Glory stroked languidly at the tight golden curls of her vulva as she watched July droplets of rain splash through the screen of her bedroom window. The room's stale heat and the morning's fresh rain joined as in a chemical reaction, causing a rebirth of odors that had died two nights before. Glory breathed in the conglomerate odor of spilled malt liquor, Chinese take-out, and low-grade carpet cleaner. The odor, particularly the antiseptic strawberry quality it possessed, provoked her mind to remember an occasion from the week before. The memory consequentially gave liberty to a small spark of brilliance from the depth of her heart. Glory smiled fondly. The smile was genuine, In its authenticity the smile was rare. It was only Nina and the memory of her that could provoke Glory to smile without contriving it, without invention. The naked woman laughed quietly as she thought, then sighed as immediate reality regained her attention Glory turned to look at the alarm clock, and realized her next client for the day was due to arrive within a half hour. The smile of her happy recollection had gradually shrunk, withdrawing into the part of the dominatrix that no one of her client's ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
Glory rose from the scattered pink sheets, closed the window, and locked it. From beside her bed, beside the alarm clock, she took a key chain. On its ring hung three keys, and a plastic representation of a humpback whale adorned on either side with the words: I love to do it in the bay, Cape Cod Mass. Glory looked over the scantly furnished room, then left it, locking the door behind her. She walked down the hall to the bathroom. The room was kept clean, scrubbed and polished with meticulous care. Each tile and fixture gleamed. Within the brilliance she reaches for the heating vent, and lifted it slightly from its fitting. It is where Glory hides her keys during a session. After tucking the keys in a nook between floor boards she fixed the metal grate back into place. She then stepped into the shower. Glory washed from her body any residue of that morning's client, only to wash again after the next. She closed her eyes to rinse the soap from her face, and saw Nina's short black hair, her precious eyes, her bright juvenile smile, her smooth shoulders. If it had not been a business day Glory would have reached her fingertips between the lips of her vulva, and manipulated her clitoris to the images of Nina's small white breasts and buttocks. But for the sake of her lover Glory calmed herself, storing the memory away in the most secret part of her mind before it could ever be tainted by the slightest filth. It
amazed Glory when she thought about it, how there actually existed a part of herself to keep secret. It was very fortunate, after all those years, all those somnambulant years.
Glory not only quelled the arousal out of personal need, but also for the sake of her clients. She was a business woman after all, and business had to be done correctly. She took sometimes over two thousand dollars from a single client for an hour's session, and believed they should receive their money's worth. And what their money bought them was absolute confidentiality, a secure private environment, fulfillment of whatever pleasure of displeasure they cared to experience, and an Oscar-worthy performance on the part of their hostess. Glory could not fake insatiability without a solid foundation. If she caused even one small orgasm within herself just prior to a session that foundation would be substantially loosened. It not only meant a transparent performance, but it could also mean a potential breech of control. Because during every session, whether Glory is or is not genuinely aroused, whether she is the giver or the taker, no matter how dominant the client pays to be, she must have absolute control. Glory has never lost command of a situation. Clients can be broken down to weeping sniveling heaps of flesh, or be enraged into fits of auto-mutilation, but Glory will always keep her focus.
There were clients like Joan Hammond. She paid to have her vulva shaved bare, so that Glory may carve in the word "rose" with a straight edged razor. There was David Jakes. He brought one of either to women whom he commanded to eat and drink, then relieve themselves over his naked body. There was a trio of women who called themselves the Andrew sisters. On one another they would perform such acts as harsh whippings to the buttocks, poking clitoris' with sewing needles, and urination upon each others bodies. They were some of Glory's most regular clients. They had the tendency to call upon her services more than three times a month. For all outward appearances they tended to be well-to-do sort of folk. Some were housewives with rich husbands. Some, like David Jakes, were CEO's or vice presidents of various corporations. Others were career women, no husband, no children. Some had been coming to Glory for years, and despite how abused, defiled, and degraded they paid to be, they always came back again and again. Joan Hammond was her most valued client. She was an intelligent woman who, despite her proximity to the age of fifty, weather clothed or otherwise, could overwhelm the senses. She was a generous benefactor, a constructive aid in the enlistment of clients with similar temperament and class, a trusted associate. Joan Hammond once proposed the idea of a partnership, business and otherwise. But that was an impossibility for the sole reason of her having sought Glory's services in the first place, thereby restricting her from any worthwhile intimacy.
Glory stepped out of the tub, reached for the towel, and proceeded to wipe the tepid glistening beads from herself. The day's next session was to be introductory. Joan Hammond had recommended Glory's services to a man who chose to be referred to as Howard Hughes. This was all well and good with Glory since she herself chose not to divulge her real name. Not even clients as old as Mrs. Hammond or Mr. Jakes knew her true name. Nina knew it, but that was Nina. The dominatrix blow dried her shoulder length hair, and applied a lilac body spray. With each motion the face of her lover was full in Glory's mind. As she walked to the master bed room, which for her purposes served as the play room [the dungeon], Glory recalled the last night Nina had visited her. Her body shivered, new to the sensations brought on by emotions she there to fore never ever experienced.
Glory's gaze crossed the span of the room. Against the south wall stood the armaments rack, complete with ropes, chains, four types of whips, rubber hoses, leather straps, and variously sized clamps. On the floor below the rack was a trunk full of wire mesh, leather, and rubber costumes and masks. Against the opposite wall was a chest of three drawers, on which an economy sized box of lubricated condoms, a large roll of plastic wrap -the size used in restaurants, and one jar of K-Y jelly. What filled the three drawers were dildos and vibrators of various width and length, anus plugs, nipple clamps, three boxes of Polaroid film, and one Polaroid camera. Glory drew a great breath, and smelled faint traces of Lysol, and scented oils.
She stood in the center of the room, and looked at the stage set against the west wall. The platform -six inches high and seven feet square- was a short and flat frame of 4 by 4's, covered in plywood. It's surface was done in do it yourself linoleum, the color of egg shell. Affixed to the wall were pulleys, iron rings, and clips. Supported by an upright six foot post of oak -anchored back stage center, and supported at the wall by two joists- was braced a smoothly sanded beam of pine that projected out, over the center of the platform. The bean was also fitted with iron rings and pulleys. Glory stared blankly at the stage, and thought it was getting to be about time she retired, and in thinking the word retired brought once more the image of her lover. As the door bell rang, the dominatrix told herself to stop telling herself that Nina was too good to be true.
Jane, as Glory chose to introduce herself, casually returned to check her hair, and to put on a slight notion of cranberry lipstick. She then slipped into a pair of four inch heels that had been waiting for her by the bathroom door. It was her custom, her style, to greet her clients wearing only a pair of heels. Neighbors of the highest moral intent could not complain about any illicit exposure on the part of Glory, since the small home in which she lived was surrounded by a quadrangle of seven foot wood plank fencing and gate. If the parents of the community could not keep their male children from staring at the woman while she sun bathed, from their perch atop a pyramid of milk crates they'd collected, it was no fault of hers. Glory's nudity was a matter of comfort, whereas Jane's was a tactic of business. It helped her to establish control from the beginning. Her nudity was, in itself not greatly intimidating. But the imposing yet feminine muscles she worked hard to get, and her six foot five inch frame, was enough to warrant undivided attention. And so she has answered the front door since her business began six years earlier. The bell rang twice more before she answered.
"Ms...Ms. Jane?" muttered the man, visibly taken aback by her, "You must be Ms. Jane. I'm Mr. Hughes. May I come in?"
"You may." she slinked away, turning her back to him, "Please close the door, and lock it. Thank you. Would you follow me please?"
Jane led him around the corner, to the living room. She turned to ask him to sit, and realized that he was as tall if not taller than she. The stoop, or how he had stood upon it, had caused a false perception. And in seeing him she then realized that he was the first perspective client to ever reach her height. It gave her cause enough to be extra firm with him, regardless of Mrs. Hammond's emphatic testimony on his behalf. Through her long time client Jane knew the man's pleasure was nothing new, nothing beyond Jane's ordinary. Mr. Hughes wanted to be hung from the beam, and bitten until he told the giver to stop. She saw that he was not looking at her. She began to feel a sense of routine. She would bite him if he wished, if he passed her inspection and inquiry.
"Look at me Mr. Hughes." Jane demanded, standing before him,
"Don't stare at my vulva, Mr. Hughes. Make eye contact with me, please. I'm not some fucking dollar-a-peek strip club bitch. I'm sure you are aware of the fact that I am above all that. Mr. Hughes, don't turn your eyes away when I'm speaking to you."
"I'm sorry." he spoke softly, "I'm very sorry. It's just that this is so very new for me, and you-...you're such a beautiful woman."
