‘Oh, really?’ The teacher sounds wary, but he doesn’t seem to recognise us, which is some scant comfort.
‘Where is good fetish club in London?’
Silence.
‘Oh my God,’ I mutter into my hands.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘No joke, I promise. I like to spank girls back home in Russia and I am requiring this service in London, is possible you can help me?’
I really think I might die of cringing.
‘Shall we drink elsewhere tonight?’ The teacher addresses his flock. ‘I can’t cope with lunatics just now.’ He turns stiffly and leads his pupils out of the pub.
‘Great. Nice work,’ I snipe. ‘What the actual fuck are you on?’
‘Hey, you like shame, I give you shame. What’s wrong with that?’
I am seriously contemplating calling an emergency taxi when the door of the pub opens again and the girl who was caned, pigtails still bobbing, slips in and tiptoes up to us.
‘Sorry about him,’ she says, cheeks pink. ‘But if you want to know the best place in London for BDSM and fetish, it’s actually just around the corner from here.’
‘Oh yes?’ Dimitri leans towards her and she seems to quiver like an aspen. Oh God. He obviously has this effect on all women.
‘It’s called Kinky Cupcake, but you can’t just go in. You have to know the password. It’s members only.’
‘How you get to be a member?’
‘You make friends with another member. I’ll be your friend if you like.’
‘I will like that a lot.’ His voice is all low and seductive, bloody man-whore that he is.
She giggles. ‘OK, tell the doorman that Trixietots sent you. The password is Lacoste.’
‘Trixietots. Lacoste. Right.’
‘Have fun. Maybe I’ll see you in there sometime. I really ought to go now, or Mr Strict will wonder where I am. And I don’t want to make him angry, believe me.’
She giggles again, flutters her eyelashes and flees.
‘Does this happen to you a lot?’ I ask, curling my lip. ‘Random women throwing themselves at you?’
‘You are jealous?’
‘No! But you love it, don’t you? You’re a man-whore.’
‘Man-whore? A gigolo? I could do that. I am very good at the sex.’
I give up. This man’s relationship with shame is utterly opposite to my own.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he urges and drains his vodka.
‘Go?’
‘Yes, to this place, of course. Kinky Cupcake. You want to see inside, don’t you?’
Of course I do. Of course.