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Authors: Candace Smith

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Tombstone

BOOK: Tombstone
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Tombstone

by Candace Smith

 

Copyright 2011 Candace Smith

Published by Strict Publishing International

 

 

DEDICATION

To Dan and Amy for their long term support and friendship.

 

 

PRELUDE

 

The yellowed plaster was rough against Suzanne’s shoulders.
 
She was tall, almost six feet without her stilettos, and the changing area behind the thick curtain was uncomfortably confining.

In its entirety, the dressing room was the size of a large closet.
 
It had been painted a faded yellow that was dulled by more than a decade of nicotine coating the walls.
 
Small brown droplets of the toxin clung to the ceiling from wise guys’ cigars; reminiscent, sad dirty tears from when the building originally opened as a comedy club.

When Stevie Bouchard’s political bribes were in place, he transformed the failing lounge into a club that offered more than watered down drinks from the bar and an occasional laugh.
 
The added smoke debris from years of cigarettes, overflowing in ashtrays and floating stale clouds of smoke around the small dressing rooms while the voluptuous young women struggled in and out of their fetish club costumes, had layered a new generation of the poisonous stench onto the surfaces.

To balance her efforts, Susanne leaned her naked body against the dingy wall, pushing her feet through the small vinyl openings of the bodysuit and tugging and stretching the outfit up her legs.
 
The light dusting of talcum on her skin only eased her efforts slightly, and Susanne felt as though she was pulling a tight rubber band up her shapely body.
 
“Fuck.”

“Are you all right, mom?”

“I’m fine, Jerald.”
 
She had not realized her gasp was audible, and she peeked over the drape.
 
Susanne leaned against the wall again and stared at the stained, heavy, red curtain hanging less than two feet in front of her.
 
It had been her choice to take the room in the back, even though it was the smallest.
 
It kept Jerald sequestered from the rooms in the front, and chances were less that he would get an eyeful of something a six year old had no business seeing.

She and Gertie had been promoted off the floor in the front of the club and moved to the lucrative back room business, trading their gold costumes that covered all but eyes and mouths for the colorful uniforms with cutouts exposing breasts, pussies, and bottoms.
 
They had talked about painting the dressing room, but three years later the old faded yellow paint still clung to the plaster.
 
Stevie told her that the dressing rooms had originally been painted yellow for the comedians, because it was supposed to be a ‘happy’ color.
 
Susanne glanced at the grimy wall behind her.
 
Yeah, Stevie.
 
It’s fuckin’ hilarious.

Tips pointed down, her bountiful heavy breasts swayed with her efforts to tug the red latex up her long legs.
 
Supple tanned thighs, head turning appendages when she wore short cut-offs, were Suzanne’s current enemy.
 
She pushed the soft flesh into the restrictive leggings, and then she stood and bounced her ass into the open seat of the garment.
 
“Fuck,” she gasped again.

“What, momma?”

Suzanne turned and looked over the curtain, resting a hand on the bowed thin metal rod.
 
“Nothing, Jerald.”
 
Her little boy sat a few feet away, distracted and driving a small car around the vanity tabletop, and carefully avoiding the hairbrush and makeup strewn haphazardly across the surface.
 
She smiled and turned back to her laborious chore.
 
Jerald… Susanne had convinced herself that he was the reason she continued to work at the fetish club and forced her body into the torturous outfit five nights a week.

It’s better than working for some fuckin’ pimp on the streets.
 
Fingers digging under the waistband, Suzanne pulled, leaned forward, and fed her arms into the sleeves.
 
She smoothed the latex up her arms, sliding it up until her hands finally extended through the ends.
 
God, this is a pain in the ass.

One breast had conveniently centered on the cutout, and she shifted her other nipple through the opening on the other side.
 
Her breasts popped halfway through the accesses and the vinyl circled her flesh in a slick grip.
 
Susanne pushed the top against her chest wall while her fingertips reached under the edge to coax her breasts the rest of the way out.

She continued bending forward while she ran a finger under and around the openings to unfold any wrinkles.
 
The holes were purposely tight, thrusting her breasts forward and squeezing them at the base.
 
She knew any wrinkle left in the suit would become excruciating within minutes after she was frozen in position for her four-hour shift.
 
Susanne straightened slowly, smoothing and checking the edges of the crotch access.
 
The openings cut into the soft skin of her shaved pussy, and she winced.
 
The bared pale bags of her labia protruded like small udders between her legs.

Clipping the latch of the zipper puller onto the tab at the back of her waist, she inhaled to make more room in the outfit and raised her arms over her head.
 
Susanne gripped the end of the rod and steadily yanked until the zipper raised.
 
In that stretched position, the latex cut into her pussy, and she quickly unhooked the rod and hung it back on the wall.
 
Her fingers jerked the suit down and she wiggled her butt, barely easing the squeeze on the exposed lips.

Suzanne knew that Gertie was struggling to fit into her red costume, too.
 
Soon, they would have to size up and request the green latex, and then they would be demoted to room three.
 
It had been a year since she had worn the blue for room one.
 
While she slid on five-inch red stilettos, her eyes glanced at the reverse reflection of the clock.
 
Fuck, three minutes.

Susanne sighed and picked up the rubber mask.
 
This was the worst part of the costume and she saved it for last.
 
Even after five years, the smothering sensation caused her to panic.
 
It was a brief flash of terror, but she detested the loss of control.
 
A quick look at Jerald renewed her commitment, and she sucked in a breath and lowered the confining cover over her head.
 
Her hands searched frantically for her ponytail, urging the mass of bleached blonde hair through the hole on top.
 
Suzanne’s lungs were burning, and even though she could breathe if she wanted to, she hated the stifling smell of the plastic as it molded to her head.
 
The neckline met the shoulders of the costume, and Susanne straightened the eye, nose, and mouth openings.

She stared into the mirror, smoothing out errant wrinkles and turning sideways to admire her slender rubber coated figure.
 
There was no denying what the costume represented.
 
The men who came into the club were interested in sex with non-identity women displaying only the parts of their anatomy that were necessary to perpetrate their sexual fantasies.
 
She had given up trying to understand their kinky obsession.

There was no particular common trait in the men.
 
They ranged from young to old, and wealthy to just getting by.
 
While some got off on the complete control of positioning the silent women, others just seemed terrified to have to deal with a woman who could respond to them.
 
The fetish club was called ‘The Mannequin Closet’, and the covered figures were relieved from both talking to customers or any movement of their own.
 
Suzanne shrugged at her reflection.
 
What the fuck does it matter, as long as they pay?

Jerald was dressed in his current favorite cartoon tee shirt and shorts, and the heat in the small dressing room made his thighs stick to the vinyl covered chair.
 
He fidgeted, lifting his leg and trying to prolong the moment when his skin would peel free from the seat.
 
He thought this tingly, slowly pulling feeling must be how his mom felt when she finished work and was finally able to remove her shiny costume.

Swinging his legs, Jerald pretended to be intensely focused on his mission to drive his car around the obstacles.
 
A dark voyeuristic nudging in a naughty back room of his mind kept his eyes cautiously raising to the cracked mirror over the vanity to watch his mom moving behind the curtain while she struggled to pull on her outfit.
 
Jerald had vague memories from a few years ago, when his mom worked out front and he had seen her in the reflective golden costume.
 
Jerald thought she was beautiful, strutting around the club in her shiny rubber suit.
 
Her blonde hair swished when she walked, and Jerald watched in awe as she sashayed effortlessly on her spiky pointed shoes.
 
In her latex costume, momma had transformed into his super-hero.

When she and Aunt Gertie had been promoted to the back rooms, for some reason Jerald was not allowed to see her new uniform.
 
He
had
seen it once though, and he remembered the brief glimpse much better than the many times he had seen her in the first outfits she had worn.
 
Even though his mom assured him she had been promoted, Jerald still scowled at Stevie for making his mom wear a ripped costume.
 
His mom was important, and Stevie should have gotten her one without holes in it.

Gertie finished her shift and walked the dark passageway back to the dressing rooms.
 
She took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling briefly at Jerald as she pulled off her mask and reached for a pack of cigarettes lying on the vanity.
 
After she lit one, she held the match in front of Jerald and let him blow out the flame.
 
“Thanks, kid.”
 
She winked and ruffled her fingers through his hair.
 
Gertie looked over his shoulder and she frowned at her face in the mirror, brushing her shoulder length red curls out of the way and smoothing thin lined crow’s feet by the corner of one eye with her fingertips.

Smiling lines
, Jerald remembered, though Aunt Gertie did not seem too happy when she studied them.

She used two fingers on either side of her jaw to push up skin under her chin.
 
Her eyes dropped to her robe and her fingertip ran along the red rubber ridge cutting into her neck.
 
Why in hell didn’t he tell me earlier?
 
We could have worn the green tonight.
 
“Hey, Susanne?
 
Stevie has dropped us to room three,” she called out.

Susanne peered over the curtain.
 
“Three?”

“Sorry.
 
He moved Annie and Vivian to the back and I didn’t have a chance to get back here and leave you a note.”
 
Gertie closed her eyes, waiting for Susanne’s outburst.

“Dammit.”
 
Jerald heard his mom slam her hand against the wall.
 
Susanne mentally deducted three hundred dollars a week from her earnings.
 
“That bastard told me I’d have two, at least through the holidays.”

Gertie knew that Susanne would be disappointed, and she blew smoke across the room, watching it curl.
 
“He’s got a
bunch
of happy campers.
 
Jenny sure as hell wasn’t thrilled about being pulled from room one, and Paula threw a fit about being passed over and kept on the floor.”

“Shit, Gertie, I’ve got one foot in the ally and the other in a coffin,” Susanne muttered.
 
She disregarded the fact that her friend suffered the same demotion.

“Come on, Susanne.
 
At least we’ll be able to breathe in the green latex.
 
You and I are the only pros, and Stevie knows he’d be cutting off his nuts if he got rid of us.”

“That didn’t stop him from tossing Marcia or Cici,” Susanne reminded her.
 
A few seconds later, she walked out from the dressing area wrapped in her robe and wearing a smile.

Gertie relaxed.
 
After four hours working in the less lucrative room three while anticipating Susanne’s reaction, at least she would not have to put up with another of her friend’s long tirades.
 
It was obvious that Susanne had already forgotten the two women she had known for years.
 
Marcia and Cici now had both feet in the ally, and they would probably never see them again.
 
Susanne preferred to ignore the unpleasant realities of their profession.

Susanne smiled down at her son.
 
He had been an unexpected ‘bump’ in her life, but she had always adored him with fierce possessiveness.
 
Jerald was hers, and he would never leave her like so many other people had.
 
She lifted Jerald’s chin with two red lacquered nails.
 
They shared the same clear blue eyes, though her hair was bleached blonde and his was wavy and dark.
 
“You behave for Aunt Gertie, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
 
Susanne leaned over and kissed his forehead.

Just before she walked out the door, Jerald jumped off the chair, ran up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
 
His innocent blue eyes looked up at her.
 
“Hey, mom?
 
Stevie should have kept you in two.”

“Thanks, Jerald.”
 
She knelt down and smiled, despite the agonizing cut of the costume into her crotch.
 
“What day do you suppose tomorrow is?”

BOOK: Tombstone
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