Breakfast in Stilettos

by Liz Kingswood

The stairs took us into to an open area that was a replica of the Salon lined with six doors off to one side. Through each door you could see a stunning view of the city and bay. The open area featured a series of overstuffed couches and chairs, more or less in a semicircle, all facing a cleared area that looked suspiciously like a stage.

  Pixie gave us the tour of each room. One door was closed, and I could only assume the Mistress was within. The other five rooms were painted in rich jewel colors—garnet red, emerald green, amethyst, gold topaz, and sapphire blue. Each was dimly lit and furnished with a bed or two, their wooden headboards ornately carved and trimmed with gold gilt. Each room contained a dark overstuffed captain’s chair, a side table, and an elegant armoire in the corner.

  Nothing looked faintly dungeon-esque, but then I remembered that there was, in fact, a bottom floor; maybe that was where she kept the “equipment.” Nothing challenged me in any overtly sexual or fetish-like way, not yet, anyway.

  Pixie ran ahead into the garnet room—the one farthest to the left. A faint red glow emanated from the doorway. We strolled behind, casually taking it all in. Pixie had already climbed up on the king-sized bed and was jumping around as though channeling a hippy flower child. Frank stood next to the captain’s chair by the window, staring out at the city. Striding purposefully to the armoire, Ryan pulled out a large black leather case and tossed it on the bed. Unzipping the industrial-weight zipper, he began rummaging through the contents, pulling out an array of toys—several sets of leather wrist cuffs, a flogger, a couple of paddles, a gag, vibrators of various sizes, and other odds and ends I didn’t recognize.

  Just the sight of the vibrators made my cheeks heat up. I had a friend who was really into to them and gave them as gifts to her friends. I told her to never, ever give me one. I knew how narrow-minded I was being. I also knew I needed to get over it. I had heard that the results of said device were awesome.

  Still, I averted my eyes and joined Frank at the window. He gripped my hand. “How are you doing?”

  My discomfort must have shown. How was I doing? Feeling vulnerable. My impulse was to keep it to myself, but instead I told him. “You know how I like to ride horses?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I feel the way I do when riding a new horse, especially a thoroughbred. You’re never sure what to expect. Having twelve hundred pounds of muscle and bone between your legs with a mind of its own is never something to take lightly. If a horse gets it into its head to go somewhere you don’t want to go, there’s nothing much you can do. The horse and rider rapport is an agreed upon relationship. And it takes time to organize that agreement. That’s how I feel right now. Unsure. Vulnerable. Hell, a little scared. But I really want to ride and am willing to do the work.”

  He pulled me into an embrace. “I’m feeling pretty much the same.”

  Ryan apparently was done setting out his toys. “OK, gang. Let’s organize.”

  Frank and I sat on the bed so we could see what Ryan was up to. He could clearly write the adult version of Toy Story.

  “Emily, I’ll be working a scene with Ms. Pixie, but I thought you could do table training with Frank. And for that, you’ll need these.” He set two sets of wrist cuffs and a blindfold in front of me; then he went back to his bag, picked out a short crop and added it to the pile. “You’ll also need your glass of wine, with wine in it.”

  My wine glass was still half full, but he replenished it from Pixie’s glass and sat it on the table near the door. I really wished the glass was in reach.

  He pointed to the cuffs. “You know how to use those things?”

  I picked them up and eyed them dubiously. The wrist cuffs were stiff leather with small silver studs, but lined with soft black fleece. A double-ended snap connected the two cuffs together via a silver loop on each. I’d hobbled horses when I was a kid on the farm, but I’d never cuffed anyone. These looked as if they worked pretty much the same way. “I think I have the general idea.” I put one on Frank’s wrist, buckled it up, and then took it off to display my hobbling technique.

  Ryan nodded. “Blindfold?”

  It looked like a sleep mask with an elastic strap. “Just over eyes, right?” I slid it over Frank’s hood—black on black. “Can you see anything?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I could see all that well to begin with.”

  I flipped off the blindfold and set it with the cuffs. I knew what to do with the crop. “So he is my table?”

  Ryan nodded and motioned me to follow him. “Pixie, you and Frank stay here for a moment. We’ll be right back.” He led the way back to the middle of the room. More people had made their way upstairs and were sitting on the couches and chairs, drinking wine and conversing in low voices.

  He pointed to a large padded footstool, speaking in a hoarse whisper. “Pixie and I will be here.” He moved the footstool into the very middle of the couches—center stage—and pushed a captain’s chair to one side, a little upstage from the footstool. “You can sit here.”

  He looked at the arrangement. “I’m thinking that you and Frank should start. Cuff him up, blindfold him and then have him hold your wine glass. Do a bit of teasing, etc. Then I’ll start with Pixie. You leave Frank to stew in his statue way, holding your wine on outstretched palms. He likes that. And punish him if he messes up. Does that work for you?”

  At least there was no white rug if he spilled. The floors were a rich brown hardwood. “I think so.” It didn’t sound very difficult. Dom 101 training. I suppressed a smile.

  “We can swap back and forth. Sometimes I’ll let Pixie stew as well.” He looked at his watch. “Oh and keep an eye on Frank. If he gets tired or starts to shake, make him get on all fours and put the wine on his back. You might want to try that anyway.” He looked around and found an ornate sofa table against one wall. He picked it up with ease and set it within easy reach of the footstool. Then he motioned me back to the bedroom.

  Good god, I just kept following him around and doing his bidding like I was a puppy. Here is Master Rhys and his Dom-ette. But a girl had to learn somewhere. And this was free advice.

  Frank and Pixie were handling the toys when we got back into the room. Ryan reclaimed the collection and shook his finger at Pixie. “Naughty girl. No touching.” She smiled demurely, but there was challenge in her eyes. It occurred to me that she wouldn’t be a good person to have mad at you. I sensed a touch of wildcat under that cheery exterior.

  Ryan took a look at Frank. “Take that bow off. It will get in the way.”

  I hated being bossed around but I held my tongue. It was intriguing that someone would not only like to be bossed around, but would pay for it. Is that what Frank wanted? I wouldn’t really know until we finally had our conversation.

  Ryan glanced at the makeshift stage. “Looks like everybody is upstairs. Let’s go.” Without waiting for us, he walked out, the toys under his arm.

  Pixie followed immediately behind. I picked up the cuffs, blindfold and crop that lay on the bed and gave Frank my best “What are we doing?” look.

  He pulled me into an embrace. “Listen, the worst that can happen is I’ll spill the wine and break the glass. But then you can spank me. How bad can that be?” He nuzzled my neck and I realized this was true.

  Mostly. I was still really nervous. But I swallowed hard and led him out of the room. As we walked to center stage, the door to Mistress Maven’s room opened, and she and Zach stepped out. She led him to a couch mid-way in the semicircle, where he sat on the floor in front of her. She fingered his hair. I had absolutely no idea what their relationship was, but they both seemed pleased, relaxed and ready for the show.

  On the table he’d lugged over, Ryan set out a variety of paddles, a whip, and a thin cane. Everything was precisely placed. Clearly Ryan was a bit obsessive-compulsive. He nodded to me and indicated that I should just get on with it. There was no introduction.

  I moved to my assigned chair and scoped out the best table minion location. We’d be be
hind Ryan and Pixie once they got rolling, so only Frank would be visible when I sat down. I wanted him where the audience could best see him.

  I was conscious that all eyes were on me. It was time to begin.

  I froze.

  A huge rush of emotion came over me. Childhood images flashed like strobelights. The cruel way my stepdad tied up my horses. Knowing there was nothing I could do about it. I looked at the wrist cuffs that Ryan had given me and, for a moment, I felt overwhelmed by those out of control moments that surfaced.

  My hands were shaking.

  Rage surged up my legs and arms, rushing to my throat until all I could do was yell.

  “I’m in control now!”

  The entire crowed jerked and then hooted enthusiastically.

  I had to get over the past. And why not. It was the past. This was for fun.

  I remembered Pixie’s stories and I finally had a sense of how she felt. I could do this.

  I stomped those Scarlet Girls in a circle around Frank, running my hands lightly over his body. “You are mine. Say it.”

  Frank responded instantly. “I’m yours, Ma’am.”

  I smacked him with my crop on his thigh. “That’s Mistress Em to you.”

  “Yes, Mistress Em.”

  I put the crop in my teeth and dropped one set of cuffs as I fastened the others around Frank’s wrists. The rage was turning into a powerful sense of self confidence. Of sexual determination. Then I picked up the other set of cuffs and strapped them onto his ankles. The short metal snap in between made it next to impossible for him to walk.

  I circled him again, slowly. “You can no longer hide your face from me. I want to see it. I want everyone to see your face, so nothing is hidden.” His hood was barely tucked into his body suit, so I tugged it loose and lifted it off his head.

  The audience murmured in appreciation. I reached up and held his face with my hands, turning it from one side to the other for people to see. “Look how handsome you are.”

  I stood in front of him and looked straight into his gorgeous honey-brown eyes. I gave him my most powerful Domme expression, trying to peer into his soul. And strangely enough, I saw him. Deep in those eyes I saw that man I loved, and he wanted what was coming.

  I picked up the blindfold and slipped it over his eyes, snapping the elastic. “Now I can see you, but you can’t see me. I like it better that way. Don’t you?”

  “Yes Mistress.”

  I brushed his lips with my finger. “I want to taste those lips.” And I did.

  I kissed him lightly. A slow, soft caress. He tasted just like I remembered. We just breathed together, lips almost touching for another long moment. A thrill of sensation made my heart race.

  But I couldn’t indulge myself. There would be time for that later. Again I circled him, touching him lightly. His upper thighs, his chest, his lower back. I flicked his butt with the crop—three brisk snaps.

  “I’m tired now and need to rest. You’ll stand here to hold my wine glass. Hands out. Palms up.”

  “Yes Mistress Em.” Frank complied. He struggled to catch his breath.

  He wore thin black gloves. I flicked the crop on each palm. “You don’t need these.” Bare skin would provide better traction for the wine glass. I slowly peeled the gloves off and tossed them aside. Then I held up his hands as though inspecting them, sucking on each finger in turn. He tasted salty.

  I could hear the audience whispering in the background, but my attention was focused entirely on Frank. We never moved this slowly when we had sex, never lingered on each other. We were always in a rush. This felt luxurious.

  I picked up the wine glass and took several long drinks. I was worried he’d slop it about. Hell, I could see it and I worried I’d spill. So I drank it down to less than half full. Or was it more than half empty?

  I dipped my finger into the wine and spread it onto his lips. He licked them slowly.

  “Good?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  Swat. “Wrong.” He twitched, his palms moving enough that the wine should have definitely spilled. It was a little like horse training. Swat when bad. Pet when good.

  “Now be perfectly still.”

  “Yes, Mistress Em.”

  Finally I balanced the wine glass on his outstretched palm. Slowly I let go. It stayed put.

  “Now don’t you dare drop it.”

  “No Mistress Em.” Frank’s voice was faint and his body shuddered.

  I slowly circled him, running one hand down his stomach, ever so near his verge en érection, all the while snapping the crop lightly on the thick of his butt. “That’s good. Very good.” I whispered into his neck. I could feel the hair on his neck standing on end. I nuzzled him a little longer, wanting to see if he would flinch. But I didn’t want to be mean. Or make a mess.

  With a final soft flick of the crop, I sat down to let Ryan and Pixie take over. I sank into the chair next to Frank and watched as he stood as still as possible to keep the wine glass stable. It felt crazy sexy. I was tingling from head to toe and everywhere in between. Every inch of me had been raged through, and I felt a cathartic release that had been a whole lifetime in the making.

  I heard Ryan and Pixie begin, but tuned them out. I had planned to watch, but the interaction with Frank kept me completed engaged. I watched his every quiver and twitch. I heard his every steadying breath, even over Pixie’s shuddering moans. He smelled like nervousness mixed with the woodsy soap he preferred.

  At lulls in Pixie and Ryan’s performance, I would lift the glass off Frank’s palms, take a sip, and work another small scene, each time feeling more aroused and more connected to my sub.

  When he seemed to be getting tired, I finally had Frank move to all fours, helping him into position in front of my chair. I kept the wine glass for myself, and instead propped my feet up on his lower back, letting the Scarlet Girls claim the limelight at last. Tonight they had proved themselves worthy.

  It was only then that I really registered all the people watching. I locked eyes with Mistress Maven, who gave me a sly smile and a nod of approval. Not that I needed it at that moment. The experience had been wholly satisfying in its own right.

  Ryan and Pixie were in the final stage of their scene. Pixie was down to only a thong and Ryan had her on all fours over the footstool—hands, feet and body bound to the stool. She was blindfolded and gagged, and he was using a thin cane on her red-striped derriere to elicit all manner of muffled responses.

  The spectators looked mesmerized. They were actually more intriguing to me than Ryan and Pixie. The vibe in this place was very different from The Slutterati Salon. All pretenses at art were gone. Here couples watched other couples play out titillating scenes. Who would go after us? Maybe this was like Open Mic night at a club. Anybody could get up and do anything. Did it count as therapy? ’Cause I could think of a few people who’d be more likely to go to therapy if it looked like this.

  Despite my nerves, the experience was liberating. The audience kept you focused. You stayed in character. If Frank and I had tried this at home, I would have just giggled. Here I wanted to perform. Maybe that was a part of it. Getting into character and staying that way through the scene. It actually made me feel closer to Frank.

  It was over. Would people scurry off to the various bedrooms to enjoy a little sexual activity of their own? What about the rooms with two beds? Apparently you could cohabitate.

  Group action held no attraction for me. I wanted to grab Frank and find someplace private, just us two. I wasn’t ready for sex yet. We had too much to discuss about what we wanted and needed to just jump in the sack and try to fumble our way through. I wanted to clear the air first.

  When Ryan finished with Pixie, several people got up and sat around her, stroking her hair and back as Ryan undid the restraints. It was apparently time for me to free Frank from his ottoman duty. I downed the last of my wine, set the glass to one side, and squatted as best I could to undo the restraints.

  Onc
e free, Frank leapt up, stripped off his blindfold, and gave me a crushing hug and long delicious kiss. “That was amazing.” His whisper was husky in my ears, and when he pulled back, his eyes were bright and teary. “I love you so very, very much for doing this for me.”

  What? No “suckier than suck” comment? Or “our love is like an Oreo wrapped in bologna” sentiment? A tide of emotion broke inside me. I let myself melt into his embrace. His response felt so genuine.

  When we pulled apart again, he blinked at the audience gathering around and led me away from the group. “Would you mind if we left?”

  I smiled my biggest smile. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I know you’ll laugh, but I want to go somewhere private. And talk.”

  I just about fell over. Could that be true? My sense of surprise must have been visible on my face.

  He shook his head. “I know. I know. I haven’t been there for you much. Not that way. I’ve always been too timid to talk about what I really feel. But I do feel. Very much. And I want us to share that, the way we did this.” He gestured to the group. “Just have a little patience with me.”

  Here was exactly what I wanted. Smart, funny, good-looking. And he finally wanted to talk. I was in heaven.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Joe standing behind us. He’d apparently just arrived with Lily, the hostess from the Salon. She moved past to join Ryan and Pixie.

  “So what did I miss?” He had a huge smile on his face.

  I gave him a hug and Frank shook his hand. “I was teaching Frank some table manners. You’ll have to ask Pixie over there about it. She can fill you in.” I pulled Frank to me. “We’re heading out.”

  “Already?” Joe looked disappointed. “Well, I hope I see you two again.” But he wasn’t talking to Frank and me. He only had eyes for the Scarlet Girls.

  Epilogue

  Visiting The Slutterati Salon is a little like slipping down the rabbit hole into Alice’s Wonderland. Crossing this threshold presents you with a myriad strange and unusual sights, sounds, smells and savors. Your attitudes may be challenged, your sense of reality altered, your appreciation for the art of the sensual revived. Dare yourself to spend an evening in the world of the slutterati and perhaps you, too, will discover something new about yourself.