Scarf Collectors Ch. 01


Scarf Collectors Chapter 01 Title and copyright page


Copyright Oggbashan July 2002/May 2004 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Scarf Collectors Chapter 01

We met in a charity shop. I was looking around at the bric-a-brac when I noticed something interesting out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t really looking but I reached out just to check.

As my hand fell on the Gucci labelled silk scarf another hand reached it as well. This was a woman’s hand.

“Do you mind?” she said sarcastically. “This is a woman’s scarf.”

“I know it is.” I replied “A genuine Gucci silk one too.”

I had realised that it was genuine expensive silk as soon as I’d touched it. Shame. I had probably lost it now.

I had.

She lifted it off the shelf and took it with her to the counter. I followed with my few items. I watched as she paid the stupidly low price they asked. I paid for my items and followed her outside.

“You have a real bargain there.” I said to her as we reached the street. “That scarf was the only worthwhile item in the whole shop.”

“I know.” She said complacently. “I had to have it and I wasn’t letting a mere man get away with it. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.” I replied wryly.

“No. All’s fair in love, war – and shopping.” She laughed.

“I’m sorry my hand didn’t reach it before yours.”

“What would you do with a silk scarf? Give it to a woman who might not appreciate it?”

“No. I collect them.”

I’d said it out loud to a stranger in a public street. I’d admitted that I collected silk scarves. Why had I done that when I’d been keeping it a secret for years? My ex-wife was the only one who knew and she wouldn’t talk about it. Despite the divorce we were still friends.

“You collect silk scarves and I’ve deprived you of a real bargain. I think I owe you at least the chance to talk about your collection. We might have something in common.”

It was only then that I stopped thinking of her as a rival who’d outwitted me and looked at the woman. She was worth looking at. She was tall, elegant, with long straight blonde hair held in a ponytail with a silk scarf. Another scarf dangled from her expensive shoulder bag. She looked as if she could afford to buy designer scarves at the normal retail prices instead of looking for them in charity shops.

“OK. I said. “I would be honoured if you about join me for some coffee over there.”

I pointed to a restaurant that had pavement tables.

“Thank you, sir,” she said in a teasing tone of voice “I accept your kind invitation.”

When we’d sat down and ordered I introduced myself.

“I’m Jonas Smith.”

“I’m Cecila Dupont.”

“That sounds French. Yet you don’t seem to be French except for your exquisite dress sense.”

“Thank you, Jonas. I try. My grandfather was French. He married an English girl and stayed here. Although I can speak French we’ve used English at home for most of my life. What do you do, Jonas – apart from collect silk scarves?”

“I have a light engineering company. We specialise in one-off car parts for vintage and veteran vehicles.”

“That’s your job. Are you married?”

“Not any more. I’ve been divorced for some time. And you?”

“I’m divorced as well. It’s a long story. I’m far more interested in why you collect scarves.”

“Well. I’m not sure how to start. My wife wore scarves when I met her. While we were courting she almost always had a scarf round her head. I liked the feel of them against my skin when we snuggled together in the back seat of the cinema. After we married she gradually stopped wearing them because the fashion for headscarves had changed. I missed them but that wasn’t why our marriage broke up. We’re divorced because I spent nearly all my time on my business and virtually no time with my wife and children. Now the business is established I have the time but…”

“I see,” said Cecilia “Your wife was wrong about scarves. If the scarf is expensive silk and worn as part of an elegant outfit it is still fashionable.”

“I know, Cecilia. I couldn’t convince her.”

“So, Jonas, you collect scarves to remind yourself of your youth?”

“Yes. That’s part of it. I actually like to handle them as well. As a man I can’t wear them but I can run my fingers through them and enjoy the feel of the silk.”

“I think you are missing something, Jonas. Shall we part just like ships in the night or do you want to continue this conversation later?”

I leapt at the hint.

“Cecilia. uzun konulu porno Would you like to go for a meal?”

She nodded with a smile on her face as if teasing me for being so slow.

“What sort of meal? French? Italian? Mexican or what?”

“I think I’d like an Indian meal as long as we eat early in the evening before the crowds arrive.”

Indian? I hadn’t had an Indian meal in years.

“Can you suggest anywhere, Cecilia? I don’t know which Indian restaurants are good and which are bad.”

She pointed across the road.

“The Taj Mahal is good during the day and early evening. Their menu changes after 10pm to more basic food for drunks. If we start at seven we should finish before the crowds arrive.”

“Sounds good to me? When?”

“Tonight?” Cecilia suggested.

“Tonight!” I was surprised. “Yes. Tonight would be fine. Shall I collect you?”

“No. I’ll meet you outside on the dot of seven. I won’t be late. Please be there.”

“I will be, Cecilia, I will be.”

“Then I’ll leave you. Until tonight.”

She stood to leave. I stood to say goodbye. Then she was gone into the crowds of afternoon shoppers. I sat down and ordered another coffee. What had I done? I had admitted my secret and now I’d asked an elegant woman out for a meal. It was a drastic change from my normal self. Yet I wanted to see Cecilia looking elegant again and listen to her mocking voice. All through our conversation I felt that she was playing with me like a fish on an angler’s hook.

For the rest of the day my mind wasn’t on my normal routine. I went back to the works and signed the few letters I’d dictated in the morning. I even left early which I hadn’t done for years.

Back home I showered then considered what to wear. A meal in an Indian restaurant could be eaten dressed any way you wanted from jeans and a T-shirt to full evening dress. That was it. I wouldn’t disgrace Cecilia’s elegance. I’d dress up as if I were going to the West End.

I took my evening suit out of the wardrobe. It was clean of course. The shiny black patent leather shoes just needed a light dusting. I saw my opera cloak. Why not? I lifted it out revealing its blue shot silk lining. The collapsible top hat as well? Yes. The gloves but not the gold-topped cane. That would make me look like a refugee from an operetta.

At ten minutes before seven I stood outside the Taj Mahal. I was attracting some interest from passers-by. Then I saw Cecilia approaching and I knew that I’d been right to dress for the occasion. I doffed my topper to her.

“Madam,” I said “You look elegant tonight.”

She did. She had a floor length shimmering black dress under a white silk shawl. She was wearing black gloves. I tucked her hand under my arm and we entered the restaurant. They had seen us coming and had thrown the doors wide open. As we entered two couples were leaving. They were in full Indian evening dress. The ladies who looked like mother and daughter wore silk saris with gold borders. I bowed to them. The men returned my bow. The ladies nodded as did Cecilia. The older lady partly veiled her face with the end of her sari. The younger one smiled at us.

We stood aside to let them pass. I couldn’t help noticing how elegantly the two Indian ladies moved in their saris. They walked as if they owned the earth.

The Maitre’d greeted us.

“Good Evening. A table for two?”

I nodded.

Cecilia cut in.

“Could we have the alcove, if it’s free?”

“Certainly, Madam. This way.”

He showed us to a curtained recess that had a table large enough for four people but had just two large leather buttoned chairs. They looked much more comfortable than the other restaurant chairs. He snapped his fingers. Cecilia’s shawl and gloves; my hat, gloves and cloak were whisked away.

“Would you like drinks while you consider you order, sir?”

I looked at Cecilia. She shook her head.

“No thank you.” I told the Maitre’d.

I turned to Cecilia.

“Now I’m in difficulty, Cecilia. I haven’t a clue what to order. I can ask for recommendations but I’d rather leave the ordering to you. I will trust your judgement.”

Cecilia smiled at me.

“Thank you, Jonas. I think I can manage to choose something suitable.”

She addressed the Maitre’d. What she said to him might as well have been Indian or even Chinese. I barely understood a word of the dishes she was ordering. Whatever she was ordering the Maitre’d understood her perfectly well and approved her choice. He was smiling broadly by the time she’d finished the order.

“The chef will be pleased. He likes customers who know and appreciate what we offer. What wine would you like?” he said producing the wine list with a flourish.

I passed xhamster porno it to Cecilia.

“Since I don’t have a clue what we’ll be eating, what do you suggest?”

“A good Burgundy with the main course; a Sauterne later.” She pointed to two items on the wine list.

“A fine choice, Madam.”

The Maitre’d turned to leave.

“One moment.” said Cecilia.

“My friend is unused to Indian food. Please will you see that there are sufficient chapatis and a large jug of water.”

“With your choice I don’t think he’ll need them, Madam, but they will be provided.”

She nodded.

I raised my eyebrows.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Most English people think that Indian food should be fiery such as Madras or Vindaloo. So the chapatis and water are to provide a cooling down. You won’t need them for that but more as if you are at a wine-tasting. There will be a wide range of spices and flavours. The chapatis and water will clear your mouth so that you can appreciate the subtleties of each dish.”

The meal was wonderful. None of it was too fiery. There was a subtle contrast of tastes as we moved from dish to dish. The service was excellent.

During the meal Cecilia explained each dish like an expert. The only odd thing was that she suggested we did not end with coffee.

At the end we were full but both of us were delighted. I settled the very reasonable bill and added a large tip.

As we left I said:

“Thank you for a wonderful experience. I would never have believed that we could eat so well locally.”

Cecilia replied.

“Most people underestimate Indian cooking and go just for the same dishes. If you experiment you find that there is a vast range of possibilities that most people never try. Each Indian restaurant has different strengths according to the skills and experience of the chef. Tonight we had some of the dishes that he is renowned for. Yet he spends most of his time producing fiery curries for people who’ve already drunk too much. It’s such a waste.”

I agreed with her.

“I didn’t want to have coffee because you are having coffee with me.” she stated bluntly. “Their coffee is just ordinary. My coffee is good. It isn’t far to go. Coming?”

“I gladly accept your invitation.” I said, doffing my hat. “I am at your disposal.”

“You will be,” she said. Why?

Her house was unusual. Set just behind the High Street was a redundant water tower. It was hers. The top of the tower had been converted into a house. The base of the tower was surrounded by garden. We climbed the long spiral staircase to the living room. At that time of evening the view was disappointing. All that was visible were street lights. Cecila closed the curtains.

“Sit down while I bring the coffee.” she said.

I relaxed on the large settee. The room was well but simply furnished. Every item was good but the room was understated. It hinted at elegance rather than shouting the cost of achieving the result.

She returned with the coffee. She was right. It was good.

“I have the beans sent from Kenya. A friend buys them directly from the growers who get more from me for one kilo than they receive for a hundred kilos from the local trader.”

“It’s wonderful.” I replied.

“Perhaps. I didn’t invite you here just for coffee.”


“No. You collect scarves. I collect scarves. I’m going to show you some of my collection.”

“That I would like.” I said.

She left the room and returned with a large suitcase.

“This is only part of my collection.” she said, opening the case to reveal that it was full of neatly folded silk.

“Now. I’m going to give you an experience you won’t forget.”

“I couldn’t forget this evening if only for the wonderful meal and your company. I replied.

“Yet so far has just been the beginning. Please take off your jacket and tie. I want you to be comfortable.”

“OK.” I didn’t know why she wanted me to, but I was prepared to do whatever she asked.

She took a scarf from the case and put it in my hands.

“Feel that.”

I ran the scarf through my fingers. It was beautiful.

“You can’t really appreciate it just with your hands. Lean forward.”

She put the scarf on my head!

“There! Now you can feel it better.”

“But…” I protested.

“Shh! We are alone. I’m going to let you experience scarves as they should be. Take your shirt off.”

I blinked but I complied.

She draped a scarf across my chest and her hands moved the silk over my skin.

“That’s how silk scarves should be felt. They are best on naked skin.”

She wound the scarf loosely round my wrists.

“I don’t want any more protesting from you. I want you to enjoy my scarves so I’m xnxx porno going to tie you up with them. This is your last chance to say no, Jonas. If I stop now you’ll miss a great experience.”

I couldn’t say no to Cecilia.

“Whatever you want to do, Cecilia. I’m in your hands.”

She breathed a sigh.

“Thank you, Jonas.”

She tightened the scarf round my wrists and knotted it. Then she passed another scarf round my waist and tied my wrists to it, pulling them against my stomach.

“There! That’s a start.” she seemed pleased with herself.

She took a large pile of scarves out of the case and sat down beside me with the scarves in her lap. She wadded one and pushed it in my mouth.

“Enjoy this, Jonas.”

She rolled a scarf and used it to pull the gag deep into my mouth. She pulled it hard before knotting it behind my head. I was unable to make a sound. Another scarf was folded into a triangle and covered my lower face.

Cecilia dropped to my feet and tied my ankles together. She removed my shoes. She undid the waistband of my trousers and pulled my zip down. I wanted to protest but my bonds and gag held me helpless.

She pulled my trousers and pants below my knees. She tied my knees together before untying my ankles just long enough to remove my clothes. Apart from her silk scarves I was completely naked.

She slid a large scarf behind my hips and tied it like a nappy. The feel of silk around my sex was almost unbearable.

Cecilia pushed me sideways and lifted my tied legs so that I was stretched out on the settee. Then she started covering me from head to feet with scarves. She caressed my skin with each one before tying it around me. I craned my neck to look down at my body. All I could see was expensive silk, scarf upon scarf, covering all of me.

“Nearly done, Jonas.” Cecilia said as her hands stroked my body through the silk. “There’s just a small part of you left that isn’t touching silk and that part needs something special. Look!”

She lifted the hem of her long black dress. Under it was a shimmering black silk slip. She lifted the slip as well. There were her black silk panties. She straddled me and the panties approached my eyes and blinded them. Through the panties I could feel the hairs of her blond bush. She dropped her slip and dress over my head.

“Now Jonas. I’m going to use you.”

She rubbed herself against my face, slowly and gently at first. I started to worry. Tied and gagged as I was I couldn’t shift her from my face. Her body pressed closer and closer to my face. I was trying to breathe through the silk surrounding my head but her movements were becoming more determined and she pressed harder and harder against my face.

Her silk panties started to stick to my face as they were dampened by her juices. This was a more immediate threat to my breathing than just the layers of her slip and dress. I shook my head as violently as I could under her crushing body. She lifted herself slightly.

“Having trouble Jonas? Can’t you breathe? What a shame!”

She dropped her pantied bush over my face again. I started to pass out from lack of air. She lifted herself again.

“I’m sorry, Jonas. I don’t want to suffocate you but it looks as if I have no choice.”

My face was smothered again. I was completely helpless under her. I was really panicking now. I might die inside her swathing silks and who would know where I was? No one knew that I was with Cecilia Dupont. The staff at the Taj Mahal knew that she’d left with me but why should they expect anything.

Then she lifted herself completely off me.

“I was teasing you, Jonas.” she said “I wanted you to feel that I and my silk scarves had you at our mercy. We have, you know.”

I nodded weakly.

“I have one more thing for you to experience before I give you another choice.”

As she spoke she appeared in front of my eyes. Then she dropped her silk clad breasts over my face and pulled me deep between them. Apart from the heavy black silk of her dress I felt the warmth of her breasts and her subtle scent. She held me until I was desperate for breath. She released me and I panted through my silk clad nose.

Cecilia untied the scarf covering the lower part of my face. She struggled to undo the knot holding the gag in place. She finally managed it and pulled out the soggy mass of silk from my mouth. Before I could say anything her mouth covered mine. We kissed.

“Jonas. You now know what silk scarves are for. They are for women to use to tie people up. I’ve tied you up with just a few of mine. Even though you can now speak you couldn’t stop me gagging you again whenever I want to. Could you?”

“No, Cecilia. I’m still completely wrapped up.”

“So you are. Now you have a second choice. You can leave now or you can stay with me tonight. If you stay you will be at my mercy all night. It’s your choice.”


What will Jonas decide? Will he go or will he stay? Has Cecilia really given him a choice? He’s still tied with her scarves. If she decided not to let him go – what could he do?

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