A Clocwor Orange: Late Show

A wickedly gleeful atmosphere prevailed among the enthusiastic crowd of white clothed malchicks. It seemed to Lara that more than half of them were sporting masks. That half comic, half sinister mask that Alex had donned in the film for his surprise visit. She thought how like a masked ball on a night of Carnival it all looked, or like a performance by the Comedia Del Arte. Yet another chorus of ‘Singing in the Rain’ struck up, the celebratory anthem of droogs everywhere.

‘I’m laughing at clouds

So dark up above

The sun’s in my heart

And I’m ready for love…..’

Ready for love? It’s now or never, she thought, staring out at the mass of comical noses, making the droogs look like a crowd of unruly laughing Pinocchios, rowdy with phallic intent, the long rubber shafts bouncing exaggeratedly up and down in time to their rough music. All that touching and stroking, being swung over the white shirted shoulder, her arse and tits groped and squeezed as she was carried outside, before being stripped and cheerfully displayed to the crowd, had left Lara in an overexcited state, all hot and bothered was how she thought of it. In front of her, the malchick, trousers at half mast, raised his arms exultantly in the air, making his huge erect cock stand out even more. Making a studied bow, he turned to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd. His face broke into a broad grin beneath his mask. He seemed to Lara the very image of Alex De Large. She felt a transformation starting to take place in her mind, feeling no longer simply the Lara who had come to see a film. With baited breath she waited, the devotchka stripped before her droogs, the bride stripped bare before her lovers, most definitely ‘ready for love’.

He rudely seized the cheeks of her arse, and drove his cock into her, fucking her with a will, vigorously plunging away. Lara moaned. Her arms tightly locked behind her back, Lara found herself arching backwards, into the shoulders of the droog behind her, who had dropped to his knees and was nibbling the and kissing the backs of her thighs and arse again.

The gusto with which she was bring fucked took Lara by surprise. “This is what it means” she thought “This is how Alex does it, how he takes the devotchka. Fucking her for his own amusement. Pleasuring himself in her cunt. Giving her the old in-out in-out, real savage”. He slowed down a little, and she started to grind her thighs against him, her arse squirming against the lips and tongue of the kneeling droog behind her. The crowd enjoying the spectacle of Lara, writhing and wriggling on the end of the malchick’s cock gave an a appreciative roar. Their applause caught her attention. Already, three or four of them had lowered their white trousers, and were stroking their cocks, working them up and down, anticipating the moment when they would take their turn with her. Coolly appraising them, these Alex worshipers, these young nadsats desperate to live out that moment in the film, to fuck her, Lara knew herself to be the naked helpless willing embodiment of their transgressive desires.

It’s a performance, thought Lara. He’s not just fucking me. He’s putting on a performance for the crowd. Casting the two of them in this spectacle. With herself as the star. Then she felt the cock inside her tense and spurt, depositing glob after glob of its thick creamy load inside her cunt. With a great moan and sigh, the droog pulled out himself out of her, still half erect and smeared in their juices, turning to display him now softening member to the crowd. “Right my brothers” he shouted with a broad grin. “Who’s next?”

Up stepped another, attired in the white uniform and black bowler of the droogs, hardly distinguishable from the one who had just finished. Barely able to contain the ferocity of his desire, the next droog scampered up and began fucking her.

The strangeness and excitement of it all overwhelmed Lara. She had allowed her imagination to play with this scene often enough. Answering the door, opening the door just a fraction, peering out into the darkness exchanging a few words with the personable young man outside, and then Alex bursting in. Her red pyjama suit sliced away and then being fucked, savagely, deliriously fucked by Alex. Devoid of care or thought, just the greedy satisfaction of pure physical lust. Now it was all real – her dark imaginings realised at last.

It wasn’t until the third malchick went into it, laughing and smecking away to himself, and waving to his droogs, that Lara came. She could feel herself cumming, desire and passion fusing the real and the longed for into a newly imagined whole, she cried out “Fuck me. Give it to me Alex. Give it to me real savage. The old in-out in-out, Alex . Make me cum.”

A fresh wave of brutish enthusiasm swept through the crowd. At first Lara thought they were cheering on the lusty malchick who was plunging away with renewed vigour, as they had done before. But she realised that this time it was her they were cheering, encouraging and applauding her, saluting her readiness, no, more than that, the complete abandon with which she desired to be fucked by each and every one of them in turn.

As he pulled out of her, Lara stumbled backwards, astonished by the intensity of her orgasm. Behind her the droog steadied her, keeping her arms fast behind her. “There’s plenty more to come yet, my malenky devotchka” he whispered in her ear. As the next in line scuttled up to take his turn, trousers around his ankles, Lara glancedinto the gloom of the car park.

Beyond the close circle of the droogs, she could just make out the girls in the seventies costumes. The blonde was up against a wall, with another Alex clone pressed up against her, his naked quivering buttocks flashing white in the night air, hands underneath her skirt, lifting it over her waist. Her friend, a dark haired girl in the knee length purple dress, gathered at the waist with a broad belt, squatted before another young malchick in his white platties, her hands and mouth hollow cheeked around his erect cock, wanking and sucking him for all she was worth. She could just glimpse in the darkness the other two devotchkas entangled with a pair of plunging malchicks.

Glancing round again, Lara saw two of the girls who had come indulging their dreams, dressed in the iconic Clockwork Orange uniform, white trousers and shirt, black bowler hat and boots. The first of them was in the throes of passion. Her trousers were tumbled down around her ankles, her shirt unbuttoned, her huge tits bouncing up and down, as two malchicks plunged lustily away at her from front and back, gorging on the squirming filling in their slutty sandwich. Only the black bowler hat, perched precariously on her head enabled Lara to identify her as the long blonde haired female Alex, who she had seen in the foyer. The other, still wearing her shirt and bowler, but very little else, was leaning face down over the bonnet of a car, taking slow hard strokes of cock from behind, from a horny young malchick, whilst a couple of his droogs watched and waited with a feral air.

Wherever Lara looked, it seemed that lusty young malchicks were performing the old in-out in-out on skittish young devotchkas.

Lara felt as though they were all bound together, that all of them had all infused this night with their desires, that they were all performers in some unbridled thing, something hedonistic and amoral. As though in some medieval carnival, all laws and conventions turned upside down and they were governed by riot and misrule and unrestrained desire, with Alex De Large as their droog and leader, their presiding spirit.

Surrounded by the droogs, stripped naked, arms tightly held behind her back, exposed and ready to be fucked by them all, she felt herself to be the star of the night. Mrs Alexander. It was her role. The one she chose. To be the partner in turn of each of these droogs in this theatre of lust. Each person here, she thought, has made this night into a performance, has cast themselves in the starring role in their own drama. But without her there could be no performance, without her there was nothing. She was the devotchka who bound them all together in this transgressive celebration. Dancing to her tune, the droogs and devotchkas were performing their black comic parody of love. Stripped of it’s trappings of soft words and thoughts of romantic love the one and only law was to fuck. The laughing and cheering, the singing, the smiling faces with their phallic masks, the whole atmosphere of carnival and nights of disorder.

She was the star, the queen of the night, the mistress of misrule….This was her role, and she gloried in it.

In her head scraps of nadsat, the patois of the droogs mingled with half formed thoughts. Droog after droog stepped up and took his turn with her, emptying their yarbles into her before giving way to the next. Getting the old the old in-out in-out. A real horroshow fucking. The malchicks plunging away like bezoomey. She had no idea how many of them, but she must have her education, with a tribe of molodoy Alexander De Larges as teacher. Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Zamechat….... choodesnoy…….. heavenly bliss. Time and sensation fused into a sort of eternal present. She came again and again, barely aware of the cheers each time she moaned and shouted to the crowd. “Yes. Fuck me. All of you. I want you all. My droogs. My lovely wonderful Alex De Larges.”