipped her top off during the previous audition. They sat so beautifully high and her brown nipples were already hard. The anticipation of the expression on his face when she flounced into the studio made her shiver...

***

Alice Goodwin had thought she'd more or less be called straight into action when she arrived at the studio. Instead, it was Marcia who met her in reception with a warm hug.

"Come on through," the curly haired redhead said as she linked arms and led the young cop back to the same coffee area as yesterday.

"Drink up, girl," Marcia told her, reaching into the small fridge and removing a glass of Blush. She passed it to the blonde. "We need to keep your strength up if you're going to be a top model."

"Top model," Alice repeated, taking a sip. "Yeah, right!"

"You don't like the drink?" Marcia asked as the cop pulled a face. "It's the fruit energy supplement you tried yesterday."

"I like it," she answered, smiling sweetly. "It's just that it's cold."

The freckled redhead nodded slowly—for a moment she thought they had a problem. Then she grinned at the blonde. Alice was adorable. Like a living doll with her big blue eyes and round face. And she had no idea what came next...

"What time is my test?" Alice asked, taking a longer sip this time and allowing the pink liquid to warm her insides as it slid down her throat.

"You don't have a test," Marcia casually told her, pushing her body away from the fridge and plopping down on the sofa beside the girl. She tapped Alice on her exposed thigh, just below the hem of her skirt. "Yesterday was enough for you to convince them you have what it takes," she said, winking at the blonde. "And from what I hear, it seems like you took my advice."

Alice felt goose bumps. "Took your advice?"

Marcia's throaty laugh was infectious. "You put on quite a show, babygirl," she told her, squeezing Alice's thigh. Everything would appear to be innocent to the cop, she knew, but with the Blush already inside Alice's body and the fresh drink she'd just given her, the redhead knew only too well that any touch would enhance the young woman's arousal. "You had Tony in quite a state," she continued. "I had to relieve him afterwards."