the glow of saliva on the other woman’s front teeth. She leaned forward and brought her mouth close to the maid’s. Carla smiled. Constance licked Carla’s teeth with her tongue, and when their lips met her knees went soft and a numb hot wet tingling invaded her entire body. She moaned, and melted into Carla’s face. She became one flesh with the other woman and for a long time they remained glued to each other, barely moving, except for tiny, quick, exquisite motions of their tongue tips and great breathy swallowings of one another’s saliva.
Then Carla stepped back and the whole earth seemed to totter.
“My, my,” she said. “We are going to have a good time one day.”
“The drug . . .” Constance whispered.
“Came on a bit faster with you than with most,” Carla agreed and then went to the phone. She picked it up, dialed three digits, and after a pause said, “Bring a chair.”
Constance sat down and waited, watching herself and the world turn to rubber. The door opened and it seemed to stretch for yards. Robert walked in pushing a wheelchair. He and Carla helped Constance up, slipped a robe over her shoulders, and put her in the chair. And so she went to her assignment, drugged, sensate, wide open, rolling down the surrealistic hallway in a wheelchair.
They brought her to the dressing room where she was slipped into a hood that covered her whole head and left her mouth exposed, black boots and gloves.
“Is that all?” she heard Robert ask.
“It’s one of those nouveau riche publishers of tit books,” the dressing room attendant said. “Made a fortune in less than ten years but doesn’t have the imagination to match his newfound wealth. To him this is kinky and far out.”
“What’s he down for?” Robert asked looking at a clipboard.
“Basic stuff. Three types of whip, nipple clips, fist-fucking, ass fucking, oversized dildoes, suspension from a hanging bar. He wants to finish by pissing on her and coming in her mouth.”
“Has he been warned about the rubber bafflers if he sticks his cock in her mouth? She’s already bitten one off, you know.”
“Yeah, he’s been told. Says he’s going to jerk off on her.”
Constance heard the dialogue and almost swooned. It was inconceivable that they were discussing these things as actual events which were going to take place, and be done to her, as though they were mechanics discussing the performance of a car. But that was merely the beginning.
“How long’s he down for?” asked Robert.
“Two and a half hours,” the attendant replied. “Then she gets a half hour rest and washing down. And then she goes to Henry for five hours.”
“Henry!” Robert exclaimed, in a voice that made Constance shudder.
“Look,” the attendant replied, “I only facilitate the orders. I don’t make the schedules.”
“I know,” Robert said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Poor kid,” Carla muttered.
“She’s tough,” Robert said, “she’ll be all right.”
Constance wanted to ask what Henry did but before she could open her mouth, the wheelchair lurched and she was pushed into the Parlor. The din was overpowering. Men shouting, women screaming, a cacophony of harsh breaths and grunts and curses and laughter. The smell of tobacco and marijuana and alcohol was triumphant. There was hardly any air left at all. She heard whips cracking, chains creaking, strange machinery operating. And occasionally, a high piercing cry of a woman yelling, “No, NO!” at the top of her lungs. The chair stopped moving and she heard a low cackle next to her right ear.
“Here she is, Mr. Caccione,” the attendant said. “Here’s your checklist. Please look it over and sign it. If you subject her to any unauthorized abuse, we reserve the right to name the size of the penalty payment.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the voice said. “Gimme, I’ll sign. Then lemme have her, gimme that luscious pussy. Oh man, look at that bush, look at
Then Carla stepped back and the whole earth seemed to totter.
“My, my,” she said. “We are going to have a good time one day.”
“The drug . . .” Constance whispered.
“Came on a bit faster with you than with most,” Carla agreed and then went to the phone. She picked it up, dialed three digits, and after a pause said, “Bring a chair.”
Constance sat down and waited, watching herself and the world turn to rubber. The door opened and it seemed to stretch for yards. Robert walked in pushing a wheelchair. He and Carla helped Constance up, slipped a robe over her shoulders, and put her in the chair. And so she went to her assignment, drugged, sensate, wide open, rolling down the surrealistic hallway in a wheelchair.
They brought her to the dressing room where she was slipped into a hood that covered her whole head and left her mouth exposed, black boots and gloves.
“Is that all?” she heard Robert ask.
“It’s one of those nouveau riche publishers of tit books,” the dressing room attendant said. “Made a fortune in less than ten years but doesn’t have the imagination to match his newfound wealth. To him this is kinky and far out.”
“What’s he down for?” Robert asked looking at a clipboard.
“Basic stuff. Three types of whip, nipple clips, fist-fucking, ass fucking, oversized dildoes, suspension from a hanging bar. He wants to finish by pissing on her and coming in her mouth.”
“Has he been warned about the rubber bafflers if he sticks his cock in her mouth? She’s already bitten one off, you know.”
“Yeah, he’s been told. Says he’s going to jerk off on her.”
Constance heard the dialogue and almost swooned. It was inconceivable that they were discussing these things as actual events which were going to take place, and be done to her, as though they were mechanics discussing the performance of a car. But that was merely the beginning.
“How long’s he down for?” asked Robert.
“Two and a half hours,” the attendant replied. “Then she gets a half hour rest and washing down. And then she goes to Henry for five hours.”
“Henry!” Robert exclaimed, in a voice that made Constance shudder.
“Look,” the attendant replied, “I only facilitate the orders. I don’t make the schedules.”
“I know,” Robert said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Poor kid,” Carla muttered.
“She’s tough,” Robert said, “she’ll be all right.”
Constance wanted to ask what Henry did but before she could open her mouth, the wheelchair lurched and she was pushed into the Parlor. The din was overpowering. Men shouting, women screaming, a cacophony of harsh breaths and grunts and curses and laughter. The smell of tobacco and marijuana and alcohol was triumphant. There was hardly any air left at all. She heard whips cracking, chains creaking, strange machinery operating. And occasionally, a high piercing cry of a woman yelling, “No, NO!” at the top of her lungs. The chair stopped moving and she heard a low cackle next to her right ear.
“Here she is, Mr. Caccione,” the attendant said. “Here’s your checklist. Please look it over and sign it. If you subject her to any unauthorized abuse, we reserve the right to name the size of the penalty payment.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the voice said. “Gimme, I’ll sign. Then lemme have her, gimme that luscious pussy. Oh man, look at that bush, look at
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