"It wasn't much, just idle talk. But enough to make me want to know more, I must admit." Elspeth flashed a smile of complicity. "Incidentally, Joan has no idea I accepted your invitation today. And I'd just as soon she remained in the dark about it."
The hostess concurred heartily. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she began to talk of the tie between herself and her devoted maid. Elspeth listened enraptured, aware too of Inez Bellamy's near-breathless interest. Somehow, even without touching upon the lesbian angle, Margalo made the relationship sound sexy. The relationship of a domineering mistress and a submissive maid servant. Her dear Kate, it seemed, was more like a chattel, a piece of property rather than an employee – as an inferior being, she had been trained only to please her superior and was expected to do so above all else.
Fascinated by the notion, Elspeth offered a criticism just to keep the discourse going. "But why should you call her inferior? Just because she works for you?"
"Not at all. The reason my Kate is inferior is that she herself accepts it as a simple and irrevocable fact. She believes me to be her superior – therefore, I must be. It's her nature to submit and it's mine to dominate. You might say we're lucky to have found each other."
"Uh, do you beat her?"
"Good grief, no, I have no taste for that sort of thing. There are other ways of punishing her if that's necessary. Not that it ever is, though, not my dear Kate. She obeys implicitly and without question. In a way, you see, I own her."
"You mean she… she's your slave?"
"Slave. Such a lovely word, so sensual. Conjures up all kinds of fantastic visions, doesn't it? But in this enlightened day and age slavery can exist only on a voluntary basis, mores the pity. No woman has to be a slave, really – not unless she wants to, not unless it's her own desire…" The green eyes glistened. "Inez? Don't you agree?"
Silence fell, a silence of crackling tension. And at last Inez Bellamy nodded and then hung her head as spots of pink flecked her cheeks. Despite her sophisticated veneer, she looked like a timid schoolgirl.
"You haven't answered me, Inez."
"Please… must you…"
Margalo's fingers snapped an interruption. "I'd like a cigarette," she said sharply. "Light me one."
The reaction was immediate, practically instantaneous. As though a starter button had been pushed, Inez came up out of her chair and went to work. A moment later she had a cigarette lit and glowing and was placing it between Margalo's lips. When she sat down again, it was quite some time before the near scarlet flush faded from her face.
Elspeth's temples throbbed. Such a bizarre scene! But it was over now and she saw no purpose to delving into that particular issue any further. Not this soon, anyway, and not in these rather formal circumstances. At this juncture all she wanted to do was finish lunch and go downstairs and think about what she had learned today. Think about how she might make use of it with Joan. And think about how much more there was to learn, ob yes, the twists and turns of lesbian love now loomed like a maze in front of her, a great shadowy maze of mystery and excitement…
That night, after a comparatively calm hour of violence on the television screen, she deliberately sought an excuse to tyrannize her loving lesbian roomie. They were on their third drink and Joan was fidgeting around, apparently restless and getting impatient for bed. Sex-bed, not sleep-bed. It reminded Elspeth of the time they had sat through the dubbed-in film about the old Romans.
"Hey, how come you're so jumpy tonight?"
"You know."
"Feeling horny, huh? And you want to drag me to bed, I suppose. Just like the night we went to the movies. You were fidgety then too, remember?"
"I remember. Fidgety is right, but at least I had an excuse for it. That second picture was a stinker. Worse than TV."
"Well, it was no Academy Award winner, I'll admit. But the subject matter interested me."
"Huh? The history of ancient Rome?"
"No, silly, I mean the slave thing. I still think about it now and then. Kind of exciting, you know? A noble mistress owning slaves and ordering them around."
"Hmph. What's so exciting about it?"
"Beats me. I just feel that way. I'll never know why, though, because I don't happen to own a slave." Elspeth giggled. "Unless you're looking for the job."
"No thanks."
"Too bad. The part would really suit you. You're such a mouse, Joan, a cute little mouse. You'd make a great slave girl."
"Come on now, I've been called mousy before. All my life, in fact – because of my hair, you know. This damned color. But that doesn't make me a slave."
"I suppose not. Oh well, like I said, too bad. It might have been fun."
"Elspeth, just what are you getting at? Are you trying to tell me something?"
"Well."
"Don't be coy. Spill it."
"Okay. I feel sexy, too, but I'm not ready for bed yet. I'd like to stay here in the living room and get drunk with you and then maybe do something right where we are. Only you've got some kind of emotional block against it, right?"
Joan sat stolidly for a long moment. Then, "Oh. Now I understand. If I were your slave…" She rose and flicked off the unheeded television set. "What the hell, maybe it's not such a big block. I'll be your slave tonight and make love to you right here. Or anywhere. Is that what you want me to say?"
"You've already said it. Now let's get smashed. Fill your glass and drink it down."
"I-I'd better not. I'm liable to come unglued."
"A slave girl doesn't argue with her mistress."
That did it. Joan poured a tall drink and finished it while Elspeth gulped down the remainder of hers. The experiment was going well, but she still lacked confidence, the wisdom and experience of someone like Margalo Fitch. Thus far it was a game, pretty much, something to be played with a smile and an imperious toss of the head, perhaps – and to rush into something more serious at this crucial point might prove fatal.
"Joanie, get undressed. I want you naked."
"I don't have much to take off."
"Well, hurry up and do it. Uh-huh. That's better. My naked slave girl. Now fix us both another drink."
This time there was no protest as Joan took the two glasses and replenished them. Eyes bright and glazed, she returned and handed one over.
Elspeth nodded brusquely. "Sit down. Sit down and let's get some more booze into us. I've got a hunch we'll both be needing plenty before this night is over."
A puzzled expression touched Joan's face. The nearest chair was some distance away; she glanced in that direction and started toward it uncertainly. "No, not way over there. I want my naked slave girl close to me. Sit here on the floor – it won't bruise your ass."
"Oh. Here? This all right?"
"Fine, fine. You're not so fidgety now, hmm?"
"I-I still feel sexy."
"Don't worry, you'll get your chance. Drink first. Come on, my pretty little slave, let's chug-a-lug." Once again there was some heavy gulping. The alcohol felt like liquid fire blazing up and sloshing around inside Elspeth's belly. It gave her a sense of bravado, though, and that was enough to compensate for whatever technique might have been lacking. Enough to get her started, at any rate.
"Now it's my turn to undress. But you're going to do it for me, of course. And then make love to me. Show me how a slave girl worships her beautiful mistress."
There wasn't much to take off, just a casual shorts-and-halter outfit, but Joan's fingers fumbled with the knot awkwardly. When it loosened and the top fell away, she stopped and licked her lips in an obvious plea for permission to pay tribute to the newly revealed expanse of flesh. It was a gesture that stirred Elspeth to the very depths.
"You're hot for my tits, eh?"
"Oh… yes… your beautiful tits…"
"Lick your lips some more."