Ridingham Blues

[Pia]

The train’s really crowded, but S… is far enough outside London to mean that I can get a seat. I guess everyone’s still on their two-week holidays and now they’re all headed into town to hit the sales. Not me, for sure! By the time we get into Charing Cross it’s standing room only and there’s a real queue to get through the ticket barrier, then it’s down into the tube to battle through another mob to get onto the Bakerloo line. I should have walked, I knew it! The crowds in Piccadilly Circus are crazy, but as soon as I cross the road and head down Piccadilly proper, they thin out. I’m a bit early so I dip into Waterstones, their main branch, and wander around a bit, picking up this and that and reading a few back covers. Then across the road to the Royal Academy. I must have walked passed it before, but I’d never really noticed it properly. Under an archway and then into this beautiful courtyard. There’s a huge installation of sunken U-boats in the quadrangle, which is both mystifying and disturbing at the same time, and behind is the main entrance. I’m a bit lost. I can see this is the way in, but Vero said to meet at the back entrance. Maybe I just walk through the building.

Apparently not. I have to go to the next street back, so I go out onto Piccadilly then through Burlington Arcade, which is like stepping back into Dickensian London. It’s amazing, some fantastic jewellery shops and these old-fashioned beadles keeping guard. It’s much longer than I expected too. Then out into the cold again, into a faint drizzle. I turn right and I can see Vero waiting under the portico, smiling. We give each other a double kiss and a cuddle, then a proper kiss with tongues. It’s great to see her again. She’s lovely. She’s piled up her gorgeous chestnut hair into a sort of loose knot, just softly falling over her ears. Her eyes are so piercingly blue. I’d almost forgotten how lovely she is, in that amazing English way that some girls can be totally lovely.

She gives me my ticket and we head up the staircase and it’s all rather grand. On the landing we turn into a small room and pick up a guide leaflet. It’s an exhibition of Allen Jones. I’ve never heard of him but Vero says I will know his stuff and she’s totally right. In the first room there are these two pieces of furniture, if it is furniture, that I have seen loads of times before, but I never knew who made them. Well, this is a different sort of art for sure!

I walk all around the two tables almost getting onto my knees to look more closely at the two “girls”. They’re amazing. And really, in a strange way, beautiful. What’s he trying to tell me I wonder? I think I can guess… The table nearest me has a mirror underneath so I can look straight into the girl’s face. She’s really lovely. I wonder who his model was… Vero asks me what I think and whether I think they’re sexy and I say that I’m not really sure.

We wander through another small room and then into the main exhibition space. His paintings are here and they are huge and brilliant colours and they all seem to be telling stories and they are all full of sex and nightclubs and stuff. I’m almost open-mouthed. And we’ve pretty much got the exhibition to ourselves, so no need to rush. There’s a father with his little daughter who seems to flop to the floor in front of every painting and seems to have double-jointed legs too. It must be so nice to be brought to an exhibition when you’re just a kid and you can see things through the eyes of a child. And there’s a soppy looking couple who really look as though they should be leaning on the rail of an old steamer crossing Lake Como. And a few others. An old couple and a pretty blonde girl. I bet exhibitions are great places to make pick-ups; after all, the paintings are the perfect thing to talk about and break the ice and to test whether you might have something in common and you can just wander around, back and forward, coz that’s what everyone does, and look at people as well as looking at the art. But hey, I’m with Vero. The blonde is pretty though.

I love the paintings here. There’s one of a few girls leaning on a piano, they’re all totally sexy and really showing that they know they are. And another girl is being lifted away – or is she a girl? Maybe she’s a model, you know, made out of plastic, or maybe she is a girl. And maybe she’s dancing and maybe he’s drunk but he’s paid for his dance. I don’t know. It is so good. Incredible stuff!

And then there’s this amazing triptych that really is pretty honest about the story it’s telling. Brutally honest really. But who’s paying? And who’s playing? Is anyone? The faces are so sort of disinterested in what’s going on. Well, the girl’s faces. The men hardly have faces at all it seems to me…

Round the corner there’s another picture, sort of three pictures, diminishing in size but taking up a whole wall, and this one’s a story too I think. It’s opulent, but sleazy at the same time. Lots of money but all meaningless, apart from the girls. They’re the ones with the relationships, not the clients I think. I guess this is all about rich Mayfair London, but it could be Berlin in the twenties or anywhere I suppose. These scenes happen everywhere, all the time, don’t they? Berlin, London, Moscow, Dubai… Anywhere where there are men with money and girls with pretty faces who need to earn a living. So colourful, but so cold and empty it seems to me. But the girls somehow care for each other too. Anyway, that’s what I think.

Then Vero leads me back to the first wall. I guess I’d rushed past that. She holds me round the waist and with her right hand strokes me on my lips very gently. The picture in front of me is another huge one, but the colours are different, more greens and blues like the sea. It’s a swirl of things. I don’t know what’s going on. Like the others, there are people in bars and pretty girls with blank faces and false smiles. But the main image is a mermaid, and the mermaid is tied to a cross. I gasp a little. What’s she doing? Why is she there? She’s so lovely.

My fingers drop from Vero’s waist and slide round to the front of her jeans and I rub her a bit and then kiss her on the lips. A middle-aged guy looks around at us, quickly turns away, then looks again. He thinks I haven’t seen. I smile and watch him with one eye, my other pushed up against Vero’s cheek. I like it. I look again at the painting. There’s a guy holding onto the mermaid. Is he fixing her to the cross or is he dancing with her? I just can’t tell. I love her face. It’s so resigned. Maybe she doesn’t care any more. Whether she’s been paid for a dance or roped to a cross. Maybe she doesn’t care. Wow, it makes me feel wet though.

We wander through the other rooms, and I’m loving it more than I could have imagined. There are some great paintings of people I know. Darcy Bussell looking so elegant and loads of Kate Moss, and in the next room there are these amazing sort of models or sculptures of Kate looking like a sex goddess. I love Kate Moss. She’s amazing now, obviously, and so famous, but her face, well, it still has that look of a little lost girl, sort of fun and innocent. I think the artist gets that. I love the way her mouth is just a little bit open and her body is just a man’s dream of sex in glittery gold. Brilliant.

And the next room is the last. We walk down the stairs holding hands. I love Vero for bringing me here. There’s just one main exhibit, and it’s another that everyone knows. And it sort of sums up everything that’s gone on before.

I wonder if anyone ever dared to sit on it? She’s gorgeous isn’t she? But it’s the cool acceptance of her situation I like the most. Is the person who sits on her the one with the power, or is it her? Look at her eyes. I just don’t know. But she talks to me somehow. We spend ages walking around her. Or is it an it? I think it’s her. Then we leave. Down the staircase again. I buy some postcards in the shop and kiss Vero again to say thank you and we go out into the street. It’s getting dark now and it’s spitting with rain. We go for a coffee and then Vero says we should go to her house. I’m so happy to be with her again.

 

[Barbaria1]

The train’s really crowded, but S… is far enough outside London to mean that I can get a seat. I guess everyone’s still on their two-week holidays and now they’re all headed into town to hit the sales. Not me, for sure! By the time we get into Charing Cross it’s standing room only and there’s a real queue to get through the ticket barrier, then it’s down into the tube to battle through another mob to get onto the Bakerloo line. I should have walked, I knew it! The crowds in Piccadilly Circus are crazy, but as soon as I cross the road and head down Piccadilly proper, they thin out. I’m a bit early so I dip into Waterstones, their main branch, and wander around a bit, picking up this and that and reading a few back covers. Then across the road to the Royal Academy. I must have walked passed it before, but I’d never really noticed it properly. Under an archway and then into this beautiful courtyard. There’s a huge installation of sunken U-boats in the quadrangle, which is both mystifying and disturbing at the same time, and behind is the main entrance. I’m a bit lost. I can see this is the way in, but Vero said to meet at the back entrance. Maybe I just walk through the building.

Apparently not. I have to go to the next street back, so I go out onto Piccadilly then through Burlington Arcade, which is like stepping back into Dickensian London. It’s amazing, some fantastic jewellery shops and these old-fashioned beadles keeping guard. It’s much longer than I expected too. Then out into the cold again, into a faint drizzle. I turn right and I can see Vero waiting under the portico, smiling. We give each other a double kiss and a cuddle, then a proper kiss with tongues. It’s great to see her again. She’s lovely. She’s piled up her gorgeous chestnut hair into a sort of loose knot, just softly falling over her ears. Her eyes are so piercingly blue. I’d almost forgotten how lovely she is, in that amazing English way that some girls can be totally lovely.

She gives me my ticket and we head up the staircase and it’s all rather grand. On the landing we turn into a small room and pick up a guide leaflet. It’s an exhibition of Allen Jones. I’ve never heard of him but Vero says I will know his stuff and she’s totally right. In the first room there are these two pieces of furniture, if it is furniture, that I have seen loads of times before, but I never knew who made them. Well, this is a different sort of art for sure!

I walk all around the two tables almost getting onto my knees to look more closely at the two “girls”. They’re amazing. And really, in a strange way, beautiful. What’s he trying to tell me I wonder? I think I can guess… The table nearest me has a mirror underneath so I can look straight into the girl’s face. She’s really lovely. I wonder who his model was… Vero asks me what I think and whether I think they’re sexy and I say that I’m not really sure.

We wander through another small room and then into the main exhibition space. His paintings are here and they are huge and brilliant colours and they all seem to be telling stories and they are all full of sex and nightclubs and stuff. I’m almost open-mouthed. And we’ve pretty much got the exhibition to ourselves, so no need to rush. There’s a father with his little daughter who seems to flop to the floor in front of every painting and seems to have double-jointed legs too. It must be so nice to be brought to an exhibition when you’re just a kid and you can see things through the eyes of a child. And there’s a soppy looking couple who really look as though they should be leaning on the rail of an old steamer crossing Lake Como. And a few others. An old couple and a pretty blonde girl. I bet exhibitions are great places to make pick-ups; after all, the paintings are the perfect thing to talk about and break the ice and to test whether you might have something in common and you can just wander around, back and forward, coz that’s what everyone does, and look at people as well as looking at the art. But hey, I’m with Vero. The blonde is pretty though.

I love the paintings here. There’s one of a few girls leaning on a piano, they’re all totally sexy and really showing that they know they are. And another girl is being lifted away – or is she a girl? Maybe she’s a model, you know, made out of plastic, or maybe she is a girl. And maybe she’s dancing and maybe he’s drunk but he’s paid for his dance. I don’t know. It is so good. Incredible stuff!

And then there’s this amazing triptych that really is pretty honest about the story it’s telling. Brutally honest really. But who’s paying? And who’s playing? Is anyone? The faces are so sort of disinterested in what’s going on. Well, the girl’s faces. The men hardly have faces at all it seems to me…

Round the corner there’s another picture, sort of three pictures, diminishing in size but taking up a whole wall, and this one’s a story too I think. It’s opulent, but sleazy at the same time. Lots of money but all meaningless, apart from the girls. They’re the ones with the relationships, not the clients I think. I guess this is all about rich Mayfair London, but it could be Berlin in the twenties or anywhere I suppose. These scenes happen everywhere, all the time, don’t they? Berlin, London, Moscow, Dubai… Anywhere where there are men with money and girls with pretty faces who need to earn a living. So colourful, but so cold and empty it seems to me. But the girls somehow care for each other too. Anyway, that’s what I think.

Then Vero leads me back to the first wall. I guess I’d rushed past that. She holds me round the waist and with her right hand strokes me on my lips very gently. The picture in front of me is another huge one, but the colours are different, more greens and blues like the sea. It’s a swirl of things. I don’t know what’s going on. Like the others, there are people in bars and pretty girls with blank faces and false smiles. But the main image is a mermaid, and the mermaid is tied to a cross. I gasp a little. What’s she doing? Why is she there? She’s so lovely.

My fingers drop from Vero’s waist and slide round to the front of her jeans and I rub her a bit and then kiss her on the lips. A middle-aged guy looks around at us, quickly turns away, then looks again. He thinks I haven’t seen. I smile and watch him with one eye, my other pushed up against Vero’s cheek. I like it. I look again at the painting. There’s a guy holding onto the mermaid. Is he fixing her to the cross or is he dancing with her? I just can’t tell. I love her face. It’s so resigned. Maybe she doesn’t care any more. Whether she’s been paid for a dance or roped to a cross. Maybe she doesn’t care. Wow, it makes me feel wet though.

We wander through the other rooms, and I’m loving it more than I could have imagined. There are some great paintings of people I know. Darcy Bussell looking so elegant and loads of Kate Moss, and in the next room there are these amazing sort of models or sculptures of Kate looking like a sex goddess. I love Kate Moss. She’s amazing now, obviously, and so famous, but her face, well, it still has that look of a little lost girl, sort of fun and innocent. I think the artist gets that. I love the way her mouth is just a little bit open and her body is just a man’s dream of sex in glittery gold. Brilliant.

And the next room is the last. We walk down the stairs holding hands. I love Vero for bringing me here. There’s just one main exhibit, and it’s another that everyone knows. And it sort of sums up everything that’s gone on before.

I wonder if anyone ever dared to sit on it? She’s gorgeous isn’t she? But it’s the cool acceptance of her situation I like the most. Is the person who sits on her the one with the power, or is it her? Look at her eyes. I just don’t know. But she talks to me somehow. We spend ages walking around her. Or is it an it? I think it’s her. Then we leave. Down the staircase again. I buy some postcards in the shop and kiss Vero again to say thank you and we go out into the street. It’s getting dark now and it’s spitting with rain. We go for a coffee and then Vero says we should go to her house. I’m so happy to be with her again.

Wow pk....wow !!!

 

[Primus pilus]

Wow pk....wow !!!

Yep. WOW!

 

[Pia]

Well, you probably wondered where I was. I bet you did! Sometimes that happens you know… I know you know!!! It’s nice, yes? So, it’s very very late on Saturday night and I’ve sort of sneaked out of the party that’s still going on downstairs, or, to be accurate, down about four flights of stairs. Really! I’ve never been in a house like this in my life before. It’s more than amazing, it’s totally gobsmacking! I mean they’ve real art on the walls! Not just shit from the poster shops, real stuff! Even painters I’ve heard of! They’ve got a Romney for fucks sake! And…ok, it’s small but it is one…and a Picasso! Shit! I had no idea people had crap like this in their own houses! And the fucking Romney is a relative! I am going to creep away and die! End of rant… What to say really? Is Vero suddenly different? No. Do I love her any less? No. Do we trust each other totally? Yes. So, there you are. I live in a shit hole in the boondocks and she doesn’t but we’re still just kids at college together and, well, we happen to sleep together and like hurting ourselves and each other a bit for a lark. So I think we are pretty well adjusted, yes?

Good to get that out of my system, as you can imagine! Anyway, it’s been lovely. Her mum is so sweet and we had tea and stuff as soon as we got in from the RA. Then a lovely dinner later on, and no pretentious stuff at all. Just nice, honest! Then we went to bed and just snogged the night away. Frankly I think we were both plain knackered. I mean totally. Term sort of shags you out, you know. I know you know.

Then today, Saturday. Late start. Amazing breakfast that someone else put together. Then a bath… and I went online a bit. I wanted just to know Mits was there, and she was. I can’t help thinking I imagined her. You have no idea how perfect she is, honestly! She really is. Oh my god! I want to be in her cunt every minute of every day. I do! Pfff… Anyway (my favourite word still), we went out and Vero took me to some cool shops and then, when we were flagging, to an ultra cool club place. Christ! I even knew some of the folks there, but Vero said to just be cool, and I was… I think! We had some drinks and then Vero said we should try a line. I’d never ever done drugs and I didn’t want to at all, but she said to try, so just for her I did a bit, but really I thought it was awful. It’s just not me. I’m not saying it’s wrong, not at all, but my choice is to say no. That’s all. Me, I prefer a glass of vodka, and I told Vero that and she got me one. Then we went back to the amazing house – it really is a house! Five stories in Kensington! – and up to her room, and she got out some rope and we sort of tied our waists together really tight. I love the feeling of rope on my skin. Anyway, really tight it was. So we were fixed together. We could move a bit, but who wanted to? My boobs were right on hers and it was easier to snog than not to. I thought it was perfect. I think Vero did to. We snogged a lot, and I know we got wet a lot too, then we fell asleep. And now I’m half awake and writing this… and it’s not even Sunday yet. Hmmmm….

 

[Pia]

And now it’s Sunday night and all is quiet in the house. In fact it’s been a lovely, quiet, relaxing day. It’s been nice. Vero’s house is pretty amazing by the way. I have no idea how much a place like this costs, but it’s a lot, a really big lot. It’s very nice. Outside is all London brick and stucco and old windows but inside it’s really chilled. Very “white”… very modern furniture, amazing sound systems and kitchen and everything and some stunning art. I mean, some of the pictures are worth a lot more than mum’s house! But Vero is sweet and really I love being with her. Sometimes money isn’t the thing is it? She’s just a great girl. Ok, she’s got some uptown habits that are way out of my league, like yesterday, but at the end of the day she’s just a girl like me, and we like each other heaps.

She lay in forever today. I wandered downstairs. Still no parents around. Slouched in a bath robe in the amazing kitchen and made some toast and boiled a couple of eggs and read the Sunday Times. What a shit paper it is. Good photography, but the rest stinks. Well, I think it stinks. Then I wandered into the sitting room. On the first floor. How wild is that? Slumped into a lovely soft white leather sofa with a book. They have a lot of lovely books. Flipped a few pages. Now I know where my girl got her good taste. It’s a rather gorgeous double volume book called “Araki meets Hokusai” and it’s gorgeous. Apparently he’s a famous photographer who rather likes to shoot bondage stuff, and he’s been paired with a print-maker from the past. Well, I think the images are amazing and I suppose I must have let my free hand find its way into my robe and I guess I was having a bit of fun with myself, coz Vero laughed out loud when she saw me there, with my head thrown back over the arm of the sofa! Fair enough I thought!

​

 

[Pia]

So, Vero joined me in a lovely snuggle on the sofa. I love kissing her, I really do. I think we promised each other loads of stuff that we’d do next term and she said I must come along to their place in Cortona and of course I said yes to that. I told her all about Mits contacting me again, and she’s cool with that (maybe she thinks I just won’t ever see her… of course she’s wrong about that). And I told her about H… and my, well, what should I call it? My budding acting career? My audition? She was really interested, but I think a bit worried too, but I told her it all seemed pretty sound. They’d even sent me the ticket and all that, I told her. Anyway, she agreed that we shouldn’t go crazy today as I have to be up so early and that we’d just chill and watch some soppy movies. So we watched “About Time” and I think I am in love with Rachel McAdams. I hope she’s into girls, not that I will ever meet her. Although I bet Vero’s parents know someone who knows someone who knows her, for sure! She’s so so pretty. I want to kiss her sweet little nose so much! Anyway, we were on a bit of a Richard Curtis thing, so we did the obvious Christmassy thing and watched “Love Actually”… I adore the scenes with the Portuguese girl and whoever he is who is always playing roles like Darcy, well, you know who I mean. I love her accent. I think Portuguese sounds so pretty a language. God, she’s hot though when she’s swimming in the pond trying to catch those bits of manuscript. Who writes on paper these days though? Well, I guess that’s called artistic license.

So, it’s only eight at night, but I’ve told Vero I’m creeping off to bed and she’s ok with that. I said we shouldn’t do any SM stuff tonight, but I’m hoping she’ll come up before I’m asleep and we can kiss and cuddle a bit. Anway, the alarm’s set. Far too early I think! But I’m feeling pretty excited about tomorrow in H…; and a bit nervous too, if I’m honest.

 

[Pia]

It’s quarter to eight. I’m sitting on the plane. I can hardly believe I’m here. I can’t say I like early starts like this. I’ve been up since about half-four this morning. It was a bit weird creeping around the house like a church mouse, trying to be as quiet as I could be. I gave Vero a tiny little kiss on her nose, but I was sure I didn’t wake her. Still, while I was making a quick breakfast she wandered into the kitchen in her half-open bath robe looking totally stunning. Sometimes when people are half-asleep they look amazing, don’t you think? All tousled hair and yawns. Well I think so. We cuddled a bit and she said that I should be careful and that I had to Skype her tonight and tell all.

Down to Victoria to catch the train, thankfully all running on time. Then to Gatwick, South Terminal, easy for the station. How come it’s so busy this early? Skiiers and business folks and school trips and all. Wild! Did the normal conveyer thing through the check then grabbed a coffee and waited. The flight’s showing on time and eventually the gate comes up, fourteen, and off I go! It’s quite a route march! Into another queue. I love wondering what all these folks are up to. Why are they going to H…? Going home? Going to meetings? Seeing girlfriends? I bet they can’t guess why I’m going, and that sort of makes me feel rather excited. And now we’re boarding. So, this is it! The moment of no return! I wonder how it will go… I’m frightened and thrilled and ever so curious. I’m already looking forward to telling Vero all about it tonight, when I’m back.

 

[Pia]

Off I go!!!!

 

[Pia]

Well, I’d planned to tell Vero everything last night, but to be honest, after the day and the trip back and battling with Southeastern to S… I was just too tired. So I took a shower and made a hot chocolate and slumped onto my bed. Anyway, it’s seven in the morning and I’m awake and so I’ll start now. Oh, I did text Vero to say I was back and I was ok just so she didn’t worry.

The flight was over pretty quick, and H… airport is quite nice. I had the address and soon was in a taxi and on my way. It’s a big city and the roads were really busy, but it didn’t take too long to get to the place. I think I’ll always remember it, Herbertstraße in St.P. A pretty non-descript sort of building in what I guess you’d call the “entertainment district”, not that much was open at this time of the morning. Just a few folks wandering around, tourists I guess, and bar owners doing restocking and stuff. I paid the taxi and he gave me a bit of a look, and then I was standing in front of the door, looking at the buzzers. I got my bit of paper out again. It was the right place. A battered looking white door, covered in graffitti, between a sort of dirty grey building and a blue-painted club, or at least I think it was a club, three stories I think, called “The Other Place”. All a bit run down looking to be honest. Anyway, this was it. I took a deep breath, looked at my hands which were shaking a bit, and pressed the buzzer. A German voice – what else! – answered through the speaker, so I said it was me and he said good and to come up to the third floor and he buzzed me in.

The staircase was a bit worn-out looking and steep and I guess I was getting more and more nervous and shaking a bit as I climbed up in the gloom. Then I was in front of the door. I knocked and it opened and a friendly looking guy in a sort of black turtle-neck sweater said hello and to come in. The place was just like any normal office, white painted, light, filing cabinets, a desk and a pretty girl behind the desk who gave me a nice smile, stood, took my coat and offered me a coffee. She asked me to sit on the sofa to wait. It wouldn’t be long. She made the coffee from the machine, then went back to her computer and printed something off.

It was a sort of contract or something. She asked to see my passport and noted the details, then asked me to read through what she’d prepared and if I was happy to sign it. It was sort of a disclaimer I guess, with tick boxes that allowed me to opt in or out of certain things and stuff like that. I was quite scared, but quite excited. She smiled and said not to worry and that lots of girls like me (what’s a girl like me?) came here to work and that it was ok and that it was very professional. If I was ok for the things they made it could be fun and I’d make good money. She seemed nice. She said I looked pretty and that she thought I’d be good. I smiled back and felt a bit better. I read it again, and ticked the various boxes, and confirmed I was on no medication or anything and things like that, and then, pausing twice I remember, I signed. She smiled again, said thank you, made a couple of copies, filed one and gave me one, and then put the original in a folder. Then she pulled out a camera and made a single shot of me, just for the record she said. She printed that off and clipped it into the folder too.

There were some magazines lying around so I picked one up and read it for a while. I remember it was called “Brigitte” and there was a lovely looking woman on the front. I just flicked the pages a bit looking at the pictures while I waited…..

 

[Barbaria1]

Well, I’d planned to tell Vero everything last night, but to be honest, after the day and the trip back and battling with Southeastern to S… I was just too tired. So I took a shower and made a hot chocolate and slumped onto my bed. Anyway, it’s seven in the morning and I’m awake and so I’ll start now. Oh, I did text Vero to say I was back and I was ok just so she didn’t worry.

The flight was over pretty quick, and H… airport is quite nice. I had the address and soon was in a taxi and on my way. It’s a big city and the roads were really busy, but it didn’t take too long to get to the place. I think I’ll always remember it, Herbertstraße in St.P. A pretty non-descript sort of building in what I guess you’d call the “entertainment district”, not that much was open at this time of the morning. Just a few folks wandering around, tourists I guess, and bar owners doing restocking and stuff. I paid the taxi and he gave me a bit of a look, and then I was standing in front of the door, looking at the buzzers. I got my bit of paper out again. It was the right place. A battered looking white door, covered in graffitti, between a sort of dirty grey building and a blue-painted club, or at least I think it was a club, three stories I think, called “The Other Place”. All a bit run down looking to be honest. Anyway, this was it. I took a deep breath, looked at my hands which were shaking a bit, and pressed the buzzer. A German voice – what else! – answered through the speaker, so I said it was me and he said good and to come up to the third floor and he buzzed me in.

The staircase was a bit worn-out looking and steep and I guess I was getting more and more nervous and shaking a bit as I climbed up in the gloom. Then I was in front of the door. I knocked and it opened and a friendly looking guy in a sort of black turtle-neck sweater said hello and to come in. The place was just like any normal office, white painted, light, filing cabinets, a desk and a pretty girl behind the desk who gave me a nice smile, stood, took my coat and offered me a coffee. She asked me to sit on the sofa to wait. It wouldn’t be long. She made the coffee from the machine, then went back to her computer and printed something off.

It was a sort of contract or something. She asked to see my passport and noted the details, then asked me to read through what she’d prepared and if I was happy to sign it. It was sort of a disclaimer I guess, with tick boxes that allowed me to opt in or out of certain things and stuff like that. I was quite scared, but quite excited. She smiled and said not to worry and that lots of girls like me (what’s a girl like me?) came here to work and that it was ok and that it was very professional. If I was ok for the things they made it could be fun and I’d make good money. She seemed nice. She said I looked pretty and that she thought I’d be good. I smiled back and felt a bit better. I read it again, and ticked the various boxes, and confirmed I was on no medication or anything and things like that, and then, pausing twice I remember, I signed. She smiled again, said thank you, made a couple of copies, filed one and gave me one, and then put the original in a folder. Then she pulled out a camera and made a single shot of me, just for the record she said. She printed that off and clipped it into the folder too.

There were some magazines lying around so I picked one up and read it for a while. I remember it was called “Brigitte” and there was a lovely looking woman on the front. I just flicked the pages a bit looking at the pictures while I waited…..

Another wonderful piece by our resident mistress of thick description and flowing first person thought, impressions, and feelings. Great writing PK

 

[Pia]

Oh, the thing I forgot to mention is that term started on Monday! I didn’t tell mum. Well, my first lecture isn’t til Thursday and I’m ahead on my reading and everything. But, well, it was lucky that I didn’t have to head up to the wild North for the 5th. I’m going tomorrow. In the morning. So I’ve had a lot of sorting and packing to do today and I think I’ve been driving mum crazy and she’s been asking me all sorts of questions about the weekend and Vero and asking when she’s coming to see us here (never!) and stuff like that and I’ve had to tell a few little teeny weeny lies, the white sort, you know. The good sort that we all tell so people don’t feel bad or anything. But what with packing and chatting online with Vero and Sallie and everything it’s all got a bit out of hand today. And I do want to tell you all about yesterday in H… and I know you want to know. And I will, I promise. I just need to get something to eat first. I’m starving! I’ve grilled a chicken breast and will chop up some garlic and onions and make a tomato sauce and heat up some pasta I think. Then I’ll be back, ok? In a bit.

 

[Pia]

Well, not my finest half-hour in the kitchen. It wasn’t too bad, nice and spicy, but I just couldn’t be bothered to do the pasta and so well, it was a bit of a messy plate. Not Master Chef for sure. It doesn’t matter. So, back to where I was. Ready?

The wait seemed to go on forever, like I was in the dentist’s. That odd sense of anticipation… not knowing whether you’ll be praised for the quality of your flossing or told it’s fillings all round. A bit the same really, but I was hoping that it would be more interesting than the usual trip down to the dentist. The hygienist is nice though.

I guess it was no more than five or ten minutes in truth, and then the guy who I met first of all came in and looked at the file, checking the signature and my answers. He sort of hummed a bit and nodded his head, then said hello again, thanked me for coming and asked me to follow him. The receptionist gave me a sort of encouraging look; I guess she’d gone through this scene a hundred times before. So, we went into a little corridor and then into a room that was set up as a studio, but with all sorts of S and M stuff in it. Wooden frames, chains, ropes, things hanging from the walls, whips mainly, cuffs and shiny things. And two big lights with white umbrellas behind them and some other cinema type lights and a sofa and a chair. Another guy came in, wearing a black t-shirt. I remember his face, his stubbly chin and his wavy black hair, sort of slicked into place. The first guy, let’s call him Georg, asked me to stand over by the wooden frame with my hands by my side. He looked at me really close and muttered a few things then said that I was a pretty girl. He asked me if I really understood what they did here and what sort of films they made and I said yes and that I’d seen some and I liked them and they excited me when I watched them. He asked if I’d ever been whipped before, and I said yes and reminded him that I’d sent a photo of my back and that they could see it if they liked; which was a bit stupid really because of course they were going to see it.

He explained that today was just a test, to see if I really could cope with what they did and how I reacted when I was being filmed. So they wouldn’t go as far as they did with making a full film or anything but they would use the whip and the crop on me and they would hit me until I was marked and maybe until I bled a little and Georg asked if I understood that and I said yes.

Then he asked me to undress. That wasn’t a problem I thought until I started and then I suddenly sort of realised that before I had always done this with friends and here I was in a small studio in St P. in Germany and I’d never even met these guys before and I suppose I sort of stopped. He asked me if I was alright and told me, quite harshly, to get undressed and to stand with my legs apart and my hands behind my head.

I gave him a sort of sad look I think. I really felt as though I was being exploited a bit now. That I had very little control. But I did what he asked, and at the same time I felt a bit ashamed and very very excited. I think that the excitement won in the end and I could feel myself getting a bit wet.

Georg came close to me and grabbed my left breast and squeezed it really hard, not like a playful squeeze, really hard until I cried out. Then he ran his hand down my front and grabbed my labia and pushed his fingers into me. I was a bit shocked I think, because I jumped back, and he immediately hit me with his hand across my face. I should have been horrified by this like any nice normal girl but I wasn’t. The slap helped me I think. I sort of steadied myself and he said that I was a good girl. Then he walked behind me and ran his fingers over the pale scars on my back and commented on the little puncture marks that I had on my body and asked me about them and so I told him and he said that was good. He liked my tattoo too.

Next he said he’d like to see how I reacted to a whip and that he would chain me up to the frame with my arms and legs spread out. I nodded and said that was alright. So he fixed up the chains and the cuffs, which were nowhere near as painful as the ropes we’d used in France and soon there I was, spread out like a poor victim of the Inquisition, and I was very very excited now, but tried not to show it. The other guy, let’s call him Kurt, started taking lots of shots with his camera, working all round me. I started following him with my face but Georg said that I should just look straight ahead and that if I didn’t he’d punish me hard. I smiled, but sort of inwardly.

Then Georg got one of the whips. He called it a long-tailed whip. It looked pretty good to me. He said he’d start on my thighs, then on my belly and breasts and that I had to count out as he hit me and say thank you each time. And then he started. The first one was soft and I forgot to count and he screamed at me, but the next one really cut and I felt a spasm run through me from my pussy to my mouth. I was so glad I’d come. Then he hit me lots more and I liked it a lot when the blows fell on my belly. One of the shots hit me straight on my nipple and that was like an electric shock and I looked down and saw just a tiny drop of blood oozing out and then he slapped me on the face again for not looking straight ahead. Then he kissed me and said I was doing well. He said that there would never be any sexual contact but if I did something good he might kiss me to say thank you.

After a while, and quite a lot of lashes, he said that I was almost done and asked if he could hit me on my pussy to see how I reacted to that. I said that was fine and I sort of braced myself. He steadied himself and hit really hard about five times and each time I squealed a bit and sort of crossed my legs and he moved them back rather forcibly. I couldn’t really move them that much because of the chains, so I don’t know why I bothered. Just a reaction I guess.

Then he said that the test was over and that I had done very well and I should take a shower and then we’d talk in the office. Kurt undid the chains and handed me a towel and soap and led me to the little shower room, which was nice and clean. I was a bit unsteady on my feet at first. And when I saw myself in the mirror it was pretty amazing. I was covered in lovely red lines and my face was a mess too, where my mascara had run in lots of little grey-black lines. I smiled back at my reflection. It was good.

Back in the office he’d had the receptionist make out another document and he passed it to me. He said this was a contract and the rates were in it. I looked and the money was really pretty good. He said I’d earn it and that a full film would take a lot longer than the test and that I’d need to stay for a few days because I’d need some time to recover. They had a doctor that worked with them he said, so it was all properly done and professional but of course I had to understand that their audiences wanted real torture and whipping scenes and that meant that the pain would be very real too. He opened his eyes wide and stared hard at me and asked if that is what I wanted. I said yes. I really did. I wanted it, but I was also thinking of the money and seeing Mits in Japan. So then he asked when I could come again. I explained I was at uni in Engand at that term wouldn’t be over until mid-March. He looked a bit disappointed about that so I said that it wasn’t always that busy and maybe I could check my lectures and stuff and come over for a weekend before then and he said that would be good.

Then he gave me a pen to sign and shook my hand. Before I left the receptionist gave me an envelope with my expenses and with a fee for the day. It was a lot of money I thought, but I knew I’d earned it, even if it was, for me, enjoyable. I was pretty sore though and I was scared that my mum would see the marks on me. But I knew I could be careful about that.

And that was it. All over. I headed back to the airport and had a glass of wine, because I thought I deserved it, and then we were taking off and soon enough it was London Gatwick again and then the dreadful train journey, changing at T… and then eventually getting to S… where mum was waiting for me in the car park. She asked me if I’d had a nice time with Vero in London. I smiled. Oh dear, what a fibber I am becoming.

So, that’s it. The holidays are over. I’ve enjoyed them a lot. Much more has happened than I could possibly have hoped or guessed. But now they’re over and I’m sitting here just before I climb into bed looking at the marks on my breasts and belly and very gently rubbing some cream into the worst of them. I love them though. I love looking at the beautiful red lines on my skin. And my left hand just slides down to my pussy and plays a little there until I start moaning quietly.

And really that is it. The source and purpose of everything I suppose. Maybe that’s what I really have learned in my first term. I’m sure I will keep on learning and discovering. And perhaps I’ll find the time to tell you about that, but that will be later on. I need to sleep now; it’s a long journey tomorrow.

 

[Pia]

....so, as they say, that's all folks! At least for this bit of Lisa's story.... so here's the full thing in case you got lost along the way with all the fun distractions!