Chapter 1

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was the age of headiness, of ambition, of imagination. It was the epoch of desire, indulgence and Pleasure. So it was in the season when the Enlightenment burst forth upon this Continent. After the pandemic, the migrant crises, the collapse of the world climate, and the wars of the early ‘20s, after the destruction of all we held dear, it would have been too easy for us to accept our reduced circumstances, to agree to fade into the background, to leave the battle of ideas to others – in other words, to accept that our time was past. But no, we did not do that. Instead, the genius of Europe rose again. Like Voltaire, like Locke, like Rousseau – we saw that a New Enlightenment was necessary, to sweep away the moral cobwebs that had kept us hidebound and oppressed for too long. We saw that the true destiny of mankind lay in Pleasure, pure Pleasure. And so let it remain. Long live the New Enlightenment!

- Emma Jane Cuntslicker, 2010-2060

“Seriously?!” The girl snorted, collapsing into a fit of giggles on the sofa. “The names! The names! Oh Grandma Alison, how on earth did anyone take themselves seriously in those days?” The youngster was short and slightly chubby, with brown skin, blue eyes, and frizzy blond hair. A cheeky smile lit up her freckled face.

“Oh, my darling, you have no idea,” replied the old lady, allowing herself to laugh too. “We all took ourselves very seriously indeed. It was an age of totalitarian liberalism, of compulsory Pleasure: we were changing the world, one fuck at a time! And Professor Cuntslicker was one of the greatest visionaries of the age: exceptional, in that she managed to balance devotion to her ideals with a true compassion for human beings. This was her last book: go on, you read some to me now,” she said, handing the open volume to her granddaughter. “Your eyes are better than mine.”

The girl took it, but paused. “Wait a moment,” she frowned. “‘2010-2060’? Does that mean...”

Her grandmother nodded grimly. “Yes ... That’s what happened in those days. And just think, that was a mere ten years after your Grandad Rob and I, and your Great Aunt Eva, escaped. We were still living in the Outside World; your mummy was just a little girl then. I cried when I heard. You see, Cuntslicker was a selfless idealist, and brave beyond all measure. Ideologies fail, empires collapse; but out of their ruins there are always one or two truly wise, principled people we can learn from.”

“Tell me more about those times, Grandma Alison,” replied the girl softly.

“If you like,” the old lady smiled. “Shall we start with Cunts?”

“Start with what?” The girl looked appalled.

“No no, I mean Professor Cuntslicker – we all called her ‘Cunts’.”

The girl started to giggle uncontrollably.

“Now now, you must control yourself, darling, if you want me to tell you more. I mean, how must she have felt: 2060, at the pinnacle of her career, and yet so near the end...?”

ACT ONE, SCENE ONE

Friday 16th July 2060
mid-morning
Sasha Grey Auditorium, Royal Academy of Fucking, Maryleboner Road, London

“Oh yeah, fuck my asshole, stud! Make my cunt squirt with your dick all the way up my fucking shithole!” The girl was slender, clad in red latex from head to toe, with just three apertures in her mask – one for her mouth and the other two for her dark fluttering eyes. Another pair of openings on the front of her costume revealed two large olive-skinned breasts, which swayed and jiggled as she sashayed her ass downwards towards the boy’s erect cock. The young man was largely invisible to the audience, as he was lying on his back on the fuck-couch, but his cock was downstage, huge and black as she lowered her asshole – exposed through yet another carefully-positioned gap in the latex – onto it, her gape squelching obscenely as it found itself stuffed with nine inches of genetically-modified male ebony fuck-meat.

Loud, pumping metallic fuck rock pounded through the speakers. And above the stage hung a huge poster which proclaimed:

WELCOME TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF FUCKING
GRADUATION CEREMONY AND FUCK FESTIVAL 2060:
remembering the past, showcasing the future!

The poster, of course, displayed the RAF’s trademark reverse cowgirl cock-in-cunt photographic closeup, while the performers, by deft artistic choice, duplicated it on stage in the anal variety, allowing the appreciative audience – mainly consisting of this year’s graduates, clad, though otherwise nude, in black academic gowns and mortar-boards – an unimpeded view of the girl’s gaping gash: moist, glistening, hairless and pink, her clit swollen and throbbing as she rubbed it, even as she rammed her latex-framed ass up and down on the boy’s huge black cock.

Soon, however, her digital attention had shifted from her clit to her vaginal interior, as she slid two slender fingers between her fuck-lips and curled them upwards to find that sensitive area on her front inner walls. “Oh yeah, fuck!” she squealed, her lips pouting through the opening in her mask, as she found the spot with her fingers and began to stroke it from within, simultaneously slapping her clit with her other hand, whilst still pounding her asshole up and down on the boy’s black fuck-stick, both of them perfectly synchronised with the rhythm of the music. The audience knew a good fuck when they saw one, and they began to moan and roar with approval and pleasure, parting their academic robes, roving hands exploring their own and each other’s young bodies, as they revelled in the perfect artistry of the fuckers on stage.

The girl was an expert performer, fixing the audience with her gaze and bellowing, “You wanna see me come, fuckers? Wanna watch me fucking squirt?” The audience roared its encouragement. “And you want this big black dick to come at the same time? Wanna watch him paint my shit-rim with his cream – just as I spray all you motherfucking pervs with my cunt-squirt?” The audience roared even louder, the pace of stroking hands and rubbing fingers accelerating as they too began to time their orgasms to the imminent cum-spectacle on stage.

“WELL, HERE IT COMES, MOTHERFUCKERS!” screeched the girl. She continued to pound her asshole up and down on the boy’s raging cock, sensing his member expand and stiffen further as his balls pulsated and sent their cream charging up his shaft. Removing the fingers of one hand from her pussy, she rubbed her clit hard with her whole palm, shifting her position so that the boy’s huge cock could fuck hard against her G-spot through the walls of both her gaping orifices. “YEAH FUUUUUCK!!!” she screamed. Her first squirt was a mere dribble, her second a gentle spurt, but from the third onwards her cunt was spraying fountain after fountain into the air. Had the audience not been screaming and moaning their own cum-pleasure, they might have marvelled at the sound of each successive pussy-spasm – tight and swooshing like a spray-gun as each shower of clear cum fired upwards. At first the girl lifted her hips and leant back, aiming her fuck-spray up her body so that it doused her tits and face, opening her own mouth to catch the precious liquid, then gargle and spit it upwards so it rained back down into her hair. But then she leaned forwards and upwards so that, screaming “TAKE THIS, FUCKERRRS!” her squirt sprayed onto the front rows of the audience. The audience moaned and roared their ecstasy, their own cock-cream and cunt-juice squirting and dribbling multifariously as they pleasured their own genitals, faces upturned to bask in the glorious sensation of the latex girl’s genital deluge.

And then the big black cock began to explode. The girl, with perfect professional timing, lifted her asshole gently off the spasming cockhead so that the audience could watch rope after rope of hot man-cream spurt upwards to adorn her fuck-lips and gaping ass-rim. Now her spasms were beginning to subside, her squirts reducing to dribbles again, so that both cunt and asshole were coated with a gloopy mélange of boy- and girl-cum which dripped off her anal rim onto the boy’s large black balls, and thence onto the floor.

The audience went wild. Puddles of cum adorned the floor of the auditorium, and every pair of female thighs was damp with fuck-slime. Girls sucked the last drops out of boys’ cocks, or crouched on the floor, mortarboards bobbing as they licked puddles of squirt and semen off the ground. Boys and girls alike buried their faces between each other’s thighs to revel in the pungent heady glory of each other’s fuck-juices.

The front row of the audience comprised the ranks of fellows and lecturers of the Royal Academy of Fucking – in the centre of whom, applauding with pride, sat the august middle-aged figure of Professor Emma Jane Cuntslicker, flanked by her two closest colleagues: Dr Richard Dick, Deputy Director; and the much younger Dr Riley Throstlethwaite-Eccles, Professor of Prolapse. “CUNTS! CUNTS! CUNTS!” chanted the crowd, as the beaming Professor, her face still dripping with the latex girl’s squirt, stepped up onto the stage, long dark hair draped over her ostentatiously bulging breasts, nipples peeping through her now damp fishnet top, her short skirt parted gently to reveal a soft triangle of dark pubic hair pointing the way southwards.

“Wasn’t that magnificent?” enthused Cuntslicker, as the latex-clad girl scooped handfuls of man-cum off her asshole to slurp them off her fingers. “I knew, the moment I saw Chastity and Honour practicing their routine in the rehearsal rooms last month, that we had a winner on our hands. And so I am very proud to present them with the Alison Bates Memorial Award for Best Anal Fuck 2060!”

The audience cheered, as the two performers stood, the girl removing her mask to reveal the soft brown skin of her face, her sparkling eyes, and her long dark hair, which she swished free with a single flick of her head as a triumphant grin adorned her features. She and the black boy approached Cunts, to jointly grasp the golden cock trophy and hold it aloft to the cheering audience. “As you may know,” Cunts continued, “this Award is funded by the bequest of the late Bill and Jill Bates, CEOs of Bates Butts Limited – and I would like Doctor Throstlethwaite-Eccles and Doctor Dick to come onto the stage to say a bit more about that.”

Riley and Dick did as they were bid. The former was a woman in her late twenties with a bleached blond pixie cut, circles of red lipstick painted around her bare nipples, and a long silver tail dangling gracefully from her jewelled buttplug. As Chastity and Honour waved their way off stage and the applause died down, she addressed the audience: “Ladies and gentlemen, cunts and cocks, I would like to say a few words about Alison Bates, in whose honour this Award is made.” The young woman’s accent betrayed her working-class origins, though softened and rounded by years of working in establishment academia – but the hubbub of suspicious muttering which now filled the hall was not in reaction to that, but to the mention of the name of Alison. “Now, I know that many rumours circulate about Alison, about the way she ‘fell in love’ with a black Undesirable, turned her back on the Enlightenment and left the Continent– but I’m not going to deal with those now. The fact is that Alison Bates was one of the finest fuckers this institution has ever seen, and it is only right and proper that we have named this Award after her.” Cuntslicker nodded sagely.

“Alison was my inspiration – and my saviour” continued Riley, as the audience began to listen, “not just one of the greatest arsefuckers ever, but a wonderful person, who embodied the finest ideals of the Enlightenment. When I was ... well, younger,” she chuckled, “I used to watch her on ‘The Fuck Factor’; I dreamed of being just like her – which I knew was probably impossible for someone born into the poverty that I was, my single mother a two-bit whore. Imagine my joy when Alison welcomed me as her friend and, along with her best mate Claire, help me to secure a place at this Academy! Here at the RAF we are proud to have had her as our alumna, and especially to have had the generous support of her parents, the recently culled Mr and Mrs Bates, in making this Award available to support so many of our students in their aspirations to become the finest fuckers the country has known.” The audience applauded enthusiastically.

Richard Dick took centre stage now, dragging with him three armchairs, which he arranged in a semi-circle downstage. He was a slender, suave, middle-aged man with unnaturally slick black hair. His cock – clearly very long, though currently flaccid – was sheathed in a faux-leather mushroom-head cock-sleeve which dangled from the front of his black leather trousers. “Cocks and cunts, as you know, we are so privileged that Professor Cuntslicker has agreed – despite her approaching such an important juncture in her life – to give a series of presentations this week to accompany the launch of her latest – and last – book: Thirty Years of the New Enlightenment, including” – he gestured to Cunts and Riley to sit with him on the armchairs – “today’s question-and-answer session!” Cunts smiled graciously, as she and Riley took their seats, Riley removing her buttplug with a quiet squelch and proceeding to sniff and lick it absentmindedly. “Ah! I see a hand already,” remarked Dr Dick, gesturing to a gentleman who had just entered the auditorium from one of the rear doors.

The questioner was short, dark-skinned, middle-aged, wearing a black shirt and trousers and a white clerical collar. Cunts smiled in recognition. “Ah, Father de Conceicao, isn’t it? We have met before! It’s been some ten years, hasn’t it?”

“Very kind of you to remember me, Professor,” replied the priest. “Last time you visited my chapel, you acted with great principle. You saved two innocent lives.”

“And caused the death of another?” prompted Cunts, with one eyebrow raised.

“No, Professor. That was not within your control. And I mention those events only to assure you of the deep respect I have for you – despite the awkward question I am about to ask.”

Dick-Dick shifted nervously on his armchair, but Cunts was unperturbed. “We do not have to share the same worldview to respect each other, do we, Father? That, surely is one of the greatest principles of the Enlightenment!”

“It is good to hear you say that, Professor – but that strikes at the heart of my question. When the ‘Enlightenment’ burst forth onto this country in the late ‘20s, many people were deeply affected. People from ‘Undesirable’ ethnic stock were sterilised, or expelled, torn away from their families, or even culled! Whilst appreciating the liberal ideals which the Enlightenment now claims to uphold, is it not the case that, overall, the suffering the Enlightenment caused, especially in those early days, outweighed what it achieved?”

Murmurs of disapproval spread through the audience, and people craned their necks to see who it was who dared to voice such unorthodox views in the hallowed halls of the Royal Academy of Fucking. But Cuntslicker’s response demonstrated both her superb didactic skills and her unquestionable charm. “You know, Father, I am actually of mixed Undesirable ethnic stock.” There was a gasp from the audience. “Oh yes,” continued Cunts, lifting her hand as if to brush away the audience’s shock. “My grandfather was a Patel, an immigrant from what used to be called the Indian subcontinent – in the days when it was still habitable. My father changed his name to Paton, so as to better fit into British society. I changed mine to Cuntslicker, so as to truly embrace the dignity of the Enlightenment. Yes, we had to expel or sterilise many Undesirables in those early days, many of them from ethnic minorities, others from backward religious groups, whose loyalties to this country and its chosen path were divided – but only so that the Enlightened mindset would prevail. Sterilising a body, expelling a person – these things are easy. But purifying a mind, so that a person not only accepts the Enlightenment but makes it the driving force of their existence – that takes time, and persuasion. But I am pleased that now, hardly anybody objects to the Enlightenment anymore...”

... fade; rising harp arpeggios: B-flat dominant seventh... {br}

change of scene to...

ACT ONE, SCENE TWO

... a small maisonette on a side street near Putney Bridge, London,
thirty-two years earlier:
Monday 23^rd October 2028, evening

“I wanna fuck you, fucky wucky fuck you!” warbled John Daniels in a well-tuned tenor minor third. His young dark body was naked, and his cock was large and stiff as he waggled it from side to side, grinning cheekily. He held out his arms to his wife, who was already lying on the bed in the semi-darkness, her large breasts bare, a happy smile lighting up her face.

“Quick, before he wakes up, eh?” Rosie giggled. Her skin was not quite as dark as her husband’s, but her eyes were black and warm, and her nipples too were black and large in the centre of their wide brown areolas. “Ooh, look at that big dick! Desperate, are you?”

“And why shouldn’t I be, my darling?” pouted John, as he leapt onto the bed, his arms enfolding his wife in a tight but tender embrace, his cockhead nudging up against her crotch.

“Hang on a minute, love!” remonstrated his Rosie, gently pulling her hips sideways so that her vagina was in no immediate danger of penetration. “Remember what we were talking about?”

“Uh, what were we talking about?” replied her husband with an air of faux innocence, his cock still bobbing enthusiastically beside his wife’s vulva.

“John Daniels, don’t you pull that one on me! You know perfectly well,” replied Rosie, smirking as she twisted round, opened a bedside drawer and withdrew a wrapped condom, which she brandished at her husband.

“Oh God, must we really? I hate putting those things on! And what will Father Ambrose say?”

“Well, you don’t need to tell him, do you? Besides, you don’t have to put it on!” giggled Rosie, as she unwrapped the condom and placed it, still rolled, between her red-lipsticked lips, which she formed into a cock-sized ‘O’ to make it perfectly clear what she was proposing.

John’s cock twitched at the sight. “Oh well, put it like that, and I can hardly refuse, can I?” he grinned, lying on his back as his young wife knelt in front of his stiff twitching cock.

Rosie needed no hands to accomplish her task. Her full red lips closed deftly over John’s glans, smoothing the condom down along his shaft in one long slow stroke, until she found herself kissing his crotch, the prophylactic-clad penis deep in her mouth. She stayed there for a few seconds, revelling in the feeling of John’s throbbing rubber-coated cockhead lodged against the back of her throat, before releasing it, along with a small gush of saliva which dribbled from her lips, down the incongruously pink surface of the condom and onto his balls.

Rosie began to nibble, sliding her lips slowly up and down her husband’s condom-clad cock, depositing light rings of red lipstick up and down the rubber and allowing her rose-tinted spit to continue to dribble onto John’s testicles and thighs. He reached down with both hands to stroke her hair, pulling it back so he could admire her soft features. Rosie grinned back – as best as she could under the circumstances – while cupping John’s balls with one hand, making him groan with pleasure.