“Figured as much.” She opened the door with a credit card thing. Fucking weird. “Do you want your money now, or later?”
“Not worried. Guess you’re good for it.”
I didn’t know where to fucking put myself, everything looked too posh to touch. The room was fucking massive, with double doors that led through to another. I hadn’t ever seen a four-poster in the flesh, looked like a king’s pissing palace, this place. She sat herself down on a fancy chair. “I needed someone I could trust to keep their mouth shut. Someone who can be around... just in case.”
“In case what?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Have you, um... have you heard of BDSM?”
“Weren’t born yesterday, estate manager. I’ve been around the block a bit.”
“So, you know what it involves?”
“Whips and chains and all that kinky shit. Yeah, I know. Why?”
She smiled a bit, flicking her hair. Nervous and real fucking pretty. “Well, I’m, um. I’m... into it.”
I hadn’t seen that shit fucking coming. “You want me around while you turn into Miss Whiplash, go right ahead. Ain’t gonna faze me.”
She played with her nails. “It’s the other way around, actually. I’m a submissive.”
“Submissive? You like getting beat up?”
“Something like that...” She looked at me, and I saw something else in her. Something I’d never seen back there at the garages. A sparkle in her eyes, some clichéd crap like that. “I’m meeting someone here, in about half an hour. I just want you to stay out here, while we go in there.” She gestured to the bedroom. “If I call for you, which is very unlikely, you come in and save the damsel in distress. If not, just sit here. Watch TV or something.”
“I watch TV while some guy beats the shit out of you?”
“It will sound worse than it is,” she said. “If he really is beating the shit out of me, believe me, I’ll be calling for you.”
“Fine,” I said, only I wasn’t so sure it was. My stomach felt fucked up. Not from the steak, either. “Who’s the guy?”
“Just a guy.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. Likely to be trouble?”
“No,” she said. “This is just a precaution. We try and play safe.”
“We?”
“Players, in the BDSM scene.”
“Who do you usually use for security? How come I got the gig?”
“I don’t usually use anyone.”
“So you are expecting trouble, then.”
“Look, left to his own devices he can get a bit carried away. Knowing you’re here, he’ll behave himself. And you got the gig because I know what you’re capable of.”
“You’re really into this shit.”
“Yes.” She loosened her coat, shrugged it off her shoulders. “Yes, I am.”
This Sophie Harding was fuck all like the woman I’d first met. A red mini dress to match her red lipstick, and stockings, with the suspender bits showing. She looked hot. Really fucking hot. She checked her make-up in the dresser mirror.
“What’s in this stuff for you?”
“Adrenaline, endorphins... the release... it feels good, to be out of control. Free, you know?”
“Where I’m from everyone’s trying not to get beat up.”
“This is very different.”
“If you say so.”
“It is,” she said. “BDSM is about discipline and obedience, and heightened states. And sex. It’s about sex. Violence through anger is something else altogether.”
“I usually try and keep fucking and fighting separate.” I smiled at her reflection, just a little bit. “Don’t always work out that way, though.”
She smiled back. “Fear and lust are a heady combination. It works for me.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll just sit here and keep me mouth shut.”
I watched her reflection. For someone that looked as good as she did she seemed awful self-conscious, putting lipstick over lipstick, and messing with her hair. I had questions, shit loads of them, but none of them were any of my bastard business. Didn’t even know her. I wondered what the man would be like, some posh arsehole probably, probably didn’t even know how to hit. Just a bit of slap and tickle, that’s all.
I changed my mind on that when she opened her suitcase. This shit didn’t look like play-acting. Handcuffs, and weird gag things like you see in porn films, and a shitload of whips and straps and even a fucking school cane. I looked away as she started pulling out the dildos. Shit, man. You can’t unsee that kind of private.
“I’ll take these through,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“What do I do if you call? Rough the arsehole up? Take him