Angie & Ella's First Novel :: Sliptongue Magazine

Excerpt from Chapter VI, Miss Whippie, of the first Angie & Ella Epistolary Novel

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by Robert Scott Leyse

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Angie to Ella
Sent: Friday, June 27, 2003 9:41 PM

Yes, Heavenly Ella: on account of the unforeseen happenings of Wednesday (Our lunch hour that became - what? - nearly four hours, and then got way out of control in the reenjoyment-via-recollection department - our lovely emailsies! - and leapt far into the night!) and the shoddy state of affairs at the firm yesterday, your sweet girlfriend (C'est moi!) being shamefully reported for having enjoyed herself in an office, not to mention the flurry of activity surrounding the [____] deal that obliged me to pull an all-nighter into this-morninger (But what fun the deal making session was in its own right, especially the hilarious conference call during which the opposition was crawling; and Rikert sitting there pleased as punch, grinning and pumping his fists; and very appreciative of his "team," especially his indiscretional second year who did, indeed, kill herself going over the financials again and again; so appreciative of yours truly, in fact, that he said to me: "We couldn't have done this without you!"; plus mentioned my "high level of performance and gutsiness and resourcefulness"! Yes, sweet vindication! And more: experiencing so many sharp emotional contrasts in such a short period of time and emerging from them smiling is what living's truly about!)...

Is it obvious I'm still plenty giddy? Bouncing off the walls I am, both on account of the mood-swirl of the past two days and the fact I've had the energization of nearly seven hours sleep because I got to come home soon as the deal was done. (After all, today supposedly is a holiday!) What I've been attempting to say is that, on account our Wednesday adventures and the persecution of me and craziness of the [____] deal, your Miss Whippie date has been delayed by two nights. But the yummier in the anticipation, right? And, believe it Honey, I'm yummily anticipating the moment when your immaculate posterior's presented to me with the understanding I'm to proceed to punish you for being the pampered princess you are! Freshly emerged from the shower, I am: my skin's aglisten; a pink towel's wrapped about my head; I'm sipping spring water and nibbling on raspberries; I feel so pristine – religiously pure! I'm further savoring the anticipation by sharing these special moments with you; after I send you this loving missive I'll retrieve Miss Whippie from her pretty carmine box in the closet and uncoil her and anoint her with oil – yes, uncoil and oil her with a smile on my lips and love in my heart while seated naked on the fluffy white carpet of my pink and white bedroom. And then I'll place Miss Whippie on my bed and dress for you.

What to wear? Neck to toe leather with steel studs galore? A lot of rubber? Some sort of mask? Right! – like you'd ever believe this girl would stoop to wearing clownish nonsense simply because she's going to reintroduce you to the flip side of a life of ease and luxury, add some physical stress to your sheltered existence! And, hell, why not rant a bit? (I mean, a girl's got to rant now and then, doesn't she? And does a girl ever know when the impulse to rant will seize her? This girl certainly doesn't!)

So, to be rantish:

What is it with women who insist on wearing tacky comic book dominatrix crap? What's with the stupid ass high boots and shoulder high gloves and breath-hindering masks (that smear makeup something awful!) and chains? I mean, chains? Please! Think I'm going to wind chains around my waist and over my shoulders and clink clank about like some oafish carpenter loaded down with tools? And as for getups of leather and rubber: the stuff's just plain uncomfortable and constraining! One emerges from leather and rubber feeling stiff and cramped! And does leather and rubber breathe? No! It smothers, has every suffocating pore of one's skin gasping for fresh air! If you ask me, the truly masochistic one in a dominatrix's dungeon is the dominatrix herself! After all, she's the one who's about as graceful as a robot, on account of being imprisoned in movement-inhibiting armour! I mean, do dominatrixes ever look at themselves in the mirror? How can they without feeling like they've been swindled? I say those so-called dominatrixes are slaves who've allowed men to sucker them into putting on that ungainly stuff and looking like fools!

Those ridiculous dominatrix women haven't a clue about getting the upper hand and maintaining their dignity! I say the only acceptable Miss Whippie clothing is girly stuff that floats on one's body as softly as the breeze! Yes, when I'm facing down my dearest Ella or anyone else I do it in frilly nighties or in silky summer dresses or with diaphanous scarves wrapped about my throat and waist! I doll myself up like an innocent dolly, a blushing little girl! Fluffy on the outside, steely on the inside! I think the contrast between my sweet appearance and merciless behavior makes for more consternation on the part of my (ha ha!) victims, and I know I'm right! (As when I was crawling on hands and knees towards prostrate Clarence that time, clenching Miss Whippie between my teeth, and glaring at him like I wanted him dead… He was scared in earnest, no doubt about it – glancing nervously towards the door, contemplating flight while far too afraid to risk infuriating me further by actually attempting it! And I say there isn't a single dominatrix outfit wearing female on the face of the earth who'd be able to make a man as scared as I made Clarence! And I was, mind you, only wearing a flimsy nightie and furry slippers! And should any dominatrix twit wish to get annoyed at my mockery of her silly costumes… Just let her try something! I'll rip her eyes out with my immaculately manicured nails!)

It's obvious those dominatrix morons dress in faux intimidation fashion because they're wimps at heart and need to compensate! They need a bunch of laughable "Cruel Mistress" props to conceal the fact they're pusillanimous prisses! They put on fake scowls and enact an icy manner to conceal how fundamentally ordinary they are!

No, Dearest, you're not going to catch your darling Angie indulging in some low self-esteem compensation crap by climbing into a dominatrix outfit! For tonight's Miss Whippie session I'm going to dress as sunny-Sunday-picnic-in-the-park! First, matching brassiere and panties with lacy edges. Color? The white of whipped cream, driven snow, lily petals, dove wings! Plus white stockings; and everything, of course, in butter soft silk. After all, the idea's to lash your delectable globes purple: I'm certainly not going to blemish myself! I'm going to pamper my skin, be a perfect picture of gossamer softness! What else? Hmmmm… Oh, right: the white polka-dotted gray skirt - knee high, pleated - from Sak's, that swishes so nicely when I walk! And my hair curled, partially ponytailed with a pink ribbon! And gray open-toed pumps! Clear nail and toe polish! Pale pink lipstick! Yes, an outfit to go to Mass in; or to meet a boyfriend's uptight parents in; or to gain admittance to a strict co-op in; or to go to a Daughters of the Revolution ("Are you Mayflower, Madge?") fundraiser in! Yes, a sweet little conservative girl costume that makes me look naive and nice!

Yes, that's what I'm going to wear for you, Ella - my blood quickens at the thought of your arrival: myself looking the sweetest little girl while opening my door for you, gigglingly guiding you to the bedroom and inquiring as to how your day went and offering you some fruit, and... Ha, then I'll take up Miss Whippie and grasp you firmly and twist you 'round and push you down 'til you're face down on the mattress and rip your dress off and lash you raw!

But I don't want to live our encounter in advance: I only want to anticipate it, and the two aren't the same thing! Who knows how things'll transpire? That's the beauty of it, Sweetest – I never know! When you begin to gasp and whine and cry as the wounds appear, I get so overwhelmed with love… Disciplining you's such a responsibility! It's such love rising from within me, threatening to choke me and fling me listless onto the floor! It's such being inundated to fainting with the wellsprings of life!

OK, Honeypie Dollface – Love of my Life! I need to dress now – prepare for holy communion! I said I'll be dressed in clothes befitting a good little girl at Mass… Well, it's Mass we'll be experiencing together – surrender to the mysteries of prayer and love! Ain't it always so?

Bye, Sweetest! See you soon in my silky white, gray, and pink cutiepie best!

Your,

FeistyFloggerInFluffClothes

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