Hearts of Stone (6 page)

13

T
he room was small and very clean. It was lit by two wall-mounted fixtures covered with tiny lampshades. The walls were decorated with plain beige paper, dotted with framed sporting prints that someone obviously thought gave the place a touch of class. Someone had been wrong.

The floor was covered with a dark brown carpet, and matching dark brown curtains were drawn tightly across the windows. There was a handbasin against one wall, with a fresh cake of soap on top of a pile of folded flannels behind one tap, and a white towel draped across the front of it. Above the basin was a mirror about two foot square, with a shaving plug next to it, and a short, opaque, unlit fluorescent tube above the mirror. On the carpet underneath stood a metal waste bin.

The bed was a threequarter double covered with just a white sheet, and two pillows at the head. On one side of it was a small table with a glass ashtray centred on it, on the other a single straight-backed chair with a thin duvet in a flowered cover folded on it. Against the wall opposite was a dark brown corduroy-covered armchair. I put the champagne bottle on the bedside table and Kylie placed the glasses and her handbag next to it. I sat on the edge of the bed and felt a rubber sheet through the thin white cotton. All in all it was like any cheap room in any plastic hotel in any city in the world.

‘Nice, isn't it?' said Kylie.

I looked over at her and she winked and pulled a face.

‘You don't really live here, do you?' I asked.

‘Are you kidding? I've got a lovely flat in Brewer Street.'

‘A bit noisy down there, isn't it?'

‘Double-glazed.'

‘I'm impressed.'

‘You're making me sound like an estate agent.' She stood in the centre of the room and smiled at me. ‘So what are we waiting for?'

‘How much is this all going to set me back?' I asked.

‘What does it matter?'

‘It matters.'

‘I wouldn't worry about it. Roy always picks up the tab for his friends.'

‘Does he?' I said.

‘Yes,' she replied. ‘He's a generous bloke. This is his champagne, remember.' She picked up the bottle and held it up to the light. ‘That'll do,' she said and filled our glasses, and gave one to me. She went over and peered in the mirror. I saw her pull another face into it, like she didn't like what she saw. She looked OK to me. ‘I wish we had some more coke,' she said. ‘Oh, hell, not to worry.' And she drained her glass and put it in the sink.

She came and sat next to me, kicked off her shoes and pulled up her skirt, and undid the suspenders that held up her stockings. She was wearing a musky perfume, and the heat from her body radiated the smell of it until it seemed to fill my head. She rolled down her stockings, pulled them off, then dropped them on the floor. She leant over and kissed me. Her tongue filled my mouth and she bit my lip. I watched as she stood up again and undid her skirt and let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. The basque she was wearing ended just below the swell of her hips. With it she had on only a tiny black lace G-string which hardly covered the mound of her blonde pubic hair. She struck a model's pose then turned around.

‘Unhook me,' she said.

The corset was fastened with about thirty hooks and eyes, and it was so tight it was hard to get a purchase on the slippery elasticated material at the back.

I finally got it undone and she shrugged out of it, and tossed it on to the armchair and turned and came into my arms. She was soft and hot, and I stroked my hand down her back and she shivered and rubbed her crotch into the top of my thigh, so that I could feel the pubic bone.

‘That feels good,' she said.

‘I'm glad you like it,' I said back, and stroked her some more.

‘Nick,' she said.

‘What?'

‘I've been a very bad girl,' she said.

‘Is that right?'

‘Yes, I need punishment.'

‘Do you?'

‘Yes, I deserve a good spanking.'

I pulled her away from me and looked at her. She lowered her eyes demurely.

‘So that's what you're into,' I said.

She nodded. ‘Have you done it before?'

‘Of course.'

‘So you must like bad girls.'

‘I do.'

‘I thought you would.'

‘Will you tie me up?' she asked.

‘Sure. What with?'

‘My stockings.'

‘OK.'

‘Tie me up and gag me and beat my bottom until I come,' she said. I could feel her trembling, and smell her woman's smell under the musk of perfume.

I did what she wanted. I tied her wrists tightly with one of her stockings, and gagged her with the other. As soon as I started she begged me to stop, but I knew she didn't want me to. And, besides, I was starting to get into it. I left her tiny panties on; somehow she looked almost more naked wearing them.

By the time I'd forced the stocking into her mouth and knotted it behind her head she was writhing on the bed like she was really scared, and I pulled her across my knee and started spanking her. She was all over the place trying to get away, but I wouldn't let her. She was moaning and growling through the gag, and I could hardly hold her she was so strong.

Then all of a sudden she climaxed with a muffled scream and a spasm, and lay still across me. I rolled her over and pulled the gag loose. It was soaked with spit.

‘Oh Christ, Nick, that was fucking wonderful,' she said breathlessly. ‘Got a cigarette?' She was sweating, and her make-up had run. She looked as sexy as hell, and she knew it.

I untied her hands and found my Silk Cut and gave her one and lit it, and one for myself, and dropped the match into the ashtray. I lay back on the bed next to her and she snuggled up close to me.

‘God, I love being beaten,' she said. ‘Do you think that's weird?'

‘Whatever turns you on,' I said.

‘What do you like?' she asked.

‘Just about anything.'

‘I just bet you do. You're a bit of a naughty boy yourself, aren't you?'

‘Sometimes.'

She wriggled about to get comfortable. ‘My arse is burning,' she said. ‘I've got to come again.'

‘You will,' I said.

‘I believe you.' She reached over for the champagne bottle and drank straight from the neck. ‘Want some?' she asked.

‘Sure,' I said. I took it and did the same. It was getting warm, but it tasted good.

‘Do you mind me being a whore?' she asked.

‘Why should I mind?'

‘Some men do.'

‘I don't. I used to have a girlfriend who was on the game.'

‘You're full of surprises. Didn't you care?'

‘No,' I said. ‘She did what she did, and I did what I did.'

‘Which was what?'

‘I used to be a copper.'

She stiffened, and I felt her move back and study me through mascara-streaked eyes.

‘Don't worry,' I said. ‘They kicked me out.'

‘What for?'

‘Stealing,' I said.

‘I said you were a naughty boy.'

‘Yes, I was.' I was serious, but she thought I was kidding. That was OK. It went with the geezers I'd come in with.

‘What did you steal?'

‘Dope.'

‘What kind?'

‘What we were doing tonight. I used to be a heavy user.'

‘You still must be, if you're in with those two.'

‘I only met them tonight.'

‘You're honoured – being brought here.'

‘Maybe.'

‘I mean it.'

She stubbed out her cigarette and took mine from between my fingers and did the same with it. ‘Take your clothes off,' she said. ‘You're on a promise remember.'

‘I remember.'

‘And don't do anything. It's
your
turn now. But I'll have to put a condom on you. Sorry.'

‘I understand.'

‘And wash you, although that's a load of bollocks really.'

Literally, I thought, but didn't say anything. She got up and went to the sink, filled it with water, and wet and soaped a flannel. Then came back and washed me, and dried me with the towel from the sink. She was very gentle, and got me more than interested.

‘God, but you're big, Nick,' she said.

I had to laugh. ‘I bet you say that to all the boys,' I said.

‘I do, but in your case it's true.'

‘I bet you say that to all the boys, too.'

‘You'd lose your bet.'

‘Kylie, you're a bloody liar.'

‘Sshh,' she said, and went down on me. She knew exactly what to do. A real expert. Everytime I got close to climax, she squeezed my balls tightly.

‘You're driving me crazy,' I said. ‘I can't stand much more.'

‘Wait.' She took a condom out of her handbag, undid the foil, and expertly fitted it on me. Then she rolled over and lay with her legs open, and pulled the G-string to one side. ‘Come in me,' she whispered.

I did as I was told.

She pulled me down close and whispered. ‘Fuck me, Nick. Fuck me hard. Batter me, you bastard. Come on.'

I did as I was told again. I fucked her as hard as I could, and she loved it. She entwined her arms and legs around me, pulling me tightly into her body, and we found a rhythm that excluded everything in the world until I felt like a bottle with its cork about to explode, and she knew and, as I came, she came with me, and as she did she screamed my name in my ear.

We collapsed into a sweaty tangle of limbs and lay still, breathing hard. She leant up on one elbow and put her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath inside my head. ‘That was great sweetheart,' she said. ‘The best. And I swear I don't say that to any of the boys. Now, have a sleep and I'll take care of you.' And she reached over and pulled the duvet off the chair and tugged it over us.

14

I
don't know how long we lay there for. Maybe half an hour, maybe longer. I was half asleep, half drunk, and half speeding like a car in neutral with the accelerator pedal hard on the floor. Then Kylie got up, prepared another warm flannel, disposed of the condom, and gently washed me again. ‘After-sales service?' I said.

‘That's right.' When she'd finished, she said, ‘I've got to go to the loo. Can I borrow your shirt?'

‘Sure.'

She put it on, and picked up her handbag and went to the door. ‘I won't be a minute,' she said, and blew me a kiss.

I sat up and lit another cigarette. It tasted lousy. I was getting a headache and my mouth was dry. I picked up the champagne bottle and shook it. Empty. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and put on my socks and shorts. I got up and pulled on my trousers and put on my shoes. I went to the window and pulled back the curtain. The room I was in was at the back of the house. It was surrounded by dark office blocks, but the sky was red with reflected light from the city. I stood there looking into the blackness until Kylie came back. She'd washed her face and put on fresh make-up. She took off my shirt and picked up her basque from where she'd thrown it.

‘Do me up, will you?' she asked. I did up the hooks at the back and she produced a fresh pair of stockings and a clean G-string from her handbag and bundled up the dirty ones and pushed them to the bottom of it. ‘You don't mind all this, do you?' she asked. ‘You can go back downstairs if you want to.'

‘I don't mind,' I said.

‘Good. I hate men who fuck and run.'

I had to laugh. I picked up my shirt from the bed where she'd dropped it, and put it on whilst she finished dressing. It smelt of her perfume and her sex. ‘Got a comb?' I asked.

‘A brush.'

‘That'll do.'

She took a hairbrush from her handbag and gave it to me. There was a lot of blonde hair caught up in the bristles. I went over to the mirror and brushed my hair back into shape. Then re-tied my tie and put on my jacket. She checked herself in the mirror too and, once satisfied, we were both ready.

‘Let's go see how the party's doing,' she said.

We went downstairs, where the music on the speakers was louder and faster. When we got into the club it was much busier than when we'd left. There was an older, brassier woman behind the bar, there seemed to be more girls around, and half a dozen men in suits were drinking at the bar or talking to the girls.

‘Business is booming,' I said.

‘It's quiet tonight,' said Kylie, waving hello to a couple of the punters. ‘Stay here. I won't be a minute. I want to speak to Lily.' She went up to the woman behind the bar and said something. A short conversation ensued and then she came back and joined me. ‘Just adding myself to the bill,' she said. ‘Your friends are upstairs. They asked you to wait. They won't be long.'

‘Do you want a drink?' I asked.

‘Sure.'

‘Champagne?'

‘Of course.'

We went over to the bar together. ‘A bottle of Moët,' I said to the woman.

‘Yes, dear,' she replied.

‘Lily, this is Nick,' said Kylie. ‘He's with Roy and Pat.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Lily. ‘Roy told me to put everything on his bill. One bottle of Moët coming up.'

‘
Everything
?' I asked.

‘Yes, love. Everything your heart desires is what he said.' She produced a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

‘Give me a beer, Lily,' I said. ‘This stuff's too rich for my blood.'

‘Heineken or Beck's, dear?' asked Lily.

‘Beck's'll do,' I said.

She went back to the fridge and got me a bottle. She put it and a glass on the bar in front of me. Meanwhile Kylie was soaking up the champagne like raindrops on a hot pavement.

‘Do you work here every night?' I asked her when Lily went off to serve another customer.

‘No. Why?' she asked innocently. As if she didn't know.

‘Just interested. Are you involved with anyone at the moment?'

‘No. I'm free, white and single. Why?' All innocence again. But she couldn't keep from smiling.

‘The same. Just interested. I thought I might be round Brewer Street one evening soon, and I could buy you a meal. There's some very good restaurants round there.'

‘That's true.'

‘So?'

‘What?' She wasn't even trying to hide her amusement by then.

‘You know what.'

‘Mixing business and pleasure can be fatal,' she said.

‘It's the same with smoking and drinking and fucking, or so they tell me.'

She smiled. ‘I'm free Wednesday,' she said.

‘Me too,' I said. I didn't know if I was, but I would be.

‘What a coincidence,' she said.

‘Isn't it? So what do you say?'

‘OK, Nick. Wednesday then. Do you know a pub called The Sun And Seven Cantons?'

‘Sure I do. It's just round the corner isn't it?'

‘Great Pulteney Street. Meet me in there at eight.'

‘Don't you want me to call for you?'

‘No. You're a punter, Nick. A very nice punter, I won't deny. But still a punter, and I don't give punters my address.'

‘Or phone number?'

‘No. Let's take it easy. If I get to like you, you'll get it all.'

‘Don't you like me now?'

‘Yes, I do. That's the trouble. I
never
date guys from here. That's my rule. I'm making a big exception with you.'

‘Will you change your mind?'

‘No.'

‘Shall I give you my number, just in case?'

‘Good idea. Something might crop up, and I don't want you to have a wasted journey.' She took a small address book from her bag and found the ‘N' page. ‘Nick what?' she asked.

‘Sharman,' I replied.

I gave her my home number and the number of the bar. ‘You work in a bar?' she said. ‘The last thing I'd've taken you for was a barman.'

‘It's a long story,' I said.

‘Tell me on Wednesday. I do want to know about you – I wasn't lying.'

‘I thought that was just a line.'

‘It is. But sometimes even a line can be the truth. Hey, here's your friends back.'