A Gathering of Clowns
Chapter 12 So Look Into The Clown’s Eyes For Truth
London, England, 1993
Folake watched carefully as Madame used one device after the other. A riding crop, a bamboo cane, a willow switch, a leather paddle, a variegated paddle, a wooden paddle, etc. She watched how Madame used her wrist, which devices had a follow-through and which were sharply stroked. What sorts of marks each left and the reactions of the recipients; she took it all in.
The ‘victims’ were a man and a woman, both in their forties, who were tied hanging on meat hooks by leather straps. The word ‘Meat’ was actually written in lipstick across their chests. Madame was amused by that.
The scene was taking place in a warehouse with cold concrete floors and an atmosphere of despair. Each individual was paying one hundred pounds for this session, which would end with at least one orgasm for each of them; but Madame was also using the session as training for her protégé, Folake.
Two hours later, after the session had ended and they were sitting with their bourbon, Madame made her points.
“It is in the eyes, and the body gestures, where the dominant one sees what works. No two submissives are the same, remember that. And we are not into slave trafficking, this is S & M, there is agreement here, so there must be understanding. Watch your partner, see what works and what does not. The eyes do not lie.”
Carman had been woken by Folake to shower together, and today the woman was very diligent about washing. She had pressed a penis-shaped soap into Carman’s anus and left it there. After drying off, Folake replaced the soap with a stubby, black, three-inch butt plug.
“My slave will leave the plug in place until I decide, understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Carman replied solemnly, although there were certainly moments when she wanted to laugh out loud at her bizarre, to her, circumstances. Today it was clear her ‘mistress’ had a plan, and Carman needed to accept this invasion of her body.
Folake then had her submissive put on a thin cotton dress, leaving its four buttons undone. The dress was short, the hem came to just an inch below the crotch, and Carman was not wearing anything under the dress. She had not asked where they were going; she was learning the protocol; a slave is told what they need to know.
Folake looked into Carman’s eyes, then smiled. She had seen what she wanted, and had her slave put on a pair of flat sandals. With her heels on, Folake was now the taller.
Waiting for them outside the apartment was a dark sedan with a driver. The two women climbed into the back and Folake gave the driver an address. As they sat side by side, Carman’s dress was lifted up above her waist and Folake had her spread her legs about eight inches apart. She stayed like that until they had reached their destination, exposed, and aware also that her nipples were straining against the thin dress and clearly visible; and every bump they progressed over reminded her of the inserted butt plug.
At one point Folake remarked, “You feel the plug, yes?”
“Yes, my, mmm, mistress,” Carman had dutifully replied, restraining a smirk.
“That is good. That reminds you that your ass is mine, yes?”
“Say it, my slave.”
A spring of pure desire surged through Carman’s body, alarming her with its intensity. “My, um, ass, belongs to you, mistress.”
“And your mouth?”
“A-and my mouth, m-mis…” Carman needed to lean back against the seat, the smirk long gone. The need to reach between her thighs was so overwhelming she had to grip her knees with both hands, her breath coming hard.
Folake laughed softly, “Thank you my sweet Carman, that says more than any words.”
They had arrived, the address of their destination being part of a commercial strip that included a restaurant and bar, some clothing stores and at the end, a sex shop, Eve’s Delight, that specialized in lesbian-based products, though not exclusively. Folake had been directed here by someone she trusted.
The driver opened the door and Folake pulled Carman’s dress back into place and they stepped out of the car and headed to the store.
“I met her,” Emily said quietly, sipping her tea. This morning it was Darjeeling.
Melanie looked up from a book (how quaint, Emily had smirked when she first saw Melanie reading an actual book). “Saw who, er, whom. Which is it? Anyway, name the woman,” Melanie laughed.
“Ivy Bennett,” Emily murmured.
Melanie put her book down on the glass patio table. “You saw, um, how? Where?”
It was Emily’s turn to chuckle. “Thought that might interest you. I flew up to San Fran. That’s where she’s lived since Count Van Hawkins sent her, um, packing. That’s the expression?”
“Oh my God. Emily how did you ever, oh, never mind. I think it’s better the less I know. But tell me, what on earth did she have to say?”
Emily supplied her aunt with a summary of the conversation and Melanie sat, in thought. “So…Sarah was having an affair. Well, is that a great surprise? Although right under Stafford’s nose was, um, risky. Unbelievable.” She shook her head, but at that moment Chantico came out, carrying bowls of chopped fruit.
As they approached the large glass front doors of the store, Folake said quietly, “Keep your eyes downcast unless instructed.” Carman simply nodded, unsure if she could speak without gagging, her throat having tightened with excitement verging on panic.
They entered and Carman was amazed at the size of the store with several isles all carrying sexual products. They headed to the right and had gone a few paces when a clerk intercepted them, brandishing a huge smile. She was perhaps five three, with her head shaved into a classic Mohawk, and dyed green. Her arms were both covered in complete tattoo sleeves and she had one eyebrow ring, one nose stud and a stud below her bottom lip. Carman thought of Emily.
“May I help you ladies?” she asked, looking them both up and down with enthusiasm. If she had licked her lips and howled, it would not have been out of place.
As Carman fixed her eyes on the ground, Folake began, much as if she had been in Walgreens looking for toothpaste. “Yes, thank you. I am looking for collars for my slave, and a few other items, but let’s start with that.”
The clerk looked at Carman with new appreciation. “Would this be for training or decorative?” She asked.
“Both, really,” Folake replied and the clerk turned and headed down an aisle, Folake and Carman following. They came to a display with dozens of collars and discussed them, Carman standing and listening, sensations coursing through her. Being discussed as an object, in public, with an absolute stranger, was incredibly arousing and Carman had to fight the increasing urge to touch herself.
“This is one of our more popular models,” the clerk took down a shiny, black, leather collar, approximately three inches wide. ”It has a heavy duty design with security,” she pressed two metal rings together, “a lock fits here, if you wish. Notice, three layers of leather. It’s a premium unit, and comes with matching ankle and wrist restraints.” She smiled and held it out for Folake; you could almost hear her add, “wanna take it for a spin?”
Folake held it and smiled. “Would you kindly attach it to my…bitch.” The clerk smiled like she had just won something. “I think we should have her naked, on top, to appreciate the collar.” Folake murmured, and the clerk’s grin grew wider as she pulled the top of Carman’s dress down over her shoulders, exposing her two small, pert breasts, with the large nipples now standing out so stiffly they resembled a couple of dark brown corks.
In a moment the clerk had fastened the collar around Carman’s neck and stepped back to admire. It was an arousing sight. “I think we should have the dress off completely and the bitch on all fours.” Carman instructed, and the enthusiastic clerk tugged the thin garment off and watched as Carman assumed the positon on hands and knees, her breathing now coming hard through flared nostrils. “I would need a matching leash.” Folake said, quietly, arousal building in her as well.
“Of course,” the clerk exclaimed, quickly finding one and freeing it from its cardboard back, then attaching it to one of the rings of the collar and handing the loop to Folake, who gave it back to the clerk, saying, “Please walk her.” The clerk, grinning madly, walked Carman around on her hands and knees. “You’ll want knee pads if you do this much,” the clerk commented.
By this time, two young women, early thirties, had stopped nearby and were watching the show with interest. Carman was vaguely aware of bodies and movement, but her mind was simply becoming a blur as she could actually feel an orgasm beginning. She knew a few moments of touching would be all that was needed, but for now she focused on Folake’s voice.
“Bring the bitch here.” Folake indicated the spot directly in front of her. Every time Folake had uttered ‘bitch’, Carman had felt a pang of arousal, almost as if a finger had been stabbed into her sex.
“On your knees, legs spread,” Folake ordered and Carman rose and sat, waiting, swaying slightly. Folake turned to the clerk. “Could I ask you to put your shoe against the slave’s pussy? I think we would all like some fun.”
The grin having never left her face, the clerk pressed her sneaker into Carman’s shaved crotch, as Folake commanded. “Ok, slave, hump this woman’s shoe. I want to see you come.”
Gripping the woman’s leg, and thinking of nothing else but the joy awaiting her, Carman began grinding her pelvis against the woman’s foot. With eyes closed and mouth opened, the moans began almost immediately. The two women moved around for a better view from the front. One woman began to sneak her cell phone out for a shot, but a signal from Folake stayed her.
As she had felt, Carman was so close to climax that she had only been pumping for thirty seconds when the thing hit, shaking her and convulsing her. The world turned into nothing but light and pleasure; no noticeable sound coming from Carman’s gaping mouth. Certainly no words, her mouth unable to form them, her mind not interested in making them.
It was like a water wall of pure joy, sweeping and rolling Carman along; she had experienced excellent orgasms in her life, including recently with Emily and Folake, but this was something beyond that. It was like a wave that obliterates a beach, clearing all before it.
As Carman lay, collapsed against the laughing clerk’s leg, Folake dressed her. She paused to give and receive the cell numbers of the two women, before giving the clerk a list of items. Seven minutes and three hundred dollars spent later, Folake was leading a still-dazed Carman, wearing her new collar, out of the store and to the waiting car. Once inside, Folake covered Carman’s face with kisses and Carman moaned and ‘aahed’, wanting to climb inside the body of her mistress and to just be.
An hour later, lying naked together on Folake’s bed, they talked of the experience, Carman wanting to say precious things but Folake placing a finger against her lips. “Save those thoughts, churning up, my sweet. There will be a time.”
Carman did say, having decided earlier, “I want to show you something.” And with that she led Folake to her laptop, opened it, found the files on the bank accounts (she had now matched seven, totalling over ninety million.) “I want to talk to you about Emily and some bank accounts.” Carman said quietly, then gripped Folake in a ferocious hug.
Folake gently patted her partner. This was…interesting.
It being Saturday, it was ‘Drewsie Day’, as Emily announced it. Though, truth be told, she had tired of this a while ago; but she didn’t want Downing to become complacent. Today she had decided to do something different. It had begun by Chantico shaving Downing from the waist down. Although his pubic area was already bare, now his thighs and legs were also clean.
Chantico then applied a strap around the man’s waist that had a thin ‘noose’ attachment which fit under his groin and over his penis head. When attached and pulled back in a locked positon, Downing’s penis was pulled hard into his groin and testicles, making them sit snugly. This mattered, as Chantico next pulled some frilly woman’s panties onto the man, and they fit well with his genitals hoisted.
Next came a matching garter belt with dark nylons, then a padded bra (made for female impersonators, Emily had found it online. Imagine that? She had told Melanie, who just shook her head in disbelief). A very feminine pink dress completed the wardrobe with black, low-heeled pumps.
Once this was all satisfactory, Chantico had gone to work on Drew’s face with lipstick, eye shadow and mascara. A blonde wig over Downing’s thin hair completed the makeover. Emily and Chantico now just sat and admired. “Shit,” Emily exclaimed. “He looks pretty damn good.”
Chantico clapped her hands and said, “Oh my God, Miss M. He is better looking as a woman.” Emily nodded.
Downing smiled; he wasn’t going to tell them his cock was trying mightily to raise itself.
On Monday, as Carman sat at her desk trying to concentrate, her mind would not cooperate. On Sunday she and Folake had gone out and done things like normal people do, including having a nice dinner together. It was Saturday that would not lie still. Images from her session in the store came back over and over; Carman admitting to herself that on Saturday she had passed across a bridge, from what she was to what she might become.
She, who had once thought herself demanding and dominant, could not stop thinking of her mistress. Yes, it was that; absolutely. She took out a piece of paper and wrote. My name is Carman Da Costa and I am a slave. The jolt of desire rose within her.
She continued. My Mistress’s name is Folake. If she could, right now, she would plunge her hand between her thighs, but she was sitting in her office and that could have consequences. I belong to her. It was building. She owns me.
She couldn’t stand it; she dialed Folake’s cell, and in a moment the wonderful, warm voice replied, “Hello, Carman. Why are you calling me from work? I thought we had worked this out?”
“We had, I’m sorry. I just needed to hear your voice.”
Folake chuckled softly. “Well, are we better now?” she asked, her voice particularly musical today.
“Mmmuuunn,” Carman moaned, “No, I need to be with you.”
“Okay, my sweet one, that is good. Someday we might have that luxury, we will see. Right now you still have a job, a career, but you won’t if you keep calling home during the day. Now, you get back to work.” She laughed, “Oh, and tonight let’s finish off the rest of those bank accounts. That will give you something more to think about.”
“Absolutely Mistress, after I spend some time on my knees with you.”
Folake chuckled again, “See you tonight, sweet slave.”
The call ended and Carman sat for a moment, and then there was a knock on her door, followed by the imposing form of Ivy Prendergast entering.
“Hey there,” Carman saluted the woman; it had been a while since the two had spoken more than a few words to each other.
“Hey there, yourself. I’ve missed you.” Ivy said, leaning against the door.
Carman laughed and nodded her head. “I’m sorry. With the, um, events here, there have been demands. It should quiet down shortly.”
“And then we can resume?” Ivy asked, an odd look on her face. But then she continued, “It’s okay, Ms. Da Costa.” She smiled. “I know you’ve found someone.”
“Why do you say that, Ivy?”
“Well, your hair is different (Folake had put a bit of a curl in her hair only this morning, saying she wanted Carman to begin looking more feminine.) And, well, you are preoccupied, but not with your usual stern face. You are happier, excited. That means something personal.”
Carman sighed and nodded her head. “You got me, Ivy. Yes, I have begun, um, seeing someone. So far, so good.
But you never know, right?” She looked at the woman.
“I still want you to use me, Ms. Da Costa. I still need, your, uh, attention.” They regarded each other in silence. Carman liked Ivy; she just didn’t know if she could go back to that, after crossing her bridge.
“Please.” Ivy said, looking like she might cry. “I will do whatever you want, but I need you, Ms. Da Costa. Even if it’s just here, before I go home. Spank my ass and use me. Please.”
“Okay, Ivy. I like you, you know that. But you’re also an employee, so there’s that. But we’ll see what we can work out.” She smiled in a sympathetic way.
Ivy smiled too; ever hopeful, and did a little curtsy before nodding good-bye and going back to her desk. Carman shook her head at the entanglement of relationships she was in. Just then her cell buzzed; it was Emily. Carman just laughed; thinking she’d need an assistant just to keep her love life organized.
“There,” Carman exclaimed, “yes, that’s number nine. Oh my God, let’s cross our fingers.” Folake nodded her agreement and smiled. They had been at this forty-five minutes and now they were coming down to crunch time.
Working in silence (Folake was true to her word that she would not disturb her) Carman moved on to the next bank account; leaving the one that had troubled her to the last. It was simple; if the password hadn’t worked on that one it must work on this one; if it didn’t, something was wrong and two of the accounts would not open for them.
After entering the series of digits and letters, Carman looked at Folake before she hit enter. There was a pause that was torture, and then the box turned green, and they were in. Both cheered and then they hugged.
After the celebration, Folake took Carman’s hands and looked at her. “We need to talk about what this means. About what happens next.” She said, solemnly.
“I know,” Carman nodded. “I’ve known from the moment I heard about these.”
Folake nodded her head again, looking wise.
Glendale, California, 2001
Melanie and Drew Downing sat out in the back area, ‘the clown fountain’, was how Melanie thought of it. Several trees stuck into mulch and rock; it was not an appealing place, for some reason. But it was quiet, and she wanted just to sit with Drew.
They had been together several times, and she found him to be shy but pleasant. She’d had limited relationships with boys, her father for some reason being ferociously protective of her. She had been with only two men, one who had taken her virginity and who she had gone out with for several months before discovering her was married. The other man she had permitted to undress and fondle her, and she had provided oral sex, but they had not made love.
So far, Downing had not made any advances other than some gentle kissing, but for some reason, Stafford was pushing her to consider marriage, and tonight, it looked like the introverted accountant would make his move.
Glendale, California, 2001
The marriage was a quiet affair; not surprising. Melanie was not anxious about the wedding night and all that it implied; perhaps nervous would be more accurate.
She needn’t have worried; however, as Downing kissed his new bride tenderly several times, and then cuddled up beside her and went to sleep.
Melanie sat in the darkness for a long time, thinking. She wasn’t certain if she was relieved, concerned or confused.
It was an odd event, for sure.
Glendale, California, 2001
It was eight days after the wedding, and Drew Downing was moving his things to another bedroom; it had been a mutual decision.
After several nights of inactivity, Downing had finally given an explanation; he was a masochist and couldn’t become aroused without pain (and abuse, humiliation of some sort).
Melanie just stood and stared.
Helena, Montana; 1987
Ten-year-old Melanie Hawkins wasn’t sure what to do. She was caught in her parents’ room, as they had come home suddenly and were now clearly headed her way. Without a lot of options, for some reason she didn’t want her father seeing her fleeing the room; she wasn’t sure what he would do but she was afraid. She ducked into the closet and sat, huddled and terrified. Through one loose slat, she could see some of what was unfolding.
Her father slapping her mother and knocking her down. Picking her up and ripping her clothes off. Pinning her down on the bed with her naked ass clearly visible to Melanie. Then more slapping and then the belt.
Those images and sounds were burned into Melanie’s mind that night, with the result that any violent action panicked her.
Years later, when her new husband asked her to abuse him, she needed to fight first the sense of panic, then the impending feeling of becoming sick and finally, just the overall sense of revulsion she felt now when she looked at him.
She asked him to leave, and they would never sleep together again.
“Very good then, we’ll see you tomorrow.” Folake ended her call and looked down at the dark head between her legs; Carman working studiously for her mistress’s pleasure. Folake brought her slave’s head up.
“Yes, Mistress?” she asked.
“I just wanted you to know that was Gina, one of the two women we met Saturday. She and Tracey will be dropping by tomorrow; they were quite taken by you, my dear.”
“Thank you.” Carman murmured. Folake nodded, then guided Carman back to her work.
“I’m not sure, I’m thinking another week.”
“Ok, cool.” Raisha replied and the call ended.
Emily put her phone in her pocket and started down the hall. She was tempted to knock on her father’s door but she resisted; there would be a time for that.
As she passed Melanie’s room on the way to her own, she paused. She was sure she could hear giggling. What were Chantico and Melanie up to, hmmmm? She wondered. Quietly opening the door, she stepped in and flicked on an overhead light. The figures in the bed froze, as did Emily, who stood gazing upon the trio.
Lying side by side were Chantico, Melanie and Drew Downing, in his feminized form. Emily recovered quickly, “Oh, hey, sorry. Carry on. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” She said and quickly stepped back out. Once outside the room she needed to cover her mouth to suppress the guffaws she felt.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, she thought, scurrying down to her room. Well, Melanie deserved some fun, after the dull life she’d had, Emily reasoned; she’d talk with her in the morning, reassure her. Poor Melanie, Emily smiled, I’ve turned her world upside down. (End of Chapter 12)