In general, I’m not a fur coat sort of girl.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a PETA activist or anything, even though PETA
activists spend almost as much time naked as I do. But my distaste stems
from something more mundane. I’m a South Texas farm girl. I wear blue
jeans and boots and tee shirts. And the few times I’ve been made to put
on a fur coat has always made me feel uncomfortable, like I was pretending to
be something I’m not. I can go for costumes, but a fur coat? That’s
not a costume. It’s a statement. And yet, I was grateful for the one I
was wearing. It was cold and to be honest, I wished the coat was longer, since
my legs and feet were freezing. My bare toes peeked out of a pair of
sandal style shoes with four inch tall heels. I swear, Kari’s obsession
with my feet being as bare and arched as possible will be the death of me.
Maybe this is why I caught pneumonia last year…
The dress I was wearing, if you could call it
that, was of absolutely no help. Made of some elastic, half gauze half
lyrca type material, it lacked any insulating attributes whatsoever.
Worse, someone named Kari had taken an Exacto knife to various parts of
the dress, ventilating it from collar to hem, as well as the small of my back
downward. I’d been shocked when I first put it on and found my boobs
hanging out well in front of my attire. I looked like a fish caught in a
net, or a trussed up sausage. But maybe that was the idea. After all, we
were going to a party; a rather special, New Year’s Eve party and I had to look
the part.
I was accessorized too though. The bling
is just as important right? But most women would have found the spangles
I wore to be a little much, even demeaning. Instead of a fancy necklace
that drew the eye to the graceful lines of my neck, or maybe even my impressive
cleavage, I wore a black leather collar studded with four steel loops. It
was buckled tightly around my throat so that it resembled a choker.
Instead of silver bracelets, both of my wrists were bound in bondage
cuffs, the steel buckles and additional metal hoops ringing with the key chain
type clasps that had been attached. I was told that the matching cuffs on
my ankles were there purely for aesthetic value, but I’m not an idiot.
They were functional and bore matching clips that I could feel dangling
down against my heels.
Unlike the monthly meetings of the Society of
the Golden Rose, an upscale lesbian BDSM club catering to the ultra-rich and
their deviant minded submissives, this party was something special. It
was a chance for the divas to glitter and shine, to get dressed up in all their
finery. To really put on a show. And even though I was well aware that I,
as well as my fellow submissives were the show, I couldn’t really feel unhappy
about the situation. Everyone would be there.
Kari was a bit quiet during the whole “getting
ready” process. She’d selected my dress, done my make-up and hair, and
then assisted me into my wardrobe. Finally we were ready and I’d slipped
on the fur coat she’d bought me a year and a half ago and we were ready.
The cold winter air had attacked my lower half so I was grateful Kari had
the heater cranked all the way up. We drove north to Tomball and about
forty-five minutes after leaving Kari’s condominium, we pulled up in front of a
well-lit home.
Home? Mansion would be a better way to
describe it. At least from my perspective. It was four times bigger
than my family’s farm house, which isn’t exactly modest. But this place?
Wow. It was a Victorian style with a healthy mix of New England.
Everything was painted white or this light cream, with darker grays for
the eaves and shutters. The landscaping was trimmed back for winter, but
there were still leaves on the boxwoods and the jasmine still crept along the
beds. There were about a dozen cars parked along the road and on the
driveway. Kari pulled up and we got out. I hurried toward the door
as Kari followed more sedately.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my breath steaming in
the air. Cold air was wafting up under the coat and since I wasn’t
wearing any panties, and the dress provided zero assistance in resisting the
chill, my moist and bare petals were getting a bit frigid.
Kari smiled at me and nodded, choosing not to
say anything. I thought it damned peculiar and it made me stop right
there on the sidewalk leading to the front door.
“Kari?”
The blond vixen in front of me turned and looked
back. She was wearing a long black coat which covered up a glittering red
dress that made her look like a runway model. Kari is thin and tall and
her straight locks hung down well past her shoulders. There was this look
in her eyes that made me quiver, all the way down to my toes. I’d met her
in sixth grade, gone through puberty with her, discovered sex, became her
submissive, allowed her to dye my mousy brown hair fire-engine red, and given
my body to her so many times I’d lost count. We went to the same college, lived
together, eaten together, suffered together.
“Breanne,” she said softly, reaching out and
putting her hand on my arm. “I’m fine. Really.”
I gave her a suspicious look but then shrugged.
If she didn’t want to tell me, then she didn’t have to. But I’d
known her for most of my life. I knew something wasn’t right.
We climbed the steps of the front porch.
There was a swinging bench and the windows were curtained with a fine
gauze that gave a hint of movement inside but concealed everything. Kari
rang the bell and a moment later the door opened.
By a little French maid.
“Good evening, Mistress Kari,” Madeline said,
doing this cute little curtsey. Her eyes flashed to me and I grinned
back. Madeline was wearing her maid’s uniform, which to be honest, was
more suited for a porn shoot than actual chores. The skirt was just a
pair of ruffles, white under black and didn’t cover anything lower than her
hips. Her bare slit was wet and just as obviously stuffed with something
motorized because I could see a bright pink wire emerging from between the flared
petals of Madeline’s sex. The shirt she wore seemed to be missing some
key parts, like a front. It buttoned up fine, just under her breasts,
sported a gaping hole for Madeline’s bosom, and then buttoned up to the neck.
She wore a collar like mine and there was one other little item we
shared. On her right nipple there was a piercing; a gold hoop which also
sported a charm sized padlock. There was a black enameled rose on the
lock; the sigil of the Society.
“Can I take your coats?” she asked graciously as
the door was shut behind us. Kari shrugged out of her coat first. I
would have been loath to remove my own, if I hadn’t already felt the blessed
heat wafting over me. I slid out of the furs and watched with a certain
amount of satisfaction as Madeline’s eyes saw my dress. I could tell she
wanted to say something, but instead she just gave me a wink and took my
coat, laying it over Kari’s.
“Please enjoy the festivities,” she said.
I’d never been to Isobel’s house before but the
first thing I noticed was that it looked like a Pottery Barn store had exploded
everywhere. The place reeked of it. Don’t get me wrong. I like
Pottery Barn. It has nice furniture and accessories. But Isobel’s mansion
was decorated in that singular style throughout. I could see Kari
wrinkling her nose. I couldn’t help but agree. Too many beiges,
creams, and sage. It needed color. On the flip side, it would
always be easy to find Kari. She was the only one wearing bright red.
There was a study on the left, lined with book
shelves with a beautiful desk. A formal dining room was on the right.
Both were occupied by a number of women, all of whom I knew intimately.
And when I say intimately, I mean just that. One of the perks of
the Society is variety. I’d had sexual relations with everyone at one point or
another, and while some of the mistresses weren’t my favorite to spend time
with, there was no one I didn’t really like.
The first thing I noticed was that Madeline and
I weren’t the only ones forced to strut our stuff. Every submissive was
wearing something revealing. Georgia Tai was dressed in what appeared to
be a sari, but transparent. Underneath the material her skin had been
decorated with gold colored henna designs which swirled from one shoulder, down
across her breasts, to turn and swing past her navel, crossing a hip, dancing
back toward her bare sex, and then down her right leg to her ankle. Like
Madeline and I, her right nipple was pierced and you could see the padlock.
Rather than bondage cuffs, she wore bracelets on ankle and wrist, each
spangled and ringing lightly with every step.
Wendy was there too, wearing a short, pink
number with a plunging neck line. Disturbingly, her bondage cuffs matched
the color of her dress. Kaitlin wore a white, floor length gown that would have
almost been appropriate for a wedding, except that the front was a flowing mesh
gauze material that left her prurient parts completely exposed.
Everywhere there was a flash of gold and symbol of the Society.
