The Indulgences of Isabelle

by Penny Birch

  I felt empty, and extremely cross with myself. Thanks to my hot temper and stupidity there would be no Christmas party, and if that meant I would be able to avoid another punishment it was no consolation at all. Besides, I deserved another punishment, as the buggering that Duncan had given me didn't make up for one-tenth of my offences.

  Somehow I needed to make things right, but obviously the best thing to do was to keep quiet and make sure that I didn't draw attention to myself. I didn't believe for a moment that there were paparazzi scouring the streets of Oxford for the chance of a shot of me with my knickers down – or, rather, with another girl's knickers down – but I could understand Dr Treadle's caution, and Eliza's.

  For the next few days I spent most of my time mulling over the situation. But it seemed intractable, and for once I found it impossible to concentrate on my work. I did so badly at Collections that Duncan called me into his room, not for a spanking but to offer me sympathy and advice, which was far worse. The following day I was wandering aimlessly around college when Tierney appeared, popping out from the bottom of a stairwell like a small ugly genie.

  'Hello, Isa – been keeping the old fiddlers in trim?' he greeted me, wiggling his fingers at me meaningfully.

  It took me a moment to realise that he was referring to the darts match on Saturday and was not asking me if I'd been masturbating regularly. I'd decided to go, under pressure from Yazzie and Caroline, who were stripping that evening, and because I'd been assured that Edna Jellaby was refusing to have anything to do with the darts team after the minibus incident. He spoke again before I could find a suitable answer.

  'I hear you've got venue problems?'

  'How did you know that!?' I demanded, without even thinking of denying what was the truth.

  Tierney merely tapped the side of his nose. Then he went on.

  'Osman's the bloke you want. He's well into you, and all. Posh and dirty, he says.'

  'Why should he think that?' I asked, although I could guess. 'You told him, didn't you, about what happened in the minibus?'

  'No. The Jellabys went into the Boar, didn't they?' he explained. 'When they fetched your bike.'

  'Edna?' I asked, as the blood started to rise to my face. 'What did she tell him?'

  'Oh, how you were a right little tart and all that,' Tierney said casually. 'You know what she's like.'

  I was wondering which was worse: to have Tierney give a no doubt frank account of my behaviour or to have Edna painting me as a slut. It was hard to choose.

  'That was very kind of them, anyway,' I said, 'especially in the circumstances.'

  'Nah,' Tierney said. 'She'd left her arrows there, that's all.'

  'Oh. And was my bike really chained to a different lamp-post?'

  'Nah, don't be daft, girl. Jack went out and nicked it while I was making sure you got plenty of whisky inside you.'

  'You bastard!'

  'It was the only way we could think of to get you out of your knickers,' he replied, as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing to have done.

  'You . . . you utter pig!' I snapped. 'You're unspeakable, Tierney, you really are!'

  'Come on, love,' he urged. 'You know you love it, and a little cutie like you, you're bound to get the boys trying it on a bit, ain't you? Anyway, we gave you your bike back, didn't we? You want to get a proper chain, you do, one of those hardened-steel jobs. I know this bloke who . . .'

  He carried on, but I wasn't listening. I was appalled by his behaviour, although it was exactly what I'd have expected of him. Worse, he'd succeeded, and to add extra humiliation I'd been as willing as they were eager once they'd got me in the minibus. Even more annoying was the fact that while the sudden appearance of my bike at Foxson had led to me spanking Amy Jane and to my current predicament, I couldn't blame Tierney – or at least, not directly. Yet indirectly his actions had led to me being spanked, sodomised and very nearly sent down, while I still had my punishment from the Rattaners to come.

  '. . . But anyhow,' he was saying, 'Osman, he's got a restaurant, he has, fancy Turkish place.'

  'Bastard, utter bastard!' I hissed, my mind still obsessed with how he'd used me.

  'What's wrong with having a Turkish restaurant?' Tierney asked.

  'Not Osman! You!' I spat back.

  He merely shrugged, then spoke again.

  'So what? Do you want me to have a word with him or not?'

  I closed my eyes, struggling to bring my temper under control. The offer of a venue was too good to be dismissed out of hand, whoever it came from, although Osman's place didn't sound particularly suitable.

  'Where is it?' I asked. 'In the middle of Bicester?'

  'No, outside,' Tierney said. 'Place used to be a barn. Really swish it is, nice and out of the way, plenty of parking. Just the place to get down to some good dirty fun and games. The ladies' loo is like something out of a fucking palace.'

  'What would it cost? And how about staff?' I asked, not wanting to know how he knew what the ladies' conveniences were like.

  'You'd have to talk to Osman about all that. Me, I just want to be there, that's all I ask.'

  If there was one thing I was absolutely determined on, it was that Tierney would not be coming to the Rattaners Christmas party. I wanted him to know about it. I wanted him to know he was excluded. I wanted him to hear every single juicy detail of what happened. But I did not want him there.

  I decided to approach Osman after the darts match and do my best to charm him into allowing us to have exclusive use of his restaurant at the beginning of Ninth Week, when we'd be able to have the party on a Monday or Tuesday without having to worry about work. As he'd been told what I'd done in the minibus it seemed inevitable that he'd demand sex, although there had to be at least a faint possibility that he was a gentleman. In any event he would have to be there.

  There was another matter that needed to be resolved. Somebody was passing Tierney information, but it couldn't possibly be Amy Jane. Only the nine of us knew that we needed a new venue, or ten if Dr Treadle himself was included. Treadle could safely be eliminated from suspicion anyway, and so could Eliza and Katie. Among the others, Sarah's attitude to Tierney was as if he was something nasty that she'd found on the bottom of her shoe, so it was unlikely to be her. But otherwise it was impossible to decide. Jasmine and Caroline knew him well, but they had always been loyal to me. Portia's attitude was much like my own, a mixture of distaste and self-disgusted fascination, and where Portia led, Tiffany followed. Yazzie was an unknown quantity. None of them had anything to gain except to humble and degrade me, which left the finger of suspicion pointed firmly at Portia.

  Accusing her would be pointless. I needed proof, and preferably something that I could bring out at the party, which would enable me to have her punished with a vengeance. First, I had to make sure there was a party. On the Saturday I dressed in a manner that I hoped Osman would find alluring: low-cut white jeans with the top of a pair of scarlet thong panties showing at the back, a turquoise-blue skinny top to leave my tummy showing, lipstick-red high heels and no bra. I felt like a slut, and was extremely glad of my long coat and the darkness of the evening as I slipped out of college.

  The streets were wet and there was a lot of traffic, making the bike ride up to Cowley extremely unpleasant. By the time I got to the Red Ox even the hot smoky interior seemed welcoming, provoking memories of the night at the Boar and how I'd ended up then. I ordered an orange juice instead of whisky and took a nervous glance around the room, hoping not to find Edna there. She wasn't, and with very few exceptions there were only men present. I remembered it was also striptease night just as Caroline emerged from the tiny back room where the girls got changed. She was in her khaki military gear, her crop top straining across her braless breasts and her shorts so tight over her bottom that the seam had begun to give way. I knew that she and Sarah were supposed to have seen the Owl that afternoon, and I went straight over to her.

  'Hello, Caroline. Did you manage to scare A
my Jane away?'

  'Er . . . no, not really.'

  'What do you mean, ''not really''?'

  'Newton bumped Keble on the river this afternoon . . .'

  'What's that got to do with it?'

  'Let me explain. All the rowing crews had come back from the river, and they'd been drinking, and they'd got hold of one of Amy Jane's bras and hung it from a tower with a bowling ball in each cup. She was really upset, and so Sarah went and got the captain of the rowing club. She brought him down from his room holding him by the ear, and she made him apologise to Amy Jane and get it down.'

  'Good for Sarah. But I don't see why—'

  'Because now Amy Jane thinks that the sun shines out of Sarah's bumhole, that's why. The way she was going on, anybody would think that being a lesbian catering manager should be every woman's ultimate goal. Sarah tried to explain about the Rattaners without giving too much away, but Amy Jane just soaked it all up. She says she wants to come to a party, and that she's open-minded about sex.'

  'She'd better be!'

  'So in the end Sarah and I decided to leave it open and see what happens next term. After all, Amy Jane may have found herself a boyfriend by then, or more likely a girlfriend after the way she was behaving this afternoon.'

  'That's all very well, but if things go to plan I'm hoping there'll be a Christmas party after all. There's a Turkish restaurateur called Osman . . .'

  I explained what I was hoping to do, as Caroline alternately nodded and bit her lip. She was the perfect ally and accepted all my suggestions, even promising to help me out if it came down to having to suck cock. I wasn't too happy about the situation with Amy Jane, but it was extremely reassuring to have Caroline with me, so when Mike told me that the darts team's drinks were on the house I decided to have a whisky after all.

  A girl I didn't know had come out onto the stage. She was wearing heels, long black and white striped socks, a pair of little black panties and a top hat, nothing more. The music had become so loud that I couldn't hear myself speak, so Caroline and I turned to watch her performance, which involved a lot of posing with a silver-topped cane and her hat. It was a little refined for the Red Ox, who were soon yelling for her knickers to come off. She declined to oblige, leaving the stage with a saucy wiggle of her bottom that left me chuckling with amusement and the men thumping their tables and demanding Caroline.

  She went up and gave them her military routine, a piece of sexy slapstick that had them roaring with laughter and encouragement as it grew gradually ruder. By the end she was crawling around the floor with her shorts around her thighs and her top pulled up, with every detail of her body on display. Every man in the room was giving Caroline their full attention, most of them with expressions of stupefied lechery on their faces. But I didn't realise that I'd been staring as hard as any of them until Tierney tapped me on the shoulder.

  'If you've finished ogling your mate's arse, Isa, we need to figure out who's playing who in the darts.'

  'Er . . . yes, of course,' I replied. Before following him I stole a last glance to where Caroline had begun to spank her own bottom to the delight of the crowd.

  The Boar had sent the same team that we'd played in Bicester: Osman himself, the skinny old man, Eddy, the balding woman, Lil, a plumber called John and his wife Maureen. As they saw me there was an immediate exchange of glances and whispers, leaving me blushing to the roots of my hair for what they were almost certainly talking about. Edna, I was sure, had spared no detail and no opportunity to describe my delinquency.

  We had changed only a little, with Yazzie in place of Edna, Tierney, Jack, Choker and myself. Yazzie was going to be stripping after the match, and was already in her costume, an abbreviated silk dress that left her panties showing at the back and gave the overall impression of a Japanese hentai cartoon. As John the plumber approached he glanced from her to me and back, then spoke to Jack, laughing.

  'If you reckon you're going to beat us by dressing up your tarts you've got another think coming.'

  I bit down my immediate flush of irritation and forced a smile.

  'They always dress like that, those two,' Jack answered. 'If we needed to get one up on you we'd have 'em doing it in the nude. But we don't, do we?'

  'We'll see about that,' John answered. 'It was a fluke, last time.'

  Jack merely laughed. My skin was burning right down to my chest as they began to discuss the game, and I was earnestly wishing that I'd worn something a little more modest. I was chosen to play against Maureen, as the first pair, but what with one thing and another I played appallingly and lost. Not that it made much difference to the result. Yazzie managed to beat Lil, but both Tierney and Choker lost, leaving the match already decided against us before Osman disposed of Jack with ease.

  I wasn't particularly bothered, and Osman was full of himself, which I knew would be to my advantage. The Red Ox was now packed, and a third girl was on the stage, doing an energetic striptease to music that was even louder than before. But I managed to attract Osman's attention by using sign language. He nodded, turned back long enough to watch the girl wiggle her bottom out of a pair of tiny green panties, then began to push his way towards me through the crowd. I'd lost Caroline, but she was only really needed if things threatened to get sticky.

  'Can I have a word!' I yelled, gesturing to the door.

  Osman gave me a thumbs-up sign and began to plough through the crowd, using the mass of his body to clear a path with me following him.Outside, which had seemed cold and dank before, was now blessedly cool.

  'What's up?' he asked.

  'I don't know if Stan Tierney has said anything to you,' I told him, 'but I was hoping it might be possible to hire your restaurant on a Monday night in a couple of weeks, or maybe on a Tuesday.'

  'Could be,' Osman said, with a knowing grin. 'Some sort of swingers' club, isn't it?'

  'Yes,' I answered, not wishing to go into details. 'So we'd need privacy, although I'm assuming you'd want to be there yourself.'

  His grin grew broader and dirtier.

  'How much is it?' I asked.

  'Twelve hundred,' he said, and my heart sank. 'But I'll call it a grand, just for you.'

  'I'm sorry,' I told him. 'A lot of us are students, so we couldn't possibly afford that much. Couldn't we come to some kind of arrangement?'

  I was effectively offering to prostitute myself, and I knew that I was blushing with shame even as I spoke. Osman didn't seem to realise.

  'What if we say eight hundred?' he suggested.

  I shrugged, wondering if it was worth bringing the offer to the others. Duncan and Dr Treadle could presumably afford to make a contribution, also Eliza and perhaps Sarah, while Portia and Tiffany presumably had well-to-do parents and so might or might not be able to contribute. The real drawback was that I could guarantee that Sarah would seek to take advantage of the situation by suggesting that those who hadn't put anything in should pay in kind. That would mean myself and Katie.

  'Possibly,' I admitted. 'But . . . but you like to gamble, so how about a game of darts, and if I can beat you we can use your restaurant for nothing?'

  'And if I win?'

  'Perhaps a private show from me and Caroline?' I offered. 'Caroline's the girl in the army outfit. She was stripping earlier.'

  'The one with the gigantic tits?'

  'Yes.'

  'Fuck me,' Osman said thoughtfully. 'She in your club, is she? And you two will do . . . what? A double strip, or get good and dirty together?'

  'Whatever you like,' I offered.

  'Jesus,' he breathed. 'Stan said you would be up for a bit, but lezzie stuff . . .'

  He trailed off, no doubt imagining me and Caroline together and thinking how much better he was at darts than me.

  'You've got a deal,' he said. 'What d'you want to play, five-oh-one?'

  'I have a better game,' I suggested, quickly running through the details of the game I'd invented for the Rattaners in my head. 'We take turns to call out a number, an
ything you can get with a single dart, and the other player has three darts and ten seconds to score that number. The catch is, you don't just say five or twenty, you say, for example, ten plus ten, which makes the number twenty. The best out of five is the winner. That's five goes each.'

  'Yeah, all right,' he agreed. 'Only to give it a bit of spice, how about every time you don't make it you have to take a piece of clothing off, and every time I don't I have to put a twenty in the kitty, which you get at the end.'

  'In the middle of the pub!?' I demanded before I could even think to refuse.

  'Why not? Striptease night, innit? Nobody says the girls have to be on the stage.'

  I was about to refuse anyway. But I hesitated. To end up naked I'd have to fail every time, and he was right about the stripping. Better still, with Yazzie on stage nobody was going to take any notice of me if I was barefoot, while he obviously hadn't seen the catch. All that mattered was that I'd be better at mental arithmetic than a Turkish restaurateur, just as I knew I was better than Sarah.

  'OK,' I agreed and turned back for the pub.

  The board was vacant because everybody was watching Yazzie, so we drew only the occasional curious glance as we tossed a coin for who would go first. I won, and stepped up to the line.

  'Oh yeah, shoes count as one article,' he said.

  'No, two,' I objected.

  'No way,' he told me. 'Not when you play strip. Stan'll tell you. Hey . . .'

  'No, no, no,' I said hastily as he turned to look for Tierney, who was lost among the crowd of ogling men. 'OK, shoes count as one article.'

  I did not want Tierney to know what we were doing, as he would inevitably ask the reason for the game and broadcast it to the entire pub. Having to spend a few minutes barefoot, or even in just my knickers and top, was a risk I was well prepared to take, especially as Yazzie now had every single male pair of eyes in the pub firmly riveted on the way her now-bare bottom stuck out from beneath the hem of her shortened kimono.

  'Ten plus nine,' Osman said.

  I managed to get the nineteen with my second dart, allowing me to chalk up a victory. Osman took his place and I glanced at my wristwatch.