Free Kinky by Justine Elyot

hand on my thigh and squeezing.
    ‘Me too.’ A rush of scalding love, head to toe. ‘All work and no play …’
    He doesn’t know the saying.
    ‘I play a little bit,’ he says, and for a moment I think he is going to say he’s been having hot kinky sex with Tinkle Tosser while I’ve been at work. ‘We play five-a-side football, me and my friends.’
    ‘Oh, ha ha, oh, right, oh, that’s good.’
    He eyes me, a little puzzled. ‘You like football?’
    ‘No.’
    Over by the bar I notice a familiar-ish figure and I purse my lips.
    Her, simpering between two burly blokes in suits, wearing not much more than a silk bandage and a smile. She has an amazing figure, full and womanly yet somehow lacking an ounce of extraneous flab. Her laughter is infectious and forces you to look over.
    ‘Shall we get down to the dungeon?’ I ask, trying to drink my coffee too quickly and burning my tongue.
    ‘What is hurry? We have all afternoon.’
    ‘Just … can’t wait.’
    He chuckles, pats my thigh. ‘I will make you wait. That is cruel thing to do, right?’
    ‘Not too long though.’
    She is looking over. She has clocked Dimitri. One hand primps her hair while the other slides down the curve of her hip. She thrusts out her bosom. The only way she could make it more obvious she wants Dimitri’s attention is by shooting a flaming arrow across the room to him.
    She catches his eye. He nods and smiles, then turns back to me.
    A riot of cheering breaks out somewhere behind my ribs.
    ‘No,’ he says. ‘Not too long. Is punishment for me to wait too long.’ He winks and I glow. He pushes the coffee cup away and takes my hand, leads me to the Promised Land. Well, the door to the basement stairs anyway.
    ‘Hiiiii,’ says Twat Face as we pass. ‘Great to see you here. Are you coming to the orgy tonight?’
    ‘I must work,’ says Dimitri, not stopping.
    ‘Oh well. Another time. Catch you later. Unless you catch me first.’ Giggle, simper.
    ‘Later,’ he says and we are through the door, away from the danger zone.
    ‘She’s very attractive,’ I say, feeling my way down the dark stairs in Dimitri’s wake.
    ‘So are you,’ he replies gallantly.
    ‘Not in her league, though.’
    ‘She is football player?’
    ‘Not as pretty as her,’ I translate.
    ‘I am sad when girls talk like this. Don’t say that, please.’
    ‘It’s true.’
    ‘You say it again and I spank your ass, Rosie.’
    Shivery delight. I’m tempted to say it again, but I refrain.
    The door looks like a real dungeon door from some medieval castle – black metal studs, heavy oak, the works.
    When I enter, it looks unfamiliar, perhaps because it was filled with people last time and now it is empty. Intimidated, I take an instinctive step towards Dimitri, who puts an arm around me.
    ‘It looks real.’ The atmosphere of pain and terror dampens my ardour for a while. I cast my eyes around the gloom, seeking adjustment.
    It is lit by flaming torches. The brick, which would presumably be dark red, has been painted black. Shadows loom everywhere – exaggerated shapes of the dungeon equipment I see around me.
    Oddly designed chairs and benches line the walls, most sporting leather or metal cuffs in strategic places. Set alongside these are devices resembling old-fashioned stocks or pillories, some with benches or other equipment attached. On the stage, the cross we saw in action stands like an altar, while cages and other unidentifiable constructions dot the floor space.
    Dimitri plays with some of the furniture, most of which seems to be adjustable. I run my hand over a long bench with a square box at one end, the top of which looks like a toilet seat.
    ‘What the hell’s this?’ I wonder aloud.
    Looking over, Dimitri smirks. ‘I don’t think you want to know,’ he says. He opens a cupboard and takes out a length of chain with leather cuffs at each end. ‘So,’ he says, stretching it menacingly taut before jingling it at me. ‘What do you