How fucking stupid is this? In two more stops, I will be getting off the number forty-two bus on the way into town. It passes by some old arches, close to the river that winds its way through an industrial site. Numerous alleyways connect the river to the main road. Few are lit. It’s also dark and extremely fucking cold, even for six o’clock on this January evening.
I’m not even dressed for gallivanting in this part of town. All sorts of unsavoury characters emerge at night. All sorts; and I’m not including Bertie Basset in that either.
To say I’m a little scared or apprehensive is an understatement. But, given the nature of my predicament, there was little I could do.
ooOoo
I work for a reputable company, one that would not have seen the funny side, or indeed the naughty side of what I had done. It was a one-off, she said, smiling to herself. Imagine the scene: A slightly tipsy and horny woman of thirty-seven comes out of a nightclub and latches onto some bloke, takes him down a lane and sucks him off until he comes in her mouth. Well, actually it was more throat, then mouth and then my fucking black dress that got covered when I found out that I couldn’t swallow as fast as he was producing; the same black dress that I had to get cleaned the day after at enormous cost.
I thought nothing of it until I went in to retrieve the dress a week later and was told by the shop assistant that someone had come in just after me and left this envelope ‘for the lady owning the black dress.’ The same one I handed in earlier that day.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the letter in front of her and out dropped a USB into the palm of my hand. I looked at it quizzically. Then I looked at her. Either she feigned any knowledge of the act, or it really was handed to her after I had left the shop.
Either way – it was fucking scary to think someone had followed me when I dropped the dress off for cleaning. I shook my head and with dress and USB in hand headed out to catch the bus home.
That night I looked at the USB disk after plugging it into my laptop. I was horrified to see me in the video that played when it was inserted. In all my glory, I was blowing some guy in an alleyway. I struggled to find the connection as to who took the video? The more I looked, the more confused I became. I mean, who takes black and white videos these days. Then there was the angle – and it looked grainy, but you could tell it was my face. Well, before it got buried in the guy’s pants, you could tell it was my face.
Then it hit me, fucking CCTV cameras. They get everywhere these days.
I wondered whether the shop assistant had taken a peek at it because the envelope was not sealed at all.
I saw, next to the video, a text file. I opened it. It did explain that it was CCTV footage from a council placed camera and that if I didn’t arrange to meet with this guy, the sender, then he would send it to my place of work.
I felt like calling his bluff, but there was something about the name Mathew Bourne that made me think I knew him from somewhere. Then there was the fact that I really loved my job and I didn’t want to lose it. Then there was the fact that I actually got off on things like this. It was a no-brainer.
I smiled a little at the video. I know the woman in that video was me, but she was such a slut. As soon as the bloke had finished spunking in her mouth, she got up, wiped her chin with her finger and swallowed his leftover juice. She then had the audacity to wave goodbye to him as she left to catch her bus; she was such a slut. As she left the alleyway you could see the drops of spunk glistening on her black dress; all from a CCTV camera on a lamp post.
For the life of me, I couldn’t remember anything about what the bus driver must have thought of me or anyone else on that late night bus back to the suburbs.
I know, I could have gone to the police, but where would the fun be in that, eh! I started to smile at her, in the video. I then started to get horny. My fingers snaked inside my panties, and I started to feel my wetness spread. My other hand was dialing the number on the phone.
I heard the voice answer; just a simple, hello.
“H-Hi, it’s me, the woman with the black dress,” I said with a little apprehension and uncertainty. I waited, with baited breath for his reply.
We had a tiny discussion before he replied telling me his conditions and where we should meet.
“Please, please don’t send it to work, I don’t want to lose my job,” I feigned my vulnerability to perfection. “I’ll be there, I promise – What time again?”
ooOoo
And so, here I am. The bus is stopping, and I am about to get off. I smile at the driver and say a heartfelt thank you. My heels clip on the pavement before I start walking. The alleyway is opposite the corner of Moss and Fern street. I can see it from where I am, but there is nobody there.
I wait close to the alleyway, and I see one or two unsavoury looking characters leer at me as they pass me by. Thankfully, they keep on walking.
Like I said, I’m not exactly dressed for this part of town. My dress covers me to the knees, but my high heels are suggestive of a sleazier side to me that people passing by can see. My hair is coiled up into a bun with wisps of hair straggling down around my face. My red lips are downright sexy, and the silver-studded dog collar is making me out to be a tart. The heels and lips were his suggestion – the rest were mine.
It was me that decided to dress the way I am and to be honest, I feel as sexy as hell.
There’s still no sign of him as I look at my watch. Ten minutes past six and no one to be seen.
To be honest, his instructions were for me to walk down the alleyway but it’s so dark, and I would be so vulnerable on my own. Even I feel scared of this kind of darkness.
My heels clip and clop as I walk past the entrance to the alleyway one more time before I decide to walk into it.
It wasn’t the fact that I had suddenly become brave. It was the four guys in leather jackets that were walking up the street towards me. Their boisterous attitude would make me feel vulnerable and, putting it mildly, I could only guess what they would say as they passed me by. No, those guys would have been worse than the darkness.
I found myself taking in deep lungful’s of air, and I could feel my heart racing under my thick coat. I felt a little cold, and I dug my hands into my pockets for some warmth. My steps were slow, deliberate and careful and my eyes were as wide as a hedgehog in a car’s headlight. I could still hear the traffic on the main road and the yell of one of the guys as they got closer.
But I was beginning to see. The lack of street lighting that filtered down to where I was no longer hurt my eyes, and I was starting to make things out in the darkness. The alleyway twisted to the right and before I knew it the main road was cut off from my sight. Suddenly I could see the little enclave that he described to me, and I started to twist my head to one side to try and peer into it.
“Well, hello.”
I jumped out of my skin at the words from behind me; letting out an audible screech. My hands were out of my pockets and up close to my face as I expected someone to grab me from behind, but nothing happened. I stopped and turned around.
“Hello, Melissa?”
I nodded, then realising how dark it was, added: “yes, it’s me.”
The place smelt of damp and the mustiness crept into my nostrils.
As the man came closer, I could make out his features. He was slim, taller than me, which is saying something, and underneath his bomber jacket, he looked to be quite fit. His facial features made him quite endearing. I instantly liked him. He was unpretentious and not aggressive or demanding at all.
I felt a pang of regret at the thought that this may turn out to be nicer than I had expected.
As he moved towards me, I backed into the enclave on my left. A floodlight suddenly lit up the area which startled me.
“Fuck me,” I exclaimed, “not here surely,” I said looking him in the eye.
“Why not?”
Then I noticed his red hair and I started to smile.
“Now I remember you – Ginger! You’re that Mathew Bourne!”
Mathew nodded at me.
“I see you’ve got the heels on, and the lipstick, that’s good of you.”
“Why the lipstick?”
“So that I can look at it on my cock afterwards and remember that I actually got blown by Melissa Evans.”
