Appleby Blush Ch. 01

Chapter 1: The Case

Sandra Wilson wasn't happy. But then, she hadn't been happy since the whole DeVere-George Blair business. Okay, it might have been an operation that the Vice squad shouldn't have had any part of. But they'd prevented murder, killed one of the most dangerous assassins in Europe and avoided a full-scale scandal. What was their reward?

Heads had rolled!

It had become political, fast. Donny Webster, Head of London Met's Vice team, had been forced into early retirement. Taffy Boyd, the Narcotics wireman who'd surreptitiously helped them, had been transferred to some stick-in-the-mud hamlet.

And Jack Palmer had almost got thrown in jail. The only thing that had saved him was his hasty resignation and signed documents confirming he'd never publicly discuss the case. It was so unfair. Jack had been a fundamental part of their achievements. Now he'd been reduced to working as a private investigator, whereas she'd been promoted to take charge of Vice.

Frankly, it stunk.

So did the rumours reaching her ears right now—about a certain Donald Appleby. The apparently legitimate global businessman had been mentioned too many times for her liking. There were too many loose ends, all seeming to point to some sort of involvement. They had so many Vice cases on the go and almost without exception, Appleby's name seemed to crop up somewhere or other.

The brunette had Jack Palmer to thank for her instincts. Her friend and ex-fellow cop had mentored her well. Those same gut feelings had led the team to Dominic DeVere, and to George Blair, of course, even though they eventually hadn't been able to pin a thing on the Labour leader. The Commissioner's decision to break-up their team had seen to that but Blair had been heavily involved all the same.

Thank goodness he hadn't won the General Election, although had the British public seen those compromising photographs of Alistair Brinkley-Jones before they'd voted, in all likelihood it would have been Blair and not the Conservative leader who'd taken power.

Brinkley-Jones reign as Prime Minister had been the shortest in political history and that was no more than the scumbag deserved. Sandra Wilson had brought lots of criminals to justice for their involvement in vice, but those in high places always seemed to find a way out.

She wasn't going to allow that to happen with Donald Appleby...

She couldn't prove a thing—yet—but her antennae had gone up and intuitively she knew this was something she should follow up. A secretive phone call to Taffy Boyd had seen the Welshman do some checking behind the scenes. He'd confirmed that Appleby was on their list of people Narcotics were interested in, but with nothing more than a few unusable comments from contacts to support that curiosity.

She helped herself to a coffee from the machine and glanced at her watch. It would be another couple of hours before her team arrived. God, she hated these ridiculously early starts but her workload didn't give her much choice

At times like this she wished the old team were still together. What she'd give for Donny Webster and Jack Palmer to be working on this with her. She still had Alex Goodwin, of course—good old reliable Alex. The barrel-chested man had taken the splitting of the team hard, too and some of the fire had gone out. Although he continued to keep himself in great shape, he was pushing sixty and his main objective nowadays seemed to be reaching retirement.

They hadn't spoken much recently. The barrier that had been between them ever since she'd ended their affair had solidified once he'd married Sally. Their sudden wedding had surprised her, even though Goodwin had known the female chef for a long time. Six months later he was separated again and although she could have asked him about it, opening up some old wounds was the last thing she wanted.

Alex was still loyal to her, of course. She knew that. He'd run through a brick wall if she asked. That's why she'd ask him to help on this case. She needed someone she could trust, especially with the rumours of bent cops still being whispered throughout the Met.

It wasn't just that, of course. The two female cops she had set up to work undercover with her needed some protection. Kirsten was sufficiently experienced to take care of herself, of course. But Alice was new to all of this. The twenty-four year old female Detective reminded her so much of herself at that age. Alice had the same eagerness and fearlessness as a young Sandra Wilson and despite her stunning looks, had a sharp brain on her. This was no stereotypical blonde!

Still, it would be her first real case and she'd need some extra guidance. And who better to provide that than Alex Goodwin. Having the two of them working in the same Unit was unusual and this would be the first time they were both involved in the same case. But the more she thought it through, the more sense it made.

Alice had been okay with the idea when she'd told her she was going to involve her father, too. She'd assess Goodwin's reaction when she spoke to him before the team meeting.

***

"Angela, pop into my office," Donald Appleby instructed.

Replacing the phone before she could answer, he unfastened his belt and worked his trousers and boxers around his knees. It would save time. Reaching forward, he unscrewed the top of a small phial and allowed a single drop of the liquid to splash into the drink he'd just poured. It settled in seconds, turning the white wine into what appeared to be rosé.

A blush wine would have been a better term. Appleby Blush.

The large floor to ceiling window behind his desk framed the London skyline as if it were an oil painting. It wasn't the scene behind him that his secretary's gaze fixed on as she entered his office. It was the way her pony tailed employer was idly fondling his erect cock.

The lewd scene always aroused her.

Walking across to the impressive desk, the young woman took the glass he held out to her and threw it down in one go. He never got tired of looking at her, a cross between Demi Moore and Jeanne Tripplehorn, though her jet black hair was much shorter than either. She loved the way her employer always offered her wine before their lovemaking sessions. The drink even seemed to increase her arousal...

She was already unbuttoning her white blouse as she made her way around to his side of the desk, her deep brown eyes focusing on the semi erect cock that grew larger with every jerking stroke of his hand.

"Let me help," she breathed in that upper class voice as she rounded the desk and ripped the cups of her bra upwards. Her Playboy-like breasts bounced free.

She fed one to his mouth as her hand replaced his, corkscrewing her fingers around the shaft as he immediately took one of her pink nipples between his lips. Her free hand found his pony tail, gripping it tightly as his teeth playfully pulled on the hard bud.

Appleby felt his manhood grow further under her expert touch. Young flesh was the fifty-year-old man's lifeblood. There was never a shortage with his status and his secretary was as hot as they came. The recently developed liquid aphrodisiac she'd just consumed always turned her from a shy but voluptuous looking woman into a sex crazed bitch.

The drug brought out the animal in a woman, arousing them beyond anything they'd ever experienced. A single dose generally kicked in for a two hour period, but with some females it seemed to last much longer. A couple of drops kept the woman on heat all night.

Appleby Blush, they'd christened it. It would make him millions...

Reluctantly easing his lips from her breasts, his attractive secretary sank to her knees and took his hardness between her talented lips. She was almost salivating as the need overpowered her.

Appleby placed a hairy hand onto the back of her head as he moaned, tightening it in her short, dark locks as she began to mouth-fuck him. Damn, this woman was good. Every bit as good as any he'd ever had—except maybe for Carmella of course. Closing his eyes, he reflected on how wonderful life was. Not that he hadn't worked hard to put himself in this position. He had—very hard. That was why he was in his office at seven every morning.

It was his office... his building... his business.

From humble beginnings, he'd built it into the multi million pound organisation it was today—remarkable for a business founded on prostitution. But he'd learnt very early that real success came from control and his girls had provided him with that control. Clients quickly came around to his way of thinking when he presented them with photographic evidence of their indiscretions.

Especially the most powerful of them. But, of course, they had the most to lose...

He didn't survive simply by extortion, of course. He rewarded his clients, too. The party he was hosting in a couple of nights would be the biggest and grandest yet—an opportunity to thank existing contacts and provide a tangible demonstration of the incentives available to the new contacts he was attempting to cultivate.

All the girls who worked for him would be on duty at the party, providing their services to carefully selected guests. The action, naturally enough, would be recorded on the hidden cameras around his mansion and used as appropriate going forward.

More than anything however, if his talks with Joseph Nmobu went well over the next couple of days, the party would crown his greatest achievement. Negotiating a contract for the mass production Appleby Blush was the final step in his master plan. A combination of the aphrodisiac and narcotics would see him able to rapidly expand his business interests throughout Europe. Then worldwide...

His scientific team's discovery had been a complete accident. Seeking a cure for something he could no longer remember, they'd stumbled across an aphrodisiac so strong that it virtually turned woman into sex-crazed nymphomaniacs. It worked equally well with men, but Appleby knew his fortune would be enhanced by its application to the female sex.

Like the sexy bitch on her knees between his legs right now.

Angela was a sophisticated woman with a body to die for, even if there wasn't much between her ears. She'd resisted his early advances for some time—she'd only recently married, after all, and would never dream of cheating on her husband. In Appleby's world, any such resistance invariably meant an early exit from their well paid job. But this stunning bitch was so stylish, so classy, so sexy, he'd seen her as a challenge.

He wasn't sure whether she would have eventually given in and nor did he care. A single drop of Appleby Blush had made the question hypothetical, as well as rewarding his foresight in keeping the refined woman on his payroll. Not only had she displayed a wild side he could never have imagined, she'd proved to be an insatiable bitch.

It was just as well he prided himself on his stamina.

Even at fifty years of age, the bespectacled Appleby maintained a sexual appetite the equal to any younger man. But then, he thought of himself as young at heart. The way he pulled his silvery grey hair back behind his head into a ponytail gave him a youthful, rebellious look and even under the expensive looking dark blue suit his muscular build was clear.

His hand went to Angela's jet black hair, gripping it tightly between his fingers. Fuck, he was congratulating himself on his sexual prowess and yet if the sexy bitch kept sucking him like that, he'd cum soon. And he hadn't fucked her yet.

But that pleasure was only moments away...

He reached across her bobbing head and opened the small silver box, wetting his finger with his tongue before scooping up the white powder. He rubbed it across his lips before dragging her upwards and smiling encouragingly as her fevered eyes stared into his.

"Open up," he softly told her, nudging her pink lips with the side of her finger.

As her mouth obediently widened, he rubbed the wet remains of the white powder into her gums, mixing it with the saliva that hung from her lips and trailed down onto his towering manhood. The sex crazed bitch sucked on his finger like she had on his cock.

One day, he'd fully initiate her into the delights of cocaine, but maybe not yet. One step at a time...

The recent interests he'd established in Columbia and the Middle East had added narcotics into his business mix—swelling his earnings potential and providing a tool to support his prostitution and money laundering activities. Now, with Appleby Blush to support his other activities, the possibilities were simply endless. The ethical question had never been an issue for him or for any of those who worked at the highest level of his business. Where money was concerned, people lost their morals quicker than Essex girls lost their virginity.

Angela was an Essex girl. And right now, she had him on the verge of blowing...

***

"God, you're a sexy bitch," the young man groaned. His voice sounded strained as the cute, dimpled blonde grinded her body down on him. They'd continuously made love since they'd woken and yet she still wasn't satisfied.

"You don't want to fuck again?" Alice Goodwin teasingly murmured as she rotated on his cock. Her long blonde hair swayed seductively and her hands on his chest dug in harder. "I didn't hear you complain last night."

He grunted, reaching up to cover her bouncing breasts with his palms. The half light that covered the bedroom added to the eroticism of the scene.

Alice moaned. She knew that one night stands were frowned on in the Met but she didn't have time for a steady boyfriend and with such a high sex drive, her need for relief was constant. So picking up a guy in a bar and then going back to spend the night at his place was the perfect way of satisfying her needs, particularly as she made a point of keeping her identity secret. Without exception, she never saw her one-night lovers again.

"Just trying to work off some energy before I leave you," she teased, tightening her velvet vice around his hardness.

He groaned again at the sensation, arching his back on the bed and staring down at their union. A thin blonde landing strip guarded her labial lips and the sight of them stretching around his manhood brought another moan.

"Geez, Belinda," he mumbled, starting to caress her breasts again.

Alice's smile sexily touched the corners of her lips. She always used that name. As well as preserving her anonymity, it was fun pretending to be someone else. Since Sandra Wilson had told her about the undercover Appleby case, her sex drive had scorched into the stratosphere. This was her first real chance to prove herself. Her dad hadn't wanted her to become a cop, and always went on and on about the dangers involved. He meant well, but for God's sake sometimes he made her head ache.

She was twenty two, not an immature teenager!

Every objection only firmed her resolve. She had her mind set on a successful career in the Met and try as he might he'd never been able to dissuade her otherwise.

She paused in her movements, holding her lover inside. "That's nice?" she teasingly asked, raising herself until just the head of his cock was inside her.

"I'm close," he told her, his fingernails digging into her hips as he tried to hold back.

She grinned down at him in that cute way of hers. The timing was perfect—as much as she was tempted to prolong the session, she needed to get into the office for Wilson's team meeting. Sandra would be telling her dad right now about Alice's involvement in the case and she could just imagine his reaction. On top of that, he'd be pissed that she hadn't confided in him, but Sandra had made it clear that she wanted to be the one to break the news.

"You're close?" she mimicked, returning her attention to the man beneath her. His breath was coming in short, heavy pants. "I guess Belinda is just too hot for you, eh?"

He shook his head but his narrowed eyes gave the game away. They were filled with arousal and she tightened her internal muscles on him again.

"Geez, Belinda,"

"Want to cum for me, baby?" she whispered, bracing a hand on the nape of his neck and pausing to look down at their union. Perspiration covered their bodies and her lover's chest was rising and falling as if someone was pumping adrenalin through him.

Leaning forward, her lips found his and she flicked her tongue across his mouth like a cat licking at cream. It was time to build up the pace. She started to move, softly at first and then powering down on him. As he grunted she began to grind down even faster. She moaned with each rapid down-thrust, becoming lost in the moment as the sound of their skin slapping against each other juddered through both of their bodies.

The smooth flanks of her inner thighs were aching from their night of sex but she ignored the minor discomfort. She changed direction, now rotating her hard buttocks in circles on his cock. His hands found her breasts again. Her nipples were deliciously hard against his palms, but the speed of her movements was such that he was unable to keep hold of them. Her hips worked faster as she took him towards the finishing line.

His body bounced on the bed. Her tits danced an erotic dance. His groans increased. Her inner thighs tightened around his sides, controlling him like a rodeo rider on a bucking bronco. She threw her head back and gasped, tightening the walls of her pussy around him as she gave him the ripple.

"Belinda..." he gasped, confirming the moment had arrived. "Oh fuck—"

Alice came with him, groaning aloud as his orgasm fired hers. Life really couldn't get much better...

***

Kirsten Tobin awoke with a start. At first she thought she was hearing things, but her boyfriend's elbow in his ribs confirmed it was the phone.

The brunette glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. It had been three in the morning when she'd finished the report for Sandra Wilson. Her boss had told her to email it to her when it was finished and then take the opportunity to grab some extra sleep before arriving at the Met this morning. As long as she was there for the team meeting, she'd said.

Rubbing her eyes, she reached for the phone as she lifted the crumpled white sheets and swung her bare legs over the side of the bed.

"Miss Watson, please."

Miss Watson? Damn, it was a wrong number. She was just about to hang up when realisation suddenly hit her. Her heart leapt.

"Yes? That's me."

"Miss Watson, my name is Tony Daly. I'm calling from Appleby Modelling."

"Yes, hello..." she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You recently answered one of our adverts and requested an audition."

"Yes, yes I did."

"We'd like to see you," the deep voice continued. "Sometime this afternoon. I'm assuming that will be convenient?"

Kirsten's heart beat faster—Sandra would be delighted. They'd dangled the bait and now they had their second nibble. Alice had been invited to the Agency and now she was too. But Alice's was tomorrow, wasn't it?

"That will be fine," she answered. "What time did you have in mind?"

"Three thirty," came the reply, the tone suggesting there was no room for negotiation.

"That will be great, Mr. Daly. Should I ask for you or Mr. Appleby when I arrive?"

The voice laughed softly. "I deal with the modelling side of the things, Miss Watson," he explained. "Appleby Productions is only one part of the Appleby Empire."

"Yes, yes, of course," she answered, smiling to herself. Making him think she was dumb would give her an advantage.

"Good. I'll see you later this afternoon."

As the dial tone filled her ear, Kirsten stared at the phone for a moment, lost in thought. She was at the crossroads in her career with the Met, she knew that. Okay, it had been her childhood ambition, but the force wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Other people had told her she had the looks and figure to be a model, so it was ironic that their current case should focus on a modelling agency. Maybe a side benefit would be that she'd get an insight into whether that sort of future was possible?