Breakfast in Stilettos

by Liz Kingswood

  The time for the question had arrived. “So what is this, anyway?” I nodded toward him, not having a hand free to copy his gesture. “And I mean that in a serious way. I saw you at the Salon and I read your note, but I still have a feeling I don’t have the whole picture. Something happened to you as a kid?”

  He looked down at our clasped hands. “It’s a long story. Do you need to hear it now? I will tell you, I promise, but it might take a couple hours and well, we’re about five minutes from the party.”

  I didn’t really want to let it go, but I did believe that he would tell me. And I figured the party would reveal some part of this anyway. So I nodded and changed the subject.

  “That lunch I had with Pixie. She told me about a list—a negotiation checklist. All the activities you want or don’t want, sexually or otherwise. You can both fill it out to see how compatible you are. Maybe we should do one of those together?”

  “You’d do that?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

  We’d passed by the frontage warehouses and were out of the really dark section of the road. The full Seattle skyline suddenly came into view across the bay, a cluster of brilliantly lit high-rises set against the dark overcast sky. A ferry, sparkling with lights, glided toward the dock.

  I glanced at Frank. He was nearly invisible in his all-black getup, but I could sense his apprehension. “Yes, Frank. Frankly, yes, I would do that. In fact, I think it would be fun.”

  I meant it. I was intrigued by the idea of filling out a sex inventory, if for no other reason than to know what my options might be. Like going to Baskin Robbins and learning about all the crazy flavors of ice cream you’d never dreamed of. Maybe you’d still order vanilla, or maybe you’d add something, like Oreo cookies, just to mix things up. Or maybe one day you’d go wild with a little Caramel Praline Cheesecake with confetti sprinkles.

  Frank looked forward suddenly, seeing a landmark that caught his eye. “Oh, I think we’re close.” He clicked on the light again for a moment to check the map, then flicked it off. I slowed as he watched for street signs. We had to turn onto a small side street that wound up the hill. Near the top we found the street number on a stunning home perched on a prominence with a commanding view of Elliot Bay and the Seattle skyline. It was not a McMansion, but rather a tasteful modern-looking home with three stories of glass windows facing the Sound. I was instantly jealous. I loved my house, but this was absolutely amazing.

  There was ample street parking, so I pulled the Jeep into a nearby spot and turned off the engine. The Wrangler was loud inside, so once the motor was off, my ears buzzed in the ensuing silence. The buzz was amplified by the thought that I was going to see a Mistress in her studio. With Frank. In a black body suit and hood. With a big red bow. And a secret I had yet to explore.

  Frank squeezed my hand again. “You ready?”

  I looked up at the house. I could see a few people inside. I took in a deep breath. “I’m really nervous. How many guests do you think will be here? And who are they?”

  “I have no idea. I think she typically invites her clients that go to the Salon, but I’ve never been before. I always felt it would be weird to come alone.”

  I was surprised at that comment, but then I realized that if he couldn’t talk to me about his fetish, he probably wasn’t talking to many other women about it either, much less dating them. But then I thought of Pixie. “What about Pixie? She seems like she might have been a nice dating option. At least as a companion.”

  Frank shook his head. “Pixie’s great, but she’s in a relationship with that Dom. And besides, I’m not looking for a sub. I think she can switch, but she prefers not to.”

  I gave myself two points for properly translating what he said.

  “Besides, I want my own girl.” He tapped my leg. “Hello. You know me. As silly as it sounds, I don’t really want to share. Not really.”

  I thought of Joe. As fun as the idea of a threesome was, I didn’t really want to share either. I was having enough trouble handling just one guy.

  “Pixie has helped me a bunch. I’m still really new to the whole subbing thing, but I’m trying.”

  At least he wouldn’t have huge expectations. If he’d somehow mastered subbing, I would be in trouble. Then I thought of the bottoming book on my nightstand and told him about it. “I haven’t read it yet. I just skimmed it, but it looks useful.”

  He sat up straighter. “I have that book. It’s great. And I have a book I’d like you to read sometime, if you are game. It’s called The Mistress Manual.”

  I laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Although it is a pretty funny book.”

  That didn’t surprise me much. I was getting the sense that a lot of people in the BDSM community had a very good sense of humor. The political incorrectness of their desires, and the requirement that they be so up front about it in order to find like minds, had to create an openness and willingness to laugh at themselves. You couldn’t say, “Yes, I love it when people pee on me,” without realizing at some level that the statement was funny.

  Another car drove up and a couple stepped out. They looked pretty normal. No whips or chains that I could see. Frank tugged on me. “We should get inside. It’s cold in here.”

  I took in another deep breath. “OK. I’m ready.”

  We grabbed the wine bottles and headed inside.

  Unlike the previous couple, we didn’t look particularly normal. I could just imagine a doorman’s introduction. “Dominatrix wannabe and her minion. Ahem.”

  To my surprise, Zach met us at the door. He seemed exactly the same as he’d been in Dr. Steiner’s office. Perky plus. I wondered if he was her sub/errand boy. I didn’t notice any collar or chain, so perhaps he was leash-free. Or maybe this party was really more about business.

  Zach recognized me and knew who Frank was without an unmasking. Frank nodded to Zach and pulled him to the side to whisper something in his ear. Zach gave him a high five, so I could only assume that Frank was getting congratulated on either his statuesque physique or his potential Dominatrix.

  Zach led us from the large foyer into the main room, which was girded by a 180 degree deck facing the city. A few guests were standing outside, bundled against the cold, holding cocktails and enjoying the uninterrupted view. Frank and I dropped off our contribution to the drinks table. While I took in the gathering, I had him pour us each a glass of the Old Vine Zinfandel that was already open. A minion had his duties.

  Just about everyone was coupled up, and we received only a few covert stares. Mostly people just smiled and nodded appreciatively when they looked at us. I sensed that very little would draw a negative critique from this group.

  Frank stuck close to me and it felt good.

  The décor itself was bright white and modern. A few paintings in the style I recognized from the Salon graced the walls, but the room’s starkness contrasted sharply with the rich velvet ambiance of the Salon.

  We’d entered on the house’s middle floor, which was essentially one large entertainment room with a kitchen on one end and a spiral staircase leading up on the other end. I didn’t see Dr. Steiner, or rather Mistress Maven, anywhere.

  However, Pixie was here. I pointed her out to Frank. “We should go talk to her.” I grabbed him by the bow and steered him over to where she stood with a tall man that looked like a middle-aged Billy Idol—the same spiky ice blond hair and dark eyes.

  Pixie’s face lit up when she saw us. “Emily. Frank.” She gave us each a hug in turn. Clearly Frank had been a minion statue before. How long had this been going on?

  “I’m so glad to see you both here.” She held both our hands and gave us a rather maternal look. “I take it you’ve talked?”

  I nudged Frank. “Let’s say, we’re working on it.”

  She released us and turned to the Billy Idol guy, who was deep in discussion with another couple. She lightly touched his arm and then waited patiently for him to finish his conversation.

&n
bsp; “Ryan, this is Emily and you’ve met Frank before.”

  Ryan was handsome in that fierce sort of way. He shook Frank’s hand.

  “Emily, this is Ryan, also known as Master Rhys.”

  “So is he your Dominant?” I wasn’t sure if that was a correct question, but she had brought up his AKA.

  Ryan interjected. “Indeed, Ms. Emily, I am. Pixie is quite a handful and I get into a world of trouble if I’m not strict enough.” He pulled her into an embrace and the two smiled into each other’s eyes.

  Pixie flung her long gray hair back, shaking it free in a mock fashion pose. “Yes, I can be quite ferocious. In fact we’re going to do a little scene tonight. Maybe you and Frank should join us. Just to get the hang of things.”

  Ryan perked up. “That would be great.”

  I instantly wanted to reject the idea, but then I channeled the Scarlet Girls. The studio of a sex therapist/Dominatrix had to be the best place in the world to strap on one’s Dom training wheels, especially if the crowd was mostly made up of patients with their own sexual hang-ups. In fact, glancing around, I wondered if everyone there was a patient. What about Ryan? Pixie?

  Looking at everyone as if they were patients was akin to seeing everyone naked when you were speaking in public. Except this was more like imagining everyone else speaking in public while you were naked. Very reassuring.

  Phobias are so strange. I have bookmarked a list of phobias and found that the list always provides inspiration. Geniophobia. Fear of chins. Hyelophobia. Fear of glass. Linonophobia. Fear of string. Or my favorite: hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia. Fear of long words.

  I pegged myself as suffering from erotophobia. The fear or guilt of sexual feelings and their related physical expression.

  Frank looped his arm around me. “That might be fun.” He gave me a playful hip bump.

  He’d had six months of sex therapy to dream up ideas, as opposed to my three-day self-assertiveness kick. But I was game. “OK. I just hope nobody forgets that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

  With an almost feral smile, Ryan stepped over to lay his hands on my shoulder. His height, maybe six foot three, added to the intimidation factor. “That’s where we all start, my dear. You just need to find your center.” The look he gave me was piercing, not unlike Dr. Steiner’s in her office. When he released me, I felt a tingle up my spine.

  He motioned to Frank. “You come with me. We’ll let the girls talk this over.”

  I laughed at my initial reaction—that nobody should be telling my minion what to do. Then I realized I should just do what Ryan said. “Sounds like a plan.” I guess he was a good Dominant.

  I watched as Ryan and Frank walked away together. It felt like high school all over again. The boys were heading off together to drink beer and plan how they were going to get the girls to go to home base. We were left to giggle about it. Only today there would be a little twist.

  Pixie motioned to the drinks table. “I need some more wine.”

  She pulled me in that direction as she talked. “So, did you and Frank have that conversation about what you both want?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. We tried once, but were interrupted by a call from my roommate, who’d been in an accident. I think that’s why he came by this afternoon. Unfortunately my mom, boss and roommate were all there, and they don’t like him much. And tonight, well, we went to the Salon and he disappeared and then stalked me as the statue minion until, less than an hour ago, he had himself hauled in front of me with this note pinned to his chest.” I handed her the paper that I’d stuffed in my purse as Frank and I had left the club.

  Pixie read and rolled her eyes. “Very nice, but yes, a little short on details. You didn’t talk about it on the way over here?” She refilled her wine glass and then mine.

  “Let’s say it was mentioned. But no, we concentrated on directions. He said we didn’t have time to get into it before the party.”

  Pixie’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “You two are impossible. You have to talk about this.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to say that.” I glanced up as Frank and Ryan reached the top of the spiral staircase and disappeared. “Since you know more about him than I do, how about if I guess at what I should know, and you can say yea or nay.” I pointed to a comfy-looking couch and we sat down with our wine. I took a sip.

  She shrugged acquiescence.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “All right. Frank wants to sub and likes to be either a statue or furniture and run errands as appropriate for his Dom.”

  Pixie nodded. “I think he would be happy doing just about anything he is told to do—especially if something sexual is ultimately involved. But he’d be happy even if it wasn’t.”

  I had the obvious part right. “Does he want to be punished or praised?”

  She took a sip of wine. “Hmmm. I think perhaps both. But I’m just guessing.”

  “Lots of pain?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve only seen him do the statue thing and obedience. He doesn’t seem to act up as part of his play. So I’d guess ‘nay’ to excessive pain.”

  I felt an upwelling of frustration with the process. “Ugh. This is so insane. Why is it we have such an issue trying to say what we want? It’s like this whole ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing.”

  Pixie straightened her jeweled collar, which was unusually prominent above her low-cut silvery halter-top. “You can ask. And you can tell. It just takes a little more courage than society gives us permission to have. We aren’t supposed to be erotic. We can be voyeurs at the cinema, but how superficial is that? The average person thinks that sex outside the norm is either sinful or just plain unnatural.”

  Taking another sip of wine, she looked around the room at the people coming in. Clearly the Salon had let out, for more people were arriving. I counted twenty-five or so now.

  She continued. “Violence. That’s perfectly fine in film. But sex? Well, we come from Puritans, after all.”

  “But that is such an old story. When do we stop playing the same old loops? I have hang-ups in abundance, and they are so ingrained. But I had a mother who was on the plus side of promiscuous. So you’d think I would be hawking my wares at every opportunity.” I cupped my cleavage.

  Pixie raised her wine glass. “Hear. Hear. But sex is the biggest carrot and stick that society has. Politicians use it. Marketers use it. Religions use it. Everybody wants it, which is the only reason it works. I don’t know what the answer is and honestly I don’t care. I’m just doing my own thing.”

  She gave me her radiant smile and wagged her finger, parental-style. “So … back to Frank and the issues at hand. No more distractions with what other people are doing. Like they say, ‘Be the change you want to see.’ And so what do you want?”

  I didn’t even stop to think. “I want a happy, healthy relationship with good sex and loads of romance. I want a man who is smart, sexy, vulnerable and open.” That was my standard patter. Then I realized there was more. “And I want to get over my reserve. I want to be able to express myself sexually and emotionally. A little exhibitionniste.”

  Pixie put her arm around me and gave a quick squeeze. “That’s my girl.”

  I heard a commotion across the room. Frank and Ryan were escorting a woman down the wide spiral staircase. She was dressed in a long flowing black skirt topped by a sapphire blue corset that had been cinched very tight, giving an hourglass shape to her otherwise slim figure. She held a Venetian mask on a stick up to her eyes, but her smile was broad and I recognized it as belonging to Dr. Steiner, now in her guise as Mistress Maven. The trio stopped five or six steps from the bottom. Frank and Ryan left her there and joined the rest of us now gathering at the foot of the stairs. No doubt the woman liked drama. She watched us through the mask until we were all settled in front of her. Then she lowered the mask so we could see her whole face.

  The fuchsia stripe in her black mane of hair was still in evidence. But I hadn’t
noticed the steely blue of her eyes before. The color of the corset really set them off.

  I expected her to give us a little speech, but she just looked at us. I don’t know how she did it, but as she scanned our group, she made each of us feel as if she was focusing on us individually. When her eyes settled briefly on me, she raised an eyebrow and nodded, as though she approved. That felt good.

  From where I was standing mid-pack, I was in a good position to survey the rest of the guests. There were maybe thirty of us in all. I saw Mr. Dobson, the nondescript and clearly submissive patient from the other day, standing at the edge with a gorgeous woman next to him. Her arm was hooked loosely around his waist, but her black eyes were on everyone else in the room. She just exuded sex appeal—big dark eyes, full lips, abundant cleavage. If this was Mr. Dobson’s wife, no wonder he had some issues. She looked ready and willing to take on anyone in the room. A tigress looking for lunch. I wondered what she saw in him. Her appeal was obvious.

  But then I thought of what Frank had said, about not wanting to share. Clearly in order to be with this woman, you had to share her attention, at the very least.

  I saw Zach come in from the foyer and mount a few steps to stand below Mistress Maven. When their eyes met, she nodded. He turned to us, giving his best perky smile. “The upstairs is now open.”

  Mistress Maven took his hand and the two turned, heading back upstairs.

  Pixie was still next to me and I leaned in. “What the heck is upstairs?”

  She pulled me toward the stairs. “Fun is upstairs. That’s what.”

  Ryan and Frank joined us as we ascended. The gathering followed.