Page 57 of Always Alchemy

‘Oh my God, yes,’ Darcy rambles excitedly. ‘Me on the pole and then the guys looking like hot businessmen who want to ravish me.’

‘Which is exactly what we are,’ Dex points out, and there’s a snigger around the room.

‘Nice,’ I say. ‘Shouldn’t require too much by way of acting skills from you two useless fuckers.’

With all twelve months squared off, I allow myself a moment of excitement. This should be bloody brilliant. Not only will it raise good money for a great cause, but I can tell from the energy levels in the room and the undeniable frisson among us all that this will be a welcome boost for everyone’s sex lives—even for those of us who don’t need it.

Natalie shoots off emails as we sit here, pitching the ideato Tobias Graf and to Gossamer’s visual merchandising team, who are responsible for the vision not only of their store windows but of their photoshoots. I’m confident she’ll get them on board. She may be delightful, but she’s fucking steely. I’m pretty sure she gets whatever she wants in business.

‘I realise trying to find a date will be a nightmare,’ I say, ‘but as soon as we’ve heard back from Graf, let’s get one in the diary. I suggest we do it during the day at Alchemy so we have the run of the place and we’ve got time to get the private rooms turned over before the punters turn up.’

‘Why would we need the private rooms?’ Maddy wants to know.

‘Come on,’ I say, shutting my laptop. ‘You don’t for a second think you horny fuckers will be able to shoot scenes like this and not need to fuck it all out of your systems before you go off home to your kids, do you?’

20

LIGHTS, CAMERA, AND PLENTY OF ACTION

CAL

Nat is a bloody rockstar. She’s pulled out of the bag all sorts of experts who are willing to lend their services for free. Max may have scoffed at my environmental campaign, but it’s definitely drawn the fashion crowds. Although, I suppose Gossamer has made such a huge name for itself as a sustainable fashion brand that it makes sense the people Nat’s team collaborates with are eco-conscious.

In any case, with her and Gen’s combined—and scarily efficient—help, I’ve pulled together the shoot schedule with relative ease. I’m pretty sure everyone in the calendar—particularly Adam and Max—should be far busier than they seem to be, but they’ve all cleared their diaries for this.

I suppose sexy posing with your loved one, or ones, beats HR sit-downs and forecasting meetings or whatever the fuck else they do all day.

Aside from the off-location shoots in Adam’s gym andMax’s office, we’re hoping to get everything wrapped today and tomorrow. Tobias Graf, fashion photographer extraordinaire, is here with his team and, unfortunately, his dog, Ludo, a pretty little pug whose nasal passage is so comprised that you can hear him coming long before you see him, and whose plump, intact scrotum is a source of great intrigue and, it appears, arousal to Norm.

What could possibly go wrong?

ADAM

Cal’s artistic vision for me taking my youthful-looking wife over an old-school wooden desk while she carries off the soon-to-be-violated schoolgirl look with aplomb is so on the money that I make a mental note to (a) shake him by the hand later and (b) ensure that we take this uniform home with us. Why I’ve never thought to act out this particular fantasy with Nat, I have no fucking clue, but consider that an oversight I’ll probably compensate for every weekend.

While I think of it, I might try to take this desk home, too. It would work well with the spanking bench in the basement.

My wife looks like a porno version (tasteful porno, but porno nonetheless) of a schoolgirl from that godawful show she made me binge-watch with her when she had a virus. What was it called? SomethingGirls.Oh,Gilmore Girls. Total drivel, but Nat’s take on the little tartan skirt, and knee-high white socks, and modest looking blouse and tie, and this fucking prep-school ponytail she’s swinging around is something I can very much get on board with.

She’s even got plain white panties on, very similar to the ones she wore that first time I took her over my knee in here. Her skirt is so short, and I’m hyper-conscious that they’reright there.

I might make her walk all the way home in front of me, just so I can watch that flippy little hem swing.

It seems she’s as tickled by my appearance as I am by hers, though I have no idea why. She dressed me in the kind of khakis a teacher might wear (though far nicer—God knows, she won’t get me in Gap khakis even for the Amazon), and a blue and white checked shirt, open at the neck. Over it I’m wearing a V-necked navy merino tank, and I have my sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.

My wife has told me the forearm porn is averyimportant part of this and that I must make sure I flex as hard as I can when I’m pretending to spank her.

My favourite part of this costume? The wooden foot-long ruler I’m supposed to spank her with. As I slap it against my palm, I note how pleasingly flexible it is. This should sting nicely.

The brief for the shoot is tasteful. Moody. Sophisticated.

I can do that.

The lighting is rigged up and ready. Graf is standing by.

‘Over to you,’ he says to me and Nat. ’Why don’t you try out a few positions? Get comfortable, and then I’ll see what works?’

‘You heard the man,’ I croon in my wife’s ear as I stand behind her. I wrap her glossy ponytail around my fist and tug her ear even closer to my mouth. ‘Why don’t you bend over for Mr Wright and let him show you what averybad girl you’ve been today, hmm?’

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