Sex in the City--London Page 5

  About the Story

  ONE OF MY MOST vivid childhood memories is of looking up at the Houses of Parliament while Big Ben chimed the hour during a dramatic summer thunderstorm. I was seven years old, soaking wet, and filled with an exhilarating sense of being at the living heart of all things. My obsession with London was born then, on my first visit to the city, so I was fascinated and excited to hear about this anthology.

  I made it an ambition to live and work in London, and managed to fulfil this earlier than I expected – at the age of ten – when my father’s job stationed him on the north-western fringes of the metropolis. I moved away, came back, moved away, but was always drawn back by the magnetic attraction London has for me.

  My story in this collection, Thames Link, has its basis in truth. For a time, I was that girl in the eau-de-nil cotton dress (from Marks and Spencer, if you’re interested) on the station platform, and there was indeed an odd stalkerish character, wearing a lightweight raincoat at the height of summer, who possessed a paranormal ability to find the seat nearest to me on the train. Everything thereafter is fiction but, for a long time, I have wondered how that scenario might have eventually played out, had I not moved from that particular suburb and abandoned my Thameslink commute.

  I will never know, which is almost certainly for the best. The likelihood of it ending badly, or dully, or frighteningly is pretty high. In my mind, though, I can pretend it ended erotically, which is always the best way.

  The part of the story where Jane imagines the ghosts of a former London trysting at Blackfriars reminds me of the endless stories that ran through my head when I lived there. I could not walk from shop to pub to tube station without thinking of all the things that had happened on that soil before – violent things, romantic things, tragic things, epoch-making things. In the end it was rather overwhelming and I fled to the country. Away from London, my head is less crowded, but I love to return when the cranium starts to rattle and fill it up all over again.

  Monster

  by Francis Ann Kerr

  SHE HADN’T THOUGHT ABOUT what she’ll do there. Or with whom. At night Old Street turned into a long meandering road that led nowhere. Although the scattered nouveau pubs were open, no one was about. She followed the ring road. This was the awful bit. Was it the left or the right? Her nipples were frozen big and shiny in their rubber sheaf under her jacket. She’d almost passed for normal on the tube, although one or two of the passengers had stared at her with bright, alert eyes. A cover-all coat down to her boots, military grey, fastened securely over her ensemble, but her spiky shoes gave it all away. It was cold, people were covered in winter layers, but it wouldn’t be like that in the club.

  It was that Thursday in the month: the Torture Garden – London’s most brazen fetish club. They switched it frequently to different venues – all of them in the innards of rotting back streets that seemed to have fallen off the A-Z. It was always a bitch to get there. Especially in this October chill. It was never quite so difficult on the way back though; afterwards.

  She’d only been there a few times, always with friends. One of her mates was a writer; he did whole books for a couple of thousand quid and scraped a living. The other worked in a swank film office in Soho, tracking down obscure films. And she was a physiotherapist; the clinic where she worked specialised in sporting injuries. The only thing they all did together that was the same was to snort coke off a light monitor. It was their little joke. Tom and Jake were like her older brothers, they helped and encouraged her, but wanted her to be turned on by the scene without actually getting sucked in. In the same way, they introduced her to coke, but didn’t expect her to actually wade out and buy grams herself.

  They’d probably be surprised to know where she was now. She could see a mysterious line of punters in the distance. They seemed to be carrying bags filled with something, costumes and accessories probably. There was always a strict dress code at these things to stop the riff raff getting in. Closer now, she could see some had defied convention and had come as they were, PVC or latex’d up, standing insolently in the street. She was the only woman standing alone and hoped she looked impassive. Already waves of energy were circulating, pre-tension. Suddenly she was in front; without saying anything, she opened her coat and flashed her white rubber nurse’s outfit. They waved her in.

  Her eyes adjusted to the instant gloom. The venue seemed to be a rambling enclave of womb-shaped rooms. In the distance she could hear the sound of a whip smacking something. She stumbled around, ignoring the loners that stuck around the edges. Not yet. She found the ladies and joined a dozen or so other people getting ready for show-time. Some trannies were hanging out there; it irked her that they could do the make-up and everything ten times better than real women. Off came her coat and underneath was the itsy-bitsy rubber playsuit that skimmed her nipples and covered her tail-bone, leaving the rest to the imagination. A nurse’s clock and fake Red Cross sticker completed the fantasy. For anyone in the know it was an ironic take on her regular white work-wear, but she hoped tonight that no one would recognise her.

  In the neon-lit mirror, she applied last minute make-up. Another veneer of gloss, just a sprinkling of powder. Her green eyes leered huge back at her; the more nervous she was the larger they got. She stared back at herself, she looked hot, almost frenzied. Her pupils had dilated to pinholes. She’d had a little snort in the loo, and tentacles of sensations were beginning to kick in. Her outfit was the de rigueur of skinny chic, although she looked too thin in regular stuff, the beauty of rubber was that it accentuated every curve. She knew plump girls had a terrible time with it because it showed up every ounce of flab, but it did wonders for her. Ignoring the others, she massaged her breasts until the nipples pushed out pertly through the rubber. Instantly she looked sexier. Turning around, she bent over and inspected her freshly exfoliated behind. A big powder brush added a dusting of glitter. Her neighbours were beginning to sit up and take notice.

  She’d removed her panties so everyone could get a better view, her ass cheeks looked sleek with just a suggestion of firmness. She’d hennaed her blonde pubic hair to make a pleasing contrast between her skin and small V of fur. She preferred a bald vagina mons so that she could see and cup her vaginal lips herself. It was a pity that men, the boring straight men that daily invaded her clinic, had no imagination. Even if she dallied with them and all that was missionary, they could barely keep up with her. Mr I’m-not-looking-I’m-putting-on-false-eyelashes, honest, was all eyes. Now she’d really got his attention, she slipped a mischievous finger right in there. Her juices were as warm as bath water, she prodded herself a little bit, then turned round and looked right at him, licking her sticky finger. No one said anything as she exited. This was why they all came to a fetish club; you could do these things and no one gave a shit.

  In her four-inch heels, she cut an attractive figure striding confidently around the club. She felt Amazon-like just doing it. In one section people were dancing wildly, and she paused a moment to look. There were one or two handsome men, jiving bare-chested, one blonde obviously semi-professional dancer that made the club night actually look like its own promotional posters, but the rest were odd and dumpy, although she admired some of the older people who still had the gall to get it on. A tall man with a shaved head glanced at her. She wasn’t in the mood for dancing just yet though. She bought a beer and sucked it appreciatively. No one got glasses with a bottle these days.

  It was suddenly harder than she thought going it alone. There were lots of people all divided into little groups that she didn’t understand the dynamics of. Best to observe. She felt more at home in a smaller room painted blood-red. A number of fake regency thrones, with thick velvety cushions, were lined up, as if waiting for the queen to arrive. She grinned, her feet were panicking already in her elegant but inflexible PVC shoes. She could sit a while and check out who came by. Before she’d even downed the last sip of beer, two young men appeared out of nowhere. They looked trim
and youthful, but instead of acknowledging her, they dropped to the floor and began to negotiate the area around her feet. With inquisitive fingers, they caressed her shoes with their bare hands. There was no other form of contact, just undulating movement. It was easy to get caught up in the moment. Suddenly her feet were blissfully free, her shoes had been removed; two handsome men were worshipping literally at her feet. The caresses turned moist as they used their tongues as well as their hands. In a stray thought she wondered if her feet really tasted that good, but now the slave tongues were licking fervently in between her toes, and it felt exactly as if they were salivating over her pussy.

  Damn, that felt good! She’d never tried this before; Tom and Jake had had to drag her in at first just to take a look at the scene. Now she was experimenting freely. Surprisingly, their sucking activity was turning her on. She expected their next move to be a hot-whispering up her legs to savage her clit. But they didn’t. True fetishists, obviously, they just steadfastly licked her toes until aroused to boiling point, when she nudged them away. Instantly they disappeared, and she put her shoes back on and went in search of more pleasure.

  Now she felt a bit more into it, she didn’t avoid the throngs of people. She stood around the bar and this time ordered a rum and coke and fell into conversation with two good-looking guys.

  ‘What’s your name? You’ve got nice breasts,’ the dark one said, actually cupping them as he said it. The other, Steve, went further, ‘I prefer a bit of nice ass,’ his hand actually glancing against her bare bottom. Evidently they were into threesomes, but they were a bit too pushy and impatient to take advantage of her already excited state.

  She carried on drinking. So this was the difference when you came to these things on your own: rather than just looking and smiling and being there with your mates, you noticed that people actually did things. She walked past a man kneeling and masturbating openly at the sight of an older man in a Nazi outfit whipping a young girl with dark hair. She seemed to genuinely enjoy each stroke, although it left a mark on her skin. The voyeur masturbated into his fist and abruptly left. She drank it all in; tried to make sense of it all. So many taboos: a man dressed up as a toilet with mini-urinals in which you could relieve yourself, a woman with a wedding dress and veil slashed to reveal her nubile sex organs. Her mind boggled.

  A transvestite with a long wig drifted over.

  ‘Do you mind if I speak to you? I’m Dave.’ His smile was pretty. He looked gentle. Bare-chested, his nipples were pierced and he’d tied red ribbons through the rings. They made perfunctory conversation, like the two girls they weren’t, before, hesitatingly, David got to the point.

  ‘Could you play with my nipples for me?’ It was an unexpected request, but tonight was about discovery, so she indulged him. Within a few minutes they’d grown long and firmly erect, like a playmate vixen with super nipples she’d seen once in a magazine. It still didn’t feel like a sexual act, and they chatted idly while she stroked and pulled at his nipples.

  Her prowling sexual urges had mostly been contained, but out of nowhere the tallest man she’d ever seen suddenly stepped out of the shadows. His frame was big too, and his shaved head and clumsy boots made him look like something out of a horror film. Clad in slippery PVC black, he looked ominous. ‘Monster’, as in Frankenstein’s monster, the word slipped instantly into her mind. His eyes were a blurred blue and had an hypnotic effect on her. Instead of dismissing Dave, who was still enjoying having his nipples teased, he directed them to a discreet corner of the room where they could play in fuller darkness.

  Monster told her his name and asked her where she was from. Surprisingly, his voice was high and soothing, he seemed surprised that she was there all by herself. She assumed he was a regular. She continued to administer to Dave’s nipples and ribbons. It was as easy as breathing.

  ‘Do you mind if I play with myself?’ asked Dave, his voice breathless with anticipation.

  ‘Sure, go ahead.’

  Dave pulled out his cock, which was a medium size, and began earnestly massaging it. The swishing sound of a bobbing foreskin filled the air, along with the smell of pure sex.

  ‘You like your cock then?’ she asked Dave.

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m not gay you know. I just like dressing up and having my nipples played with.’

  Meanwhile, Monster was the man with the magic hands. His every touch was light and deft, sending tingles throughout her whole body. Before she’d even realised what was happening, one of his fingers had slipped from her upper thigh and had eased itself into her excited vagina. She jumped. His other hand patted her. She relaxed. The feeling was awesome; all the start/stop excitement she’d endured was pent up and longing for release. His fingers were all over her clit and slipping and bumping their way inside her. She didn’t even notice that now Dave was playing with both her tits and her clitoris too; she was too excited, sitting there with her boobs hanging out and her pussy being expertly manipulated. A small crowd had gathered.

  ‘Are you enjoyin’ yourself darlin’?’ whispered Monster in a thick London accent.

  ‘Yes!’ she said, her voice almost coming out as a scream. A couple of men started playing with her now, feeling her breasts and licking at her legs. She tensed up, and Monster responded straight away.

  ‘You want them here?’

  ‘No.’

  Just a hand, and they melted away. Monster took over her clitoris now. Dave was close to coming and his moans were getting louder. The sheer naughtiness of the whole scene – her body clamped tight in rubber, the feel of the nipples with their absurd ribbon, Monster’s teasing fingers – it was all too much. She was jerking and rubbing herself on his fingers now, someone – she didn’t know who – cupped her breasts.

  ‘Agh!’ she came loudly, louder than she would dare in her shared house in Angel. But it was a fetish club, so she could.

  She turned to Monster. Something large bulged beneath his PVC suit, but he didn’t open it. Dave was off after shoving his telephone number in her hand. He was offering to give her a lift home, but Monster waved him away. There was something hard to define about Monster; she couldn’t say whether he was good-looking or not. He attracted and repulsed her at the same time. He kissed her and enjoyed shocking her with his pierced tongue.

  ‘Oh, I’m bad, shoving my tongue down your mouth like that.’

  ‘What about you, don’t you want to come too?’ her eyes looked downwards. Monster looked at her and knew he had her whole attention.

  ‘Do you want me?’ he said. ‘I need something special. Come and take a look.’

  He took her hand and pulled her in the direction of the dungeons, the very heart of the club. A knot of black-leather and rubber fetishists were huddled together watching a mistress casually whipping her eager slave. Monster stood behind her and shielded her body from stray hands.

  The slave was a little man in his forties. There was something exceptional about his willingness to bare all in public and submit to his mistress, who was a sexy twenty-something. They watched intently. Monster casually rested his hands on her breasts. She’d come already just with his finger, but now he was preparing her for a greater thrill. His hands were all over her as he whispered in her ear, ‘I’d like to spank you.’

  She shivered. The slave seemed to be enjoying it, but would she? Those eyes burned into hers. Instinctively, he understood her dilemma, as she hovered between her thirst for experience and first-time nerves. She pressed her back to him and he continued to prepare her, his hand thinking nothing of casually gliding up her short dress to play with her vagina. Around them the swishes intensified.

  She turned and faced him. ‘Not here.’

  ‘I’ve got just the thing for you.’

  He obviously had the run of the place and led her off up a couple of flights of stairs. In her heels and growing excitement, she could barely walk straight. Monster picked up some straight tequilas to go with them and what he called his ‘bag of tricks’.

&
nbsp; Finally he opened a door to the ‘Red Room’ which contained little private booths discreetly tucked away. More than one couple were enjoying themselves and the hum of pleasure came at them from every direction. It was charming and decadent, like something out of the Hellfire club. She went to sit down onto the plush sofa, but Monster intervened.

  ‘No, I want you to sit on this chair. No, not on your bum, turn round, that’s it – lie on your tummy. Put your hands out.’

  All the time his hands were on her, kneading and soothing. He opened his bag and took out a long length of rope. It was purple, soft, and he let her feel its silkiness with her hands. ‘Special bondage rope that. See baby, now you’ll have to trust me. Completely.’

  He looked even more menacing in the red haze; although his eyes remained soft, their meaning was indiscernible. The feel of his caresses was like a familiar lover; he instinctively knew when to touch her and how, but was this going too far?

  ‘I just want to tie your legs, darlin’. Your arms will be free. Won’t you play for me?’

  He was doing things with the rope now, she tried to turn her head, but he pushed it back.

  ‘Be patient, it’s a surprise.’

  Her knees were fixed together, the ankles raised high. She tried to pull her feet apart, but couldn’t. The rope felt luxurious on her skin but held her firmly. She pushed her breasts up so that her back arched. Her position was a lewd one, but she didn’t care. Now he was standing in front of her with his bag open.

  ‘What toys do you want to play with?’

  She looked into the bag – there was something that looked like a horse whip. The wooden things were probably paddles. There was lubricant, hand-cuffs, a range of jelly, dildos too, and other things she didn’t want to think about too much.

  ‘You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?’

  His voice was thick and commanding.

  ‘I don’t think you deserve to play with these toys yet. No, I have to punish you first.’ One hand pulled under her hips and tugged up her little dress. His hand massaged her pert little bottom, and it was not afraid to play along the outline of her ass and stimulate the vagina lips. Her face nestled in cushions; she luxuriated in the feeling. This was something she had never experienced before. It felt warm and good, even the new feeling of the ropes anchored her into her pleasure. Her body felt weightless. Anything seemed possible in the subtly darkened chamber. She was a world away from just looking, now she was doing. And Jake and Tom would be astounded.