Kinky

by Justine Elyot

  ‘He needs money.’

  ‘There are so many ways of earning money, my dear. Being a pro-dom isn’t the first one that springs to mind, is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s something he enjoys and he’s good at it. It doesn’t mean he wants to sleep around. In fact, he’s said loads of times that he wouldn’t have sex with his clients.’

  ‘He’s said that to you.’

  ‘What, so he’s told you different?’

  ‘He doesn’t need to. Actions speak louder than words.’

  ‘What?’ I leap up close to O, stretching on tiptoes so our noses almost touch. It’s an act of aggression, and I wish I could stop myself, but once I’ve done it I can’t seem to step back out of it. ‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’

  ‘What the fuck do you mean by threatening my partner?’ The voice, cold and male, comes from the doorway.

  I come to my senses and move back, subdued and close to tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter to Mal as he strides into the room. ‘I didn’t mean to get so worked up.’

  ‘I suppose this is all about beloved Dimitri, is it?’ he says. He sounds resigned, and a little bit pissed off. ‘O, you know you can’t have him, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, does it?’

  A tiny flicker of hope sparks up. I work hard at hanging on to it.

  ‘She’s obsessed with him,’ he tells me. ‘But he isn’t obsessed with her. When that happens, you have to let it go. You know it, darling, don’t you? But you won’t be told.’ He caresses her under the chin, then takes hold of a nipple and twists it.

  I wince in sympathy.

  She whimpers, ‘But he’s so pretty. I want him so much.’

  ‘You can’t have everything. You’re spoiled enough as it is. Have you been telling tales to poor Rosie here? Is that why she got cross with you?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her anything that wasn’t true.’

  She gasps as he smacks the side of her breast, hard. I watch the flesh jiggle and sway.

  ‘He’s not yours, O. You can’t be his. You’re mine. Repeat it.’

  ‘I’m yours, master.’

  ‘That’s right. You forget it too often, pet. I think you need a reminder.’

  She smiles at that, a big wonky dirty smile, running her tongue along the top row of her teeth with lascivious glee.

  ‘Please remind me, master.’

  ‘I will. And, since Rosie here has been upset by your ridiculous crush, I think she should stay and watch.’

  ‘If you think so, master.’

  ‘I do. Is that all right with you, Rosie?’

  ‘Well, I, er …’

  ‘Take a seat.’

  I still haven’t had a chance to ask about Trixietots, but Mal seems impossible to defy. He is the old-school dom, as opposed to Dimitri’s odd and whimsical version, and he carries his air of authority with him at all times, like a gold-topped cane.

  I sit down on the stage and watch while Mal unshackles O from the cross, giving her a moment to stretch her arms and rotate her wrists.

  ‘I’m going to go for an old favourite, I think,’ he says, going over to the wall and pulling away a piece of furniture that looks like a normal kitchen stool, apart from one thing: the long thick dildo erupting out of the seat like a rocket.

  ‘Over here, my love,’ says Mal, the words not menacing in themselves, but his tone pure evil.

  O looks apprehensive, pouting at Mal as she crosses the floor. ‘You’re really going to make me ride it in front of Rosie?’

  ‘Have you ever used one of these, Rosie?’ Mal asks me, stroking the mountainous dildo.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dimitri’s missing a trick. Hop on, then.’

  The last words are addressed to O, who looks sulkily away from me as she places her feet delicately on the low rungs of the stool, steadying herself with palms flat on the seat. To mount it properly, she has to first kneel above the giant protuberance and lower herself, slowly and with much wincing, down on to it. I watch transfixed as her lips stretch and the latex is slowly swallowed up inside her.

  Once it is almost subsumed, she adjusts her legs, painstakingly, standing back on the rungs. This forces her into a position where she has to bend forwards at the waist, hands clasped on the seat in front of her, bottom pushed out.

  ‘Doesn’t she look nice?’ purrs Mal.

  She certainly looks obscene. Mal makes me examine her from every angle, so I see her strained face from the front, her penetrated profile, her wide open bum cheeks from the back.

  ‘Now, ride. Ride it well. I’m going to use the whip.’

  She begins to move herself up and down on the dildo. It looks laborious, her calves shaking and thighs straining with each up-and-down motion.

  ‘Faster than that.’ Mal selects a wicked-looking flogger and starts lashing it against her bottom. The whoosh and splat are enormously satisfying. O grunts with effort, every facial muscle contracted.

  But I don’t want to watch her face. I want to see her arse, jiggling up and down on the thick stalk, changing colour under the lash. I want to see what Dimitri might see.

  I can’t deny that it looks incredibly sexy. O’s pert backside seems made for the whip and her slender body looks so fragile yet it must be so strong to keep up the frantic pace Mal seems to require. Her stamina impresses me as she races to the finish, but her criss-crossed rear impresses me even more. The redder and angrier it looks, the more I am turned on until I can hardly bear it, having to scrunch up my fists to keep my fingers away from my skirt hem.

  Mal plies his flogger mercilessly, catching the tender spot at the top of O’s thighs until she screams. Oh dear, I think, now he’s gone too far and will have to stop, but then I realise that the scream is not inspired by pain, or only partially so.

  O is coming, jolting back and forth, the scream breaking into a series of little whines while the whip falls again and again.

  I don’t know whether to pity or envy her. On the whole, the balance tips towards envy. Can I get Dimitri to do this to me?

  Dimitri.

  Where is he?

  I turn to Mal, who is unbelting and unbuckling his leather trousers, preparing to release his stiff cock.

  ‘Do you know where Dimitri is this morning?’ I ask him.

  He puts the whip away and moves around to the front of O, waiting for her to take him in her mouth before answering.

  ‘No. Ah, that’s good, O, that’s very good.’

  ‘I’ll, um, be getting on then.’

  ‘Must you? Stay if you want.’

  ‘No, no, that’s fine. Goodbye.’

  O is feasting on Mal’s cock, still connected to the dildo-stool, when I leave, not much the wiser.

  On the one hand, I know that Dimitri hasn’t been mixing it up with O – she has a crush on him, but that’s all. But I know nothing about what he’s doing with Trixietots, or where they are.

  Lunchtime is coming up when I stagger back on to street level, workers pouring out of their offices and heading for the pubs and sandwich bars of the district. Wherever Dimitri and Trixietots are, looking for them will be like finding ants in an anthill. Really, I should just go back to the office and try to call him again.

  But I can’t. I just can’t.

  I find myself phoning my account manager and telling him I’ve just thrown up in the car park, must be some kind of bug, hopefully I’ll be fine tomorrow and all that.

  Then I take a purposeful right turn around the corner and commit to a fine-tooth-comb search of the entirety of the N1 postal area.

  I only make it as far as the same pub we escaped to after that intriguing vision through the basement window of Kinky Cupcake. There, in a corner, sit Dimitri and Trixietots, both nursing tumblers of vodka. He has his arm around her and he’s beaming away as if his smile is powered by the National Grid. She is fawning and blushing and pushing her knee up close to his.

  That story about throwing up in the car park suddenly feels a whole lot more plausible.


  I put my hand over my mouth, turn and run to the tube station.

  * * *

  Saturday comes.

  There has been no contact between Dimitri and me over the preceding two days except a text from him vaguely referring to ‘big news’. I didn’t reply to it, unable to keep up the appearance of normality.

  Today I will set him free. That’s what the song says, isn’t it? If you love somebody, set them free.

  I am a human jitterbug as I walk slowly up the narrow street to Kinky Cupcake. This is going to be horrible, but it has to be done. Then I can meet Anton at the Laser Zone and bury myself in mindless pleasure-seeking for the rest of the weekend.

  Dimitri is in the café, reading the sports pages of a newspaper while his coffee goes cold. At least Trixietots doesn’t appear to be on the scene. I seat myself opposite him, rather than doing my usual thing of sliding in beside him for enthusiastic and somewhat bristly hello kisses.

  He puts down the paper and grins the wolfish grin. ‘Hey, baby,’ he says, then his mouth slides to a mock-sad droop. ‘You are OK? Not looking so happy.’

  My lips do an annoying wobbling thing as I try to get the words out. Not the calm, firm effect I had hoped for at all.

  ‘I just want you to know,’ I open, everything pouring out in an uneven rush, ‘that I don’t expect anything from you.’

  ‘What? I thought you expect me to whip you today?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean, I know what you’re like. You don’t have to pretend you like me as more than … than what you … I mean, if you don’t really want me, that’s fine. I think you’ll make a wonderful dom. Thank you and goodbye.’

  I rise on unsteady feet and stare desperately at the door. It looks miles away. My first attempt to hurl myself at it fails miserably, foiled by Dimitri lunging after me and catching hold of an upper arm. He spins me round to face him. I want to die. What a scene we’re making!

  ‘What?’ he demands in a stunned whisper. ‘What you are talking about? Come here. Sit down.’

  ‘Very convincing. Just like a real dom.’ So like a real dom, in fact, that I do exactly as I’m told.

  ‘What is wrong? Rosie, you are shaking. Look, I get you a drink. Stay there.’

  I contemplate making a break for it, but I can’t bear to sneak away from him. The thought of his mild shock and consternation when he returns to the table and finds me gone makes my heart weep. I think he does care for me on some level, even if it isn’t the one I was hoping for.

  He comes back with the richest possible hot chocolate, well, more a cream and marshmallow concoction with some hot chocolate included by the looks of things, and sets it down in front of me.

  ‘Sugar,’ he says, as if I’m supposed to grasp his meaning. ‘You drink it. And you tell me what is the problem here. I did something to make you sad?’

  ‘No. But you did something that showed me how things really are.’

  ‘How things really are? How is that?’

  ‘I got carried away. The S&M stuff is really intense – I suppose that made me think our relationship was also really intense.’

  ‘Intense?’

  ‘Full-on. Heavy. Um, very emotional. I don’t know. Too much.’

  ‘I scare you with what I do to you?’

  ‘No, no. I’m not explaining myself very well. To do what we do, I had to trust you. And like you. A lot. And I suppose I thought you felt the same.’

  ‘Stop, you think I don’t like you a lot? Because that is not true. I like you a lot. A very lot.’

  ‘That’s nice. But it’s not just me you like a lot, is it?’

  He blinks at me, utterly bamboozled, or so he wants me to think. ‘I am not understanding you.’

  ‘I saw you with Trixietots. In the pub. All over her – your arms around her. And I don’t mind! I really don’t. You can shag who you like. But maybe it’s time you went pro. Maybe you’re ready now. Thanks for the experience, it was amazing, but –’

  ‘Shut up!’

  I am too shocked to speak. He sounds quite angry. Eyes from the other tables swivel in our direction.

  He breathes in, stills himself, exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is low.

  ‘You see me with Trixietots in the pub, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘So why you don’t come and say hello?’

  ‘I was … I thought you wouldn’t want to see me, while you and she …’

  ‘You mean you think me and Trixietots, we are lovers? Outside your back?’

  ‘Behind my back. Well, yes. But you don’t have any obligation to me.’

  ‘Shush. You make a wrong … I don’t know the word.’

  ‘Decision? Conclusion?’

  ‘Conclusion, I think. You decide I am lovers with Trixietots. But I am not.’

  His voice is still controlled, but his hand gestures aren’t. His rattling bangles can be heard on the other side of the Thames, probably.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you will be? You want to be?’

  An even more emphatic, ‘No!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Trixietots – her name is Louise actually – she is an agent. Agent for theatre.’

  ‘Theatrical agent?’

  ‘Yes. And she sign me. She find me work in a movie about economic immigrants. It start to film next month.’

  I don’t know what to say. ‘Oh.’

  He sniffs at me, mortally wounded. I feel like the jerkiest jerk since jerkdom was invented.

  ‘I mean, congratulations. Wow. That’s awesome news. I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘No more kitchen for me.’

  ‘Fantastic. Well done.’ I want to cry. I think I’m going to. ‘I’m so sorry.’ My voice cracks.

  He pushes the hot chocolate towards me. ‘Drink some.’

  The marshmallows stick in my craw.

  ‘One problem I have,’ he continues, looking gloomily at the table. ‘I need to make better my English. I have plan to ask you if you can help me. Evenings, maybe. But now, I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say again. My oh-saying skills are on fire today.

  ‘You have bad idea of me. I have disappointment.’

  ‘I don’t – I never did. I just thought it was only fair to let you have some freedom. You’re going to dominate all these strangers anyway. I don’t have any claim on you.’

  ‘I need to understand this, Rosie,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘You are saying that you like me a lot. This is right?’

  ‘God, yes. I really do. I …’ No, better not say that. Hold back.

  ‘There is fire, yes, for you and me? The sex, it is very good?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘And we both are enjoying the kink?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So, you like me in all this way. But you also want me to fuck other girls and leave you alone? This is what you are saying?’

  ‘No. I’m not really saying that. I only said that because I thought that was what you wanted. Is it?’

  ‘Not at all. I want you.’

  The sudden declaration takes what little wind I have left from my sails.

  ‘Really? As a submissive? A sex partner?’

  ‘Of course.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘But more than that too. I mean, you know, we go to a movie and so on. Meet my friends, I meet your friends.’

  ‘You never really said …’

  ‘No, because, look at me, Rosie.’

  I do. It’s no hardship, but he seems to think he gestures towards something less than desirable. Weird.

  ‘What I have got to give you? I am poor, I am foreign, I am man who has nothing.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you that way. Not at all. To me, you’ve got everything.’

  At last the anger seems to burn off and a genuine smile breaks out from behind the clouds. ‘See, that is why you are special to me. And you like me for myself.’

  ‘I think Trixietots and O might do too, thoug
h,’ I say, unable to stop the mischievous thought tripping off my tongue. ‘To be fair.’

  ‘No, no, they like me because they think I am a dom.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t think I can be professional though.’

  ‘Really? Why not?’

  ‘Like you say, to do this acts is very emotional. It works for me and for you because we love each other.’

  My heart swells. That word. And now he’s said it, yes, it’s out there and it can’t ever go back in.

  ‘I think I can’t do it to a girl I don’t love.’

  ‘You only hurt the one you love.’ The thought is ridiculously cheering. I find myself smiling again.

  ‘That seems a little bit mad, yes? But I feel it in my heart.’

  ‘Me too.’

  It’s as if a loud, stormy movement of music has given way to peaceful harmony. We are back. We are lovers. We love each other.

  ‘So, Rosie,’ he says, after spending a moment clasping my hands in his.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You have a bad idea of me and you try to break up with me. I don’t think this is good.’

  There is a particular tilt of his head, a particular look in his eye that hints at what is coming. I shiver and squirm in my seat, my throat suddenly dry.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ I say softly, adding, even more quietly, ‘sir.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Apology is good, but not good enough. And, how lucky, I have booked the dungeon. Come with me.’

  Chapter Nine

  I’m not dressed for it, not today.

  If I hadn’t been full of the resolve to end things with Dimitri, I might have gone for a skirt, stockings, something he could flip up or tear off with the greatest of ease, but I am wearing jeans and a fleece-lined hoodie. Not appropriate dungeon-wear at all.

  Somehow this skews my experience. I feel like a tourist stumbling on to a film set instead of a submissive. Or perhaps I’m still dazed from all the revelations. Either way, I can’t quite connect with my kink.

  Dimitri, having walked me down the staircase with a hand on my shoulder, lets go of me to conduct a thorough search of the implement store.

  ‘What is best,’ he mutters under his breath, ‘for a girl who has no faith in her master?’