by Violet Blue
“Is this okay?” he asked. “It’s to keep it in place as I brush.”
“Yes, yes, of course, that’s fine,” I said, noticing that a slight breathiness had entered my voice. His hand was warm on my knee and I felt his strength in the pressure he applied. He began to vary the stroke of the brush as it ran all the way up my boot, around behind my knee and back down again. He became sensuous in his ministrations with the brush. The closest experience I can liken it to is how lovers have licked my nipples—long sure rasps of the tongue, reaching the pinnacle and returning to the base to begin again. That’s what he was doing with his brush.
As I glanced down, I noticed a swollen bulge in his jeans, straining against the seams, literally half an inch from my toe. Our eyes met and he said nothing, but he didn’t look away either. I realized I was wet—and I realized I wanted to touch that bulge. Slowly, I inched my foot forward whilst holding his gaze. The edge of my toe made contact and I pressed, just a little, against the straining denim. His face didn’t move a muscle but his body juddered noticeably. I looked up quickly to see if anyone had seen what was going on, but there was just a wall of commuters rushing to and fro, grim-faced and clutching their newspapers for the journey ahead. Not a single person made eye contact with me or appeared to notice that there was some public sex of a sort going on right beside them. It’s funny how being in a huge crowd can have an air of privacy to it.
I turned back to the shoe shiner, who met my gaze and reached for his buffing rag. As if to dispel any thought that I may have been mistaken, he leaned forward to bring the rag around behind my leg and pressed his crotch firmly up against my boot-toe. He began to vigorously rub the cloth back and forth across the back of my boot, then round to the front, beginning at the bottom and working his way up. All the while, my toe banged repeatedly against his increasingly hard bulge. I closed my eyes again and imagined that he was just going to continue rubbing that cloth back and forth, up to the top of my boot, up to between my thighs…back and forth, rubbing. It didn’t matter that logistically that would have been impossible; fantasy doesn’t have to be encumbered with getting your legs in the right place, or whether you really could accommodate such an enormous cock….
“Okay, this one is done,” said the shoe shiner, breaking my reverie. I opened my eyes and slyly smiled. Again, he didn’t crack a smile back—and the fact that his face remained serious made my pussy clutch and surge with desire. “Now, I’ll have the other one,” he said. I brought down my leg, which was encased in a boot so lustrous that I swore I could have seen my reflection in it, and replaced it with the other. I made sure to bump that bulge again as I positioned my foot. He shuddered again, much to my delight.
The shoe shiner held my leg around the calf. As he sprayed the water over the bridge of my foot, a droplet from the nozzle fell onto his fingers. He ran his thumb over his index and middle fingers in a way that caused a writhing in me. I imagined those fingers being plunged in to me, stroking me inside. Then I imagined them being withdrawn, glistening with my juices, and brought to his mouth. I could see him pushing them past his lips and sucking, to taste me. I was wet and open with want, and my legs involuntarily fell apart a little.
He kept looking up at me as he rubbed the cleaning rag over the water mist, then brushed polish around the sole-edge with his toothbrush, and finally began the shoe brush’s ascent. With every long stroke of that brush, I imagined his cock—thick and uncut I suspected—pushing into me, filling me. With every slide back down of the brush I could feel his dick pulling out, to the very tip. Then, just as I felt on the verge of a whimper, he’d push that brush up my boot again and somehow at the same time be pushing that hot, thick cock deep into me. A sigh escaped my lips. His mouth curled upward, a smile finally, or perhaps an indication of triumph.
Bent over me, he kept up his brushing with effort until I heard a soft grunt. All that pressing against the bulge in his jeans…had he come—a small, tight orgasm in a confined space? I knew I was close and I had to come too. I began to think crazed thoughts: maybe there’s a hotel nearby; maybe there’s a storeroom; surely there’s a station bathroom for the disabled, big enough for two and with a sturdy lock? But I’d been to the toilets here—I knew the disabled loos were in single sex areas and there were attendants. Well, right then I didn’t care if I got arrested—I wanted him to fuck me right there. With his fingers, with his cock—I didn’t care. I looked around, scoping the station again. There was just no way we could do it without being seen.
I am not one for being teased; it just doesn’t work on me. Rather than becoming horny, I just get pissed off or bored. And this was a tease, whether it was intended to be or not. But as I felt the powering down of the brushing after his burst of effort, it occurred to me that in all this desperation I was missing out on the moment. I hadn’t expected to have an experience like this when I left the house this morning and maybe there was a lot more in store for today, if only I’d let it happen. I decided to let it; I made a concerted effort to relax back into the chair and try to roll with what was happening. Here, in the moment. Even if my pussy was on fire and I was desperate to come.
He stopped brushing and wiped his brow, that curled smile returning to his face. “Now, the final step,” he said, picking up the buffing rag. I closed my eyes as his soft rag curled around my leg and was administered. I paid attention to the subtle sensations as the rubbing caused the leather to brush softly back and forth against my bare leg underneath. The shivers went up my leg and pooled in my cunt. I let them settle, an electric pond at my core; a tiny pond, yet full of waves.
As his buffing picked up speed, I allowed the swish of the cloth, the smell of the polish and the sound of his quickened breathing to join with the shivers from his ministrations. My body felt like it was singing, so intense was the experience. I continued to let it touch my senses as the shoe shiner began to slow, and brought the buffing to a close. I slowly opened my eyes. The station lights glared as my pupils adjusted. The shoe shiner smiled.
“I think you are satisfied, yes?” he said softly.
“Yes,” I answered. I was thoughtful for a moment. Then, “I wasn’t sure what to expect. But if this is what a shoe shine is like, it’s no wonder you guys are so busy.” I just know my eyes were sparkling as I said that.
“Well, some customers’ footwear needs more attention than others,” he said. Nice one, I thought. My boots hadn’t been that scuffed.
Handing over the fiver felt slightly awkward, like I’d just paid for sex. But he smiled broadly at me now. “I hope you will have your boots shined again,” he said.
I picked up my bag, and the now-lukewarm latte. “I’m sure I will,” I replied, smiling back. As I walked away, the smile became a Cheshire Cat grin.
I was fizzing with sexual energy now, absolutely burning. As I joined the bustling crowd on Liverpool Street concourse, I contemplated going to the toilets and jerking off. I would plunge my fingers—four of them—into myself, whilst imagining him holding me hard against the door, plunging that cock I’d pictured right up to the hilt, thrusting hard into me while firmly gripping the back of my neck. I’d hear his grunts and feel his ragged breath in my ear. Relentless, he’d fuck me hard until I was finally tipped over the edge by the sound of his orgasm catching in his throat. And I would shake with relief, limp-legged, spasming against the toilet door.
But instead of continuing on toward the facilities, I turned in at the Tube entrance, the ping of unspent energy causing decisiveness in my step. On reflection, it occurred to me that the shoe shiner probably hadn’t come, that at most some precum may have surged and been pressed immediately into his underwear (and the thought of this sent a further tremor through me). But it didn’t matter either way.
When I finally nabbed a seat in the busy carriage, I closed my eyes and focused on the feelings in my body. I was aware of a contained energy that illuminated within me, body and soul. It didn’t course through me or writhe around. It was, indeed…an
illumination. Calmness descended over me, like the stillness at the eye of a storm. Perhaps this was what Tantric practitioners experienced. If it was, I could understand their commitment to it.
I arrived at the meeting on time and gloriously levelheaded. And when I crossed my legs as the meeting began, my boots shone in the light, a (wonderfully) teasing reminder of my morning’s preparations.
PRIME SUSPECT
Louisa Harte
I sit behind the one-way mirror, tapping my feet. It’s Friday afternoon at the station and things are pretty quiet. Some of the crew are out on a routine call, while the rest are busy setting things up for the after-work party. I’m looking forward to it; it’ll give me a chance to socialize, to get to know my colleagues a bit better.
I run my fingers over my uniform, still trying to take it all in. “Officer Jess Roberts,” I murmur to myself, enjoying the way the name sounds on my tongue: official and powerful.
The door opens. Carla, my superior, walks in and gives me a smile. “All set?” she asks.
“Sure.” I open my notepad and take out a pen.
Carla sets down her coffee and pulls up a chair to sit beside me. She’s been great, showing me around and giving me a feel for the place. Today she’s offered to take me through the basics of a police lineup. Nothing formal, just a familiarization exercise.
“Okay, normally we round up a group of people who look similar to the suspect,” Carla explains. “But seeing as we’re a bit short staffed today, I’ve just rounded up whoever was handy in the office to give you a feel for things.”
I nod. So far, so good.
“We use an intercom system,” Carla continues. She gestures to the microphone on the desk in front of us. “If we need to speak to anyone, we just flick this switch to toggle the mike on and off.”
I nod, making notes on my pad.
“And this is a door lock for the room opposite,” she says, pointing out the control.
“Sure,” I say, scribbling more notes.
Carla takes a sip of her coffee. “Right, if you’re ready, lets bring in the guys.” She presses the button to unlock the door. The door in the room opposite opens and a troupe of six guys wander in holding numbers from one to six.
I run my gaze over their faces as they settle into line in front of us. Most of them I don’t recognize. I’ve only been working here a few weeks and the department is huge. But then my gaze stops on Number Six. My brows furrow as I study him. With that sweep of dark hair and those hypnotic brown eyes, he looks familiar. Then it sinks in. It’s Matt. The guy who’s always making lewd comments about the size of my breasts or how my ass looks cute in my uniform. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could think of a witty reply, but my throat always seems to dry up before I can answer.
I listen absently as Carla continues explaining things, my thoughts still focused on Matt. Only yesterday I heard him telling a colleague he thought I was uptight and needed “a good fucking.” I should have belted him one, or at least reported him. But the weird thing is, his words actually aroused me. Not that I’d admit it. He’s a really hot guy; women probably throw themselves at him. He doesn’t need me to add to the crowd.
I stare at his haughty face through the mirror, reconsidering my decision. I still should have belted him one.
I drag my attention back to the task at hand. Carla asks each of the guys to step forward in turn, getting them to face us and then stand to the side. I watch their expressions, intrigued. Even though they know it’s a drill, under our secret surveillance they start to look nervous, shuffling their feet and shifting their gazes like they’re guilty as hell. Even Matt looks uneasy. I smile in satisfaction. It’s a pleasant surprise to see him squirming for a change.
Carla’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “So, how’s that for a brief run-through?”
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile. I can always grab the handbook later and swot up on anything I’ve missed.
Carla checks her watch. “Oh, hell! Is that the time! Look Jess, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to dash off to a meeting.” She snatches her coffee off the desk. “You think you can dismiss the guys for me?” she asks.
“Sure,” I murmur, my thoughts still consumed with Matt.
“Thanks.” She heads for the door. “So for now you’re the boss,” she says, as she dashes out of the room.
The boss.
Carla’s words reverberate in my mind. I set down my notepad and study Matt more closely. He definitely looks restless. No doubt he wants to get out of here to change for the party or rehearse his crappy chat-up lines to see how many women he can pull.
Well, he’ll just have to wait. I’ve got other plans.
I lean over to the mike. It’s still switched on. Good. “Number one…” I say.
Number One lifts his head, trying to place my voice.
“Number One, you are free to leave,” I instruct him.
Number One nods to the others and strolls out of the room.
“Number Two, you are also free to go.” One by one, I let the guys file out, until the room is empty. Except for Matt. Without waiting for my cue, he lays down his number and ambles toward the door.
I grip the mike. “Number Six!”
Matt jumps at the volume of my voice over the intercom. He turns to stare at the mirror as if trying to see who’s behind it. Thankfully, my voice sounds different over the mike, stronger somehow. The anonymity and amplification mask my identity.
“Number Six, return to your position,” I continue, trying to keep my voice steady.
Matt stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets, frowning as he strolls back to his place. He may not be happy, but for the moment, he’s mine. And I plan to keep him here just long enough to make him sweat.
I lean back in the chair, casting my gaze over his body. I’ve never had a chance to check him out properly before. When we meet in the office, I always feel too awkward to hold his gaze. But here, behind the safety of the one-way mirror, I can check him out to my heart’s content: the smooth line of his jaw, the full curve of his sensual red mouth and that fabulous physique.
Matt starts to edge toward the door.
“We’re not done yet, Number Six,” I scold.
“Number Six, Number Six,” Matt mutters. “My name’s Matt for god’s sake.”
“While you’re in this room, you’re Number Six,” I reply, surprised at the authority in my voice. I’m even more surprised as Matt drops his head and scuffs his shoe against the ground like a chastised child. He lifts his head and squints up at the ceiling. “It’s getting hot in here under these lights,” he complains.
“Then take off your jacket,” I say, impulsively.
Without a thought, Matt shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor.
My eyes glide over the broad line of his shoulders outlined through his crisp white shirt. Under the bright lights, the material looks almost transparent. Almost.
“Now take off the shirt.” The words are out before I can stop them. I clap my hand to my mouth, holding my breath as I wait for him to bolt.
Only, he doesn’t. Instead, his mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, then closes as if he’s thought the better of it. A mischievous look flickers in his eyes as he reaches for his buttons.
I clasp my hands over the mike, stifling a joyous chuckle. Jeez, he’s actually doing as I say! But my laughter dies in my throat as he peels off his shirt to reveal his lean, rippled torso. Helplessly, my eyes follow the line of crisp dark curls on his chest down to the waistband of his trousers. I take in a breath. He’s bloody gorgeous.
Tossing his shirt to the floor, Matt keeps his gaze level. His piercing brown eyes seem to penetrate the mirror. It’s as if he’s staring right at me.
I duck down, my heart pounding, worried he can see me. Then I shake my head, silently reprimanding myself. Of course he can’t see me. Slowly I lift my head. Maintaining his gaze, Matt’s eyes are strangely calm. Defiant.
I swallow, sitting u
pright in the chair. My move.
Summoning courage, I pick up the mike. “Now take off the pants.” My voice sounds low and husky over the intercom.
Matt cocks his head, a wry smile spreading over his lips. He glances over to the door as if to check there’s no one else lurking around.
“There’s no one here. Only you and me,” I whisper. My voice is becoming huskier. I sound like some horny phone-sex operator, working a client. Whatever I sound like, it’s working. Matt tugs his belt from its loops and curls it in his hand. He cracks the belt like a whip in the air, before tossing it across the floor.
The sound makes me jump, and I start to feel a prickly burst of heat between my thighs. What the hell? I can’t be getting turned on by this, surely. It’s only a bit of revenge. Isn’t it? I unfasten a few buttons on my top, feeling suddenly flustered.
Matt stands tall, his frame held high. Arrogant. As if he’s waiting for my full attention before he continues to strip.
Well, he’s got it. “Go on,” I instruct him.
His smile broadens as he undoes his trousers, button by button like some teasing fucking stripper. We don’t have long; the other officers will be back soon. Time to speed things up. “Hurry up!” I shout. A blush creeps over my cheeks at my impatience. I sound frenzied, like some crazy bitch at a strip joint, eager to see a pound of flesh.
Matt flinches at my tone, the smile on his face darkening. With a smoldering look in his eyes, he hooks his fingers in the top of his trousers and pushes them down to the floor. Stepping out of them, he kicks them away.
I set down the mike, staring at the hot seminaked guy before me. My eyes drink in the sight of him: his hard slender hips, his taut muscular thighs and particularly the huge bulge in the front of his boxer shorts. I draw in a breath. Is this turning him on? I press my thighs together, appalled and excited to feel my panties grow wet at the thought.
