Body Wisdom & Uncompromising Portraits

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “You could let me have your ass one more time before we end this debauchery we’ve been perpetuating,” Malcolm suggested.

  “I could, couldn’t I?” she flipped off the easy retort, and because she was ready to leave, it was perfect time to jaunt happily off to the door, leaving Malcolm hanging.

  Sydney had only two days to plan her Saturday. Having no idea what she’d wear, she traipsed through several off-beat boutiques looking for something different, not something off the rack, looking like everyone else’s idea of the perfectly slutty garment. She considered leather, but that was certainly common, and how much could you really do with leather, unless you were opting for the fetish look with chains and studs too? She preferred a blend of seductive and downright nasty.

  In a tiny shop, hardly any distance at all from her apartment, she found a small black lycra skirt, with a three inch slit and a glove fit. It moved when she moved, with no independence of its own. It looked like it was glued to her body. A few stores later, Sydney found a bustier that fit snugly around her middle, and pushed her breasts into two fine sensuous mounds that jiggled at the top of the black garment with the fancy gold brocade along the edge. If a nipple didn’t pop out before the night was over, she’d be surprised. She added a pair of simple lace stockings, and black high heel ankle boots that streamlined her legs, and made her bottom stick out all the more in its captive skirt.

  “You should really try the collar, the sales clerk suggested. The young woman with a mop of teased hair and black lipstick didn’t look like a fashion consultant, but she was right about the collar. Black and gold brocade to match the bustier, Sydney fit it snugly around her neck and tied it tight.

  Her body instantly rushed seeing the effect. She’d worn neck collars before, little lace things that suggested innocence more than seduction. This was different, and she suspected it would give Malcolm as much a jolt as it was giving her.

  When she looked up at the sales clerk, the young woman was staring at her.

  “See, it does look good, huh?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Sydney looked back in the mirror.

  “So, you going to something special?” She was chewing gum and smacking her lips.

  “A party.”

  “Wild one?”

  “Supposed to be.”

  Sydney continued to view herself in the mirror, getting hotter every minute.

  “You know, we could party a little, you want to?” the clerk said.

  “You mean?” Sydney was confused.

  “Little dressing room cunt to cunt, or don’t you fuck women?”

  “I haven’t,” Sydney admitted. “I’ve been trying to get the men straight in my life, I don’t know what I’d do if there were women to worry about too.”

  “Too bad,” the girl said shaking her head. “You do look hot, you some kind of model or something?”

  Sydney was about to say no, she was an artist, but she changed her mind. “Yeah. I model nude.”

  The girl with the black lipstick raised two very black eyebrows, her eyes looking as sultry as two eyes could. “I’d like to see that.”

  “Maybe you will. I’ve been having my body painted by an artist, he should be having an exhibition in a couple of months.

  “Wow.” She was impressed. “I’d like to do that sometime, but I don’t know any artists, just musicians. One guy’s gonna write this song for me, but hey, getting a picture done, my cunt and all, that would be bitchin’.”

  Sydney smiled, feeling ever so much older, and clearly condescending, though she wasn’t going to communicate it to the girl. She’d really been helpful, and a bit of a morale booster, even if they weren’t on the same mental wave length.

  Her purchases wrapped in a plain brown bag, Sydney was in a hurry to get them home so she could try them on again. She wondered what it would have been like to have experimented with the girl in the dressing room. Touching breasts, a woman’s midriff, running hands along a female bottom and between legs where it was warm and moist. How strange that one uncovered desire led to another, to another, as if they were all connected on one long string, all tied in some sequence, that as soon as she’d discovered the first, it led to another, equally, if not more provocative than the one before.

  Desire was like that, seducing by its very nature, taking her ever deeper in its midst, where sometimes she thought she would get lost. All the sessions with Malcolm, including the lovemaking with Tomas, the strangest desires popped into her mind as she was striking odd poses for the artist. They were indications of a sexual soul that was a lot deeper and richer than she could ever have imagined. And still, at this point in time, she was contemplating the return to a conventional life, to marriage. Could she give up all her hedonistic inclinations for just one man? Was that possible, or had she unleashed something that she couldn’t control, and would Gabriel ever understand? He had been trying, but it seemed sometimes she was light-years beyond his efforts to understand her.

  As much as Sydney had tried to suppress her wanton behavior in the last few weeks, denying herself moments with both Tomas and Malcolm, she was surprised and a little frightened that thinking of this party, her whole sexual energy burst forth with wicked thoughts, and was pressing her headlong into an evening that could be far more daring than anything else she’d ever done.

  Putting on her outfit again at home, Sydney looked into the full length mirror and smiled. She liked it even better without the sales clerk to comment. For just a moment there was nothing but Sydney and her reflection, and that made her shiver excitedly.

  She began to move, thinking of dancing, wondering who might be dancing with her Saturday night. The thought making her more bold, she moved erotically, like an exotic dancer, realizing how tight and short the skirt was, and how her movements made it rise on her legs. It inched so high, it threatened to show her cunt if she bent just a little too much. Would she wear panties or not?

  Watching herself dance, it made her hot to imagine that crowd of people in a crowded loft, bodies pressing against hers, hers pressing back. When she bent forward toward the mirror, her flesh was so dangerously close to breaking free from the bustier, that she jiggled and shimmied until her two round mounds of flesh, nipples and all broke free.

  She’d never be this raunchy at the party, no matter how outrageous it was. In fact, she’d probably be so curious, gawking at other “fetish people”, as Malcolm called them, that she’d forget to be sexy herself, and end up just another lewdly dressed but slightly uptight woman.

  At least while she was in the safety of her own room, just the mirror and her body to tease her, she could be excited with her fantasies, as one by one they marched into her brain. Her hands were everywhere, moving down her hips, across her breasts, the feelings as welcome as any lover’s hands, the result as effective.

  By inspiration, Sydney pulled out her fingerless black gloves, ones that Gabriel had bought her before they married, when she was just his lover, not his wife, when he liked to seeing her acting sexy, and these gloves were just a symbol of seduction. She’d hadn’t worn them in over a year, and they smelled like the perfume sachet in her drawer, a rich flowery fragrance like old roses, and lilac and other scents she couldn’t recognize. Putting the gloves on her hands was donning another femininity, a brothel sexuality, that made her think of waiting for a “john” to knock on her door, and then use her wickedly dressed body for nothing more than sex, in an old fashioned way.

  She liked the look of the collar, the breasts atop the bustier, the way her waist looked so small with the sharp stays circling her midriff, the way the short skirt defined her hips. Dancing still, she let the skirt rise until she could see her cunt reflected back. And with her sexy gloved hands, she began playing with her clitoris, rubbing it gently, rubbing it hard, rubbing it fast with just the right pressure, until a full measure of feeling was rising. Tapping some inner root source she rocked against her fingers, making the gloves as damp as her pussy was damp.

&n
bsp; When a bright explosion of energy raced through her, it made every body part rush. And once over, she relaxed, collapsed back on the bed, looking in the mirror at the woman she’d become in her imagination, and in this tiny sliver of private reality.

  “This is what you do when I’m not here?” His voice came out of nowhere, and Sydney jerked seeing Gabriel standing at her bedroom door.

  “Oh, my god! You scared the living daylights out of me.” She was breathing hard, at first too scared to be embarrassed, then too embarrassed to know what say. “What are you doing here?” was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Looking at you, I guess,” he said.

  Was there lust or judgment in his eyes, she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “So?”

  “You never did that for me,” he said.

  “I was never inspired,” she said. “Ouch!” she thought as she listened to her words.

  “Thanks.” He started to back away.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry, you just startled me. What are you doing here?”

  “I kinda wanted to talk, but I don’t know what to say now.” He was starting to back out of the door.

  “No stay, please,” she was pleading with him, and hating herself for doing it.

  “No, I really hafta go.” He was agitated and nervous and she hated him like that, it always seemed the precursor to some vile judgment.

  “Gabriel! Damn you! You interrupt me and give me that “I hafta go shit!.”

  “Sorry, Syd, I really should have knocked.”

  “You damn well should have, but now that you’re here, you’d better sit down and tell me why you came. I’m sick of this mooning around. You going make up your mind about us, or just keep me sitting on the fucking fence forever?”

  It was Gabriel’s turn to be pissed, his eyes firecracker sharp. But he was thinking and not talking. “I don’t want to be pushed, Syd,” he finally said.

  “Of course not! You poor wronged little baby.” Maybe the clothes were making her bold, but she was sick of holding back.

  “Hey, I’m gonna get out of here. When you want to talk like an adult, we’ll talk.”

  “Don’t you throw that shit in my face!” she roared.

  “I’ll throw any damned thing I want to,” he roared back. “I didn’t run off and go screwing other people.”

  “Well maybe you should have, it might have loosened you up!”

  “You bitch!” he sputtered under his breath, and he turned and strode out of the apartment.

  Sydney was standing when the conflagration was over, not knowing when she’d risen to her feet. It was probably just natural, the anger rising in her body. With Gabriel gone, she slumped back on the bed where she’d been before, realizing as she looked at her face in the mirror, that all the peace and sexual satisfaction of masturbation had vanished. She looked witch-like in her new clothes.

  Sydney had no idea where all the rage had come from, how in a moment that could have brought them together, everything seemed totally destroyed. She wasn’t sure who was to blame, but she was afraid that a reconciliation was just that much further away, now seeming more impossible than ever.

  One last glance in the mirror and Sydney tore off the gloves, the collar, the bustier and the skirt. She ruined the stockings when she tore at them too, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want any of it anymore, at least for the next twenty-four hours. That was how long she had before she’d have to dress for Malcolm. Would she have the courage to be that lewd in public? She really wondered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Malcolm knocked on the door, Sydney was nervous. Everything had survived the quick disrobing the evening before, except the stockings. She had bought another pair to replace them; and she decided not to wear the gloves, a little “too much” she thought. Maybe she’d regret the decision later, but then, she really didn’t want to be thinking of Gabriel all night.

  “Syd!” Malcolm’s normally unaffected expression was genuinely provoked by the sight of his nastily clothed model.

  “Will it do?” she asked.

  “You surprise me,” he said.

  “I hoped I would,” she said with a haughty affected turn of the phrase.

  “All you need is some of those fingerless gloves. Don’t you think that would complete it?”

  “It’s as complete as it’s gonna get, Mal, I’ll be lucky to survive this.”

  “You don’t need to worry, you’ll still be one of the most conservatively dressed ones at the party.”

  “I’d really like to see that,” Sydney said.

  “You will. You ready?”

  “Let me check the lipstick, I’ll be right back.”

  She was breathing easier. Being on Malcolm’s arm was being in a different world, and since she’d decided, after Gabriel left the night before, that she was going to pull out all the stops this night, she was feeling pretty good. Throwing a cape around her shoulders, Sydney left the apartment with an extra swagger in her hips. There was a little bit of actress, a little bit of vamp and lot of the new free Sydney on the move.

  ***

  Marco Santori’s loft was just a couple of miles from her apartment, in a marginal part of the city, where small businesses mixed with apartments, and there were remnants of old factories, that had either been drastically remodeled into offices or condos; or like this one, turned into trendy apartments. The loft was one entire floor of an old building, the third floor, so Sydney counted when she looked up and saw a long line of lights two flights up. She suspected that there was even a second story to the apartment, since there were bright lights above, and people standing by the windows.

  A walk-up, at least for that night, with the elevator broken—so their host had informed Malcolm—Sydney was forced to take two flights of stairs in the ghastly high heels she’d chosen. She hoped they would be good for dancing, if there was dancing. She was looking forward to letting go, not just clinging to Malcolm’s arm, and listening to him pontificate.

  Once Malcolm pulled back the large metal door and they entered the apartment, Sydney’s eyes gazed on a mob of mostly leather dressed people, pulsing to heavy metal music blaring from large stereo speakers. Malcolm was right, she was more demurely dressed than most of the people she saw.

  The entire loft was one swimming sea of oddly dressed participants in this feast of god knows what. It took some minutes for Sydney to get used to the flickering lights and the brilliant color that assaulted her eyes and noise that assaulted her ears. She was clinging to Malcolm’s arm far more tightly than she should have, but he didn’t seem to be upset. He was taking her in his own direction, when she might have wanted to dance or check out the balcony above the main floor. Instead, she went along with him, deep into the loft toward a group of people that looked so strange that she didn’t know if she could even talk to them. They looked like aliens that had just landed, who certainly wouldn’t know her language.

  “This is Sydney,” Malcolm was introducing her to one leather clad man, leather from head to foot. “He’s a sexual dom, whips and chains and everything,” Malcolm explained.

  Sydney nodded, not certain what all that meant, except that it must have been very vile by the way this man looked, with a half dozen talismans falling off one ear, a ring through his nose and several ghastly tattoos covering his bare forearms.

  “She’s charming, you giving her to me?” he asked.

  “No, no, she’s just been doing some modeling for me. Though she’s really an artist, and I suspect will be going back to that full time?” Malcolm looked at Sydney, making certain that his model heard his explanation of her, after he’d so totally screwed it up when he’d taken her to the art show several months before.

  “Too bad she’s not into the fun stuff,” the dom said with eyebrows raised and eyes focused directly on Sydney’s bust.

  After a few more comments Malcolm and Sydney moved away. “Ah there she is,” Malcolm said, a broad smile suddenl
y breaking out on his face, as he spotted a leather clad young woman on the other side of the room. She reminded Sydney of the woman with the black lipstick in the boutique, though this girl was much prettier. Behind all the morbid colors on her eyelids, and her spiky hairdo, she had a softer side that seemed to come right through her attempt to hide it with the wild costume. She was wearing a leather dress, that was little more than straps woven together with plenty of space between them, so that the tanned flesh of her hips, thighs, midriff and breasts showed through. The dress was carefully constructed so that at all the crucial places front and back, there were straps to cover the nipples, cunt and bottom crack. Sydney had never seen anything like it.

  “Jessica Crabtree, this is Sydney,” Malcolm introduced them.

  Jessica Crabtree was a name Sydney knew; she edited an offbeat fetish newspaper that had printed a preview of Malcolm’s work. Sydney didn’t think that the paper was anyplace to advertise what should have been a much too tame exhibit for these people, but the article had been tastefully done.

  Jessica smiled warmly extending her hand to the model for a conventional greeting.

  “You know Syd, I’ve about decided when this project we’re doing is over, I’m going to do these people in oils.”

  Ah, Syd thought to herself, that was the reason for his sudden interest in leather and chains.

  “You going to do Jessica?” Syd asked.

  “I think I’ll start with her,” Malcolm said.

  Sydney saw the lights in Malcolm’s eyes, admiration, total adoration. She’d seen the same look in him toward her months before, though it had little by little faded away until she’d realized that it was no longer there, only seeing it sparked again by another woman.

  “Ouch!” Sydney suddenly jerked, and turned around to see Tomas behind her, his hands teasing her at her waist.

  “You look wicked,” he said, admiring the costume.

  “Thank you, and you too!”

  “Dance?” he asked.