The Red Collection (11 page)

I dangle, face down – head resting against my shackled arms, thighs taut, bum in the air. Perfectly positioned. And, when he carefully adjusts my skirt, a perfect target. The black flange of the butt plug will make it easier to gauge the distance, no doubt …

I hear a slow, sliding, insidious sound. And then the snick, snick of a heavy leather belt leaving the loops of his jeans.

Uh-oh! He means business.

I almost shoot out of my skin when he trails it lightly over my naked bottom as if he’s allowing me to try the leather on for size. I almost wet myself – again – with longing, when he drapes it in the length of my crease, nudging the plug, the smooth leather dangling against the stickiness of my sex.

‘Just three, I think,’ he purrs, still teasing me with the object of my correction. ‘And I think it would be a good idea if you tried not to cry out.’

Fat chance of that, although I know why he suggests it.

With that he whirls away and I hear his firm tread as he moves into position. I like his purposefulness in these matters. He doesn’t waste time with unnecessary taunts and overdramatic Grand Guignol threats. He just gets on with it.

The first blow feels as if I’d been whaled on the right bum cheek by a two-by-four, and my attempt not to make a sound comes out like the squeal of the proverbial stuck pig.

The second feels as if the left side of my arse had been struck by lightning and I make a sound that I don’t recognise as human.

The third blow is much lighter, but it catches me right in the crease and knocks the evil-demon butt plug right against the nerves that connect to my clitoris.

I climax violently, shout ‘Oh, Bobby!’ and pee myself a little.

Afterwards, I turn into a sobbing, blubbering, shuddering, glowing, thankful, soppy mess, and he takes me onto his lap – heedless of my soggy state. I come again, lightly, when he whips out the plug and flings it away into the bushes, and, like a little kitten-girl, I try to kiss his beloved hands, and his dear face, while he unclicks the handcuffs and hurls them away too, after the plug.

Which leaves only the blindfold.

‘Are we there yet?’ I whisper, managing to get my lips against his as he reaches for the ribbon that holds the mask in place.

‘I think so, baby,’ he whispers, returning my kiss as he gives me my sight back.

My lips cling to his for a moment, then I ease away, almost blinded by the nearness of his broad, beloved face.

Then I blink like a baby owl and glance around.

At the chestnut tree. The toolshed. The ironic garden gnomes. Then up towards the bedroom window where there’s a soft glow from the bedside lamp he turned on before we set out.

We’re here. We’re back home again, just where we started from. And I’m so happy because this is where the bed is.

And this time, Clever Bobby,
I’ll
do the driving!

Fireworks Inside

FIREWORKS! BLOODY FIREWORKS
. I hate fireworks.

I throw myself into the walk-in coat cupboard and slam the door behind me. I can’t take much more of this! They’re supposed to be celebrating Cecilia’s lavish society wedding, not blowing up a medium-sized city. What the hell are they using out there? TNT? Surface to air missiles? Semtex?

‘They’re too close to the house, you silly mare! They’ll burn the place down, and fry all your guests, and then where will you be?’

Slithering down, I cower in the corner, in the darkness. It’s as pitch black as a witch’s coal scuttle in here, and there are layers of old coats hanging on pegs above me, and some rather dubious-feeling carpet beneath my thighs as I tuck my legs beneath me. I can hardly breathe, but it’s still better than enduring the noise outside. The dust makes me cough, and something smells distinctly mildewed with a side of mothball, but I’ll take this over my pathological fear of fireworks any time. I’ve been petrified of the things since I was a kid, and someone set a giant firecracker off right next to me. I usually spend Guy Fawkes Night tucked up with a couple of sleeping pills, but I can’t really get out of attending one of my best friends’ wedding, can I?

If only the bloody things weren’t quite so loud.

Bang! Boom! Boom! God, I swear they’re nearer and/or even bigger now.

‘Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.’

But no amount of hands over ears and cringing in a tiny bolt hole of utter blackness seems to be helping. So much for enjoying a glorious knees-up with champagne and a groaning buffet and dancing and a selection of the groom’s tasty friends to cop off with. Even on a good day I couldn’t pull a tasty bloke in a coat cupboard.

I’m bordering on snivelling and feeling very sorry for myself, when, during a lull in the shelling, the cupboard door flies open, and a large, generally man-sized shape hurls itself inside with me and slams the door shut again.

‘Fucking, bloody fireworks,’ growls a gruff voice, and suddenly there’s a nice smell of spicy high-end cologne to take the edge off the aroma of fusty coats.

The new firework-phobe is right up against me, but I’m not sure he actually knows I’m in here. Should I announce myself, or keep quiet? It’s only a
very
small cupboard and he’s bound to knock into me any second.

‘Don’t you like them either?’

The man-shape leaps. ‘Fucking hell! You frightened the life out of me. I didn’t know there was anyone in here.’

Nice.

‘I was here first.’ Almost before the words are out, there’s another huge detonation, and I screech in terror … and throw myself wildly in the general direction of Man-shape.

Luckily, he opens his arms and wraps them around me tight. I don’t know whether he’s comforting me, or himself, but there’s a part of me that’s suddenly miraculously immune
to
the conflagration outside. And much more interested in the idea of fireworks of another kind.

‘Sorry I shouted.’ It’s momentarily quiet again, but I notice he doesn’t let go of me. ‘It’s just that I
really
hate fireworks. It’s embarrassing, but I had a bad experience as a kid, and they do my head in.’

‘Me too. Incident with a jumbo firecracker … Now I can’t bear the bloody things.’ I sigh. ‘I didn’t know Cecilia was having a display.’ Mm, his arms feel nice, and quite big and strong for someone who’s hiding in a cupboard. ‘I’d still have come to the wedding, but I might have got a good deal more booze down my neck if I’d known … and maybe a few tranquillisers as a chaser.’

‘Ditto.’

There’s another boom or two, but – and I might be imagining things – they don’t seem quite as loud and threatening now. And I’m starting to feel very interested in my companion. He’s smelling, and feeling, better and better to me all the time. When I hitch around a bit and manage to stretch my legs out in the darkness, he adjusts his position beside me with his arm still around my shoulder.

During the course of a bit more rearrangement, our faces accidentally brush against each other and, without stopping to think, I go for it and navigate my mouth towards his.

Another firework goes off, but this time I couldn’t care less.

Man-shape’s mouth is delicious. He tastes of wine and something as sweet and spicy as he smells. I think it might be wedding cake. And then I’m sure of it when he presses his tongue into my mouth.

My nipples start to tingle and, between my legs, my clitoris throbs. I don’t know whether this is fight or flight instinct, or
a
lingering fear of being blown to bits, but suddenly I really want Man-shape. I really, really, really want to fuck.

And he wants me too, it seems. Half dragging me against him, he acquaints me with his cock, which is as hard as steel inside the fine suiting of his trousers. As I curve my fingers around it, I wonder what he looks like. Is he one of the groomsmen? There was quite a troupe of them, and I must admit they were all pretty fanciable.

‘Um, sorry about that.’ As he hefts his hips to push his hard-on against my hand, he doesn’t seem sorry in the slightest. ‘I suppose it’s my subconscious trying to take my mind off the fireworks.’

There’s nothing subconscious about an erection like that, but I’m not arguing. I need something to take my mind off the fireworks too, don’t I?

In an attempt to further distract himself, he starts kissing me again, really hard, but in a good way. He’s got a cheeky, mobile tongue and it seems to get everywhere. Well, not everywhere, but if I play my cards right, it might get
there
too.

His hands are as naughty as his tongue and his lips and, while I’m still clinging on to his goodies, he goes after mine. I’m wearing a strapless top, and Man-shape exploits its advantages. All of a sudden, the top’s around my waist, along with the saucy strapless bra that used to be beneath it.

Ooh, I’m half naked in a cupboard with an unknown man! The darkness is like a tangible force in itself and the close air stimulates my skin. My nipples are like stones when he starts drifting his fingers across them, delicately teasing.

‘You feel nice, love … I bet you’ve got absolutely gorgeous breasts. Your nipples are so hard.’

It’s a bizarre sort of conversation from a complete
stranger
, but I like it. I’ll take any compliment I can get and it’s a wonderful distraction.

He cups me with one big, warm hand, rolling my nipple between his fingers and his thumb. And as he rolls, I roll too. I can’t help myself. I just have to wiggle about as my pussy tingles and clenches. His cock pulses too, warm against my palm.

We’ve reached action stations from a standing start in the space of about a minute. I can’t believe this is happening, but I’m not arguing with fate. Or a huge delicious erection like the one Man-shape has.

We kiss again, devouring each other as we touch and explore. He’s quite rough with my breasts, but the more he mauls me, the more I
want
him to maul me. It’s raw animal fun, with no inhibitions, no outside context.

After a few moments, he leans me back against some tumbled coats and then kisses his way down my jaw, my throat and my chest until he’s mouthing where his fingers once were. His lips and his tongue are simmering hot, and I can imagine him painting the sweet cake taste over the crinkled skin of my teat. When he sucks hard, I moan out loud, grabbing at his hair. His teeth close ever so slightly, a delicate threat that makes my pussy ripple and my honey surge and flow. My posh panties are swimming and saturated.

‘Mm …’ he purrs against my breast, then sucks again, tweaking at my other teat with his warm, clever fingers.

I’m half off my head now, desire grinding low in my belly. My hips surge, blindly trying to get my crotch in his general direction so I can push it against him and get some sort of ease. He helps by surging back at me, and even though we’re an ungainly heap of limbs and torsos, I manage to rock myself
against
some part of him, rubbing my aching pussy against a bit of his suited body.

After an indeterminate period of this tussling about, he lifts his head. I can’t see his face in the blackness, but I know he’s smiling. And I know that if I could see his eyes, they’d be as black as our little sanctuary, black with lust. His hand goes up my long skirt, and starts hiking it towards my waist, where the bundle of my top and bra sits. Pretty soon, everything’s in a bunch around my midsection, and he’s fingering my panties.

First he strokes me through the drenched silk of my gusset. He probes and presses and works at the cloth and my pubic hair until there’s just the one thin delicate layer between his big square fingertip and my swollen trembling clit. I grab wildly at him as he starts to masturbate me through it.

‘Oh God, oh God,’ I chant as sensations gather. My pelvis is lifting, wafting about, but that doesn’t put him off. He still manages to keep contact with my clit through the silk. He even gets creative. I could swear he’s trying to bring me off in a figure-of-eight pattern.

I grab at him, clutching his shoulder and his hand between my legs. I don’t have to direct him, because he’s doing fabulously on his own, but I can’t seem to control the actions of my own hands.

Of course, it doesn’t take long and, before I really know it, I’m coming like a train.

My pussy clenches and lurches and boiling waves of pleasure crest in my belly. If I had a functioning brain cell, I’d take note that this is probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had, but as I’ve temporarily lost my mind, I just come and come and come.

And I’ve still got my pants on.

A few moments later, he says, ‘All right, love?’

Sex still glowing and fluttering, I gasp, ‘Hell, yes!’ And with the words still barely out of my mouth, he starts kissing me again, tantalising my tongue with muscular swirls and stabs and lunges.

What a man, eh? He makes me come, takes nothing for himself yet, and still he’s happy to serve up more kisses.

Eventually though, he does start to get a bit proactive. He takes my hand and draws it back to his bulging groin. Which is bulging more than ever now. In fact it feels like he’s got an anaconda in there!

Time to have a proper feel, even if I can’t actually see the goods. He seems to think that’s a good idea and helps.

Between us we unfasten his leather belt and his trousers, and then push them and his boxer briefs down his thighs. His monster of a cock bounds when it’s released, and I gasp, ‘Crikey!’ when I take it in my hand.

He’s big and hot and hard and just how I like them. If I wasn’t so desperate to get him inside me, I swear I’d get turned on by just the prospect of licking and sucking him.

Before I can stop to think, I offer, ‘Would you like a blow job? After all, you brought me off without getting anything yourself.’

‘What an incredibly sweet offer,’ he says, a laugh in his voice. ‘And I can’t say I’m not tempted.’ His gorgeous organ pulses in my fingers as he speaks. ‘But I’d really, really like to fuck you, if that’s all right?’

‘Are you sure? I really don’t mind.’

‘Oh, all right then, I can’t resist … Just give me a bit of a once-over with your lips and tongue first, and then we’ll shag. How does that sound?’

‘Like a plan.’