Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,17

tip of her heeled hip boots to the short bustier dress that leaves little to the imagination. Complete with black leather elbow gloves.

“Noo,” she replies with a laugh, “I’m ‘O’ from the ‘Story of O’.”

“Oh,” I say cracking a smile. “Well, that’s certainly a classic alright. So, you didn’t tell me the theme was classic erotica literature.”

“Well, it isn’t specifically, but like I told you already, a lot of people from Sanctuary will be there. These parties are epic. Invitation only. It cost me two hundred bucks for the two of us. You can pay me later.”

“Oh, damn. I didn’t know it was a pay to play gig. But you know, I’m only going to watch – research purposes.”

She rolls her eyes, “You still gotta pay. Here’s your ticket,” she says, handing me a printed ticket with today’s date on it.

“Let me get your money,” I say, going over to my desk.

“Later,” she says, “Where the hell would I put it in this getup. Anyway we got to hurry. My car is parked in a Tow Away Zone.”

The party is nothing like I expected despite the fact I knew beforehand club members would be there. As soon as we enter the house, our tickets are taken by a bouncer type who’s dressed as the grim reaper. The smell of weed permeates through the rooms and it’s so damn pungent I’m pretty sure I’ll be enjoying a contact high.

All of the furniture has been moved against the walls in both the living room and large dining room. The house is huge, but nothing to speak of as far as furnishings go. It’s an old two-story, which needs some serious cleaning and repair. All the floors are wooden, and creak with age as the people inside mull about in clusters.

“I’m going to mingle just for a few,” Shelby says, “Be back in a few.” She takes off in the direction of what I can only guess is a den right off of the living room. I watch as she passes through the arched doorway, where the air is thick with smoke curling from pipes and bongs.

I shrug and make my way through the main room, and head over to a group of four people, standing in a cluster; all of them have their gazes locked on me. One man is dressed as a The Marquis de Sade, another as Peter Pan. Those characters are easy to identify, but the woman standing with them is wearing a flamboyant and feathery owl mask. It covers most of her upper face and head, but I can see wisps of flaming red hair along her neckline. Her tight ivory satin dress has a deep U-neckline, exposing both of her ample breasts. There are shiny silver clamps attached to each of her nipples. I look quickly back up to her face as her ruby red lips part in a mocking smile.

“I see we have a ‘Lost Girl’, here,” she says in a throaty whisper.

“Oh no, I’m not lost, I’m just . . . mingling,” I reply with a smile.

This brings laughter from all except the short, petite woman standing next to the Owl Woman. She’s wearing a black velvet mask that covers most of her face. There are slits for her eyes, nose and mouth, but nothing else. She appears to be dressed as some medieval Roman slave from the looks of the white belted tunic and loincloth. She has leather straps wrapped criss-cross from her wrists to her elbows. I notice her upper arms show healed scars, as if she’s been whipped in the past. I shiver.

Owl Lady speaks up, “I’m Owletta and we didn’t mean to laugh, but we naturally assumed your costume was Alice from the 3-part novel, Lost Girls. Well you must know it, the characters from Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland and Wizard of Oz?”

I’m clueless. “No, can’t say that I do.”

“Oh well Alice, you must read it! It’s the erotic version of those classics and very well done I must say.”

“I can’t deny that,” the deep voice of Peter Pan growls as he gazes over at me beneath his eye mask. “Looks like we’re from the same book, babe. Maybe we can re-play some of the scenes,” he suggests.

I ignore his remark and turn to the petite girl and smile, “And who might you be?” I ask.

There is silence and I wonder if part of whatever character she’s dressed as, is supposed to remain silent.

Owletta speaks up on her behalf. “This