The Girl at the Bus-Stop (22 page)

‘You know something, Harry?’

‘What’s that Mr Rudge?’

‘I thought I’d miss this place after living here for fifteen years,’ Rudge said quietly, ‘but the truth is I don’t think I ever want to come back. We’ll drop the bin bags off at the charity shop along the High Street, and head back to civilisation.’

By the time Harry pulled up at the apartment block on the South Bank it was after eight, and the Thames looked like a giant inky-black oil slick. Rudge took his case and laptop out of the boot and bade him goodnight.

Inside the apartment it was quiet, and he thought better of disturbing Becky in case she had company. He drank a mug of tea on the balcony and had a final cigarette before showering. After a final, final cigarette by nine o’clock he was tucked up in bed.

Rudge stirred in his sleep as he felt the duvet being pulled back slightly. He turned over and his arm reached out and touched something lying alongside him. It was warm, firm and at the same time incredibly soft. He could smell a perfume that filled his nostrils with thoughts of summer days and golden beaches, and he felt lips pressing against his own. As he opened his mouth the tip of a tongue darted inside, and his hands roamed around touching beautifully shaped flesh which felt so incredibly good.

He knew he wasn’t dreaming, and half awake now he flicked on the bedside lamp and saw Becky’s head on the adjacent pillow looking at him. She reached up to switch the light off, and the duvet slid down her torso to reveal her perfectly shaped breasts.

She pulled herself on top of him, reaching down to guide his hand between her legs.
 
Before long she had put him inside her, and was pumping him for all he was worth. Before he knew what was happening she was sighing and moaning, and he cupped his hands on her buttocks to try to slow down her rhythm as he fought against the overwhelming urge to release his all inside her.

He thought of his wife sunbathing next to Nigel’s pool. Applying layer upon layer of suntan lotion from a huge bucket, and rubbing it into the folds of fat which adorned her upper body like stranded albino stingrays. He visualised Nigel as a skinny old man, naked in M&S moccasins and a Blue Harbour captain’s cap bending over to allow chocolate éclairs to be inserted up his jacksy by his wife and sister-in-law dressed as soldiers. He then visualised a woman made entirely out of bubble-wrap seated opposite Dave Banstead in a romantic restaurant. He was helping her choose her main course, tucking in his napkin made from a P45, before undoing his flies in readiness for the night of plastic bubbled passion ahead of him.

Rudge couldn’t concentrate any more on Banstead, and his mind switched off as he succumbed to the animalistic instinct of sexual gratification and he started to come. He rolled Becky over on her back, sending the duvet sliding to the floor. She let out squeals of delight, digging her long designer nails into his naked back as she thrashed about, almost gasping for breath.
 
Beads of sweat running down her body and mingled with his, and after a few moments their bodies relaxed. They lay wrapped together looking into each other’s eyes in the semi-darkness. Neither spoke, but both were smiling as they drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

When Rudge awoke, daylight was streaming into the room and he felt cold. He vaguely remembered a dream he’d had involving passionate lovemaking with Lady Gaga, and sat up when he noticed a nude Becky lying asleep beside him.

He clambered off the bed and picked up the duvet, carefully laying it across her. She stirred momentarily as the warm covering caressed her cool flesh, and he eyes flickered open and she looked up at him.

‘You’re a bit of a dark horse,’ she said with a smile, ‘these past few weeks you’ve shown no interest in me whatsoever, and then you give me a seeing to like that. I never knew you had it in you.’

‘I was just lying here minding my own business, fast asleep,’ he replied.

 
‘I know you’ll think I’m being silly, but I’d been missing you all week.’ she said, ‘You didn’t even bother knocking on my door when you got back. So I thought, I’ll show him, but I never expected it to be that good. I feel like ringing up all my friends and telling them about it.’

‘Well, I’d been missing you all week too, Becky,’ said Rudge, ‘but I didn’t want to disturb you in case you had any of your friends round.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she replied, ‘like I’m really going to invite some pervert of a celebrity back to my place.’

‘They can’t all be that bad, surely.’

‘I’ll tell you about Gerhard Henshall later,’ she said, ‘but more importantly, what are you going to do about your wife in Lanzarote? Are you going to fly out there and try and get her back?’

Rudge put on his bathrobe and walked towards the en-suite.

‘No, Becky, I’m not.’ he said, ‘Who am I to stand in the way of her happiness with a bloke called Nigel.’

‘She must be mad letting you go,’ replied Becky getting out of bed and stretching, ‘I haven’t had sex like that, since, well never.’

‘Me neither,’ he said, ‘so why don’t we have a nice hot shower, a cup of tea on the balcony, then afterwards we can go straight back to bed and see if it was just a fluke.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, skipping after him into the bathroom.

 
Rudge and Becky emerged early on Sunday morning, their marathon love-in having written off Saturday altogether. They walked hand in hand along Bankside, heading for the Airstream caravan café, a few hundred yards from Blackfriars Bridge.

‘Two full English please, and a pot of tea,’ Becky said to the waiter, ‘and some extra toast.’

‘So apart from attending a perverts dinner party, watching Gerhard Henshall play with himself and putting Nikki Blandford firmly in her place, what else have you been up to this week?’ asked Rudge.

‘Nothing much,’ she replied, ‘apart from writing the sequel to
Disciplinary Attraction
that is.’

Rudge looked at her as the waiter brought the tea, transferring the contents of his tray quickly on to the table.

‘You’ve done what?’ said Rudge.

‘I’ve written you a sequel,’ she replied with a grin.

‘But how, what, when?’

‘On your old laptop, but it took up most of the week,’ she replied.

‘So where did you get your ideas from?’

‘I used the party we went to, and created the characters from the guest list we went through the other day.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ said Rudge, pouring out the tea.

‘All the other chapters are named after the character, or characters featured in them. Gale Buckingham is chapter one, and I put in all about the two lezzers whisking her off to the South of France. I made up a load of things she did when she got there.’

‘Such as?’ said Rudge, spooning in some sugar and stirring his cup.

‘Well given that she’s well into the humiliation side of things, I had serving drinks to the girls and their friends and getting spanked for spilling them, obviously.’ Becky explained, ‘Then later they had her mucking out the pigs at a neighbour’s farm, and clearing the snow on the drive, but I let her wear Wellies and a scarf for that bit. Finally she achieves the ultimate joy when she performs a lesbian act in a nightclub with an exotic African girl called Legs Akimbo.’

‘Excellent,’ said Rudge, ‘so what did you call Gale in the book?’

‘Gale Buckingham,’ she replied, ‘I haven’t come up with a fictional name for her yet. I couldn’t very well use Faye Delahaye again from the first book.’

‘So who else is in it?’

‘The celebrity cook, Jilly Genevieve, I’ve got her being auctioned off and she’s won by a kinky couple from Carshalton Beeches.’

‘That sounds good,’ said Rudge, ‘and what does she get up to?’

 
‘The woman is the Dominatrix, and she’s in charge of looking after the local church hall. So Jilly has to polish the floor on her hands and knees alongside the man. The woman stands behind them with a cane at the ready, just case they slow down or miss a bit. I’ve got her dressed in a red leather basque.’

‘Jilly’s in the nude I take it,’ said Rudge matter-of-factly.

‘And the man,’ replied Becky, ‘and afterwards they play a card game called Three Strikes. The two ‘slaves’ have to pick a card at random, and the value determines how many slaps they get with the hand. So obviously a five is five, a king twelve and aces are high.’

‘Is this an actual card game?’

‘No, I made it up,’ Becky said, ‘which just shows you how warped my mind is becoming since I’ve known you, Mr Reuben Rudge. Anyway, the second card’s value is the number of strokes they receive with a cane or a belt, and the third...’

‘A riding crop?’ offered Rudge.

‘No, there has to be a twist to the game.’ she said seriously, ‘The value of the third card is converted into minutes.’

‘So an ace would be thirteen minutes,’ said Rudge, ‘ouch.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t want it to get too extreme, so the ‘slave’ can choose whether it’s with the hand, cane or belt.’

‘I see, and does anyone get an ace?’

‘Too obvious,’ said Becky, ‘and besides, you try to describe thirteen whacks on a bare bottom and make it sound interesting. It’s too much of a challenge for my limited writing skills.’

‘So the woman slave is still called Jilly Genevieve, but what about the couple?’

‘I kept thinking of someone being whipped with a scout belt, so I’ve used that
News At Ten
presenter from the party, plus the ex-Olympic swimming star you fancied as his partner.’

‘I didn’t fancy her,’ replied Rudge, ‘when I saw her walking naked on that tightrope I just remarked on how fit she looked for someone in her late forties, that’s all.’

‘Liar, you were ogling her shaved whatsit,’ said Becky with a smile.

Rudge put his hand up to silence her as the waiter brought over their cooked English breakfasts and a plate of toast.

‘So, she’s the wife from Carshalton Beeches then,’ said Rudge in a whisper.

‘No, they’re not married. I needed to put names to faces, or rather, names to bottoms so I could remember them properly. Her real name is Tracy Davidson, and he’s Miles Alistair so they’re just a couple living together.’

‘I see so have you come up with a title yet?’

‘Of course, but I’ll let you guess what it is,’ she replied, cutting into her egg, ‘but I’ll give you a clue. Virtually everyone in it is a famous person or celebrity.’

Rudge started tucking into his bacon, and looked up for a few moments as he chewed. He put down his knife and fork and sipped his tea, a puzzled expression on his face.