LACE AND LASCIVIOUSNESS
I, the Black Orchid, had a fete between just us girls, Lacy Lynda, Auntie Carol, and the effervescent Wanda Lust, Crack Whore. It was a Pajama party just between us with my male slaves in abeyance to satisfy every gustatory and amorous need we might have and they were they a sight to be seen. Oh, Lord! All in black leather thongs and chains spanning their muscular pectorals. I love the combination of soft and hard as it is in nature. Julio, especially looked the part with his coal black hair, burnt sienna eyes and bulging load. He is my most bounteous slave. I must say my ice blue , platinum haired Slavic ones were also striking. They find fulfillment in their servitude and once I have had a man he seldom strays. I once crushed a man’s back with the force of my legs. I was so mortified and ashamed and made it up to him in ways you can scarcely imagine. He is my fondest love save for the Minotaur. Women rule with sensuality while men rule with knives and bullets. Softness can break a heart more readily than a gun or a knife. I get a vision of a clear, prismatic fish with wings speared through the side gasping in its death throes. It is very like the stillness after making love, that last gasp of passion before the flame goes out.
You may well wonder what we wore and I will tell you since I am such a good women. As would be expected Lady Lynda and Auntie Carol, the “Chastity Brigade” turned up in chaste shorty nighties, pink and blue with quaint little roses woven into the fabric and white lace pantyhose with patent leather MaryJane shoes. They wore their hair in French braids ties up in pink pastel ribbons. Girls will be girls and women will be women. I wore an antique yellow bustier with black silk pantaloons, rosy leather pantyhose and spiky silver stiletto boots. Wanda, came in Frederick’s of Hollywood mode, with a half cut black bra and cut out panties with “eat me “ above the hole spelled out in ostrich feathers, garters and hot pink fish net hose. The thigh black boots were not lost on us nor the cat of nine tails clasped in her hand. We all had a good laugh at that one and she did too. I told her she was “Puss in Boots.” She said “No, more like Pussy Galore, only a black one.” It was strictly the mean streets meet the Old West meet Haley Mills in the “Parent Trap”.
And we ate like gluttons, too. Such a feat I had, wild boar, pheasant under glass, asparagus hollandaise, green beans almondine, roasted yams, corn fried okra and green tomatoes, and many kinds of squash and corn ears baked in their leaves, brushed with garlic. We had many different kinds of dark bread and we started out with guacamole and hummus. And Bachus and his ‘pards’ were in attendance and he kept our wine glasses to the full.
Then came the strawberries in cream, cherries jubilee and homemade pecan pie. I made the whole meal and even baked the bread. One doesn’t live three thousand years and not learn a thing or two. Then the concept of the aperitif was born. I broke out the Green Chartreuse.
Then I had my acolytes rub us down in the nude with eucalyptus and myrhh oil in slow sensuous arcs. The smell of sweated male and oil permeated the candle lit room. And a warm glow like orange light emitted form a hundred candle flames and shadows danced on the wall. They rubbed between our legs too and life came to its proper conclusion in our orgiastic sighs.
And even the stars in the night blighted sky envied us on that particular night and my smile drifted out into the night like a mist. I had done my beloved friends proud.