The blonde peeped around from the bathroom door. Her hair was in pigtails, I noticed. 'I'm absolutely fine,' she said hysterically. 'Please go away.
'
I spun around, noticing an array of fierce-looking implements on the bed, including a whippy item with a number of purple tails. Very striking. Ha.
Anyway. This was a good old-fashioned headmaster/ naughty schoolgirl role-play and there was no way I was sticking around to incur Dr Lassiter's displeasure, judging by the state of that girl's backside. A bit of slap and tickle is one thing, but not being able to sit down for a week is quite another.
I made my excuses and left. And spent the rest of the afternoon pondering.
Although the scene I had found had unsettled me, I was also intrigued. I felt the need to know more. What did the girl get out of it? What was Dr Lassiter's motivation? Were they lovers, or was it Strictly Come Caning? How did that strap feel? What about the cane – was it as painful as I imagined? If so, what was the payoff? I imagined myself, bent at the waist, clutching my ankles while my pale and vulnerable bottom awaited the first cut. I had to admit, my curiosity was piqued, and that was always dangerous. If I was a cat, I'd be dead by now, for sure.
So when Blondie emerged from the lift and glanced over at the desk in a panic, intent on getting out without being seen, I had to stop her. I rushed out across the lobby.
'Madam! Excuse me, Madam!'
She turned and thrust out her lip at me. 'Haven't you done enough damage for one day?' she hissed. 'Dr Lassiter is furious; I don't suppose we'll be able to use this place again.'
'I know. I'm so sorry about that,' I replied quietly. 'I hope you will come back. I'll put you somewhere soundproofed next time. Please accept my apologies!'
She sniffed. 'Well, it isn't up to me. It'll be Dr Lassiter's decision.'
'I suppose it will. I'm going to apologise to him too. Listen, do you have a minute? Can I get you a drink?'
'I have a train to catch. But it's not for half an hour. I suppose so.'
I took her into the bar and ordered us a dry Martini each.
'Take a seat,' I offered, waving my hand at the near-empty expanse of seating.
'Thanks, I'd prefer to stand,' she deadpanned, causing me to put a hand over my mouth and stifle a giggle.
'I suppose so,' I said, grinning at her. She returned my smile, relaxing a little. 'I suppose the train ride home might be a little uncomfortable?'
'It usually is. What did you want to talk about?'
'Just . . . I'm interested. Oh, my name's Sophie, by the way.'
'Rachael.' She put out a hand, its nails square-clipped and unvarnished. I noticed that there was some ink on a couple of fingertips. She caught my frown of enquiry. 'Dr Lassiter is a great one for the little details,' she said. 'You're not shocked? You seem to be taking this in your stride.'
'No, not shocked at all. Horses for courses,' I said with a shrug.
'Mmm, I love a riding crop,' she said, looking at me archly for a reaction.
'Why?' I asked her.
'Why?'
'Yes, why do you like it? What's the draw?'
'Oh, Sophie, if you don't understand, you never will. It's something you get or you don't. I can't explain it. It's hardwired into me.'
'I'm not sure I don't understand it,' I told her. 'When I caught you . . . there was something in me that couldn't look away. I felt as if I should run, but I didn't want to. I wanted to see more.'
'Well, perhaps you're a latent submissive,' said Rachael ruminatively. 'Sometimes it can manifest a little later. Personally, I've always known I was this way.'
'Really?'
'Yes. All my fantasies were of being dominated, tied up, disciplined. Never anything soft-focus or romantic for me. For me, the big strong arms of a protective man can't compare with the cane in the hand of an authoritarian.'