Speak when spoken to, laugh at his jokes. You’ll get to know the different customers – because it’s a fetish club, we get a high volume of returning customers and not so many new faces. This is a big advantage. The girls will tell you all about everyone, so mention who you’ve been with afterwards and you’ll get chapter and verse on their little quirks and idiosyncrasies.’ She smiled at Poppy, who had tensed up again without realising it. ‘You’re going to do very well here, Poppy. You’re exactly the type so many of our gentlemen go for. Shy and sweet, with a gorgeous little figure. Hell, I’d hire you myself.’
Poppy blushed, fit to singe her hairline, and looked everywhere but at her new boss. What a thing to say!
‘Er, thank you,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘Don’t mention it. One last thing – extras. I expect the other girls have mentioned this?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Nothing can take place in the club. We aren’t a brothel. But if you want to take your relationship with a customer outside, you’re welcome. I know some of the girls make a bit of money on the side from, well, call a spade a spade, prostitution. That’s up to you. But keep it clean and keep it discreet. OK?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t!’
‘Fine. You’d better go and do your make-up then. Your shift starts soon. Best of luck – I know we’ll be proud of you, Poppy. Ask Emma how to use your fan.’
It was only then that Poppy realised she had been snapping her fan open and shut throughout the conversation. She put it to her lips, which she had pursed in a kind of facial apology, and muttered her thanks before fleeing for the dressing room.
Oh, where was it?
By the time she found it, she had only ten minutes in which to apply dead white face paint, complicated sweeps of black eyeliner and enough deep red gloss to make her lips look lacquered.
She hurried with the other girls into the main club area, in time to see a barman dropping supermarket-brand tea bags into delicate little teapots with birds and gardens painted on to the china.
‘Here’s your station,’ said Emma, showing her to a small square space, bordered on three sides by sliding paper-walled doors. She was to kneel on a large futon-style floor covering, with her hands pressed together as if in prayer, until a man decided to join her for tea. It could be anyone’s pretend version of Japan, but for the shiny leather strap and the oval-ended wooden paddle laid out beside her.
What if nobody wants to join me?
What if somebody does?
At first, everything went so slowly. In the early part of the night there were few customers, and those that came in weren’t interested in Poppy.
A small group of businessmen, different nationalities, joined Emma in her booth, but there appeared to be no spanking, only drinking.
She stood up periodically, when nobody could see her, to stretch her legs, looking out into the large, dim room with its ornamental fountain playing endlessly in the centre.
The entrance of another customer sent her quickly back to her knees, but he wanted Lizzie, and asked for her by name.
Within ten minutes, Poppy heard the sound of the screens being drawn close and then the lively percussion of hand on bare flesh, rhythmically repetitive, accompanied by breathless little mewls of dismay from Lizzie.
Once this was over, the screens re-opened, and she saw Lizzie leave the club in the company of her visitor. She remembered the rule that having taken your spanking you were then free to leave. The clients weren’t generally keen on pre-reddened bottoms. Canings were especially expensive, because the marks took so long to fade, and could put a girl out of commission for a few days.
Clearly, Emma was an exception to this rule. Perhaps she just really loved her work.
Poppy was musing inwardly on the logistics of having a kinky partner and keeping this job going – would they have to eschew all the slap and tickle in case it ruined her bottom for work? – when one of the doormen loomed over her, in company with a man.
‘This is our new girl,’ said the doorman.
‘First day?’
The man’s voice was foreign, maybe French. Poppy didn’t dare look up at him. She had an idea that she was meant to keep her eyes cast down at all times.
‘That’s right. You haven’t been here before?’
‘No, I am on holiday here.’ ’Oliday ’ere.
‘Perhaps you should try one of the more experienced …’
‘No, no, I like this one. Please, some tea.’
Poppy saw a pair of feet in the regulation black velvet slippers the clients were given, then bending legs in trousers as he came to sit, cross-legged, on the futon opposite her.