Chapter 2: A Party in Pink

As she entered the Club's Salon, Angique wondered where most of the women she used to know might have gone — and why. She'd been away for a year; it seemed she hardly knew anyone anymore. What's more, she hardly recognized the place.

She walked into the huge, chandelier-lit room, looking around with wonder. Salmon-pink curtains were drawn across tall, half-round windows. They formed bays, strewn with white, silver and pink pillows. Sweet girls in pastel colored outfits sat on them, giggling and gossiping, while sipping their pinkish colored drinks. The overall style was dollhouse kitsch — white furniture on spindly legs, a ceiling lined with stucco decoration and a myriad of pink stucco roses. The room screamed "Girlie" from the pink wall-to-wall carpet to the pink-and-silver striped upholstery. The utter sweetness of it all threatened to crack the enamel on her teeth.

Thirty-odd faces turned in her direction, the omnipresent murmuring dying down for a second. Angique was a tall, slender woman. Her pale skin contrasted with the pitch-black cloud of her bob style hair. Thick eyebrows hid behind bangs. Her eyes were green, shaded by long, dark lashes. A straight nose pointed down to a generous mouth, painted in gothic purple. She loved dramatic contrasts — like the whiteness of her exposed throat and chest against the black leather of her corset. She also loved its severe tightness, pressing her tits into a provocative cleavage — the hips flaring out from a narrow waist. Gloves of black satin covered her arms, but her fingers stayed free to show the sparkle of white gold rings and the deep purple of her fingernails. Her ankle-long skirt was black. Its satiny silk showed an ever-changing shimmer as she moved around.

Angique was sure she'd be the only one wearing a corset here, tonight. She wondered if it might even be the first genuine, laced up full-corset any of the present visitors had ever seen. Between the crystal chandeliers and the cotton candy decorations she stood out like a black panther in a hen house. She noted the crowd's startled eyes as she led a half naked slave girl on a leash.

Nervous giggles broke the silence and a murmur of whisperings followed. Ah, she had no illusions. In their opinion she must be an anachronism — an ancient ghost from times past; times of female oppression, maybe. Or, if that was too highbrow, a very indecent thing to do in public.

"Hi girls," she said, smiling as she tugged her toy along. She'd noted the dark, disapproving gazes, the narrow slits of their mouths. But she also saw the sudden blushes at their throats, and imagined the stealthy glances behind her back.

Angique had mixed feelings about going to lesbian parties. Sure, she preferred women to men. She often used to say: "I like men for what they have, but love women for who they are." And yes, men catered to some of her more urgent sexual needs, but her emotions belonged to the realm of sisterhood. Still, she never felt entirely at ease at all-female parties. "Nothing personal," she would say, smiling. "I feel just as uncomfortable at an all-male sports happening or an exclusively Roman Catholic gathering."

So the party didn't appeal to her, but it was held in "her" Club and as she intended to start visiting again, this seemed a welcome chance to get newly acquainted.

Angique introduced herself on arrival. Most of the women were new to her. Accepting champagne from a girl who was as high-stemmed as the glass, she made polite conversation with a tall blonde who called herself Aura. She was Australian, she said, smiling a smile of sweetest candy between nervous glances at the leashed girl behind Angique. She could have been American for all the big hair and the cut-off denim shorts. An unbuttoned shirt was tied under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare.

"Must be high summer, down under," Angique chuckled, fixing her gaze on the studded belly button. The empty-faced response warned her that this woman's sense of humor was probably not quite the same as hers. The disappearing smile might even announce a whiff of annoyance.

"Lovely sandals!" Angique added quickly, admiring the silver wedge-heeled shoes the blonde was wearing. It was a futile peace offering, though, as the woman murmured an excuse and left.

Ah well, can't win them all, she thought. She gave a tug at the leash and walked over to a very curvy and deeply tanned brunette. She wore a tight dark green business suit that stretched sexily at all the intended places. Her face was pretty enough, although it had to struggle hard to get through generous layers of make up. It also seemed permanently darkened by a scowl that spoiled her amber eyes.

Angique introduced herself and missed the name she got in return. She did understand however that she should call her BB as everyone else did. Can't be because of her tits, she thought. They must be quite a bit further down the alphabet. DD? E? But after her recent experience with Aura, she refrained from making a joke about it. BB, just like the blond Australian, didn't seem the type to appreciate it.

"I am a business woman," BB offered, stretching her five feet four by rising on tiptoes. Before Angique could respond, she explained how successful she was, traveling three weeks out of every month and beating the results of all her male colleagues hands down. Angique murmured a "good for you," but it didn't save her from a ten-minute explanation of activities that stayed a mystery to her, but sounded impressive.

"Are you a domme?" BB suddenly asked. It was a question Angique hadn't expected, as it seemed rather obvious that she was. She tugged her leashed girl closer as a means to explain. There were no traces whatsoever of irony in BB's eyes.

"I'd say that's obvious?" Angique said and shrugged. Then she pulled harder to bring the toy girl to her knees.

"Is she your slave?" BB went on, now staring wide-eyed at the kneeling girl, her face flushed, her mouth half open. Angique yanked the blond girl's face up, making her gag.

"Tell her, please, Bobbi," she said, smiling. The girl called Bobbi swallowed hard.

"I wish I were, ma'am," she said, rather hoarse. "I really wish I could become her slave girl. But there is still a very long way for me to go." She swallowed again. Then she hid her blushing face behind the black folds of her mistress's skirt. Angique laughed and fondly pressed the girl's head into her thigh.

"Good girl, Bobbi," she whispered. "Well done."

"I'll be a mistress too," BB blurted out. Angique looked up and smiled.

"Of course," she said. The woman's face hardened.

"Do you doubt it?" she said. "Do you think I can't do it?" Angique leaned back, yielding from the sudden aggression.

"Of course you can," she muttered. "I'm sure." She took a sip of her champagne. It had turned luke-warm, so she traded it in for a fresh glass on the tray of the long legged girl just passing by. When she looked back again, BB had gone.

"Strange girls here," Angique murmured to herself. "Nice tits though." And she went looking for a place to sit, away from the throng.

She found a chair in a quiet corner. Her hand rested on the short, white-blond hair of the leashed girl, Bobbi, now kneeling by her feet. She felt the girl's surprisingly strong fingers massage her left calf where it escaped the split in her skirt. She smiled, leaning over and whispering. Then she kicked off her left high-heeled sandal, wriggling the painted toes.

The petite blonde smiled up at her. Her eyes were as pale as a winter's sky. She mouthed a silent thank-you and bent down to bring her face to the naked foot. A narrow tongue darted from between her lips. It touched the big toe, curled around it, making the purple polish sparkle. Then it ran up and down the white-and-purple keyboard of smaller toes, moving like the finger of a virtuoso piano player. Angique absent-mindedly patted the girl's raised ass. The tight cheeks were oiled and naked, separated by a narrow strip of sky-blue thong.

A hush descended on the room when most eyes gradually turned to the licking girl. Angique ignored them. Her head leaned back as she stretched her leg, wriggling her toes. She closed her eyes. A soft moan betrayed how much she enjoyed the tongue and the fondling fingers. Maybe it explained why she didn't hear the woman's voice until it repeated itself. Her lashes fluttered open and her eyes reluctantly focused on the face hovering over her. Its contours were blurred by a glaring chandelier.

A long, bony hand stretched out from the silhouette. She touched it with hers.

"I am Sarah," a coarse, breathless voice said. "Sarah Lust." There was a smile at the centre of the haloed head. Angique pushed the licking girl aside and sat straighter.

"Angique," she answered. "Pleased to meet you."

The woman was dressed in a white wraparound top. It obviously was the only thing to hold her breasts together. The nipples were prominent, as was her cleavage. She didn't stand tall, really, but her long, tight skirt seemed to give her extra length. She had an almost gangly frame with wide, bony shoulders, prominent clavicles and visible hipbones where her skirt hugged them. She also looked pale. Her eyes seemed huge under the bangs of her short blond hair.

"May I take this seat?" she asked, pointing at one of the rickety Barbie chairs right next to Angique. Her voice was soft, even tired. She didn't look well.

Angique nodded, pulling her slave girl out of the way.

"By all means," she said, smiling. "It seems I could use a friendly chat." The woman chuckled.

"Ah," she said. "Our wonderful Vanilla Clan has already made its unique impression on you. You are new here?" Angique sipped from her glass, wetting her lips.

"Well, no," she answered. Her right hand pushed Bobbi's head down to resume her service. "As a matter of fact I have been a regular of this club for years, but I lost touch in recent times, being abroad. In the years I remember, though, this Club had bolder women visiting — with greater wit and better taste." She smiled at the chuckle the blond woman gave her.