Friday Rituals: Part IX

I drove home, and walked three flights of stairs up to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I entered, taking a look around me. I had done my best to decorate my suburban apartment, as much as I was allowed, but it wasn’t home. No pets to greet me, which was fine, because that also meant no responsibilities to another life either.

I kicked off my heels, and treaded softly down to the bedroom. I was suddenly overcome by the silence in my apartment. I took off my red dress, and examined myself in the mirrored doors again. Lovely red welts laced my cheeks, and I could see where the paddle had made its mark.

I had no need to masturbate-Lysistrata had taken care of me. I lay gingerly on the bed, and decided to roll over on my stomach. The tick-tock of the clock was thunderous in my head as I pondered over Lady Madonna’s questions. I had done some light research on BDSM activities…meaning I visited some porn sites showing women mildly tied up and eagerly doing things their daddies probably wouldn’t be proud to see. I had hints of deeper and darker doings through media exposure to people like Marilyn Manson, but I didn’t fit that genre. I had watched some porno videos, but everyone knows those aren’t realistic. Those were stimulation for my masturbation.

I needed more research.

I got up, put on my soft terrycloth bathrobe, and went to the computer in my makeshift dining room-office. I began searching for erotica to read. How else would I know what I wanted?

I was shocked to find Anne Rice had a pen name and had written BDSM erotica. I kept searching, finally made some purchases on line, requesting next day delivery – I didn’t have time to waste in making my decision.

* * *

The books arrived dutifully Monday-I retrieved them from the rental office when I got home from work. I raced upstairs, and began my education of being a slave.

* * *

One book I ordered was the foundation of all BDSM erotica, The Story of O. I began with that one, believing all others take their cues from O.

O turned me inside out. I read it in one night – my emotions going into sensory overload. I found myself turned on, frightened, excited, disgusted, and at the end, sad. I tried picturing myself in O’s position. How far would I be willing to let my master or mistress take me? How much pain was I willing to bear to feel that significance of love and fulfillment?

I don’t think branding is something I could do. Most of the other things O was demanded to perform I think I could do, but the branding, only to lose her master and go to another…part of me believed a person should not be passed on from one to another so freely.

I went to bed, unsure of what game I was playing.

* * *

While at work Tuesday, sitting in my gray cubicle, I pondered if O was the reality. I decided to call Lady Madonna. I had Anne Rice’s novels to read still, but I also knew those were intended to arouse the reader more than inform.

On the way home from work, I called her.

Lysistrata answered.

“Hello, Lysistrata. This is Sarah. Is Lady Madonna available to speak?”

“No, she’s with a client. Can I help you?”

“Lady Madonna gave me a proposition Friday, and I need some information.”

“What type of information?” asked Lysistrata.

“I know very little about submissive lifestyles. I don’t know how far it goes. I’ve been doing some reading, but it seems very extreme.”

Lysistrata laughter sounded like crystal. “Let me guess, you’ve read O, and you’re intimidated.”

I felt like a child. “Yeah, in a nutshell.”

“Listen. BDSM lifestyles are as varied as normal lifestyles. Some couples live it 24/7, to the utmost extreme, and others create rules and settings.”

I paused. “What about you?”

Lysistrata hesitated. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my relationship in detail. I can say it’s a 24/7 life. It’s fulfilling to me – Lady Madonna is my perfectly matched mistress.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you still want to her to call you back?”

“Please. I need information from her perspective.”

“Okay,” said Lysistrata, “I’ll have her call you when she gets a chance.”

“Thank you.”

We hung up, and I didn’t feel any more informed than I was before.