Author's Note: This originally written piece re-creates a story whose title and author I unfortunately cannot remember. To my knowledge, it's no longer available online, as it was part of Mason's Tied and True Tales, a site which unfortunately was taken down before being revived with only some of its original content. I remained true to the plot and Mason's tendency to combine fetish and rainwear themes as best I could remember, while adding my own flavor to fill in any gaps. Being denied the chance to thank the original author personally for their fine work, I hope they will settle for this homage.
* * *
Where was Ben?
It was nearly ten and the morning's light drizzle had worked itself up into quite a lather. Fat raindrops pelted the ground like bullets. Of course Amy, their mutual friend, would pick an outdoor shopping center for them to meet. Tracy, one hand holding her umbrella steady, danced lightly around puddles and finally sought refuge under the awning of a pottery shop.
The young woman checked the fastenings of her slick yellow raincoat and drew its belt tighter around her waist. Even under the awning the din washed away all other sound. Tracy scanned the ravaged shopping center once more. There wasn't anyone to be seen. Most of the shops opened around ten though. Maybe the shopkeepers were inside waiting to unlock their doors, but there were no gaggles of customers bustling to get inside. The rain drove them off.
Most importantly, there was no Ben. She needed Ben. Rather, she needed to sell an old ring from an ex and he needed impress his girlfriend. More important than helping some guy from the local university get laid, though, Tracy needed to pay her rent this month.
Her phone buzzed. She hadn't bothered programming Ben's number into it. The sequence of digits just said, "can't make it, sry. Don't need ring n e more. goodluck."
Fuck!
Tracy had taken two busses to get here. With the rain and a shortened weekend schedule they wouldn't be around again in a hurry. Tracy stared at the rain grumpily. When had the world collectively decided she was so expendable?
Tracy walked slowly down the row of shops, somewhat quicker wherever there weren't awnings. Finally she happened upon a dark jewelry store. The sign on the door said it wouldn't open until eleven. They would probably buy the ring from her but they wouldn't pay as much as Ben. Tracy sighed—stick around for an hour or be late on her rent. She couldn't see any other choice.
She heard a soft click that indicated the shop next door kept better hours. Tracy strolled over to look in the window and a pair of paper-white legs met her eyes. She gasped.
Alright, so seeing a mannequin in a store window isn't exactly shocking. What was shocking were the fishnet stockings and black leather bustier this particular mannequin had been stuffed into. A leather bullwhip dangled from her hand, but the outstretched plastic fingers didn't grasp it very well. Looking past the statuesque fake dominatrix and the glass backing to the display, Tracy spied shelves and shelves full of sex toys. But there was other stuff too...kinky stuff. This was no ordinary sex shop.
Intrigued and with nowhere to be, Tracy wandered inside the shop to try and distract herself from the continuing disappointment that was her life. A shrill bell rang as she opened the door.
"Welcome, can I help you find anything today?" came a pleasant voice from her left. It took Tracy a moment to fully take in the sight before her. Behind the counter was a young and beautiful brunette wearing a powder blue waistcoat with black trim...made of shiny latex. Tracy stared at the smiling spectacle. The halter top left little to the imagination. Suffice it to say her blowout curls were given a soft landing. Her hands were encased in short black latex gloves as well, which she rested on her hips presentably. Just over the counter Tracy observed the beginnings and quick end of the woman's black miniskirt. Also latex.
"I—I'm just looking around, thanks," Tracy mumbled as she walked past. The shop had the air of ordered chaos that you might find in an old bookstore. Items crammed into every corner yet Tracy found herself navigating it easily—past the circular stand of cats o' ninetails, along the wall filled with spools of rope in every imaginable color. A sign next to the spools read:
Cut to any length - We'll whip the ends and anything else you like!
After the ropes came dildos by the dozen. They came in all shapes and sizes and colors, arranged on dustless shelves so that the whole display comprised a salacious rainbow. Of course, none of that caught Tracy's attention like the next aisle over, which was apparently the leather aisle.
The leather came in many vibrant colors too, interrupted by chrome studs and buckles weaving straps into stunning shapes. Sometimes Tracy needed to look at the accompanying photos just to see how the hell these harnesses worked. Some were just fashion, like the cupless leather bra or any number of body harnesses. Some had restraints attached for hands or arms, and a few looked excruciatingly stringent. Tracy was out of her depth—she never really been tied up before. People did this willingly...and
paid these prices
?!
The goddamn rent. When she'd been an idiot teenager, Tracy had sometimes stolen things here and there from the big chain stores and returned them for easy cash. That probably wouldn't work at a small store like this, but maybe she could sell it online. And why not? Whoever owned this place would probably just write it off, stick a little minus sign on some Excel spreadsheet, and grumble. In return she'd get to eat a meal or two that didn't come from a can. That sounded fair enough for Tracy.
Tracy gazed nonchalantly at the ceiling. No cameras, no mirrors for spying down the aisles. The latex-clad vixen was nowhere to be seen. Tracy steeled herself and looked around. Next to all the harnesses was a display of gags. Tracy nearly blanched at the sight of them. They were leather straps with big red balls connected in the middle. She couldn't help but imagine them between her teeth, like a small apple.
Fifty bucks and up for a silicone ball and some leather. Tracy eyed them hungrily now, figuring she could get forty online easy, maybe even full price. Some of them were huge and looked like a tangled mess of straps. Tracy focused on a smaller one that would fit easily into her purse without bulging. She looked around again.
The coast was clear. She picked it up.
Swiftly, the gag disappeared into her purse. Flush with excitement, Tracy headed for the door. She looked at the smiling woman behind the counter. She was past the counter and nearly out. But then...
"Excuse me, miss," came a slightly accented voice.
Another woman appeared and blocked Tracy's path. She was not wearing a powder blue waistcoat.
* * *
Tracy, at 5' 3", was used to meeting people taller than her, but this woman towered. She looked almost like the mannequin in the window, wearing a black leather corset with matching opera gloves and thigh-high boots. Her bikini cut leather briefs made a farce of modesty itself. She glared at Tracy through dark makeup.
"Katya!" the woman behind the counter gasped and walked over, revealing shiny pumps.
"May I see your bag please, miss?" Katya asked bluntly. Her stare never relented.
"Is something wrong?" Tracy replied. Her innocent tone wasn't very convincing.
"What's going on?" the other woman was now beside Katya.
"She's trying to steal from the store, Val," Katya said coldly.
"What?! No!" Tracy cried. When caught: deny, deny, deny.
