In Part 2 of “Untouched” , Sharon makes our hero confront his darkest desires.
Part 1 of “Untouched” can be found here
(c) Mike Kimera 2010. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from email@example.com
My next encounter with Sharon changed my world.
Sharon had arranged herself in the spotlight that illumined the entrance to the disco: leaning against the wall, hands behind her back, head high, one foot drawn up and pressed against the wall, she stared into the middle distance, paying no attention to the admiring glances she got from just about every male who passed her.
Her outfit was in the vanguard of fashion for 1984, following Madonna in walking the razor’s edge between playful fashionista and cheap whore.
She was a vision in white: seriously high fuck-me pumps, opaque thigh-highs that stopped inches below a tiered taffeta halter dress, a neckline that plunged to breathe-taking depths, and most striking of all, a slim leather choker decorated with silver D-rings.
As I approached, she looked at me but didn’t speak or move away from the wall.
Perhaps it was the choker or her hands behind her back or just the way she held herself, but she reminded me of a virgin in a Pre-Raphaelite painting, tethered to a post, waiting to be sacrificed. Hey, what can I tell you, I was a New Romantic and a Burne-Jones fan.
I stopped a couple of feet away and let her see me memorizing her image. She raised her chin and pressed her shoulders against the wall, presenting herself for my inspection.
For a moment I saw myself as Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the sea monster.
I’d tossed off thinking about Sharon as a bound virgin. Seeing my fantasy in the flesh summoned a wave of lust that washed away my doubts and fears. I wanted to be her hero and to get my reward.
Looking back, I think Sharon wasn’t waiting to be rescued; she was hoping to summon the ravaging monster.
I stood directly in front of Sharon, hands in my pockets, trying to look cool.
“Enjoying the view?” she asked.
Before I could think of an answer, she pushed off the wall, hands still behind her back, and closed the distance between us.
When her breasts were almost touching me, she stopped, and looked up into my face.
For half a second she seemed to wait for something, although I didn’t know what. Then she moved her hands to her hips, ran them in parallel up her torso, and slid them over her breasts.
Perhaps a normal man would have been fully focused on watching Sharon fondle herself but when she’d brought her hands from behind her back, I’d seen for the first time that on each wrist she wore a little white leather cuff with a clasp that could be attached to the D-rings on her collar.
Any attempt at cool evaporated in the heat of that revelation. Deep in my gut, something hot and slick and less than human uncurled, stretched itself and let out a low hiss of anticipation.
“Do you like the dress?” Sharon said, “I wore it especially for you. Do you know why?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“I wore it because I knew that you would be imaging me naked.”
As she spoke her hands slid up to the back of her neck.
“In this dress I can be naked just by undoing this halter”
For a moment it seemed as if she might undo the fabric and right there in disco car park and display herself to me.
An erection, stronger than any I could remember, surged against my leg. It was triggered not so much by the possibility of Sharon undressing but by my desire to push her arms back further until her wrists were fastened to the rear of the collar, forcing her elbows up and out, leaving her helpless and exposed.
A small wet patch of pre-cum darkened my trousers.
Sharon saw it and laughed. She let her hands fall from her neck, contriving to graze the back of her hand against my erection as she did so.
“We’re not going to the disco tonight,” she said. “I have something to show you.”
With that, she walked away from me.
She headed purposefully towards the High Street. She didn’t look back. She took it for granted that I would follow her.
I stayed behind her, savoring the way her arse moved as she took long confident strides in her high heels.
She stopped in front a photography shop. It was closed of course but Sharon produced a key a let herself in. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in after her. There was something furtive in her manner that made me uneasy but excited.
“What are we doing here? Why do you have a key?” I asked, automatically speaking in a whisper.
“I’ve got a Saturday job here,” Sharon said. “I assist Mr. McKinley.”
“The old guy who takes the school photos?”
“He’s not that old. He’s still in his forties,” she said, sounding a little defensive. “Besides, I like older men. They know what they’re doing.” This was accompanied by a salacious grin. “He’s always very nice to me. He says I remind him of my mother when she was young. They used to date each other. I’ll bet he was her lover. Who knows, if things had been a little different, he might have been my Dad.”
My mind was working on some nasty images of what Sharon meant when she’d said McKinley was nice to her. I’d seen him at school. He looked OK, I guess, he wasn’t fat or bald or anything like that but there was something about the way he looked at girls that was a little creepy. He wasn’t obvious about it but that made it more creepy not less. Knowing that he’d fucked Sharon’s mother way back when amped the creep factor to the max. It was repulsive but the kind of repulsive that is hard to look away from. The kind that surfaces all the repulsive things about yourself that you normally won’t admit to.
“If you like older men so much, what am I doing here?”
I sounded petulant. Perhaps Sharon noticed. She ran her hand down my arm and stepped closer to me.
“You and he have a lot in common.”
“You both like to watch.”
No one had ever said that to me before. I’d barely voiced it to myself. I felt as if I was suddenly in front of her naked with my dick in my hands. Her words literally shocked me. My body tingled. Time slowed down. It took a second or two before I recognised that Sharon’s tone suggested approval, perhaps even excitement.
“Mr. McKinley really likes to watch.” Sharon said, linking her arm through mine and leading me towards a room at the back of the shop.
“That’s why he takes such good photographs, he sees things and holds them in his head. Just like you do.”
Have you ever taken photographs? I bet you’d enjoy it. Holding women in your lens. Zooming in close. Focusing on just the parts that interest you.”
I’ve seen you at the disco, watching the dancers. You like them to sweat don’t you. Imagine seeing them through a long distance lens, being yards away, practically invisible, and still being able to track the progress of each bead of sweat as it rolls down a girl’s neck. I think you’d like that a lot.”
Sharon had been watching me. She’d seen me more clearly, or at least more honestly, than I’d seen myself. She knew some of my darkest desires. And she had still brought me here. Lain in wait for me. Baited the hook with a her sex-kitten outfit. Sharon had an agenda.
“What was it you wanted to show me?” I asked, trying to regain the initiative.
“Come into the studio,” Sharon said.
I could see an area to the side of the shop that had props and a camera on a tripod.
“I thought that was the studio.”
“That’s for the kids and the mums. The studio is for adults. Actually, you could say it’s for adults only,” Sharon said, holding out her hand to me and smiling. Her smile suggested that she had lots to show me, that she wanted to take her time and that I was going to enjoy myself.
Sharon lead me to the back of the shop. She unlocked the door and brought me in to a windowless room. The light in the room was red. There were trays and negatives, a photographs hanging on clips.
“This is a dark room,” I said, lamely.
“We’re not there yet.”
Sharon moved aside a curtain and revealed another locked room. A hidden locked room. I felt a chill in my balls. What kind of man was McKinley?
Sharon grabbed my hand and pulled me into the studio. It was definitely for adults only. There were two sets of cameras on tripods, each with its own cluster of lights. The first set of cameras was pointed an iron framed double bed. The sheets were black and shiny. Handcuffs hung from the ironwork at the head and the foot of the bed. In the centre of the bed, laid out in a straight line were a riding crop, a flogger with many short soft leather strips and some kind of leather bridle, shaped for the human head.
I turned to Sharon. Her eyes were shining.
“That’s not even the best part,” she said, “Watch this.”
She ran to the far wall and flicked a switch. I recognised the sound of a slide projector powering up. Light flickered on the wall above the bed.
Each dispassionate turn of the carousel displayed a pornographic picture on the wall. The quality of the photography varied as wildly as the age and shape of the people caught in the flash lit sex acts. The pictures smelled of desperation, of need unmet, of intimacy betrayed. And yet I could not look away from them.
“Mr. McKinley runs a special service for people who can’t send their pictures off to Boots to be developed.” Sharon said. “He does them cheaply so he thinks it’s only fair that he keeps a copy for himself. Of course his pictures are much better than those. He’s an artist. Now, let me show you what I brought you to see.”
She moved to the second set of cameras and turned looking at me eagerly
Behind me the carousel continued to click inexorably forward, casting shadows of desire above us.
I paused, knowing that there was something wrong here. That this was neither normal nor right. That it spoke to the worst parts of me. That I should leave.
I didn’t want to leave.
A kind of numb recklessness spread over me at that acknowledgement. I refused to think. I acquiesced as the lizard part of me that had woken earlier took control of my actions. I was going to do this. Whatever this turned out to be.
I joined Sharon at the second set of cameras.
They were pointed at a U-shaped wooden plinth, that looked as if it was made of old railway sleepers, rough and stained. The arms of the U faced towards me. They were about a foot wide and about two feet off the ground. A pillar, made from another sleeper, rose from the base of the U. It was scarred and stained and had eye bolts all around the top. A strip of braided leather with a D ring at the end hung from each bolt.
But what held my attention was a narrow pole, topped with a life-like but over-sized black rubber phallus that jutted up between the arms of the U. I’d never seen anything like it. I didn’t even know what to call it.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Mr. McKinley calls it the best seat in the house,” Sharon said.
That made no sense to me at all.
Sharon was visibly excited. She led me by the hand to the tripod directly in front of the plinth and said,”Watch through the camera, you get the best view that way.”
Before I could ask, “Watch what?”, Sharon had stepped away from me.
Reaching behind the plinth she fetched up a jar of Vaseline, scooped a handful, squatted beside the plinth and started methodically to spread the Vaseline over the phallus with both hands. When she finished, she held the thing in a hand-over-hand grip that still left another couple of inches of rubber were visible below the broad flat glans.
“Have you ever seen a dildo this real?”
“I’ve never seen a dildo at all,” I said.
“My mum has one. She keeps it in a box under the bed where my dad won’t find it, but hers is more like a candle. This one is so real, you can’t resist touching it.”
Without thinking about it, I adjusted the focus on the camera to get a closer look at the thing Sharon was grasping. It glistened in the bright lights.
“There’s a new 36 frame role of film in the camera,” Sharon said, “Just press the lever on the right.”
I checked the controls. When I looked back, was standing in front of the plinth. She reached up behind her and undid the halter-neck of her dress and let the fabric fall to her waist. Her breasts were magnificent: firm and round and topped with dark nipples that seemed to suck in the light from the room.
“Go ahead,” Sharon said, pushing her breasts towards me. “Shoot me.”
I didn’t hesitate. The camera seemed like an extension of my imagination, framing the pieces of Sharon that I most desired and then capturing them.
Sharon started to dance to music I couldn’t hear. She let the dress fall the rest of the way and stepped out of it with choreographed efficiency.
I continued to shoot, slowly and carefully, focusing on where her white stay-up stockings stopped on her thigh, on the way the clasp from her wrist-cuffs grazed against her nipple, on the swollen cleft clearly visible behind the thin fabric of her panties.
I was in heaven. I was also as hard as hell.
“I’ll take the panties off if you pull that erection out where I can see it properly.”
Sharon ran her thumb across her panties. Through the lens I could see the fabric dampen.
My zip sounded loud in the silent room. I could smell myself as I pulled back my foreskin.
“That will do nicely,” Sharon said, grinning, then turned her back to me,bent at the waist, feet together and pushed her panties down to her ankles.
My cock bounced in time to the camera shutter as I recorded my first view of a real girl’s sex.
Then Sharon was suddenly out of shot.
I pulled the focus back and found that she had climbed onto the plinth, facing me, one foot on each arm of the U. She squatted, legs spread wide, sex positioned behind the head of the phallus.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I held my breath as I realised what she was about to do but I didn’t lift my head from the camera.
“Tell me to fuck it.”
“Tell me that you want to see this thing split me. Tell me what you really want and I’ll give it to you.”
My words came from the part of me I normally kept gagged in a dark room.
“I want you to fuck that thing hard and deep while I watch. I want to hear you fuck. I want…”
I couldn’t say it.
Sharon rubbed the head of the dildo against her sex.
“Tell me all of it. Make me do all of it.”
A torrent of pent up words flooded out of my mouth.
“I want your hands bound behind your head. I want you helpless. I want your tits to bounce as you fuck. I want to see you squirm and sweat. I want to hear you scream”
I was shocked by my own demands.
Sharon grinned. “I knew I was right about you.”
Keeping her eyes on me, she grabbed the dildo with one hand and guided it into her sex. She pushed herself down onto it, grunting as the fat head stretched her and then disappeared as if it had climbed in of its own accord and was never coming out.
She squatted further and a few more inches slid inside her. Her long strong legs strained and she rose until only the tip was in her.
Her labia were long and dark and seemed to have an almost prehensile grip on the rubber cock. I focused the camera until they were all I could see.
“Please come and bind me.”
I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to stay at the camera. This seemed to be about what I wanted so…
“Do it yourself.”
It came out as a command.
Sharon’s expression shifted. Lust flowed across her face like sweat.
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
I felt as if I’d just passed a test.
Still partly impaled on the dildo, eyes on me, Sharon raised her hands above her head and blindly found the leather strip that hung from the top of the pole and with an ease that told me she’d done this before, clipped each wrist-cuff to the D-ring.
“Now show me you know how to fuck.”
The voice was mine but I didn’t remember forming the words.
She kept hold of the leather strip with her hands and bore down on the dildo until it was all inside her. Her arms were stretched taut above her head. Her breasts pushed up and out in quivering mounds that I suddenly had the desire to beat and twist until they bruised.
It took her some effort to haul herself back up the monster cock. She grunted as she slid back down.
I stayed behind the camera, greedily sucking in image after image as Sharon sweated and strained.
“Faster. Get a rhythm.”
Another instruction I hadn’t meant to give.
Sharon started to work hard, pushing with her legs, supporting herself with her arms, her sex swallowing the dildo with smooth efficiency.
I became aware that she was chanting something softly to herself. I listened harder to make out the words.
“Best seat in the house.”
McKinley’s phrase. McKinley had taught her this. Had photographed her like this. Had handled the same camera I was handling as a girl young enough to be his daughter fucked herself for his pleasure.
I still don’t know if it was my distaste at having so much in common with McKinley, or the fact that I ran out of film, or the deep animal growl of Sharon’s orgasm that pulled me out of my lust-fugue but all of a sudden it seemed to me that I was somewhere I didn’t want to be doing something I would later be ashamed of.
I stepped away from the camera and moved towards Sharon.
She was motionless at the bottom of her arc, with all her weight supported by the dildo. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was twisted into a smile I’d never seen before.
She looked young and beautiful but everything about what she was doing and how she was displayed suddenly struck me as obscene. I wanted to get us both out of there.
Sharon opened her eyes just before I reached her and grinned at me.
“Coming to claim your reward. You could make me suck you – no hands – go as deep as you like. You can shoot all over my face and then shoot what you’ve done.”
She ended with a laugh but it sounded forced to me.
The thought of using Sharon this way restored my erection. It also made me angry with myself
“Get off that thing.”
Sharon looked at my erection and said, “Jealous are we? Want to get big boy out of the way so that you can take his place? You’ll have to help me off. I can’t push up high enough to release the cuffs anymore.”
I could see that what she said was true. She couldn’t get down from the best seat in the house unaided.
“I’m helpless here,” Sharon pouted. “You could fuck my face or tits or my arse. You could even leave the dildo in me while you reamed me. I’d have to let you, wouldn’t I?”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to do all those things. Needed to do them.
I stepped closer. She was covered in sweat, she stank of sex and I no longer wanted to touch her.
I reached up to unhook Sharon’s wrists. She used the opportunity to try and capture my cock with her mouth. She looked as if she was bobbing for apples.
In my effort to avoid being sucked, I released Sharon’s wrist-cuffs from the leather strap but didn’t take the time to separate the cuffs.
As I bent to lift her off the dildo, Sharon slipped her bound wrists behind my neck.
There was an audible “plop” as I lifted Sharon clear.
She immediately tried to bring her legs up around my hips and mount me.
“No,” I said.
“Your cock wants me. I want it. Fuck me.”
Her legs were strong and locked in place.
Her flesh and her stink were all over me. She tried to kiss me and suddenly it seemed to me that she was a leach with two mouths sucking at my blood. I wanted her off me.
I pushed her arms above my head, freeing my neck. She misunderstood and leant back to offer me her breasts. I slid my hands down her body, as if I was going to cup her arse and the grip of her legs on my hips relaxed a little.
My hands had reached her waist. I shoved her off me.
She hit the floor hard, arse first.
She looked at me in surprise rather than outrage.
“Sorry, Sir.” she said. “I was bad.”
She pulled herself up into a kneeling position, put her cuffed hands behind her head, straightened her spine and looked up at me. There was hunger in her eyes.
“Punish me. Hurt me. Please,” she said.
I fled the room without looking back