Lust Under Licence (37 page)

Marianne
looked at the chain in her hand. 'You mean the other end of this is
attached somehow to your body?'

'That's right,
my dear. It runs directly to the pins pierce my nipples.'

'Aah!'
Marianne shrieked and dropped the chain. There was a gasp from the
audience and some nervous laughter.

Chastity
reached across Morticia and took hold of the sparkling gold links.
'Allow me, honey,' she purred, 'us sophisticated women have to
stick together.'

Marianne
stared glassy-eyed at the thin glinting chain which, she could now
see, ran from Chastity's fingers into the dark shadows of cleavage
revealed in the bodice of the writer's black jacket. In that
alluring ravine shone more metal and Marianne's stomach lurched.
She was turned off and turned on all at once.

But now was no
time to dwell on her feelings, she had to remain in control.

'Let's get
this clear,' she said. 'If Chastity pulls on that chain will it
excite you sexually?'

'Oh yes!'
breathed Morticia, her eyelids half shut, her bosom rising and
falling as Chastity set up a gentle sawing motion on the golden
thread. Marianne could picture long dark nipples, engorged and
erect, skewered through with a long gold pin...

'Look at this
degrading exhibition!' boomed a voice from the other side of the
platform. Tree-Top Ted had broken his silence at last. 'See what
corrupt and immoral behaviour these perverted females are capable
of! Beware, you men, of the lascivious exhibitions of whores!'

'Hear, hear!'
called out Pinstripe.

'Filthy
tarts!' yelled Anorak.

Other cries of
protest rose from the men in the audience while the women hissed
and called out in turn.

'Belt up,
wimps!' shouted a tiny blonde in front of Petra.

Her friend, a
more substantial girl with freckled shoulders in a thin summer
frock, pointed across the aisle and cried, 'Wankers!'

Throughout the
tumult Marianne was aware that, by her side, Morticia was breathing
heavily, her eyes shut, her face turned upwards, her mouth agape.
Suddenly she gasped out loud, 'OH!' and 'OH - OH - OH!' in a
breathy, rhythmic shout.

In the audience the commotion died. All eyes were on the
novelist as she whinnied and snorted, shaking her long dark hair
from side to side, her bosom rising and falling. The thin gold
chain was stretched taut from her swollen cleavage to the slender
hand of Chastity Honeydew.
Tug,
tug
, went the chain, 'OH - OH!' cried
Morticia. Then 'OHHH!' as her entire body shook and her upturned
face was wreathed in beatific release. The novelist had come off on
camera. She leaned over to Chastity and kissed her on the
cheek.

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?'

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!'

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.'

He tripped and
fell backwards. Cassie knelt on his chest and lowered her face to
an inch from his.

'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.