Tensions are high in the Ma household as homemaker, wife, and mother Constance Ma, is being stretched to her limits in every which way. When Jin, her husband, happens upon an interesting discovery, things take a drastic turn as old flames are reignited, lines are crossed, and reality is turned upside down.
Real or staged? That’s the question you’ll keep asking yourself as you read this one!
With thirst nipping at her tongue courtesy of Glendale’s relentless sunshine, Constance waddled from her Audi and into her house. Groceries hit the counter with a slam, throwing off what had been a neatly piled stack of coupons and junk mail. She reached for her chalice, a commemorative cup from Disney World. She scoffed at its artwork even still, wondering how anyone in their right mind could put a smiling Mickey alongside a ten-dollar price tag. The freezer offered a welcome blast of cold air as she reached for a suspiciously light ice cube tray.
“KEIKO!”
The sound of fast paced footsteps shuffling down the stairs meant it was time for Constance to bare her infamous brow.
Sloppily put together in an oversized sleeveless tank Keiko emerged front and center, phone tucked to her thigh as muffled pings slipped out of her pocket.
Constance held the empty tray up high so that it reached her daughter’s nose.
“How many times? How many times?”
Keiko rolled her eyes and went back to swiping her thumb against the screen of her phone.
“O-M-G mom, you like totally loose your shit for the dumbest things.”
Constance huffed and reminded Keiko that colorful language had no place within the four walls they called home. Keiko, shrugging off the encounter and rallied up to her bedroom where an unfinished protest sign sat atop her bed.
A set of dishes observing the, “soak rule”, made Constance flare her nostrils as she adjusted the bagua fixated over the sink. She reached for her cup, filled halfway with tea, and the lone ice cube that had survived her daughter’s hand, and let the cool beverage run like a stream down her throat. A small bead of tea escaped her lips and trickled down her neck, but before she could wipe it herself, another hand was there to catch it.
“Did you bring the chips?”
Jin stole a kiss that grazed her cheek as he took to rummaging the grocery sacks.
“I take it you heard nothing?”
He stopped for a moment, diverting from the task at hand. Her brow curved high into her forehead making him anxious and he grasped at straws until she could stand no more.
“It’s Keiko.”
“Oh no, she didn’t cover herself in, “blood” again did she?”
Constance shook the ice cube tray in his face.
“And that’s not all. I had to move the bagua back in place again. I think she’s been using it as a mirror.”
“She’s probably just keeping an eye on her hairline. I mean the way you go on…”
“Hairline’s no joke. Low hairline means lazy, lazy means no job. No job means sleeping in the street.”
Jin drooped his lip and went back to searching for his chips.
“You know, when I went to Five Guys the other day I met a young lady from TCU that told me Jesus doesn’t care about hairlines.”
“Jesus eh?”
Constance gripped her hips and let Jin go on about the pudgy bible thumper until his quest for chips was complete. With a smile on his face he slid on slick socks back to the living room where UCLA was facing a first and goal.
“Jin!”
She was granted his face as he leaned back into the kitchen.
“Yes dear?”
With the steady tap of her toe, Constance pointed towards the sink and the food stained plates piled high.
“What? They’re soaking.”
“Two days? That’s no soak, they’re claiming residency.”
With his head swiveling between her brow and the game he bared his teeth.
“Right after the game, before I go.”
She nodded in compliance giving her husband the benefit of the doubt.
***
Grease, strengthened by time, turned clean water murky as with each scrape of the scouring pad she passed obscenities under her breath. He cradled her backside, gliding his hands along her slender frame; a tender touch that forced her to smile.
“This isn’t fair, and you know it. You lost the toss.”
“I’m sorry, but how was I to know the game would end up in overtime?”
She rolled her eyes before turning to peck him goodbye.
“Did we at least win?”
“Nah, they couldn’t punch it in from the two, bye babe.”
His scrubs wafted, met with a strong gust of wind as he made his exit. She didn’t care much for football, taking more to combat sports as the definitive reflection of the, “you versus life” motif.
“MOM!”
Keiko’s voice caught her off guard and she thwacked her fist against the counter as fear worked its way down her spine.
“Yes!?”
“Can I like, have twenty dollars?”
Keiko stretched out her hand and bared a grin as her hips teetered from side to side.
“I thought you had a job?”
“Oh mom, being a barista sucks,” She said stretching her words, “it’s not hot enough, is it, vegan, and don’t even get me started on the scavengers that snatch all our sugar packets!”
“So, you quit?”
Keiko retracted her hand and knocked her head back.
“Ugh, you’re impossible. I’ll just ask Kaylee’s mom.”
“Hold up, Kaylee? You didn’t tell me you were going out.”
Keiko rolled her head and placed a hand along her hip.
“I told you remember? You were in your study…”
“Ah-ha! Grading papers! Keiko you know better.”
A dark cloud cast its shadow against the sun as the two fought for dominance across the sky. And as rain began to pitter away against the sandy brown stone of the Ma residence, Keiko, dragging her soles against the pavement, took off in her car.
It hurt to watch her daughter leave on such a sour note, but Constance knew in her heart that Keiko would be back and without money, sooner rather than later.
***
“She’s just blowing off some steam; sound familiar?”
“We faced serious issues.”
Jin nodded his head and, with his words, reached through the receiver.
“Keiko’s issues are serious to her. She’s coming into her own, and we have to respect that.”
“I know, I’m just so used to having both hands on the steering wheel.”
Wet soles against tile drew his attention away from her as they exchanged terms of endearment and hung up.
“Miss Simmons are you finished with your shower?”
“Don’t come in, I’m not dressed.”
He stood by the door keeping an open ear. Her heavy breaths tensing his hands as he anxiously fought to respect her wishes.
“Miss Simmons, I’m coming in.”
“Okay, but I look a fright.”
A small pool of bathwater sat at her feet as a rumpled nightgown clung to her body, its buttons haphazardly fastened.
“I don’t know why you insist on that one. The Velcro one’s are so much easier to put on.”
“And risk some rapscallion ripping it off?”
Infinite rows of rippled skin became visible as her eyes grew wide with fear. A small brown blotch doubled in size as her mouth gaped.
“I suppose you’re right Miss Simmons. Now come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”
“Before The Love Boat?”
It had slipped his mind, how the distant sounds of television helped lull her to sleep, and within the hour she was nestled comfortably within the confines of an armchair. Nature called as he draped a tall fluffy blanket over the very essence of time’s persistence.
“I’ll be back Miss Simmons,” he said, slinking off to the restroom.
After drying his hands Jin reached for the shower curtain to cover the mold taking residence between cracks in her bathtub. It was there that he noticed, as the back of his hand grazed her loofah, that something was amiss. A bottle of body soap, still filled to its brim, confirmed that he could no longer give her the benefit of the doubt. A creaking door made the hair on his neck stand up as he strained his eyes towards the living room.
The light off the T.V continued to bounce off the walls and along the furniture. A stale laugh track could still be heard. But as his eyes fell on the armchair…
“Miss Simmons?”
It had only happened once before, and he took to the kitchen to see if maybe history had repeated itself, but he found only darkness. His hands felt around for a switch and the moment light made its presence known, his eyes darted for the door. The deadbolt was still fixated in the lock position.
“Miss Simmons?”
A distant creaky floor hinge offered a clue as it cut through some livid television ad. Short choppy breaths mirrored his steps as he inched along the wall of a narrow corridor towards a gaping door. He’d never ventured this far, but tonight Aubrey’s capers didn’t have a jurisdiction.
“Miss Simmons, are you… down there?”
“Timothy is that you?”
The fact that she’d managed not to miss a step in the dark was an uncanny feat as Jin was forced to illuminate the stairs with his phone. Down below Aubrey was huddled against a workbench, clutching a staple gun in one hand, and resting the other against a roll of matted wallpaper.
“Miss Simmons…”
“Who goes there… I don’t know you… I have a gun… I swear...”
With soft steps he inched towards her, keeping his light fixated on the shaky hand ready to unload a volley of staples in his direction. He lowered his tone, giving the best Johnny Cash impersonation he was capable of.
“Aubrey…”
“Oh Timothy, it is you.”
His heart could beat again as she lowered the gun. Flexing his arm, he helped her up. Her pull disrupted his balance and he lost his phone beyond a partition splitting the basement.
“Wait here, sweat pea.”
“Okay Timothy but do hurry. The Love Boat’s ‘bout to start.”
He shook his head and splitting the partition, reached for his phone. Its faint light illuminated the ceiling where a dangling chain caught his eye. With a sliver of light, he traced the chain to its end, a pair of silver studded restraints. He looked to Miss Simmons, then back to the cuffs, swallowing hard.
“Come Aubrey, Captain Merrill Stubing awaits.”
“Oh, how exciting. How ‘bout some popping corn?”
***
She tucked her tips away into the left cup of her bra and punched out for what seemed like the millionth time. Staving off a drunken patron whose hands had become adventurous, she dashed to her car. She abandoned her heels in favor of a less constricting pair of Converse. Her black wig, she tossed over her shoulder onto the backseat. Humming along to Tupac’s, “Keep Ya Head Up” blaring off her stereo, she traversed the empty stretch of road. It appeared indefinite, as her headlights struggled to pierce the shadows, but she was well acquainted with its curves, its dips, and its steep inclines.
It irked her that months into his service his parking habits hadn’t changed despite her many efforts. Reduced to parking on the curb she snarled at his blue BMW. She fumbled with her keys before at last finding the right one.
“Dr. Ma?”
“Oh, hi Taylor.”
She looked to Jin, who’s legs were twisted like a pretzel atop the couch. There was a pensive sway in his body as he watched her move in closer.
“Is everything okay?”
“I need you to be straight with me.”
Running a hand against her dirty blonde hair, she joined him on the edge of the couch.
“Okay, sure… is this about mom?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
With a crinkled nose she stared blankly into his eyes; her hands pressed against the fibers of the couch.
“Dr. Ma?”
“I found some… interesting things… in your basement tonight.”
Taylor bit down on her lip and tightened the grip she had on the sofa cushion.
“Oh… that. Are we… snooping… Dr. Ma?”
“Who, me? Oh, no, no. Your mother, psh-she wandered off, and well, and well…”
A waft of her strawberry scented lotion engulfed his nostrils as she pulled in just a little closer.
“Well what?”
“Please tell me you’re not using those things on your mother?! I know it’s rough, but, but, that is completely unethical, and I, and I, would be within my rights to re-report you…”
She tossed her head back and let out a quick cackle, immediately cupping her mouth for fear of waking Aubrey.
“Oh Dr. Ma. I don’t, those things, they’re not for her. They’re for a side business I have.”
“Side business?”
Taylor went on to explain that her late father’s gambling debts had been about the only thing she inherited from him aside from his six-foot stature. The chains, and their accompanying restraints were part of, “Mistress Tay’s dungeon” a moniker revered in the underground world of BDSM.
“I’m really passionate about these types of things, and yeah so, I mean, I’m renting out of somewhere right now since the basement’s not done.”
“I see.”
As his comfort level began to wade in calmer waters, Jin untwisted his legs.
“Yeah so, I have people come from here, from there; all so they can get their fix.”
“So, people pay… to get beat up?”
Taylor’s head bobbled about her shoulders as she further explained her methods, and the benefits associated with the practice. From a medical perspective, the idea was tantamount to holistic treatments, a psychological approach with a bit of pain.
“Stress relief, you bet. Although, there are some people who aren’t into the whole, “pain” thing, so I also offer other things.”
“Other things?”
***
Jin pushed his plate away as the scattered remanence of lettuce was all that remained of his salad. She was still a few bites behind but catching up as she spoke through a mouthful of chicken.
“… and she just got so offended when I told her that they were using a marginalized scenario as a blanket statement.”
“Well if she doesn’t take constructive criticism very well, just look in the mirror, you’ll see why.”
Constance resisted the urge to butt heads, choosing instead to gouge a chunk of chicken repeatedly until Jin sarcastically informed her that the animal had been, “dead for quite some time.”
“Very funny Jin.”
“Thanks, and don’t overeat. We still have desert to look forward to.”
Constance glanced up at him from underneath her hunched stature and ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth.
“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” she said looking around, “it’s been too long.”
“I know you’ve been hungry, and well when I heard… I just knew I had to bring you.”
He smiled as she pushed away her plate; a look of satisfaction on her face as she wiped a spot of sauce off her lip. They stood to a room full of guests minding their own, to a mix of indistinct conversations with the occasional laugh escaping the monotonous octave of murmurs. She clasped his hand forcefully before he could even fan out his wallet.
“Hey, she only came to check up on us once.”
“Fine.”
He rolled his eyes and tucked away his wallet into the inside of his blazer.
***
With a text confirming they were minutes away, Taylor placed the call. Her voice was hardly the chipper tone that her friend had been accustomed to hearing, prompting a question that Taylor was still trying to answer for herself. Her voice turned grim as her friend’s persistence wore her thin.
“Look just… be ready okay?”
In an apologetic tone, her friend agreed to keep her night open. Taylor, after slipping the phone back into her clutch, reached for her inhaler; liberally sucking in the cold mist that crashed against her throat.
A Jeep out of time, crumpled from one end, with bird crap for a paint job, was already parked out in front as Jin and Constance pulled up.
Their BMW cast a concentrated blast of light against a weathered wall, cracked to hell and sadly discolored from what was once a pristine white finish.
“I must have pasted this place a hundred times.”
“You and me both, but believe me, it’s in there.”
Constance alluded to the Jeep, pointing a sharp fingernail in its direction.
“Is that her car?”
“Yes. Hurry up and get the basket. You don’t want to know what happens to people who show up late.”
She pondered the severity of her dominance as a variety of repercussions sprang up in her head. So enthralled, she nearly closed the door on her hand as she exited the car. With the basket in tow, they entered the building.
The strong scent of Lysol hit their nostrils as they walked through reception, following a convenient trail of arrows etched on flashcards along the wall. Jin, taken by a grotesque devil’s head hanging along the wall stopped and snapped a photo of it, reaching out to graze its long red tongue.
An amply majestic purple draped the walls greeting Jin and Constance as they passed through the door; an array of leather bound furniture teeming with potential scattered about black alabaster floors. Sitting, elevated above, on a Victorian style chair, Taylor, in a silver studded under bust, amplified her presence by smacking her hand against the armrest.
“Welcome, servants. I’ve been expecting you. Come before your mistress and kneel.”
Coupled together they held their heads low, taking quick strides towards her chair. Constance’s red dress flared along the floor as she kneeled and raised the basket above her head.
“We offer tribute, Mistress Tay.”
Her eyes glossed over the basket and its contents. Raising her brow, she took note of a small manila envelope tucked between bottled waters and dark chocolate truffles.
“Bring forth the tribute.”
Taylor rose and took the basket in her hand, tearing away the cellophane so she could snatch up the envelope. A peak inside elicited a smile, quickly replaced by a cold stare towards her subjects.
“The tribute is fair. Back on your knees, servant.”
“What… what are you going to…”
Taking up a nearby horsewhip, Taylor thwacked it against Jin’s shoulder. He winced as a tinge of pain worked its way across his back.
“You will speak when spoken to, servant. Is that understood?”
“Oh I… I totally…”
Taylor rolled her eyes as he muddled his words around and around. Lowering to his eye level, she caught his attention.
“The answer that I am looking for is, ‘yes mistress’.”
“Oh… okay.”
She thwacked him again; the ‘smack’ of the whip, bouncing off the walls. For his insubordination he was almost thwacked again, till Constance objected and spoke out on his behalf.
“Leave him be, it’s not his fault he’s stupid.”
Taylor spun on her heels, giving Constance her undivided attention.
“You think yourself brave, do you, servant? We’ll see how long that lasts, once you’ve had a taste of my whip.”
“Please mistress, I beg your forgiveness.”
Taylor scoffed as the thought of mercy was instantly whacked into oblivion against Constance’s left shoulder. A small red blotch surfaced, blanketing her porcelain skin as she yelped like a dog.
Fanning away the heat, Taylor cracked open a Dasani and let the cold refreshment seep past her lips and down her throat.
“Rise, servants. It’s time that you met your undoing.”
Taylor ushered them towards a trapeze, its leather cuffs beckoning for victims. Constance stared up at the contraption and swallowed hard as she envisioned herself helpless, her body a vessel for anguish. That Taylor’s harbored lust would soon be coating her skin made her droop as her essence resisted.
“Take off that dress, servant,” she said, etching her finger along Constance’s zipper, “and you servant, take off your clothes.”
Jin was the first to respond, tossing his blazer to the ground and untucking his button down.
“I’ve got to warn you, I’m working my dad bod right now, so…”
“Silence!”
“Oh yeah… so it’s like Mark Wahlberg between movies under here.”
Jin’s incompetence earned him another, ‘smack’ this time right up against his butt cheek as his trousers slinked into a pool on the ground. He hid a smile as Taylor turned away from him. Her back was this dull canvas of faded colors and he paused a moment to appreciate the artistry.
Constance was finagling with her zipper, toying with it as the prospect of exposing herself lingered between a whip and her shoulders.
“You dare… defy… your mistress?”
Constance watched as Taylor began to look around the room with a gaping jaw. She watched as Taylor’s eyes squinted against the light fixtures illuminating the room. Taylor reached for her head and began to sway, abandoning the whip to the floor as she gripped her waist. Jin was quick to notice Taylor’s floundering legs and rushed to her aid.
“Taylor, are you alright?”
“Dr. Ma… I don’t… feel so… I’m lightheaded… I need to… sit down.”
He eased her onto a table where she slouched forward, limbered and flaccid. Constance was quick to join them and used her hands to fan Taylor’s face.
“Let’s get this thing off you,” Jin said, hastily unhooking her under bust.
Beneath the black constriction lied a thick body of malleable flesh, decompressed and able to breathe again. Lying her down they studied her eyes, watching them flutter; struggling to remain the open windows God intended them to be.
“Taylor, can you hear me?” Jin asked, snapping his finger against her ear.
“Wha… wha… what… did you… do… to me!?”
Constance kept to a pensive visual, pacing back and forth across the table, watching as Taylor slipped further and further away from responsiveness. Her head gave way and turned on its cheek as she batted her eyes one last time before being reduced to fleeting whispers of incoherent babble.
“Okay, she’s down for the count, but not for long, I gave her a diluted dose.”
“Ah, a boxing reference! You’re batting a thousand today.”
Stretching Taylor’s body against the table they lined each limb to one of its corners, wrapping them into the sung confines of Velcro restraints. Grabbing the basket, Constance tore beyond the tissue paper lining the bottom to where a small white box laid inconspicuously. With a smile on her face she peeked in it and placed it on a rolling cart Jin had spied upon their entrance. Jin was moments away from discarding the under bust from view when Constance laid a firm grip upon his wrist.
“No, wrap it around her. I want to rip it off when she comes to.”
“Maybe we should have put it on beeefore tying her down?”
Constance knocked her head back and snatched the garment from his hand. Doing her best, she clasped it back around Taylor’s ribs, leaving a gaping split down by her midsection. It was almost scripted the way she came to following Constance’s final touch up.
“Wha… what’s… what’s going on? What… what happened? Why am I…”
“Oh, that’s right mistress. Looks like the tables have turned.”
Taylor stared blankly at them both, her eyes pinging between them. A look around confirmed what she already knew to be true. Taking long jagged breaths she did her best to focus, put on her game face, and make sense of the situation.
“Yeah so, Dr. Ma, what’s the meaning of this… hey, hey, you lay one hand on me…”
Wearing a smirk, Constance cupped a firm hand over Taylor’s mouth. Leaning close enough to smell strawberries, she whispered erotically.
“You will speak when spoken to.”
“This is not how this works! Release me now!”
Constance looked to Jin and shrugged, a tingle about her spine as she listened to Taylor moan; her skin actively grazing against the table’s leather finish.
“It’s like she doesn’t understand English.”
“I… am… a mistress. A domme for fuck’s sake!”
Constance shared a laugh with Jin and deflected Taylor’s words with the palm of her hand.
“A mistress? A domme?” Constance said raising her brow, “All I see is a helpless little girl, tied up with, no… way… out.”
“I am a mistress and I demand that you release me this instant!”
Constance slinked down to the foot of the table where a pair of size nines laid motionless, encased in thick black boots.
“Oh, honey I don’t think you understand. Maybe this will help.”
“What are you… hey those are my boots.”
Their matte black finish and gun metal buckles, while menacing, lost all their allure as Constance effortlessly slipped them off. A pair of nylon clad feet lied underneath, plump, warm, and adorned with a glossy red finish atop the toes.
“Oh my, they are perfect.”
“What are you freaks doing down there? Don’t… touch… me!”
Taylor’s legs trembled, making hard efforts against her confinement; her toes scrunching as hands traced their outlines.
“Freaks? She’s the masochist, and we’re the freaks?”
“I know right? And it’s not as if she shouldn’t have seen this coming.”
A sharp nail struck against her large toe making Taylor wince, the tingles that followed, forced a rouge snort to escape her flared nostrils.
“What did you think he meant, when you two spoke of… ‘other things’?”
“Oh my God please don’t!”
Before another word could be mustered, sharp nails against her arch forced a bolstered blast of laughter past cognition. She smiled reflexively, stretching her lips to their limits as a stampede of sensations blanketed her sole.
“Oh Jin, she’s good. She’s very good. What a… stroke… of good luck!”
“I’ll say, and to think this whole time…”
A faint gasp of obscenities flew off Taylor’s lips, encouraging Jin to join his wife on the opposite foot. Constance, spirited by the image of their captive’s hopelessly flailing arms, raised her voice above the laughter.
“Hold up… did you just… Jin did she just?”
“Oh, I heard it loud and clear.”
Pent up aggression flew off her hands as Constance’s fingers ran along Taylor’s slippery stockings. Jin had found his niche, keeping to light traces of Taylor’s heel. Together the titillations proved to be overwhelming, illustrated by Taylor’s tensed facial expressions.
“OH MY GAWD-DA-HA… BREAK TIME… BREAK TIME!”
“Oh honey, there are no breaks. If you can dish it out, you should be able to take it.”
Taylor pleaded, searching for sympathy through a disjointed ramble about a lucid memory when chocolate stains were lipstick smudges and finger paints a nail polish. That the arbitrary action and its abusers would leave her breathless, at times soiled.
“Jin, get me a violin.”
“Maybe we should give her a minute. I mean, she’s already sweating.”
Constance retracted her hands, sidling them along the satin finish of her dress. Jin bared his teeth and threw up his hands as she stared daggers into him.
“If she’s so hot, let us help her.”
“Oh mey God… what… don’t… let me alone you…”
Even with a mere two clasps fastened it took some finagling to get off. Constance frowned as she struggled and the excitement of tearing it off Taylor’s body in one swift motion was lost. It fell to the ground, to the grunts of displeasure and a cold stare off Taylor’s eyes.
“Where oh were should I, tickle next?”
“Oh you crazy bitch… I swear… you lay another hand on me…”
Jin didn’t take kindly to his wife being verbally degraded and joined his wife in a taste of Taylor’s skin as Constance dipped low and grazed her tongue along the thick curvaceous body before her.
“You did say, not to lay a hand.”
“Ah, I see what you did there. Nice babe, nice.”
Pounding her head against the table, Taylor wrestled with the urge to laugh steadily bubbling up her throat as prolonged slick strokes coddled her sides. She contorted her frame, twisting and turning, but she was offered no peace.
“Oh you freaks… you, you… ugh let me go!”
“Can you believe this? Still with the, ‘let me go’?”
Constance caught a glace of Taylor’s eyes, watered down with lament. She smiled happily and tucked her lips over her teeth, hunching down to nibble along Taylor’s ribs.
Warm breaths engulfed her side igniting a fire-like wave of goosebumps along her skin. She inched away as much as her body was capable, but Constance stayed right with her, erotically gnawing away at her supple flesh. With closed eyes and an open mouth, she cackled in spirited spurts as the struggle to resist was becoming increasingly more daunting.
“Come on, I know it’s in there. Just, let it out.”
“GODDAMN’… OH SHIT, OH SHIT… PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE…”
Taking a step back, Jin watched as his wife pressed down on Taylor’s side, caressing her bronzed skin with pursed lips; her long black hair, flared, scattered along Taylor’s belly. Constance paused. Tucking some hair behind her ear, she looked to Jin.
“What?”
“Nothing, just... enjoying the view.”
Tilting her head in Jin’s direction Taylor caught a glimpse of his crotch which seemed to have adequately inflated. Her thoughts were interrupted as a determined Constance hiked up her dress and mounted the table.
“Oh no… oh no… nobody sits on me!”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like tickling you with my mouth, but this no hands rule…”
Without further ado Constance buried her hands into the tender armpits of her captive, thrusting stiff fingers deep into her hollows. As her hands churned, Taylor yelped, her high-pitched warbles rocketing beyond the highest of octaves. And as she smiled, Constance smiled back, fully invested in the moment.
An itch along her heels split Taylor’s attention, as now she had to combat two set of hands at either end of her body. The combination, so mind boggling and unrelenting, had her wailing her arms as she in turn wailed out a chorus of rampant laughter.
Trying to stay poised amidst hip thrusts that threatened to throw her off, Constance showed appreciation for Taylor’s strength, praising her momentarily before reverting to a string of taunts.
“Oh my, mistress, aren’t we in a pickle? Hey, you know what rhymes with pickle?”
“Oh, I know, I know!” Jin exclaimed, raising his hand as if back in grade school.
Taylor wasn’t given much time to answer courtesy of Constance drizzling fingernails down her arms. Turning a shade of red, Taylor fumed, sputtering sharp piston like cackles and snorts to the beat of every fingernail etching in unison, vibrantly devoted.
Passively stroking up and down the arches of Taylor’s nylon clad soles, Jin gawked in adoration of his wife’s supple butt, bouncing in time with Taylor’s hip thrusts; the red finish of her dress, shimmering under the lights. His devotions lied not in his hands, but down below where festered feelings of lust unchaste were beginning to resonate.
“OH MY GOD… ST-STOP IT-TA-HA-HA!”
“Hmm… perhaps I should go somewhere else.”
There was a pensive anticipation about her eyes as Taylor watched Constance’s hands hover above her breasts. She shook her head tentatively and murmured retorts off her lips through precious sups of air; retorts that only grew louder as Constance closed in on her ribs.
“Please no, no, no… come on… come OOOWHAN-NA-HA-HA!”
“Oh, does that tickle, hmm?”
With no reservations Constance pressed her body into Taylor’s and dug her hands deeper. Reconfiguring the soft supple flesh surrounding her rib cage, she left no inch untouched, no area unexplored. With a yearning to quench her unsatisfied thirst, she broke down Taylor’s walls of resistance; turning pursed lips and blatant obscenities into bolstered expressions of bewilderment.
Sobbing into her shoulder left Taylor’s neck exposed, something not lost on Constance as she lowered her head onto Taylor’s, cheek to cheek, where again she coated her skin with warm breaths. Erect stood her hairs as friction began to manifest the longer Constance lingered. With melodic whispers, she consoled her captive.
“Oh poor Taylor, crying already? And to think, I haven’t even opened the box yet. Jin!”
Bumbling as his hands came out from under the table, Jin wheeled the cart over to his wife. Complacent with his efforts he stepped back and smiled as she rummaged through the box.
Motionless, Taylor channeled her ears to the sounds coming from the box; a livid imagination spinning thought after thought as she dreaded, with a trembling lip, what might come out of the box. The rummaging ceased, replaced by a sigh that dragged along the walls of the room as Constance, turned foul on her husband.
“It’s not here, Jin.”
“What are you talking about we checked it off last night!”
He threw his hands atop his head and weaved his fingers into his scalp, pulling at his locks as if trying to uproot the events of the previous day. He paced, keeping a careful distance from his wife as she hung her head somberly.
“Well it’s not, and we’re running out of time.”
“Wait, I have some in the glove box.”
She raised her infamous brow and he let out a nervous chuckle, saying it was handy to have in a pinch. She didn’t burden him questions, she simply cocked her head towards the door and watched him scurry. Turning her attention to the salivating mess wedged between her legs, Constance grinned.
“You know at first I wasn’t so sure. I mean… but you’re so good.”
“Please… I’ll do anything… let me go.”
Constance let out an obnoxious laugh and clapped in admiration of her captive’s subdued vocals; her essence a smoldering fire threatening to dissipate into ash.
“See, that right there; that is what I’m talking about, so much passion, so much dedication.”
“What?”
Rigid breaths cascaded down her bicep as Constance’s nose enlightened the follicles along Taylor’s arm down to an armpit, doused in sweet lavenders. Like a child greedily lapping up soft serve on a mid-summer’s day, Constance rolled her tongue in quick circular motions along that armpit. Pressing deep into its soft hollow, she savored its salty flavor. Taylor cringed, drooping her lip as her body reflexively leaned away from the incessant wet touch. Her fingers curled, and again she touched the fibers of her demise, a thin stitch, twined along the outlines of her straps. A throbbing vein pulsated beyond her reddened pigment, as Taylor’s neck again lied exposed.
Her flesh crawled as Constance, with wide eyes and a bit of trepidation, abandoned inhibition and plunged face first onto Taylor’s voluptuous bosom. With tender lips she nibbled along the fatty flesh of enviably plump breasts, as the helpless strains of a fleeting will, echoed the chasms.
“Babe I brought the…”
Jin’s untimely intrusion caused Constance to sprout up like a mung bean.
“Oh good. Give it here.”
“Were you just…”
Dismounting her captive Constance snatched the baby oil from his hand. Pouring a generous drizzle along Taylor’s belly, Constance massaged its flaccid flesh till every inch of it glistened like a holiday ham.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Okay cause I could have sworn…”
He tucked his chin and lowered his head as that infamous brow rose beyond her forehead.
“They say baby oil makes the skin more sensitive, but you already know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, no… hey now… Dr. Ma… please, please, please… OH FUCK!”
Electrified vocals screeched; ascending into the heavens as Constance dug her fingernails into Taylor’s eccentrically bouncing midsection. Her scattered fingertips traversing every inch of belly, molding it from this basic rounded paunch into a continuous ripple of excess flesh.
Jin worked up the nerve to look up again and idolized his wife as her dress shimmered with every motion she made off the unbridled force seeping from her fingertips. Taylor’s eyes were closed; her mouth a gaping passageway for laughter to reign supreme over all manner of things audible. Constance summoned him, motioning for the box.
Taylor kept her eyes shut and sobbed as her assailant sucked her teeth, something of an anxious tick as she agonized over her choices. After an, “ah-ha” Taylor bravely peeled back one tear-stricken eye.
“Funny how this is intended for hair.”
“No, no… come on now… ple-hee-heease… OH MY GOD NOT THERE-REE-HEE-HEE!”
Veil thin stockings were hardly protection against one hundred rubber bristles raking along her arch, and with the sensations amplified, she loathed wearing them in the first place. They’d seemed fitting an hour ago when the reflections off an elongated mirror exuded dominance. But with every passing laugh and every attempt at escape growing more and more muted, the mirror’s reflection was beginning to fade, if it hadn’t already. As it was, the silver studded façade had already been ripped off her body and spirited yelps for, “mercy” as her toe became encased in bristles, was hardly helping restore that image.
“What’s this? A hole?”
“OH GAWD!”
Constance played with the little morsel of flesh, teasing it amply with tiny pinches until she could sustain her curiosity no longer.
“I’m sure you won’t mind if I…”
“Wait… no, no… those are from Bloomingdales!”
She gasped as the shredding sounds of her stockings being ripped from her feet echoed in her head. She gasped again as the warm embrace of Constance’s hands lathered her soles in oil from heel to toe. As the bristles again fell upon her arches, she flexed her feet, shriveling them down to a wrinkled state. Taylor’s efforts proved inconsequential as Constance’s unrelenting hand would not be denied its lust for laughter.
Coupled by Jin’s hands peeling back her toes, it wasn’t long before her abounding nerve endings were perused with violent and vigorous back and forth motions.
“Thanks Jin.”
“Oh, you’re most welcome.”
Beating her head against the table, Taylor cursed unto the skies; rambling as the brush made its way up to the ball of her left foot where it stayed in perpetual circular motions. A melodic, “ping” cut through her cries, a, “ping” that forced the brush away from her foot, a, “ping” coming from Jin’s cellphone. Letting out an exasperated huff, Taylor loosened her limbs from their ridged state and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you serious right now?” Constance flared.
“It looks that way,” Jin nodded.
Constance tugged at her dress, pulling it back down, its glossy red shimmer, instantly muted. She looked to Jin through a puzzled face, and he shrugged, throwing up his hands.
“Well then, give her the water I guess.”
“Okay Taylor, I’m sure you’re thirsty.”
Taylor didn’t fight and let an ample amount of water cascade down her throat.
Again, they watched as her eyes fluttered, and she fell into unconsciousness. Jin, grabbing up the offering pulled out the envelope and laid it on the side of the table; the tearing sound of Velcro the only sound, as Constance leaned back against the wall.
“We’d better hurry. She’ll be up soon.”
“Yeah, let’s bounce.”
“Bounce?”
What? It’s a hip word the kids use to…”
“No, just no.”
They were sidetracked on their way out by a room that caught Constance’s eye; attracted no doubt by the green chalkboard and symmetrically aligned desks.
“Just a quick peek?”
“Okay, but please make it a quick peek.”
Constance soaked in the room’s essence as she slithered through the rows of desks, grazing her fingers over their slick wooden finish. The teacher’s desk was all too orderly, and she scoffed at the apple sitting next to a neatly stacked pile of text. The stool fixated in the corner, seemingly for, “naughty” students, made her cock her head in wonderment. An imprint on the wall, caused her to squint, and a wave of confusion cast over her face as she mulled it over.
“S.F 2012 - 2018?”
“San… Francisco?” Jin chimed in.
***
Her tea had turned cold as the edge of her pencil scribbled along the lines of her notebook; the only other sound, the tick of the clock hanging above the fridge.
“Hey babe, what you writing?”
“Oh, just journaling.”
“Since when do you keep a journal?”
“Oh, I’ve been at it a while now.”
Jin shrugged, taking to the cabinets for his early morning fix of instant oats.
“By the way, I’m being reassigned.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Miss Simmons is being moved to a nursing home so…”
“Hey, do you have any stamps?”
Jin crinkled his nose and rubbed his chin, contemplating.
“Stamps?”
“Oh, it’s Keiko… she um, wants to send a blood-stained letter to the president.”
“Dresser, top shelf.”
“Thanks.”
The smell of cinnamon tickled her nose as she put a period on the last of three chunky paragraphs, and began, with a tender hand, to spit the page from the spiral bind keeping it restrained.
(Any names or likenesses in this story are completely coincidental, maybe?)
Real or staged? That’s the question you’ll keep asking yourself as you read this one!
Couple's Therapy
With thirst nipping at her tongue courtesy of Glendale’s relentless sunshine, Constance waddled from her Audi and into her house. Groceries hit the counter with a slam, throwing off what had been a neatly piled stack of coupons and junk mail. She reached for her chalice, a commemorative cup from Disney World. She scoffed at its artwork even still, wondering how anyone in their right mind could put a smiling Mickey alongside a ten-dollar price tag. The freezer offered a welcome blast of cold air as she reached for a suspiciously light ice cube tray.
“KEIKO!”
The sound of fast paced footsteps shuffling down the stairs meant it was time for Constance to bare her infamous brow.
Sloppily put together in an oversized sleeveless tank Keiko emerged front and center, phone tucked to her thigh as muffled pings slipped out of her pocket.
Constance held the empty tray up high so that it reached her daughter’s nose.
“How many times? How many times?”
Keiko rolled her eyes and went back to swiping her thumb against the screen of her phone.
“O-M-G mom, you like totally loose your shit for the dumbest things.”
Constance huffed and reminded Keiko that colorful language had no place within the four walls they called home. Keiko, shrugging off the encounter and rallied up to her bedroom where an unfinished protest sign sat atop her bed.
A set of dishes observing the, “soak rule”, made Constance flare her nostrils as she adjusted the bagua fixated over the sink. She reached for her cup, filled halfway with tea, and the lone ice cube that had survived her daughter’s hand, and let the cool beverage run like a stream down her throat. A small bead of tea escaped her lips and trickled down her neck, but before she could wipe it herself, another hand was there to catch it.
“Did you bring the chips?”
Jin stole a kiss that grazed her cheek as he took to rummaging the grocery sacks.
“I take it you heard nothing?”
He stopped for a moment, diverting from the task at hand. Her brow curved high into her forehead making him anxious and he grasped at straws until she could stand no more.
“It’s Keiko.”
“Oh no, she didn’t cover herself in, “blood” again did she?”
Constance shook the ice cube tray in his face.
“And that’s not all. I had to move the bagua back in place again. I think she’s been using it as a mirror.”
“She’s probably just keeping an eye on her hairline. I mean the way you go on…”
“Hairline’s no joke. Low hairline means lazy, lazy means no job. No job means sleeping in the street.”
Jin drooped his lip and went back to searching for his chips.
“You know, when I went to Five Guys the other day I met a young lady from TCU that told me Jesus doesn’t care about hairlines.”
“Jesus eh?”
Constance gripped her hips and let Jin go on about the pudgy bible thumper until his quest for chips was complete. With a smile on his face he slid on slick socks back to the living room where UCLA was facing a first and goal.
“Jin!”
She was granted his face as he leaned back into the kitchen.
“Yes dear?”
With the steady tap of her toe, Constance pointed towards the sink and the food stained plates piled high.
“What? They’re soaking.”
“Two days? That’s no soak, they’re claiming residency.”
With his head swiveling between her brow and the game he bared his teeth.
“Right after the game, before I go.”
She nodded in compliance giving her husband the benefit of the doubt.
***
Grease, strengthened by time, turned clean water murky as with each scrape of the scouring pad she passed obscenities under her breath. He cradled her backside, gliding his hands along her slender frame; a tender touch that forced her to smile.
“This isn’t fair, and you know it. You lost the toss.”
“I’m sorry, but how was I to know the game would end up in overtime?”
She rolled her eyes before turning to peck him goodbye.
“Did we at least win?”
“Nah, they couldn’t punch it in from the two, bye babe.”
His scrubs wafted, met with a strong gust of wind as he made his exit. She didn’t care much for football, taking more to combat sports as the definitive reflection of the, “you versus life” motif.
“MOM!”
Keiko’s voice caught her off guard and she thwacked her fist against the counter as fear worked its way down her spine.
“Yes!?”
“Can I like, have twenty dollars?”
Keiko stretched out her hand and bared a grin as her hips teetered from side to side.
“I thought you had a job?”
“Oh mom, being a barista sucks,” She said stretching her words, “it’s not hot enough, is it, vegan, and don’t even get me started on the scavengers that snatch all our sugar packets!”
“So, you quit?”
Keiko retracted her hand and knocked her head back.
“Ugh, you’re impossible. I’ll just ask Kaylee’s mom.”
“Hold up, Kaylee? You didn’t tell me you were going out.”
Keiko rolled her head and placed a hand along her hip.
“I told you remember? You were in your study…”
“Ah-ha! Grading papers! Keiko you know better.”
A dark cloud cast its shadow against the sun as the two fought for dominance across the sky. And as rain began to pitter away against the sandy brown stone of the Ma residence, Keiko, dragging her soles against the pavement, took off in her car.
It hurt to watch her daughter leave on such a sour note, but Constance knew in her heart that Keiko would be back and without money, sooner rather than later.
***
“She’s just blowing off some steam; sound familiar?”
“We faced serious issues.”
Jin nodded his head and, with his words, reached through the receiver.
“Keiko’s issues are serious to her. She’s coming into her own, and we have to respect that.”
“I know, I’m just so used to having both hands on the steering wheel.”
Wet soles against tile drew his attention away from her as they exchanged terms of endearment and hung up.
“Miss Simmons are you finished with your shower?”
“Don’t come in, I’m not dressed.”
He stood by the door keeping an open ear. Her heavy breaths tensing his hands as he anxiously fought to respect her wishes.
“Miss Simmons, I’m coming in.”
“Okay, but I look a fright.”
A small pool of bathwater sat at her feet as a rumpled nightgown clung to her body, its buttons haphazardly fastened.
“I don’t know why you insist on that one. The Velcro one’s are so much easier to put on.”
“And risk some rapscallion ripping it off?”
Infinite rows of rippled skin became visible as her eyes grew wide with fear. A small brown blotch doubled in size as her mouth gaped.
“I suppose you’re right Miss Simmons. Now come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”
“Before The Love Boat?”
It had slipped his mind, how the distant sounds of television helped lull her to sleep, and within the hour she was nestled comfortably within the confines of an armchair. Nature called as he draped a tall fluffy blanket over the very essence of time’s persistence.
“I’ll be back Miss Simmons,” he said, slinking off to the restroom.
After drying his hands Jin reached for the shower curtain to cover the mold taking residence between cracks in her bathtub. It was there that he noticed, as the back of his hand grazed her loofah, that something was amiss. A bottle of body soap, still filled to its brim, confirmed that he could no longer give her the benefit of the doubt. A creaking door made the hair on his neck stand up as he strained his eyes towards the living room.
The light off the T.V continued to bounce off the walls and along the furniture. A stale laugh track could still be heard. But as his eyes fell on the armchair…
“Miss Simmons?”
It had only happened once before, and he took to the kitchen to see if maybe history had repeated itself, but he found only darkness. His hands felt around for a switch and the moment light made its presence known, his eyes darted for the door. The deadbolt was still fixated in the lock position.
“Miss Simmons?”
A distant creaky floor hinge offered a clue as it cut through some livid television ad. Short choppy breaths mirrored his steps as he inched along the wall of a narrow corridor towards a gaping door. He’d never ventured this far, but tonight Aubrey’s capers didn’t have a jurisdiction.
“Miss Simmons, are you… down there?”
“Timothy is that you?”
The fact that she’d managed not to miss a step in the dark was an uncanny feat as Jin was forced to illuminate the stairs with his phone. Down below Aubrey was huddled against a workbench, clutching a staple gun in one hand, and resting the other against a roll of matted wallpaper.
“Miss Simmons…”
“Who goes there… I don’t know you… I have a gun… I swear...”
With soft steps he inched towards her, keeping his light fixated on the shaky hand ready to unload a volley of staples in his direction. He lowered his tone, giving the best Johnny Cash impersonation he was capable of.
“Aubrey…”
“Oh Timothy, it is you.”
His heart could beat again as she lowered the gun. Flexing his arm, he helped her up. Her pull disrupted his balance and he lost his phone beyond a partition splitting the basement.
“Wait here, sweat pea.”
“Okay Timothy but do hurry. The Love Boat’s ‘bout to start.”
He shook his head and splitting the partition, reached for his phone. Its faint light illuminated the ceiling where a dangling chain caught his eye. With a sliver of light, he traced the chain to its end, a pair of silver studded restraints. He looked to Miss Simmons, then back to the cuffs, swallowing hard.
“Come Aubrey, Captain Merrill Stubing awaits.”
“Oh, how exciting. How ‘bout some popping corn?”
***
She tucked her tips away into the left cup of her bra and punched out for what seemed like the millionth time. Staving off a drunken patron whose hands had become adventurous, she dashed to her car. She abandoned her heels in favor of a less constricting pair of Converse. Her black wig, she tossed over her shoulder onto the backseat. Humming along to Tupac’s, “Keep Ya Head Up” blaring off her stereo, she traversed the empty stretch of road. It appeared indefinite, as her headlights struggled to pierce the shadows, but she was well acquainted with its curves, its dips, and its steep inclines.
It irked her that months into his service his parking habits hadn’t changed despite her many efforts. Reduced to parking on the curb she snarled at his blue BMW. She fumbled with her keys before at last finding the right one.
“Dr. Ma?”
“Oh, hi Taylor.”
She looked to Jin, who’s legs were twisted like a pretzel atop the couch. There was a pensive sway in his body as he watched her move in closer.
“Is everything okay?”
“I need you to be straight with me.”
Running a hand against her dirty blonde hair, she joined him on the edge of the couch.
“Okay, sure… is this about mom?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
With a crinkled nose she stared blankly into his eyes; her hands pressed against the fibers of the couch.
“Dr. Ma?”
“I found some… interesting things… in your basement tonight.”
Taylor bit down on her lip and tightened the grip she had on the sofa cushion.
“Oh… that. Are we… snooping… Dr. Ma?”
“Who, me? Oh, no, no. Your mother, psh-she wandered off, and well, and well…”
A waft of her strawberry scented lotion engulfed his nostrils as she pulled in just a little closer.
“Well what?”
“Please tell me you’re not using those things on your mother?! I know it’s rough, but, but, that is completely unethical, and I, and I, would be within my rights to re-report you…”
She tossed her head back and let out a quick cackle, immediately cupping her mouth for fear of waking Aubrey.
“Oh Dr. Ma. I don’t, those things, they’re not for her. They’re for a side business I have.”
“Side business?”
Taylor went on to explain that her late father’s gambling debts had been about the only thing she inherited from him aside from his six-foot stature. The chains, and their accompanying restraints were part of, “Mistress Tay’s dungeon” a moniker revered in the underground world of BDSM.
“I’m really passionate about these types of things, and yeah so, I mean, I’m renting out of somewhere right now since the basement’s not done.”
“I see.”
As his comfort level began to wade in calmer waters, Jin untwisted his legs.
“Yeah so, I have people come from here, from there; all so they can get their fix.”
“So, people pay… to get beat up?”
Taylor’s head bobbled about her shoulders as she further explained her methods, and the benefits associated with the practice. From a medical perspective, the idea was tantamount to holistic treatments, a psychological approach with a bit of pain.
“Stress relief, you bet. Although, there are some people who aren’t into the whole, “pain” thing, so I also offer other things.”
“Other things?”
***
Jin pushed his plate away as the scattered remanence of lettuce was all that remained of his salad. She was still a few bites behind but catching up as she spoke through a mouthful of chicken.
“… and she just got so offended when I told her that they were using a marginalized scenario as a blanket statement.”
“Well if she doesn’t take constructive criticism very well, just look in the mirror, you’ll see why.”
Constance resisted the urge to butt heads, choosing instead to gouge a chunk of chicken repeatedly until Jin sarcastically informed her that the animal had been, “dead for quite some time.”
“Very funny Jin.”
“Thanks, and don’t overeat. We still have desert to look forward to.”
Constance glanced up at him from underneath her hunched stature and ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth.
“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” she said looking around, “it’s been too long.”
“I know you’ve been hungry, and well when I heard… I just knew I had to bring you.”
He smiled as she pushed away her plate; a look of satisfaction on her face as she wiped a spot of sauce off her lip. They stood to a room full of guests minding their own, to a mix of indistinct conversations with the occasional laugh escaping the monotonous octave of murmurs. She clasped his hand forcefully before he could even fan out his wallet.
“Hey, she only came to check up on us once.”
“Fine.”
He rolled his eyes and tucked away his wallet into the inside of his blazer.
***
With a text confirming they were minutes away, Taylor placed the call. Her voice was hardly the chipper tone that her friend had been accustomed to hearing, prompting a question that Taylor was still trying to answer for herself. Her voice turned grim as her friend’s persistence wore her thin.
“Look just… be ready okay?”
In an apologetic tone, her friend agreed to keep her night open. Taylor, after slipping the phone back into her clutch, reached for her inhaler; liberally sucking in the cold mist that crashed against her throat.
A Jeep out of time, crumpled from one end, with bird crap for a paint job, was already parked out in front as Jin and Constance pulled up.
Their BMW cast a concentrated blast of light against a weathered wall, cracked to hell and sadly discolored from what was once a pristine white finish.
“I must have pasted this place a hundred times.”
“You and me both, but believe me, it’s in there.”
Constance alluded to the Jeep, pointing a sharp fingernail in its direction.
“Is that her car?”
“Yes. Hurry up and get the basket. You don’t want to know what happens to people who show up late.”
She pondered the severity of her dominance as a variety of repercussions sprang up in her head. So enthralled, she nearly closed the door on her hand as she exited the car. With the basket in tow, they entered the building.
The strong scent of Lysol hit their nostrils as they walked through reception, following a convenient trail of arrows etched on flashcards along the wall. Jin, taken by a grotesque devil’s head hanging along the wall stopped and snapped a photo of it, reaching out to graze its long red tongue.
An amply majestic purple draped the walls greeting Jin and Constance as they passed through the door; an array of leather bound furniture teeming with potential scattered about black alabaster floors. Sitting, elevated above, on a Victorian style chair, Taylor, in a silver studded under bust, amplified her presence by smacking her hand against the armrest.
“Welcome, servants. I’ve been expecting you. Come before your mistress and kneel.”
Coupled together they held their heads low, taking quick strides towards her chair. Constance’s red dress flared along the floor as she kneeled and raised the basket above her head.
“We offer tribute, Mistress Tay.”
Her eyes glossed over the basket and its contents. Raising her brow, she took note of a small manila envelope tucked between bottled waters and dark chocolate truffles.
“Bring forth the tribute.”
Taylor rose and took the basket in her hand, tearing away the cellophane so she could snatch up the envelope. A peak inside elicited a smile, quickly replaced by a cold stare towards her subjects.
“The tribute is fair. Back on your knees, servant.”
“What… what are you going to…”
Taking up a nearby horsewhip, Taylor thwacked it against Jin’s shoulder. He winced as a tinge of pain worked its way across his back.
“You will speak when spoken to, servant. Is that understood?”
“Oh I… I totally…”
Taylor rolled her eyes as he muddled his words around and around. Lowering to his eye level, she caught his attention.
“The answer that I am looking for is, ‘yes mistress’.”
“Oh… okay.”
She thwacked him again; the ‘smack’ of the whip, bouncing off the walls. For his insubordination he was almost thwacked again, till Constance objected and spoke out on his behalf.
“Leave him be, it’s not his fault he’s stupid.”
Taylor spun on her heels, giving Constance her undivided attention.
“You think yourself brave, do you, servant? We’ll see how long that lasts, once you’ve had a taste of my whip.”
“Please mistress, I beg your forgiveness.”
Taylor scoffed as the thought of mercy was instantly whacked into oblivion against Constance’s left shoulder. A small red blotch surfaced, blanketing her porcelain skin as she yelped like a dog.
Fanning away the heat, Taylor cracked open a Dasani and let the cold refreshment seep past her lips and down her throat.
“Rise, servants. It’s time that you met your undoing.”
Taylor ushered them towards a trapeze, its leather cuffs beckoning for victims. Constance stared up at the contraption and swallowed hard as she envisioned herself helpless, her body a vessel for anguish. That Taylor’s harbored lust would soon be coating her skin made her droop as her essence resisted.
“Take off that dress, servant,” she said, etching her finger along Constance’s zipper, “and you servant, take off your clothes.”
Jin was the first to respond, tossing his blazer to the ground and untucking his button down.
“I’ve got to warn you, I’m working my dad bod right now, so…”
“Silence!”
“Oh yeah… so it’s like Mark Wahlberg between movies under here.”
Jin’s incompetence earned him another, ‘smack’ this time right up against his butt cheek as his trousers slinked into a pool on the ground. He hid a smile as Taylor turned away from him. Her back was this dull canvas of faded colors and he paused a moment to appreciate the artistry.
Constance was finagling with her zipper, toying with it as the prospect of exposing herself lingered between a whip and her shoulders.
“You dare… defy… your mistress?”
Constance watched as Taylor began to look around the room with a gaping jaw. She watched as Taylor’s eyes squinted against the light fixtures illuminating the room. Taylor reached for her head and began to sway, abandoning the whip to the floor as she gripped her waist. Jin was quick to notice Taylor’s floundering legs and rushed to her aid.
“Taylor, are you alright?”
“Dr. Ma… I don’t… feel so… I’m lightheaded… I need to… sit down.”
He eased her onto a table where she slouched forward, limbered and flaccid. Constance was quick to join them and used her hands to fan Taylor’s face.
“Let’s get this thing off you,” Jin said, hastily unhooking her under bust.
Beneath the black constriction lied a thick body of malleable flesh, decompressed and able to breathe again. Lying her down they studied her eyes, watching them flutter; struggling to remain the open windows God intended them to be.
“Taylor, can you hear me?” Jin asked, snapping his finger against her ear.
“Wha… wha… what… did you… do… to me!?”
Constance kept to a pensive visual, pacing back and forth across the table, watching as Taylor slipped further and further away from responsiveness. Her head gave way and turned on its cheek as she batted her eyes one last time before being reduced to fleeting whispers of incoherent babble.
“Okay, she’s down for the count, but not for long, I gave her a diluted dose.”
“Ah, a boxing reference! You’re batting a thousand today.”
Stretching Taylor’s body against the table they lined each limb to one of its corners, wrapping them into the sung confines of Velcro restraints. Grabbing the basket, Constance tore beyond the tissue paper lining the bottom to where a small white box laid inconspicuously. With a smile on her face she peeked in it and placed it on a rolling cart Jin had spied upon their entrance. Jin was moments away from discarding the under bust from view when Constance laid a firm grip upon his wrist.
“No, wrap it around her. I want to rip it off when she comes to.”
“Maybe we should have put it on beeefore tying her down?”
Constance knocked her head back and snatched the garment from his hand. Doing her best, she clasped it back around Taylor’s ribs, leaving a gaping split down by her midsection. It was almost scripted the way she came to following Constance’s final touch up.
“Wha… what’s… what’s going on? What… what happened? Why am I…”
“Oh, that’s right mistress. Looks like the tables have turned.”
Taylor stared blankly at them both, her eyes pinging between them. A look around confirmed what she already knew to be true. Taking long jagged breaths she did her best to focus, put on her game face, and make sense of the situation.
“Yeah so, Dr. Ma, what’s the meaning of this… hey, hey, you lay one hand on me…”
Wearing a smirk, Constance cupped a firm hand over Taylor’s mouth. Leaning close enough to smell strawberries, she whispered erotically.
“You will speak when spoken to.”
“This is not how this works! Release me now!”
Constance looked to Jin and shrugged, a tingle about her spine as she listened to Taylor moan; her skin actively grazing against the table’s leather finish.
“It’s like she doesn’t understand English.”
“I… am… a mistress. A domme for fuck’s sake!”
Constance shared a laugh with Jin and deflected Taylor’s words with the palm of her hand.
“A mistress? A domme?” Constance said raising her brow, “All I see is a helpless little girl, tied up with, no… way… out.”
“I am a mistress and I demand that you release me this instant!”
Constance slinked down to the foot of the table where a pair of size nines laid motionless, encased in thick black boots.
“Oh, honey I don’t think you understand. Maybe this will help.”
“What are you… hey those are my boots.”
Their matte black finish and gun metal buckles, while menacing, lost all their allure as Constance effortlessly slipped them off. A pair of nylon clad feet lied underneath, plump, warm, and adorned with a glossy red finish atop the toes.
“Oh my, they are perfect.”
“What are you freaks doing down there? Don’t… touch… me!”
Taylor’s legs trembled, making hard efforts against her confinement; her toes scrunching as hands traced their outlines.
“Freaks? She’s the masochist, and we’re the freaks?”
“I know right? And it’s not as if she shouldn’t have seen this coming.”
A sharp nail struck against her large toe making Taylor wince, the tingles that followed, forced a rouge snort to escape her flared nostrils.
“What did you think he meant, when you two spoke of… ‘other things’?”
“Oh my God please don’t!”
Before another word could be mustered, sharp nails against her arch forced a bolstered blast of laughter past cognition. She smiled reflexively, stretching her lips to their limits as a stampede of sensations blanketed her sole.
“Oh Jin, she’s good. She’s very good. What a… stroke… of good luck!”
“I’ll say, and to think this whole time…”
A faint gasp of obscenities flew off Taylor’s lips, encouraging Jin to join his wife on the opposite foot. Constance, spirited by the image of their captive’s hopelessly flailing arms, raised her voice above the laughter.
“Hold up… did you just… Jin did she just?”
“Oh, I heard it loud and clear.”
Pent up aggression flew off her hands as Constance’s fingers ran along Taylor’s slippery stockings. Jin had found his niche, keeping to light traces of Taylor’s heel. Together the titillations proved to be overwhelming, illustrated by Taylor’s tensed facial expressions.
“OH MY GAWD-DA-HA… BREAK TIME… BREAK TIME!”
“Oh honey, there are no breaks. If you can dish it out, you should be able to take it.”
Taylor pleaded, searching for sympathy through a disjointed ramble about a lucid memory when chocolate stains were lipstick smudges and finger paints a nail polish. That the arbitrary action and its abusers would leave her breathless, at times soiled.
“Jin, get me a violin.”
“Maybe we should give her a minute. I mean, she’s already sweating.”
Constance retracted her hands, sidling them along the satin finish of her dress. Jin bared his teeth and threw up his hands as she stared daggers into him.
“If she’s so hot, let us help her.”
“Oh mey God… what… don’t… let me alone you…”
Even with a mere two clasps fastened it took some finagling to get off. Constance frowned as she struggled and the excitement of tearing it off Taylor’s body in one swift motion was lost. It fell to the ground, to the grunts of displeasure and a cold stare off Taylor’s eyes.
“Where oh were should I, tickle next?”
“Oh you crazy bitch… I swear… you lay another hand on me…”
Jin didn’t take kindly to his wife being verbally degraded and joined his wife in a taste of Taylor’s skin as Constance dipped low and grazed her tongue along the thick curvaceous body before her.
“You did say, not to lay a hand.”
“Ah, I see what you did there. Nice babe, nice.”
Pounding her head against the table, Taylor wrestled with the urge to laugh steadily bubbling up her throat as prolonged slick strokes coddled her sides. She contorted her frame, twisting and turning, but she was offered no peace.
“Oh you freaks… you, you… ugh let me go!”
“Can you believe this? Still with the, ‘let me go’?”
Constance caught a glace of Taylor’s eyes, watered down with lament. She smiled happily and tucked her lips over her teeth, hunching down to nibble along Taylor’s ribs.
Warm breaths engulfed her side igniting a fire-like wave of goosebumps along her skin. She inched away as much as her body was capable, but Constance stayed right with her, erotically gnawing away at her supple flesh. With closed eyes and an open mouth, she cackled in spirited spurts as the struggle to resist was becoming increasingly more daunting.
“Come on, I know it’s in there. Just, let it out.”
“GODDAMN’… OH SHIT, OH SHIT… PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE…”
Taking a step back, Jin watched as his wife pressed down on Taylor’s side, caressing her bronzed skin with pursed lips; her long black hair, flared, scattered along Taylor’s belly. Constance paused. Tucking some hair behind her ear, she looked to Jin.
“What?”
“Nothing, just... enjoying the view.”
Tilting her head in Jin’s direction Taylor caught a glimpse of his crotch which seemed to have adequately inflated. Her thoughts were interrupted as a determined Constance hiked up her dress and mounted the table.
“Oh no… oh no… nobody sits on me!”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like tickling you with my mouth, but this no hands rule…”
Without further ado Constance buried her hands into the tender armpits of her captive, thrusting stiff fingers deep into her hollows. As her hands churned, Taylor yelped, her high-pitched warbles rocketing beyond the highest of octaves. And as she smiled, Constance smiled back, fully invested in the moment.
An itch along her heels split Taylor’s attention, as now she had to combat two set of hands at either end of her body. The combination, so mind boggling and unrelenting, had her wailing her arms as she in turn wailed out a chorus of rampant laughter.
Trying to stay poised amidst hip thrusts that threatened to throw her off, Constance showed appreciation for Taylor’s strength, praising her momentarily before reverting to a string of taunts.
“Oh my, mistress, aren’t we in a pickle? Hey, you know what rhymes with pickle?”
“Oh, I know, I know!” Jin exclaimed, raising his hand as if back in grade school.
Taylor wasn’t given much time to answer courtesy of Constance drizzling fingernails down her arms. Turning a shade of red, Taylor fumed, sputtering sharp piston like cackles and snorts to the beat of every fingernail etching in unison, vibrantly devoted.
Passively stroking up and down the arches of Taylor’s nylon clad soles, Jin gawked in adoration of his wife’s supple butt, bouncing in time with Taylor’s hip thrusts; the red finish of her dress, shimmering under the lights. His devotions lied not in his hands, but down below where festered feelings of lust unchaste were beginning to resonate.
“OH MY GOD… ST-STOP IT-TA-HA-HA!”
“Hmm… perhaps I should go somewhere else.”
There was a pensive anticipation about her eyes as Taylor watched Constance’s hands hover above her breasts. She shook her head tentatively and murmured retorts off her lips through precious sups of air; retorts that only grew louder as Constance closed in on her ribs.
“Please no, no, no… come on… come OOOWHAN-NA-HA-HA!”
“Oh, does that tickle, hmm?”
With no reservations Constance pressed her body into Taylor’s and dug her hands deeper. Reconfiguring the soft supple flesh surrounding her rib cage, she left no inch untouched, no area unexplored. With a yearning to quench her unsatisfied thirst, she broke down Taylor’s walls of resistance; turning pursed lips and blatant obscenities into bolstered expressions of bewilderment.
Sobbing into her shoulder left Taylor’s neck exposed, something not lost on Constance as she lowered her head onto Taylor’s, cheek to cheek, where again she coated her skin with warm breaths. Erect stood her hairs as friction began to manifest the longer Constance lingered. With melodic whispers, she consoled her captive.
“Oh poor Taylor, crying already? And to think, I haven’t even opened the box yet. Jin!”
Bumbling as his hands came out from under the table, Jin wheeled the cart over to his wife. Complacent with his efforts he stepped back and smiled as she rummaged through the box.
Motionless, Taylor channeled her ears to the sounds coming from the box; a livid imagination spinning thought after thought as she dreaded, with a trembling lip, what might come out of the box. The rummaging ceased, replaced by a sigh that dragged along the walls of the room as Constance, turned foul on her husband.
“It’s not here, Jin.”
“What are you talking about we checked it off last night!”
He threw his hands atop his head and weaved his fingers into his scalp, pulling at his locks as if trying to uproot the events of the previous day. He paced, keeping a careful distance from his wife as she hung her head somberly.
“Well it’s not, and we’re running out of time.”
“Wait, I have some in the glove box.”
She raised her infamous brow and he let out a nervous chuckle, saying it was handy to have in a pinch. She didn’t burden him questions, she simply cocked her head towards the door and watched him scurry. Turning her attention to the salivating mess wedged between her legs, Constance grinned.
“You know at first I wasn’t so sure. I mean… but you’re so good.”
“Please… I’ll do anything… let me go.”
Constance let out an obnoxious laugh and clapped in admiration of her captive’s subdued vocals; her essence a smoldering fire threatening to dissipate into ash.
“See, that right there; that is what I’m talking about, so much passion, so much dedication.”
“What?”
Rigid breaths cascaded down her bicep as Constance’s nose enlightened the follicles along Taylor’s arm down to an armpit, doused in sweet lavenders. Like a child greedily lapping up soft serve on a mid-summer’s day, Constance rolled her tongue in quick circular motions along that armpit. Pressing deep into its soft hollow, she savored its salty flavor. Taylor cringed, drooping her lip as her body reflexively leaned away from the incessant wet touch. Her fingers curled, and again she touched the fibers of her demise, a thin stitch, twined along the outlines of her straps. A throbbing vein pulsated beyond her reddened pigment, as Taylor’s neck again lied exposed.
Her flesh crawled as Constance, with wide eyes and a bit of trepidation, abandoned inhibition and plunged face first onto Taylor’s voluptuous bosom. With tender lips she nibbled along the fatty flesh of enviably plump breasts, as the helpless strains of a fleeting will, echoed the chasms.
“Babe I brought the…”
Jin’s untimely intrusion caused Constance to sprout up like a mung bean.
“Oh good. Give it here.”
“Were you just…”
Dismounting her captive Constance snatched the baby oil from his hand. Pouring a generous drizzle along Taylor’s belly, Constance massaged its flaccid flesh till every inch of it glistened like a holiday ham.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Okay cause I could have sworn…”
He tucked his chin and lowered his head as that infamous brow rose beyond her forehead.
“They say baby oil makes the skin more sensitive, but you already know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, no… hey now… Dr. Ma… please, please, please… OH FUCK!”
Electrified vocals screeched; ascending into the heavens as Constance dug her fingernails into Taylor’s eccentrically bouncing midsection. Her scattered fingertips traversing every inch of belly, molding it from this basic rounded paunch into a continuous ripple of excess flesh.
Jin worked up the nerve to look up again and idolized his wife as her dress shimmered with every motion she made off the unbridled force seeping from her fingertips. Taylor’s eyes were closed; her mouth a gaping passageway for laughter to reign supreme over all manner of things audible. Constance summoned him, motioning for the box.
Taylor kept her eyes shut and sobbed as her assailant sucked her teeth, something of an anxious tick as she agonized over her choices. After an, “ah-ha” Taylor bravely peeled back one tear-stricken eye.
“Funny how this is intended for hair.”
“No, no… come on now… ple-hee-heease… OH MY GOD NOT THERE-REE-HEE-HEE!”
Veil thin stockings were hardly protection against one hundred rubber bristles raking along her arch, and with the sensations amplified, she loathed wearing them in the first place. They’d seemed fitting an hour ago when the reflections off an elongated mirror exuded dominance. But with every passing laugh and every attempt at escape growing more and more muted, the mirror’s reflection was beginning to fade, if it hadn’t already. As it was, the silver studded façade had already been ripped off her body and spirited yelps for, “mercy” as her toe became encased in bristles, was hardly helping restore that image.
“What’s this? A hole?”
“OH GAWD!”
Constance played with the little morsel of flesh, teasing it amply with tiny pinches until she could sustain her curiosity no longer.
“I’m sure you won’t mind if I…”
“Wait… no, no… those are from Bloomingdales!”
She gasped as the shredding sounds of her stockings being ripped from her feet echoed in her head. She gasped again as the warm embrace of Constance’s hands lathered her soles in oil from heel to toe. As the bristles again fell upon her arches, she flexed her feet, shriveling them down to a wrinkled state. Taylor’s efforts proved inconsequential as Constance’s unrelenting hand would not be denied its lust for laughter.
Coupled by Jin’s hands peeling back her toes, it wasn’t long before her abounding nerve endings were perused with violent and vigorous back and forth motions.
“Thanks Jin.”
“Oh, you’re most welcome.”
Beating her head against the table, Taylor cursed unto the skies; rambling as the brush made its way up to the ball of her left foot where it stayed in perpetual circular motions. A melodic, “ping” cut through her cries, a, “ping” that forced the brush away from her foot, a, “ping” coming from Jin’s cellphone. Letting out an exasperated huff, Taylor loosened her limbs from their ridged state and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you serious right now?” Constance flared.
“It looks that way,” Jin nodded.
Constance tugged at her dress, pulling it back down, its glossy red shimmer, instantly muted. She looked to Jin through a puzzled face, and he shrugged, throwing up his hands.
“Well then, give her the water I guess.”
“Okay Taylor, I’m sure you’re thirsty.”
Taylor didn’t fight and let an ample amount of water cascade down her throat.
Again, they watched as her eyes fluttered, and she fell into unconsciousness. Jin, grabbing up the offering pulled out the envelope and laid it on the side of the table; the tearing sound of Velcro the only sound, as Constance leaned back against the wall.
“We’d better hurry. She’ll be up soon.”
“Yeah, let’s bounce.”
“Bounce?”
What? It’s a hip word the kids use to…”
“No, just no.”
They were sidetracked on their way out by a room that caught Constance’s eye; attracted no doubt by the green chalkboard and symmetrically aligned desks.
“Just a quick peek?”
“Okay, but please make it a quick peek.”
Constance soaked in the room’s essence as she slithered through the rows of desks, grazing her fingers over their slick wooden finish. The teacher’s desk was all too orderly, and she scoffed at the apple sitting next to a neatly stacked pile of text. The stool fixated in the corner, seemingly for, “naughty” students, made her cock her head in wonderment. An imprint on the wall, caused her to squint, and a wave of confusion cast over her face as she mulled it over.
“S.F 2012 - 2018?”
“San… Francisco?” Jin chimed in.
***
Her tea had turned cold as the edge of her pencil scribbled along the lines of her notebook; the only other sound, the tick of the clock hanging above the fridge.
…when I look into your eyes, I see tomorrow…
“Hey babe, what you writing?”
“Oh, just journaling.”
“Since when do you keep a journal?”
“Oh, I’ve been at it a while now.”
Jin shrugged, taking to the cabinets for his early morning fix of instant oats.
…my nose can still smell…
“By the way, I’m being reassigned.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Miss Simmons is being moved to a nursing home so…”
“Hey, do you have any stamps?”
Jin crinkled his nose and rubbed his chin, contemplating.
“Stamps?”
“Oh, it’s Keiko… she um, wants to send a blood-stained letter to the president.”
“Dresser, top shelf.”
“Thanks.”
…your face a blossoming ambient rose…
The smell of cinnamon tickled her nose as she put a period on the last of three chunky paragraphs, and began, with a tender hand, to spit the page from the spiral bind keeping it restrained.
(Any names or likenesses in this story are completely coincidental, maybe?)
