Lust on the Loose (34 page)

Danny did so,
dazed by the sequence of events. He couldn't believe he was about
to be seduced by a police inspector on her night off. But what
could he do about it now? Her hands had reached behind her and she
was already fumbling in his fly for his prick.

Danny was not
a man to look a gift-horse in the mouth where crumpet was
concerned. Besides he was feeling incredibly randy. So what if the
woman currently tugging his cock from his trousers was a
policewoman? There was no denying she had a tidy little arse and he
was going to enjoy unveiling it.

His big hands
were now under the hem of her skirt, bunching it up over her hips
to reveal smooth firm thighs and a tight bottom encased in silk
french knickers. He savoured the sight of the twin cheeks
stretching the material taut over her outthrust seat.

'Come on!'
hissed Ambrosia, pulling aside the flimsy fabric of the gusset to
reveal a pink and hairless pussy slit. 'We've not got much time.
Stick it up me quick!'

Danny did not
fail her. His iron-hard shaft slid up her channel in one delicious
thrust. She was warm, wet and very willing.

'Ooh,' she
moaned, answering his pelvic jabs by wiggling her arse back into
his crotch. 'Ooh, yes, you don't know how badly I need this!'

Her need, in
fact, was a complete puzzle to Ambrosia. Twenty minutes ago, with
the ghastly Armstrong leering at her, she could have sworn that the
entire process of sexual connection was repellent. And now here she
was, with a complete stranger rodding her from the rear and she was
revelling in it!

As the orgasm
hit her, the whole scene - the jostling crowds on the lawn, the
lush green valley, the fading pink of the evening sky - seemed to
go fuzzy at the edges. It may have been the booze or the fact that
vanity dictated she keep her spectacles in her pocket but it added
to the unreal magic of the moment. It was a joy to be relieved, if
only for one evening, from the pressure of tracking down Danny
Fretwork.

She remembered
her conversation that day with Sophie and she laughed out loud.
Danny took this as his cue to slide a hand round her hip and down
into her split from the front.

'Silly
Starkers,' muttered Ambrosia to herself as a coarse finger strummed
across her clit, making her shiver, 'as if that ape Fretwork would
ever show his face at a classy event like this.'

'What's that?'
whispered Danny into her ear, his fingers teasing the neat crop of
fur at the head of her crack, his belly thumping into the soft
cushion of her arse-cheeks in a steady rhythm.

'Forget it,
Basil, just bring me off again with your beautiful prick!'

And he
did.

Further along the same balcony a pair of women stood
dumbfounded, their intimate
tete-a-tete
irrevocably disrupted by
the arrival of Danny and Ambrosia.

'My God,' said
the small blonde one, 'that's my two-timing bastard of a
husband!'

'I know,' said
her tall dark companion, 'and he's bonking Detective Chief
Inspector Spicer.'

And for once
Patsy and Pandora were incapable of doing anything but
spectate.

Brick's
performance was simple and effective. He sang his songs at the
front of the stage, a lone figure picked out in the crossbeams of
two spotlights. In the dimness upstage could be seen the shadows of
a handful of musicians - though for the most part Brick accompanied
himself on his guitar.

He talked a
lot too, some twenty-five years in the business of making popular
music had given him plenty to talk about. It soon transpired that
he was in a mellow mood - and so was his audience. Wealthy
industrialists and their wives, trendy culture-vultures and
chattering taste-makers, high-brow critics and snobbish patrons of
the arts - all had at some time thrilled to a Brick Tempo hit.

So when he began a long monologue about his first girlfriend
and her spectacular legs and how she put her foot through the
window of his daddy's Cadillac and
then
played the opening bars of
'Making Out on the Back Seat', a collective shiver of delight ran
through the audience. Sophie was amazed to see the stuffy couple on
her left - Mr and Mrs Merchant Banker as she now knew - fall into a
clinch and begin energetic French-kissing as if they were
teenagers.

They were not
alone. All around her Sophie was conscious that hands were being
held, thighs being stroked and breasts being surreptitiously
fondled. The worst of it was that she too was feeling incredibly
horny. She wouldn't mind spending an hour or so on a back seat with
hunky Brick. It seemed she was permanently on heat these days. She
squirmed uncomfortably in the too-tight dress.

Brick was
continuing to delve candidly into his love life and had shifted to
the late seventies and his notorious union with anorexic
punk-rocker Mandi Nickers.

'I never did
go for skinny women,' he drawled, 'and when Mandi took her clothes
off for me the first time I nearly ran out of the room. But she had
one thing that stopped me and I'd like to sing you a song I wrote
about it.' He paused in mid-strum and added, 'Given the nature of
the occasion I'd like to dedicate it to Candy Kensington.'

Then he began
a song familiar to almost everyone in the hall. At the time of its
release the childish words and simple tune had made it seem a most
unlikely Brick Tempo record - factors which had doubtless
contributed to its enormous success. Billy had always been puzzled
by 'The Cutest Little Dimples in the World' but now, as Brick
substituted 'pussy' for 'dimples' all became much clearer.

The audience
loved it, clapping in time and singing the new words with gusto. In
the royal box Prince Roger led the audience participation while,
out of sight of the throng, his hand roamed boldly across the silky
delta between his Spanish companion's long legs.

By the time
Tracy hit the stage to sing her duet with Brick, the house was
bubbling. So, too, was Tracy. The ballet troupe's hospitality had
been exhaustive and punch had been downed in quantity. So thrilled
had Tracy been to be feted by the dancers that she had thought it
only fair to satisfy their curiosity about her incredible body.
Thus she had allowed herself to be undressed and paraded around the
dressing-room and finally reassembled in a way they deemed
satisfactory.

Now she stood
in the spotlight by Brick's side wearing her shirt knotted tightly
beneath her swollen bust, a black mini-skirt, suspenders and
stockings. This was not a costume designed to conceal her abundant
charms, especially when perched on top of a tall stool in front of
three hundred people all of whom appeared to be looking up her
legs. Tracy didn't care. Tracy had drunk a lot of punch.

Brick had
announced her to a great whoop of applause - predominantly from the
males in the audience, though by now almost everyone was caught up
in the fever of the occasion.

To the
surprise of many, Tracy could hold a tune and though she faltered
at the beginning of 'True Love', Brick's hit with Tania Tingle, by
the end her voice was ringing out clearly and sweetly. The audience
roared their approval, the men and the women this time. Brick threw
his arms round her and gave her an enthusiastic hug which somehow
stretched into a frankly open-mouthed kiss. Whistles blended with
the applause.

Then they
launched into Brick's new song, Tracy sitting perkily on her stool
facing straight ahead while Brick stood behind her, an arm loosely
draped across her shoulders.

Billy watched
from the wings, feeling proud and proprietorial. Tracy was doing
really well.

'I didn't know
she had it in her,' he muttered.

'I did,'
whispered a voice in his ear.

Billy turned
to study the woman by his side. The neck was long, the hair
elaborately coiffured, pearls glinted in the lobes of her ears and
the eyes looking into his in the half-light were, as he well knew,
a cool stony grey.

'So you
should,' he replied, 'you're her agent.'

Imogen
chuckled softly, the sound audible only to Billy as the musicians
swung into the number. On stage Brick was nuzzling Tracy's neck and
both hands had found their way around her waist onto her bare
midriff. Tracy, singing out to the manner born, did not appear to
notice.

'I suppose you
are about to remind me that it is thanks to you that Tracy is still
my client. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten.'

Tracy and
Brick were warbling on about roaming in each other's valleys and
his hands were now toying with the knot in her shirt.

'Now you come
to mention it, Imogen, I was thinking of asking for a bonus. After
tonight Tracy is going to be hotter than ever. Especially if what I
think is going to happen, happens.'

'And what's
that?'

There was really no need to ask, for at that moment Brick and
Tracy hit the climax of the number. As they both belted out the
final refrain about love among the peaks and Tracy flung her arms
wide, the tails of her shirt parted to display her fabulous hills
in all their pink and heaving glory. To the readers of the
Daily Dog
this was a
familiar sight but the assembled company were
thunderstruck.

'What bonus
did you have in mind?' asked Imogen coolly as the applause hit them
like a wave.

Billy placed a
hand on her hip and slid it very deliberately over the firm spheres
of her buttocks, savouring the smooth swell of flesh beneath her
satin sheath.

On stage Tracy
had only just realised that she was displaying her magnificent
mammaries to the world. Covered in confusion she turned to Brick
and threw herself into the sanctuary of his arms.

'How about it,
Imogen? I reckon you owe me a favour.'

She took no
steps to remove his exploring hand from her buttocks, indeed she
seemed to rub her arse against him, but she said, 'Isn't Tracy
enough for you? Or Katie? Or Candy?' Then her fingers were in his
groin tracing the outline of his erection through his trousers. But
when the curtain fell and a giggling Brick and Tracy stumbled from
the stage wrapped in each other's arms, she was gone.

The buzz of
conversation was loud in the short intermission following Brick's
performance. There was much shifting of bums and crossing of legs
and craning of necks to ogle fellow spectators. The effect of
Arnold's punch was evident in sudden bellows of rude laughter and
spontaneous displays of affection not normally witnessed in public.
Nevertheless, for the moment, the lid was still on the powder
keg...

In a small side box lady Carmella Mills found herself happily
participating in an unlikely conversation. She was flanked by her
young nephews, Giles and Thomas, nineteen and seventeen
respectively. She had known them all their lives - she had changed
their nappies, for God's sake! - and yet here she was earnestly
discussing with them the varied shapes of women's breasts. Their
faces were flushed, as was her own, and their beady curious eyes
kept straying to her bust. She should never have worn this dress,
it was much too décolleté. And yet it
was
pretty and her bust, as many could
attest, was her very finest feminine attribute.

'I bet yours
are just as big as hers,' said Thomas.

'And just as
firm, Aunt Melly,' said Giles, already an adroit flatterer. 'You
must have broken lots of hearts.'

'Stop
buttering me up, boys,' she said, wondering why her heart was
racing quite so fast, 'or I'll tell your mother.'

'You'll tell
Mother we said you had the best tits in the house?'

'Thomas! How
dare you?'

'Don't be
angry, Aunt. After all, it's perfectly true.'

In the aisle
seats of the front stalls Araminta Hush tut-tutted her disapproval
to her escort and live-in lover, Lionel Broth.

'It's not the
sight of mounds of puppy-fat that puts me off, it's the coarseness
of it all I find offensive,' she said.

'The crudity
not the nudity, you mean,' responded the Irish novelist, who was
something of a media face in his own right. 'Personally, I thought
it was rather touching. He handed to her the mantle of his amour
with Tania Tingle and she accepted it. He gives her a lifeboat to a
musical career, she gives him her bountiful breasts. It seems a
perfectly fair bargain to me.'

'Well, it
would appeal to you, wouldn't it? It's just the kind of thing you
go in for yourself. Don't think I haven't noticed your new
researcher has udders that wouldn't disgrace a Guernsey cow.'

'A cruel
shaft, my uptight beauty. I don't think you of all people should be
making comparisons with cows.'

'Fuck
you.'

'Especially
when you are looking such a picture. You are easily the most
desirable woman in the room and beside you neither Tracy Pert nor
my poor slandered researcher are worth a second glance.'

'You slimy
bum-sucking Irish bastard.'

'That's
better. Now, why don't I slip off during this lull in the
entertainment and see if I can find us a drink. You should have had
one in the interval, you've got to learn to relax.'

'OK, Lionel,
but you'd better hurry, you won't want to miss Melissa Melone. I
hear she makes Guernseys looks under-developed.'

'Pandy, what
the hell is he doing here?' Patsy was agitated and upset. It was
not the first time she had posed this question since they had
witnessed Danny's tryst with Ambrosia Spicer. Pandora was getting
fed up.

'For God's
sake, Patsy, how should I know? He's a cheeky bugger, that's all I
can say. Perhaps he's just cocking a snook at authority - or
snooking a cock, in his case.'