The Collector (10 page)

Two of the bar staff working at one of Oxford’s student dominated night spots, have taken the anonymous erotic interlude, and developed it into an art form.

The temperature dropped as the door closed behind them. He hesitated for a moment before following them further into the club’s store. Seconds later he was being pulled across the dark room onto a huge pile of empty cardboard boxes which lay discarded in the far corner. He could feel his cock stirring beneath his jeans. So far they had not spoken. They hadn’t needed to.

The blonde was laughing. Her eyes laughed first, just ahead of her lips, which were moist with anticipation. The boxes crunched slightly as they were squashed beneath their combined weight. The thumping of the dance floor, only a corridor away, was almost drowned out by the ticking of the storeroom clock.

The girls, still anonymous, looked at each other, and with an unspoken signal they acted. Pulling off their t-shirts they revealed two sets of perfect tits. The red head’s rich mouth was nuzzling at her partners nipples before their guest had time to react to the wonderful, unbelievable, sight. Then she turned the blonde towards him. ‘She’s yours for the taking’. She smiled teasingly. ‘If you want her? You’ll have to decide quickly though, we only have a half hour break.’

He’d seen them watching him from the other side of the bar as they served his fellow clubbers. When they approached him, each taking a hand and guiding his slim frame towards what they called “a safe place”, he couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t sure whether he should resist or not, so he thought he’d see what happened next. Anyway, his mates were watching.

Somehow he couldn’t move. His brain was screaming at his body to work. To grab her, lick her neat breasts, and release her hips from her short black skirt, but he simply stood there, mesmerised.

The red head shrugged and, moving behind her friend, grasped her nipples between bronzed fingers. As her taught skin was expertly rubbed, the blonde’s head fell back onto her comrade’s shoulders, her eyes closed in pleasure.

‘She loves this. Why don’t you try it?’ Still he couldn’t move, but his eyes never left them. The red head, who was obviously relishing her currant dominance, started to kiss the blonde. Big, deep, probing kisses; first on the mouth, then down her neck, whilst her fingertips continued to brush the almond tips.

It was the blonde’s yell that woke him up. As she came there, right in front of him, under the careful ministrations of another girl, he realised that this wasn’t just another fantasy. This was everything he wanted. It was real.

As if sensing that he’d come to a positive decision, the red head pulled a condom out of her mini-skirts pocket and threw it at him. He inclined his head, and posted it into his jeans pocket.

The blonde almost sagged with relief as he tore off his shirt, closely followed by her skirt. He pushed her back into the red head’s arms, spread her knicker-free legs, and greedily lapped up the juice which ran down the inside of her thighs. Her arms reached up, and her fingers dug into his short dark hair to steady herself. His dick ached, but he wasn’t ready to take his jeans off. He couldn’t be sure how much control he’d have without their restraining presence.

Glancing up from his intense work around her clit, he could see she was very close, but he didn’t want to be the one to trigger her second orgasm. He was in charge now, and he wanted to watch.

The red head staggered a little as he pulled her roughly towards him. ‘Finish her off,’ he ordered.
‘Certainly Sir.’ She spoke with mock gravity, and knelt down, sliding two perfectly manicured fingers inside her friends soaking snatch. He watched as the fingers moved slowly, rhythmically in and out, making tiny slurping noises in time to the clock. He stepped forward and began to kiss the red head on the neck, her face and her stomach. He circled all around her chest without actually touching it, planting the lightest of touches on her belly and her arms, forcing a groan from her confident mouth. He knew the need for attention in her breast must be almost unbearable. Would she beg? No; too proud. He suspected that right now she would like to though.
The tension was cut abruptly as the blonde cried out once more, her body shivering in satisfaction. The red head pulled away from him and stuffed an aching tit into her friend’s mouth, who instantly obliged by flicking her skilful tongue over the neglected nipple. Red’s murmur of relief became a sigh of pleasure when he thrust his hard cock between her pink lips.
He had dreamt about this sort of thing, but the reality of the situation was almost too much. The girls so busy together, combined with the tongue expertly, divinely, licking at his tip, was driving him to distraction. He withdrew hastily and took a deep breath, gathering himself.
The clock ticked. The red head was whimpering for more attention. He glanced at the cardboard bed beneath him; it was more or less squashed flat now. Time must be short and he was desperate to be inside one of them. He didn’t care which one.
Ripping the condom out of its packaging and rolling it into place, he lay on his back, his discomfort soon forgotten as his shaft was quickly swallowed up as the blonde sat astride him. The delicious sensations that coursed through him doubled as the red head lowered herself onto his face, offering her pussy to his open mouth.
The stifled mews and groans from above told him that the girls were kissing each other as one pumped against his cock, and one rocked against his tongue. He held red’s thighs tightly, feeling the pleasing weight mould into him. Perhaps their hands were busy working on each others tits. He was sure they would be.
It was a thought too far, and suddenly he pushed the red head away, crying out his release as he shot his load into the blonde above him. As he moved away, panting hard, the girls wasted no time in fingering themselves to their own climax, giving him one last memorable spectacle.
Tick. The girls were bar staff again. Collecting their clothes from the jumble of cardboard, they hastened towards the door. Turning to him for a final look, he blew them a kiss, admiring their calm, but rather crumpled, appearance. Tomorrow he would have to pinch himself. Had that really just happened?
The backs of his long legs ached where they had been rubbed against the uneven surface, and they were already bruising. It had happened, and he was about to develop the marks to prove it.

I adore the bus. The tube is often more convenient, but on the less intimidating atmosphere of the bus, a previously unfamiliar person can, with a little encouragement, be unwittingly coerced into telling you the most intimate secrets of their lives. You are also less likely to have your conversation abruptly curtailed by the sudden arrival at your confidant’s destination.

It had been a number eight bus on which I met Ellie, on her way home from a very interesting day at work. I had to physically restrain myself from bringing out a notebook as I listened to my copassenger. In fact I got off the bus a stop earlier than I intended so I could scribble down Ellie’s tale before it lost any of its potency.

The cupboard was cramped. Ellie felt the cool grey metal shelves dig into her ribs as her face crushed a pile of envelopes. Her smart black trousers were already rumpled around her ankles. She jumped as she felt cold metal slide between her hot legs and her French knickers. Scissors; Ellie’s mind raced as she felt her underwear being cut away.

So far nothing had been said. Ellie knew that when he’d marched her into the stationery cupboard, her arm twisted up her back, she should have struggled and protested, but somehow she’d felt compelled to move with him. She wanted to see if the expression across his gruff face was simply anger, or if she really had seen a frisson of lust cross his dark features.

‘No question about that now’
Ellie thought, as she trembled beneath the force of his left hand which pressed into the small of her back, pinning her in place. His other hand was pushing between her parted legs, cupping her snatch, squeezing her wet flesh. Ellie could hear the soft slurping sound her pussy made as her squeals of discomfort and rising hunger were stifled by the stationery in front of her.

He grunted into her neck, his fingers working sharply as he took it in turns to jab them into both her snatch and her thin arsehole. Ellie drooled into the envelopes as her body responded to his thrusts. First pushing back onto his hand, feeling her stomach churn at the unaccustomed invasion, before plunging forward, her cunt consuming another finger, until she was pre-empting his moves and working in time with his hand.

His coarse breath quickened and he turned her around so abruptly that she almost tripped over her trousers. Forcing Ellie’s shirt up so that it was under her arms, he freed her nut brown tits so that they sat provocatively on top of her bra.

His thin lips curled as they dived towards her, biting her rock hard nipples and sucking her breasts until she cried out, forcing him to use a hand to gag her. Ellie bit into his skin, making him snarl and increase his greedy attack on her chest.

Stepping as far back as he could in the confined space, he released his stiff shaft from his suit trousers. Ellie watched in morbid fascination as he ignored her obvious need and spunked all over her chewed tits.

Stopping to wipe his cock on one of the cleaner’s cloths, he smiled sarcastically at Ellie, and passed her a jumbo sized glue stick from the shelf. ‘I’d work myself off on that if I were you sweetheart.’ He spoke bluntly as he stared into her flushed face, ‘Oh, and do clean yourself up before you come back to work. You look a total mess.’

Some people like it straight, some kinky, some meek, and some revel in taking charge. Others like rough. Sometimes very very rough, almost torturous in fact.

The wine bar was fairly quiet. It was too early to be heaving with club-goers and too late to have after hours office workers clogging up the bar. I was sat having a drink with a friend, when we began to tune into a conversation at the next table.

The girl, who we later learnt was called Clare, was chatting to another, who was almost continuously rubbing at her shirt covered wrists. After getting the gist of their discussion, my friend persuaded me to go and introduce myself. With her companion’s permission, Clare told us their story.

Paul’s voice was softly spoken. ‘Heather’s always had this medieval, castle, forest, thing going on. Not in a romantic way. There’s no room in her mind for chivalrous knights coming to whisk her away to make passionate love in a flowery glade.

No, her medieval fantasy is Thomas Malory turned on its head. Twisted, made darker, colder and, well… real.’
‘Is that why she works here then? To get closer to a sexual fantasy?’
‘Oh yes.’ Paul looked at Clare, his grey eyes fixed onto her own. ‘We have an agreement in that area, Heather and I.’
Clare pulled her dark red cloak tighter around her shoulders. Something about his gaze made her feel cold, as if he could see right into her soul. ‘An agreement?’
‘Yes.’ Pulling the hood of his own black cloak over his closely cropped twenty-first century haircut, Paul stood up from his pseudomedieval chair in the banqueting hall. ‘I would like some help, if you’re interested?’
Clare didn’t reply, but her curiosity was intense. Heather was so withdrawn; a haughty dignity surrounded her petite frame, and her air of contempt for the falsely sanitised view of medieval life they offered the tourists that flocked to the fourteenth-century manor, where they all worked as historical figures, both infuriated and intrigued her.
Standing, Clare followed Paul into the now deserted grounds. ‘I think you should tell me what this agreement with Heather is all about. Exactly what help you require.’
The summer evening felt warmer now they’d left the draughty hall and Paul removed his cloak completely, revealing his leather hose, boots and faded white shirt. ‘I will tell you everything, but ONLY if you agree to help me.’
Clare felt a prickle of apprehension and excitement, how could she refuse him? She had wanted Paul for so long, dreamt about him in the quiet night of her bedroom, but he only seemed to have eyes for Heather. Perhaps he had noticed her after all. Clare sat next to Paul on the grass verge that surrounded the house, and had a sudden feeling that somehow he knew everything, her deepest secrets and desires, even those things she didn’t know about herself.

For years she’d wanted this. Dreamt it. Needed it. Now, with reality so close, Heather’s mind wrestled with her already aroused body.
Did she really want to do this
?

The overhead clang of an iron gate put an abrupt end to her thoughts. There was no chance of backing out now as she waited in the dank dark. Approaching footsteps resounded down the spiralled stone staircase. The eerie air of the past felt damp against her goose pimpled skin. Her hands bound in front of her, Heather’s rough green tunic was dirty from her imprisonment in the manor’s cellar, far below ground level, where lichens and mosses covered the walls with a slimy soft cushion.

As the footfalls of her Lord got closer, Heather’s breathing quickened with anticipation, making her breasts tighten beneath the scratchy Hessian material. It rubbed against her unbound tits, causing her already hard nipples to chafe.

The cellar, not included in the tourist trail, was usually completely empty, but now a narrow wooden table was positioned along one wall. It was covered in a variety of unlit candles, and beneath it sat a box of equipment. She had wanted this so badly, and Paul had agreed to help, but on one condition.

Heather had hesitated when he’d first suggested an additional element, a surprise. Whilst it was her fantasy, no matter how depraved things got, it was still within her control. An unknown factor however, that changed things. He’d insisted though, claiming it would make the experience even better. Heather hadn’t been so sure, but had eventually agreed. Ever since then, her mind had revolved around what Paul’s extra little something might be.