Free A Talent for Surrender by Madeline Bastinado Page A

manage to pee.
    She walked up the stairs towards the music. When she reached the third floor she looked around the room for Sam. The living room was decorated in purple and scarlet. There were silver stars on the ceiling and the furniture was an eclectic mixture of Victorian Gothic pieces and modern. For the party the room had been hung with hundreds of fairy lights, making it look exotic and mysterious, like the inside of a fortune teller’s tent.
    Jo spotted Sam on the other side of the room. She was dressed in a purple leather corset and matching spike-heeled boots which buttoned up the side like a Victorian lady’s. She was wearing a multi-layered chiffon miniskirt in mottled shades of purple, lavender and pink. It seemed to have been starched and stiffened and it puffed out around her hips like a diaphanous cloud. On her back, she wore a pair of matching tiny fairy wings. She was carrying a sparkly silver wand. As Jo drew closer, she realised that the wand was actually a riding crop with a star attached to its tip.
    Sam’s black hair had been cut into an asymmetrical bob and the front had been dyed the same shade of purple as her corset and boots. When she spotted Jo she waved her wand.
    ‘Hello.’ Sam smiled. ‘Do you know who you remind me of in that outfit?’ Sam was staring at Jo, her eyes wide.
    ‘Betty Grable?’ Jo struck a pose.
    ‘Almost. You look like a blonde Dita Von Teese. The way you clip up the front of your hair and everything.’
    ‘Really? You think so? Thanks. She’s really glamorous. And you look gorgeous too, Tinkerbell. Happy birthday.’ The two women kissed. She handed Sam a wrapped gift.
    ‘Thanks. We were still sewing on the wings when the first guests arrived.’
    ‘Well, they look lovely. And they suit you. You look as though you were born with them.’
    ‘Stick around. A few more glasses of bubbly and you might see me fly.’ Sam took a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. ‘Is it tomorrow you’re meeting Dan Elliot?’
    ‘Yesterday.’
    ‘And? I hope he’s as cute in the flesh.’
    ‘Cuter as a matter of fact. On screen he deliberately cultivates his boyishness. In real life he’s rather stylish and elegant. He’s quite a man, actually.’ Jo sipped her champagne.
    ‘I see . . . he’s obviously made an impression.’
    ‘Yes, he has, I suppose. I rather liked him. In real life he’s much more confident; a man in full possession of his personal power and authority.’
    ‘Just the way you like them. The more powerful they are the sweeter it is when you get them to submit.’
    Jo laughed. ‘I must admit it does sound tempting. But I have no idea if he’s even kinky.’
    Sam’s models, all dressed as cats, moved between the partygoers with trays of champagne and canapes. The other guests were a mixture of Sam’s friends and her clients and the dress code reflected the fact. Most were conventionally, if formally, dressed for a posh night out, but at least a third of the guests were sporting the type of fetish fashion Sam was famous for.
    It wasn’t often, Jo thought, that you saw two such contrasting styles of dress in the same room; usually it was one or the other. It seemed to represent a collision of two worlds and, while Jo was comfortable in both, she had to admit that she felt more herself – more whole – when she was able to dress in the type of clothes Sam had made her.
    The hat and the shoes made her at least eight inches taller. She towered over most men and, she had to admit, she rather liked it. The outfit made her feel sensual and elegant and strong. The corset pushed her breasts up and out and she was aware that men couldn’t seem to take her eyes off them. A waitress went by and Jo helped herself to another glass of bubbly.
    ‘Well, don’t you look fantastic?’
    Jo turned. ‘Jim. Thanks. Good to see you. Where’s Poppy?’
    Jim was dressed in black leather trousers and waistcoat. ‘She’s around somewhere. She’s fairly easy to