had been to celebrate our single status at the Torture Garden Valentine’s Ball, which had surprisingly been Fran’s idea.
She’d been helping me unpack and had found a photograph that I had forgotten I even had, of me and my old friend Charlotte at the first fetish club I’d ever been to.
Dominik had been my first dominant lover, but it had been Charlotte who had initially introduced me to the fetish scene, and with her by my side I had experienced my first spanking, and witnessed other fetishists at play. We’d lost touch after a party had turned out badly. She’d hit on Dominik and I hadn’t been able to control my jealousy, and though I bore her no hard feelings now, I hadn’t been in contact with her since.
The picture, which brought back fond memories, had been taken by one of the club’s roving photographers, and Charlotte, in one of her kinder moments, had had a copy printed and given it to me. In the shot, she was wearing a bright yellow latex dress with pink lightning bolts running down each side of her waist. It was more of a tunic than a dress, and cut so low at the front that it exposed half of her nipples.
I was more modestly dressed, in a pale-blue satin corset, frilly knickers and a top hat. We were standing out on the deck of the boat that had hosted the party, both laughing at a private joke, my top hat at a jaunty angle giving me a mischievous expression.
‘That looks a fun party,’ Fran said, picking up the picture.
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ I replied, keeping my voice even and hoping that she would drop it and move on.
But Fran was both perceptive and persistent, and she kept asking questions.
Under her insistent pressure, I told her about the club, leaving out the details of how I had received my first ever spanking under the watchful eyes of Charlotte and the club’s dungeon master.
‘I’m going,’ she announced. She picked up her iPad and tapped some keys, bringing up their website. ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘they have a Valentine’s thing on tomorrow night. Looks more like an anti-Valentine’s thing. Perfect. I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.’
‘Honestly, I don’t think it’s your kind of party.’
‘How would you know what my kind of party is?’ she bristled. ‘We’ve barely seen each other for five years.’ She pursed her lips together and ran her hand through her cropped blond hair in a gesture that brokered no argument.
Chris was standing in the doorway, surveying the proceedings. ‘If you’re going, I’m coming with you.’
‘Surely you have to rehearse?’ I said. His big opening night show with The Holy Criminals was the following Saturday night.
‘We’ve got plenty of sessions planned. I’m not letting you out of the house dressed in your underwear without a bodyguard.’
‘Fine, then,’ I said reluctantly. Knowing Fran as I did, she’d go without me if I refused. At least this way I’d be able to keep an eye on them.
Fran had disappeared the next day to find outfits for her and Chris at the Portobello Road Market. She’d returned with her eyes shining and her arms full of bags of clothes, and proceeded to dress a very reluctant Chris in a vintage three-piece groom’s suit which she then covered with stage make-up to mimic the effect of someone who had been killed on his wedding day and stepped out of his grave a hundred years later. She went matching, in a ripped-up wedding dress, with her hair gelled into a quiff which gave a strange punk vibe to her vintage zombie look.
‘I hate pin-up girls,’ she sniffed, when I suggested doing her hair in victory rolls instead.
I was wearing latex for the first time; a skimpy sailor suit outfit that I’d hurriedly bought from a chain store online that offered express delivery and arrived in the nick of time. I’d been too embarrassed to ask for help to get into it, so had lubed myself up in order to button up the tight vest jacket and matching blue and white striped hot pants, and was now feeling sticky,
She’d been helping me unpack and had found a photograph that I had forgotten I even had, of me and my old friend Charlotte at the first fetish club I’d ever been to.
Dominik had been my first dominant lover, but it had been Charlotte who had initially introduced me to the fetish scene, and with her by my side I had experienced my first spanking, and witnessed other fetishists at play. We’d lost touch after a party had turned out badly. She’d hit on Dominik and I hadn’t been able to control my jealousy, and though I bore her no hard feelings now, I hadn’t been in contact with her since.
The picture, which brought back fond memories, had been taken by one of the club’s roving photographers, and Charlotte, in one of her kinder moments, had had a copy printed and given it to me. In the shot, she was wearing a bright yellow latex dress with pink lightning bolts running down each side of her waist. It was more of a tunic than a dress, and cut so low at the front that it exposed half of her nipples.
I was more modestly dressed, in a pale-blue satin corset, frilly knickers and a top hat. We were standing out on the deck of the boat that had hosted the party, both laughing at a private joke, my top hat at a jaunty angle giving me a mischievous expression.
‘That looks a fun party,’ Fran said, picking up the picture.
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ I replied, keeping my voice even and hoping that she would drop it and move on.
But Fran was both perceptive and persistent, and she kept asking questions.
Under her insistent pressure, I told her about the club, leaving out the details of how I had received my first ever spanking under the watchful eyes of Charlotte and the club’s dungeon master.
‘I’m going,’ she announced. She picked up her iPad and tapped some keys, bringing up their website. ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘they have a Valentine’s thing on tomorrow night. Looks more like an anti-Valentine’s thing. Perfect. I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.’
‘Honestly, I don’t think it’s your kind of party.’
‘How would you know what my kind of party is?’ she bristled. ‘We’ve barely seen each other for five years.’ She pursed her lips together and ran her hand through her cropped blond hair in a gesture that brokered no argument.
Chris was standing in the doorway, surveying the proceedings. ‘If you’re going, I’m coming with you.’
‘Surely you have to rehearse?’ I said. His big opening night show with The Holy Criminals was the following Saturday night.
‘We’ve got plenty of sessions planned. I’m not letting you out of the house dressed in your underwear without a bodyguard.’
‘Fine, then,’ I said reluctantly. Knowing Fran as I did, she’d go without me if I refused. At least this way I’d be able to keep an eye on them.
Fran had disappeared the next day to find outfits for her and Chris at the Portobello Road Market. She’d returned with her eyes shining and her arms full of bags of clothes, and proceeded to dress a very reluctant Chris in a vintage three-piece groom’s suit which she then covered with stage make-up to mimic the effect of someone who had been killed on his wedding day and stepped out of his grave a hundred years later. She went matching, in a ripped-up wedding dress, with her hair gelled into a quiff which gave a strange punk vibe to her vintage zombie look.
‘I hate pin-up girls,’ she sniffed, when I suggested doing her hair in victory rolls instead.
I was wearing latex for the first time; a skimpy sailor suit outfit that I’d hurriedly bought from a chain store online that offered express delivery and arrived in the nick of time. I’d been too embarrassed to ask for help to get into it, so had lubed myself up in order to button up the tight vest jacket and matching blue and white striped hot pants, and was now feeling sticky,
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