An adventurous young woman's fantasy is shattered
24-year-old Tracy Anders had fantasized about exhibitionist adventures but lacked the courage to do them on her own, so she recruited her best friend to compile blackmail evidence that would force her to live out her dream. Now her friend has revealed her deranged ambitions, and the missions will grow harder. The characters are over 18 years old.
Chapter Four
Dancing on the Edge
To say I was distraught after Donna left is an understatement. My best friend had become psychotic. Pushed over the edge by old desires and the adrenaline rush of our adventures. I was her tool. Her bitch. And I had no idea what to do about it. Call the police? Call a lawyer, which I didn't have the money for? And tell them what? The evidence Donna had compiled seemed so compelling that even I wondered how much was real. I got no sleep for several days, and my job performance at the real estate office was suffering. Focusing on contract approvals had gotten difficult. What I didn't realize was how much worse it was going to get.
I appeared at Donna's house a few minutes before six o'clock as instructed. It was a tidy 1970s three-bedroom suburban residence that had belonged to her parents. I had visited their home a hundred times over the years, but never in dread. Donna met me in the driveway.
"We will be doing things a little differently from now on," she said, firm but not angry. "Come into the back."
I followed her down the driveway, through the old wooden gate, and entered the service porch at the side of the house. I saw the washer and dryer, freezer, and cleaning supplies. The next door led to the kitchen. There was a steel box the size of a tool chest with "Tracy" written on it in chalk.
"When you come here, you will not enter through the front door," she explained. "When you arrive, take off your clothes, and put them in the box. You will then lock the box using the padlock. I will keep the key until I'm ready to give it to you. Once you are naked, you will enter the house and come to the living room, even if someone else is already here. You will kneel and await directions."
"That sounds like something a slave would do," I objected. She had already made me shave off my pubic hair as a sign of her power. Now she was taking it further.
"For now, you are my slave. Until you learn to obey. I'm planning new adventures for us. They can't be ruined by your stubbornness."
"Are you going to rape me, too?" I asked.
"I may touch something from time to time, to prove your subservience, but there will be no sex. Not until you beg me. I hope that day is soon."
"I'll go off a bridge first," I denied.
"That must be negotiated, but in the meantime, I have dinner waiting for us. Also, a very fine claret and a folder for us to review. Please remove your clothes so we can go in the house."
This was really the moment. She had seen me take off my clothes on challenges, and torn Lenny's sweatshirt from me in my apartment, but I had never gone to her house and stripped naked on her orders. I had no doubt Donna had been fantasizing about this for years, masturbating and hoping, and then she realized her dream could come true with blackmail.
And she was right. I saw no way out. What should I do? Fighting her was a losing game. We both knew it. What would my protesting and recrimination mean? Nothing. I had read that when dealing with a crazy person, there is no point in reasoning with them. I needed to suck it up, play her game, and hope she would come back to earth someday.
"Yes, mistress," I responded. I disrobed quickly, folding my clothes neatly in the steel box, and pushed down the latch, padlocking it. Then I turned to face her, arms down at my sides, head bent, awaiting further orders. She may not have believed in my sincerity, but over time, she would. Her ego would not allow anything different.
"When in my house, you will wear this," Donna said, buckling a black leather collar around my throat.
"Isn't this a wonderful joke, mistress?" I said lightheartedly.
"What is that, slave?" she asked.
"This is the same collar we used at the bondage club photoshoot. Even then, you had already made me your slave, I just didn't know it."
"I'm glad you can take this so well. It took a lot of meticulous planning, and I don't mind bragging about it. You are the only person who can understand the depths of my imagination."
"I would never deny that, mistress," I assured her.
That night we went for a long drive, Donna was wearing a khaki hiking outfit, and I was wearing nothing. She had also made sure there wasn't anything else in the car. No clothes, no blankets. Near downtown, on a corner not far from a busy theater, she ordered me out to the sidewalk. As the door closed, I heard it lock. She rolled the window partially down.
"I am going to drive around the block and pick you up when I come back," she said. "We are doing this here, and over time, many other crowded places. But you need to use that resourceful brain of yours to figure out what to do if I don't come back. Because one of these times, I'm just going to drive home. See you in five minutes. Maybe."
She rolled the window up and drove on. I stepped off the sidewalk behind a tall hedge. There was plenty of foot traffic. Noise everywhere. Bright neon lights in both directions. I tried to keep my breathing under control. Tried to fight off a sense of panic. I had no doubt Donna would drive away and leave me somewhere. She'd already done it three times. But no, I thought. Donna's brilliance will not allow her to abandon me in some boring place like a theater district. She will need something spectacular. Something to maximize my humiliation. That was what I would watch for.
A middle-aged man stopped, looking in my direction, and then crept closer.
"Girl? Are you naked?" he asked.
"Yes," I said with a pretend shiver, hands over my breasts and privates.
"Maybe I can help you? Would you like to get in my car?"
"No thank you," I answered.
"I could call a policeman. Would you like me to call a policeman?"
The creep knew I didn't. Fortunately, I could see him better than he could see me, partially obscured by the thick bushes. Approving loan applications at the real estate office, I often had the chance to observe our clients. Some were confident, expecting the loan. Others were unsure, wondering where they stood. I would have to call this guy frumpy. Poorly cut hair beginning to turn gray. Not terrible clothes, but not expensive. Someone who doesn't take chances.
"Please don't let him see me," I whimpered.
"What? Who?" he asked, looking around.
"My boyfriend. He has a knife. He thinks I've been meeting my lover out here."
"Your lover? Is he here?" he said.
"No, Jimmy left town in a hurry. Without even saying goodbye. You kind of look like him. My boyfriend wants revenge."
"And he has a knife?" creepy guy said, breathing escalating. I saw the fear. The word "knife" will do that. I waited for the right moment, looking down the block.
"Is that him? Oh, my God, it is! He's coming! Please help me!" I begged.
I'd never seen an older man run so fast. About five minutes later, Donna returned and opened the car door.
"Any excitement, dearest?" Donna asked.
"Oh, Donna, I was so frightened. What if someone had seen me? I might have been arrested. Put in handcuffs, naked. But I was getting aroused, too. It's all so sexy."
* * * * * *
Donna worked hard to keep me off-balance and was usually successful. On a Friday evening, I entered the service porch, locked my clothes in the toolbox, and walked through the kitchen and dining area into the living room. There was a woman on the couch with poorly dyed red hair, a pale complexion, about 40-years old, and modestly overweight. I knelt in my compulsory position and said nothing, waiting.
"Tracy, this is Miranda Evans," Donna introduced. "She has been filming some of your adventures, when not providing needed distractions."
"Like when she broke a vase at Neiman Marcus to cover for my supposed theft of the Ferragamo Hug?" I asked. I had noticed a redhead on the far side of the store that day but didn't specifically recognize Miranda. But it made sense it was the same woman.
"Goddamn it, Donna! You weren't supposed to tell her that!" Miranda shouted.
High-strung, I surmised. Feelings of inadequacy. Poor education. Leans on Donna for ego support. Low ego is her weakness.
"I told her nothing. She's just guessing," Donna replied, looking down at me with a strange expression.
"What about when she went back and stole the bag for real?" I asked.
"Donna! What the fuck! You told her everything! That was a felony!" Miranda shrieked.
"It's only a guess. A guess. Don't give everything away," Donna urged.
"Do not fear, Mistress Miranda. Mistress Donna has total control over me. I will not betray you. Unless she tells me to."
Miranda glanced at Donna, not reassured. But they had business to discuss.
"Miranda will be your official photographer," Donna announced. "You must obey her as you obey me."
"Yes, mistress," I acknowledged. "Mistress Miranda, will you order me to have sex with you? I am eager if that is what you wish."
"I'm not a lesbian, dungeon bait. Just do what you're told," she answered. She got up and headed toward the bathroom. Donna knelt before me, both hands on my cheeks, and looked me in the eye.
"You really got under her skin," Donna said.
"Yes, mistress," I agreed. She looked at me with a new passion. Something different than before. And then she kissed me on the lips.
"I am so proud of you," she whispered.
"Why is your co-conspirator here?" I asked.
"Miranda is not my co-conspirator," Donna answered. "She's a worm fit only to do my bidding. I can prove she stole the Ferragamo Hug if she tries to cross me. And a lot more. Are you ready for your next mission?"
I wasn't, not that my opinion mattered.
* * * * * *
Donna picked a mid-summer Friday evening, driving towards Sullivan Park, the largest in the city. It was popular for dance performances, outdoor plays, sports events, a carousel, and street performers.
"Don't worry, we're only on a scouting mission," Donna said, seeking to put me at ease.
Normally if on a mission, I would take off my mother's gold cross, but as I wasn't running tonight, I kept it on, clutching the chain from time to time. I needed all the help I could get.
