Des Knowles had taken her through each stage, cautious at first but seeming to grow in confidence every time they met. Initially anxious and edgy, their first encounter lasted less than an hour at a club before nerves got the better of him. Their second ended in a similar fashion, though it lasted twice as long. Finally they reached the stage where he brought up the issue of sex and paid her the extra in cash, after which they ended up in bed. He was surprisingly skilled and attentive to her needs, and although it had been a long time since a man had satisfied her, she had enjoyed the experience. Eventually they became comfortable enough that he would simply arrive on her doorstep and they would spend the night together without the need for a date.
Having accepted him as a regular, Abbi spoke to Des about cutting out the middle man. Their time together would be exactly the same, she explained, only at half the cost. She recalled him expressing his discomfort, fearing they might get caught avoiding the agency fees.
‘I’m allowed a life of my own,’ she’d assured him; she now regretted every word. ‘That includes a sex life. They don’t need to know if money happens to change hands.’
With some reluctance on his part that she had come to understand was a complete masquerade, this became their new arrangement. Then one evening, upon his arrival at her flat, Des appeared to be as nervous and distracted as he had been on their first date. She asked him what was wrong. At first he refused to talk about it. She asked again, and he shook his head, saying he couldn’t face discussing it. Eventually she coaxed it out of him, and he spoke as if ashamed.
‘I never imagined we would reach this point,’ he mumbled, wringing his hands. He still could not bring himself to look at her. ‘I’ve never spent this much time with one woman before. Never felt as relaxed with somebody the way I do with you. I think I’ve always been afraid of coming this far, you see.’
‘Tell me,’ Abbi had said. ‘You can say anything you like to me. You know that, Des.’
Looking back, she could not be certain what her intention had been. She liked him. She enjoyed his company and their time together, which wasn’t always spent between the sheets. But even now she couldn’t honestly describe her motivation.
‘You’re going to think me dirty. Repugnant,’ he said, still unable to meet her eyes.
For a moment she said nothing, but eventually she found the right words. ‘Des, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t spend time with you for the money. I mean, I still need to earn a living this way, but when I’m with you… I know I could do that because I want to, and I enjoy it. In fact, I’d quite like to see how that goes. It could be our new arrangement, if you like. But you have to remember that I am what I am and I do what I do.’
‘I understand that, Abbi. Of course I do. But I don’t think of you that way.’
‘Which is nice. I like that about us. But not everybody is as kind as you. Some men are harsh. Some men want things others might describe as dirty. Even repugnant. Your words, not mine. But what I’m telling you is that I’m fine with that. Nothing should be out of bounds between us, provided we’re both in agreement. If you want to take things to a whole new level, I’m game as long as it’s also something I want to be a part of.’
She had imagined his preferences might involve scat or golden showers; those, she did find repugnant, and would have refused had he asked. But if they were of interest to him, Des made no mention of it. Instead, what he considered ‘dirty’ was merely erotic asphyxiation – at least, up to a point. Unlike most people whose tastes embraced this particular peccadillo, he had no desire to be choked, but rather to be the one carrying out the choking during the moment of climax.
Abbi recalled her immediate response all too well: ‘For a moment I thought you were going to suggest something truly awful. Choking is fine, Des. Honestly, it gets requested more often than you might realise. Usually I’m the one with my hands around their throat, but it goes both ways. We do have to establish some ground rules first, though.’
If she had been concentrating or at all wary, Abbi might have taken more notice of the glint in his eyes at that precise moment. But she was genuinely relieved that he didn’t want her to lie beneath him while he pissed or shat all over her. She could tell him from experience that neither was particularly pleasurable, and the scat games were disgusting beyond belief. Income was income, and those freaks paid good money to get off over her, but that stuff was something she refused to even consider unless the financial reward was substantial.
What she thought Des wanted was to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, to stem her flow of oxygen as he came inside her. A demonstration of his dominion over her, allowing him to break free of his crippling shyness. But not if he had to pay for it, and only if she agreed to it. Despite her tender age, there were not many sexual experiences she had yet to take part in, and she had encountered many
