‘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.