Extract from The Indiscretions of Isabelle

As I stepped out from the curtain Bronco Billy gave another loud cheer and began to fuss around me with drooling enthusiasm, pouring out oily compliments on my appearance and the fit of the clothes. He meant it, I was sure, so obviously he didn't know all that much, but the fact that he did genuinely think I looked good was far, far more humiliating than any other response could possibly have been. It was almost as if I'd been on stage in the Red Ox, dressed as I was but obliged to strip naked, or in one of Caroline's girlie striptease outfits. Then the bombshell dropped.

'That's just swell,' he said for about the twentieth time, 'and like I said, it goes right on the club account. So, how's about Billy's little treat then?'

For a long moment I simply could not answer. It was my test, it had to be, and I had to go through with it. I couldn't though, my pride rebelling against it despite my overwhelming feelings of submission. Yet Emmeline would know how I felt, just as doubtless she herself had felt so many years before at the time of her own initiation. She would know, and she would know that if I was worthy I would do it. At last I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat and answer him.

'Yes... yes, Sir. What would you like?'

'Anything you'd care to do would be a privilege, but how about the Watermelon Crawl? That's a favourite of mine.'

I hesitated, wondering what a Watermelon Crawl involved. Was it some strange perversion? A euphemism for spanking, for buggery? The watermelon had to refer to my bottom, no question, the crawling part was obvious. What else I was supposed to do I had no idea whatever.

'Yes, all right...' I managed, blushing furiously. 'I'll try, but you may have to show me. Come into the back.'

'In the back?'

'Well I'm not doing it here!'

'Hey, hey!'

He chuckled and rubbed his fat little hands together, then took my hand. I was burning with humiliation as he led me into a little shabby room, piled with boxes of stock around a table topped with chipped red Formica. There was a single chair, a badly stained sink, a kettle, a tray with the apparatus for making instant coffee set out on it, linoleum on the floor, and that was it.

'You all right?' he asked. 'There ain't a lot of room.'

There was floor space, about enough to allow me to get down on my knees. I nodded. He put some music on, awful folk stuff with an American flavour, and entirely appropriate.

'I'll lock the door,' he said suddenly. 'Be right back.'

He was gone for maybe thirty seconds, while I stood with my stomach churning and wondered what I should do and how much of it would go back to Emmeline Young. I had to show I was obedient, that much was clear, also that Bronco Billy knew that Emmeline belonged to some sort of erotic club, if no details. After all, they seemed to have an account. All I could think of was to put on as good a show as I could and hope he didn't actually fuck me.

I was wishing he'd be like Tierney and make me do it, pull out his cock, order me to get my panties down or to adopt some obscene pose. Not Billy, he just settled himself onto the single ancient chair and folded his arms above his paunch, waiting and watching. I turned to face him, my hands on my hips, deliberately insolent, the way Caroline sometimes does before starting a striptease, just to make the fall from grace further still, from haughty young woman right down to naked little slut.

His smile grew broader, then changed, to lust-filled delight as my fingers went to the buckle of my belt, as if he hadn't really expected me to go through with it. I pulled it open, my eyes never leaving him, popped the button of my jeans and slowly peeled down my fly. He swallowed, said something incomprehensible, and abruptly adjusted his cock.

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