‘Hang on a sec,’ said Allyson. ‘Come here.’
She sashayed over – actual sashaying, which Allyson had never seen before. She was Betty Boop and Bettie Page in a devastating merger.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Emma Frayne.’
‘And how long have you lived in London, Emma Frayne?’
‘All my life.’
‘So you know what the tubes are like.’
She shrugged, peeking out from under her dark fringe with just the perfect blend of defiance and meekness.
‘Come on. You know. Don’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’ She made no further attempt to excuse herself.
‘So you could have set off a bit earlier. There’s plenty of coffee places nearby, where you can get a drink and read the paper, if you’re too early. You’re just irresponsible, that’s all.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Admit it. Say, “Yes, ma’am, I’m irresponsible.”’
The other girls hung on this little scene like breathless limpets.
A change came over Emma’s eyes, from genuine wariness to something like relief. She knows what this is.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said in a mousy little voice. ‘I’m irresponsible.’
‘And what do irresponsible girls deserve?’
Emma swallowed. The room was full of people. There were bouncers as well, and bar staff, preparing for the late-afternoon opening.
‘They deserve to be spanked, ma’am.’
‘That’s right, they do. I’d say bend over but that skirt’s so tight, you’d probably split the seams.’
‘It has a lot of stretch in it, ma’am.’
‘Does it now? All the same, perhaps you’d better take it off.’
Emma stared, and looked quickly around at the dozen pairs of saucer eyes surrounding her.
‘They’ve all done it,’ Allyson reassured her. ‘You’d have seen it if you’d got here on time. Quite a sight it was, too.’
Emma put her fingers on her red plastic belt and rested them there for a moment of indecision before unbuckling with determination and dropping it to the floor.
‘No, pick it up and give it here,’ ordered Allyson, holding out her hand.
Emma handed over the belt, which Allyson stroked absently, watching the unzipping that followed.
The skirt had to be eased slowly and carefully over Emma’s hips and down her thighs. Allyson noted with pleasure the triangle of leopard print satin revealed, plus the black suspender straps that held up lace-topped sheer stockings. Thousands of percentage points better than some of the grubby, cotton granny pants she’d seen this afternoon.
‘Good,’ she said, once Emma had stepped out of the skirt and stood in silk pussy-bow blouse, high heels and underwear. ‘Now, turn around.’
She was wearing a thong – she had little option given the tightness of her skirt. Allyson held in a breath, her gaze roving slowly over the twin white globes, not wanting to rush this visual treat. Firm as peaches, round as snooker balls, pale as moons. Oh, what she could do to them!