Lays of St Trinian’s Ch. 07
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When my eyes opened and finally focused, I realised that I was not in Miss Susie’s suite; there was also a welcome smell of coffee.
‘Ah, my darling, you are awake, bless you. I thought it might be easier if I carried you back here to our room. Miss Susie’s will resemble the antechamber to Sodom and Gomorrah.’
Propping myself up and looking at Laura, I smiled.
‘Thank you darling, and the coffee is a life-saver. Any more developments?’
‘Well, the hashtag, #emmtoo, is still trending, and two more Senators are calling for us all to be deported as a threat to public morals. The better news is that the on-line troll known as Gloryhole, has apparently decided that she does not like us, which has won us at least another ten thousand supporters.’
‘I see,’ I smiled, ‘what a poor, sad person. Now, I think we may have better things to occupy ourselves with.’
And so, it transpired, we did.
Just as we were settling down to a post-coital cuddle, there was a knock on the door. It was Moll.
‘Miss Susie asked me to tell you that she and Emm will be on several of the morning television shows, but you have missed some of them. They were quite splendid.’
I looked up from my position snuggled in Laura’s breasts and lazily, sleepily, commented:
‘I am sure I don’t know where she gets her energy,’ I said, before kissing her nipples whilst she stoked my hair.
Helpfully, as ever, darling Moll turned the television on and there, sure enough, was Miss Susie, explaining that the “Trinny” style had nothing to do with the “Tranny style,” and that those who disliked what we stood for were welcome to go fuck themselves.
At which point the cameras panned to Belles and the girls.
As Moll commented, there was something about their style that reminded one of Robert Palmer and ‘Addicted to love.’
Perhaps it was Rebecca’s languid, contained, yet deeply sensual bass guitar playing that drew the comparison? The instrument, like so many others had, rested on her thigh, with her face lost, it seemed in some deep personal passion, as she communed with some higher, or was it lower, power? The decision to go with the school uniform look justified itself in her alone. She was coolness personified, and yet the uniform suggested both passion and discipline. Within moments the hashtag, #beccarocks was trending.
If the bass held the song together, it was Belles’ vocals that drove it forward. Her voice was deep and throaty, sexiness personified, a Janis Joplin in the Chelsea Hotel, effect. The added vocals provided by Mons, Alicea and Angie in their bondage outfits, raised the temperature for the audience, whilst Julie bahçeşehir escort on the drums was a sight for sore eyes. Some guitar riffs were from the heart, but Annie’s were from the crotch, and she was as eager and hot as Rebecca was laid-back. They drove forward together, taking the song to its shuddering climax.
‘That,’ said Laura to Moll, ‘was something else!’
It was, I thought, smiling at the prospect of Belles and Banned taking the Oscars by storm.
With most of the St Trinian’s cohort out on duty, Laura and I were able to have a leisurely bubble bath, with Moll doing duty as our bathing assistant, lathering and fingering us until we dragged her into the hot tub for a threesome. Her fingering and licking techniques had to be experienced to be believed. How she could hold her breath underwater and lick both our cunts was a mystery; but a joyful one. With her fingers toying with Laura’s nipples, and mine on her ass, it was not long before Laura’s orgasm overtook her.
Moll was so intent on Laura’s pleasure that it seemed to me she was neglecting her own needs, which I determined to meet. As my hand slipped between her soapy thighs, I cupped her cunt, my palm pressing upwards as my thumb strummed her clit. As she began to moan, Laura leaned forward and began to play with her tits. After the pleasure she had given, it seemed only right that she should receive; that was the St Trinian’s way. As Moll’s climax made the waters of the hot tub into a series of waves, I dived under to lap at her cunt.
Thus it was that by the time Miss Susie and the gang got back, Laura, Moll and I had only just managed to dry our hair and to dress.
‘Hoffy, you lazy tart, only just roused yourself? Or were you and Laura enjoying the delights of the hot tub?’
I blushed, but Miss Susie swept past with Rebecca in tow.
‘I think,’ said Annie, that I need to practice my fingering. Mons, you up for that? Given the ready nod and the speed with which they vanished to another room, I took it that Annie would get what she needed.
Laura and I went down for a spot of brunch – early afternoon pussy is quite as nourishing as the early morning variety, and as light on calories; indeed, insofar as it stopped one bingeing on food, it might even be said to have been part of a calorie-controlled diet.
It set us up nicely for the evening to come.
Like many people, we had seen the television coverage of the Oscars, but to actually be at the event was, to use a much abused word, awesome.
It was wonderful to finally meet ChrisM, who in his tux, looked every inch the Silver Fox he was. Some of the girls went weak at the knees, and istanbul escort there was, as Emm commented later, an outbreak of weak-knicker elastic in some quarters. The Literotica Films table was sponsored by several of the leading names in the Porn Industries, so in addition to the usual Oscar goodies, we had bags of sex accessories, which were put to good use during the more tedious moments of the speeches.
Belles and the Banned from St Trinian’s, rocked from the first chords. Belles channeled her inner Joplin, while Rebecca, by contrast, was so cool she made Bryan Ferry look like Iggy Pop. Julie’s drums were outstanding, and, as one critic noted, not the only thing about her performance which merited that description. Annie and Alicea showed that the E-Street Band did not have a monopoly on energy, while the backing vocals from Mons, Angie and Mel, set the whole thing off to perfection. They went down a storm.
They rejoined us as the tension mounted from our point of view.
There had, of course, been protests from the usual quarters about the whole idea of an award for the best actress in a porn film, but in Hollywood, money talks, and the gross, in the financial (rather than the Gloryhole) sense of the word, from that part of the industry merited it. It also, of course, added the viewing figures. The amazing thing was that it had taken so long for all of that to be recognised, but better late than never.
ChrisM’s film was based on a story written for Literotica publications, which had been, even by his standards, a run-away success. The character of ‘Emmanuelle,’ was based, not as some of the critics had assumed, on the 1970s films of that name, but on the ‘Bound Heat’ series about ‘The Ladies from AUNTIE,’ in which our very own Emm_du_Jour had starred. Her sexual exploits in those films had gained her a cult following, but her performance in ‘Slut Academy 3: Utter Depravity,’ was, by common consent, outstanding in many ways.
There was, as Emm herself was happy to admit in her interviews, an element of herself in the character, but she gave full credit to Chris, as Director, and Angie Sinn as her coach, for their part in helping her develop it to the point where it could be considered for an Oscar.
There was a marvellous clip of her and Angie practicing, which, in itself, brought a round of ragged applause; I suppose that one-handed clapping is an art form in itself.
Angie was filmed showing Emm in the famous opening scene in the Academy when the girls first meet their new teacher, and the tiny Rachel takes command of Emm, ordering her to finger herself but not to orgasm. This was a real test for Emm who, in real life, escort bahçeşehir had one of the most sensitive clits imaginable. In the right mood, she could, so to say, go from zero to 90 in moments, with a resultant mess on the floor. Angie showed her how to control her responses, and the scenes of Angie playing with her cunt and showing Emm how to delay the inevitable was so erotic that the cameras panned to scenes backstage for a few minutes.
Angie had taken Emm through one of the most demanding scenes, the enema bag saga, where the seemingly innocent Rachel, put Emm through a severe test of obedience. Angie’s experience was telling here. As a former domina turned submissive, her understanding of the mentality required by Emm might have been said to have been intimate. It is not everyone who can take an enema and a soaping, and even fewer can do it whilst talking an actress through it. As the dénouement was not suitable for Prime Time viewing, it had to be omitted, but again, an even more ragged round of applause greeted it.
I noticed that Mons, our submissive English teacher, had disappeared under the table. To judge by the beatific look on Julie’s face, Mons was well-occupied in close proximity. I was snuggled up close to Laura as the tension rose.
‘And now, the best actress in the Porn Film …’
The names were read out.
The lights flickered to the tables where the nominees sat, and caught Emm looking around to see where Belles had vanished to.’
‘And the winner is …’
The light focussed on us, but by that time Emm was focussed, and Mons quiet under the table.
‘Emm_du_Jour for her performance in: ‘Slut Academy 3: Utter Depravity.’
‘Go St Trins,’ Miss Susie yelled, punching the air.
At which point Belles and the Banned gave a rousing chorus of the School Song: ‘We are the best, so screw the rest.’
Emm looked radiant.
‘I would like to thank everyone who has contributed to making me an utterly depraved slut: ChrisM for his outstanding instrumentation, Angie Sinn for showing me what depravity really looked like, Miss Susie for her championing of utter depravity at the School, but most of all to my friend with the tiny tits, Pixie Hoffmann, who helped make me what I am today, and is the real author of the AUNTIE series upon which the films in which I made my name were based. To them, to all my friends at the School I say only this, if I have not yet screwed you, I will. And to those at home I say this: I will be back!’
‘Oh fuck,’ said Laura, leaning in, ‘I think that means they know your identity now, so watch out for the trolls.’
Back at the table, the champagne was out. Emm was mobbed by the girls, and Mons reappeared to give her a special kiss.
‘Be careful there, Mons,’ said Emm, ‘the Oscar is not quite secure yet.’
That set the tone for the post-Oscar party. Oscar, needless to say, went to places no Oscar in history had gone … as far as we know.
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