The Dionysus Project Ch 16

Moriarty left her desk in search of the project supervisor and found her sitting in her office, reading the local newspaper. She looked up from her broadsheet as Moriarty appeared at the door and offered a mild smile.

"The cultures have been separated and the discs are now in the freezer," Moriarty announced, seething to be reporting to a mere graduate student.

"Good. Has every disc been labelled with the entry time?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll see you on Monday, Kerry." The supervisor returned to her paper while Moriarty collected her coat from her chair and left the laboratory, stepping out into the warmth of early June.

It was more than six months since the Dionysus Project ended with Dean's abrupt departure, taken away on the day Moriarty decided to break her vow and enjoy his wonderful body. Her contract was terminated as soon as the Corporation bureaucrats sifted through her files to find the letters from the prison service outlining the terms and the date of Dean's release. She could not explain why she had not read these documents, or the fifteen page report of the prison visitors who recommended that Dean be released at the earliest opportunity. Patterson was furious, partly because Fleming was equally livid that Dean had escaped their custody. Patterson, the corporate player, was able to deflect the greater part of blame onto Moriarty and within days she was gone.

Moriarty soon discovered that her doctorate carried less weight than she hoped in the scientific community of southern California. She was reduced to working as a laboratory assistant on a standard research project, designing a new form of sleeping draught for dogs. Her boss was five years younger and yet to complete her PhD, which accounted for the unconventional lack of titles on the staff page of the project handbook. Moriarty was exploring her options, but there were few vacancies at this time of the academic year, and she would have to wait until the autumn to see whether any of the major laboratories were hiring researchers for projects. Her brisk departure from the Genesis Corporation had discouraged Moriarty from considering reviving the Dionysus Project in a new guise.

It was after six when Moriarty climbed the stairs of her apartment block. She was opening her door when the mobile leapt in her pocket. It was her old college friend, Helen, with news of a friend of a friend due to marry in two months who wanted to begin her celebrations with a special treat.

"I've got us five tickets for the hottest show in town." She paused for a dramatic moment before pronouncing the word with a loud whisper. "Fabian." Moriarty almost dropped the phone. "Kel, are you still there?"

"Yes, I was just opening my door," she replied as she stumbled into her dishevelled apartment.

"It cost me an arm, a leg and my good name. The show starts at eight. It goes on for two hours. Can you believe it? I've never seen him live, but Sally says he really is hung like a horse. God, I'm a bit wet already."

"I'm not sure I can come. I have a lot of work ..."

"Kel, it's Friday night. There's no way you're going to work tomorrow. I'll pick you up in an hour. We need to be there early if we want to sit near the stage."

Moriarty and her companions arrived just before seven, but the club was already crowded with more than three hundred women sitting at tables and gathering along the sides of the hall. The noise from the horde of excitable women was intense, and the opening of the show was still an hour away. There were women wearing nothing but thongs and tight tops amidst the respectable women enjoying a furtive night of sexual fantasy. The other girls complemented Sara, a friend of the bride, on her contacts in securing such a choice location.

"My sister knows the guy who owns the club." She leant low to whisper more good news. "He's promised us a backstage visit after the show." The women at the table all shrieked with delight, except Moriarty.

The show began with the lights dimming to a thunderstorm of hysterical shouting. A blast of music and then two women dressed as nurses appeared, marching across the stage in tandem to squat on the edge of the stage. The underwear, Moriarty was not surprised to see, was pink. The two women marched around the stage as the music built to a crescendo and then there was darkness for a moment before a spotlight fell on Dean, dressed only in shorts, in the centre of the stage. Moriarty recognised the crimson colour of his scanty clothing. The noise was deafening, and his mellow smile only heightened his reception. He stepped forward and a calming hand gesture brought a semblance of calm to the hall.

"Good evening ladies." Another chorus of shouts and another mild smile. Eventually the noise subsided. "Thank you so much for coming to join me tonight." There were more shouts and a few declarations of love as he introduced his assistants, Cindy and Candy, who both greeted him with a passionate kiss that raised the noise level to new heights, and then he disappeared once more into the darkness at the back of the stage.

The show involved four separate performances. Firstly, Dean was brought, bound in cuffs, onto the stage. There were some theatrical scenes of mild abuse with canes before he was tied between two poles, his body splayed for the entertainment of his eager audience. After more counterfeit caning and a drum roll Dean was stripped of his tiny costume. It was nearly five minutes before the audience had returned to their seats. The first session ended with Dean mounting one of the nurses close to the edge of the stage and riding her for nearly ten minutes. Then, to more screams, he was dragged from view.

A handful of dancers writhed on stage to entertain the audience for about five minutes before Dean returned, this time with two policewomen in tow. The girls briskly stripped, leaving only their boots, hats and sunglasses, to begin their performance, riding his massive erection and drawing him towards the edge of the stage. Some of the women rose from their seats, but a handful of large shadows appeared to return the women to their seats. The men were polite, and the youngest guard earned a few kisses for performing his duty.

The second session lasted twenty minutes and after another ten minutes of lewd dancing Dean returned, but this time he spoke to the crowd and invited a few lucky women to join him on the stage. They performed fellatio or rubbed his shaft and all left with a kiss and a fond farewell. After pleasuring these four women he left once more to return for the finale, a thirty minute extravaganza of sodomy, beatings, fellatio and bondage, culminating in a massive ejaculation onto the floorboards. The four encores lasted more than twenty minutes and it was after ten when the lights rose and the crowd dispersed into the warm Friday night.

Helen and Sara disappeared towards the stage and returned after five minutes, looking like a couple of small children on their birthday.

"We're in," Helen hissed, jumping from foot to foot in her excitement. They waited for the hall to empty before approaching the bulky security team. After a few words from Helen they were ushered along a dark passage to a room full of excited young women, many barely dressed.

After ten minutes Roberta Rodriguez appeared at the door leading to the dressing rooms. She explained that Fabian would be coming soon, and he would talk to all of the women, but everyone was to remain calm. The twenty women in the room all nodded eagerly, anxious for a sight of the porn legend.

A moment later Dean arrived, dressed in a short black dressing gown. A passionate sigh filled the room and for the next forty minutes he strolled through the audience talking to each girl, offering a picture and bestowing many kisses. Any girl willing to be gentle was invited to massage his erection, and a battery of phone cameras recorded four genuine nurses, two insurance officials, two police officers, three civil servants, two lawyers and a bookshop owner fellating the great Fabian.

Moriarty was careful to avoid Dean's gaze, but as the tour was coming to an end she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Roberta Rodriguez retreating to the door, beckoning her from the room. Moriarty followed her into the darkness to another room, Dean's private quarters.

"It has been a while, Dr Moriarty. How are you?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Tired and worn out," she replied, sinking into a chair. "Dino is working virtually every night. I wish he would take a break, but he wants to keep going. I think he's scared that it might all stop at any moment." She smiled. "He's keen to secure a future for his family."

Moriarty listened to Dean on the other side of the wall, his calm and friendly manner drawing laughs and giggles from his enraptured audience. Roberta rose to her feet and stretched, and Moriarty noticed the bump just above her waist. Roberta patted her stomach, her face beaming in reply to Moriarty's congratulations.

"Do you want to see him?"

"We parted on bad terms."

"I'm sure he would like to see you. I know that ..." Roberta was interrupted by a joyful shout from the next room as one of the women was clearly enjoying a touch of his magnificent erection.

"We're going back to Japan in three weeks. We were there in the spring. If you think this lot are wild, just come to a Fabian show in Tokyo. We were stuck in the theatre for six hours. They had to call the police. It made the evening news. I'll be going with him, but I'll miss the trip to Europe. Doctor's orders."

The two assistants appeared, now dressed in jeans and tops. They kissed Roberta farewell and she asked if they were taking a cab home. They said that it was Friday night and they would be touring the clubs.

"Enjoy it while you can," Roberta told them. "I've already written a babysitting rota and your both on it."

The women left and ten minutes later Dean walked through the door, having seen off the last of his backstage guests, dressed now in jeans and a dark blue shirt.

"Have Rosie and Babs gone?" he asked. "Did they take a cab home?"

"They're going to a club."

"I hope they're careful, because I know they won't be good."

"Dino, there's someone to see you." Her voice was no louder than a whisper. "Someone from the Research Centre."

Dean turned to see Moriarty, standing in the corner of the room. He thought she looked so different without her white coat, somehow diminished without her status and her injections. She seemed smaller now, and he sensed her nervousness, searching for her opening line like a novice actor. He decided to break the silence.

"Have you found another victim?"

"I'm not working in that field now." Her hands moved from hair to glasses and back to hair, and she seemed to be retreating into the corner.

"Why not? You seemed to enjoy it."

Roberta touched his hand and told him in Spanish not to be rude and to end the conversation. He nodded and turned to smile at Moriarty. He stared intently at her for a long time, and she knew that he was recalling all the brutal violations, the humiliating rituals and the casual exploitation of his body during his time at the Research Centre. She could not hold his stare and finally looked to the floor.

"I wish you all the best, Dr Moriarty. Goodbye." He left and a few seconds later there was a chorus of screams from the women gathering outside for a view of Fabian as he left the club.

"I made some terrible mistakes, I know," Moriarty told Roberta, her eyes welling with tears. "Do you think he will ever forgive me?"

"I don't know, and you probably never will know. You had your chance for a whole year, and again just now. You should have asked him to forgive you. Goodbye, Dr Moriarty. I would be grateful if you did not come again to any of Dean's shows."

Moriarty reached her apartment shortly after midnight, collecting her mail from the box. There was a letter from a research project in Seattle, examining the impact of constant sunlight on primates. The Faculty was grateful for her application, but the strength of the field meant that they were unable to pursue her submission. Moriarty returned the letter to the envelope and left it on the table. The room remained in darkness, because turning on the lights would only remind her that she had not cleaned for the past three weeks.

Moriarty reached below her fridge for the plastic folder containing her laptop, judging beneath the fridge to be a place few burglars were likely to look for valuables. She turned on the machine, bathing her room in a pale blue light. She typed in the name Fabian and the computer lit up with dozens of websites. One was the official website, followed by a succession of fan sites and pay sites offering videos of the great man. She found stories, photographs, even a copy of his signature. One site appeared to consist entirely of women posting pictures of themselves with Dean accompanied by accounts of their encounter. Almost all spoke of his charm, his attentive manner and his beautiful eyes. Surprisingly, few described him in purely physical or sexual terms.

It was almost three in the morning, as she was trawling through random pictures on a fan site, when Moriarty noticed an intriguing shot. Dean was lying naked on a table with a woman in a white coat standing over him. His hands were free, but she was holding a clipboard and wearing a haughty smile and familiar blue glasses. An hour of relentless searching finally unearthed a copy of the entire performance. Moriarty offered her credit card details, paid her fee and downloaded the video.

Dean was brought into a room and required to lie on the table. A woman in a white coat entered to ask him a series of demeaning questions. Dean was then strapped to the table and tortured by the woman, named Dr Kelly Morrison. The film ended with Morrison removing her clothing and riding Dean until both achieved a most spectacular orgasm.

She sat by her computer, naked with her legs splayed, enjoying another sight of Dean's body. By the time she had played and replayed her favourite excerpts until her vagina lips were raw, it was after six and the sun was rising over the supermarket at the end of the street. Her front room was now exposed as unkempt, with the debris of the past two months littering the floor and the couch. Moriarty turned off her computer, slumped onto her bed and started to cry.

THE END