The supermarket was only a three-minute walk away, but my heart pounded as we navigated the Brixton side street. A couple of taxis drove past us, but there was a row of parked cars between the pavement and the speeding minicabs, and so the drivers did not spot me and my friend, a pair of submissive men in humiliating attire.
The cold, drizzly December rain swirled around the nighttime air. When we reached the main road, there was a lot more traffic and activity, with people spilling out of takeaways and pubs. Tubby whimpered as we scanned the highway from the shadows of the side street, and I grabbed his hand when there was a gap in the vehicles travelling on the major thoroughfare. We had to run across the carriageway in full glare of incoming headlights, and I looked away from the minibus heading towards us, clearly illuminating our attire.
The horn and blast of drunken jeers, delivered through an open window, drew attention to the pair of men in female clothing as we walked swiftly up the pavement and entered the mini-mart. Two guys were in the shop, and I pushed Tubby into the supermarket. "Confidence," I whispered to him as we grabbed several share bags of crisps.
"What the bleedin'..." the gruff voice of the other shopper called as he looked down the aisle.
"It's a dare," I lied; his beady eyes traced my stockings and short dress, and then took in Tubby, the schoolgirl. "My fiancée is fucking warped," I added, telling the truth.
"You look like a couple of gingers, mate." He barked in his cockney accent. I said nothing to his slur as he paid for his cigarettes and when he left, we nervously approached the cashier. I put the two fifty-pound notes on the counter and mentally calculated the amount of booze we could buy after paying for the eight bags of snacks. She avoided eye contact, embarrassed by our predicament, and we hurriedly left the shop after paying for our goods before she received any more patrons.
Walking back down the side streets, with six 70cl bottles of vodka and an armful of snacks, shredded my nerves. I felt certain that we would be exposed, and the cold British weather chilled my skin in the flimsy spandex uniform. The group cheered when we dumped the purchases onto the kitchen table, gasping from our climb of the stairs. All eyes turned to us; the punk rocker music blared in the background as the partygoers focused on the submissives and the bawdy musicians.
My fiancée picked a bottle of vodka and passed it to Faye, who took out two dozen translucent plastic shot glasses. She filled them up and the people I knew received one - Natasha and the band, Portia, Svetlana, Nessie, the band's management and helpers, and the fan club. They all necked the fiery hit of clear liquid. "We've each got a little game for you to do, and for every task you complete, we all have to do an extra shot." She stared at Tubby. "And for each of the games you don't, all the guys get twenty minutes with your wife."
My friend gulped; the front of his school skirt twitched. "Oh..."
"To use as they want. So, the dirtier you are, the cleaner your woman stays. And one of you is losing your anal virginity tonight." Tubby fidgeted at those words as Natasha walked up to the overweight man. "Maybe both of you." She pressed two red dice into his right hand, and he watched my fiancée, the ringmaster, in his sordid adventure, back away. She gestured at the table. "Roll 'em!"
His hands trembled as he flicked his wrist and the perspex die tumbled on the worktop, pinging against the vodka. "A six and a four," Svetlana called, and she scooped up the cubes and passed them to me. I rolled a two and a one.
Faye laughed and held out a leather paddle, waving it in the air. "Your bird'll be getting railed up the shitter," she joked as she rose from her seated position.
Natasha's best friend grinned as she stepped between the voyeurs, who laughed and hollered as they drank. The red-haired lesbian prodded the leather paddle into my schoolmate's chest. "Turn around," she ordered. "Hands on the worktop."
Tubby gulped; anxious fear, intertwined with nervous excitement, etched across his face as the humiliated submissive slowly fulfilled my lover's demands. The jeering of the group as Faye flipped his pinafore onto his back to reveal the silky baby blue briefs was cruel. His tiny erection as the keyboardist lowered his female underwear to his knees was proof of his arousal.
"Six times four?" Natasha asked him.
"Twenty-four," the man with a mathematics A-Level replied, and Faye held the black leather paddle in her right hand.
"Fucking count 'em," she ordered.
"And if you want her to stop, just yell 'fuck my bird's fudge box!'" Yasmin yelled, to a roar of laughter. "And we'll do that."
That was the stake for Tubby and Portia. If the overweight man failed in his tasks, then the guys would take his wife into a bedroom to use her. The reality excited and frightened him. My lover would hit me far harder than Faye did with Tubby's peachy, untouched buttocks; her graceful motion, like a tennis player idly hitting forehands across the court, was a well-practised skill. Each strike slapped against my friend's cheeks with a guttural smack that was followed by a squeal and him calling a number.
I watched Portia; the initial unease dissipated as Maddison's eldest brother wrapped his arm around her bare torso and casually ran his fingers through her snatch. Her gaze fixed on her husband's humiliation, staring intensely at Faye's effortless reddening of her partner's flesh, before her companion became re-pantied.
I made a little noise when it was my turn; paddled in front of the attendees as I assumed the same position, Faye slammed the weapon hard against my exposed skin. I was used to female dominance; I revelled in the band's sadism and loved the powerful displays of pain and kink from the punk rockers. The two spanks were not enough, and I envied Tubby with his fiery buttocks.
Once again, the girls opened a bottle of the cheap vodka and gave each of our entourage a shot. Portia smiled as the fiery liquid slipped down her gullet, while the colourful arms of Bradley pulled her frame closer to him.
Yasmin coughed as the alcohol swept over her tongue and the topless tattooed drummer, with bright magenta hair and several pieces of body jewellery, stumbled to her feet, holding a plastic bag. "You boys always want blowjobs, so find out what it's like." She slapped a pale pink rubber dildo with a suction cup onto the tiled wall at waist height, which made a guttural kiss as it affixed itself.
The oglers roared with cruel, drunken laughter as she fastened another, a black specimen with a similar length and girth to the flesh-coloured dong, onto the wall behind me. "Roll the dice," Svetlana squealed. The calm woman had transformed into a wild, hedonistic crazy. Her eyes sparkled as she swayed, staring at us through the attendees of Natasha's warped gathering.
