Kinky (10 page)

I sigh. He has a point. I’ve been lousy company all week. Anton’s only crime is his outright failure at being Dimitri, but I can’t seem to stop blaming him for it.

In the meantime, I can’t stop thinking about my Muscovite partner-in-sin. Wherever I am, I hold imaginary conversations with him. I picture us living a comparatively normal life, going on dates, sitting side by side on sofas, wheeling a trolley around Sainsbury’s. What’s wrong with me? That’s stuff I have never fantasised about in my life. Now I’m getting the whips and chains for real, it’s as if my fantasy life has gone into a kind of vanilla switch-over. And besides, I can’t even imagine Dimitri sitting still on a sofa for longer than two minutes. He’s in a state of perpetual motion, a ball of hairy, bangly energy bouncing around the tennis court of life. Nobody will stop him, least of all me.

If only we could meet more than once a week, though. And if only those meetings could be longer and include other things than experimental kinky sex. Is that a lot to ask? Probably.

I look up from my spring onion and poppy seed mash directly into the fascinated eyes of O and Trixietots.

They pick up their drinks and head over.

Oh
God,
go
away.

At least they are clothed, and respectably so, in office wear and discreet make-up.

‘Rosie!’ O’s cultivated, husky tones sound wrong in the middle of this buzzing, noisy pub. ‘Do you mind if we come over? Are you on your own?’

‘My friend’s having a cigarette. He’ll be back in a moment.’ I try to sound unwelcoming without sounding actually unwelcoming, which isn’t easy.

‘Oh, we’ll move on when he comes back. It’s not Dimitri, is it?’ Trixietots’ eyes gleam with sudden hope.

‘No, just a colleague.’

‘Is Rosie your real name?’ asks O.

‘Bit unoriginal.’ Trixietots wrinkles her nose. ‘We’ve already got a Rosie Cheeks. And a Rosie Bottom.’

‘It’s my real name.’

‘Oh, right. So where’s Dimitri?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘So you don’t live together?’

‘I guess he’s sleeping, or working, or hustling theatrical agents. Or playing football. Or something.’

‘Theatrical agents? Is he an actor? How did you two meet? If you don’t mind my asking.’

Actually, I do. I don’t want to assuage your obvious greed for information about the man I love.

‘We met in the street,’ I tell her. ‘It was instant mutual attraction. Eyes meeting across a crowded room and all that. We both felt that fate had thrown us together.’

‘How romantic,’ says O, after a pause that seems to contain some scepticism. ‘And how long have you been together?’

‘About three months. Ish.’ I try to calculate how long we have actually known each other, then add it to the six weeks Dimitri claimed at our ‘interview’.

‘Oh?’ O looks puzzled. ‘Dimitri said four when we spoke at the room booking.’

‘Yeah, well, the attraction was instant, but we didn’t act on it instantly. There was a gap between our eyes meeting and other parts meeting.’

Trixietots grins. ‘You’re exclusive?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Such a shame. I want you at one of our orgies. Both of you. Couldn’t you be persuaded?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

‘At least ask him. Ask Dimitri for us. We’ll plan it around when you’re both free. It doesn’t have to be at the dead of night. Just come and watch if you don’t feel comfortable with joining in.’

‘My friend’s coming back now.’ I flap my hands at them, shooing them off.

‘Ask him,’ O says again before heading back to the bar.

‘So you do know them.’ Anton’s tone is accusatory.

‘Oh, just leave it. Just forget it, OK? I’m going back to work.’

* * *

‘Dimitri,’ I say, nervous, blowing on the foam of my cappuccino.

‘Yes?’

‘This secret life thing. I’m not sure it’s for me. People keep asking me what I’m doing on Saturday afternoon. I’m in danger of losing friends.’

‘Why? What you tell them? You are having kinky sex with a bad Russian man?’

‘No.’ I burst out laughing despite myself, disturbing the froth so it blows over onto the table.

‘Well, is easy enough. You say you are with a boyfriend. What is wrong with that?’

‘I’m not comfortable with lying.’

I look him up and down, his tall lean figure arranged in a relaxed posture, legs out in front, one elbow crooked with a hand behind his head. My mouth waters.

‘What is the lie? I am not your boyfriend?’ He sounds put out. My heart zings.

‘Are you? Are you my boyfriend?’

‘I think so. You don’t?’

‘Yes, yes, I do. I want to. I didn’t know.’

‘You have sex with me, I don’t pay you, you like it. This to me is girlfriend.’

‘That’s good. I just wondered if you saw it as some kind of business arrangement or something.’

He stretches the crooked arm, rests it behind my neck, hand on my shoulder. His fingertips ruffle my hair at the side of my head.

‘If all business arrangements was like this, the world is a better place,’ he opines, grinning. Then he puts his head to one side, his eyes suddenly cast down and serious. ‘I’m sorry I only see you once a week. You understand I am so busy working in this kitchen. And then I must look for acting job. And then I must see my housemates who are my cousins. Soon we will make more time, I promise.’

I almost burst with love for him. I reach out and stroke his cheek. ‘I’d like that. I really would.’

He takes my hand and kisses the fingers. All meaning detaches from time and space.

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I forget. I promise O we will go watch her friends have sex after we finish in boudoir.’

‘What?’

‘Before you arrive, O ask me if we have time to watch this orgy. I start work at six, is only two now. So I say yes. What’s wrong? I only try to be polite. Is English to be polite, right?’

I squeeze his fingers. ‘I know. I just think O and her friends have designs on you.’

‘Designs?’

‘They want to get their hands on you.’

‘Ah. Ha ha. You think they are having lust for me?’

‘Definitely. Much lust. I think they want you to join in the orgy.’

‘Ah.’

‘I mean, if you wanted to …’ I hold my breath.

‘Is not why I come here.’

‘No. Me neither. But …’

‘You want to have sex with these people?’

‘No.’

‘OK. I don’t too. But I promise we watch, so …’

‘It’s fine. We’ll watch.’

* * *

An hour later, after Dimitri has tied me up beautifully in ribbons, like a package, using instructions from a book, then done depraved things to me – some painful, some not – on a four-poster bed, we relax in the boudoir, waiting for company.

‘Is quite a form of art, this type of bondage,’ he comments, releasing me from my silken cocoon so that I can dress in time for the performance. ‘It take a long time though. Maybe too long to put on my menu. We hardly have time for sex fun today.’

True. I pout a little, but I did at least get one orgasm out of it.

‘Next time we do easy bondage, get more sex, I think.’

It was sex enough, I thought with pleasurable reminiscence, to have his strong hands wrap me round and round in satiny ribbon until I lay helpless beneath his touch. I could do that again. And again.

He passes me my dress, an easy slip-on jersey number, perfect for this kind of leisure activity. I’ve hardly got my head through the neck hole when there is a knock at the door.
Them.

We hop off the bed together and I go to sit on a chintzy chaise longue while Dimitri opens the door.

‘Dimitri!’ Trixietots launches herself on to him, hanging off his neck, crushing her ample tits against his chest. ‘So, so glad you could come. And I hope you will! Tee-hee!’ Giggle, flirt, hair twirl, finger suck. Stupid cow. ‘You’ll want to join in, I know it. Can’t wait!’

He manages to detach her and gives her hand a gallant kiss. She looks over at me and nods unenthusiastically. After her, two men – the ‘handlers’ – troop in, then O and Mal bring up the rear.

Dimitri joins me on the chaise, bundling me up close and sitting me on his lap. This could be interesting, I think, as the folds of my skirt fall away and my bare thighs rest on his patchy jeans. Maybe I could just sleep through the whole thing, using Dimitri’s chest as a handy pillow.

My interest is piqued, however, when Mal and the handlers sit like three solemn jurors on the end of the bed, watching O and Trixietots, who stand before them.

‘Strip,’ orders Mal, and the two women immediately comply.

Trixietots has little to shed, just a skimpy vest top and denim micro-mini that barely covers her rounded arse. O, on the other hand, is layered in jackets, waistcoats, blouses, skirts, slips.

Eventually, both stand in heels and underwear – Trixietots in white stilettos, a white latex thong and sparkly pasties, O in a sheer black lace basque and suspenders but no knickers at all. O is tall and straight and slender as a willow wand in her shiny black pumps. Trixie looks like a cover model for
Booty or Bust
magazine, all fake ash-blonde hair and lip gloss.

‘Which would you choose?’ I whisper to Dimitri.

‘I don’t know,’ he says.

‘Let’s start with some girl on girl,’ decrees Mal. ‘O, I want you to sit down on that chair, spread your legs and let Trix lick you out. Oh, but first, make out together, by all means.’

Trixie and O curl into each other and fall to smooching. Trixie is like an overenthusiastic puppy, wrapping her thigh around O’s delicate waist, snuffling and biting as the kiss gets more serious.

Hard flesh dents my bare bottom. Dimitri is enjoying the show.

Their hands are everywhere, Trixie’s blood-red vamp nails, O’s square-cut French manicured ones, patting bottoms, grazing thighs, squeezing breasts.

O falls backwards onto the chair, toppling Trixie in her wake. Trixie collapses onto her knees between O’s thighs and kisses them ravenously.

‘I can’t see your cunt, O,’ says Mal, and she widens her legs to oblige the audience. ‘Trixie, spread her lips. Get your head out of the way – we want to see.’

I watch the three men remove their cocks from their trousers and wrap them around with eager fists while Trixie sets to work. She overacts atrociously like a person in a bad porn movie, but I can’t take my eyes off O, who seems like the still centre of the room, drawing and absorbing attention, making a flicker of the eyelid count twenty times more than Trixie’s stagey moans.

When she comes, she simply puts her hands on Trixie’s head and leans forwards, shutting her eyes, exhaling with such control that you imagine she’d blow a great series of smoke rings. She must have practised this skill of the silent orgasm – I just don’t know how that’s done.

‘Gorgeous,’ says one of the handlers. He turns to his companion. ‘Who’s having Trix first – me or you?’

Trixie sits back on her heels, looks directly over at us and licks her lips, pulling a face of exaggerated sultriness. I roll my eyes, then look at Dimitri, who seems … I don’t know. I don’t think he’s terribly impressed anyway.

The handler who spoke gets up and hauls Trixie to her feet, but not for long. Quick as a flash, she is bent over the end of the bed, thong ripped down and cock inserted. I cringe a little, hoping she is at least ready. The handler goes to it with frightening speed, crushing her into the wooden bed frame.

I turn my attention away from the blur of motion to where O stands between Mal and the other handler. Mal has a bendy kind of whip thing that he draws on O’s stomach with, making swirly shapes while the handler holds her arms flat against her sides from behind.

What Mal is doing is undoubtedly interesting, but the thing I can’t take my eyes from is O’s face. She is present and yet absent. When Mal flicks the whip over her breasts and then down between her thighs, I wince, but she doesn’t. She half shuts her eyes and sighs out a breath. Her lips are full and her cheeks flushed, but there’s something so odd about her. She is in a state of rapture, I think, on a different plane of consciousness.

The handler puts his hand between her legs, rubbing between her labia while Mal continues to whip her breasts, raising welts on the tender flesh. I watch fascinated, even though breast whipping is probably never going to be my thing. Perhaps, I think, it isn’t her thing either, but the way she looks at Mal makes me think that she will do anything for him, no matter what. Is this the way your dom is meant to make you feel? Would I do this for Dimitri?

The handler pushes her to her knees and bends her head over Mal’s cock. She sucks it as if it is a holy relic, worshipping it. The handler scrambles down behind her, parts her arse cheeks and then pushes his cock into her cunt.

She sucks and fucks while Trixie and her man, long since spent, watch and make coarse remarks. While O’s body bends and flexes to the will of the two men who control it, I wonder if I’ll ever be such a perfect sub. Dimitri is uncomfortably hard underneath me. It occurs to me that he’ll need to deal with that before he goes to work. Could we just leave, mid-orgy, and find some bolthole for a quickie?

‘Come and join in,’ says Trixie, grinning over at us. ‘There’s plenty of room.’

My breath hitches as I wait for Dimitri to answer.

‘I don’t think so. But thanks.’

I twist my neck around to catch his eye. ‘Do you want to go?’ I whisper. ‘Find somewhere private?’

He nods, then stands up.

O has just swallowed Mal’s load and the handler seems to be reaching the end of his road too. As for O, she seems to be floating between them, serene and untouched in her happy place.

Dimitri clears his throat. The men and Trixie look over, but O doesn’t seem to notice. ‘We have to go,’ he says. ‘Thank you for interesting experience. Goodbye.’

Outside, as soon as the door is shut, I can’t help giggling like a lunatic, especially when Dimitri bundles me towards a dark corner of the corridor where a curtain is drawn over a niche containing an attic window.

‘OK,’ he whispers. He kisses me, then he spins me round and bends me so my palms rest on the windowsill. ‘Keep still and don’t make a sound.’