The Collector (8 page)

After my initial meeting with Kit, we became friends. Not close friends or anything- I don’t think Kit does close. Yet she quickly became a source of research and information about clients she’d known, and the experiences of the women she’s encountered in the course of her work.

Once such girl, who I’ll call Bess (Kit had forgotten her name - if she ever even knew it) had an ex-boyfriend who was big on objects of intrusion, in particular stilettos, as the next two short sharp stories will illustrate.

‘If we were still together, do you think the sex would be that good?’ he asked, as the scene on the television picture flashed to three women fucking each other against a fridge.

‘Better.’ Bess looked him straight in the eye.
‘Better?’ His mouth twitched. ‘Are you still a bad girl then?’ ‘Would I be sat watching porn with you if I wasn’t?’ Bess slowly

‘In that case,’ he said as his eyes narrowed, ‘take off the rest of your clothes and go upstairs.’ His voice became commanding. ‘Lay face down on my bed with your feet dangling off the edge. The first thing I want to see when I come through the door is your delicious arse.’

Counting under his breath, he stood up and headed for the stairs. ‘Six, seven…’ In the hall he stopped, Bess’s frighteningly high stilettos were lying where she’d kicked them off. He grabbed one and ran up the stairs. ‘Ten.’

She was lying just as he’d instructed, except that her hand was between her legs and her panting told him that she was not far from bringing herself off. ‘Stop right now.’ He swung the stiletto down hard onto her swaying butt. ‘You are a very naughty bad girl.’ He struck again as she yelled out.

Pulling Bess’s arms over her head, he tied them together with his belt. ‘Stay.’ The shoe connected with her backside again and again, until an angry red sole imprint began to form on her peach skin.

He squeezed his hand between her crotch as she squealed into the duvet. ‘You really are a dirty girl aren’t you?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘You want more?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’ he had begun to grunt his words; primal need taking firm control of his actions.
‘Yes Master, Sir, whatever! Just fuck me!’ Bess shouted out as he pinched her damp flesh.
‘Not yet.’ The stiletto hung from his fingers. ‘Nice shoe, you don’t mind if I try it on do you?’ He slipped it over his erection and walked towards her face. ‘Stand up bitch.’
Bess scrambled to her feet, her face flushed with longing as she looked at the shoe. He smiled ‘Suck me off.’ Swiftly, she knelt before him and attempted to engulf his cock, but he pushed her back. ‘No. Just the shoe.’
It only took a split second of uncertainty before Bess greedily turned her attention to the sharp black heel, treating it just as if it was his hard dick.
With a deep groan he shoved her away, forcing her onto all fours on the bed. Grasping her arse, he plunged himself between her butt cheeks.
‘Bite pillow baby,’ he cried as he jammed the stilettos thin heel into her cunt.
‘Scream dirty girl,’ he ordered.
So she did.

As Bess watched, the wax started to dribble down the heel of the red stiletto. It had taken an agonising eternity for the flame to start melting the candle wedged into her shoe; now, at last, it was producing a steady trickle of molten liquid.

Her eyes stung. She had been willing the candle on for so long that even when her eyes were closed, she could still see its glow.
Inwardly she’d been screaming in frustration for at least, the last twenty minutes, and Bess was grateful for her soft gag. Her tormenter had been rubbing her naked tethered body with the toe of a second stiletto for nearly an hour, and had vowed to do nothing else until the candles wax had dribbled down to the very tip of its sister shoe’s sharp heel.
Bess’s body shivered at the intense feeling of need that the smooth stiletto produced across her taut skin. The bed to which she was tied was dotted with sweat. So far he had avoided touching either her breasts or pussy; yet her nipples already felt like rocks and her clit was as wet and slippery as if he’d been pushing the spiked heel deep inside her.
It was his abrupt intake of breath which told her that the moment had come at last. Bess watched his shadowy outline move closer as he tore off his clothes, freeing his long restricted cock, as a drop of wax hit the shelf beneath the stiletto’s razor sharp heel.
The circular motion of the shoe stopped. Bess could have cried at the withdrawal of its touch, and forced herself to bite back frustrated tears. She held her breath as she watched the flicker of the flame as he picked up the candle-filled stiletto. Holding it between her tits, he highlighted their curves with the orange heat and light against the darkness of the room.
Bess had not been prepared for the stinging pain as he swung the sole of the second shoe across her aching breasts. The gag was no longer enough to prevent her noisy response.
His erection swayed menacingly as he maintained the attack whilst re-directing the flame to between her outstretched and fastened legs. Bess braced herself as the sole smacked hard against her distended cunt. Heat swept through her as she gave in to the beautiful agony.
As he silently repeated the assault, Bess saw him rub the stiletto’s wax coated heel up and down his dick. It was too much. Bess’s body began to spasm in its restraints, all self-control gone.
He fell across his prisoner, sliding into her stickiness. Dropping the second shoe, he ripped the gag out of her panting mouth and replaced it with the wax-coated stiletto heel, which she sucked hungrily.
He watched her for a second, bound and deliciously wanton, writhing in the stiletto’s light before, at last, he buried himself into her beautiful trapped and bucking body.

Just because a coffee shop has table clothes and sugar lumps rather than wipe down surfaces and damp sugar sachets, doesn’t mean it is always the location of respectable and high-brow conversation.

In the Oxfordshire town of Wantage there are several nice cafés and tea shops. I was in such an establishment late one Friday afternoon, opposite a table at which sat a dark haired, pale skinned woman, who I’d estimate to be in her late-thirties. She was detachedly sipping at her cappuccino, obviously waiting for someone to join her. Her manner was so unsettled and her glances towards the door were so frequent that my curiosity was roused.

Just in case a story was about to emerge, I ordered myself a second Americano and opened my notebook.
I didn’t have to wait long before a second woman, of a similar age, joined the first. The newcomer barely had time to sit down with her pot of tea before the first woman, somewhat flustered, and yet also elated, launched into her tale.
I couldn’t help but overhear.

Jon smiled down at Mae, an arrogant look in his eyes. ‘As I understand it,’ he poured another glass of wine and passed it across to her, ‘the deal is that no other man or woman must touch you.’

‘Marriage is rather more than that.’ Mae tried and failed to avoid eye contact.
‘Of course it is, but physically, I’m right aren’t I.’
Mae could feel her heart thudding against her rib cage. She answered slowly, aware she was already in too deep. ‘You could be…if you wanted to be.’
Jon looked at her laid back on his sofa. It hadn’t taken long to get Mae nice and relaxed, but now he’d have to proceed carefully, or all his hard work getting her to this stage would be destroyed. ‘You want to don’t you.’ It was a statement not a question. Jon knelt next to her, breathing his words into her ear. ‘Can’t you remember how good it felt?’
Mae did remember, and she did want to, but she was married. On the other hand, she could easily convince herself that her husband was no saint. A task made simpler for her by the obvious electricity shooting through the air. But how could it work if Jon didn’t touch her?
‘You trust me don’t you?’ He smiled the same charming smile he’d first ensnared her with a decade ago.
‘Of course I don’t.’ She didn’t, not for a minute. Mae knew she was smiling despite herself, and privately acknowledged that in the fight between conscience and desire. Desire was ahead on points.
Jon crouched closer to her face and whispered. ‘I madly want to fuck you. Shag you until you scream, until I explode inside you - but I can’t, not now you’re all legal, and yet…’ He stood up and stepped away from her, his voice dripping with arrogant confidence. ‘…I can give you a damn good seeing to without laying a single finger on you, and without you laying a finger on me.’
‘How on earth could…’ He raised a hand, cutting her sentence short.
‘The worst you can be accused of then is assisted masturbation, and who’d know anyway?’
‘I’d know.’ Her smile was gone, but a treacherous silent need was welling up in the pit of her stomach.
Jon stared deep into her dark blue eyes. He knew he’d won, and wanted to savour every moment of victory. ‘You do what I say, and that horny body of yours will get the seeing to it so desperately needs. Yes?’
Mae didn’t reply, but then she didn’t need to. He’d won, he always won. She couldn’t work out how this had happened. They’d only met by chance outside a local coffee shop an hour ago. It was eight years since she’d last seen Jon, yet here she was, lying flat on her back on his sofa, putty in his hands. She felt consumed with a heady mixture of shame and lust. Her mouth had gone dry, and her palms felt damp with nervous anticipation.
‘I need some supplies,’ Jon spoke practically, as if he was about to gather tools together to fix his car or something. ‘As I’m not allowed to touch you, you’d better take your clothes off whilst I’m gone.’
Watching his retreating back, Mae felt momentarily paralysed against the soft leather sofa cushions. She shouldn’t do this. He had given her the perfect opportunity to grab her handbag and run for it. Yet she stayed exactly where she was.
Closing her eyes tightly, Mae tried to feel guilty for wanting to stay, but she couldn’t. She just felt sexy and desperate to be touched by a man she’d sworn she’d never even speak to again.
With trembling fingers Mae undid the buttons of her blouse, before standing and sliding off her trousers, socks and knickers. Finally, keeping her eyes firmly closed as if to deny what she was doing, Mae freed her breasts from her black satin bra.
As she lay back down, the leather felt both cool and sticky beneath her bare flesh. Mae fervently wished Jon would hurry up, but daren’t open her eyes. Then it occurred to her that he may have been watching her strip all along. The idea caused her body to goose pimple all over.
‘Good,’ Jon’s voice made Mae jump as it cut through the silence of the room. ‘Keep your eyes shut and put your hands beneath your back, I don’t want you moving about.’
As Mae did as he asked, she noticed that his breathing had become slightly shallow, a sure sign that Jon was extremely turned on. She wondered if he was naked too. In her mind he was. Mae could clearly visualise every inch of his tightly toned chest and his tall slim frame.
She flinched; something cold and smooth was being rubbed against her left leg. ‘What’s that?’ Mae had to squeeze her eyelids tighter to stop them from opening and breaking the spell.
‘A bottle.’ Jon spoke bluntly as he continued to roll the icy bottle of juice up and down her thighs, its shiny surface making her skin flush with need and yet shiver with cold.
Just as Mae reached the point where she couldn’t possible stay still any longer, he abruptly took the bottle away. Mae’s groan at the passing of sensation was replaced by a yelp of shock, as a searing hot cloth was thrown onto her right breast. She was just acclimatising herself to the heat when Jon dropped an ice cold flannel onto her left teat. The juxtaposition of temperatures caused tears to spring to her eyes, as Mae struggled to keep her hands hidden and not use them to knock the wet cloths off her chest.
Moments later the flannels were levered away, Jon laughed down at her. ‘I’ve always wondered what my kitchen tongs would come in useful for.’
The air of the room teased Mae’s puckered skin until two new hot and cold flannels landed on opposite sides of her chest, and forced her to suck in her breath, hard. The effect of the clingingly damp material was almost as potent as a hot tongue lapping at her nipples, and Mae found her already slick pussy igniting in response.
She whimpered with both relief and loss, as once again Jon flicked the cloths away, dumping them onto the floor. Then, positioning the tongs over her extant right nipple, he squeezed it hard between the metal teeth.
Mae shrieked in shock, her hips lifting off the sofa in an attempt to escape the pain, before he swapped his attention to the other nipple and clamped it tightly, the tongs sharp edges cutting against her areolas.
‘Jon!’ Mae yelled out. ‘Stop!’
‘No way!’ Jon’s voice was gruff. ‘You have no idea how fantastic you look. If you knew, you’d never want me to stop.’
After an agonising eternity, in which Mae’s body flushed between the need for more pain and the wish for it to end, Jon finally abandoned her teats and began to smack the undersides of her pale breasts. Lightly at first, he worked the kitchen utensil across her belly and down her legs, avoiding the neat triangle of her snatch, which visibly quivered in response to each strike.
The obvious avoidance of her clit was driving Mae to distraction, and the desire she felt to be struck between her open legs was overwhelming. She’d never wanted to be hurt, to be punished, so badly in her life. ‘
Maybe
’ she thought, her mind racing, ‘
I deserve punishment for being here.’
She tried to divert her mind by concentrating on Jon’s breathing instead, but her head swam and her back arched, as she called out, ‘Please Jon. Please just do it!’
Turned on further by her begging, Jon bought the tongs down triumphantly hard against her soft mound. The assault went on and on, as he smacked her like a man possessed. Her cunt stung, and Mae longed for him to physically touch her, to crush his mouth against hers. It took all her willpower not to free her trapped hands from beneath her, and wrap her arms around his body. She was sure she hadn’t said anything out loud though, maybe he’d just read her mind.
‘I can’t Mae, you don’t belong to me,’ Jon’s voice was a strange mixture of regret and lust. ‘But I can give you the stuffing you so badly need. Open your eyes.’ Mae obeyed quickly, and saw his naked cock bouncing full and rigid before her. He was holding a dauntingly thick cucumber between his hands. ‘A bit cliché perhaps, but a perfect size, don’t you think?’
Mae didn’t reply, she just swallowed hard at the thought of the invasion to come.
‘Widen those legs.’ She did as Jon ordered, and he very slowly, began to inch the green cylinder up inside her slippery opening. ‘My god you’re so wet, maybe I should have done this to you years ago and I might not have lost you.’
Mae couldn’t respond to his uncharacteristic confession that he had lost her, and not the other way around. She was concentrating on her pussy, which already felt as if it was full to bursting, and he was still pushing, still stretching her wider to accommodate the makeshift dildo.
Finally he stopped, and her muscles clamped themselves around the blessed width. Jon grinned as Mae’s body twitched despite her obvious attempts to keep still. ‘I think a finishing touch is required, don’t you?’
She creased her sweat prickled forehead questioningly as Jon picked up his hairbrush. ‘I want you to roll off the sofa and get onto all fours.’ Mae opened her mouth to protest that the cucumber would fall out, but he pre-empted her. ‘I will hold the end. Don’t worry, it’s firmly wedged.’
Clumsily, Mae flipped down onto the beige carpet and positioned herself on her hands and knees. Was he going to smack her again? Beat her hard? The hairbrush had a wide flat head, and would certainly make a good paddle. Mae shivered again, knowing that one strike was probably all that was needed to send her into heaving throws of ecstasy.
‘You are amazing.’ Jon whispered the words, still holding the end of the cucumber so that her body didn’t dispel it, and stood admiring the vision he’d created.
He picked up the brush and flashed it before her eyes. ‘A nice wide paddle, don’t you think?’
She gasped, but couldn’t reply as Jon began to glide the cucumber in and out of her body, building up a maddeningly gentle rhythm. Mae’s deep throated moans turned to soft purrs as the desire in her grew and grew.
Sensing she was about to come, Jon squeezed some lube onto his hands. ‘However, this hairbrush also has a nice long round handle doesn’t it, not too thin, not too thick, just right for…’ He smeared the lube over the handle and, taking a firm hold of the brush’s head, plunged it between her arse cheeks.
Mae’s shocked screech resounded around the room as Jon eased the brush’s handle deeper into her butt, whilst sliding the broad green dildo, faster and faster, in and out of her cunt.
Her hips bucking, Mae came in a noisy heap until she collapsed, a spent force on the floor. The cucumber fell out, but the brush remained lodged firmly in place, clenched between her buttocks.
She didn’t move as a delicious but confused shame shot through her. How had he convinced her to do that? And yet, as her satiated body began to calm, Mae wondered, as she watched Jon run to shoot his load in the bathroom, and she removed her unorthodox buttplug, how soon it might be before they could do it again.
After all, he hadn’t even touched her…