by Radclyffe
“Of course not!” I snorted.
“You know who she looks like?” Lauren said excitedly. “Linda Evangelista circa 1991.”
I glared at her. “You are such a queen. You and your model mania. I don’t see it.”
Lauren punched me playfully. “Admit it! She does!”
“No. I don’t see it. You’re wrong.”
I sat next to Lauren and tried to untangle all the Velcro straps. “Phew!” I held the convoluted knot of pads away from me where they lazily turned in the air like a robot cocoon.
“I know. Old sweat, isn’t it great?” Lauren giggled. “Limburger.”
I sniffed and winced. The evidence of all the derby girls who had been here before me. I wondered if Beelzebabe had looked at any of them, had kissed them? I yanked the pads apart and secured them to my wrists, elbows, and knees quickly, as if my speed could obliterate all those other women. Those whores who knew Her before me. Those ring-tailed bitchsluts who were welcomed and not rejected. I tied my skate laces with such a fury that one of them snapped.
Someone blew a whistle and skaters moved on to the floor. I limped with one skate on and one off to the counter. Josie was there talking to Annie, the redhead. I placed the skate on the carpeted countertop.
“Oopsy, someone needs therapy,” Annie cooed, rolling another skate toward me.
“Don’t put those on!” Josie barked. “Have you done your ten laps?”
I rolled my eyes, walked away, and sat on the bench again, stripping off the pads and one skate while constantly taking my temperature. How interested was I, really? Already this was such a hassle. Was it worth it? Did I even have a shot in hell with that woman? I looked at her, commanding the attention of all the women in the rink, and I snorted. No way. Just say no. I clenched my jaws and stood up in my street shoes and began my thudding jog around the rink.
“Welcome, everyone!” Beelzebabe announced. “So nice to see such a good turnout for newbie night.” The veteran team all laughed in a way to freeze my blood. “Most of you won’t be accepted, and just be adult about it.” Some grumbling. “Those of you who make it,” Beelzebabe continued, “better be fucking sure because you’re in it forever.” More sinister laughter from the team. I rounded the rink in time to see Beelzebabe grin like a death’s head. “You have no idea what you’re in for. And the level of commitment demanded of you is…inhuman.” Another frightening laugh from the veterans. I was panting…halfway finished. “Okay, now for your own safety, I must advise any girl on her period not wearing a fresh tampon to either go home or go to the bathroom and change right now. If you’re wearing a pad, go change into a tampon. No questions.”
Puzzled looks and murmuring in the crowd.
“Do it!” Beelzebabe bellowed. There was a collective jump and a few girls skated to the bathroom.
Another woman, a beautiful, cool blonde, skated amongst the jittery newbies, wrinkling her nose. “You to the lav.” She tapped one. “And you.”
“What are you trying to do?” Beelzebabe thundered. “If I say go change, do it now!” A few more skaters stumbled to the bathroom. I was just finishing my laps, and even though my cycle had ended a few days ago, I was tempted to put in a tampon just to please them. I stood, gasping and sweating.
“You!” Blonde Ice pointed at me. “Get your skates on!”
I fled back to the bench where I fumbled with the equipment. “You have right and left mixed up and that strap goes on top, not on the bottom. Are you sure you want to try this? You realize it’s roller derby, right? Not chess club?” A small brunette veteran, Poison, bent over me in concern.
“Hell no, I’m not sure of anything. But I want this and I can’t let it go,” I answered plaintively.
“You’ll be fine, then.” She smiled and patted my shoulder. Her cold hand felt good on my overheated skin.
“Okay, let’s divide into four groups,” Beelzebabe continued. There was a general shuffling. “We’re going to go over basic skills, and while we are doing this, my veterans are going to be assessing your abilities. If we tap you, you’re out. Just leave graciously. I’m going to call out what you’re supposed to do and at my whistle, do your best. Ready?”
Lauren was next to me, giggling and biting her nails. “I’m so nervous,” she whispered. “And I didn’t even want this.” Lauren fidgeted and grinned at me. “But oh my God, I want it now!” A fiery gleam blazed in her eyes.
I felt a dull, heavy hatred for my dearest friend. She was another body I had to climb over to get into Beelzebabe’s arms. I looked at Beelzebabe: that perfectly chiseled face, the scalp-hugging, platinum-blond curls that cried out for my fingers to twirl into them, her body bursting with voluptuous curves, her ease on skates fluid and fierce like an eagle poised for killing flight.
“Right knee fall!” Beelzebabe called and blew the whistle. A great clattering as women all dropped to one knee. The rink resounded with loud smacks as dozens of knee pads hits the floor. To my delight, I stood right up and watched with grim satisfaction all the skaters who were still struggling.
The beautiful veteran skaters whizzed through us so fast I could barely see them. They were insectile in their speed. I saw them tap several skaters, who left the rink.
“Left knee fall!” Whistle. Down. Up. “Rock star!” Whistle. Confused looks. Skaters who obviously had roller derby experience dropped to both knees simultaneously and the rest of us followed. The culling continued. So far I was still in. “Right knee!” Whistle. Down. Up. “Left knee!” Whistle. Down. Up. “Superman!” Whistle. Copying the experienced skaters, we dropped to our knees, then bellies, and stretched out our limbs. “You must be able to get up within two seconds to meet minimum skills requirements!” Beelzebabe shouted. “Right knee! Left knee! Rock star! Superman!”
“Gee!” Lauren panted, laughing. “I haven’t skated in years. I think I’m doing pretty well.” Her cheeriness made me want to throttle her. She didn’t know how serious this was. She didn’t appreciate the fatal gravity. I gritted my teeth and kept following Beelzebabe’s whistles.
Sweat poured off me like my helmet had a faucet in it. Perspiration dotted the rink floor in a half-circle around my body.
“One hundred crunches! Twenty-five push-ups! Fifty squats!” Whistle. There were groans and gasps as the women tried to do as ordered. Another dozen women left the floor. “Sprint five laps!” Whistle.
Poison flitted amongst us as we clawed and swam our way through our laps.
“It’s so hot!” I yelled.
Poison, looking as cool and crisp as a summer salad, stared at me with clear blue eyes. “Cope or die, sweetie. Feels fine to me.”
When we finished our laps, sucking air like beached fish, Beelzebabe and the veterans skated to us.
“And then there were ten,” Beelzebabe said, her laser green gaze making me writhe with pleasure and fear. “We will take six of you into our Fresh Meat program and the rest of you can keep working and try out again. Annie Maul?”
The willowy redhead skated forward and read the names off a sheet. “Lauren, Nickie, Amy, Kim, Gigi and…what is this? I can’t read this.” Annie squinted at the clipboard and showed it to Beelzebabe.
“Madeline, Madeline, Madeline,” I chanted in my head.
“Starts with an M,” Annie squinted.
“Meredith,” Beelzebabe read. The skaters chosen whooped, cheered, and slapped hands. I fell to my knees. The other three rejects rolled slowly off the floor. Beelzebabe and the veterans skated off too. Lauren offered me a hand.
“Maddy, you can—”
“Don’t.” My voice was a punch. I stayed on the ground.
Lauren shuffled awkwardly, her borrowed skates clicking. “Well, listen, Maddy, I will quit. Fuck them. I just won’t—”
My head jerked up, the pain in my face cutting her off mid-sentence. “Quit, don’t quit, do whatever you want. But don’t do me any favors. And don’t do anything out of motherfucking pity! Leave me alone, okay?”
“I
’ll see you around.” Lauren rolled off slowly and quietly, as if that would spare my feelings.
“Lauren, wait!” I called. “I’m sorry.” Lauren didn’t stop or turn but gave me a small wave.
I rested my forehead on the wood that had been so recently ringing with wishful wheels. I knew I needed to stand up but I just had to get a grip first. Just a breath or two. I heard skates sliding toward me so softly that I had to listen hard to make sure it was sound. I sighed from my buttocks and opened my eyes. Black skates, scuffed and worn with age and use, were close enough to kiss.
I dreaded to lift my gaze but the sight was irresistible. Those hard, muscle-curvy legs with pink argyle knee socks and hot pink booty shorts and a Hello Kitty baby tee stretched tight. The leopard green eyes. The shiny, short platinum curls not even damp with sweat.
“Get up.” The words were harsh, but Beelzebabe’s tone was as soft as kittens.
I stood and stared at the floor. “I was just leaving.” I turned away, anger and sadness forcing me to feel a vast indifference for this woman and for derby.
“Come to my office, yeah?” Beelzebabe said.
I turned back so fast, I almost fell. I felt permission to stare at her. “Why?”
Beelzebabe shrugged. “Don’t, then. But I know you will.” She grinned, and it was so dazzling and seductive, I felt all my organs flip.
I turned and limp skated toward the bench. “Fine, whatever.” I tried to make my voice breezy but it came out stridently squeaky.
“You hurt?” she asked, gliding alongside me.
“I have blisters that are bleeding.”
Beelzebabe raised her chin, sniffing delicately. “No, they’re not. Don’t worry. Get some mole foam and better socks.”
I reached the bench, sat down, and began tearing open all the Velcro straps.
“Just drop those in that bin in the locker room and leave the skates on the counter at the pro shop and then come have a drink.”
“Everyone is gone already? It sure cleared out fast,” I remarked, feeling uneasy that the rink was so quiet and it was just her and me, our voices echoing in the big space.
“Yes,” Beelzebabe said, sounding like a hypnotic cobra. “Nice, isn’t it?”
She smiled again and I thought I saw her eyes flash vermilion for a split second. I shook my head and looked again. Just the same poisonous neon green they always were.
“Don’t you ever get spooked here all by yourself?” I asked, my voice involuntarily quavering.
Beelzebabe leaned close. Her skin smelled fresh and tangy, like salt that had just dried on a sandy beach. “Yes,” she hissed with a hungry smile, “I do,” meaning the opposite. She skated to her office. I followed, fear making me awkward, desire making me clumsy, and eagerness making me fall twice. At last, I reached the office and staggered into a chair and immediately removed the skates. It was over. I had wanted it, I had worked for it, and I had failed. I didn’t know what I would do with this painful hollow, this dream in shards inside my empty heart.
“Here you are.” Beelzebabe handed me a frosty can of Dew. It was so cold it hurt my fingers and the can’s chill rose from it like smoke. Beelzebabe tapped her own can against mine as if we were toasting and said, “To disappointment, yeah?”
I set my can down. “I won’t drink to that,” I said frigidly. I had aspired to an audience with this woman and now I had it. Should I beg her? After all, she hadn’t invited anyone else in here.
A smile twitched the corners of Beelzebabe’s luscious mouth. “All right then, what would you like to drink to?”
“To achieved goals,” I replied haughtily, snapped the top on my drink, knocked the can against hers, and gulped noisily. Beelzebabe watched me without moving.
“At least my toast will come true. You can count on being disappointed but you cannot count on achieving goals. Like tonight, yeah?” Beelzebabe took a long drink, then licked her lips and smiled like I imagined a happy shark would.
“About that…” I began.
“No exceptions,” Beelzebabe said.
“But I was already tired from skating earlier.”
Beelzebabe bared her teeth. “Are you making excuses?”
“No ma’am, but—”
“Good.”
“To disappointment, then!” I swallowed the Dew, and it tasted bitter.
“Don’t worry, I want you.” Beelzebabe’s voice was almost a growl.
“Then why? I thought I was as good as Lauren.” I couldn’t help whining.
“You’re better than ten Laurens.” Beelzebabe stood in front of me and knelt. Her feline green eyes were hypnotic. “Breathe,” she reminded me. I gasped with a little hiccup. I was fully dressed but I never felt more naked than sitting still under that piercing green stare.
“I don’t understand. Is this a game?”
“You’re better because you have the hunger.” Beelzebabe licked her lips again. Her gaze held me like an embrace. “Lauren and skaters like her are common and expendable. It comes too easy. They don’t care as much. They don’t work hard. They don’t want it.” Beelzebabe’s cold index finger touched my lips. It felt so good against my feverish skin. Instinctively, I opened my mouth and her finger slid inside. I closed my eyes. When Beelzebabe began to pull out, I moaned and pressed my teeth on her finger and shook my head. I heard her laugh, but she let me keep her finger in my mouth. I caressed it with my tongue and sucked, savoring the briny flavor. I felt Beelzebabe put my burning finger into her cold mouth. My mind reeled with the surreality: my endless fantasies of this woman and here I was, a skewered servant. I melted, my waxen mind dissolving completely. Whatever she wanted, she could have. I would do anything for her. I was entirely hers. The feeling was so intense, I had to brace my feet against the floor to stay upright in the chair. My nipples were like hot marbles and my thighs were trembling.
“Please,” I whispered to her finger, “please.”
This time, Beelzebabe slid out. Then she clasped my hand in both of her cool ones and slowly pulled my finger from her mouth. “Yes,” she answered, her green eyes glowing. “Yes. Just not yet, I think.” She stared at me, the heavy weight of her gaze keeping me still. “But maybe just one thing first.” She very slowly raised my shirt. She touched my throat and traced down my neck, my collarbone, my chest, to my sternum, goose bumps rippling over me in electric waves. “Breathe,” she said. I couldn’t. It was impossible to take my eyes off what this magnificent woman was doing. She closed thumb and forefinger around the clasp of my bra. One snap and it was open. I cried out. Beelzebabe’s green eyes dilated and she tore open my bra and looked at my breasts. With excruciating care, she traced her fingernails around my nipples. They swelled and puckered into aching clits. I groaned and leaned my head back, my cunt throbbing. She kept teasing me until I was dizzy, her fingers tickling, pinching, torturing.
“I can’t…stop, please,” I managed to say, not meaning it.
“Stop?” Beelzebabe asked, grinning. “Okay, I’ll do this instead.” She pulled me from the chair and laid me on the floor with astonishing speed. She was on top of me, hard and heavy like stone. I closed my eyes again, surrendering everything. If she wanted to fuck me or kill me, I didn’t care. I inhaled, sharp and quick, when I felt Beelzebabe’s mouth on my nipple. It was cold like she had a mouthful of ice. She tugged and sucked and I came with an explosion. My fists pounded the floor. My arms flailed, knocking over the chair, and my legs quaked as if in a seizure. I didn’t know this ferocious Madeline. I broke off two nails below the quick clawing Beelzebabe’s back. I bucked and screamed, not recognizing anything: not my behavior, my desire, my orgasm, my shouting. I don’t know all I said, but I do know I clutched Beelzebabe’s granite body and repeated, “forever.” I lay in her arms, trembling and gasping. She caressed me gently until my breathing slowed.
“God, who am I? What am I?” I laughed self-consciously, untangling my hair from under my spine.
Beelzebabe smiled to chill my dissolved je
llybones into hardening and taking stiff shape again. “That depends.” She kissed away the beads of sweat nestled at my breastbone. “You are delicious.” Her eyes flared red briefly as if someone had taken a flash photograph.
Suddenly, I felt like a plucked chicken splayed out on a roasting pan. “Let me up, let me up!” I struggled to get free and to lower my wadded, wet shirt. Beelzebabe held me where I was. I thumped her shoulder and kicked. “What, are you on steroids? Get off me!”
“I thought this is what you wanted. More than anything. Derby or die.” She smiled mockingly at me.
I stopped moving. “You’re right. It is. Sorry, I just felt like a cat toy for a second. Is this an audition for the team?”
Beelzebabe laughed, shaking her head, her silver-white curls bobbing. “I picked you because I can spot potential.”
“And?”
“And…” Beelzebabe took my hands and stretched them over my head and pinned them there. She smelled my skin and growled. Then she recovered herself and repeated softly, “And…you are ready to fully commit, yeah?” She rolled off me and pulled me on top of her. Her hands inched slowly from my rolled-up shirt to my ribs to my waist and then curved to hold my buttocks, still clad in polyester running shorts.
“Yes.” My answer gusted out, all but creating wind.
“I sense that you have an unusual capacity to…give yourself completely to something.” Beelzebabe squeezed and massaged me.
“Yes!” I cried, my eyes rolling back.
“That you have the courage and dedication to do whatever it takes,” she continued, moving my hips in a subtle figure eight.
“Yes,” I moaned, again drunk and befuddled by sensation.
“That you take your word very seriously and when you give it, you mean it,” Beelzebabe whispered, removing her hands from my ass and inserting her cool fingers into the waistband of my shorts, playing with it, tugging at it, lightly caressing my stomach.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“That you will do anything for the team, yeah?” she cooed. She brushed her fingers against the crotch of my shorts.