‘Do you ever see that guy Dr Lassiter these days?’
Lloyd’s question appears idle, but I’ve learned that Lloyd doesn’t waste words, and there will be method behind the chitchat.
I think back, trying to recall the last time I had an appointment with the professional disciplinarian.
‘You know, I think it’s been a while. Maybe eight, nine months. Since we got together, that vacancy has disappeared. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’ Lloyd shifts on the sofa, switches TV channels.
‘No, really, why?’ I remove the remote control from his hand and keep my fingers twined in his, literally pressing for information
He clicks his tongue. ‘Suspicious mind, Sophie. I bet Dr Lassiter knows a cure for that.’
‘Dr Lassiter’s cures are all the same. They always involve a sore bum.’
‘I know. I’ve consulted him myself.’
I’m shocked for a moment. What does that mean? ‘What? You’ve met him? He only takes female submissives.’
‘Not like that.’ He shakes his head in disbelief at my unlikely presumption. ‘I mean, he’s given me some good advice. I’ve spoken to him in the bar after a couple of his … sessions. When we first got together, I knew you liked a good beating, but I was no expert in giving them, so I thought I’d ask one.’
‘Did you really?’ I’m fascinated to think of Lloyd as a pupil of the dry corporal punishment fetishist. I try to imagine how the conversations went … were there lessons? Practical sessions?
‘Yeah. While you were off comparing cane stripes with Rachael, I was taking instruction from the don. He knows his stuff, doesn’t he?’
‘I ought to call Rachael, meet up for a drink with her. Haven’t seen her in yonks.’
‘Ah well.’ An impish grin breaks out. I have learned to fear these. ‘That might be on the cards already, actually.’
I knew it!
‘What have you done?’
‘I bumped into Dr Lassiter in reception the other day. We got talking. He gave me the best idea for the next challenge.’
‘Oh God. Go on.’
Lloyd’s arm creeps around my shoulders. He pulls me tight while he whispers the details of my doom into my ear. ‘Dr Lassiter and Rachael are members of a club.’
‘I don’t think I need to ask what kind of a club, do I?’
‘I think your first guess would be accurate. It’s called Kinky Cupcake.’
‘Kinky what?’
‘I know, weird name. Apparently there’s a coffee shop attached. Anyway, he said, he and Rachael were big fans of this club and had had several amazing nights there. Was I interested in joining? It’s by recommendation only, but if I were up for it he’d put my name forward. I said, “Why the hell not? Can Sophie join too?” Of course, he said. So he’s gone there today to register us.’
‘I see. And the challenge?’
‘We’ve done bondage. We’ve done spanking. We’ve done domination and submission. But we’ve never done it in public. Have we?’
‘That time you handcuffed me to the balcony …’
‘That doesn’t count. It was dark. Nobody could see you.’
‘So, you want us to go to this club so you can do stuff to me while people watch?’
‘Essentially. Does that appeal?’
Of course it appeals. I have a well-developed submissive side, so this has been a long-term fantasy. Whether it will be quite so exquisite in reality remains to be seen.
‘It could do. I need more details.’
‘We have to go to the club to meet the owners – kind of an interview. Dr L. will let us know when we can do that. Then, I guess, we pick a club night and just turn up. Anything goes, apparently. I’ll make a list.’
‘I know your lists.’
‘I think you’ll find this pretty easy, compared to that last gig at least, so I’m going to have to get my diabolical thinking cap on.’
‘The one with the skull and crossbones.’
‘Yeah. That one. In the meantime, perhaps we should rehearse. A dry run. Though dry might not be the right word.’
‘Ho ho.’
‘I don’t like your tone. Fetch the hairbrush. And be quick about it.’
The resounding smack on the bum with which he sends me on my way stings pleasantly all the way to the bedroom. But that’s not the only cause of the tingly throb in my pussy. The ghost of future kink hangs over the immediate scene, heating it up with the promise of depravity.
***
‘I know they’ll accept you with open arms. It’s me I’m worried about.’ Lloyd smoothes down his hair for the thousandth time and practises a cold-eyed stare into my mirror compact. ‘I don’t even own a pair of leather trousers,’ he complains. ‘They’ll see straight through me.’
‘Don’t be stupid. There’s no correlation between the amount of leather worn and the effectiveness of the dom.’ I lower my voice a little. This tube train is packed.
‘Don’t call me that. It makes me feel weird.’
‘What, a dom? That’s the part you have to play.’
‘I know. But it sounds inhuman. I don’t like it. I’m just a person who likes to mess about with whips from time to time.’
‘So you’re a dom. Don’t make such a fuss about it. At least you don’t have to be a sub! That’s even worse. Makes me sound like a baguette.’
An unforced laugh chases away Lloyd’s nervous witterings. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty horrible. Can’t they think of some better names? Sexier? Can’t I be a … tetherer. A cuffer. A whipper. No, there isn’t anything, is there? I’ll stick with dom.’
‘As for me, what can I be? Pain slut? Fuck toy? No, it’s all horrible. Submissive it is.’ I sigh. ‘What about master and servant?’ I start humming the Depeche Mode tune. ‘I quite like that.’
‘So do I. Except you’ll never in a million years be my servant. Or my slave. Alas and alack.’
‘You can whip me all you like but I’m not ironing your bloody shirts. We’ve had this conversation before.’
‘No we haven’t. I’ve never asked you to iron a shirt. Why would I run a hotel with a massive laundry and then iron my own shirts?’
‘OK then, you can whip me all you like but I’m not … er …’
‘The point, Sophie, is taken. Like you will be.’
‘Sh. That man’s looking at us. I think he knows where we’re going.’
‘Maybe he’s going there too. Maybe he knows that, underneath that coat, you’re wearing nothing but a rubber dress and thigh-highs.’
‘Lloyd.’
‘Oh, this is the stop. And he’s getting off here too, how about that?’
We follow the gentleman in question along the platform and up the escalator. I am grateful for my long coat as we ascend through a draughty hall, past ad after ad for West End shows and exhibitions.
Thankfully, Kinky Cupcake is not too distant from the tube station, tucked away in a warren of tight-knit streets and alleyways full of transformed warehouses and industrial buildings. Sweatshops are now art galleries, grain stores have become artisan cheese shops. The raggedy waifs and strays who used to wander these cobbles have been replaced with students and young professionals trying to use their iPhones and ride their bicycles simultaneously.
We swerve one such, Lloyd pulling me into the wall and saving me from a knickerless sprawl.
‘You OK?’ He pats my hips, rubbing the lining of my coat against the smooth rubber that encases them.
‘Yeah, think so. Is this it?’
We look up at an archway over a large black door. There is no name on the wall, nothing to identify the building. But it’s the right address.
‘What do we do? Knock?’
‘I suppose.’
Lloyd knocks on the battered black door, then stands back and smoothes his hair down yet again, waiting for admission.
‘I wish I knew what this interview thing was about,’ he mutters, then there is rattling and jangling from the inside lock and we grip each other’s fingers instinctively.
The door opens a crack – a face appears above us, impassive and silent.
‘Oh, the password!’ says Lloyd. ‘Um, Lacoste.’
The door opens a little wider and a hand, presumably belonging to the owner of the face, waves us in.
‘Names?’ asks the doorman. Maybe Lloyd could borrow some leather off him – he certainly seems to have the full set.
We supply our identities, which are ticked off against a list.
‘You have an appointment,’ the doorman tells us, which we already knew, but we follow him up some stairs to a very ordinary-looking waiting area. At least, so it seems, until I realise that the magazines on the table aren’t exactly Woman’s Own.
‘Nice gimp mask.’ I pick one up and show it to Lloyd. ‘That’d suit you.’
‘Don’t. I feel naked. Do you think I should get a tattoo?’
‘Lloyd, you’re really nervous, aren’t you?’ I take his hand and hold it tight. It’s clammy.
‘I feel like I’m going to be asked to prove something. I feel like I’m going to be found out.’
‘What could they possibly find out about you? We do this stuff! We do it for real. You’re as eligible to join this place as Lassiter is, or Max Mosley, or … anyone.’
He smirks. ‘I’d rather not end up on the front page of the papers.’
A door opens and a sleek, beautiful woman in a perfectly cut trouser suit smiles out at us. ‘Lloyd? Sophie? Please come in. We’re always so delighted to meet new members,’ she continues, as we cross the deeply carpeted floor of her office. ‘Take a seat. My partner, Mal, will be up shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?’
Neither of us wants to be nursing glasses or hot cups while we discuss the most intimate aspects of our fantasies, so we both shake our heads.
‘You were recommended by Dr Lassiter, I see.’ She reads from a computer screen. ‘One of our most distinguished members. He runs a Sunday evening class in disciplinary techniques – perhaps you’ll find that of interest?’
‘We’ve both learned a lot from Dr Lassiter,’ I say.
She looks at me – a proper head-to-heels sweep of the eyes – and smiles. ‘I’m sure. So you’re a couple?’
‘Yes.’ Lloyd answers this one, with a really piercing glance in my direction.
‘Are you lifestyle players?’
‘No, just bedroom dabblers really. Looking to go a bit deeper.’
‘Oh, lovely, I do like it when we have relative newbies to the scene. So many delights to be found.’
She has the kind of throaty, theatrical delivery that could very easily sound false, but I believe her. Her enthusiasm for this seems nothing but genuine.
‘Which way round is your dynamic? Or do you switch?’
Lloyd clears his throat. ‘We did try switching, actually, but it wasn’t something we really went for. So I do and she’s done to.’
‘Oh, yes, a nice way of putting it. But of course, the gifts are reciprocal. This balance of power can’t work with partners who don’t respect each other as equals.’
‘That’s so true!’ I’m quite excited by her words, more so than I would have expected to be. ‘One thing I hate is when people assume that the submissive partner is weak. That’s such a simplistic, wrong-headed way of looking at it.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more. Submission takes a great deal of courage and strength. For one thing, as a woman in today’s world, it’s so often considered taboo to admit that you like a man to take control in the bedroom.’
‘I kind of buried that side of myself for years,’ I continue. I’m so excited I can hardly get the words out. I feel close to this woman, whose name I don’t even know – it’s like an instant infatuation. ‘I felt guilty and disloyal for even thinking it.’
‘And yet, what do you have to feel guilty for? A preference that may well be innate and, even if it isn’t, there’s nothing you can do to change it. Perhaps one day we’ll be able to enjoy our sexuality without fear of judgement. Until then – here we are.’
She leans over sympathetically, and the door opens to admit a man with vampire teeth.
This throws me off my stride a little.
‘They’re real.’ He answers the unspoken question with a big flashing smile. ‘I had them filed down. So many subs go for a vampire.’
‘But you don’t actually …?’ Those fangs could do some damage.
‘Ah …’ He smiles enigmatically and proffers a hand. ‘Mal. Not short for Malcolm.’
‘What is it short for?’ asks Lloyd, standing to shake the guy’s hand.
‘Malfeasant.’
‘Nice name,’ I observe, taking my turn to glad-hand him. ‘I’m Sophie. This is Lloyd.’
‘Great to meet you. So, how are we playing this?’
The question is addressed to O, who notices my slight stiffening at it.
‘Dr Lassiter will have told you, I assume, that we require a small demonstration of your commitment to this practice,’ she says. ‘It helps keep the dirty sniffers of the press off our doorstep. With our elite membership, there’s rather a lot of potential for blackmailers within these walls. Of course, we trust Dr Lassiter’s judgement. All the same, it’s a rule of the house.’
Mal clarifies the issue. ‘So what’s it going to be, my dears? A spanking? Nice bit of bondage? Maybe a spot of humiliation?’
I hope Lloyd has something prepared. We haven’t discussed this. I thought it was meant to be an interview, not a practical.
‘Bloody hell, baptism of fire,’ I mutter, shooting him daggers.
‘You can say no,’ he reminds me in a whisper.
‘I’m not falling at the first fence. What are we doing?’
He raises his voice to answer. ‘Sophie, I want you to stand up and remove your coat.’
I stand up. The tops of my boots tickle my naked thighs, reminding me of the pale expanse stretching from there to the too-high hem of the rubber dress.
I shrug off the coat and hand it to Lloyd, turning away from my audience as I do so and maintaining my huddled half-crouching stance, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.
‘Up straight and face our examiners,’ he orders briskly. This means I have to break my eye contact with Lloyd. I really, really don’t want to do this. But I do it.
‘Oh, we’re not examiners,’ coos O. ‘Don’t make the situation more formal than it needs to be. You do look lovely, dear – gorgeous rubber. Call us by our names, Lloyd, if you’re comfortable with that.’
‘OK,’ says Lloyd from behind me.
I look at a distant spot on the wall behind O and Mal, blurring out their rapacious smiles and lustful eyes. My shoulders are back, thrusting out my tightly confined breasts. The bottom of the dress barely skims my pussy; it would only take the fractional raise of a leg to expose everything.
‘Put your hands on your head, Sophie.’
The movement lifts the dress ever so slightly, just enough to give my new friends a glimpse of shaved lip. The tension created by the latex is unbearably sexy, as is the knowledge of my inescapable exposure. I feel the wetness, the unruly pulse of desire. Lloyd was right. This challenge is going to be easy after all.
‘Now turn around slowly.’
I perform a slow rotation, trying hard not to stick my bum out too far, though I’m sorely tempted. With one hundred and eighty degrees completed and Lloyd’s face back in my register – an evilly intent, highly focused face – he commands me to stop.
‘Bend over,’ he says.
I won’t look at him. I won’t make a face at him. I mustn’t give him failure ammunition.
So I lower my eyes to the ground and carefully let my upper torso follow suit. I feel every upward millimetre of my hem’s progress over the curve of my bottom until it sits nice and square in the middle of my outthrust cheeks, showing everything beneath.
‘I’d value your opinion of her arse,’ says Lloyd politely.
‘Wonderful shape,’ purrs O. ‘So full and round.’
‘The most spankable I’ve seen in a long time,’ is Mal’s verdict. ‘Though it’s a bit pale for my taste. I prefer them redder.’
‘That can be arranged.’ Lloyd!
‘Of course, it’s your call.’ Thanks, Mal.
O has a question now. ‘What kind of things do you like to do to that delicious bottom, Lloyd? How much use does it get?’
‘Oh, plenty. Obviously, like Mal, I like to see it turn red. I like the heat, especially if I put my cock inside afterwards.’
‘Ah yeah, there’s no beating the feeling, is there?’ says Mal yearningly.
Never mind red arses, I’m pretty sure my face is that shade of which they so approve. Just as well it’s beyond their view. In the meantime, my cunt is dripping. Surely they’ll notice soon? Oh God. I clench and unclench the muscles, praying that this will help me keep my secret.
‘Fucking a good hot red arse, you mean?’ says Lloyd, still in this insane polite chitchat kind of tone. ‘Absolutely. My favourite.’
‘Do you use butt plugs?’
‘Oh yes, she loves those. For pleasure and for discipline. She wore one behind the reception desk all morning once after one particular episode of naughtiness.’
Oh, I remember that. Remember the squirming on the chair, the growing pool of liquid lust in my knickers, the perma-blush on my face as I greeted each guest. He’s such a glorious pervert. They really are going to see the shining evidence of my arousal very soon.
‘I must visit your hotel,’ remarks O. ‘Dr Lassiter recommends it very highly.’
‘Thank you,’ says Lloyd, then his tone changes and I know he is addressing me. ‘Stand up. Turn back around.’
Rather than slide back down over my curves, the latex remains, slightly rumpled, halfway up my bum. As my eyes find that distant spot on the wall once more, Lloyd reaches out an idle hand to caress the bared skin. I only just catch the moan in my throat, replacing it with a shuddery exhalation.
‘Spread your legs, Sophie. Yes, that’s it. Little bit wider. Good.’
My pubic triangle is on display, lips parted to uncover the swollen red bud within. Lloyd, stroking my bottom and running a finger up between the cheeks, pushes me forwards an inch or so.
‘Show them,’ he says softly. ‘Show them how wet you are.’
I tilt my pelvis, angling it so that my sex is as fully viewable as possible.
‘Take your hands off your head and hold your lips open for them.’
I obey, feeling as if all my blood is rushing from crotch to face and back again, draining every other part of my body. My legs feel weak and my arms start to tremble.
‘She’s very wet,’ he tells them, dipping fingers lightly into my juices.
‘She likes to be put on show.’ Mal is leaning forwards, his face livid red. ‘That’s a great sign. She’ll be brilliant at the master/slave events. Tons of potential.’
Lloyd, standing behind me now, lifts his fingers to my mouth and has me lick them, tasting myself on his warm skin. ‘You’re doing so well,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘I’m proud of you.’
I hate that his expression of pride makes my chest swell and my heart constrict. I hate that. I want to be indifferent to his fucking pride. Why can’t I be indifferent to it?
‘O, Mal, do you like her dress?’
Mal grunts his approval while O repeats her assertion that it’s ‘gorgeous’.
‘Perhaps you’d like to see it at closer quarters, then. Would you like to feel it?’
They don’t need asking twice. Like big cats on the veldt, they stalk and circle their prey, drawing closer.
Lloyd stands aside to let them surround me. ‘Touch her,’ he invites.
O’s elegant hand runs along my side, from my shoulders to my hips, snagging at the rumpled part of latex and moving beyond to land flat-palmed on my naked flesh.
‘I’d like to feel her tits,’ she says to Lloyd. ‘Are they heavy?’
‘Find out for yourself.’
She weighs them in considering hands, tending to them so gently. She has to be a submissive. There is no pinching or squeezing from her fingertips.
Meanwhile, Mal is all about my arse. He crouches behind me and I can feel his stare boring into the tops of my thighs. He holds me by the top of my thigh-highs and sniffs the leather. I feel his nose drift upwards on to my quivering flanks. When he buries his face in my bottom, Lloyd calls time.
‘I see you approve.’
‘Thank you for letting us examine her,’ says O, releasing my breasts and planting a daring quick kiss on my cheek. ‘She’s delightful.’
‘Delightful,’ echoes Mal, sounding a bit strained. When he comes back around to the front, I note a bulge in the tight leather pants.
‘One more thing,’ says Lloyd, to me. He puts one hand on my shoulder from behind and delves between my legs with the other, giving my clit a good rub, swishing his fingers in the surrounding gush. ‘You need to come, don’t you, love?’
It feels so heavy, so tender, so shamefully needy. I do, I do, but must it be in here?
It seems it must.
‘Oh,’ I whimper. ‘Please.’
‘Show our friends how you like to touch yourself,’ he says.
It sounds like a request. It sounds as if I can say no. But I know different.
I hide my face in his arm at first, then the command tone comes out.
‘Sit in the chair, Sophie, legs apart. Now.’
He releases me so I can obey the order. My half-naked bottom meets the cold wood of the seat. I widen my thighs, show my glistening wares to these two complete strangers while Lloyd hovers over my shoulder, his hand on the back of my neck.
‘Show them. Masturbate for us, love. We want to see you come.’
I shut my eyes. Part of me wants to be in this scene so very much, and yet another part of me wants to run away. Lloyd, helpfully, cuts down my options. He strokes the nape of my neck with gentle knuckles, leaning behind me, murmuring supportive filth.
‘You want this, Sophie, you want to be watched. Get your fingers on that big fat clit and give them a show.’
I follow his instructions blindly. He’s right, it’s so fat and full and juicy, so ready to be touched.
‘Would she like a vibrator?’ offers O.
‘No, fingers only this time. Come on, Sophie. Show them what a willing wanton thing you are. She’ll do it with anyone, you know? She’s the whore you don’t have to pay for. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows they can have her just by looking at her. She’s opened her legs for so many men, she’s the town bike, the good time that was had by all, aren’t you, Soph? But despite all that, she’s still mine, when it comes right down to it, she’s still mine because I know how to do it right, because I know her.’
His words and my fingers work together, a key and lock, opening my exquisite shame, setting fire to it until it combusts into an orgasm of such complex potency it blows my mind. What makes me come? Is it the simple manipulation of my clit? Is it Lloyd’s words, his voice, his savagely accurate summation of me? Is it the fact that I am watched and laid bare to two strangers, who will now know exactly what I am? Is it all of it together? I can’t separate the strands. I give up trying and deflate on the chair, limbs hanging heavy, juices growing cold, cunt twitching in tiny aftershocks until it comes to rest.
Lloyd has his arms around me from behind. He is hugging me quite fiercely into his chest, kissing my hair. He knows me.
I wonder if there’s a handy hospital trolley, because the only way I’m leaving here is on one. It seems like the kind of place you might find such an item. With plenty of straps attached.
‘Did you enjoy that, Sophie?’ O is solicitous, sympathetic.
I aim a drugged kind of nod in her direction. ‘Mmm, thanks.’
‘I know I did,’ says Mal. He reminds me of a drunken uncle making inappropriate remarks at a family gathering. I can’t imagine this Carry On vampire being authoritative, but I guess he must be. O doesn’t seem the type to settle for a dud.
‘Thank you for being such a lovely audience,’ says Lloyd unctuously. I dredge up the energy for an appreciative chuckle from somewhere and Mal and O join in.
‘Well, if you’d like to wash your hands and sort yourselves out, why don’t you take a little tour of the club? I think everything’s open just now. We have a lovely café and bar area just next door.’ O has moved on from the scene, brisk and businesslike once more.
It’s our signal to straighten up, shake the lust fog from our heads and pretend nobody ever watched anybody getting off in front of them.
My rubber dress covers my bum once more. I squirt my hands with that spirit gel stuff they have in hospitals, a bottle of which O keeps handy in her desk. She lends me a mirror to fix my hair and make-up. Lloyd loosens his collar, pulling the tie off and stuffing it in his pocket. His neck is damp. He was more nervous than I was.
We make polite noises and leave for the aforementioned café area. It’s substantially less gothic than I expect – no upright coffins in the corners, just pot plants.
‘So then,’ says Lloyd, once we have ordered coffees and sunk down into a deep leather couch in the corner. ‘How was that for you?’
‘It was good. Weird, but good.’
‘And do you think you’ll be able to do something similar, but on a grander scale, at the play party tomorrow night?’
‘There’ll be lots more people there.’
‘Yeah, but they’re all kinky. They get to watch you, but you get to watch them as well. We’re all voyeurs and some of us are exhibitionists too. Come on. You can’t tell me you aren’t an exhibitionist, Soph.’
‘No, I can’t tell you that. But what are you going to do?’
‘Haven’t decided yet.’
I cast my eye around the room at the other customers. Will they be the witnesses of my shame? It’s mid-afternoon, so those that are here are mainly students or people who work nights. While there is a smattering of leather, most are dressed according to a more bohemian template. A few suits here and there. The idea of having all their eyes fixed on me is exciting.
A woman in a clingy jersey dress crosses the room and I jump up.
‘Rachael!’
My old friend and partner in submission turns to face me. ‘Ah, I was looking for you.’ She comes to sit with us. ‘I heard you were going to be in for you induction this afternoon. Lloyd told me. How did it go?’
‘Pretty good, I think. They didn’t throw us out, at least.’
‘What did you do? Spanking, bondage?’
I don’t want to say. Lloyd helps me out.
‘I made her finger herself in front of them.’
‘Oh, gosh, I don’t think I’d have been able to do that! Not when I was a newbie anyway.’ Rachael puts an arm around me. ‘You’re so brave.’
‘Am I?’ I never think of myself as such. I just go along, let the tide carry me. What’s brave about that?
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ says Lloyd to Rachael. ‘I could use some advice.’
‘Yes?’
‘What shall I do? Tomorrow night? This is the first time I’ve done anything like this for an audience and I don’t want to mess it up. What would you suggest?’
‘Hmm.’ Rachael frowns, as if surprised Lloyd should need guidance. I’m quite touched at how anxious he is to do things right. Mr Cocky Cocksure has stage fright. ‘Well, I’d start simple. If you enjoy the experience, you can always build it up.’
‘What did you do, your first time?’ I ask.
‘It was a simple spanking scene,’ she reminisces. ‘I wasn’t alone, actually. Me and two other girls played a little scene where we were lazy housemaids caught showing each other our underwear.’
‘Do elaborate,’ drawls Lloyd. His hands are clasped ever so casually over his crotch. I think I know why.
‘It was fun,’ she says. ‘Me and the other two – O was one of them – dressed up in these teeny-tiny French maid outfits and pranced about in the boudoir with feather dusters. Have you seen the boudoir?’
‘Not yet.’
‘It’s lovely, you must. Anyway, we pretended to dust, and O and the other girl, both more experienced than me at that time, started making out. We ended up lifting each other’s skirt to see all the frillies underneath, touching each other. O was licking this other girl out while I watched when the Mistress caught us.’
‘Who was the Mistress?’
‘You’ll meet her, I expect. Danuta, she’s one of many here. She bent us all over the end of the bed in a row, took down our knickers and flogged us, one at a time. Then we all had to stand in the corner while she got the Master – that was Mal – to come and join in. He caned us, then I had to stand in the corner while O and the other girl carried on. I think they had to do oral sex on each other again, then Mal fucked one while Danuta did the other with a strap-on. Something like that.’
‘Blimey.’ I’m impressed. ‘It sounds quite complicated. It must be planned out in advance then?’
‘Yes. You’ll need an idea of how you want things to go.’ She addresses herself to Lloyd.
‘I can see that. So, you didn’t get involved in the sex, your first time?’
‘No. The second time I didn’t have so many inhibitions to lose though. It all got easier after that.’
‘What do you think, Soph?’ Lloyd turns to me. ‘Would you want to go a bit further? Are you shy? Retiring?’ His sharky smirk makes me flap a hand at him.
‘You know I’m not.’
‘But I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. Why don’t you, uh, go and buy us a cupcake each while I have a quick word with Rachael. Here.’
He hands over a ten-pound note.
I linger over the glass-fronted counter, admiring a cake which features a naked body made of chocolate buttons. Liquorice bootlaces trail from a Twix whip handle. How inventive. I peek over my shoulder every now and then, to watch Lloyd and Rachael, deep in confabulation about what sinful things will be done to me tomorrow night.
‘Can I get you anything?’
The barista, handsome and obsequious in an apron and a black silk shirt beneath, gives me what seems like a knowing look. I wonder if he’s a sub. Does getting ordered around the coffee machine turn him on? Are there people who work in service industries because they love to serve so much that they get a thrill out of it? I grin to myself, imagining an alternative workforce, role-playing the country back to economic ascendancy.
‘I’m not sure,’ I tell him.
‘When you’ve identified your whim, please let me satisfy it,’ he flirts.
‘Oh, aren’t you precious? I’ll take three of those flapjacks, ta. Have you ever considered hotel work?’
He blinks.
‘Never mind.’
He puts the flapjacks on a tray, gives me my change.
‘Is it safe to come back?’ I hover around Lloyd and Rachael’s vicinity, not wanting to interrupt them mid-plot.
‘I think we’ve got everything covered,’ says Lloyd.
‘Unlike your thighs,’ comments Rachael. ‘Great boots. Where did you get them?’
We lapse into chat until the last flapjack crumb is consumed and Rachael confesses that she is late for her date in the dungeon and scurries away, though scurrying isn’t easy on six-inch heels.
‘I guess we go back to the hotel and wait for tomorrow night,’ says Lloyd, rising to his feet.
But he missed something out of his guess, because the moment we are out of the building and back in the dingy backstreets, he finds the first disused side alley he can and pushes me up against the wall. He parts my coat with urgent hands and presses himself into my rubber curves.
‘Do you really think,’ he whispers in my ear, ‘you can get a man all hot and worked up, showing yourself off in front of strangers, and expect to get away with it?’
I bite my lip, grind into the hardness he must have been nursing for at least half an hour. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Three guesses.’ His hands are at my hem, yanking at the latex. The wool of his suit trousers chafes my thighs.
‘OK.’ I dart out my tongue and flick it along his lower lip. He catches it for a moment, sucking it in, then releases it so I can speak. ‘Guess one: pick me up and spread my legs.’
‘That’ll do for starters.’ He jolts me upwards so I have to cling to his neck, my breasts pushed into his chest, my legs wrapped tight around his hips. The wall is hard and uncompromising against my spine, but I don’t care, caught in a forceful kiss that knocks my senses sideways.
‘Next?’ he demands, drawing away with a bite of my lip.
‘Guess two: get your cock out of your trousers.’
His hand bears my theory out, fiddling with belt buckle and zip for an intense moment, while I start to wonder how secluded this spot really is. It’s getting late. Soon the offices will release the workers and they will flow and flood through the streets, bound for stations and bus stops all over town. Maybe this alley is a cut-through.
‘Guess three,’ I rasp, more urgently. ‘Fuck me into the wall.’
‘Oh, you’re a mind-reader,’ he says, nipping my ear.
He gets his cock gets into position underneath me, holds me up by the undersides of my naked thighs and enters me. It’s a quick and effortless first stroke, impaling me without fuss or struggle. He pushes in to the hilt and stands, crushing me in place, still for a moment. I can tell by his breathing and the twitching of his face that he won’t be able to hold himself in for long. He’s already close.
I want to unhook an arm from his neck and touch my clit, catch up with him before he streaks ahead and leaves me behind. He helps me, bracing one of his forearms underneath me while he releases my arm. I tense for a moment, feeling my body drop an inch, my coat scraping against the cold brick, but then I am hoisted back into position, with my hand free to self-pleasure.
For the second time that afternoon, I start to rub my clit. I love the feel of his thick hard stalk underneath, keeping me filled and tight while I finger myself.
‘Don’t take too long,’ he gasps. ‘I don’t know if I can …’
‘It turned me on,’ I tell him in brief bursts, panting in between, ‘when you made me show myself to those people. Doing what you told me … having to do it … knowing they thought I belonged to you … it got me off … oh God, it did.’
‘You like people to think you belong to me? You do. You do belong to me. This hot, wet little cunt I’m in is mine. Do you get that?’
‘Yeah. I get that.’ I begin to wriggle, trying to provoke him into a thrust.
‘Patience, sweetheart. You made me wait. I’m returning the favour.’
‘Nooo, I can’t. Can’t wait. Do it. Fuck me.’
He won’t be able to resist it. He can’t resist it. He screws his eyes shut and gets to work. My back will bear the bruises, my cunt will sting and simmer with sweet remembrance for the rest of the day and night.
You are his, it says, when I lie in bed feeling the burn. Why do you fight it?