Put Me In a Skirt and Hurt Me: The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of Mistress Sophia (6 page)

Willow rose higher in her chair, her ass up off it now, grinding herself into Porsche’s face, willing the girl to go faster. Porsche complied, lapping speedily and, inserting two fingers into Willow’s cunthole, she began to wiggle the fingers back and forth like seaweed fronds in the ocean. The feeling was dynamite to Willow and she began to quake. Porsche pulled her fingers halfway out, then jammed them back in and waved them again. Willow spasmed over and over, her hips bucking and her hands pushing Porsche into her, wanting that tongue to keep going, keep licking, keep her coming and coming and coming. Porsche was happy to comply…her pussy was wet and in her mind she was already packing for London.

9

T
HE PHONE HAD RUNG
and Sophia had let it go to voicemail. But then it had rung again. Voicemail again, Sophia had decided. But when the third call came on the heels of the others, Sophia answered it, annoyed. “Hello?”

“Oooooh, chilly!”

“Edna. You know I don’t answer the phone. Why didn’t you leave a voicemail?”

“Because I know you don’t answer your phone, which is very very annoying for all your friends, sweetie. So, I thought I’d annoy you back!”

“Hmmmm.” Sophia couldn’t argue with that logic. “What may I do for you, Madam Edna?”

“Lunch.”

“Oh, that sounds great actually! I’d love to see you!”

“With some friends of mine. Well, not really friends ... just this group of gals from New Jersey.”

“Oh, Edna, no. You know I hate that shit!”

“I need the shoe money, honey.”

Sophia sighed loudly, then sighed again so Edna would realize the full extent of her sacrifice.

“You’ll go, won’t you?”

“Oh, crap. OK. Who do I have to be this time?”

“My spiritual handler.”

Sophia laughed. “What time shall I be there, Madame Unjeu?”

Sophia wore a dark blue Calvin Klein suit, a Jean Paul Gaultier blouse, and some Dolce and Gabbana pumps. She grabbed her keys, locked up, and headed for Edna’s in a cab.

Edna greeted her at the door in a boxy black Moyuru dress and some fabulous studded flats. Edna was always finding (and buying) the latest and most outrageously cool shoes.

“Darling!”

“Darling yourself!” Sophia sang.

“You want a drinkeypoo before we head over?”

“Sure. White wine?”

“Viognier OK?”

“Perfect.”

The two women had known each other for nearly five years, having met in the shoe section of Barney’s during a sale.

Edna was 5’2” with kinky dark hair with a fake gray streak to make herself look mysterious. She also had learned to put an enormous amount of eyeliner around her eyes and always wore big dangly earrings. People often mistook her for some Middle Eastern belly dancer, but she was just a simple gal from Florida who had left the alligators behind and fled to the big city. She worked as a Management Consultant and had built a fabulous reputation in NYC, LA, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Atlanta ... but in her free time she got a kick out of giving advice from “the other side.” Being an over-achiever, she’d built a fabulous reputation as “The Psychic Madame Unjeu”
in Schenectady, Toledo, Memphis, Kansas City, and Orlando.

Edna served up the wine and the women sipped in silence.

“So, what’s up? And where did you hear about Cydwoqs?” Edna asked.

“Oh.” Sophia began shaking her head back and forth. “I just met a woman, briefly, who had on a pair and they looked so ... stunning. I looked them up online after you told me the brand.”

“Not a sub?”

“No, a woman who came into Happy Betty’s. I bought her a drink, that’s all.”

“Will you see her again?”

“No, I don’t think I will. It was just a casual encounter. Sort of. Well, not really
all
that casual. I’m ... it was ... I was quite affected actually. I mean, I’m over it now, but at the time—she kind of worked a voodoo on me.”

“Sweetie, you know I want to hear all about it but we’ll have to talk later. We have to go do this thing with the gals from Jersey.” Edna took Sophia’s wine glass, along with her own, to the kitchen.

They planned how the luncheon with the Jersey girls should unfold. “Madame Unjeu” would go into a trance. Sophia would sit quietly for most of the séance but would jump in near the end to express concern that Madame Unjeu was overdoing it and needed to end the session to preserve her health. This would help to facilitate a follow-up call or two for more advice once the Jersey girls had returned home.

Sophia was comfortable in her role. Sometimes she actually rather enjoyed the game. And she got a huge kick out of Edna, who really should have been a star of the stage with her ability to embody her characters at the drop of a hat. She was both disappointed and relieved that they hadn’t had time to discuss the Mrs. Pea incident. She wasn’t sure how much she should, or could, share with Edna. Now she had a reprieve to consider what to say or if she wanted just to let the matter drop.

The luncheon went swimmingly!

Edna and Sophia met the Jersey girls at Benoit’s in Midtown. Edna had long ago secured “The Officine” (a ten-person private dining salon) for her little soirees. It didn’t matter anymore if there were two of them or a full room of ten, Benoit’s loved Edna. Her guests never left without dropping more than a few hundred each, what with cocktails and food. Madame Unjeu encouraged them to return to the restaurant on their own too. After all, the “spirits” enjoyed being there and who was to say? Perhaps her clients might catch a glimpse of their dearly departeds on their own.

“The Officine,” a complete reconstruction of an 1830s French herbalist’s shop from Bordeaux, was a lovely backdrop to the discerning woman’s mystical experience. Its rich walnut paneling, original porcelain herb nameplates, and the stunning mural-sized photographs of Paris at each end of the room offered an ooh-la-la feeling to the goings on at the séance.

Edna was an expert at rolling her eyes back into her head, making her body vibrate just enough to cause the customers to be uncomfortable and thrilled, and then
spirit
would take over her body.

“They are here,” Madame Unjeu extolled.

“Is it Gladys?” a woman with large earrings interrupted. “Is it Uncle Jimmy? God forbid, it’s not my mother, is it?”

“Is it
my
mother?” another woman asked. She had a habit of making little “pop” sounds with her gum by sucking it inward. Her name was Lorraine.

“It’s my Sidney! I can tell, it’s my darling Sidney,” said a third woman, tears welling on the darkened brims of her heavily mascara’d eyes.

“There are two…no,
three
spirits with us,” Madame Unjeu stated. She planned on making everyone happy. “Two older women and a man present.”

“My mother!”

“Mother?”

“He’s dark-haired, isn’t he? Sidney? Oh, Sid, I’m here!”

“Yes, the man is dark. He’s shaking his head.”

“Oh, my God!” Sidney’s wife clutched her bosom and let the tears roll.

“He has a message for you…but wait, the older women, one of them is interrupting.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, that’s gotta be my mother. Jesus, Mom, let the man speak!” Lorraine, the gum popper, rolled her eyes and slapped her hand to the table.

“The woman is backing away. She’s leaving.”

“Mom, don’t go! I didn’t mean to disrespect you. You know I love you, mother.” Lorraine looked stricken.

“She’s back. She’s smiling.”

Sophia was amazed. All the Jersey gals looked thrilled and so far Edna hadn’t told them a thing.

“The man…it is Sidney….yes. He’s holding his hands to his heart.”

“He died of a heart attack!” Sidney’s widow looked like she was about to have one herself.

Edna had planned to say that Sidney was letting her know he loved her…but heart attack was good too. She could use that.

“He says something about it’s not your fault.”

“Well, of course not! He was with his mistress when he had the heart attack. Slut! That’s what she was. Whore!” Her face scrunched up then relaxed. “But I forgive him. I forgive you, Sidney, my love!” She rummaged in her purse for a Kleenex.

“He says he loves you too and that the other woman…whatever she might have been to him when he was alive, she’s nothing to him now. Less than nothing.”

“Oh, baby!” Sidney’s widow waved at the air. “It’s you and me, baby. You and me.”

“He says, ‘forever,’” Madame Unjeu supplied. “The old woman, she wishes to speak now.”

Sophia was amazed at Edna’s dexterity. She’d get the women to feed her all the information she needed to give appropriate advice from their dead loved ones. It was as if they were sitting having lunch in this world, and Madame Unjeu was sitting in some heavenly café with the dead Jersey relatives having cheese steak and mineral water.

Sophia almost wished she could ask Madame Unjeu what to do about Mrs. Pea. But wait, the Mrs. Pea incident was over. She was over it. She’d quit pondering it after seeing Tommy, hadn’t she? But wasn’t she still cruising the Cydwoq website and lingering just a bit on the Rho page? Hadn’t she been going back to Happy Betty’s and always wearing her best panties? Sophia knew it wasn’t because she’d wanted a drink or missed the place; it was because she still held that little flame of hope that Mrs. Pea might make an appearance, might ask her to accompany her to the ladies room, might request she drop her panties into that outstretched purse. She could lie to herself with skill, but the reality was she still dreamed of another meeting with the mysterious Mrs. Pea.

Edna gently kicked her under the table. Sophia had missed her cue.

“Oh! Madame Unjeu, you are pale! Ladies, I must insist we end the session immediately! Madame tends to want to give her clients
everything
and she’s pushed herself too far already. I won’t risk another
hospital visit! Madame Unjeu, please return to consciousness!”

The Jersey women looked startled and concerned and jumped in with their pleas that Madame Unjeu return and that Madame had done a great job and they were thankful and blah, blah, blah.

Edna rolled her eyes, slumped, recovered, and sat up as if awakening from a dream.

“Is it ... am I ... is it over already?” she asked breathlessly.

Later that evening, Sophia walked into her condo, went directly to the bedroom, and pulled out a couple of vibrators and some self-warming lube. She walked slowly to the bed kicking off her shoes as she went. She lay down and lifted her skirt up slowly. She fingered the tops of her panties then pulled them down to her knees and left them there. She lubed up both vibrators and, wielding them like an expert swordsman, she began massaging her asshole and cunt. She moaned gently as the gel heated up and toasted her puckered little asshole and her pussy, which began to open wide to the pulsing of the vibrator. She squirmed and worked her hands faster. She turned the setting up on the front vibrator, keeping the ass vibrator low and steady but thrusting it more jerkily as she began to lose control. “Oooooohhhhhhmmmmmmmmooooohhhhhhh,” she oh’d. Her juices ran down over the vibrator and onto her hand. She mewled like a kitten. “Oh, Oh, oooooohhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM ... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” She came in a flood—and all the while in her mind she’d been dropping and dropping and dropping her panties into Mrs. Pea’s purse.

“Yeah ... I’m over it.”

She cursed at the ceiling.

10