Kinky (16 page)

At first it seems like part of a dream, as does Dimitri’s solid warmth beside and around me but, as my wits slowly sharpen, I realise I am really lying half dressed on a bondage bed in a dungeon with the mother of all sore bottoms.

Dimitri mutters in Russian, then shouts, ‘You wait a minute, yes?’ at the door.

He turns to me. ‘I am sorry,’ he says. ‘I don’t plan to sleep. I wanted to put the cream on you.’

For a fuzzy moment I think this is a euphemism, then, when he reaches down and pulls a tub out of his jeans pocket, I realise what he means.

‘Oh! That’s a nice thought. We can’t, though, can we? Time’s up.’

‘Ah, she can wait. Turn over on your belly, yes?’

I hesitate for a moment, looking over at the door. I don’t really want to see O again. I feel there’s a certain
froideur
between us after that scene earlier in the week.

But Dimitri rubbing lotion on my poor stinging bottom … well, that’s too good to turn down. I roll over and rest my head happily on my arms.

He slathers on the ointment in generous whorls, covering each stiff welt in moisturising balm. The smell of it is gorgeous, the feeling of it on my skin even more so, especially administered with Dimitri’s magic touch.

‘What’s up? Do you need some help?’

We both snort gently at O’s well-meaning offer.

‘We’re fine. Just give us a minute.’

‘I have some clients here with me. They’ve booked for ten minutes ago. Dimitri, please can we come in?’

His fingertips glide along the lines between my cane marks like skaters.

‘Two minutes,’ he says.

‘Oh, I can’t wait for you, whatever you’re up to. I’m coming in.’

‘No!’ I squeal, but the key is turning in the lock.

‘Hey!’ exclaims Dimitri, hurriedly capping the tub and making a lunge for his jeans.

‘Look, I’m sorry.’ O stands in the doorway. I am too late to even think about getting my knickers and jeans back on. I slump on the bondage bed, imagining her eyes – and those of the other clients – taking in my sheeny-shiny stripy arse. ‘You booked for one hour and … What lovely work!’ She waltzes over, cooing in rapture.

I hear Dimitri zip himself up and sniff. ‘Thank you. You must not rush an artist.’

A stifled giggle escapes me at his grandiose tone, despite my conspicuous position.

‘Oh, I quite agree. And this would make such a lovely photograph. You could give lessons, Dimitri. Would you be interested in leading a session on corporal punishment?’

‘Corporal? This is something concerning the army, no?’

‘Oh, no, no. It’s another name for the spanking fetish, my dear. Though of course, when I was younger, it existed in the vanilla world too. Please excuse my dreadful manners – I should really introduce you.’

She makes a lengthy meal of explaining who her clients are, while I lie in several kinds of agony, avoiding showing my face throughout.

‘And this is his submissive, Rosie. Are you going to say hello, Rosie?’

I muffle something into the leather padding, but Dimitri’s hand on my hair, tugging at it, suggests I won’t be allowed to get away with this.

‘I think perhaps she’s indisposed,’ says the male client with a self-conscious chuckle.

‘She can speak,’ says Dimitri grimly.

I raise my head, twist my neck and mutter a greeting to the intrigued couple. They look sympathetic.

‘That must hurt a lot,’ the woman remarks.

‘In a word, yes.’

‘But without pain, no pleasure,’ says the man.

‘Sometimes.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Dimitri. ‘We are overstaying. Rosie, get dressed now.’

Any hope I foster that the three extraneous people in this room will avert their eyes is quickly dashed as I hop about looking for knickers and jeans. While they chat amongst themselves, they keep their gazes fixed on me. O winces in sympathy when I pull the knickers over my sore bottom, and the others join in when I torture myself by putting my jeans back on. Why the hell didn’t I wear a skirt and hold-ups? These jeans might be heading for the charity shop.

Finally the ordeal ends and we leave the new clients to their playtime, following O up the stairs to the office.

‘You know,’ says O, stopping us in our tracks while we collect coats and bags from the small cloakroom in the lobby, ‘I was serious when I said you should run a class. Are you interested at all?’

As usual, she is addressing Dimitri and ignoring me. My hackles rise.

‘Not really,’ I say, enjoying her eye-rolling at what she assumes to be my misunderstanding.

‘I was asking Dimitri. He’s the dom.’

‘Are you saying submissives’ opinions don’t matter?’

‘Of course not. I’m one myself, don’t forget.’

‘So the opinions of people you find attractive matter? Is that it?’

Dimitri is within an ace of winking at me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, but he makes no move to shut me up.

‘It was just an idea.’ She sounds really huffy now. I wonder if my membership is about to be revoked.

‘We like this place,’ I continue. ‘Don’t think we don’t. We love it. We have wonderful times here and we appreciate everything you and Mal do for the kinkster community. Thank you. But I don’t think I’m ready for public scenes yet. I’m not saying I never will be. But I’m not yet.’

‘And I don’t do scene without Rosie,’ adds Dimitri, completing the explanation. ‘We thank you very much.’

‘Of course.’ O tries to look cool about it, but it’s obvious she’s not. ‘Everyone has their own comfort zone. I hope yours might expand in time.’

‘It’s possible,’ says Dimitri. ‘Good afternoon.’

We run down the stairs hand in hand. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhilarated, amazing, blissful. And sore, of course, but that just makes it even better. We burst through the door and cannon straight into Anton.

‘Watch it, geezer … Rosie!’

It’s lucky there aren’t too many flies about because our combined open mouths would surely trap a few.

‘Ahhhhhhello,’ I say.

Dimitri holds out a bangly hand. ‘Good afternoon, I am Dimitri Zacharov, you are friend of Rosie?’

Anton, his glance passing rapidly between us as if he is watching a frenzied tennis rally, puts out an uncertain hand. ‘Er, yeah, Anton. Anton Smallbridge. Rosie?’

‘So where are you off to?’ I ask breezily. ‘Laser Zone? Sorry I couldn’t make it.’

‘Yeah, ’cos you were in there. What the fuck?’

‘You have a problem?’ Dimitri’s tone could be construed as menacing.

‘Actually, bro, I do. I was supposed to be meeting Rosie half an hour ago at Laser Zone. But it looks like she’s been in there with you. Any explanations gratefully received.’

‘Look, why don’t we go for a drink round the corner?’ I steer the pair of them across the flats to the pub.

‘So what is that place?’ Anton’s first question is a tricky one. After all, we aren’t supposed to share the secret.

‘It’s a club. A private members-only club.’

He stares at me. ‘How long have you been a member?’

‘A few weeks.’ I’m uncomfortable and I look for Dimitri’s hand to hold on to.

‘So all that time you were pretending to spy on it –’

‘I know. I wasn’t honest with you. But the managers don’t like you to tell people.’

‘Why? What kind of club is it? Illegal?’ He points at Dimitri. ‘Illegal immigrants?’

‘Hey, I am legal,’ he responds. ‘I pay taxes.’

‘Yeah, but who are you? And how do you know Rosie?’

‘Rosie is my girlfriend.’

‘But what … when …?’ Anton flounders to a messy halt.

I take a deep breath. ‘I met Dimitri outside the club last month. By chance, we managed to wangle an invitation from a member, so we decided to check it out. It’s a, a, a BDSM club.’

There. I’ve said it.

Anton frowns for a second, then stares. ‘What, like, bondage and all that?’

‘Yes, but please don’t tell anyone. It’s completely private. Nobody must know.’

‘Why not? It’s not against the law, is it? Or do they actually kill each other in there?’

‘No, they just prefer to keep it quiet, that’s all.’

Anton thinks about this for a moment, drinking deep of his pint. ‘You could have told me,’ he says. He sounds very hurt. ‘And you could have told me you had a boyfriend. Then I wouldn’t have … you know. Shit. I’m a twat.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why you don’t tell him about me?’ Now Dimitri sounds pissed off too. Marvellous.

‘Because it was too complicated. And I didn’t know for sure that you thought about me like that. I wasn’t sure you didn’t just think of us as play partners.’

‘Well, we have sorted this out. But you let him think he has a chance with you. Why did you do that?’

‘I didn’t! Did I? I don’t know. I thought we were friends. It’s OK to have friends, isn’t it?’

‘Look at him.’ Dimitri flaps a hand in Anton’s direction. ‘He is so very sad now. You crush his hopes.’

‘Get lost.’ Anton banged his pint glass on the table. ‘I’m over it. I don’t need your pity, bro.’

‘Oh, don’t fight,’ I urge, conscious of the interest wafting in our direction from other tables. ‘Look, whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. Anton, if I ever gave you the impression I wanted to be more than friends, I didn’t mean it. I really hope this isn’t going to impact on our friendship.’

He makes me wait. I sip nervously at my wine.

‘So which one of you’s the dom?’ he asks eventually.

Dimitri and I chime in together. ‘I am.’ ‘He is.’

‘Right. You should have told me you like to get spanked, Rosie. I’d have helped you out.’

Dimitri’s eyes narrow. This might not be the best line of conversation. ‘I hate to disappoint, but the only man who spanks Rosie is me.’

‘I get that. I don’t have to like it though. Shit, I wish I’d known what you were into. Maybe I could have –’

‘You’re interested in BDSM?’

‘Yeah, a bit. I’ve watched some stuff on the internet now and again. Quite like the leather and rubber and all that.’

My chance to make amends leaps out and smacks me round the face. Just as well I enjoy it. ‘Do you want me to get you an introduction?’

‘What, to join the club? Could you do that?’

‘I think so. Could I, Dimitri?’

‘If you ask Mal. You and O, not so friendly right now.’

‘Or you could ask. They think the sun shines out of your backside.’

‘You’re the one with the shining backside, no?’

‘Shhh.’ My face flares with embarrassment. Despite announcing my predilections to Anton, I still feel acutely coy about the whole thing. Even more so when Anton joins in with Dimitri’s teasing laughter.

‘I’d pay bloody good money to watch,’ says Anton. ‘I don’t know if I could take part, though. I’d feel a bit weird. I don’t think I’ve got the moves.’

‘The moves are easy to learn,’ says Dimitri. ‘Trust me. If you like, I teach you.’

Oh God. Anton is going to attend Dimitri’s dom school. This might be the most embarrassing drink of my life.

‘You know, I might take you up on that. But let’s get the club thing sorted first, yeah?’

It seems the least I can do.

‘OK.’ I put down my glass and haul myself to my feet. ‘Let’s go and talk to Mal.’

‘Are you comfortable to sit?’

Three days after the caning, my bottom and wood still lack a fundamental affinity, and these schoolroom chairs are the worst.

‘Here.’ Dimitri unwraps a scarf from his neck and makes a show of laying it out on the seat for me.

Anton and some of the other audience members look on with intrigued amusement.

‘Stop making a show of me.’ I am drenched in embarrassment as I perch carefully on the blended wool silk. Dimitri puts an arm around my waist, pulling his chair right up close to mine.

‘What did you do to her?’ Anton wants to know, but before he can get an answer the demonstrators march onto the podium and the room hushes.

Mal is the teacher tonight, and Trixietots is his willing and able assistant. She is wearing a tiny plaid mini-kilt and over-the-knee socks; her breasts almost burst out of the tightly buttoned white shirt she is wearing, with obligatory skew-whiff tie.

We are here, rather unnecessarily in Dimitri’s case, to watch a caning masterclass. I think Anton should really start with Spanking 101, but he insisted on enrolling for this one as his first taste of the delights of Kinky Cupcake, so here we are.

We watch as Trixietots demonstrates every kind of bending-over stance imaginable and Mal explains the benefits of each. With each new pose he invites an audience member to come up and smack her knicker-clad bum – Anton is first to be picked and returns from the rostrum grinning like a lunatic.

‘This is my kind of school, innit,’ he says, reseating himself.

Next Mal talks us through a variety of different canes. Every thickness, every material is represented and, once he has finished talking, he has Trixietots pull down her knickers and take a stroke from each.

She is amazingly controlled. I flinch with each stroke, expecting her to jump up or scream or clutch her bum, but she doesn’t do any of it.

‘How does she keep so still?’ I whisper to Dimitri.

‘I don’t know. I will make you keep still next time. I will get you as still as her.’

I shudder, sure it can’t be possible, and hoping ‘next time’ might be a long way in the future.

I watch each line materialise along the ample cheeks of her bum, crossing the cleft, until she has a neat grid of strokes. I shift in my chair, wishing I was her, which is madness, of course, because I hate the cane. But it is so very, very sexy.

‘This is how the marks look, you see, when they are fresh.’ Mal runs the tip of a cane across each newly laid welt. ‘They fade with time, or some might present as bruising, especially from the heavier implements. In fact, I think there’s someone in this room with some older marks.’

I suck in a breath. Mal looks directly at me.

‘Rosie? A few days ago, wasn’t it? Would you be very, very kind and show us how they look now?’

‘Oh, I, I don’t know.’

I try to collapse myself into as tiny a ball as I can, flamingly aware that everyone in the room (a) knows I am sitting on a caned bottom (b) expects to be able to get a good look at it.