‘There was some talk of it, but they were both too drunk to get it up again.’
‘I love the way you talk about it. As if it’s just another boring night down at the local. I could listen to whores talk shop forever. It turns me on.’
‘What expectations do you have for tonight?’
The waiter appears, pours a good wine and takes our orders. Once he leaves the table, Conrad leans forwards. ‘I expect to fuck you. Tell me now, are your nipples hard?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your pussy – is it wet?’
‘A bit.’
‘Are you creaming all over those twenty-pound notes? They were pristine when I gave them to you. Bet they aren’t now.’
‘Can I ask you about the other girls you’ve paid?’ I feel a need to turn the tables on him. Does he expect his girls to desire him? Does he think my wetness is for him? I want to tell him that it isn’t – it’s for the situation, purely and simply.
‘No. But you can tell me what you like doing in the bedroom.’
‘Aren’t we supposed to be making light conversation? Dinner table chitchat?’
‘I’m calling the shots, Sophie, or had you forgotten? He who pays the piper …’
How is getting fucked for money the same as taking requests for a tune? But I don’t challenge it.
‘You name it, Conrad, and I’ll do it. If it’s legal and won’t result in illness or injury, I’m probably up for it.’
‘That’s good to know. Sometimes I can be a little … unusual in my tastes.’
‘What are your tastes? Costumes? Kink? Role-play?’
‘I think I’ll wait until we get to the bedroom, if you don’t mind.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I do mind, does it?’
‘No.’
I finish my wine and make to pour myself another, but he puts a hand over my glass, shaking his head.
‘Can’t have you getting tipsy, Sophie,’ he says lightly. ‘That’s not what I’m paying you for, now, is it?’
So what is he paying me for? If it isn’t for sex, or companionship, or pleasure? What is it?
***
In the bedroom, I am ready to find out.
Lloyd is next door. I am not in any danger. I repeat this to myself when Conrad sits himself on the bed and makes me stand in front of him. He stares at me for so long that I feel distinctly spooked.
‘Still nice,’ he says to himself. ‘Very. Take off your shirt, Sophie.’
I unbutton it and pull it from my waistband, shrugging it over my shoulders until it falls on the floor. The garish basque with its topping of twenties is revealed.
‘Nice, I like the way you’ve arranged the money. I like it even better when I make the girls crumple it up and stuff it in like that. The last girl’s tits looked huge and there was a big spare-tyre effect where her knickers were full of balled-up paper. She was so embarrassed.’ He laughs. ‘Some of them went right up her cunt. Take off your skirt.’
The pencil skirt slips down. Black PVC, scarlet satin and purple paper clash together over my pale skin.
‘I like that. And you put it in your crotch, you say? Come over here and show me.’