She smiled and half-closed her eyes.
‘I know,’ she said, as if on the verge of orgasm already.
‘All right,’ I said, pushing her into the undergrowth by her shoulders. ‘But it’ll have to be quick.’
‘Whatever you say, sir.’
I had her on the grass, her on all fours, me kneeling behind her. The little devil had brought condoms with her in her purse: she had this planned. Her bum was still red all over and the cane marks had hardened, the way they do. I kept pressing my thumbs into them while I had her and it made her wild.
‘Tell me what I am, tell me what I am,’ she kept saying. She liked to be called names. I ran out of ideas in the end and had to run through them all again. I was new to it all, and I have to admit I felt very awkward calling her a whore and all that. I wasn’t quite comfortable with it. But she obviously got off on it, so who was I to deny her?
When she was getting close, she said something else.
She said, ‘The front page of the paper …’
I thought I knew what she was getting at, so I carried on.
‘You’ll be on it,’ I said, still banging away. ‘Like this. On your hands and knees with your well-whipped arse in the air, getting fucked by a man you don’t know. In full colour, for everyone in the world to see.’
This was what did it for her, and she came with her fists stuffed in her mouth, quietly but hard. I’d held on for as long as I could. It was a relief to get it all out.
She had grass stains on her dress, which she was delighted with. She said she wanted to get papped looking like this – shagged out and exhausted. I wasn’t so sure about that. I didn’t really want to find myself in the Daily Mail sidebar of shame, though, thinking about it, banking’s so macho it’d probably make me some kind of hero in the City.
I wanted to hold her and talk to her after, but she just wanted to show herself off in her post-coital state and she made a run for it along the towpath.
I guess I knew what that made me. The plaything of an idle hour. Ah well. I’m not one to complain. If beautiful movie stars want to use me as some kind of stud dom, I suppose I can live with it.
So, yeah, that was my first experience of the kinky side of life. My mind was blown, I don’t mind admitting. The weekend just sort of went on like that, really. By the time I went back to London, I knew seven types of bondage knot and the best place to shove peeled ginger. And that’s how you see me now.
Allyson put down her empty glass.
‘That Peregrine’s a devil,’ she said. ‘My best customer, though. So, are you still in touch with her? Celia Britt?’
Richard shook his head. ‘She’s pretty much permanently in Hollywood these days. We had dinner once, when she was filming in town, but that was a couple of years ago now.’
‘Shame. You’d make a lovely couple.’
‘I’m happy as I am, thanks. Lucy’s quite a find.’
Rob concurred, and Blake looked wistful.
‘Course, we all know your story, Blakey,’ said Allyson, ruffling his hair. ‘You turned up at the Geisha Garden on a stag night and the rest was history.’
‘It’s you we’re all curious about,’ said Rob.
‘Me?’
‘Well, I can only speak for myself but …’
‘Yeah,’ added Richard. ‘How did you get into all this?’
‘Well, I run the club, don’t I?’
‘But how did that come about?’
‘You know me, Rich. I don’t talk about myself. Too much I can’t say or go into.’
‘Woman of mystery.’