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Invaders

By: Prov0cateur



Bill dropped his speed. The rain battering against the silver Mercedes was making driving conditions ever more difficult and the growls of thunder and flashes of lightening added an eerie quality to their journey. It was in keeping with the couples' mood. 

The sinister happenings that had started a month ago were now coming to a head. 

While there were still some pieces of the jigsaw missing, he had enough information to convince him that the significance of whatever was occurring across the world was huge. Finding the right person to share his concerns was essential, which was the reason he and Susie had undertaken the long journey in the middle of such a violent storm. 

"You okay?" he asked, glancing sideways at his young girlfriend.

She nodded and pulled the black car coat more tightly around her naked body. "I'm okay, thanks. How much further?"

"Not long," he sympathetically answered, one hand pulling uncomfortably at his still damp white boxers. The clothes that were sodden from their earlier excursion in the heavy rain were spread on the heated seats in the rear of the car. They should be fully dry by the time they arrived and would provide a welcome relief from his semi nakedness. Even with the car heaters turned on full, he was feeling the chill.

"Turn left at the crossroads," Susie told him, glancing across at the directions displayed on the Mercedes' satellite navigation system. They'd driven along so many country roads he'd have been lost without it. "Then we're just half a mile away."

He nodded. Despite having gone so long without sleep, the adrenalin running through his body ensured he remained wide awake. There was still a substantial amount of work to be completed tonight. Reaching Steve Russo's home was one thing, but explaining the problem and convincing him of the danger was something else. Two strangers turning up unannounced at his home at four in the morning wouldn't help their credibility.

It seemed Susie's thoughts were aligned to his. "Should we have called him?"

"No way. Not until we're sure..."

He paused, the implications of the unfinished sentence hanging in the air between them like the Sword of Damocles. They fell silent, lost in their separate thoughts.

Bill took the left indicated by the sat nav and headed along the minor road that ran parallel to a high wall. At first it looked like a back road to nowhere but within a couple of hundred metres they'd reached an entrance on the other side of the road. He parked the car on the grass verge opposite, his keen eyes taking in the height of the protective wall and the wrought iron electric gates guarding the entrance. Gaining access without being seen wasn't going to be easy.

"What now?" she asked.

It was a good question. "First things first," the forty-year old man answered, buying himself some time. Turning in his seat, he reached into the back of the car. "Let's get dressed."

Her hand on his arm stopped him. He turned back and saw that she'd slid the coat from her shoulders, displaying her rich, ebony body to his gaze. His eyes wandered across those large thrusting breasts with their dark nipples and he felt the immediate stirring in his loins. 

"I need it again," she whispered, reaching across to his boxers.

He knew this was part of the problem, too. Whatever they'd done to his girlfriend, there'd be no stopping her until her need for sex was—temporarily at least—sated. He was also starting to believe that the aphrodisiac running through her body had nothing to do with any normal drug. Any doubts he had about being able to rise to the challenge—again!—disappeared as her talented mouth brought him to full hardness with relative ease.

"That's good, Bill," she huskily breathed as she took hold of the base of his cock. Another crackle of lightening lit the sky, highlighting their bodies as she crawled across the leather seat. Straddling him ungainly with one leg, she lowered her curvy black body onto his. "Very good..."

***

Steve Russo stared out of his bedroom window, watching the rain bounce off the outhouse buildings. The thunder and lightning that alternated in the dark was spectacular. He loved nights like this. Or was it the morning? After the night he'd had, he'd lost track of time. Turning to glance across at the room, the small bedside clock registered four am.

The sound of the shower came to a dripping stop at the same time as another crackle of lightening lit the sky. He watched the surrounding area light up before instantly plunging into darkness again. Within a few seconds, the door to the en suite bathroom opened.

The light from the bathroom behind her silhouetted the petite Indian beauty. She was naked except for the small white towel wrapped around her wet hair and his gaze ran approvingly over her slender body. The thin black landing slip complimented her deep brown skin and the diamond in her belly button glinted sexily as she walked towards him. 

Although her breasts were smaller than his usual preference, he loved the way her perfect dark nipples sat so high on the curves. They'd felt so hard in his mouth.

Leila—yes, that was it. He'd been trying to remember the air hostesses' name for the last couple of hours. 'Baby' had sufficed during their lovemaking. He'd slept with hundreds of women in his time, many more than he could remember. Her name may have slipped his mind, but he'd always remember everything else about her. 

"My God, it's spectacular out there," she murmured, her eyes drawn to the flash of lightning that seemed to pin Russo's solid frame against the window frame. In just his pyjama bottoms, he looked every inch as sexy as he had when she'd first undressed him. A fraction over six feet, his muscular build was testament to the two-hour workout he religiously undertook first thing each morning. Despite his age, he was in great condition. 

She slipped an arm around his waist and snuggled into him, loving that manly smell. He'd been every bit as good in bed as Stephanie had told her and she had no reservations about her Swedish friend having bedded him first. She'd never been a jealous girl. When his hand caressed her ass, she giggled but pulled away. "I'm going to be late..."

Gathering her clothes that were scattered around the floor, she dropped them onto the bed and flopped down beside them. Despite the lateness of the hour, she took her time pulling on her thigh highs. The way his gaze scrutinized every movement gave her goose bumps. 

She made a show of smoothing each into place. Give him something to think about until they met again. And they would be meeting again...

"Don't look at me like that, Steve," her soft Indian voice teased, before she rose gracefully from the bed to allow him to do just that. "I go on duty at Heathrow at eight." 

She paused as she reached for her lacy boy-shorts. The way his sexy eyes were devouring her body was making her moist again. No, she didn't have time—did she? Holding the underwear on her little finger, she swirled it in the air until it flew off at an angle.

"Oops..." she huskily murmured. She dropped one hand to her hip and slid a finger into her mouth, Lolita-style. "Did you phone for a taxi?"

"It'll be here inside half an hour," he told her, catching onto her mood. With a knowing grin, he unfastened his pyjama bottoms and dropped them to his feet. His cock was fully erect. 

She slowly swayed back across the room and gently pushed him backwards until he was framed against the cold glass of the window. They'd have twenty minutes at most. Taking hold of his arms, she spread them either side onto the thin frame that ran along the window. 

Sliding to her knees, her full lips kissed around his hard shaft before she took him inside her mouth. She needed to taste that delicious cock again before letting him fuck her one final time...

***

Susie had climaxed the instant she'd taken Bill inside her but one orgasm wasn't sufficient. This time she was determined to make herself cum as many times as she could before she allowed him to reach his own climax. She'd teased him that way before, of course. But that had been in his bed. Doing so in his Mercedes, in these circumstances, added an extra edge.

For a while she indulged herself, continuing to move in slow circles until the first of the orgasmic tremors settled. "I need more," she whispered, licking his neck. They both knew that.

Grabbing his hands, she dragged them up onto her breasts. The feel of his cold hands hardened her nipples even further. Warming to the task again, her circular motions changed to gentle up and down thrusts. With each movement, her head gently bumped against the roof of the car but all she could feel was his thick girth throbbing against her velvet insides.

Their breaths grew ragged as they became caught up in the delicious soft friction between them. Compared to their earlier frenetic fucking that night, this was a different kind of sexy. Both continued to move slowly and Bill's hands dropped to her trembling hips, stroking them as he gently pulled her down and then pushed her up in time with her soft thrusts. 

"That's good, baby," she moaned. "Oh fuck, that's good. Oh fuckohfuckohfuck..."

The second orgasm burst through her body like a forest fire and this time she had to pause, bending her body to rest her forehead on his.

Then she was on the move again...

She fell into a lazy rhythm, pulling upwards until she was almost free before softly gliding back down. As long as he could last, there was no hurry. With each downthrust, he filled her completely again. They moved that way for some time, in their own world, the sound of the rain battering the outside of the car providing a surreal contrast to their grunts. 

"That's it, baby," she whispered, licking around his neck again. Their mouths met and they shared a kiss. The soft sharp slaps of their flesh and the steamed up windows gave added emphasis to the growing heat of the moment. 

"Don't cum," she insisted, changing the angle so that she could rub her clit on the base of his shaft. Her hands ran across his shaved head. "Don't cum..."

Susie groaned in approval as he nodded. Bending forward to avoid the unwelcome contact with the roof, his cock penetrated her as far as it could with each downthrust. Her leg was scraping awkwardly against the inside door of the car and her back was agonizingly pressing into the steering wheel, but her entire focus was on the third orgasm building inside her. 

When it burst, her voice switched from growls to high pitched grunts... 

***

Steve Russo checked his mobile and allowed himself a smile. Leila had only been gone for ten minutes and she was already texting him. It was a sexy message at that. Was she really going to do all those things to him the next time they met? 

His cock flexed inside his robe. 

The wavy haired man felt better after his shower and the bourbon enhanced his feeling of wellbeing. The peace that came with the early hours of the morning felt sublime—this might just be his favourite part of the day. But then he always felt this way after sex, particularly when it had been as invigorating as the last few hours. Holding the glass to his lips, he savoured the heady aroma that never failed to deliver. Life was about as good as it could be... 

He contemplated whether to catch up on some sleep or spend some time at his computer. As the Behavioural Science Professor at the London Business School, emails were the bane of his life. Maybe he'd allow himself to check his mail while he finished the drink and then grab the couple of hour's sleep he'd need to prepare himself for the rigours of the day. Decision made. 

The sudden barking of his dogs downstairs disturbed his thoughts. The golden Labradors should have settled after their noise when Leila's taxi had arrived. He wandered across to the bedroom window and glanced outside. There was nothing untoward. Marching quickly across to the bedroom door, he stilled them with a single command. "Max! Bess!"

The chime of the front doorbell stopped him in his tracks as he began to retrace his steps. What the heck? He had a visitor at this time of the morning? Maybe Leila had forgotten something—who else could it be? The gun he took from his bedside cabinet and slipped into the pocket of his robe would provide some backup if he needed it...

***

Bill Fawcett knew the impression he and Susie would give when the man inside studied them on the house security cameras. They were drenched again after their long walk along the drive and while his girlfriend's coat had provided her a little protection, he was wet to the bone. He rang the bell again, once, twice—sending out a clear message that they weren't going away.

When he saw movement on the other side, one question bounced around his mind. Only one. Taking a step forward, he stood protectively infront of his girlfriend as they watched the door slowly open. 

Relief flooded his body. 

He had wavy, black hair...

"Mr. Russo?" 

The man nodded, the alert eyes covering his dishevelled appearance with an almost surgical precision and then flicking past him to Susie. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Russo. We need to see you."

"I'd already figured that," Russo said, his gaze carefully evaluating his two visitors. "I don't often get company at this time of the morning and certainly not looking the way you do. How did you get through the gates? My security is pretty tight."

"We came through when the taxi left," he explained, deciding there was no room for anything other than the complete truth. This man needed to trust them, just as they needed to trust him. "Then we walked along the drive."

"That's half a mile."

"It felt like it," Fawcett said, with a wry grin. "That explains our appearance."

Russo nodded. "The cameras didn't pick you up..."

"We kept to the shadows. It was important not to be detected until we saw you."

"Which is why you didn't use the intercom at the gate?"

"Exactly."

Russo's hand tightened on the weapon in his pocket. "And why is that?"

"We needed to see the colour of your hair."

"The colour of..." The look on Russo's face suggested he was close to ending the conversation before they got in their stride. "Now look—"

Fawcett slipped a hand around Susie's shoulder in an attempt to show the London Business School man some solidarity between them. His voice was firm and steady. "It may sound ridiculous, Mr. Russo, but I can assure you it isn't. This is deadly serious. We've travelled a fair distance to get here and it's imperative for you to hear what's been happening."

"Give me one reason—"

He searched his mind for one. What could he say to convince this man he needed to listen to two soaked to the skin strangers who'd sneaked into his property at this time of the morning? "I got your name from Tom Watkins..."

"Tom? He sent you?"

"I work for him, Mr. Russo. No, he didn't actually send me but he said you were the best man to talk to. I can't stress—"

Russo's upraised hand cut him off. "If Tom recommended me, then I'll listen." His eyes covered their appearances again. "But only on the understanding you both get out of those wet clothes. I don't want pools of water all over my carpets and I'd hate you to catch your death of cold. I'll show you where you can shower and get a couple of robes for you too. We can talk over coffee."

One Month Earlier 

Bill Fawcett gave up using the mirror to help fasten his striped tie. Everything moved left when it should have been right and vice versa. Smiling to himself, he started again. 

Life was just getting better and better. Being appointed as Old Man Watkins deputy at the Advertising Agency meant he'd take over the chair within the next few years. Reaching that status before he was forty-five would see one of his lifetime's ambitions achieved.

Then there was his second passion. Once he'd accepted his personal limitations as a musician, he'd stopped performing in the band he'd formed three years ago and managed them instead. After those long, fruitless years attempting to establish a reputation on the London music scene, they were now actually on the verge of that breakthrough. 

Tonight's gig would be their biggest yet. 

He turned towards Donna as she returned to the room. His girlfriend had arrived unexpectedly ten minutes ago and had been on the phone to some friend or another ever since. Eventually he'd settle down and marry—to someone at least as successful as he was—but for now blonde singer met all his needs. She might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but how many men of his age had such a sexy twenty year old girlfriend?

It wouldn't last of course, but he'd ride the wave until he was ready to move on.

"You look formal," he told her, planting a kiss on her cheek as he accepted the tumbler of orange juice she handed him.

"Of course," she said, fixing a loose strand of short blonde hair behind her ear. Holding her arms wide, she posed for him. Even in the prim and proper skirt and top, she looked sexy. "I'm heading for my interview." 

Bill laughed. "It's only a radio interview..."

"Typical," she said, shooting him a wry smile. So what was wrong with dressing up? It might just be radio, but who knew where the interview might lead. "Here I am about to promote the band and our esteemed manager is—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he laughed, taking a step forward and reaching out for her. 

"No way," she giggled, swerving to avoid his lunge and shaking her finger at him. "You're just unhappy they didn't want to speak to you."

Bill hesitated. She was partly right, he supposed. He did like to be the one in control. "Where are they based?"

"Front End Radio..." she sang, imitating the tune of the jingle played by the radio station every half hour. "In Is—ling—ton..."

That sultry voice was how they met. The group had been searching for a second female lead to support Susie and her deep tone and sexy mannerisms had seen her sail through the auditions. Was that really two years ago now? Had she really only been eighteen? They'd flirted for eighteen months before getting it on. She'd gone through a long line of boyfriends in that time. 

She'd joked to him that none of them were able to keep up with her healthy sexual appetite and when she eventually took him to bed, it hadn't taken long to discover why. The twenty-five year old loved to fuck just as much as she loved to sing.

"Think I could make a living at that? Singing jingles?" She giggled, bending forward and pulling up her black skirt up so that she could smooth the seam of her stockings.

The forty-year old man's eyes followed her movements. She deliberately held the pose for longer than she should as she pretended to adjust the black lace stocking top. "The world has more in store for you than jingles," he slowly said, shaking his head at her playfulness. Still, she had his cock interested. "How did you get the interview again, Donna?"

"Oh, you're interested now, are you?" Wandering towards him, she took the orange juice from his hand and stirred it with her finger before sucking the wet digit into her mouth. "I told you, I met a guy after our last gig. He works for them. Naturally enough, he was so impressed he wanted to fuck me. So I strung him along and got the interview."

He pulled a face. "You told me half that story..."

She let out a deliciously throaty laugh as she wandered around the room. "Which bit did I omit? Let me guess. I didn't mention he wanted to fuck me? Did I really need to, Bill? I mean, I would have thought that was self evident. Don't most men..."

He shook his head again. She was such a flirt that most men thought they were in with a chance. It was harmless enough, but still, there were times when even he had to bite his lip.


Invader's Seed



There was a knock on the door. Three succinct raps in quick succession. Jess opened her eyes. Had she slept at last? She looked at the clock, but its face was black. Lurid tendrils had scarred her –a nightmare had dirtied her mind, her very bed, it seemed. So she had slept. The vision would not return to her; but its mark on her burned, pressing animal panic into Jess’s brain. She groped mindlessly for the touch lamp, her fingers sliding along its sick, aluminum shade. No light came. The clock still displayed nothing. And then, the silence fell on Jess. 

That ambient hum of electric life was gone. The air conditioner, the ceiling fan, the fridge. All had fallen silent. In the bruise-black night outside, rain was smacking against her window and the wind was lashing the crab-apple trees. It howled around her eaves. It whistled and wheezed like a scream from a punctured lung. And inside, the lights were out. Jess was in near total darkness. She sat up, comforter clenched in her fists; the big mirror behind the TV gleamed at her. She saw her darkened reflection in it and fear crawled up her spinal cord to curl around her brain stem. Jess’s bare shoulders were cold and rippled with goose-flesh. The rain smacked brainlessly outside. Suddenly, Jesse remembered what had awakened her.

The knock. It came again, louder this time, and with a degree of desperation. Bam, bam, bam –knuckles and the heel of a palm. Part of Jesse was wailing, terrified. But when the knocking stopped at last, Jess finally began to regain control. 

Her humanity was returning; though, behind it, panic was lodged, waiting. Jess reached over, found the votive on the table and her cigarette pack with the mini-lighter inside. She sparked the candle to life and lit a smoke for good measure; the cherry bounced orange in the mirror as she sucked a deep drag.

One of my neighbors could be locked out in the rain, Jess thought. After a moment of uneasy silence, Jess swung her legs over the edge of the bed and made herself walk to the bedroom door, carrying the tiny candle on a saucer.

I wouldn’t want to be trapped outside tonight either. Jesse walked through the kitchen, rattling her bead curtain as she crossed into the living room. She wondered how long the power had been out. 

A metallic click stopped Jesse in her tracks. She knew that sound; it was her lock. The front door lock. Jess stepped forward; the front door was behind a load-bearing wall. She felt eyes on her, the stare of some imagined beast. It took everything she had just to move three feet and crane her neck to see the front door.

It was open. Grey light fell in over the jamb; a draft made the flame on her votive dance. And there was a man there. He stood stark still, silhouetted. His face was invisible, but Jess knew what she was looking at. The man was staring at her. His gaze was like fever sweeping over her. And the panic that had been lying patiently finally blossomed in her mind, fully eclipsing all reason.

Flee. The man began to move forward slowly, his movements were mechanical. 

To the bedroom. Brace the door. The candle fell from Jess’s hand, its flame dying as the liquid wax smothered the wick.

There are no weapons in my house. The man was fully lurching now. He was like a robot lunging on its last volt of energy. Jess scrambled into the bedroom and pushed the door shut. For one horrible second, the door would not close. A towel was draped over it, sticking between it and the jamb. Jess panicked. She was not herself now. She rammed the door with her shoulder, feeling the wood give. With a resounding crack, the door was forced into its place. The barring towel was smashed, dangling egg-white like a fallen flag. Jess stood, then, with her back against the door. She noted, absently, that she still had her cigarette. As the man in her house came through the kitchen, heavy boots clopping on the linoleum, Jess sucked the biggest drag of her life. One full quarter of the cigarette was gone by the time she was done and coughing burst of smoke from her throat. 

And then the door was opening. The intruder was pushing past Jess as if she were cardboard. The doorknob didn’t even turn; he was pressing bodily against the door. Jess couldn’t stand against that brutish force. She fell face forward, snapping her cigarette and banging her chin against the floor. The door swung wide, and the man walked in. His features were still shadowed. Jess wondered if he even had features. And then, he was kneeling, hunching down to crawl over Jess on his hands and knees. And now Jess could smell him. The man smelled strongly of soil and pine sap. There was also the musty reek of dog piss; Jesse wanted to wretch.

“Please don’t struggle,” the shadow man choked. He had a voice like a dragging muffler. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” 

Jess froze then. Her body simply gave up. She knew –her panicked hindbrain was screaming– that she was going to die. There was no use in fighting. And when Jess went limp, the man began to press his full weight onto her.

Jess felt her nightgown ripped upward. Her breasts, round and low, were exposed. The man ran his rough hands along the tops of her breasts, along her ribs, down her belly. His palms were covered in coarse hair sprouting from scaled skin. Jess began to cry as the man pushed her legs apart and she felt his engorged length pressing against her.

He didn’t bother to push Jess’s panties aside. The man pistoned his impossible girth into her, grunting like an animal. His hips pumped, knobby knees digging into Jess’s thighs. At first, there was blinding, tearing pain and Jess cried out unabashedly. But, just as he had promise, the pain subsided quickly, leaving only the incredible friction as the man’s member ground against her dryness. He groped her breasts, whining. Jess closed her eyes. Was she moistening down there? A slow wave of heat rose from the innermost core. Jess tried to deny the decadent and appalling pleasure that swept over her; but then she was wracked by the most intense orgasm of her 27 years. The man was gyrating atop her, his shorn sac slapping. Jess rose on her elbows, unable to control the arching her spine. She was liking it. No . . . she was loving it! She wrapped her legs around the man and threw her head back, screaming interminably between gritted teeth. 

“Ahhhh . . .”

She rocked with the man, struggling to match his frenetic thrusting. He responded to her, pushing his hands under her back and clutching her mightily to him as he fucked her deep and wildly. He was sweating, spasming; Jess writhed, clawing his flesh. And then, snarling like an animal, he came. The man spewed hot and viscous cum deep into Jesse. His long, thick penis filled her entirely; pushed to the hilt, the man was putting impossible pressure on areas within Jess no other had ever been able to reach. His body was wracked with a powerful paroxysm as he came, and Jess ground her mound against him, lost in the last of uncountable orgasms. 

Finally, the man slid from her, leaving Jesse sweat-slick and flushed on the floor. Her innards quivered; the invader’s seed dripped warm out of her. Just as quickly as he’d appeared, the stranger left, murmuring something Jess couldn’t quite make out. She thought he may have been thanking her. 

He closed her front door on the way out. Jess lay on her bedroom for ten minutes, unable and unwilling to move. Finally, the lights came back on. Her apartment returned to its noisy life; in the living room, her printer began to hum. When she finally had the energy to stand Jess pulled her nightgown back down and slipped off her panties. They were ripped; the force of the man’s entry had punched a ragged hole through the cotton. Impossible! Jess went out into the kitchen and looked down at where the man had been when he pushed through the door. There were boot-scuffs there, but there were also muddy spots shaped like four-leafed clovers. Jess bent to examine them, her muscles still shaking. 

They were dog tracks. 



Invaders



A slow smile spread across her face as she read his thoughts. She sexily leant against the wall and ran a hand through her short blonde hair. "Hey, I didn't think that jealousy was your thing." 

"I'm not—"

"Sure you are," she told him, sauntering towards him and straightening his tie. Then her hands dropped to his crotch. Even before she pushed him down into the armchair, he knew exactly what she had in mind. "You've no need to be."

"Donna, I really don't have time—"

"You don't?" she interrupted. Her tongue danced across her soft lips as she stood above him.

His body shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He was supposed to be at work inside half an hour but Donna could be very persuasive. "Maybe tonight..." he began, though there wasn't much conviction in his voice.

"Tonight? Really?"

She dragged the green top over her head. Her breasts were small and she rarely wore a bra. When her skirt quickly followed, she stood naked except for the sexy suspender belt and black stockings. "No knickers," she giggled, holding her arms out wide. "Like what you see?"

His cock hardened instantly. How many times had she wrapped that slim body around him and fucked his brains out? Even before they'd gone to bed that first time, everything about her had suggested she'd be wild. He just hadn't realised how much. She adored talking dirty during sex and fucked like an animal. When she was in the mood, she could fuck for hours. 

And she was often in the mood...

He watched enthralled as she slid to her knees. Her amused eyes held his gaze as she slowly unbuckled his belt. Only the harsh clink of its clasp interrupted the sudden silence.

"I need to fuck," she whispered, drawing the zipper of his pants down. She cocked her head one way and then the other as she studied his nicely lengthening cock. "Tonight, Bill?" she sexily asked, running her tongue along one side of his length. "Or now?" 

His hands gripped the edges of the chair as she took his thick member deep into her throat. He'd have to find an excuse to tell Old Man Watkins he was late.

***

"Are you paying attention?" Old Man Watkins asked.

Bill looked up. He'd been reliving the way Donna had fucked him this morning, first in that chair and then on the lush cream carpet afterwards. That had meant he'd been two hours late in reaching the office. She'd giggled afterwards that she needed to release some tension before her session at the radio station. Her interview would nearly be over. He'd intended listening in his office until the Old Man called the meeting with him. 

"Sorry?" 

"Exactly," the snow haired Chairman stated. "You were miles away. What the hell's wrong with you this morning?"

"It's just been one thing after another, Tom," he lamely said. Okay, it wasn't the best answer, but it felt the most appropriate in the circumstances. The Old Man might be in his seventies but he remained as bright as a button. There was no point in trying to pull the wool. 

"Okay," Watkins gruffly conceded. Employees didn't have private lives as far as he was concerned, even someone he trusted as much as Bill Fawcett. He painfully eased himself up from the large chair behind his imposing desk, wishing that his darn rheumatoid arthritis didn't make life such hell. Maybe the chestnut, leather couch beside his might be more comfortable? No sooner had he settled himself than the door to his large office opened. 

"Coffee," Susie announced, bouncing into the room. She flashed that cheeky smile. "And before you ask, yes it's decaffeinated."

Bill winked at her. The pretty Jamaican girl was the only person in the Agency who could get away with that tone when addressing Tom Watkins. 

The twenty-two year old wasn't just the Old Man's secretary. She was also one of the two lead singers in Bill's band. The large personal following she and Donna had attracted on the back of their vocals had been fundamental to the band's growing popularity. Getting her a job at the Agency had been a smart move, but he hadn't expected Tom Watkins to take to her the way he had. He'd come to treat her like his favourite niece.

The Old Man turned his affectionate gaze on her. "About time." 

"I know," she laughed as she placed the coffee on the table beside them. "The impossible I do in seconds. Miracles take a few minutes longer."

"Miracles? Making coffee is a miracle?"

"Getting it to you within twenty seconds of your asking is," she smiled, pouring from the silver coffee pot into each of the china cups. "Shout if you need anything else..."

"Too cheeky by half," the Old Man complained as she left the office, although the twinkle in his eye didn't match the words. "Now then, where were we?"

"The Spencer account..."

"Oh, yes." He shuffled in his seat. "I had lunch with Dan Foster yesterday. Spencer's are launching a new line in clothing and he wants a TV campaign behind it. I want you to handle it."

"Me? That's Kevin Garside's account."

"Not any more. Foster didn't like the below-the-line stuff Kevin did. He's off the account."

Bill hesitated. He liked Garside, but Dan Foster was well known for being one of the toughest CEO's they had to deal with. If he wanted a change in Account Exec there was no arguing. Still, he should make a token effort. "That's hardly fair..."

Watkins laugh turned into a cough. "Don't be naïve, Bill," he said, easing the harshness in his throat with a gulp of coffee. "The deal's done. We have a budget of a million and he wants something out of the ordinary. Any ideas?"

The younger man pulled a face. Garside would be pissed but his feelings were secondary. The Old Man was testing him and he wasn't going to disappoint. "I'll call Foster to arrange a briefing when we're finished. Then I'll speak to Kevin. As for early thoughts, you know, Tom, I've had something on my mind for a while."

Watkins cleared his throat. "Share it..."

"What's the latest craze?"

The Old Man's eyes squinted in that strange way they did when he was thinking. After a few seconds, he burst out laughing. "We're not advertising hair products, are we?

Bill smiled at the speed with which his boss had worked it out. "No," he conceded. "But we pride ourselves in being at the forefront of world trends, don't we, Tom? Men across the world have suddenly begun to dye their hair blonde, for whatever reason. It beats me. But as it's gaining in popularity, it seems inconceivable that we don't look to use it in some of our campaigns."

Watkins nodded thoughtfully. "I've seen lots of fashion trends in my time, Bill, but this one really takes the biscuit. Started in Japan, didn't it?"

"I heard India, but no one seems to know," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "But what I do know is that wherever it's emerged from, it's quickly gathering pace. And it's not just a youth thing, Tom, its people of all ages. That makes it perfect for the campaign."

The Old Man patted him on the knee and painfully eased himself to his feet. The meeting was over. The younger man's eyes followed his boss as he shuffled towards his desk. Was that a yes or a no? 

"It's worth looking at," he said as he reached his chair. "Take it up with the creative team." 

Bill took the cue and jumped up from the couch. "Leave it with me."

"I will," the Old Man said, breathing heavily as he flopped down into his seat. "But just remember, Bill, we need our cut of that million pound budget. Don't let them fuck up." 

***

"It went well?"

The spotty faced young man had greeted Donna when she'd arrived at the radio station and had made a point of waiting for her after her interview. She'd known he would. He'd tried everything to get into her pants at their last gig and setting up the live radio session for her had been his last desperate throw of the dice. It had been her suggestion, of course, and he'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She thrived on seeing how far she could push that sort of attention.

His efforts were doomed to failure, of course. Not that she was averse to some sex on the side, as long as Bill remained blissfully unaware. But this guy really wasn't her type. Still, it did no harm to keep him on the end of her string. Even at her age, she'd learned that you never knew when people could come in useful. 

That's why she'd agreed to a quick coffee. He'd taken her to the far corner of the small cafe area, as far as possible away from the others scattered around the room, even if it did mean they were close to the loud music blaring through the speakers above their heads. 

"It went very well, David" she responded, making sure she touched his arm as she spoke. "Tony was very gentle."

The station's music critic and hadn't asked a single difficult question. Not only had he plugged the group and recommended them for success should they ever cut a record, but he was particularly enthusiastic about Donna herself. He'd been well briefed.

"I told him what to say." 

"You did?" she gasped, feigning mock astonishment. Her fingers casually stroked along his bare forearm. "That's really good of you, David."

He nodded, but didn't speak again. It made her nervous. Despite flashing him one of her sexiest smiles, his demeanour didn't change. He'd been that way when she'd first arrived, come to think of it, but she'd been too focussed on her forthcoming interview to pay that much attention. At the last gig, not only was he an extrovert, but he was very touchy-feely, too. His hands had been all over her as he'd offered the promotional opportunity. 

Now, he was almost reserved...

Maybe he felt he needed to be on his best behaviour at work, but the glint in his eyes had been replaced with a—what was it—an almost hollow look on his face. She hadn't even recognised him when she'd first arrived—he'd had to introduce himself. She'd laughed in embarrassment and told him it was because he'd dyed his hair blonde. It was a stupid craze and wouldn't last much longer, but she had to admit he'd done a good job. There was no sign of any roots. 

"Look, I'd better go," she uneasily said. Those dull eyes and the continuous stare were suddenly giving her the creeps.

"When can I see you again?"

Her hand coquettishly went to her short blonde hair. "Well... I'm not sure... I mean I—"

"I can get you an interview in Today."

Donna's eyes widened. Today was the country's leading celebrity-focused magazine. Its circulation ran into millions and they paid a bomb for interviews. Not to mention the publicity, that alone was worth its weight in gold. "You can?"

He nodded mechanically. "Yes. When can I see you again?"

She paused for a second. This was an opportunity too good to miss. Her hand returned to his arm, stroking the dark hairs on his skin. "That would be incredible, David. Look, we're at a gig tonight, why don't you come along? Maybe we can chat about it over a drink afterwards?"

***

Bill settled into a barstool at the far end of the bar, next to a couple of guys who were heavily engaged in excited conversation. The cockier of the guys had an arm around the other's shoulder while shouting in his ear. His friend burst out in laughter every few seconds. They'd clearly had their fair share of drink already and seemed to be the only two people in the place who were taking no notice of the final on stage preparations. 

The positioning of the instruments and last minute testing confirmed that the band would be appearing in the next few minutes. Bill breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd had been a little late getting there thanks to Dan Foster's insistence on a conference call during which he'd gone through his advertising requirements in minute detail. It was encouraging to see that the place was already heaving. He looked around, his keen eyes searching the large, open area for anyone he knew, but more to get a feel for the mood of anticipation. The atmosphere was already electric...

He reached for his wallet as the barman set his drink down, but the plump faced character was already shaking his head. "Compliments of the house," he said, nodding across towards the corner of the bar area.

Bill turned his head questioningly, following the barman's gaze. People who bought him drinks usually wanted something from him. Charlie Morton didn't.

If anything, the club owner was even more overweight than Bill remembered. 

They'd spoken a couple of times over the phone during their negotiations, but he hadn't seen his former adversary for a couple of years. Other than Charlie driving a hard bargain, there'd been no negativity. The past was the past. And the club owner was giving the band the break they needed, albeit at a reduced fee. Bill wasn't worried about that. He would almost have paid Charlie to allow the band to appear at such a popular venue. 

The overweight entrepreneur had clearly made it into the big time. The lop-sided grin didn't leave his face as he sauntered over and shook Bill's hand. "The drinks are on me," he murmured. 

Bill nodded appreciatively. 

"I hope they're as good as you told me," the club owner continued, raising a distrusting eyebrow. "I'd hate to have to ask for my money back."

Bill smiled warmly. He was used to Charlie's ways. "You won't be disappointed," he responded. "And how about we double the fee if the raise the roof?"

The large man opened his arms wide. "What can I say? A deal is a deal." Both men laughed. "So, how's the music business? You packed in your advertising job yet?"

Bill smiled. "Not quite yet, Charlie."

The club owner laughed. "I understand. But don't worry, if this lot are any good, then fame is just around the corner."

"This lot," Bill repeated, "are brilliant."

But Charlie was no longer listening "Hey Marianne, over hear, babe."

The young brunette looked like she might fall off those high heels as she wobbled across towards the two men. Bill liked them young, but this girl couldn't have been a day over eighteen. The club owner was old enough to be her grandfather. 

"This is Bill," Charlie told her. "He manages tonight's entertainment."

"Pleased to meet you," she squeaked, giggling like a schoolgirl as she leant into her boyfriend.

He smacked her ass with the flat of his hand. "Order some champagne for us, babe. I'm nearly done here."

Both men watched her wobble happily to the bar. Bill had seen negligees that hid more than that dress. 

"I know what you're thinking," Charlie murmured happily out of the corner of his mouth. He pulled out a cigar. "But let me tell you, she fucks like a rabbit..."

***

As usual, Susie had been all cleavage while Donna just dripped sex appeal. 

It was an unbeatable combination. Each woman was hot in their own right but together they were dynamite. The sustained applause, cheers, whistles and catcalls grew to a crescendo as the group returned for an encore. An hour and a half hadn't been enough. Their fans needed more.

Susie was the less obvious of the two, allowing her wonderful black cleavage and curvy body to speak volumes as she swayed to each pulsating rhythm. She sent out sexual vibes without needing to try. Donna, on the other hand, was more overt. Bill's hot girlfriend provocatively used the microphone stand like a giant phallus, squeezing it tightly between her legs as she humped her hips forward until even he thought she must be fucking the damn thing. 

As had become the custom among their fans, young women in the audience were replicating her actions. Some rubbed themselves against their boyfriend's legs while others used sexily used one another. The sight of two women humping against one another at their gigs never failed to turn Bill on. 

Then there were those who were sufficiently far gone and simply grinded their bodies against the person nearest to them. For some reason, it seemed to be the growing number of guys with blonde hair who'd been astute enough to manoeuvre themselves into position to take advantage. Occasionally they'd disappear with the female fan and it didn't take much figuring out to deduce what they were up to.

While Susie and Donna were at their captivating best, the rest of their band was buzzing, too. It amazed Bill how well the men's individualistic styles of dress worked. They'd changed dramatically from the regimented outfits they'd all worn when he'd first put the band together.

Frankie insisted that his fur coat and top hat were needed to help him to perform his magic, though he was always sweating buckets by the end of the evening. He'd always been an oddball, but he was the best keyboard player in Britain. On sax, Patrick went the other way, his tiny singlet displaying all those muscles he worked on in the gym. Harry's flowery shirt and black leather trousers gave him a hip look. Drummers were like goalkeepers, he always said—a little crazy. Tony, on guitar, provided the final contrast, in his Brian Ferry-like dark suit and tie.

"They're impressive," Charlie Morton shouted into his ear. He'd sidled up a couple of minutes earlier, just before the band's encore had got underway.

"Didn't I tell you?" Bill responded, his eyes glued to the stage. 

"You did. What are you doing over here anyway? You could have joined Marianne and me at our balcony table."

Bill shrugged. Finding a vantage point during a performance enabled him to monitor their fans reaction. A bit mechanistic, perhaps, but his regimented style had held him in good stead over the years. It was his own market research, he often joked to himself.

"I want to book them again."

At first, Bill thought he hadn't heard correctly. The noise in the room was deafening as the girl's let it rip on stage. Tonight's booking had been a step up and he'd hoped it would lead to other opportunities. But an immediate request for a repeat was unexpected. 

It got better...

"You've heard of The Astoria?" Charlie went on, so close that Bill could feel the spittle on the side of his face as the club owner shouted into his ear.

Who in the London music business hadn't? The centrally located concert venue staged everything from alternative US bands to Kylie inspired gay nights. He'd been there recently with Donna to watch Jarvis Cocker. The place was dark and dingy on the outside, but it still cut the mustard as a top venue, with great come acoustics and a decent sound and lighting set up. 

"It's mine."

"Yours?" Now it was impossible for Bill to hide the shock. He turned to stare at Charlie.

"Didn't think I was capable of such things, huh?" the overweight man laughed. "I bought it with two partners. They're in charge of finances and I run the place. You're interested?"

Interested? Was Charlie serious? This was too good to be true. "You want us to appear there?" he grunted, trying to hide the incredulity in his voice. 

"Grace Lane has pulled out of a concert scheduled at the end of the month," Charlie shouted more loudly. "Stupid bitch. I need a replacement but the money's not good. We're currently wrangling with her agents over the fee already paid. But we can come up with some compromise to make it worth your while." 

Worth their while? The club owner was missing a trick. Olay, it would be well nigh impossible for Charlie to replace such a high profile act at such short notice, but Bill would almost pay the club owner for the chance of his band appearing there. The publicity would propel them into the big time.

"Let's talk about it over a drink after the performance," the overweight man shouted, resting a hand on his shoulder. "By the way, I gather you and the blonde singer are an item? You have the same taste as me—young and sexy. Let me know if you want to swap for a night." 

***

Donna waited until the 'after-gig' party was in full flow before slipping away. Bill was in heavy conversation with that lecherous club owner, talking about more gigs from what she could gather. She'd told him about her radio interview—everything except the potential for an article in Today. That would feature her, not the band. With the drink flowing in the dressing room area and everyone enjoying themselves, the opportunity to find David was too good to pass up. 




Invaders



The blonde knew her admirer wouldn't be too far away. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her during the performance and she'd continually made eye contact as she'd gyrated on stage. She giggled—he'd have been hard all night. 

Keep him interested until he'd delivered on his promise...

It didn't take long to find him—dutifully waiting like an obedient lapdog near the bar. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Donna fluttered her eyelashes, wondering if he was deliberately trying to play it cool. Was this really the guy who'd tried so hard to get into her knickers a couple of weeks ago? It felt like he was suffering from a personality transplant. 

"What did you think?" she prompted, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. That same detached look was in his eyes but unlike their brief chat at the radio station, his arm went around her waist when she brushed her body against him. That was better.

"It was very good."

Very good? Was that the best he could do? 

"What about the magazine?" she coyly asked. Her hand covered his hand and held it in place around her waist as she pressed even closer. "You said—"

"I spoke to them this afternoon," he interrupted. "They want to meet you."

"They do? Already?"

He nodded. "We need to talk specifics. Now. But not here."

Donna glanced around. They'd notice she was missing if she was away too long. "I need to get back to the party," she explained, smiling up into the spotty face. "Maybe we can meet tomorrow, David?"

He shook his head. "That will be too late. We should talk now."

"Too late? Why? I mean, doesn't—"

The hand that grabbed hers stopped the question before she could finish it. "I have a place for us to go," he said, pulling her towards a door to their left. "Follow me..."

She hastily thought as she followed him, balancing the prize being dangled in front of her with the need for caution. There were so many people around, after all. Still, if it was that urgent, maybe they wanted to set something up quickly?

The narrow corridor led to what appeared to be a small office on the right. A desk, small cabinet and a couple of chairs were enough to fill the room.

"David—" she began, half turning to him, but his mouth cut off her words. 

She allowed the kiss, enjoying the feel of his hardness pressing into her stomach. God, he couldn't be that big, could he? She'd fuck him all night to get a piece in that magazine, but this wasn't the time or place. When his hands found her breasts, she tried to back away but felt herself trapped by the wall behind her.

"Hey," she softly told him, grunting at the way his palms cupped each small swell and rubbed the thin top across her hard nipples. "Take it easy..."

Dragging his kneading hands to her hips, she locked her arms around his neck, stroking the back of his blonde hair with the tips of her fingers. "I have to go," she whispered. "Let's get the deal done then we can meet up one night..."

It was as if she hadn't spoken. Pulling her wrists from around his neck, he raised her arms up above her head, holding them tight against the wall. Donna shivered. There was something about being bound and helpless that was a real turn on. And that cock he was grinding into her—that couldn't be for real. Could it? 

Her breath was coming in short pants as she looked into those detached eyes. "David," she tried again, but as she spoke his nostrils flared. She hadn't previously noticed they were that large. A puff of smoke emerged and even as her head jerked back in shock, the aroma found its way to her loins. The sensation was as if he'd injected her with some sort of aphrodisiac.

When his mouth opened and his tongue flicked out and licked along her neck, her knees buckled. She must be hallucinating. It was long and blue, like a lizard's. Hadn't she read somewhere that a male blue tongue lizard bites the female around the neck when mating? This one wasn't biting her. It was sweeping in long circles along her skin. 

Donna groaned again.

The fingers holding the wrists tightened while his other hand found her skimpy thong under her skirt. A single tug ripped it from her body. She tried to speak but another emission from his nostrils stilled her. The sweeping tongue snaked across every piece of exposed flesh it could find. When it began to draw circles in her armpits, her body began to melt. 

This couldn't be happening.

***

The door to Charlie Morton's office was half open and Bill lightly tapped before entering the room. He'd carefully thought his tactics through before heading towards negotiations. Whatever Charlie, proposed, he'd put up some token resistance before reluctantly accepting the terms. Securing the gig at the Astoria would be the making of the band.

He hadn't expected Marianne to be there. One of the young girl's arms was draped around her overweight boyfriend's neck and the hard nipples pushing through her thin dress suggested they'd been up to something before he got there.

"Ah, Bill, come in, come in..."

"Charlie..."

The club owner looked like the cat that'd just got the cream. "Before we talk about the band, there's something you need to be aware of." He nodded at the computer screen. "Look at this."

Bill took a couple of steps forward to Charlie's desk. The picture on the screen was slightly fuzzy, maybe because it was relayed from a security camera. But there was no doubt as to what they were watching. The grunts gave it away even before the picture did.

"I didn't come here to watch porn..."

Charlie laughed. "Don't knock it. Marianne and I watch some good stuff every other night, don't we babe?"

The young girl giggled and looked sideways at Bill. "We love it," she said, without a hint of embarrassment.

"Indeed we do," the club owner chuckled. "Makes you even hornier, doesn't it, babe?"

"Look, Charlie—"

"You're missing the point," the overweight man cut in, raising a finger to his lips. "I suggest you look more closely."

An inquisitive frown covered Bill's forehead as he turned back to the monitor. The blonde haired man on screen had his trousers around his knees and was moving mechanically as he fucked the girl from behind. One of his hands was in her short blonde hair, yanking her head back. It didn't appear as if she needed any encouragement. Her arms were infront of her, pressing against the wall for leverage as she almost violently humped backwards against him. 

Between her grunts, she was exhorting the man to fuck her even harder. Her voice sounded familiar. When her thrashing head turned in the direction of the camera, he froze on the spot.

Two Weeks Earlier 

Charlie Morton licked his lips. Like everything about him, they were oversized. And right now, his oversized cock was rock hard. Ever since the classy brunette had walked into his club a couple of hours ago, he'd been captivated by her. When he'd suggested they retire to his office for a drink she'd readily agreed, although she'd left her glass untouched.

Marianne was a hot little bitch and knew how to light his fire, but this one was something else.

Sitting on his knee in the large mock-leather chair, the persuasive brunette had told him what was on her mind and then whispered his reward. The hand that had unzipped his trousers and fished out his cock confirmed the promise contained by her words. 

"Make the call," she told him, slowly jerking his hard flesh. 

A light flare of her nostrils sent a wave of pleasure through his senses. Whatever that aroma was, it warmed his loins. His cock throbbed as he picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. It took only a few seconds before Bill Fawcett's voice echoed from the loudspeaker in his office. 

"Bill," he murmured, watching as the woman sensually slid to her knees. His rock hard cock towered before her, rigid and ready for her attention. "It's Charlie Morton."

"Charlie?" The club owner sensed the hesitation. Fawcett was probably worried in case there was a problem with the Astoria booking. That was his trump card. "What can I do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you," he mumbled into the phone, grunting as the brunette's thumb rubbed his rapidly forming precum along the thick head of his cock. He shuddered, feeling his balls swell. The faster he got this over with, the sooner he'd get to fuck her. "You're still without a replacement for that blonde? The gig's only two weeks away."

"I'm looking, Charlie."

The brunette's eyes smiled encouragingly at him as her tongue swirled across the crown. One hand held him steady while she took his hardness between her lips. He grew further in her mouth. Fuck, it felt like she was curling her tongue around the entire thickness of his shaft.

"Look no further," he blurted. "I've found you a replacement..."

"You have?" Fawcett sounded dubious.

The club owner reached down to lightly rest a hand on the top of the brown curls, looking down to meet the woman's provocative gaze. He'd never seen eyes like that... a dull grey with large dark pupils. "Believe me, Bill, she's red hot."

There was that pause again. "I do my own recruiting, Charlie."

"I know, I know," the club owner hurriedly agreed. It was the response he expected. Fawcett could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted. "But trust me, you'll be impressed." 

"Look—"

"I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime but I want a full band," the club owner interrupted, a sudden edge to his voice as the brunette licked slowly along his length. It gave him all the incentive he needed. 

"I know that—"

"You're close to getting someone?"

"No, but—"

"Look, I've gone out on a limb by letting you have this booking and we both know you can't afford to fuck up. The word is your music isn't as good with just one vocalist and I need to protect my interests, too. I'm not telling you what to do, Bill. I'm just suggesting you listen to her and form your own view. What do you say?"

The few second's silence seemed to last much longer. Even the mouth on his cock had paused.

"Where do I see her?" 

Charlie let out a soft sigh of relief. It turned to a gasp as that tongue circled his hardness again. How the fuck did she do that? It was impossible...

"She's appearing here at the club, tonight," he grunted, staring anxiously as the brunette's mouth left his cock with a slurp. "Get here for nine. I'll have a ticket waiting for you at the door."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Bill, you know what I'm saying," he persuasively grunted, watching as the woman pushed herself to her feet. His cock twitched as her hands slid under her dress and dragged a pair of black panties down her shapely legs. "If she's not suitable," he quickly added as she threw a leg over his lap. "Just turn around and head out of here. Just do it for me..."

"What's her name?"

"Lydia," he mumbled as the woman straddled him and gripped the back of his chair. "It's Lydia..."

"I have to go, Charlie."

He whimpered as she reached between her legs and ran his cock along her cleanly shaved pussy. "You'll come?"

"I'll be there."

The woman took the phone from him as the line went dead and dropped it onto the floor. "That was very good, Charlie," she whispered as she eased down on his hardness. "It feels like you're ready for your reward..."

***

Putting his conversation with Charlie Morton to one side hadn't been easy, but the presentation to the Spencer Executives demanded Bill's complete attention. 

Selling any sort of TV campaign to clients always required a deft touch, even one as good as this. The proposed television commercials really hit the spot. Basing the promotion of their new clothing range on a hot and sexy interplay between female and male models was a clever innovation and perfect for the specific target market available to them.

Completing the proposals at all felt like a minor miracle, partly due to his personal problems. 

Ending his relationship with Donna hadn't helped, nor had his decision to exclude her from the band. Not that any of the other members had complained, even though he knew they were frustrated with him. Their two gigs without her had been uninspiring. Everyone thought so. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have such a closed mind on Charlie Morton's call? If the club owner had somehow discovered someone to step into Donna's shoes he should be grateful, shouldn't he?

But the issues with the campaign had spread well beyond his life outside of the Agency. Male models weren't known for their brain power and the astonishingly wooden performances from those with blonde hair—dyed or not—gave extra credence to that view. The concept was first class and the creative team had excelled in pulling out all the stops, but achieving anything other than vacant expressions from those idiots had made finishing within budget a nightmare.

He glanced across at Susie. She winked at him. Their flirting had always been harmless enough but the sight of that black cleavage spilling over her cashmere top did nothing to help quell his semi permanent erection The two weeks since he'd spilt with Donna was a long time to go without sex and a few morning hand jobs hadn't resolved the problem...

Turned his attention back to the large screen on the far wall, he rested his palms on the oval conference table. Dan Foster and his two Sales Executives were peering at the last of the images Susie brought up in support of his pitch. The heavy billboard poster and media proposals were essential to maximise and elongate the impact of the TV commercials.

"That's it gentlemen," he concluded, studying their reaction as he brought the presentation to a close. The Sales Exec's nodded at one another whereas the hardnosed CEO continued to stare thoughtfully at the blank screen. It was never easy to read Dan Foster—particularly when he was paying a million to promote his latest clothing range. 

Everything had to be pretty damn perfect.

"Okay, Susie—lights," he added, watching the little tease deliberately stretch forward to adjust the conference room's dimmer switch. All eyes were drawn to the healthy cleavage, even the Old Man himself. Tom Watkins might be in his seventies, but he still appreciated the ladies.

"What are your thoughts, Dan," he asked, instantly bringing them back to the point. 

Foster adjusted his rimless spectacles. Praise didn't come easily. "Gentlemen..." he said, nodding at his colleagues.

"Pretty good," the older of the two conceded. "I can't get my mind around this new craze to dye your hair blonde, but the way you've incorporated it into the campaign works extremely well." 

"And helps positions our brand at the centre of modern trends," the other added. "Especially with the way you've built in the interplay between models. That's genius!"

"Sounds like you have our vote," Dan Foster conceded, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. "What are the timings?"

"We have TV slots booked throughout the next two weeks," Bill explained, sitting back down. He leant forward enthusiastically and rested his hands on the glass table. "And the billboard and media timetable matches perfectly. Want to go through it?"

Foster pushed his glasses up his forehead as he glanced around the room. Everyone was well aware that moving the discussion onto the production schedule was giving tacit approval to the campaign as it stood. And the million pounds spend. 

"Okay," Foster slowly said, as if he was deliberately drawing out the tension. His eyes flickered to Old Man Watkins and then back to Bill. "Okay, shoot..."

***

Susie slipped her palms on to the surface behind her and pushed up onto the clear glass conference table. Gracefully crossing her legs, she smiled at Bill. "That went well."

He grinned back at her. "Couldn't have gone better," he agreed, picking up a strawberry from the leftover food tray and popping it into his mouth. "Thanks for making it run so smoothly."

"That's my job," she told him, leaning to the side as she poured herself a glass of white wine. "Want another?"

"Why not," he sighed. The Old Man had left for some meeting or another and he only had paperwork scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. 

"Why not indeed," she laughed, refilling his glass and handing it out to him. "It's a celebration. How much will we make from the campaign?"

"Enough," he wistfully told her. "A couple more of these and your end of year bonus is guaranteed."

"It'll be a fraction of yours," she teased. "But I'm thankful for small mercies."

"And so you should," he quipped. "I do the work, you get the money."

"Yeah?" she laughed, wiping a hand through her hair as she took a drink from her glass of wine. "Just like with the band, huh?"

Bill pulled a face and grabbed another strawberry, swirling it in his wine before sucking it from the stalk.

"You have some strange habits, you know that?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "You don't know the half of it."

Susie laughed loudly. "Don't think I want to? Are you coming to rehearsals tonight?"

He gave a weary shrug. "Maybe later. Charlie Morton reckons he's found someone who could be a replacement for Donna. I'm going to see her perform at his club tonight."

She pursed her lips sympathetically. "You're missing her?"

Bill's head shot up, maybe a little too quickly. What was it about women that made them so intuitive? "What makes you say that?"

"Well let me think," she mused, exaggeratedly throwing her head back. She pointed a finger at him over the rim of her wine glass. "Maybe it's the hard on you were sporting during the presentation, combined with the way you kept looking at my tits. I take it the two occurrences were connected."

He wiped a sliver of wine from his chin as he narrowly avoided choking on his drink. Even now, his erection remained ready to spring into action, not helped by the way her tits wobbled as she leant forward. "That mouth of yours will get you into trouble one day," he managed to say.

"Never had any complaints about my mouth," she sexily responded, raising one eyebrow. Then she burst out laughing at his reaction. "Why, Mr. Fawcett," she said, wiping away a tear. "I do believe you're blushing."

"You," he told her, deciding it would better to sit in his condition. "Are what's known in the trade as a cock tease."

"We girls call it a prick tease," she giggled. "But it means the same thing." Her face turned serious for a second and she hesitated long enough for him to wonder where the conversation was going. "She always had a wandering eye, you know."

He felt a spurt of rage wanting to explode inside him but he fought it back. "You didn't think of telling me?"

"Would you have believed me?"

The moment passed. He was angry at Donna, not her. The strange thing was that he couldn't decide what it was that pissed him off the most about his ex-girlfriend. The fact she'd cheated, or having it pointed out to him by Charlie Morton? The next day, when he'd confronted her, she'd been so calm, detached even. She'd seemed almost disconnected from reality, as if she was unable to understand why he was upset. 

Then there was that vacant look in her eyes. He looked sheepishly at Susie. "Tell me... has she ever taken drugs?" 

Her eyes rolled in surprise. "Drugs?? Donna? You're kidding me?" 

He stared blankly back at her and she realised he was deadly serious.

She shrugged. "No, Bill. At least, not that I'm aware. What makes you think..."

Her words tailed away. It was a good question. She'd never shown any inclination to dabble, but what as other explanation could there have been for her spaced out appearance the next day? She'd even tried to fuck him during their argument, as if that would release the tension and make everything all right again. She was so far detached from reality it was as if he was talking to a different woman. There was something that didn't add up, but what?




Invaders



"Do people think I should have kept her in the band?" he suddenly asked, changing the subject.

"By people, I take it you mean the guys?"

"You and the guys..." 

She shrugged again and drained the last of her wine from the glass. "Performance wise, we're missing something, but you know that, too," she said, carefully choosing her words. "They're a little pissed because of that... but understand you did what you had to do. When we have a replacement, they'll settle down again."

Bill nodded, grateful for the straight answer. He needed to buy some time to arrange and conduct some formal auditions, but with the Astoria gig looming large in a couple of weeks, time wasn't on his side. Maybe the woman Charlie Morton was recommending would be the answer? 

Knowing Charlie as well as he did, he had his doubts.

***

"God-daaamn!" the homeless man cursed. "Watch where you're goin' man..."

Bill glanced down. He'd been so deep in thought he hadn't noticed the heavily bearded man sitting a few yards away from the club. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching for his wallet.

The bleary eyed man pulled his rug more closely around him as he examined the note the suit handed him. "Twenty pounds? You're giving me tw—" He stopped instantly. If it was a mistake, he didn't want to draw any more attention to it.

"Have a good night," Bill told him as he hurriedly walked on and entered the club. 

Dan Foster's early evening call meant he was much later than he'd anticipated. The Old Man had warned Bill that Foster believed in making the Agency work for their money and the Spencer's CEO had "been thinking". It had taken over an hour's solid discussion to resolve his doubts and gain agreement to proceed with the campaign. An immediate phone call to Tom Watkins to bring him up-to-date with the further discussion had compounded the delay.

Forget about it, he told himself as he pushed through the club door. Concentrate on the task in hand. If this proved to be a wild goose chase, he'd still have time to get back across London to join the band for the final part of their rehearsals.

"Yes?" the woman behind the desk greeted him. Age wise, she could have been Charlie's mother and that black dress didn't disguise the fact that their body weights didn't appear to be that dissimilar either. It was the look on her face that took him aback. There seemed something mechanical about the smile on her face.

"Charlie Morton left a ticket for me. Fawcett. Bill Fawcett."

She nodded. "There's no need for a ticket, just head down to the basement."

He gave her one more glance before turning towards the stairs. She was looking straight ahead, as if lost in thought. Weird! 

The music hit him even before he reached the bottom, thought it came from the large loudspeakers either side of the stage. It felt weird being there again, after Donna's betrayal, and he admitted to himself that that had been one of the reasons he'd been slow to accept Charlie's recommendation. That and the fact he had no faith in Charlie's ability to spot talent.

As far as he remembered, the only thing the club owner was good at was making money. 

The audience was considerably smaller than for the band's performance a couple of weeks ago, but that was only to be expected. From what he could tell, there was no publicity for the woman's appearance tonight, either inside the club or outdoors. Those who were present fell into two categories—young females and blonde haired men. 

The craze really was taking off...

He'd phoned a couple of contacts on the way here and no one had heard of a singer called Lydia, though there were thousands of female singers trying to make a success of it in London. The more he thought of it, his visit there really was going to be a waste of his time. He'd thought Charlie would be there to greet him and in his absence, made his way across towards the bar.

When the light suddenly dimmed, he jerked his head back to the stage. She was there, standing alone in front of the microphone. If her voice was anything like her appearance, this might not be such a lost cause after all. Even from this distance, her beauty was apparent. The mess of curly brown hair that didn't quite reach her bare shoulders framed a stunning face. Her smile was wide, her red lips were full and the freckles scattered across her skin were an added bonus.

She swayed gracefully, allowing the audience to take in the short black dress that perfectly displayed her long legs and slim figure. 

When she began to sing, shivers ran along his spine...

***

"Hi," the voice in his ear said. "You're waiting for me?"

Bill swung around on his barstool. Close up, she was even more beautiful. He hadn't appreciated those high cheekbones from a distance. "Hello. I'm Bill."

"Lydia," she introduced herself. Her voice was soft, calm and confident. "We have a booth," she explained, shaking her head as he moved from the barstool to allow her to take his place. "Bring your drink."

He followed as she casually walked through the audience to the row of booths, wondering why so few eyes were watching. Fans of the band would have been clamouring for photographs and autographs in the same circumstances.

"You were late," she said, sliding along the seat to give him room to join her. Her voice was matter of fact. "So I delayed my start."

"Work pressures," Bill told her, wondering why he felt the need to explain. He nearly hadn't shown at all. What a mistake that would have been.

"Not a problem. What did you think?"

They'd only been talking for less than a minute and he realised she'd taken charge of the conversation. That didn't happen often with him. "I was impressed," he cagily answered. 

Impressed? Her gravelly, husky, throaty sound would compliment Susie perfectly. He'd been thinking that not only would the brunette fit in with the band she'd bring a completely different dimension to their performance.

She smiled at the waiter who'd appeared from nowhere to hand her a glass of water. "You'd like anything else?" she asked, taking the drink and glancing at Bill.

He held up his beer. "I'm okay, thanks." He watched as a shake of her head sent the blonde haired man back to the bar. "You perform here often?" 

She ran a hand through her curly hair. "Just tonight, Bill. I haven't been here before."

It was impossible to disguise his surprise. Her confident stage performance, the way the waiter had reacted to her, suggested she was familiar with the surroundings. 

"No," she said, as if she was reading his mind. "I'm one of those people who feel comfortable anywhere I go. I understand you have a proposition?"

There she went again, he thought, taking charge of the conversation. He decided to wrestle back control. "You know Charlie well?"

"I've only met him once."

He nodded, studying her face. She wasn't big on small talk. "But he's seen you perform?"

"I assume so. Why else would he recommend me?"

Bill was thinking the same question. "Where have you performed, Lydia? I haven't heard of you before."

"But I've heard of you and your band," she responded with a smile. "From what I hear they're very popular. You must be proud of your achievements."

He shrugged modestly and took a swig of beer. "We've worked hard to get where we are. And now it's starting to pay dividends."

"But you need to replace a female singer?" she huskily asked. Even the way she sipped her water was graceful.

He nodded, blinking his eyes a couple of times. There was something about this woman and he couldn't quite put a finger on it—her calm demeanour, her beauty, her presence? She still hadn't answered any of his questions. He could smell her aroma, too. It was sending little messages to his groin. 

"We need someone to join us," he non committaly confirmed. The entire band had a vote in any recruitment, which might be another reason for the underlying tension over Donna's dismissal. Not that he would have handled it any differently.

"I heard you believed in straight talk," she told him, staring into his eyes.

He shivered under her appraising gaze. The way she looked steadily at him with those unusual grey eyes made him feel as if she could read every thought. He wasn't used to being on the back foot. "I do."

"Then why be cagy? Either you're interested in me or you aren't."

He thought for a few seconds and then a slow smile spread across his face. He liked dealing with direct people—you always knew where you stood. Then why was he being so cagy in return? "I'm very interested," he conceded, smiling at her. "Your voice is amazing Lydia, and just as importantly I think you and Susie will complement one another. Like I said, I'm impressed."

"Good. Would you like to know how I feel?"

"Damn, I'm sorry," he apologised, feeling like a dork. What the hell was the matter with him? It had been a long day but that was no excuse. "How would you feel about testing out with us?"

"I'd be honoured," she smiled. "I understand we'd have access to a large following?"

"Access?" It was an unusual word to use.

"My English isn't always perfect," she responded, her red lips curling into a warm smile. It lit up her whole face. "I just meant that you play to big audiences?"

Bill nodded. "Much larger than was here tonight, that's for sure. Does that faze you?"

"Nothing fazes me." There was that look again. The one that said she was in complete control. "I assume you're looking to fill the gap as quickly as you can?"

"We have bookings lined up and the sooner we're back up to full complement the better. Our gig at the Astoria in a couple of weeks is the deadline. That's bigger than we've ever played before. But... it's important to find the right chemistry"

"There's only one way to find out. You'd like me to meet the band and rehearse with them?"

Bill nodded. They were on the same wavelength. "Yes I would—and the sooner the better."

"The band is rehearsing tonight?"

How did she know that? He hadn't mentioned it to Charlie, had he? Or maybe it was just a reasoned assumption. Bands were always rehearsing when they weren't performing. A glance at his watch told him they'd be there for another couple of hours. "Yes."

"There's no time like the present..."

***

Susie's apartment was less than a thirty-minute drive away. Taking her home saved her the expense of getting a taxi, and gave Bill the chance to talk about Lydia's audition.

"What did you think?" he eventually asked. It was almost midnight and for some reason he'd skirted around the subject during most of their journey towards her apartment. 

"I thought you were never going to ask," she quipped, raising an eyebrow. "What's to say? Everyone thinks she's perfect. And she's agreed to join the band. So we're back on track."

He nodded thoughtfully, glancing in the driving mirror as he pulled away from the traffic lights. What was there to say? The plan had been for Lydia to sing a couple of songs with them, just to see whether she'd fit in, though he already knew the answer. The two songs had turned into over a dozen, confirming that her smouldering tone complimented Susie's more classical vocals perfectly. It felt and sounded as if she'd been part of the band for years.

"Everyone thinks she's perfect," he repeated, picking up on Susie's words. "You don't?"

"You do?"

No, he didn't. But he couldn't get his mind around quite what the problem was. Whatever his instinct was telling him, it seemed like Susie was feeling it too. "Tell me," he simply said, heading across the underpass. They'd almost reached her apartment block.

"I just wondered..."

"You wondered what?" 

"Well..." She shuffled around in her seat so that she could face him. "It felt like we'd been singing together for years."

"Go on..."

She waved a hand in the air. "She's... she's very sexual..."

Bill could feel her keen eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. In other circumstances he might have laughed or cracked a joke. That's what she expected. But she'd hit the nail on the head.

He worked it through in his mind, trying to convince himself otherwise. Could it just be that Susie was jealous? After all, it couldn't be easy having a new girl walking onto your patch and instantly stealing the attention. The guys in the band had flocked around the brunette like moths to a flame, despite her doing nothing to overtly encourage their interest. It was almost as if she knew what their reaction would be and accepted it as her right.

No, it wasn't jealousy. 

"In what way?" he asked, giving himself more time to think. 

Susie's head turned so that she could look directly into his face. As he pulled into the small car park outside the grey looking building, their eyes met. "You know."

"I do?"

"You do." She leant towards him and dropped her hand onto his thigh. It might just have been a friendly gesture, but he felt an instant reaction. 

"I guess it's just her way," he said, switching off the engine. His head flopped against the seat backrest. Even just talking about the brunette had him thinking things he shouldn't. He'd been stupid to get involved with Donna and since their relationship ended he'd told himself time and again that his relationship with the band would be strictly professional. 

The problem was that Susie's fingers were stroking along his thigh.

"There's something about her that makes other people feel sexual, too," she whispered, leaning even closer. His erection grew. "The feeling radiates from her and its impossible not to get caught up in it. I'm feeling it. Are you?"

What could he say? He'd been feeling it ever since he'd first met the brunette. Maybe he should head home before he did something stupid?

Her hand slithered from his thigh to his crotch. 

"Thought so," she breathily husked, tracing the outline of his manhood with her fingers. "I don't know if this is for Lydia or me and right now I don't really care. Want to come up for a coffee?"

***

Susie had dreamt of this man thrusting down into her sinewy black body for longer than she cared to remember. Their flirting had always been harmless enough but she'd always felt an edge to it. Thoughts of what might have been had things been different. As well as she and Donna had got on together, she'd always known the blonde had never been a match for him. 

Okay, neither was she. Except maybe in bed? 

Her hands reached up, closing behind his neck, and her fingers softly stroked his shaven head. For a forty-year old he was in good condition. She narrowed her eyes and locked her ankles around his back. "That's it, Bill... fuck your little black girl!"

"Not so little..." he corrected, sucking on one of her chocolate brown nipples. "These are the juiciest tits I've ever seen."

"Juicy?" she grunted happily, thrusting back up into him. Her legs curled tighter around his body. "That's a new one. They've been called lots of things but never juicy." 

"I'm officially christening them that way," he slurped, switching breasts as he ran the very edges of his teeth along the sides of her dark bud. 

"A tit man, huh?" she murmured, arching her back to offer more breast to him. "Maybe that's just as well. When you bite on them like that it makes me want to scream. Harder, Bill... just a little harder."

His instant obedience brought another growl from the back of her throat. Clutching his sides, she twisted her body. Before he knew it, she had him flat on the bed and had repositioned herself on his lap. 

"What the fuck..."

"Good boy," she laughed as she completed the manoeuvre. Settling herself, she rested her palms on his chest. Her thrusting breasts danced deliciously as she sexily rolled her hips. "Don't worry old man—I used to be a gymnast. Just let me do the work and enjoy the sight, huh?"

"Oh fuck..." 

"You like my black beauties?" she giggled, running first one jutting swell across his face and then the other. "Want them?"

"Fuck, yes..." he grunted, feeling himself throb inside her. His mouth devoured the hard nipple as she lowered it to his waiting lips.

"God, you do that so well," she whispered huskily, switching breasts on him. Her chocolate coloured nipples were long, hard and very sensitive. "Suck them, baby. Harder."

"Like this?" he mumbled into her flesh. 

"God, yes!" she whimpered. Her body trembled harder with each caress of his mouth. "Yes... yes... like that... God, yes!"

Her sudden orgasm surprised both of them. It had been a long time since a man had made her cum by simply pleasuring her breasts. Her sweet pussy tightened on his cock, allowing him to feel the contractions as the climax overwhelmed her.

"So good, Bill," she whispered, slowly regaining her sanity. 

Her breathing was heavy, catching each time another little tremor went through her. She idly wondered whether the electricity in her body was due to finally bedding her dream man or as a result of her contact with Lydia. Then she decided she didn't care. Leaning down she kissed him lazily, working her hips to better feel his cock inside her.

They both grunted.

"Staying the night?" she asked, rising up until just the head of his cock remained inside her. "You won't get much sleep..."

She jerked down hard as she spoke and he gasped as he felt himself bottom out. 

"Oh fuck..."

"That's nice?" she teasingly asked, nibbling on his ear. She jerked downwards again and his gasp was louder. "All night, Bill," she whispered again, running her tongue around his lobe.

He began to pump his hips upwards, responding to her teasing and seeking his own release. Susie didn't disappoint him. She matched his thrusts and then took over, allowing him no relief. His hands went to her bouncing breasts, attempting to still them. He couldn't. She was jerking too fast. They fell away onto her hips just as he exploded.

***

The blonde haired man glanced up when the brunette entered his office. Despite the lateness of the hour, he'd been obediently waiting her return to the club since he'd completed Madeline's conversation. He finished his water and refilled his glass, pouring another for Lydia. 

She took the drink. "Everything is well?"

He nodded and mechanically asked. "And with you?" 

"Moving quickly," she replied, gulping a long drink. It had been a couple of hours since she'd taken water and she was feeling the effect. "I'm accepted and the Astoria concert will give us the opportunity to begin to convert their followers."

Charlie Morton looked at her through his semi vacant eyes. "Good."

"I'll personally do the same with the band. The gig will be a good starting point. You did a good job setting up the meeting with him," she told him. It wasn't praise, just a matter-of-fact statement. After all, she'd have been able to persuade any man to do the same thing. "You've converted Madeleine?"

"Earlier tonight, as you instructed," the overweight club owner confirmed. 

She finished the drink and poured herself another glass. "She's now one of us?"

"Of course."

"Good," she repeated, thoughtfully taking another sip from her glass. "We must begin to speed up the process. You need to arrange a party following the Astoria concert..."

The Previous Day

"Come in," Tom Watkins greeted him, ushering Bill into his office. He glanced out into the narrow corridor before closing the door behind him. "Sit down, sit down."

Bill took a seat on the couch and watched as the Old Man hobbled back to his chair. It looked as if his boss's rheumatoid arthritis was playing up badly. "Thanks, Tom. You okay?"

"Damn pain is as bad as my temper," he rasped, his voice cracking with emphasis. "There's some good and bad news and I don't know which outweighs the other."

Bill shuffled in his seat. The Old Man rarely exaggerated but if he gave the bad news first, the picture might not be as bad as he was painting. That might buy him some time. Right now, all he wanted to focus on was tonight's gig at the Astoria. 




Invaders



He was disappointed...

"Dan Foster called half an hour ago," Watkins began. "He wants to take you and me out for dinner to celebrate their sales figures. He can't speak highly enough of the advertising campaign and thinks you're the dog's bollocks. I told him you weren't."

Bill laughed as he straightened his Armani tie. The Old Man had his own way of keeping people's feet on the ground. "Thanks, Tom," he responded with a sardonic grin at his boss's sense of humour. "I appreciate that."

The Old Man's swivel chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Seriously, you did a great job. Any campaign that exceeds the client's expectations is exceptional. This one will win awards for us, too." He nodded in silent acknowledgment that it was a rare combination. "In fact, I have someone waiting in reception from The Campaign Trail."

Bill whistled. "That's who it is? I saw her as I passed through. A young redhead in a skirt so short it's bordering on indecency. Better behave yourself..."

"I started behaving myself a long time ago," Watkins grunted. "Unlike someone I know. What's this about you and my secretary?"

Bill paused. So that was the bad news? The Old Man had found out about him and Susie? Okay, he should have told him personally but he still didn't see where the problem lay. "Tom..." he defensively began, but the Chairman was breaking into a smile.

"Good for you," he said. "She's a good girl. By the way, I would have passed this reporter your way, but it seems her editor specifically wants quotes from me. But if there's any sort of follow up needed, I want you to take it on. Okay?"

"No problem," Bill acknowledged. "If she's waiting, why don't we finish the conversation after the interview?" 

He felt a pang of relief when the Old Man leant back in his chair and shook his head. It was late afternoon already and he should have left the office half an hour ago. There was so much to set up before the band arrived at the venue for tonight's gig. 

He and Susie had missed last night's final rehearsal but Patrick had fed back that it had gone well. He'd also mentioned that Lydia and Frankie had gone for a drink together afterwards. 

That made Bill wonder... 

The brunette only took water and despite the constant attention from the male members of the band, hadn't shown any inclination to get involved with anything other than the music.

"It's your big night at the Astoria," the Old Man explained, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I don't want to spoil that. Besides, I have to leave the office as soon as this woman has grilled me." He paused again. "The thing is Bill, this can't wait."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for Tom Watkins to get to the point. What the hell was it?

"This craze for blonde hair is gathering pace..."

Bill tried not to smile. Was that all he was worried about? The craze bemused him too, but it was hardly an earth shattering issue. They'd even based the Spencer's campaign around it.

"I know what you're going to say," Tom Watkins told him, clearing his throat. "But before you say anything, tell me this. How many people in the agency have dyed their hair?"

"Two," Bill confidently answered. Susie had told him about Tony Daniels and Terry Campbell. She'd joked that they seemed to have suffered from a personality bypass to go with their new blonde hair. That suited him fine. He'd always thought that the cocky young men needed to be taken down a peg or two.

"Six!" the Old Man shocked him. He raised an unsteady finger, pointing it accusingly at his Deputy. "Now listen here, Bill. I couldn't care less about the colour of their hair, but from everything I hear their work output has dropped dramatically. Explain that to me."

Bill didn't hide his surprise. "That doesn't make sense..."

"Exactly! It doesn't make sense. So I called John Cosby. And Bill Bowers. Want to know something? They checked and found they had the same problem in their Agencies."

The two men stared at one another silently before the Old Man spoke again.

"There's more to this than meets the eye, Bill, believe me. I've learned to trust my instincts over the years. First thing tomorrow, I want you to meet with Sally Cowell. Talk to her about what I've told you and see what you can come up with."

Bill nodded. If something was going on, their HR Manager would know. 

"Meanwhile, I'm going to call Steve Russo."

"Steve Russo?"

"London Business School. He's the Behavioural Science Professor. I've used him before on a couple of things and this will fascinate him." He stood up, his face contorted as he held his back. 

"You okay, Tom?"

Watkins' forced smile acknowledged the look of concern on the younger man's face. He had ore to worry about than the pain from his back. "Look, Bill, this craze is starting to affect what we do and I want to be ahead of the game. At the minute, I'm playing catch up. I want us to try and meet him tomorrow. Call me later this evening and I'll let you know the arrangements."

***

Although the predicted storm hadn't arrived, it would have taken more than the severe weather warning to deter fans from turning up for the concert. Charlie had gone overboard with the advanced publicity and not only was the arena was filled to capacity; the screaming heaving mass of bodies had been living every moment for the last hour and a half.

There was nothing special about the venue except that this was the Astoria—full of tradition and history. Despite their past differences, he had to acknowledge that Charlie Morton had come up with goods this time. Tonight's gig elevated the band to another level, to the big time. Or more accurately, with careful management it could be the start of the big time. 

His eyes flickered back to the stage as the band closed in on their final number. If Frankie's performance had been strangely subdued tonight, there were no such problems with the rest of the band. The guys were on fire and the two women were red hot. Donna and Susie sang well together, but Lydia brought a different dimension. 

He couldn't prevent a grin as he watched the two of them go into an impromptu dance together. The final song—A Kiss to Remember—was a jazzy-bluesy number, but the way the women sang it added an additional element. Sex.

Bill realised what Lydia had in mind before Susie did. 

His girlfriend's black cleavage spilt over her V-neck top with every sexy sway of her body and those low-rise jeans looked like they could have been sprayed on. Lydia effused sex in a different way and he still hadn't been able to put his finger on it. Yes, her figuring hugging short dress looked sensational on her slender body, but it was the ever present invisible magnetism she exuded that found its way to a man's very core.

He discreetly adjusted his semi-erection as the brunette closed in on his girlfriend. Their arms went around each other's shoulder as they reached the final notes and then Lydia's lips were closing in. Susie's reaction turned from tentative to full blown. As the kiss turned passionate, the electricity in the whooping crowd threatened to take the roof off.

His cock grew to its full length as his gaze instinctively switched to the wild reaction from the watching fans. The catcalls, cheers and whistles seemed to fill the entire arena.

Maybe it was his latest conversation with The Old Man, but at that moment he became aware of the blonde heads across the auditorium. He hadn't realised there were that many. And there was something else. While the majority of other fans were fully immersed in the music, the surprisingly significant number of blonde men seemed focused on the women around. If he didn't know better, he'd have suspected there was some kind of an orchestrated effort to find partners for the evening. 

He filed the thoughts away for future reference, cursing himself when he realised he hadn't called the Old Man tonight as instructed. 

Shit...

***

Susie was practically dancing with joy when Bill entered the dressing room. They all were, except for Lydia. She was composed, doing what she always seemed to do and taking it all in her stride. The hug Harry gave the brunette seemed to last for a few seconds longer than necessary. That was strange—Patrick had said it was Frankie she'd gone off with after the previous night's rehearsal. Maybe he was reading too much into it?

"What did you think?" Susie excitedly asked him, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. His lips parted but no sound came out. How could it when her glossy lips were already covering his? As their tongues entwined, Bill felt his erection grow fully again. It hadn't gone away since the girl-girl kiss on stage.

"What do I think?" he grinned, pulling his head back so that he could look into her excited eyes. "I think that was a helluva kiss..."

Her happy eyes beamed into his as she tilted her head forward. "Want another?"

"Not that one," he laughed, raising his eyebrows as he pulled her curves more tightly against him. 

She understood immediately and her face coloured with embarrassment as she met his accusatory stare. "You're mad?"

"Hell no," he said, shaking his head. His aroused eyes gleamed back into hers and he laughed. "Like everyone else in the audience who watched it, I'm horny."

She laughed and kissed him again, even harder. "You're horny?" she gasped, slurping off his lips. Her hand found his hardness through his trousers. "Mmm, that feels nice. But it will feel even better inside me..."

Her touch was hot and he felt his cock throb in anticipation. A hand on his shoulder temporarily broke the spell. "Here, mate," Patrick said, handing him a beer. He passed another to Susie as the two lovers separated. "Cheers."

"Cheers, Patrick," Bill returned, then held his bottle up in the air. He swung his head around to grin at the other members of the band. "Great job, everyone." 

A huge cheer went up. Patrick's Swedish girlfriend had joined them and so had Tony, the guitarist's. He should chat to them, but he turned back to Susie first.

"You were great."

"I felt like I could fly," she excitedly told him as she slipped a hand around his waist for another celebratory hug. "I've never experienced anything like that, Bill."

"Today its London, tomorrow the world," he laughed, momentarily distracted. Over her shoulder, he could see Lydia leaving the room, closely followed by Harry. Before he had a chance to draw any conclusion, the hand stroking his ass regained his attention. When he glanced back at Susie, his gaze fell into her sweat stained black cleavage. She grinned at him when he eventually met her eyes.

"I know what you're thinking," she whispered, leaning closer and licking around his ear. "And I was thinking the same thing.

"What's that?" he murmured, feeling a surge of heat register in his groin.

"You're wondering if there's somewhere in here we can go so you can fuck me..."

His cock began to throb again. "I have a better idea," he told her, sliding a hand onto her peachy ass as he leant in for another, softer, kiss. There wasn't any chance of them lasting out the evening without some relief. The intention had been to get a taxi back to his house and another to the party after a quick shower. But if they hurried...

"Which is?"

"If we leave soon, we'll have half an hour to spare when we get to mine..."

Her expressive eyes widened. "Wanna go now?" she laughed, turning to the side so that no one could see the way she slid a hand across his erection again. "Or maybe we can stop somewhere on our way to the party? It's absolutely ages since I've been fucked in a car... and never in a Merc."

Bill couldn't help laughing again. "Let me say hello to Greta and Tessa while you get yourself sorted," he suggested, taking a swig from his beer. "Then I just have a quick call to make to make to Tom Watkins."

"The Old Man? At this time? Why?"

"Long story," he answered. "You told me about Tony Daniels and Terry Campbell. Well, it seems there are another four like them."

"Dyed their hair blonde? All with the same personality bypass?" She laughed aloud. "You know the myth about dumb blonde stereotypes. My theory is that this is role reversal. Maybe it applies to men as well?" 

"Very funny..."

"Good job I'm dark haired," she continued. "That just confirms my intelligence. As for your shaven head, what colour are you, anyway?"

"You've seen me naked. What do you think?"

Susie slid her body against him and this time she bit down aggressively on his earlobe. "I think you should do your thing while I find the restrooms. Because when we get to your place, Mr. Fawcett, this little black girl is going to fuck you silly." 

***

Susie felt giddy as she hurried along the corridor. She'd never experienced such an atmosphere before. Is this what success felt like? Her body was still pulsating with the massive surge of sexual adrenalin from performing infront of two thousand adoring fans. 

The sooner she and Bill got out of there, the better. If she didn't get rid of some of this sexual tension, she'd scream...

The sounds she heard as she reached the restrooms stopped her in her tracks. It seemed she wasn't the only one feeling the buzz. She hesitated before taking a step forward. She couldn't do this, could she? Her logical mind told her to turn around and walk away, but the adrenalin running through her body demanded something more.

The door was frosted glass but she was sure she could see shadows through it. The unmistakeable grunts she could hear were male and her heart beat faster when she recalled the similar sounds Bill made when they were fucking. She loved the moment his orgasm approached and if she wasn't mistaken, the guy behind the door was close, too.

Before she knew it, her shaking fingers were silently pushing the door open. She could always apologise for walking in on them, couldn't she? Her heart raced faster at the sight infront of her. Lydia was the last person she expected to see. The brunette was facing her, perched on the cool surface of the counter with her legs wrapped around the guy pumping in and out of her. Her dress was pulled up to her waist and her tiny red thong lay on the floor beside his feet.

The man was familiar, too. The leather trousers around his ankles and flowery shirt still on his back left no doubt that it was Harry. 

Susie knew she should immediately leave but paused halfway through her backward step. Lydia's dull grey eyes were silently telling her it was okay to watch. Harry's head was buried in her neck as he grunted his way towards his orgasm. 

Lydia's eyes homed in on Susie's, almost mesmeric in their quality. The brunette's fingers clutched the back of Harry's neck, curling in his long hair as she urged him on. When she raised her long legs higher and tighter around his back, the surge of lust that fed its way around Susie's body was impossible to resist. Leaning back against the bathroom door, her black hands slid to her jeans, drawing down the zip and sliding her hand inside. 

"Oh fuck," she heard Harry grunt as he began to pump faster. "Oh fuck..."

Her gaze found Lydia's again. The brunette had planted the soles of her feet on the counter so that she created a better purchase to match Harry's thrusts. Susie rubbed her fingertips along her wetness as she watched. The teasing feather light touch made her legs buckle.

"Wait," Harry grunted, trying to stave off the inevitable. "Wait..."

The brunette ignored his pleas. She reminded Susie of an animal in the wild, wrapping her body around her prey with an unerring ease. The counter seemed to bounce under her as she thrust upwards with mechanical precision, relentlessly taking him to his orgasm.

When Harry's body submitted to the assault, Susie's teasing fingers paused. She watched transfixed as Lydia held Harry's jerking body, stroking his hair as she coaxed out his seed, milking her prey of every single drop. Eventually satisfied, the brunette manoeuvred herself from her lover, leaving him slumped against the counter top.

Her eyes stayed on Susie's as she took a step towards her.

***

It had taken Bill some time to finish his conversations in the dressing room and them to find a suitable place to make his phone call. Backstage, couples were pairing off all around him. Even in the open of the narrow corridors or quiet corners, they were all over one another. He had no idea whether they were fans that had infiltrated security or if they worked at the venue. What he did know was that all the men had blonde hair...

The heavy sexual activity enhanced his own arousal but for some reason he couldn't quite fathom, he felt nervous about having left Susie alone. The sooner he spoke to the Old Man and returned to the dressing rooms, the better he'd feel. 

Checking that he was sufficiently away from any prying ears, he made the call. Tom Watkins' usually growly tone sounded much softer and he quickly checked the name displayed on his caller identity to make sure he hadn't misdialled. "Tom?" 

"Yes."

"It's Bill."

"Yes."

Damn. That was why his tone was different. When the Old Man was that offhand, it usually meant he was preoccupied with something. He should have made the call much earlier, of course. Maybe his boss was already in bed? 

"How did the magazine interview go?" he asked conversationally. "Was the redhead as sweet as she looked?"

Even over the phone, he could imagine the look on Tom Watkins' face. The Old Man would be grinning inside but would already have a put-down on his lips.

"The interview went well. It didn't take long."

Bill paused. The last thing he'd expected was such a non committal response. What the heck was wrong? Maybe Watkins had someone with him? Or perhaps his rheumatoid arthritis was still playing up. "Look, I'm sorry if I've called at a bad time..."

"It's not a bad time."

"Okay." He paused again, trying but failing to figure it out. "You asked me to call for details of the Steve Russo meeting," he eventually settled for saying.

"Who?"

"Steve Russo. The London Business School guy. You were going to speak to him, Tom."

"There's no reason to talk to him."

Bill froze. Every nerve end in his body went on alert. "No reason? But you said—"

"There's no reason," the Old Man repeated, cutting him off. "Everything is fine. You'll see later tonight. Call into my office in the morning. Goodnight."

Bill stared at his mobile phone as the line went dead. Tom Watkins rarely made U-turns and when he did, he always had a good reason. He'd have to wait until the morning to find out, but what did that later tonight comment mean? And why talk in such a detached way? 

It was impossible to ignore the sudden sense of foreboding that came with each thought.

***

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked as she approached the black girl. Her inquisitive eyes were studying Susie's hand that remained inside her jeans. She pulled it free and held it up to her face, staring at the juice slicked black fingers. "This is your custom?" 

Susie felt her heart pump inside her chest. Her custom? Lydia occasionally had a strange way of expressing herself. When the brunette brought the fingers to her nose and sniffed them, Susie gasped. When she took one between her lips, her legs began to tremble. 

"You like this?" Lydia slurped, her probing eyes examining the reaction on Susie's face as she took a second finger inside her mouth. She sucked hard on both digits before pulling them free. "I see you do. Earth women are interesting creatures."

Earth women? 

The words made no sense to Susie and even if they had, the sexy way the brunette had fellated her fingers made it difficult to think of anything other than the pleasure of the moment. She slumped back against the door, grateful for the support behind her.