The Red Room - PART ONE

Stella watched Adam’s car disappearing down the road. They had agreed that he needed to follow the trail up to Scotland and that he’d be best able to do that alone. The last thing he had said before he left was an entreaty for her to be careful and take no action on her own. At least, to take no action until they had a much clearer idea of what the woman Xena was planning and how much danger her activities really posed.

At the time, Stella had fully intended to follow Adam’s admonition, but the more she thought about it, the more she felt that she was the one best placed to investigate the Soho Club that Xena Xaveria owned. They knew that Viola Moreno, Xaveria’s aide-de-camp, might be a possible source of information. She had certainly dropped hints to Adam that she was prepared to spy on her employer for the right level of inducement, though he’d expressed doubts about her motivations.

Anyway, it had certainly occurred to Stella that, as she had met neither Viola nor Xena, she might be able to infiltrate the Club without too much hazard. Adam would be outraged if she did attempt it without his knowledge but Stella was determined to do her bit as she had, albeit unintentionally, led them into this situation in the first place. It was also true that Adam would have great difficulties in gaining access to the place, considering his habitually sardonic demeanour and the fact that he was hardly representative of the Club’s usual clientele. On the other hand, given a little dressing up and adopting a certain attitude, Stella would probably find herself welcomed with open arms, as it were.

There was another reason as well. Stella certainly didn’t want Adam to have to get too close to either woman, given their alleged looks and the tales she had heard about them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him but it was wise to avoid putting temptation in his way. All things considered therefore, she decided that whilst Adam was away, she would go and, as he would probably have put it, ‘case the joint’ herself.

With this thought in mind she took the lift back to her apartment and ran herself a bath. While luxuriating in a mound of scented bubbles, she thought about how she would approach the matter. She had a fair idea about the kind of pursuits and recreations that took place in La Maison des Burlesquettes and knew she would have to sail pretty close to the wind if she was to be accepted as a bona fide punter. On the whole, despite her strong commitment to Adam, this didn’t trouble her unduly. She’d been pretty wild in her late teens and had experienced a full range of sexual encounters. She was hardly an innocent so far as that kind of exotica was concerned.

Adam, though he didn’t yet know it, had all sorts of delights awaiting him as she loved to seduce him with some new wickedness of her own devising. She’d not even scratched the surface of what she was prepared to do for him and she often fantasised about it. Indeed, as she lay back in her bath, a new thought occurred and she reached for the glassy friend she always kept nearby when Adam was away.

She played the device under the hot tap until it was warm to the touch and then lifted her hips and pushed it slowly into her wet pussy. It went in so easily and deeply she gasped with pleasure. Her nipples hardened, despite the heat of the bath and she bent her head so that she could take one into her mouth. A warm, satisfying orgasm came quickly and she sighed with contentment, though she’d much rather have had Adam fucking her.

She ran a little more hot water and lay back again in the bath while she set out a plan. She knew that the people who attended establishments like Xaveria’s tended to play a role, partly as a kind of disguise but also often to feed a fetish. Well, rubber and leather were out for a start. She hated the feel of them on her body and anyway she had never owned any such garments. A Burlesque style was a possibility as she certainly possessed the right clothing but perhaps that would require her to be a bubbling and kinda fun-loving type which she thought was inappropriate in the circumstances. With a smile, she decided she’d much rather wear those things when Adam was around. In fact, she thought as her smile turned salacious, she’d do a proper striptease for him the very next opportunity she got. She’d tie him to the chaise longue and dance for him. She was quite certain she could have him so aroused he would be begging for her.

“OK then,” she said aloud, “I’ll aim for a Gothic look; Countess Bathory as modern sex kitten.

It took Stella more than an hour to put on her make-up. Usually she needed to wear very little but on this occasion she laid it on very thickly and by the time she had finished, she hardly recognised herself. That was a necessary tactic as, though she’d been out of the public eye for several years, there was still a chance that someone would identify her. But she’d enjoyed the making up for its own sake too; it appealed to the mischievous strain of wickedness in her that she was loathe to abandon entirely.

She’d painted her nails the darkest red she could find, a black-cherry like colour and matched it with a similar lipstick. She’d found a pair of quite outrageously long false eye-lashes which, as she applied them, made her wonder for what purpose she’d originally got them. “Oh yes,” she remembered now – she’d worn them when she made that little film for Adam. She smiled when she recalled what she had shown him and how quickly he had rushed to return to her.

Her eye-shadow was mostly dark reds, purple and black and spread beyond her eyes onto her cheekbones. With her pale skin, it made her look predatory and menacing. She left her coppery coloured hair to fall in waves around her shoulders, the soft sheen making a dramatic contrast with the cold ravenousness of her made-up face.

“Now, what clothes to wear,” she asked her image in the mirror. “Mostly black with just a touch of bloodlike red,” the vampire replied.

She dressed slowly, considering each item as she drew them on. First black stockings, her usual hold-ups were fine. She tried a pair of black stilettos initially but decided that her dark red ones fitted the image better. Then a heavy, black, boned corset. When she had pulled the cords as tightly as she was able, the garment covered her breasts but uplifted them so they looked ready to spill out. The cords she tied into three bows at her front. Perfect, she thought. Apparently tempting but offering a fair degree of protection from unwanted attention.

Panties were a problem though. The corset came down only to the hips and a G-string seemed just too skimpy. After some thought, she decided upon a pair of red silk knickers, more because of the colour than anything else. She didn’t mind people getting a brief flash of them but she was determined not to allow more. A simple black, knee length skirt with a long split at either side, and a black, silk blouse completed the look.

She studied herself in the mirror. No, it was wrong. Only the make-up hinted at anything more sinful than a night out at a restaurant. She’d get nowhere dressed like this. She tried on a different skirt. She’d once worn it in a fashion show in which the designer was attempting (mostly unsuccessfully) to create a Polynesian feel. It was constructed of black silk ribbons trailing from a kind of belt of silk at the hips. Apparently, the idea had been to bring to mind a grass skirt. In that it had failed miserably but it was certainly very sexy. Any movement caused the ribbons to flow like a strands of seaweed in water and show furtive glimpses of stocking tops.

But still not enough. Uncertainly, she took off her blouse. Could she afford to be so obvious? She decided she could. The corset in full view was just the kind of daring touch that she must risk. She rubbed some perfumed oil onto her exposed arms and the swell of her breasts and sprinkled herself with silvery glitter. A handful in her hair too and she now sparkled as though dusted with moonlight. A thin silk ribbon tied tightly round her neck with the bow at the back finally achieved the level of abandon that would make her seem like a regular in the Soho clubs.

She picked up a small evening bag, put in a few items of make-up and stuffed in a wad of fifty pound notes. Paying by card was certainly a bad idea given the clandestine nature of the campaign.

Anyway, she liked to carry around cash now. It had impressed Adam when she’d first paid him in notes, though then it had been a kind of complicated joke. The idea of employing a private detective had seemed so romantic a notion, she’d been determined to play it like Mary Astor or Lauren Bacall. Nowadays, when she carried around a substantial amount of cash, it exasperated Adam and brought out his protective qualities. They were just two more good reasons.

Her long sable coat gave her enough cover and confidence to brave the street and flag down a taxi for herself. When the cab pulled up outside La Maison des Burlesquettes, she found that she was breathing rather heavily. Not only with trepidation, but with a kind of stolen excitement too. In fact, she admitted to herself that it felt like all those years ago when she loved to take risks and trusted to luck to get her out of whatever scrapes she’d gotten herself into.

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The interior of the club surprised her, but favourably so. It was nowhere near as sleazy as she’d expected; in fact the decor was quite sophisticated, though in a determinedly bordello-like way. The girl at the hat-check was dressed in an elegant long, flowing gown though her extravagantly pneumatic breasts looked as though they were fighting for a freedom that was unlikely to be long delayed.

Stella left her coat with the girl, and armed only with her small grip-bag, made to enter the arena. A Grant Mitchell look-alike, dressed in a dress suit, ogled at her as he pushed open the door.

The main part of the club consisted of one huge room. The bar was at the back and off to the left was a stage area, currently devoid of life. Jazz music, not too loud Stella noted with approval, played from loudspeakers. There were several tables scattered around a dance floor with their attendant chairs facing the stage. Most were occupied with a motley array of humankind, from business-suited men to others in all kinds of exotic and outrageous get-ups. Along the other walls were more private areas sectioned off into intimate little nooks or compartments. These had horseshoe shaped red-leather benches around small tables. They were all very dark though Stella could see that some were occupied by small groups who seemed already to be in intimate congress of one sort or another.

Indeed, the only lights in the place were on the stage and at the bar. Stella made for the latter and arrayed herself elegantly onto a stool, all too aware that her pose parted the ribboned-strands of her skirt and presented a clear view of a long leg, all the way up to its flash of red underwear, to whoever might be interested. Apparently many were because she had to snarl aggressively at a procession of dodgy looking businessmen before she was able to attract the attention of the girl behind the bar. She ordered herself a cocktail and winced at the price and then, winced even more at the drink which was much more soda than champagne.

Her eyes were now more attuned to the light and she glanced round in an affectedly idle manner as she studied the people there. Apart from the business types, presumably entertaining themselves before their journey home to wives in winceyette, the clientele seemed to represent the full range of sexual peccadillo and fetish. There were several obviously gay men, mostly dressed in leather and chains but there was also a full range of latex costume on view, much of it sported by those clearly old enough to know better. There were also a smattering of butch ‘dykes’ and ‘lipstick lesbians’ clad in doc martens and lacy frills, respectively. Stella was getting her fair share of attention from these as well as from the straight men.

However, Stella was there to try to make contact with the exotic Viola or perhaps even with the dominatrix Xena herself. No-one that she could see matched the (she thought) deliberately imprecise descriptions that she’d been able to wheedle out of Adam.

There were plenty of other staff in evidence though, either serving drinks or acting as ‘escorts on demand’. Some were young gay men; boys really – jailbait – simpering at and pampering older members of the clientele. The women though were all dressed in burlesque fashion, with corsets, suspenders and stockings, and with breasts bare. Stella estimated that there was probably enough silicon in the place to build a new Crystal Palace. She sighed, realising that she would have to continue putting herself on display for a while yet.

Just then, an announcement came over the PA system, requesting volunteers to contribute to the floor show. A group of women, just along the bar, were cajoling a member of their party to take part. Stella watched them with interest as there was little else to entertain her at that moment. The one being targeted was an admittedly pretty young woman, the obvious centre of attention of the other three who were older and distinctly less attractive and more ‘mensch’. It was clear to Stella that the girl was excited by the thought of performing but she was putting up a false show of resistance. When one of the older women promised her two hundred pounds, Stella ticked off the numbers in her head. Sure enough, on the count of ten, the young woman allowed herself to be led up to the stage where she was whisked off through a side door followed by one of her companions and a few other people who it seemed were also volunteering. The two left behind were almost rubbing their hands with glee. Stella wondered what all this portended, and confessed to herself that it might be fun to wait and find out.

About five minutes later, there was a scraping of chairs as many of the audience turned their attention towards the stage. There were several blasts of dry ice and a spotlight played on a couple, man and woman, on the left-hand side of the stage writhing around and simulating sex.

As they came into clearer view, Stella amended her impression. “Oops,” she said to herself with a giggle, “Not simulating, then.”

A second tableau now began on the right-hand wing. A completely naked man was led out and had his head and hands locked into a set of low stocks so that he was bent into an ‘L’ shape. A bridle-like gag was roughly forced into his mouth and then his ‘friend’ squirted oil, or something similar, onto his behind. “My God,” thought Stella, not quite believing what she was witnessing, “Surely not!” But when the ‘friend’ lowered his trousers to reveal an enormous erection, she turned away in an unexpectedly sharp twinge of embarrassment.

A few members of the audience, women as well as men, whooped in delight and Stella turned back to see that the entrapped man was being right royally buggered. “Well,” thought Stella having regained her air of amused contempt, “If he doesn’t mind, I don’t see why I should.”

While the two wings of the stage were thus engaged, the pretty girl was led out by her ‘friend’ and two men. Led was not the right word – dragged was more like it. The girl was now wearing a simple dress but the other woman was dressed in a prison officer’s uniform.

The girl was in chains. A halter arrangement round her neck, being pulled at by the men, and a kind of hobble between her ankles. Slowly, a pair of .fetters descended from the ceiling. Stella could see the panic rise in the girl’s eyes and she began to struggle but she was securely held by one of the men as the other expertly clamped her wrists into the restraints. The girl began to whimper but the sound was cut off when a ball-gag was forced between her lips and fixed in place with a strap which was clasped behind her head.

Then the fetters were raised slightly so that the girl was now on tiptoes and the two men left the victim to the ‘mercy’ of the female prison warden. She it was who then called her other two friends to the stage and the three of them slowly circled the girl whose eyes were now wide with fear.

Suddenly, the warden grasped the girl’s dress at the neckline and ripped downwards. The dress parted easily down the middle, exposing the girl’s bare breasts and most of her body. The other two then feverishly tore the rest of material away until she was completely naked.

A few members of the audience began to call out and many of the rest took it up in a rhythmic chant. At first Stella couldn’t make out the words, but when the warden took up what looked like a riding crop, the sense became clear. Stella saw the salacious snarl on the woman’s face as she brought down the first blow upon the victim’s buttocks.

Stella looked away in revulsion as the three older women then took it in turns to finger the terrified girl while one of them laid into her flesh with sadistic relish.

“Not your scene, eh?”A deep-throated female voice asked.

Stella turned to look at her inquirer. She was a tall woman with very long and straight, jet black hair, hazel-brown eyes and extraordinarily exotic eye make-up in silver and purple. Her lips were remarkably plump, as though they had been inflated, and were painted a deep, dark purple. She was sporting a silk pashmina in a matching colour, wrapped around her like a toga. She looked like the favourite concubine to some Roman Dictator, which in a sense of course, she was. The toga hid everything except her long legs and silver, high-heeled shoes. Despite Adam’s vague description, Stella was instantly sure that this was Viola Moreno.

“No, not my scene … well not entirely,” Stella said with a smile.

Viola ran her eyes all over Stella’s body in a quite deliberate way. Then she looked boldly into her eyes and returned the smile.

“Hmm. That would be a pity,” Viola replied, “Unless the ‘not entirely’ leaves plenty of opportunity for other things.”

“It usually does, I find.”

“Oh, that sounds much more promising.”

“It was meant to.” Stella smiled at her again and said, “Would you like a drink?”

“Buy us a bottle of champagne and I’ll meet you over in the end alcove in ten minutes.”

To Be Continued