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The Collector - ebook

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The Collector by Olivia M. Ravensworth

In a grim post-nuclear near-future, Garrett is wealthy entrepreneur-engineer with a penchant for collecting.  His deep-dug shelter overlooking the twisted and flash-burned Golden Gate Bridge contains everything the solitary man could ever desire—closed-loop recycling and mountains of vacuum-packed supplies, tools and spare parts for his restless tinkering, his library of old-fashioned printed books, his prized firearms…and a staggeringly wide selection of erotica, along with expensive high-end roboticized love dolls that can cater to his any and every whim.

The methodical, introspective Garrett is determined to survive in this poisoned, ruined world.  He has always been driven to succeed, after all, in whatever the contest has been.  Yet even as he tries to busy himself in puttering in his laboratories and his archives, when his armored, radio-controlled crawler crunches through a litter of bleached bones in his remote exploration of the eerily glowing ruins of hydrogen-bombed San Francisco, it is hard, so hard, to believe that life really means anything anymore.

Oh, Garrett has his memories of all the beautiful $10,000-an-hour escorts he once had frequented, his endless terabytes of porno of all possible variety, and his harem of shapely silicone playmates to be pulled out of storage whenever he needs something to use and abuse, to tease and torment and punish…or even simply to talk to. But there has to be more than that, doesn’t there?  Yet exactly what, the melancholy man cannot say.

One morning, however, Garrett’s long-range crawler tops a rise in the wilds beyond the zone of total destruction, and for the first time he sights other living human beings.  And among these ragtag survivors is one particular brunette, an intelligent-seeming black-haired girl of perhaps twenty-eight or thirty whose sly eyes and crooked, red-lipped smile just might make life worth living once again…


Everything he had was digitized, able to be pulled up on any computer node in the shelter and displayed on the screen there, or enlarged and projected on any wall if old-style two-dimensional, or at any desired point in mid-air if three-dimensional. And naturally every digital file was completely manipulatable in display or playback. One could zoom in tight and then magnify, for example, so that the ejaculation which some gargantuan actor aimed at a red-lipped mouth gaping invitingly open would fill an entire wall. The man himself might be unseen now, with only the very tip of his phallus left in the field of view, a thing bloated and purpled and big as a barrel, while his sweetly agonized urethra dilated as wide as Garrett’s thigh, jetting, squirting, splashing in leering slow-motion, the tiniest pearly droplet a swollen gray gallon as it glopped and splatted upon a heaped-over tongue or perhaps rebounded, jiggling taut and glistening, from a bright-lipsticked mouth that even when opened wide smirked somehow and begged teasingly for more, ever more.
Yes, even as he planned for the time he never really believed would come, Garrett had chosen his erotica as meticulously as he did anything else that he enjoyed collecting. He possessed professional films of almost every kinky niche, and thousands upon thousands of amateur videos he had downloaded back in the days of the internet. Pictures had the same variety: everything from evocative photography from the coffee table books of the most reputable artists whose works nevertheless were guaranteed to set him achingly erect in a quickened heartbeat or two to a cell phone picture of some co-ed kissing her smirking best girlfriend right on the lips in the middle of a bar in a college town while all the guys in the room laughed and cheered. And in the next picture the girl might kneel flushed and drowsy-eyed and wickedly fulfilled in a midnight back alley with her tee-shirt pulled up and her lovely young face and her perky little stiff-tipped bosoms hung with the dangling semen of her grateful boyfriend…and also the bubbling squirts of half a dozen of his grinning buddies. And of course, the methodical entrepreneur-inventor had stockpiled everything in between, too—everything—and all of it was organized, indexed, and carefully cross-referenced.
Sometimes it pleased the man to spend hours teasing his poor body, masturbating endlessly and yet trying so, so hard not to come as he watched the classiest, most carefully coiffed and elegantly costumed lesbians make slow, languorous love to one another in opulently decorated sets. The actresses might be dressed in severe charcoal business suits, portraying the same type of coolly self-composed woman he might have seen across a boardroom table or in a teleconference any day of the week—that was always a particularly naughty thought. Or they might be elaborately gowned as Marie Antoinette and her most intimate retainers on the eve of the French Revolution, as flappers in a Prohibition-era speakeasy, or as slender, long-legged ballerinas in a backstage dressing room. Yet no matter what the time or the place, ah, the sight of those soft red lips kissing gently! Could anything else be as naturally beautiful, and as wickedly right?
These two pretty girls of fantasy might begin in mock-hesitance at first. Perhaps the pearly upper teeth of one uncertain lover would indent a bright-glossed lower lip as she blinked solemnly upon the very brink of a windswept precipice of forbidden sensuality over which her supple white body longed to be flung headlong so that it might fall, fall, fall, exulting. Her uncertain eyes danced with the thought of perversions she dared not speak aloud. Why, good girls, she seemed to be thinking, would not want such things, would they? Helplessly she teetered. Soon, however, she could resist her sweetly unnatural desires no longer, and at the smilingly tender urging of her breathlessly eager friend she at last would begin to kiss and caress her sisterly companion with innocent, kittenish abandon.
With growing passion, shapely feminine hands cupped and caressed beautiful bare breasts, squeezing appraisingly at resilient upstanding firmness, measuring soft swells such as they never before had felt upon another. Sometimes, as they pressed close with mouths deliriously locked, those high ivory globes would compress and joggle against one another prettily. And all the while questing digits scratched and plucked and pinched delicately at stiffening nodules of sensitive pink-brown that ached secretly for the forbidden touch of another girl. Oh, the wondrous ballet of elegant red-nailed fingertips and smooth creamy bosoms tipped with sensitive crinkles of dusky rose!
And then to watch one of those prettily pouting mouths slide lower, ever lower, kissing neck, shoulders, collarbone, and lower still, ducking mischievously aside for a quick, wanton suck at each desperately rigid nipple. Yet that mouth would continue lower, too, would it not? Yes, it would murmur its way down a taut ribcage and a softly fluttering belly, perhaps kissing chastely at a hipbone or flicking an impudent tongue tip into the graceful bowl of a trembling navel. The tease was exquisite.
Finally, of course, the flush-faced wench would nuzzle lower, eyelids fluttering heavily as she pushed her grateful nose at last into glossy aromatic curls. Smiling dreamily to herself, she snuggled there for a long, timeless moment, happy and warm and tender, arousing herself with the primal, salty-sweet reek of innermost womanhood that wafted up into her wondering nostrils. Ah, the look in her eyes as she inhaled the promise of femininity, soft and fragrant, and flatteringly damp with desire! And then, as the camera slid smoothly in for a rosily glowing close-up, tapering red-nailed fingers dug wide those arousal-thickened portals of glistening, musky pink, and at long last the girl leaned reverently forward and began to feast as both she and her trembling friend desired so, so desperately…
At other times, though, Garrett simply enjoyed a really dirty, sleazy gangbang—no candy or kind words, no flowers or foreplay, just some slut getting split open and pounded by cock after cock, moaning like a whore as each lucky man fucked her all for himself, red-faced and striving until he ejaculated with a groan, then rose sleepily…to leave her loose-lipped and gooey and dripping for the next bare, purple-headed dick in line. Ah, how forthright it was, how frank and unapologetic! A heterosexual man enjoyed making love to a woman, after all. He enjoyed possessing her soft curvy body thickly in the most intimate way possible, feeling himself pushed into her all the way, snug and sticky and warm. He enjoyed making her ever more beautiful in her desire as she lost all inhibition and bucked and panted and thrashed, begging to be used like an animal. And he enjoyed seeing her full of his cum and knowing that he had made her all his somehow. What, then, could be more pleasant than having that done to a girl again and again and again…?
He got especially turned on when one of these gangbang videos was truly an amateur production. Oh, although beautiful porn stars were by definition glamorous and shapely and desirable, there also was something profoundly arousing about knowing that the people cavorting in full color and three dimensions before him were not paid professional actors merely following the script that some hack had turned out by the dozen but instead normal, everyday people finally letting themselves do all the wickedly fulfilling things that society said were naughty and wrong. It was almost comforting somehow, the reflection of a fundamental aspect of humanity that simply could not be denied.
Sometimes, for example, it was pleasant simply to watch some tanned, hard-bodied little blonde sorority slut cavorting in the back room of a frat party, lying young and nude and exposed, whorishly spread-legged as she watched a dozen guys starting to line up to fuck her. Even as the boys all ogled her and leered down at her, chuckling among themselves about what a skank she must be to want such treatment, the girl’s heavy-lidded eyes gleamed eager and bright as she imagined what was about to be done to her. Had this long, lean blonde been an outgoing party girl in high school, Garrett sometimes wondered, or had she been quiet and reserved? Sometimes he liked to imagine the latter. Perhaps she had heard of girls in her school who always put out on the first date, girls who gave blowjobs to two or three guys at once while their boyfriends laughed and took cell phone pictures, girls who would whack a boy off in the front seat of his car at the end of the evening as casually as they would plant a little goodnight kiss upon his cheek, just pulling, pulling, pulling until the poor creature ejaculated gratefully all over himself in long, groaning jets.
Yes, how long this former good-girl had fantasized about naughty exhibitionism and decadent orgies! Imagining all the naughty things she heard some of her classmates talking about in the ladies’ room at school, whether it was the way they had bubbled and smacked so showily last night before finally gulping two or three comingled loads of jism or the drunken group sex they had had on Spring Break down in Mexico, she simply could not help herself. Compulsively she had touched herself, breathlessly, lying red-faced and frustrated beneath the covers as she masturbated herself whimperingly to sleep in her girlish bedroom in the house of her parents, on and on and on. At last, though, she finally was free to try everything she had ever dreamt of, anything!
Excitedly now she would stroke herself between her long sleek thighs, deliberately, turning an act once private and guilt-ridden into something wild and free, something to flaunt before predictable male eyes. No, she would not care who saw—or maybe she would care indeed, would long for their staring, would thrill herself with the way those drooling two-legged beasts watched everything, everything. Her body was youthful and taut and beautiful. She was desirable, and she knew it. Merely posing and pouting was enough to set men’s organs cramped and crooked within their tight jeans. Drawing back her shoulders as if by happenstance to make the high young breasts rise within her silken, deeply plunging blouse would turn heads in any room. And to strip herself bare and lay her lovely flesh upon this bed like a virgin of old about to be sacrificed on the rough-hewn altar of some savage pagan rite—ooh, how it made her drip inside!
But it was not merely their eyes that covered her—no, it was their hands, too, hands that grabbed and groped without remorse, hands that excited her even as the feel of her toned curves excited her wide-eyed worshipers further. Hardly believing that she could really want it, but emboldened by her smirking acquiescence, the boys egged one another on, spurring each other to ever more pleasant indignities. At first they had just touched her bare hip or her smoothly rounded shoulder, but as they realized that she truly would not get cold feet and get mad, or try to stop them, they began to handle her taut little breasts, and her pussy, too. Ah, the feel of the digits of three or four guys at once combing through the moist, meticulously groomed thatch of honey-gold curls beneath her flat belly, then touching, prodding, pushing into the snug, smug tunnel of slippery pink flesh beneath!
On and on it went, with strangers she did not even know pawing her pale flesh ever more aggressively. Excitedly they pinched at her upstanding nipples, squeezing them, pulling the tender things, hard, just for the joy of watching her whimper and catch her breath so prettily. And they shoved their right fingers up her helplessly lubricated cunt, too, without even asking anymore, without caring, and the blonde could only beam happily up at them, feeling wild and reckless and free, impossibly desirable. Soon, shivering, she craned her swanlike neck to begin to lick and suck at their engorged, drizzling bare knobs, doe-eyed and needy as she begged them to stuff her pussy full, absolutely full, of throbbing red cock, to use her like a whore, and to cum all over her…

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