Image Nine Point Four

"Mm. Noted. Thing is, I've been having drinks with Nigel. Don't worry, it's allowed! A call for evidence isn't a court of law. Where was I? He was speculating that, if a good witness confirmed they enjoyed such activity, a photo of it might be remarkably good evidence. Obviously he was joking, but a blunt statement that yes, you would be willing to replicate an image, might be very powerful. Have a look at image nine point three, or even better, nine point four, and see if that is your kind of thing."

Image nine point four is a picture showing a very red and well-caned bottom. I rather like it. The woman has reddened nipples, from some pressure there, and some other marks around the cane stripes. It's intense, but it's the sort of experience I could be led through, with enough of the right headspace and applying lots of sexual pleasure. The woman's pussy has a gleam. I think she's been recently fucked, or you're supposed to believe that. "Nigel the judge? He believes that would be convincing?"

"To be honest, he's a big old perv! Probably the only reason he wants to discuss the photo... But it might scupper that assistant barrister, who's still yakking on about 'poor women being conned into being physically abused'..."

"Didn't Melons point out why no-one would bother, when there's so many volunteers?"

"Yes, but you could see her mentally sticking her fingers in her ears and going 'la la la' at the big horrid pornographer. Do you think you can charm her? Bond with her about how you're a perfectly normal woman -- a mother, even. You just tried a couple ideas from Cosmo, liked the sensations, learnt more..."

"I can try! I mean, yes, I can confirm that I have been in similar states as the woman in image nine point four. Out of my own free will."

"That's all we ask. The lead barrister isn't pushing anything, he's a good guy, so if we can get the judges to dismiss her, we may have a chance. Or at least reframe the debate which would have to happen, back in Parliament."

I almost want to see that. The Commons, or even better, the House of Lords, having debates on anything to do with sex, are always hilarious. I remember the Lords discussing 'homosexual sex acts' from positions of terrifying ignorance back in the Nineties, but they've improved. Lord Alli started it, when he bravely came out 'as a gay Muslim man' -- he's an incredibly brave and hard-working chap who managed to get a bunch of bishops on side, but there's a bunch of other Lords, too, who take their classical Liberal views very seriously.

People say the Lords is a total anachronism of an upper chamber, but given they're appointed for life, with no need to worry about the opinion of a fickle public, it works remarkably well. Even the 92 hereditary Lords, elected by the entire nobility, are appointed for their expertise in random subjects. I'd be tempted to remove the sixteen Church of England bishops, but even they tend to be supportive of love, forgiveness, helping the poor and needy, and generally using Jesus as a role model in the way you'd hope most Christians would. It's only sex that tends to trigger any intolerant views.

I try to think through all the likely lines the lawyer will throw at me, and how I'll answer. It's like being back in the school debating society. Kash helps me, the next evening. He's argued all day about better ways to prevent modern slavery and sex trafficking.

"What can you say, if she accuses you of being humiliated?" he asks.

"The woman being gagged and helpless, and all? I can point out that women, in particular, have had a lifetime of being told not to be sexual. So indulging in sexual reactions is a fuck-you to that: I'm going to enjoy it anyway."

"Please don't use the word fuck."

"I'll do my best. We're more like The Thick of It, than Yes Minister, now, at work." Much more sweary.

Kash sighs. "It's a shame we can't just take the lawyers off to a fetish club and prove there's people who enjoy this kind of thing."

"As you said, they wouldn't believe it. They must be porn actresses being paid, it's not real emotion, they're trafficked and scared of retribution..."

"I suppose. Maybe you could offer to be a demo bunny, in court?"

We both laugh at Kash's suggestion. Performing a scene, for actual judges, in the opulent House of Lords? What a ridiculous idea!

*

I've taken today and tomorrow off work. I twist my hair into a bun, which I never normally do, greet the police at the entrance to Parliament, wave my pass on its lanyard to go through the fast-track security scanning queue, then wait for Mike so I can escort him to the correct room. As I enter, I tuck my pass under my blouse to hide my name.

Jenni's there, taking notes for her next news article, along with the live blogger. John's come down to support me, which is nice of him. Mike sits next to him, the pair of them my back-up team. There's a court artist, a woman a bit older than me, taking notes. Melons, Magenta, Suzy and Raven have come too, so women win the battle of the sexes on our side of the aisle. The group nearer the Government barristers comprises some po-faced religious types and a journo who is very, very disgusted by all this, so much so that he has to write it up in graphic detail for his tabloid, so his readers can be equally appalled. Also a pair of anti-porn feminist campaigners, who glared when I greeted Kash with a smile. They'd assumed I was on their side.

Kash has a word, reassuring me. He advises me to start with what we and the legislators have in common.

Nigel and the other two judges sweep in and sit behind the table. Kash takes a chair and sits at one end of it, at an angle to see the room; the two Government barristers do the same at the opposite end.

The sour-faced female barrister, Timpson, places another chair a few feet from Kash. It may not be a dock, and no spotlight, but it looks at least as ominous as the hot seat on Mastermind. Just needs that terrifying theme music...

Nigel taps on his water glass for attention. "Shall we proceed? Mr Singh, whom do you have for us today?"

Kash smiles at me, and beckons me up. I try to look as charming and pleasant as possible as I walk over and get seated. A nice, inoffensive, middle-aged woman. Salt of the earth, heart of the community, me.

"Good morning. This is Janine Jones. Could you introduce yourself, please."

It's the first time I've been called by my married name since some twit did twenty years ago, after our wedding. It's odd. I'm grateful for his reminder, given it's weeks since Kash photocopied that daft deed poll and my ID as proof of his witness's identity. The last thing I need is to be doxxed by the other side of the gallery.

"Good morning, everyone." This is just like any work meeting, with a range of supportive and hostile stakeholders, right? "Thank you for this opportunity to speak. My name's Janine Jones, and I'm a civil servant by profession. I'm a Grade 7, a policy team leader in one of the departments a few moments' walk away." I gesture all around, towards Whitehall and the offices behind Westminster Abbey. "I'm hoping for a promotion in the next year or so. I'm happily married; my two children are both at university now, and my husband Mike is over there." Mike puts his hand up and does a regal wave, thankfully without giggling.

"Basically, I'm a perfectly normal woman, never been sexually abused or assaulted or trafficked, never taken illegal drugs, never been paid for sex in any way... I'm incredibly boring, really." There's a polite titter of laughter. "It just happens, that like many other equally normal people, I happen to like kinky sex. So my husband and I occasionally indulge at home, or we go to clubs for a bit of an occasion and special play equipment."

"Tell me what you mean by kinky sex," Kash encourages me.

"Heh." I concentrate on him, and the judges to the side, so I don't need to look at the disapproving half of the audience. "Being restrained, for example. It can help you focus on the sensations and enjoy yourself."

"Sensations?" asks Timpson, with a disapproving cat's-bum mouth.

"Sex. It's supposed to feel good?" I'm calm, but it must sound patronising. There's a couple chuckles.

"Are you seriously saying that being hit feels good?"

"I never mentioned being hit. I'd got as far as restraints. Bondage, if you will. Anything that stops you thinking about moving, and thus you can relax more and simply enjoy whatever sensations you're getting. Blindfolds work in a similar way." I take a sip of the water Kash pours me. "Some people use ear plugs for the same reason. I'd hope you don't think either of those need to be made illegal?"

I hope I'm skirting the right side of the line between logic and sarcasm. I dare a look at the opposing barristers. Thompson, the lead one, seems to be smiling at the ceiling. I have no idea if that's a good sign.

Kash goes, "Go on. You were explaining kinky sex."

"Right. Well, many sensations can enhance the sexual reaction." I managed that with a totally straight face; thank goodness for the various intro workshops I've run over the years. "For example, someone might really enjoy a fingernail being run down the inside of their arm -- I demonstrate, on my own arm. Or, when being more passionate, a couple might enjoy scratching each other at the same time. I claw my hand and draw it through the air."

"Well, Ms Jones, thank you for stating the obvious, but that's not what we're talking about, is it?" Pursed-mouth Timpson doesn't like me, I can tell.

I force myself to keep my voice completely neutral. "Isn't it? We've already agreed that the kind of images you're trying to ban aren't produced by trafficked victims, but by people who are enthusiastically consenting. And that yes, there might be pain but also satisfying sensation. I'm trying to explain that hard scratches could be an example of that. As could the build-up of warmth and pleasant feelings from a spanking, or from implements on someone's behind.

"Like in image nine point one," Kash interjects.

"You'd have to show me that image," I tell him. "I don't want to mislead anyone."

"Here." Kash puts an A4-size glossy printout on the table, of the pink bottom he showed me yesterday. I hope he has his own printer and didn't have to get it done at Snappy Snaps...

I smile politely at it. "Looks like someone having a good time."

The woman barrister scoffs. Kash hides a grin. He picks the picture and holds it up, assessing, clearly comparing it to me. "Ms Jones, may I ask a blunt question?"

Judge Nigel is looking amused. I run with it. "Yes, of course. It's what I'm here for."

"Indeed. In that case: is this, in fact, a picture of you?"

I give a little tinkly laugh. Mumsnet would be proud. "I did have to look closely. I don't think that lady is over thirty, though. It's not me, though when I was that age -- twenty years younger and thinner -- it would have been very hard to tell!"

"You say it could have been you? By which you mean, you have, in the past, happily consented to have implements applied to you, so as to produce such an effect? Of redness?"

"Oh yes. Absolutely. Quite regularly, even." I shift the chair so I can see Mike as well as Kash, and so Timpson and the 'Christian Word' activists aren't staring at me straight on.

"How often, would you say?"

"Well, over the last twenty-odd years... I first experimented a bit with a boyfriend at university, then we sought out groups to join to ensure we weren't doing anything dangerously..."

"You broke up? Timpson wants to make something of this.

"He got a job in Australia. I'd just got one here. We decided it wasn't worth it." Will that remind her not to ask questions she doesn't know the answer to? "But to answer your question, I used to play most weeks for about five years, then not much when the kids were young, then got back into it about eight years later, when it was easier to get a babysitter and we'd go out."

"Why would you go out?" Thompson, the bored male barrister, interjects.

I stare at him. "Our house doesn't have soundproof walls. It's difficult for any parents to 100% relax if they're still in the house, at home, praying the children stay asleep. If you want to do anything you wouldn't want them to walk in on, that goes double. That's hardly a unique concept to kinksters! All parents enjoy a night out!"

"Mm, yes," murmurs the other male judge, an elderly man who's been silent up to now. "Sally and I tried to have a whole weekend away twice a year, much as we loved the little blighters!"

I do the polite laughter required, despite my envy of people who had family able to babysit that much. "Precisely. And clubs have atmosphere. Much more friendly than your typical nightclub -- you can hear yourself speak, for starters. Everyone's there for some sort of fun, people dress up and show themselves off -- it's all remarkably accepting of all body types. Very feminist, if you think about it! Everyone looks good in a corset, or rubber flattering their curves, or whatever gear they've gone for -- it'll be something they feel confident in."

I'm missing out the naked guys on leashes and such, but, you know, it's impossible to tell the whole truth. Just as well this is an enquiry, not a criminal case. "Kink clubs are nice. You can sit around and people-watch, or chat with a mug of tea. It's got to be quiet enough to communicate, unlike nightclubs where they just want you to drink and dance. You don't get drunk people, which is nice. And you can watch what people get up to. Lots of people don't play in public, just get ideas or just enjoy watching. Some of it'll be to my taste, some not so much. That's fine."

"You're speaking very hypothetically, Ms Jones. Are you saying you don't actually indulge in the masochistic behaviour you mentioned earlier?"

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Three. Two. One. "On the contrary, ma'am. I'm just not used to talking about my sex life to people who aren't actually interested in it.

"Ahem. I think she is interested; hence the prurient questions." Thanks, Nigel. He knows exactly what I mean.

I continue. "Fair point. To people who aren't potentially interested in doing similar things, with me or themselves, then. I can confirm: I would be very happy to reproduce -- or rather, reproduce being the subject of -- that picture."

"Nine point one?" the second judge clarifies.

"Nine point one," I agree.

"I see..." Thompson, the other barrister, seems to wake up. "There's a number of pictures here. What about nine point three, say?"

They scuffle to find the printout of 9.3 in the evidence folders. It's a photo of woman gagged, with nipple and labial clamps applied, looking submissively downwards with her hands behind her head.

"And the relevance of this, Mr Thompson?" Kash is on my side.

"Simply trying to establish if this is Ms Jones' idea of a good time." He's doing a sweet, don't-blame-me voice, now.

"I can't speak for every single person who's at all into submission or masochism, only for myself! I can confirm that there would be at least a dozen people in similar... situations, at any fetish club night." The duo want me to be more precise. "Personally, I don't like gags like that -- it's a bit painful on the temporo-mandibular joint. But that's just me. The rest of it could be part of a good evening. Of course, you do have to be careful not to leave clamps on for too long."

"What would happen?" Kash asks. As if he didn't know!

"They continue to make a nice throbbing sensation -- that's fine. But if they're left on for more than ten, fifteen minutes... It's when they're removed it hurts, when blood flows freely again. People -- I -- will scream."

"Ah-ha," goes lemon-lips, making notes. The 'feminists' smirk, thinking I've conceded a point.

Kash intervenes. "People scream with pain? That doesn't sound good?" It's a leading question.

"Ah, the thing is, you see..." I smile at him. "Sure the removal hurts, but the sensation of weight hanging from sensitive bits until then is fabulous. And the sensation afterwards, along with the pain, which quickly dies down, is absolutely fu... flipping fantastic!" I sketch a graph in the air, depicting pain/pleasure on the y-axis, against an x-axis of time.

A ripple of disbelief from the group of censorship supporters. Some knowing chuckles from my side.

"Hm. I see. What about nine point four?" Thompson asks.

"Before they find that one," Kash intervenes. "Perhaps we could return to nine two, and Ms Jones could use her expertise to talk us through the effects of each item depicted?"

The lady judge passes me a copy of image 9.2. It's quite the collection. Ten items, each with a small label from a to j.

"Right. You've got cuffs there. For ankles or wrists, I can't tell. They should be very comfortable. Many people find being bound is relaxing, being able to totally pass control to someone else. It's a cliché that many submissive people are senior managers, CEOs, etc."

"Did you say you weren't very submissive?" That's Kash.

"I can be, sometimes. Though I'm not a senior manager, either."

Nigel and Kash laugh. I think Thompson and the second judge might, too.

"Next. Nine point two B. Some good quality nipple clamps. See the rubber protecting the bite? They go behind the nipple, where a baby is supposed to bite when breast-feeding. It's a very similar sensation!" No-one will dispute feminist credentials of breast-feeding. "You feel the weight -- and that's why there's the heavy chain between them. It also helps stop you losing one of them. Very handy."

More murmurs of amusement. This is remarkably like running a BDSM 101 workshop -- I'm sounding as calm as possible, aiming to lure hesitant people in. Unfortunately, not all these people want to be lured.

"That's a riding crop. The thing with any implement is, they can be used in so many different ways. I don't suppose we have one to demo with? I'll use my pen. You can go swish, like this, but people don't, not until the bottom is all warmed up, say from spanking."

"I've got one," John calls out.

Of course he bloody would. Should I be concerned that Security let his implement bag through?

"Thank you, Professor." I enjoy making him embarrassed, using the title. Given its usually the other way round, embarrassment, with us.

I demonstrate different ways of using a crop or cane, on the edge of the table. Eventually I do a couple big swings with the crop, but not his fat bamboo cane, because I don't want to break it.

Timpson points at image 9.4. "I don't think those red marks -- cane marks, I'm told, -- would be made by that low level of impact. They look quite substantial."

"I agree." That surprises her. "Someone's tried to copy a classic 'six of the best' from a traditional school punishment -- only you can tell from the pink surrounding area, that unlike corporal punishment in a school, this person has had a hand spanking as a warm-up, plus there's those crop marks. And from the spread legs, I'd guess they -- she -- has been made sexually excited before, during, or after. So it's a very different proposition."

"Corporal punishment was banned because of the conflict with human dignity," barrister Thompson pipes up primly. He cites the European Court of Human Rights case.

"Eventually," I agree. I guess both barristers are my age or Timpson a little younger; Kash is the same age as me. "But I had a couple friends whose school still used corporal punishment when they were in the sixth form -- when they were eighteen," I clarify for Kash, who was schooled in Scotland. I name the private Catholic school. Nigel nods. He's old enough to remember.

"Thing was, caning, or the slipper or a tawse or ruler on the hand, had all but died out, for the simple reason it didn't work. My friends said that given the alternatives -- running round the pitches at six a.m., or a weekend-long detention, or, god forbid, kitchen duty -- any of them would go for a sore backside, even if it was with the old History teacher who added a fondle and clearly enjoyed doing it."