London Blue

Chapter 10. BDSM club.

Actually both the scenes in this chapter were included in London with Love. But you can read below a couple of extracts for your enjoyment!

The girl leaned against the window, with only her top half exposed, her arms splayed out, her face against the glass. Did she care if anyone watched? thought Emily, who couldn't move, or didn't want to move. The more Emily watched, the more heightened her senses became, suspicions pushed the truth to the forefront of her mind. An innocent bystander wouldn't pick up the subtle movements, the movement of her waist, the movement of her eyes which closed for ten seconds, languidly opened, and closed again in a rhythm of it's own. The Asian turned and appeared to sit on the window sill, her back firmly against the window. Fascination became anger as Emily's mind still pleaded with herself to go.

The back of the girl's body edged down the window, such that Emily decided she couldn't be sitting on the sill any longer ... her hips HAD to be supported. Small judders of her torso, indicated sex. Emily marched rapidly over to the front door of the building to press Nick's intercom bell. She held the button in for two seconds, released it, followed by short bursts, repeating the pattern to the timing of a man giving head to a female. Elation flowed through Emily to squash the anger. Her finger got tired. A strange relief crept up unexpectedly as she stormed back across the square and down to the South Bank path by the river. A light breeze came from the Thames. She tightened the belt of her Barbour and pulled up the collar. Although she felt on the verge of crying she kept her smile, and realised the voices in her head weren't there this time.

*

'Come on, let's take it for a spin,' said Scott, as he showed Charles his new Porsche Cayman. The gleaming car was parked in the secure underground car bay beneath his apartment block. Scott's recent purchase attracted some gossip around the table at the Dorcester, with Charles threatening to write some sarcastic remarks about Porsche owners in his weekly magazine column.

'It's white!' remarked Charles. He laughed. 'It's going to have the girls flopping all over you.'

Scott slapped Charles on the back. 'It's what the Porsche dealer had available with the spec I wanted. It just happens to be white.' The car did a 'yelp' as he pressed the key in his hand. 'Get in.'

Scott climbed in the drivers side and relaxed into the sand coloured, leather bucket seat. He always breathed in the luxurious smell of the expensive leather every time he sat in the car. The Boxer engine, positioned behind the front seats, roared into life. The top speed of 165 miles per hour, and the acceleration from 0 to 60 in five point seven seconds were useless in London. Scott knew this.

'Do you drive to work in this? Charles buckled his seat belt.

Scott laughed. 'Sometimes. Just to give the Porsche some air.' He drove the car up the ramp and out onto the street. 'I usually get a taxi.'

Charles chuckled. 'You could cycle to work.'

'Yeah, yeah. Get real. I'd probably get run over.'

'It's your toy, Scott, play with it.' His voice turned mischievous. 'Maybe I could feature an article about a London plastic surgeon who always takes his clients for a ride before he operates.'

They laughed together as the two men concocted ridiculous scenarios. While Scott drove, Charles said, 'I've got something rather serious to talk to you about.'

'What?'

'An undercover reporter has got into a club called London Blue ... and surprise surprise he's seen the membership list.'

Scott hesitated for three seconds to make sure he heard it right. 'Oh shit.' Although he saw nothing to be ashamed of, he would rather not have his name tagged to a BDSM club to have it reported in the press. 'For the record, Charles, I don't take part in group activities. I keep it private between me and another woman.'

'The article is going to sex it up for sure. And anyone of interest is going to be under the spotlight. I can see the headlines now ... ''Successful Harley Street surgeon likes to whip and shackle women.'' Or something similar.'

'Oh christ. But I don't do that. It's complicated, Charles.' He paused. 'Anything you can do about this article?'

'I've already taken your name off it. The reporter owed me a favour.'

'Thanks. You're a good friend.'

'I'm curious though. What goes on?'

Scott felt he owed him an explanation. 'I met this woman at the club. She's married but separated, although that's got nothing to do with it. Her name's Adalene.' Scott pushed the gear stick from three to two and accelerated the Porsche past two red double-decker buses. His body momentarily shoved back against his seat as the propulsion of the car took them to the front of the traffic. 'Adalene and I are not an item. We meet occasionally, try out things. And that's it.'

'Good looking?'

'Red hair, blue painted finger nails, laughs a lot. Plump.'

'Friends with benefits?'

'No, because we're not really friends. We never meet socially other than at London Blue. We experiment, like ''do you like the way I do this'', and so on.'