Lust on the Loose (31 page)

Katie Crisp
joined him, dressed for once in jeans, and they sat companionably
buttock to buttock on the steps. This was a changed Katie. It
occurred to Billy that what she needed all along was an
old-fashioned fucking. Nevertheless he was not so sure of his
ground as to air this thought.

A particularly
loud outburst broke out from the dressing rooms. Several voices
were raised in outrage over a background of sobs and dark
mutterings of a rebellious nature.

'What's that
all about?' said Billy.

Katie grinned maliciously. 'That's the Marian Mucus
corps de ballet
discovering that their wardrobe is incomplete. The skip
containing their costumes has got lost.'

'What will
they do?'

'They've got
to go on. Candy insists. They're going to dance in their body
stockings.'

'Poor
things.'

'Don't waste
your sympathy. They're all so damned skinny they could dance naked
and no one would notice. Unlike our friend Tracy. I'd steal her
costume myself if I didn't think she'd just love to perform in the
nude. What you men see in those wobbling jellies of hers I can't
imagine.'

Billy hastened
to change the subject. 'What happens now, Katie? I mean, this is
complete pandemonium. I can't believe that a performance will
possibly take place tonight.'

'Oh, it will.
They may look like idiots but these people know what they're doing.
So don't you worry your pretty little head. Your job is to keep an
eye on Mr Tempo and make sure he keeps his pecker in his pants. And
while you're at it,' she leaned across him and clapped a hand over
his crotch, 'I suggest you keep yours buttoned up too.'

She kissed him
with force, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth and massaging
his loins meaningfully. Billy allowed his mouth to be raped and his
cock leapt to attention as she slipped her hand into his
trousers.

'Unfortunately,' she said, 'I've got to go. I must find out if
Melissa Melone has arrived. Now you behave yourself.' And with a
parting squeeze to his now rampant organ she exited up the
stairs.

Leaving Billy
with his fully erect penis thrusting up from his trousers in full
view of two thin girls in leotards standing open-mouthed in the
doorway straight ahead of him. He hastily stuffed his treacherous
member back into his pants as he rushed past them. Maybe he had
been better off when Katie was not being quite so friendly...

Sophie was in
turmoil on the back seat of Arnold's car as the three of them drove
through the ugly suburbs of south London. She couldn't understand
the feelings of pent-up desire that were singing through her veins.
She knew she was highly sexed, it had been an early item of
self-knowledge and her adolescence had been one long battle with
her sensual impulses. Since then, however, she had always managed
to keep things in check. Correction - she had usually managed to
keep things in check. The Crispin Kingsley incident had not been
the only one to spoil her record. Nevertheless, she had always had
some degree of choice when it came to sex. The fact that she said
yes more often than no was irrelevant. But now, alone on the back
seat of Arnold's much-prized second-hand Maserati, her heart was
thumping and her pussy was drooling and she feared she'd be unable
to say no to Hannibal Lecter.

Arnold was
disturbed. The traffic was bloody and he really should have been at
Bedside first thing that morning. He knew his team must have been
at work since dawn preparing the evening buffet and he felt
guilty.

Then there was
the business about Billy. It was a bit hard to credit that some
heavy was out for his blood but nevertheless it was not a pleasant
prospect. What's more he had now been sworn to secrecy. Neither he
nor Betsy was supposed to tell Billy his life was in danger.
Sergeant Sophie had assured them both that since Danny Fretwork
didn't know about the Gala then all would be well and Billy was
better off in blissful ignorance. In which case why had she been so
keen to drive to Bedside at once? It was all very complicated.

Arnold's most
immediate concern, however, was the physical condition of the
policewoman squirming on the back seat behind him. He observed her
closely in the mirror, noting the flushed cheeks and heavy
breathing and constant shifting of the hips. An awful thought was
dawning. He hadn't, had he, given her the wrong biscuits? He kept
some at Betsy's to inspire their midnight sex sessions. Had he
then, in the confusion of learning about Billy, given this
policewoman a Love Crunch Special? He must be going potty.

Which was
exactly what Betsy was thinking. She too had noticed Sophie's
condition, the way those lovely legs kept opening and closing and
her hands fidgeted in her lap. At any moment the poor girl was
going to start fingering herself. Betsy shot a venomous glance at
her lover, she had no doubt who was responsible for this state of
affairs.

'Are you all
right back there, Sophie?' she asked. 'Want to change places with
me?'

'Oh. I don't
know. I mean, I am feeling a little odd...' Sophie floundered,
unable to articulate, her eyes fixed on Arnold's long strong
fingers wrapped around the gear stick, gripping it just below the
bulbous end, so reminiscent of - 'Cock,' she blurted inadvertently.
'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean. I—'

'Stop the car,
Arnold,' ordered Betsy. 'Sophie and I are changing places so she'll
be more comfortable.' Her tone was not friendly and Arnold did as
he was told.

They resumed
their journey with Sophie reclining on the front passenger seat
which Betsy had lowered so that she lay virtually flat. Her skirt
rose up over her trembling thighs and Arnold gazed with interest at
the seductive expanse of flesh so close to his left hand. Betsy
jabbed him in the back of the neck and hissed, 'Keep your eyes on
the road.'

Sophie lay
there, her senses on fire, her body thrilling to the smooth motion
of the car and the throb of the engine. She looked up at Betsy, at
the upside-down face now bent close to hers, at the full-lipped
mouth which now whispered, 'I'm going to give you a massage,
Sophie. You'll soon feel much better. I promise.'

Sophie might
have protested but the touch of Betsy's fingers on her temples
froze the words in her throat. They made circles on the skin on
either side of her head, pressing gently and skilfully, banishing
the tension in her forehead. Now, from her position seated behind
her, Betsy moved her hands to Sophie's neck, relaxing her then
titillating her nerve ends as she slid her fingers over her skin,
pushing down to the base of her throat and sliding her hands
beneath the thin cotton of her blouse onto the upper slopes of her
breasts.

'Oh!' cried
Sophie as Betsy's fingers reached her nipples. 'Oh yes!'

'Relax,
Sophie,' said Betsy, leaning forward so her hair hung in a yellow
sheaf over Sophie's face while her hands grasped the fullness of
Sophie's big tits.

'Oh!' screamed
Sophie again as the magic of Betsy's touch washed over her.
'Ohh!'

Betsy lowered
her head and fastened her lips over the open mouth beneath. Sophie
reached up through the golden curtain and gripped Betsy around the
neck, locking them into a long and passionate upside-down kiss.

By now the car
was off the main road, Arnold considering it prudent to take to the
lonely lanes. He looked down with longing at the heaving loins of
his passenger, the skirt riding high on widespread thighs to reveal
a thin strip of white panty at her crotch.

He slowed the
car so he could give more attention to the action beside him. The
kiss still endured and Betsy had stripped open Sophie's blouse to
reveal a sumptuous pair of creamy titties lolling half out of a
lacy white brassiere. As Arnold sneaked glances to the side he saw
Betsy's hand reach further, over the bunched skirt and under the
band of Sophie's tiny panties. The long thighs snapped shut on the
questing fingers and then sprang open again as Sophie thrust her
pelvis up off the seat to try and capture as much flesh as she
could in her hungry snatch.

Arnold pulled
the car off the road into a wooded layby.

Betsy pushed
the flimsy panties to one side revealing two fingers already sunk
to the knuckle inside Sophie's long-lipped quim. Arnold shifted
uneasily in his seat and unfastened his seat belt.

'What are you
doing, Arnold?' said Betsy. 'I thought I might be able to
help.'

'I bet you
did. Well, you're not needed.' Betsy's fingers were still working
in Sophie's spread pussy, jabbing into her in a steady rhythm that
was being answered by Sophie's upward thrusts.

'I think she
wants a man, Betsy.'

'Don't be
stupid. Stick that big thing of yours in her and you'll be up on a
charge of assault with a deadly weapon. Now drive on.'

A bemused
Sophie, her senses tingling as she teetered on the edge of orgasm,
half-heard this exchange. Only one thing was clear to her, a cock
was on offer and, if that was so, then she wanted it.

'Yes,' she
said feebly, 'give me that big thing. Stick it up me, please!'

But Arnold
didn't hear as he gunned the motor and Betsy had other ideas. With
her free hand she had managed to rearrange her own clothing and
now, as the car resumed its journey, she insinuated her long body
along Sophie's to bring her mouth to the spot where her hand was
working so energetically.

For Sophie the
yellow screen of hair over her face had vanished to be replaced by
slim thighs and a pink-lipped pussy mouth ripe for kissing. And as
the first ripples of orgasm broke over her aching body she began to
kiss Betsy as fiercely as she had ever kissed anyone in her
life.

Coincidentally, on a separate stretch of road bound for Bedside
Manor, another act of sexual licence was taking place.

Sebastian
Silk, king of the musical theatre, had been as nervous as a kitten
throughout the press conference at Heathrow. It wasn't the massed
ranks of the fourth estate that unnerved him - he was used to them
- it was the woman at the centre of it who was to accompany him in
his chauffeured limousine to the Gala. To Sebastian, Melissa Melone
was more than simply the world's greatest soprano, she was a
goddess. Her agreement to sing his new song cycle at the Gala
eclipsed all his previous successes. The West End smashes, the
Broadway hits, the clutch of chart-topping albums - all faded in
comparison with Melissa Melone's approval. For Seb Silk, formerly
Cedric Damp of Ball's Pond Road, Melissa Melone represented an
entree into the world of proper Art.

Melissa had
stepped off the plane from Rome in the midday heat of August
dressed in an ankle-length sable coat. The journalists flung
themselves at the bait; in the no-news silly season Melissa was
guaranteed good copy.

'How come, Miss Melone,' asked the
Blizzard
, 'you are here to support the
cause of feline welfare and you are wearing a fur?'

'Because my
coat is not real, it is for fun - a fantasy. I think the real pussy
should keep its coat but we women must be allowed our fantasies
too.'

'But it's nearly eighty degrees, aren't you hot?' From
the
Rabbit
.

'You don't
know what I am wearing beneath this. Maybe it is nothing.'

'Go on, Melissa, let's have a look. Strip off!' This from
the
Dog
, which
didn't merit a reply, just a finger-wag of disapproval and a saucy
smile.

Melissa Melone
was a creature of legend. Her origins were obscure - the dozen
biographies disagreed on fundamental points - but from her first
performance in the great opera houses there was no disagreement.
Here was a Voice that could act and seduce the hardest of critics.
Her looks helped, of course. She was big and blonde, a Valkyrie in
scale, yet thoroughly Italian in her warmth and passion. She was a
fixture in the artistic firmament and had been for more than twenty
years. Only her five ex-husbands, their dependants and lawyers, a
few hundred jealous women and the majority of her fellow performers
had any cause to hate her.

And now she
sat beside Sebastian in the back seat of the limo.

'At last,' she
said expansively, 'we are alone.' Which was true if you discounted
the chauffeur. Her secretary and hairdresser were making their way
separately.

Sebastian was
overwhelmed. He had the impulse to fall on his knees before
her.

'This is a
great honour,' he began.

'Bull,' she
said quickly. 'We are artistes, we don't have to talk bullshit to
each other.'

Sebastian's
heart sang - if only his critics could hear that Melissa Melone
regarded him as an equal. He'd make some of those snobs eat their
reviews...

Melissa fixed
him with her mysterious sea-green eyes. 'You are a very naughty
boy, Sebastian.'

'Melissa?'

'Don't you act
innocent with me. Though this is the first time we meet I know lots
about you. Not just the rubbish in the newspapers. I have been
singing this new music of yours for two weeks now and I know you
are a naughty boy.' She chuckled, a low throaty gurgle that turned
Seb's stomach upside down. 'Do you want to find out what is beneath
my coat, like those lecherous reporters?'

Sebastian was
confused. He had spoken to her on the phone frequently during the
past few weeks, being unable to get away to Rome and assist in the
rehearsals. She had been charming and businesslike, now she was
implying an intimacy that surely wasn't possible and yet... His
eyes were transfixed as she began to unbutton her coat, still
holding it closed over the mountains of her chest.