'Wow. But what is it that appeals to you? Is it the pain?'
'No. You're surprised, aren't you? It isn't the pain. I don't even like it that much. To be honest, I long for the caning to stop almost as soon as it starts.'
This was confusing. If she hated the pain, why did she do this?
'So when you called out for him to please stop . . . and he didn't . . . what was going on there?'
'Oh, I wasn't really asking him to stop.' She was enjoying my blank-faced bewilderment, smiling impishly as she bit the cocktail cherry off the stick.
'So . . .?'
'If I'd wanted him to stop, I'd have used my safeword. It's ''Basingstoke''. That's where I live,' she said.
'Oh, right, you have a safeword. Have you ever used it?'
'So far, no. It's kind of a matter of pride for me. I've surprised myself at how much I can take. I really am much stronger than I thought.'
'Stronger?'
'There is strength in submission,' she said serenely. 'You could try it. You'd see.'
'So it's all about . . . giving yourself up? Putting yourself in somebody else's hands?'
'You're starting to get it,' she said, draining the cocktail.
'You must trust Dr Lassiter very much,' I commented. 'How did you meet him?'
'Oh, on the internet,' she said offhandedly. 'Slaveseeker. com.'
Slaveseeker.com? Now I really had heard it all.
'So you don't even know him?'
'Sophie, sweetie, I know what I need to know. I know he can give me what I need. I don't need to know more than that, do I?'
'You think of yourself as . . . his slave?'
She sighed. 'No, I don't. Some submissives do, some don't. You know, not everyone who practises BDSM is this hogtied girl in PVC crawling around the place on her hands and knees. There are just as many shades of dynamic as there are in vanilla sex. Like I said. You should try it.'
She put down her glass and checked her watch.
'And now I really have to go. But it was nice talking to you. I forgive you for barging in on us. I'll try and persuade Dr Lassiter to give you another chance.'
She winked at me and left the bar.
I mooched after her minutes later, my head full of leather thongs and scarlet flesh, and bumped straight into Dr Lassiter, knocking his golf bag to the highly polished floor.
'You again!' he spluttered. 'Were you put on this earth to plague me?'
'I'm sorry! So sorry!' I reached for the golf bag but he swiped it jealously from the floor before I could touch its hallowed cloth.
'You will be when I've spoken to the manager.'
'Oh, please, don't! I mean . . .' His lips were pinched and white; he seemed hellbent on getting me fired. 'Of course, it's up to you. But if there is any other way I can make it up to you . . .'
'I want a refund for today's fiasco,' he said.
'No problem; I'll organise it straight away.' I hopped over to the desk and began the complicated refund process while he glowered beardily down. He would make a good headmaster in real life, I thought, at least as far as intimidating the malcontents was concerned.