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.