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As the camera moved, a woman’s porcelain skin seemed to glow against her dark hair. A modern Morticia. She sat on a seventeenth-century, baroque-style, high-back chair like a queen on her throne. When the scene zoomed out, two dominating butches stomped their way to the queen and tossed a tattered slave to the ground in front of her. The movie’s point of view changed, now seeing everything from the prisoner’s eyes. Seated on the Italian-designed chair, the regal woman spread her legs wide as an offering to the slave. Just then, the camera zoomed in on what Ari and Billie thought would be the inner sanctuary of her womanhood as it faded to black.
A sensual voice rang through the computer’s speaker, “Step into an immersive realm where you dictate the boundaries solely by the expanse of your own imagination. A domain where your fantasies unfurl, transcending the ordinary and embracing the extraordinary. Dare you enter the Adytum?” Then the screen refreshed, providing two options: Member or Performer.
The two best friends looked away from the screen and at each other, their hearts beating a rhythmic pattern of percussion so intense that Billie pressed her hand against her chest to stop it. “Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?”
Ari returned her gaze to the screen, her hand over her mouth, absorbing what she had just seen as she shifted in her seat. There was a dampness that settled between her legs, making her uncomfortable next to her friend. It was almost as if the answer to Billie’s question was more of an internal monologue to herself. “More than ready. I’m ... wet.”
“Wait, what?”
Ari’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. She backpedaled. It hadn’t really dawned on her much until the presence of the dominating woman on the screen made her feel small and insignificant, not so much with her regality, but in a sexually charged fashion. She tossed the computer aside and stood up, pacing the room to rid herself of thoughts of being taken hostage by a beautiful queen. “Well, I ... I don’t know. Who hasn’t thought about being ravished by—” Ari pointed to the computer screen without finishing her sentence.
“Ravished? Or more like punished. That woman is more likely to devour you for dinner than just snack on your snatch.” Billie passed a half-witted laugh until she noticed Ari wasn’t joining in on the humor. “Have you really thought about this type of place?”
She huffed, answering with the brutal honesty Billie implored, “The idea—more like, fantasies—has crossed my mind a few times. Dreams. Vivid dreams of being tied up, spanked. Dominated.”
Billie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “I never expected to hear that coming out of your mouth. You don’t seem like the type.”
Ari shrugged, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through her. “Yeah, they’ve always been in the back of my mind, but I never thought of exploring it until this opportunity presented itself.” Ari hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “There’s this whole aspect of dominance and submission, power play, and ... Well, what if I go there to investigate and come out of it with this newfound appreciation for it?”
“And a rich girlfriend who wants to turn you over your knee?”
“Doubt that.”
Billie tugged the computer forward again, motioning Ari back to the sofa. “If this is what you want to do, then let’s apply for a job.”
Still on the screen were the two soul-stirring options: Member or Performer. A choose-your-own-adventure decision needed to be made, though there was only one choice. She’d have to perform, whatever that meant to the eccentric underground world. Her stomach knotted, churning within as her hand gripped the mouse so tightly that if it had been alive, she would have crushed its little bones into a million pieces.
Just as she pressed the Performer button, the fire alarm blared like an omen at her decision. Not indicating that the apartment was on fire, just that her finished pizza set off the oversensitive smoke detector. One of the drawbacks of a cheap apartment: nothing seemed to work right. Billie jumped up to fan the alarm, then pulled out the pizza to cool. The perfect consistency was a crispy bottom and charred edges.
She returned to the sofa where Ari had filled out the application on the screen, answering the trivial questions of work history, as well as vital yet personal sexual preferences for a job in this industry. At the end of the questionnaire, there was a section that asked for a full-length sensual photo of the applicant. The hum of perplexity came from each of them, although for different reasons.
“Are you sure about this?” Billie asked, tossing Ari a sideways glance. “I don’t know any company that wants a picture of an applicant prior to an interview. What kind of job is this, really?”
“A ‘sensual photo.’” With her finger, she gave a nervous tap to the screen, then pondered aloud, “Naked or clothed?”
Ari reached for her phone, flipped on the screen, and handed it to Billie. “You can’t be serious,” Billie said.
With a surge of determination, Ari pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a black bra that covered just enough of her breasts to keep the girls in place. For the better part of twenty minutes, she immersed herself in a flurry of seductive poses. Both of them winced at the initial outcomes until, finally, one photograph captured her beauty authentically, devoid of any forced quality or the awkwardness of a sixteen-year-old feigning maturity. That perennial baby face, an attribute she held in disdain, posed a constant challenge in commanding others’ respect and hindered her efforts to be taken seriously. After a few clicks, she uploaded the best photo, then closed her computer, putting an end to the brief but earnest photography session.
The mood tensed after the application, hanging over both of them even though it was only Ari whose life would change if they called her for an interview. While she agreed to try, there was no guarantee she would get the so-called job that Terry intended. She might have been a lesbian, but it didn’t mean the likes of Adytum wanted her as an employee.
They ate in silence until the last slice. When there was nothing more to occupy their mouths, Ari hopped and twisted on the sofa, her body now facing Billie with a need to discuss something important. “If I might get this job, I need to not be oblivious to it. I need to go to a sex club.”
Beer spat from Billie’s mouth, shocked that Ari had said it. “Are you looking to get laid or just window shop?”
“Neither, but I know of one down by the docks. The Pendulum. Some trans girls went one night. I couldn’t go because I was masquerading as a guy, but maybe we should check it out.”
“To get an idea of what goes on inside one?”
Before delving into the unknown world of Adytum, a reconnaissance mission to familiarize herself with the scene and gain a better understanding of what they might encounter made perfect sense. “Let’s do it!”
Chapter 4
Without taking her eyes off the kaleidoscope of colors, Dylan slipped between two female bodies, inching in enough to place her elbow on the bar to secure a spot for a round of drinks. In any other situation, she might have been happy being in the gooey center of two women whose presence was like a warm, vanilla sugar cookie. But with the attendance bursting at the seams, their closeness was more like an oven that melted her insides, and not in a good way. It was stifling. Added to that, the chaos of voices demanding to be heard over the surround system blaring four-on-the-floor beats and syncopated bass lines from all directions kicked Dylan’s migraine into high gear.
“Hey, handsome, what’ll you have?” The sharp twang of a woman’s voice caught her attention, which she directed to the bar. A rainbow-colored lens flare momentarily blinded her. In front of her, a voluptuous woman with waves of sandy blonde hair and ample cleavage tossed a seductive smile as she leaned over the bar. She might not have been alive in the eighties, but that didn’t stop her homage to a forgotten time when women jacked their hair up with the cancer-causing fumes of Aqua Net.
Dylan had glimpsed images from Ida’s history, capturing eras when women flaunted more hair than a sense of virtue. Beneath the cascade of voluminous locks, the bartender possessed a certain allure that prompted a self-assured smirk to cross Dylan’s lips. The vision of that same woman brought to her knees, pleading for Dylan’s touch, fueled a surge of ego-driven satisfaction. “Whiskey. A double. Neat. And a Sex on the Beach.”
