The Red Collection Read Free Page A

she was aware that his penis was hard. The woman said nothing, but nodded knowledgeably now and again as he spoke.
    ‘So, are you interested? I think I can make you a very fair price,’ he said in an attempt to stop babbling. The woman was looking him in the eye now – and down at his groin from time to time – in a way that made his head light and his cock as heavy as lead.
    Then the woman spoke. In those rich, measured, perfectly modulated tones he’d heard in every dream he’d had since he’d visited her apartment.
    ‘No, thank you. I have a screen already.’ She licked her lips and gave him a slight, yet powerful smile that transformed her ordinary face into a beautiful icon. Until a few moments ago, he’d never seen that face before yet it was totally familiar. ‘Have you anything else that you’d like to show me?’
    In the space it took to draw a breath, questions were posed, then answered in John’s mind, and he realised that the face you saw on a TV screen and the voice you heard didn’t necessarily have to belong to the same person. And what you
thought
you wanted to see wasn’t always what you actually wanted.
    ‘John?’ she prompted, her voice so resonant and glorious it seemed to make his cock sing.
    His own voice was thin and light, yet it also had strength. ‘Whatever you want, mistress. I’ll show you anything …’
    She smiled and nodded, and then – his shop and his customers forgotten – John fell to his knees before her and started tugging at his zip.

The Best of Hands
    YES, I UNDERSTAND perfectly,’ murmurs Madame Guidetty, escorting us into the room. A silver coffee jug stands on a tray, on her desk, flanked by two fine bone-china cups and the usual paraphernalia of milk jug, sugar bowl and tongs. There are just two cups because I won’t be taking coffee.
    ‘Do be seated,’ Madame continues, smiling almost flirtatiously at my Master, ‘and we’ll have our coffee while I outline our range of services.’
    ‘Thank you, that sounds most pleasant,’ my Master answers genially, sinking down into a comfortable, deeply upholstered chair set at right angles to Madame’s spacious desk. He glances at me and I blush furiously. He has noticed my transgression – the fact that I am staring about the room, and at Madame, and at him, when I am supposed to keep my eyes lowered at all times and I realise that I will suffer for it soon.
    It seems that Madame has observed my slip-up too. ‘Perhaps Susan could stand in the corner while we chat?’ she suggests pleasantly, although there is, I detect, a faint thread of excitement in her barely accented voice. ‘In a display position, possibly? I always find that tends to curb a wilful streak quite nicely, don’t you, Monsieur?’
    ‘A good idea, madame,’ returns my Master, his own voice rather vibrant too. ‘Would it offend you if Susan removes her skirt and her slip? I always find a greater degree of exposure more effective … Although if that isn’t your practice here, perhaps I could trouble you for the loan of a couple of safety pins?’
    ‘No need for that,’ says Madame, ‘we too recognise the subduing qualities of partial nudity. It is a measure we rely upon heavily.’ She pauses, and I hear a slight click, then the sound of a bell ringing somewhere else in the house. ‘There, I’ve summoned a maid to take Susan’s slip and skirt.’
    My heart begins to lurch around in my chest. Yet another stranger to see me embarrassed. I colour even harder and feel sweat prickle and run beneath my arms.
    ‘Well, Susan?’ my Master prompts, and with shaking fingers I unfasten my skirt. Just as I am stepping out of it, there is a knock at the door.
    ‘
Entrez!
’ calls out Madame, and a maid enters, a beautiful dark-haired girl, with a sullen, sultry mouth. Her uniform is old-fashioned and immaculate; her apron is snow-white, and her buttoned shoes shine like polished jet.
    ‘Ah, Florenza, Susan here doesn’t need her skirt and