by Sasha Bond
"I don't know, Mistress," I said softly. "I don't want to hurt him."
Alison sighed. "Sweet gentle passive Faye," she said as she blew smoke into the air. "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind." She looked down at me and smiled softly. "I'll do it for you. Would you like that?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Call him and invite him to dinner at your flat tomorrow night and I'll come to. I want to see your little place before you move out to live with me. You do want to live with me?"
My heart leapt and I beamed up at her. "Oh yes, Mistress, more than anything."
Gently, she patted my cheek. "Sweet Faye but such a slut underneath," she murmured.
Jamie wanted to know where I had been. "I've been really busy at work," I explained, "with my new job. Anyway, I want you to come around tomorrow night for dinner as I'm having my boss over."
"Quaint," Alison said as she wandered through my little flat and I flinched in embarrassment as I suddenly saw it as it was. This was not Alison's Chelsea Hotel but a cold cramped flat and I already yearned to return to the comforts of Chelsea where I felt so at home, where I could be true to myself.
Alison bubbled along over dinner and I could see she charmed Jamie in every way, although he kept glancing at me from time to time. "You're quiet, darl," he said once as Alison opened another bottle of wine.
"Just tired," I said softly.
"She's all right, isn't she," he said, nodding at Alison who was searching the kitchen for new glasses.
My heart surged when I saw her in the golden light of the kitchen, stretching up to the cupboard and I wanted her to make me feel safe, to take me home.
At the end of the dinner after Alison had described her first motorbike experience to an enthralled Jamie, she suddenly announced that she would clean up so Jamie and I could catch up. Jamie half-heartedly protested, glancing at me but I kept my eyes lowered.
As I carried plates into the kitchen, Alison turned to me, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Jamie was in the other room, sorting through CDs. "Suck his cock," she said to me calmly and I looked at her in shock. "When I come out of here, I want to see you kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock. You've done it before, do it again! No ifs, no buts, you just do it!" she hissed.
"Yes Mistress," I said, eyes lowered and she gently tilted my head up.
"It's for the best, darling."
The room was half-lit by the candles still on the dining table and Jamie was standing next to the window, looking down onto the street when I came back in. He started to talk about what he and the lads had got up to in Spain when I cut him short by kissing him passionately while dishes rattled in the little kitchen.
My fingers brushed his cock and it was hard so I unzipped him, to free it so I could get this terrible moment over with. "What are you doing?" he hissed, eyes darting to the kitchen but I just smiled up at him as I sank to my knees. He groaned as I started to suck him, a low guttural moan when my tongue caressed the head of his cock.
I sensed a movement as something brushed past me but, although I kept sucking, I could see Alison's legs as she stood next to Jamie. "What the fuck!" he exclaimed.
"It's all right, Jamie," I heard her say. "Look at her, she's such a slut, isn't she?" He moaned as the moment obviously aroused him even more. I felt Alison's hand push me back and, still kneeling, I saw her hand curl around his cock, slowly moving up and down.
"Look at her, Jamie," she whispered as her hand moved. "Kneeling there so you can come all over her face. Such a slut." He groaned and I saw her other hand had slipped behind him. "Feels nice, doesn't it?" she said in his ear as her hand kept up it's relentless movement.
"She's a slut but, Jamie, she's my slut." His body tensed and I knelt, waiting. "It's time to say goodbye, to say so long Faye." He groaned loudly, grunted and shuddered and soon his sperm was flying through the air to land on my face, running down my cheeks as Alison firmly milked him.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Jamie tucked himself back in, glaring down at me as I knelt before him with his cum running down my face. "You fucking bitch!" he said hoarsely.
"Calm down, Jamie," soothed Alison. "You can't give her what I can, what she needs. It's time to say goodbye." He raised his hand to slap me and I waited for it. "Don't," Alison said quietly. "There's no point." They locked eyes for a long moment and then he stormed out, glaring at me for a moment and then slammed the door.
I never saw him again.
Alison lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew smoke through the room then smiled down at me. "Clean that disgusting mess of your face, darling," she said brightly. "Then we'll pack your things so you won't have to come back here again."
***
Alison and I were together for nine wonderful years.
Such sweet and sad memories carry me through my life.
I remember evenings at her house, snuggled together as we talked and kissed softly, such tenderness, such love. Other times, she would demand I bend over the bed, hands bound while she caned my bottom until the tears ran down my face.
I remember the time, soon after our relationship became public, she took me again to that private club down by the river, pushed me face down over a table and fucked me with an obscenely pink strap on while the audience cheered.
There was the other time she took me, naked under my skirt, to a seedy tattoo shop where she had some old man tattoo a black rose next to my pussy. He kept staring at my bald cunt while he worked my face crimson as people wandered in and out of the shop as Alison smoked and smiled down at me.
Another time, instead of going home, we drove to the airport and flew to Paris for a wonderful weekend of love, sex and submission. I remember being spanked in the hotel while the city of Paris spread out below me.
We worked well together and I became editor while she remained as publisher. 'Cut' magazine was a real force, the voice of alternative fashion. After a one successful year, tipsy with wine, she informed me I was going to get pregnant so we could raise a daughter together. She just hadn't figured out how to do it but it would happen, she assured me.
Such a crazy beautiful woman but her plan failed, as she became very sick. It came in a rush and the diagnosis hit me, a sense of loss that overwhelmed me. Alison became very ill so quickly and I spent all my time nursing her at the Chelsea house.
She lost so much weight as well as her energy but she never lost her love of life. I read the poems of Leonard Cohen to her while she lay in our bed, her long dark hair splayed out of the white pillow.
One morning as the weak Sun was trying to stir some life into the city, she took my hand, a faint smile on her lips and for a moment I saw the old Alison. "Thank you," she said simply, squeezing my hand as tears fell from my eyes. "I remember you well at the Chelsea Hotel," she quoted softly and smiled.
And died.
I held her and sobbed, my whole body rocked with pain and loss as the noise of the living city sounded from the streets outside. The one reason for my life had gone, the one guiding and directive force in my life had vanished and I was all alone. When I finished crying for Alison, I cried for myself.
Everyone from the fashion industry was at the funeral and I sat in the front row, so alone, so sad and so afraid. It was a small church and the grey and dismal day outside contrasted with the flowers that lay around the coffin.
At last, it was my time to speak and the church was absolutely silent as I stood in front of the microphone, everyone wondering what I was going to say. My hands were trembling as I looked at the small white cards I had carefully printed my speech on and a sudden image of a sardonic smiling Alison flashed in front of my eyes.
I took a deep breath and tossed the cards into the air and the audience gasped. "That was my speech," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "All nice things about fashion and the world but this is what she would have wanted to hear." Tears pricking my eyes, I began to recite.
"Now Alison takes your hand
And she l
eads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Alison holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind"
The church was hushed and I knew the tears were rolling down my face and even the black veil no longer hid them. Trembling, I removed the hat and veil and stood proudly staring out at the audience, my face streaked with tears.
"And I loved her so," I said and I could hear someone crying in the church while others sniffled. "I love her so much and I know she loved me. Goodbye, Alison, I don't know how I will live without you."
***
I quit the magazine and retreated to the Chelsea house that Alison had left me, wandering the rooms and touching her things. The songs of Leonard Cohen were on constantly and I read all her books, learning and devouring every last vestige of her. Slowly, I rebuilt my life as I learned to take control and make decisions but I was always alone and I always missed her. The famous blue raincoat hung alone in the wardrobe but occasionally I would take it out just to feel it and to remember.
After a almost a year, I was lying in the bath, staring at my body as I remembered the things she used to do to me and suddenly it seemed to be another person that had achieved that ecstasy. My eyes were drawn to my pubic hair that I had grown back but kept trimmed so I could always see the black rose tattoo and idly wondered if I would ever masturbate again. It was at that moment I decided to take control of my life, to stop regretting and to move forward while always remembering.
Feverishly, I threw myself back into design, working long hours and totally focussed on finishing a complete collection. A friend of Alison's helped me to find a financial backer and my label was launched six months later.
Nervously, I waited backstage until the last models took my hands and walked with me out onto the catwalk to the glare of lights and thunderous applause. I looked around at the audience, recognising many as they stood to applaud and I knew I had finally moved on.
"Thank you all so much," I said in the cultured voice that was a lasting legacy of Alison.
Later, exhausted after circulating through the crowd, I stood in a corner and sipped champagne when a voice made me turn around. "Darling, you look and sound like you belong here."
I whirled to see a smiling but older Grace. "I've always been in London," I smiled. "I come from London." We both squealed and hugged each other, laughing and wiping eyes. "I thought you lived in New York?" I asked. "You still have your accent," I mocked.
"Darling, Americans are such suckers for a good British accent." She held me at arm length and looked me up and down. "Faye, you look fantastic as usual and the collection is stunning. Alison would have been so proud," she added quietly.
"Thank you," I said softly, eyes pricking.
"So, how are you really?"
"Better," I said brightly. "Getting better every day."
"Good," Grace said, hugging me. "God, it's good to see you. You see that man in the black suit over there?" Grace pointed at a man who waved at her. As she waved back, she said, "That's my husband."
"You're married?" I said incredulously.
"I know, stupid of me but he actually loves me so what could I do?" Grace laughed again then a serious look appeared on her face. "What about you? You got anyone?" I shook my head. "Have you been with anyone since you lost her?" Again, I shook my head, tears prickling. "Faye," Grace said, seizing my arms and gazing steadily into my eyes, "it won't ever be the same but it can be different. She would have wanted you to live life, you know," she added quietly and I looked away, blinking. "I was her oldest friend, Faye and do you know what she would say to you if she could be here right now?"
The lump in my throat felt huge but I manage to say, "No, what?"
"Nice collection, darling, but you can't fuck clothes." Grace started to smile and I couldn't help but smile back until we were both laughing and hugging.
That night, I sat in front of the crackling fire and realised Grace was right, Alison would have told me how pathetic I was, how useless and how I should get on with it. I was smiling wryly to myself when the doorbell rang. ""ho is it?" I said into the intercom.
"It's Jane from 'Cut' magazine, we had arranged an interview? I'm a little early but I thought it would be all right."
I had forgotten I had agreed for my old magazine to feature my collection. "That's all right," I said wondering if I looked all right as I was just wearing a black silk pants suit. "Please come in," I said as I opened the door.
Jane was a young dark haired woman, about twenty-five years of age and dressed in wool skirt, shapeless jumper and grey coat. "Thank you, this is very nice," she said looking around.
"Thank you. In here would be best, I think," I said leading the way.
"Who's that singing?" she said as she sat on the sofa.
"Leonard Cohen. Would you care for some white wine? I'm having one."
"Thank you, that would be nice." Jane took her coat off and she seemed to be nervous around me, her fingers trembled as I handed her the glass.
"Now," I said briskly, leaning back in the chair as the fire crackled, "what do you want to know?"
"I just wanted to confirm some facts," she said, eyes dropping to her notes. "I've done a lot of research."
"Really?" I smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," she said and she blushed. "The magazine wants you to be on the cover, that's exciting, isn't it?' she rushed on as if to cover some embarrassment.
"I've been on the cover before."
"I know," Jane said softly and pulled out the old cover, my gagged wide-eyed face staring up at me.
"God," I laughed, "I haven't seen that for years." I sat still for a moment remembering.
"You were very beautiful," she whispered.
"Thank you," I said, staring at the Alison's lipstick mark on the white ball-gag.
"You still are," Jane murmured, eyes down and I looked up.
"Thank you again," I said slowly, watching her. "What other facts would you like to confirm?'
"You worked a long time with the founder of the magazine?"
"Alison and I were lovers," I said firmly and she gave a sharp intake of breath. "Is that confirming something for you?" I said and she nodded.
We sat in silence for a moment, Leonard Cohen singing 'Famous Blue Raincoat' in the background and I sipped my wine as I watched her breasts rise and fall in the shapeless jumper. Jane was quite beautiful in a dark gipsylike way, about the same age I was when I first met Alison.
I sat back in the chair, crossed my legs and studied her. Jane sat with her hands in her lap, eyes down and I could hear her ragged breathing over the music as I remembered another time and another place.
"Have you ever wanted to own someone, own them completely?" I said softly. "I do," I added, realising it was true. "Of course, the person must want to be owned, to be loved completely and to give up control. I believe that's you, isn't it?"
I watched her calmly as she rushed to gather her things, her hands shaking as she shoved papers into her bag. "I'd better go," she croaked, jumping to her feet and nervously looking around.
"I know it's hard to recognise something which we've buried deep inside ourselves but, sooner or later, you will." I gazed at her steadily, casually sipping my wine. "I believe I asked you a question?" I said firmly and her head jerked around, eyes wide. "I think you came here tonight to answer that question."
"Yes," she murm
ured, head down.
"Yes, what?" I snapped, placing my glass on the table beside me while she looked at me in confusion. "I'll explain it once. When we are alone you refer to me as Mistress or Madame, even Milady is acceptable while I will simply call you slut. Understand?"
She looked at me open mouthed, standing shakily against the door and her bag slipped to the floor. "Of course," I said coldly. "I could be mistaken and you don't want me to own you. Nor do you want me to control you and tell you what to do every moment of your life. Yes, I could be terribly wrong and this could be a tragic mistake. You should scream at me, stomp out, rush off to that magazine and write a terribly nasty article about me. Don't forget to slam the door on the way out."
Leonard had finished singing and the only sound in the room for a long moment was her ragged breathing as she trembled before me. I stood in front of the fire with my arms folded, just like Alison so long ago. "I think we both know," I said quietly, "that this is not a tragic mistake. Under that prim and proper appearance, there lies a wanton slut who needs to be controlled and you will prove it to me by lifting your skirt now to show me what you are wearing underneath."
