Put Me In a Skirt and Hurt Me: The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of Mistress Sophia (10 page)

“Yeeesssss ... yeah, yes. You are right.”

“So along comes Mrs. Pea and she has some kind of something that makes you quiver. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Quivering—yes, that’s good. But the total lack of control? I hate it!”

“Ha, ha, yeah, baby. You get to experience what your subs do with you. But, do you really hate it? Isn’t it a little enticing, a little exhilarating, to be at the mercy of someone else? To have someone else paying attention to all the details and directing the play? All you have to do is stand there, flooding your panties.”

“But I LOVE being a top!”

“Hell, yes! And, Sophia, you are sincerely the best. I’ve heard it from numerous sources. Remember, Mrs. Pea, she’s just a little vacation for you—a little break. Maybe even a way to recharge so you can go back to your subs refreshed.

Sophia sighed and stared off into space. Was Tommy right? Could she just have a “Mrs. Pea vacation” every once in a while and still retain her sense of self? Was she making too much out of it? No. She remembered too vividly that sense of losing herself, of not being able to connect to her strong dominant persona for weeks. Mrs. Pea had sucked her personality out of her like some kind of vampire bitch. Mrs. Pea was dangerous. She wasn’t just a holiday. For whatever reason, Mrs. Pea had the power to turn Sophia into ... into Willow. And if that happened Sophia wasn’t sure she’d have the ability to come back to herself.

She bit her lip. What was she going to do?

16

P
EARL SCOOTED DOWN
the hallway, maneuvering around the mail boy with his little metal cart, the sandwich boy with his sizeable basket, and a few attorneys having a meeting on the fly. She made herself a mental note to check with the sandwich boy; something had smelled yummy, like truffle oil, as she flew past. She grabbed the doorjamb and spun into Willow’s office.

“There’s a woman in the lobby for you.”

“I don’t have anything scheduled.”

“I know, I’m your assistant, remember? I know when you have someone and when you don’t. She won’t leave. She says she’s a personal friend and that she’ll wait till you have five minutes. She’s ... there are tears in her eyes.”

Willow covered her eyes with her hands. “Please. Send. Her. Back.”

Pearl turned on her heel and headed out. A moment later, Porsche slunk in.

“Hey, I’m sorry ... ”

“You can’t just come here!”

“I know…I…you won’t return my calls!”

“
Porsche. Look. Isn’t it clear from what happened”—this part in a whisper—“at Mistress Sophia’s ... that ... well, we shouldn’t be a we? Besides,
you
ignored
my
calls for at least a week! I tried to contact you and you ignored me. Now you turn around and show up in tears? At my office? No. You can’t do this. I will not have dyke drama unfolding in my office. You have to go.”

Porsche exploded into sobs.

“No! No! Oh, for Christ’s sake! Goddamn it!” Willow flew across the room and shut the door. She did the one thing she promised never to do—she lowered her blinds. “Let the gossip begin!” she raged. She took a deep breath, led the soppy mess over to the couch, and sat next to her.

“Porsche. Remember how we met? With our asses puckered up and thrust out for Mistress Sophia’s inspection? Come on. You had to know in your heart this was just going to be a fling!”

“I wanted to go to London and Paris and you were going to buy me a big fucking diamond ring and maybe even a car and I wasn’t going to have to work at fucking Starbuck’s the rest of my life!”

“What?”

“I ... we ... we ... ”

“This is all about the stuff I could have bought you? Are you serious?”

“It was about our life! How fun and exciting we could ... ” Porsche trailed off in wonder.
Oh, shit, am I really that shallow?
“I should fucking go.”

“Porsche! What ... ”

“You’re right. I’m a fucking awful twat who only cares about clothes and cars and flats in London and someone flying me to the fucking Eiffel Tower. I’m a complete waste.”

“Porsche ... ”

“I’m sorry. For barging in here, for ... everything.”

“Wait. Look. Let me check my schedule and see if I can take an early lunch. We’ll go somewhere.”

“See, there you are being a nice girl, even after you find out I’m a user-loser. Don’t do that! Don’t be nice to me. That would be the worst thing ever! Just ... let me get out of here with a shred of dignity.”

Willow looked down at her hands then back up into Porsche’s eyes. The girl pulled out a balled-up Kleenex and wiped her eyes and nose. Her face was a mess of blotchy red and white. She blew, then got up and went quickly out of the office.

Willow raised her shades, returned to her desk, then sat like a zombie for twenty minutes before her next client.

Porsche kept her face down and walked as fast as she could to the bus stop. She got on the first bus that came, hoping it was heading toward her apartment, but not willing to stand in public waiting for her regular Number 7. Luckily, she was headed in the general direction of her place and was able to get off about four blocks away and scurry home. Once inside, she grabbed a new box of Kleenex out of the closet and a beer out of the fridge and sat on the couch, shell-shocked.

I’m a depthless, hollow, superficial cunt! I’m a dud.

She took a slug of beer and blew into a fresh tissue.

Have I always been this way? Do I really love things more than people? I thought I loved Willow ... did I really just love her money? Is it so wrong to want to be taken to Paris and treated to pretty clothes and taken out to fancy restaurants?

Fresh tears poured down her cheeks.

I’d have done it for myself if I could have! I didn’t have the opportunities Willow had! I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth! I ... who am I trying to kid? I could have put myself through college. I could have made better choices. I could be working my ass off right now at Starbuck’s and get a manager position. I just don’t. I don’t even try.

Huge amounts of self-pity tears cascaded out as Porsche slumped over in defeat. She sat up and took another slug of beer.

My life is a fucking disaster. My sister paid my rent the last two months, my bills are astronomical, my car is about to die and will never pass the smog test, I’m hated at my job because I come in late, leave early, am surly to the customers. I eat crap, I don’t exercise. I make fun of everyone. I’m condescending, critical, and ignorant.

No tears this time just a terse pull of beer. It was gone.

Porsche grabbed her purse, rummaged for her cell phone, and dialed.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes, thanks. Willow, I am so sorry about today and ... ”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I do need to worry about it. I’m a crass classless fuck. But I don’t want to be. Not anymore. I want to be ... I want to be more like you. Concerned about me even when I used you. How do you do that?”

“Porsche, you are not a crass classless fuck.”

“Yes, I am. I know it. But, would you ... can you help me to not be? I mean, I don’t even know where to start. Can you give me nice lessons?”

Willow laughed. “Oh, honey! You are nice. But, yes, I can ... I don’t know ... help you show your good side more.”

“Sounds lame, I know, but yes, I have got to get my head together. Help me?”

“If that’s what you really want.”

“It’s definitely what I want. My life is a fucking shambles.”

“First piece of advice, drop the
fucking
. It’s not pretty language for a nice girl like you.”

Sophia sat in her blue mohair chair, enjoying a late afternoon glass of iced tea. The tea was a pleasant blend of youth berry and orange blossom. She’d found it at a trendy little teashop next to the Coach store. She’d been shopping for a new purse but didn’t find what she wanted. As she left the store, a young man had accosted her with a little plastic cup half filled with pink liquid. Usually, she walked past these sample-mongers without a word, but that day she’d been a little parched so she’d taken the cup and drank. It was delicious! She’d ended up spending over a hundred bucks on the two types of tea. At home, she brewed them separately—one took a two-minute steep, the other a five-minute steep—then combined them in one pitcher: Ambrosia.

Sophia had a tablet on her lap and had begun writing down all the pros and cons of Mrs. Pea.

Pro:
She makes me feel like no one else makes me feel.

Technically, Sophia was the “bottom” in most of her interactions with Tommy, but she still remained a powerful force to be reckoned with, pushing back against Tommy as hard as she got: demanding to be fucked, not quietly taking it. So, no, she wasn’t really subby with Tommy. But with Mrs. Pea? Yes. It was like she was Superman and Mrs. Pea carried around a hunk of kryptonite in that gorgeous purse of hers. The power just drained out of Sophia when she’d entered that bathroom. Was that a bad thing? She wasn’t sure. That’s what the list was about.

Pro:
She makes me feel like no one else makes me feel. And how was that? Wet. Completely dripping with desire. That feeling she’d had when she was sixteen and wanted to hump everything and anything and would go into the bathrooms at school and jam her hand up inside herself just to relieve some of the intense pressure of swirling teenage hormones.

Con:
I am powerless when I am with her.

Now, was that true? She couldn’t remember clearly enough if she was powerless or if she’d let go of her power. Was there a difference? And was another encounter with Mrs. Pea going to harm her irrevocably or would she always be able to return to her good old domi self, albeit after some time had passed? Could she retain some of her power in Mrs. Pea’s presence or would that ruin the whole experience?

She tapped the pen against the pad then threw both the pen and pad across the room onto the couch. She reclined back in her chair and took another sip of her delicious iced tea.

I’ll have to see her again. That’s all there is to it. I can’t know until I know.

She thought back to their phone conversation.

“Hello, dear, I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home but I was just thinking about you ... ”

It was Monday. Tuesday was the meeting. Would it be another hand-off of damp panties and see you later? Would Mrs. Pea have something else in mind? Would she take her home with her? More importantly, was Sophia ready to totally submit to Mrs. Pea and let her dictate the events of the evening?

“Anything for you, Mrs. Pea!” she said breathily and took another sip of her tea.
Hmmmm. Don’t like that so much.
“How about, Get on your knees, bitch, and come and eat my underwear off me, you want to taste me so bad!”
Woo hoo. That was more like it!
But then she wouldn’t get so turned on, would she? Wasn’t it the way Mrs. Pea took complete control that made her wet her pants?

“I don’t need to be in control all the time,” she said to the walls. “I could be a Willow for awhile.”

Her tea finished, she got up and picked up her glass, the pad, and the pen and tidied up a bit. Then she went to her closet to find the perfect outfit for her meeting with Mrs. Pea.