Lust on the Loose (35 page)

'
Pandy!
This
is serious. My husband's on the run. The place is crawling with
police. Sophie Stark is snooping around. Danny's just betrayed me
with that horrible Ambrosia Spicer. And those people in front of us
are virtually doing it in public! Everything's going
crazy!'

'That's true
but there's nothing we can do about it. Just think what a great
book we'll get out of all this at the end of the day.'

'What a great
book you'll get, you mean. I'll be stuck visiting Danny in
Parkhurst for the rest of my life, I can see it. That's if I can
bear to face that bastard ever again.'

'Rubbish,
Patsy, don't be such a wimp. You're with me now. And you've got to
admit that your Danny is good for something.'

'What's
that?'

'Shafting the
police. I took great pleasure in seeing DCI Spicer get her
comeuppance.'

Danny was
astonished at what was going on. All around him people were kissing
and cuddling and flirting outrageously. The most staid middle-aged
worthies seemed to have their arms draped around one another and
everywhere he looked hands were dipping into bodices and sneaking
beneath hems. Surely it wasn't normally like this at these fancy
occasions?

Danny couldn't
help but stare as he systematically combed the seated throng in
search of his quarry. Unfortunately, from his position halfway back
and to the side of the dress circle, there was a large proportion
of the audience who were not in his line of sight. Billy Dazzle
must be amongst them, he decided, and that horny policewoman too.
For this he was most grateful. Exciting though the encounter with
Ambrosia had been he had had no wish to prolong it. Especially
since her physical approach would doubtless have soon lead to the
discovery of the pistol strapped to the small of his back.

Beside him, a
well-built young woman with bare shoulders and flawless creamy skin
began to laugh hysterically. As she did so she dropped a hand onto
the thigh of the man on her other side. Danny watched closely - he
couldn't help himself - as she slid her fingers into her
companion's groin and shamelessly began to massage an obviously
appreciative erection. The girl laughed on, her dimpled shoulders
rippling enticingly. And as the lights began to dim, without once
glancing in Danny's direction, she dropped her other hand into his
lap. Danny gently removed it, he'd had enough of unsolicited
approaches from strange women. But later, when Melissa began to
sing and the hand reopened negotiations with his loins, he didn't
have the strength to resist.

Melissa's
first notes, loud and pure and unaccompanied, rang through the
darkness and instantly stilled the shuffling buzz of conversation.
It was as if a great hand had reached down from on high to touch
each and every member of the audience on the forehead, bringing
instant peace. There was a collective sigh of contentment and then
a gasp of delight as the stage was suddenly illuminated.

Melissa Melone
was an acknowledged expert at manipulating stage lighting - the
best since Dietrich, it was said. However primitive the conditions,
however mulish the local technicians, Melissa always appeared a
divinity under lights.

Tonight she
radiated sex. Dressed in a flesh-pink sheath that clung to her like
a coat of paint, she seemed almost naked. Her statuesque form - the
tall columns of her legs, the swollen sweep of her hips, the twin
cupolas of her breasts - dominated the stage. Even the memory of
nubile Tracy faded from the mind when confronted with these lush
curves. Melissa was a combination of exaggerated feminine
characteristics that set every man in the audience on fire and
filled every woman with pride in her sex. That was the magic she
exerted - everybody in the audience loved her.

Her voice had
many colours and she used it to unveil a variety of songs from the
most simple to the most dramatic, from peasant serenades to arias
from Verdi and Puccini. Behind her the Bedside Orchestra responded
to every twitch and swoop of the baton wielded by Sebastian Silk.
And then she embarked on the new song cycle, the Poor Pussy
Suite.

The audience
was bewitched. Even the Philistines were transported.

God Sumner
stared bug-eyed like a beached cod, glorious visions of the Pert
mammaries already fading. In the cultural stakes, he concluded,
this Melone woman was a world-beater. Pity she wasn't British. An
unfamiliar condition afflicted his nether regions, tenting his
trousers - to the excitement and perplexity of Mrs God, his beloved
Henrietta.

In the royal
box, Prince Roger for once sat completely still, oblivious of all
but the intoxicating vision on stage. Her wonderful voice thrilled
even his impoverished musical soul. By his side Inez fingered the
royal erection which, while never exactly princely in size, was at
the moment bigger and harder than it had ever been before. She
promised herself she would have it up her bum later, she was sure
she could take it comfortably. She'd bet he'd never done that
before. It ought to be worth a diamond bracelet at least...

In the dress
circle Danny Fretwork was being torn in two. He was here to find
Billy Dazzle and blow his brains out, yet he was paralysed! His
eyes were glued to the erotic vision on the stage and his penis was
poking out of his pants, throbbing to the ministrations of the
young woman in the next seat. Danny shot a swift glance to his
right. Her pretty pouting face was a picture of concentration as
she stared straight ahead, chewing her lower lip. Her left hand was
busy with Danny and her right was performing the same service for
the man on her other side who, in turn, had his hand up her skirt.
It dawned on Danny that throughout the theatre men and women were
masturbating each other to the golden voice of the woman on
stage.

Melissa was
now approaching the climax of the piece. Just as she had promised
Sebastian, it was to be a literal climax for many present. As she
hit the final sequence, holding on to the incredible top note at a
volume that swelled and obliterated the orchestra, all over the
theatre men ejaculated.

Henrietta
Sumner was astonished to feel the growing pool of wetness beneath
the hand she had affectionately placed over God's tented dress
trousers. In the royal box Inez de la Puta hastily reached for the
mirror in her handbag to wipe the royal spunk from her eye. In the
circle the pouting girl next to Danny swore to herself she would
never, ever forget the night two men came simultaneously all over
her hands.

And next to
Lady Carmella Miles a subdued voice whispered, 'I'm sorry, Aunty,
I've wet my trousers.'

'Well, you'd
better take them off then, Thomas,' she replied. 'And you, too,
Giles. At once!'

There was
tumult in the auditorium. Men were recovering from the spasms in
their loins only to leap to their feet and applaud. Women clambered
on seats to see above the throng. The noise of whistles and shouts
and clapping was deafening. On stage Melissa was surrounded by
well-wishers. Seb leaped to kiss her on both cheeks. Candy and
Imogen were there, pushing back the over-eager and trying to
organise an orderly curtain call for the great diva who blew kisses
and smiled and basked unashamedly in the approbation.

Then came the
bouquets, for Sebastian, for Candy, for Brick and Tracy who had
emerged hand in hand and finally for Melissa herself. This last was
a gargantuan bouquet of red and white roses proudly carried by
Arnold. He presented them with a flourish and bent to kiss her on
both cheeks - the only man on stage who was taller than she
was.

It seemed to
Billy, watching from the wings, that they were engaging in quite a
conversation. As Arnold whispered in her ear the singer's eyes
opened wide with surprise and she clapped a hand to her mouth to
stifle a giggle. The chef spoke again, he was smiling but Billy
could see that, for him, this was no light-hearted matter.

The applause
had now turned to a rhythmic handclap, accompanied by
foot-stamping. An encore was required. Melissa gracefully allowed
herself to be persuaded and the stage cleared. The musicians
regained their places, Sebastian picked up his baton and the
opening bars of the Poor Pussy Suite once more floated through the
theatre.

Melissa began
to sing but she was not alone on stage, she had Arnold by the hand
and addressed the song to him. She sang it differently too, at a
faster tempo and Seb could be seen casting anxious looks in her
direction as he urged the orchestra to keep up.

The audience
were with her. They had not regained their seats, indeed they had
pushed towards the front and were clapping in time. Some of the
women at the back had climbed on men's shoulders, many stood on
seats and waved their arms in the air. Wraps were cast aside,
jackets shrugged off and ties unfastened. This was party
time...

On stage
Melissa began to strip Arnold. First his bowtie, then his
cuff-links, then off with the jacket. Her singing got raunchier,
she began to bump and grind, Arnold shimmied back, the temperature
rose.

Billy had a
strange premonition about what was going to take place. But then he
knew what kind of weaponry Arnold carried in his pants.

In the crowd
many breasts were bare, strapless gowns had slipped unheeded and
blouses had been magically removed by eager hands. Few erections
had subsided, the Bedside Punch had seen to that, and those that
had were revived by the display of flesh - both on-stage and
off.

Melissa was an
innate show-woman and she turned Arnold's back to the audience as
she eased his thin briefs over his firm buns, keeping the discovery
of his penis to herself. For a moment her voice faltered and then
swelled in triumph as she took in the unique proportions of what
she had uncovered.

There were
shrieks and yells from the women in the crowd. They were impatient
to see it, too, and so she teased them, prolonging the moment
before she slowly, tantalisingly, turned him round.

Billy thought
he saw two women in the crowd faint but he couldn't be sure. The
collective gasp at the sight of Arnold's gargantuan dick drowned
out the orchestra and then things got a little out of hand.

Melissa pushed
Arnold onto his back, hoisted her dress and impaled herself on his
rearing cock. She sank down on it in one movement like a disgraced
Roman on his sword. But the smile that split her face as she did so
was that of a woman who had found the answer to her prayers.

And then the
mass fucking began.

Arnold's punch
was not intrinsically strong - at least according to his
calculations. His aim was to loosen a few inhibitions, to provide a
way of slipping free from the straitjacket of polite society. He
wanted an evening of midsummer madness. It could be said that he
got it.

In the event,
Arnold's punch was more powerful than planned, the night was hotter
than he had foreseen and the audience drank like fishes. Even the
teetotallers. 'Have you tasted it, darling? It can't be that
strong. Lovely evening. Think I'll have another.'

The
consequence was that by the time Melissa Melone had pulled her
dress up her statuesque thighs and fed all of Arnold's tremendous
pole into her gaping pink split, the audience were in a frenzy of
excitement.

In the aisle
by Henrietta Sumner a tall thin blonde crouched on all fours, her
black sequined skirt pulled up over her bare and quivering
buttocks.

'Stick it in,
Hugo,' she commanded her boyfriend who knelt behind her, fumbling,
'and hurry up, for Christ's sake!'

Henrietta
coolly bent over, took hold of his big penis and helped him to ease
its length into the girl's impatient hole. Then she slipped her
arms from her crepe bias-cut gown and pulled the boy's head into
her still-girlish and trembling bosom. 'Oh yes,' she cried, 'that
feels wonderful. Suck my tits, you naughty boy, and promise you'll
fuck me next!'

The orchestra
played on as the stage filled with bodies, many naked, many still
clinging to incongruous bits of finery. Seb Silk was wearing just
his socks as two of the mini-skirted Drax sisters, now minus their
halters, took it in turns to mouth his cock. While they did so he
moved his left hand backwards and forwards across their dangling
titties and conducted the orchestra with his right.

Candy
Kensington, down to just her suspenders and stockings, took on
all-comers on top of a dais at the back of the stage. It cannot be
said, however, that she had lost all sense of the occasion.
Assisted by a naked Katie Crisp she demanded money in aid of her
cause before allowing admirers to place a finger on her seductive
form. A naked suitor protested that he had no means of payment to
hand. Katie produced a camera and took a full-frontal shot. 'A
cheque in the post tomorrow, or else,' she said as Candy twined
slim fingers round his bobbing member, 'made out to Poor
Pussy.'

'It'll be
Filthy Rich Pussy by the time the night's out,' he muttered as he
allowed Candy to guide his aching hard-on between her legs.

In the small
box above the stage young Thomas and Giles would have had a
terrific vantage point from which to add to their store of sexual
knowledge. However, they only had eyes for their shapely aunt who
had now stripped to the waist to allow each of her young admirers
to suckle on a swollen tit. The boys were trouserless, as she had
decreed, and so her hands were able to roam at will over two firm
and springy erections thrusting up from their youthful loins. Such
bliss!

'Bite harder
on my nipple, Giles, don't be afraid. Oh, that's so nice!'