Suzie and the Monsters Read Free

the three other men. I ask them in turn if they they think Cleo is beautiful, this girl barely a woman, a vision in pink and black, and of course they say she is. I tell them about Jenny, sweet Jenny, licking me to orgasm not twenty minutes ago, and I ask them if they like my new leather boots. It’s clear they do.
    Ben returns with drinks, large glasses of house white for Cleo and me, beer for the guys. Cleo downs hers in one go, and finally starts to relax. ‘God, you’re a bitch,’ she says to me and laughs, and the tension and worry dissipates from around the table. They still don’t know what will happen later, but now they’re ready to find out. I can’t stand cheap wine, so I give mine to Cleo and head off to the bar to look for something. As I leave, Ben slides into my seat, sandwiching Cleo, and starts to unbutton her jacket. She doesn’t object.
    With no one paying attention to me, I walk past the bar and downstairs to the dance floor with its insane volume of beats and synthesised whistles making conversation impossible, but the hundred or so gyrating bodies made visible by strobing lights are here to dance dance dance with no thought beyond the moment and a chance of meeting somehow a kindred spirit.
    I work my way methodically around and across the room, studying faces. There are a few I recognise from previous visits to Comatoes and other nightclubs in the area, and there’s the fat American who once tried to pay me for sex. Instead I gave him a strip show, having first hypnotised him into believing the hundreds in his fat wallet were only ones, and that’s not all I took from him. I blow him a kiss but he doesn’t recognise me. The face I’m looking for isn’t here. I return upstairs and walk around, examining faces at tables. I see the woman whose jeans I am wearing. She lost them in a bet, but got something pretty mind-blowing in return. She winks at me as I walk pass, and I pat my bum playfully. But he’s not there, the man I need to find. I’m tired of hanging out in nightclubs, sexual adventures notwithstanding.
    I complete my circuit to find the men hustling Cleo out of the club. Catching up with them outside I grab Cleo’s arm and drag her to one side. ‘You really want to do this?’
    She nods. ‘I’m eighteen today. I’m up for some real fun.’
    ‘Guys,’ I say sternly, ‘there are rules. As soon as Cleo says “Stop” you stop, understand?’ They nod. ‘No penetration without a condom, okay?’ Another nod. ‘And no — repeat, no — anal sex without Cleo’s express permission.’ More nodding, but not quite so sincere this time. ‘I’m serious. Anyone even touches her there without me first hearing her yell “Fuck my ass!” will discover exactly why you should never piss off a girl in stilettos.’ Cleo’s staring wide-eyed at me. The men nod more convincingly. ‘Okay,’ I say, and lead Cleo down to the nearby taxi rank.
    ‘Fuck,’ she says as we get into a taxi. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing?’
    ‘You can back out any time. I’ll keep you safe, whatever you choose.’
    She studies me for a moment. ‘I believe you, but you scare me a bit.’
    ‘Good,’ I say.
    Ben and Tom climb into the taxi with us, Tom shouting out an address in the north of the city somewhere, a good twenty minutes away, and I shuffle over to let them sit either side of Cleo. It’s not long before Ben and Tom are each sucking on one of Cleo’s exposed breasts, their fingers playing with her dark-haired pussy. I didn’t see them take off her bra and knickers. Maybe she took them off in the club. Maybe she never had any to begin with, although I believe she did. The driver is half-watching this in the mirror. I wonder how often he gets treated to a show like this. Cleo comes at least twice during the ride, and has to cling to me for support when we arrive at Tom’s house. A second taxi pulls up as we are waiting for Tom to unlock and open the door, and Derek, Charlie