A Cast of Thousands

In the space of a year or so I’d gone from knowing a few people on the scene to being known by everyone on the scene.  When I tried to find out about what had happened at Helena’s club my friends and acquaintances would be very helpful.

My first port of call, as it always was in those days, was Oz’s bungalow. Being disabled Oz required special step free housing which was supplied by the council as Oz was, frankly, unemployable. Oz was a rocker; he loved heavy metal and loud rock music of all sorts. He had a knack of getting onto guest lists and wheedling his way into concerts with paying a penny. His charm, boldness, and disability easing away all of the difficulties that the rest of us encounter in similar situations.

However he never seemed to be interested in attempting to turn this charm into employment. Although, that said, most companies, despite being required by law to have an equal opportunities policy, aren’t the least bit interested in employing anyone with a disability of any sort.

Even Oz’s dishonest edge added to his charm, he was a bit of a rogue and a bit of a scoundrel. You might go so far as to call him a magnificent bastard. The sympathy of those who pitied his disability raised him from a mundane minor criminal into a Robin Hood, taking from those who had and giving to those who had not.

So naturally Oz knew quite a few people that I didn’t. After explaining the situation to him, and my annoyances at the police, he agreed to ask around a bit. After discussing some details about the next photo shoot I went on to my next port of call: John and Raquel.

I met John and Raquel through my brother who was chasing after a girl that was sharing the same house as them. At first I was rather dubious as the two of them were both art students and I’ve often found art students to be wanky bullshitters. Fortunately John was into bikes and had a classic Triumph so he was rather better grounded than many art students. We managed to get on and make friends and went for a few rides together. John showed me how to get to Box Hill and introduced me to the regular Sunday meeting there.

Box Hill on a Sunday is one of the few regular meeting places for bikers. Every Sunday a whole bunch of bikers will turn up in ones and twos and threes without any form of organisation, just a random gathering. Everyone wanders around admiring each other’s bikes and commenting on minor technical points. There’s a burger bar there that serves burgers, breakfasts, and copious amounts of tea. This is where John and I formed a bond of biking.

Years previously John and Raquel became extras in a film based in the London fetish scene, they can both be seen in the background of a number of scenes but Raquel is actually billed in the credits, although they did something to her voice, she doesn’t sound anything like herself in the film. Unfortunately for me I couldn’t be an extra as I was working at the time, I remember being very jealous of their opportunity to be in a cool film about the fetish scene.

Not that the film was that cool, it turned out to be a bit strange, well made and very graphic but rather driven by a number of scenes that play out weirdly. It also suffers from magic piercing syndrome, where someone gets a piercing and it is miraculously healed within minutes of being done. Real piercings take weeks to heal, a minimum of three for something minor like a prince albert to six weeks for a lot of piercings and longer for some. Complete healing and adaptation takes at least six months and often much longer. Many piercings just do not settle properly for one reason or another and you have to give up on them, I’ve had three nipple piercings and none of them lasted more than a year, because I’m just not suited to them.

Raquel was occasionally a fashion model; she was that special tall and thin shape that clothes designers want for models, that shape that looks like a teenage boy that tells you a lot about fashion designers desires. Raquel didn’t want to be a model but it brought in the occasional bit of cash or was done as a favour. She was even part of a fashion show by Murray and Vern at one of the TG events held at The Ministry.

They both knew quite a few people in the scene so I rode across London to their flat, my mind running in circles as I travelled the familiar roads at speed. John and Raquel went through a number of flats and various states of relationship over the years. Eventually John found a sales job and started earning some money. We would stop riding out together and drift apart for no reason other than that we were never available to make it to each other’s invites.

Right now they were at the top of my list of people to ask for help. I got there in the early evening the sun starting to settle over the houses nearby. Neither of them was working at the moment so I knew that they’d be home and indeed they were, discussing what to have for dinner. I filled them in on my recent adventures and asked for help.

With the end of the weekend rapidly approaching I headed for some much needed sleep. I had work tomorrow and without some sleep I’d be of little use. That night I dreamt of Lisa who was a friend of a friend I met at a pub one evening, it turned out she quite fancied a trip to a fetish club so I invited her to come with me to Subversion. On the night Lisa wore a clinging one-piece PVC cat suit with a zip running all the way from the neck to the small of her back and a pair of tall fuck me heels. Subversion was always a big event with performances, bands, dancers, a big dungeon and numerous side shows. Lisa sat on my knee while we watched a metal band that had a couple of sexy dancing girls in PVC. Once I noticed that Lisa was squirming in time to the dancing of the girls I asked her what was up and she confessed that she was bisexual and the dancing girls were making her very hot and bothered

I suggested to Lisa that what she needed was some extra stimulus to take her all the way. Earlier that evening I had noticed that Lisa had one of those kubotan rods on her key ring, for those of you unfamiliar a kubotan rod is a metal or wood rod between six and eight inches long and with several inset grooves to provide grip, it’s a martial arts weapon but it can be used for other purposes.

I removed the rod from Lisa’s key ring and we slipped away to a private booth that still had a view of the stage. While Lisa watched the stage I unzipped her clingy cat suit and started to warm her up with my fingertips, but there was no need as Lisa was indeed very hot from the stimulation provided by the dancing girls. I proceeded to gently work the rod into her and a helped me out by slowly rocking back and forth. Once the rod was in place I zipped up the catsuit and pulled Lisa down onto my knee again. The end of the rod was pressed firmly into the meat of my thigh and with some gentle flexing I was able to stimulate Lisa quite effectively. With the addition of some gentle pinching of her nipples trough the cat suit and some biting of the back of her neck I rapidly brought Lisa to fever pitch and over into orgasm. Lisa rocked back and forth on my thigh for many more minutes, her legs alternately relaxing and clenching as she came in waves of pleasure, ending only when the band finally finished their act, after which we headed home and spent the remainder of the night together.

My alarm intruded into the images of a compliant Lisa in my mind left me with a raging hard on and little idea what was happening. I had not slept well and like the undead I was in halfway state, neither asleep nor awake, neither living nor dead. I was one of the unasleep, a zombie with movement but no life behind the eyes. Sometimes this state would last for hours as I lurched and staggered around the house and onto the streets heading for work.

Only one thing was guaranteed to raise me from this state: my motorbike. Like a second awakening, rolling onto the road would fire my brain into activity. The desperately dangerous act of commuting through rush hour London by motorcycle was a drug mainlined into my veins. I realized that drugs were the key to the mystery.

To me it seems that the worst thing about illegal drugs is the people who deal them. There’s nothing especially wrong with taking drugs if that’s what you like to do, everyone has their needs and preferences for getting away from the pressures and difficulties of everyday life. For me I dive into books and games, my parents however were into dope.

I grew up with drugs all around me; I wasn’t really aware of them as such and certainly had no idea at first that they were illegal and could get you into trouble. There was one incident at a border where we, my parents, brother, and myself were crossing in a car, when a guard asked if we had any marijuana in the car. I knew the dope was hidden under the horn of the steering wheel so I helpfully started to tell the guard where it was. Fortunately my parents kept me quiet and they got away with it. It was after that incident that they had to explain to me that some things were secrets to be kept just inside the family and that we would call the dope ‘number 3’.

My parents would often have friends over and they or my parents would invariably roll a spliff to be shared between everyone there. Later on I was allowed to sit with the adults although I didn’t share the spliff. When I was an older teenager and going out with friends to drink cider I tried a little dope but never found it to be very interesting. I also stopped drinking after only a little bit as it just wasn’t for me, being drunk is not a great experience as far as I’m concerned. So I never even tried any of the harder drugs that were available and stuck to reading and gaming to get my highs.

A lot of otherwise clever people have the idea that they can sell a few drugs to their friends on the side in order to make a bit of spare cash. The equation is simple: get a big lump of dope or grass from a dealer, divide it up into bite size pieces and make a few quid on each bite, do it enough and bingo, free money, free dope, and lots of happy friends. My father used to deal drugs like this to make a bit of extra cash and keep him supplied with dope. It does work for a lot of people but it can also go badly wrong.

A gaming friend of mine who ran a pretty good homebrew game (none of your mass produced games for him) and dealt some dope on the side would end up a victim. If you were cynical you could say that he did the gaming to provide a good cover story or control mechanism for why people kept on visiting his house, which is the usual sign of a dealer: odd people coming and going at all hours. The other gamers who played the game were certainly more into getting wasted and playing games than simply playing games alone.

One night, he went out with a couple of grand in his pocket to pick up some supplied from his dealer. When we saw him at the next game his head was covered with a bandage where he’d been hit with a mallet just outside his dealers front door, the assailant, whoever it was, then emptied his pockets, took the cash and made off, never to be seen again. Because his dealer had become known in the local criminal community there were other, nastier criminals waiting to take advantage of those who forget the saying that ‘there’s no honour amongst thieves’.

A few stupid people also get the idea that they can smuggle their drugs in from foreign lands, cut out the middleman, and thereby make a huge profit. It can work for small amounts but sooner or later these same people get greedy, think they can score the deal of a lifetime and get set up for a fall by the real criminals.

Serious criminals don’t mess about, fortunately I’ve hardly ever met any serious criminals but you really don’t want to. They’re not the sort of people to mix with, they are not polite, and everyone they come into contact with goes away either a little or a lot worse off. There’s no glamour in crime, it’s just a nasty business. So when you go to a dealer you are at best two steps away from serious criminals and for me that’s just too close for comfort.

Crime goes wrong a lot, people get injured, wounded, and killed over trivial concerns and petty jealousies. Criminals are superstitious, cowardly, paranoid, and prepared to act on their paranoia with violence. It’s just not worth it to get involved with them in any way and this is why illegal drugs cause so many problems. Everyone involved with them becomes a criminal of one sort or another, either they supply drugs, or they steal money to buy drugs, or they trade themselves for drugs, or they become addicts and selfishly take social resources from people who need them. A lot of people who buy drugs don’t really become involved in the criminal side but their passive support of illegal drugs increases demand and builds up the criminal element involved in drugs.

To me the only serious solution is to decriminalise all drugs that are not directly dangerous. Legal drugs can be supplied by legal means, cutting off the criminals from their source of revenue. Legal drugs can also be taxed and administered to make them profitable for the government. I still won’t be interested in legal drugs, just as I’m not interested in tobacco or alcohol but keeping all the other ‘recreational’ drugs illegal just encourages crime and I don’t want to support a system that encourages crime.

Nightclubs are plagued by drug dealers and ecstasy was the drug of choice for the fetish scene, heightening pleasures without dulling the senses. Helena had always been opposed to it preferring her sensual pleasures without artificial enhancement. She had instructed her staff to deal harshly with any dealers, not wanting the additional attention from the police that they would cause. If there was anything that would provoke her killing it would be a war over ecstasy and I knew a couple of people who would be able to fill me in on what was going on.

Before I could do anything else I needed to get out of work for the day. Fortunately when I called the office to throw a sickie it was Lamb who answered.

‘Morning, it’s me, who’s that?’

‘Hey hun it’s me’

‘Hey sweetie. Listen, I’m not feeling well today, so I need to take the day off sick, would you pass the message on please?’

‘You sound okay. What’s up?’

Uh oh. The trouble with calling your smart girlfriend to blag a sickie is that she’s rather more insightful than another co-worker.

‘It’s nothing much I just didn’t sleep well and I have a headache so I wouldn’t be any use today’

‘Hmm. Okay’

‘Thanks sweetie’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ she said, and after a momentary pause, ‘Be careful’

‘Okay, love you’

‘Love you too’

I would have to be careful but first I had something important to do .I met Lena at a Mistress’ dungeon where she was assisting. Lena was a small slim East European blonde with a fantastic figure and a flirty, dirty expression. I arranged a shoot with her at the dungeon which consisted of the traditional torture chamber and a very pleasant living room area. We started taking photos on the white leather sofa in the living room and Lena was very sexy, grinding around, flirting with the camera, and moaning softly.

Then we moved into the dungeon room where Lena became much more excited, I put some bondage collars and cuffs on her and her eyes lit up when I fixed her to the large chair that was the main feature of the room. After taking some photographs I released Lena and put her into a bent over position. Lena asked me in her broken accent if there was anything special I’d like her to do and I’d taken full advantage of her compliance.

We’d tried going to a club together but Lena was one of those party animals who liked to take ecstasy for a club and would spend the rest of the evening rushing from pillar to post in a drunken high. I couldn’t keep up, soon lost her, and had no idea how she’d ended the night. Not the sort of date I was fond of so I didn’t ask her again. She’d let slip at one point that she knew some guys who gave her all the E she wanted so maybe if I called her she’d be willing to get me in touch with them.

However there was no way she’d be up and about this early in the day and I needed some fortification. So what better way to pass the time than to fill up with a full English breakfast.

For those unfamiliar with this most English of breakfasts it consists of a variety of items from a simple menu and is available from any number of cafes located near any place where working men can be found. Your choice of sausage, egg, bacon, black pudding, chips, beans, toms, and mushrooms accompanied by two slices of toast and a cup of tea, freshly cooked and all for a bargain price.

If you’re looking for the best of one of these culinary delights then you need to choose a ‘caf’ that’s not too new and doesn’t have shiny plastic seats like a chicken hut or burger joint. Somewhere with décor that’s past its prime and well-worn but clean tables. There should be a couple of people in the caf reading the dreadful daily tabloids that we get in Britain while they wait for their food. Go up to the counter, order you food and sit down, once it’s cooked a plain waitress will deliver it to your table. Enjoy.

Fuelled up and ready to do some investigative work it was finally time to call Lena. I looked up her number and called from the payphone in the café, pumping coins into it as we talked. I really need to get a mobile phone! Lena’s accent was really think and it always took me a couple of minutes to tune into it before I could grasp everything she said properly. I explained what was happening and how I need to speak to her.

‘Hokay’ she said ‘komm pick me up’


‘I need drive. Komm pick me up. Then we spick’

I worked out where she was and went to pick her up after a quick trip home to grab a spare helmet. When I arrived at her East London flat she was dressed in jeans and a light leather jacket and was ready to go, if still a bit sleepy. She had a small hard flight case with her which I tied to the bike rack. We hopped on board and headed for the dungeon of one Mistress M where Lena sometimes helped out and sometimes did a bit of dominatrix work. It was all the way acorss London in Kingston so I settled in for a long ride.

It’s actually quite thrilling riding across London with a hot petite blonde snuggled so tightly up against your back that you can feel every breath she takes and every move she makes. Lena’s hands had tucked themselves into my pcokets and were inches away from getting me into trouble with my girlfriend.

Eventually we made it to Kingston after sweeping down dual carriageways and up past Richmond park. Mistress M’s dungeon was discreetly tucked away in the penthouse apartment of a block of flats in the middle of Kingston, just a minute’s walk from the shops and station. I’d been here before back when I’d been photographing Lena and it was kind of cool to be ensconced in a kinky haven up to naughty games while the shoppers plodded around mere yards away.

I introduced myself to Mistress M, who was a stacked brunette with a sultry French accent. She was already dressed in her finest dominatrix outfit which consisted of a tight knee length leather skirt, killer ball crushing heels, and a House of Harlot rubber top that turned her already ample cleavage into a gravity defying canyon of soft tanned flesh.

Lena had disappeared somewhere with her case so I assumed she was getting dressed. Mistress M told me that she had a client expected to turn up any minute and asked me to go hide in the living room with the white sofa that featured so much in the last photo shoot.

‘Hoy. Komm here’ Lena said, leaning out of the bathroom a twinkle in her eye.

I got up and paced over to her ‘What’s up?’

‘I need help mister.’ With one hand she was clutching a rubber minidress (which was, naturally, in traditional pervy black) to her chest and with the other she was waving a pair of strappy heels that were tangled up with set of leather straps. Other than that she was entirely nude.

‘Fix dis’ she said passing me the tangle of shoes and straps. As I tried to work out how to separate them she stepped into the dress, wiggled it over her hips, and slipped her arms into the shoulder straps.

She cast a glance my way ‘Hoy. Get on wiv it’ she said with a smile as I realised that I’d been ogling her. I’d forgotten just how smoking hot she was.

I finally extracted the heels and passed them to her while I tried to figure out what the straps were for. It took a moment but once I’d got them the right way up they were revealed as the fancy harness for a strapon, although the actual dildo was missing which was why it had taken me so long to work out what it was.

I held the harness out for Lena and she quickly hopped into it tightening the clasps with the familiarity of long practice.

‘How do I look?’ she said holding her arms up in a diva pose.


She grinned and sashayed past me, the soft skirt of the minidress accentuating her gyrating walk. She cast one look back to check her effect on me and then strode into the dungeon with a businesslike motion.

Moments later the bell rang and I sat down to wait out the session next door. The next hour was punctuated with various groans, moans, and screams as their client was put through his paces. After a particularly long series of escalating squeals Lena returned, using a wet wipe to clean off the particularly large dildo attached to her harness.

‘Yowch, that must have stung’

Lena laughed ‘He cry like girl at end’. I laughed back.

‘Hokay. First drink, then talk’

Lena slipped out of the harness and sauntered over to the kitchen area. Poking around she found a bottle of wine and two glasses.

‘You want drink?’ she asked and I shook my head. ‘Plenty for me then’ she said pouring a brimming glass. She grabbed a purse, walked across the room, leant over with her back to me to put her glass down on the low glass coffee table and then flopped down onto the sofa, her legs splayed.

‘Talk’ she said as she lit a cigarette.

I explained the situation again and how I thought it might be related to the selling of ecstasy, asking her for help in finding someone who might know a bit more about what was going on behind the scenes.

While I explained Lena downed most of her glass of wine, finished her cigarette, and relaxed into the sofa. Eventually I wound down as I realised that she wasn’t really listening any more.

‘Hokay. I know some guys. I ask them’ she said.


‘First you gots to do somefink for me’

‘Anything’ I replied as Mistress M stepped into the room.

‘We have another customer in five minutes darling.’ she said to Lena ‘Could you wear the nurses outfit for this one please.’

Lena giggled ‘Hokay. No problem. Hey you.’ she said, pointing at me ‘Help me put dress on’

Lena got up and pulled a surprising variety of flimsy underwear and racy costumes from her case. After selecting a matching set she opened sent me up the spiral staircase to the upper level of the sitting room where a rack of outfits was discreetly tucked away. I found the pale green rubber nurses outfit manufactured by Skin Two she directed me to and brought it down for her.

Meanwhile Lena had slipped out of the minidress and into a set of white lacy underwear with a matching suspender belt and white stockings. I helped her into the dress and zipped it up at the front while she put up her hair and fastened the hat to it with some clips.

The bell rang and Lena gave me a peck on the cheek and squeezed my arm. ‘Hokay blue eyes. Wait here. Don’t get trouble.’

I sat down again and waited out the session, fixing myself a cup of tea from the mini kitchen. This client was considerably quieter than the last except for one hiss of pain just before the end. Once he’d left Mistress M rapidly announced that she was going out for lunch and didn’t offer to let Lena or I join her which I thought was a bit strange.

Lena must have noticed my funny look ‘It hokay’ she said lighting another cigarette ‘I ask her to leave us alone’. She rummaged around her purse for a moment and then licked her finger.

‘Now it time for you to help me’

‘Okay, no problem’

‘Come here’ she said walking to the dungeon.

I followed her, wondering what she was up to.

‘Sit’ she said pointing at the throne that dominated the dungeon.

I sat down while Lena switched on some music with a low pulsating beat. Immediately she launched into a slow gyrating dance, her hips swivelling and grinding, her chest beating up and down.

Slowly she unpeeled her rubber outfit, first one shoulder then the other as she stared into my eyes. She slid it down her body revealing the lacy translucent bra and then over her hips to let me see the tiny white thong that covered her crotch. Taking two steps closer she danced right in front of me.

‘Wh..’ I started to say but Lena put a hand to my mouth, ‘Shhh’ she growled.

I was starting to worry if I was in trouble here. I was getting very turned on by Lena’s dancing and I’m pretty sure Lamb would definitely not approve of the situation but I really needed to get hold of Lena’s friends so that I could find out what had happened to Helena.

Lena swirled round and unhooked her bra, she turned back to face me, her hands holding the bra in place and covering her chest. As the music changed to a slow beat she slid them down to reveal her fantastic pert breasts and stiff nipples. Leaning forward she placed her hands on my shoulders and leant in to me bringing her boobs inches from my face.

‘Kiss me’ she ordered

I paused for a moment. ‘I can’t’ I said ‘I have a girlfriend’

‘I don’t mind. Kiss me. Kiss me now.’ She said as she lowered herself to straddle my lap ‘We can fuck one time. Nobody know.’ She looked into my eyes, licker her lips, and spoke again ‘I like you and I need fuck with you. Don’t you like me? You say you do anything so enjoy fuck with me.’

‘Oh Lena’ I said, my cock throbbing with need, ‘I really do like you and I really would like to make love to you but I just can’t betray my girlfriend. She’s really nice and sweet and doesn’t deserve it.’

‘You call girlfriend, tell her to come watch. Is she pretty? Maybe I can fuck her?’

‘I don’t think she’d be into that, she’s still pretty new to the scene.’

‘Listen blue eyes, I need fuck. All morning I work waiting for fuck with you.’ She squeezed my stiff crotch with her hand ‘You like me. You want fuck me. I know it so either fuck or go.’

‘But I need your help’

‘You want help, I want fuck. This last chance. Make up mind.’

Finally inspiration struck ‘Look Lena’ I said ‘ I really can’t have sex with you, but maybe I can do something else. What do you like? Do you like spanking?’ A spanking I could explain away if I needed to, it was hardly sexual at all.

‘No I don’t want spank. I want sex’ then a wicked gleam came into her eyes ‘Hokay, I know. I want watch you. I watch you and you watch me.’

‘Watch me what?’

‘Watch you touch self while I touch myself. Not touch each other, touch self.’

I could live with this, it’d be no worse than watching some porn, or a risqué stage show at TG. ‘Okay’

‘Hoookay’ Lena said with an evil grin ‘Kom here and lie down. Wait, get undress first.’

I took off my clothes as Lena rummaged around in the dungeon supply cupboard. ‘Hah’ she cried pulling out a large dildo ‘Dis be good.’

She stuck the dildo, which had a suction cup on its base, to the full length mirror which dominated one wall of the dungeon. It stuck out obscenely looking like a double ended cock floating in mid-air.

‘Kom here, lie down here’ Lena said, guiding me into a position on the floor with my head directly under the dildo. She stepped out of her thong and took position above me, one high heeled foot on either side of my hips.

‘Look at me’ she said, starting to gyrate her hips in time to the sultry music. I watched as she brought herself down to a kneeling position over me one beat at a time, her hips circling above me. She would quickly lift alternate shoulders with the music, causing her firm little breasts to jiggle and sway.

She straddled my hips, her weight pressing onto me, the heat of her pussy on my belly. The tip of my cock was not touching her but could be no more than an inch from her tight little arse. Lena kept eye contact with me, never looking away. She ran her hands down her body, teasing her nipples between her fingers to stiffen them then sweeping across her hard stomach. Her hands journeyed back up, slower this time, and while one hand stayed to stroke her breast with the other she slipped two fingers into her mouth and licked around them as they slid in and out.

She took those fingers out and slipped them into her pussy as I watched. A few strokes later she was beginning to breathe heavily as she worked their whole length into herself. I slipped my hand between us and started to stroke myself too, watching her every movement.

Lena looked down at what I was doing ‘Wait’ she said ‘Wait for me, is more.’ Then, she leant forward, put one arm against the mirror to support herself, and opened her lips to take the tip of the dildo into her mouth. Her fingers moved to her clit and started rubbing faster while she swallowed the full length of the dildo, the tip of her nose pressing against the glass of the mirror. Within moments her hips twitched and a muffled groan issued from her.

She slipped the dildo out of her mouth, eased her fingers from her pussy and stood up on shaky legs. A smile played across her face ‘Now for fuck’ she said and turned around. Backing up to the mirror she took hold of the wet dildo. I had a perfect view as she guided it into her dripping pussy. In the mirror it looked like twins fucking each other with a double ended dildo. Lena pushed back until her bottom touched the mirror, the thick rubber cock impaling her pussy and filling it to the limit.

Lena grunted with effort and I saw that she was supporting her weight by a chain from the ceiling, her hands clasping it and the chain wrapped round her wrists. She bent her head down to look at me.

‘Now is your turn’ she said ‘go slow. I watch’

I took hold of my rigid cock and started stroking it. Seconds later Lena matched my motion with her body, sliding up and down on the dildo. We kept in time, getting faster stroke by stroke.

‘I wanna see you come!’ Lena gasped and redoubled her efforts. Matching her, I pounded away, the ticklish feeling of being about to come building rapidly. Lena started grunting with each breath as her orgasm built. Her eyes wide open and transfixed on mine. All at once I came, my hips lifting from the floor, jism jetting into the air. Moments later Lena shuddered and came, her sweat dripping down her thighs and soaking into her stocking tops.

Lena extracted herself from the chains and dildo and collapsed next to me, her hand clasping mine. ‘Good fuck’ she sighed.

We lay there for a couple of minutes, eyes closed, cooling down. Then I started to worry. I needed to clean up, call Lamb to make sure she was okay, and get out of here before Lena got any more ideas and decided on something I couldn’t talk my way out of. There was a bathroom off the dungeon (it was an incredibly well appointed place) so I hopped into the shower. Lena got up and watched me quietly, leaning casually against the wall. She said nothing as I dried off and got dressed.

Back in the living room Lena dropped onto the sofa and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke at me.

‘I call my friends later’ she said, her accent markedly clearer ‘Call me tomorrow’.

‘You okay for good guy, blue eyes. Now go, I got to work.’ She said waving me off with her fingers.

I headed home, worrying all the way. Lamb would go apeshit if I told her about this, but with my track record she was bound to find out about it. I was getting somewhere with my investigation but I needed at least another day to find out more so after my morning routine I phoned the office again, I needed to be brief and to the point, Lamb  mustn’t get any idea that something was wrong.

‘Morning, it’s me, who’s that?’

‘Hey hun it’s me’

‘Hey sweetie. Listen, I’m still feeling sick and I need to take another day off work’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I think I have a cold’

‘Alright, well wrap up warm and drink plenty of fluids’

‘I will. Love you’

‘Love you too’

Now I had the rest of the day clear. I just needed to hear from Lena and then follow up on whatever her friends told me. I was pretty damn sure that it would be down to the drugs. Ecstasy was the pill of choice on the clubbing scene and fortunes were made in its supply and distribution.

As I said before the problem with drugs is that they’re illegal, this means that you can only get them from dealers and dealers are the pretty face on a huge world of crime. Dealers, when you meet them, appear to be pretty amiable folk, happy to sell you a bit of gear at the going rate with no questions asked, they might be criminals but they’re a very light sort, hardly appearing disreputable at all. However dealers have to get their goods from suppliers and the suppliers of drugs are serious criminals because they have to get their drugs from smugglers and distributors which is organized crime and organized crime is more than capable of putting people like Helena, who say no to drugs in their place, out of commission, permanently if need be.

I also had a pretty good idea of who was behind this. There was an up and coming club which was in cahoots with Tony, Helena’s vicious little ex. The money they were burning had to come from somewhere, because frankly, I’d seen them and they didn’t look like they were prime thinkers or movers. But money can get you a lot of places where talent alone can’t.

By the time I got home I was shagged out. Too much thinking about problems I couldn’t fix combined with a long ride across London and some frantic wanking left me with no option but to veg out in front of the telly. I bunged on a video of Blade Runner and let its soothing familiarity ease my mind into a doze.

I woke to the buzzing of the doorbell and staggered downstairs to find Lamb on the doorstep looking cute in her work clothes.

‘Hey honey’ she said

‘Uheyuhowareyouhoney’ I mumbled

‘Something up with the bike?


‘Your bike, you don’t have the cover on it’ she said pointing at my bike which I’d left in its usual spot but hadn’t covered up after I’d got home.

‘Huh. Forgot’ I said, dragging the cover out from behind the door. ‘Gimme a min’

I put the cover on the bike while Lamb waited patiently by the door and my brain booted itself into wakefulness.

‘I brought hot lemon for you and I thought we might have a Chinese’ said Lamb, being astonishingly perky for someone who’d spent the week dealing with uptight bosses and surly software developers. Her uplifting presence was just what I needed to get me away from worrying about things I had no control over. So I ordered food to be delivered, put a rom-com in the video player and we sat down together on the sofa.

‘Ooh you stink’ said Lamb, her cute nose wrinkled ‘Go have a shower smelly man’

I have no idea what she could smell but did as requested. So for the third time that day I hopped in the shower and cleaned up. The food arrived shortly thereafter and we settled in for a quiet evening.

‘Wake up sleepyhead I have to go’ said Lamb, wiggling out from under my arm ‘I’m going to see my mum first thing tomorrow so I can’t stay, but I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon so go to bed and get some sleep.’ I walked her to the door and we kissed goodnight.

In the morning I worked on the website while waiting for Lena to call. I didn’t hear from here but I did get a call from Valentina.

I had met Valentina Wylde at the LFF a while ago, she sells extremely stylish handmade Italian leatherwear, jeans for men, and coats and jackets for women, all made from the most exquisitely soft leather you can imagine, smooth like freshly washed and moisturised skin, squidgy like a really good carpet, and simply beautiful to the senses.

From this material of the gods Valentina creates made to measure clothes that turn even the unsightly into lookers, and on the average person they work miracles. I had wanted a pair of Valentina’s jeans since the moment I had seen them.

It was after my photography was becoming better known that I got the chance to get hold of a pair of jeans. I’d shown her my portfolio a couple of weeks ago and asked if she wanted any shots of her clothes.

Valentina called to say that she liked my photographs and asked me over to discuss shooting some catalogue shots of her clothes. So I took down the address, grabbed my camera bag, fired up the bike and zoomed off.

Valentina’s workshop is hidden deep in South East London, through an arch, down an alley, up a flight of stairs, and first door on the left. On entering I was enticed by an intense aroma of leather.

The workshop was also a living space, with a bedroom upstairs, kitchen down a little corridor, and living space to one side. Valentina owned a beautiful piece of wood used as a table. It was the root of a tree, all knotted and twisted, which jad been turned upside down, planed flat, and then filled with a thick layer of resin to make a flat surface, the clear resin had run off in places making the wood look like it had melted.

Over cups of sweet tea we discussed what she needed for her catalogue. None of it was a problem but I would need to find a model who was an exact size 10 as Valentina’s samples were only available in that size. Fortunately I had recently done a shoot with Elaine who had mentioned that she was a size 10 so I jumped at the opportunity of another shoot, especially as, for payment, Valentina would make me a pair of made to measure jeans.

Feeling quite exuberant I heeded home to await the arrival of my girlfriend. She came over to mine that afternoon as promised, and after a cup of tea and some chat about work and how I’d been feeling she asked me up to the bedroom. As I walked up the stairs behind her watching her hips sway I was thinking of only one thing. We sat down on the bed and she turned to me.

‘I just don’t see this working’


‘I can’t commit to a relationship now so I think we should just be friends’

‘You’re dumping me?’

The rest of the conversation was just a blur, my heart pounding cold waves through my chest, as I listened in disbelief while Lamb explained gently but firmly that she was leaving me. Eventually she got up, said goodbye, and left.

On the Road

For many years before getting into the fetish scene I commuted through London on a motorbike. I went through seven bikes, had three crashes, and one busted rib. The mental space, discipline, and attitude required to ride a bike transferred very well to the scene and photography.

It’s amazing that anyone makes it through a year, considering just how dangerous riding a bike in London is. You remember the original Star Wars movie where at the end they had to fly down a trench while being shot at by laser cannons and chased by tie fighters? That’s an average day commuting in London. On a bad day Darth Vader has got his sights on you.

Owning a car in London is a waste of time and energy, it’s like swimming with lead weights, or applying a cheese grater to your wedding tackle, painful and pointless. Whereas owning a motorcycle in London is great, zooming past all the idiots in their metal boxes and arriving early wherever you go is exhilarating.

While I was still working at my day job my morning run into town would start in South London; from there it’s about seven or so miles to central London. Depending on where I was working that year there were a number of different routes I took. The first mile or two would be quieter and give me and the bike a chance to wake up and warm up before we hit the traffic. Once on the main arteries heading into London the traffic would be very heavy. Nose to tail cars along all the main routes into town. Bikes weren’t allowed in the bus lanes back then so you had two choices: sit behind a car and wait or filter down the middle of the road.

Filtering through heavy traffic on a big bike is where the death star trench run comes in. Wing mirrors fly straight at you before veering aside at the last moment. Your eyes narrow, scanning the path ahead, searching for the next corner, the next opportunity, the next hazard. You’re only rolling along at a piddling ten or twenty miles per hour. This is slow enough to manoeuvre but fast enough to break bones if you make the slightest mistake. At twenty miles an hour your hands are six inches from the cars on either side. The slightest slip will crush your little finger between the bars and a passing wing mirror.

I really feel sorry for the hapless autocommuters as I zoom past them. No wonder some of the more aggressive ones want to try and kill me. I’m free and they’re trapped. And don’t think that they didn’t try, the number of times my progress has been blocked at the last moment by a taxicab or BMW driver deliberately swerving to close a gap is innumerable.

Primate survival instincts perverted by metropolitan life, surrounded on all sides, going nowhere, the average car driver is the slightest provocation away from all-encompassing rage. No wonder then that they see the average biker as a suitable target to vent their frustration on. They’re in an anonymous armoured box and the biker is naked and vulnerable in comparison. The biker is not one of them; the biker is _other_, a rule breaker to be punished. Crush him with your car, drive him beneath your wheels, and hear the lamentations of his women. These are the best things in life.

There are so many hazards to watch out for: grit and rubbish on the road that will make you slip, suicidal pedestrians trying to cross the road in between vans where they have no line of sight, cyclist veering left and right without warning. The most deadly of all are cars doing sudden U turns without warning or indication. A car will pull out of traffic and block your path in a second or so, leaving you a mere fraction of a second to see it coming, react, and hit the brakes before you run into them.

If you’re lucky they’ll see your lights at the last moment and stop before they’ve completely blocked your path. You can’t veer around them because that will send you straight into the oncoming traffic and certain death, all you can do is brake as quickly as possible.

Filtering in heavy traffic is about as dangerous as it gets on a bike. You have to be supremely alert and aware of every potential danger. I did that for an hour or so every weekday, for ten years.

The journey in would leave me alert and ready for work, fresh air and adrenalin doing the job of a dozen cups of tea. The return to home in the evening was simply a reverse of the journey in. Starting with heavy traffic and then gradually easing off, by the time I got close to home I could blast the bike a little on the quiet roads. My head would be clear again and I would be free of work worries. Those clear Zen moments at the end of the working day would more than compensate for the danger and difficulty of riding a bike in London.

The first bike I used for commuting was a Honda CB650, which was a UJMC, short for Universal Japanese Motorcycle. A UJMC is a normal motorcycle, not readily distinguishable from any number of other similar bikes; it has no fairing, little styling, and is just a plain sit up and beg motorcycle. It drove very nicely though, was reliable, cheap, and got me around and about.

I can’t understand what it is with some people, they spend their entire lives in boxes; born in a box shaped hospital, taught everything they know in a box shaped school, living their lives in a tiny boxy house, working every day in a big boxy office, and travelling to and from each of their big boxes in the little metal box with four wheels! They’re never outside for more than the time it takes to transfer from one box to another, they never see the sky except through a window, never feel the air, and never smell the atmosphere.

I soon upgraded to a Suzuki GSXR750R (1985 version) which I bought from Bat Motorcycles in South Norwood. It was a Japanese import which meant it had a speedo in kilometres per hour and a special light that came on when you went over the Japanese national speed limit of 60mph. On my test ride before buying the bike and blasting up South Norwood Hill the light came on and I panicked, thinking the engine was about to blow up. That little light annoyed me throughout my ownership of the bike because it would blink on and off as you travelled on the motorway.

The specific kit you need for riding a bike through London is fairly simple; although it took me a number of years to get it right and the exact requirements are different for every biker. I wore the mandatory helmet, a leather jacket, ordinary jeans, leather gloves and motorcycling boots. When it got wet I had two pieces of waterproof clothing to add to the ensemble: a pair of thin waterproof over trousers, and a thin waterproof over jacket that only came out for serious deluges. As I needed to carry all this around I used a magnetic tank bag to put it all in. Later on I got a top box to store things in.

For a helmet I always chose Arai, they’re expensive but worth every penny. I preferred boots that were short and tough and with a waterproof Gore-Tex lining. The specific choice of glove is always difficult. You want thin and light gloves so that you have the best feel through the bars and sensitive control of the levers. At the same time you also want warm and waterproof gloves with plenty of protection in case of a spill. In summer you want gloves that won’t leave your hands dripping with sweat after a ride and in winter you want gloves that won’t leave your fingers numb with cold. Gloves are a problem. Trying to find the right ones I went through more pairs of gloves in the early years than anything else. Eventually I settled on Hein Gericke ‘turtle’ gloves in winter and expensive racing gloves for summer. There was always an alternative option though, you could get those big handlebar muffs and look like a complete wanker.

A couple of years later I upgraded again to my first big bike, a Suzuki GSXR1100WR. This was a serious bike with a lot of horsepower and she brooked no disrespect or lack of attention. I bought a purple one and named her the Purple Monster. I rode this bike for years, getting her tuned, fixing the suspension, and supplementing her with a couple of others until I had my first crash.

My first crash happened because I was in the wrong place. I should have been at Santa Pod enjoying the drag racing but instead I was in central London doing some shopping because my then girlfriend was worried about the weather and had changed her mind at the last minute. So instead of heading up the motorway in the blazing sun to watch high powered cars blast down a quarter mile of smooth tarmac I was plodding around central London putting out flyers and nsweating my arse off in a heavy leather jacket.

I was heading down a one way street following a completely lost tourist. They stopped in the middle of the road and I started to drive around the side. As soon as I got alongside the car the driver set off again, swinging into me and pushing the bike into a post, smashing the front end.

Crashing a bike is not fun. Before you know what’s happening a car is in your way. You hit the brakes hard. Suddenly the world flips over and the road hits you like a wall. For a moment, sliding down the road, there’s nothing but dread. What’s coming is going to hurt like hell. The pain rushes in seconds later. The world is disjointed and shattered. Staggering upright to find out what’s happened to the bike. Vision comes in snapshots, freeze frames of destruction. Your pride and joy is battered and broken, lying the wrong way up in the middle of the road. Somewhere a driver is watching, his car pristine. Other cars rush by heedless of danger.

As you start to piece together what happened the pain comes on in waves. Fractured ribs prevent you from breathing fully just when you most need the air. Scraped knees and elbows scream in protest as you lever two hundred plus kilos of bike to vertical. A distant sense of detachment comes in as if you are watching the world from the sidelines. People speak and you hear them seconds later. The air feels like water as you sink to the bottom of a deep pool.

You don’t want an ambulance. You need to get the bike back home. So you climb back on the bike, arms and legs protesting, and set off again. Fear fills you before you move. You might fall over straightaway. There’s a terrible pain in your stomach. There’s no way you can ride the bike like this. A deep primal instinct to get home drives you on. Slowly and carefully you kick the bike into first gear and let out the clutch. The bike rolls forward and an eternal moment later you’re riding again.

Later on, when the insurance details were being worked out the driver claimed that he never hit me at all. That’s when I learned that if you ride a bike, no matter what, you need a witness to get a fair deal on insurance claims. Riding a bike means that, as far as insurance is involved, you are in the wrong regardless of circumstances. Then again insurance is such a scam, they’re always keen to take your money and then they always come up with a dozen reasons why they can’t pay out when something happens.

The Purple Monster was never the same again, I had to strip off the fairing, trash the lights, and replace them with crappy aftermarket parts. I eventually sold the bike to a relentless Scouser who drove a hard bargain. From that I learned not to deal with people who want to bargain.

I had gone through a couple of other bikes at the same time. After I’d paid off the Purple Monster I picked up a cheap Yamaha XT600 which is an off-road style bike, very tall and with long suspension. I commuted on this a few times but stopped after realising that people didn’t give way to it the way they did to the Purple Monster. The twin headlights and low stance of the GSXR were much more intimidating than the single light and spindly profile of the XT.

So I swapped my XT and a bit of cash for a Yamaha Drag Star in black and chrome. This was a custom cruiser type bike, long and low with comfy seats and wide bars. It got dirty real quick and took a lot of washing to get looking good. It was so low that the foot pegs would scrape the ground on almost every corner and I soon wore down the heels of my boots when riding it. It looked great and sounded cool thanks to some custom pipes and other chrome accessories. A bit wobbly at low speeds and the wide bars made it difficult for commuting too but it was excellent for cruising to clubs on summer nights.

A year or so later, flush with a new well-paying job, I bought my one and only brand new motorcycle, a silver KTM LC4. This was a serious bike, a supermotard capable of racing straight out of the box. This made it the best handling motorcycle I have ever owned and really improved my riding by allowing me to push the envelope, something that my other bikes just didn’t allow for. It came with only one tiny problem, the vibration. The vibration was so strong that after twenty minutes in the saddle my crutch would go numb and the numbness would start to spread from there. Long rides were out of the question. But brilliant for commuting!

Because the KTM was useless for long journeys and the Purple Monster was no longer the fine bike I had originally owned I traded the Drag Star, and a couple of grand in cash, for a nearly new silver Kawasaki ZZR1100. I chose the ZZR because I’d read about one in a novel and it was exactly the sort of bike I liked: long, sleek, fast, and powerful. This was a most excellent bike, I named her Anastasia, after Dan Dare’s spaceship, and she took my on long journeys and even worked well around town, although a touch cumbersome at low speed thanks to her size and weight. Like with the Purple Monster I spent some money on improving the suspension and replacing the exhaust when it rusted through. The ZZR lasted me for a number of years as my fortunes declined. Meanwhile I sold the KTM to buy a new digital camera as the first one I’d bought was starting to show it’s limitations under my improving skills and requirements. Then I sold the Purple Monster to get a laptop so I was back down to just one bike.

At night, London sleeps. This is not a brash young American city running twenty four crushing hours a day. London is an old city and she needs her rest. In the darkness, while she sleeps, there is a chance to really ride. Free of traffic the city breathes easily. With room to manoeuvre riding the bike changes from constant sharp motions to a single flowing move. In traffic you stop and start, left foot touching the road to balance the bike while stationary. At night, once you lift your foot from the road, it will not go down again until journey’s end.

Cool summer nights riding home from a friend’s place are magical times. After midnight the traffic in London has disappeared and the streets are free for your personal use. The engine thrums with contained power. Tyres whisper on tarmac, counterpointed by drumming over white lines. Traffic lights turn green by mystic processes, waving you on. Each roundabout is a chance at the perfect corner. Line up the approach, pull the outside bar to tip the bike in, find the right angle, and squeeze the throttle to launch you out of the corner towards the next. With effortless grace corner after corner leads you along an illuminated path. Zen calm settles and every moment is perfection. Nothing exists other than the rider, the bike, the road, the journey. This is the ultimate peace in motion.

My second crash was another situation where I was out of place. I was running an errand for the club, fetching a box of flyers from the printers, before heading to work. A guy pulled out in front of me and I braked heavily causing the front wheel to lock up, skid, and pitch me over. I landed on my side and fractured a rib. A busted rib means six weeks of sleepless nights and constant pain until it heals enough to be able to get some rest. This time I remembered to make sure I had a witness, fortunately a friend of mine happened to be sitting in their van and saw the whole thing so I got the bike repaired on the insurance.

Soon after getting the ZZR back from the repairers another incident occurred when I was visiting a friend. The ZZR was knocked over by a couple of idiots brawling in the street, smashing the tail end. I chased after one and got his details after he admitted knocking over the bike. Later on I managed to get him to pay for some of the dmaage he did but the ZZR was never pristine after that.

The only time I simply dropped the ZZR was the day after my grandmother died. I had gone to work as normal, preoccupied with thinking about the conversation I’d had with my mother the day before. When I arrived at work I got off the motorcycle as usual and lowered it onto the side stand as usual. The bike fell over on its side because I’d forgotten to put the side stand down.


A Perfect Day

I have had one perfect day in all my life. It was a Saturday and a group of us were headed down to Brighton on our bikes for a sunny blast on the back roads and a rock concert in the evening. We had agreed to meet at a little greasy spoon cafe at Box Hill just outside London. As is my nature I had gotten there early and used the time to grab a bite to eat. The cafe was a regular place for bikers to meet so there were usually a number of people hanging around.

Tucking into my burger and tea I didn’t notice a rather tearful looking young woman at first. She was dressed in black jeans and a green leather biker jacket and had long wavy auburn hair tied into a simple ponytail. She was also wearing a pair of steel heeled cowboy boots which looked both impractical and deadly. I noticed that she was repeatedly looking at her watch and had a worried expression on her face that was turning to panic. Finishing my burger I walked over to her and offered to help ‘Hi is there something wrong, can I help you?’

‘My friend said he’d meet me here and give me a lift but he’s really late and hasn’t called’ she said.

‘Would you like to borrow my phone?’

‘Yes please, mine has no charge’ she replied.

I pulled out my phone and lent it to her, taking a step back to give her some privacy. She dialled a number and spoke briefly to someone on the other end.

Handing my phone back to me the girl said ‘Apparently he forgot that he had to visit his mother today’ in a hurt tone of voice.

‘Where are you headed’ I asked.

‘Up to Brighton, I’m meeting some friends for lunch’ she replied.

‘Well if you can wait a little bit I could give you a lift. A bunch of us are headed that way and I’m sure someone has a spare helmet if you don’t mind riding pillion?’ I said.

‘That would be great, as long as it’s not a bother?’

‘No bother, we just have to wait a bit for my friends to get here, would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked.

‘Yes please’ she said.

I ordered two cups of tea and we sat down to wait. We talked a little about the weather and what we liked about Brighton and pretty soon my friends started turning up and joined in the conversation as I introduced Vanessa to them and explained her situation. Fortunately there was a spare helmet that fitted her well enough and within half an hour or so we were on our way.

Vanessa sat closely behind me her belly against my back and her hands gripping my jacket around my waist, we had found a pair of gloves for her but they were quite thin so she tucked her hands  into the space between the bike and me and held on tightly. ‘Just relax and go with the bike’ I told her ‘it’s easy once you get into it’. While my friends roared off on their bikes, eager in the great riding weather, I set off gently to give Vanessa a chance to get used to the ride.

As we picked up speed I could feel Vanessa’s breathing through her belly where it pressed against my back, quickly at first but more relaxed later on. The sensation was very intimate and I felt as if we were as close as we would be if we were making love. Picking up the pace a little I caught up with my friends and we barrelled along the A roads down to Brighton, the sun shining, the weather not too warm, our motorcycles working well on the open roads. It was a magical hour on the bike, one of those special journeys where the traffic mixes perfectly and you are not slowed, overtaking smoothly at all the right places, no dangerous blind corners, no caravans or egotistical executives trying to wipe you off the road.

It’s hard to believe, when you’re sitting indoors watching the rain against the window that a better day will come along. But sooner or later the rain will stop, the roads will dry out, and the sun will shine. Then is the time to take to the open road, to hear the roar of the engine and the whisper of tyres on tarmac. Get away from the motorways and their queues of cars and explore the bends and dips of the land, feel the wind flowing by as you settle into a long curve, the suspension settling, the tyres gripping, gravity pulling down and the throttle pushing up.

This was the perfect ride, the bike eloquent on the corners and fierce on the straights, each turn perfectly executed from turn in to apex and out, no wasted motion just a state of smoothness that lasted for moments then minutes and stretched out to hours. The landscape flowed past, hedges, walls, and signs blurred with speed, eyes fixed on the vanishing point ahead.

Vanessa’s thighs gripped my hips as she leant with the bike, not straining to stay upright like some pillions who were scared of the road rushing past beneath them. I was last in a conga line of motorcycles, almost touching nose to tail as we slowed down and then opening up, the lead riders rushing ahead to seek out the next opportunity for cornering.

Cars crept by on the inside, for once not blocking our way, each one overtaken smoothly and swiftly without incident, nothing interrupting our progress. Eventually we came to the coast road and opened up the bikes on the dual carriageway, hitting a hundred miles an hour within moments, the road vanishing beneath us as we rushed headlong to the sea shore.

As we entered the town we became scattered, exiting the state of motorcycling grace that had fallen upon us, the chaos and hubbub of the town traffic breaking us like the land breaks the waves. We became choppy and human once more. Nothing again would compare to that one ride, a single motion covering fifty miles in one step, the time vanishing into a Zen state of ultimate biking bliss. We had ascended to Nirvana and been blessed with illumination. All was right in the world.

It was something that a car driver would never have, locked away in their metal boxes, four wheeled coffins carrying them from cradle to grave, never breathing the air of freedom that was found on the back of a bike. I pitied them for their loss.

We arrived at the pier in Brighton and parked out bikes facing the sea, all in a neat little row to mark our perfect riding. We were all removing leathers, stretching our legs, and locking our bikes when Vanessa spoke to me.

‘That was great but I have to get going. It was really nice to meet you’ she said.

‘Thanks, you were a great pillion, hope you enjoyed the ride’ I said.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry but I have to go, I’m already really late and my friends will be worried’ Vanessa said.

‘Will you be okay from here?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it’s just a little ways away’ she replied, turning to indicate where she was headed. ‘I hope you have a nice day with your friends’


‘Okay, bye then’ she said and before I knew what happened she leaned in and kissed me on the lips, not just a quick peck but a proper kiss, before she turned to go. I stood there speechless as she walked away.

‘Hey Vanessa’ I cried out, and she turned to look back, pausing in mid-stride.

‘Do you want to meet up later?’ I said, cringing at the lame line.

‘I can’t’ she said her smile losing its intensity, ‘I’m busy all afternoon, sorry’

‘Well we’re all going to the concert tonight; do you want to come with us? I mean me; do you want to come with me? To the concert, tonight at the pavilion?’ I said.

Smiling again, she replied ‘I’ll see if my friends want to go, maybe’

Smiling again, she replied ‘I’ll see how things go this afternoon, maybe’

‘Okay… I’ll see you there then?’

‘Sure. Have a nice day, bye’ she said as she left.

I stood there feeling like an idiot while around me my friends joked with one another and grumbled about needing a cup of tea. Vanessa had kissed me and I’d let her walk away. Why didn’t I at least ask her for her number? I locked my bike and trudged after my friends, hoping that she would be able to make it to the concert tonight. Maybe she kissed everyone like that and it was nothing special, maybe I was misinterpreting, but it had felt like it meant something.

It had been just after four o’clock when we arrived and we had only a little left time to explore the lanes. We stuck to the northern end where the bias was towards piercings, tattoos, and Goth. The very end of the lanes was dominated by a neo-Victorian empire called Arkham, where icons of the old gods stood watch over steampunk contrivances.

I continued to alternately rejoice and worry throughout the afternoon, spoiling what would otherwise have been a splendid afternoon. Everywhere I looked were reflections of Vanessa. A girl in a green jacket. A girl with the exact same tone of hair. A laugh that sounded like her, just round the corner. I love the little shops that you find in the lanes of Brighton. All manner of frivolous goods are available from jewellery to scarves, comics to guitars, pretty much every amusement is represented.

Towards the end of the afternoon my spirits lifted in a surge of optimism, I was sure that Vanessa would make it to the concert. Our group found a waffle and pancake house and we settled down to fuel ourselves for the evening to come.

‘Remember that girl I gave a lift to from this morning?’ I said over the table.

‘The redhead?’

‘Yes, how many girls do you think I can get on my bike?’

‘The one who borrowed my helmet you mean?’

‘That’s her yes’

‘Where is my helmet anyway? You didn’t give it back to me’

‘I though she gave it to you?’

‘No. Don’t tell me you haven’t got it…’

I started to panic. Where was the helmet? It would be bad enough to be smitten by a cute girl but stupid to have let her steal a helmet. Fortunately another friend came to my rescue.

‘Relax dude, I’ve got it locked on my bike’

I breathed a sigh of relief ‘Okay, so the girl who didn’t take your helmet, she kissed me when we got off the bikes before she left and I didn’t ask her for her number because I was standing there like an idiot’

‘Kissed you? You mean like a peck on the cheek right?’

‘No I mean a proper kiss, like a date kiss’

‘Right, because girls kiss you all the time’

‘Hey! I get my share of action guys’ I said

‘But your share is a lot less than ours’

‘Let’s not get on that again please.’ I said ‘What I wanted to say was that I asked her to the concert tonight, do you think she’ll come?’

Naturally they were all very helpful by explaining to me just how unlikely that was and how there was no way such a pretty girl would be without a boyfriend, even if she did kiss me. As I tried to refute them my morale started to slip again. she had been waiting for a guy to come and pick her up after all, he was probably her boyfriend. Maybe she thought that the kiss was payment for the ride rather than the gift I thought it was, maybe she had forgotten the whole thing already and was laughing about it with her friends right now, imagining the silly biker boy wandering the town in a haze of love.

I finished the meal in a slump, talking about it to my friends had put me right off, so I wandered off on my own after dinner, promising to meet them by the pavilion in a short while. I walked down to the end of the pier and stood looking out over the calm sea my thoughts anything but. I’d made plenty of mistakes with girls in the past and I was no great catch after all. I had thought there was chemistry but it was much likelier to be imagination. Things like that just didn’t happen to me.

Putting my jacket on against the cooling breeze I walked back down the promenade to the pavilion where my friends were waiting for me. They had moved their bikes while I was wandering around, parking them in a ragged line outside the pavilion, so I had to walk back and fetch mine too. It’s very tempting, when you know you’re only going to be on the bike for a minute or less, to just forego the helmet and gloves and take the ride with the wind in your face.

But I had seen too many silly accidents to fall for the temptation, guys who just moved their bike across the road and were knocked over by a boy racer coming round a corner too fast, girls in bikinis who had hopped on the back of a bike only to fall off and scour their skins with gravel when the rider did an unexpectedly fast start. They say that there are only old bikers and bold bikers; there are no old and bold bikers. I’d been bold enough for this day, it was time to ride sensibly.

Once I’d locked up the bike the group of us went into the venue and grabbed some drinks, no alcohol for us as we would be riding back later and it’s a stupid idea to ride a bike when you’ve had a drink, especially at night and the winding road back to London. We stood around, my friends admiring the local talent, while we waited for the support band to come on. We were dreadfully uncool as we’d turned up almost an hour before the support act came on and the venue was almost empty.

An hour later, as the support act was setting up their instruments and taping playlists to speakers the venue had filled out. Thanks to our unsophisticatedly early arrival we had grabbed prime spots just in front of the stage.

The support act struck up on their first song and out sauntered Vanessa onto the stage in her steel heeled cowboy boots. She had swapped the jeans and jacket for ripped leggings and a sexy dress and had her hair up but it was definitely the girl I’d given a lift to this morning. Even her voice was familiar as she launched into the first song.

Once they’d gotten a few songs under their belt Vanessa spoke to the audience ‘The next song is dedicated to my knight in shining armour who saved the day today, without him I wouldn’t have made it here. I know you’re out there and you know who you are so come see me after our set. There’s a backstage pass waiting for you’

She was special, her band was good even though they were only the supporting act, and after their set I went backstage to meet Vanessa and we spent the rest of the evening together watching the main band and then taking in the after party. It was a magical night, full of promise, and the heady intoxication of unexpected love.

Fred and Ginger

I first saw Fred and Ginger at our formal event; they had both come in matching black tie tuxedos. Fred was tall and willowy with, brown eyes, long soft black hair, and a cute upturned nose, Ginger was a slim redhead with blue eyes, a nice figure, and short curly copper hair.

The evening was very busy and I only saw Fed and Ginger as they came in and then much later on as the night was ending. They were curled up together on one of the sofas near the bar, their eyes closed, practically asleep. They were so cute that I fell in love with them at that instant.

Loath to disturb their cute sleepiness I watched them for a while as I took a drink at the bar. Eventually they stirred and I gave them a moment to recover before going over. I had had time while at the bar to work out what I was going to say to them.


‘Hello’ replied Ginger

‘I couldn’t help noticing how cute you both were and was wondering if you’d like to pose for our next flyer?’

Ginger looked at Fred and then back at me

‘Okay’ she said ‘what do we have to do?’

‘Give me a number I can get you on, the shoot will be next week on Saturday at Oz’s place, he’s the guy in the wheelchair’ I said pointing at Oz and the group of women surrounding him ‘the theme is camouflage so if you have any camo gear you can bring that. What do you think?’

‘That sounds like fun’ said Ginger ‘we can do that, right?’ she said looking at Fred

‘Yes’ said Fred, and smiled.

As usual the shoot was hectic, Oz had organised four other girls to pose for us and along with their friends, Oz’s usual household, and my photography kit, his place was packed to the brim. Not only was the place pack but we were going to be bodypainting everyone in camouflage patterns so there was a mass of paint pots, sponges, cups of water, towels, and tissues cluttering up the flat. Everyone paired off to sort out the body painting and I wangled a way to partner with Fred who I’d had the hots for ever since I saw her even though Ginger reminded me so much of a girl I’d had a total crush on when I was in sixth form.

Following Oz’s instructions all the models stripped down to their knickers. I never cease to amaze at how people would follow his every instruction and I could see him hiding a look of glee at all the naked girls in the room. Fred was pale and slender with slim breasts and small dark nipples. I wetted the sponge and rubbed it in the paint pot, picking up a portion of orange paint.

‘Ready’ I said and Fred nodded, raising her hair and in so doing lifting her breasts to make them even more pert. I swallowed and started applying the paint to her side in random splodges, wiping the sponge across her skin to lay the paint on it. I alternated orange black and white and eventually most of Fred’s lower torso was covered and I headed up to cover her neck and then breasts.

As I applied the paint to Fred’s breasts her nipples tightened and she breathed heavier. I had to use three different colours and each time I rubbed the sponge across her nipple Fred let out a little breath.

Once all the body paint was applied and dried out I started taking photographs of each of the girls and then in groups. Oz was constantly making suggestions as to how the girls could pose with each other, always persuading them to go further than I would have ever thought they would. Many of the group shots ended up too spicy for us to print on our flyers but I managed to calm Oz down enough to get some tame shots we could use.

Afterwards all the girls crowded into the shower together and helped wash each other down. Fred and Ginger got an enthusiastic shout from Oz as they lingered over the washing, holding each other close and kissing.

I talked with Fred and Ginger after the shoot and we discovered that we had a number of things in common like our enthusiasm for games, role playing, art, drama, and dressing up. I asked them if they’d consider posing for more flyers and they agreed. They asked me if I’d like to come over for dinner sometime soon and I agreed.

Unfortunately for them they had to head back to their flat in North London as it was getting late. Unfortunately for me I only had a motorbike so couldn’t even give them a lift home. Oz made sure they had free tickets for the next couple of events and drove them and the other girls without transport to the station while I headed home to review the photos and design the latest flyer.

Within a few days I arranged to visit Fred and Ginger and a week later I turned up at their place. Their rented flat was packed with books, games, and artworks. A large glass tank housed three lizards and two cats roamed the place. Knotwork sheets hung on the walls adding a splash of colour to the plain walls. It was clean and tidy though, despite the amount of stuff that Fred and Ginger possessed. As someone who had a lot of stuff I was always battling against the creeping tide of clutter so I appreciated that they’d made an effort.

The three of us talked over a lovely fish and rice dinner and then talked some more as the evening progressed. We covered all our favourite subjects with enthusiasm. Eventually, having gotten comfortable, we started to talk about clubbing, kink, and the fetish scene. Fred and Ginger had heard of my website and were very impressed at what I’d made out of it. They had gone to a number of clubs with friends and others but never gotten far into the scene, preferring to observe from a safe distance rather than get into a scene with a stranger who might not respect their limits.

Of the two of them Fred was the one who was mostly submissive, she was also bisexual, and more experienced than Ginger who was the dominant one and had only realised a while ago that she was into girls after a number of unfulfilling relationships with boys. Fred was not her first female lover but she was her first female partner and I could see that they were still in the early stages of being together.

Fred, Ginger, and I spent a lot of time together over the next few months. I would show them round the more esoteric shops in Camden as I distributed flyers and they would make me dinner and be charming hosts. I still lusted after them both but held back, charmed by their growing relationship and unwilling to try to break into it to satisfy my desires.

They would model a number of times for flyers and became regulars at the club, slowly expanding their comfort zone and settling into a play style that suited them. They accompanied me to other events where I was taking photographs and got to see a lot of the scene. My reputation also grew thanks to their beautiful presence at my side.

One hot weekend afternoon that summer we went swimming. The local sports centre near to Fred and Ginger had a sauna and pool with an all in one price. Fred and Ginger had been before and invited me this time. We walked the mile or so the the sports centre, chatting about this and that on the way.

We went in, paid, and got changed. Fred and Ginger were wearing teeny weeny bikinis that revealed more than then concealed and I was quite impressed with their look. Ginger wanted to hit the sauna first as she was feeling stiff across her shoulders.

We went in and sat down in the hot air, we were lucky in that the place was almost empty apart from a short haired woman in a one piece swimsuit. Fred laid down on the bench putting her feet in Ginger’s lap for a foot rub.

‘Can you massage my shoulders please?’ said Ginger to me.

I’ve had quite a lot of experience at massaging as Dawn desired them constantly so I sat down behind her and put my hands on her slender shoulders. I worked my hands in circles across the flesh of her upper back, starting at the nape of her neck and slowly working outwards and then downwards.

Ginger soon relaxed, letting her head drift down and closing her eyes. Fred looked up as Ginger stopped working on her feet and smiled at the two of us then got up and off the bench. Fred kneeled down in front of Ginger and took hold of her hands, slowly massaging them from wrist to the tips of the fingers.

I noticed that the other woman in the sauna was watching us now, her skin shining with sweat, her eyes bright and intensely focused on the three of us. When she saw me notice her attention she grimaced and then smiled clearly embarrassed that I had caught her looking. She got up and left the sauna, still watching us.

With Fred and my hands working on Ginger she was soon a puddle of soft flesh and hot skin, the sweat glistening on her thighs and arms. Fred leant in and kissed her deeply. Fred’s hands took hold of Ginger’s waist and I massaged her neck slowly and smoothly.

I could feel Ginger leaning into the kiss through the muscles of her neck as they shifted and tensed. I slid my hands slowly down her sides and around her ribs until my hands were just below her breasts. I started to move my hands upwards slowly gliding them over the cloth of Ginger’s bikini.

‘Hey.’ said a lifeguard ‘You’re going to have to leave if you carry on like that. Cut it out’

The interruption sent us sniggering out of the sauna and into the pool side area. We eased into the cold pool, delighting in the chill water after the hot sauna. I watched both Fred and Ginger’s nipples harden at the touch of the cold water and admired them all the more. They were both so beautiful and young and full of life, inspiring me and uplifting me at the same time.

The woman who had been in the sauna with us earlier on was swimming back and forth, wearing a rubber swim cap with the Brazilian flag on it. I smiled at her and she smiled back, then her attention was diverted by Fred and Ginger who were adjusting their bikinis. The woman looked longingly at them, her mouth open, her breath halted momentarily. Recovering she looked at me again and smiled then turned and swam away.

The three of us started to swim a bit and quite soon I found myself next to the Brazilian woman who had been watching us.

‘Hi’ I said


‘Are you from Brazil?’

‘Ah you saw my hat.’ she said, smiling, ‘Who are your friends’

‘That’s Fred’ I said, pointing her out, ‘and that’s Ginger. They live just around the corner.’

‘I like their bikinis, very colourful’

‘They are nice aren’t they, would you like me to introduce you?’

‘Yes please, my name is Claudia’

We swam over to where Fred and Ginger were splashing at each other and I introduced Claudia to them.

‘Claudia was admiring your bikinis’ I said ‘where did you get them?’

‘I think it was at Erotica’ said ginger ‘there was a stall called Pink something or other’

‘Pink Piranha’ said Fred

‘Yes, Pink Piranha, they do lots of really neat underwear’

‘Erotica? What is that’ said Claudia

‘Erotica?’ I said ‘It’s a big show each year where there’s all sorts of sexy stuff, videos, lingerie, clothes, art, just about everything. I took them there last year because I had free passes’

‘He’s a photographer’ said Fred ‘he goes to all these great clubs and events’

‘I’m getting cold’ I said ‘do you want to try the jacuzzi?’

All three of them agreed so we got out of the water and dropped into the nice hot jacuzzi. We had it all to ourselves, Fred and Ginger sat next to each other, holding hands under the water, Claudia sat opposite them, and I was in between.

Fred slid down so that she was in the jacuzzi up to her neck, her long legs stretched out next to Claudia. Ginger moved forward so that one arm was resting on Fred’s stomach. Claudia relaxed and sat back letting her arms and legs fall outwards.

We talked about Erotica and the clubs we went to and Claudia was really interested. I watched Ginger absently playing with Fred’s bikini bottom, her fingers trailing along the waistband and occasionally darting inside. Claudia gesticulated, her hand brushing against Fred’s leg and I suddenly realised that she was interested in Fred and Ginger.

We talked for a while and I noticed that Claudia’s hands would occasionally touch either Fred or Ginger. I was quite jealous as I had never allowed myself to get close to them like that but here was a stranger touching them up and they loved it. If only I’d been a girl. But then I suppose I wouldn’t have been interested in either Fred or Ginger. Ah the iniquities of life.

Eventually we all got tired of the Jacuzzi and after another little swim we headed out. Ginger invited Claudia to dinner with us and she accepted. We went off to another little Thai restaurant nearby that Ginger was interested in trying out. Claudia was dressed quite simply in faded jeans and a tight cropped t shirt that showed off her curvy figure. Her hair was short and curly. We talked through the meal and then all the way back to the flat where things started to get interesting.

Fred, Ginger and Claudia all sat together on the sofa, cuddled up against each other. Meanwhile I was pouring drinks while they chatted. Feeling bold, I made a suggestion.

‘How about we play a little game of spanking’ I said

Claudia looked at me, her mouth set in a little moue ‘I’m sorry but I’m not interested in men’ she said.

‘Oh’ I said

‘How about we let him watch’ said Ginger ‘he’s really a nice bloke and won’t do anything we don’t ask him to. He’s really trustworthy’

‘Actually, I’d quite like to be spanked’ said Fred with a little tipsy slur.

‘Come and sit on my lap then you naughty girl’ I said ‘and these two can put on a show for us’

Fred stood up, a bit wobbly and sat down in my lap. Ginger and Claudia looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously then reached out for each other. They kissed, hesitantly at first and then deeply, their tongues grasping together. Letting go of each other they both took off their tops and trousers, leaving them in just their underwear. Ginger was wearing black panties and a bra and Claudia had on a tiny pink thong and a lacy pink bra.

Fred undid her top too and wiggled out of her skirt so that her naked bottom was seated on my lap. I slid my hand under her so that it was cupping one cheek. Meanwhile Ginger has pushed Claudia down so that she was lying on the sofa with Ginger on top of her and they were kissing again. Claudia’s hands were grasping Gingers pale bottom firmly, pulling her into Claudia. Ginger was undoing Claudia’s bra at the same time and it loosened a moment later revealing firm dark tipped breasts. Quickly pulling the bra of Ginger took hold of one dark nipple with her lips, sucking on it hard to pull the flesh into her mouth where her tongue and teeth teased the tip. Claudia cried out.

‘Suck my tits yes’

Fred leaned forward and wiggled around to present her bottom to me. Looking over her shoulder she said ‘I’d like that spanking now please’

I cupped Fred’s cheek in my hand again and let the softest of slaps fall onto it.

‘Harder’ said Fred, her eyes devouring Ginger and Claudia ‘do it harder’

I slapped her again with more force and she twitched a little.

‘Harder’ she said ‘you can do it harder please’

I hit her bottom with a decent slap, my hand making a sharp noise as it hammered her soft flesh.

‘That’s it’ said Fred ’keep going. You can do it hard if you want to’

I hit her again, hitting the other cheek this time and noticed the lightest of red marks on the first cheek. Fred sighed with pleasure as she watched Ginger mauling Claudia’s ripe breasts with her tongue. One hand trailed down to her crotch and she started playing with herself.

Ginger had now worked her way down Claudia’s body and had removed the tiny pink thong. Claudia was completely shaved and Ginger ran broad strokes of her tongue over the pristine mound before working her way down and inside. Claudia’s cries quickly became more intense as Ginger worked her tongue over Claudia’s clit and she soon came.

I had been steadily working on Fred’s bottom and it now had a gentle pink flush all over, more intense where I had landed repeated blows. Fred’s finger’s worked in and out of her wet pussy and she was breathing heavily.

‘My turn’ said Ginger sitting up, her chin wet with Claudia’s juices…

Despite being as popular as a ham sandwich at a kosher wedding I stayed over because the next day I had arranged to do a shoot for one of the club flyers with Fred and Ginger in their place. The theme was a pyjama party and Fred and Ginger had hauled out their best sexy nightwear the day before for me to shoot them in.

Fred and Ginger also came to my other fetish event, The Furnace, and it was there that we started to get involved. Although Fred and Ginger were a couple, Fred was bisexual and Ginger suggested, in a humorous manner at first, that the three of us get intimate at the club. Naturally I jumped at the chance as both Fred and Ginger were very attractive and rather adventurous.

Our first encounter was in one of the booths at the club, on this occasion Fred was wearing nothing but bodypaint, heels and a matching sarong so Fred sat on my lap and I nuzzled her neck while Ginger ducked under the table…

A week or so later I turned up for the toys shoot with a big bag of kit only to discover that Ginger was feeling very poorly. Fred gamely offered to carry on while Ginger had some sleep and then later we could work together if Ginger was feeling better. I clamped chains between Fred’s nipples, helped her into a bright blue strapon, and she brightly bounced and slid around on some other toys but I could feel that her heart wasn’t really in it so we wrapped up as quick as we could and spent the rest of the afternoon drinking tea and chatting about old roleplaying games.

Later on Ginger had recovered and the three of us went out for a Thai meal at a local restaurant. Ginger was feeling slightly better and had taken some medicine to combat her headache. The conversation turned to work and I asked how they were getting on with finding new places. Fred had an offer to work at a shop down in Camden but Ginger’s applications had all fallen flat which was one of the reasons for her poor mood and resulting headache.

Ginger complained that she didn’t want Fred working in the shop that had offered her a job because they were just exploiting her and that they didn’t offer fair work. Fred said that they weren’t like that and she just wanted to get some work so that they had some money coming in. They began to argue and I sat back unable to divert the bickering and not wanting to choose sides. Eventually Fred started to cry and Ginger sat there sullenly. The rest of the meal went almost silently with both of them in bad moods and I went home shortly after the meal was over.

Over the next couple of weeks I didn’t visit Fred and Ginger but I did get a couple of phone calls from each of them. They had been arguing constantly and needed me to sympathise with them. The calls were very hard to handle as I really liked both girls and didn’t want to take sides in their argument. They had also moved into a new houseshare with a bunch of guys and their rent had gone up considerably. Fred’s parents had loaned them some money to tide them over but with neither Fred nor Ginger earning any money things were quite strained between them. So one thing led to another and what seemed at first unthinkable became at last inevitable and the pair split up.

After Fred and Ginger split up I ended up spending some time with Ginger as she was somewhat down, doing some little photographic or computer favours for her at her new flat, which was a huge house she shared with seven other people. It was very luxurious and even had its own mini sauna. One quiet Saturday, after fixing her laptop, Ginger asked me to massage her back in the sauna.

This time there was no lifeguard to cut short our sauna session. Ginger was soon stripped down to her thong and I worked my way up and down her back, occasionally ‘accidentally’ stroking the side of one breast or another. She relaxed further and I worked my way down over her bottom, onto her legs, and down to her feet.

‘I wish you were a girl’ Ginger sighed, ‘you’re so nice’.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard a similar sentiment and it always annoyed me. A few months previous the Delightful Dierdre had told me that she wished she could find someone like me. The subtext being of course that she meant someone like me, but thinner. The thing is that I am who I am and I’m a whole package. You can’t just pick and choose what to like in a person, and telling them that you only like a bit of them is fairly insulting, even if it’s meant as a compliment.

However I managed to bite back my initial surge of anger and thankfully remembered something Ginger had told me about herself.

‘Didn’t you say you used to go out with men?’ I asked her, my voice as soft as I could make it.

‘Yes, but I never actually slept with any of them. The closest I got was when Ashley went down on me for twenty minutes and I finally came.’ She said as she turned over to lie on her side and look at me, her small breasts gleaming with sweat and tipped with soft pink nipples.

After a while I remembered to speak. ‘Did you ever try again?’

‘No, I met my first girlfriend at uni and I’ve only been with girls since then.’

‘You know, it’s funny, but I was just thinking that you’d be much better off if you were just a tiny bit straight.’ I realised as soon as I said this that I was doing exactly what I’d complained about others doing but the words had just come out without me thinking.

‘What do you mean?’

Oh well I’ve started digging a hole I might as well finish it. ‘I mean’ picking my words carefully ‘that if you had an understanding boyfriend who was willing to cooperate you could have the best of both worlds. A stable relationship and all the pussy you can eat.’


‘No really. Imagine for a moment that there’s a guy out there who loves you but hasn’t said a word about it because you’ve declared yourself one hundred percent girls only. If that guy were to think that maybe there’s a one percent chance of his affection being returned then maybe he’d speak up.’

Ginger just looked at me saying nothing.

‘and then, if you took him up on his offer you’d have someone who adores you and supports you but understands that you need to enjoy the intimate company of women. Hell, I’m sure most guys would give their left nut for a girlfriend who brought home other women on a regular basis.’

I realised that Ginger still hadn’t said anything, so I faltered, and came to an abrupt stop.

Time stood still for a while

and a while longer.

‘Loves me?’ said Ginger.


‘You said a guy who loves me but has kept quiet so far. Who do you mean?’

‘Err. Well I was speaking hypothetically.’

‘Oh’ she said sitting up ‘I’m going to shower, will you help me wash my back?’


So we stepped from the heat of the sauna to the relative cold of the shower room. Ginger fired up the shower and stripped off her thong and flip flops. I watched as she soaped herself up while I stripped off, trying to ignore my awkward erection. I t soon died down, probably out of embarrassment if nothing else, as I stepped into the shower and poured shower gel into my hands.

‘Turn your back to me’ I said and Ginger did so without a word. I worked the gel into her back, the suds sliding down and over her buttocks and legs.

I realised then that I’d fucked something up badly. Here I was showering with a gorgeous redhead and somehow it was as arousing as tying up my shoelaces.

‘Listen’ I said ‘it’s getting late and I’d better get going, I’ve got all of London to cross and I still have to finish off the flyers for the club.’

‘Okay’ murmured Ginger.

I stepped out of the shower, feeling deflated and stupid, towelled down and got dressed. Ginger wrapped herself in a big fluffy dressing gown and stepped out of the room towelling her hair dry.

I slung on my jacket, stuffed my feet in my boots, threw my tank bag over my shoulder, and picked up my helmet. There was no sign of Ginger so I shouted a goodbye at the house in general, got a couple of muted replies, and opened the front door.  I felt a hand on my arm and turned round to find Ginger kissing me before I had a chance to think.

‘Will you stay for a while’ she said once we parted for air.

‘Uh, sure. Of course. Yeah, anything.’ I stammered.

We climbed the stairs back to her attic flat, which, as the newest person in the house, was where she was placed. As soon as we were through the door I kissed her deeply, and we collapsed onto her sofa. I slid my hands under her robe caressing her smooth soft skin. I lifted my mouth from hers and worked my kisses downwards, the side of her neck. The slopes of her breasts, her hardening nipples, and the succulent flesh of her stomach.

‘I don’t know if I can’ she burst out.

‘Close your eyes and relax’ I said ‘I’ll take it slowly.’

I kissed my way across her stomach and over her tightly trimmed pubes, my hands parting her thighs. Taking it slowly I kissed her inner thighs, inching my way towards her pussy. Eventually my mouth found its way and my tongue stroked her labia. I sought out her clitoris and circled it with the tip of my tongue. Meanwhile my hands moved up to cup her breasts my thumbs rubbing the pink tips.

Ten minutes later, my tongue flicking across her clit for the millionth time, Ginger’s legs clamped around my head as she finally orgasmed.

Then, to my eternal gratitude, she said ‘You’re as good as a girl’

‘Let’s go to bed’ I said


We got up and Ginger helped me out of my clothes as we headed for her boudoir which was on a ledge half a dozen steps above her attic floor amongst the rafters of the house. When it rained she would be able to hear every drop striking the roof. Ginger slipped under the quilt and into bed and I cuddled up behind her, my erection pressing into her butt.

‘Can we just cuddle for a while?’ she asked.

‘Of course’

We wiggled together for a moment getting comfortable.

‘Your cock is pressing right into my arse’

‘It’ll calm down in a minute; all he knows is that he’s in bed with a beautiful woman’

‘I don’t know if this will work out’

‘We can take it easy. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to’

‘Let’s try this’ she said and slipped her arm between us, her hand sliding over my belly, I wriggled a little to make a space between us.

‘You’re so hairy’

Her fingers trailed across my pubes and onto my penis. She stroked it with just her fingertips for a while, getting familiar with the shape.

‘It’s so big’ she whispered.

‘Not really. Just a little bigger than average’ I replied trying to avert any possible worries.

Her fingers explored further until she wrapped her hand around the head.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s my piercing, it’s a Prince Albert’

‘It’s huge’

‘Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. It’s very good for stimulating the G-spot’



She slid her hand down my penis and then back up again.

‘Like this?’ she asked.

‘Hold it here’ I said moving her hand to the right place ‘you can squeeze it tighter’

She took a firmer grip and worked her hand back and forth. I moved my hand to place it on her breast and stroked her nipple to hardness. Ginger’s hand started moving faster and I was breathing deeper while placing kisses on the nape of her neck.

‘Right. Let’s do this’ Ginger said ‘I think I’m ready’

‘Me too’

She hesitated for a moment and then said ‘Have you got a condom?’

Shit. Shitty fucking shit. No I didn’t have a condom. Why would I. After all I was visiting a lesbian friend, why on earth would I bring a fucking condom.

‘Err. No’


‘Do you think one of your flatmates might have one?’

‘I’m not asking them, they think I’m a lesbian. If I start asking them for condoms they’ll want to know why and ask questions I don’t want to answer right now’

‘Fair enough. It’s too late to go out and buy one though’ I replied ‘Do you want me to down on you again?’

‘It’s all right’ Let’s just cuddle for a while’

So we cuddled and fell asleep and in the morning we kissed for a while and had Sunday breakfast together.

‘Let’s have a proper date’ I suggested.

‘I’d like that’ Ginger said with a smile.

‘Next Friday? I’ll pick you up at seven and we’ll watch a movie and have dinner’


So we spent the next week calling each other every day and on Friday Ginger called me with bad news. ‘I can’t make our date tonight’ she said ‘I have to visit my mum and dad’

‘That’s okay’ I said ‘where are they, maybe I can give you a lift?’

‘They’re near Nottingham. I have to take the train this afternoon’

Shame, Nottingham was just too far to be comfortable on the bike and Friday afternoon traffic would be murder on the Jag.

‘Okay, so a raincheck then? Same again next week?’

‘Love to. See you soon’

‘Au revoir’

We never did get to have that date. Ginger ended up staying with her folks for two weeks as circumstances conspired against her and by the time she was done she’d lost her job and had to move out of the flat too. So she moved back with her parents and I couldn’t get up to visit her for a couple of months by which time the magic moment we’d had had faded and things we’re back the way they were before.

C’est la vie.

Crime Scene

Looking at the pictures of Helena I was sadly reminded of our last encounter. Here she lay sprawled on the stairs, her head at an impossible angle, her limbs awry where a week before the hot liquid overture of her tongue had taken the edge off of three months of loneliness. She had looked up at me with her wicked eyes, her tongue working out the last drops as I twitched with relief, and promised her every submission to me.

Those eyes would never open again, her arms would never embrace another lover, that tongue would never entwine with mine again. Helena lay dead, her body twisted on the stairs, forever frozen in the photograph. My eyes ran with tears as I looked at the remaining pictures. Trying to work out what had happened.

‘What we’d like to know sir’ said the detective, extracting Helena’s mobile from an evidence bag ‘is what she said when she called you just before her death’

I fished out my phone and pressed the buttons for voicemail and speaker. ‘You have one saved message. Press five to listen or nine to delete’

‘Hi. It’s Helena. Call me please. There’s someone outside. I need to talk to you. I have to tell you this.’

‘Press three to repeat or nine to delete’

‘I tried to call her a couple of times but she didn’t answer’

‘Can you tell us where you were on the night in question sir?’

I leant back deciding what to say. Helena was a more experienced woman who owned a night club, tall, dark and very buxom she had looked great every time I saw her. In the last few months she had gone through some troubled times after a break up with Tony, her boyfriend/master/business partner. He had attacked her with a hammer and she had shown me the forensic report as I was one of the few sympathetic ears when everyone seemed to side with Tony.

The fetish scene was under assault from a new and pushy group, they were spending money like crazy trying to outdo the established events and pull in punters. After the break up, Tony had started working with them, moving his regular event to their venue. Helena had been looking around for new events to hold at her club and I had been talking with her about running a few one off special nights to tide her over.

I had supported Helena and been a friend and I had assumed that nothing would happen between us. However at one of the little events we had organised at her place she came over to stand by me and chat. The event was to celebrate the first anniversary of the community website I had set up and was filled with people who were contributing to the site, their friends and lovers, people who read the site regualrly, and a few random strangers who were curious about a fetish night out.

Helena had her hair up, wearing a dazzling white skirt suit, and matching stockings. The outfit consisted of a very short straight skirt, a fetchingly tailored jacket, a silky frilly black blouse, white stockings and matching heels, and overall she looked like she had stepped out of a 40’s Hollywood movie.

I was sitting down, having been running around taking photographs and somewhat fatigued so Helena kindly fetched me a drink. As she walked away I noticed that she was wearing seamed stockings and, I presumed, matching suspenders. The heels she wore made her bottom sway in a most alluring way. When she came back Helena stood beside me and we both watched the events at the club, soaking in the heady atmosphere and pounding music.

Feeling bold I decide to try my luck by placing my hand on Helena’s leg, as I did she shifted a little leaning closer towards me. I let my hand stray further up running my fingertips over her stocking tops and onto the smooth flesh of her thighs. Helena sighed a little and shifted one leg, resting her hand on the back of my neck, her fingers gently stroking. Needing no further encouragement I let my fingers do the talking and we both remained there, unspeaking for several minutes while I teased and pleased her with the slightest of movements.

Once our drinks were empty Helena leaned down and whispered in my ear, suggesting we head up to her private rooms on the top floor of the club. I followed her up the stairs hypnotised by her smoothly swaying posterior gliding to and from under her snug skirt. Helena opened the security door to her apartment and ushered me in. A small set of stairs led up to her rooms which were lit only by moonlight coming through the roof windows.

‘Sit down’ she said and I rested on the stairs.

Helena’s hands pushed me back a little and deftly undid my belt and leather trousers, She reached into my underwear and pulled out my erection, working it into painful stiffness. She smiled and dropped to her knees, bracing herself against my thighs she leaned forward and took me into her mouth. The hot liquid of her tongue searing my skin like fire.

It had been three months or more since my last encounter and Helena’s expert lips pulled me into a massive orgasm, her throat worked swallowing, and her tongue cleaned out every drop, it’s rough tip making me twitch as she worked it into the hyper sensitive tip. Her wicked eyes locked onto  mine promising her every submission to my desires.

‘Where’s your bedroom?’ I asked, keen to continue.

‘Follow me’ she said and led me out onto a roof terrace where a couple of cushion covered sun loungers beckoned in the warm summer night.

Helena’s clothes were like moonlight and shimmering pearl as I slowly undressed her, plying her with kisses and gentle nibbling. Underneath the suit Helena was wearing a white basque with pearl decorations and simple white silk underwear as well as the stockings and suspenders I had already seen. She let her hair down and we kissed passionately for what seemed like an eternity, her hands loosening my clothes.

‘Sir if you could answer the question please’

I was brought back to earth. My mind kept wandering back as I answered the detectives questions. The night Helena died I had been working at a club, taking photos for the website.

After Helena had undressed me she stood up and slowly stripped off her basque and underwear, her pale skin gleaming like silver in the moonlight, shadows chasing across her naked form to alternately hide and reveal. She knelt down on the lounger, lowered her chin and looked up at me.

‘Spank me please master’ she said

I pulled her across my lap and held her wrists behind her back with my one hand laying the other on the soft flesh of her bottom. Helena’s muscles were taut with anticipation as she lay helpless over my knees. I slapped her bottom lightly a few times sticking to one cheek and waiting for her to relax a little.

‘More please master. Harder please master’ she said

Gripping her arms tightly I slapped her arse hard, the sound of the blow reaching across the rooftops. Helena tightened beneath me as I hit her again. I slapped her cheeks in time to the thudding music just audible from downstairs laying blow after blow into the soft flesh of her buttocks until the skin turned pink. Her breath grew harsher as her enjoyment peaked.

‘More. More.’ She gasped and I slapped her faster and harder the palm of my hand burning with pain like her cheeks burned with pleasure. Helena’s thighs locked together and her hips twisted as she reached an orgasm. I stopped the slaps and she relaxed beneath me spreading across my lap and squashing my erection.

We laid there for a few minutes while we cooled down. My hand gently caressed her burning bottom. Soon I let my curious fingers slip between her thighs and explore their way to her pussy. My fingertips slid across the wet folds of her labia seeking out her clit. I rubbed my fingers back and forth using her wetness to lubricate their path. Helena parted her thighs inviting me to go further and I slowly slid two fingers inside her sopping pussy.

My fingers slid in and out of Helena a few times until they were soaked with her juices. I took them out and ran them across her anus, moistening the dry skin and pressing lightly in. Helena sighed with pleasure, spreading her legs further apart, pushing her bottom up, and settling into my lap. I alternated between sliding my fingers in and out of her pussy and rubbing her juices across her anus until she was thoroughly soaked.

I slipped my thumb into her pussy to get it nice and wet and then slowly pushed it into her anus. The tight muscle loosened and then gripped me hard as she gasped again. I slid two fingers inside her again and rubbed at the wall of her pussy. Helena was writhing in my lap her hips twisting. I slowly slid a third finger into her pussy and then a fourth as she opened up to me. I pressed my hand hard into her, my fingers sliding deep into her pussy, and my thumb pressing further into her arse.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck me’ she cried out

‘Are you ready’ I asked, keeping up the pressure with my hand, my fingertips rubbing gently inside her.

’Yes. Yes. Fuck me please master’

‘You’re the one who’s going to do the work. Now stand up’

I slowly pulled my hand out of Helena and she stood up, her legs wobbling. I beckoned her forward and she moved closer still as I laid back on the lounger.

‘Sit in my lap facing me’ I said and Helena complied, her large breasts swaying heavily in the moonlight, their dark tips casting tiny shadows.

Helena took hold of my throbbing penis and guided it into her hot pussy as she lowered herself onto me. Her weight pressed me inside her as she settled across my thighs. She leant forward presenting her breasts to me and I took one into my mouth licking and biting at the hard nipple. Helena grabbed the hand that had been inside her and licked her juices from my fingers savoring the sweet musky taste.

I released her nipple from my mouth and Helena sat back, rocking her hips to get me deep inside her. I reached down between us and pressed my thumb against her clitoris.

‘Excuse me, sir. Would you mind answering the question’

‘Uh? When was it again?’ I said as my reverie shattered on the floor.

‘Last Saturday.’

‘I was at a nightclub taking photographs and then I rode home.’

‘Do you have any proof of this?’

‘Errr. I’ve got some photos on my computer at home. And loads of people at the club saw me.’ Now I was worried, the likelihood of anyone from the fetish scene willing to stand up and say formally to the police that they’d seen me at a fetish club was going to be vanishingly small. Hopefully the photos would be enough to place me at the right place and the right time.

‘We’ll need to see them sir.’

So the rest of my day was spent driving around with a policeman and turning over the contents of my computer to the authorities. Fucking fantastic.