Dirty Laundry Read online

  The orgasm hit me and I screamed, at the top of my voice, then started to babble, calling out that he was a fat bastard and that I should be spanked, and buggered, and all of it in public.

  I woke up in Damon’s bed, stark naked, with a wet patch under my bum and a grade one hangover. At first I thought I’d wet myself, until I remembered that we’d fucked before going to sleep. Well, he’d fucked me anyway, because I’d only been half aware of what was going on. My memory of the rest of the evening came back slowly, with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction.

  It had been good, in a way. In fact my orgasm had been great, and I knew full well it wouldn’t have been anything like as powerful without the extra hit of dirtiness unwittingly provided by the fat man. On the other hand there was the truly awful memory of trying to explain to the rake-thin Damon why I had apparently called him a fat bastard at the moment of climax.

  He was still asleep, lying beside me with his face turned away. For a moment I considered sneaking out and making my way home, only to abandon the idea. I needed coffee, and toast, and orange juice, and I needed someone to make it all while I nursed my head. So I shook him awake and suggested he get on with it.

  Fortunately his arrogance didn’t extend to expecting me to play maid to him and I got my breakfast in bed, including some Turkish coffee that nearly took the skin off my throat but proved amazing for clearing the cobwebs. He was also not the type who wakes up and expects his morning erection tended to, which I really wasn’t up to. Like me, he wanted to take waking up slow and easy.

  By the time I’d finished eating and had covered his bed with toast crumbs I’d decided I was up for a second date. He had been a bit of a pig with me, sexually, enough to arouse my interest anyway, and I wanted to find out how much more he had to offer. I had also got on with him as a person better than I had expected to, and I could tell that Percy would be green with envy.

  It quickly became clear that his reticence was the result of the way I’d behaved, and that he was actually a bit wary of me, if not actually scared. A lot of men are like that, wanting a girl to do as they want and not really happy if she takes matters into her own hands. In the end I had to pretend to be embarrassed by what I’d done, which cheered him up enough to demand another blow job before I left.

  He got it, and I walked back to Primrose Hill with the taste of his spunk in my mouth and an uncomfortable and embarrassing wet patch between my legs. Back at my flat I ran a bath and masturbated in it before lying back in the hot water to think about the previous night.

  In some ways it was a bit of a waste, because the incident with the fat man had got me in such a state. If the incident hadn’t happened, then I’d have been less urgent during the cab ride and Damon would have taken more time to deal with me. On the other hand, he had asked me out again while I was still swallowing down his sperm, so it looked like I’d get it in due time.

  The fat man was another matter. I had no idea who he was, and that was just as well. If I’d known, the temptation to indulge my filthy fantasy might have proved too much for me. I’d have done it, adding to the already considerable risk of it becoming common knowledge just how dirty I was.

  I’d been seeing Percy for three years, and so far I’d managed to hide the fact from all those of my friends who would disapprove. I’d also managed to hide the fact that I enjoy my bottom spanked, or at least from most of them. There was an exception, Jo Warren, who I’d foolishly thought might be up for spanking me. I’d asked and she’d been horrified, but as I had more dirt on her than she did on me I felt fairly safe. I’d ensured her boyfriend was safe by seducing him, and he was so wet I knew he wouldn’t dare tell, which only left her therapist, Gabrielle Salinger, who she was sure to tell but who could be relied on not to break a professional confidence.

  If I’d gone with the fat man it would have been just my luck to find out I knew his sister or something, which would have been a disaster. Being revealed as a spankee would have been awful, but getting off on being humiliated by fat men was worse. It’s the way society is unfortunately, that while girls are supposed to be out and proud, certain things are very definitely taboo. Enjoying being spanked is one of them, but fat is worse, far worse. Unfortunately that’s the way my sexuality works. If it was really cool to go out with fat men I wouldn’t have been interested, because the fantasy wouldn’t have been humiliating. I’m not into fat, it disgusts me, which is exactly why the idea of being abused by a fat man appeals to me.

  Nevertheless, it was a shame, because I still had that image of his huge backside poised over my face fixed firmly in my mind. It was what was in my head as I lay back in the warm, soapy water, along with thoughts of my horror and humiliation as it was done to me, in a crowded restaurant, for everyone to see.

  I knew I was going to masturbate again, even as my finger pressed down between the soft, fleshy lips of my pussy. I could just picture myself, perhaps held down on the floor by his friends, with my brown curls spread out around my head and my mouth and eyes wide in ghastly shock. He’d make me suck his balls first, dangling them into my mouth and telling me he’d let me off if I was a good girl.

  He’d be lying though, because once I’d done it, sucking at his fat, hairy scrotum with my face screwed up and his friends laughing their heads off at my plight, his arse would go in my face. I’d be struggling as I was smothered, my hands beating on the floor and my legs kicking in a futile protest that would only draw more laughter from the onlookers. He’d tell me to kiss his anus and I’d hold back, even though I’d be suffocating. I’d do it in the end though, putting my lips to his coarse, hairy bumhole as the rest of them cheered and clapped to see me given what I deserved.

  Then it would have to be into the restaurant toilets to be fucked over the lavatory bowl. He’d leave the door open so that the others could see, crowding in behind him as he forced me to kneel. He’d flop out my boobs and have a good feel, then undo my trousers, his fat hands opening my button, fumbling at my zip, easing my smart white trousers down and taking my panties with them.

  With my bum bare I’d be spanked, hard, crying out my pain and emotion into the lavatory bowl until he shut me up by cramming my mouth with loo paper. With my bum smacked rosy, he’d lay his huge belly on my hot cheeks. I’d feel his cock against my pussy, prodding at me as he wanked it against my flesh. Then he’d be in me, fucking me, jamming my body against the hard porcelain of the lavatory bowl as the others watched and laughed and clapped and jeered.

  My will would break, and I’d reach back to masturbate, rubbing at myself in my filthy ecstasy to every-body’s utter delight. They’d be calling me a slut and a bitch, the way Damon had, insulting me for being promiscuous even though I hadn’t asked for the treatment I was getting. Nobody would insult him though, or try and stop him, not even the women who would be watching with as much delight as the men. They’d be complimenting him on knowing how to handle a brat, and egging him on to fuck me harder.

  He’d do it too, his great lardy body slamming against my poor little bottom, his hands locked on my hips, jerking me about like a doll as he grunted and panted his way towards orgasm. He’d come up me and, at the last moment, he’d push my head down into the lavatory bowl and flush it, filling my mouth with dirty water even as he filled my pussy with sperm, and I’d come myself, soiled and filthy, stripped, abused and fucked, coming and coming and coming . . .

  Which was exactly what I had done, for the second time in a row, with my hips pushed up to bring my pussy out of the bath water and the muscles of my legs locked in ecstasy.

  When the last shivers of my orgasm had died down I lay still in the bath for a long time, feeling thoroughly satisfied and slightly ashamed of myself. I was also gladder still that I was unlikely ever to see the fat man again. I knew for sure that I’d have wanted sex with him, and what I want I tend to get.

  Not that the fantasy was realistic, because if he’d tried anything of the sort he’d have been arrested on the spot, but that didn�
��t matter. He was fat, enormously fat, so he was sure to be hard up for sex. He was probably a pervert too: after all, he wouldn’t have threatened to sit on my head unless the idea had been there in the first place. In fact he had probably been watching me during the meal and thinking of what he’d like to do to me.

  It wasn’t going to happen, fortunately, and instead I was going to have a brief and intense fling with the moody and attractive Damon, getting my kicks and making everyone jealous at the same time. That was a much more appealing idea, and when I’d finally managed to drag myself out of the bath and get dressed I went down to the Café Eperney in the hope of having a good gloat.

  The first person I recognised was Ami, at one of the outside tables, looking very serious with her big glasses and her long dark hair held back with an Alice band. I went to sit with her, putting a deliberate bounce into my walk and smiling happily as I said hello.

  ‘You look cheerful,’ she greeted me. ‘Won the lottery?’

  ‘No,’ I answered, ‘but not far off. Guess who I spent the night with?’

  ‘Search me. Knowing you it could be anyone.’

  ‘Thanks! No seriously, guess. It’s someone we both know.’

  ‘Animal, mineral or vegetable?’

  ‘Stop messing around! He’s a client of yours.’

  ‘What? Not Damon Maurschen!’

  ‘Is that his surname? I never asked.’

  ‘You didn’t! You bitch!’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Natasha Linnet, you are the absolute end! Do you know how much I fancy him?’

  ‘Ah, but you can’t have him, can you? Very unprofessional, bonking your clients.’

  I sat back, making no effort at all to hide the grin on my face. She was so jealous, and it was great just to watch her reaction.

  At that moment someone came out of the café, a fat man and, for one moment, I thought it was the fat man and I found the blood rushing to my face. It was just an instant, and then I realised that the man was a lot older and not quite so fat, but it was enough, because the expression on Ami’s face had changed.

  ‘Tasha? Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ I managed.

  ‘Who was that?’ she demanded. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I mean, I thought I did, but I don’t. Forget it.’

  She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, then leaned forward on to the table.

  ‘Tell me then,’ she demanded, ‘about Damon. Everything.’

  I told her, embroidering it a bit to make it sound more romantic and leaving out the incident with the fat man and my dirty fantasies. She was impressed, and not only by the sex but by the way he had treated me in the morning, which I had also tweaked a little bit.

  ‘Lucky cow,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘and what do I get? Chris, who’s asleep five minutes after we’ve finished.’

  ‘He’s not so bad, surely. Good looking anyway.’

  ‘That makes it worse. I mean, I really can’t handle it sometimes. He makes me so horny, and if he’s watching football he won’t even come to bed until it’s finished. He’s really destroying my self-esteem.’

  ‘Stand between him and the telly and give him a striptease.’

  ‘I couldn’t, I do have some self-respect! Besides, I tried . . . something similar anyway. He just told me to get out of the way. I’ve spoken to Gabrielle about it and she says . . .’

  ‘Are you with Gabrielle?’

  ‘I have been for months. She’s the only thing that keeps me sane.’

  ‘I thought you were into aromatherapy and shiatsu?’

  ‘I am, or I was. Even combined they only kept my head straight for a few hours, or until something else came along to wind me up. Gabrielle’s great, but you’ve been, haven’t you?’

  ‘Once. Whole-being therapy didn’t really suit me.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s wonderful! She’s so intelligent! She’s explained to me that Chris’s obsession with football is an attempt to accommodate his own inadequacy by projecting the success of his team on to himself. Just understanding has made it a lot easier to handle.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  I wasn’t really listening, mainly because I’d heard it all before. Chris was a prat, a good-looking prat, but a prat. I wouldn’t have stayed with him for five minutes. Ami went on, expanding on Chris’s inadequacies and praising Gabrielle until I jokingly suggested she ought to dump Chris and go out with Gabrielle.

  ‘I’m serious here,’ she answered me. ‘Anyway, she’s suggested I do something to restore my self-esteem, to make myself feel wanted, as a woman.’

  ‘I could have told you that for free.’

  ‘Well I’m going to do it. I’m getting some of the girls together and we’re going to go down to Brighton for the day, where I intend to let myself get picked up and bonked silly. You’ll come, won’t you?’

  ‘Is Jo Warren coming?’

  ‘No, I invited her but she and Hugh had booked something up. You quarrelled with her, didn’t you, in France?’

  ‘Yes, it was just one of those things,’ I said hastily, although my heart had seemed to jump straight into my throat.

  ‘Right,’ she went on, ‘that’s a shame. She won’t be there, anyway, but there’s Amy McRae, and her girlfriend, and Isabel Mintower. It should be fun. Please come?’

  It sounded all right, and in any case she looked so earnest that I found myself nodding automatically.

  Two

  It was two weeks until the Brighton trip, which was enough time for me to get bored with Damon Maurschen. The trouble was, that while he had the right attitude, he had no imagination. I mean, being held by the hair so that I can’t get away while I’m made to suck cock and swallow is fine, but not every time. He wasn’t a spanker either. In fact, he wasn’t particularly interested in my body at all, except as a receptacle for his cock. When I came on to my period he reacted with disgust, as if I was unclean, which I hate. He wasn’t even into striptease or making me show myself off in front of him. When we did fuck it was in missionary position, except for once, when he said I should go on top, which he seemed to think was some sort of sacrifice on his part.

  I kept seeing fat men too. I’d never really taken much notice before, but suddenly they seemed to be everywhere, and each time I saw one I thought of the man who had insulted me. It wouldn’t get out of my head, and I was still fantasising about having rude things done to me by him, even while having sex with Damon, even when he was inside me. That was what finally made me decide that the relationship was a waste of time. I would still have stuck with it anyway, just so Percy would be jealous, only Damon got into a temper when I told him I was going to Brighton with the girls, which he simply had no right to do. I told him to get lost, and I was still smarting over his sheer arrogance the next day.

  The others were going down by train, but I took the TVR, driving fast with the radio at full volume, which did a lot to improve my feelings. I parked well away from the front and took a bus down to meet them at the base of the pier. I was the first there, and spent a while just filling my lungs with air. There was plenty of it, because while it was sunny, the wind was coming in straight off the sea, emptying the beach and sending spray over the marina wall.

  When they arrived it was all together. I spotted them from a long way off; Ami Bell with the sunlight glinting off her big glasses, Amy McRae with her short cropped blonde hair, Isabel, small and blonde, another girl, small and dark, who I took to be Amy’s girlfriend, and one other. The fifth girl was the tallest of them, very slim, with straight, cropped brown hair and glasses. It took me a moment to recognise her and then I realised that they had brought down the therapist from hell, Gabrielle Salinger.

  Unfortunately Ami spotted me before I could make up my mind to do anything, and that was that – my day was ruined. Gabrielle knew much too much about my dirty laundry for comfort’s sake. It was impossible not to imagine her studying me, analysing me, thinking of what a
pervert I was.

  It got worse. They all seemed to worship Gabrielle, even Amy McRae, who edits Metropolitan and is about as tough as they come. Ami Bell was the worst, hanging on to Gabrielle’s every word, and Isabel was nearly as bad, while Amy’s girlfriend, Gina, was too shy to say much at all, but just looked on with a sort of dumb adoration.

  Gina was small and very pretty, with a fragility about her that I could well imagine Amy enjoying and which appealed to me as well. Not that I was going to do anything about it, as I could only see it ending in trouble, while Amy gives me far too many commissions for me to risk pissing her off.

  So I spent what should have been a really fun afternoon trying to act naturally while trying to avoid Gabrielle and not make my attraction to Gina too obvious. Being bisexual when nobody else knows is usually great, because I can admire girls in a way no male could ever do. This time I had to hold back and, with Gina in a little floaty skirt that kept blowing up in the wind, it was not easy.

  Ironically, Gabrielle seemed to want to talk to me more than any of the others, and that was really worrying. It was obvious that her interest was professional, and she kept trying to get me alone, doubtless to ask some hideously intimate and embarrassing question. I felt like a specimen under a microscope, and by the time we came off the pier I was really nervous.

  We ate at an Italian, and I took care to sit between Ami and Isabel. I badly needed a drink and was knocking down glass after glass of Copertino as we ate, until at last I began to relax and join in the fun. It was a mistake, because by the time we’d finished I was having serious difficulty keeping my eyes off Gina. The sun was low, with the light striking through her dress to show off the outlines of her breasts, which were braless, and also her hips. The wind was getting stronger still, and twice her dress blew up high enough to flash her panties, sending her into fits of giggles.