I still had three quarters of an hour to kill. Something told me it would be better to arrive at Belinda's bang on time. I saw a café that looked all right and went in.
It was the usual early evening crowd. Mostly people on their way home from work, one man on his own ordering something to eat, a group of foreign students visiting London. I bought a cup of tea and sat down by the window. I needed something to distract my mind so I went and took down one of the newspapers they provided for customers. The good ones had gone so I made do with a tabloid. I can't even remember which one. I sat idly turning the pages, hardly glancing at what was on them.
But I took one thing in. Someone was looking at me.
I glanced across at her. Her eyes looked down quickly, as if she'd been caught staring at me. I'd briefly registered her as I came in: she reminded me of someone, though I couldn't place it. A cascade of blonde curls (could they be real?) and a rather flashy scarf wrapped over her coat. She had a bit too much make-up, to be honest, but she had a very pretty face. Very pretty. She looked – well, she looked a bit trashy, to be honest. I even wondered vaguely if she was a tart grabbing a bite to eat before the night shift. Then I noticed what she was reading: The Times. Well that put me and my tabloid in my place. I smiled ruefully at my own prejudice – why should I assume girls like her wouldn't read a serious newspaper? I had probably got her entirely wrong.
I looked back at my paper but I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was sending a text. Then she got the reply and her smile suggested she was happy with it. She finished her cup, gathered her paper, and left.
I looked at my watch. Still another fifteen minutes before I needed to go. I picked up the bag and checked inside: the school blazer, skirt and tie were all in there. And I was wearing the white shirt.
Excitement gripped me. My pulse was racing. But I was determined not to back out. Not after what happened back then.
* * *
I could still remember – it would difficult to forget – how Belinda told me. I was still tied up on the living room carpet, my wrists handcuffed, my ankles shackled, a ball gag in my mouth and – oh heaven! – a butt plug up my arse. Belinda and Marion were having a glass of wine in front of the telly – I remember telling myself that not being allowed to watch television was one of the things I would need to get used to now – when Belinda suddenly said, "Mum, those boys – the ones who wouldn't leave Fran and me alone tonight. I've invited them to the party tomorrow night. They're coming here first and then we'll all go together on the tube."
"That sounds nice, dear.
"Could I have your slut for the evening?"
"Oh. I was hoping to start work on her arse. But if you insist."
"I'll bring her back. Don't worry."
"Well, since it's you."
So the next evening we all gathered at Belinda's and got dressed for the school uniform party. Fran and I wore standard School Disco outfits: white shirts open to show some cleavage, ties knotted well down our fronts, short skirts and fishnet stockings. I felt a brief pang of regret when I saw Fran dressed as a gorgeous sexy schoolgirl, but I told myself this too was one of the things I would have to get used to. Belinda was still getting changed when the doorbell rang and Marion opened it to the two boys.
They were very nice. I don't know why I should sound surprised: maybe from the way Belinda had talked about them not leaving her alone the previous night I had imagined them larger and more obnoxious. They were both quite slightly built and they seemed a bit nervous. They didn't really know anyone except having met Belinda and Fran the night before, and it didn't sound as if that had gone particularly well. They wouldn't know anyone at all at the party, though that was true of Fran and me too. I got the impression each had only come because the other one did: perhaps it was a dare.
Poor boys. School uniform parties do everything for girls and very little for boys. Girls can dress as sexy schoolgirl vamps in outfits that bear little resemblance to what they would actually wear to school. Boys, on the other hand, wear pretty much what they wear to school. Like Belinda and me these two had left school now, but in their uniforms – blazers, ties, slightly loose collars – they looked as if they had just come from the last lesson of the day.
They introduced themselves. Simon had floppy blonde hair, which hung over one eye in the fashion of the day; Martin had darker hair and wore it shorter and more sensibly. We introduced ourselves – I noticed that Fran used her real name but didn't say she was a teacher. We all sat down and made small talk, and then Belinda came in.
She'd upstaged all of us. Of course. She wore her white school blouse with her collar up, undone to the waist over a black t-shirt. Her school tie was tied round her waist, like a belt. She had put on a short black leather skirt, fishnet stockings and a pair of high black boots. She was in charge that night, and she knew it.
"Everyone ready?" she asked.
"I just need to go to the loo," I said.
I slipped into the corridor. I wanted to see Marion. She was there.
"You look good enough to eat, you sexy bitch."
"So do you."
We kissed, a deep lingering kiss. I ran my tongue along her lips; she shuddered. Her hand went to my cunt. I felt her fingers pressing against my clit. With her other hand she put a finger in my mouth for me to suck.
"What are you?"
"I'm your lesbian schoolgirl slut, mummy."
"And what's mummy going to do when you get home?"
"Mummy's going to fuck me like the whore I am."
"Good girl. Until then, you are Belinda's slave. Understand? You obey her as you would me."
"Yes, mummy."
"There's my good little girl. Have a good time, then."
And we all set off.
The tube was fun. Everyone was looking at our sexy school uniforms. To my surprise, it was Fran who played up to it most obviously, catching people's eye deliberately, playing with her tie, even undoing one of the buttons of her shirt. Belinda stayed as normal as if she was a morning commuter on her way to work. It added to the mood of excitement as we got to Wimbledon and found the address.
It was a big house and the party was just getting going when we arrived. Everyone was in school uniform: for me it was heaven. We met David, the boy whose birthday it was. Apparently he and Belinda had known each other since they were little. He didn't at all mind us coming to his party, especially as we'd brought bottles. And especially as we were dressed as we were.
