Dirty Laundry Read online

  I wanted her so badly I could have cried and, to make matters worse, she was being really friendly to me, as if she knew. It was just possible that she did, and I began to wonder if she wasn’t teasing me to see if I’d play. That set me thinking about what it would be like with Amy and her together, which made it even worse.

  We sorted out our hotel rooms and then went down to the bar. I wanted to stop drinking, but they had noticed I was a bit down and assumed it was something to do with Damon. So they kept buying me rounds and I got more and more drunk, until I was having serious trouble keeping my hands off Gina. She was giggly too, and focusing more and more on me, until I could see that Amy was starting to get jealous. Gabrielle was getting more insistent too, doubtless thinking she’d get something interesting out of me if I was really drunk, and I knew that there was every chance she’d succeed.

  By the time we left the bar we had our arms around each other in a line as we made for the club we had chosen. I’d tacked on at one end, to Gabrielle, because the other choice was Gina and I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to keep my hands off her bum. Even then it was difficult, because I could feel the gentle curve of Gabrielle’s hip and the soft flesh of her waist. I hadn’t been with another girl since coming back from France, and after two weeks of Damon it just felt so good to have a female body next to mine.

  I could see what was going to happen. We’d get to the club and dance and drink and I’d either make a move on Gina, let myself get picked up by the fattest bloke in the house, or pour out my heart to Gabrielle. All the options were going to be disastrous. I had to get away.

  Even that wasn’t easy. I pretended to need the loo, but Isabel said she did too and they waited for us. We had reached the club before I could find another excuse and were quickly inside. It was crowded and hot, the air thick with smoke and the smells of perfume and sweat. It was loud too, with a furious bass rhythm that drowned out all possibility of conversation, for which at least I was grateful. I said I’d get the drinks, but Gabrielle insisted on coming with me to help.

  There was nothing I could do, and when we got back to the others I found they had jammed themselves into an alcove. There was only one place to sit, the end of a bench, right next to Gina. I had to take it, and as I sat down I felt my body press to hers, with the outline of one little breast against my arm. Amy’s arm came up around Gina’s shoulder in a clear gesture of possession and I managed a weak smile as I passed her drink, catching a warning look in return. It was as if she was reading my mind, and I had to get out, right then.

  I made an excuse, mumbling something about feeling sick, and left the table. Ami made to follow but I pushed in between two tall men and hurried off through the crowd to the exit and out into the night.

  I’d only been in the club a few minutes, but the fresh air hit me like a hammer. My head was swimming with drink and confusion and erotic thoughts, all mixed up with self-pity and anger. It just wasn’t fair!

  I started to walk along the front, with the wind whipping at my hair and the taste of salt in my mouth. I was vaguely aware that there was a really major storm blowing up, but it didn’t seem to matter. There were plenty of other people about, laughing as they dodged the spray that was beginning to blow over the wall, or huddled into coats, hurrying for shelter. I wanted to be alone, to get my thoughts in order, even to masturbate, and I walked on, as fast as I could go.

  It was just by the sign marking the start of Hove that I saw him, seated at a bus stop: the fat man from the restaurant. I knew it was him, even though I’d been seeing him in every fat man I’d passed for the last two weeks. It had to be, every great, bulging ream seemed familiar, and I was sure the orange anorak he was wearing had been on the back of the chair in the restaurant.

  I should have walked on, and he’d never have noticed, but I had to look, and for a moment our eyes met. My head filled with all the filthy images I had conjured up since our encounter and I found my mouth twitching up into a nervous, scared smile. That was it, but it was enough and, as I hurried past the bus stop, from the corner of my eye I saw him get up. Immediately my heart was in my mouth.

  He was following me, I knew it, but I didn’t dare turn round. I was scared, but as much of my own response as of him. He was fat, huge, I could outrun him easily, even drunk. Anyway, he probably only wanted to tell me what an ill-mannered little bitch I was, to try to make me feel bad for the way I’d spoken to him, to try to make me feel small, to humiliate me . . . Oh, God!

  I’d stopped, and turned back. He was coming towards me, slowly, his great flaccid body backlit by a street lamp, his face in shadow. I didn’t know whether to be angry with him or to apologise, to tell him to fuck off or to try to be friendly, but there was a part of me hoping that he would make some obscene threat.

  When his face did come into the light I saw that he was as nervous as I was, his little blubbery mouth twitching at one side, his piggy eyes uncertain. For one moment I wondered if it really was him, but he had to be, or why else follow me? After all, no one as gross as he was could possibly think I’d be interested.

  ‘Going for a walk?’ he said.

  I nodded.

  ‘Nice weather for ducks, eh?’

  It was such a stupid thing to say that I found myself smiling, and I realised that he wasn’t going to have a go at me. What he was going to do was try to chat me up, and that was worse.

  ‘Can we go for a coffee?’ he asked, a line guaranteed to make most girls run a mile. Not me, not then.

  ‘No, I don’t want one,’ I answered. ‘I’m just walking.’

  ‘How about it then?’ he went on.

  ‘How about what?’

  ‘A fuck.’

  ‘Jesus! You bastard!’

  ‘Well it’s what you’re after, isn’t it?’

  ‘No it is not!’

  ‘Get real. Dressed up like a dog’s dinner, all on your own. I can see you’re not a pro, so what else would you be doing?’

  ‘Going for a walk! Getting some fresh air!’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  It was the most clumsy, inept, hopeless come-on I had ever heard, and I’ve heard a few. He had to be mad, thinking that someone like him could pick me up. I mean, if Brad Pitt had just walked up and asked me for a fuck I’d have told him where to get off, but this guy! Well it was either that or he knew how he’d got to me in the restaurant, which was impossible.

  I turned, willing myself to walk away, but he fell into step beside me. His great, podgy arm came around my waist and I didn’t pull away, even though a voice inside me was screaming to slap him in the face, to kick him in the balls, to run. Then his hand had closed on my bottom and he was pulling me into his arms.

  He may have been fat, but he was far stronger than I was. I got pulled in close, both his hands now on my bottom, kneading my cheeks through my jeans as he pressed his blubbery mouth against mine. His tongue touched my lips and before I knew what I was doing they were coming apart and we were kissing, with his great slobbery mouth wide over mine and his tongue halfway down my throat.

  It was disgusting, really gross and, to make it worse, he tasted of fish and chips, but I couldn’t pull away, only put my arms up to his chest and let him have his snog and his feel. In the end it was him who broke the kiss, but not before he’d had a really thorough grope of my bum. I was so glad I was in tight jeans and not a skirt, because I knew it would have been up, with his horrid sweaty hands down my panties. There were other people about too, which made it worse, far, far worse.

  ‘People are watching!’ I hissed.

  ‘Yeah, right, let’s go somewhere private.’

  ‘No, I mean . . .’

  He had taken me by the hand, pulling me after him. I went with the pressure, with my sense of erotic humiliation burning in my head. It was too much, I couldn’t stop myself. I was going to let him have me, to make me suck his cock and lick his balls, even to fuck me, even to carry out his horrid threat and sit on my face.

  ‘I know
a place,’ he was saying. ‘A great place. Come on.’

  I went, and all the while I was wondering what the hell I was doing, with my mind swinging from open rebellion to a desperate urge to really bury myself in all the disgusting fantasies I had thought up over the last two weeks. I thought he was going to take me to some sordid bedsit, but he continued down the front, almost dragging me and stopping over and over to snog me and grope my bum and boobs. Once we were beyond the main front he even pulled my top up, jerking my bra with it to spill out my tits for a feel. I let him, and I thought he might even fuck me, right there, in the shadow of a bus shelter with the sea spray blowing over us.

  He didn’t, but contented himself with a feel and a suck of my nipples, then told me to leave my boobs out. Half of me wanted to, but I covered them, sure someone would see and report us. In response he slapped my bottom and with that I was really lost. The next time he stopped I let him pop my jeans button and he felt down the back of them, putting his disgusting sweaty hands into the back of my panties and pulling them up into my crease.

  By then I was as urgent as he was, kissing back as his fat fingers took hold of my panties, jerking them up to tug the material against my pussy. My arms were around him too, feeling the huge billows of flesh around his middle and the obscene bulging shapes where the cleft of his buttocks rose out of his trousers. It was so dirty, and I was dying to be used, really used, the way I had imagined him do it, cruelly, revelling in my shame and disgust as he enjoyed every aspect of my body and forced me to indulge his every, filthy urge.

  He only stopped when we reached a row of garages, well beyond the area I knew, with the black bulk of Shoreham power station visible against the dull orange sky. It was where I was going to be fucked, it had to be, and sure enough he led me down the slope by the hand, aiming for the gaping mouth of one of the few garages that still had its door attached. It was opposite a street lamp, the interior illuminated with a dull orange glow, showing a stained concrete floor, a mangled supermarket trolley, a squalid mattress, surrounded by a litter of beers cans and the torn remnants of some squalid pornographic magazine. It must have smelled, and I imagined it, yet it didn’t seem to register, only the sight, only the overt, dirty maleness of the place. He beckoned me inside, glancing guiltily back towards the town and, even as I followed him, for all my drunken lust I was thinking that I had to be absolutely crazy for what I was doing.

  I did it anyway, and no sooner was I inside than he had pulled the door down and we were plunged into absolute darkness. That made it so much easier, and as he took me in his fat arms and pulled me down on to that foul mattress my fantasies were running strong. I wanted to be made to suck him, to take his balls into my mouth, to have my bottom spanked to a glowing ball, to be made to kiss his monstrous buttocks, all of it, but most of all I wanted him to sit on my head.

  He wasted no time, his hands all over as I melted into his embrace, kneeling together on the mattress. He was groping for the button of my jeans, wrenching my top up to once more flop out my boobs. I hadn’t realised how cold I was, until I felt his hot, clammy hands on my bare tits. He was groping, squeezing them hard, so that it hurt, tweaking my nipples, then sucking on them as he went down. I could only sigh as his hands found the waistband of my jeans, pulling them hard down and taking my panties with them. He left them like that, around my thighs, so that I was bare from boobs to legs, everything he wanted showing, breasts, bottom and pussy. A finger found my sex, burrowing firmly between the cleft of my lips, finding my hole, to be pushed roughly inside. His mouth went lower still as he fingered me, kissing my belly, then licking it, his saliva running down my skin as he sucked at my tummy piercing. His lips found my pussy, mouthing at my pubic mound and mumbling obscenely about how he liked a girl to be shaved. Then his tongue had found my clitty and I was moaning aloud, with my boobs in my own hands, stroking my rock-hard nipples as he licked and fingered at my sex. His other hand was on my bottom, his fingers in the crease, then right in, touching my anus, tickling it before pushing into the tiny, wet hole.

  I was going to come, just like that, and I was so ashamed of myself, for letting a gross, leering fat man strip me and lick my pussy, for letting him grope my boobs and touch my bumhole. Worse still was what was going through my head, the thoughts of what he might do to me, make me suck his cock, fuck me, make me kiss his bottomhole . . .

  With that I came, imagining the hideous humiliation of being forced to kiss his anal ring as his tongue flicked and lapped at my clit. I cried out loud, a wordless scream of ecstasy and shame, and then he had stopped and was holding me, once more kneading my buttocks as he pulled me against his bloated body.

  Somehow he’d managed to get his anorak off, and I could feel the coarse wool of a jumper against my bare flesh as he started to kiss me again. I responded, thinking of what I’d let him do. It wasn’t what I had expected. It had been dirty, yes, disgusting even, because he was so gross, but he had been body worshipping me, something Damon had never done at all. I knew it was because having a girl to play with would be so rare for him, but that didn’t stop me feeling grateful. That was just as well, considering what was sure to be coming.

  ‘Now my turn,’ he said, his voice thick with passion in the darkness, as he pulled back from me. ‘First, let’s have your kit off, right off. I’ll do it.’

  I let him strip me, peeling my top and bra off over my head, then rolling back so that he could get at my jeans. He pulled them off, my shoes, socks and panties going with them, to leave me stark naked. For a while he just groped, before taking me by one wrist and pulling my hand down to his crotch.

  His cock was out, his balls too, a good handful of hairy, greasy flesh, obscenely male. He was kneeling, thighs spread, my arm touching the solid fat of his gut as I started to feel him up, cupping his balls and using my thumb to roll his foreskin back and forth.

  ‘Oh, you know how to do it, don’t you,’ he breathed. ‘Just keep doing that and I’ll soon be hard.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you undress too?’ I asked, giving in to the filthy urge to find out what that much flesh really felt like in my arms.

  ‘Who needs to?’ he answered. ‘It’s the girl who ought to be stripped.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said quietly and began to tug harder at his cock.

  He’d touched a sensitive point, even if it had been entirely by accident. There’s something wonderfully submissive about being stark naked when a partner is fully dressed. It really puts me in my place, especially for a spanking, when I’ve got everything showing, not a scrap of modesty left to me, and whoever’s punishing me hasn’t a stitch out of place. It was the same now. He needed his cock and balls out, to deal with me, but that was all, at least until his trousers came down so that I could be made to kiss his anus.

  ‘Now suck it,’ he ordered and leaned back so that I could get my mouth to his cock.

  I went down right away, without hesitation, sticking my bum up in the air as I nuzzled my face into his genitals. He was big, and sticky, and not very clean, but I took his cock in my mouth anyway, sucking quickly to clear away the awful taste. It was so humiliating, not only from the taste and being nude on my knees in front of him, but because his great fat belly was pressed to my forehead. Even if I couldn’t see him, I knew what he looked like, and it was just a pity that there wasn’t enough light to let him see me.

  He was taking his time getting hard, even though I was sucking and tickling his balls at the same time, and I wondered if he hadn’t already come in his pants while he was feeling me up. He certainly tasted like he had, slimy and salty, with a greasy, sweaty feel to his skin. Eager to get him properly erect, I began to mouth at the head of his cock, rolling his foreskin back with my lips and sucking at the turgid bulb of flesh within.

  ‘Oh, yeah, nice,’ he groaned. ‘Yeah, you’re good. You’re like something out of a porno movie. I saw a girl do this, in one, gobbling some black guy.’

  That explained a lot. It was easy to imagine him
wanking over dirty videos. In fact it explained his whole attitude to sex, including expecting to get into my panties within minutes of meeting. Some men are like that, with everything they know about sex straight from videos and magazines. Well this time he’d struck lucky.

  ‘It was great,’ he went on. ‘She was a waitress, and he did her in the restaurant, with her stripped off and his fucking great log of a cock in her mouth. He did his load in her face too, right over it, in her eyes and everything. How’d you like that, a load of spunk, right in the face?’

  I nodded around my mouthful, wanting to accept any humiliation he felt appropriate for me. He’d got me feeling so submissive, and I was putty in his hands, naked and willing, ready for any obscenity he chose to inflict on me. He was hard now, too hard to let me get it all in my mouth, and I was struggling a bit as he reached down under his belly and took hold of it.

  ‘Maybe you’ll get lucky,’ he said, ‘but not yet. I want to fuck you, on your knees, arse up.’

  ‘Don’t you . . . don’t you want to do what you threatened?’ I asked, pulling off his cock.

  ‘What?’ he demanded.

  ‘You know, to punish me, to . . . to sit on my head. To make me kiss your bottom.’

  ‘What? You want to kiss my arse?’

  I nodded, stupidly, because he couldn’t have seen me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say the actual words, to ask to kiss his anus. Even with my head reeling with drink it was too dirty, too shameful. He did it for me.

  ‘You mean, like, on my arsehole?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ I sobbed.

  There was a pause, as a great bubble of shame and self-disgust rose up in my throat. I’d pushed it too far, suggested something too dirty for him, a great fat pig like him, and what I wanted was too dirty. Only it wasn’t.

  ‘Well, yeah, all right,’ he said suddenly. ‘Whatever turns you on. I’ve never had a girl kiss my arsehole before. But I want to fuck you first. Come on, get in doggy position.’