by Jade West
She picked up the tray of garnet crows and I followed happily as she made her way through the club. Her table was right where she’d said it would be, and was home to three women who looked as flamboyant as the rest of the place. Cara was quick in her introductions.
“Gemma, meet Cat, Missy and Trixie.”
Cat stood to greet me first, and her name became immediately obvious. She was a pretty thing, with dark hair to the waist, dressed in emerald to match her crazy green cat eyes. I said my hellos and turned to the next in line. Missy oozed class, a chic blonde bob paired with killer red lipstick. She had a warm smile, and a professional handshake, pretty much passing me onto Trixie, who had hair like a rainbow pony and the raspy voice of someone who smoked too many cigarettes.
I pondered which one of them was Cara’s girlfriend, but the question answered itself.
“Hey, baby, this must be the lovely Firecracker.”
I turned to face the voice, to find Cara wrapped in the arms of the gothiest goth I’d ever seen. Her arms were a mass of bright tattoos but the rest of her was encased in black leather. Her hair was a waterfall of red and black curls, and her skin was white as porcelain. Cara smiled, and her smile was full of pride.
“Gem, this is my girlfriend, Raven.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
“Likewise. Cara’s told me so much about you. Glad you could join us.”
I was too. This place was awesome, but the people were more awesome. I hardly knew them but I felt immediately at home, no false smiles, no judgement, no bitchy stares. I took a seat and felt myself relax, the garnet crow definitely helping me along my way.
Raven didn’t stay long. I took the opportunity to edge my chair closer to Cara, eager to find out as much as possible about the place. She pointed out the BDSM equipment at the back of the stage, the shackles and big wooden bondage cross, and then she told me about the playrooms; roped off for burlesque night but available to members at the weekends. The venue sounded just as wild as I’d fantasised, straight out of my dirty imagination. I’m sure my intrigue must have been plain as day, as our conversation soon became the focus of the group. It seemed I was amongst regulars, not just of burlesque night, but of Explicit in general. What a fucking crazy hoot.
“Are you into the scene?” Missy asked.
“No. I only moved here a few months back, from Hatfield.”
“Gem’s a chatline operator,” Cara shared. “A great dancer, too.”
Cue the conversation about my callers, but unlike the general populous the girls here didn’t shriek with surprise at my stories, they were simply interested. I was interested in them, too, itching to ask questions that flowed a lot easier after my second garnet crow.
The third annihilated any nerves that may have been lingering, and I found myself absorbed into the group, so totally that I barely noticed the club filling up. The lights had dimmed in preparation for the show when Cat asked me about my relationship status.
“It’s complicated,” I laughed.
“Isn’t it always?” they chorused.
Three garnet crows made it seem a lot less complicated than it had done previously.
“I like this guy, but I don’t know him. He’s a caller, a complete stranger... but he’s not. I dunno, it’s weird. I just want him. Really, really want him.”
“Him, or his cock?” Cat laughed.
“Most certainly his cock,” I laughed back. “He’s my kind of dirty.”
“And what’s your kind of dirty?”
I took another sip of my drink for Dutch courage. “I like sex with strangers... more than one at once, preferably.”
The revelation barely caused a ripple.
“Me too,” said Trixie. “If I’m feeling particularly adventurous I’ll hole myself up in playroom two, and wait to see who’ll come join me.”
“Sometimes that’s the whole bloody club,” Cara smiled.
“Answer honestly,” I said. “Do you think I’m crazy, lusting after some guy I’ve never met?”
“No,” Cat smiled. “I was crazy about my fiancé before I ever knew who he was. I saw him up on that very stage, a stranger in a mask who turns into a god with a cane in his hand. Sometimes you just know someone’s the right kind of wrong.”
“Jason’s definitely the right kind of wrong. My kind of wrong.”
“Dirty bad wrong,” Cara laughed. “We’re all a little dirty bad wrong here.”
“You don’t think we’re all a little dirty bad crazy?” I giggled.
“Well, Cat is engaged to a guy who wears a mask and likes to hurt her until she cries. Missy met her boyfriend by breaking all the rules in her day job and courting a guy fresh out of prison. Trixie gets her kicks by fucking anyone with a pulse, and my parents freaked when I shacked up with a dominant as fuck tattoo artist, who happens to be a woman, but you know what? We’re the sanest, happiest, cool as fuck people I know, all of us. If this kind of shit makes us dirty, bad and fucking crazy, then I’m happy to take the crazy.”
So was I.
Crazy was beginning to feel really fucking good.
***
Jason
April had chosen Clancy’s for our romantic spectacle. She likes Clancy’s, not for the food, but because it fits her publicity agenda. Clancy’s is classy, but not too classy. Fit for a paparazzi turnout, without the likelihood of being upstaged by those more newsworthy than us. Welcome to April’s world, where shit like that actually matters. I couldn’t give a fuck about any of it.
She’d feigned frustration as the cameras flashed, gripping my hand as though our perfect cosy evening had been ruined by the intrusion. I wondered who tipped them off every other week, not April herself, that would never do. One of her dickhead entourage most likely.
I’ve never gobbled my dinner as fast as I did that night. I raced through my main course and grunted best I could through April’s bitch fest about life, the universe and almost everyone in it. Typically she picked that one night as the only night in the history of time that she decided to order dessert. I swear it was just to piss me off, and it worked. I compulsively checked my phone, agitated as the clock made its way towards eleven and she still picked aimlessly at her raspberry torte.
It took Steve an age to reply to my text message, but as April finally abandoned her fork, he came through for me. It put a big old smile on my face, the only one of the evening.
“Who’s that?” April sneered as I fired off a reply. “Your chatline slut?”
“You just can’t resist a dig, can you?”
“Just making conversation.”
“I’m just about done with your conversation, April.”
Finally, I called for the bill.
We waited in the bar for our regular driver to arrive. Clancy himself came out to bid us goodbye, and I hovered throughout all the niceties, gushing about how marvellous an evening we’d had. I couldn’t wait to shove April in the backseat, piling in after her and directing the driver back home. Her face was a picture as I got him to pull up around the next corner. Steve’s battered old jeep was already waiting. He’d moved quick.
“Where the hell are you going?” April seethed. “What if someone sees you?”
“Don’t give a shit. I’m going out with Steve.”
“And what about me?!”
I slipped out into the night, taking one big gulp of freedom.
“Goodnight, April. Don’t wait up.”
She pulled the door closed after me, scowling through the window.
Then she gave me the finger.
There was one burlesque night at a sex club in central London on a chilly Thursday evening. Only one. Soho.
Steve was chuckling to himself as I let myself in the passenger side.
“That bitch doesn’t get any bloody nicer, does she?”
“No fear of that.” I peered into the backseat. “Did you bring the stuff?”
He sighed, dragging forward a carrier bag. “Are you gonna tell me what th
e hell’s going on?”
I checked out the contents, a scruffy old pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, a cap too. My jacket was hard to shrug off in the car, but I managed it anyway, throwing it onto the backseat without a damn for wrecking it. My trousers were harder, and Steve pissed himself all the while I wriggled out of them.
“Jesus Christ, mate, this is like the bloody Twilight Zone. Good job Kim left me, fuck knows how I’d explain this shit.”
The jeans were loose but they’d do, the t-shirt too. “I need you to take me to Soho. There’s a club there, Explicit.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to a sex club dressed like that?”
“Don’t be stupid. Lucy’s in there, I just want to check it out.”
“You mean stalk her?”
“It’s not stalking.”
“Whatever you say, mate.”
He set off without argument, dependable as rock, getting me closer to the club than parking restrictions allowed and cutting the engine. We sat in silence, eyes on the brown wooden doors along the street. That had to be Club Explicit. I checked the clock. Midnight.
“Now what?” Steve asked, settling back into the seat. “We just wait here until what? Some girl comes out that you think might be her?”
“Yeah.”
“And then what? You gonna go up to her and say Hey, I’m Jason Redfern, your sicko fucking caller. Yeah, I’m fucking famous. On your knees and suck my dick, bitch.”
“That wasn’t quite what I had planned.”
“What do you have planned?”
I shrugged. “Only got this far in my head.”
“Great plan, Jase, pure genius. You can’t even know she’s in there for sure.”
He was right, it was a stupid plan. I considered seeing reason and calling the whole thing off, but before I made the decision the wooden doors swung open onto the street, spilling out a group of brightly dressed girls in crazy heels. None of them was a redhead, but my heart pounded like a fucking freight train. I wasn’t going anywhere.
We were parked in-between the club and the nearest taxi rank, giving us a clear view of the revellers as they trooped down the street. I found Steve’s shades from the glove compartment, sinking down into the seat and into the shadows to avoid being seen.
“Relax, mate, no one’s gonna recognise you in here, and even if they did, who’s gonna believe Jason Redfern hitches in a battered old Land Rover?”
It was a good point that enabled me to breathe a little more easily.
My stomach lurched every time people piled out of those double doors, but twenty minutes later only two natural redheads had made an exit. One was well into her forties, and the other had tiny little tits in a push-up bra. Neither was my Lucy, of that I was sure.
“She might not even be here,” Steve groaned. “She might be having you on.”
I daren’t admit she hadn’t told me anything at all.
By half midnight the exit rate had slowed to virtually nothing. Steve was tapping on the steering wheel in unvoiced boredom, and my tiredness had returned with a vengeance. I should have picked bed, the sensible option. I changed my mind as the doors moved again and three drunk girls spilled out, arm in arm and having a whale of a time. Two of them were hot goth chicks, definitely into each other. Under normal circumstances that would have definitely given me food for thought, but not tonight. I was way more interested in the girl along with them.
Their redhead companion was shorter; a dumpy little thing with a mass of flyaway curls framing her cute face. She pulled her coat around her as she looped arms with the girl to her right, but it did nothing to hide the plump swell of her tits.
My Lucy. It had to be.
She was a curvy girl, the promise of thick, fleshy thighs under the tight red satin of her dress. She carried her weight well, but there was definitely weight to carry. My heart hammered as they headed in our direction, ditching the sunglasses in favour of a clearer view. Lucy’s round cheeks bloomed pink, her eyes sparkling with life as she joked with the girls at her side. Her milk white skin was dotted with freckles, big tits bouncing with every step.
I go for blondes. Tall, skinny blondes with implants and barely enough ass to grab hold of. I’d never really fancied a bigger girl, never been given the opportunity. The Premier League is littered with wannabes — models craving a chance to get their tits in the tabloids. Not so many milky white redheads with fleshy thighs come calling, and I hadn’t missed them. That’s what I’d have told you.
I was wrong.
Lucy came closer, oblivious to my presence. I couldn’t stop looking at her, eyes drawn from her smile, to her sweet, bouncy chest, to the way her thighs mashed together under the satin. I wondered how they’d feel around my face, wondered what she’d look like naked, how soft and wet her pussy would be for me. Her arse would be more than a handful, so much fucking more. Fuck how I wanted to play with her. My mouth was dry, cock fucking hard in Steve’s tatty old jeans. I’d forgotten he was even alongside me, consumed by dirty thoughts as Lucy paced alongside his window, the flesh of her breasts bouncing with every step.
That’s when I heard her laugh; a beautiful dirty giggle in response to some whispered joke or other. It was my Lucy, alright.
And then she was gone, leaving me craning my neck for a view of her arse, my fingers on the door latch as I fought the urge to go charging after her. How could I? She’d have no idea who I was, other than some creepy weirdo waiting in the shadows.
I took a breath as she disappeared from view, waiting for the onslaught from Steve.
“That her?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
He started up the engine. “We can go now, then?”
“Yeah, show’s over.”
He was quiet as he drove, but so was I, lost in a million seedy fantasies about my dirty girl and her milky white breasts. I hardly even noticed we’d pulled into my driveway.
I grabbed the crumpled mess of my suit from the backseat.
“Thanks, Steve. I really fucking appreciate all this.”
“No bother, mate.”
I opened the door, patting him on the shoulder before I made my exit. I was almost out when he grabbed my arm.
“Jase, about what you said.”
“What I said?”
“Back at the workshop... about changing my mind.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I’ve changed my fucking mind, mate...” he smiled.
***
Gemma
I was drunk and happy as I stumbled through my empty apartment, casting off clothes as I went. My slimming underwear had been too tight, and my feet were bloody killing in heels, but none of that really mattered. I’d met the best people ever. Cara and Missy and Cat and Trixie and Raven... they were awesome, beautiful people. So funny, so dirty, so honest. I’d told them every bloody thing, drunk and motor-mouthed, but it didn’t matter now.
They got it. Got me.
Shit, it felt so good.
Burlesque night was amazing, performers who didn’t give a toss for convention, lighting up the show with fire and nails and feathers and neon body paint, not to mention the numerous perky breasts and swinging dicks. I’d expected a replica Cara to take the stage for the dance act, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Princess Tallulah was twice the size of me, stripping down to her knickers without a care in the world. She’d danced like a showgirl, twirling her nipple tassels as the crowd went wild. They weren’t laughing, either. People loved her, loved her for being real. I wished it was me up there, baring my body for the world to see.
Maybe one day.
Maybe one day I’d even be in Club Explicit on a weekend, on stage for a different kind of show.
Maybe with Jason.
It was late, approaching two a.m. The magic number two. Again, I’d told him I’d be out, but surely it was worth a shot.
I logged into messenger, appearing offline until I saw Sheena sign off for the evening. I logged into the
main system without updating my timesheet, there for one reason only.
Please call. Please, please call.
I held my breath as the handset started bleeping, praying for the familiar voice on the other end.
“Did you fuck your friend, dirty girl?”
He was already well on his way, I could hear the tremor in his voice.
“My pole instructor? Would you want me to?”
“Maybe one day, when we’ve found the limit of how much dick you can take. I’d like to watch you eat sweet gothic pussy.”
“She is a goth, actually. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” he rasped. “Guess she just sounds like one…”
“The club was hot,” I gushed. “It was amazing... you ought to see the shit they’ve got there...”
“Did you play?”
“It wasn’t that kind of event. I would play, though, if I went there again... if you were with me.”
“I want to see you.” The urgency in his tone made my stomach flutter. “We’re through with talk.”
The alcohol in my blood spoke his language. “I know...”
“Kneel for me, right now, on the floor…”
I did as he asked, no interest in playing pretend.
“…I want you to put the phone on speaker.”
“Ok, you’re on speaker.”
“Put the handset between your legs, on the floor, close to your pussy.”
I felt more self-conscious than I expected. “It’s right there.”
“I want you naked.”
“I am naked, my outfit was uncomfortable.”
“Good,” he groaned. “You’re going to spread those juicy white thighs and fuck yourself until it hurts, understand? I want to hear you stretch that sweet pussy for me. I’ll know if you’re faking.”
“Yes...” My fingers were already between my thighs, teasing clammy skin.
“Spread your legs, dirty girl, stretch yourself open...”
I shuffled my knees apart, sinking into position.
“…now lean forward, I want those gorgeous big titties hanging low for me.”
“Yes, Jason...”