Macho Sluts, page 16
She twisted the nipple a quarter-turn, crushed it. Alex grinned at her and judiciously applied exactly the same amount of pressure to the teat she held, then twisted it past that point. “Gonna tell me you don’t sweat, you glow?” she asked Tyre. “Looks like sweat to me. Looks good on you, like maybe you’re working hard for a change.”
“I don’t mind working hard, and I don’t think you mind my being hard on you. You like this,” Tyre accused her, getting a grip on the other nipple and stretching them both out, until Alex saw tiny white stars.
“I like this,” Alex affirmed, and returned the hurt worse, until their hips slid past each other and their thighs interlocked, the long bone of the leg and the muscle over it pressed into the other woman’s mound, pushing the sensitive, swollen tissue back down until it flattened against the pubic bone. Hard and soft, hard and soft, their hands played on each other’s bodies, and they rocked in each other’s arms, seeking advantage, grappling. It was a kind of wrestling with no attempt to throw, but a quest for domination nonetheless. They both yelped at the same moment, but not from the pain of well-manipulated nipples. Their thighs separated momentarily, startled by the intensity of this pleasure, and its brevity.
They groped for each other’s crotches. The sound of Tyre’s zipper was a long, continuous wail punctuated with a few sharp snaps as Alex’s studded crotch-piece was pulled off and dropped on the floor.
“You’re wet,” Alex said.
“Thirsty?” Tyre spit.
“Empty, too,” Alex said, and fixed that. But Tyre had already thrust home between her legs, and they were both wet to the wrist.
“You can’t keep that up,” Tyre said, fucking her, “you can’t keep it up while you—”
“While I make you come? Is that what you were gonna say? Because it’s not gonna take me that long to—”
“Lose it, give it up, you can’t help it—”
“But I can help you, help you over the edge. Tell me you don’t want it.”
Tyre’s entire free hand fell onto Alex’s breast and squeezed it, hard. “Show me how tough you are,” she hissed, “big leather stud, such a goddamn big girl, can you take it, can you?”
They could not get away from each other, could barely keep on their feet. As Alex retaliated by flicking Tyre’s nipples, their mouths met and they swallowed the noise of a mutual surrender, predatory but also protective.
Then they were on the floor. Tyre climbed on top of Alex, split her legs, and ate her with fast hard strokes, trying to get to her before Alex could thrust her own head between Tyre’s legs and bully her into coming again. Her head start only lasted a few seconds. She slapped Alex’s thighs, dug her nails in to try and make her stop, and got her own ass smacked in retaliation, her pussy lips pulled so far apart that they ached, which made her actually bite Alex, or did she bite Alex because she was coming or because Alex was coming and had abruptly shoved her hips into Tyre’s face?
They rolled apart laughing, embarrassed but also proud of themselves. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?” Tyre wondered.
“Might make me follow you home, but trust you? Shit.”
Alex sat up, rubbed her head. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I came?”
“Uh, no, I never ask them that. Beneath my dignity, don’tcha know.”
“Ah, yes, that’s very top of you. But I’m so top that I don’t even try to make them come.”
“Bull—”
“—shit, yeah, it is. It sure is.”
“But this isn’t,” Tyre said, and had Alex back down on the floor, with the heel of her shoe in the hollow of her throat. Alex’s head was turned to one side, and the sole of the shoe rested on her cheek. “Why do you think I walk around on a pair of knives? This is no fashion statement, darling. Do you know how much it cost me to get my sensei to let me do my katas in these? I had to put a new floor in the dojo. You ever try that shit with me again, and we’ll fight for real.”
Alex’s face was suffused with purple. She was taking a lot of Tyre’s weight directly on her throat, and Tyre was not a small woman. As soon as the foot came off her face, before she even sat up, her hand darted inside her jacket.
“This what you’re looking for?” Tyre said, and threw the knife point-down into the floor by her right hand. “Pretty fancy toy, that CIA plastic that won’t set off a metal detector. Security and I are going to have a little chat. If the guard on duty is somebody you ever fucked, she is about to get royally screwed by me.”
Alex had plucked the knife from the linoleum and slid it home in the sheath under her armpit, without looking, of course. Tyre smiled at that. Weapons are so beautiful in competent women’s hands.
“I don’t go anywhere unarmed,” Alex said bluntly. “And if I had pulled that blade, you wouldn’t have anybody to blame but yourself. You threw the first kick, remember?”
“And what would you have done if I let you pounce on me as soon as you were done with dessert, huh? Have me over the table and next thing I know my stuff is all over town, that you had a piece of my ass, might come back for more if you get in the mood? I don’t think so.”
“Pity,” Alex said softly. “It was only a little tussle, good clean fun between a couple of serious players. Next thing I know it’s time to hand down indictments and interview a jury. Lighten up, for Chrissake. Who had who? Who won? Do you know? I sure the fuck don’t. And I don’t care. Life is too short.”
Neither of them could think of anything else to say. They just glared.
“I want this gig,” Tyre said finally. “I want to run this trip for you.”
“Okay, fine. But before you change the subject lemme just say that you got rings in your tits, Tyre, and if you really thought you had to apologize for bein’ human, maybe you oughta take ’em out.”
“They are my rings, and I wear them for my own good reasons. They are not coming out. I have too much scar tissue as it is. And you ought to mind your own damn business.”
“Oh, but I never could mind anybody at all. But I keep looking. That’s how I got most of my own scars. How about you?”
“Stop it.”
“Sure. I’ll stop. Just remember who cried uncle.”
Then Alex was gone. Tyre’s hands were shaking too bad to do anything but break the dishes she tried to stack in the sink, so she broke several on purpose, smashing them against the exposed brick in the kitchen. By the time she had cleaned that mess up, she felt better, but knew the rest of the day was shot to hell. So she used the interoffice phone to buzz Georgia and Simba, and told them to fire the security guard who had not frisked Alex, and got Michael on the car phone to let her know she needed the limo. During the long drive home, she thought about asking Michael to fuck her. Instead, she wound up listening to her driver describe her conquest of Sara. Tyre opened her own door, slammed it, stomped into the house, took off her clothes, laid down on the front hall carpet and masturbated, then went upstairs, changed into her leathers without bothering to take a shower first, and went out to hunt for the wolf-pack of women who would help Alex decide if Roxanne belonged to her or on the streets.
Tyre didn’t hear from Alex for three weeks. Out of spite more than anything else, she instituted a once-a-week festival of gay male porn films and was surprised and disappointed when it filled up the house. “No accounting for taste,” she told Georgia, who gave her a strange look and said, “What’s good taste got to do with the price of ben-wa balls in Hong Kong, boss? You need a vacation or a new hat or something?”
She thought yeah, I need something, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was until one day the phone rang just as she was about to dump out a mug of cold tea and leave the office.
“Tyre? Alex.” Two words, and the edge on that voice ran up and down her spine. Old butterflies came back to life in Tyre’s stomach.
“Yes?” The word came out in a whoosh. She was suddenly out of breath.
“Things moved along any since I last saw you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, yes.” Tyre smiled at her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. She had done a good job with this, she had a right to be a little proud. “We can run that trip for you any time you like.”
Alex whistled. “That was fast. Can I get a thumbnail sketch of your crew?”
“I know you said you didn’t want anyone there who Roxanne knows. But Anne-Marie has asked for permission to join us. She says she would like to help give Roxanne a going-away party to remember.”
“Mmm. I just thought the presence of strangers would make it much more intense. Isn’t Anne-Marie into all that frilly Victorian stuff? The evening I envisioned was more, uh, heavy metal.”
“Anne-Marie’s specialty is caning. If anything, Roxanne’s prior experience with her will make her more intimidating, not less. She is also a lady, and a real lady is appropriate in any circumstances. I think she will be an asset. And she promised me she would leave her corsets at home.”
“I trust your judgment. You’re the madam.”
There was no hint of irony in Alex’s voice. Were they both going to pretend they had never lost their tempers with one another? Well, maybe that was the best strategy. Tyre took a deep breath and went on. “Then there’s Joyous Day, the photographer. You know her? She had a show at Quotidian Gallery last month.”
“Yeah, we went to see her stuff. So she does more than take pictures of it, huh?”
“Oh, yes.” Tyre rubbed a yellowing bruise high up on her left buttock. “She poses her own models. And there’s Kay and EZ, two women who usually hang out at men’s bars. Bikers.”
“Are they into women?”
“They’re into each other. When they heard about this, they jumped at the chance. They haven’t met many women who dig their scene. They usually pick on cute little faggots. They get these boys totally wasted and then drag them home and make them earn their red hankies. Think Roxanne will look good in red?” There was a long silence. “Alex? You there?”
“Yeah, just counting. So that makes five, with me. I really would like to round up a few more. To make it genuinely scary, you know?”
“Oh, I haven’t given you the whole list yet. Do you know Chris— um, Chris what-is-it, yeah, McPherson? She plays drums for Mutilation.”
“Great. Then all we need is one more top, and we’re set.”
Tyre’s throat was very dry. She took a big swallow of cold tea, gagged, and blurted, “No, we don’t. There’s me.”
The laughter she dreaded did not materialize. “No shit?” Alex finally said. “Does that mean you’re not pissed off at my any more?”
“There’s no reason to be pissed at you, and I think maybe I owe you an apology.”
“Naw. If I let you apologize you’ll be pissed for sure. I’m real glad to hear you’re going to be there. I was planning to keep on saying ‘We need one more top’ until you included yourself in.”
“You cocksucker,” Tyre sputtered, laughing.
“You should be so lucky. So is this why this whole thing pulled itself together so quickly, ’cause the madam wants to see my girlfriend get thrown to the lions?”
“Well, to be truthful, yes. The idea of it excites me tremendously.” And it means I get to see you again, she told herself silently.
“Great, great, fabulous. God, I don’t know how I would have come up with another excuse to see you again.”
Damn the woman and her ingenuous honesty. But Alex was still talking.
“I am so jazzed, I can barely stand still. Best news I’ve had all year. Well, okay, let’s schedule this deal. What about next Saturday? That give you enough time to round everybody up, hey?”
“Well, it would be, but Mama Kali, the Denver bike club, has scheduled a run for that weekend. I don’t think you want to string Roxanne up in the middle of that crew.”
“Maybe for our first anniversary. If we ever have one. So when is the space available?”
Tyre checked her desk calendar. “The first weekend of next month. And after that it isn’t free again until June.”
“Okay. That’s it, then. What time should I bring her by?”
“Why don’t I send my driver, Michael, around for you at nine o’clock? Put Roxanne in a hood and manacles. If you like, I’ve got a mummy bag you can zip her into. Or you can just throw a cloak around her and stuff her into the back seat of the limo. Michael will give you enough lead time to get here on your bike. That way, Roxanne won’t know where she’s going or whether or not you are going with her. When Michael arrives, she can call me on the car phone. There’s a back entrance to the basement so we won’t have to carry her in through the main floor. The disco bunnies would pass out en masse.”
“Aw, c’mon. It would be so good for them.”
“Look, they have a right to their own version of a good time. Leather and vanilla don’t mix real well. I’m not very fond of 69 myself—“
“Yeah?” Alex said dryly.
“Except in the context of dominance and submission, you bitch, and if I was about to come in my girlfriend’s sweet little mouth, I wouldn’t want to be interrupted by a series of harrowing screams or the sound of a belt hitting a bare butt. Look, don’t worry, this is going to be notorious, all right? The rumors are already circulating. We’re going to have to post Simba at the head of the stairs with a cattle prod to keep the voyeurs from using a battering ram on the dungeon door.”
“The first weekend of next month, huh? How am I going to keep myself busy in between now and then?”
“Well, I know what I’m going to be doing. I’m going to be taking each of the dominatrices on a tour of the dungeon we’ll be using, showing them how all the bondage equipment works. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get more familiar with the premises, either.”
Alex’s voice went shy. “Oh. Yeah. Well, I been already. Last weekend. You, uh, you weren’t there I don’t think. So you wouldn’t know. That I was there. You know?”
“Oh, ah, no, I didn’t, shit, um, know you were here. Well, god-dammit, why didn’t you tell me? I would have brought you down some champagne.”
“For some reason the security guards didn’t seem to be too fond of me, and I didn’t think any of them would do me the favor of taking you a personal message.”
“Oh. Of course not. Damn. Well, I guess I’ll see you for sure anyway the first weekend of—”
“Next month. Yeah. Story of my life. But be still my heart, it should be a good one. Get lotsa beauty sleep.”
“I promise.”
Perhaps it was the guided tours of the dungeons, which kept turning into auditions or dress rehearsals for Alex’s scene, which made it easy for Tyre to keep her promise. She slept very well during the interregnum. In fact, she got so used to standing around in the dungeon, wearing full leather, waiting for someone to show up, that she barely registered the fact that this was it, the big night, the main event, until Alex strode in—an immaculate black knight in her racing jacket, codpiece pants, and engineer boots—counted heads, and said, “Who the fuck is missing? What did they do, call in sick?”
Kay and EZ came swaggering in right behind her. They were dressed the same way they had been when Tyre tracked them down on Folsom Street. EZ wore black-leather chaps over 501s that had faded and faded until they were nearly white. Her motorcycle jacket was off the rack, no customization, and she wore a plain white T-shirt underneath it. Her black hair was very short, spiked out, and had platinum stripes bleached into it above and just behind her ears. She was thin and butch enough to look like a young, very cute, boy-punk. This made her a perfect piece of bait for Kay to throw into the shark-bars South of Market.
Kay was a little older and more feminine. The blue jeans under her chaps were a bit newer than EZ’s, a pale blue instead of white. She had put a navy-blue rinse over her long, dark hair, and it showed in certain angles of the light. She wore a lot of tooled silver rings, hippie-looking things, which she loved to take off one at a time while a prospective victim stared at her hands in dread and fascination. Her jacket was virtually identical to EZ’s, but she had tied a red bandana around her left upper arm, whereas EZ wore a chain dog collar threaded under her left epaulet. Her T-shirt was made out of black ciré, and her boots had high heels instead of a plain cowboy walking heel. She made up for that by wearing Mexican spurs with long rowels.
“Sorry we’re late,” EZ snickered. “We hadda see a man about a horse.”
Alex kicked the door closed behind them. Her countenance was stormy. Of course, the telephone picked that moment to ring. Tyre intercepted Alex, who was headed for Kay and EZ with her hand upraised, and dragged her over to the phone. She kept an arm around her while she talked.
Alex rubbed her face and velvety scalp all over the front of Tyre’s jacket, trying to calm down. Finally she pulled away enough to get a good look at her. Tyre was wearing a red-leather leotard with her trademark long crotch zipper under black chaps made of glove leather. Over that she wore a black-leather jacket with long, red fringes that swirled around her whenever she moved. Her high-heeled boots came up to her knees, and the tops turned down to reveal scarlet cuffs.
Tyre moved one of her long, rhinestone earrings out of the way and put the receiver up to her ear. “Drive around for a while,” she told Michael. If she remembered correctly, today the chauffeur was wearing Marine Corps dress blues. Too bad Roxanne couldn’t get a gander at that. “We need some time to get acquainted. I’ll call you when you should deliver the goods.” Then she told Alex, “It won’t hurt to let Roxanne stew for a little while. Give her a chance to get into the spirit of the thing. Now come and meet your partners in sex crime.”
But EZ didn’t wait to be introduced. “So you need a little help with an uppity slave?” she yelled at Alex.
Alex frowned. “I wouldn’t put it that way,” she said carefully.
“How would you put it?”
“Up your ass!” Alex snarled.
“Whoa—now, wait a minute! Where’s all this hostility at? Didn’t mean to, uh, demean your competence—you know? Really, man, let’s change the subject. How’s the weather up there where you hang out? Got a wild hair up your ass or maybe just up your nose?”
