FAWC 1: My LadybyMSTarot©
(Moderator's Note: This story is a submission to the first Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous, but will be revealed on June 22nd, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each of the stories in this challenge are centered around the common theme of the main character being an author who then experiences the erotic and/or unusual events he or she writes about. There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.)
(Author's Note: This story involves the themes of BDSM, a D/s relationship, and May/December relationship.)
* * * *
"So what do you think?"
When my friend Cory's mouth kinda quirks over to the side a bit I feel the sudden knife in the gut.
"Well..." he says leafing back a few pages."This part here was...good."
He gives a shrug that disembowels me. With a sigh I sit back in the chair and wash my face with my hands. A second sigh gives me the courage to speak.
"Okay, what's wrong with it? Give it to me straight I can take it. Not like it's my first bad review." I grab my beer and kill half of it just to wash away a sudden foul taste.
Cory takes a deep breath and lets the copy of my BDSM story, 'Birdie on the Ninth Hole', flip back to the front cover. I had asked him to give it a read before I tried to post it. He wipes his fingertips after touching it, not a good sign. The look he gives me is part grimace, part sympathy. Like you would show to a slow child unable to master Patty Cake.
"John...have you ever really...I mean really been around the BDSM scene?" At my slow head shake he sighs. "What did you use for research for this?"
"Internet," I shrug. "Few porn sites, then a couple of story sites."
His hand comes up to rub his eyes then he pinches the bridge of his nose.
"John, that's like walking into the kitchen of a French restaurant and trying to cook because you watched Julia Child once or twice." his hand go to his wrist and he rotates the leather cuff on his right arm.
"That's why I printed you out a copy! I figured you could tell me where I got it right. What I did wrong." I gesture to the bracelet. "I mean you're into all that leather and bondage stuff!"
Again the slow child look. Then a deep sigh.
"Okay." He looks at the stapled together copy. "Well to begin with, lets take the main characters. The girl Juliet? She's... well... rather weak."
"She's the sub!"
"Exactly my point! A sub that weak? Bullshit!" He twists the top off his beer and takes a sip. He skins his lips back off his teeth in a strange half grin. "Nah. Not happening."
"Why not? She's a person that needs someone to tell her what to do and how to do it." I shake my head. "I don't see what's wrong with her?"
"That's the problem," Cory says with a shake of his head. "You don't see what's wrong with her but anyone in the Lifestyle will take one look at this and want to retch. Then beat the ever living hell out of you! I mean take the Dom...he's a flat out sadistic bastard! He spends half this story all but raping her into submission! Jesus, John! He was a bit on the whacked side even before he got her chained to the wall of his... 'dungeon'...but after that? Holy shit! Honestly now I know I've read some of your stuff that's a bit dark but... you were channeling some serious inner demons into this."
"He's the Dom, Cory! He can't be sweetness and flowers. This isn't a story about virgins and unicorns, this is a hard core whip her till she bleeds bondage story!"
"No! No, no, no! This is the story of a guy about to do twenty to life for kidnapping, rape and NonConsentual sodomy with a golf club!" Cory stops and just gives me a look.
"Okay I'll admit the golf club was a bit much."
He continues to give me the same look.
"Alright, alright I get it," I say reaching for my story.
"No you don't." He places his finger in the dead center of the paper and stops me from sliding it. "You don't get... IT. This is exactly the kind of...sorry... 'Crap'... that people living the Lifestyle are trying to get people to stop writing. This makes all of us look like we're the bastard children of the Marquis de Sade and Susan Atkins."
I sit back and shrug.
"Well I gave it a try." I pick up my beer but find it empty. "You want another?"
"Sure. Look, I'm not saying don't write these kind of stories but you are going to have to do some serious research to get it right." his voice follows me out the room.
Closing the fridge I walk back and hand him his beer. Sitting down I roll mine across my forehead.
"What you recommend? I call a Dominatrix. 'Yes this is James Perl I'm doing research on whipping and flogging can you work me in an interview?' I would like too keep a whole skin on my back." I pop the top and start to take a sip. That's when I notice he's just looking at me with the strangest look. "What?"
"You really have no idea..none...about what S&M and Dom and Sub play is about." Cory tilts his head back and looks up at the slow loop of the ceiling fan. "Okay. Look I'll help."
"You will? That's great. What do I need to change?" I go to grab the printed copy again.
His foot comes up and his boot heel traps the paper to my coffee table.
"Change? No, burn and get ready to start over." Cory slides his boot off at the look I'm giving him. He knows how I feel about feet on the table. "Look, Saturday night is Fetish Night down at Sacrament. Now while that's not the same thing as what your writing about, we do get more than a few Subs and Doms. Let me make a phone call and see if one I know is coming. If she is I know she can explain it to you better than I can."
"She?" I ask.
""Yes she," he says.
"So she's a sub?" I ask.
Again that slow child look.
"My god do you have a lot to learn."
* * * *
When I shut off my car's engine I can hear the music as a low drone rising up from the inside of the club. As I open the car door it peeks and rises to a higher tone then sinks back down into the depths just seconds latter. On the whole it does nothing to ease the case of nerves I've been sporting since Wednesday.
Looking over I see a row of rather sinister looking motorcycles. Not the nice bright pretty type you see in herds out touring on warm days. More the hunting packs that carry leather and denim clad riders into the blackness.
As that thought comes to me I reach into my pocket and pull out my little flip pad. A quick bit of pencil word and I have it recorded. Walking as I write I almost run into Cory.
"Put that away notebook boy," he says with a shake of his head. "You're going to have to work on remembering what you hear. Some of the people here tonight might take exception to your jotting down notes in your little book. Plus it makes you look like a total spazz."
I let my eyes drop to the black construction boots, then up to the leather pants he's wearing. The sleeveless black shirt with the screen print of the Boyscout rope tying merit badge, printed as big as a dinner plate, across his chest. When my eyes reach his face I quirk an eyebrow.
"I look like a spazz? You look like you escaped from the casting couch for Wayne's World." Glancing over at the row of bikes I see Cory's now, tucked away at the end like it's afraid it might get eaten. "So just which Motorcycle gang is visiting tonight?"
Cory takes a deep breath through his teeth.
"First they are called clubs not gangs. Second they are called the 'Wicked Nights'....and they are all ladies." He glances around quickly, like he's afraid he was overheard.
"A women club? That is cool!" I start to look around but he catches my chin and I'm suddenly turned to look in his eyes.
"Look John, this is kind of a private thing. Fetish night here. For the most part people that come to the Sacrament keep it a bit hush hushed. Don't...I repeat DON'T act like it's your first time here."
A bit puzzled I move my chin back from his fingers.
"Okay, but why?" I ask.
"Remember when we went to see Rocky Horror...I gave you the same advice. You didn't listen. Well lets just say this will be a bit worse than that." He glances back at the red doors to the bar. "Now come on."
With the misgiving growing by the second I follow him in.
There really should be someone from Department of Wildlife here to collect the gorilla at the front door. He looks at my ID like he's about to eat it. Holding it an inch off his nose if not closer. When he gives it back to me there is a look to his beady eyes like he still don't believe my age. I can't help that I don't look twenty two.
Then we are through the door and suspicious primates fall from my thoughts.
"Holy shit," I say in a soft whisper. Cory's elbow catches my ribs in a soft tap. I do my best to act like nothings nothing as I follow him to a table.
But I mean really. Just how often do you see a topless woman having sparks sprayed across her from a leather glad man? The grinder he's holding is making a horrid squealing as he runs it across one of the metal bars of the cage she is in.. A huge fountain of sparks shoots out to pepper her breasts with each pass. The girl gives a little flinch but from what I can see is making no sound.
Not that I could tell. The music, a mixture of pure bass and fingernails on a blackboard, is a chest vibrating overtone to the whole place. Only that demon howl from the grinder is louder.
Then a sound from the stage to my right goes even louder than the grinder..
The man in the wooden stocks is wearing a leather mask that covers most of his head. Zippers hide his eyes and mouth. What they don't hide is the harsh gasping for air! It a sudden sound he's making every few seconds.
Right after the riding crop hits his bare ass!
"Cory, so far this isn't convincing me that what I wrote is wrong," I say loudly by his head. I hate that I have to lean so close to his ear to be heard. It looks almost like I'm leaning in to kiss him.
"This is fetish. You were trying to write BDSM. That a horse whip of a different color," he says pulling out his chair and sitting down.
The music dies down and I hear a deep moan from the girl in the cage.
"Not from where I'm sitting," I say looking away from her pain filled face with a sympathetic grimace.
He's about to answer me, with maybe a bit of heat, when he looks over my head and a grin appears. Fearing the worst I spin my head, quickly enough to make it pop, but all I see is a rather plain looking woman walk in the door.
"That's Clare. She's the woman I told you about," says Cory holding up his hand till she see him. She gives a smile and a nod.
"She...she's a Dom?" I do a double take. "She looks like Fran Drescher with short hair!"
His eyes snap back to me.
"Dear god in heaven don't let her hear you say that!" The panic to his tone brings back the nerves.
"To late," says a soft voice behind me.
As I glance back my eyes meet hers and are caught. They have to be contacts! No one has eyes that gray. It like a dull steel rimed in white. Frost white, like snow rime on metal. I get a feeling that they can get just as cold, but after a second she tilts her head and a quirk of a grin appears.
"You promise not to call me Fran...I'll refrain from calling you Tony Danza." Her eyes flit to Cory "All he need is the yellow shirt that says Taxi."
My good friend...my best friend... the guy that knows me better than anyone and knows how much I hate...hate with a damn passion that description... start to laugh his fucking ass off!
When I look away from him in disgust and back to her those cold steel eyes are on me. They all but spear me to the chair.
"Deal?" she asks. Her voice, thank god, doesn't match the face. More of a throaty purr than a nasally whine.
With a smile she looks to Cory and his laughter dies. She grabs a chair and turns it to the side. She sits down so that her arm rests on the back and her fingers rest under her chin.
"So this is the writer that want to write about our little way of life." She looks from him to me. "He told me that you needed a lot of help or that you were going to.. 'muck it up'... is I believe is how you put it."
Cory nods. He takes one look at the expression on my face and gets to his feet.
"I want a beer. Can I get you anything Clare?".
She looks at him with those curious eyes and nods.
"Yes you can."
Her gaze comes back to me.
"What would you like?" He asks then almost flinches back when she turns to look at him. A single lifted eyebrow and he's off to the bar in a scurry.
She turns back to me.
"Cory is sweet but a bit badly trained. Now he said your name is John. Is that Correct?" she asks.
With the sudden feeling that I'm filling out a application for a job interview I nod, wet my lips and try to give a confident smile.
"Yes...John Perl. I'm wanting..."
"I know what you're wanting John Perl," her voice that soft purr. "You're wanting to know about what it's like to hold a whip and make a Sub beg. Yes? What makes a Dom tick so that you can put all that into your writings. Let me ask you something John Perl...does your choice of trying to write BDSM have anything to do with a certain group of books about...shades and grey?"
I look away a bit shame faced. Her chuckle is only half heard as the music start to play again. She leans into towards me.
"It's quite alright to want to ride on the coat tails of success John Perl. If your intent is to publish the very best novels you can...but if money is your motive. Well to quote one off my favorite actors. 'Greed is for Amateurs'. Is that what you are John Perl? Or do you make some claim to professionalism?"
A slow burn joins the embarrassment in lighting my face. I'm about to stand up and walk out when I look up and her eyes catch me. Those steel points, like arrow heads or daggers, cut through flesh to pierce bone. I can all but feel her gaze in my marrow.
"I want to be." I swallow. "A professional writer. I'm trying."
She must be able to read my lips. Either that or she's just grinning at my discomfort. Her head turn, the club lights catching the white frosted tips of her dark hair making her look haloed. I see her following the weaving path Cory is taking back to us. She eyes the drink in Cory's hand for a second.
The music drops into one of it lulls so I catch her words.
"What brought you to the conclusion that I was in a mood for Jägermeister?" She asks the question sweetly but no smiles touches her lips. I see just the hint of her pink tongue come out to lick her black lipstick.
"I asked the Bartender if he knew what you general drink. He said you order this every Saturday."
A moment passes without her blinking. Then a slow smile of pleasure just hints around her lips.
"Good boy. Thank you. Sit," she says with a gesture towards the empty chair.
Like a well trained dog Cory quickly slides back into his chair.
Her eyes turn back to me after her first sip of the licorice flavored alcohol.
"I don't much care to waste my time with dilettantes. If you truly are serious about this I will put you on the right path. Are you John Perl?" she asks.
Talking a deep breath I give a nod.
As she is about to speak the music rises again. She shifts an annoyed glance towards the stage. The man being whipped has been replaced by a another man. He is making far more noise than the first. The girl in the cage is still getting peppered with hot sparks, she is really moaning now as new sparks hit older burns. A flash of something crosses her eyes as she takes in the pain being administered to these two people.. When she looks back to me those eyes gouge chunks out the marrow in frozen bits. When she leans in I want to flinch back.
"It is too loud in here for the discussion I wish to have. Finish your drink, then you're going to follow me home. I have my Sub coming over for a late supper. You will be joining me. I'll help you with your writing."
That pink tongue comes out to lick her lips just as the glass with the dark liquid touches the shiny black.
* * * *
What I was expecting I don't know but as I shut of the motor to my car in front of a rather ordinary Garden Home I find myself confused.
For some reason I was picturing her living in some kind of black painted church or maybe a half run down hotel up on a hill.
I must say the roses that flank the door are lovely. The cast iron cauldron filled with glass pebbles and solar lights adds a bit of the proper touch but not so much as to seem out of place.
As I walk up Clare's sidewalk she turns the key in the lock then stops and turns to look at me.
"Rules. Yes there needs to be a few rules. When my Sub arrives you will direct all questions you might want to ask her to me. In other words I don't want you to speak to her," she smiles at the look on my face. "Yes I said her. Her name is Tosha and she has been my Sub for over two years. She will not speak or answer you unless I direct her to, which I will not. Now can you accept that?"
"Yes," I say simply.
"Good. Welcome to my home then, John Perl." She opens the door and gestures me to enter.
Okay the inside is a bit more what I thought to see but still not over the top. There is a painting of a naked woman in a collar on the main living room wall and I see crossed riding crops under it. But other than that it could be any typical home in the suburbia... with a bit of a dark goth overtone.
Slightly..no hell a lot more than slightly... nervous I make my way to the chair she points to. I continue to look around without trying to be nosy.
The plants are real I note and even look like the leaves are regularly dusted. The book shelf contains a mixture of many different genres of fiction and reference novels.
When Clare folds her legs under her and settle into the couch she could be any Suzy Homemaker. A large cat with a black patch of fur over one eye comes across the room and hops up next to her with a meow.
"This is Pirate. Him you can talk to but I don't think his answers would be of much use to you. Although if he could speak English what he could tell you about the goings on here would fill volumes." She gives me a quick grin, then shrugs unapologetic. "Now, you have questions?"
"Yes." My hand start to the small notebook in my pocket then I make it stop. "Um...what got you started in the 'Lifestyle? I think that's what Cory called it?"
Good a place as any to start I guess.
"Yes, that's it's name. At least among most of the people that play. Well I was your typical vanilla late teen. I was enjoying a rather plain sex life with a series of boyfriends. Then I got more than a few too many in me one night and woke up with my wrist tied to a bed. The man sleeping next to me was a Switch. Do you know what that means?"
"Someone that is both Dom and Sub?" I say more than ask. There is a little note in my book about them so I remember what that is.
"Yes. He untied me at my asking, then proceeded to ask me to tie him up. That left me blinking and my jaw on the floor to say the least." She chuckles a deep dark sound. "So I tied him up. Then fled."
I smile picturing that.
"When did he get lose?" I ask still smiling.
"When I got to feeling bad about it and went back to untie him. Say about four hours." Her gray eyes take on an unfocused look that tell me she's looking more into the past than at me. "I thought he would be mad, that I had left him there that long,but he was rock hard and more turned on than I had ever made any man."
"He got excited by being tied up and helpless?" I blink. "So he was really more of a Sub?"
"No. At least no more than everyone else in the world is." Her fingers run through the cat's fur, the deep belly purr from him is loud enough that I can hear it across the room.