The Collector

Chapter One-4

And if this was true for any of the girls employed by this upscale escort service, it was particularly the case for the even more elite professionals who serviced the special group of clients like Garrett. Yes, for because of their signed guarantees of strictly regular testing and a hefty, if very obliquely worded insurance bond—not to mention commensurately higher fees—these men were not required to use condoms. To have s*x with strangers for money while retaining any self-respect took a special outlook, and a dirtily increased libido. For a girl to let them f**k her bareback, flesh to flesh the way it was meant to be, and leave the open pink bowl of her cunt smelly and brim-full of every thick, gluey string of their c*m that required a wench of even naughtier disposition. A girl like that could not be shy or squeamish or half-hearted—she had to wallow in the gooey naughtiness of it all.

Garrett always before had made a point of engaging in some small talk with the girls from the service, for this seemed only right. Sometimes it was merely a politeness before the s*x which, with preliminaries appropriately satisfied, he then would take almost immediately thereafter in any way he desired. Sometimes, though, it was part of a genial mock-gallantry he maintained over the course of a long, completely unhurried night on the town that he enjoyed with what appeared to be an old and familiar companion. The latter was always a deliciously naughty way to arouse himself with the sweet anticipation of it.

Yes, for despite innocent appearances, such a night ultimately could conclude only with this seemingly valued and respected co-equal being used and dominated in the most intimate way possible, and defiled with every gout of the supposed gentleman’s splattering semen. Perhaps she would be thrust full of his turgid red c**k and pinned like a great splayed white butterfly to the crisp sheets of an opulent hotel room somewhere. Or instead the girl’s practiced soft mouth might wrap wet and snug about his bloated purple cockhead, sliding understandingly back and forth along every naked inch of his throbbing veiny organ during the long ride back home, on and on, on and on, until he discharged without restraint and bulged her cheeks absolutely full. Or maybe the lass would end up on her pretty knees with her red-lipsticked mouth gaping wide as she reached up to pinch encouragingly at his delighted little n*****s, begging him with her calmly inflaming eyes to yank himself faster and faster, to masturbate all over her sweet, innocent young face until it hung with the great dangling stalactites of his jism, stretched and dripping. First, however, before he used one of these girls like an animal, he always had made at least some attempt at conversation.

With this dusky Mediterranean princess, however, he simply could not restrain himself. Breathing heavily, he had flung the door wide before she even rang the bell, and he came out and grabbed her bare body in his clutching hands, his poor p***s aching within his trousers as he pressed himself against her soft belly. Shivering in his need, he kissed the faintly smirking wench urgently right on her saucy mouth, his tongue plunging possessively in without warning. Oh, it was good to do to her! He kissed the girl’s cheeks, her neck, and her blood-warmed ear. He mouthed her shoulders, her throat, her breasts, and all the while he handled her smooth curvy flesh deliriously, his palms roving up and down at will, caressing, squeezing, cherishing. It was wonderful to do that to her right out in the open, for even though in the depths of his estate, no one could see, still he longed to make her feel naked and used and objectified. She was smooth and alluring and available, and she was his, bought and paid for—all his!

Wild-eyed, then, and purposefully without words, he dragged his willing w***e to the flagstones right there in the driveway, and he slithered down between her solid, shapely thighs, and in the desperate agitation of his need he buried his reddened face gratefully in her split-open curls, and he began to perform oral s*x upon the taken-aback thing. Ah, the joy of it! Mm, she tasted good, and she felt good, too, so warm and wet and intimate in his mouth, and with her crinkly black hairs curled up his nose, he breathed nothing but the slippery, fishy tang of her innermost womanhood. Right now she was his, all his. Whimpering in his ardor, he forced the surprised and reeling brunette to orgasm, reveling in the selflessness of the act and the possessiveness of it as well.

And once her pretty, unfeigned gasping had ceased, he rose, with difficulty exposed his cramped and throbbing purple erection, and then sank shudderingly between the thick dewy petals of the fleshy pink blossom of ecstasies between her open thighs, savoring it inch by inch by inch. She, snug and smooth and juicy inside, and he began to gratify himself within her body completely without shame. Ah, the exquisite release of it all as she wrapped her shapely, down-covered arms understandingly about his shoulders and murmured gently in his blazing ear. “Mm, enjoy me, sir,” crooned the naked girl whose name he had not even asked, “enjoy me. I do feel good for you, don’t I?”

Unable to speak for the joy of it, he nodded jerkily into the fragrant sable waves that jounced about her shapely bare shoulders. His heart hammered with his passions, and he glowed in the knowledge of what he had done to her already. His mouth still tasted of her fresh, hairy young cunt, and his nose still tingled with the remembered reek of it, and with lips that still seemed to feel the resilient pressure of her mashed-wide labia he kissed at his teasing angel’s delicately perspiring neck. His balls were heavy and comfortably swollen, and he felt the bloated purple head of his bare p***s ooze with the clear anticipatory drizzle that came before the rushing gray torrent. Shuddering happily, he slowed his hips, for he wanted the sweet feeling to last.

The girl who shook to his slow, shivering thrusts, nude and available beneath the striving mass of his clothed body, and calm and collected in the face of his desperate sensual agitation, seemed to understand it all. “Yes,” she smiled genteelly, “enjoy that p***y, sir. Take your time. Enjoy my body—use it—for just as long as you like, on and on and on.” Almost tenderly she stroked his forehead as he pleasured himself so exhibitionistically within her, for many long, delirious moments. At last, however, she sensed that the poor man could hold out no longer, and she began to encourage him more dirtily. “Mm, give it to me, sir—f**k me. Do whatever you want to me. Make me take it, and then come all over the inside of me. Ooh, please, sir, please…?”

Oh, he could not have resisted if he had wanted! Grunting, he filled her like a bowl, his poor balls turning themselves inside-out in their bliss. And when at last he was done, then, a little sheepishly and yet unable to stop, he had plopped his burning face back into her sloppy, sperm-bubbling v****a, and he wallowed mindlessly within her. With his splayed fingers gripping at her rounded hips and his thumbs dug into the yielding flesh of her ass, he swam through every salty fold and crevice and nook like some bottom-feeding carp, tasting everything, happily, and as the girl, taken aback and yet helplessly thrilled, began to pinch her lengthened dark n*****s above him, he had slobbered his indulgent angel to climax once more…

About wanting to dominate some pretty girl’s n*****s, though he had never quite had the nerve to ask. For this, therefore, Garrett had to live vicariously, though what others had already filmed. Some of these movies were impeccably choreographed, artfully lit, masterfully shot, and the rosy heavens of leather and latex they portrayed were indeed a fetishist’s delight. The amateur clips collected from the internet could be just as wickedly thrilling, though. Ah, to see some housewife blindfolded in an ordinary-looking bedroom with her hands cuffed behind her back and her ankles pulled up and wide and lashed to the headboard!

Sometimes the exposed purple point of her c******s would be tortured with a buzzing little vibrator so that she whimpered and thrashed and shrieked in her delight. Sometimes a woman might be penetrated outrageously, with a gigantic black dildo or a big fat cucumber or a great nubby ear of corn—oh, anything so that her hungry, whorish cunt had to stretch and stretch and truly feel it. Really, though, the thing that always topped the situation off perfectly was some beautiful n****e torment, whether the tender things were stretched by a calmly merciless hand or perhaps clamped in the biting little teeth of some wicked device bought in a seedy fetish store. Oh, how profoundly arousing it was even to see something as simple as clothespins tight upon a vulnerable wife’s poor chafed n*****s as the trembling man who held the camera, unseen but oh-so obviously known, panted and growled and yanked excitedly at the cords that held their springs! Mm, the unspeakable surrender in that blindfolded face, the primal submissive feminine joy as she whimpered and squealed and struggled mindlessly against her bonds, suffering the most sweetly intimate tortures that the loving mind of man could inflict…

Of course, Garrett amended silently, the people who had made such films had suffered far worse tortures than that, had they not? Perhaps some had been vaporized instantly or torn apart by blast waves. Those were the lucky ones. Some, after all, would have roasted alive in firestorms, or crushed by toppling buildings, or killed slowly by the diseases that had raged unchecked, while other survivors had simply died in the agonies of starvation or thirst. Garrett frowned, and his comfortably pounding erection suddenly wilted. Not a good way to start the day, he chided himself. It was no use thinking like that. No, for he was alive, he reminded himself, and healthy and safe—he had to focus on that, had to.

Frowning, Garrett adjusted the fine knobs that rotated his electronic periscope, and as he swept his gaze slowly across the diaphanous cloak of suspended vapor that swirled and billowed and roiled in slow-motion, he tried to recapture the way it used to feel. Once that fog had been beautiful, mysterious in its own way, a charming phenomenon celebrated in old film noire, in song, and in city lore. Now, of course, the only mystery was whether it carried any lingering trace of Chinese fallout…although if the residue had been up that many months, then it could have come from any big burst almost anywhere in the world, couldn’t it? Mumbai, Islamabad, Tehran, Tel Aviv— Berlin, Moscow, Vladivostok, Beijing— London, Paris, Washington, Omaha— The ICBM fields of Montana or the bomber bases of Texas or Louisiana or Kamchatka— What was the difference anymore? But as to what he would see when the fog burned off the bay before him… Well, that was no mystery.

Once the border dispute on the Indian subcontinent went nuclear, everything had happened fast. Something hit Iran that looked like a nuke, and Israel was blamed, and as the whole region suddenly convulsed, U.S. forces went to high alert. The Chinese government accused America of manufacturing a false crisis to cover some military move of its own, and when a salvo of long-range missiles headed up from the Gulf toward Western Europe was intercepted over the Black Sea, the Russian Federation claimed territorial infringement and threatened both the nation from which the American anti-ballistic missiles had been launched and the nation that hosted the radar site which had guided the interceptors. Really, it all had made so little sense, but the speed of accusation and counter-accusation swept tensions higher. Three more cities were incinerated in India and Pakistan, then another seven, and at the same time Israel, which insisted that it had not used the bomb against Iran, said now that it would at the first sign of attack against itself.

Garrett at the time had had a sense of unreality about that day, but he could not quite dismiss the danger entirely, as many had tried. If the three big powers ever really got into a full-scale nuclear exchange, he knew, that aside from the immediate effects of blast and radiation from thousands upon thousands of fusion weapons, the mere smoke from all the burned cities and blasted missile silos and bomber bases would probably throw enough ash and soot into the atmosphere to wrap the entire world in impenetrable cloud. That would shut down the entire ecosystem, with every plant that needed sunlight—including, of course, crops—dying off, along with every creature on up the food web. It would make the meteor-caused extinction of the dinosaurs look like simply a rainy day.