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Lollipop

Page 14

by David Fletcher


  But Renton hardly noticed. He'd been distracted. And the distraction was Skissy's right hand. It was on his thigh and not far from where his thigh became that no man's land between top of legs and start of belly. Another couple of inches to the left and it'd be right in his pillbox.

  'Errh, would you mind if we stepped over to the side there? So that we can see a bit better. You know, for when the Carvina… the Carviva… errh for when the entertainment and stuff starts. I'm sure that the barman'll bring you your drinks.' And with that he was off his stool and dashing to the broad balustrade that overlooked the ballroom.

  Skissy and Spanka followed. They were not to be deterred. They had a man for the evening, a man who would buy them drinks. And Renton now knew that there was no way he was going to lose them. Well, that was OK. That was what he'd expected. But he could do without the body search stuff. He just hoped that this was an aberration, an early evening slip up by Miss Skissy, who would have now got the message - that he wasn't into that sort of stuff.

  But his hopes were in vain.

  In the next twenty minutes, as the bar and the ballroom filled with the evening's revellers, Renton had every inch of his body between his nipples and his knees, teased, squeezed, fondled and stroked - and by both of them. In fact, Spanka was the worse of the two. Her tactile offerings extended to the occasional clench-and-wrench, and with such vigour that it brought tears to his eyes.

  Conversation was a little patchy, not to say spasmodic, with words being exchanged only during gaps in the gropings. And they were few and far between. Typically they consisted of something along lines of 'wow! look at her down there,' generally attributable to Skissy or Spanka, followed by a solitary 'where?' from Renton, and completed by a, 'yeah, don't it make you feel horny,' from the other member of the search-and-frisk team. Then it would be another bout of hand to wand combat with Renton doing his best to protect his inner keep, but most of the time failing. And all the while he was trying to keep his mind on his real purpose: his attempt to spot blondes in the throng. But it was all very tricky.

  He found his attention kept drifting to the occupants of the bar. There were obviously fewer of them than there were hordes down below and they were nearer, far easier to observe, and in a way more interesting - although Renton wasn't quite sure why.

  It wasn't what they were doing to each other - because most of them were doing exactly what Skissy and Spanka had been doing since he'd first met them: feeling the rude bits of their neighbours. It was obviously what went on in this bar. No, it was something else. And then it dawned on him. He noticed it in the men first. They were all ever so nice. Then he noticed the women; they were even nicer. The whole lot of them looked as though they'd been touched up for their evening out - in the appearance rather than the biblical sense. And, hey, come to think of it, so did Skissy and Spanka. They were both just like porcelain dolls.

  Blammm! There was a bloody great explosion in the ballroom followed by a drum roll. And Renton immediately lost interest in the bar. It was all going on in the ballroom now. The Carnal-ival was about to start. And leading in the entertainers was that blasted policeman again…

  But bugger that. That didn't matter. What did matter was that Renton had a really fine view of the proceedings. Although the ballroom was now nearly full, he could still see everybody, audience and entertainers alike. And even better, his two companions had abandoned their handy-work for the time being; they too were distracted by the events down below. So Renton could now concentrate on his quest without the fear of more manipulation of his manhood. And that was great. And for the first time this evening he felt as though things were really going his way.

  The laughing policeman was now bobbing around in the very middle of the ballroom, and stretched out beyond him were the Carnal-ival performers: men in diaphanous drawers, women in unusual underwear, women mostly out of unusual underwear, large women without any underwear at all, just lacy things draped around their bulbous bits - and entering the ballroom now, a troupe of men and women together. And to be entirely clear about that, as together as they could be - in pairs - and some of them probably in pain.

  'Jesu,' said Renton to himself, 'how to they do that without glue?'

  Then he returned his gaze to the crowd of punters in the ballroom. There were more blondes in it than you could shake a thing at. He needed to get on with his search before the crowd became a mêlée. But that wouldn't happen quite yet. Because tonight was turning out to be a bumper night, and the performers just kept coming in.

  Here was a group of contortionists - who were so contorted, it was difficult to tell whether they were flaunting themselves obscenely or just mooning. Or maybe they were just grinning… like the lady behind, the female bodybuilder who looked a little like an overgrown nutcracker - and probably was. But she wasn't a blonde

  Renton continued his search. There were just so many blondes in the crowd… But then he was distracted by the parade again. For arriving in the ballroom now was the final troupe of performers. And it was those bloody wet-dream biker birds, those heavy-on-the-metal types in their leather and silver. And with those huge studded bras. Not Renton's cup of tea at all, really. And with those silver crash helmets on, they looked vaguely silly. And the tall one at the front looked bored as well. Pity really, because she was such a stunner; she was just like the woman in his photo. In fact, really like the woman in his photo. It could be the same person…

  It was! It was! It was her. He'd found her. He'd found the tall blonde. There was simply no mistaking it: that face - even at a distance.

  Wow and wow again! This was what detecting was all about: planning, deducing, evaluating - and finding! Finding the woman he'd sought for so long. And hell, he wouldn't let her evade him now, not after he'd tracked her down so brilliantly. And that meant shifting his arse - and bidding a fond farewell to his two feely friends…

  He moved quickly.

  'Well, it's been a ball,' shouted Renton above a rising crescendo of noise. 'In fact, I suppose it's been a couple of them. But all good ends must come to a thing.'

  'Hey,' responded Skissy, 'you're not going now? You can't be. The show's just beginning!'

  And as if on cue there was a roar from the crowd - and in the ballroom below the performers sprang into action. In an instant the evening's assault on standards of decency had commenced, and a great salvo of debauchery was being loosed on the mob.

  'I'm sorry,' shouted Renton, 'but I've got this appointment you see. I've got to…'

  'Bollocks!' interrupted Skissy. 'If you've got any appointments, they're right here and right here with us. And you'd better believe it.'

  'But you don't understand,' protested Renton. 'I really do have to go.'

  'No you don't,' said Spanka. 'You don't have to go anywhere. Whatever you want's right here. And I mean right here.'

  This final phrase of her announcement was accompanied by a hand signal. It was in the form of her right hand pressing the front of her skirt against her undercarriage in what Renton could only think of as a quite blatant act of lewdness. But for once he wasn't surprised. Skissy and Spanka were clearly an accomplished pair of scrubbers and they had no problem whatsoever in being lewd in the extreme.

  Anyway that was by the way. He was here to get that blonde woman and he simply couldn't afford to hang around any longer - not with these two. Mayhem was now breaking out in the ballroom and it would be only too easy to lose his quarry in the scrummage. Even if she was six-foot three and with a great silver potty on her head, she could still disappear. And left for very much longer, the floor of the ballroom would become impassable as the writhing and intertwining got underway. And that would be that. He might be able to see her but he wouldn't be able to get anywhere near her.

  'Look,' he said as firmly as he could manage, 'I'd love to get to know you two a lot more, I really would. But I just can't. I haven't got the time. Do you understand? I just can't…'

  'Oh, but you can,' purred Skissy. 'Can't he,
Spanka? He can get to know us an awful lot better - and straightaway. And I think he should. What do you think, Spanka?'

  'Oh, I agree,' giggled Spanka, 'no time like the present.'

  At which point his two escorts grabbed him by the arms and began to press themselves against his body.

  He was about to protest, but then he stopped. He had noticed something. It was the strength of these two women. They both held him by his forearms, their hands gripping him tightly. But it was too tightly, too tightly for two porcelain-skinned beauties.

  Then they started to move his arms. They moved them in a slow synchronised dance, one that drew Renton's hands first across their cheeks, then down the length of their necks, and then around their boobs - and around their boobs for more than one circuit…

  Renton could do nothing to stop them. They were incredibly strong. And whatever strength he could muster himself was confined in a cage called “alarm”. It was one thing to be felt up by these broads, but it was quite another to be feeling them - and to be being made to feel them.

  He knew what was going to happen next. He didn't need to read the expressions on their faces nor to take a masters in frotterism to work it out. It was that obvious. He was on his way south. He knew it. And within a second the journey had begun.

  He didn't resist, as it really was useless. These two power-ranger birds were going to get him down there and that was all there was to it. He was wasting his time. Even when Spanka removed one of her hands to draw back her dress, he could do nothing about it. And soon he would be in contact with those crutches, Skissy's through her hot pants and Spanka's through her regular pants, her regular pants that bulged at the front - and that were obviously packed with some sizeable tackle…

  'Oh my god! And look. Skissy's hot pants bulge as well. Both of them. They're both…'

  And then his hands were on them, and they were. And they weren't what you'd call relaxed.

  In a split second, Renton had a realisation - that he was probably the only normal male in that bar, and that there were just as probably no normal females at all. This helped. It helped him find the key to that cage marked “alarm”. And when he turned it, it worked. He was able to release all the strength in his body in one single enormous surge.

  Skissy and Spanka were still flying through the air as Renton leapt onto the balustrade and then jumped without a second's thought to the spiral staircase two yards beyond. Then he was falling down the stairs and then he was on the floor of the ballroom. Or, at least, he would have been if the couple beneath him hadn't bagged the floor first.

  He apologized profusely and then rose to his feet. It was time to get back to business and time to complete his business. And Skissy and Spanka could go play with themselves - which was probably, thought Renton, precisely what they'd do.

  His blonde was over there somewhere, somewhere behind this great tangle of wobbling bodies. And he was going to get her. After all, a man had to do what a man had to do, a proposition that sounded a mite more attractive than what a man would have to do if he stayed up there in that bloody bar.

  He'd not be drinking there again. And that was a promise.

  29.

  He would ignore her. She'd appeared from nowhere and jumped on his back, but he would simply not acknowledge she was there. That way she was bound to give up. She would get tired and frustrated and eventually she would just leave him. Probably with a curse or even a swipe to his head. But she would be gone. And that would be that. And he would then be able to carry on with his search unimpeded.

  Then she started to suck his neck. It was revolting. It made him shudder. Maybe he wouldn't ignore her after all. Maybe he'd lose his manners and just dump her - if he could. It would certainly make his progress through the ballroom a little less cumbersome. And then there was no further doubt. She would have to go, and she would have to go immediately. She had just ruffled his hair. It had been a bugger all day. He'd had to wash and dry it twice before he'd come out this evening. And now she'd messed it up. She'd just scrambled it with her fingers. And God knows what it looked like now. Shit, he was angry!

  So he pursed his lips, clenched his teeth, and then he performed a very low bow - at high speed. In fact, at the highest speed possible. And it worked. As he looked up, he saw her face - and then her completely naked body - as they both flew past above him. And they were both very tidy. Indeed, if it had only been some other time and some other place, maybe he wouldn't have been quite so keen to unload her…

  But then the thought was past. His erstwhile cling-on was now spreadeagled on the floor, and in another instant she had disappeared beneath the body of an over-eager suitor. And she was now otherwise occupied.

  Renton didn't know whether to be revolted or remorseful. But in the end he just settled for irritation, an intense feeling of 'oh, why is life filled with so many hair-harrassing hap'nings?' 'Why,' he thought, 'was he plagued with such a continuous campaign of tonsorial tribulations? It just wasn't fair. Crikey, he was only trying to do his job - and he never messed up other people's hair. And certainly never a blonde's…

  'Oh my,' he reminded himself, 'the leather and silver jobbie. Come on, Renton, get yourself going. You've got a toothbrush to find!'

  And he was off again - not even stopping to attend to his hair…

  But progress was slow.

  Just as he'd feared, the orgy was now underway, and that meant the going was getting more than a little sticky. The path towards his goal had become a tangle of sweating bodies. They covered the ballroom's floor like some strangely inflated carpet - which writhed and pulsated to the tempo of sex. And as much as Renton tried, it was virtually impossible to cross it. He was getting nowhere - and he was getting tired. He needed to find another way and he needed to find it soon…

  Tunnelling under the floor was given a brief mental inspection - but it was soon discounted. He'd have Health and Safety on his back sooner than he'd had that woman on it…

  And levitation was ruled out pretty quickly as well. Renton had no access to a gravity insulator, and he'd got no further than the first chapter in his “Invitation to Levitation” – “the essential guide to floating and flying for the floor-bound of all ages”. It was that bit of it which involved sitting on a mat in that yoga position - that position which involved an orthopaedic rearrangement of your leg-bones. Well, no way. Even sitting normally with nothing to lean one's back against was bad enough. But when they asked you to start tying your legs into knots… well, forget it. Renton would stay grounded, thanks very much. And anyway, how likely was it that he would ever find himself in a position where the ability to rise above his neighbours would be a desirable if not an essential weapon in his personal armoury? Answer: not very often. Probably only if he ever found himself in the middle of a ballroom filled with thousands of sexually intemperate humans whose beastly behaviour was preventing him from locating and detaining a six-foot three, fair-haired lady dressed up as a bawdy Boadicea with a battlefield bra. Hardly likely that. So forget the bloody flying. It was a complete waste of time.

  'Drats!' he mumbled to himself. 'If only I'd had my legs done!'

  So what did that leave him? Push on with plan A - virtually impossible. Back track - just about as impossible. Veer into the centre of the mêlée - whatever for? Stay where he was - not entirely imaginative. Or - or get out of the ballroom. Look, just ten yards over there: a side door, and beyond the door, an expanse of body-less corridor - or another room maybe, but not one heaving with nudes. And there, Renton could regroup. He could rest and then think what to do. Something would come to him. Something would turn up. It always did. Only this time it turned up immediately. For there, scampering across the flailing bodies were four buxom broads, four females in leather accoutrements and serious bras, all with blonde hair streaming from beneath their silver helmets. It was four of those wet-dream bikers making for that same door. And… well, Renton couldn't be absolutely sure, but that last one there… well, she did look like the one in
the photo. Although, there again, it was difficult to tell. And they were now at the door. And now they were through the door. And now he couldn't see them…

  However, so what?

  This was the best break he was going to get, and he would be a fool if he didn't take it. Not only would it provide him with a very welcome change of scenery, but it would also present him with a very real prospect of catching up on the lady of his labours. There was no contest. He was after them in an instant.

  It proved much easier than he'd dared hope. And within less than a minute, he was no more than a yard from the door - and a yard from freedom. Well, almost. Because, at that very moment, somebody jumped him.

  It was her! That nude lady who'd ruffled his hair had caught up with him. And she was on him again.

  This time he didn't hesitate - and he didn't care. He just pulled her off, and then he gave her the biggest shove he could muster. Then, before she could recover, he was off again and through the door. And now nothing could stop him.

  Nothing, that is, other than the limpet.

  Unbelievably, she was with him again and just about to pounce.

  That was his signal. If she wanted him that badly, she would have to chase him. He was going to run like the wind - until he ran out of wind.

  And, by gum, so was she. She was clearly not going to quit.

  So Renton had made it out of the ballroom, but not on his own. He had a naked lady with him - just a few feet behind him - and chasing him for all she was worth.

  Yes, in thespian terms, his predicament could be described in no other way than: “Exit Renton, pursued by a bare…!”

  30.

  Renton was in a wide corridor and a state of near panic. Despite his escape from the orgy, he still had an assailant in tow. And worse than that, there was no sign at all of the leatherettes. They had all disappeared.

  He had, however, seen where they'd gone: up the corridor to the right. And that's where he followed - as fast as he could. He was only too aware of the need to catch them - and of the need to outpace the now intensely annoying Miss Limpet. He could hear her feet on the floor - and they weren't far away.

 

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