by Jade West
“Not yet.”
“Yet. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind already.”
“That really does make me a weirdo, wanting to meet some random from chatline, doesn’t it?”
Her face showed no hint of surprise. “We’re all a little weird when it comes to it, unless you like your ice cream vanilla with a side of vanilla and sprinkled with vanilla.”
“Never had much of a taste for vanilla,” I admitted. “I think I was born weird; at least I get to make money out of it.”
Her grin of camaraderie reached all the way to her eyes. “I just knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“You’re one of us! Us on the fringe... the creatives... the naughty, zany, left-of-the-track kinda people! You have dirty eyes, you know that? I told my girlfriend about you, said you were our kind of girl.”
Cara’s gushing took me aback. “You did?”
“You’re a hot, feisty woman in command of her own sensuality, you couldn’t hide it if you tried.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I was sure about Cara. Maybe I was their kind of girl. I’d always been a happy fit with most other pieces in the jigsaw box, but never a perfect fit. I’d never found my kind of person, not in Hatfield and not so far in London, either. The thought felt good.
The pretty creature in front of me grabbed my shoulder, as though she’d received some kind of divine inspiration. “Say, Firecracker Gemma, you said you wanted to make friends, right? It’s burlesque night tomorrow, down at Club Explicit in Soho! You should come!”
“Burlesque night? With showgirls and fire dancers and all that kind of thing?”
“Something like that,” she said. “My girlfriend hosts. Tomorrow night we’ve got Lilly Diva with her fire fans, and this fabulous guy, Mystix, on a bed of nails – naked on a bed of nails, that is... and Princess Tallulah is dancing... you’ll love it!”
“Sounds pretty wow.”
“Bring a friend if you like...” she said. My expression must have spoken volumes. “Or don’t. We’re a friendly bunch, I promise.”
My mind flicked through my shift pattern, I was technically working, but Sheena would cover me. “Soho, you said?”
“Yeah, you know it?”
“Not well. I can look it up, though, don’t worry.”
“The club can be a little hard to find, but if you look for a huge pair of wooden doors without any giveaway signage you can’t go too far wrong. And the door’s always manned by brick shithouses so you’ll be completely safe. Show starts at ten, but we’ll be there from nine, table down the front, at the right of the stage.” She looked up at the studio clock and pulled a face. “Shit, I’ve gotta go, got my next student in five.”
I watched her leave, bouncing on her toes like a gazelle right the way across the room.
“Thanks, Cara,” I called after her.
She turned in the doorway to flash me another winner.
“You’re welcome, Firecracker. I just know you’re going to fit right in.”
I hoped so.
***
Jason
“You’re going to a sex club?” My mind was already rolling in the gutter, covered in filth with small talk long forgotten. “That escalated fast...”
“Yes... but no. It is a sex club. Well, a BDSM club from the looks of it. But I’m going for a burlesque night, I don’t think it’s the same kind of thing.”
“They’ll be cracking out the whips and chains before you know it. Maybe your cute little pole instructor wants to teach you a new kind of move.”
I enjoyed the soft trill of her laugh.
“I hardly know her.”
“Let’s see if you’re saying the same thing tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know...” she teased.
“I imagine chains would suit you, dirty girl. Be careful, I may be forced to find out.”
A hitch of her breath. Bingo. I’d had my suspicions.
“You’d tie me up?”
I slid down the zipper on my jeans, reclining on fluffed up pillows to take my cock in my hand. “Once you know me enough to want it.”
The little gasp down the line told me she was playing, too. “I’ll never know you...” she breathed. “Never see you... you’ll always be a stranger... my dirty, bad stranger...”
“You’ll know me enough... enough to let me tie you up and spank you like the dirty little bitch you are. Enough to let me give you to other men... enough to let me stretch that little pussy wide... Your eyes won’t know me, but your sweet, gorgeous body will. Your sweet, gorgeous body will know every dirty part of me, every filthy fucking need...”
“Yes... fuck yes...”
“Dirty girls want it rough. Dirty girls want their tight little holes fucked sore by strange men...”
“Please...”
“Dirty girls beg for two thick cocks in their pussy at the same time... will you beg, Lucy? Tell me you’ll fucking beg...”
“Oh God, Jason... fuck... I can’t believe what you’re doing to me...”
“Maybe you don’t want a choice... maybe a dirty girl like you wants her legs held wide open, pussy offered up to any fat dick that’ll take her...”
“Make me fuck other men, Jason... please, make me dirty...”
“You’ll take them, Lucy... all fucking night long, and when they’ve used you up I’ll fuck you where they’ve been, and it’ll be the best fuck of them all...”
“Fuck, this is so fucking dirty...” Frantic breathing betrayed her, telling me just how fucking horny she was. I heard the faint buzz of a vibrator, her groan of pleasure as she worked it over her sweet little clit.
“But first, you’re going to let me have you. Only me. You’re going to tell me who you are and where I can find you. You’re going to wait for me like a good dirty girl, all ready for my cock.”
“I want to, Jason... I want to be your dirty girl...”
“Tell me how to find you.”
I held out until she spoke, working my cock through the pregnant fucking pause. “...you know I shouldn’t...”
“Give me something, Lucy. I want to make this fucking real.”
“Tell me dirty things, Jason... make me come...”
“I’ll do dirty things, once you let me. I can’t wait to put my hands on you, to feel how nervous you are... and you will be nervous, Lucy... you’ll be too aware of all the dirty things you promised... all the dirty things I know that turn you on...” I listened to her soft moans, eyes closed to savour the sweet sound of her. “Imagine how dirty you’ll feel... knowing I’m there for your filthy sex... your filthy wet pussy... I’m going to feel every part of you, Lucy, bury my hungry cock in your tight little asshole, and you’ll never even see me... you’ll never see the other men I give you too, either...”
“I want you to use me, Jason... I want you to take me so fucking hard...”
“You’ll get it rough, Lucy... I’ll pound you so hard you’ll feel me for days...”
“Yes...”
“I’m gonna suck on your sweet little clit until it’s swollen sore...”
“Use me...”
“You ready to be stretched, dirty girl? Ready to know how dirty I can make you feel?”
“Fuck, yes... oh fucking God, yes! Fuck me up, Jason, stretch me so fucking wide for you... I’m ready... I’m so fucking ready...”
I was ready, too. Ready enough to curse under my breath and shoot my load all over my fucking stomach. It pooled in my belly button, spilling down to the dark nest of pubic hair. The girl was driving me fucking crazy. A grunt and a groan and I was done, my temples pounding as reality piled in. 3.30a.m. Training in five fucking hours. Shit.
“Jason...?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Wow. Shit.”
“That was fucking epic,” she giggled.
“I’m fucking epically fucked for work tomorrow. Again.”
“I think I’m worth it.” I could feel her smile through the phone.
“Tell me that when the alarm goes off.”
“Maybe one day...”
I smiled. “Your anti-domesticity drive doesn’t include sleepovers, I’m sure.”
Neither does my marital or career status.
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
“Fair point. I can go all night if you can.”
“I’ll hold you to that...” she said.
“I hope so.” My tired eyes bailed on me, screwing shut at the horror of another four hour sleep cycle. “But not tonight, I’m out of here.”
“Make sure you don’t crash at the wheel. Don’t want to hear about any filthy truckers shooting their loads off the motorway.”
“I’m not a trucker,” I said.
“Whatever you are...” she purred. “Sleep well.”
“You too, my sweet dirty girl.”
I made for the cancel call button, but her voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Eight four seven.”
It didn’t need repeating.
***
I’d been itching to search online since the second my fist greeted the alarm clock that morning, but I’d been late. Clumsy with my pissing breakfast, and too bloody groggy to get my shit together in time. How many burlesque nights could there be in London on a Thursday evening? Supposing my dirty girl was really in London. She could be shacked up in the arse end of nowhere for all I bloody knew. No. She was in London.
I rubbed my eyes, squinting against the drizzle and jogging on the spot to stay awake. Five a side at the training ground, coach had set me up against the youngsters, a couple of newbies with easily enough arrogance to match their fancy footwork. Theo Fernandez, a whippet of a striker, fresh from Barcelona for a season in the Premier League. Barely eighteen and wet behind the fucking ears. He was coming at me, prancing around in his fluorescent pink boots, more concerned with looking the part than he was about his line of approach. Or so I thought. I was too sluggish to read him, too sluggish to catch him as he darted to my left, nipping around my clumsy tackle and scoring a perfect goal over Winstanley’s head. He whooped in victory, fist pumping the air while my teammates cursed.
Jesus, Redfern, get with the fucking show, will you? Call that defence, do you? Wakey fucking wakey.
April’s snotty little pout flashed through my mind, her eyes rolling at my uselessness.
What the fuck, Jason? You’re such a fucking loser lately.
Who’s going to pay you for that shit, Jase?
I didn’t sign up to be the wife of a failure, Jason Redfern. If only your Dad could see you now. So much for making him proud, Jason. Well fucking done, asshole.
April had only brought my dad up in an argument once, three summers previous, when I was drinking too much and out of condition. I’d been captaining a cup semi-final as the whole pissing world watched, and I’d been too slow. The cameras hadn’t been kind, showcasing during replay after replay just how outclassed I’d been. The opposition had caught us all out, but it was me who came off the worst. It was me who let the striker slip past, and me who’d lost us our position in the final. The media loves an enemy. They dragged out every bit of shit they could drum up.
April shouldn’t have said it, but she was right. Dad would have been gutted.
My hands clenched into fists, jaw twitchy. Come for me now, Fernandez, you little shit. Let’s see who’s fucking past it.
He kicked off, passing back to Bailey and charging forward. Bailey skirted past our two forwards, narrowly avoiding a clash with Eckhart to clear a decent pass back to Fernandez. Fernandez zigzagged like a show pony, parading his footwork as he made a dash to my left. Not this time, you sonofabitch. I stormed forwards, cutting him off long before he could reach the box, my side crashing into his as he tried to out manoeuvre me. I leapt forward for the ball, trying to clear some distance, but he was too fucking fast again. He turned his shoulder away, tapping the ball to line up his shot, but I was still pounding the ground, breath loud in my ears as the frustration backed up inside. He was almost clear when I charged him, positioning for a tackle but failing to get my act together in time. I’m not even sure I wanted to. Putting on the brakes too little too late did nothing to prevent the tumble. I toppled him off balance, struggling to keep mine as he went arse over tit. He exaggerated his landing, holding his ankle like a big girl and wailing the fucking pitch down.
Coach blew his whistle, jogging on over while Fernandez milked it for all he was worth.
I’d known coach for ten years, long enough to read the scowl on his face easily enough. He helped the little faker to his feet, patting him on the back as he limped over to the sidelines.
“Redfern! What the fucking hell was that?”
I shrugged. “Just trying to head him off.”
“Like a fucking wrecking ball. You could have broken his bastard leg.”
“I hardly touched him.”
“You knocked him fucking flying. You’re teammates, for Christ’s sake. Pissing act like it.” Trevor Loveridge was a good coach, known for being blunt as a rusty spade. He was wielding it high above his head today, ready to strike as he marched me off pitch. “Look, Jay, whatever the fuck’s up with you has to stop. Your head’s not in it. You’re clumsy, distracted, charging around with a big bastard chip on your shoulder. Got anything you want to be telling me?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me.”
I flicked the hair back from my face, meeting his eyes with defiance. “Nothing’s up, just trying to win.”
“Bullshit, Jase, that’s fucking bullshit.” He leaned back against the railings, weighing me up. “Big season, big game on Saturday, too. Need you on form out there.”
“I’ll be on form.”
“Not if that just now’s anything to go by.”
I shrugged. “A slip, just a bloody slip.”
“You look knackered.”
“I’m alright.”
“You know what your problem is...?”
I had a feeling he was about to tell me.
“...you’ve lost your edge, not because of what’s going on down there.” He pointed to my feet. “Because of what’s going on up here.” I flinched as he tapped the side of my head. “Feet of fire, like a fucking blaze when you’re on form, but when you’re not with the plot you’re a fucking nightmare, a clumsy fucking bull in a bastard china shop. It’ll end bad, Jase, one of these days. Sure Fernandez was ramping up the drama, but you keep going like that and someone’s gonna get hurt for real.”
“I’ll get it together.”
“Best had. Go home, chill the fuck out and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I could feel the eyes staring at me from the pitch, scoping out the spectacle. Sloping off in defeat was the last thing I needed. “I don’t need to go home, Trev.”
He slapped my shoulder. “Yes. You do.” He softened the order with a smile, but it smarted all the same. “Watch some TV, bang Miss Electric, whatever. Just get your head straight and get some sleep, alright?”
I admitted defeat. “Yeah, alright.”
“Good lad.”
I was hardly a fucking lad, but I smiled anyway. I grabbed my hoodie, yanking it over my head as I sloped back to the changing rooms. Maybe coach was right, maybe I did need some down time. I grabbed my bag, scrabbling for my phone with little on my mind other than burlesque nights in London, but it wasn’t meant to be.
The text icon flashed before I’d even cleared the lock screen. April. I groaned as I opened her message.
Don’t forget date night. Table booked at nine xxx.
Just what I fucking needed.
***
Chapter Six
Gemma
Cara hadn’t been lying when she said the venue was hard to find. I’d almost given up when I spotted the huge double wooden doors with no giveaway signage, and nearly chickened out when I realised I had to knock and wait. Two bouncers, built like brick shithouses, just like Cara had said, stepped outside to gr
eet me, ushering me in when I explained I was there early for the burlesque night.
“You a performer?” a pierced girl asked as I checked my coat in for safe keeping.
“No, I’m here to see Cara?”
“Ah, she’ll be upstairs,” she smiled. “Go on up.”
I couldn’t deny the excitement as I made my way to the higher floor. A sex club, for real, some BDSM hangout where people got dirty every weekend. I’d never been invited to a place like this before. The guys I normally hooked up with were picked up in regular clubs, a quick fuck in an alleyway, occasionally in a hotel room somewhere. Nothing like this.
I took a breath as I pushed open the doors at the top of the stairs. The club was big, a deceptively open space lined with plush seating booths. I made my way to the bar, a spectacular neon set-up glowing in pinks and purples and electric blues. The barmaid was a pixie-like girl with green extensions and a big spiky lip piercing.
“What can I get you?” she asked. “Cocktails are on special until eleven.”
She gestured to a menu and I scanned a whole host of drinks I’d never heard of before. I was struggling to make up my mind when a pair of arms snaked around my waist.
“Try a garnet crow,” Cara said. “They’re really something.”
I turned to face her, taken aback at the transformation. She was at least five inches taller, cinched in a tight red corset, with a tiny black tutu skirt showing off her perfect legs. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, layered thick with silver glitter.
“Wow! You look amazing!” I managed.
“So do you.” She checked me out, and I felt distinctly underdressed. I’d opted for red, too, but my dress was nowhere near as dramatic. A simple satin number that offered a decent cleavage display. At least I’d slapped on the eyeliner.
“Six crows,” she ordered, handing one to me as they arrived. “You have to try at least once. Live dangerously.”
“I’m living a little more dangerously than I’m used to.” I took a sip, and grimaced at the burn. “That’s pretty potent.”
“This whole place is pretty potent,” she grinned. “Let me introduce you to the ladies.”