The Latex Queen
Somehow, the sun was still up, streaking the sky with bright bars of orange and purple as it reddened above the reaching horizon.
The metal of the barbecue rang as it cooled, its hinged lid open like a hungry mouth, the grill stained with clotted barbecue sauce like stalactites reaching towards the cold burner. The cloth covering the folded-out plastic table shifted slightly in the gentle breeze, the same breeze that made the skirt of Michelle’s summer dress ripple around her thighs.
Smeared plates and empty plastic bowls that once contained a variety of salads and coleslaws lay scattered like wreckage across the table’s surface. The classic backyard barbecue, genus Summerica, species Americanus. They had long since moved on from the food portion of the evening, leaving the detritus of dinner lying around as they moved speedily onto the drinks.
Now they reclined in sated torpor on the new-bought patio furniture, the glory of the sunset shining in diminished reflection in the curved green glass of their beer bottles.
“Well, I’m just so happy for you guys,” said Jess.
Leaning forward in her chair, she held out her bottle for Michelle and Eddie to reach out and clink theirs against it. Jess was slender, and despite the heavy meal she had eaten, the effects of the alcohol were quickly becoming apparent.
Still, thought Michelle, she was a cute drunk. She just got silly, and giggly, and a little over-affectionate. It was nice. And nice, too, to be sitting here, Eddie’s arm around her waist as she leaned back on the cushioned two-seat outdoor sofa, relaxing on the wooden deck with its fresh coat of stain applied by her husband just last weekend in anticipation of a summer full of events like this.
Her husband. Blindly, her fingers sought his on the cushion between them, and his hand curled around hers as they met and merged.
“Yeah,” Michelle smiled.
Her bright blue eyes caught the last of the sunset as they found Eddie’s matching set, her smile spreading to his handsome face like a fire that leaps from treetop to treetop through the starry air between.
“I think we’re stronger than ever now.” Eddie’s graying hair glowed silver, lit from behind by the dying sun as he leaned in towards her and kissed her tenderly.
“Awwww,” Jess grinned at them. “That’s so romantic!”
The kiss broke, and the reunited couple smiled into each other’s eyes for a tender moment. But beneath Michelle’s dress, something was starting that had only a tenuous connection with romance.
No one mentioned it, but the empty armchair across from where Jess sat was eloquent. They all knew what it signified. And for all Michelle’s genuine happiness at her resurrected domestic bliss, there were other, darker forces at work within her. A touch of acid to cut through all this sweetness, to keep it from getting unbearable. Everything in proportion, she reminded herself. She stood, smoothing her dress over her hips.
“I’m just going in for a bit,” she said.
If Eddie and Jess guessed the nature of her errand, they didn’t mention it. Jess knew, she was sure of that. Eddie probably just avoided thinking about it, in that near-miraculous way men have of shutting out unwanted thoughts. Michelle envied them that, if not much else. After all, being a woman certainly had its consolations.
“Does anyone need anything when I come back out?”
“I’m fine,” said Jess, a slow smile spreading fuzzily over her pink face.
“I’ll take another,” Eddie said, waving his half-empty beer bottle in her direction.
Michelle nodded, sweeping up an armful of plates and empty bottles as she kicked aside the screen door and stepped inside. The plates crashed loudly as she deposited them on the kitchen counter. They could wait until morning.
Michelle had more pressing matters in mind as she headed for the door to the basement, her heart thumping like a metronome. Her flip-flops flapped against the wooden stairs as she descended, announcing her arrival. Not quite the sexy sound of high heels. But what did that matter, she reminded herself?
The joy of having a sex slave - one of the joys, anyway - is that you can dress up if you want to, but you never have to.
Jay turned his head. His eyes were watering, probably from staring up at the basement’s halogen light. She should really get some better lighting in here, Michelle thought to herself. Now that she was getting so much more use out of the unfinished basement than she did before.
Jay’s chest heaved as he breathed in, steeling himself for the encounter. Thick leather straps held him in place, keeping his prone body tightly bound to the red leather padding of the bondage bench. His arms hung at the sides, his wrists chained to the intricate steel of the expensive bench. His ankles were restrained with thick leather cuffs. Only his head remained free to move, swiveling on his neck to fix his watery brown eyes on Michelle as she approached.
Of course, all these restraints weren’t really necessary. Jay probably would have stayed naked in her basement restrained by nothing more than her stern command. He was getting more obedient by the day, it seemed, submitting to her will becoming almost second nature to him. Resigned to his fate.
A fate he didn’t exactly hate, she reminded herself. At no point did Jay have to go along with her twisted little games. Yet he did, because deep down, he needed this as much as she did. Well, maybe not quite as much. Still, some dark part of him craved the sexual heights he could only reach through degradation, though humiliation, through pain. That was the part that obeyed her. Michelle smiled. One of the parts, anyway.
“Well, well, well,” she purred as she approached the bench.
Her outstretched hand danced across his skin, and she was delighted to feel a slight tremor as she traced the shape of his ribs, his chest securely bound to the bench with a belt so tight it creaked every time he breathed.
“Look at my little slut, waiting here for me so patiently,” she teased, her hand sinking lower as she slowly circled Jay’s bound body.
She heard his breathing quicken as her fingers skipped lightly over his naked hip, the deep line of his pelvis, and he moaned loudly as she began to idly trace the teeming veins of his erection.
“That’s what I like to see,” she cooed. “This cock should always be hard in my presence, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, Lady,” Jay gasped, his voice strangled by his demented lust.
His nostrils flared as he sucked in air, as though that might somehow help him alleviate the tormented desire that racked his body. That sweet torture Michelle had proved to be such a master of. It was that, more so than her whips and chains and physical tortures, that brought him so readily to kneel at her feet.