Lauren hissed over the stall of the ladies’ room. Sabra, partway through adjusting her breasts in her corset, halted. “How long ago?” “Just turned up.” Sabra breathed out softly, biting into her bottom lip to hold back a triumphant grin. Of course he was here. Why wouldn’t he respond to the blatant invitation? She’d been angling for his attention for months, much to Lauren’s annoyance. Lauren was supposed to be her friend, after all they had so much in common having met on the burlesque circuit. She was a Domme in her own right. Fascinated by exertions of power by such a tiny little thing, Sabra had been allowed a peek into Lauren’s world. “Small community,” Lauren explained when they’d attended Sabra’s first fetish club. “Everyone knows someone who knows someone. You probably already know people in the life who just haven’t shared it with you.” “Think they’re ashamed?” Sabra asked, stepping around a prostrate gimp and apologising to its mistress. “Do you talk about your sexual deviancy over a Sunday roast dinner?”
