Free Afternoons of a Woman of Leisure (9781101623565) by Elizabeth Bennett Page A

buttocks and descending a few inches down her thighs, barely hiding her crotch. “What do I wear underneath?” Joanna asks, but Clarissa only smiles.
    She puts on boots, black leather, which lace up to her ankles and have high, spiky heels. Joanna, wobbly at first, takes a few steps around the bathroom to steady herself. Clarissa changes into a white silk slip, tight across her large breasts. Joanna watches as she steps into white underpants, also silk, and gently eases it over her scarred and bruised ass. Clarissa remains barefoot, but before she leaves the bathroom, she fastens a thin black band, made of some unidentifiable metal, to her wrist. Then, to Joanna’s surprise, Clarissa hands her an identical band and tells her to put it on. “You’ll keep this,” Clarissa says. “Wear it whenever you’re going to meet a client. It’s a way for him to recognize you.”
    Joanna puts it on and admires it. The metal is cool against her skin, and shiny. “Let’s go,” Clarissa says.
    They walk back through the apartment to the large living room. Clarissa lights tall candles in brass candle holders scattered around the room and they flicker warmly, picking up the glow of the small fire. At a bar in the corner, she takes out crystal glasses and places them on a silver tray, nine glasses.
    â€œNine clients will be coming,” Clarissa says, opening a bottle of scotch and pouring generously into each glass, then adding ice. “You stand at the door and give them their drinks. They know where to put their coats, and whatever else they bring, so you don’t have to worry about that. Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to, don’t look anyone in the eye. When all nine are here, lock the front door and come into the living room. If anyone needs more to drink, it’s here,” she says, indicating the bar.
    â€œWhere will you be?” Joanna asks.
    â€œCome,” Clarissa says. She has finished with the tray and now beckons for Joanna to follow. “In here,” she says, opening the door she had indicated earlier.
    They pass through it into a small room. Clarissa lights candles here, too, and Joanna can see that the walls are bare, stone colored. A series of chains hang from them in pairs, dangling manacles. In the center of the room there is a low platform, covered with some leathery material, black and shiny. At each corner of the platform, a wooden post rises, each with its own manacled chain attached. Looking at it, Joanna’s heart begins to pound longingly. She suspects that Clarissa will be the one to be stretched here, and she wishes it were her, instead.
    â€œYou’ll have to fasten me,” Clarissa is saying. She walks quickly around the room, plumping the chairs and couches which line three of the walls. A table is pushed against the fourth wall, near the dangled chains, and here she pauses, picking up a roll of black tape from an array of objects: whips and phalluses and fat tubes of lubricant. “Any more questions?” She smiles, ripping off a short section. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
    Joanna swallows, watching her. “Clarissa,” she says, “do you enjoy being whipped?”
    Clarissa looks at Joanna for a long moment before she speaks. “Yes,” she says finally, expressionless.
    She walks to the wall and faces it, expectantly. Joanna lifts her wrists and fastens them into the manacles. Clarissa’s feet are then fastened to chains on the floor, a short distance out into the room so that she is spread, slightly, and forced to lean against the wall. “The tape,” she says calmly, and Joanna fastens it across her mouth. As she does, they both hear the first knock at the door.
    â€œYou okay?” Joanna whispers. Clarissa nods. “Okay then,” she says, backing away. “See you in a bit.” She turns and leaves the room, closing its door behind her, then takes