The dildo is withdrawn. Still tense and tight with the need to come, quashing it down as hard as I can, I get up on my knees and face Conrad.
He’s hard now all right. Apparently, this is what it takes to get him there.
My resistance turns, for a moment, to pity. What a stunted person he must be. But then I wonder how I can have the brass neck to judge another, given my own limitations in the field of normal human behaviour. He’s just a cock. I’m just a mouth. So, let’s have oral sex.
He frees his cock, puts his hand on my head and pushes it down.
I suck and lap at it while, overhead, a commentary on how he amassed his fortune bores me enough to make me concentrate hard on giving a truly A-grade blow job. My tongue tip flits and glides; my throat opens to accept his full length. I perform a full-scale ravaging of this dick’s dick until, somewhere in the middle of a story about ripping off another trader, his voice breaks and he spurts into my mouth, filling it with salty cream.
I’d like to say his semen tasted of wealth or power or something, but it didn’t. It tasted like spunk.
I swallowed it and looked up. ‘Was that to your satisfaction?’
‘Not bad. You can do it again later.’
I remove the money from my bra and throw it down on the bed. ‘Actually, I won’t.’
I repeat the action with the notes – not so neatly arranged now – in my stockings. Money drifts and floats around the duvet.
‘I beg your pardon? I’ve paid you for the whole night.’
‘I’m giving you your money back.’ I relieve my knickers of Her Majesty’s disapproving face.
‘You can’t do that. Don’t you need it?’
‘No. I don’t. Sorry to disappoint – better luck with the next woman you buy. Only please don’t kid yourself you’re buying the woman. You’re buying her cunt, her mouth, maybe her arse. That’s all.’
I hum a few bars of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ as I pick up my clothes from the floor.
Conrad, still post-coital and visibly flabbergasted, doesn’t move from his station on the bed.
‘That thing with the money in the underwear, though,’ I tell him, turning from the interconnecting door, which I’m about to knock on. ‘That was good. Creative. Turned me on. I might do that one again. Bye.’
‘I’m going to have strong words with your pimp!’
I knock on the door. ‘Please do. He’s right here, as it happens.’
Lloyd answers the door. I’m never exactly displeased to see his face, but I could kiss it all over fifty times right now.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asks, peering out at Conrad, still kneeling on the bed with his deflated prick on his thigh and a beet-red face.
‘She’s walked out on me. I won’t be recommending her. I’m going to put a one-star review on your website.’
‘I’m very sorry, sir. I see she’s refunded you. May I recommend Especial Escorts if you still want company – here’s their card.’ He tosses one over and shuts the door on the outraged banker, locking it behind him.
‘Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,’ he says softly, holding me at arm’s length, his eyes bright with all kinds of things. It occurs to me that I’m still tautly pre-orgasmic. I hook an ankle around his calf, trying to bring him closer. ‘Do we have a fail?’
‘Never mind that,’ I whisper, rubbing my head against his shoulder. ‘Something started that didn’t get finished.’
‘Was he lousy?’
‘He was bad. The situation could have been hot, but he took it too far. You would have done it so much better.’
‘Would I?’
‘Yeah. Do it, Lloyd. Pretend to pay for me.’
‘What’s pretend about it? You’ve just lost us seven hundred quid. You’re going to be paying that off, starting now.’ He spins me round and gives me a gentle shove towards the bed.
I can’t get there fast enough.
I bounce on to the bed in my basque, stockings, heels and crotchless knickers – all minus the money now – and kick up my legs.
‘Fuck me!’ I implore, flinging out my arms like an operatic diva. ‘How many unnatural acts add up to seven hundred pounds?’
Lloyd, undressing a few feet from me, his eyes trained on my lewd display, simply curves one side of his mouth upwards, calculating. ‘That’s going to take years to pay off,’ he says. ‘I’m very mean, you see. I won’t pay more than a pound for any given act. Perhaps you should seek a better-paying client?’
‘Nah. I’m cheap as they come.’
‘Good.’ He notices something. ‘Crotchless? Classy.’
‘He didn’t like them. He didn’t even fuck me. Well, he used a dildo, but does that count?’
Lloyd positions himself above me, looking down the length of my tackily attired body. ‘What else did he do?’
‘He made me put all the money in my underwear. Not in the bedroom – while we were downstairs in the bar.’
‘Really? That’s why you were walking in that weird way. I like it. Proper kinky.’
‘Can you fuck me now, please?’
‘I’ll fuck you when I please. Since I’m the buyer. First, I want to inspect my purchase.’
He pulls down the cups of the basque, before running fingers and then tongue over my tight, hard nipples. I shudder and arch my back underneath him, spreading my legs in silent, urgent invitation, but he takes his time, assessing the span of my waist, the curve of my hips, the angle of my collarbone, before moving lower.
‘So far, I’m impressed,’ he says.
He lifts my legs to better explore my most intimate spots, makes me keep them bent with pussy and arse on display.
‘Was the dildo big?’ he murmurs, digging three fingers inside my vagina. ‘Did it go all the way up here?’
‘Yeah,’ I gasp. ‘And there was money wrapped round it.’
‘Money? What the fuck? Weird.’ But his fingers are so smooth, so sensitive, so perfectly attuned to my quivering, pulsing cunt that I feel the first surges of orgasm again.
‘Lloyd!’
‘I know. It’s OK. Come.’ He adds a slowly circling thumb to my clit, ensuring that I can’t do anything else.
I toss and turn energetically, while his hand continues coaxing the climax out of me, not releasing me until the very dregs of ecstasy have leaked from their source.
‘Don’t go to sleep,’ he chides, tapping my cheek until I open my eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, lifting my arms to wrap them around his neck. ‘You’ll want your money’s worth.’
‘Are you going to answer my question now?’ he asks. He lifts my bum and opens me wider, ready to penetrate.
‘Your question?’ My mind is blurred, full of heat and skin and lust and satisfaction.
‘How much should you have charged for that?’
‘I think I answered that, didn’t I? When I gave the money back. Oh, please.’
I try to push myself on to him, but he holds back.
‘So you think you’re worth nothing? Is that what you were saying?’
‘You know it isn’t. I was saying that no money was worth what he wanted from me.’
‘You’re worth more than that?’
‘I suppose.’ Suddenly, I am doubtful. Am I? Is that what I meant?
‘So you should have charged more?’
‘No. I shouldn’t have charged anything. I’ll only do it if I want to. And if I want to, I won’t charge. That’s always been my way, Lloyd, you know that.’
‘I know that. I just needed to know if it was because you thought you were worthless … or priceless.’
‘I don’t think I’m priceless, but …’
‘Don’t argue about it. It’s the right answer. I’m going to pass you on that. Even if you did fail the rest.’
He smiles down, looking so idiotically proud of me that I want to slap him. It’s hardly a Nobel-winning achievement, is it?
‘Thanks, so can you get on and fuck me now?’
‘Your wish is my co
mmand.’
Chapter Six
‘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?’
Game Page 11