The Man Who Fucked His Way Across Chelsea and Back Again - Part 19

VENETIA LEERBOURN-ZEAL

The next day was a fantastic sunny day as usual, the palm trees on the Brompton Road swayed in a gentle breeze. I opened the gallery about eleven o’clock and accepted a delivery of large brass sculptures of Aphrodite by Kimble Dine, a good friend of Sarah Cavendish-Peel. Sarah was at an auction at Sotheby’s for most of the day, there were some old Dutch landscapes by Jacob Van Ruisdael she was after amongst other things. She was quite tired from several days partying, but had plenty of coke to get her through the day. She had the hots for Eckings, so that would help too.
A Mercedes convertible parked up outside the gallery and Venetia Leerbourn-Zeal emerged as cheerful as ever. She was a wonderful silhouette; the undisputed owner of the prettiest legs in London. Blonde hair tied up, huge Balenciaga sunglasses, a Marc Jacobs blue and black outlined zip front spruce cape jacket and blue leather mini skirt, black leather gloves by Lanvin and Jimmy Choo black leather Seattle platform sandals. She carried a large blue leather Chloe bag with a silver zip around the bottom circumference.
‘Hello Hugo darling’ she said joyfully, pivoting on a Jimmy Choo heel, admiring the new Aphrodite statues. She paced around the gallery with an elegant hand held in a loose fist close to her chin and the Chloe bag swinging in the crook of the same arm, click-clicking in her Jimmy Choos. Those Jimmy Choos. A bulge was developing in my Dior underpants and Venetia acknowledged it, as she pushed her sunglasses on to her head, raising a plucked eyebrow.
‘How was the orgy at Carinthia’s, darling’ she asked, running a leather gloved hand along the stone erect penis, similar to the one in the film Clockwork Orange.
‘It was fun, plenty of caviar and sex’ I said.
‘Oh yah, caviar is certainly a prerequisite’ she purred in a very posh accent. ‘I have copious amounts of beluga caviar back at my place, darling. Mmmmmm. I was wondering if you could deliver this beautiful stone penis to my new house on Wellington Square. Such a lovely big cock will harmonize just beautifully with my amorous Rowlandsons. It’s almost as substantial as yours, Hugo’
‘Those shoes are ridiculously high’ I said, my cock twitching as I perused them.
‘Jimmy Choo daaaarling’ smiled Venetia ‘I bought them a few days ago in Harvey Nicks, aren’t they just sooo terribly sexy. I was so close to getting the Alaia sandals with cowries on, too. Maybe tomorrow. Izzy Buckworth-Chard bought some incredible Alaia python wedges.’
‘Hot heels all around’ I said. ‘Of course, I can take the cock back to your place, I’ll get it in the van with the crane and I’ll follow you over’
‘Excellent, well, let’s make a move then, I’m parked in front of your old van’ said Venetia, caressing my bulge with a Lanvin gloved hand. ‘Why don’t you invest in a lovely modern Mercedes van?’
‘The van has sentimental value, it was abandoned on the Fulham Road a while ago, it is stained with fond memories and it does the job, when it starts’ I said. I managed to manipulate the hefty member into the back of the Transit as Venetia sat elegantly waiting in her blue leather upholstered convertible, drenched in sunshine.
I turned the ignition key and the engine turned over but wouldn’t start. The van hadn’t been started for weeks. I wound the window down ‘Sorry Venetia, it may take a while to get the van started’. I tried several times but it wouldn’t go.
Venetia got out of her car and stood on the pavement, arms folded. Sunglasses glinting. Pivoting on a Jimmy Choo heel.
The van engine cranked over and over, but wouldn’t fire. Venetia got back in her car and smoked a Marlboro light. I kept trying to start the van. ‘Come on, old van, Venetia wants her cock from Cairo!’
‘Bloody old clapper’ laughed Venetia, perched elegantly ensconced in the leather seating of her convertible. She put a Jimmy Choo shod foot up on the dashboard. Now she was teasing. Those Jimmy Choos looked like an advert in a glossy magazine, placed on the sumptuous leather instrument panel of her Mercedes CLK. A Guy Bourdin moment.
The van cranked over slowly and erratically as the battery got low. ‘Looks like it needs a new battery’ I said through the open window ‘Do you have jump leads?’
‘No, darling’ said Venetia. ‘I have a dog lead, that’s all’
‘That won’t help’ I said
‘Oh I can tow you’ she said ‘Have you got a tow rope?’
‘Yes’ I said ‘plenty of rope, I’ll get it hitched up’
‘This is all rather novel, darling’ smiled Venetia, getting out of her car and following me into the gallery to get the rope. ‘You can tie me up with that later’
‘Ha ha. I could bring some chains too, if that’s what floats your boat’ I laughed
‘Jolly super’ smiled Venetia, with amazing teeth.

We arrived at Venetia’s Neo-classical facade on leafy Wellington Square. Her pad must have been worth five million. I wonder who gets the interesting job of painting house numbers on all the white columns.
‘Oh look at that fucking hobo in the gardens’ said Venetia with a frown.
‘Disgusting’ I said.
‘Joanna Lamley is supposed to be clearing them away. I shall have to get her to expedite the issue. Dirty pikeys in Wellington Square. Oh how unbefitting.’ She added.
‘Where do you want the big cock?’ I said, maneuvering the stone penis through the front door.
‘Up my leather skirt, darling’ purred Venetia.
‘Hmmm, it may be rather cumbersome at dinner parties’ I said, perspiring a little, in the grand sitting room.
Venetia sat down on a red leather Chesterfield sofa and crossed her long naked legs, twitching a Jimmy Choo shod foot. I looked at her pretty red painted toe nails, in the sunlight that was pouring in through the half drawn curtains in the front windows. Antique bookshelves were arranged with large art books, fashion books, books on architecture and country houses. There was a large book on the two-tiered glass coffee table about Rene Gruau. Above the large white classical fireplace was a mirror, set about with silver candle holders. On the opposite wall there was a large Baroque painting of snooty ladies in hats at Royal Ascot amongst gentlemen in their finery with their willies out by Rowlandson in an ornate gold frame. There were leopard print fur rugs on the polished oak floor. The house smelt of roses, books and leather.
Venetia was directing from her sofa ‘Now Hugo darling, position the stone penis over there by the piano, next to the Etruscan vase. Yah, that’s a good position. Super. Oh you are a darling. Now come over here and get on the floor and kiss my Jimmy Choos.’
I took off my pants and crawled naked across the wooden polished floor and fur rugs towards her long cross-legged figure on the sofa, as she gently swung a leg, sipping a sherry. Her sunglasses were on her head. I loved that Sloaney look. She oozed posh Sloane. I kissed her pretty toes, kissing the black leather strap of her Jimmy Choo. My cock was erect. Her Blackberry sounded and she reached for it, unzipping her Chloe bag.
‘Hello Georgie darling. Yah. I’ve just a bought the most wonderful Egyptian statue. It’s Ra I believe. Ha ha, no it’s not Rah Stockworth. Unless she modeled for it wearing a strap-on! Oh simply adorable, darling. I’m at my new house on Wellington Square. Soooooo lovely. Hugo Posset’s here. He brought the statue here in his van, darling. Well, I had to tow the van, ha ha. It wouldn’t start. What are you doing? Le Caprice. Super darling. Yah. Oh Yahhhh! New York. Oh how fantastic. How fantastic, darling. Tomorrow? Oh isn’t Sebastian a darling. Stay at the Plaza, Georgie, get a suite. Private jet. Absolutely. Fifth Avenue. Yahhh. A Bergdorf blonde if there ever was one. Soooooooo sweet’
As Venetia chatted away to Georgia Barton-Batting, I wanked and kissed her shoes and legs. I was in ecstasy. She was so fucking posh!
‘Yah darling’ she continued on her phone ‘I’m going to plan a party for the High Heels campaign. Oh of course, darling. Jimmy Choos. Soooo bloody sexy. Gosh, must be terribly hot in boots today. Oh yah, Georgia B-B at San Lorenzo in blue suede D Squared knee highs, how awfully ravishing. You are a PR fox. Mmmmmmm.’
I ran my tongue up and down the vertiginous heel of the Jimmy Choo, as Venetia chatted.
‘Yah, Hugo is bashing away, darling. Mmmmmmmm. He’s going to spurt on my polished wood floor by the looks of it. Ha ha ha. Oh, darling are we still on for lunch tomorrow. The Sloane Club. Yah. I’ll call Zara. Oh of course, darling. Lucy’s over in Battersea this evening, so is Olivia. Yah Jemima. Isn’t she? Oh I know. Isn’t it just the most fabulous big leather willy? Lord Baslington. Ha ha. Yah, outside The Botty. Jibby’s gallery. Fantastic party, yah, really bloody fantastic.’
I was fucking Venetia’s leg, my hard penis pressing against her smooth bare leg. I was having a brink of orgasm moment, little pre-come droplets appeared. I kissed her knees. Oh I was fucking horny.
‘Izzy’s place. Gilston Road. I can’t wait for the house warming party, darling. Oh yah, Woodyhead Salliva. Oh, of course, naturally. Oh darling. Darrrrling. Izzy looks too divine with her new vagina! Oh it’s terribly gorgeous. Full leather, darling. Full fucking leather. No no no. Buckskin’
What? Izzy’s got a leather vagina? Surely not. I know the people at Masters and Jones can perform wonders. A leather vagina. How posh can it possibly get? I almost came on Venetia’s Jimmy Choo. I lay down and she gave me a shoe job, rubbing the sole of her shoe in circles on my big excited helmet.
‘Oh darling’ she brayed ‘Hugo is excited by the fact that Izzy has a new leather vagina. Ha ha ha. I just know. Darling, you must. Oh yah. Yah Yahhh. Yahhh. Darling, of course. Mmmmmmmmmm’ I came, hearing her ridiculously posh voice. There were globules everywhere; she trod the spunk into my navel. I was hard again in a few seconds. I had taken Hardlong earlier. Venetia chatted more. She carried on with the shoejob, with spunk stains on the bottom of her shoe.
‘Oh you know I would rather have Hugo spunking on my Jimmy Choos than some dirty gypo, like that disgusting wanking hobo at Jibby’s exhibition. I mean, really. Gosh, I know. How was it for you? What was it like copulating with a pikey, darling? Ha ha ha. Georgia Barton-Batting, you dirty slut. Fumigation is no consolation, darling. Positively riddled with fleas I bet. Oh yah I did see the pug fucking a Hermes Birkin. Hilarious, darling. Sooooooooo hilair! Yah a pug fucking a ten thousand pound Birkin. Dirty beast. Disgusting animal. Ha ha ha. Pugnacity!’
I was up and fucking Venetia as she continued her fit of giggles about the bag-fucking pug; her legs clamped around my back as I pumped on the verge of climax. She tried to carry on the conversation and giggles but dropped the phone moaning in pleasure. Georgia’s voice was still faintly talking until she realized Venetia was in the throes of sexual abandon, as I shafted her and snogged her against the Chesterfield leather and the Mulberry leather cushions. She still had her leather skirt and Lanvin leather gloves on. Her Marc Jacobs cape jacket was on the floor. I sucked sherry off her nipples.
‘More sherry, darling’ she purred
‘Oh yes, more sherry’ I panted.
‘Oh yahh, fantastic. More fucking sherry’ she said in her poshest accent. We were playing the ‘who can talk the poshest game’ as we fucked.
‘More sherry darling’ I said ‘More sherry’
‘Oh yahh. Mmmmmmmmmm. Terribly terribly lovely sherry, Hugo darling! Mmmmmmm. Oh I knew I would be fucking you one day, ever since I met you that afternoon at The Ranger in Parsons Green.’ She was winning.
‘I love Parsons Green’ I said abruptly, fucking faster and faster.
‘Just sooooooo fucking wonderful, darling. Sooo jolly super. I love it too.’ She almost shouted. I shot my load, pulling out and spraying in her mouth. ‘Oh Hugo, darling, lovely lovely spunk’ She scraped a Jimmy Choo heel on the wood floor as she licked my ejaculating cock and I played with her vagina with a Jimmy Choo heel I had unbuckled and removed.
‘Oh I love heels’ she moaned. ‘I love my Jimmy Choos’
‘This is for the campaign’ I smiled. She giggled. I was hard again.
‘Come in my face Hugo. Come in my face at Wellington Square. Come in my face at fucking Wellington Square.’ She boasted.
She grabbed my cock with a leather gloved hand and wanked my cock and I climaxed furiously again, in her face. In her posh face at Wellington Square with the sun coming in through the windows and her Mercedes convertible CLK parked up outside. The hobo was still there, under a plane tree, looking like he was jerking himself off without a care in the world. She was still wearing those big sunglasses on her head. I could see my cock spurting in the reflection of the lenses with sparkly chandeliers forming haloes behind me.
‘Oh I must get those chandeliers cleaned’ she said, with spunk all over her gorgeous face.

A plasma screen flickered into life in Venetia’s sitting room and Emily Shapeley-Legge was interviewing Joanna Lamley about the High Heels law. Emily was sitting cross-legged wearing a short green tartan dress and very very high Christian Louboutin court shoes in dark red. Joanna Lamley was dressed in a black Chanel suit and black platform strappy sandals by Lanvin. Her Chanel quilted two-fifty-five chain bag was on the table.
Emily posed a question ‘So, Joanna, we were both at Stowe together and back then wearing high heels was a prerequisite to our couture shows. Now you say it’s time that wearing high heels should be compulsory if you are an upper middle or upper class woman. I wear ridiculously high Christian Louboutins all the time and I’m not averse to the law, but there may be some who might find it a tad frivolous. There are some terribly chic ballet shoes and gladiator sandals about. What about those? I occasionally wear ballet shoes.’
Joanna replied ‘Ballet shoes are OK and have their place, so do gladiator flats, but for the majority of the working day high heels will be made compulsory for the well-heeled so to speak. We have some absolutely amazing designers coming out of Cordwainers and other prestigious colleges. I hope the new law will sort out the wheat from the chaff. A high heel really does mean business both at work and at play! I wear Christian Louboutins and Jimmy Choos and today I’m sporting very sexy heels by Lanvin, so I’m already setting a jolly good example’.
‘Yah, she wears exquisite shoes’ agreed Venetia, sipping a glass of champagne.
‘Best prime minister we’ve ever had’ I said, naked on the red leather sofa.
‘You also say’ Emily went on ‘If a woman is of the wrong class and she is caught wearing high heels, then her shoes may be confiscated and a spot fine may be issued.’
‘Yah, absolutely’ smiled Joanna ‘we can’t have bloody oiks walking around in stilettos, no no no, it’s unsightly. We want to encourage women of the lower classes to wear trainers. Of course, social climbers from the middle classes will be able to secure a permit, but it will be far too expensive for the lower strata.’
Emily laughed and dangled a Louboutin ‘Gosh, it sounds awfully elitist, not letting chavvy women into Jimmy Choo or Sergio Rossi’
‘It’s going to happen and there’s not a thing anyone can do. We’ve had a long discussion about it in Le Caprice and we’re not relenting. The streets of Chelsea will tap-tap to the beautiful sound of stilettos all day long. Of course, there will be exceptions. As I mentioned, ballet flats will still be OK, but trainers are out.’
‘So if a woman decides to go out jogging, she’s got to do it in her Louboutins?’ Emily frowned.
‘Oh yah, it’s very good for the balls of the feet running in high heels. Samantha and Carrie from SATC do it all the time’ smiled Joanna.
‘I see’ added Emily.
‘What do you think of Emily on the news?’ asked Venetia, digging around in her Chloe bag for a packet of Marlboros.
‘Foxy and feisty. She reminds me of Jemima Barnes. I would love to meet that Emily at a sex party’ I said, getting hard again. Hardlong pills last hours.
‘Oh I doubt you would see her at one of those’ said Venetia, sparking up a cigarette ‘She’s too busy for that sort of thing’
‘Then I’ll just have to dedicate a good wank to her here and now’ I said, stroking my cock.
‘Yah, that’s cool, darling I’ll watch’ said Venetia, crossing her legs. ‘I don’t have to be at Claridges until late afternoon. I’m meeting Barwick Ford and Charlotte Foggins for a drink’