Once it is almost subsumed, she adjusts her legs, painstakingly, standing back on the rungs. This forces her into a position where she has to bend forwards at the waist, hands clasped on the seat in front of her, bottom pushed out.
‘Doesn’t she look nice?’ purrs Mal.
She certainly looks obscene. Mal makes me examine her from every angle, so I see her strained face from the front, her penetrated profile, her wide open bum cheeks from the back.
‘Now, ride. Ride it well. I’m going to use the whip.’
She begins to move herself up and down on the dildo. It looks laborious, her calves shaking and thighs straining with each up-and-down motion.
‘Faster than that.’ Mal selects a wicked-looking flogger and starts lashing it against her bottom. The whoosh and splat are enormously satisfying. O grunts with effort, every facial muscle contracted.
But I don’t want to watch her face. I want to see her arse, jiggling up and down on the thick stalk, changing colour under the lash. I want to see what Dimitri might see.
I can’t deny that it looks incredibly sexy. O’s pert backside seems made for the whip and her slender body looks so fragile yet it must be so strong to keep up the frantic pace Mal seems to require. Her stamina impresses me as she races to the finish, but her criss-crossed rear impresses me even more. The redder and angrier it looks, the more I am turned on until I can hardly bear it, having to scrunch up my fists to keep my fingers away from my skirt hem.
Mal plies his flogger mercilessly, catching the tender spot at the top of O’s thighs until she screams. Oh dear, I think, now he’s gone too far and will have to stop, but then I realise that the scream is not inspired by pain, or only partially so.
O is coming, jolting back and forth, the scream breaking into a series of little whines while the whip falls again and again.
I don’t know whether to pity or envy her. On the whole, the balance tips towards envy. Can I get Dimitri to do this to me?
Dimitri.
Where is he?
I turn to Mal, who is unbelting and unbuckling his leather trousers, preparing to release his stiff cock.
‘Do you know where Dimitri is this morning?’ I ask him.
He puts the whip away and moves around to the front of O, waiting for her to take him in her mouth before answering.
‘No. Ah, that’s good, O, that’s very good.’
‘I’ll, um, be getting on then.’
‘Must you? Stay if you want.’
‘No, no, that’s fine. Goodbye.’
O is feasting on Mal’s cock, still connected to the dildo-stool, when I leave, not much the wiser.
On the one hand, I know that Dimitri hasn’t been mixing it up with O – she has a crush on him, but that’s all. But I know nothing about what he’s doing with Trixietots, or where they are.
Lunchtime is coming up when I stagger back on to street level, workers pouring out of their offices and heading for the pubs and sandwich bars of the district. Wherever Dimitri and Trixietots are, looking for them will be like finding ants in an anthill. Really, I should just go back to the office and try to call him again.
But I can’t. I just can’t.
I find myself phoning my account manager and telling him I’ve just thrown up in the car park, must be some kind of bug, hopefully I’ll be fine tomorrow and all that.
Then I take a purposeful right turn around the corner and commit to a fine-tooth-comb search of the entirety of the N1 postal area.
I only make it as far as the same pub we escaped to after that intriguing vision through the basement window of Kinky Cupcake. There, in a corner, sit Dimitri and Trixietots, both nursing tumblers of vodka. He has his arm around her and he’s beaming away as if his smile is powered by the National Grid. She is fawning and blushing and pushing her knee up close to his.
That story about throwing up in the car park suddenly feels a whole lot more plausible.
I put my hand over my mouth, turn and run to the tube station.
* * *
Saturday comes.
There has been no contact between Dimitri and me over the preceding two days except a text from him vaguely referring to ‘big news’. I didn’t reply to it, unable to keep up the appearance of normality.
Today I will set him free. That’s what the song says, isn’t it? If you love somebody, set them free.
I am a human jitterbug as I walk slowly up the narrow street to Kinky Cupcake. This is going to be horrible, but it has to be done. Then I can meet Anton at the Laser Zone and bury myself in mindless pleasure-seeking for the rest of the weekend.
Dimitri is in the café, reading the sports pages of a newspaper while his coffee goes cold. At least Trixietots doesn’t appear to be on the scene. I seat myself opposite him, rather than doing my usual thing of sliding in beside him for enthusiastic and somewhat bristly hello kisses.