The Contract (Nightlong #1) by Sarah Michelle Lynch Read Free Book Online Page B

got the looks for a mouthy schoolgirl, for sure. Pure and innocent, you,” Trixy said in her West Country accent.
    “What’s your speciality?”
    “School ma’am,” she said, winking.
    “Don’t get any ideas,” I said laughing, and she told me she’d have a word with her mate at the dominatrix ‘rooms’ and then let me know.
    It was mere days later I was given a lesson on how to be a naughty schoolgirl with pigtails and pleated skirt – combined with lethal high heels, freckles and a school bag full of ways to humiliate men.
    Bubble gum in their hair. (Yep… some asked for that.)
    Drawing on them in pen.
    Putting training bras on them.
    Letting them smell old, washed-out white knickers that were stained (I had some of those actually, given I was living on mostly fresh air).
    Teaching them how to press a sanitary pad into knickers.
    Demonstrating how to insert a tampon (without actually inserting).
    Wearing old-school wrinkled hosiery with rips in them. (Sometimes I let them take those away.)
    I sometimes let them plait my hair or put ‘teenage’ make-up on my face or nails.
    It was incredible what men wanted to do!
    Mostly they just wanted someone to talk to and if the guys wanted more heavy play, they would go to the Madam who provided penetration with dildos and other assorted toy-based treats.
    If a guy asked me to deface, humiliate, degrade or slap him, it was my job to do that, nothing more. Trixy’s boss Miss Lindy who was the Madam said I wasn’t to touch the guys down below, neither were they to touch me. I would get the sack if I did that, she said, and I was in no rush to disagree. She ran a fantasyland, the BDSM equivalent of Disney as she termed it. She seemed pretty proud of her establishment and it was her right to take any pleasure if there were any pleasure to be taken. Trixy always drove me home at the end of the night and I felt safe. It was good work.
    Some of the girls had mentioned there was a guy they all liked the look and smell of. He liked to be called Saint Clair. I was warned he was making his way through all the girls to test out which he liked best and one night, it was my turn with him.
    After that, he always came to me.
    Then he revealed who he was, and what he could offer me, and I was so desperate to escape working eighteen-hour days that I would have been tempted without Dante being the bonus of the bargain. The data processor job was cool. It gave me a warm place to hide out in all day long and free coffee, crisps, fruit and biscuits… but I was only surviving and I wanted to live. I was already a little in love with Saint Clair, too. He was lovely and always smelt so great. The girls had been right about him.
    It was against the rules to pass personal information to anyone but I gave my email address to him and he said he would be in touch.
    The day he sat across from me in a café in Camden, I’d read his rules with disgust but he’d told me, “Take it or leave it,” so I’d taken his offer.
    It was only a couple of years after I entered the arrangement that I began to realise he was anything but cuddly… and I started to yearn for the warmth of other people. Sinclair gave me no comfort. All he did was expect. His driver Sexton sometimes showed more warmth, with a smile or a nod of his head when he dropped off gifts from Sinclair.
    I missed the girls I was stripped from and I missed home. I began to hate him and I dwelled on that hate for far too long. Instead I should’ve left him before he smelt my displeasure. He always had warned me, though… there was no escape.

Four
     
     
     
    I HEARD THE ENGINE OF a powerful car die nearby and footsteps hit the ground as someone got out. The clicking sound of what sounded like Sexton’s brogue shoes got louder and a few seconds later, a knock came on the side of the waste bin.
    “Miss Patrick, let’s have you before there’s any curtain twitching from the property owners.”
    I dared not move. How did Sexton know