‘I swear, I thought I’d taken drugs,’ Emma said. ‘My head had left the planet. I was, like, floating. It wasn’t until Drama said, “I will have your attention, young lady”—’
There was a burst of laughter, this being, apparently, a well-known catchphrase of the client in question.
Poppy picked up the wide black sash, modelled on the obi, but far less complicated to put on. No fancy bows to be tied, just a pad of velcro at the back. Looking into the mirror, she frowned at her cleavage, but at least the sash held the gown in place, preventing the threatened nipple-spillage. The hem was still hair-raising though. It would probably raise something completely other than hair when she wore it down in the club.
She would have to be careful with the sleeves, too, which hung heavily from her wrist. There would be endless opportunities to drag them in candle flames or knock glasses from tables with them. Poppy, never the most co-ordinated person, was going to have to keep herself on alert.
Emma, having finished her story, was accepting the tributes of her friends as she changed into her own scandalous version of geisha attire.
‘I can’t believe you said that to him.’
‘He’s got a soft spot for you, or he’d complain to Al.’
‘Oh, Sands wouldn’t say anything,’ said Emma airily. ‘He wouldn’t ever do anything to threaten his special relationship with my arse.’
‘Did he try anything after? Extras?’
‘Nah, says he’s got a new girlfriend.’
There was a collective ‘ooh’.
Poppy tied the matching red satin scarf around her neck and began to pull on a pair of fishnet hold-ups.
What was she going to do if somebody wanted extras?
A fifth girl popped her head around the door, one of the bartenders.
‘Is Poppy here? Al wants a word.’
‘Oh. Just a minute.’ Poppy squeezed her feet into black, patent-leather, high-heeled Mary Janes and tottered after the messenger.
‘You forgot something.’
She turned back to Emma, who held out her fan.
‘Oh. Yeah. Thanks.’
It was a difficult journey along narrow corridors and up and down rickety stairs, but eventually they found Allyson’s office. The messenger left Poppy there after knocking on the door.
‘Come in.’
Allyson looked just as forbidding as she had during Poppy’s interview. Her dark hair was scraped severely back and she wore a charcoal trouser suit with a wine-coloured shirt underneath. The tough image was probably necessary, Poppy reflected, when you ran a Soho sex club with an entitled clientele, but there was no need to project it at her.
She almost collapsed with relief when Allyson took off her spectacles and smiled.
‘Hi, Poppy, great to see you again,’ she said, waving at an unoccupied chair. ‘You look fantastic. Our gents will be falling over themselves to be served by you.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Poppy subsided into the chair, grimacing down at the way her hem rode even higher up her thigh.
‘I just wanted to give you a few words of encouragement before you go out there. Remember, nobody can make you do anything you don’t want. If a gentleman wants to close the screens, make sure you negotiate what you are prepared to let him do first. I know it’s hard, for a shy girl like you to speak plainly about this kind of thing, but you have to ask him if he wants straight spanking, strap or paddle – or all three – before he shuts those doors.’
‘What if he wants the cane?’ she whispered, thinking of Emma, while her mind rebelled against the idea of calmly discussing her forthcoming spanking with a paying stranger. If her mind rebelled, though, her sex did not, feeling quite deliciously wet and squirmy between her thighs at the thought.
‘Novices never take the cane,’ said Allyson. ‘A man who wants to deliver a caning will know to ask for one of our experienced girls. Emma, Lizzie or Frances. Those are the names to give him if he tries it on with you.’
‘OK.’ Surely Emma couldn’t take another caning tonight! Poppy’s eyes bulged at the prospect.
‘Remember,’ Allyson continued, more gently, ‘you must always act your part. Respectful, submissive, meek.