Lust on the Loose (33 page)

Next up was the Drax Trio - three sisters who played
avant-garde violin music in sequinned halters and black
mini-skirts. They had a strong appeal to the young, the trendy and
the simply lecherous. The arts critic of
The Rag
, Pandora Britches, was seen to
applaud enthusiastically.

There followed
another longueur in the programme - Cecily and Archibald Cherry,
the husband-and-wife team who specialised in duets from operettas.
With many an arch twinkle and coy glance, the leathery pair hammed
their way through the greatest hits of Lehar and Offenbach. In her
seat at the back of the circle Sophie stifled a yawn.

The Cherrys
finally relented and gave way to the first of the evening's widely
touted events - The Marian Mucus Ballet. They were dancing a new
piece specially devised for the occasion. It told the symbolic
story of a lost cat: a pampered fireside moggy who had strayed from
home to be confronted by the horrors of the Real World such as
Cars, Pollution and Big Business. Finally the abused hero met up
with a band of gypsy cats who rescued him from capture by a man
with a bowler hat and they all frolicked happily together in the
finale.

That was how
the programme explained matters but, to Sophie's eyes, the stage
was simply filled with leaping and prancing females who were almost
entirely nude. After the first shock she realised that they were
just wearing flesh-toned body stockings. Sylph-like creatures that
they were, they nevertheless displayed sturdy thighs and temptingly
rounded buttocks to full advantage. At their appearance the
hitherto comatose gentleman on Sophie's left jerked into life.
'Amazing what you can get away with in the name of art,' he
muttered loudly to his wife. All the same he applauded loudly as,
after an energetic ten minutes, the panting dancers flitted from
the scene.

By now many of
the audience were thinking ahead to the sumptuous buffet which
awaited them in the brilliance of the summer evening. However,
there remained one more act to endure before the first half drew to
a close. Rebellious patrons shuffled in their seats. How much was
one expected to suffer in aid of a good cause?

Halfway back
in the stalls Pandora Britches tightened her grip on Patsy's hand.
In her function as critic she would be entirely objective, within
feminist parameters of course, as to the merits of the performance
that was about to take place. Personally, however, she hoped that
her former lover, Tracy Pert, would play her allotted role in life
and make a right tit of herself.

Loud rock
suddenly blasted through the air, cruelly jerking some from their
slumbers as the curtain rose to reveal a gyrating Tracy, microphone
in hand, swivelling her notorious curves on top of a hastily
erected dais. She wore tiny tight black leather shorts and
thigh-high, leather boots that glistened in the spotlights. Her
amazing bosom was cupped in shiny black latex with crossover straps
which moulded the twin globes upwards into two firm bowls of
flesh.

Tracy wailed
unintelligibly against a down-and-dirty barrage of electronic
noise, giving it her all. She dipped and swooped, posed and
preened, brazenly displaying every pouting inch of her spectacular
form. She turned upstage and presented her pumping buttocks to the
audience of the great and good who sat frozen in their evening
finery, mesmerised by her lewd display.

The bum cheeks
wiggled and wobbled, the pussycat tail flicked saucily from side to
side. Then she swung back to the front, bending low so that her big
breasts threatened to topple free from their constraints. Then she
straightened up, rocking back on her heels and bumping her pubis
forward in unmistakable copulatory invitation. Grabbing her tail
with her free hand she pulled it upwards between her legs, closing
her eyes and moaning in fake ecstasy as she sawed it suggestively
across her pubic delta. With a final squeal, her hand yanking on
the woolly limb springing from her bulging crotch, the lights went
out and the curtain descended in deafening silence.

'Fantastic!'
cried Billy, waiting in the wings to throw his arms round Tracy in
a hug of congratulation. 'That woke the stuffy bastards up!'

'Good God,
that was obscene,' said the woman on the right of Sophie. The man
on the left was pounding his palms together, adding to the growing
tumult of applause in defiance of the icy glare of his wife.

Patsy pulled a
stunned Pandora to her feet, 'Let's get a drink quick. You look
like a woman in need.'

Amidst the
bustle of the long supper interval Arnold Brie was in his element.
He was the master chef, the wizard of the kitchen who could wave a
magic wand and make people happy. People adored his food and they
were wild about his Bedside Summer Punch, specially concocted for
the occasion. Candy had requested a cocktail to make the evening go
with a swing and Arnold had complied. He knew what was required.
What's more, the fizzing, ice-cold creation tasted damned good. He
allowed himself another glass.

The first
person to feel the full effect of Arnold's punch was Lavender Roe.
Overtaken with a coughing fit during the ballet, she had made an
early exit. Consequently she was two glasses up on her mother by
the time they were reunited in the interval crush on the lawn
outside the marquee.

'Lavender,'
barked Lady Roe, 'what have you done with your wrap, you look
positively indecent.'

There was some
truth in this, the cerise swatch of silk was intended to be worn
over a flimsy top suspended by two thin straps and cut low beneath
the arms to allow for maximum air circulation on a hot night. The
garment could hardly be worn with a brassiere and was only suitable
for women who had no breasts or those with a firm and youthful pair
that could stand up for themselves. The fair Lavender fell into the
latter category.

'Don't fuss, mother, it's far too hot to wear anything
unnecessary.
You
don't think I look too naughty, do you?' She addressed this to
the tall waiter who was busily recharging her glass.

'I think you
look gorgeous,' said he, openly ogling her half-exposed bosom.

'Well, I think
you look gorgeous too. Will you come and help me look for my wrap?
I think I dropped it over there in the bushes.' And she sailed off
with the waiter in tow, leaving her mother, for once, completely
speechless.

The new
Minister for the Arts was another who felt the early benefit of the
Bedside Punch. It was well-known that Godolphin Sumner hated
anything of a cultural nature and he particularly resented boring
evenings at the theatre and the opera. It was all right for
Henrietta, she could sink three gins in the interval and go
straight to bed. He, on the other hand, still had to face those
bloody ministerial boxes no matter what time the fat lady put a
sock in it.

Tonight,
however, he felt different. Perhaps it was the effect of the
beautiful evening amid perfect surroundings though, to be fair, he
wasn't usually affected by mawkish considerations of this sort. If
he were honest he'd put it all down to all those little ballet
girls prancing around almost in the buff. They were artistes, of
course, and he knew he wasn't supposed to think naughties about
them. But that Tracy female, all leather and rubber and bulging
boobs - there was no doubt what a chap might think about her and,
by George, he was thinking it! It was a pity her contribution
hadn't lasted longer.

'Minister -
I'm delighted to see you here!'

Sumner grinned
and extended his hand to the stunning woman who had appeared in
front of him. She wore a black-and-white striped stretch cotton
dress with embroidered bodice that thrust out an inviting expanse
of golden breast-flesh. The Minister had a feeling he ought to
remember this filly - she was a hell of a looker.

'You remember
Candy Kensington, don't you, God?' said Henrietta Sumner on cue as
usual. 'She's the clever lady who has made this wonderful evening
possible.'

'Marvellous!'
he boomed. 'Let me bestow a kiss upon you, Candy, courtesy of HMG.'
And he did so, making a big fuss of placing the ministerial lips on
both of Candy's cheeks, sneaking a long look down her cleavage as
he did so.

'I say, God,
steady on,' said Henrietta, adding to Candy, 'I haven't seen him so
enthusiastic for years.'

Candy turned
her smile on Sumner at full beam and placed a slender hand on his
arm. 'Who have you enjoyed most so far?'

'Why, Tracy,
of course,' shouted Sumner and gulped a glass of punch in one go.
'That girl's got talent! She's a great ambassador for British
culture.'

Curious
glances were cast amongst the knot of people which had formed
around the Minister. Usually voluble critics were struck dumb. Then
came a cry of 'Hear! Hear!' from the fringe of the group and Prince
Roger pushed himself forward.

'Couldn't
agree more, God. A most stimulating performance.'

Thus Tracy
Pert from Stratford East received the seal of approval from God and
the Crown - a unique accolade that spread amongst the assembly like
bush fire.

Danny Fretwork
looked through the throng with a keen eye, his glance passing
swiftly over the elegantly attired women. For once, an abundance of
alluring feminine curves did not hold his interest. His mind was
focused on a man - Billy Dazzle. Though he had never wittingly
clapped eyes on the detective he had studied photographs. So far
his quarry had eluded him.

Danny grabbed
two glasses from a passing waiter. He didn't intend to drink them -
he needed to keep a clear head - but it gave him a pretext to roam
the lawn peering at the crowds as if in search of a missing
companion. In fact, he rather wished he had brought one - young
Amanda, say, she would have been good cover. Not that he wouldn't
have felt bad about involving Amanda in a hit. However, he had only
been able to turn up one ticket. He grinned to himself. Amanda was
a stunner, he'd have enjoyed rigging her out in posh togs and
setting her loose at this fancy do. She'd have turned a few
heads.

'Basil,
hello!' cried a voice by his side and a small brown-haired woman in
a cream suit stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. As she
did so she whispered in his ear, 'For God's sake, pretend that you
know me!'

Danny's first
impulse was to tell her to piss off but he was suddenly riveted by
two bird-bright eyes, a full kissable mouth and, looking down from
his height into the shadows of her jacket, a fully exposed and
perfectly formed left breast.

'Hello
yourself,' he replied and relinquished a glass to her. She drank
deeply. Danny took in the petite curves and slim brown legs set off
enticingly by the lightweight summer suit. The breast was now no
longer in view but the notion of its availability sent a surprising
shiver down his spine.

'I'm sorry to
thrust myself upon you,' she explained, 'but I can't stand the old
goat who brought me here. He's been fingering my arse ever since
the lights went up. I told him I'd spotted an old flame and
fled.'

'Do you want
me to sort him out for you?'

'Don't be
silly, he's a superintendent in the Metropolitan Police. He's my
boss.'

Danny's shock
was evident. The woman placed a slender hand upon his arm and
squeezed. 'Don't worry, tonight's my night off. My name's Ambrosia
- what's yours?'

Backstage in
her cramped dressing-room Tracy carefully tucked the tails of her
white silk shirt into the waistband of her short black skirt. She
had decided that classic simplicity would be suitable for her
appearance with Brick. The thought of it made her head spin.

There was a
knock at the door. She swore under her breath. It was probably
Billy but, much as she liked him, she couldn't afford to be
distracted by him now. She knew just what he'd be after but he'd
have to wait. Tonight Brick came first.

It wasn't
Billy, it was one of the ballet girls from next door. 'Won't you
pop in and have a drink with us?' she said. 'They've sent some
goodies round from the buffet in front.'

'Oh,' said
Tracy, caught completely off-guard, 'I don't think so, I've got to
get ready.'

'Rubbish,
darling,' cried the dancer, grabbing Tracy by the hand and tugging
her out of the door, 'we insist.'

'But I thought
you didn't like me,' spluttered Tracy, unable to resist the other's
surprisingly strong grip.

'Don't be
daft. We think you're fantastic. And we just love your fabulous
figure. Don't we, girls?'

'Yes!' they
cried, surrounding Tracy as she allowed herself to be pulled inside
their dressing-room.

'Don't you
realise,' said a thin elf as she pushed a glass of fizzing punch
into Tracy's hand, 'we'd all die for tits like yours.'

'But you do
fancy me, don't you?' said Ambrosia, edging Danny up the staircase
that lead to the darkness of the balcony overlooking the gardens of
Bedside. 'If you don't, why do you keep looking down my front?'

'Look,
Ambrosia, of course I fancy you but it's just not on! We'll be
seen.'

'No, we won't.
Besides, so what? I'm a senior policewoman. You're safe with me.
Live dangerously for once, Basil. Forget your boring office job,
seize this romantic moment.'

She flung her
arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. They were at the
top of the stairs now and he couldn't help kissing her back just as
ardently.

'This was
meant to be,' said Ambrosia, 'I know it. When you told me your name
really was Basil I knew something special was about to happen to
us.'

She turned her
back to him and bent forward over the stone balustrade of the
balcony. 'Put your arms around me,' she instructed, 'cuddle up
close from behind.'