Seven Scarlet Tales

by Justine Elyot

  ‘Would you mind showing me your bottom?’

  ‘Oh! Er, all right.’

  It seemed an outlandish request but then, considering this was a spanking club, perhaps Poppy was being oversensitive. Allyson probably needed to make sure she hadn’t been marked.

  She turned around and lifted the brief satin skirt of her robe, exposing the newly-spanked cheeks.

  ‘Lovely and pink,’ commented Allyson. ‘But you won’t have bruises tomorrow. Perfect.’ There was a long and pregnant pause. ‘All right, you can go.’

  Poppy’s throat was dry and she needed a long drink of water before she slipped back into her dress. The dressing room, so shabby and prosaic, seemed to lower her mood and warn her against meeting Bruno.

  He thought she was a prostitute. He expected sex. No matter how attractive and sweet he seemed, no matter how sexy his accent, this was what he was after. Wham, bam, merci madame.

  However you looked at it, it wasn’t romantic.

  Poppy, back on the street, joined the teeming nightlife and hoped she could slip past the pub unnoticed. She wove a path through the gangs of men peering into peepshows, and past the windows filled with mannequins in rubber basques. It was so old-fashioned now, this sexscape, it almost seemed like a fabricated street in a heritage museum. Serious sex-seekers went online – all you found here was tourist curiosity.

  Around the corner lay freedom and fashionable restaurants. She ducked as she passed the pub, hoping that a combination of busy streets and frosted glass windows would be her friend.

  But she couldn’t resist a quick look inside the open door on the way past.

  Bad move.

  He was there, at the bar, right in her line of vision, and he caught sight of her as she crept by.

  ‘Allo!’ he exclaimed, taking two steps forward.

  She froze.

  He looked so pleased to see her, and Poppy could never resist anyone’s good opinion of her.

  She changed course and went into the pub.

  ‘I wasn’t sure,’ she said with an apologetic look.

  ‘You would like a drink?’

  ‘Oh, maybe a vodka and cranberry. Thanks.’

  Squashed into a corner, their thighs touching, they clinked glasses and smiled, him radiantly, her nervously.

  ‘Bruno,’ she opened. ‘I’m not a prostitute. If that’s what you think. I just like you.’

  ‘That’s good. I am not going to pay you for sex,’ he said.

  ‘You aren’t?’

  ‘No. Maybe you can tell me your name now?’

  There didn’t seem any harm in it.

  ‘Poppy.’

  ‘Pop-py,’ he said, seemingly finding it enchantingly novel. ‘What is poppy?’

  ‘A flower. Red. Like, um, the Somme, Flanders Fields, the First World War, remembrance …’ The reference he was most likely to understand was the grimmest.

  ‘Oh, coquelicqot,’ he said, grinning. ‘C’est joli.’

  ‘Yes, I remember looking it up in the French dictionary at school. I don’t suppose anyone has that name in France? What a mouthful.’

  ‘And it is Poppy’s first day in the spanking club,’ he said.

  She looked around, dreading that they might be overheard. Everybody was engrossed in their own affairs, though, and she turned back to Bruno.

  ‘Yes, as I said.’

  ‘I just wondered. You know, you seem so … I did not expect a girl like you. I thought perhaps you were playing a part, the innocent. But this is really you?’

  ‘I’m not so innocent. I knew what I was getting into. Please don’t cast me in the role of victim. I’m not.’

  ‘OK, no, I see that. You have a strength.’ It took him about five minutes to mangle the word ‘strength’ and Poppy’s brief fit of pique evaporated.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘I am going to confess to you. I didn’t think you would come. Or if you did, you would try to get me into a room upstairs, for a fuck.’

  Poppy had nothing to say to this, but her wide eyes and open mouth must have said it for her.

  ‘But it seems like you are not in that situation. You are a genuine employee, who goes to her home a free woman after she is spanked.’

  ‘I told you. I’m not a prisoner.’

  ‘You told me the truth, so now I will tell you. I am not really interested in spanking.’

  ‘You … I thought—’

  ‘OK, I like it now. But I never thought about it before, not much.’

  ‘So, why …?’

  ‘I am here on a work visit. I am a police detective in Paris, I recently change my job and work on prostitution, drugs, that kind of thing.’

  ‘This is a set-up?’

  Poppy half-rose and looked wildly around her, expecting uniformed officers with handcuffs to emerge from all corners of the room.

  Bruno put his hand on her forearm, drawing her back down.

  ‘Calm,’ he said. ‘You are not in trouble. Not at all. Don’t worry.’

  Poppy sat back down, but she couldn’t shake a strange sensation of being under arrest and bound to answer all interrogations.

  ‘It’s legal. I pay tax,’ she said.

  ‘OK, it’s OK, I know. I don’t say you are doing anything wrong. I am here for study. There are links between gangs in Paris and London. I am getting an idea of them, you know? A feel, you say.’

  ‘Gangs? There’s no criminal stuff going on at the club.’

  Bruno gave her a long look.

  ‘You believe that. But your whole club is a front for drugs and prostitution. It is used to launder money.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, Poppy, of course it is. My God. How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Nineteen. I have a daughter, four years younger than you.’

  ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Divorced. This job, you know.’ He waved his hand, his face darkening.

  ‘I’m sorry. So what were you doing in the club? Investigating? Are you trying to catch somebody?’

  ‘No, not at all. Like I say, it is study. Research.’

  ‘And you came to me just because you wanted to question me?’

  ‘I’m afraid you think I am using you?’ Bruno laughed. ‘If a man wants to hit you or fuck you for money, that is fine, but if he wants to talk to you, that is very bad. You don’t think this is strange, Poppy?’

  ‘I don’t know. It is a bit, I suppose,’ she said, still feeling as if the cuffs were upon her.

  ‘Who is in charge of the club?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want to tell you, now.’

  ‘I can find out very easily,’ he said with a shrug.

  ‘She’s called Allyson. Allyson Bruce.’

  ‘She hired you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you really, absolutely truthfully, like working there?’

  ‘The money’s good. I’m a student, so I always need money. And it’s not exactly hard work.’

  ‘I would find it hard.’

  ‘You aren’t, you know, into that kind of thing.’ Poppy looked away, flushed. She suddenly felt very old and it wasn’t a good feeling.

  ‘If you were my daughter …’ he said.

  ‘I’m not. It’s my life. My decision.’

  ‘I wish I could take you away from it.’

  Poppy was trying to devise a coherent response to this when two people came and sat down at the table opposite them.

  One was Emma from the club, the other a gentleman Poppy recognised as the theatre critic, Peregrine Sands.

  ‘Poppy,’ said Emma, glancing at Bruno with a trace of steel in her eye. ‘Is this a friend of yours? Would you like to introduce us?’

  ‘This is Bruno,’ said Poppy, a sinking sensation of impending doom settling upon her stomach.

  ‘Hello, Bruno. I’m Emma and this is Mr Sands. How do you two know each other, then?’

  ‘We met in the club. It’s OK,’ blurted Poppy. ‘I know it’s allowed
.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s allowed,’ said Emma. ‘But it’s your first night, love. It’s her first night,’ she said again, for the benefit of Bruno. ‘She’s new. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Bruno isn’t a punt—’ opened Poppy, but a kick on the ankle from Bruno silenced her.

  ‘That is up to Poppy, I think,’ he said, accepting a peanut from the packet Emma proffered. ‘If she wants to be friendly to me, that is up to her.’

  ‘You don’t have to, Poppy,’ said Emma. ‘But if you’re hellbent on it, how about we make it a foursome?’

  Sands coughed. ‘Actually, Emma, I’m meeting Caroline for a late supper. I don’t have to worry about marking her. But thank you for the rather titillating idea. Who needs theatre when one’s life is so rich with dramatic colour?’

  He rose and left.

  ‘I’m sorry, Poppy,’ said Emma, once he had gone. ‘But I’m just looking out for you. If you go with him, I go with you.’

  Bruno’s posture was stiff and alert. Poppy wondered what he was plotting. Surely he wasn’t going to take Emma up on her offer? Surely the thing for him to do now was to make an excuse and bow out?

  ‘Perhaps you will like to come to my hotel for a drink?’ he said at last.

  ‘Good man,’ said Emma with a nod. ‘I won’t charge you for me if you don’t want me. If you like, I’ll sit in the bathroom while you two get down to things. But I’m not letting Poppy go alone. If you do want a threesome, though, I’ll have to charge you the market rate.’

  In the cab on the way to Bruno’s hotel, Poppy felt numb and bemused. Bruno sat beside her while Emma took the front seat. He put his hand on her thigh and whispered into her ear, ‘Don’t worry.’ When he noticed Emma looking in the rear-view mirror, he turned the whisper into a nibble of Poppy’s earlobe.

  She whispered back, ‘I’m scared. What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing you don’t want. She is watching. I will have to kiss you. Do you mind?’

  Poppy didn’t. The nearness of him gave her butterflies and their lips were already so close, nearly touching. The warmth and scent of him were exotic somehow, deliciously different.

  He put an arm around her and pulled her into his lips. They kissed for the rest of the journey while the taxi stopped and started, the gears squeaked, and Emma made desultory conversation with the driver.

  Poppy felt her apprehension turn to excitement. It was like being in a spy drama, having to keep Emma in the dark about the true nature of their relationship. There was a spice of danger that didn’t seem too real. Allyson was nice. The club was legitimate. Bruno had some funny ideas about it, but he didn’t understand, that was all.

  She let her body twist and turn against his, let him press closer and allowed his hand to wander up and down her leg, stroking the nylon along her inner thigh so that she tingled and trembled. She was as wet now as she had been after he spanked her. He must know that, if he wanted it, she wouldn’t object too strenuously.

  She moved her lips near his and tried to brush them, inviting a kiss, but he turned his head away.

  ‘This is the place,’ he said to the cabbie.

  The three of them tipped out of the car, and streamed up the steps to the lobby of a mid-range hotel, close to the St Pancras Eurostar terminus.

  ‘It is not a luxury place,’ Bruno muttered, shepherding them into the lift, which he had to summon by means of a secure key card.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Emma agreed, frowning at herself in the elevator mirror, under the glare of a striplight.

  ‘I’ve stayed in much worse,’ said Poppy reassuringly. ‘In Paris, funnily enough.’

  ‘Oh, really? Where did you stay?’

  ‘Near the Place de Clichy.’

  Bruno laughed.

  ‘C’est logique,’ he said.

  The lift arrived at his floor and they trooped along to his room, accessed once more by the key card.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ announced Emma, spreading her arms wide. ‘Where do you want me?’

  He didn’t want her, Poppy thought, and he made it pretty obvious by the way he looked at her.

  ‘You can help yourself to a drink from the minibar,’ he said. ‘Perhaps take it into the bathroom.’

  ‘You want to get straight down to business, eh? Can’t blame you. She’s a pretty little peach, isn’t she?’

  She tickled Poppy beneath the chin. Poppy squealed and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the hostility between the other two take its course.

  ‘I would like some privacy,’ said Bruno, opening the minibar for Emma.

  She took a bottle of mineral water and swigged from it before retiring to the ensuite.

  ‘Any funny business, Poppy, and you just need to shout, OK? I’m here for you. I’ll take you home afterwards.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Poppy watched the door shut behind her, then looked shyly up at Bruno.

  ‘So, do you want to?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t pay for sex,’ he said, his voice very low, almost a whisper. ‘Here.’

  He sat down beside her and spoke into her ear.

  ‘I’m a policeman. I can’t pay you for sex.’

  ‘But,’ she whispered back, ‘do you want it?’

  He looked astonished and he jerked back, reading her face intently.

  ‘What? Are you offering?’

  ‘Oh, I mean. It doesn’t matter. But I thought you might want to.’

  ‘Poppy, you don’t have to fuck any man who asks you, you know.’

  ‘I know. I know that.’ Tears rushed forwards, threatening to spill.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. Just because I let men spank me doesn’t mean I give it up to anyone and everyone. Do you really think I would?’

  ‘No. Not now. But in a few years, you know, maybe that will change.’

  ‘I’m not planning to do this for years. Only until I get my degree and a good job.’

  Bruno looked towards the bathroom door.

  ‘She thinks we are going to fuck. And if we just sit here, all quiet, she will think it is strange.’

  ‘So?’ Poppy was confused. Now it sounded as if Bruno was going to shag her just to keep Emma off the scent. Wasn’t that worse than doing it because they felt like it?

  ‘We will play the role, as we did earlier. Do you mind if I take off my clothes?’

  He didn’t wait for Poppy’s answer but stood and began unbuttoning his shirt straight away. Poppy watched in stunned fascination as her strange new companion’s chest was revealed, buff and tanned above a classic six-pack abdomen.

  ‘Perhaps if you just take off your dress,’ he suggested. ‘I don’t ask for more.’

  Poppy quickly wriggled out of it. Even though she wasn’t showing him anything he hadn’t already seen, she felt coy and embarrassed at letting him see her knickers.

  ‘OK.’ He had taken off his trousers and stood in just boxers, preening a little as if expecting her to gasp and faint. ‘Are you OK? Let’s get into bed.’ He raised his voice, for Emma’s benefit. ‘I want to fuck that sweet little pussy, baby.’

  Poppy covered her mouth with her hands, but he winked and pulled her under the duvet with him.

  ‘I don’t mean it,’ he whispered. ‘We just hold each other, yes, and make some noise. Make the mattress, what do you say?’

  ‘Creak? Squeak?’ Poppy bounced her bottom and heard the springs groan rewardingly.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, putting an arm around her. ‘Lie down.’

  Poppy was reminded of earlier in the evening, when she had thought the spanking felt too much like role-play to be sexy. How was it, then, that this blatant role-playing felt horribly, dangerously erotic? Something inside her was wrongly wired, she theorised, a blue strand where a red should be, and vice versa.

  Lying pressed against Bruno, breathing him in, feeling his strength and hardness, made her want to wrap herself tight around him and open up her legs. He smelled of older-man authority and r
esponsibility and it intoxicated her. Screw the bad boys, what could be sexier than a good man who wanted to do right by you?

  ‘Hey,’ he whispered, rolling over a little so that he held her down underneath him. ‘You are playing this a bit too well, you know?’

  His mouth was an inch from hers, his hair falling over his brow and tickling her. Their pelvises were in alignment. Only a double layer of cotton kept their genitals apart.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she begged, almost silently.

  ‘You want me to?’ He sounded amazed, and it turned her on even more.

  She nodded. ‘I like you.’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Please.’

  She raised her head a fraction, bringing their lips together. If he was reluctant, he didn’t show it. He gave in to her, so easily and sweetly, as if it could only happen this one way.

  How right it seemed. They shared a connection Poppy wasn’t sure she’d experienced before. She gave herself up to him in rapt surrender, letting her body fall free. They rolled around all over the bed, rumpling the sheets, making the mattress sing. Emma was getting a good performance now.

  He broke the kiss and she let out a laugh of delight.

  ‘You like to be kissed?’ he whispered, as if any answer were necessary.

  ‘Love it,’ she said out loud. ‘Love it, love it, love it.’

  ‘You need to talk for her.’ He inclined his head towards the bathroom door. ‘Some moans.’ He raised his voice again, holding her tight. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm,’ she contributed, squirming in order to get some consolidation from the mattress.

  ‘Say “Oh my God, it’s so big!”,’ he suggested, and Poppy giggled at his outrageous male vanity.

  ‘I’m not saying that!’

  ‘Oh, do, why not?’

  She rolled her eyes, then put her hand on the bulge in his boxers.

  ‘Wow, this is nice,’ she said, sincerely and aloud.

  ‘Poppy!’ He tried to remove her hand, but lamely, not putting his full strength into the gesture. ‘You are a bad girl, you know.’

  ‘I do know. That’s why you had to spank me, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t. Please don’t make me fuck you, Poppy. I can’t.’

  She let go of him, stung and embarrassed.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, to, cross your personal boundaries.’