Alison Goes to London Ch. 19

Outside number 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, any parishioner arriving for the advertised Requiem mass that Sunday morning might have noticed a young couple standing guard on the opposite side of the road. Actually, only one of them was standing; the other was kneeling on the pavement in front of him, sucking his cock.

Bradley gazed down at Claire, her head bobbing slowly back and forth, tongue twisting and slobbering, lips alternately squeezing and releasing, her saliva forming a continuous dangling dribble which swung backwards and forwards from his shaft. He smiled. And then he said something which he had never said before to anyone in his life: "You pleasure me, Claire... You pleasure me."

Claire paused and looked up, a large spit bubble poised, stretched between her lips and Bradley's glans. She opened her lips in a wide grin -- and the bubble popped. "You pleasure me too, Brad," she replied -- and blushed, before doing something utterly unheard of: she willingly interrupted a blowjob. Claire slowly stood up, a long dribble briefly connecting her mouth with Bradley's cock, before it stretched too far and snapped. And then she kissed him. But this was not a fuckers' kiss, full of filthy lust and thrashing tongues; this was tender, sensitive. This was a lovers' kiss.

Bradley felt it too, as their lips gently caressed each other's ears, cheeks, necks. And when their lips met, something passed silently between them. Bradley did not dare say it: that would have been too much for a well brought-up, conscientious, Enlightenment lad like him. And Claire, though already more of a rebel, did not voice it, out of tender concern for him. But they both knew something had changed. And as they wrapped their arms around each other and hugged, almost as if holding on for dear life, it was clear to both of them -- without having said it -- that after today, around them nothing would be quite the same.

Inside 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, Father Ambrose was chanting the introit:

The priest censed and asperged the casket, as the chapel gradually filled with mourners, old and young, mainly Asian or black -- the normal collection of old-style believer Undesirables. They bowed to the coffin and knelt dutifully at their pews. Sister Rina genuflected, kneeling reverently in the front row, surrounded by the other sisters of her order. She turned to Alison with a wry half-grin. Alison sat in a back pew, shaking alternately with sorrow and with mirth. "This is crazy," she muttered to herself, "absolutely fucking bonkers!"

Father Ambrose was reading from his Bible -- but it wasn't the usual funeral texts. Judging by the cheeky half-smile on his face, he seemed to be enjoying his subterfuge.

The occupants of the coffin seemed to be taking the priest's scripture readings literally. From beneath the casket lid could be heard the soft sound of smooching and slurping.

"Oh fuck," whispered Alison to herself. "Here we go again." But Father Ambrose, a gentle smile fixed on his face, continued unperturbed:

"Yeah, I fucking bet it is," giggled Alison under her breath. The muffled amatory soundtrack from within the coffin was getting more insistent: moans and sighs, punctuated with the occasional whispered "oh yeah" or "oh fuck..." Sister Rina and the rest of the congregation maintained their poker faces with studied concentration. Father Ambrose continued to smile inscrutably as he read:

"I know what else is under your tongue," thought Alison, guffawing internally whilst trying in vain to keep a straight face, as Ambrose read on:

"Shit, are you fucking joking?!" muttered Alison. From within the casket could be hear the muffled sound of sucking and squealing, punctuated by mumbled phrases such as: "oh yeah, suck my tits..." or "lick those fucking nipples, baby". The casket was beginning to rock and jiggle -- and yet the congregation kept straight faces.

"Oh yeah, fuck me baby," came Eva's muffled squealing voice from within. "Yeah, fill me up with that big dick..." The thumps and bumps from the coffin were getting louder and louder, as the casket rocked more violently on its dais.

Eva and Chad seemed to be doing just that. The sounds of orgasmic ecstasy were unmistakeable now: "Oh motherfucking Jesus, you're gonna make me come, Chad, oh FUUUUU--" came Eva's voice from beneath the oak panelling, cut off -- presumably -- by Chad's hand gently placed over her mouth to silence her. The congregation remained kneeling in prayer.

"Pssst!" Alison heard a whisper in her ear, and felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. She turned, to see Rob signalling to her to follow him. Briefly, Alison felt like resisting. But his eyes twinkled, and his grin was broad; Alison melted, and followed.

Rob led Alison up one stairway, along a corridor, and then up a metal spiral staircase which opened onto a small open-air roof-garden at the top of the building, facing the rear balcony of one of the surrounding office blocks. "Hey, fucking!" exclaimed Alison. "This is nice!" They stood side by side leaning against the low cast stone balustrade.

"I remember sneaking out of mass as a kid to come up here and chuck pebbles at the block opposite," grinned Rob. "And after my parents were expelled and Eva and I were living here, we would amuse ourselves by jumping across onto the opposite balcony while holding hands. It terrifies me now to think about it. If either of us had fallen..." He pointed towards the ground. Looking down, Alison could see a set of cast-iron railings which formed the boundary between number 38B and the building opposite; a long row of lethal black metal spikes stuck upwards towards them. "And then," continued Rob, "as I got older, the balcony opposite was a great place to sneak off for a quick fuck when Ambrose wasn't looking..."

"He's pretty fucking, for an old-style priest," said Alison approvingly. "Love the funeral!"

Rob laughed. "I'm seen him conduct those mock-funerals before. It's his favourite way of smuggling Undesirables out of the country. That way, when I drive the hearse onto the ferry this evening, I'll have all the correct paperwork, and we won't get stopped."

Alison felt a sudden pang of regret. "Must you leave today?" she asked. It was all happening too fast for her liking. The shock of realising that Eva was leaving had made her forget that her time with Rob might be so short.

"'Fraid so. Too dangerous for Chad to wait around any longer. And my mum can't wait to see Eva again, for the first time in -- oh God -- so long..."

Alison paused, hoping Rob would say more. Partly because she didn't know what to say in response, and partly because she was just enjoying hearing him talk.

"Shall we sit down?" said Rob, indicating a bench. Alison nodded.

They sat in silence, side by side. The weak winter sun was higher in the sky now, and was just peeping over the rooftops. From inside the building, the distant mumble of Father Ambrose's liturgy continued.

Alison spoke first, cautiously. "I... I need to say..." She paused.

Rob waited.

"I mean, I should have said a long time ago, Rob: thank you. Thank you for being so kind to me. I didn't know at the time, much less care, how... how loving you were being to me, when you took the hit for what happened between me and Eva."

"Well, you'd done nothing wrong," replied Rob.

"Okay, maybe -- but you didn't deserve exile, of all things."

Rob sighed. "There are many things we don't deserve in life, Alison. Especially for people my colour in a country like this. We're used to taking all sorts of blows for each other. That's love."

"Love..." Alison tried to think -- but instead spoke: "Yes, but to take a blow for your sister is one thing -- but for me...?" Alison wanted to continue, to ask why -- but she already knew the answer to that question -- and Rob knew that she knew.

Alison paused. Rob waited.

"I'm sorry, Rob, that I was so awful to you -- you know, that night --"

"In your room at Fuckers' Hall?"

Alison nodded, pursing her lips and looking downward towards her feet. "You didn't deserve how I spoke to you."

"But you spoke the truth," said Rob. "I behaved very unwisely."

"But truthfully..." ventured Alison.

"Oh yes."

Rob waited. He wanted to say more, but did not dare.

"Alison?" he said eventually.

"Yes," said Alison. It sounded very final, the way she said it, even though she didn't mean it to.

"What do you mean, 'yes'?" replied Rob, a mixture of hope and alarm passing swiftly through him.

"I meant -- just, 'yes?' What did you want to say?"

"Oh..." Rob paused. Alison waited.

"That night, Alison, I asked you a question. And you gave me your answer, I..."

Alison waited, trembling.

"I hardly dare say -- but I feel the same way about you now as I did then. If you also still feel the same way you did in September, well... I'll understand."

Alison's mind was full -- too full to make any sense of it. Of course she didn't feel the same way now as then! He knew that, and she knew that -- she had just said it. But she knew that Rob, though in so few words, was saying more to her now than ever before. And she had not the words to respond.

She reached out and touched his hand. It was a modest gesture -- possibly the most modest, understated physical gesture she had ever made in her life. And yet, it meant more than any other way she had ever touched a man before.

"If I stay here, will I ever see you again, Rob?"

"No, Alison. I am leaving the Union forever. I have to."

Alison listened. That word, "forever", echoed in her brain more painfully than she could ever have expected it to.

"In which case, Rob, I..."

"Yes, Alison?" said Rob, his face displaying the strange mixture of hope and pain which was coursing through his heart.

Rob waited. Alison paused.

"Rob, I..."

But Alison never got to finish her sentence, for at that moment there was the sound of a fast car screeching to a halt outside the front of the building, followed by a loud pounding on the front door of number 38B, which echoed through the building and up to the roof-garden. Rob leapt up.

"OPEN UP!!!" A woman's voice, stentorian and arrogant, echoed through the building from the cat-flap. "YOU ARE HARBOURING A FUGITIVE! I INSIST YOU OPEN THIS DOOR TO ME NOW!!"

"Oh my God!" Alison gasped. "It's her: she's found us! Quick, downstairs!" The two of them leapt up, and clattered down the spiral staircase towards the chapel.

Claire and Bradley, still embracing on the pavement outside, had heard Hildegard Fotzenficker's Maserati screech around the corner of Tottenham Cunt Road, and had watched in horror as she slammed her brakes on in front of number 38B and leapt out, her face incandescent with rage.

"Oh fuck," Claire trembled. "What do we do now?" Bradley's small but stiff cock was still poking out of his fly as they broke their amorous clinch to stare, aghast, as Hildegard began pounding on the green door across the road with a large truncheon and screaming through the cat-flap.

"Wait," said Bradley with calm determination, as he took out his phone and began to swiftly dial a number, his cock still dangling out of his trousers. "Hi, Angie -- it's Brad. Yeah, the worst has happened: she's found us. Time for emergency measures."

Claire and Bradley watched as the green door was opened from within by a studiedly calm and smiling Sister Rina. Hildegard pushed her roughly aside with her truncheon, and barged in.

"WHERE IS HE?" bellowed Hildegard, as she strode into the chapel just ahead of Alison and Rob, brandishing her night-stick. "WHERE'S THAT FILTHY TREACHEROUS FUCKER?"

Alison gripped Rob's hand, and watched as Father Ambrose, an expression of gentle benevolence fixed on his face, looked slowly up from his Bible, adjusted his glasses, turned to face Hildegard, held his finger up to his lips, and said firmly: "Sh...!" He continued to read from his Bible:

"BULL-FUCKING-SHIT!!!" screamed Hildegard at the priest. How dare you recite that filth at me, you dirty black freak?!"

There was a gasp from the congregation, and some of them stood up, turning their dark angry faces towards the interloper. But Hildegard stood her ground, arrogant, overbearing, full of the zeal of her own superiority, and repeated: "WHERE IS HE?"

Father Ambrose paused, clearly weighing up in his mind whether or not to lie, but was saved from that decision by a soft muffled sound coming from beneath the lid of the coffin. A squelch. Just a quiet squelch. If Hildegard had not been a fucker of such formidable talent and experience, she might not have noticed -- but she had heard many such squelches before, and she recognised the sound of a large semi-flaccid cock being slowly withdrawn from a juicy cummy cunt. Suddenly she knew.

"HE'S HERE!" she screamed. "HE'S IN THE FUCKING COFFIN! OPEN IT UP AT ONCE! NOW!!!"

Father Ambrose knew he had lost. Despondently but calmly, he unclasped the lid of the casket. Hildegard reached forward and, with her considerable strength, flung the lid off the coffin and across the room, smashing a statue of the Madonna and Child which stood on the Lady Altar in the corner, and scattering devotional candles over the floor. Out of the coffin climbed a naked, flushed, dishevelled pair of lovers. What cum was not dribbling down Eva's thigh was dripping off the end of Chad's large but softening cock. Chad had his arms wrapped tightly around his dark-skinned beloved, as if determined to protect her from the monster who had interrupted their communion. But whilst Chad looked scared, Eva stared at Hildegard furiously, her dark face glowering with hatred.

But it was not Eva that Hildegard was after. Gesturing peremptorily to Chad, she said, "With me, boy. We're going back to hospice -- where you belong."

Chad held on to Eva even tighter. "No," he replied. "I've finished with your dirty business, Hildegard. Eva and I are leaving the Union together."

"'NO'? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, 'NO'?!" Hildegard roared. "I OWN YOU, BOY -- BECAUSE YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DICK-BRAINED IDIOT, TOO STUPID EVEN TO MAKE IT AS A FUCKER IN CUNTSLICKER'S ROYAL FUCKING ACADEMY. WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO FOOL WITH THAT ACT? YOU ARE A PATHETIC LOSER! GET BACK TO HOSPICE, WHERE YOU BELONG -- THEN I'LL SEE WHETHER YOU'RE EVEN WORTH KEEPING ALIVE!"

"Did someone mention my name?" came a commanding voice from the chapel door. Hildegard turned and gasped. Eva put her hand over her mouth in shock. Chad muttered "Oh my God!" as he saw who it was. For standing at the door -- Claire, Bradley, Alison and Rob hovering behind her, was none other than Professor Emma Jane Cuntslicker.

Professor Cuntslicker did not look pleased. Whilst she had a short crop-top on which just about covered her tits, her lower half was naked, and her auto-dildo was still in, flaccid but huge, and dripping what looked like a combination of cunt-juice and auto-cum. She had clearly been interrupted mid-fuck, and had come out in a hurry.

"Emma Jane..." said Hildegard, rapidly concealing her shock with a faux-saccharine voice and an exaggerated smile which didn't quite reach up to her eyes. "It's been such a long time." It was hard to tell whether there was genuinely some residual affection between the two women, or whether Hildegard was just hedging her bets -- until Cunts spoke, with such controlled rage that everyone in the chapel trembled.

"Hildy," said Cunts coldly. "What are you doing with my students?"

"Your students, Emma Jane? I fear I must correct you. This young man works for me. I was led to believe that you had expelled him from your august institution."

"We have been considering it, Hildy. But he has not yet been rusticated. As such, he remains mine, and I insist you leave him alone."

"Emma Jane!" Hildegard was trying to maintain her pretence at cordiality. "You and I go back a long way: do you remember when we helped to co-write the Fuckers Party manifesto? We, together, drafted what has become our nation's policy on Undesirables, on inter-marriage, on sterilisation, and on end-of-life! I have spent my life pursuing those ideals -- and I will not stand by while they are flouted by Undesirables and traitors! Do you realise what these two 'students' of yours are in the process of doing: escaping the Union illegally in secret, so as to contract a racially-mixed marriage on the spurious excuse of 'love'?! Will you stand by and allow such delusional outrage to take place under your very nose?"