The Man Who Fucked His Way Across... Ch. 01

The Man Who Fucked His Way across Chelsea and Back Again Ch. 01

One day I became Hugo Posset. How, I can't tell you, but that doesn't matter. I became Hugo Posset, a well respected London art gallery owner, good looking, a mere 22 years of age with a big cock. Before I was Hugo, I was an East End barrow boy, with a penchant for posh girls and an insatiable libido. It was the posh accent that made me horny, and now I was Hugo Posset I would have access to hundreds of Sloaneys.

I woke up and Sarah entered the bedroom at Cadogan Square, braying to a friend on her Blackberry phone. She threw her Chanel bag on the bed, I grabbed it and smelt the new leather. I could smell her Hermes Kelly Caleche perfume inside it and her Porsche car keys. Sarah Cavendish-Peel was an art buyer of very high regard with long gorgeous legs and a cascade of blonde hair. Her Moschino sunglasses were perched on her head. My cock was as hard as a baton.

'Hugo, you naughty boy' she said 'come on, get up, you have a gallery to run!'

I noticed her super high Jimmy Choo shoes, with a zip up the front. God I was horny.

'We'll go once I've kissed your shoes' I said.

'Umm, Hugo. I never knew you were a shoe man, you naughty thing' Sarah cocked her leg up and put one foot on the bed 'they are a rather lovely pair of shoes. Jimmy Choo. Seven hundred pounds. Very very essential, darling'

'Definitely' I said 'Here's to Jimmy Choo'.

'Oh yah' brayed Sarah. I studied the shoe and all its intricacies with her perfectly pedicured feet strapped in, balancing on the five inch high stiletto heel, denting the leather bed. I wanked furiously, kissing the delicate leather straps.

'Oh Hugo. You're sooooo kinky' said Sarah is her poshest Sloane accent.

'Keep saying that' I panted, while I wanked.

'Oh Hugo, you're sooooo kinky! You're just sooooo kinky! Naughty, naughty Hugo.'

Here was one of the poshest women in London polite society telling Hugo Posset he was a kinky bastard. Oh, the working class lad in me was enjoying this. This woman was something straight out of a Jilly Cooper novel and here I was kissing her Jimmy Choo shoes and playing with my cock.

'Hugo, darling, I think I'll wear these shoes to Glorious Gooders next week, if you havn't eaten them by then' Sarah giggled.

'I do like a bit of Jimmy Choo' I moaned, on the verge of climax, but restraining.

'Oh I suppose we could have another half an hour of shoe kissing' said Sarah, swinging her Chanel handbag back onto a leather chair.

Half an hour, well, I liked the sound of that. I wanked in slow pumps, resisting the urge to go for the vinegar stroke. Sarah's Blackberry buzzed and she spent fifteen minutes chatting to Charlotte Foggins about Hermes bags. To my surprise, Charlotte was coming over. Charlotte Foggins was the owner of the Posh Pussess, a rather swanky gallery in Parsons Green. She spoke posher than the Queen and always wore knee high boots.

'Charlotte's just sold a painting for a million' said Sarah. Money made Sarah very horny, even the mention of a friend getting more made her wet.

'Good stuff' I said, almost climaxing.

'Oh Hugo, with your free hand, use this Rampant Rabbit vibe and bring me orf, there's a good bear!' Sarah and dildo were both switched on. I pushed the dildo up her short skirt, she wasn't wearing knickers, she seldom did. 'That's the ticket. Oh jolly super, that's the fucking ticket!'

'You dirty fucking posh whore' I said, which only served to arouse her even more. Then I told her how much money I had made this week and her floodgates opened.

'You've really changed Hugo' she gasped.

'I know, oh I know I have and it's for the best' I said, kissing the zip on her shoe. Then I had to come and I came like Buffalo Bill, yee-hawing all the way. I made sure I spunked on her stiletto heel as well, which she thought was too erotic and started having spasms.

Charlotte knocked and came in, wearing a Chanel tweed suit and wonderful black leather knee high boots by Yves Saint Laurent. She swung her big YSL downtown bag in the crook of her elbow.

'Oh Hugo, you naughty boy' smiled Charlotte 'I never knew you were into shoes! Who ever would have thought it'

'He's just come out' said Sarah, wiping the semen off her shoe heel.

'I've just come' I laughed.

'Naughty Hugo, in Sarah's parents' bed too. Really' admonished Charlotte.

'Ha ha, yeah. Hey, Char how about you let me wank in your grandma's bed.' I suggested.

'Umm, tish tosh, I don't think so' said Charlotte, prodding her large Dior shades on her head.

'What is it with you posh birds and sunglasses on your head?' I asked in a pseudo cockney accent.

'Really Hugo, you're turning into a bit of a chav of late, it's rather disconcerting. You'll be drinking down the East End with Kev next' said Sarah, putting the rabbit dildo back in her thousand pound Chanel bag. 'We really can't have a chavvy Hugo'

'I am a fucking dirty chav cunt' I laughed, seeing the reaction.

'No, you're Hugo Posset, son of Lord and Lady Posset, owner of the Royal Gallery in Chelsea. You are not a dirty chav. Dirty yes, but not a chav' insisted Charlotte in a very posh voice. She seemed to get posher as the days went by.

'Fuck off Char, with your knee high boots on that I want to rub my cock on!' I grinned getting up out of the bed with my big Hampton swinging like a prize marrow.

'Has he been on the Vi-ag?' smiled Charlotte taking a small bottle of champagne from her downtown bag.

'Do you want me to shove that little bottle up your botty?' I asked, rubbing my cock some more.

'Hugo! Settle down now, darling' said Sarah 'We do have to go now, remem, Lady Trams is coming to look at that Poussin'

I laughed 'Oh yeah, Lady Trammerton, she's that ageing sexpot from Kensington. Last time I met her, she put her Hermes leather glove down the front of my pants outside Le Caprice. God, she was drunk. I decided to let her keep her hand there until the Rolls turned up'

'Oh dear, Lady Trams does do that sort of thing' giggled Charlotte, taking a swig of mini Krug.

'Yeah she does do that sort of thing' I echoed. 'What's she gonna pay for that Poussin then?'

'Well, it is the Orion, so it's worth a few mil' said Sarah. 'I'll make sure we get the best price, darling'

'Lovely painting' sung Charlotte.

'Lovely bag' I nodded at Charlotte's YSL. 'Nice leather, good zips'

'Never knew you were a conno of ladies bags' said Charlotte.

'Oh I used to design them for a short time' I said

'Really Hugo, you do have a few dark secrets' laughed Sarah.

'He's having us on' grinned Charlotte, zipping her bag up.

'I used to work in Peter Jones, but I got the chop, cos I got caught wanking over a nice Longchamp. A posh lady was asking me the price and I said "I dunno, but look at my cock rubbing against it"! You should've seen her face as I spunked all over the logo. I thought I might get a sale by doing that'

Sarah looked stern 'Well, you may have done such a thing in a dream Hugo, but you should keep your naughty dreams to yourself. Charlotte and I don't always want to hear about your masturbatory escapades in PJs'.

'Yar', said Charlotte 'we often go there and don't really want it sullied '

'Oh sorry ladies, next time I'll come along with you and we can have a ménage a trois in the brasserie' I was quite excited by such a thought. My cock grew to marrow size proportions again.

'Oh Hugo, you are insatiable today, someone has swapped you for a mad libidinous satyr! You really are beginning to worry me' Sarah was ready to go. Sarah's Blackberry buzzed and it was Lady Trammerton, waiting outside the gallery.

'It's Lady Trams' I laughed 'the old girl wants to stick her hand down my pants again'

'God' Charlotte shook her head.

I followed the two Sloaney babes down the large staircase, listening to their heels tap tapping on the marble steps. A lovely tune. Charlotte said cheerio and I hopped in Sarah's Porsche. What a lovely smell of leather.

'So, you're not going to bother getting dressed then?' said Sarah, looking at my naked body in the passenger seat. She covered my cock with her Chanel bag 'Don't move that, we don't want you getting arrested!'

I sparked up a large Fior de Florach cigar and opened the window, checking out the talent on the Kings Road. I whistled at three Sloaneys walking along linking arms and they blew kisses back. Sarah was not perturbed in the slightest.

The Kings Road had gone through a renaissance since Joanna Lamley had become PM. Yes, it's hard to believe that, but in 2012, she became PM. Chelsea had never been better since the days of The Pheasantry. The hardcore Sloane Rangers were back in their heartland. God, it all made me so horny. Sarah's vibrator went off in her Chanel bag and almost gave me an orgasm. I reached in the bag and switched it off.

'Well averted' said Sarah.

I swapped the bag for a pair of Dior pants. 'So, after Lady Trams has bought the painting, I reckon we should head down to Pelham Crescent. Rubbernose is having a barbecue. There might be some hot action'

'Who the fuck is Rubbernose? Hot action?' Sarah frowned beneath her shades

'Oh he's an old buddy of mine, used to be a builder, now he's going by the name of Barwick Ford, owns a few clubs. You must know Barwick'

'Yar, Barwick the Bear, as they say' nodded Sarah.

Rubbernose Ricky was a builder, a real hardcase, well he's now Barwick Ford. Don't ask me how it happened, but I know. This is fucking fun, it really is.

'I never knew Barwick was a builder, surely not' said Sarah, parking up in Brompton Road, opposite the gallery.

'Oh he was once' I winked.

Lady Trammerton was waiting outside the gallery in an Aston Martin with her daughter, Persephone. Typical blonde Sloanes, the pair of them. Lady Trammerton was wearing a navy blue tweed suit and black Launer bag, like Mrs Thatcher. Persephone was in what looked like a patent blue leather trouser suit, with a large blue leather Versace bag, like a Tory Catwoman. It would be good to get her round the Crescent. I strode into the gallery wearing Dior briefs and a Rolex. Lady Trammerton raised an eyebrow, Persephone was less than impressed. Does she want the fucking Poussin or not, the stuck up cow.

'Oh bollocks' I said 'Someone's had it away!'

The Poussin was missing from the wall. Oh fuck. This was far from ideal. Lady Trammerton was very dismayed.

'Er..Lady Trammerton, we're ever so sorry. Would you be interested in this fine moose head instead? Shot in the Yukon during the gold rush I believe. It's a beauty, look at it's face' I didn't sound too convincing.

Lady Trammerton stood on one leg. 'Hugo, as much as I am attracted to various species of deer ( not in a sexual way you understand ) today I came here to purchase a Nicolas Poussin, not a grazing ungulate with antlers that has long since seen the tundra.'

'Oh well, nice gloves' I said winking, alluding to her expensive Hermes leather gloves.

'Yes, aren't they' she replied 'I have no idea why you seem to be pointing down your pants. Do you have the Poussin hidden down there?'

Persephone was standing waiting impatiently, jingling the car keys. Sarah was looking around the gallery, in the hope of seeing the painting.

Fuck this I thought. Well, I could just have a wank. Obviously Lady Trammerton was so drunk last time, she doesn't remember the time she played with my todger outside the Ritz. I could ply her with fine wine.

'Well, love to stay and chat all day, we really must be getting orf' said Lady Trammerton.

'That's a shame' I said 'my mate's having a barby at Pelham Crescent in the gardens later, I was going to invite you both. Free champers and all that'

'Good day, Mr Posset' snapped Persephone, in her shiny blue catsuit.

'Pelham Crescent Gardens, 9 o'clock' I said

'Bye bye Lady Trammerton' purred Sarah, sighing. With her Jimmy Choos on. I crawled across the cold marble floor and started to kiss her shoes. Several customers were perusing artifacts. Fuck them, let them watch. Let that moose watch too. Persephone glanced out of the window as she started up the Aston Martin. Hugo Posset you kinky devil, she thought.

Sarah's Jimmy Choos were the centre of my attention once again, as we had a few hours to kill until the party. Oh that naughty moose was watching!

'Bet you're glad to be in this gallery' I said to it.

'Indeed I am' said the moose 'I enjoy being the voyeur, Mr Posset'

'Oh this is sublime' giggled Sarah.

'Yeah, I prefer this place to my old stomping ground just north of White Horse in the Yukon' it went on 'there was no central heating, famous paintings, and fetishistic proprieters of galleries in the Yukon.'

'Did you see who took the painting' asked Sarah.

'Yeah, it was Tony the Leg' said the moose 'You won't know him, but I can describe his features if you get a sketchbook'

'Uhhhhhhhhh, yeahhhhh'. I moaned and it was a class orgasm. A woman came over and enquired about a nice Bernard Gribble in the window. A brilliant painter of ships was Gribble.

Sarah parked the Porsche in Pelham Crescent as the sunset was kissing the palm trees. These new regular hot summers were just the ticket. That asteroid collision a few years ago that knocked the planet off alignment had done some good. Look at those lovely palm trees everywhere. I heard Australia's like the arctic these days. Mind you, we have to deal with bull sharks in the Thames. A few of them had got up the Lea by all accounts and savaged some swans.

There was laughing and braying in the gardens, a good smell of steak was on the burn. Willow Cobley-Blinds, look at that swagger, in those platform heels by Celine, definitely worth a close encounter. Olivia Woodyhead too, in Patrick Cox mauve leather knee high boots, sitting cross-legged talking about her new party planning thing she's got going on the Fulham Road. I made a beeline for Olivia, wiggling her legs in the lamplight, scoffing little morsels and swigging wine. Only, I was intercepted by Zara Parker-Pumpkinson. Oh Zara Parker-Pumpkinson! Before I go on, I have to tell you about the time we first met.

It was a gorgeous hot morning on Fulham Road, and I was sleeping rough. Well, I had been to a party the night before and got high on a new sex drug that was on the market. I was totally thrown off kilter. There's a link there, as I was actually wearing a kilt. It was a Highland themed party. After the bash, I decided to join a few tramps in a disused shop doorway and I ended up bedding down the night with them, after some more drinking. When I awoke, the tramps were gone and I was surprised to find myself in the doorway on my Tod underneath a smelly old stained duvet. The well-heeled denizens of Chelsea were looking down their aquiline noses at Hugo Posset as they strode by. I was also bloody randy for some reason, then I remembered why my cock was ridiculously rigid. I had been mixing champagne cocaine and Hardlong, the new sex drug. Bloody Hardlong for a constant fucking hard on, try Hardlong.

I started wanking as I watched a really beautiful Sloaney get out of her posh Land Rover. She was wearing Dior shorts, a Chanel tweed jacket, Ballantyne pashmina and red leather knee high boots with gold zips by Givenchy, damn she looked sexy. She swaggered by with a large Dolce & Gabbana ten zip bowling bag in the crook of her arm. She stopped right next to me, stood on her right leg and lit up a Davidoff cigarette, taking a long time to get a spark from a slim gold lighter. I was wanking beneath the duvet quite furiously. What a vision. Oh the Fulham Road was looking good. Across the road, some bloke was having trouble starting an old Transit van, a distinct smell of petrol was pervading the summer morning sweetness.

'Hello hobo' said Zara, grinning a large wide grin, with perfect teeth.

'Alright Sloaney bitch' I said, wanking hard.

'Are you on the streets?' She asked, pushing her Chanel sunglasses on to her head, revealing big eyes and long eyelashes extended.

'Yes, I'm a homeless pikey' I said, bashing away for England, ogling her sun drenched boots, with the vertiginous heels almost cracking the Fulham Road pavement.

'It must be soooo inconvenient sleeping rough' she said, in a husky posh accent 'I mean, last night I was soooo snug in my new Fendi leather sleigh bed, beneath a fur throw, coked out of my brains, experimenting with a variety of sex toys. Here you were, on a doorstep, stinking! Ha ha'. Zara was definitely a woman of compassion.

'That's nice to know you were doing your bit for the homeless' I said, slowly pumping my rigid member. Zara knew I was masturbating, she knew. She moved much closer and practically stood on me. She put a pointy boot heel up on the shopfront skirting, smoking that Davidoff cigarette like a scene from film noir.

'I was naked on leather' she smiled, 'while you were naked on a stained quilt'

'Indeed I was' I panted 'while you were naked on leather, shoving vibrators up your flange'

'Yar, oh yar! Big dildos of finest quality rubber, darling' she purred, fiddling with the inside zip on her boot. God, that almost made me ejaculate. I restrained. Some very posh ladies tap-tapped by in Christian Louboutin shoes, they looked down and weren't too impressed with the action. They walked swiftly on to have coffee at a bistro.

'Not up for a bit of action then!?' I shouted.at them.

'The reason I came over here' Zara went on 'is to ask you if you want to make a bit of money. I need someone to polish the leather seats in my Land Rover. It's parked over there, see it. I've got to do some shopping. I'll be gone for an hour or so. Here. You can use this sunglasses cleaning cloth. Are you up for making my seats really shiny?'

'Yeah, give me that cloth, you swanky cow, I'll make your seats look like fucking mirrors' I got up, wearing just a kilt. Zara admired my hairless body.

'Here are the keys' she said, taking them out of her large leather bag. 'Now, make sure you clean any stains too, I use the thing for a lot of dogging sessions'

'Land Rover's a good vehicle for dogging' I added twiddling her keys, noticing at least two vibrating key fobs and a cock ring. I wonder who's regal cock has been in that.

'See you' she said, and swaggered off towards a posh shoe boutique, her blue pashmina trailing in the summer breeze. The bloke with the Transit was still trying to start it. The battery was sounding fucked.

I got in Zara's Land Rover and breathed in deeply the combination of rich leather and roses. God I was horny. I could imagine her dogging in this, with those boots on, leather rubbing against leather, leather rubbing against cock. I fucked the seam between the back seats for a while. Lots of posh folk were wandering by, they couldn't see me being a dirty bastard behind the blacked out windows. It was still only half past ten in the morning. I was always hornier in the mornings. I went to town with that little sunglasses cloth, rubbing the leather seats, a good way to build up the arm muscles. I switched the radio on, there was Joanna Lamley being interviewed by Kirsty House-Zine, two posh accents resonating across the sea of black leather. I wanked for a bit, watching three gorgeous Sloanes on a bench nearby, chatting and giggling, with their ridiculously expensive clutch bags glinting in the sun. Two chestnut heads and a blonde. Sweet. For one minute I thought of inviting them to the seat cleaning party, but I refrained from asking. I was naked now, naked on cool leather, listening to Joanna Lamley and her manifesto.

Zara returned with a load of large bags. She opened the hatch. I could still hear that bloody old Transit rurr-rurring, the battery was almost dead. Give up mate. She put all her latest purchases in the back of the Land Rover and then clambered in beside me and crossed her booted legs. She ran a hand over the leather seats, inspecting the interior. I sat there, in my birthday suit, with my big cock standing to attention.