Kinky (14 page)

I don’t know whether to pity or envy her. On the whole, the balance tips towards envy. Can I get Dimitri to do this to me?

Dimitri.

Where is he?

I turn to Mal, who is unbelting and unbuckling his leather trousers, preparing to release his stiff cock.

‘Do you know where Dimitri is this morning?’ I ask him.

He puts the whip away and moves around to the front of O, waiting for her to take him in her mouth before answering.

‘No. Ah, that’s good, O, that’s very good.’

‘I’ll, um, be getting on then.’

‘Must you? Stay if you want.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. Goodbye.’

O is feasting on Mal’s cock, still connected to the dildo-stool, when I leave, not much the wiser.

On the one hand, I know that Dimitri hasn’t been mixing it up with O – she has a crush on him, but that’s all. But I know nothing about what he’s doing with Trixietots, or where they are.

Lunchtime is coming up when I stagger back on to street level, workers pouring out of their offices and heading for the pubs and sandwich bars of the district. Wherever Dimitri and Trixietots are, looking for them will be like finding ants in an anthill. Really, I should just go back to the office and try to call him again.

But I can’t. I just can’t.

I find myself phoning my account manager and telling him I’ve just thrown up in the car park, must be some kind of bug, hopefully I’ll be fine tomorrow and all that.

Then I take a purposeful right turn around the corner and commit to a fine-tooth-comb search of the entirety of the N1 postal area.

I only make it as far as the same pub we escaped to after that intriguing vision through the basement window of Kinky Cupcake. There, in a corner, sit Dimitri and Trixietots, both nursing tumblers of vodka. He has his arm around her and he’s beaming away as if his smile is powered by the National Grid. She is fawning and blushing and pushing her knee up close to his.

That story about throwing up in the car park suddenly feels a whole lot more plausible.

I put my hand over my mouth, turn and run to the tube station.

* * *

Saturday comes.

There has been no contact between Dimitri and me over the preceding two days except a text from him vaguely referring to ‘big news’. I didn’t reply to it, unable to keep up the appearance of normality.

Today I will set him free. That’s what the song says, isn’t it? If you love somebody, set them free.

I am a human jitterbug as I walk slowly up the narrow street to Kinky Cupcake. This is going to be horrible, but it has to be done. Then I can meet Anton at the Laser Zone and bury myself in mindless pleasure-seeking for the rest of the weekend.

Dimitri is in the café, reading the sports pages of a newspaper while his coffee goes cold. At least Trixietots doesn’t appear to be on the scene. I seat myself opposite him, rather than doing my usual thing of sliding in beside him for enthusiastic and somewhat bristly hello kisses.

He puts down the paper and grins the wolfish grin. ‘Hey, baby,’ he says, then his mouth slides to a mock-sad droop. ‘You are OK? Not looking so happy.’

My lips do an annoying wobbling thing as I try to get the words out. Not the calm, firm effect I had hoped for at all.

‘I just want you to know,’ I open, everything pouring out in an uneven rush, ‘that I don’t expect anything from you.’

‘What? I thought you expect me to whip you today?’

‘That’s not what I mean. I mean, I know what you’re like. You don’t have to pretend you like me as more than … than what you … I mean, if you don’t really want me, that’s fine. I think you’ll make a wonderful dom. Thank you and goodbye.’

I rise on unsteady feet and stare desperately at the door. It looks miles away. My first attempt to hurl myself at it fails miserably, foiled by Dimitri lunging after me and catching hold of an upper arm. He spins me round to face him. I want to die. What a scene we’re making!

‘What?’ he demands in a stunned whisper. ‘What you are talking about? Come here. Sit down.’

‘Very convincing. Just like a real dom.’ So like a real dom, in fact, that I do exactly as I’m told.

‘What is wrong? Rosie, you are shaking. Look, I get you a drink. Stay there.’

I contemplate making a break for it, but I can’t bear to sneak away from him. The thought of his mild shock and consternation when he returns to the table and finds me gone makes my heart weep. I think he does care for me on some level, even if it isn’t the one I was hoping for.

He comes back with the richest possible hot chocolate, well, more a cream and marshmallow concoction with some hot chocolate included by the looks of things, and sets it down in front of me.

‘Sugar,’ he says, as if I’m supposed to grasp his meaning. ‘You drink it. And you tell me what is the problem here. I did something to make you sad?’

‘No. But you did something that showed me how things really are.’

‘How things really are? How is that?’

‘I got carried away. The S&M stuff is really intense – I suppose that made me think our relationship was also really intense.’

‘Intense?’

‘Full-on. Heavy. Um, very emotional. I don’t know. Too much.’

‘I scare you with what I do to you?’

‘No, no. I’m not explaining myself very well. To do what we do, I had to trust you. And like you. A lot. And I suppose I thought you felt the same.’

‘Stop, you think I don’t like you a lot? Because that is not true. I like you a lot. A very lot.’

‘That’s nice. But it’s not just me you like a lot, is it?’

He blinks at me, utterly bamboozled, or so he wants me to think. ‘I am not understanding you.’

‘I saw you with Trixietots. In the pub. All over her – your arms around her. And I don’t mind! I really don’t. You can shag who you like. But maybe it’s time you went pro. Maybe you’re ready now. Thanks for the experience, it was amazing, but –’

‘Shut up!’

I am too shocked to speak. He sounds quite angry. Eyes from the other tables swivel in our direction.

He breathes in, stills himself, exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is low.

‘You see me with Trixietots in the pub, right?’

I nod.

‘So why you don’t come and say hello?’

‘I was … I thought you wouldn’t want to see me, while you and she …’

‘You mean you think me and Trixietots, we are lovers? Outside your back?’

‘Behind my back. Well, yes. But you don’t have any obligation to me.’

‘Shush. You make a wrong … I don’t know the word.’

‘Decision? Conclusion?’

‘Conclusion, I think. You decide I am lovers with Trixietots. But I am not.’

His voice is still controlled, but his hand gestures aren’t. His rattling bangles can be heard on the other side of the Thames, probably.

‘Aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘But you will be? You want to be?’

An even more emphatic, ‘No!’

‘So?’

‘Trixietots – her name is Louise actually – she is an agent. Agent for theatre.’

‘Theatrical agent?’

‘Yes. And she sign me. She find me work in a movie about economic immigrants. It start to film next month.’

I don’t know what to say. ‘Oh.’

He sniffs at me, mortally wounded. I feel like the jerkiest jerk since jerkdom was invented.

‘I mean, congratulations. Wow. That’s awesome news. I’m so pleased for you.’

‘No more kitchen for me.’

‘Fantastic. Well done.’ I want to cry. I think I’m going to. ‘I’m so sorry.’ My voice cracks.

He pushes the hot chocolate towards me. ‘Drink some.’

The marshmallows stick in my craw.

‘One problem I have,’ he continues, looking gloomily at the table. ‘I need to make better my English. I have plan to ask you if you can help me. Evenings, maybe. But now, I don’t know.’

‘Oh,’ I say again. My oh-saying skills are on fire today.

‘You have bad idea of me. I have disappointment.’

‘I don’t – I never did. I just thought it was only fair to let you have some freedom. You’re going to dominate all these strangers anyway. I don’t have any claim on you.’

‘I need to understand this, Rosie,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘You are saying that you like me a lot. This is right?’

‘God, yes. I really do. I …’ No, better not say that. Hold back.

‘There is fire, yes, for you and me? The sex, it is very good?’

‘You know it is.’

‘And we both are enjoying the kink?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘So, you like me in all this way. But you also want me to fuck other girls and leave you alone? This is what you are saying?’

‘No. I’m not really saying that. I only said that because I thought that was what you wanted. Is it?’

‘Not at all. I want you.’

The sudden declaration takes what little wind I have left from my sails.

‘Really? As a submissive? A sex partner?’

‘Of course.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘But more than that too. I mean, you know, we go to a movie and so on. Meet my friends, I meet your friends.’

‘You never really said …’

‘No, because, look at me, Rosie.’

I do. It’s no hardship, but he seems to think he gestures towards something less than desirable. Weird.

‘What I have got to give you? I am poor, I am foreign, I am man who has nothing.’

‘I’ve never seen you that way. Not at all. To me, you’ve got everything.’

At last the anger seems to burn off and a genuine smile breaks out from behind the clouds. ‘See, that is why you are special to me. And you like me for myself.’

‘I think Trixietots and O might do too, though,’ I say, unable to stop the mischievous thought tripping off my tongue. ‘To be fair.’

‘No, no, they like me because they think I am a dom.’

‘You
are
.’

‘Thank you. I don’t think I can be professional though.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘Like you say, to do this acts is very emotional. It works for me and for you because we love each other.’

My heart swells. That word. And now he’s said it, yes, it’s out there and it can’t ever go back in.

‘I think I can’t do it to a girl I don’t love.’

‘You only hurt the one you love.’ The thought is ridiculously cheering. I find myself smiling again.

‘That seems a little bit mad, yes? But I feel it in my heart.’

‘Me too.’

It’s as if a loud, stormy movement of music has given way to peaceful harmony. We are back. We are lovers. We love each other.

‘So, Rosie,’ he says, after spending a moment clasping my hands in his.

‘Yes?’

‘You have a bad idea of me and you try to break up with me. I don’t think this is good.’

There is a particular tilt of his head, a particular look in his eye that hints at what is coming. I shiver and squirm in my seat, my throat suddenly dry.

‘I’m very sorry,’ I say softly, adding, even more quietly, ‘sir.’

He shakes his head. ‘Apology is good, but not good enough. And, how lucky, I have booked the dungeon. Come with me.’

I’m not dressed for it, not today.

If I hadn’t been full of the resolve to end things with Dimitri, I might have gone for a skirt, stockings, something he could flip up or tear off with the greatest of ease, but I am wearing jeans and a fleece-lined hoodie. Not appropriate dungeon-wear at all.

Somehow this skews my experience. I feel like a tourist stumbling on to a film set instead of a submissive. Or perhaps I’m still dazed from all the revelations. Either way, I can’t quite connect with my kink.

Dimitri, having walked me down the staircase with a hand on my shoulder, lets go of me to conduct a thorough search of the implement store.

‘What is best,’ he mutters under his breath, ‘for a girl who has no faith in her master?’

Her master.
That does it. The hoodie and jeans melt away from my consciousness and I feel naked, small and ashamed. And very turned on.

‘What do you think, Rosie?’ he asks, twisting his neck to look over at me. ‘What do you deserve?’

‘Isn’t that your decision?’

‘Not today.’

What do I deserve? And what does he mean by this question? Is it just a BDSM-flavoured way of asking me what I want? Or does he actually want me to quantify the seriousness of my transgression? How bad is it – is it cane-bad or just flogger-bad? I know the answer before I finish the question.

‘The cane,’ I murmur. Today I want to feel it. I want the pain. I want the afterburn. I want to feel completely punished and completely owned and completely loved. I can’t say why, but I know that only the cane will do this for me today.

‘The cane? You are sure?’

He selects one from the cabinet – a long slender stick of rattan, curving at the end. He straightens up and whips it through the air. The sound makes me shiver and swoon together.

‘Don’t be scared,’ he says. ‘Well, yes, be scared if you want, but don’t be scared because I have no experience. I practise with this. I use a cushion. I am quite an expert now.’

He moves towards me like a musketeer with a duelling sword, pointing the cane at me until the tip of it reaches underneath my chin. He taps it gently, forcing my neck to tilt back and my eyes to reach up to his.

When I see how solemn, how serious he looks, I try to swallow. It takes a while.

‘Don’t never do this to me again, Rosie,’ he says in a low, soft voice. ‘You think you have a problem with me, you tell me. Always. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’ He moves the cane, outlining my jaw with it, passing its cold smooth wood over my cheeks, down to my neck, around my shoulder, then he taps it firmly against a hip. ‘OK. You want for me to punish you. I am ready. Turn around and bend over.’

‘But I’m still wearing –’

‘I don’t want no argument. Do it.’

I spin around and consider how best to arrange myself. It’s hard to maintain this posture with nothing to hold on to and he has offered no chair, no spanking bench, none of the usual accoutrements. If I grab my ankles, will that support me? I try it. It feels sustainable. I am aware of how tightly the denim is stretched across my bum now. Suddenly it doesn’t feel as thick or protective any more.