The Collector (3 page)

His effect on me was quite alarming. One look and I could feel my face redden, and my nipples would quickly harden at the sound of his gentle Scottish burr. I found myself taking longer and longer to do the simplest of tasks just so I could stay in his presence and dream erotic fantasies about him; or more specifically, about us.

I would go home each afternoon and get cross with myself for being so pathetic, before pleasuring myself across the foot of my bed, the image of his paint spattered torso burnt across my mind. Twice my age, twice divorced, he had no interest in me apart from my ability to clean his lavatory. I was making a fool of myself and it had to stop.

Last week though, everything changed. Now I know exactly what the clothes rack is for.
It was time to polish the floor. I’d put it off all week, but there was no way I could avoid the back breaking work any longer. As the hot sun reflected through the studio’s huge light enhancing windows, I could see the smears of countless footprints made by Max’s bare feet as he strode purposely around.
I carefully moved all the canvases and easels to one side of the room, before resigning myself to the task, and lowered down onto my hands and knees with a cloth and a tub of wax. After about half an hour of polishing I could no longer feel my knees, and the sweat was beginning to run down my back. I felt sticky and uncomfortable in my tight t-shirt, and the headscarf, which swept my thick curls back out of my eyes, felt prickly in the heat. I straightened up and turned the ceiling fan onto a faster speed. It was so quiet. Max had gone out, looking ill at ease in a shirt and tie, on one of his hated and frequent trips to try and convince an art gallery to exhibit his work.
I was all alone and realised that there was absolutely no need to be so hot. Pulling off my yellow top made me feel so much better that I thought I should take off my jeans as well. After all, who would know? Throwing my discarded clothes onto an old, paint spattered, wooden chair, I cranked on the radio and went back to the floor. Soon I was absorbed in the music and working steadily across the wood. I didn’t hear the door open, and was unaware of the soft bare foot falls across the floor. I have no idea how long I was being watched as I knelt there. If I hadn’t had a sudden sensation of not being alone, then perhaps he would have just stood there until I’d finished.
My cheeks flushed scarlet as I confronted my unexpected audience, and I began to babble, ‘I was hot, I um, I just thought…’ Realisation of my almost naked state hit me in a rush, and I rushed over to my clothes. I felt such a fool as I struggled to turn my t-shirt the right way around so I could at least be semi-decent.
His speed of movement took me unawares. ‘Don’t,’ he spoke with deadly soft command, his hand restraining me in the act of dressing. As he looked at me I couldn’t decide if he was going to sack me on the spot or ravish me. I hoped like hell it would be the latter.
No one spoke. He put my top back on the heap of clothes and turned me round so I faced the half cleaned floor. Max pointed, the message was clear. I returned to my work, shaking slightly, my mind racing as I felt his eyes on my arse. My flimsy white knickers seemed even more revealing than I remembered, and I made little progress across the wood as my imagination wandered all over the place. The music stopped mid-song as he clicked the radio off. The only remaining sound was the soft rub of my cloth on the smooth floor.
‘Stay still,’ he whispered into my ear as he crawled, cat like, up behind me. On my hands and knees I felt his weight against me, his denim encased dick pushing hard into my bum as he kissed my neck.
Despite the beautiful sensations his mouth was producing I simply could not keep still. His weight was too much and I collapsed onto the floor, my hot breasts flinching as they hit the cool wood. Max’s calloused hands began to examine me as I lay there. I felt as if I was a fresh piece of clay just waiting to be formed into a work of art. His fingers lingered tantalisingly across the top of my knicker’s waistband.
I felt light headed, unreal, and my head buzzed with every sensation. Max gently began to slip my knickers down my legs, and I gasped at the touch of his tongue trailing slowly between my butt cheeks. He reached my anus and began to poke his tongue urgently into the hole, forcing me to moan with long pent-up frustration.
This sound seemed to be all the reassurance Max needed, and he swiftly turned me over, removing my bra, and tugging off the head scarf so that my hair curled around my shoulders. Although he remained silent, the intensity in his eyes told me all I needed to know; this was a meeting of mutual lust.
Slipping a hand into mine, he led me to the corner of the room which housed the clothes rack. Leaning towards me, he whispered in a throaty voice, ‘Can I tie you up? I am sure you would look fantastic. Will you trust me?’
I nodded, unsure of exactly what he had planned, but knowing that right now I would take any attention he was willing to give. I waited, the tension growing within me, as he fetched some artist’s cord and some rags from the chaos of his desk. Positioning me in front of the rack with his usual economy of movement, he raised one arm at a time, gently wrapping each wrist in a scrap of fabric before tying them to the cold bar, pushing the redundant hangers to each side.
Unable to move, the restraints only served to turn me on further, and suddenly my need to feel him inside me became an almost physical pain. Max stood back and admired his work. His breathing had become audible as he struggled between his desire to take in every inch of his creation, and the stirrings of his hidden shaft.
He took a small paintbrush from the closest easel and ran the fine hairs through his fingers. I shuddered as he approached, imagining how the soft fine bristles would feel as they tickled my skin. The cry I uttered as he began to circle the brush around my pale nipples echoed around the cleared space of the studio. Each slow swipe across my swollen breasts felt like an electric shock. He kept on, stroke after stroke, for what seemed like hours, as if he was carefully glazing a statue.
Just as I thought I couldn’t handle anymore, my whimpers becoming increasingly frantic, he stopped and stepped back. I could have cried. Max bent down and kissed each breast and I was swept over the edge, my legs shaking and my arms pulling involuntarily against my bonds.
All the time, Max watched. I couldn’t imagine how he was staying so controlled. As my orgasm subsided, all I could think about was having another one. Max obviously had similar intentions for me as he took up the torturous brush once again. Dusting the bristles around my wrists, down my arms and across my back, he systematically managed to turn each area of my body into a new erogenous zone. I wanted to yell out ‘Lower!’ I was desperate to feel the sweeping movement of the brush between my legs, but I simply couldn’t speak in the face of his amazing self restraint.
My elbows shook and my stomach flinched as the steady motion of the brush worked ever downwards. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to see that powerful chest without the ill-matched shirt and tie. I was desperate to taste him, lick his neck, and consume his cock in my mouth. My tense arms ached more than ever as he finally, blessedly, flicked the damp tip of the paintbrush across my swollen nub, and I screamed out with an overwhelming relief.
Max untied me with uncharacteristic speed, his self-control finally spent, and I yanked off his clothes with an urgency I’d hitherto never experienced. No sooner had my eyes taken in the magnificent dick that was before me, than I enveloped it in my starving mouth. I relished the feel of each pulsating vein against my probing tongue as the first droplets of salty liquid seeped down my throat, and was rewarded by Max’s low pitched moans turning to louder and louder grunts.
Pushing me away in a fit of frustration, I found my mouth only briefly bereft as Max’s lips touched my own, and his dick slid between my already parted legs. He lifted me up, and slammed me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist, responding to every thrust with one of my own. We both came together, our gasps of mutual satisfaction bouncing around the walls of the studio, before we sagged into a heap onto the partially cleaned wooden floor.
As soon as I regained my breath, I ran across to the discarded paintbrush. It was time I did some art work of my own.
I have a new job now. I occasionally miss sorting out the paintbrushes and watering the flowers, but at least I get to see them regularly as I sit, for as long as required, whilst Max paints his latest muse. Sometimes, he even uses the brushes on the canvas.

After following up on a recommendation by a friend, I met the sweet shop assistant in the smaller of Kew Garden’s coffee houses. She delighted in telling me her story, and I wrote down her account literally word for word as she spoke.

‘Perhaps I should explain that we work in a sweet shop. We sell the old fashioned kind of sweets in jars; Lemon Sherbets, Kola-Kubes, Cherry Lips, Dolly Mixtures, alongside all the new stuff and posh boxes of chocolates.

It all happened quite quickly I guess. It was obvious from the moment I took the job that we wanted each other, but initially we held back. Work isn’t the best place after all, especially if there are only two members of staff. Anyway, as I said, it was sort of inevitable really.

So last Thursday evening, there I was, starkers on the bed, watching my boss who was naked, commanding, and utterly gorgeous.

I was not tied to the bed, but I wish I had been. He’d ordered me to stay still, but it was unbelievably difficult to obey as my body desperately wanted to move towards him.

My arms were folded with my hands sat beneath my head, and my legs were pushed up so that my knees pointed into the air. It was as if I was about to undergo some unpleasant medical intrusion. He’d placed a soft silk cushion under my arse to give him, as he put it, “better visual.”

He flashed a little bag in front of my eyes, but made sure I couldn’t actually see what it contained. I frowned at his long delicate fingers, unsure of what was coming next. He just smiled.

I tried to concentrate on what he was holding, but the heat surging through my breasts from the whipping they had just received was taking most of my attention. My nipples burnt and longed for a cooling tongue to kiss them better. I had to push my head back harder into my hands to prevent myself from moving them and rubbing myself off.

At last he showed me the packet. It was a Dib-Dab; a packet of loose sherbet with a cherry flavoured lolly conveniently included. When I was a kid I loved to suck all the sherbet off the sticky lolly.

I flinched as he ripped it open. There was something about the way he was looking at me that confirmed that the agony he’d previously inflicted was simply the first course, and that seconds was coming up. I longed to scream out ‘Just get on with it!’, but the ball gag which he’d lodged in my mouth prevented the luxury of speech, so I just had to content myself with biting down hard onto the black rubber intrusion.

My thighs felt slick with my own juices. I tried hard not to think about the picture I must have presented. As I’ve said, I wasn’t bound, but I was gagged, and my breasts were pressed through a tight black harness, pushing them up and exposing them as an easy target for the short riding crop I had discovered he kept in the corner of his bedroom.

He pulled the lolly out of the packet and put it in his mouth. As he sucked I could feel my nipples tremble. That was what they needed. I felt unbelievably jealous of a bloody sweet!

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled the damp lolly from between his lips and advanced towards me. There was no hanging about. He stuffed its red oval head into me and pushed it until all but the very end of the stick had been swallowed up into my starving hole.

The width of the lolly felt amazing as it stretched me open. I could feel the air rushing in around the thin stick, making me feel empty but full at the same time. I began to shudder in response to the contradiction of sensations, but he slapped my breasts hard and I cried out into my rubber guardian.

‘You will not come yet.’ His voice was like gravel, and for a second I had to remind myself that I had wanted this too. He began to slide the lollypop up and down and I closed my eyes, trying for all I was worth not to climax. A task made even harder when he knelt and began to lick the mixture of pussy juice and sweet syrup from around my hole.

I was shaking, I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t going to take much to push me over the edge, even though it had been forbidden. Then he did it. He climbed astride me and sprinkled the sherbet from the Dib-Dab packet all over my tits. The cold sweet dust tickled as it landed on my sweating skin. My hips twitched as I began to fight a losing battle with myself. As his mouth enclosed my right tit, licking up the sherbet, I groaned into silence as the sweet fizzed against his tongue and my chest. By the time he began to feast on my left side I was shaking and bucking so hard I’m surprised he wasn’t knocked off.

He took very little notice of the fact that I had disobeyed him until every single drop of the tingling dust had been consumed. Only then did his face become a picture of disgust and lust in glorious combination. I began to shiver, no longer with desire, but in response to the look in his eyes. He picked up a liquorice boot lace from the pile of supplies he’d lifted from the shop. Licking the end to dampen it a little, he lashed my right nipple hard. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes as he stung me again and again.

Then, taking a handful of the laces, he began to coil them around my harnessed breasts. The black strings were cool against my hot flesh and felt heavy against my need to be sucked, caressed and kissed. The ever growing pyramids of sweets created a sticky barrier against the attention I craved. Soon only my two swollen nipples were visible, poking out from the liquorice cones.

My boss stepped back, pleased with his work. After brief consideration he came to my face and finally, mercifully, undid the ball gag. My jaw cracked as he eased the rubber out of my mouth. I longed to thank him, but I was so stiff the words just wouldn’t come out. Even if they could’ve, they didn’t really have time to form, as I quickly found his rock hard dick teasing my pleading face.