Kalisha Connors tossed in her bed, throwing off the red satin sheets. Something was missing. It was morning. Saturday morning. She could sleep in. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly noon. She had been dancing at the 360 Club until three in the morning, and then she and Wendy and Cindy had picked up a couple of guys for a ménage a cinque. She had gotten home just in time to beat dawn.
She sat up and stretched her long body. She rolled over, opened a drawer, and pulled out a loose t-shirt.
That's not right. I should find something more befitting the chosen of the Goddess of Lust. Nothing is clean, though. I should go to the laundromat, or send Cindy.
That was what was missing. Each of the last five mornings Cindy had woken her up with an orgasm. It had been strange having Cindy around, because Kalisha didn't regard herself as the domineering type, but there were advantages to having a pretty blonde submissive around. One of them was getting her pussy licked every morning. Beat the hell out of the alarm clock.
She's probably still asleep.
Kalisha reluctantly pulled on the t-shirt and went to get herself some breakfast.
The smell of fresh pancakes greeted her in the kitchen. Sure enough there was a pile of flapjacks on a plate on the white kitchen counter, along with a tall glass of orange juice. A note next to them read in flowing script: "Gone to do laundry." Kalisha sat down with her breakfast. The pancakes were still warm. She smiled and stretched. Her life had definitely gotten great since meeting the goddess of Lust. She smothered the pile of pancakes with maple syrup. Her mouth watered.
The fire alarm rang.
Her building was an older one, not far from downtown. There were three floors, with a shoe store at the bottom and two apartments on each floor above. Pressed close to the buildings on either side, a fire anywhere on the block would quickly spread from building to building.
Kalisha pushed the pancakes away, warding off their beckoning aroma with difficulty. She ran in bare feet out the front door, joining her neighbors in a dash down the stairway. Everyone else, however, was dressed. Standing outside on the street corner, cool wind whipping down the narrow street, she was keenly aware that her t-shirt only covered her ass if she held it down with both hands. From the stares of the passers-by and the furtive glances of the neighbors, she wondered if even that was enough. No doubt they had an eyeful when she had run down the stairwell, her thoughts only on escaping a possible fire.
It wasn't until the fire truck arrived that someone offered her a jacket to help cover her. In the end, it had been a false alarm; the "break glass in case of fire" glass was shattered, and the owner of the shoe store said he had seen a short man with dark hair and glasses running down the stairs just before just before the alarm went off.
Great. A prank. I wonder if he stuck around to enjoy the view?
Her pancakes were cold and the syrup congealed when she finally got back to the kitchen table. She ate a couple anyway, and then the phone rang.
After ten minutes on the phone with an old friend, the pancakes were colder and looking even less edible. She tossed the rest in the trash, and then threw away a few old magazines on top of the pancakes so Cindy wouldn't see them. Then she pulled on some jeans, just in case there was another false alarm.
Cindy returned a few minutes later. She wore yellow short-shorts, a tight pink t-shirt, and was obviously braless. Kalisha stared at the bouncing breasts.
"Thanks for the pancakes," Kalisha said. "They were yummy." It wasn't Cindy's fault that the pancakes were cold when she'd finally gotten to them.
"You're welcome," said Cindy cheerfully, giving her chest a little wiggle for Kalisha's benefit. She was pulling a large duffel bag, which she shoved against the wall, and then looked over at Kalisha. "I did laundry," she said, "Since you weren't up. I met a nice boy-- he kept staring at my breasts, but he had some stuff that's supposed to stop static-cling, and he shared."
"You missed the fire drill," said Kalisha. "I ended up going out with just a t-shirt on."
Cindy grinned. "I wish I'd been there"
"As if you don't get to see my ass enough," Kalisha retorted. "Besides, maybe I would have made you give me your shorts."
"Now I'm *really* sorry I missed it," Cindy said.
"Anyway... a friend of mine from college called -- Persephone -- and she invited me to go clubbing with her tonight at a place called Crypt. It's Goth, which isn't my scene, but I haven't seen Persephone for a while. You're welcome to come, too, if you like."
Cindy grinned. "I have black clothes. Sure." She paused. " Do you like my hair blonde?"
Kalisha blinked. "That's out of the blue. It's fine. But if you want to stop bleaching it, I can understand. Whatever you want."
"It's not that, exactly-- it's just that thinking of where we're going, I mean, the big hair white trash look isn't so in there, you know."
Kalisha shook her head. "If you think of your hair as a white trash look, then you should definitely change it. In fact, I order you to change it. I take it the hairstyle was your soon to be ex-husband's idea."
Cindy nodded. "Yeah."
"Then do something radical with it. I'll make sure he gets to see the new you, sometime soon."
Cindy laughed.
For two years, Steve Wilcox had kept Cindy as his personal sex slave, after blackmailing her into marrying him. Recently, Wilcox tried to blackmail Kalisha, too, but Kalisha turned the tables, convincing Wilcox that his pretty wife had decided to become Kalisha's slave instead. Kalisha thought of it as an act. Cindy seemed to want it to be more.
"Let's fold the laundry," said Kalisha. "The last time I went clubbing with Persephone, I wore a baggy black t-shirt and black jeans. She made me promise her I'd dress sexier this time. I think she's trying to fix me up. 'Dress to kill' she said."
"I think we can manage that," Cindy said, opening the laundry bag. She froze.
"Oh, no," she said. "I must have gotten someone else's laundry by mistake." She held up a child sized tank top.
"Let me see," said Kalisha, plucking a pair of tiny panties out of the bag.
Cindy blinked, taking out a pair of shrunken jeans. "My God. It *is* our stuff."
"Goddess," corrected Kalisha. "It's all shrunk."
Cindy's eyes widened. "The static cling!"
"Huh?"
"The guy in the laundromat," explained Cindy. "The stuff he gave me must have shrunk the clothes. Oh Kalisha, I'm so sorry."
"What a nasty trick! It's not your fault. Let's go see if he's still there."
They raced across the street, eliciting a few honking horns.
"He's not here," said Cindy.
"We'll ask if anyone else saw him, or borrowed his whatever it was," suggested Kalisha. "We can at least warn people. What did he look like?"
"Short guy, dark hair, glasses," said Cindy.
They made the rounds, but apparently no one else had talked to the guy. No one even remembered seeing him do any laundry.
"Figures," said Kalisha.
Cindy sighed. "I feel so stupid. You had some really nice stuff."
Kalisha smiled, "Don't beat yourself up. It could have happened to anyone. For now, though, I need to go clothes shopping, or I'll have nothing to wear for tonight. Thank goodness my business suits get dry cleaned, and I handwash my bras."
Cindy smiled. "Maybe you can pick up some clothes for your other job, while you're at it."
During the day, Kalisha worked as an accountant for the firm of Ferris, Johnson, and Thoms. At night, she was an exotic dancer at the 360 Club. She had been living a double life ever since she had broken up with her old boyfriend, John, and had her drunken binge interrupted by a woman who claimed to be the goddess of love. The goddess, who Kalisha usually thought of as Aphrodite, although she had given her other names-- Freyja, and Ishtar, for example -- was more a goddess of lust than of love, Kalisha suspected. But when Kalisha indulged in her sexual fantasies, the goddess got something out of it. In return, she had given Kalisha the ability to sense the lustful desires of those around her and enough energy to party all night even after working all day.
Kalisha smiled. "Good idea."
"I'll go to the hairdresser's while you go shopping, if that's okay," said Cindy. She paused. "Mistress?"
Kalisha still wasn't used to being addressed that way. "What?"
"While you're shopping, could you pick me up something for tonight, too? Whatever you pick, I'll wear it." Cindy pulled her wallet out, and handed over one of several credit cards. "All the clothes are on me."
Kalisha felt Cindy's desire grow as the thought of being Kalisha's dress-up toy went through her mind. Cindy was hoping Kalisha would push her to the edge of indecency. Even the act of giving Kalisha carte-blanche with her credit card was erotic to Cindy. "Be careful what you wish for," Kalisha warned. "I'll meet you back at the apartment for dinner."
***
Kalisha stepped into Night Pleasures, the erotic boutique, for the first time. Her old boyfriend, John, had made a point of crossing the street to avoid walking too close, as if even a look inside the windows would corrupt the Kalisha's innocent soul. Confronted by the barrage of dildoes, whips, ben-wa balls, and restraints, Kalisha blinked, skipped a breath, and looked the other way, only to see an expanse of lace, latex, and leather in improbable shapes and configurations.
Giving up on looking left and right, she took a couple steps straight ahead toward the sales counter, where nipple jewelry was the special du jour, advertised with pictures of topless women with silicone enhanced breasts. Behind the counter was a refreshingly normal looking woman, nearing middle age, with short hair almost as dark as Kalisha's midnight black locks.
"May I help you?" asked the woman.
"A friend told me to dress to kill, so I'm here."
"You're tall, nice figure," said the woman. "And I love your eyes. What you need is something in black."
"That should work, since I'm going to a goth club."
The woman smiled. "We'll definitely skip the pink, then. How do you feel about leather?"
"Vinyl would be better," said Kalisha. She didn't like the idea of wearing another animal's skin. As the woman turned to rifle through the dresses for something that might fit, Kalisha took a breath and composed herself.
Why am I being skittish? That's the old me. This is a temple to lust, and I'm lust's priestess. This is my domain.
"Actually," she told the woman, who came back with something long and stretchy. It would be skin tight but show almost no skin, "I was looking for something more revealing. And something for my slavegirl, too-- she's a bit shorter than me. And what do you have in the way of collars?"
