She was a very good subject. ‘Are you awake?,’ he asked her. ‘Yessss, Master.’ ‘Good girl, how do you feel?’ ‘I feel good master.’... ‘You can’t remember your name can you?’ ‘No.’ He felt clever to have planted that suggestion in the question. ‘Your real name is ‘Slut’ but you can only say it in private with me.’ ‘You call yourself ‘Jane’ otherwise.’ ‘Thank you master, I forgot’. ‘I know.’ ‘Your pubic hair is getting itchy.’ She was squirming in the chair. ‘And as I keep talking it is. Hardly used now, the Curzon was a shabby old club. The main hall with its wooden stage and torn velvet curtains was closed off which left only one little bar remained open. With a few dodgy tables and chairs with folded beer mats under the legs, a futile attempt to keep them level, it stank like a public toilet. Dan had not been here for over a year but nothing had changed. The young mums with their alco pops were wailing on a little karaoke machine in the corner looking for someone, anyone, to. More

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