<Reference ID="295619" Date="14 Mar 1984">

                        <Title> Slave Girl Convict [6] </Title>

                        <Author> Dolcetta (dolcetta AT grim_williams.co.uk) </Author>

                        <Author> Grim Williams (gw AT grim_williams.co.uk) </Author>

                        <Publication> The Inquirer </Publication>

                        <Page> Four </Page>

                       <ByLine> Andrew Mcdonald </ByLine>

                       <Name> Tommy's Gay says Loony Lenny </Name>

                       <Text>

                        </Text>

<Reference>

<Fragment ID="873475" Date="1 Jul 1984">

                        <Name> Janet Tomkinson </Name>

                        <Location> CCTV Corporate Headquarters </Location>

                        <Collator> Lisa O'Connor </Collator>

                        <Text>

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, here's the show you've all been waiting for. Get those fingers flicking. It's controversial, it's saucy, it's democracy in action. So use your vote; don't lose it. Here, in partnership with Magic Moments, makers of superlative adult appliances, CCTV brings you the one, the only, Public Justice."

As the announcer reached the end of his rambling introduction, the drums rolled to a raucous crescendo, the saxophones screeched and the applauding audience became ecstatic.

"CLAP," screamed the cue cards being held aloft by the frenetic floor manager. "SHRIEK LOUDLY".

And everybody did. The audience went wild, standing and stamping, shouting and chanting. They were high, they were merry, they stank of intoxification: uppers, downers, spirits, spliff. It all flowed freely.

It was a hedonist’s paradise.

"Ready, Linda," Adam Tomlins purred into his invisible microphone. He was in his element, in charge of the control room, indeed, the whole shooting match, high above the sound stage. He had a bank of twenty screens in front of him, twice as many technicians either side and two million dollars worth of electronics at his fingertips.

"Cue five," he ordered, chewing on his pencil, concentrating totally on the preview screen. "And intro Linda."

At once the music dipped in volume and the voice-over rose to fill the void. "So now," the announcer continued, lacing his words with a melodramatically emotional tremor. "Please welcome your host, the one, the only, the beautiful Judge Linda Luscious."

"Go five."

At Adam's order, the image on the preview screen flipped at once to the monitor on its right. This was the live screen, the shot actually being broadcast to millions of viewers.

Well, almost the live screen. Fifteen seconds delayed to be precise. That was the length of the safety loop. If anything went disastrously wrong during transmission there was always the luxury of the big red button and killing the last quarter minute. Fifteen seconds in which to react and prevent a nightmare from hitting viewer’s screens.

It wasn’t much of a safety net.

Adam Tomlins hadn’t yet used it, and he didn’t plan to do so tonight.

The curtains opened and Linda Luscious swept onto the stage, a broad artificial smile stuck to her face, held there by the weight of her lipstick and rouge.

"Cue four."

A new image now filled the preview screen, a close up of Linda Luscious framed by just her head and shoulders.

"LOUD APPLAUSE," read the raised cue card being shown to the screaming audience, swiftly followed by another. "WOLF WHISTLES!"

And again, the carefully primed audience didn't disappoint, yelling its approval, howling and crying.

"Linda! Linda!" was the chant. It began at the back and was quickly taken up by one and all.

Linda stood, bathing in the glory, believing and adoring it. She was a one off, unique. Never had there been a judge like her, either in technique or in appearance. Her blonde hair was piled high upon her head, knotted into the most amazing bouffant. She wore a short black robe of finest satin, embroidered with purples and greens. But the front was completely open, the two sides being held together at the waist by a large golden buckle. Underneath, she wore a crimson corset, black stockings and a single red garter. She was a spectacular sight for sore masculine eyes. The top of her ample bosom was straining to escape the corset and it seemed only a matter of time before one or other of her boobs burst free.

Linda had once been asked by one of the tabloid newspapers on what she based her image and she'd replied: "The trash that stands on the corner of the street. I'm the bad girl turned good."

That was the image she projected.

"Good Evening, my happy adjudicators," she yelled with sickly smile, blowing exaggerated kisses towards the camera. It zoomed closer, framing the perfect 'O' of her provocatively pursed lips.

"Go four, cue three," Adam ordered, lining up his next shot. The preview image cut to a wider shot that included more of Linda's well-endowed figure, kissing it, following it.

"Do you know somebody who's been waiting for years for a flat in a prime location?" Linda read with practiced ease from her autocue. She pulled herself into her trademark tall stool, and sat with her legs slightly and very deliberately spread.

There was a sharp movement in front of her as a camera adjusted to focus upon her thighs, just where they met her crotch. But she was totally in zone, working the audience, warming them up, ignorant of the camera's carnal lust for her female charms. "Some years ago I wanted to move next door to David Connery. Do you like David Connery?"

There was a unanimous scream from the David Connery fan club sitting somewhere towards the back. Linda waited until she had them listening attentively again, hanging on her utterance. "Isn't he lovely? I just adore David Connery. He lives in a castle, you know. That beautiful Scot’s accent, his dark, sexy eyes.  And that kilt! Don't you just want to grope under the kilt? Don't you ladies? Anyhow, I applied to live next door to David, wanting to get to know him better, and two weeks later, I got this shirty letter from some bitch in the Housing Department. 'Dear Ms. Luscious, it read." Linda played with the top of her corset, straightening it needlessly, wobbling her boobs. "That's me," she said confidently, pointing to her non-existent letter. "Dear Ms. Luscious. We thank you for your application but all we have available at present are two fox holes, a rabbit warren and the moat."

"LAUGHTER." The cue card was lifted and the audience followed its direction like brainwashed zombies.

"Can you believe that? Have you seen David Connery's moat lately?" She crossed and re-crossed her legs, caressing herself between them. "There's no water in it. What's up with him? Has he no pride? If I was going to rent his moat, I'd want a decent amount of water. I'm not going to live in a puddle!"

"Go two, Cue one. Go one." Adam had barely the time to see the note that was placed upon the control panel by his right hand. Janet had placed it there. What was she doing here? She ought to have gone home. She hovered behind him nervously. "Cue four. Five, can you get a little closer? I want to see more cleavage. Tighten up, please."

Adam glanced down at the note. It had to be important. Janet wouldn't interrupt him during transmission unless something major had tripped. He picked up the note.

"Go five." The live shot changed to a close up of Linda, angled directly into her firm, proud bust. "Zoom in. Right in close. Make them fill my screen. I want to see nothing but tits. More. Give me more of those tits."

"Tonight," Linda continued, again shaking her boobs deliberately. They were her children, her pride and joy, her pay day. "We're going to tell you the story of Shannon Courtney, the unassuming computer programmer who thought she could cheat you and I, obtaining a luxury flat through nefarious means."

Linda rolled her eyes as she read the final two words. The audience tutted and shook their heads. They knew all about 'nefarious means'.

That meant sex. Shannan had fucked her way to a flat.

"We'll bring you footage from inside Shannon's bedroom proving her guilt. You'll see her in action. You'll see her naked. You'll see her fucking and being fucked in intimate CC detail. You'll see her strapped to the wench's stool and how easily she confessed. Then, here, live tonight, you'll hear from Shannon herself. You'll witness her mitigation. Only then will the telephone lines open and you the jury be able to administer, live here tonight:"

She paused, waiting for the response…

"PUBLIC JUSTICE," the audience screamed in perfect unison.

"But first a word from our sponsors."

"Cut."

The single word sliced through the mayhem and the exuberance, descending upon Linda, the camera crew and the audience alike as a pronouncement from heaven.

Silence.

They were expecting a commercial break, not this mighty pronouncement from on high.

Cut. Just a little word. A devastating effect.

Linda stood in the middle of the stage completely at a loss, waiting for Adam to go on. There was a murmur of disquiet from the audience. The floor manager looked around blankly, then began rummaging through his cue cards, searching for the one that wasn't there.

The seconds ticked by.

One, two, three, four, five.

Linda could see out of the corner of her eye that there was an advertisement on air. She had trained herself to see the live monitor without turning her head. It was a mean feat, but often necessary. She saw a sexy lady in sports bra and skin-tight lycra shorts demonstrating how to enjoy a Magic Moment. She knew the advertisement well. The actress had an electrical implement in her hand and was using it to massage her bra and shorts. The ad cut to a less daring head and shoulders shot, her looking straight at camera, relaxed and moaning in ecstasy, very obviously enjoying the pleasuring of her dildo.

The advertisement came to its end with the line, 'When was the last time you enjoyed a Magic Moment?'"

The monitor faded to and from black, and then the next advert began. Only, it wasn't the next advert. It was the same advert. The same girl, the same sports bra, the same lycra shorts. Everything the same.

Linda's face tensed. Something was wrong. Was it a mistake? Why were they showing the same advertisement twice?

"Adam?" she called uncertainly, looking heavenwards as if addressing the almighty. Perhaps she was. "Mr. Tomlins?"

"Roll the video," thundered Adam, his roar echoing from the Gods with Old Testament emotion. "Cut back to Linda and introduce the surveillance. Get to it. Now. Give me time to think!"

Linda hadn't time for further clarification. This was live TV and the show must go on.

Fifteen seconds was the only safety net they had.

The advertisement came to the climax of its second showing, the model stopped moaning and gave the appearance of relaxed contentment. Then the final line came up on the screen: 'When was the last time you enjoyed a Magic Moment?'

A red light gave Linda her cue. It was positioned beneath the camera where she could see without moving her eyes. She smiled sweetly, nervously. There were no words on her autocue now. She was on her own. It was time to sink or swim.

But like the professional that she was, Linda invented the missing words. "So first," she read from the blank screen. "Before we meet Shannon Courtney in the flesh..." She spoke authoritatively, shimmering radiantly, her blonde bouffant bouncing upon her head, threatening to fall in a cascade of curls. "I'm sure you'd like to see how she looks. All you lusty guys drooling for her – naked, I can sense the lump in your trousers. So let's do it. Let's see what Shannon really gets up to in the comfort of her home. Tonight you'll see her strip to the buff and then use her feminine wiles to seduce a member of the Housing Department with the intent on encouraging a felony. As you watch, you must consider, you must ask yourself the question. What is the appropriate sentence for such an offender? You the jury must decide. You have the power to make a difference. Only you, the jury, can administer, live here tonight:"

"PUBLIC JUSTICE." Once again, the audience screamed the words in perfect unison, but not so confidently this time. They weren't sure of the script either.

Then came the statutory warning. Linda knew this verbatim. She didn't need the autocue to read these familiar words. "What you're about to see is court evidence. As such it has been certified as non pornography under the terms of the Bill of Statutes 1107 and can be shown on national television without violation of Standards of Decency."

The VT faded to the recorded film of Shannon. She was sitting on a sofa with her legs beneath her, an empty wine glass at her side. A broad muscular man sat on the chair opposite. The picture was good, but the sound quality sucked.

"It's rather late," Shannon was saying, playing with her necklace. She brushed the hair from her face and then touched her breast with the back of her hand. "Peter. Would you like to stay? I mean… you can, if you want."

The audience in the studio and another at home watched the scene unfold. They were spellbound as always. This was real. They were voyeurs. They could watch and pass judgement; criticize and assign blame. Public Justice made them important, it presented them with power.

Shannon stood up, holding back her shoulders pushing her breasts forward. "Do you think I'm pretty? Tell me what you think?"

The unseen man spoke briefly. It sounded like he said no.

"What do you mean, no? How dare you…" She staggered forward, giggling, without coordination. She was drunk. "I'll convince you. How can I convince you? Would you like me to strip?"

She laughed nervously. "I bet there are men who have fantasies about a woman saying that. How about it? Would you like me to undress?"

The unseen man obviously assented, because she began to sway and unfasten her clothes. Ah. Now the audience was happier. This was what they'd come to see. Pornography dressed up as current events.

Shannon unbuttoned her dress, shrugged it off, and then her underwear, her bra and her panties. She staggered from garment to garment, slurring her words and losing her way. She fell backwards into her chair, her panties tangled about her thighs, totally unaware that her unseemly antics would one day become the entertainment of a whole nation.

At last, breathless and irritable, she managed to escape her panties. She stood, blissfully naked, basking for the benefit of one man, yet recorded for the scrutiny of many.

“Come here,” ordered her unseen admirer.  She did, falling to her knees, kissing him urgently and uninhibitedly. He made no attempt to get up or undress.

“Unzip my trousers. I want you to suck my dick before you forget what to do.”

The camera followed Shannon's thin fingers. They tugged at the zip and fished out the tenant. His cock was hard and huge, hired as much for the camera as to lure the woman now holding it.

"Come to bed!" she moaned.

"Suck it," he ordered, still not moving, waiting for her to do the work. "Swallow every drop. If you do, if you manage it before lights out, I'll carry you upstairs myself and give you a fucking you'll never forget. Don't worry, babe. There'll be plenty left. I'm a five times a night man, no problem."

And he wasn't exaggerating. He'd been hired as much for his stamina as for his ability to complete a covert operation.

Meanwhile, up in the control box, all mayhem had broken loose. Adam was pacing up and down, the note that Janet had given him clenched in his hand. His face was scarlet and his eyes were bulging with anger. "What do you mean she's not here?" he screamed, the veins bulging from his temples. "That's your job, to liase with the prison and make sure she gets here. Bugger! Why do I pay you? Didn't anyone check? Did no one think? Christ! How can she not be here?"

Janet was also bright scarlet, but for a completely different reason. Her head was hung low and her shoulders were rounded from depression. "It was not having my clothes," she explained wretchedly. How could she tell the truth, that she'd fallen asleep? "I forgot. What did you expect? It was so embarrassing. Everybody, everybody kept coming and asking stupid questions… and looking, staring… One after the other. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't do my work."

"But I told you. Didn't I tell you? You should let the penitentiary know six hours ahead? Did you hear me or did you not?"

"Yes," Janet acceded, her eyes full of tears. "You did… but it was the timing… you'd just asked me to undress... how can you expect…?"

"So it's my fault is it?" Adam roared. He was fuming, barely containing his anger. "So what do we do? I have a show going out. The defendant has been introduced, but I've no one to stick in the dock."

"I only need another fifteen minutes," Janet muttered abjectly, wringing her hands. "She's on her way. Fifteen minutes. That's all it'll take. She's in the transporter from Dunganny. Fifteen minutes and she'll be here."

"Fifteen minutes?" Adam bellowed, shaking the control room to its foundations. "I haven't got fifteen minutes! God! What's poor Linda supposed to do until then? Sing? Dance? Tell me, what do you think she should do?"

Janet had considered this too. "The one you chose for tomorrow, the blonde, Susan, she could step in. What about her? She's still downstairs. I had her brought up. She's waiting backstage."

Adam’s eyes hardened. He leaned forward, his cruel gaze penetrating Janet’s disintegrating reserve, glinting evil and spite. "What about you? You're a brunette. Eh, Janet? You've screwed this up. You take her place."

Janet's jaw dropped. Her stomach dropped too. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He stared, examining her body like she were meat. "The video we have of Shannon shows a brunette. The woman on the wench's stool is a brunette. I need a brunette, not a blonde. Don't you think the punters will rumble the difference between a blonde and a brunette?"

Janet became hysterical. "But I don't look like Shannon!" she whined, looking around desperately for support, some sign of solidarity. But all she saw was pity. No one would look her in the eye; the technicians pretended to be unaware, getting on with their jobs. "I'm younger. She's bigger than me. She's... she's got longer hair. After all I've been through today you can't… you just can't…"

Adam glanced at the security guards standing on duty by the door. Time was of the essence. He had to move quickly or tonight's show would descend into a farce. "Take her," he said brutally. "Ms Tomkinson will be appearing as our public enemy tonight. The VT ends in five minutes, that's five minutes to get her out of those clothes, into a paper dress and onto stage."

“No!”

It was a wretched cry of despair.

"Please!" Janet screamed. "You can't do this! What will my family think? It's wrong. It's unjust! What have I done?"

Adam smiled weakly and shrugged his shoulders, turning away. "You're a woman. Live with it! I told you this morning you were on a one way ticket to the wench's chair. You're expendable. The audience wants to see a brunette, and they're damn well going to get one. Get her out of here!"

The guards grabbed hold of Janet and dragged her, crying, screaming, and blaspheming from the control room. A nurse discreetly plunged a needle into her, sedating the worst of her protest, a makeup girl wiped the tears and hastily applied rouge to her cheeks and gloss to her lips, a wardrobe lady cut the clothes from her soul and draped her in the infamous paper dress.

Within a matter of a couple of minutes, Janet had been transformed from an officious temp into a desolate criminal.

                        </Text>

<Reference>

<Reference ID="281262" Date="21 Jun 1984">

                        <Publication> The National Independent </Publication>

                        <Page> Eight </Page>

                        <ByLine> Jane Milne </ByLine>

                        <Name> Adante Woman Released </Name>

                        <Text>

                        </Text>

</Reference>

<Reference ID="754009" Date="19 Jun 1984">

                        <Photograph> Pictures From Shannon's Bedroom </Photograph>

                        <Image>    

                        </Image>

</Reference>

  <Reference ID="754010" Date="19 Jun 1984">

                        <Photograph> Pictures From Shannon's Bedroom </Photograph>

                        <Image>    

                        </Image>

</Reference>

<Reference ID="990541" Date="2 Jul 1984">

                        <EmailArchive> CCTV-HQ Secure Mail Server </EmailArchive>

                        <Text>

                        </Text>

</Reference>