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| I tramp down Michigan Avenue as the bitter Chicago wind whips
my hair, biting my ears. My face aches and my fingers are numb.
Four more blocks until I reach the store. God, I hate that bitch. At breakfast, she had shoved the money in my hand. "I've decided I want the cardigan I showed you. I need you to pick it up for me today." "Delia, I don't know how you can spend seven hundred dollars on a fucking sweater," I said. "First, I hate it when you swear and second, it's Scottish cashmere. But why am I explaining myself? You're hardly an authority on good taste. Don't argue with me. Just go get it." So here I am on my lunch hour freezing my ass off for Her Royal Highness. When I return from work in the evening, I can hear Delia in the kitchen gabbing on the phone about the party she's planning. I take off my coat and put it on the chair in the living room. But then I quickly remove it and hang it in the closet, since I've been told, repeatedly, not to place my wrap on the Mies van der Rohe. When she's off the phone, I throw the bag on the table next to where she sits. "Here's your sweater." "Wonderful. You bought it." "Don't I do everything you tell me to do?" I grab a glass out of the cabinet and pour myself some water from the faucet. Delia comes up behind me and puts her hands on my waist. "How was your day?" "Same old shit." "You know Beth, you're so negative. You should listen to yourself. Have you forgotten how lucky you are to work at my firm?" "No, I haven't forgotten." "Well, good." She puts her chin on my shoulder and hugs me tight. I feel like I’m going to suffocate. Then she squeezes my breasts as if they were two heaps of dough. “How’s June and Jill?” she asks. Delia has always been obsessed with their large size, so she gave them names. “They’re tired. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” "I'll join you. I haven't seen you since this morning." I'm too worn out to protest. In our bed, I lie naked and still. Delia, also naked, climbs on top of me. She's worshipping June and Jill, holding them in her hands, kissing their skin and sucking their nipples into her mouth. When did it go? I think about the night I met her, at the Art Institute members' opening for Andy Warhol. I wore my red dress with the spaghetti straps, the one that clings to my body. I've always enjoyed the feel of the silky material. I was looking at one of Warhol's paintings when she walked up to me. "My dear, you're causing quite a stir. The dress is exquisite," she said. "Thanks." I turned to look at her. Her brown hair was pulled back exposing her facial features. She appeared to be in her forties, but quite attractive with a perfect nose and full lips. She wore black, a silk blouse and leather pants, expensive. She wasn't looking at the Warhol painting. Her gray eyes were looking at me, brazen, just like men do. I could feel my clit swell. "My name is Delia, and you are?" "I'm Beth." "I'm very pleased to meet you Beth, and if you don't mind me saying, you're incredibly beautiful." I looked into her eyes and smiled. The look she gave me in return sent a chill throughout my body. I believe that if she could have attacked me right there, she would have. But it was in her limo, twenty minutes later, behind the privacy divider, where my pussy wasn't eaten, but devoured. And afterward when I looked down at my breasts they were covered with hickeys. Some of the best sex I had ever had. But now, three years later, I'm numb. * * * It's the day of the party. Delia has been rattling on about it for weeks. Krystka, our cleaning woman, is polishing the silver. I sit down to help. "Oh, no," she says, waving me off. "No, I want to." I don't say anything else since Krystka doesn't speak much English. Delia is out getting her nails done. I enjoy the peace and quiet and sit here planning my escape. There's nothing quite as dull as Delia's gatherings. Maybe I can hide out in the den or something. "Beth, what are you doing?" Delia's returned. "Leave Krystka alone. She's busy." "Yeah, okay." "What are you wearing tonight?" "What does it matter? They're your friends." "Beth, please. Don't wear those brown slacks again. They make you look fat." "Whatever." I opt for lunch out; anything to get away from Delia buzzing around like a pesky yellow jacket. I grab a bite at a cozy pub that is quiet and has good sandwiches. Delia Ferguson. After our rendezvous in the limo, I gave her my number, but I didn't think I'd ever see her again. I wasn't looking for a relationship. But she called the next day and the wining and dining soon followed. As it turned out, she's the Chairman and CEO of the advertising firm that I'd been dying to work for. After several attempts to get in on my own I fuck Delia and voilá; I'm hired. In exchange she got an ornament, blond hair and big tits, the only type that gets her off. I've seen photos of her former girlfriends. We all look the same. Dating a rich and powerful dyke was fun, at first. She spent a fortune on me. My diet improved. My clothes improved. I traveled to places I had only dreamed about. But I've been playing "dress up" with Delia, because I'm just Beth from Wisconsin. Growing up in Minocqua, my parents wanted me to excel in school so that I could go to a good college and get a good job. That was my goal, too, so that’s what I did. I was accepted into Northwestern, and once I got to Chicago, the big city was a shock, but I adjusted to it fairly quickly. Two years later, I decided I was gay. It’s funny that I never really realized it before. I mean, I always knew that there was something different about me. At school, I was the pretty blonde. But when the guys tried to hit on me, I resisted. I did have one boyfriend, briefly, during senior year of high school. He was handsome and quite popular. But in truth, we were more like buddies than girlfriend and boyfriend. Then when I got to Northwestern, there was a gay and lesbian group that I became involved with, made all the difference. After a couple of relationships with women, I knew I was gay. I decided to go into advertising, and after I graduated, I worked at a few firms until I ended up at Delia's. And it was good. But now, at 26, I'm just sort of going through the motions. I don’t know what will wake me up. * * * Soft music comes out of the speakers as the scent of cranberries fills every inch of the house. The lighting has been lowered and the caterers, dressed in black pants and white coats, display the hors d'oeuvres. A full bar, stocked with only the best champagne and wine, sits to the side. Red candles, in fir and junipers, decorate the tables. Delia is standing in the middle of the living room. Dressed in a Chanel sweater and pants, she's a perfect vision. I wear a black dress and black pumps, which passed her inspection. I'm dying for one of the hors d'oeuvres, the bruschetta in particular, but I dare not touch them before the guests arrive. Delia would have a fit. She has hired a doorman. His name is Chester, or something like that, and he's in a black tuxedo. He won't look me in the face, just stands there like a toy soldier, probably on Delia's orders. The doorbell rings, and he snaps to attention letting in the first of the guests. "Larry, Janet," Delia says. "How nice to see you." I ask the bartender for a glass of Chianti and sneak off to the den. Inside, with the door closed, I relax on the recliner and listen to rock through my earphones, heavy stuff that drives Delia crazy. I sip the wine. It's dry, smooth taste flows easily down my throat. Delia knows her wine. If I could run back and get another glass, along with a couple of hors d'oeuvres, then sneak back here, I'd be fine. But that plan is ruined when Delia bursts in. I remove my earphones. "Beth! Jesus, what are you doing?" "Drinking wine and listening to music." "Get out of that chair, please." I do. She walks up to me. "Look at you." She runs her fingers through my hair and then down my cleavage. "You're so beautiful. Why do you go out of your way to upset me?" I shrug. "Come out with me. I want to show you off." She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the den. Back in the living room, I'm stunned to see it has filled with people. Everyone looks as pulled together as Delia. It's like they all read the same rulebook. But standing by the fireplace is a woman in a long, black velvet dress, with a corset bodice. She wears black boots with big chunky heels. Her skin is pale and her straight raven hair hangs down to her butt. Her eyes are a striking blue. I'm perplexed because Delia doesn't associate with Gothic chicks. While Delia is busy talking to one of her business associates, I walk over to the bartender and ask him to pour me another Chianti. When I turn around, I'm staring into the sapphire eyes of the woman in black. "You must be Beth." "Yes, how did you know?" "Chuck said Delia was living with some gorgeous blond. I don't see anyone else here like that, so I figured it was you. I'm Lola." "You're with Chuck?" Chuck Parker, before his divorce, was married to a "Miss Suzie Homemaker" who bore him five children. Lola's no Suzie Homemaker. "Well, I'm accompanying him to this party. Some spread you put on." "It's all Delia. I'm just here." She looks down, reaches into her shoulder bag and fumbles with something. Then she looks up at me. "The desserts are out," she says, her eyes wide with excitement. "I see chocolate covered strawberries. Wanna take a look?" At the dessert table, Chuck, an oil tycoon from Dallas dressed in a gray suit and snake skin cowboy boots, walks up to Lola and whispers into her ear loud enough for me to hear. "You got me with that last one," he says to her with a grin and a Texan drawl. "Yes. You've been a bad boy, Chucky." She puts her hand into her purse again. Chuck closes his eyes, his mouth forming an even wider grin. "Heaven," he says, opening his eyes. And then he walks away. I’m too curious to remain silent. "What are you doing?" I ask. "He's wired." "What?" "Actually, he's wireless and it's my job to keep him happy." "Wireless?" "He's wearing a remote control thong and I've got the remote." She pulls it slightly out of her purse so I can see it. "When I push this button, his package gets zapped." "Oh," I say, trying not to laugh. "So how long have you and Chuck been dating?" "Dating? I'm a dominatrix, honey. Ever hear of those?" "Yes," I say, slightly annoyed. "I'm not as dumb as I look." "Of course not! Hey, I'm going out to smoke. Wanna join me?" It's not every day that I get to talk to a dominatrix. So I follow her out to the back porch. The icy breeze slides through my hair and clothes and if it wasn't for the wine in my system I'd freeze. Lola seems oblivious in her velvet dress, her black locks dancing in the wind. She takes a puff of her cigarette, silver rings on each of her fingers. The smoke flows slowly out of her ruby lips. Everyone else at the party appears to be older than me, like Delia, but Lola seems to be around my age. "You don't look happy," she says. "What?" "You don't look happy. When I saw you I thought such a beautiful woman who's so unhappy." I guess it was starting to show. "I'm bored, that's all." "Bored how, with your job?" She takes another drag off of her cigarette, gazing at me with those eyes. "Everything, I guess." She doesn’t say anything at first, just takes another puff. Then she pulls a business card out of her purse. "Give me a call." "Why? Are you going to zap me or something?" She laughs. "Just as friends. You like tea?" "Yes." "Then we'll have tea." She puts her cigarette out in one of the ashtrays and walks back into the living room, leaving me with a fluttering heart. Guess I still had one. * * * "Mistress Lola–I'll satisfy your darkest fantasy." It's been two weeks since I met Lola, and her business card is in my wallet. I wonder what she does to her clients besides zap their private parts. I don't have any dark fantasies, at least none that I know of, but I'd welcome the change of scenery. I decide to give Lola a call. She lives in an area populated with lots of people who look the same way she does. Her neighborhood is a Mecca for gays and a place for alternative music and clothing–a world apart from where I live with Delia. Lola answers her door in a black latex corset, which lifts her breasts to a delicate cleavage, and a matching mini skirt. Her long legs are draped in black fishnet and black stiletto boots. As she looks at me with her piercing eyes, I can scarcely breathe. Christ, does she always dress this way? "Beth, I’m glad you could make it. Let's have a seat in the kitchen," she says. I watch the muscles of her shapely ass move under her skirt as she walks. We pass her living room. Sheer black and purple curtains drape its windows. Candles are scattered about. There are overstuffed sofas in black and a few S&M paintings on the wall. The room matches her clothing. But when we get to her kitchen, everything's white. "What kind of tea would you like?" she asks. I don’t answer her because I’m unable to speak. On the kitchen floor sits a bald, obese man with pasty skin and green eyes. He wears only white underwear and a collar with a chain. The chain is attached to a chair that Lola sits down on. "Beth?" "What?" "What kind of tea, honey?" "What...what kind do you have?" "All kinds. I've got cinnamon, green, orange pekoe." He glares at me like a serpent. Lola takes a drag of her cigarette and drops the ashes on his tongue. I can feel the remnants of my breakfast erupt in my stomach. "Where's your bathroom?" "Down the hall." I walk away, trying to act normal. What kind of sick fuck would let someone put ashes in their mouth? In the bathroom the food stays down, but all I want to do is go. "I don't feel too good; I need to leave," I yell. "What? You okay?" "Yeah, I just need to go. That's all." "Call me." I dash out the front door as fast as I can. * * * It’s Sunday and a day off for me. But Delia, being the CEO, has to go into the office. I watch her get ready for work. Compared to Lola, she's relatively normal. I'm feeling the need for normal. "Let's have lunch, Delia. You want to?" "I've got meetings all day. I really wish I could." "Okay, I understand. It was just a thought." "And Beth, you've got CDs all over the den. Please put them away. I'm sick of looking at them." She gives me a kiss on my forehead and then the phone rings. "Pick it up, and tell whoever it is that I'm not here. I'm late. I'll see you later." "Later." I answer the phone. "Beth, it's Lola." Every muscle in my body tenses. "How did you get my number?" "Well, you're in the phone book. Why'd you run off like a little bitch?" "Excuse me?" "You heard me." "That guy was eating ashes." "That guy just happens to be a millionaire from Florida who flies in to see me once a month." "Whatever. Why didn't you tell me you were working?" "He didn't mind. He likes to look at pretty girls. Why don't we try this again, over lunch?" "So who would I get to see this time? Another weirdo attached to a chair?" "We'll go to a restaurant, okay? "Well..." "You like Leona's? We can meet at the one on Sheffield." There's not much harm that can be done meeting at a restaurant. And as much as I wanted to dislike Lola, it was hard. "This Saturday? Around one?" she asks. "Fine." "Great! I'll get there early and look for you." * * * At Leona's, Lola's in a booth smoking a cigarette and sipping wine. She wears a red blouse, a refreshing change from her usual black. "I hope you don't mind the smoking section. I'm an addict." "I don't mind." "I'm really sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to freak you out, " she says. "It's just not something you see everyday, you know?" She smiles. "Yes, I know." We order garlic bread as an appetizer and veggie wraps as our main meal. Lola asks for another glass of wine, and I decide to have one, too. I also decide to pry. "What made you want to become a dominatrix? I mean, I'm sure you didn't grow up wanting to become one?" "I sort of fell into it. My parents were Bible thumpers, always throwing religion at me..." "Where'd you grow up?" "Missouri, Ozarks." "I'm from Wisconsin. I guess we're a couple of small town girls." "Yeah, but I couldn't wait to break away from mine. Hitchhiked all the way to LA. Spent a lot of time on the streets." "You did?" "Yes, but then I met Mistress Carolyn." "Mistress Carolyn?" "Taught me everything I know." "Why did you come to Chicago?" "Mistress Carolyn started to get on my nerves, so I took off. I had a friend here, and I decided to move in with her and get my own company started, so to speak. Worked out well. Lots of bad boys want to pay Mistress Lola lots of cash." We laugh. Her blue eyes light up even more. I can't believe how clear her skin is, so creamy white. "You know what?" she asks. "What?" "You look happy now." She's right. I'm feeling good. "Listen, I've got a party I'm having next Saturday and I'd love for you to come." she says. "Um, I don't know." "What, honey? Are you scared?" "No." "Then try to make it." "What am I supposed to wear? I don't have any latex." She laughs. "No problem. Come at five. I'll dress that beautiful body of yours." * * * When I was in Lola's apartment, I swore I would never return. That's what I told myself. I can only imagine what she does at one of her parties. What strange scenes would I be introduced to were I to go? I can still see the man on the kitchen floor, eating ashes and Lola so casual about it. She definitely had him under her control, him chained to her chair and everything. I had sort of hoped that Delia would inform me that we had something to do or somewhere to go on Saturday. Then I could use that as my reason for not coming to the party. But nothing happened, because Delia's going to be out of town for a business meeting. Now it's Friday, and the party is tomorrow. I put the thought out of my mind. And that worked, for about a minute. She wants me to come at five so she can dress me. And I can say that doesn't interest me, but I'd be lying. * * * Its Saturday, it's 5:00, and I’m on time. Normally, I’m never on time for anything. Lola greets me in a short, deep purple robe, her hair damp. It looks like she just stepped out of the shower, fresh and beautiful. “Hello, Beth. You made it.” “Proof I'm not scared." She laughs. “Come on in. I’ve got the perfect dress for you. But first, would you like some wine?" With a wine bottle in her hand and me carrying the glasses, she takes me to her walk-in closet. She sits down on a stool, crosses her long pale legs and sips her wine. “Undress for me,” she says. Her blue eyes stare at me intently as she brings the wine glass to her lips, and my heart is beating so fast I fear she can hear it. I unbutton my blouse first and let it drop to the floor. Then I kick off my shoes and unzip my pants, letting them drop to the floor as well. I step out of my pants and stand there in my bra and underwear. “Let me do the rest,” she says. She walks up to me, puts her hands around to my back and unfastens my bra. It falls to the floor, exposing my breasts. "My, what do we have here? And now your panties, of course." She slowly lowers my underwear down my legs and off of my feet. Then she rises and puts her hands on my waist, staring into my eyes. Putting her lips on mine, she kisses me gently. "You're beautiful." She walks away and pulls out a short red latex dress. "Come on over here and I'll help you put this on." She holds the dress for me as I slowly squeeze into it. I’ve never worn anything this tight. "Wow, look at you,” she says. A full-length mirror stands in the corner of the closet and I look into it. The dress feels entirely uncomfortable, but the way it hugs my body, especially my breasts, is quite sexy. Then she drops her robe, giving me the first glance of her frame. Fair, thin, toned, small breasted, she's lovely, the hair on her pubic bone completely shaved. A tattoo of thorns and roses is sprawled down her back. As I look at her I can feel myself get wet. Since I'm not wearing any underwear, I hope this doesn't become a problem. She slips effortlessly into a black latex dress. "Now shoes," she says. Lola pulls out a pair of red stilettos. “These are for you.” Incredibly, she’s got my size. They're just as uncomfortable, but like the dress, they’re very sexy. We hold hands and walk back into the living room. I struggle a little with the shoes, but she seems completely comfortable in hers. She puts a CD of 80s music on. "Let's hear some Madonna." Her guests begin to arrive in various types of fetish wear–latex, black leather; one man wears nothing but a black thong and a black mask. Lola's off to go greet her guests. I feel eyes upon me. It seems people approve of my outfit. "You look wonderful." An older man says to me, dressed in black pants and a cape. "Thanks. I’ve never been to one of these gatherings before. It's all so new. What's that thing hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room?" ”That’s a suspension bar. You’d look quite lovely on that.” "No.” I laugh. "I don’t think so.” I walk away and get a glass of Merlot from the bar. Then I visit the cheese and crackers, glancing, once again, at the suspension bar. “Are you looking at my toy?” Lola's back. “Yeah, I guess. What’s it for?” “Why don’t I attach you to it and you can find out?” “I don’t know.” “Oh, come on. You just might enjoy it. I know I’ll enjoy it.” “Well...okay.” I can't believe what I just said. “Come with me.” She looks at her guests. “Everyone, this is Beth. She's agreed to be my plaything for the evening." I hear a few claps as she walks me to the bar, pulls my arms up and handcuffs me to it. A crowd of people begin to form around me. "Blindfold okay?" she asks. "I suppose so." She covers my eyes. “You okay, honey?” “I’m fine.” “You’re beautiful.” As I stand, unsure of what's going to happen, Lola strokes my legs and arms, at various points, with light, soft fur. The sensation is sensual. I'm yearning for more when the feel of fur is replaced with soft leather. Light swooshes, harder than the fur, touch my shoulders, then my arms and then my legs. My body is tingling and I'm getting wet again. “We love you Beth,” says a man in the background. Lola’s fingers caress my bottom and then she smacks it with a paddle. It doesn't hurt, it just arouses me more. Then I can feel her fingers under my dress, between my legs. "Are you okay?" she whispers. By now I'm so wet I'm practically dripping. "Yes, I guess you are. You taste good, too." She removes my arms from the handcuffs and takes off my blindfold. We hug each other and everyone around us is smiling. * * * "Parker never ceases to amaze me." Delia sits at her desk opening mail and spouting into the phone. She loves to complain about her friends. This time it's Chuck Parker. "Do you know he had the nerve to bring some tart to my party? She was dressed like a witch or something." I try not to laugh. She hangs up the phone. "Beth, we've been invited to Sara's dinner on Friday. That woman always waits until the last minute. I'll have that red suit of yours dry cleaned." "I'm not going." "Sara is a good friend, and you are going." "I have plans." "Oh?" "To be with the witch.” "What?" “I’m sorry Delia, but she cast her spell.” * * * I left Delia three months ago and got my own place. Today, I'm in Lola's bed and she's holding me. Her wet, firm lips are on mine. "Show me how much you love me,” she says. I want to take one of her tiny breasts and stuff my mouth with it, so I do. Her nipple is large and pointed, and she moans when I suck it. Lola can practically have an orgasm when I suck her nipples. My fingers find her juices, and I plunge them deep into her hole. I bring my face to her bald pussy and push it into her soft skin, smelling her musk and slurping her juices into my mouth. Her scent arouses me and I push her legs wide open so I can bury my face deeper into her. I'm alive. Afterward, I stare at the collars on her bedroom wall. “Do you wear those?” “No.” “Your clients do, right?” “Some of them.” “What if I were to wear one?” “You? It would mean you would belong to me. Do you want to belong to me?” I remove a collar and hold it in my hands. "Belong to you? I bet you own a lot of women, don’t you?” “No, I haven’t found her yet.” I ran my fingers over the collar. I was Delia's slave and it felt like shit. Yet, here I was with Lola, forming a relationship with her, falling in love with her, and it felt okay. I put the collar back on the wall and I looked at her. "Well, maybe she’s right here.” “Yes,” she says, smiling, “maybe she is.” |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
| .. | visual art • prose & poetry • nonfiction • artists in residence • archive • home |
