The Scarlett Letters

by Jenny Nordbak

  She grinned eagerly and nodded. Cindy had changed harnesses and laid fresh paper on the table, so they were ready to go. Female sub dropped her robe on a chair to cheers from the crowd. She was round in all the wrong places and flat in all the places that should have had curves. She was proof that no matter what shape the female form takes, it can still be beautiful. Both women climbed up on the table, but this time Frank stepped in to assist with the warm-up. This demo already had a different tone. Frank and Cindy stroked and kissed Female sub until she was moaning and begging incoherently.

  “What was that?” Frank teased.

  Cindy added, “We couldn’t understand you over all that moaning, sweetheart.”

  “Please fuck me!” someone in the back of the room helpfully translated.

  Frank chuckled and nodded to Cindy who moved behind Female sub and adjusted her strap-on. After a few minutes of fiddling back there, Cindy grabbed the bottle of lube and rubbed it all over her cock. She continued fumbling until there was some uncomfortable laughter from the audience. Perhaps we were headed for another awkward demo after all.

  Female sub looked back at Cindy and said, “Sometimes it’s easier to just put it in my ass!”

  The crowd roared with laughter. Amelia and I looked at each other, and the same question that was on my mind was mirrored back at me in her bewildered expression.

  What the hell does she have going on down there that would make it easier to put it in her ass?

  Cindy finally slid forward with a satisfied smile. Female sub began moaning again as Cindy hammered into her from behind. I expected Frank to jump back in on the action, but to my surprise, he started to take his clothes off instead.

  Are we in for some double-penetration action? Everyone loves a little DP.…

  We were indeed heading for some DP, but not the traditional kind. Because double penetration can be traditional, right?

  I should have been focused where the action was, but instead I was distracted by Frank affixing a harness to his right thigh, just above the knee, which left a dildo jutting comically out from his leg. He sat down naked on a chair, and as he continued watching the show the ladies were putting on, his own penis slowly rose to join the erect dildo, so that he had two protrusions. Cindy whispered something in Female sub’s ear, and they both climbed down from the table.

  “Now, sometimes,” Frank boomed out, “you want to fuck a pretty little thing like this, but you’ve promised your Queen that your bio-dick belongs to her that night. Limitations of being a man, right? Once you blow that load, your bio-dick ain’t any good to anyone. Now the way you solve this problem is to use a rubber dick. There’s no shame in it. Doesn’t make you any less of a man. Come here, sweetheart.” He gestured to Female sub, who jiggled her way alluringly over to him. She straddled his leg and lowered herself onto the dildo that was attached to his thigh. I could feel the tension in the audience as we collectively wondered if he would struggle the way Cindy had to get it in, but it seemed that she had opened the way. Frank’s rubber dick slid right in. Female sub bounced up and down on it to her pleasure. Frank threw the audience a grin, and they began to applaud. But the show wasn’t over yet.

  Cindy rapidly stripped naked, stunning me with how absolutely unselfconscious she was. Her body showed the signs of age and bearing children, but her confidence made her the sexiest woman in the room. The look Frank and Cindy shared positively smoldered. The man had a girl in her twenties busily humping on his leg, but his eyes made it clear that his Queen would always come first.

  Damn, I want that! Wait, don’t I have that? Doesn’t Wes make me feel that way?

  I didn’t like the answer to that question. I wasn’t sure that he did.

  I dismissed the thought and focused on the present where Cindy was swinging a leg over Frank’s to face Female sub. The women were now face-to-face, kissing and touching as Frank fucked both of them simultaneously in one hell of a grand finale. It was quite a feat, and the audience showed their appreciation.

  Cunty McSquirt and I were suitably impressed.

  She and I wandered the booths on the convention floor for a few hours before she had to leave to get to work. I bought a set of three rattan canes and was considering buying a pair of lightweight black floggers that would be easy for me to swing without my arms getting tired. I wanted to know how they felt, but the guy who was running the booth had been annoyingly eager to show me, so instead I had Cunty try her unpracticed hand at them. I demonstrated how to make a figure eight with her wrist, and she patiently mimicked me. Then, I stripped off my corset top and stood in my bra with my shoulders rounded to give her a nice, wide target. She started by just brushing my back with each up and down sweep, but once she got the hang of it, she flicked me hard on the downstrokes. She was clearly holding back, so there wasn’t that much power in the blows, but it was enough that I could feel that the floggers were neat and stingy. Not my favorite sensation to receive, but they would work well if I was administering them. I paid for my new toys, and we moved on.

  We watched for a few minutes as an independent Domme with scary-huge fake tits gave a demo on how to turn waxing into corporal punishment. She was straddling a naked man who was lying facedown on a massage table. She spread the wax in a line over his hairy back and covered it with a wax strip. Instead of quickly ripping the strip off and removing the hair in one stroke, though, she pulled slowly, stretching his skin and excruciatingly ripping each hair out one at a time. He howled and bucked beneath her, but she was a heavy woman, so he wasn’t going anywhere. When she explained that she would next be tweezing the hair from his balls, Amelia nodded her head to signal it was time to move on. She was a sport, but watching a man have his balls tweezed was asking a bit much of anyone.

  People watching at the conventions was always fun. During the day, industry professionals who were doing demos or trying to pick up new clients were dressed in their latex and leather finest. However, most attendees were in casual jeans and T-shirts until the play parties in the evenings when everyone dressed to impress. Some people were warm and friendly, but others, mostly pro Dommes, put on airs of being aloof and superior. It has to be intimidating to be an outsider trying to break into the scene, particularly as a single man.

  I thought the scene was wonderful in many ways because it connected like-minded people and provided a safe space for alternative sexual practices. What I found difficult about it was that in many ways it was simply a matter of exchanging one set of boxes and labels for another. Maybe those boxes and labels were a little roomier and more flexible, but they could be unnecessarily confining all the same. There was an emphasis placed on titles and roles that was intimidating to newcomers who weren’t sure of their place in the spectrum, and I felt that it prevented old-timers from trying something new. So you like someone else having some sort of power over you? Cool. Are you a sub? Or do you want to be someone’s slave? Are you a bottom? Or simply a masochist? The distinctions between each were subtle, and in some cases relevant and helpful, but sometimes I just wanted to scream at the people around me to loosen the fuck up and not worry about it so much. The expectations for dress were sometimes infuriating as well. It is possible to be into kinky shit and not feel the need to be decked out in latex and leather. Sometimes sky-high platform heels simply aren’t practical, but a Domme didn’t wear flats.

  My feet were killing me from walking all over the convention in said heels, so I was hoping we would run into one of my regular foot guys so I could get a massage. The only clients I saw were Doggie Dan and Harvey. I carefully avoided Harvey, but I gave Dan a warm hug and introduced him to Amelia just before she had to leave.

  When Wes eventually met me at the Dungeon booth, he was devastated he had missed the epic strap-on class. We had no idea that the next demo we attended would manage to top it.

  30. DARYL

  Wes was late, so we had to quickly make our way to the largest of the convention rooms where they were holding the waterboarding demo. I
made a mental note to have someone punish him at the play party later. I was sure we could find an appealing Domme from out of town to assist me with it.

  Waterboarding had been in the news at that time as an example of torture that some wanted the American government to use on suspected terrorists. Many felt it was crossing a line. I didn’t have a stance on it, but was intrigued that someone would demonstrate at a fetish convention what the news had deemed cruel and unusual.

  By the time we got to the room that was designated in the convention program, it was almost full, but we found two empty seats toward the front just before the instructor stood up on stage and everyone went silent.

  “Good afternoon, my fellow freaks! I’m Daryl, and this is my live waterboarding demonstration.”

  Daryl was sporting a high and tight with dark green fatigues and combat boots. He was built like a brick shithouse. He paced across the stage as he explained the mechanics of waterboarding and its effects on the human mind.

  “The goal”—he paused and smiled—“is to make your subject think they are drowning. You tilt them back on the table so that their head is lower than their feet, cover their face with a towel, and pour water over their nose and mouth. The subject’s brain will tell them that they are drowning. They will experience what it is like to die by drowning without actually dying. For this reason, it is imperative that they be properly restrained. They will fight for their lives.”

  He let that hang in the air, and waved to a girl who was standing off to the side of the stage. I assumed she was his demo bottom, but she wasn’t who I had expected to volunteer to be waterboarded. She was a teeny little blonde who probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She was wearing an adorable polka-dot bikini with her hair tied back in a high ponytail. She looked nervous but resolved.

  Daryl introduced her. “This is Heidi. Heidi contacted me when I posted that I was looking for a volunteer to be waterboarded. We have discussed in detail what will happen today. She has consented. Due to the extreme nature of waterboarding, there is not a safe word. We keep going until I decide to stop.… Give these folks an idea of why you would want to volunteer for something like this. I’ll get us set up. We’ll do the demo and then we’ll do a little interview with you and give the audience a chance to ask you questions about your experience.”

  Heidi shifted her weight back and forth between her feet anxiously, but sounded confident as she explained, “I know I’m probably crazy, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try something this intense. I like breath play, choking … that kind of stuff, so this seems like the furthest I can take that. I wanted to do it with someone who knew what they were doing … so yeah.”

  Daryl wheeled over a couple of carts with five of the big watercooler five-gallon jugs on each. It seemed like a lot of water for such a little girl. Heidi lay down on the table. Her legs were raised up, and her head was over an inflatable baby pool to catch the water. Daryl began tying her limbs to O-rings on each corner of the table. As he worked with the rope, he explained, “She’s going to jerk and fight, so you have to know what you’re doing with bondage.”

  His tone suggested that he did. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on what I didn’t like about him, but decided that must be it: he was fucking arrogant and I didn’t know yet whether he could back it up. I was fucking arrogant too, but I tried not to walk around swinging my dick at people.

  Once he had secured Heidi’s limbs to the table, he gave her a thumbs-up, and she nodded. Daryl then placed a black hand towel over her face. When he squatted to lift one of the jugs of water, I realized I was holding my breath and felt like the whole room was doing the same. I could see Heidi’s rib cage rising and falling rapidly as she anticipated which breath would be the last before the deluge.

  Daryl drew out the tension by looking out at us and saying, “You should all know that I am a certified EMT, and we won’t need it today, but I do know CPR.”

  With no further ado, he started to pour water over the towel that covered Heidi’s face. She was still at first.

  “They always start by holding their breath, but you know the exact moment they run out of air.”

  As though on cue, Heidi started to thump one of her feet and thrash her head from side to side, but there was no escaping the continuous stream of water that was cascading from the bottle. He wasn’t even halfway through the first of five jugs yet. Heidi was frantic now. All of her limbs were jerking violently against her bonds and her back was arching as though she was possessed. It was alarming to watch. My instinct was to put a stop to it, but Daryl just chuckled calmly as he emptied the first jug. He lifted the towel from her face, and she sputtered and coughed before gulping frantic breaths of air. She expelled each breath in huge shuddering sobs. The audience was utterly silent and still. We had come here excited at the prospect of a novel form of entertainment, but what we were watching felt wrong, even to this gathering of sick fucks.

  Heidi was still gasping for air when Daryl threw the wet towel back over her face and picked up a second jug. Heidi panicked immediately. I didn’t think it was possible, but as he dumped the next jug of water onto her face, she reacted even more violently than the first time, thrashing and jerking against her bonds. Daryl just kept pouring a steady stream that seemed to go on forever.

  Just as I thought I couldn’t bear to sit and watch any longer, Heidi wrenched one of her legs free of its bond and swung it down and over her head. She kicked Daryl so hard in the chest that he flew backward and crashed into the cart that still held three jugs of water, knocking them over and spilling them all over himself. The audience exploded with cheers and laughter. We had all apparently felt the same way about the two people on stage, so to see her break free of his most excellent bondage was satisfying. To watch tiny Heidi kick swaggering Daryl onto his ass was an image that I will always cherish. She was a fighter.

  Heidi didn’t know yet what she had done because the towel was still covering her face. She was drawing ragged breaths through the wet towel, still thrashing her head from side to side. Daryl was winded, but trying to get back up and compose himself, so he was in no shape to assist her. An older woman from the front row jumped up and pulled the towel off of her face, and two guys started untying her. By the time she was free, a soaking wet Daryl had resumed control of the stage, and sat next to Heidi on the table. He had given her a towel to wrap around her shoulders, but he had used it first. She perched clutching the edges of the towel and rocking as she sobbed inconsolably. She didn’t look like she was even aware that she was on a stage in front of people anymore.

  Daryl turned to her and instructed, “Tell these folks what that felt like.”

  He had to be fucking joking. The poor girl needed a hug, not an interview. We all sat quietly as she continued to cry. It looked like she was going to say something at one point, but she just shook her head before dropping it and giving in to the tears once more. She had been brave to give it a try, perhaps foolish, but brave nonetheless. I didn’t know about anyone else, but I certainly wasn’t judging her for her reaction. In a strange way, I envied the release she would get from just letting it out.

  Daryl stood and paced the stage again as he said, “We’ll give Heidi a few moments to compose herself. People say that they have nightmares for years after experiencing waterboarding. Some say it is the most terrifying thing you can experience.”

  “Have you ever tried it?” someone shouted from a few rows behind us.

  I smirked. It was the exact question that had been on my mind. He seemed so dismissive of Heidi’s emotional reaction as though she was being a silly little girl, but I suspected he had never had the balls to try it himself. In my experience, female Dommes are much more willing to sub first before attempting something on their partners, while male Doms are more likely to just assume they know how it feels.

  “I have not. I do not see a need”—he was interrupted by murmuring in the audience—“but … I did almost drown during a training exe
rcise once, so I am aware of what happens.”

  Almost drowning versus allowing someone to tie you down and psychologically torture you seemed a little different to me.

  He redeemed himself slightly when he said, “How about a round of applause for Heidi?”

  The audience gave her a standing ovation.

  “Now,” Daryl shouted, clapping his hands together, “any more volunteers?”

  It was his finale. A forced admission from the audience that none of them would be willing to do it either—that he had a scary BDSM skill that trumped all others. I turned in my seat to see what would happen, assuming that there’s always one.

  Half the fucking room raised their hands.

  And they were completely serious. Daryl didn’t know how to handle it when they lined up at the edge of the stage expectantly. He muttered about not having time to tie everyone down and not having enough water left … so the audience usurped the stage from him. Someone appeared at the back with more carts of water, and the line began to form a very civilized, efficient system. The first person lay down on the table, while the next three in line held him down. The fourth in line poured just enough water for the recipient to start to struggle too violently to hold … and then they all switched positions and started again. It was polite group torture. It took over twenty minutes to get through the whole line of people. They clearly weren’t experiencing the same intensity that Heidi had, but just enough to have an inkling of what it was all about. As each person finished their turn, they hugged Heidi and sat with her until she was surrounded by love and encouragement. Daryl wasn’t giving her the aftercare that she needed, but the community takes care of its own.

  These are my people, I acknowledged with a smile.

  31. RICH HR

  After spending three full days at KinkyCon, it was a culture shock to return to my vanilla workplace on Monday morning. When Rich didn’t show up at the trailer, I got worried that he was passed out in a ditch somewhere. Or in jail. Or possibly missing a few organs in Tijuana. I initially avoided drawing attention to his absence lest I get him in trouble, but when it reached lunch and he still wasn’t there, I gave in and asked the others in the trailer if they had heard from him.