The Man Who Fucked His Way Across... Ch. 02

I had many good memories stored up as I passed the grand facades of Pelham Crescent, thinking about that crazy race with Max Ponds. I was wearing the usual jogging bottoms and no pants, and the T-shirt from Romford Market. I looked like a peasant with my hair unkempt. A new Beetle with pink leather seats came by and slowed beside me at the junction with Fulham Road. It was full of rahs in their early twenties, with pashminas and peroxide hair and big sunglasses glinting in the sun.

'Fucking pikey' one of the rahs heckled in her posh accent, twirling a finger through her long hair. The others snorted and laughed.

'Yah what an absolute mess' giggled another. They were like clones.

'Soooooo common' said another sitting in the back, with her left leg cocked up and her strappy camel leather high heeled Alexander McQueen shoe resting on the back of the driver's headrest.

'Oh my god, he's having a wank' said the driver.

'How disgusting' said the Alexander McQueen shod Sloane. 'Come on let's go'

'No, darls, I soooo want to observe the wanking hobo!' laughed another.

'Yah let's watch him jerk off' said the driver, smiling a broad smile.

Oh I was. I was wanking hard and fast, looking straight at the Alexander McQueen heel pressing into the pink leather head rest. The shoe has studded straps and had dark wood platform and heel. Her perfect foot had red painted toe nails. Her leg was well-toned. Her Chloe denim shorts clung around her crotch tightly. Her mound of designer disheveled peroxide hair glistened and her Prada sunglasses glinted. Her Roberto Cavalli chiffon leopard print top drifted gently over her cleavage with beads following the contours. Her elegant hand smoked a Marlboro Light. Her large black leather Alexander McQueen zip detail bag, was half open on the back seat. She reeked of old money with a look of total disgust. I came all down my leg, they could see I was climaxing. My jogging bottoms were wet. It all went quiet. I could hear the gentle hum of the Beetle engine. The Sloane filled Beetle finally screeched off up the Fulham Road towards Brompton Cross. Ah, another memory to cherish. That Alexander McQueen shoe.

It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening and I went for a glass of wine in Sophie's, much to the disgust of some punters. I saw a girl cross-legged on a stool in pink platform stilettos. Another lady wore classic black patent courts with skyscraper heels by Christian Louboutin. An old chap sat at a banquette with his laptop on a table, he was showing a group of Italian looking women his villa somewhere in Marbella. He looked like a con artist. I went to stand outside at the smoking tables, watching life go by on the Fulham Road, watching both slouchy and structured handbags and posh cars. An immaculate blonde with a Louis Vuitton Alma strode by, I recognized her as being the woman at 147 Redcliffe Gardens, the house I had mistaken for number 47. She strode by in a white Chanel skirt suit and that Alma bag in black epi leather with gold zips. She was wearing Christian Louboutin black leather peep toes. What a gorgeous tall Sloane. I was rigid almost. Sophie's was getting busy, a Saturday night throng had developed, consisting of Sloanes, hoorays, a few Aussie girls, some Euro Sloanes and me, Tom Leather. Maybe I would be cleaning leather seats tomorrow. Who knows. I didn't think too much about it, I sipped my wine and watched the stilettos.

A very tall blonde and her friend joined me at the smoking table. She was in white leather shorts by Versace and a black floaty top by Alessandro dell' Aqua. Her face was classic Sloane, it reminded me off Lucy from Hitchin, whoever she was. Camel leather Tods bag over her shoulder. I noticed her buckled peep toe platform wedges, very high by Miu Miu. She was tall enough, but the shoes turned her into a larch. By the sounds of it, she owned a boutique on the Fulham road and she was drinking with an employee.

'Nice evening' I interrupted.

'Yes, it is' said the tall Sloane, disinterested in my advances.

'Nice shoes' I said

'Mmmmm' she groaned, sipping her cocktail through a straw. Her friend was not very attractive.

'Are they Prada shoes?' I asked

'No, Miu Miu' she said and turned back to her friend to chat about working arrangements.

'Are they Prada sunglasses?' I asked, not giving a shit about annoying her so much.

'Yes, they're fucking Prada, it says so' She put out her cigarette.

'Do you want to fuck?' I said, smiling.

'Um, no, not with a gypsy thank you' she said, going back into Sophie's and shaking her head.

Well, it's always worth a try, I thought, ogling the girl in the Christian Louboutins sitting cross-legged on a bar stool sipping a Long Island Ice Tea. She was with some hunky Euro Sloane called Erno, there was no chance scoring with her while he's about.

I decided to head down to the Goat in Boots to see if there was much action. It was quiet. Sometimes I like quiet. I bought a large glass of wine. I still had some money in my pocket. It must have been left over from the car seat polishing activities.

A Sloane entered with an Asian lad and stood with her back to the bar, she was in a very short denim skirt, and rested one booted heel on the bar rail, doing a knee jiggle motion, her thigh showing through a skirt split. Nice. She was blonde, sunglasses on the head, usual Sloaney type. I left the Goat in Boots. The Hollywood Arms was busy, but Brink's was better. Brink's was teeming, high heels all over the place. Inside a there was a booted brunette sitting cross-legged on a bar stool, in dark Wolfords, fiddling with her boot zips. Very sexy. A lovely girl was wearing Jimmy Choo boots; all Jimmy Choo boots have a back zip. These were black leather. I went to get a bottle of Tiger beer and went outside in the warm evening air. The braying was good to firm. People were sipping champagne and eating lobster at the tables out front, with aristocratic furrowed brows. Then, to my surprise, seated at a table was an exquisitely beautiful pair of legs, crossed, in a short white skirt. She wore matching white and black trim Chanel jacket and pearls. On the seat beside her perched a gorgeous black epi leather Louis Vuitton Alma bag. I followed her legs to her feet, admiring the new Christian Louboutin shoes with six inch stiletto heels. I looked at her Angela Thorne face; she was in her late twenties. It was the woman from 147 Redcliffe Gardens. I stood there in my tatty old bottoms, getting harder. She looked up at me, noticing I was ogling her legs.

'Hello' she said 'I know you from somewhere, but I can't quite remember. Are you a cleaner?' Her voice was extremely plummy. More plums than Kent I would say.

'I once knocked on your door by mistake, I was looking for number 47. I clean leather seats, any leather really, but mostly car seats.'

'Ah, that's right' she said, swinging a crossed leg, rhythmically to the beat of my throbbing cock. She dangled a Louboutin shoe. Several men were leering, nearby.

'I'm Tom Leather' I said.

'Rather an appropriate name, Tom. Are you working tomorrow? I have a Porsche. The seats are leather'. She twitched that Louboutin shoe, wickedly. 'And my husband is away on business in Dubai for a week'.

'I can do Porsche seats very well indeed' I said, sipping my Tiger, looking at her amazing legs.

'Oh, super. So that's sorted out then. In the meantime, please join me, grab a seat. You're not going anywhere else are you?' She purred.

'No, I'm sleeping rough tonight on Fulham Road, as per usual, unless I can find an old shed to snuggle down in' I said, sitting down and placing my bottle of beer on the table.

'Really Tom' she frowned 'You polish leather by day and sleep in doorways by night. How jolly decadent! You must see some things'

I smiled, my cock was damn hard 'Oh I see some things'

'Tell me about some of the amazing things you've seen, if you don't mind. Oh, I'm Kinvara by the way, Kinvara Girton. I'm a novelist. I'm always looking for inspiration from the lower orders.'

'Kinvara Girton. I've seen your name on books. More risqué than Jilly Super, they say. It's great to meet the woman behind the behinds!'

She laughed 'Very well put. I'm not averse to a nice firm bottom'

'Well, I sometimes get kicked or spat on by drunks, or a pug pisses on me when I'm asleep' I said 'but now and again something nice happens.' I told her the story of Skinny and Buxham. I expected her to be disgusted. She remained composed, swinging those luscious legs.

'I'll tell you what' she whispered 'You go and find a spot to crash and I'll come along in a bit. How's that sound. I want to see you down on the cold hard floor of an alcove. There's a good one outside Lizzie King's new deli. I know the homeless use it. Lizzie King does amazing pies, you know. Oh you wouldn't know'

'OK' I said and off I went. It was getting on for eleven o'clock in the evening and it was still very warm out. The street was busy with pubbers and clubbers alike. The stretch known as The Beach on the Fulham Road was one of the trendiest parts of London nowadays, people had grown bored of East End chic and Shoreditch. The rahs were back in Chelsea. Posh was endemic. Joanna Lamley had changed things. I found the alcove at Lizzie King, a nice marble mosaic floor. I clambered in the old duvet I always stashed round the back of the cinema. It wasn't very cozy, but it was all I had. I soon heard the distinctive tap-tap-tapping of Christian Louboutin shoes on the pavement. I looked up from my vantage point and saw right up Kinvara's white Chanel skirt. She was bare. Her Blackberry rang and she unzipped her Alma bag to retrieve it.

'Oh Hello Charles darling, how's Dubai?' Her voice was a plum from heaven. It reminded me of Liza Goddard.

'Really, darling. Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that. Oh dear, poor poor Charles. Oh I'm soooo sorry to hear that. It must be so beastly, darling. Do you have any embrocation?'

I kept looking at those fantastic black leather Christian Lous with a provocative toe peeping, red painted nail. She stood with her weight on one leg, the classic hooker position.

'Oh Charles darling, you poor bear'

I started wanking, slowly, as I was extremely excited by her. One wrong movement and I would come like the clappers.

'Yah, so you're staying in Dubai for another week. That's OK darling, I've got plenty of writing to do. You make sure you go and see a specialist'

I wanked gently, getting a great view up her skirt, as she swung her Alma bag in the evening lights. Her Blackberry rang again. She was in high demand.

'Oh darling so jolly amazing to hear from you. Oh how are you Izzy?' I guess it must have been an old friend. I wasn't really bothered, I was engrossed in the pleasures of Louboutins with no knickers.

'Yah, I'm still in Chelsea. No, not at Wellington Square, we moved to a villa at Redcliffe Gardens, just orrrrrf the Fulham Road, it's so quintessentially Chelsea, darling. Oh Izzy Izzy, the Fizzy Jizzy. Ha ha ha ha. Are you still with Zack? Yes, oh super. Soooo super. Yah. Where are you staying? ' The conversation went on, filled with jolly supers and darlings and yahs and all that. I wanked onward, onward to the brink. I was adept at brinkmanship. Her phone went again

'Umm, I think you have a wrong number, this is Kinvara Girton. Sorry!'

I wanked more. Lovely lovely Louboutin and oh what ankles she has. She took a few photos with her Blackberry to use as reference I assume. Her phone rang again.

'Hello Tony, yah. Mmmmmmm. Oh yah. Now that would be rather good of you, darling. It's in the shed, you say. Super. Oh I know a buyer, but I want a cut. Oh I know, I love the Orion, it's one of Nicolas Poussin's finest. You are a poppet. No, I'm rather busy this evening, entertaining and all that. Yah, Charles has gone down with something nasty, apart from that he loves it. Yah, speak soon. Bye'

Fucking hell. Wow. Well, what can I say. Tony the Leg. I wanked some more. The painting. Oh fuck the painting for now, there are shoes to lust over. I wanked and came in my duvet. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kinvara bid me goodnight 'So Tom, see you tomorrow, say 10am? Have a lovely night, sweetie'. She strode off back to her luxury villa. I wanked again and came again, thinking about her Louboutins. I wonder what she would be wearing tomorrow.

JIBBY BREAM GALLERY

I was thrown into the back of a van in the middle of the night quite abruptly by someone dressed as Catwoman and I woke up on a green leather sofa in a very smart office the next morning.

A door opened and in walked Jibby Bream, wearing a leather and fur ensemble all by Brioni, big Prada sunglasses on her head, a Walter Steiger leopard and brown leather beauty bag with a gold zip around the circumference, fishnets, and super elevated brown croc studded strappy stilettos by Donna Karan. Rapture!

'Darling, I need you for an exhibit. You are the one' said plummy Jibby. All Sloanes are plummy, get used to it. I nodded, lying on the sofa totally naked. I had been emancipated of all garments.

'Darrrling, I'm going to turn you into a piece of conceptual art. It's a piece entitled "The Wanking Hobo" and it forms part of a larger permanent exhibition called 'Sooooo Kinky'. So, darling, you're going to be a work of art' I looked at her shoes, of course I did, and my cock grew without the magic beans.

'OK, Jibby' I said. Everyone knows Jibby. Nobody fucks with her. She shoots hobos in the night.

'Super fucking brilliant, darling' she smiled. 'Now come this way'

I followed her into the swanky main gallery and wow, what a scene. There was a large installation of video screens showing a woman repeatedly zipping up her knee high boot. The phonetics was amazing. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip. In one corner was a gold dildo, as tall as a monument, poking up into the domed ceiling. Along another wing was a large leather penis on wheels, sporadically ejaculating Kelly Caleche cream perfume into a pot. There was a huge hologram of Penny Keats' coiffured head with pearls repeating comments such as 'Jerry, you naughty naughty boy' and 'Oh I say Tom, it's a mini Matterhorn!' There was a large baroque painting entitled 'Two Dildos at Royal Ascot' accompanied by a group of fashion models from Society Agency including Lily Bottomleigh all wearing Philip Treacy hats, enjoying Pimms and looking through croc leather binoculars. How awfully chic they were. There was a video of Skinny and Buxham, quite drunk; trying to ram their Prada stilettos up a chav's bum in the lobby of a grand hotel. There were some photos of men jumping rooftops in designer boots. There were vintage Guy Bourdin prints and amorous sketches by caricaturists. There were many videos and holograms of tongues and lips licking and kissing shoes and handbags and very posh leather gloves wanking large penises in classical country house gardens.

'Tonight is the opening party, darling. There's your space' said Jibby, smoking a cigarette in a croc leather holder pointing at some cardboard on the floor with a sign that read 'The Wanking Hobo' I sat down on the cardboard. It was warm.

'Now start wanking and don't stop until the party is over and all the guests have gone' insisted Jibby, taking a puff on her cigarette holder. I looked at her Donna Karan shoes. It was easy to stay hard looking at those. On top of that Jibby had left an assortment of sex drugs in a small pink ostrich leather Hermes Kelly bag.

'That's it, darling, lots of wanking. There are going to be some very important people here this evening, so be very very naughty! People will be saying very naughty things to you.' She walked off in her Brioni outfit.

'I could fuck you' I said.

'Keep wanking' she shouted from the other side of the gallery.

I wondered who would be turning up. I was getting quite excited. I took various sex pills, some of which I had no idea of the consequences. I might die here tonight, in the throes of sexual ecstasy. It had happened to a friend. He took a new pill called Everlust. He spent a day coming, like someone who can't stop being sick due to sea sickness, well this was similar, only instead of vomiting, he was climaxing. He was at Royal Ascot and he died at the pub afterwards of a stroke. Everlust, a very tricky customer indeed. I made myself comfortable on the cardboard bed and masturbated for a bit. When Jibby was out of sight, I watched Penny Keats' say some things.

At about seven thirty in the evening a few guests arrived. I recognized them straight away. It was Skinny and Buxham. Skinny was wearing a short dress made entirely of little gold dildos by Hussein Chalayan, a silk trailing scarf by Gucci, and a pair of John Galliano super elevated black leather knee-high boots with wood heels and zips down the inside and outside. She was sporting an orange leather zip-detail glove-clutch by Alexander McQueen. She looked ravishing. Buxham was wearing figure hugging leather down one side of her torso and was completely naked elsewhere, aside from a delicious pink leather covered strap-on penis, with studs. Izzy would be proud. She wore strappy black croc platform stilettos by Zuhair Murad, oh yes those ones, and carried a very large D Squared black croc leather zip bag with gold zips.

'Oh it's a pikey' said Buxham, swinging her bag in my direction 'Let's go and piss on him'

'Later, darling. There are other things to see' said Skinny, pivoting on a boot heel.

'Naughty lovely things to see. Jibby's an absolute wiz' Skinny continued.

'I'll be pissing on you later, you fucker' smiled Buxham. I'm not even sure they recognized me from the events at Brompton Cross. Maybe they want their Porsche seats cleaning? I started wanking. Jibby was double kissing Skinny and Buxham; congratulating them on their latest TV show 'How Your Shoes Can Make You Completely Fuckable'. A screen flashed on at the back which showed a close up two fine horses fucking on a glorious hillside in the Cotswolds. Grunting and all. It tied in with the Ascot section.

Then Sarah Cavendish-Peel entered from a Bentley limo. Oh she was divine. My willy went into double takes. Antonio oh Antonio. God I wished I was Hugo again. Maybe Hugo will turn up. What a moment it would be. The first time the two bodies used by the same mysterious person will have been in the same room. It could be very interesting. Sarah CP was wearing a Chalayan zebra print fur top which barely came down to her waist. She proudly exhibited her neatly trimmed pussy. She strutted across the marble floor of the gallery in high heeled black leather thigh boots, with leather garter straps at the top, also by Chalayan. She carried an YSL Downtown bag, with a zebra silk scarf wrapped around the handle. I lay on the floor watching her exchange kisses with Jibby. Jibby could not stop feeling her leather boots. The Krug was starting to flow.

'Darling, where's Hugo?' Asked Jibby with her trademark cigarette holder.

'Oh he went orf into Surrey with some tarts and hasn't been back for days' Sarah said fluttering her big eyelashes like Cleopatra.

'He's insatiable, he would have loved my show' said Jibby.

'Maybe' said Sarah 'although he can be strangely moody about kinky sex. He suddenly became a shoe fetishist, you know. For absolutely years he exhibited no interest in my huge collection of designer shoes and one morning he insisted on kissing a pair of Gucci platforms I had just bought on Sloane Street'

'Was he just experimenting, darling. He may have been trying to spice things up a bit'

Sarah shook her long mane of blonde hair 'No, it was the full-blown thing. He really had a passion for those Gucci shoes. Just as suddenly his fetish for shoes went away, which was weird, and then it came back at my leopard and leather party with a vengeance. Which is just as well, I'd spent an awful lot of money on new Moschino boots.'