‘More interesting than me?’ he asked, putting his finger to my lips so I had to kiss and suck on it.
I shook my head, smiling as much as I could with a man’s finger in my mouth.
‘It’s going to get a lot more interesting,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I’d better have you now, while I’ve still got your attention.’
‘You always have my attention,’ I said. ‘Anyway, that guy Mal said he’d be in the café – we ought to go down. Do we … I mean, should we change?’
I looked down doubtfully at the light summer dress I was wearing – a pale green cotton shift with slingback sandals. It didn’t seem very kinky.
Joss laughed. ‘No, not necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s mid-afternoon – most of the people in there will be on their way home from work or taking a break from shopping. You might find the odd gimp mask in among the jeans and tailoring, but nothing overwhelming.’ He squeezed me. ‘Sure I can’t interest you in a pre-coffee shag?’
‘I feel we ought to save ourselves,’ I said, although tempted. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’
* * *
The café was just like, well, a café. Blond wood and greenery, a long counter with cupcakes under glass domes, and – as Joss had said – a very regular-looking clientele. There were riding crops and canes mounted on the walls, but they blended in rather tastefully, as did the chained and corseted mannequins stationed at various posts. These were the kinkiest looking people there, and they weren’t even people. Some of them didn’t even have heads.
I treated myself to a cupcake with a liquorice whip wound around in the frosting, and a camomile tea for my nerves, and accompanied Joss to the nearest free table, taking care not to catch anyone’s eye.
There was no sign of Mal yet.
‘Will all these people be here tonight?’ I asked Joss in a low voice.
‘Some, maybe. I don’t know.’
‘Do you know any of them?’
He shook his head, making a face at the froth on his cappuccino. The barista had drawn a crook-handled cane in cinnamon.
‘Like I said, it’s been a while.’
Mal entered the room at that point, accompanied by an attractive woman in a PVC zip-up dress. She looked like something from the Benny Hill Show – blonde curls piled high on her head, cleavage that shoved itself at you and a hem that barely skimmed her bum. Not to mention the five-inch heels.
‘Ah,’ cried Mal, so effusively that all attention was instantly directed towards us. ‘Your lordship – I wonder if you remember Trixietots? She certainly remembers you.’
Joss half-rose, squinting at the blonde.
‘Oh, of course,’
he said.
She was beaming at him and pushing her bosom out.
‘Do you remember that party a few years back?’ she said. ‘The prison-themed one? I was one of your prisoners.’
‘Ah.’ Joss seemed extremely uncomfortable with the recollection, or perhaps it was my raised eyebrows causing the awkwardness. ‘Yes. Didn’t the handcuffs jam on your wrists?’
She laughed. ‘That’s right! We had to get Mal to file them off.’
‘The risks we take,’ said Mal smoothly, ‘in the name of pleasure. But it’s all worth it, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
He and Trixietots took seats opposite us.
‘So, you often run these themed parties then?’ I asked, in the spirit of journalistic enquiry.
‘Quarterly,’ said Mal. ‘Tonight we have a masked ball. Last time it was steampunk Victoriana. The time before, a Roman slave auction. O was an event planner in a former life and she rather excels at all the detail.’
‘What’s it going to be like, if you don’t mind me asking? Tonight, I mean. I’ve never been to an … event.’