Frisky Business (27 page)

‘Yes,’ May said, nodding. ‘He would be. Discretion is very important in the community.BDSM is one of the last remaining taboos, and it’s difficult for people to be open about it. If you were to enter into a relationship with this man, he may even want you to sign some sort of confidentiality agreement.’

‘I bet!’ Lesley piped up. ‘I mean it’s not exactly the sort of hobby you’d put on your CV, is it? “In my spare time I like to dress up in leather, whip my girlfriend and shove things up her bum.”’ She laughed, earning a stern look from May. ‘Sorry, May,’ she mumbled.

‘If you’re not going to take this seriously, Lesley—’

‘No, I am, honest. I’ll be quiet.’

‘Well,’ May said, turning back to Romy, ‘I’ll tell you all I can about the lifestyle. I lived as a submissive for several years, so I should be able to answer most of your questions. I’ve brought you some books,’ she said, indicating the small pile of paperbacks she had deposited on the arm of the sofa. ‘I’ve also brought all the albums and scrapbooks I kept of my time as a submissive,’ she said, picking up another pile from the floor. ‘There’s a diary there too, which you’re welcome to read.’ As she spoke, she fished a pair of glasses out of her bag and put them on before flipping open a large scrapbook which
she held on her knee. ‘This is a record of my time with my master,’ she said, flipping through the pages.

Lesley’s eyes bugged out and she nestled closer to get a better look.

‘What’s this?’ Romy asked, pointing to a long printed list in a plastic folder.

‘They’re the rules he gave me,’ May said.

‘You had rules?’

‘Oh yes, there are always rules as part of a sub’s training. The dom trains the sub to modify her behaviour in ways that are pleasing to him. It satisfies his desire for control, and at the same time helps her to develop in her role.’

Romy gasped as she ran her eyes down the list. It seemed to cover everything from diet and exercise to personal hygiene, right down to the waxing of pubes. She gulped. ‘You had to wax … everything?’

‘Oh, yes,’ May said nonchalantly. ‘That’s quite usual. But you work out the rules between you. They’re for your mutual benefit and pleasure. The same goes for the contract,’ she said, pulling another printed document from a wallet in the scrapbook and handing it to Romy.

Romy flipped through it, feeling the colour drain from her face as she read the strange document, with lists of sexual activities that were agreed to, the toys that could be used and the punishments that would be administered if the rules were broken, all incongruously wrapped up in impersonal legalese. This had to be the strangest contract she had ever seen in her life.

‘So these “soft limits” are …?’ she asked, running her eyes down one of the appendices.

‘Soft limits are activities that you’re not sure about but are prepared to try. Hard limits are activities that are unacceptable to you and that you absolutely won’t do.’

‘Oh.’
Romy didn’t really need to know that her elderly tenant was open to the idea of caning, but she was glad to see May had drawn the line at anal fisting. ‘“Breath play” – what exactly does that mean?’

‘Asphyxiation,’ May explained calmly. ‘As you see, that was a hard limit for me.’

‘Christ! Doesn’t that kind of go without saying?’

‘Not at all. Some people find it very exciting. It’s well known that it intensifies orgasm.’

‘And this suspension …’ Romy began.

‘Why don’t I show you some photos?’ May said. ‘They’ll give you a clearer idea of what’s involved. A picture speaks a thousand words, after all.’ She picked up another album and opened it, flipping the pages. It was full of rather artistic black and white photographs of a couple playing out all sorts of scenarios. ‘These are pictures of us in the playroom.’

‘Is that …’ Lesley hesitated, pointing to a photograph of a naked young woman suspended from the ceiling in a complicated looking piece of apparatus.

‘That’s me, yes,’ May said, fingering the photograph fondly. ‘I was so agile in those days. You need to be very fit to be a submissive,’ she said to Romy. ‘It’s important to be strong and supple.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’

‘Those nipple clamps look painful,’ Lesley commented, pointing to another picture.

‘They’re as painful as they are pleasurable,’ May said with a serene smile.

Lesley and Romy looked on in stunned silence as May talked them through the photographs. ‘This is a suede flogger … see the way my breasts are bound here … this was my collar that showed I belonged to my master … here I’m attached to a St Andrew’s Cross …’

‘Wow
, it’s a lot to take in,’ Romy said when they got to the end of the album. She didn’t know what to say.

‘There is a lot to learn,’ May said. ‘But it’s getting late and I can see you’re tired. Why don’t I leave all this with you, and I’ll come back tomorrow and we can go over any questions you may have. And I can give you a little practical demonstration.’

‘Demonstration?’ Romy asked in dismay.

‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ll just cover the very basics.’

‘Really, May, that’s not necessary. I’m sure the books will tell me all I need to know.’

‘Nonsense, dear. It’s no trouble,’ she said. She finished her brandy and got up to go. So – does tomorrow suit you?’

‘Er … yes, that’d be great. Thanks, May.’

‘Not at all. Happy to help. Will you be joining us, Lesley?’

‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Excellent. I’ll see you both tomorrow then.’

‘Golly,’ Lesley said when she had left, ‘she’s like a sexual Jehovah’s Witness.’

‘Hmm,’ Romy said absently, flicking through the album May had left with her.

‘So,’ Lesley said, edging closer to her. ‘You’ve decided to give this a try.’

‘No!’ Romy said, horrified. How on earth had Lesley got that idea?

‘But then why are you letting May come over to do her demonstration?’

‘Because she was so keen to help and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s your bloody fault she thinks I’m interested in the first place. So I’ll keep her books for a few days and pretend I’m reading them, and I’ll let her do her demo if it makes her happy.’

‘So
you really don’t have any interest in doing this stuff?’

‘Er … no.’

‘But what if Kit’s into it? You said you wanted to try and make a go of things with him. And it might be your only chance of getting a boyfriend,’ Lesley said cheerily.

‘I’ll take a vow of celibacy, then.’

‘This one doesn’t look too bad,’ Lesley said, pointing to a picture of May trussed up like a turkey with a ball-gag in her mouth and blindfolded.

‘I suppose it’s not bad compared to, say, being kidnapped by fundamentalist terrorists.’

‘May says this stuff made her feel very sexy and powerful.’ ‘I’d just feel like a right eejit. I mean how could you feel sexy, trussed up like a turkey ready for the roasting tray?’

‘All she wants is stuffing.’ Lesley giggled.

‘I think she’s about to get it.’

‘What do you suppose yer man does when she’s all tied up like that?’

‘Whatever the hell he likes, I should imagine.’

Lesley sighed, flopping back against the sofa cushions. ‘But, you know, this all looks like quite advanced stuff. I’m sure Kit would go easy on you to start with – work up to this stuff gradually. I’d say he’d be a kind master.’

‘If I was an Alsatian I might find that comforting.’

‘And I bet he’d get you your own butt plug if you asked him to.’

Romy snapped the album closed. ‘Believe me, having a butt plug of my very own isn’t my major concern in all this.’

‘You never know, you might like it if you gave it a chance. That suede flogger didn’t look too bad. May was a big fan.’

‘May is a nutjob, hadn’t you noticed?’

Lesley tutted. ‘You’re not supposed to say ‘nutjob’ nowadays. She’s just a bit … challenged in the sanity department.’

‘She’s
an OAP nympho.’

‘You’re so judgemental. I think she’s great. She’s ploughing a new frontier of sexuality. Fair play to her.’

‘I have no problem with whatever May wants to get up to, honestly. It’s just not for me.’

‘What if you were the dominant one? You never know, Kit might want to be the one being tied up and ordered to wax his balls. Have you considered that?’

‘You know, maybe he’s not into this stuff at all. Have you considered
that?
You’ve just blown this up in your head and now you’re talking like it’s a known fact.’

‘So what do you think this secret lifestyle is if it’s not this?’

‘I don’t know.’ Romy shrugged. ‘Could be anything.’

‘Could be drugs.’

‘Yeah. I’m starting to hope it’s drugs.’

Kit
woke the next morning feeling disoriented, which wasn’t unusual since he’d moved back to Ireland. It always took him a while to get his bearings, but there was no need to panic, he told himself as he looked around at the unfamiliar walls and shelves. He wasn’t in his old room at his parents’ house because he had moved into Romy’s flat. He didn’t remember seeing that Tiffany lamp before, and it was weird that he’d never noticed the Knuttel print on the wall opposite his bed until now. In fact, he was sure it hadn’t been there. But maybe Romy had snuck in while he was out and put it up for him? That was nice of her, he thought dozily, rolling over – intrusive, but nice. He burrowed deeper into the pillow, reaching
down to grab his morning wood, and froze when his hand brushed against warm skin that was not his own. He let his fingers explore a little, barely whispering over a warm mound of flesh. That was unmistakably an ass turned towards him.

Holy shit!
He pulled his hand back and stilled, frozen to the spot. Then he gingerly raised himself on one elbow and leaned over to check out his sleeping partner. He was met with the composed features of a beautiful stranger. Bugger, bugger, bugger! Flattening himself down like a cartoon character who’s been run over by a steamroller, he slid himself out of the bed. Then he gathered his clothes from the various corners of the room where they had been shed the night before and crept out into the living room to get dressed. He took in his surroundings as he dressed quickly, but nothing looked familiar. He had no recollection of coming here last night or of the sleeping stranger in the next room. He felt like he’d been gone over with a hammer. His eyes felt crunchy, like burned-out embers, and his head was pounding. His body was telling him that he’d had fun, but his brain couldn’t remember a second of it. The last thing he could recall was walking down a winding metal staircase into a heaving, pumping club; the promise of excitement as he descended into the throbbing music and the press of bodies.

He looked around the room he was in, taking in the clues to last night – the empty champagne bottle, the dirty glasses, the overflowing ashtray – ugh, a smoker! He shuddered. He found his jacket strewn on a low red sofa, pulled it on and quietly let himself out of the apartment. Outside, he found himself on an unfamiliar street and he walked along aimlessly for a while trying to pick up clues about where he was. He passed several bus stops, but he had no idea what bus
to get to Romy’s house. He fished in his pockets to see if he had enough money for a taxi and found a crumpled five euro note and some change – that would hardly be enough to get him to Romy’s unless he was really close. Maybe he could find a cash machine. Finally he came to a sign for the DART, the suburban train that runs along the Dublin coast. That would do. It didn’t go anywhere near Rathgar, where Romy lived, but he could get it into the city centre and find his way home from there. Following the signs, he found his way to Blackrock station. It was a bright, clear morning, freezing cold, and he huddled into his jacket, trying to ignore the smell of smoke that clung to it, and breathed the sea air deep into his lungs as he waited for the train. He felt like he needed a detox – and not just for his hangover. He wanted to detox his whole life. He wanted to eat pure food and breathe fresh, clean air. He didn’t want to spend his nights getting drunk in clubs, kissing smokers and sleeping with strangers, and his mornings feeling sick, seedy and remorseful. He needed to get some discipline back into his life.