Dirty Bad Strangers (6 page)

“She might not even be here,” Steve groaned. “She might be having you on.”

I daren’t admit she hadn’t told me anything at all.

By half midnight the exit rate had slowed to virtually nothing. Steve was tapping on the steering wheel in unvoiced boredom, and my tiredness had returned with a vengeance. I should have picked bed, the sensible option. I changed my mind as the doors moved again and three drunk girls spilled out, arm in arm and having a whale of a time. Two of them were hot goth chicks, definitely into each other. Under normal circumstances that would have definitely given me food for thought, but not tonight. I was way more interested in the girl along with them.

Their redhead companion was shorter; a dumpy little thing with a mass of flyaway curls framing her cute face. She pulled her coat around her as she looped arms with the girl to her right, but it did nothing to hide the plump swell of her tits.

My Lucy. It had to be.

She was a curvy girl, the promise of thick, fleshy thighs under the tight red satin of her dress. She carried her weight well, but there was definitely weight to carry. My heart hammered as they headed in our direction, ditching the sunglasses in favour of a clearer view. Lucy’s round cheeks bloomed pink, her eyes sparkling with life as she joked with the girls at her side. Her milk white skin was dotted with freckles, big tits bouncing with every step.

I go for blondes. Tall, skinny blondes with implants and barely enough ass to grab hold of. I’d never really fancied a bigger girl, never been given the opportunity. The Premier League is littered with wannabes — models craving a chance to get their tits in the tabloids. Not so many milky white redheads with fleshy thighs come calling, and I hadn’t missed them. That’s what I’d have told you.

I was wrong.

Lucy came closer, oblivious to my presence. I couldn’t stop looking at her, eyes drawn from her smile, to her sweet, bouncy chest, to the way her thighs mashed together under the satin. I wondered how they’d feel around my face, wondered what she’d look like naked, how soft and wet her pussy would be for me. Her arse would be more than a handful, so much fucking more. Fuck how I wanted to play with her. My mouth was dry, cock fucking hard in Steve’s tatty old jeans. I’d forgotten he was even alongside me, consumed by dirty thoughts as Lucy paced alongside his window, the flesh of her breasts bouncing with every step.

That’s when I heard her laugh; a beautiful dirty giggle in response to some whispered joke or other. It was my Lucy, alright.

And then she was gone, leaving me craning my neck for a view of her arse, my fingers on the door latch as I fought the urge to go charging after her. How could I? She’d have no idea who I was, other than some creepy weirdo waiting in the shadows.

I took a breath as she disappeared from view, waiting for the onslaught from Steve.

“That her?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

He started up the engine. “We can go now, then?”

“Yeah, show’s over.”

He was quiet as he drove, but so was I, lost in a million seedy fantasies about my dirty girl and her milky white breasts. I hardly even noticed we’d pulled into my driveway.

I grabbed the crumpled mess of my suit from the backseat.

“Thanks, Steve. I really fucking appreciate all this.”

“No bother, mate.”

I opened the door, patting him on the shoulder before I made my exit. I was almost out when he grabbed my arm.

“Jase, about what you said.”

“What I said?”

“Back at the workshop... about changing my mind.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’ve changed my fucking mind, mate...” he smiled.

***

Gemma

I was drunk and happy as I stumbled through my empty apartment, casting off clothes as I went. My slimming underwear had been too tight, and my feet were bloody killing in heels, but none of that really mattered. I’d met the best people ever. Cara and Missy and Cat and Trixie and Raven... they were awesome, beautiful people. So funny, so dirty, so honest. I’d told them every bloody thing, drunk and motor-mouthed, but it didn’t matter now.

They got it. Got
me.

Shit, it felt so good.

Burlesque night was amazing, performers who didn’t give a toss for convention, lighting up the show with fire and nails and feathers and neon body paint, not to mention the numerous perky breasts and swinging dicks. I’d expected a replica Cara to take the stage for the dance act, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Princess Tallulah was twice the size of me, stripping down to her knickers without a care in the world. She’d danced like a showgirl, twirling her nipple tassels as the crowd went wild. They weren’t laughing, either. People loved her, loved her for being
real
. I wished it was me up there, baring my body for the world to see.

Maybe one day.

Maybe one day I’d even be in Club Explicit on a weekend, on stage for a different kind of show.

Maybe with Jason.

It was late, approaching two a.m. The magic number two. Again, I’d told him I’d be out, but surely it was worth a shot.

I logged into messenger, appearing offline until I saw Sheena sign off for the evening. I logged into the main system without updating my timesheet, there for one reason only.

Please call. Please, please call.

I held my breath as the handset started bleeping, praying for the familiar voice on the other end.

“Did you fuck your friend, dirty girl?”

He was already well on his way, I could hear the tremor in his voice.

“My pole instructor? Would you want me to?”

“Maybe one day, when we’ve found the limit of how much dick you can take. I’d like to watch you eat sweet gothic pussy.”

“She is a goth, actually. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he rasped. “Guess she just sounds like one…”

“The club was hot,” I gushed. “It was amazing... you ought to see the shit they’ve got there...”

“Did you play?”

“It wasn’t that kind of event. I would play, though, if I went there again... if you were with me.”

“I want to see you.” The urgency in his tone made my stomach flutter. “We’re through with talk.”

The alcohol in my blood spoke his language. “I know...”

“Kneel for me, right now, on the floor…”

I did as he asked, no interest in playing pretend.

“…I want you to put the phone on speaker.”

“Ok, you’re on speaker.”

“Put the handset between your legs, on the floor, close to your pussy.”

I felt more self-conscious than I expected. “It’s right there.”

“I want you naked.”

“I am naked, my outfit was uncomfortable.”

“Good,” he groaned. “You’re going to spread those juicy white thighs and fuck yourself until it hurts, understand? I want to hear you stretch that sweet pussy for me. I’ll know if you’re faking.”

“Yes...” My fingers were already between my thighs, teasing clammy skin.

“Spread your legs, dirty girl, stretch yourself open...”

I shuffled my knees apart, sinking into position.

“…now lean forward, I want those gorgeous big titties hanging low for me.”

“Yes, Jason...”

“Slap them together, Lucy. I want to hear them.” I slapped them hard enough to guarantee he’d hear loud and clear.

I savoured his excitement, his struggle to keep calm.

“Please, Jason ... I want you to stretch me so bad...”

“You’ll stretch, sweetheart. I’ve already got a second cock lined up for you. Your pussy will eat us up, so fucking wet and juicy... I bet you’ve got nice meaty cunt lips, haven’t you? All pretty and pink. I can’t wait to plough your sweet little cunt, Lucy, seesaw that pussy with two fat dicks.”

Something was different, more invasive... something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but he was all the dirtier for it.

“Yes, please... please, Jason... that’s what I need...”

“I’m going to bury myself between your gorgeous chunky thighs and suck your fucking clit until you squeal, but right now you’re going to play for me.”

My fingers found the spot, and I folded forwards, mashing my tits into the carpet as I played for the stranger on the line.

“Stretch, Lucy... stretch that slurping fucking cunt...”

I slid in three fingers, gasping for real at the intrusion. “Fuck, Jason...”

“More, Lucy. Now. I want you knuckle fucking deep.”

I was wet. So fucking wet. “Four fingers is so tight...”

“Push yourself, dirty girl, I want to hear that snatch.”

I jammed my fingers deeper, giving myself to his instruction. My face was pressed to the floor, balance toppled, but it didn’t matter. He must have heard my grunts as I stretched myself for real, must have registered the truth in my panting voice.

“Come for me... that’s it... show me what a good dirty girl you are.”

“Fuck, it hurts...” I groaned. “It feels so dirty.”

“You’ll know pain, Lucy, when a roomful of dick splits you open. Give me your fucking address.”

Knuckle deep in my own wet pussy, flicking myself off to some stranger on the phone and loving him for it... this was crazy fucking shit.

“I want to be there now... now, Lucy... I’ll come right over, find your cunt nice and ready for me...”

I was tempted... so fucking tempted...

“Now...?”

“Right now...”

“I’m south east of the city... it’s a long trek from Surrey...” Jesus this was mad. Fucking mad.

“I can be there in forty minutes, Lucy. Forty minutes and I could be fucking your brains out all night long. Let me come fuck you, dirty girl…”

I pictured a stranger at my door, about to find me with my fist wedged inside my pussy and my chubby arse bared wide for him. “Oh, God, Jason. I want you to fuck me, all night long…”

I was lucky I hadn’t muted the laptop, lucky enough to hear the ping of messenger. Fuck. I scrabbled across the floor to get a better look.

RS337 Sheena: You there, Gemma? System pinged me, said we have an unscheduled log in - I thought you were out tonight?

“…Lucy? Tell me how to find you.”

RS443 Gemma: Sorry, must have got my wires crossed. I’ll log off now.

“Are you typing, dirty girl?”

“Shit, Jason, I’m not even supposed to be on here. They’ll check on my line any minute, please hang up.”

“Hang up?” he laughed. “You fucking serious?”

“Please, Jason... Quick!”

“Just tell me, Lucy, tell me how to find you.”

RS337 Sheena: Is that caller pestering you? Boot and blacklist him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“It’s a ruling we have here... part of the telecoms services legislation. Regulation six five three. Understand? Six five three.”

I held my breath, until I heard the dead tone.

I hoped he did understand.

***

Jason

So infuriatingly close, but it was real.
She
was real. Two numbers left.

Trevor Loveridge watched me with eagle-eyes through training, keeping a lookout for any signs of temper or lag, no doubt. But today was different. I had a spring in my step, a flush of excitement I hadn’t felt in years.

Lucy was real, and she was fucking hot. A soft peach, swollen ripe to be eaten. Yeah, I was excited all right.

It showed in my game. My passes were tight and accurate, muscles on fire as I ploughed into sprint after sprint. Fernandez was quick, but today I matched him, stealing the ball every chance I got.

We broke for lunch, and for once I joined in my teammates’ banter, soaking up the pre-match buzz of the big game tomorrow.

Our rivals at the top of the division, Manchester Athletic, were playing us at home. Bring it fucking on.

A couple of the youngsters broke into our Singers chant before food was done, and the whole canteen stood in unison to bellow out the words. I closed my eyes, standing proud with the rest of them, letting the moment sweep me away. Ten years I’d been at the club, and this would be my last, the end of an era.

The end of my Premiership dream, but the what-ifs no longer petrified me.

All over a chatline girl? Maybe. Who really cared? It felt good.

Trevor sent the first team off early for the afternoon, his instructions clear.

Get some rest. Be on your best bastard form for tomorrow. Show those Mancunian fuckers who rules the Premier League!

Maybe just this once I’d do as I was told.

I took a detour out to Steve’s on the way home, announcing my arrival with my own personal rendition of the Singers chant.

“Aye-aye, mate,” he said. “Can’t bloody get rid of you these days.”

“Fancied a drive.”

“Sure you did.” He flashed me a smile, one of his old ones, full of mischief. “Fucking hell, you caught lucky there. She looks like a right goer.”

I took a perch on the workbench as he measured out timber.

“Me and you, Steve, I’ll bring her out here, before the Carlisles get involved. Just us, and her.”

“Sounds good to me, mate.”

“I need some things for the barn. Will you order them if I give you the cash?”

I handed him a list, checking out his expression as he scanned it.

“...Bloody hell, Jase, this shit ain’t gonna come cheap.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“
She’ll
be worth it, you mean.”

“Yes, she will.”

He grinned, and it took ten years off him. “Think you might be right.”

“I’m going to need your car. Can’t exactly rock up at hers in any of mine.”

“
I’ll need your clothes, your barn and your Land Rover...
Terminator would have been quite a different film, mate.”

I smirked, slapping him on the back as I made my exit.

“I’ll be back.”

***

Gemma

Friday night was a no show for Jason, not that I had time to dwell on it. I’d been up til gone four, pretending to drug a roomful of girlfriends and shave all their hair off. Not my favourite fetish, but it had really clocked up my bonus. I slept in late Saturday, woken finally by the relentless buzz of the intercom.

I trudged through the living room in my dressing down, only to groan inside as Chelsea’s voice greeted me.

“Tessa said you’d be in.”

Thanks a bunch, Tess.

I’d been avoiding Chelsea since our spat at the club, content to keep her on the periphery of my life for the time being. Seems she wasn’t so happy with the arrangement. I buzzed her in, flicking on the kettle as she marched her way inside. She had new extensions in, even longer than the last.

“Nice hair.”

“Purest platinum,” she smiled, twirling for me.

“Tessa’s on a double shift today, won’t be in until late.”

She rolled her eyes. “You
know
I came to see
you
. Not still sulking, are you? I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“You
were
a bitch,” I said, handing her a coffee anyway.

“Can we be friends again?” She fluttered her ridiculously long lashes, giving me her very best
please please please
pout.

“We’ve always been friends. I just don’t want to spend time with someone who thinks I’m a fat, desperate embarrassment.”

“I don’t think that!”

I shrugged. “Not how it sounded.”

“We’d
all
had a few drinks, Gemma, don’t condemn me as the eternal sinner.” She took her coffee through to the living room, making herself well and truly at home.

“How’s the modelling?”

“Great,” she said. “Awesome, actually.”

That meant it wasn’t.

“Not shacked up with some ripped, fake-tanned celeb yet, then?”

She scowled. “I’m working on it. I want a footballer. Being a footballer’s wife would really suit me.”

“That’s your criteria, is it? A footballer? Any footballer will do?” I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity. I must be a glutton for punishment, but I’d kind of missed the silly cow.

“A Premier League footballer. Preferably one that doesn’t look like
Shrek
.”

“Preferably?”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be a total deal breaker.”

“So, he must be in the Premier League, and preferably better looking than an ogre?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair enough.”

“I want that Spanish lad, Theo Fernandez from the Singers. He’s hot.”

My expression must have been completely blank, as it led her to pull out her mobile and shove Google images in my face.

“He looks about twelve.”

“
Whatever,
Gemma, how many twelve year olds do you know with abs like that?”

She had a point.

“I guess you’d better start hunting down this
Theo Fernando
, then.”

“Fernan
dez
, and I already am...” There was that
please please please
pout again.

I’d been fleeced. “Spit it out, Chelsea, what do you want?”

“A coffee with my best friend!” she protested, but her story didn’t hold up very long. “Now that you mention it... there’s this club...
Kings
... down Kensington...”

“...and?”

“And I’ve heard the Singers are heading out there for Theo’s nineteenth birthday next weekend...”

“Good for you,” I grinned. “Go knock ’em dead.”

“I can’t,” she sighed. “I have no one to go with, Tessa’s working...”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You want me to go with you? To some trendy celeb club? For real? I thought I was just your chubby friend?”

“Please, Gemma. I know you’re milking it, and I know I deserve it, but I really, really, really want to go to that club. Players don’t go out all that often... they’re athletes, on a strict regime... total machines...”

“How do you even know they’ll be out?”

“Claudia Lancett told me. She’s in with
all
the footballers wives, even April Redfern, so they say. You must know
her
, used to be April Kelly.”

“April Kelly? Wasn’t she in a girl band?”

Chelsea nearly spat her coffee across my cream carpet. “You can’t seriously be for real? Do you live under a rock or something?
Cherry Electric
, you know...
I wanna love you, love you, love you, good. Love you, love you, long time, lonnng time.
”

“They played that song at my twelfth birthday party. It was over a decade ago…”

“Yeah, well, she’s not as young as she used to be. Still pretty, though. She’s been married to Jason Redfern like forever.”

“And he’s another footballer?” I was winding her up now, even I’d vaguely heard of Jason Redfern. Captain of the England team, destined for a career of crappy TV ads once the football dried up.

“You’re so rubbish,” she chided. “You’d be the worst WAG ever. Good job you’re not...” Her face paused in this weird expression, as she stumbled over whatever stupid sentence was on her tongue.

“Good job I’m not, what? Pretty enough?”

“No, of course not,” she lied. “Interested... good job you’re not
interested.
”

Well played, Chelsea, good save.
It got my hackles up, all the same.

“I’m sure your friend Claudia will be going to this awesome bash. You can tag along with her.”

She groaned, and it was a loud one. “She doesn’t like me! She only talks to me to show off, stuck up cow.”

“Why on earth doesn’t she like you?” I laughed. “You’re always so... pleasant...”

Chelsea looked at me deadpan, missing my sarcasm entirely. She flicked back her pure platinum mane, gave me the duck pout and offered up the standard Chelsea explanation of life.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s
jealous
.”

***

Jason

We won.

Of course we fucking won. We were on fire, dancing round the pitch like Kings of the world.

Kensington Rangers - 3

Manchester Athletic - 0

Trevor Loveridge had cheered us on from the bench, leaping around so much I feared he’d give himself a bloody heart attack. We’d smashed it, drilled them into the dirt, and left them limp and broken.

Singers, Singers, Singers!

I’d made a point of running in front of the VIP box to blow my fake wife a kiss.
Take that, bitch, who’s fucking useless now?

I’d been on my game, scuppering every decent chance Athletic had. It wasn’t their day. It was mine.

We all had a swift pint in the players’ bar to celebrate, but I left soon after. I had other things on my mind...

Milky-white tits and fiery hair. My sweet, sweet Lucy, and her sweet, sweet pussy.

Tonight would be the night, I just knew it. Two numbers left, and I wasn’t hanging up without them.

***

Gemma

Two on the dot.

No niceties this evening, and I hadn’t expected any…

Hadn’t really wanted any.

“The last two digits,” he demanded, “what are they?”

My eyes darted to my laptop screen, skirting over my instant messaging list. Sheena had logged off, but after the other night I couldn’t be so sure.

I held the handset tight, ignoring the trembling in my fingers. “Shh... you know I’m not allowed.”

A crackle on the line as he shifted position. “Come on, Lucy... is that even your name? You sound like a Lucy, I think? Are you really in London?”

No. It’s not my name. Yes, I’m really in London.

Something in his voice was teasing… playing with me.

“They listen in to the calls...” I said. “I’ll get fired...”

“But they aren’t, are they? I can hear it in your voice when they’re around. Can you see them? Do you have a high-tech chatline system that shows that kind of shit? Is that why you make me call so late?”

“Let’s talk about fucking...” I purred. “What would you do to me... if you were here right now?”

“Last two digits...” he said. “…and I’ll show you.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I should hang up. Return to the script. Wait until the twenty
-
minute automatic cut
-
off and log out of my shift. I should report it too, report him… block him from my client list and put an end to all this madness.

“You’ve given me the others... don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing... you want this to be real, as much as I do...”

“I... um... I’m not who you think I am…”

“Lucy, whatever your name really is... tell me those two digits, or I swear to God I’ll try all ninety-nine combinations until I reach you, and I don’t give a fuck how many people I wake up at three a.m. to do it.”

“Jason... I...”

“Last two digits...”

My stomach lurched.

I looked at the screen again.
Sheena RS335 - away.

Away. Away. Away.

“I know it’s real for you. I’ve called enough of these shitty lines over the years to know... you really want this... you want me... I can give it to you, real life, every fantasy we spoke about... all of it... I can set it up...”