My
back slammed against the wall as his hand tightened
around my throat. My prom dress hung in black tatters
around my trembling body as he pressed his full weight
against me, holding me firm. "You're going to put out
for me tonight, aren't you, bitch?"
It was a hot evening and I was flushed
not only from the temperature but also from excitement.
I nodded and spoke the only word that would come to
me: "Yes." I repeated the word, feeling him press closer,
filled with desire for me. I gasped the word again and
again. Because I wanted to say it.
Earlier in the evening we had stood
in the lobby, holding hands and gazing awkwardly and
adoringly at one another in classic "prom picture" fashion
while a cheerful collared slave snapped digital photos
of us. Then we had cuddled and cooed over one another,
holding hands and making pleasant small-talk as we promenaded
down the long central hall of Ascension (www.Ascension-Dungeon.net),
showing off the daring dress I had purchased years before
for the senior prom I had never attended. The flowing
lines of the flared chiffon skirt and the spider-weblike
lace over the plunging satin bodice were fragile, delicate,
and doomed.
We passed a nude woman screaming in
delight as hot red wax was poured over her exposed flesh
and continued walking toward the large meeting room
at the end of the hall.
"As
I continue to redefine and redesign myself,
I find new power in old symbols."
Once there, we stood close, surrounded
by other couples, each lost in their own dramatic moments.
Wrapped in one another's arms and lost in one another's
eyes, we spoke softly and occasionally glanced at those
around us. Then the Keeper of the Darklady leaned his
handsome head forward and asked, "Are you ready?"
After my nod, he gripped a weakened
panel in the back of my dress and pulled until the resisting
satin and lace fabrics gave way loudly. The force knocked
me temporarily off balance, a combination of his strong
hands and the shifting web of fabric keeping me upright.
Then began an intense dance of passion and destruction
as he tore away the increasingly tattered garment like
wrapping paper concealing a coveted prize, until I was
panting before him, my dress hanging in strings and
strips from my shoulders and hips.
To further honor the academic significance
of my transforming and transformational attire, my Keeper
directed me into a small room containing two student
desks and a chalkboard. Once there, he directed me to
lie across one of the desks and then administered a
mild caning to my ass and the backs of my legs. When
satisfied with his work, he pushed me to my knees where,
surrounded by a pool of black fabric and with his fingers
firmly entwined in my hair, I serviced him through the
unzipped folds of his black pleated trousers. Shortly
thereafter, I found my back against the wall while I
was asked the eternal prom-night question. Would that
all dates were so honest and so mutually consensual.
As I continue to redefine and redesign
myself, I find new power in old symbols. Clothing, perhaps
especially for women, often represents important stages
and rites of passage in our lives. I am no longer the
pre-Goth-era girl who originally purchased and wore
the antique black satin and lace "Elvira"-style prom
dress. Today I can choose not only whether or not to
eschew the pastel colors of conventional fashion but
also of conventional thinking, living and loving. I
am free to create my own meaningful rituals, honestly
identify the things that have value to me and remain
true to them while following my path of responsible
self-discovery.