Love's Wicked Craft Ch. 03

"Well aren't you a WHIZ? Get it, whiz?"

The session concluded, the two women wiped themselves off, and then went for a shower together in the work out center's facilities. Hannah, surprised that Sally O'Malley's pink hair was actually fake, saw how pretty the woman also was without a wig and grease paint. She appeared pixy-like in her slightly grown out page boy shaped golden brown hair, with tresses that hugged her face to either side of her chin. As for the charm of her countenance, Sally had a healthy, wheatish sort of complexion, a straight nose with a gently turned up tip and her full lips were toned in a soft honey scarlet.

During the polite intimacy of their shower, Sally had asked for Baby's real name and Hannah introduced herself. Their play personas only just recently tucked away into the back of their minds, they chatted easily, less like two lovers determining whether they should see each other again, but like two friendly spectators, detached from the athletes they'd just been, having competed in the game they'd just played. Clean and comfortable in the basement's climate control, Hannah and Sally air dried as they crossed over to the mechanics room and put what clothing and towels they'd soiled into the washer. After a short excursion to Master Guryon's quite extensively fortified and immaculately maintained wine cellar and walnut furnished tasting room, Hannah and Sally lounged naked in the vast basement's media room.

It was half past midnight when Sally, flipping through the channels, mesmerizing Hannah with a flashing spectacle of successive explosions of image and sound, conveyed through the biggest screen she'd seen outside of a movie theatre, suddenly stopped at the Fun House's security surveillance application. At first, there was only a white screen, in the center of which, under the title of the application, were two edit fields for a user name and a password. Her attention aroused, Hannah looked over at Sally to see her setting a remote down, and then picking up another. Then, surprised and impressed, Hannah said:

"You have access to Guryon's home security?"

As a matter of propriety, they'd spread a clean towel upon the sofa's cushions before they sat. Sally, on Hannah's right, was seated with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Glancing at Hannah, she gestured toward the screen with the remote and shrugged. Then, after typing digits and characters into both fields, Sally said:

"Guryon likes to have a backup on nights he gets to play. So, since I don't get to play a lot, he asked me to do it. When he's not lurking the hallways, he usually checks the cameras from his computer in his den."

"You don't, play a lot?" Hannah asked sheepishly.

Sally, wanly smiling, turned to regard her.

"It's not easy," she said softly, "finding lovers, Hell, friends who care to indulge in, let alone understand, my funny little fetish."

"Can you," Hannah continued, "will you, have sex, without the make-up and stuff?"

Still wearing her weak smile, Sally glanced away and said:

"I can. I have. But, it's never been as much fun. I mean, my masturbation can't even happen without grease paint, props or cream pies. I think, maybe I just haven't found my one in a million fool yet, but that's what he or she has to be, one in a million, and one sexy fucking buffoon. You know? Good sex is best at its dirtiest, but, as you found out first hand, clowning around is some messy business."

Hannah smiled as she regarded Sally thoughtfully. I know this kind of woman, she mused. I've seen her in the mirror. I've felt her, alone in my bed. Only, no circus kinky for this pinky. Hannah felt a sudden rush of heat fill her cheeks and she glanced away.

"Thank you, by the way, "Sally said.

Hannah met her gaze again. Sally was beaming, luminous.

"For playing with me." She continued, "It was really nice. It was, great actually."

Their gazes lingered. Blushing a touch, Sally's cheeks became tinged with pink. Hannah's thoughts meandered, built speed, crashed around rock outcrops of memories and plummeted into a bubbling effervescence of feeling. I'm supposed to say "you're welcome." "You're welcome," I'm supposed to say. Gold digger, hair trigger, lounge singer, dead ringer-

"Everything weighs one percent less at the equator." Hannah intoned.

Sally, suddenly sent into a fit of snorting chortles, gave Hannah a good push on the shoulder, forcing her into the sofa's arm rest.

""Holy shit, you are such a riot!" Sally cried, "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I'm high functioning Autistic. I collect it so that I don't have to fall into the hole or lock the vault's door behind me."

Poised to press the remote's enter key, but struck abruptly still, Sally whispered:

"Oh my God I'm so sorry. I, I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, no, it's okay. It's nothing, at least now anyway. It was something, before, but my teachers and my, friends helped me work it out. What I wanted to say actually was, you're welcome."

Sally, meeting Hannah's eyes, her stare softening yet still troubled, puzzled, set the remote down between them.

"What we did," Hannah went on, "it worked for me, the craziness of it, your control and giving me direction, it met me where I function. Uh, socially, growing up, reading other people's motivations and desires as I fleshed out my own sexuality, wasn't the easiest thing to get my head around. That's why I really like Chase. She's the same way, more the same way, stronger, well, not the same way. No clowning. She's- What is she? Chase is all business, all down and dirty business, wardrobes, sets, props, scripts, she's like Stanley Kubrick meets bondage porn.'"

Sally's gaze, still fixed, became awkward and, realizing it, she glanced away and said:

"But, Chase never told us anything about your disab-"

Hannah instantly reached a hand to the other's arm and seized it. Sally looked at the hand, and then, her eyes filled with a sudden alertness, turned her gaze to meet Hannah's.

"Sally," she said with calm firmness, "my mistress didn't have to tell anyone about my disability because it's not one. What I am is an on-going social experiment, a person, one that happens to have a delay in picking up what she's supposed to pick up from social cues and exhibits some, minor, stims. And Heaven knows we all have our stims. Bill Gates: hello, Asperger's? I'm sure he still stims in bed, late at high, with Belinda. Who else is there? There's Gary Numan, Heather Kuzmich, James Durbin, Satoshi Tajirithe, the guy who made Pokey Mon, Daryl Hannah, Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Emily Dickinson, Henry Ford and, well, that's only a few."

Releasing her grip on Sally's arm, Hannah took the remote, and then pressed it's enter key.

"No shit?" Sally remarked, "Daryl Hannah?"

Hannah, smirking, glanced at the alias Madam Giggles.

"I feel stupid now." Sally announced.

"Aw, don't be so hard on yourself Giggles. I know you've been there. You find yourself a real nice guy. After a couple dates, you two get all naked. You run off to the kitchen. You come back waring the big red shoes and carrying a cream pie, and then you hop on the bed, spread your legs and ask him to smoosh the pie into your, petunia, and he's like what the fuck!"

Hannah took her eyes off the TV to gage Sally, who, having reddened considerably, settled her chin between her knees and stared glumly back at her.

"Sorry." Said Hannah.

Sally shrugged and smiled wanly again.

"Anyway," Hannah continued, "no worries. We good?"

Sally nodded. Hannah nodded in kind, and then turned back to face forward. The screen, having become a background of light greyish blue, was framed with a black border, inside of which was arrayed a grid of thirty or so thumbnails, each a camera view of some section of the grounds around the house or its interior. Considering the size of the screen, the images were not so much thumbnails as they were each their own twenty-five inch TV screen.

She could see the Shipman's cleaning up after themselves and Angelica slipping into something a little more comfortable. Samuel Rosenblat was getting hot wax dripped onto his cock byCissa and, in their personal little gymnasium, Cheevers was thoroughly dining on Jackie while Jackie's little friend lay with inert menace upon her belly. Below each image was a number Hannah assumed she could highlight with the remote's arrow keys. Testing her assumption, she found the media room in which she sat with Sally, arrowed to it, which indeed high-lighted its number, Twenty-four, braced herself, and then pressed enter.

"Holy shit!" she hissed.

Her profile loomed in the screen, behind which, eclipsed, and was the back of Sally's head. Wide eyed, Hannah observed her immense self, turned left to spot the camera, faced her gigantic profile again, and looked left again, looked forward, looked left, and then growled like a maddened and dispirited puppy. Sally, having covered her mouth to quiet the laughter, rolled across the sofa in hysterics. Then Hannah promptly stood up, turned left, turned only her head back to face the screen and stifled a horrified yelp

"Oh my God!" she yelped, "Yes, Wynona's got a big brown beaver!"

With that, Sally had become so beside herself with laughter that she was screaming into her hands and crying uncontrollable tears of joy. Having sat back down beside her, Hannah stared quizzically. Still possessed with unrestrained mirth, Sally turned her body to face Hannah, spread her legs, and then pointed at her petunia. Hannah raised an eye brow, glanced away, and then, looking back at Sally, said:

"But, I don't have a pie."

In that instant, Sally shut her eyes tight, arched her back, gasped for breath, and shivered, moaned with laughter, shook out the tremor of an orgasm, and then shot a sudden spurt of girl come onto Hannah's hip. They both looked at the watery little glob of cream as it slowly succumbed to gravity, and then, Hannah looked up to regard Sally with amused astonishment.

"I'm so sorry!" Sally squealed, panting as her laughter began to subside, "It's just that, silly makes me wicked hot."

"I see!" said Hannah, "Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk.

Set before the sofa was a glass topped polished drift wood coffee table, upon which, along with a few other remotes, was a box of tissues. Withdrawing a few, Hannah handed them over to Sally, but kept one for herself. After wiping her hip, she returned her attention to the colossal TV screen. Flicking back to the application's home screen, she scanned the thumbnails, found what she was looking for, highlighted number eight, and then settled back to watch. There, swinging from one side to the other, bound prone and face up, a very much tied up and seemingly fast asleep, Chase filled the screen.

Chase's position was stabilized first by her wrists and ankles with spreader bars, and then with a system of ropes that supported her around her upper thighs, the base of her back and around her shoulders, each line tied in an involved arrangement of knots along a bar, aligned perpendicularly overhead, that was in turn secured to the pulley that hung from the ceiling joist. Inside the suspension system, Chase was cocooned with ropes from around her heels to the top of her head, the back of her head cradeled in a nest of rope.

Other than the balls of her feet, her toes and her face, her breasts were exposed, though her nipples appeared each to be under the spell of its own rope. Standing behind Chase's head, with three lines held loosely in her hands, was Mistress Atsuko. At the opposite end, holding a pair of artist's brushes and painting invisible strokes of color across the bottom of Chase's feet, stood Mistress Keisha. In the back ground, between the far wall and the side of the bed, with arms folded across his chest, paced Master Guryon, watching, waiting.

"I've heard some of Master Guryon's slaves call your Mistress Mommy Dearest," Sally remarked, her tone subdued, "like in that old movie, about the crazy actress?"

Hannah turned to face her.

"Mommy Dearest?" Hannah repeated, "Why?"

Pausing, settling her back into the back of the sofa and folding her hands over her belly, she regarded her tryst mate with some reproach. Then she said:

"They say she's hit them with coat hangers. Does she hit you with coat hangers, Hannah?"

The muscles behind Hannah's eye brows crunched as her gaze grew dismayed and confused. There was a contrary gloominess in Sally's stare, a subtle condemnation in her tone. What the Hell, Hannah thought. You find a place where you can be welcomed as a freak, but then you get all high and mighty because you get your jollies from a few non-threatening giggle fits, so masochism is beneath you? You've got to make it awkward for me, now that we're all naked and after we came together? Mommies Dearest, huh. A pang of jealousy began to royal in Hannah's gut. Of course she knew Chase had scene with others, but the knowledge was a safe thing in its nebulousness, its general lack of fleshed out depth. Now, however, her mistress had a reputation, a history of indulging in other, possibly significant, subs, of hard, reckless, play, whether it was truth or rumor.

"She's incorporated a few things for discipline," Hannah answered, "yard sticks, rulers, she's pinched me nicely with a staple remover. But, no, Chase has yet to hit me with a coat hanger or, even a rubber chicken."

Pouting then, Sally folded her arms across her chest and looked away. Hannah let her gaze linger a bit longer before turning her attention back up to the screen. You didn't have to show me this, she thought. Maybe you have a problem. Maybe you're jealous. Either way, I don't care. It's not fair to Chase, for me to let myself wander through a second hand report of someone else's dredged past. Presently, having calmed herself down, Hannah watched the slow pendular swing of Chase in her rope cocoon and mused as to whether she would come out from her chrysalis more beautiful than before she'd gone into it.

"The truth is," Hannah then decided to say, "Is that Chase asks for much more pain than she's willing to give to me. Maybe, maybe other subs or whoever, maybe they were just test subjects, trials, errors, learning curves, and got themselves some cuts and bruises while she was becoming a better dome."

Whatever, Hannah thought. I don't want to be jealous. I just want to play. She flicked back to the app's main screen, turned her gaze on Sally and saw that she was tracing thoughtful finger tips around the edges of her petunia.

"Hey." Said Hannah.

Still pouting, Sally met Hannah's gaze. Admiring her wan smile and limpid eyes, she imagined the woman in her full Giggles regalia, and thought about the cream of the clown crop: the ones that had made the whole world laugh, only to end up alone, sick of themselves, sick of everything in the world that could never, ever, be funny.

Then, extending the remote to her, aiming to change the conversation, Hannah asked:

"How about Guryon?" What's his deal?"

Sally glanced at Hannah as she logged out of the security application. Then, sitting forward, she switched remotes and, laughing ironically, answered:

"He's got a huge dick."

"Oh yeah? Like it's got its own room in the house? Seriously: what's he about?"

Sally sat back, put her legs under her and flipped through a few channels. Stopping at a documentary about Mars, she sighed and Hannah turned to see her looking pensive again, her skin cast in a soft orange red.

"That's it." She answered, shrugging, turning her gaze toward Hannah, "He's a big man with a big dick. If you see him naked, he looks like a Richard Corben character, all hung, air brushed and buff, seriously. He's a super Dom, a top, always a top. Guryon likes to make women's darkest dreams come true for them. He's, he's a maestro, with the power to command whole orchestras with that dick of his."

With that, Sally looked toward the vast screen and resumed flicking. Whole orchestras, Hannah wondered as splashes of color and parades of people passed before her eyes. You sound like a groupy, Ms. O'Malley. Dare I ask? No. Then ask about her job. Screw that. We're naked. I don't want to images of little kids in my head while I'm naked. Then it came to her.

"Why the mask?"

Hannah turned to face Sally again. Still flipping, O'Malley glanced back.

"Why not the mask?" she answered, "its part of his persona, like not speaking is part of it, like my make-up is part of mine. Guryon's game is to exploit a sub's fears so that they become so emotionally charged by the scene he creates for them, that their greatest phobias become their greatest desires."

Yeah, I totally hear groupy.

"How does he make a living?"

"Couldn't tell you. Mistress Keisha knows, but she's not telling anyone. Personally, I think he's some kind of psychologist. But, if that was true, then what he does for fun would be unethical, I guess."

She guesses, huh?

"So," Hannah continued to probe, "is Keisha his lover?

Sally wagged her head.

"Keisha is his friend, his comrade in kink. She has her own scening she likes to do and I've never witnessed Guryon involving himself in one of her scenes, beyond making sure all participants were safe."

Then, after a few more fruitless flicks of the remote, Hannah announced:

I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"Sure," Sally agreed, "I could use a bite to eat."

She set the remote down and got on her feet.

"Okay then." Sally said, "Let's get dressed and head up to the kitchen."

"Get dressed? Why? I thought this was the Fun House? Come on."

Hannah rose, and then began to retrace her steps to the basement stairway. Turning, she noticed Sally's reluctance. Shrugging, Hannah flailed her arms in a comical gesture, and then beckoned the other to follow. Finally, though still somewhat hesitant, Sally trailed behind.

The two collared slaves were sitting at the kitchen's teak and granite topped island, propriety towels between their naked asses and the seats of their chairs. The red head was taking notes from a physics textbook and the brunette was playing The Room 3 on an iPad. It was the studious red head who heard their approach first. The brunette didn't move, Sally and Hannah having since offered their hellos, until the red head grabbed the tech out of her hands. Then, turning to face them, taking a few seconds to remind herself of who they were, the two guests not wearing any make-up or clothes, the brunette finally said:

"Oh hi! Can we help you?"

"Oh, we were just hoping to find a midnight snack, maybe?" Hannah replied.

"Absolutely Mistress." Said the red head, "What would you like?

"Oh, great!" Hannah said enthusiastically, "Well, maybe some of those amazing prosciutto and mozzarella filled deep fried rice balls we had at dinner. Any of those left?"

The brunette was at one of the two Sub-Zero 7000 series refrigerators when she stopped and, an obvious distress in her face, met the gaze of the red head.

"I'm, I'm sorry Mistress." Apologized the brunette, "They're all gone. But, I can take some out of the freezer and make you a fresh batch."

"No, no, no. Chill. Tell you what? Just make us a couple plates of whatever else you have left from dinner. Right Sally?"

Hannah turned to face her companion. Blushing, doing a little two step in place with her hands clasped over her petunia, Sally's foot-dragging about going upstairs naked didn't seem to have waned in the least. Either that or she was fidgeting, ill at ease over something else.

"Right." Sally answered, her gaze bouncing all over the kitchen, "Just make us a couple dishes and we'll be on our way."

Appearing slightly more at ease, the brunette nodded, and then stepped over to the second refrigerator. The red head had since gotten up as well and was gathering dishes and utensils. Hannah raised an eye brow, taking in the opulence of the kitchen, its six-foot La Cornue oven, the yards of granite counter space, the stretches of polished chrome and how the women's naked, flawless bodies, with their gleaming steel collars around their long necks, didn't seem in the least incongruous.