The Collector (4 page)

I licked the end, relishing the wet tip across my dry mouth. He withdrew almost instantly and unwrapped a giant sucking lolly, which he pushed into my mouth saying, ‘Work on that girl,’ before I even had time to protest.

I was very conscious of how heavy my head felt against my hands. I was rigid from lack of movement and the need in me had already risen to where it had been before my lapse in concentration. It seemed I would have to wait longer still for any allowable relief though, as he obviously had other ideas, and was determined to turn me into some kind of female Bertie Bassett.

He placed a large round dolly mixture on each nipple, effectively making my whole chest into one giant sweet. Then, returning to his collection of stock, he picked up two large liquorice wheels, and placed them over my eyes. The smell of liquorice was becoming quite overpowering and sickly, and I felt disorientated as the room was blocked from my view. Now only the tiny chinks of light which slithered through the cracks in the wheels gave me any sense of time and place.

It was very quiet, except for the occasional slurp my tongue made against the lolly as I attempted to suck it smaller and prevent myself from gagging on its huge presence.

I have no idea how long I’d laid there in my liquorice uniform. I was aware of the occasional flash of light; perhaps he was opening and closing the curtains or was unable to decide whether to have the light on or off. When, at last, he touched me my skin leapt and even the lollipop could not stifle my sigh of relief.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he began to unravel the liquorice strings from around my tits. They made small popping noises as he pulled them away from my tacky skin. I could imagine the brown smudges of colouring that would remain in their absence.

Underneath my sweetie mask I could just detect shifts in his movements as he gathered up the laces. The allsorts had long since fallen off my red tips and my breasts felt even more vulnerable than before, something not helped by the continuing presence of the restraining harness. I stiffened at the thought that he might whip my tits again. I needn’t have worried though. He had other plans.

He lifted each half of my mask off with his teeth, grazing my eye brows slightly. I blinked in the light and focused on his hands, which were still holding the retrieved laces. He laid them carefully, in a regimented row across my stomach. Then, taking one at a time, he snaked them down my skin, which seemed to singe at the touch. As he trailed them closer and closer to my pussy I began to panic. Automatically I sat up, bringing my crushed hands round to my stomach, catching his neatly arranged rows of liquorice as they fell.

The flash of anger that crossed his face made me instantly regret losing my concentration, but then suddenly he smiled. It was a heart melting smile which reminded me in an instant what I was doing there. ‘Okay, I guess you’ve been a good girl - you can watch.’

He took the liquorice off me and helped me up to the old arm chair in the corner of the room. As my back was pushed against the seat, he dragged a small coffee table away from the wall and rested my feet on it, spreading my legs as wide as they would go.

‘I obviously can’t trust you not to interfere, so I’m going to have to tie your hands together.’ He seemed more amused than cross, as if he’d already achieved his aim and now he could relax. Perhaps he’d come already? I wasn’t sure, but how else could he maintain his composure for so long without shooting his load?

He dragged his belt out of his discarded jeans and pulled the buckle clasp tight around my wrists, resting my hands across my lap. I watched as he began to tease my feet with a long string of liquorice. I felt goose pimples spring up all over me at the amazing sensations shooting up my legs. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to move so slowly. He inched the lace around my feet, taking an agonising eternity to reach my knees. As it slithered upwards it reminded me of a snake; hungry, searching for a dark hole in which to devour its prey.

That’s when I realised what he was going to do. I couldn’t help but squirm. My clit was on fire, and I swear if he had simply touched my tits I would’ve come there and then. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he pushed the flat of one hand against me, pinning me to the chair whilst continuing the liquorice’s slow dance upwards.

My skin jumped as it finally reached the tender soaked skin at the top of my legs. That was when I saw him take a deep breath. It was the first sign I had seen of his own need demanding some more immediate attention. His pace quickened. ‘Stay still.’ He spoke roughly as he placed the narrow end of the liquorice lace between my pussy lips, and began to push and thread its entire length into my desperate body. I couldn’t help but protest as the string twisted itself up inside me, its movements now unpredictable. Once its complete length had been engulfed, he started again with another lace.

My tears came properly then, I simply couldn’t help it. They silently streamed down my liquorice smudged face. I’d been kept on the brink for so long.

Again he stuffed the last inch of sweet into me, making sure he avoided any contact with my red hot clit.
‘Not long now sweetie.’ His voice was gentle, so contrary to the evening that had past. I wanted to reach out to him, hold him, but my tethered hands forbade any such expressions of affection.
He stood back and took a drink of water. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen anything so delicious.’ He knelt down and pulled the table from beneath my feet, lifting my legs up onto his shoulders. ‘You have no idea,’ he spoke softly. ‘How difficult it has been to wait.’ I looked into his eyes as he continued, ‘I don’t think I have ever felt so hungry.’
He began to eat then, whilst I spasmed in relief against his greedy face. When he eventually stood up, black liquorice stains ran from his mouth, which he then smeared against my own, before finally filling me with something far more satisfying than sweets.
It was about a month later when my boss finally plucked up enough courage to show me the photographs he had taken. I couldn’t believe they were of me. You should see the hard on he gets every time he looks at them. Boy does that man like liquorice.’

Many of the stories I have collected have caused me to pause for thought. I frequently wonder how people come to do what they do. Why they enjoy what they enjoy. Now and again a story inspires me to try things out myself. ‘Sweets’ is one such story. I hope you will forgive the self-indulgence, but I was beyond curious.

It was the idea of the sherbet on my tits that I couldn’t shake, and it got me thinking that there must be other areas of the anatomy where such confectionary could be utilised to an erotic effect.

I began to think back to the sweets of my youth. Rhubarb and Custard, Mint Humbugs, proper Marathon bars, or Snickers as they are now known. Then it hit me. Moon Dust or maybe Popping Candy. I knew what I wanted to do with that straight away.

It took some time to track down the Moon Dust, but once I had my purchase I arranged for a fully appraised friend to call and help me with my research. He wasted no time in setting up the camera, all the better for me to gauge reactions, expressions, responses and so on. Then he stripped, as I did, in a rather businesslike way.

A little cold perhaps? Yet this is how it is in science. After all this was just an experiment; just one of many my friend and I have privately conducted over the years.

He likes to be told what to do. He likes to be teased by being told what will happen to him, and then the frustration of being made to wait. So I oblige him, and make him wait.

By the time I am ready to carry out the purpose of this exercise he is very erect, very ready, as am I.
I shall uncharacteristically skip the details of our warm up. Let’s just say that I have already had to smack him for begging me to hurry, but now I needed some results too. I positioned him to my best advantage, and to that of the camcorder.
He sits on the edge of my bed, his legs wide, his cock at mouth level, as I sit on my knees before him. We regard each other carefully as I rip open the wrapper.
I dip my finger into the packet and immediately feel it pop and crackle against my skin. I scoop out a little and rub it just inside his mouth, telling him what I was about to do with the rest of the packet at the same time. He squirms and shuffles, imagining what it might be like.
I’ve made him yell out before, groan, moan, mewl and many other associated noises, but until now I had never made him scream. His reaction was incredible as the tiny particles of dust exploded against his penis.
I felt good too. It was as if his already large cock was bigger than ever before, expanding with the dust I was sucking off him.
I pulled back and quickly sat astride him, and screamed myself as the sweetness which had stuck to him now exploded inside me.

We declared the experiment a success. In fact it wasn’t long before I placed a bulk order for a delivery of Moon Dust with that particular sweet company.

I’m not sure if I would have believed the next story if I hadn’t met the woman involved. I came across her via an advert she’d placed at the back of a car magazine, offering her, very specific, personal services. I quickly phoned the high rate number and, having explained my interest, arranged to meet her on my next trip to London. Trust me; she is every motor fanatic’s dream shag.

Even though the gag was securely tied, muffled groans escaped from the corners of her mouth. Dressed only in high heels that matched the burgundy of the car before her, she awaited instructions.

The garage was cool and dark but for the yellow beams provided by the sports car’s headlights, whose engine purred seductively.
He steered her forwards across the hood, so that her legs were pushed hard against the private number plate. Her breasts, still recovering from seemingly endless teasing with a silk handkerchief, quivered as the cold of the room was replaced with heat as they were crushed against the vibrating bonnet.
She was still shuffling her heels to find a comfortable position when the first blow struck her exposed rump. Biting down onto the paisley scarf tied between her damp lips, she concentrated on riding out the exquisite pain. He struck again. The leather belt striped her burning arse so it formed a neat criss-cross pattern on her tanned flesh.
Arms outstretched, hugging the throbbing metal, the need which he’d spent the last hour engineering in her finally became unbearable.
He paused behind her, admiring the view for a split second, before he too could no longer wait. Grasping her hips, he buried himself into her, pumping in time to the engine ticking-over beneath them. His black cock was so tight that it provided a delicious pain of its own. She pressed her clit onto the unyielding metal, letting the spasms course through her body.
He removed the gag and watched as, unbidden, his expensive slave knelt to lick the faultless bodywork clean of their juices.
This woman loved her car.

I met her quite by chance as she sat next to me on the tube from Richmond to London Waterloo. She was on her way to do some serious shopping. Her eagerness to chat was obvious from the moment I laid eyes on her. After some initial small talk, I confessed my professional interest, and asked if she’d mind expanding on the story she’d just told me.

My request that she tell her tale into my Dictaphone met some resistance, but eventually, after quite a lot of persuasion and promises of anonymity, she agreed to let me record her experience over a coffee and slice of cake at the very back of the oriental coffee shop at Waterloo Station.

‘It would be unfair to say I hate my job, but it has been so hectic lately that the prospect of a little pampering was more than welcome. I was nervous though, I’d never been to a beauty salon before. My first boyfriend had once described me as “unbelievably natural.” No make up, legs shaved not waxed, hair combed if it was lucky, and clothes that were cheap, but most of all, comfortable. I was never sure if he was paying me a compliment or complaining.

Anyway. I had been having a tough time at work and my friend, June, had decided that I needed a treat, so there I was unexpectedly having my virgin face covered in make up.

It felt very strange having all that powder and eye liner and stuff on, but not quite as odd as I had imagined it might be. June sat in the room with me as the beautician, who couldn’t have been more than 18, tutted in disbelief that a woman of 36 couldn’t apply mascara without looking like something from a bad 1960s horror movie.

As I sat there having myself “done” I tried to imagine what I must look like, having been barred from looking in a mirror until it was all over. All the way through, June uttered encouraging comments, and we laughed and giggled like a couple of kids.

Finally, after what seemed like weeks, I was declared finished and a mirror was magically produced.
It wasn’t me. It just wasn’t. The eyes were bigger, more defined. The skin was darker with a subtle glow. The eye lashes were long and each one stood out. The lips shone bronze in the harsh light of the tiny white room. June was smiling broadly. ‘Well?’ she asked.
I honestly didn’t know what I thought. I said ‘I can’t believe it, I look so different. It’s great, but it’s going to take some getting used to.’
‘I think you look amazing.’ June was so definite. I think I must have looked mildly offended as she quickly added, ‘Not that you didn’t before.’
I wasn’t convinced, but I suppose my eyes did look pretty good, even if I did feel like I was looking back at the reflection of a completely different person.
The beautician packed up her things and we left. June was chatting away and we decided that we were having too much fun to go our separate ways, so we hit the off licence and brought some white wine before heading to her flat and dialling for a pizza. Whilst we waited for the food to arrive we hunted for a DVD to veg out in front of.
It was like being 18; or what I imagine being 18 should feel like. I ignored my teenage years really, reading novels whilst others partied and had fun – I am definitely a late developer.
The film was good; light and rather silly. With hindsight I suppose that June had been slightly subdued during the film. She certainly hadn’t laughed as much as me. I just assumed I’d had more wine than she had.
June hadn’t lived in her flat long, so I politely agreed when she said she’d give me a tour round. It was much bigger than I’d expected and I did the usual “oohing” and “ahhing” at the décor, some of which was even genuine.
When we reached her bedroom I found myself pulled to the window. The view was stunning. It was an almost stereotypical scene of the English countryside. There was a river, a wood in the distance, and the comforting sound of the world getting on without us. It was quite breathtaking.
It must have been a few minutes before I realised that June had moved closer to me. Her fingertips brushing, seemingly accidentally, against mine. I looked at her and smiled.
Obviously you can guess the rest. I think I’m still in shock to be honest. It is as if everything’s changed. Changed for the better. How could I not have known? Not seen?’
It took a bit of persuading to get the rest of this tale – it certainly isn’t the most explosive or shocking story I’ve ever collected, but it is sweet and genuine, and the smirk that developed as my coffee companion eventually spoke made my persuasive efforts well worth while.
‘It was quite a light evening. Our fingers touched again, and it was like the fabled electric shock. I’m not sure what actually gave me the confidence to wrap my hand completely around hers. It felt good, and for quite a long time we just looked out of the window together.
I think I moved first, I’m really not sure. For a while it all seemed to happen in slow motion, like it does on TV when you’re not sure if the screen couple are going to kiss. Well, once our lips did meet, life definitely speeded up again.
Her mouth was so incredibly soft. I closed my eyes. I daren’t look at her in case it broke the spell. The kiss both lasted for ages and no time at all. Then I felt her hands stroking my back, my neck and, oh so wonderful, my chest.
I thought I’d explode. I have never felt so turned on simply by someone’s fingers caressing me through cotton. I couldn’t just stand there. I yanked at my tucked-in top and pulled it swiftly over my head. It was only then, with my arms and bra exposed, that I dared glance at June’s face. The fear was gone. I didn’t care that I had known her for years, or that I had never wanted a woman before. Suddenly it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her hands traced the edges of my pale cream bra. I remember a voice at the back of my head saying thank goodness I’d put my best one on. The rest of me was very much mixed up in the incredible sensations her fingertips were creating. I could feel my tits swelling beneath the flimsy material, which now seemed far too tight.
No one spoke though. Maybe we weren’t ready to actually give a name to the mind-blowing thing that was happening.
I couldn’t suppress a sigh as her gentle movements suddenly became harder. Her palms crushed against my breasts, kneading them like dough, until at last, blessedly, she pulled each breast out of my bra so that they nestled above it. June murmured something appreciative that I didn’t quite catch. I was too busy groaning with relief as her soft mouth settled over one nipple and her probing fingers sharply pinched the other. The gentleness of the one caress, and the violence of the other, was overwhelming. I came quicker than I ever have in my whole life.
June continued her ministrations as I stood there shaking. She only paused in her attentions to swap her lips and fingers from one side to the other. The heat of my abused nipple was quickly stifled by her lips, prolonging my orgasm until I could barely hold myself up. I grabbed her to steady myself, and in the process we both fell back on to the bed.
I’m honestly not sure what order things happened in next. With hindsight I can’t believe I just went with it. I didn’t need to think about what to do. It came so naturally. I’m still so amazed by the wonderfulness of it all. The texture of her mouth, the smell of her skin, and the exquisite feel and taste of her clit. Her full, heavy chest, and the sharp intake of her breath as I tongued her, plunging June into the first orgasm I had ever given a woman.
I can’t quite take it all in.
My friend June!
I’m seeing her later; that’s why I’m here in town. I’m off to buy some new knickers. Something special…’