On Demand

'Oh, oh, oh.' I lean forward, doubling over, brushing my knees with my hard nipples, bunching my fist against my clit, spearing my cunt, biting my lip, screwing my face, which is Chase's face, above me now while he swarms over my body and only when I start to come do I remember . . . where I am.

I tip my head down and rest it on my thighs, not daring to look up, wanting to just sit here until they go away. Eventually the music clicks off and the door opens. I look up sharply to see tattooed man grinning at me.

'You nearly caused a riot, love,' he says. 'Sensational. Job's yours. In fact, if you want to earn a bit extra, I could set you up upstairs as a cam girl.'

Blearily, I remember what I am here for.

'You keep cam girls upstairs?' Is this what Chase is here for? Somehow I can't make that connection.

'Yeah, a few. They work shifts, four hours at a stretch. It's easy work – just sit on a bed feeling yourself up with a few toys. What do you reckon?'

I shake my head weakly. 'Can I use the lav?'

'Course. You aren't up for it then? Cos you seemed really . . . you know, to really get into your work there.' He leers. 'I thought you'd jump at the chance to show yourself off to thousands of men at a time. That seems to be up your street, love. Isn't it?'

I look at him through tired eyes, tits out, legs still spread, thighs sticky. It's hardly surprising he would make that assumption, and on another day he'd probably be right. But I need to poke around upstairs, now, quickly, before Chase leaves.

'Can I get back to you? And seriously, I need to clean myself up. Please?'

'Sorry. Course you do. It's up the back stairs, first door on the landing.'

I dash up to the loo, readjusting the horrible dress quickly and giving myself a splash of water over my face and between my legs, then I tiptoe up the rest of the staircase. At the fourth floor, something captures my attention through the grimy sash window. It is Chase, clattering down the fire escape. Damn, he is leaving already. I press myself to the wall, wondering if it is worth knocking on any of these blank white doors to investigate. Suddenly one of them opens. A very large, very burly man with a moustache looks me up and down in my gold frock from hell.

'Hey. You come about the job?' he says, but this time I have no desire to broaden my experience of what goes on behind the closed doors of the red-light district. I shake my head. 'Sorry, got lost,' I mumble, and hare back down the stairs to the cupboard where my work clothes are stashed.

'Thanks, I've changed my mind,' I shout hurriedly at the tattooed man, loping through the narrow corridor to daylight, or what passes for it around here.

He half-stands, makes to give chase, then grunts and has sat back down by the time I emerge into the dirty grey streets of the rainy city.

'You're wet, Sophie,' notes Chase, coming out of his office half an hour later. 'Why is that?'

'Had to dash out . . . guest wanted . . . something.' My fabrication skills need honing.

He looms over me from behind and with an impatient hand brushes some of the water that has dripped from the ends of my hair on to the Visitors Book. I watch the blue ink blur. It looks like tears.

'Go to the Ladies' and dry yourself off,' he says, one hand on my damp shoulder, which twitches under his palm. 'And next time you take a prolonged unscheduled desk break, it will be going on your record. Do you understand me?'

Oh, how I wish I did. I look up at him, meaning to apologise, but the combination of wrath and wistful regret in his face silences me.

He lifts his hand and I find the nearest drier. I will pin him down yet.

Staff Training

'Yes, yes, yes!' I put down the phone and tap in the booking with a celebratory flourish. My favourite trade fair of the year, back again for its annual jamboree.

Pleasurama. The name says it all.

For three days, representatives of every flavour of sex shop and erotic outlet, from dingy downtown dives with blacked-out windows to the new breed of female-friendly upmarket fuck boutiques, will descend on the Luxe Noir, with their briefcases full of crotchless lace and silk-lined leather, poppers and crops, collars and cuffs, tethers and feathers.

I have made some splendid purchases at discount prices in the past. The lubricant that smells uncannily like Old Spice. The brown leather arm cuffs linked by a brass chain. The cupless corset, bejewelled and constricting. The vibrator in the shape of a reverse S. The tickly pink feather thing. The satin blindfold. I could go on . . .

I have saved a bit of money this year and I intend to treat myself to something from the top of the range. But how shall I choose? I shall employ the same shopping methods as I always do, of course. I shall try before I buy.

From Reception I can hear a hum of activity in the Exhibition Hall. The fair has been open for an hour, and I have been measurelessly entertained by the constant stream of interesting characters to-ing and fro-ing through the lobby. Alien-looking models in glitter body paint, leopard bikinis and not much else stroll over to the trestle table by the door and pin on their admission badges, followed by a bona fide member of the Dirty Mac Brigade and a chubby lass in head-to-toe black PVC.

Chase materialises at the back of Reception. 'You can go now, Sophie,' he tells me, looking over at the Hall. 'Don't let anyone buy you.'

I turn around and grin from ear to ear. 'They couldn't afford me; don't worry.'