The Red Curtain: Part I

 

Mise en ScŤne:


In the smokelight, you are invisible. The crowd murmurs around you, the air thick with sexual excitement. Anticipatory whispers slip between friends, and kisses are covertly exchanged by lovers sharing plush sofas. And youíre almost not-there, sinking into a black leather chair, a good single malt cupped in one trembling hand. If it werenít for the bluesy vibrations rumbling in electric currents through your veins, youíd hardly know whether or not you exist. But you do. And youíre mine. And youíre ready, arenít you, my darling?

You watch the red velvet curtain for any sign of movement. A rustle, there? Are we starting? No, it was nothing. Just your imagination, my love. And what an active imagination you have.

 

In the smokelight, you are invisible, but you see all. In one darkened corner, a young, fit blonde and her lover are working one another up for the festivities. The light is low, but you can see his hand on her pale breast, her immaculately polished fingernails sliding through his hair. He groans low, and she yanks his head back, revealing a black leather collar, a glinting O-ring. Hooking one finger through the ring, she tugs downward sharply. He disappears obediently under the table, and she rakes a hand through her long flaxen tresses, moaning softly as she grinds her pelvis against her submissive little slutís face. Yes, my loveÖ in the smokelight, you are invisible. And the show is about to begin.

You check your distinctive Girard-Perregaux timepiece. Two minutes to
midnight. Nothing too expensive for you, is there? From cufflinks to shoes, youíve the finest in everything. All the better, my darling. The higher the throne, the further you fall. Thatís what the late showís all about.

The show starts at
midnight
. The witching hour, they call it. But youíve long since been bewitched, havenít you? Poor, pliable little boy. Your hand moves instinctively to the hot patch of flesh on your right buttock. The brand of my initials is beginning to heal, but you feel it burn now, as you always do, when you intuit that Iím near. You didnít expect it to hurt that much, did you? Refreshing to hear how even a little painslut can be made to howl properly when a burning iron is applied to tender places. And now youíre mine forever. Sitting in the chair Iíve assigned you, wearing my mark, waiting like a good obedient boy for the late show to begin.

The Late Show at Jezebelís. Youíve heard my other submissives whisper about it, but you havenít been invited before, have you, my sweet? And youíve silently endured the hot lick of jealousy when Iíve clipped the other boys to my leash and allowed them to accompany me to the late show. They all come home changed somehow, donít they? More sweetly obedient, more contentedly chaste. And youíve been yearning to tag along, too, but you havenít complained, and Iíve noticed how good youíve been. Your Mistress sees all, and youíre being rewarded for your patience now. Itís finally your turn.

You sip your scotch pensively, wondering what awaits you. Your surroundings are not unfamiliar, as youíve been to this burlesque house beforeÖ Jezebelís is the venue at which most of my performances take place, and youíve seen a pretty few. Youíve looked up adoringly with hundreds of other men as Iíve bumped and sizzled my way through a variety of complex, fantastical routines exquisitely designed to tease and torture. A coy glance over one smooth porcelain shoulder, a falling glittery garment, a blue-eyed wink through my curtain of fiery red hair. Give a bit and take it away. Thatís my specialty. And youíve felt your pathetic little cock strain against its restraints, felt your cheeks burning as you see me cast the flirtatious glance that youíve so often mistaken for affection at strange men and women. Youíve seen my shows, and through my performances, youíve come to realize that youíre no better, no more important to me than the thousands of others who have stared enraptured at my sinuous body, captivated by my wicked sensuality.

 

Youíre no better than any of them, but you do worship me properly. Believe me, I knew what I was doing when I ensnared you. I saw your potential, your raw need to be owned and objectified. And I worked cleverly at chipping away your defenses, didnít I? Small orders at first, seemingly innocuous requests. Get me a drink, darling. Iím parched. Rub my feet, would you? Theyíre absolutely aching from my pointe class. Be a dear and pick up my dry cleaning, and do have some dinner on the table when I get home from rehearsal. I know Iíll be famished. A steak, please, and bloody. You do know how I like my meat raw. 

 

And later, the requests that sounded more like orders. Iíd like a back massage, boy. And then you can rub the lotion into my legs after I shower if you please me well enough. And out in public, at the nightclub: Darling, go tell that gentleman in the Savile Row suit that Iíd like to make his acquaintance. He looks to be more a man than you could ever hope to be, doesnít he? And at home: Here, Iíve a list of errands Iíd like for you to run. Donít forget to pick up that leather collar from Northbound Leather while youíre out. Oh, and speaking of leatherÖ Iíve been craving a pair of those retro-look white leather Christian Louboutin heels. Go purchase them for me, darling, and be quick about it. Iíve got a date tonight.

 

And before you knew it, you were doing things youíd sworn youíd never doÖ things that made you feel sick, things that offended your sense of decency and your self-respect. And sometimes you did them with people you didnít like, or with my other lovers, or people youíd never even metÖ all because Iíd requested it of you. I knew from the moment I met you that you wanted to be devoured, and Iíve had a lovely time making a meal of you. Youíve enjoyed every perverse moment of it, you filthy boy.

 

And now youíre here, and you donít know what to expect. But youíve seen my other shows, and you think you have some idea what youíre in for. Au contraire, silly thing. You may have seen my burlesques, but youíve never been to the Late Show before, and believe me, my pet, itís a beast of an entirely different nature.

 

But you want this, donít you? Youíve worked hard to get here. The strips of flesh left on your back throb as you remember the agreement we made. Forty lashes in exchange for a trip to Jezebelís. The biblical irony of it hasnít escaped you, has it, darling? Weíre mixing testaments, but semantics be damned. I take my pleasure as I find it. Your back is still hot from the beating, isnít it? The bits of ground glass I rubbed into the cropís keeper have gotten under your skin and I donít imagine the lemon juice I finished you off with helped soothe the irritation. How clearly it speaks of Mother Natureís sadism that the juice causes excruciating pain, yet also has antiseptic qualities that will help you heal more quickly so that I can bloody you once again. You sobbed like a child for some time after Iíd finished with you. I could hear you from the next roomÖ Please do take some comfort in knowing that I rode my lover to orgasm with your cries of anguish ringing in my ears.

The red velvet curtain rustles again, and this time itís not a false alarm. The lights fade down on your surroundings, and a spot of warm yellow light rises at the curtainís centre. The crowd quiets, leaning forward in anticipation. The blonde Mistress in the corner releases her submissive from her thigh-vise grip and tugs him sharply by the collar to a kneeling position by her feet. He curls up around her ankles obediently, sighing with pleasure, his face shining with her glorious cunt-juices. Lucky boy.

 

And you wait, as youíve been so well trained to do, my darling. The silence is oppressive, the atmosphere steamy with the promise of wicked entertainment. Your scotch is cold in your hand, beads of sweat gathering on the outside, trickling between your fingers. As the band slides into a sensuous riff, you wonder deliciously if the show will be worth the forty lashes. Of course it will. Perhaps youíll even be a featured performer.

 

A moment of absolute still, the air thick with delicious anticipationÖ

 

                                                                     Ö the curtain parts ever so slightlyÖ                                            

                                             

                                                                                                                        Ö And thenÖ

 

 




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