by Noel Amos
Marianne was the first to applaud, the women in the audience followed suit.
'One up to the Honeydew technique, I believe,' she declared and turned to face Edward Timberland. 'What do you say to that, Ted?'
'Wow!' said Eve, then 'Oh gosh' as Tom's fingers strummed across her clit. 'That was the most extraordinary thing I've ever seen on… Oh, Tom, please, I'm going to—' His fingers worked purposefully in the opening of her slit. In the hot oven of her vagina, his big penis pulsed. '—come again!'
'Wow!' said Fiona, transfixed by the celestial smile on the face of Morticia Chekhov as the novelist writhed in orgasm on the small TV screen. Around her, her colleagues sniggered. Amy Tooth and Claire Quartermain had joined them. Claire had her hand between Amy's legs, openly palming the bulge of her pussy.
'After you with that book, Fiona,' said Gloria.
'I've never seen that on TV before,' said Claire.
Fiona gazed dreamily at the screen. 'Does anyone know where I can have my nipples pierced?'
Chapter 56
When the question-and-answer session got under way, Cassie was on her feet in a trice.
'Mr Timberland - is it true you believe all women are nymphomaniacs?'
Ted beamed at Cassie. It was about time he got a chance to strut his stuff.
'The way I see it, ma'am,' he drawled, his blue eyes twinkling with folksy bonhomie, 'is that at heart all women are pure and faultless. I believe that their nurturing, caring dispositions, if left to develop naturally, predispose them to become the handmaidens and helpmates of men - as used to be the case. Look at any primitive society. The men hunt, protect, impose order - the women obey. But now, on the verge of the twenty-first century, so-called education has disrupted the harmony of the sexes. Women have ambitions, they have careers and families, they aspire to the top jobs in finance, in industry and in government. They paint their faces and show their legs and, like Eve in the Garden of Eden, seduce men into temptation. And men prostrate themselves before them and are raped. They are deprived of their place at the head of the table! Robbed of the essential spermatic elixir that is the very fountain of their strength!
'So, my pretty auburn-tressed friend, in my opinion the women of today are all nymphomaniacs!'
'Who is this fuckwit?' said Amy Tooth.
'He can't be allowed to get away with that,' said Gloria Just.
'Heaven help him if Prosecutor Hawk hears any of this,' said Claire Quartermain.
'Don't worry, Inspector,' came clear, girlish tones from the back of the room, 'I'm taking note of every word.'
A fat bald man in a rumpled suit read his question from a slip of paper.
'Miss Honeydew, I have a press cutting from the San Francisco Examiner which quotes extensively from your lecture on female masturbation techniques to the Screw You symposium on sexuality. It is dated July 1968. Would you care to tell us exactly how old you are and how many times your body parts have been remodelled by plastic surgeons to cheat the passage of time?'
There was an intake of breath from the female audience.
'Sneaky,' muttered Petra to Cassie.
'Don't worry, she'll handle it,' said Cassie.
And she did.
'Hey, slap-head,' replied Chastity, 'you think you're so smart, I tell you, you ought to go see a surgeon yourself. Take a slice off your belly and stick it on your dick for a start.'
'Answer the question,' roared the hairy man in the anorak.
'Sure,' said the blonde one, rising to her feet. 'See my neck, look at my hands - where are the wrinkles and liver spots? Nowhere, man - take a good look.' Everybody did, the cameras panned in for close-ups. She shucked off her pink jacket and stuck her chest out. The big globes of her pneumatic breasts thrust tight against the thin pink cotton of her T-shirt. 'See, no bra to keep up the boobies. They're as pert and firm as when I was eighteen and that's a few summers back, I agree. I swear to you I've never been under the knife and I don't go to no Swiss clinic and chew on bull's balls or whatever. You wanna know my secret?'
'Yes!' From the women.
'You know it already. It's in my book, it's my philosophy of life, it keeps me young. It's orgasm. I come a lot, as often as I can, every day of my life. And you guys ought to do the same before you get even uglier than you are already!'
'Isn't she inspirational?' said Eve.
She was on all fours on the bed now, her head pointed at the television, her thighs on either side of Tom's torso, her arse in his face.
He had his hands on her creamy smooth bottom cheeks and his tongue in the divide between. She wriggled with excitement under his ministrations.
'Tom?'
'Mmm?'
'You wouldn't want my bum to go all flabby and my tits to droop, would you?'
He took his lips from her wet and succulent groove. 'Of course not, darling, but you can't beat age.'
'Chastity Honeydew can! You haven't been listening, have you?'
'I've been preoccupied, darling. What do you have to do?'
She grinned to herself and thrust her broad bottom backwards into his face. 'Just what you're doing to me right now, Tom. Promise you won't stop.'
Tom did not reply, he couldn't. From Eve's point of view that was just fine.
In the studio control room Gerald Goldring was having kittens.
'We have to finish it,' he wailed. 'It's getting out of control.'
'Keep calm,' said Sir Charles Mastiff. 'We'll grab a few headlines with this. We'll get double the figures for the Cup Final!'
'But that bloody woman had an orgasm on screen! We'll be banned! Prosecuted! The switchboard's under siege already!'
'Good show. Controversy is the lifeblood of the arts, don't you know that? Get a grip, Gerry.'
Gerald tried. He looked at the scenes on the monitors. Half the audience were on their feet, jeering at each other. A small blonde was in the aisle with her skirt hiked to her waist, waggling her bottom at the hairy man in the anorak.
'See,' he cried. 'That blonde piece is taunting them!'
'Lovely bum,' said Mastiff.
'It's obscene!'
'Can't be. This is the arts slot.'
'There's going to be a riot!'
'I don't think so, Gerry. More likely an orgy.'
'What!' Goldring's voice leapt two octaves. He studied the monitors. The hairy man had grabbed the blonde and her friend with freckled shoulders had come to her aid. The friend had freckled breasts too. The straps on her dress had snapped and two round and gleaming orbs with cherry-red nipples were wobbling free. And being crushed in Anorak's big hand as his mouth closed on the freckled one's lips and the blonde pulled his trousers to his knees.
'My God, Charles, they're tearing each other's clothes off!'
'Fantastic! I'm going downstairs to join in the fun, you keep the cameras rolling. This is ground-breaking television, Gerry. See you at the awards dinner!'
Chapter 57
Maybe Charles Mastiff had second sight or perhaps his reading of the situation was based simply on a prurient instinct for sexual indulgence. At any rate, he was right. The potential riot was becoming an actual orgy.
The mutual antipathy between the two sections of the audience was fuelled by sex, though not necessarily by desire. Although deep down, as deep as they could suppress it, the males lusted after the females, these well-groomed purposeful women were not impressed by the men. 'Yuck, what a load of nerds,' Cassie had said at the beginning of the evening and that about summed up the general view.
But when the nerds began to get stroppy, to revile the very notion of female sexual satisfaction, to proclaim the superiority of their self-control - then feminine pride was at stake.
Cassie had a big tow-headed boy trapped between the seats.
'So you don't like me, eh? My body revolts you, yes? You'll shrivel up and die if I lay a finger on you - is that it?'
'No,' he protested, trying to back away. 'It's not you. It's the principle. It's women in general.'
'I bet you've never got this close to a real woman before, have you?'
He shook his head. He was very young and his skin was as clear and unlined as an egg.
She placed her lips to his neck and licked round the sharp knob of his Adam's apple. He tasted soapy and clean. She whispered in his ear.
'Do you like my perfume? The feel of my lips on your throat? Shall I kiss you?'
He made a strangled noise that could have meant anything, but Cassie was not about to wait for permission. She kissed him long and hard, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She wriggled down his body, slid her hands under his shirt and ripped it open. His chest was broad but hairless. She scratched his nipples and he squirmed beneath her.
'Would you like to see my breasts?'
She pulled her thin cashmere sweater to her chin and yanked the cups of her bra up over her bosom. Then she leant over him, dangling the big white gourds in his shocked face. She lowered her long loganberry nipples to his lips.
'Go on, suck them. Feel my tits. Kiss them, bite them. Don't know what you're missing, do you, my little caveman?'
The boy moaned, his hands and face full of her bountiful chest. He rootled and squirmed like a puppy at his mummy's teat. Cassie delved her hand below his waist, she wasn't finished yet.
'What's this then, you naughty boy? I thought you were supposed to banish sexual thoughts. If you want to conserve your sexual juices there's no point in getting a big stiffie like this.'
She had it out in the open now, leaning back on her haunches, her big breasts on display, her hands stroking his cock and balls. His long red member thrust up awkwardly between her fingers, a tear of juice glistening in the eye.
Cassie clasped it gently, it looked as if it might go off at any second.
'You're a virgin, aren't you?' she said.
He nodded.
'Do you want to be - really?'
He shook his head. It seemed events had robbed him of the power of speech.
'Good,' said Cassie and pulled her skirt to her waist. He watched, boggle-eyed, as she dragged her panties down her thighs and wriggled out of them. Her red-tufted muff and pink pussy split were spread before him as she straddled his hips. She took his stalk and rubbed the scarlet head into the glistening opening between her thighs. The touch of her velvet flesh on his tool was like a bolt of electricity.
She sank down on him in one movement. He moaned and filled his hands with her full soft breasts. His eyes rolled up in his head and he twitched and flopped like a landed fish. And lay still.
Cassie chuckled as she lay on top of him.
He looked at her with adoration and apology. 'I'm sorry, I didn't... I mean, you didn't...'
'Ssh.' She shut him up with a kiss. 'Forget Tree-Top Ted, come home with me and I'll show you how to behave like a man.'
This scene, with variations, was repeated through the room. One by one, Ted Timberland's most ardent disciples were vanquished - whether by choice or by force, it mattered not.
'Let's get him,' said a slim middle-aged beauty to a teenager in jeans. The pair of them grabbed Pinstripe as he tried to run for it and the slender woman tied his hands behind his back with his tie. The teenager pulled his trousers down and rummaged in his Y-fronts.
'As limp as a lettuce,' she pronounced.
'Take your clothes off,' said the other.
The teenager was buxom and ripe. She turned and lowered her jeans, waggled her smooth golden buttocks, dragging her knickers up into her crack. 'How's that? It always gets my boyfriends going.'
'I'm not surprised,' said the other. 'He's flesh and blood after all. See.'
The girl looked over her shoulder. The woman was pumping a short stubby tool in elegant fingers. The head was broad and blood red.
'Make him shoot over my arse,' she said.
'And he can lick it off afterwards,' said the woman. 'That'll teach him to be such a dickhead.'
'No!' shouted Pinstripe and fountained a deluge of semen into the air. It splashed onto the girl's pretty bottom in a graceful arc and Pinstripe slumped to his knees.
'Get licking,' commanded the girl and buffeted her bottom into his face.
'Let's go,' said Petra to Kelvin as the action hotted up around them.
He was a little reluctant, the small blonde had Anorak's cock in her mouth and her freckled friend was sitting on his face. She really had the most fabulous breasts...
'Put your eyes back in, lover,' said Petra. 'I'll make it worth your while later.'
But they found their way barred - by Morticia Chekhov.
'Hello, my dear,' she said to Petra. 'I thought I spotted your pretty face from the platform. You're not going, are you?'
'We certainly are, Morticia. Goodbye.'
'But you haven't introduced me to your handsome companion.'
'This is Kelvin. Say hello and goodbye, Kelvin.'
'Wait.' Morticia put her hand on Petra's arm. 'I'm sure there's time for me to tell Kelvin the circumstances of our last meeting.'
'No!' Petra tried to pull her arm away but found she was held fast. Kelvin was looking on with interest. She saw his eyes resting on Morticia's enticing cleavage and the gold chain which looped down and up, its end tucked into her breast pocket.
'It was on a train, Kelvin. We got into a fascinating discussion with a ticket inspector.'
'Morticia!' squealed Petra in dismay. The hazel eyes turned in her direction. 'Well, perhaps we could stay a little while,' she said, beaten into submission.
The novelist smiled and took them both by the hand. 'Excellent. Let's find an out-of-the-way spot where we can keep an eye on these most interesting proceedings.'
Tree-Top Ted was apoplectic. In front of him his fans and disciples were falling prey to the painted and perfumed Jezebels who followed the whore Honeydew.
'Fight! Fight!' he roared over the heads of the scrimmaging throng, reaching for the silver flask of Big Boar bourbon in his jacket pocket.
'Repel those foul women, damn you!' he implored his followers, taking a long restorative swig of liquor before plunging into the writhing mass to pull copulating bodies apart. His reputation, his whole ethos, not to mention his battle for book sales was on the line here.
'Damnation take you!' he cried, lifting a wriggling nymph from the supine body of a naked dentist and hurling her over his shoulder. 'Honeydew - you'll burn in hell for this!'
A cameraman followed his every move.
In the day room of The Primrose Court, the events at Black Raven were under scrutiny.
'Good God,' said Gloria, 'I can't believe I'm seeing this.'
'Why doesn't someone pull the plug?' said Amy.
'Anything goes on late-night telly these days,' said Claire. 'It's probably a happening - like they used to have in the sixties,' said Fiona. 'You know, a spontaneous event.'
'Never - it's a put-up job.'
'It was probably better in rehearsal.'
A voice of authority cut through the banter.
'I don't think this is an occasion for levity,' said Gossamer Hawk.
Silence fell. On the television screen Tree-Top Ted threw a small flailing girl over his shoulder. The camera captured his blazing eyes and howling mouth.
'I think,' continued the Prosecutor, 'it's time for action. Inspector, I want an arrest. I want that man there' - on the screen Ted grabbed a naked woman by the hair - 'in the cells by midnight.'
Chapter 58
Sir Charles Mastiff surveyed the scene from the back of the studio with satisfaction. Half-naked bodies were everywhere. Women were making nude men run the gauntlet of their nubile bare-breasted bodies to regain their clothes. Not many of them made it. Other men had been tied to the seats and women were taking it in turns to excite them. Spunk flew through the air. The boldest of the women had painted themselves with it. It glistened on their thighs and buttocks.
Marianne,
unsure of her role now proceedings had taken an unexpected turn, had grabbed a microphone and was conducting interviews with participants.
'She's a real trooper, that girl,' said Mastiff in admiration as he watched her quiz a lipstick-smeared merchant banker as he lay vanquished on the floor.
'I think she's brilliant,' said a dark shape in the shadows by his side, her mouth outlined in the glow of a cigarette.
'She was wasted on the weather,' said the television executive eyeing Marianne's pert bottom as she bent to thrust her microphone into a pile of wriggling bodies. 'It's imperative we have sexy girls in arts TV. It's all very well appealing to the eggheads but you've got to have something good to look at while you're discussing Schopenhauer.'
'Nice tits and bum, you mean?'
'That's putting it a bit crudely but, basically, yes.'
'Would mine do?' The dark shape moved into the light and ground her cigarette end into the floor.
'I know you,' said Sir Charles. 'You were in the green room with Timberland.'
'Sonja Sargeant. I'm handling his publicity. Actually I'm considering a change of career.' Her hands were working at the buttons on her chocolate silk blouse, pulling it open.
'I see; said Mastiff, his eyes lighting up at the big smooth mounds of flesh barely contained in the sculpted cups of her lacework brassiere.
'Not yet, you don't,' said Sonja stepping out of her skirt and revealing long flowing legs in black stockings and suspenders. Her blouse, too, fluttered to the floor and her bra followed. Her jutting dark-nippled breasts quivered before his eyes.