Page 3 of Savage Redemption

Tom and her father drive her to Stirling, to the shared house where he had rented her a room for the first term. She would be sharing with other students, and the place came as a pleasant surprise. There were six rooms, all occupied, each with an ensuite, a desk. and free Wi-Fi. They shared a kitchen anda television room. The place had been recently modernised and was really comfortable. One of the other students, Janey, greeted them at the door and showed Rosie to the first-floor single room which was supposed to be home for the next three months. She told Rosie she was at catering college herself. She knew the owner of the house, and he let her live there and rent out the other rooms to help fund her through her own course.

The rest of the occupants were males, studying useful things such as engineering and technical drawing and obsessed with such delights as rugby, football, and exploring how many pints of home brew they could swill down before they fell over. Nothing so whimsical as music for these practical souls.

Rosie got on well with Janey right from the start. She was quiet, but sort of sweet. Rosie got the impression her upbringing hadn’t been as smooth as hers. She let slip that she was in care for much of her childhood, but she seemed to have found her feet now, though Rosie couldn’t fathom how. If she was planning to stick around a bit longer, she thought they’d be close. But Rosie had other plans.

Her chance to put those plans into action came a couple of weeks after she arrived.

“Hey, do you fancy a night out?” She asked the question while she was sharing a pizza with Janey. “There’s an advert for an Eighties Night at the Students’ Union.”

“Eighties Night?” She looked up from her pepperoni, apparently not impressed.

“Yes. There’s a Duran Duran tribute band. And The Human League.”

“Who are they?”

“Never mind. Let’s go. It’ll be good.”

“Maybe, if you’re over fifty and need somewhere to go to show off your new support tights.”

Rosie shot her a surprised glance. “You never struck me as a raver. Am I right in thinking you’ve a better idea?”

“Well, as it happens…”

“Go on.”

“There’s a club I know. Here.” She handed Rosie a glossy leaflet, black with gold and crimson writing, proclaiming the delights of some establishment called Club Wicked.

Rosie examined the flyer with care. On the back was an image of a woman pole-dancing. She was topless but with her back to the camera and arranged into a position which seemed to defy the laws of nature. “Shit,” she breathed, taking in the finer details. “We’d never get in there. I bet it costs a fortune, to start with.”

“I know the doorman. I can get us in, and for free as well.”

Rosie turned the leaflet over to scan the reverse. “You must know him pretty well.”

She shrugged. “He’s a mate. I’ve been wanting to go for ages but not on my own. I need someone to go with. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.”

She wasn’t wrong about that, and Rosie couldn’t deny she was curious. “For free, you say? It says here it’s private members only and they charge fifty quid a time for guests.”

“I can get us a pass. As I said, I know people who work there. So, are you in?”

When she put it like that, Rosie was an easy sell. “Yeah, too right I am. When are we doing it?”

“Why not tonight?” She glanced at the clock. “It’s only nine o’clock. They’ll be open for hours yet.”

Rosie had nothing exactly suitable for such an establishment, and Janey soon set her right when she suggested that skin-tight jeans and a strapless top would do.

“No,” she insisted. “A corset. Borrow one of mine.”

Rosie couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Somehow, she’d never envisaged her new friend in crimson leather and latex, but the evidence was there, in her wardrobe. Who would have thought it? Rosie found herself squeezed into a fetching little halter affair made of black leather threaded with scarlet ribbons, and a pair of microscopic red satin shorts. She posed in front of the mirror and decided she did look rather fetching, even if she did say so herself.

Janey was similarly attired and seemed to be a lot more comfortable in her outfit than Rosie was, but she was committed now. And she didn’t intend to be at Club Wicked for long. Just enough time to have a wander round, take in the sights, the ambience. If she decided she liked the place, she’d be able to find somewhere similar in London.

They both covered themselves up in calf-length raincoats for the taxi ride across town. Rosie pulled on jeans over her shorts and convinced Janey it was for warmth on the way home later. She could peel them off when they got there and leave them in the cloakroom. Once they reached the entrance to the club, Janey exchanged a few words with the man on the door, and he gestured them past.

As easy as that. They were in.

They deposited their coats with a receptionist wearing a brief waistcoat that didn’t meet at the front, and fishnet leggings. Her heels were about six inches high, but she walked with effortless grace as she took their outer garments to the cloakroom. Janey was also teetering a bit on her spiked heels, but Rosie had insisted on flat pumps. She had plans for later which didn’t include killing herself falling off towering shoes.

To the heady beat of pulsing music, they spent an hour or so cruising around the club. The facilities seemed to mainly consist of lounges offering a choice of comfortable seating and what appeared to be instruments of torture. The evening wasin full swing, so most items were in use. A woman, clad very much as they both were, was draped across a bench, moaning in appreciation while a man in a smart business suit applied a paddle to her rear end. Her buttocks were pretty much the same colour as Rosie’s shorts.

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