The Madam. Jaime Raven

      It was the first time we’d made love on a double bed, and it was as good as I knew it would be. The sheets were soft and clean and we didn’t have to worry about the cell door being thrown open by some pervy screw.

      Scar lit a few scented candles and the heady mix of jasmine and coital sweat was quite intoxicating.

      We pleasured each other in ways that only women know how. Gently. Expertly. Homing in on exactly the right spots.

      For a brief moment it took me back to my first girl-on-girl encounter some years before. I was eighteen and in between boyfriends. Natalie Boyd was a good mate with a firm body and fake tan. We were at a house party and more than a little drunk. Teamed up with two guys whose names I’d forgotten. Mine was an electrician whose parents owned the house and were away on holiday.

      After everyone else had gone home, the four of us ended up naked in the garden jacuzzi together. Playful banter and a bit of groping before the guys egged Nats and me on to snog each other. And why not? I was horny as hell and curious to boot. Nats was wet and sexy and clearly up for it.

      So we kissed, much to the delight of the two blokes who sat in the churning water stroking themselves. We then went on to explore each other’s bodies with our hands and tongues and quickly got carried away on a tidal surge of passion.

      The lads continued to watch until they couldn’t contain their excitement any longer and we all partied well into the early hours.

      It was my first lesbian experience and although it was great, it wasn’t life-changing. In fact, I wasn’t desperately keen to repeat it, preferring instead to continue steering a straight course where sex was concerned. Even when I became an escort I didn’t go for the girl-on-girl thing.

      But that changed when I went inside and met Scar. We became firm friends and one thing led to another as it often does in prison. It was fair to say that she opened my eyes to a world of new and exquisite experiences.

      But this time the sex was something else entirely. I got completely lost in the swell of desire and emotion, to the extent that I felt tears trickle onto my cheeks.

      It was clear that our feelings for each other were undiminished. And I was overwhelmed by the fact that Scar was still there for me, despite the hassle I’d heaped upon her.

      She was in her element, sucking and kissing every inch of my body, her tongue probing and teasing until I could stand it no longer and let out a high-pitched scream from deep inside my chest.

      I shut my eyes tight as I came, then savoured the deep, rocking sensation that carried me all the way to a full, mind-blowing orgasm.

       3

      For a long time after our love making we just lay on the bed entwined in each other’s arms. A portable fan offered some relief from the heat of the afternoon.

      Being with Scar again after a couple of months apart made me realise how right it felt. And it wasn’t just about the sex. We’d been drawn to each other because of an emotional empathy, a shared capacity to talk about our feelings. It was something I’d never had with any of the men in my life.

      ‘Come on, gorgeous,’ Scar said, rising from the bed. ‘Let’s go to town and do some shopping.’

      After we showered, we drove to the West Quay retail complex in the city centre where I got my hair done and then went in search of some new clothes. I’d lost weight in jail and was now a size ten. That was one good thing to come out of my incarceration, I supposed.

      Shopping had never been so much fun, even back in the days when the agency work meant that I had cash to spare. I bought a pair of jeans, a couple of skirts and blouses, sandals, shoes and a light summer jacket in beige with big brown buttons.

      We spent an inordinate amount of time choosing sexy underwear, and to round it off I treated us to a couple of interesting looking toys in Ann Summers.

      A few hours later we hit the town. Powdered, painted and reeking of perfume. It was my first night of freedom and I was determined to enjoy it.

      Scar was dressed to kill in a short black leather skirt and lemon halter. I wore my new slinky jeans and a blue blouse that revealed maybe a bit too much of my pert breasts.

      We had a tankful before leaving the house, so by the time we got to the Mercury Club we were both gobby and giggly and hot to trot.

      The music inside was thunderous, and everywhere you looked there were same-sex couples. But I didn’t feel out of place or uncomfortable. The atmosphere might have been heavy and electric, but it was also friendly.

      Scar seemed to know half the people there and introduced me to them as her girlfriend. I wondered how many knew that I had only just been released from prison. I was glad it was too noisy for conversation. It meant I didn’t have to answer awkward questions and could concentrate on having a good time.

      I stuck to vodka, lime and lemonade, fearing the consequences of mixing my drinks. But Scar had no such concerns and was knocking back Tequila shots, Southern Comfort and the occasional wine. She got me in a clinch at one point and told me that she loved me.

      ‘I hope we can hold on to what we have, Lizzie. I know it won’t be easy for you now that you’re out. But promise me one thing – you’ll be totally honest about how you feel.’

      I cupped her face in my hands and made a solemn promise which I knew I might not keep. Then I gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips that coincided with a slow Jenny Read number that happened to be one of my favourites. So we continued clinging to each other as we moved around the crowded floor until the DJ upped the tempo and the club was once again shaking to the heavy beat of an R and B group.

      It was 1 a.m. when we left the club and joined the parade of revellers heading home. The air was warm and muggy and filled with a cacophony of familiar city sounds – drunken laughter, loud swearing, the distant wail of police sirens.

      We were both unsteady on our feet as we walked hand in hand through the dingy streets of the grimiest part of Southampton. Drunk, but not paralytic. It was a good place to be. Tomorrow life was going to get a lot more complicated. Maybe even dangerous. But tonight I was relaxed and enjoying the feeling.

      We stopped at a mobile snack bar. Bought burgers and chips. Lots of salt and vinegar and tomato sauce. Sheer bloody bliss.

      We were crossing the road towards our new home when the roar of an engine suddenly seized our attention. We stepped quickly onto the kerb as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the house about fifteen yards ahead of us.

      Then the rear nearside door was flung open, and to my astonishment a man’s body was pushed out onto the pavement by an outstretched arm.

      The car then revved up and lurched forward, the door slamming shut as it screeched away along the street, before turning out of sight.

      Scar and I rushed over to the figure lying on the pavement. He was on his back and his blood-covered face was bathed in the glow of a street lamp. Blood frothed around his mouth so we knew he was breathing.

      I dropped to one knee to take a close look. And that’s when my heart exploded in my chest and I almost fainted.

      ‘Oh my God.’

      Scar lowered herself to a squat beside me.

      ‘Calm down, Lizzie. The guy’s alive. We’ll call an ambulance.’

      I shook my head. ‘You don’t understand. This is Mark. This is my fucking brother.’

      The sight of my brother lying there on the pavement instantly sobered me up. I yelled for Scar to call 999, then leaned over him.

      ‘It’s me, Mark. Lizzie. Can you hear what I’m saying?’

      He was conscious, thank God, but I couldn’t tell how badly hurt he was. There was a large dark swelling