Riot Girl
by Aussiescribbler
Smashwords Edition published by
Aussiescribbler
Copyright
2011 Aussiescribbler
Cover image from http://www.123rf.com/
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The Girl Who Played With Herself
“Fuck the IMF!” screamed a female voice and almost simultaneously a flaming Molotov cocktail crashed into my riot shield, exploding into a multitude of fragments. Gunther, my trusty partner, whipped out his fire extinguisher and hosed down the fiery debris.
“They really mean business today,” he commented, surveying the crowd of several hundred rioters who were overturning cars, throwing bricks through shop windows and pelting us with anything that came to hand.
“Passionate about their beliefs,” I pointed out. “You have to give them credit for that. Respect for our safety and other people’s property perhaps not as high a priority for them as it should be, that I grant you, but spirted, that they are.”
The girl who threw the cocktail was coming at us full pelt now, head down like a charging rhino. She was a slim girl in skin-tight black jeans, a black windcheater and a black balaclava.
“Fascist cunt pigs!” she shrieked, kicking my shield so hard that I fell back into a crouching posture.
“O.K. That’s it!” I screamed. “It’s the Taser for you, you little shit!” Down she went, jerking and twitching uncontrollably. “Cuff her, Gunth.”
Three minutes later the three of us were back in our squad car.
“How did you know it was me?” chuckled Patty, when I pulled off her balaclava. Nobody recovers from a Tasering as quickly as my Patty.
“Your unerring accuracy with a Molotov Cocktail is unique amongst that uncoordinated rabble,” I pointed out.
“You aren’t actually going to take me in, are you?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I replied. “They’d only keep you in jail overnight. I know how riots make you horny and I don’t want you getting hot and heavy with one of those ugly female prison guards.”
“They aren’t all ugly you know,” she smiled evilly. “Neither are all of the other inmates. Jail time has its fringe benefits.”
“Exactly the reason you are going to be under house arrest tonight. That way I can punish you properly for smashing the front window of Harrods with that brick,” I pointed out.
“Oh, you saw that,” she said, trying to look contrite and failing miserably.
“Yes, I saw that,” I replied. “And so will everyone who watches the BBC news tonight. I’m just lucky you were wearing a balaclava otherwise I would have to take you in.”
“And you are lucky that he has me wrapped around his little finger,” replied Gunther.
“He doesn’t dob me in for protecting my girlfriend from criminal charges, and I don’t dob him in for selling dope cookies at the local retirement home,” I explained.
I didn’t lock her in or cuff her to the bed. What if there were a fire? I knew she would be there when I got home.
“O.K. Little Miss Riot Girl,” I addressed her forcefully as I entered the apartment still dressed in my full uniform, “now I’m going to make you pay for your anti-social behaviour.”
“Oink! Oink! Oink! That’s all I heard, Mr. Piggy,” she responded insolently. She was dressed in her old-fashioned prison stripe pyjamas, laying back on the bed watching TV.
I threw my leg over her and began unbuttoning her pyjama top.
“Dirty pig, just wants to see my tits,” she smiled wickedly, and then spat in my face.
“You little bitch!” I yelled, yanking down her bottoms to reveal a bald pussy and an A for anarchism symbol where her pubes had once been.
“Fuck this, Porky Pig!” she taunted, grabbing her crotch.
“Oh, I intend to, honey!” I sneered. “Just you wait. But first we have to go through proper prison induction procedure. Starting with de-lousing.” With that I picked up a container of talcum powder and started shaking it all over her naked body. The clouds of powder that rose from her breasts went up her nose and she started sneezing uncontrollably.
Then I dragged her to her feet and pulled her into the bathroom.
“We have to make sure you aren’t trying to bring any naughty substances in with you,” I explained as I bent her over and pulled her butt cheeks wide apart. By now she was no longer resisting. The softness of her warm bum cheeks in my hands caused my cock to become rock hard in my pants as I stared at her cute pink bum-hole. “It looks all clear to the naked eye,” I decided, but just to be sure I stuck out my tongue and licked all around her hole. “One more test to be sure,” I added, sliding the middle finger of my right hand as far as it would go into the saliva-lubricated passage. “Just as I thought,” I concluded, “nothing up there.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I think you gave up too easily. You’re cock is longer than your finger.”
“My cock doesn’t come into it, young lady,” I scolded her, slapping her hard on the ass.
“It would if you fucked my bottom with it,” she replied, turning around and poking her tongue out at me.
“Now I have to check you haven’t got anything secreted in your vaginal cavity,” I informed her. “Sit on the counter and spread yourself wide open.”
She did as she was told. Her pussy was sopping wet, her creamy juices dribbling down onto the counter.
“See, there’s nothing in here,” she told me, shoving two of her fingers as far as they would go into her juicy depths. She then started sliding them in and out and rubbing her stiff clit with her other hand.
“Masturbating is strictly forbidden!” I yelled. “Except after light’s out.”
“But I always feel like wanking my wet little pussy when I see a police officer in his uniform,” she pouted. “Especially one with a big truncheon like yours,” she added, stroking the front of my trousers.
“The next step is the shower,” I responded, trying to maintain some kind of discipline. I turned on the shower and shoved her under it.
“Ah, FUCK!!!!!!” she yelled. “It’s fuckin’ cold!!!”
“A cold shower is just what little sluts like you need,” I pointed out.
The next thing I knew she’d dragged me under the water with her.
“Ah, FUCK!!!!!!” I yelled. “It’s fuckin’ cold.”
“I told you so,” she replied, turning on some of the hot.
It wasn’t long before we were back on the bed. I’d had to take off my wet clothes, so now we were both naked. And the fact that my cock was doing its patent impersonation of Nelson’s Column didn’t exactly help me to maintain the dignity I’d had when my uniform was on. But I still had the upper hand. In fact my left hand was pushing into Patty’s back as my right hand spanked her bottom.
“Ouch! That hurts!” she cried.
“Of course it hurts, Little Miss Che Guevara!” I replied. “It wouldn’t be much of a deterrent if it didn’t.”
“Police brutality! Police brutality!” she cried.
Eventually, I got kind of tired though, and my hand got sore.
“You know what?” I whispered in her ear.
“What?” she sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye.
“I take bribes,” I admitted.
“What kind of bribes,” she wanted to know.
“Well, just the other day I caught a naughty girl who was throwing Molotov Cocktails and I let her go in return for a blow job,” I told her.
“You did?!?” she replied. “That’s very corrupt of you.”
“Yes, I know,” I admitted. “I’m a very bad man.”
“I think you’re the one who belongs on the inside,” she informed me. “On the inside of my pussy.”
I licked the index finger of my left hand and slid it right up inside her warm clinging butt-hole as my cock entered her juicy wet cunt. I held her left bum cheek, still warm and tender from the spanking, in my right hand as I fucked her long and slow.
“Mmmmm. Pleasure me with your perfect prick, Porky Pig,” she sighed.
“Shut up or suffer more spankings you seditious Socialist slut,” I whispered tenderly in her ear.
Eventually we came together in a paroxysm of pleasure.
“So where are you rioting tomorrow?” I asked casually.
“Ah, now that’s for me to know and you to find out, isn’t it?” she replied, pinching my cheek playfully.
The End
The Girl Who Played with Herself
Lisbeth Salamander never paid porn site subscriptions. That was one of the fringe benefits of being a professional computer hacker. She hacked into the billing company's computers and signed herself up using the names and identities of government ministers or members of the clergy.
Lisbeth had a boyfriend, a young investigative journalist named Michael Plumfist, but she was one horny goth. Being fucked twice a night just whetted her appetite, and if she couldn't sleep she would log onto the net and look for something to wank to.
She loved wanking, and she loved porn. She also liked to be comfortable. Sweden can be pretty cold, but Lisbeth had central heating so she was able to sit cross-legged on her computer chair wearing nothing but her spiky dog collar as she played with herself while gazing at sexy women and men doing all the naughtiest things. She had all sorts of toys, but she liked to use her fingers best. She knew just how to give herself pleasure - gently pulling on her nipple piercings, rubbing around and around on her clit and sometimes sticking a lubed finger up her butt-hole. She always laughed at Michael insisting on using his own keyboard when accessing information stored on her computer. He was such a tease. Hadn't he stuck his tongue up her butt-hole plenty of times?
Michael had been working hard on a big case involving government corruption and was sound asleep in their bed, which was up against the far wall. He might be asleep, but Lisbeth suspected he was dreaming of her. How else could she explain the fact that his cock had turned the bed sheet into a tent worthy of Barnum and Bailey? She was tempted to go have a peek, but she knew that, if she did, she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to touch it, maybe kiss or lick it, perhaps wank it up and down with her fist, or even bounce her cunt on it. If she did that he would surely wake up, and she knew he couldn't get by without his rest. Much better to content herself with a bit of visually-assisted wanking.
"Watch real people doing rude things while they look at porn! They don't know anyone is peeking!" screamed an ad for a website.
Lisbeth chuckled to herself. People were so gullible. They wanted to think they were seeing something illicit and the web masters would always promise it, but, of course, it was all fake. They would have a bunch of models sitting in front of webcams masturbating, but not acknowledging the screen, so that it looked like they were being spied on without their knowledge. The oldest trick in the book. But, what the hell, some of them might be cute, and she wasn't going to pay for it anyway.
Getting herself a membership was the work of but two minutes, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with lightning speed. One strange coincidence did impress itself upon the lust-filled landscape of her mind. The real name of the company behind the site was Phoenix, the same name as the manufacturer of her computer. Still, it was a common enough name in the world of business.
The blurb on the opening page claimed that the individuals depicted inside did not even know that their web cams were on. They were truly being filmed without their knowledge. "Ever wondered what girls really do when looking at porn or reading emails from their boyfriends?" it asked. Apparently there were guys on the site, too, but Lisbeth realised that no-one wondered what they did when looking at porn. Everyone knew.
There was a ranking for most popular cams. So Lisbeth went straight to the top of the list, already starting to rub pussy juice around her stiff clit as she double clicked on the link, anticipating some hot action.
What she saw was her own face leering back at her.
***
Barton Banger was the head of Phoenix Global, the world's fourth largest computer manufacturer. He prided himself that, while his company was only the fourth largest, it was the most unscrupulous. His latest dastardly scheme had been to install web cams in his computers which, when the user was connected to the internet, could be controlled from his central offices in Zurich. Most of the time, nothing of interest was revealed, but sometimes he was able to obtain pictures with which he could blackmail the computer users, and at other times he lucked onto hot individuals of either sex who spent a lot of time wanking to internet porn. These connections provided the basis for his Peek at the Peekers porn site.
The most popular girl on the whole site for the last month had been some super hot Goth chick named Salamander. Hell, Barton and rubbed a few out to her himself. She had enthusiasm. She wanked like a wild thing. And memberships were going up and up through word-of-mouth (or rather word-of-email) because of her.
"She's putting in quite a performance today," he commented to Miss Bergman, his officious secretary.
"Yes she is," she replied matter-of-factly, watching Lisbeth finger herself.
"Do you ever do that?" he asked her, trying to peek down the minimal cleavage revealed by her sensible business shirt.
"When you first asked me that question, Mr. Banger, my answer was that it was not an appropriate question for the head of a major computing firm to ask his secretary," she explained patiently. "The fact that you have persisted in asking me the same question another sixty seven times in no way alters my initial judgement."
"Prude..." he muttered under his breath.
***
Never had Lisbeth been so glad that she was an expert at one-handed typing. She wanted to find out how this scam operated, but she didn't want to attract attention, so she kept on wanking as she hacked. She didn't have to pretend. She'd never been so turned on in her life. The thought that thousands of guys and probably women too, all over the world, were watching her finger herself was driving her crazy with lust. She was the most popular! Perhaps she had been stiffening cocks and clits for months without realising it. She wondered how many litres of hot cum had spurted out of guy's cocks while they watched her writhing around with her finger up her arse. But she mustn't let her excitement interfere with her hacking. She had to find out who was behind this.
"Hmmm... Barton Banger, hey?" she said to herself as she licked the juice of another cum off of her fingertips.
***
"Is she still masturbating?" asked Barton when he returned from his extended lunch.
Miss Bergman looked up at the screen.
"No, not at the moment," she replied. "She seems to be talking."
"Talking?" queried Banger. "What about?"
Miss Bergman turned up the sound.
"About you, sir," she answered.
"Me?!?!" he cried. "She shouldn't be talking about me! Why would she be talking about me? What is she saying?"
"She appears to be reading out your credit card details," Miss Bergman informed him, coolly.
"My what!!!???" he screamed, red in the face.
"Oh, and your home phone number..." she added.
***
Once Lisbeth had finished righting wrongs she began to consider the upside of this situation. It would take a while for Banger to close down the network. In the meantime Lisbeth wanted to keep together her fan-base. Not everyone would be as happy about having been an unknowing porn star as she was, but she also hoped she could help anyone who did like the idea to keep in touch with their fans too.
It didn't take her long to collect an email list of all the customers and all the "performers". She wrote an email explaining what had happened and explaining that she would use one of the many under-utilized hard drives on a government computer network to keep the webcam switchboard going for any who still wanted to take part. She especially emphasised to her fans that she wanted them to keep watching her. She told them that, now she knew they were watching, she was determined to stick lots of things up her bottom. And she also said that she would love for it to be two-way. She couldn't watch all of her thousand or more fans jack off to her, but she intended to watch as many as she could.
She ended up staying up all night, and when Michael woke up the next day he found that his goth girlfriend was now the mistress of ceremonies of a world-wide web of wanking.
"Don't look! Don't look!" she insisted, as he came over to see what she was up to. "It's a surprise!"
He covered his eyes but poked her impatiently in the shoulder with his erection. He was, however, careful to keep it away from her spiky dog collar.
"O.K. You can look now!" she said. "Meet my girlfriends!"
Michael opened his eyes to find the whole of Lisbeth's computer screen covered with small windows in which women of all shapes, ages and colours were shamelessly wanking, sucking on their nipples and sticking things up their bottoms.
"Well, say 'Hi!'" she insisted.
"They can see me?" he asked.
"Of course," she huffed impatiently, "now wave your lovely cock at them. They deserve encouragement."
A bunch of comments started appearing in a chat window down the bottom of the screen. "Nice cock!" "Don't I make you want to stroke it?" and "Wank that willy!"
Michael laughed and began stroking his hard cock as he looked at all those horny women.
"Why don't you show your girlfriends that you're a sucker for cock," he suggested, gently turning Lisbeth's head and pressing his hard-on against her lips, while taking care to rest, rather than skewer, his balls on the spikes of her dog collar.
She dropped down, opened her mouth and began licking his balls as a river of pre-cum ran down the side of his cock. Then she licked all the way up to the head, making sure to gather up all the glistening liquid as she went. Finally she planted a warm kiss on his sensitive head. But she didn't go on to give him what he really wanted.
"I'll show you how much of a sucker I am for cock!" she cried. "Look at my other friends!"
She hit a button and all of a sudden the screen was covered with images of guys jacking off.
"Billy's my favourite!" she exclaimed, clicking on one frame so that it expanded to fill the screen. On it a fit young man who looked like a surfer was gyrating around while stroking the biggest cock Michael had ever seen. After a minute he cried out, "Oh, Lisbeth!" and spurt after spurt of creamy cum shot out of the end and splattered all over his nut-brown muscular chest.
"I didn't really need to see that!" insisted Michael.
"Oh, but I did!" she teased, slapping him on the arse.
She brought back the bank of women.
"So who's your favourite wanker woman?" she asked.
"You," he insisted, kissing her on the head and inserting a finger up her dripping wet pussy.
"I know that, stupid!" she replied. "I mean from my fan club."
Michael thought a moment and then pointed at a redhead in her mid-forties who had really lovely big soft pale boobs and a cheeky smile on her face as she sat with one leg pulled up so that the foot was on her office chair and the other stretched out along the ground. "She looks like an older version of my gym teacher from when I was in college," he explained. "And I always did want to see Mrs. Stokes masturbate."
Lisbeth made the web cam image go full screen.
"Michael thinks you look like his old gym teacher," she informed the woman.
"I don't believe it!" cried the woman. "I thought it looked like you, Michael. I always wondered what the schlong that flopped around in your gym shorts would look like angry!"
"It's a class reunion!" laughed Lisbeth.
"Now you be good to that boy!" insisted Mrs. Stokes. "He deserves to have his cock sucked. I just wish I could do it! Yum!"
And so that is how Michael Plumfist ended up filling his girlfriend's mouth with cum while his sexy ex-gym mistress looked on and wanked off.
"This could be a great tool for networking in other ways," he told Lisbeth later as they chatted with their fans. "I have to fly to Helsinki the day after tomorrow to research my new story. Maybe we have a fan who lives there who would be willing to put me up."
"There's a girl named Katti who lives in Helsinki. She's only eighteen, but she has her own flat. Here she is," she added, calling up the image of a blonde girl with her hand down her pink panties. "I'll see what she thinks of the idea."
"Very nice," declared Michael looking her over.
"She seems to like the idea," Lisbeth told him. "I'll just turn up the sound again."
"I put him up," said the smiling girl in broken English. "I put him up my bum!"
"There won't be much time for extra-curricular activities," Michael declared. "If I'm going to break the story of price fixing in the pharmaceutical industry of Finland I'm going to need to do some deep probing."
"And if you want free accommodation while you're there I think you are definitely going to have to do some deep probing," Lisbeth pointed out. Then she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.
The End
"I can't give you any more for it," explained Gerard Steele to the figure lurking in the dark shadows of his large office. He puffed on his cigar sending clouds of smoke drifting through the cone of light that illuminated his desk. All he could see of his visitor was her amber eyes which burned in the darkness like glowing coals. "We get them hooked on the Cream and then we milk them for all that they've got. Your share stays the same - 25%. I take the risks. You're not really in a position to distribute."
"Not yet," Emma Blaine agreed. "But don't feel too complacent. My posse gets bigger every day."
"If you want to make some more money," Steele began thoughtfully, "there is another task that you and your posse are well positioned to perform."
"And what might that be?" she asked, her voice full of barely suppressed contempt.
"You know Professor Basingstoke?" he queried.
"Sure. Physicist. Most intelligent man in the word, if you believe the hype. I.Q. of 365," she informed him.
"Someone wants his spunk," explained Steele, tapping ash into an ashtray carved from the shell of a recently extinct species of tortoise.
"Breeding purposes, I presume," mused Blaine. "Of course there is no solid evidence that I.Q. is hereditary."
"I don't care about the rationality of my client's demands," Steele pointed out. "All I care about is their credit rating. This lady's loaded."
"The girls and I can do the job," she assured him. "What's our cut?"
"A cool million," declared Steele.
Now she was interested.
***
"Damn!" cursed Calvin Selfridge, as the bathroom window of the Alpha Sigma Sigma Sorority steamed up, obscuring his view of Rita Goodbody's soapy nude buttocks.
Perhaps he should have felt ashamed of himself. But he didn't. If something was his duty, did it make any difference that it was pleasant?
By day, Selfridge was the pride of the Delta Delta Tango Fraternity. Everyone believed that he lived for toga parties, keggers and the humiliation of pledges. But as soon as night fell he became Fratman, courageous curber of campus crime. And one of his principle duties was to watch over the sorority sisters, lest they fall under the seductive sway of his arch nemesis The Panther.
The Panther. Real name - Emma Blaine. In 1966 she'd been a student at Blake College herself. This was the age of government-sanctioned psychedelic drug research. Blaine was the first and only individual to ever ingest a particularly powerful form of LSD known as Black Moonlight. It sent her on a trip from which she had never returned. She came to believe that she was a wild beast stalking the urban jungle. But beyond that it caused a bizarre form of instantaneous genetic mutation. She was able to slow down the ageing process if she consumed a certain minimum dose of semen. Most significantly, however, the process of orgasm caused her to ejaculate large quantities of an addictive drug. It's scientific name was Purrroine. Street name : Cream. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. It could be taken orally, but most addict's took it intravenously. Psychologically it induced euphoria and a loss of sexual inhibitions. On men it also had a powerful physical effect, causing the testicles to swell up to the size of mangoes until such time as the individual ejaculated gallons of jism which would shoot out of the penis with all the force of a fire hose. Side-effects included dehydration and protein deficiency. It was a price that addicts were willing to pay.
Blaine only came out after dark. She wore a bodysuit of soft black velvet with cat's ears. It zipped up the back. There were eighteen holes in the suit - two each for her eyes, two each for her ears, one for her mouth, ten for her long claw-like fingernails, one each to bare her permanently erect nipples, and one to allow access to her cunt. When she stood, her jet black pubes disguised the fact that her genitals were open to the air, but when she crouched with feline grace the glistening wet pinkness of her pussy was on proud display.
Conventional wisdom was that the feline scourge of Scrotum City was insane. But, as Selfridge knew, insanity was a relative concept. There were even those who would consider an individual who took on a new identity at night, stalking villains while dressed in a turtleneck Fraternity jumper pulled up over his face with mouth and eye holes cut out, insane. What mattered wasn't intentions, but outcomes. And the outcome with The Panther was the efficient accumulation of wealth through the enslavement of men to a testicle-swelling addictive substance. She wasn't some old woman rambling on at the bus stop about the United Nations being infiltrated by lizard creatures from Alpha Centauri. Labelling her as insane was just not helpful.
Selfridge took up a new position outside the window of the sorority's main dormitory. These girls were shameless. Patty Cake was sitting cross-legged at a computer screen. She was wearing a see-through nightie and no panties. She was looking at a picture of a rather handsome nude man with a large stiff cock. And she was masturbating.
"Barry Townsend's sent us another nude photo of himself," she informed the other four girls who were lazing on their beds in various states of undress, either watching television or reading. "I think it's about time we paid him back by sneaking him into our room and giving his lovely big cock a friendly sucking."
"I wonder if he'd like to bugger my bottom with his beautiful boner," mused red-headed Molly Ringworm, sitting down hard on her bright blue butt plug.
The Panther had been recruiting girls from the sorority for what she called her Pussy Posse. Selfridge could see how innocent and helpless the girls were, and this stiffened his resolve. His resolve wasn't the only thing that it stiffened though.
My mind must be alert, and my body ready to respond to any danger, Selfridge told himself, as he pulled down his pants and began stroking his hot hard cock. It was simply a matter of dealing with a physical liability and clearing his mind of distracting fantasies about Patty and Molly kissing each other wetly around his cock while he slid a lubricated finger right up into each of their assholes as the other two girls spanked his arse and accused him of assassinating President Kennedy. He groaned and squirmed, squeezing his fist hard around his prick as he played with his balls with his other hand.
"What's that?" asked Molly, looking over Patty's shoulder.
"Something seems to be happening on the security camera," she replied. "I'll zoom in."
"Jeez, not again!" exclaimed Molly. "It's Pratman spanking his monkey outside the window."
***
Professor Basingstoke was a dignified gentleman in his early fifties with a bushy head of grey hair and a Mark Twain moustache. He was sitting in his study smoking a pipe and leafing through the latest copy of Nude Scientist, a girlie magazine which only featured young women scientists. This month's centrefold was a 27 year old chemist who lay back with her lab coat open to reveal her generous pale breasts. Her pubic region was coyly concealed by a beaker full of copper sulphate.
Basingstoke was a leading expert in the field of quantum particle physics. It is well known that certain subatomic particles behave differently depending on how they are being observed. Basingstoke had deepened understanding of this phenomenon. He had discovered that these particles act nervous when being observed by Republicans. Now he was working on the theory that they held wild parties when nobody at all was observing them. Unfortunately, so far, he'd been unable to find a conclusive way to test this hypothesis.
Of course this work was familiar only to other academics, but he was known to the general public as the author of the humorous bestseller 101 Uses for Schrödinger's Cat.
"What's that?" he asked himself, looking up from Miss January's pert nipples, as a grappling iron clanked loudly over the metal railing of his balcony.
***
"Wank off to our porn site like everyone else, you cheapskate!" yelled the Alpha Sigma Sigma girls as they chased Selfridge across the campus. He'd pulled up his pants so that he could run, but his cock was still poking out of his fly bouncing around in the chilly night air. The girls were a warm-blooded lot and didn't seem to be too trouble by the fact that their asses and pussies were bare and their tits were falling out of their flimsy nighties.
Selfridge had a lucky escape when the college gridiron team jogged past on their way to the showers and greeted the girls with a chorus of wolf whistles.
"Want some company in the showers?" Patty asked. "After all those cocks aren't going to suck themselves."
The football players looked a bit nervous, especially when the girls stripped them of all of their clothes before they'd even reached the cover of the change rooms, but they knew they were in for a good time.
And Selfridge felt relieved. He could stop running.
But then he noticed some dark shapes moving around on one of the balconies of the staff living quarters. The Panther and her Pussy Posse. It could be no-one else. He began to run once more, this time in the direction of that building's lift.
***
The windows crashed open and in strode a maleficent and magnificent figure. Her eyes spat fire and her body moved like a dark tide in its covering of inky velvet. This covering did nothing to hide the sway of her flesh. Her deep pink nipples stood out stiff with arousal through the holes cut in the cloth. And her sexual juices were flowing so freely that it looked as if she had just pissed down her leg.
"Get a whiff of your prey, girls," she purred to her companions. She was accompanied by five young women, who now dropped the long black cloaks which had provided them with camouflage as they slid through the night to reveal the skimpiest of leopard skin bikinis.
"What do you l-l-l-l-adies want?" Makepiece wanted to know.
"Just relax, honey," The Panther suggested soothingly. "Think of yourself as a cow, and these charming ladies as milk maids."
"A c-c-c-cow?" stammered the professor. "What kind of bull is this?"
"Yes, you're right," she smiled, reaching out and stroking the crotch of his pants, "you are a bull, aren't you? You are a one man sperm bank and we are about to make a withdrawal. Get him girls!"
"I'll take his left leg!" said Duchess.
"I'll take the right!" said Marie.
"His right arm will be my responsibility," said Frou-Frou.
"Let me take the left," said Abigail.
"And I," declared Amelia, "shall sit on his face."
"Not yet, Amelia," ordered The Panther. "For now your duty is to supervise the removal of his clothes."
The next thing the professor knew he was pinned to the floor and his shirt buttons were being undone. The girl's g-strings didn't do much to cover their pussies. In their horniness Frou-Frou and Abigail were rubbing the bare damp flesh of their aroused cunts against the palms of his hands as they rested their virtually bare bottoms on his wrists.
"Just expose the relevant parts," insisted The Panther. "We don't have time to strip him completely.
Amelia pulled open his shirt and lifted the t-shirt beneath. Then she smiled wickedly and began licking his nipples.
"Duchess. Marie. You get his pants down," The Panther ordered.
The professor felt his pants being unzipped and pulled down, and then down came his underpants allowing his now rock hard cock to slap up against this belly.
Then a wet mouth engulfed his prick. He didn't know if it was Duchess's or Marie's.
At that moment the door burst open with a loud crunching sound. Fratman had kicked it open.
"Don't worry, Professor!" he shouted. "Fratman has arrived just in the nick of time to rescue you!"
"That's very kind of you," said the professor. "But I don't think I'm going to need rescuing for the next few minutes. Perhaps give me ten minutes and then come back, hey?"
"You don't realise how dangerous these vermin are," insisted Fratman.
"Well," said the professor philosophically, "some dangers are best faced head on."
"So we meet again, my fine furry feline friend," declared Fratman, addressing the Panther.
"So now I'm your friend am I?" she wanted to know.
"Well, actually I meant that ironically," he qualified.
"Fuck off, Fratman!" she spat contemptuously.
"I can't allow you to rape this poor defenceless old man," Fratman insisted.
"It's only rape if I don't give my consent," pointed out the professor.
"Perhaps, Professor, you won't mind waiting while we take care of this ill-mannered interloper," The Panther suggested.
"Not at all," replied the professor. "Do what you must."
The girls grabbed Fratman and threw him to the ground. Amelia held his mouth open while The Panther squatted down over his face and began wanking. Frou-Frou and Abigail, who were holding down his arms, leant forward and began sucking on their mistress's stiff nipples.
"Oh, yeah-h-h," she moaned and her belly spasmed as a powerful stream of liquid shot out of her cunt, filling Fratman's mouth and splashing all over his face and hair and chest. It felt like he was being pissed on, but the clear liquid had a slightly creamy taste like coconut milk.
"Now, Fratman, we are more than friends. You have joined the brotherhood of those who have drunk my cunt juice!" she declared triumphantly.
Fratman felt a warm sensation spreading throughout his body. He noticed for the first time how stiff his cock was and he felt an overwhelming desire to lick the Pussy Posse all over. He wanted to stick his tongue up their noses and in their ears and lick out their assholes. He wanted to perform hours and hours of acupressure massage on their soft young bodies using only the head of his cock. He wanted to perform uninhibited nude dance routines for their grandmothers while they pleasured their own withered flesh. Permutations of polymorphous perversity pervaded every part of his being, and meanwhile his balls grew ever larger.
Meanwhile, the Panther and the Pussy Posse had returned their attentions to the professor. He was drinking down the Cream shooting out of the Panther's pussy like a man who'd just spent a week in the desert. And the girls were taking turns sucking and wanking his cock. And, like Fratman, he now had prodigiously large balls.
"Grab the bucket!" cried The Panther, and soon Frou-Frou was pointing the professor's cock into the receptacle as it erupted in a torrent of thick juicy jism. Soon the bucket was full to overflowing, and the professor was lying back on the floor exhausted and pale.
Through his erotic haze, Fratman realised he had to act quickly if he were going to do his duty as a superhero. He jumped up and started to run towards The Panther and her cohorts. But it isn't easy to run with balls the size of mangos. And it is very painful when the attempt causes you to fall over and land on those massive balls.
"Fuck!" cried Fratman. "That smarts."
Then he had an idea. He started to masturbate. He grabbed his stiff cock and began stroking forcefully.
The girls put the professor to bed and re-donned their cloaks. Then they and The Panther turned toward the window.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" moaned Fratman as he came, shooting a massive slick of cum all over the study floor.
"Woah!" cried The Panther as she slipped in all the cum.
"Woah!" cried the Pussy Posse as they did likewise.
Trying to right themselves they leaned towards the open window, their feet pedalling but finding no steady purchase. And so it was that they slid out onto the balcony and fell over the railing, plummeting to the ground below.
The girls all ended up in hospital. Once mended they would all take up residence in The Big House.
The next day Fratman read the headlines in the Scrotum City Herald. They read :
WANKER ACCIDENTALLY HELPS POLICE IN ARREST OF THE PANTHER.
The End
Professor Anne Thropoid (Annie to her friends) had spent the last couple of years in the wilds of Rwanda studying the social behaviour of mountain gorillas. Though capable of great ferocity if they felt their children were threatened, they were in essence gentle giants, playful and affectionate with each other. Annie had been obsessed with them since she saw David Attenborough sitting amongst them in an episode of Life on Earth when she was a little girl. Later she had seen the movie Gorillas in the Mist and come to idolise the late Dianne Fossey. She longed to do the same kind of field work and had eventually managed to get the opportunity. It didn't come to everybody. When a species was so endangered, being allowed to spend time with them was a rare privilege.
Now she was attending the International Conference on Primate Research being held in San Francisco. It was an exciting chance to do a presentation on her work and to hear about the work of others in the field. Many of the other presentations had been fascinating and some had given her ideas about new approaches to her own work.
The only problem was the egos of some of the researchers. There were so many who seemed unable to appreciate the work of their colleagues and were only interested in blowing their own trumpets. Disagreements on interpretations of behavioural evidence and on the ethics of research in laboratories and sensitive ecosystems had caused conflicts which in some cases had come almost to fisticuffs. For Annie, so full of enthusiasm for our loveable near relatives on the evolutionary tree, and so bored with scientific politics, the conference was turning out to be a very mixed experience.
"The bonobos use the sharing of genital pleasure as a kind of social lubricant," declared Professor Lancelot Link from the podium as Annie sat in rapt attention. "Genital to genital rubbing occurs between all members of the troop, irrespective of gender, age or familial relationship. The only exception is that adult males do not rub genitals with their mothers. Males often enact with each other what resemble mock sword fights using their erect penises," he added, showing a slide."
Annie was familiar with this information, but she never tired of hearing about those funny little bonobos. She couldn't stop herself from yawning though. The conference was taking its toll on her. She was so buzzed that she wasn't sleeping well. Now she was starting to feel burnt out. She was glad her own presentation had been so early in the conference.
"It seems that this unbounded sharing of erotic pleasure is the key to easing potential conflicts and maintaining the peaceful, cooperative and female-centred bonobo society," Link continued.
It was no good, Annie couldn't keep her eyes open a moment longer. She knew it was an unforgivable faux pas at this kind of event, but she allowed her lids to come down and mind to drift off into dreamland.
She had the strangest dream. She was in the conference hall, but she was stark naked, and so were all of the other attendees. She nearly collapsed laughing when she saw Professor Link and Professor Clyde doing a full-on Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone routine with their stiff cocks.
"The bonobo is most definitely more intelligent than the orangutan!" cried Link, lunging in and slapping his cock against the sensitive head of Clyde's impressive member.
"Ouch!" cried Clyde. "You take that back you shameless charlatan!" He jabbed Link forcefully in the ball bag with his rigid ramrod.
"Now, now, you guys," said Annie walking up and patting each of them playfully on the ass. "Is it really all that serious? If you keep on like that you are going to hurt your little dickies."
"I'll have you know that I have one of the largest and most highly regarded penises in the world of primate research," insisted Link.
"Let's have a closer look," suggested Annie, crouching down and examining his proud protuberance. "It is quite cute. And very stiff. Look how its dribbling. You sure are one horny primatologist!" And then she started sucking on his balls and drooling saliva all over the floor before licking up the trail of salty pre-cum that was flowing down its purple-veined underside.
"Oh, that's very nice," sighed the professor, licking his fingers and rubbing them against his hairy nipples.
Meanwhile Clyde licked the index finger of his right hand, getting it really wet and slippery with saliva and then crouched down, spread Annie's ample ass cheeks and slipped it straight up her bottom-hole.
Annie's mouth was now full of Link's cock, otherwise she would have thanked Clyde for giving her one of the many things she loved. All she could do to indicate her approval was to slide her bum up and down Clyde's digit enthusiastically.
She could tell Link was about to blow so she went back to tickling his balls with the tip of her tongue to just gently tip him over the edge.
"Oh, fuck!" he cried as he sprayed her face with jets of juicy jism.
Then she stood up, letting Clyde's finger slide out of her ass, turned around and pushed him down onto the floor.
"I'm going to suck somebody's cock," she said, "and his name begins with a 'C'."
She turned around and sat her bare ass and girl-cum-dripping pussy onto his bespectacled face.
"If you want to stick your tongue right up my cunt, I won't mind at all," she informed him. "Doesn't matter if you don't though. I can always rub myself off on your nose." It ended up being a bit of both as Annie was as horny as fuck and not content to sit still, while Clyde loved nothing more than drinking pints of pussy juice. It wasn't long before Annie's mouth was full of hot cum and her twitching twat was spraying his face like a seltzer bottle.
"I needed that," sighed Annie rolling over on her back and playing with her tits. The orgasm lasted another five minutes, causing the formation of a veritable lake of girl juice all over the linoleum floor. The guys had totally forgotten what they were fighting about. They were both down on hands and knees slurping Annie's juices off the floor like buffalo at a water hole.
"That seat is taken," insisted another nude man sitting down near the stage when the guy one seat down placed his brief case on it.
"I booked both of these seats!" insisted the other man. "My friend is in the toilet and then he'll be here."
"I'll solve this," Annie informed them. "I'll sit in this seat to keep you two apart."
"Corrrrrr!" said the first man when he got a look at luscious Annie, her pretty face all spattered in jism, her hair messed up, her cunt swollen and still dribbling juice, and her tits jiggling in response to the laboured breathing brought on by her state of rampant lust.
"All you'd have to do to make up and be friends is to jack each other off," explained Annie. "But don't you worry. I'm an expert. I'll do it for you." And so she grabbed the lucky men's stiff pricks and began stroking them up and down, while taking turns to French kiss them with her cum-sticky lips. And each of the guys grabbed a bouncing boob and lightly pinched an erect nipple.
"I like you guys," she told them. "Maybe after dinner we could get together again and you could spit roast me. I love multi-tasking."
Soon the gentleman whose seat it was arrived and stood looking at Annie in surprise.
"Don't tell those animal right's protestors outside that I'm spanking a couple of monkeys," she laughed.
"Most interesting behaviour," he said, looking over his glasses. His cock was so stiff it was quivering like a tuning fork.
"Come closer and I'll give you an oral presentation about it," Annie teased.
Inevitably she once more ended up with a mouth full of cock. She loved the feel of the hard throbbing flesh radiating heat in the wet cavern of her mouth. And she also loved the feel of the stiff cocks in her fists. She couldn't wait for them to shoot their jizz. How high would it squirt? She loved the feel of hot spunk running down over her hands and knowing the eruption was all her doing.
The guys all exploded at once. Annie gulped down the jism in her mouth and then crouched on the floor to suck every drop of man juice off of the other two, now flaccid, cocks.
She needed a cup of tea so she headed for the kitchen. When she looked in the fridge to get the milk she saw a stick of butter.
"Hmmmm," she thought. "Best to be prepared. You never know when you might want to be able to slide something comfortably up your arse."
She was bending over rubbing the dairy product all around and inside her puckered little arsehole, when in walked Professor Mandrake, the baboon expert.
"I've never seen a posterior I so desperately wanted to plunder with my penile protuberance," he declared rather pretentiously.
"I might have known a baboon expert would be a butt man," laughed Annie, delighted to have another play partner. "Come slide your sausage up my slippery shit chute!" she squealed, feeling so deliciously obscene.
"Only after I spank it to a healthy pink coloration," he insisted.
"I don't usually approve of violence," she informed him, with playful disproval. "But it does sound invigorating."
They soon had an audience of twenty or so other delegates, some male and some female all nude and aroused. Most were wanking themselves off, but some where playing hand buddies.
"What a cock-stiffening bum she's got!" insisted one of the men. "And that bright red coloration is bound to improve her mating opportunities."
"God! I'm horny!" cried a woman whose specialty was bush babies. "I think I'm going to need at least ten of you guys to fuck me one after the other." She had no shortage of volunteers.
Once Annie's bum was as red as a radish, Mandrake pulled her cheeks apart and rammed his throbbing cock right up her rectum.
"Oh, yeah!" cried Annie. "Fuck me hard, Mr. Baboon Man!"
Instinctively realising that some applause was called for, most of the women who had been watching knelt down and started to suck the cocks of the men who had been wanking to free up their hands to clap.
"Gee," sighed an ecstatic Annie, "it sure is fun being a Socially Lubricating Uninhibited Trollope!"
"Annie, Annie, wake up," came a quiet voice beside her as she felt a hand gently pushing on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of Dominic Morrell, the gorilla sign language teacher she had had a fling with at a conference a couple of years before.
Annie shook her head to bring herself back to reality. She could feel that her panties were absolutely drenched beneath her short business-like skirt. On the stage Graeme Garden-Oddie was giving a presentation about food theft amongst a particular kind of long armed primate. It was entitled "Gibbon Take".
"Did you really want to hear this?" asked Annie, giving Dominic a smile and wink.
"Not particularly," he replied. "If you prefer we could go back to my room and monkey around."
The End
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