The Red Collection Read Free

everything.’
    She was mocking him. Putting him down. She didn’t care about him at all, and why should she? He was just a client to her, a source of revenue.
    And yet …
    He couldn’t hear anything. She’d given nothing away. No rustle of clothing, no uneven breathing, nothing. Yet still he sensed she was enjoying herself. And that made his own pleasure greater. His cock felt as if it had grown another inch, and he didn’t care what she said; it
was
the hardest ever!
    ‘But it’s true, mistress,’ he said boldly. ‘I’ve never been harder. Honestly!’
    It was her turn to laugh now.
    ‘All right. I believe you. Now describe it to me.’ She chuckled softly. ‘Tell me all about your prick and why you think it’s so wonderful.’
    Oh, he’d been good, she thought afterwards, rubbing her blonde hair dry as she sat on the chaise longue wearing men’s pyjamas and dressing gown. She’d just had to shower again and that didn’t usually happen.
    But there had been something about this John, and the way he’d described his cock and what she’d made him do to it, that had got her going. Unknown to him she’d masturbated furiously throughout the whole diatribe!
    As he’d wanked, she’d rubbed and worried at her clitoris; as he’d described pushing a butt plug into his own anus, she’d reached around and fondled and played with her own bottom.
    As he’d climaxed, gasping and gulping, she’d come too. It’d been bloody hard to keep her own moans in check, but she’d managed it. And she’d also resisted the temptation to call him back, afterwards, so she could take a look at him.
    She felt a pang of regret that the only memento she had of John was the nice pile of banknotes he’d left on the Georgian side table, but there was always a chance he might become one of her regulars. Sometimes that happened; sometimes she never ‘saw’ a customer more than once.
    ‘
C’est la vie
,’ she muttered to herself, abandoning her towel and counting the payment again.
    Generous John had left a tidy bit extra, and what with that, and her latest cheque for a series of television voice-overs …
    Well, it was time, she thought with a smile, to hit the antique shops!
    It’s a top screen, really it is, thought John, as he arranged his latest acquisition to its best advantage. Technically it was far better than the one that had concealed ‘mistress’ and yet because it hid no mystery, he didn’t like it nearly as much.
    Three weeks had passed now, and a dozen times a day he’d considered ringing her number again, but something had happened that made him even more in awe of her.
    He’d seen her in an advert on the box. Several times. She was beautiful, blonde and sleek, but somehow not quite how he’d pictured her. The voice had been the same though, and he’d almost come on the spot when he’d suddenly heard it one evening while he wasn’t really paying any attention to the telly at all. Deep, dark and complex, it had made a banal advertisement into a siren’s song that had stiffened him instantaneously. It even worked now, just from hearing her in his mind.
    Embarrassed because there were people in the shop, John moved away to his work area, and opened a sale catalogue. A moment later, though, his concentration drifted. A woman was studying the black, lacquered screen.
    Not his mistress, alas. This woman was no television blonde, just an average-looking and slightly dumpy brunette. She looked even less remarkable when she put on a pair of glasses to lean up close and inspect the screen’s inlaid design.
    But when the woman smiled – presumably in appreciation of the screen – the erection that had just subsided twitched into life again. And it jumped even more when the woman looked across and smiled at
him
.
    ‘A very fine Coromandel screen,’ he said when he reached her, and then found himself launching into a rushed and rather jumbled sales pitch. She wasn’t looking at his crotch, but he had a feeling