Page 4 of Savage Redemption

Another woman was strapped to a huge St Andrew’s cross made of polished wood. Her female companion was lashing her shoulders with a suede flogger, and both seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously.

“Christ, that must hurt,” Rosie hissed to Janey.

“Yes, I imagine so. Fucking wonderful,” she replied.

Rosie was keeping an open mind. Each to their own, she thought, though she couldn’t deny she was intrigued.

After about an hour during which Rosie acquaint herself with the mysteries of nipple clamping, intricate bondage, bare-handed spanking, and a truly spectacular display with what she gathered was a purple wand, there was an announcement over the PA system to inform the evening’s guests that a demonstration of wax play was about begin.

Janey grabbed Rosie’s elbow. “Come on, let’s go and see what that’s about.”

“I need the loo. I’ll catch you up.”

“Right. It’s in the Lilac lounge. I’ll see you there in five.” She trotted off to find a good viewpoint.

Rosie made her way through the throng of kinksters towards the toilets, making a detour to collect her coat and jeans on the way. A few minutes in the loo, and she was good to go. She slipped out of the back door and into the dark alley beyond, regretting that she didn’t have more time to explore, but she was expected in London. She texted Jamie while she was changing her clothes to tell him she was on her way. He would be waiting at Kings Cross.

It took her about half an hour to march from the club, across Stirling town centre, to the railway station. She checked the train times to London, and I knew that the last one left Stirling just after midnight. She had plenty of time as long as she didn’t dawdle.

The train glided alongside the platform just as she arrived at the station. Obviously, the ticket office was closed, but she had it on good authority that it would be okay to buy a ticket on the train. When the doors slid apart, she hopped on board and choose an empty carriage.

Rosie settled in and rested her head against the seat next to her

She was off.

She had made a huge mistake. Fucking huge!

London turned out to be cold, wet, and dirty. A lot like Leeds, really. Or Sheffield. Or Bradford, or Manchester. Of course, this wasn’t her first visit to the capital, but it was the first time without a swish hotel to return to at night, and without the benefit of her dad’s credit card to get a good meal at the end of a day sightseeing, or to pay for decent seats at a show or maybe a jaunt around Piccadilly Circus to take in the shops.

The squat was horrible. It smelled of weed and Christ only knew what else. They were sharing it with at least a couple of dozen others, all dossing down on bare floors, six or seven to a room. They lived off takeaways because there were no cooking facilities. There was no heating either, no fresh water, and Rosie felt filthy all the time.

Some bastard stole her Doc Martens. It turned out her Superdry jacket didn’t live up to its name. And she forgot to pack tampons so was reduced to scrounging them from Katy and the other girls.

But, worst of all, Jamie had got himself shacked up with some girl from Essex within the first ten minutes of arriving here. Rosie knew they never actually agreed anything firm, but she did at least think he’d have the good manners to wait for her to arrive before putting himself about. In the weeks she’d been mooning after him and trying to attract his attention, he’d fucked at least four other girls.

He did take good care of her violin and the few belongings she sent on ahead, so she had to suppose that was something. He thought of her as a mate, nothing else. Unless he happened to find himself at a loose end one day…

Fuck that.

Rosie came to a decision. She needed to scrape together enough cash for the train back to Scotland. With any luck, her dad wouldn’t even know she’d been away. Busking could make quite good money, as much as two hundred quid on a good day, she’d found. Obviously, you needed to set yourself up on a decent spot, when the shops were busy. Or maybe outside the theatres, or at a station. On the downside, there was a fair chance of being mugged as well, either for the day’s takings or her violin, but since her Docs went missing she had learned to keep a close eye on her stuff.

So, that was her plan. So much for her gap year.

Her preferred site was a corner in Tower Hill, close to the Tube station. It was a top tourist attraction, teeming with Japanese visitors who had plenty of money to throw about and who did seem to appreciate a good tune. So far today, she’d been there just under two hours and made over a hundred pounds. Added to the bundle of notes she had squirrelled away in her back pack, this should see her okay for the fare to Stirling. She’d finish the day then head back to the squat via Kings Cross, pick up a ticket, and hop on a train in the morning.

Her plans made, she launched into a lively rendition of ‘Come on Eileen’.

“Hey, you fancy making a bit of extra cash?”

Rosie squinted up through the steam rising from her overpriced takeaway coffee. She was just taking a break between sets, and didn’t really appreciate the interruption.

“Eh?” She peered at the tall man towering over her. He was bearded, shabbily dressed, sporting tattoos down both arms and up his neck. The wording of them suggested he may have difficulty remembering his own name. He offered her a yellow-toothed grin. It took her less than a moment to conclude hem was utterly repulsive.

“Extra cash,” he repeated. “Five hundred, in your hand.”

Rosie might have been new in town, but she wasn’t born yesterday. Her suspicions were on high alert instantly. She shook her head. “No, you’re all right.”

“Just a couple of hours, at a place I know. Mate of mine’s having a party, and the band let him down last minute. It’ll be cash in hand.”

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