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

'At ease' she said.

'Are you happy with the shine?' I asked.

'No' she said 'Do it all again, I'll watch. All you've been doing is fucking the seats and wanking off, I saw you in the web cam, see it?' What a bitch. This is what she does is it? 'When you've polished the seats properly, then you can polish my bag. After that, you can do my boots. I've got a few hours to kill. I don't need to be at Hurlingham until three. Polo match, darling'

'You drive a hard bargain, Zara' I grinned.

'Yar, and let me play with this beautiful cock while you work. When this is all over, I want this inside me' she said, grabbing my cock and rubbing it, as though it was just another one of her sex toys. A commodity.

Once I had polished her boots, I was gagging to come. She straddled me and we played the corkscrew game for a bit, bloody hell, Joanna Lamley was on the radio.

'I want everyone to know' said Joanna in a very posh voice 'that I shall endeavour to clean up the streets of a sordid London. In a years time you will see hobos gone, no chavs, and no pikey scum. The good old fashioned class system will be revived, so Zara you need not worry my darling, you'll still be able to frig yourself to death in your expensive apartment while the proles get whipped in factories.'

I couldn't believe this, it was as if Joanna was here, watching.

'Oh Zara, that's the way girl' Joanna urged 'Getting the lower class male to polish ones boots, what a splendid idea. You naughty naughty girl. Ha ha'

What a prime minister we have. Go England. Oh fuck, Zara's good at corkscrewing. Oh yes. Oh fucking yes. Yeaaaaahhh.

No sooner had I come, I was hard as a plaintain, a minute later. That fucking Hardlong stuff, it's irrepressible. Zara rubbed a leather boot on my cock, while ramming various sex toys up her orifices, dribbling on the newly polished leather. I guess I was going to be spending the night in the car, cleaning it again.

'Clean my boot with your cock' ordered Zara, giggling and snorting coke.

Ohh here we go again. Orgasm number two. Three minutes later came orgasm number three.

'I was chatting to the wonderful Hugo Posset' said Joanna Lamley on the radio 'at a party at Kensington. Now, he's the perfect gentleman. An English rose if there ever was one'

'Ha ha' Zara was shoving one of her dildos up my arse, as I sucked on her boot heel. What a rose I was.

So, Zara approached me at the barbecue at Pelham Crescent. Max Ponds was one of the guests too, I was hoping he wouldn't be here, I wasn't feeling particularly competitive. Zara was decked out in a Jitrois stretch leather skirt, black leather strappy Zanotti platform stiletto shoes, nails painted deep red. I gazed at those shoes for a long time.

'New bag Zara?' I noticed

'Yar, Longchamp. You like?' She was gorgeous, her chestnut hair looking infinitely touchable, the usual Chanel sunglasses on her head and tweed suit over a smart jersey. Lots of bangles of both arms. Jangle jangle.

'How many zips on that one?' I asked.

'Not enough' laughed Zara ' Oh Hugo Posset and his penchant for zips on bags! Are you sleeping rough tonight, you naughty boy?'

'Yeah, you know that old Transit, the bloke just left it there. It makes a comfy pad.'

'Really' purred Zara, putting a hand down the front of my Dior pants. 'And I see you're still gracing Chelsea with very little in the way of clothes. Nice underwear' She breathed in my ear. That lovely horny Zara in the Zanotti shoes. I was hard again. She rubbed my cock gently, then withdrew her hand when she heard me gasp. There was a stain down my leg. I left the stain there. Private parties, you can't beat them. Zara strutted off.

'Alright Hugo' Max had clocked me and was strutting across the lawns with a big steak sandwich and a bottle of Krug. 'Fancy jumping the Serpentine?'

'Ha ha, you're on? Tomorrow?' I could jump the fucking Thames, there was no competition.

'You sure you're up for the challenge, Posset. Let's just hope you don't stumble at the last minute. The Serp's a cold one.' Max swigged some Krug, his ginger locks bouncing in the evening lamplight of Pelham Crescent.

'Yeah, I'll be there Maxy boy at the widest stretch' I smiled.

Sarah was entertaining a few city brokers and some hedge fund cunts. She always had her fingers in the moneypots, when it wasn't down my pants. In the corner of my eye I noticed Lady Trammerton had turned up, she was sitting under a parasol, looking like something out of a Cecil Beaton. Very demure.

'Hey Hugo' said Max 'Do you wanna race? Now. Round the Crescent?'

'Alright, you fucker, on your marks...'

We were off like greyhounds. Straight out of the gardens and into the crescent. Max was gaining on me, I could see his ginger locks trailing in the corner of my eye. He jumped a Porsche Cayenne like an antelope. Fucking hell. I hurdled a Merc and skimmed a BMW. Max was jumping front gardens, knocking over pots. What a vandal. I turned on the turbo. He doesn't stand a fucking chance. Max dropped his Krug bottle, there was a smash on the pavement. Now he'll be a bit lighter. Fuck this, he's catching up. We were halfway around the crescent. I got a bit of extra swing from a period lamppost and flew over two Aston Martins, I was in the lead but not by far. Frances Witheringbury was cheering me on from her fourth floor balcony, throwing banana skins down in the path of Max.

'Go on Hugo' she bellowed.

Max wasn't falling for the oldest trick in the book. He strafed around the obstacle like Auto Man. Then he wolf whistled. No sooner had he done so, two fucking Dobermans came flying out of a door and seized my leg. Fuckers. Max you bastard. Those Dobermans took some shaking off. Max capitalized and streamed by, holding one finger up to my face, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Not far to go now.

I resumed and ran like a cheetah. A lovely young lady actually leant me her cheetah print pashmina and I wrapped it around my waist, streaking over several sports cars, and cutting off Max at the pass. I just managed to win, by a nose. People were cheering and uncorking champagne.

'Well done Hugo, unlucky Max' said Barwick Ford.

'The real test will be the Serpentine' Max panted, grabbing a pitcher of Pimms and taking big mouthfuls. He limped off, sweating in his Saville Row suit.

'That was a classic' laughed Barwick.

'One of the better Crescent runs' I said giving back the cheetah print pashmina to the young lady.

'Good run' said Sarah, who came running over, great big teeth glinting like the posh tart she was.

'Any more news on Tony the Leg' I asked Sarah.

'Well, the police are looking into the matter' she replied, taking a bottle of Ultrasex from her Chanel bag and popping two of them.

'Steady on babe' I warned. 'Those are bloody strong'

'I fucking know' said Sarah 'I can't get enough of them, especially at posh garden parties full of hunks parading about. The little nanobots go straight to the clit and ripple like heaven. I'm soooooo fucking depraved'

'Give me one' I said. I took four of the bastards. Within ten minutes I could hardly walk straight. I slumped down next to Lady Trammerton, who was looking rather fetching in her tweeds and posh little Longchamp bag. She was wearing blue leather Givenchy gloves.

'Hello Hugo' she brayed.

'Where's that foxy Persephone?' I said. I could feel my cock juddering and fizzing beneath my Dior pants. God it felt good.

'Oh she's not coming, she's not a fan of Hugo Posset. She has very bad taste in men' said Lady Trammerton, resting a glove on my arm. 'She's a lovely girl though. She's running a gallery on the Pimlico Road. You'll have to see it. No moose, though. Oh, have you heard anything about the stolen painting?'

'Police are on it' I said, trying not to ejaculate. Sarah came over and joined us, her face a picture. She was trying to act as though nothing was happening, whilst at the same time enjoy the waves of pleasure.

'Sorry Lady Trammerton, but Sarah and I really have to fuck' I gasped.

'Excellent' said Lady Trammerton 'I have my video camera, let me record you. I say, what a splendid bash!'

'You dirty posh tart' I said

'I'll sell it on Ebay for hundreds' said Lady Trammerton, gently pressing the on button with an elegant gloved hand. 'Now go at it like goats!'

Sarah drove me to the Serpentine Gallery the next day to see the launch of the Manolo exhibition. Society beauties and celebs were strutting about the park in ridiculously high Manolo shoes. It was a glorious sight.

'There's only one real shoe and it's a Manolo' chirped Lady Clambury-Cleet

'Absolutely' said Sarah, playing with the zip on her Manolo black leather knee high boot. She placed her Tanner Krolle snaffle bag on the sun baked terrace. She crossed her legs and sipped a Martini. The life of Riley. I gave her legs a good rub telling her she had the best legs in town. She did. She rubbed my cock in return saying I had the best Mr Python in town. She spoke with forked tongue. I licked her boots in front of Lady Clambury-Clam.

'Alright Posset' said Max Ponds who appeared from nowhere. Oh no, I'd forgotten about our competition. Oh fuck it. Fuck it. 'You ready for the big one?'

'I'm ready for the big one?' winked Sarah, rubbing her boot on my crotch.

'Yeah, one minute Sarah, I've got some business to attend to. OK Maxy boy, let's get this over and done with' I stood up and put my Mojito on the table. I sparked up a Davidoff.

'This time I'm gonna stuff ya' said Max, in his white Versace double breasted suit and Church's brogues.

'Fuck me Max, you've come dressed for the occasion'

'Yep, I see you've come as usual. Completely undressed.'

'Hot summers, pants are all that's required mate'

'Yeah' laughed Max 'Well come on, we've got a Serpentine to conquer'

'Fucking easy' I said as we strode to the widest point in the lake, watching the gentle ripples and boats.

'I could jump that lake in my Manolos' said a drunken celeb, she'd dragged along in our wake, it looked like Eve Goddard. Posh tart. With that she ran into the lake laughing and stripped off. Mad posh tart.

'You gonna do a bit better than that?' I asked Max

'Cheeky fucker' smiled Max, as he prepared the ground for the run, inspecting for any hazardous divots.

'Christ Max, you're being very careful these days'

'This is serious shit, Posset. I don't just jump ponds nowadays. I jumped the lake in St James's Park last week. I almost lost my footing on a divot. You have to be thorough!'

'OK, toss a coin who goes first' I said.

Several celebs had gathered and were whispering as to what was occurring. Manolo shoes gathering. Always good. I called heads and got tails. I got to go first. I sauntered over to the spot where Max had inspected the ground. Didn't want to take any chances now he'd mentioned it. The wind was down, westerly direction. Ground was good.

'Good luck, old boy' cheered Barwick Ford. Fuck me, he didn't miss a trick did old Barwick.

I took a deep breath. I estimated the trajectory. There were some ducks the other side of the lake, right in the landing area, milling about.

'Someone shoo those fuckers' I shouted across. A young lad with a stick scared them off. Then there was a deathly silence as everyone's attention was on me. Here we go. I got off to a good run and I judged the moment of take off very well indeed. I adopted the flying fox position and I flew across the lake and landed the other side. I rolled judo fashion and got up to the sound of cheering. Pressure was on Max now. He was psyching himself up, doing star jumps. You could cut the atmosphere with a Manolo heel.

'Go on Max' said a Doberman, sitting on the lakeside, nose sniffing.

Max took a run up, then stopped and started again. That's in the rule book, if you bail out on the first run, it's fine, just don't bail out at the last minute like Boots did once down the park. He ended up in the drink. Max went into a good run, curls blowing in the slipstream. Surprisingly he opted for the tomcat position and hit the other side of the lake with ease. Damn it.

'Oh bother' said Barwick, spitting out a cherry stone.

'Nice jump' said a Doberman.

'OK' I said 'Now we do it, carrying two ducks'

'You're on' said Max, grabbing two mallards, quacking and squawking they were. They soon settled down when he fed them some old crusts. He held one firmly under each arm. He was confident and decided to go first. He misjudged the trajectory and let the mallards go in mid flight. He landed in the water. Oh he was angry, splashing his way across the lake.

'Nice one Max' I shouted, 'the ducks got him'

Oh well it was my turn so I selected two fine specimens, nothing too rowdy, they settled down quickly under my arms as I took a run up. Fuck me I soon realized how difficult it is to get in position with two mallards under each arm. Nonetheless, I succeeded where Max didn't. The cheering was ebullient. Barwick was rubbing Lady Clambury-Clam's tits in celebration! Good old Barwick. Max skulked off into the bar to get drunk.

'Next time I'll have you Posset' he groaned, soaked in his suit.

'Yeah, bring it on' I clapped.

The gallery bash was in full swing, lots of leather I noticed. Leather really was in fashion, it was a no holds barred display of expensive designer skin. I was getting trouty. Sarah was looking hot in her skintight number, as she sashayed over to me and gave me a big snog.

'Well done Hugo, brilliant technique' she cooed.

'Cheers posh bitch' I said.

'Now can we resume, my boots are in need of your rabid attention' she reminded, fluttering her long lashes, looking so fucking beautiful it gave me butterflies.

'He'll have you next time' said a passing Doberman. Strange beast.

'Oh there's been some news' said Sarah 'Tony the Leg was spotted in Worlds End earlier today. Police are following it up. I want that Poussin back'

'I couldn't really give a stuff about it' I said.

'Really Hugo, you have metamorphosed into a completely new person. You loved that old painting' Sarah frowned.

'I prefer your boots anytime' I said flicking a zip pull.

'Nevertheless, I do like a good Poussin'

'And I like a good pussy'

'Naughty naughty Hugo Posset' Sarah purred, rubbing my crotch hard, gently sipping a martini with her other hand, her Patek Phillippe shining in the sun.

'Say that again in your poshest voice you bitch' I urged.

'Naughty naughty Hugo Posset. Naughty naughty Hugo Posset'. I shot my load. There was another stain in my pants. Fuck them, let them see my dirty pants. They are all stuck up, upper class wankers, let them see my come stains. Ha ha. I wandered into the bar, amongst various aristocrats, their braying voices permeating the place. It was glorious. My knob was hard in my pants.

'Oh, it's the man who only wears his pants' giggled Camilla Start-Dart

'Super, soooo super' added Jilly Coppers

'Admirable, very admirable' smiled Izzy Buckworth-Chard, in the highest platform Manolos with black leather straps. I ogled them like the dirty bastard I was. I saw small splashes of drink on the delicate leather. Lovely toes.

'I am enamoured with your shoes' I said to Izzy 'I must kiss them'

Izzy put a foot forward. 'Really Hugo, when Sarah told me you had changed I didn't go along with it. Now I'm inclined to believe it. I must say I prefer you to the old stuffy bastard you once were. Now get down and kiss my shoe you modernist'

I noticed Jilly Coppers was taking notes in a Smythson notepad with a lovely Mont Blanc pen. Giles Broughton turned his nose up, quite disgusted, but saying nothing. Fuck him.

I savoured the smooth leather straps around a beautiful aristocratic foot, perfect painted toe nails in red. I kissed good.

'This is better than Champneys' purred Izzy sipping a Manhattan.

'Lovely posh foot' I panted, laying on the floor of the bar, stroking myself in ecstasy.

'Oh really' sighed Giles the cock.

'Lovely posh high heels' I moaned, coming to an amazing climax, looking up plenty of skirts, seeing plenty of women had come along commando, but gripping Izzy's heel as I hung on as a long orgasm subsided. Fuck that was good.

It ended abruptly as Giles decided to kick me in the face with his Italian shoes on. He nearly broke my nose, there was blood all over Izzy's foot.

'Fucking shoe boy' snarled Giles

'Right you bastard' I said, as I unbuckled Izzy's Manolo shoe and held it like a knife. 'Come on you fucker'

Giles tried to shove his broken beer glass in my face but missed as Max swung a good punch into him. Nice one Max. People were clearing the bar. I lunged at Giles with the shoe, as he regained balance. He was a tough bloke. He cut my chest with the broken glass. That really hurt. I gritted my teeth and rammed Izzy's shoe into his face, stabbing hard, relentlessly. Giles soon fell to the floor. Max kicked him in the ribs a few times. Giles groaned and surrendered. No more snide comments from Giles.

'Nothing like a good old bar brawl' clapped Camilla Start-Dart who never left the bar.

I spent the rest of the evening getting pissed with Max, talking about various lakes and bodies of water he'd leapt. Fuck, one day he'll be doing the English Channel.

Next day I was in the gallery, arranging some new paintings and sculptures. Jibby Bream was pacing about, umming and arring, in a green Chanel suit and an ocelot print fur coat. I noticed the Vivienne Westwood platform open-toe red leather wedges she wore. Nice Marc Jacobs Stella bag two, lovely shade of mauve. I was bored so I started up a conversation, looking at her horny shoes.

She boasted in her posh voice 'I own a gallery in London too, I'm looking for risqué stuff'

'Well' I said 'You're a naughty old girl'

'Very' she said, noticing I was looking at her shoes.

'I have a nice piece entitled "Two Dildos at Royal Ascot"' I told her. I was making it up, the piece did not exist. She took her card from her gorgeous black leather Dior purse without hesitation.

'How much?' She enquired.

'Don't you want to see it?' I said

'No, just send it to my gallery address, here it is on my card', she slipped it down the front of my pants, she was very trusting.

'Fair enough, Miss Bream. That will be ten thousand pounds'. Oh the frivolous world of high art. 'Nice shoes by the way'

She smirked 'I saw you lusting over them, you perve. Would you like a closer perusal?'

'Of course, if you don't mind. I like to think only the best high heels come into the Royal Gallery on this fine Monday morning, an inspection is necessary'

'Vivienne Westwood' she said 'Super elevated wedges...aren't they fab?'

I had to agree. I looked at them from every angle, as she posed like a Greek goddess. We could have been mistaken for a classical sculpture in the window. Definitely the sort of thing Jibby would have bought for oodles of cash. This time I refrained from getting the big cock involved and I bashed one out when she was gone. I had a feeling I'd be seeing her again. I had better get an artist to get to work on that 'two dildos' thing. Damn I love being Hugo Posset. It's so much better than fish and chips down Canning Town!

'What's up moose?' I said

'Fuck all' it replied.

'Fair enough' I said

I rang Sarah. She was at PJ's brasserie with Charlotte Foggins. Oh the idle rich. There was no action at the gallery so I closed it up early for the day, had a quick pint in the Goat in Boots and got a taxi to PJs. Interesting journey it was.

'Fucking traffic' he moaned.

'Yeah fuck em in the ear' I agreed

'I will' he said.

'Go on then, I'll pay you a grand if you do' I urged.

'What, if I get out and fuck someone in the ear, you'll give me a grand?' he couldn't believe his luck. I gave him the grand upfront. With money, you can get people to do the most ridiculous things. He stopped the cab, got out and pulled over a bloke driving a Saab. The man was polite enough and wanted to know what the problem was. The cab driver winked at me, grabbed the bloke and threw him against the side of the cab, pulling his pants down. The man was struggling for dear life. Oh it was hilarious. The cab driver rammed his cock in the Saab driver's ear, grunting and pumping. He got back in the cab, started up the engine and we resumed.