any more questions.
‘Nice shoes, too. Not that I ever get to wear open-toes myself these days!’
I was puzzled. I looked again at the acute triangular toes of her patent kitten heels. I’d always had a curious contempt for patent leather ever since my mum had bought me some shiny black sandals as a child. I had refused them because I thought they were too tarty. I must only have been six. How could I have known what tarty was? But I did. Then I went to a party where a classmate of mine was wearing the same sandals and I remember feeling regretfully covetous.
This time my curiosity got the better of me. ‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I’m just so busy. I can’t keep up with the clients, so I’m nearly always dressed for work! And you can’t wear open-toed shoes for my job. I’ve a late booking after this, in fact. He’s picking me up. Here, take my business card. Have a look at my website over the weekend. Do you have a card?’
I shook my head regretfully.
‘What’s your mobile number?’
I reeled it off unthinkingly, then scolded myself. Why hadn’t I asked what she wanted it for? Did she want me to interview her or something? God knows who would take that as a pitch. Domination wasn’t unusual enough to elicit a news story but neither was it acceptable enough for a feature on alternative career women, for example. Sapphire was a sex worker. And who ever wanted a piece about sex workers unless it was a report on punter violence or police miscarriages of justice?
‘I’m going to call you,’ she said. ‘How do you fancy being my vanilla girl?’
‘Your what?’
‘All you have to do is sit there and stare at the clients as I dominate them. Not every session, but two or three times a week, just for an hour. You don’t have to wear anything special and you don’t have to say a word. And I’ll pay you for your time, of course. It’ll be a lot more than your hourly rate at the hospital.’
I hesitated. I felt out of my depth. Christine Keeler aside, I knew virtually nothing about the sex industry, past or present, except that it was something proper feminists were supposed to be very anti. But I needed money and the petite demon in me longed for mischief. I was curious. And above all, I needed a distraction. I couldn’t keep dwelling on the Greek tragedy that had become mine and Christos’s shattered future.
‘Well, that sounds great. I’ll look at your website.’ But I did have one immediate question. ‘What’s in it for them if I’m, er, vanilla?’
‘The thrill of seeing your first-timer’s face react spontaneously to their submission. It’s such a turn-on for them.’
So it was my vanilla-girl virginity they were after. My first time to be faked again and again. Hmm. I wasn’t used to being a faker! But I was a good actress. I wondered how long you could stay vanilla, though.
‘You’re going to be fabulous,’ she told me. ‘I can’t wait!’ And with that she wrapped her red lacquered fingers around my arm, then swept out.
I wandered back over to Gina, who was chatting with the now unleashed Wolf. ‘How was your inquisition with the Mistress?’ Gina joked. ‘Did she try to recruit you to her Dark Arts or something? Jamie says she’s always scouting parties in the hope of finding an assistant.’
‘Gina, I’m a journalist,’ I reminded her.
I reminded myself.
CHAPTER 9
I looked at Sapphire’s website over the weekend, as instructed. It had pictures of Sapphire in queenly pose, shot from the perspective of someone on their knees, and looking as though she could tear a man limb from limb with just her aggressive smile. Sapphire in white jodphurs with a riding crop; Sapphire in an elegant rubber prom dress holding aloft a pair of women’s knickers; Sapphire dressed in a power suit and vertiginous stilettos, brandishing an unfastened collar in her beautifully manicured hands.
On Tuesday, Sapphire called me.
‘Hi, Nichi, how are you? Had a good weekend? Did you
‘Nice shoes, too. Not that I ever get to wear open-toes myself these days!’
I was puzzled. I looked again at the acute triangular toes of her patent kitten heels. I’d always had a curious contempt for patent leather ever since my mum had bought me some shiny black sandals as a child. I had refused them because I thought they were too tarty. I must only have been six. How could I have known what tarty was? But I did. Then I went to a party where a classmate of mine was wearing the same sandals and I remember feeling regretfully covetous.
This time my curiosity got the better of me. ‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I’m just so busy. I can’t keep up with the clients, so I’m nearly always dressed for work! And you can’t wear open-toed shoes for my job. I’ve a late booking after this, in fact. He’s picking me up. Here, take my business card. Have a look at my website over the weekend. Do you have a card?’
I shook my head regretfully.
‘What’s your mobile number?’
I reeled it off unthinkingly, then scolded myself. Why hadn’t I asked what she wanted it for? Did she want me to interview her or something? God knows who would take that as a pitch. Domination wasn’t unusual enough to elicit a news story but neither was it acceptable enough for a feature on alternative career women, for example. Sapphire was a sex worker. And who ever wanted a piece about sex workers unless it was a report on punter violence or police miscarriages of justice?
‘I’m going to call you,’ she said. ‘How do you fancy being my vanilla girl?’
‘Your what?’
‘All you have to do is sit there and stare at the clients as I dominate them. Not every session, but two or three times a week, just for an hour. You don’t have to wear anything special and you don’t have to say a word. And I’ll pay you for your time, of course. It’ll be a lot more than your hourly rate at the hospital.’
I hesitated. I felt out of my depth. Christine Keeler aside, I knew virtually nothing about the sex industry, past or present, except that it was something proper feminists were supposed to be very anti. But I needed money and the petite demon in me longed for mischief. I was curious. And above all, I needed a distraction. I couldn’t keep dwelling on the Greek tragedy that had become mine and Christos’s shattered future.
‘Well, that sounds great. I’ll look at your website.’ But I did have one immediate question. ‘What’s in it for them if I’m, er, vanilla?’
‘The thrill of seeing your first-timer’s face react spontaneously to their submission. It’s such a turn-on for them.’
So it was my vanilla-girl virginity they were after. My first time to be faked again and again. Hmm. I wasn’t used to being a faker! But I was a good actress. I wondered how long you could stay vanilla, though.
‘You’re going to be fabulous,’ she told me. ‘I can’t wait!’ And with that she wrapped her red lacquered fingers around my arm, then swept out.
I wandered back over to Gina, who was chatting with the now unleashed Wolf. ‘How was your inquisition with the Mistress?’ Gina joked. ‘Did she try to recruit you to her Dark Arts or something? Jamie says she’s always scouting parties in the hope of finding an assistant.’
‘Gina, I’m a journalist,’ I reminded her.
I reminded myself.
CHAPTER 9
I looked at Sapphire’s website over the weekend, as instructed. It had pictures of Sapphire in queenly pose, shot from the perspective of someone on their knees, and looking as though she could tear a man limb from limb with just her aggressive smile. Sapphire in white jodphurs with a riding crop; Sapphire in an elegant rubber prom dress holding aloft a pair of women’s knickers; Sapphire dressed in a power suit and vertiginous stilettos, brandishing an unfastened collar in her beautifully manicured hands.
On Tuesday, Sapphire called me.
‘Hi, Nichi, how are you? Had a good weekend? Did you
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