When I first saw her the word that came to mind was Goth. But now that label seems poorly lacking. Instead, words like vixen, temptress, and siren seem more appropriate.
She always sits at the same table, a mess of papers before her, sipping espresso from a delicate white cup. For a few days now I have been trying to figure out what it is about her. Why I find her so intriguing. And the only explanation I can come up with is the fact that she radiates sex. Everything about her screams “fuck me”. From her darkly lined eyes and pouty crimson lips, to her tall black leather boots.
She always wears those boots. Today she has paired them with a short black dress that is too low cut, thigh-high stockings and a bright blue wig.
I can’t help but envy her. The way she dresses so outrageously without giving a damn what anyone else thinks. And I envy how the men stare, obviously as intrigued as I am. Not that I don’t get my fair share of male attention. I’m attractive enough, with pretty blonde hair and a nice body. But let’s face it, she is an orchid and I am a dandelion.
Suddenly she is standing over me. I raise my eyes to meet hers and my jaw drops. Her presence is overwhelming. Her energy is heavy, raw, and she even smells like sex. She smiles at me and there is a demure innocence about her that I hadn’t noticed from a distance. I smile back. At least, I think I smile back.
‘Hey, can I bum a cigarette?’ she asks.
‘Um, I don’t smoke.’
‘Oh.’ She pulls out the chair beside me and sits down, crossing her long legs. I resist the urge to stare at the milky white skin between her stockings and her skirt. ‘Do you mind?’ she says as she is breaking off the corner of the half-eaten brownie on my plate.
‘Go ahead.’
When she pops the pastry into her mouth I catch a glimpse of not one, but two piercings. Wet silver balls glimmering against her tongue. ‘You’re here a lot,’ she states.
‘Yes.’
‘What are you writing?’ she leans over to get a better view of my computer screen.
‘A screenplay.’
‘Of course.’
‘You?’ I ask as I motion towards her table in the corner.
‘The same.’
‘Of course.’
We smile in camaraderie. Screenwriters are a dime a dozen here in the city of angels. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed that,’ I continued. ‘I thought you were probably an actress, or a model. You have a very unique look.’
She laughs but her brown eyes darken. ‘Oh I am. Or I was. A model.’ She lifts her hands and indicates quotations on the word model.
‘Anyway, I need a smoke. See you later. I’m Scarlet by the way.’ She holds out her hand, nails painted red, and I take it.
* * *
Sitting alone in my small bedroom I do an internet image search with the words ‘goth model scarlet.’ I find her on the sixth page. I click on the image and it takes me to a website for fetish and BDSM porn.
She is sitting on a couch, her legs spread wide, her white skin illuminating my dark room. Her full breasts are falling out the top of a corset, large pink nipples soft and hard at the same time. Her long black hair is in pigtails. Her pussy is shaved, plump pink lips spread apart by clamps attached to leather bindings. Her face is upturned towards a man who is holding a flogger. Her lips are parted and wet. And even though she is tied with her hands behind her back, she radiates power.
I reach my fingers between my legs, almost angry to find how wet I am. But I begin stroking myself anyway. I imagine how it would feel to kiss her wetness. Wondering how she might taste. I lick my own juices off my fingers and moan.
I imagine that I am the one standing over her. That I am the one holding the flogger that is striking her pale skin. I imagine the leather hitting her large breasts. I imagine the way she would scream as I flogged her there, between her legs. I imagine her spread before me, tied and helpless. I close my eyes and come hard. I come in waves of desperation and guilt. And afterwards I spend too long staring at her picture. Entranced. Just as I am in reality.
A week later I am walking home from the post office with a package tucked beneath my arm. It’s a nice autumn day so I take the longer route home. I haven’t seen her for days and the longer route takes me past the coffee shop.
Sure enough, she is sitting outside, scribbling away in her notebook. Our eyes meet and my breath catches. She is dressed in a schoolgirl outfit: a short plaid skirt, a white blouse, and a clearly visible black bra beneath. She waves at me, bouncing in her chair.
As we greet one another I glance nervously from her face to my feet, swallowing hard as I think of the images saved on my laptop. She talks a mile a minute, telling me all about the “idiot hipster wannabe” she just broke up with.
‘Hey, do you want to go get a drink? I need a fucking beer or something,’ she says, as she begins scooping up her piles of paper and stuffing them into her bag. I nod my head stupidly and follow her, feeling a bit like a teenage boy in love.
Soon we are seated in a booth at a nearby dive bar. She is still talking about her ex and I am nodding in sympathy. But all I can think about is touching her. I have never wanted to touch a woman, but that doesn’t matter. I want to kiss her. To reach my hands beneath her shirt and squeeze her breasts. To slip my fingers beneath her skirt and explore the folds that she so readily shows to the world.
‘What’s in the package?’ she suddenly blurts out mid-sentence.
Immediately I turn the colour of the wine in my glass, the colour of her name. I pull the package closer against my hip. ‘Oh, I …’
‘What?’ She smiles slyly and raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re blushing! It’s something naughty, isn’t it?’ I love the way she says that word. Naughty. How her mouth opens wider and her pitch rises. ‘Oooo can I see?’
I swallow hard and nod, slipping the large manila envelope across the table. She rips it open and pulls out the black flogger that I ordered online.
‘Mmm, this is a nice one,’ she coos as she runs the leather strips across her palm. ‘So is this for you, or for your boyfriend?’
My fingers caress the stem of my wine glass. ‘Actually, I don’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Hmmm.’ She bites her lower lip in a delicious manner and my pussy begins to throb. Maybe it’s how unbelievable this scene is, or maybe it’s just the wine, but I suddenly feel light headed. I start to giggle.
She cocks her head and smiles in response. ‘You’re cute,’ she says brightly, and I am amazed at how someone can be so childlike and so sexual at the same time. ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Are you submissive or dominant? Do you like to be in control, or to be controlled?’ Her eyes look smoky now, and she is slowly stroking the long handle of the flogger.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Of course you do. Why else would you buy this? Are you bi?’
‘I … don’t know.’
She looks at me, a long silent moment, and then, her voice ripe with promise, ‘Do you want to find out?’
We enter her apartment and I follow her into the bedroom. Though it reminds me more of a dungeon than a bedroom. Hooks and straps and other various instruments that I can’t name hang from the walls.
My breath is shallow, my heart is racing and my pussy is soaking.
She walks up to me, takes my hands, and places them on the soft curves of her breasts. Our lips meet and I can’t believe how yielding hers are. How soft and sensual our kisses are. It’s so different than kissing a man.
I run my hands over her breasts, and she moans as my fingers skim her nipples. I squeeze her breasts, knead them, and her moans grow deeper. I kiss her harder, feeling the heat of her mouth and the smooth metal of the piercings against my tongue. My hands drift down to cup her arse beneath her skirt. Somehow I am not surprised to find she is not wearing any underwear. Her skin is smooth and warm, and I pull her soft body harder against my own.
Soon our hands our everywhere. With fumbling fingers I unbutton the top buttons of her blouse, then yank down her bra to expose her beautiful full breasts. She is looking up at me, wide eyed, waiting, and I don’t think I have ever seen anything so lovely. I take her nipple into my mouth and suck. She moans and arches her back. I bite her, gently at first and she squeals. I bite harder.
‘Do you want to tie me up?’ she asks, though it sounds more like a request than a question.
I nod. She strips naked then shows me how to tie the bindings that hang from the posts of her bed. In a few moments she is spread eagle, just as I have imagined her in my fantasies. But this is far better.
I am standing over her and I can hear the blood pumping through my veins. I feel a strange sense of power that is both unfamiliar and welcome. Slowly I run my hands over every inch of her perfect body. She squirms and moans as I dip my fingers in between the lips of her cunt. I spread her wetness onto her clit and tease her. And then, I don’t know why I do it, but I slap her pussy. Hard. She cries out, but her cry is followed by a breathy, ‘yes.’
I slap both her breasts. Her nipples harden even more. I pinch her nipples and pull on them, watching as her face twists in ecstasy. ‘Harder, please,’ she moans.
I obey. I want to fuck her the way I’m certain all the men in her life must. The idea of it makes my heart pound against my ribs. My hands are acting of their own accord, twisting, groping, slapping, and the rougher I am the more she responds. And the hotter I get. She is lifting her hips in the air, begging me to take her.
I lean down and lay kisses up and down her thighs, licking and biting gently. She spreads her legs wider in invitation and I move in to kiss the wet lips of her cunt. I can’t help but moan as I take that first long lick. She tastes musky and sweet at the same time. She is soaking. She pushes her cunt forward and I bury my face in her, licking and sucking the way I liked to be licked and sucked. I lose myself entirely in her beautiful warmth and suddenly I understand why men like doing this so much. I slip two fingers inside her and flick her clit with my tongue. She whimpers and I seize her clit between my lips, sucking hard.
‘Oh God … yes … fuck.’ The pitch of her voice begins to rise. ‘Yes! I’m going to come!’ I pull away and sit back on my heels. She whimpers, a pout upon her face.
‘Not yet you aren’t.’
I grab a pair of stockings off the floor and stuff them into her eager and obliging mouth. I pick up my new leather prize and run the long handle down the soft curves of her belly.
‘Such a naughty little slut.’
In this moment I realise that there is no more guilt, no more confusion. There is only power and joy.
I raise the flogger over her.