The Adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine (25 page)

It was gathering in the room. The orgone. She could feel it. It was like popping
candy exploding on her tongue, only she felt it all over her body. She knew her cunt
was beginning to radiate its orgonic light. She swallowed. Coughed to clear her throat.
‘As part of our performance of this artwork I have organised for my vulva to become
a beacon, signalling our collective pleasure. It may startle you. It's a trick,
but imagine that it is like a work of art made out of fluorescent tubes.

‘Like something by Dan Flavin,' James added.

More nods from the crowd. It really was an artistically literate gathering. Holly
unzipped her boots and slid them off her ankles then climbed up into the accumulator,
undoing the zipper at the side of her dress. She was aroused herself now. She could
feel a trickle of juices run down her stocking. She glanced at her legs and there
was a fat viscous drop of luminous blue making its way towards her ankle. She heard
someone in her audience gasp. Holly slipped the dress off her shoulders. Her vulva
had swelled, the thick lips began to pulse to the rhythm of her heartbeat. She stared
down at the gathered crowd. Their desire was palpable. One of the women let her tongue
slip out to moisten her lips. A man adjusted his crotch. She would fuck every one
of them. She would watch them fuck.

‘Soon you will lose yourself to the art,' said Holly, ‘so men, you should unroll
your sheaths and put them on now.'

Without hesitation the men unbuttoned their trousers. A forest of cocks sprang up.
The saplings of flesh reached skyward, leaned slightly to the left or to the right;
some of them were no more than an early shoot pushing up from the loamy earth,
others
were huge specimens of old growth, gnarled but sap-filled, trembling in the prelude
to a great storm. She watched as their fingers worked at the little rolls of rubber.
They stroked the condoms onto their pricks and she felt her juices running freely,
painting the inside of both of her thighs. She saw a woman reach for the rubbered
cock of the stranger beside her and Holly tutted.

‘Not yet,' she said. ‘We must follow the words of de Sade. We must let the great
man guide us.' She nodded to Nick who was gazing up proudly at her.

He opened the heavy volume of
The 120 Days
and folded back the introduction. ‘All
right,' said Nick. ‘We begin on the first of November at exactly ten o'clock…'

The participants climbed up into the accumulator. They could not all fit in the high-sided
box. Holly stood at the centre of the bed and watched the first wave of bodies breach
the ramparts. Cocks bounced against the thick wood of the box, juices spilled on
the sheets, damping them before a single orifice had been breached. All eyes were
trained on the gorgeous light of her cunt. Bodies sweated against each other in their
urgency. All the flesh moved towards her and by the time the first hand was raised
to gather her brilliance on its palm, de Sade's Father Laurent was spraying his jism
all over the faces in the fictional world.

A groan. A lurch. Someone had come, a young man who had been telling Holly earlier
about the Frankfurt School. Perhaps it was just the friction of flesh against flesh
for Holly was sure that no cunt had yet been poked. It was Father Laurent's white
shower that had felled him, and the boy lay on the sheets gazing up at the hang of
breasts and balls above him
with an expression of transcendence on his face and a
sweet subsidence at his groin.

She saw another of her acolytes begin to sweat and tremble, and frowned. They would
all shoot their loads before any consummation could occur. It was the power of the
words overwhelming them. She would have to hurry things along if their happening
were to succeed at all.

Holly reached between her legs and parted the lips slightly. The woman who was closest
to her crotch winced and held her hand over her eyes. The light was blinding bright
but it was too late to pause in the proceedings. Holly held one finger on her clitoris
and slipped the lips apart with two more.

‘I never see the same one twice,' Nick was proclaiming, underlining each word with
a finger travelling along with the lines on the page, ‘bring me some I don't know.'

Holly felt the thrust of a cock pushing between her fingers. The delightful sensation
of strange flesh entering her familiar orifice. This one shove of a shaft broke the
chastity of the whole adventure. She grunted with the force of the penis entering
her wildly while all around she was treated to the sight of a hundred different delights
of the flesh as each of the participants threw themselves bodily into the fuck.

Beside her two men had moved to suckle at one woman's breast, the heads bobbing in
tandem, twin tongues lapping out to circle the nipple and each other. As she watched,
the men kissed, tapping the nipple between their lips and involving the whole breast
in their succulent embrace. The woman, seemingly frustrated that only one of her
breasts was receiving such lavish attention, pulled at the other nipple with her
own fingers, offering it up to whoever might be inclined to take it into their
mouth.
She arched her back and her bum presented itself to the crowd. Another woman, still
wearing her red velvet pinafore among the increasingly undulant pile of scantily
clothed bodies, settled between the legs of the aroused woman. She pushed her fingers
under and up into the cunt while her tongue stretched forward to fill the smaller
entrance so easily at hand.

The woman squeezed her breast harder, pinching the nipple as she enjoyed the attention
of three strangers. A tall English boy with sweet dark ringlets crawled over to oblige.
Holly had had a brief conversation with him at the party and she remembered his
name was Tom Brown. ‘Just like in the book?' she asked him and he giggled and nodded.
‘There are about a million of us in the London phone book. You should look me up
one day,' he had offered, cheekily.

Tom in polite conversation was a different beast from this Tom who now relieved the
woman of responsibility for her own breast. He nipped it gently between his teeth
and was rewarded with a gasp and a little flip of the woman's hips, while the lady
in red who was reaming the victim reached over with her damp hand and unzipped him.
The cock that leaped out of his trousers was impressive: long and thick as a forearm.
It was already as stiff as it could be but the woman gave it a couple of strokes
anyway, before manoeuvring the boy's hips to nestle between the thighs of the girl
who she was still fucking with her tongue. She held him by the buttocks and pushed
him forward till his cock slipped, with a little difficulty, into the slippery orifice.
The woman raised her red velvet skirt and climbed onto the boy's hips, and, like
a cowboy at a rodeo, rode his arse up and down as he began the rhythmic thrusting
that would lead to the first penetrative climax of the evening.

Polite Tom Brown, transformed. That was the thing about an orgy; Holly understood
it now. In the heat of a pile of fucking, each body was indistinguishable from the
next. An orgy it turned out, was so egalitarian. She had never realised this before.
In the writhing mass of limbs each body was of equal value. A cock was a cock was
a cock. Each cunt its own unique work of art.

Holly felt someone's hands pulling at her nipples. She didn't bother to find out
who it was, she was too fascinated by the sight of Tom Brown's buttocks seesawing
so close to her own knees. Holly spat. The spit landed expertly on the cleft of his
arse and on his next lunge forward as the boy's huge cock rammed between the prostrate
woman's thighs, Holly slipped her thumb deep into his anus and the crowd watched,
captivated as his mouth slipped off the breast he was still sucking and his back
arched and his hips slammed forward, to force the full length of him into the cunt
below. He opened his mouth and groaned, the sweet curtain of curls bouncing angelically
on his forehead; his eyes rolled backwards till only the whites showed. His hips
jerked once, twice and he collapsed onto the body of the woman who was still convulsing.

Somebody clapped. Somebody else groaned. All around Holly clothes were abandoned,
hands crept into crevices, mouths opened, then closed on various protrusions of flesh.
One of the watchers vaulted over the side of the bed to join in and, like lemmings,
one after another of the circle of observers did the same. Nick was left alone to
stand open-mouthed at the end of a chapter, his book in one hand, his orgonometer
in the other.

Holly felt herself picked up like a cloth doll, the sharp slap of a hand across her
upraised arse. She felt her labia being
spread wide, a tongue pushing into her as
if to bring to full flower
the bud that grows adjacently,
as de Sade would have it.
She looked down and saw the lovely couple Ronnie and Steve, who had been sipping
martinis at the party, now sipping a much more potent brew. Their fingers were greedily
scrabbling in her cleft, a thumb in her arse, a finger in her cunt. Beneath this
their cocks were fencing, thrusting at each other, each man too preoccupied with
her juices to lift the hips of the other and slam inside. Ronnie's cock was particularly
impressive, thick and long and seeming to swell more with each slap.

She felt her breasts handled roughly, her head lifted harshly, pulled back by her
hair, her mouth opened in surprise and was filled by what she thought might be a
carefully manicured toe. She sucked, feeling for the toenail with her tongue and
realised suddenly that it was a little stub of a penis no bigger than a toe but twice
as thick, which began to pump into her stretched-wide lips, mercifully without the
length that might choke her.

She was filled now in every orifice. She breathed through her nose and it was the
musk of sex that filled her. She wanted to hold back, wait till the orgy was in full
swing, but she felt lips on her clitoris, sucking, licking the cock that entered
her near there before flicking back to the nub of her pleasure. She tried to stay
her climax, listing the names of the people who had now become reduced to their bodily
attributes. Cock of Ronnie, balls of Trent, breasts of Anne-Frances, but no, the
names began to fade away and all she was left with was cock and balls and clit and
cunt. She couldn't hold it. She breathed in, sucking, drawing the seed from the stubby
cock into her throat, her swallowing in time with the pulsing of the twin cocks now
buried to the hilt in her cunt and her arse. She felt
the slamming against her flesh,
the balls slapping down onto the flesh of whoever was sucking her clit, thighs rubbing
on thighs slamming against her thighs, bodies piled on top of bodies, pleasure upon
pleasure. She smelled sex and sweat and that scent again, like an electrical fire.
She felt her flesh heating up, her cunt beginning to throb.

The air sparked and flared with a light as bright as an atomic explosion. She screamed.
The light might blind her. Screamed again, and was joined by the pain of twenty men
and women and by their pleasure too as the whole naked tangle of bodies was suddenly
drenched, awash with juices of all kinds. She smelled sperm and cunt and piss and
shit and it was all of it wonderful and terrible at once. Holly gasped and opened
her blind eyes wide, her arms stretched out, every orifice gaping. She stood like
a saint martyred and as her eyes became accustomed to the glare she noticed the
flames. The curtains were on fire. The dusty fabric burning with a bright blue flame.
The light from her own cunt was still burning too, brighter than the glow from the
bulb at the head of the bed. Nick stood at the window batting at the flames with
his bare fists. At some point he had freed his own cock from his pants and it still
spat its final bursts of orgasmic energy in frightened little gasps.

‘Oh god!' he screamed. ‘They will see! They will find us now! They will find us!'

Holly covered the light from her sex with her hands but the pulsing beacon shone
out between her fingers. Staccato bursts of light punctuated by legato echoes, a
sexual SOS that seemed to swell and throb without end. She looked down between her
legs to see a wild-eyed man gorging himself on the glowing juices. Another man, the
one called Chatterton, pushed at the
first, his tongue extended, struggling to take
his place at the front. A woman shoved her hand up between their tongues, entranced,
and scooped a measure of the bright liquid, sucking on her fingers in a pantomime
of ecstasy. All eyes were on Holly, all hands, all tongues. She felt as if she were
being drunk dry. She remembered the woman in the shop, Culculine, the terror of her
incessant lapping. She tried to struggle away from the writhing mass but she was
trapped between limbs and breasts and cocks. There was a loud hushing sound. Nick
stood by the curtains brandishing a fire extinguisher, spraying foam onto the ruined
velvet. He turned towards her and took in the desperate, clutching pile of human
want. The mouths, the tongues, the crazed eyes. He pointed the extinguisher at her
cunt, braced himself and pulled the trigger. Holly was bathed in the glorious chill
of foam. The relief of bubbles slipping up between her legs. She thrust her hips
forward and the slick jet of foam scoured her vulva, pummelled her anus, coated the
heads of the ravenous horde. They fell away one at a time as the glow from her cunt
hissed and faded, leaving foam up to her tits and the pile of bodies writhing in
it like an early morning scene post–mardi gras. Holly felt dizzy from the energy
she had expended. She wanted to sit up; tried to steady herself, but her hands slipped
on someone's foamy shoulder and she fell back, fainting away completely on a slag
heap of expended sex.

Nick paced. He had hung thick blankets up in the windows and hauled the soiled sheets
and mattress into a reeking heap in a corner of the room. Now he had nothing left
to do but worry. He lifted the blanket a fraction and peered out at the night sky.
Ran his hand through his tormented hair.