Kronk

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dr. Perrywit, having recovered from his contretemps in the presence of Burt, Dirk and Uncle Dan, decided to confess all. He had his standards. He could no longer keep the knowledge of his own carelessness or of Professor Greylaw’s success to himself.

That Professor Greylaw had succeeded with the Tranquillity project there could be no doubt. And it was partly the fault of that idiot Slink woman for being an idiot woman that he had not paid more attention to her reports of conditions at Greylaw’s establishment in Sussex.

One day, he promised himself, he would ravish the big bitch. If it were the last thing he did.

He would give her the merest squirt of freezair, lower her weakly resisting body to the floor, tear that damned virginal cat-suit from those proudly voluptuous breasts and… and… and…

With excruciatingly masochistic satisfaction, on his first day back at work, Dr. Perrywit’s very first task was to explain the cause of his recent discomfort to Dr. Slink. While reproving her for not fully reporting on Professor Greylaw and his activities, nevertheless as her immediate senior in MicroWar, he was prepared to accept responsibility for the present situation. So, with the nation’s interests at heart, he told her, and ignoring the trifle of his own probably ruined career, he would now make a full report of the situation to the head of the Microbiological Warfare Division and if necessary to the Minister of International Security and Race Harmony. This thing, he concluded, was big. It was more important than the broken career of a potentially distinguished civil servant; more important, even, than his life and happiness.

Dr. Perrywit was almost surprised by his own nobility.

He was definitely surprised by Dr. Slink’s reaction.

“Thank heaven,” she said with immense relief, “that you are not an agent of the Mongol He looked at her blankly. “What the devil has got into you, woman?”

Dr. Slink was covered with confusion. Her conversation with Peter Karamazov had been in the strictest confidence, and he had told her that there was a foreign agent called Dostoievsky with a confederate working in MicroWar, and he had mentioned that Dr. Perrywit was under suspicion, and it had looked as if the suspicion was justified. Oh, dear, it was all very confusing because here was poor Dr. Perrywit practically blaming himself for everything and preparing to make a full report to the head of MicroWar.

But then a terrible thought crossed her mind. Wouldn’t a foreign agent, suspecting he was under suspicion, attempt to divert that suspicion in some way? Could this be what Dr.

Perrywit was now doing? Peter had warned her that there was danger. He had told her to be on guard. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

“I said: what the devil has got into you, woman?”

Dr. Slink shivered. Was there now a certain subtle menace in Dr. Perrywit’s voice? Would he attempt to compel her to reveal her secret knowledge? Dr. Perrywit stood between her and the door. Room and door were soundproofed. Who could possibly hear if she screamed?

Her breasts heaved. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened. Her face paled.

Dr. Perrywit took a step towards her. “Dammit, Dorothea, have you lost your tongue?”

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “Don’t touch me. How can I be sure that you are not in league with Dostoievsky!”

Dr. Perrywit took another step. Dr. Slink retreated, still facing him, her breasts aching with anxiety, her limbs trembling as she tried not to think of unthinkable horrors.

“What is all this drivel about Mongol hordes and Dostoievsky?”

“You deny it?”

“What is there to deny?”

“So you don’t deny it!”

Dr. Perrywit began to feel as if all things reasonable were dissolving. Now, on top of the Greylaw fiasco, his assistant’s sanity seemed to be imploding.

“God save us all,” roared Dr. Perrywit, “you are talking in riddles, you stupid cow! Now try hard for a moment of coherence and tell me about this Mongol Dostoievsky thing. I have enough trouble without my assistant spiralling round the twist.”

Dr. Slink’s breasts heaved fit to burst through her cat-suit. Never had a man spoken to her like this before. It was — it was almost like being rough-handed physically. Now she was certain. An Englishman — a true Englishman — would not behave thus to a lady.

“Beast,” she breathed, “how does it feel to be a traitor to the Mother Country?”

Dr. Perrywit tried hopelessly to retain some grip upon a tenuous thread of sanity. “I say, Dorothea,” he expostulated, “whatever you are talking about — and I haven’t the faintest idea -

you have said quite enough. Now let us forget all this drivel and concentrate on practical aspects of the Greylaw affar.” He held out his hands, beseeching her to reassume the professional persona he had formerly known.

Dr. Slink misinterpreted his gesture. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! You will obtain nothing by force.” She retreated another couple of steps but, unfortunately, her left foot became entangled with the desk computer cable. She fell backwards, her head striking a glancing blow on the desk on the way down.

Dr. Slink, arms and legs spread out, breasts still heaving, lay flat on her back on the deep pile carpet. Her eyes closed, then opened and rolled, then closed and opened and rolled. One arm clutched briefly, limply and protectively at her bosom, then flopped. Her lips moved. She seemed to sigh deeply.

Thunderstruck, Dr. Perrywit looked at her, registering each delicious tremor in each delicious limb of her supine body. This was more than mortal man could bear. This was what he had always dreamed of.

With a wild cry, he flung himself upon her, tearing viciously at the cat-suit, exposing more and more of that superb ivory flesh. Briefly she seemed to return to full consciousness. Briefly and quite ineffectually she attempted to resist. Then, as Dr. Perrywit turned his attention to the flimsy material protecting those gorgeous thighs, she closed her eyes once more. Her mouth opened, and an irresistible tip of pink tongue protruded.

Dr. Perrywit ripped hastily at his own clothing, then he lay between Dr. Slink’s legs and thrust and thrust and thrust…

And nothing…

The sweat dripped off his forehead.

He kissed her, he fondled her, he gripped her, he pinched her. He thrust and thrust and thrust.

And nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Impotent!

Presently Dr. Perrywit detached himself sadly from Dr. Slink, who still lay motionless, breathing somewhat heavily. He was shaking and dripping with sweat. He felt terrible. He needed his pills. He sat on his haunches and began to cry.

Dr. Slink withdrew her tongue, opened her eyes, sat up, and screamed. And screamed. And SCREAMED.

Zipping himself up, Dr. Perrywit withdrew hastily from the office. After half an hour and two pink pills, he felt sufficiently in control of himself to seek an interview with Sir Joshua After half an hour Dr. Slink also felt sufficiently in control of herself to seek an interview Quartz, head of the Microbiological Warfare Division.

with the head of the Microbiological Warfare Division.

Dr. Perrywit revealed everything he knew, which was not a great deal, about Professor Greylaw and Project Tranquillity.

Dr. Slink charged Dr. Perrywit with multiple rape.

She also named a gentleman called Dostoievsky.