TVixen Ep1 Preview

OH MY GOD, VIX, YOU MUST’VE BEEN SO NERVOUS, THOUGH,” Sal said to me, pouring my drink and totally blocking out the hazy English sunshine with her stuck-in-the-eighties-style, big hair.

“I mean, yeah,” I replied, mocking the obvious with my sarcastic tone. “Talk about ‘lamb to the slaughter’, what with you savage lot.”

Sal set down the champagne bottle inside that fancy silver ice bucket and removed her shawl, almost falling out of her skimpy bikini top— way too small for those LOVELY lady lumps. And she caught me staring. I just smiled and waved.

“Come on, this little missy loved every minute of it,” she said, adding a shimmying wiggle for my wandering eyes.

“Of course she did,” agreed Theia. “Why y’all think she still hangs with us?”

“Well, it has been decades since all that. I mean, that was the Eighties.  Time’s moved on.” I tried to show a little British coyness whilst attempting to navigate my drink—umbrellas and whatnots filling the brim, which Sal had ‘hilariously’ stuck in my glass.

“Oh, that’s right, Vix. Like you’re so shy and retiring all of a sudden,” Theia shot back. “And anyways . . .” She lowered her sunglasses, giving out her well-used stern glare, “You saying we got old?”

“As if,” I quickly replied. I was all too aware of Theia’s bite, adding my following response carefully. “Though I’ve got to say, you haven’t even aged a day—none of you have. I mean, what’s with that?”  

“Oh, spells n’ don’t tells,” said Theia. She reverted to her laidback, more friendly poise, settling in her recliner and applying another oily layer of sun lotion over her insanely toned body.

“And don’t forget anti-wrinkle gels,” added Sal with a high-pitched laugh. She sat herself down at the table and tapped her nails on the wood, removing her sunglasses to look me right in the eye. “But it is a great story. You do know I’ve a top publisher who’d sell her soul for that kinda pitch.”   

“Yeah, Vix,” squeaked Felicia, suddenly springing to life from under her sunhat and joining in with the outnumbering. “You’ve totally gotta write it down. And what with all your showbiz shiz you got out of it, your fans‘d freakin’ eat it up . . . dirty secrets n’ all!”

I pondered—though I guess I’d already pondered this whole thing for years. And I suppose I was just so terrified of letting this stuff out there, especially all full-blown and full-on, smack into the public eye.  

I even tried a get-out attempt on Sal.

“But I still can’t help thinking,” I said to her, “I mean, was it actually my fantasy first, or was it yours? It was you, after all, who orchestrated the whole ‘ins and outs’ of that big trip in the first place.”

Cheap innuendo laughter erupted.  

“And you put the whole damn idea in my head in the first place, remember? Besides, Vix, you know it’s totally gotta come from your side of the story.”

“Yeah, Vix” added Felicia once more. “You’re the freakin’ STAR here.”

“Ha, you can talk, Flic,” I shot back—though I’m sure I blushed slightly. Still, I tried hard not to show a reaction to Felicia’s praise (or probable sarcasm). “But talking of ‘dirty secrets,’” I continued to Sal, “I mean seriously, what about that whole part about the . . . y’know?”

“Oh, come on,” she snapped. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna believe any of that. They’ll probably think it’s some freaky-deak metaphor for something more meaningful or something. Don’t worry about any of that shit, okay?”

I looked around at the eager faces fixed onto mine. It was like they were all kind of begging to be fed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it, I’ll write it all down,” I said with abandon—though admittedly, this renewed talk was definitely giving me quite the rush.

“And you’ll release it as a book?” asked Theia.

“Yes!” I said, giving an exaggerated eye-roll.

“And then, Theia,” said Sal with a smirk, “then you’ll be able to read it in the comfort of your own dungeon.”

Theia lazily threw her cocktail stick in Sal’s direction before Felecia sat bolt upright in her recliner—all Eureka-like.

“Oh-Oh, that’s it! So if you do, Vix, you can even add this part in at the beginning… You know, like totally META!” 

I couldn’t help but laugh, especially at her manic, enlightened expression.

“Sure,” I said.

“So it’s sorted then,” added Sal, clinking her glass into mine and throwing a satisfied—albeit smug-like—smile.   

My surrounding girlfriends whooped, raising their champagne glasses and toasting the idea—and pretty much solidifying my mind right there and then: CASE CLOSED (or open, whichever way you look at it).

So yes, I suppose that did it . . .

And with that, here we are.

Oh, I’m Vix, by the way.

Welcome To My World . . .

I WOKE UP TO THE UNDERTONES OF SOME INDIE TRACK playing in my ears, which seemingly went all leftfield, given the additional backing voice screeching in from one side of my headphones and an odd pinging noise from somewhere above.

Disoriented, I opened my bleary eyes. The piercing expression of an air stewardess’s steely glare zoomed into focus.

“Seatbelts!” she barked, pointing to the lit-up pinging sign above. “And I’ve already told you a dozen times not to use that thing on here.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” I said, clicking off my cassette player and attempting to look like I’d forgotten she’d told me at all.

I put on the belt and leaned in my seat to look out the little round window, rubbing my tired eyes to see clearly. There was still just a bluey-grey nothingness to be seen, though now it was somewhat lighter than the last time I’d looked. If it weren’t for the sudden popping sensations in my ears and the droning noise of the engines, it would have been hard to tell we were going down, let alone even moving. 

“This is your captain speaking,” came the cheery announcement over the speakers. “I do hope you’ve all had a pleasant and relaxing flight. We’ll shortly be coming into land at JFK International Airport, so with that, I welcome you all to New York, New York.”

This got a few murmuring cheers, as well as one embarrassing hand clap from the couple behind.

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

 “And remember, folks, it’s a cold, cold day down there. Temperatures are somewhere five below zero, so brace yourselves and wrap up all cosy and warm.”

I smiled to myself—the wicked thought of what ‘wrap up’ wear I’d decided on coming clearly into mind.

After the usual nervous waiting around at the baggage area, I eventually caught sight and grabbed my trusty wheelie suitcase from the carousel. Without a second to lose, I made a swift exit, weaving on out from the marauding passengers to find shelter in the nearest restroom.

Once located and in there, I desperately crammed myself and my case into that tiny cubicle, locking the door behind and catching my breath. Seriously, there was barely enough room even to turn around in, let alone conduct the sneaky makeover of an absolute lifetime. But this would have to do as my total transformation hideout.

I hastily set to work like some femme-fatale undercover agent. All the tools from my shoulder bag were unloaded and neatly arranged to hand, with my box-of-tricks case opened, armed and ready. It was time for my next mission—probably the most important one of all!

[Cue the 1980s montage movie soundtrack . . .]

So, after hanging up my heavy coat over the door, I got myself seated on the throne (lid down) and removed my shoes, socks and jeans. I pulled down the makeshift shirt I’d bunched up to the waist to fully reveal the short, pink n’ black, stripy mini-dress it actually was—slipping the extra-extra bra padding inserts inside—before pulling up the mesh front piece over my chest and up at the neck. Then it was on with the sheer black stockings, rolling them up and hooking them to the garter belt I was already wearing underneath before stepping into my cute, spike-heeled ankle boots, topped with dress-matching, striped legwarmers. I reversed the dull grey coat I’d been wearing, dragging the sleeves inside out and revealing my custom-made, sexy black, faux-fur jacket in all its magnificent glory (genius!)—though in its flattened state, it really needed some backcombing to make it POP! And that just about completed Stage One . . .

I tried hard in attempting to put on my makeup in there, but the terrible lighting and my shitty little compact mirror really weren’t up to the task. So, after blindly applying the basics: foundation, lippy, mascara—the stuff I could pretty much do with my eyes shut—I figured I’d have to veer beyond that cosy little safe space (I bet this never happened to Clerk Kant).

I unlocked the cubicle door, poking out my head to check the surroundings, and gingerly crept out. Coast clear (not counting the little guy mopping the floors in the far corridor—every restroom has one). I approached the brightly lit bathroom mirrors with some trepidation. I mean, I’d rehearsed this ‘look’ repeatedly and with a fair amount of success, but under this pressure, and with the clock ticking down, to mess up now felt it could almost mean Game-Over!

I steadily came into view, half expecting the results of some crazed-looking clown . . . Hmm, not too shabby, I thought. Of course, the hair needed fixing, makeup touching up, and accessories adding, but the groundwork was almost there . . . So yes, armed with my trusty brushes and paints, I went to work on joining the dots: Lip liner, blushers, eyeliner, darks, purples, and pinks. My dark, shaggy, shoulder-length hair definitely needed some major lift, so I gave it some intense backcombing and combinational MEGA-80’s-HOLD (totally ozone-unfriendly) hairspray to fix it up nice n’ high!

Then it was on with my studded neck collar (doggy-style) and a pair of black Ray-Bay shades to complement the cool, Ultra-Style vibes (and hide that petrified stare). And there it was . . .

Transformation COMPLETE!

[Blows kiss to mirror whilst striking a pose (music ends on a high note, and the audience cheers).]

And with yet further trepidation (understatement of the century—my nerves were tying knots tighter than my thong), I ventured out into the United States of the unexplored and unknown . . .

The crowds were gathering and streaming out now, rushing to navigate the corridors with the full force of a herd of buffalo. With every wobbling, high-heeled step, I was really feeling more and more out of my comfort zone.

Come on; you’ve got this, I repeated over to myself, drawing on the will to step away from my formulaic life and stride forth into a brave new world. Shoulders back, Confident strides, and don’t look back!

I pretty much took every reflection opportunity I could, checking myself out in glass windows, shiny walls, and even the mirrored ceiling sections overhead, all in an attempt to modify and improve. That sassy walk technique I’d been practising in the confines of my tiny living room was slowly starting to kick back in. I really began to give it the confident, full-on hip-sway treatment as much as I could muster. And from a few subtle head-turns I was beginning to notice, I think it was all starting to come together nicely. I mean, it was quite the brazen and stylish ‘pop-tart’ look to pull off in the first place, but, what with my rather petite build and lack of looming height, I guess it smoothed out the edginess, balancing the bravado to make it all kind of work.

Yeah, just the right amount of killer look!  

I even had to laugh when some maintenance guy gave quite the daringly obvious up-and-down glance, following it up with a thumbs-up and a smile. Ha, Welcome to New York! I gave it an extra wiggle response as I passed on by, feeling my confidence skyrocket by the somewhat lude gesture (who cares, right?).

So, on eventually getting there, the main entrance was rammed entirely, teeming with people coming and going and generally clambering and jostling to get in and out. Crowds of onlookers gathered at meeting points, and I anxiously scanned the waiting faces and written signs for any familiarity among them. I was so expecting to be caught off guard at any moment with a yell or a wave from my meeting person of interest, but nothing came. And even after going back and forth many times over—each time getting a little more panicked—there was still absolutely no sign. The only thing to catch me off guard was a rush of freezing air sweeping through the open doors to greet my over-exposed getup. And holy shit, was it fucking cold! My ultra-sexy-persona almost broke down in revolt right there and then . . .

NO, dammit. ONWARDS! 

So, I totally braved it out, venturing boldly into the great outdoors—a new Country, a New City, and a New ME! But actually, yes, there I was, feeling half-naked in early-morning freezing fog—a chill factor of sudden death—and feeling pretty much lost and alone . . . And I waited, and I waited . . . and I almost froze my assets off.

Welcome to New York, I repeated to myself again after reading it on a massive billboard—though totally with less enthusiasm in my instantly numbed, chattering head.

After walking up and down those pick-up points, searching amongst taxicabs, coaches, and cars, I began to fear the worst.

What if she’s not coming? What if I’ve been stood up? What if it’s the wrong place? What the hell now?   

In that shaky moment of near abandonment, there came the sudden loud roar of an engine. I shot a startled glance as a black limo car suddenly ploughed directly into view, seemingly coming in from out of nowhere. And it came in at such a speed, heading straight in my direction. I braced myself, tensing up in shock and fear as it screeched to a halt, not a metre away.

I must have looked like some rabbit in the headlights—with a frozen, shocked expression (most fitting with the temperature). 

The window on the driver’s side wound down just an inch or two as a leather-gloved hand pushed out a cardboard sign scrawled in marker pen with the words ‘Seeking Hot Vixen for Super-Fun-Times’.

I mean, Talk about an ice-breaker!

My petrified expression slowly melted away as realisation hit home, gradually replaced by dizzying hilarity and somewhat relief . . . I just burst into fits of laughter right there and then—I couldn’t help it. At the same time, I heard a growing murmur of squeals and some sort of kafuffle coming from inside that big black limo.

“Jeeves, the door. Get the door!” came a high-pitched order from somewhere within.

The driver’s door opened, and a smartly dressed, handsome guy of chauffeur-like quality (very Neuro-Mantics) stepped out to face me. “Morning, ma’am,” he said, giving me a nod—though with an evident smirk breaking through.

The high-pitched demands continued inside, and he turned and attempted to open the back door, tugging at the handle repeatedly.

“No, not that one. That one’s stuck!” the squawking voice said. “Oh, never mind. I’ll do it.”

There came a stomping and a banging as the limo rocked on its wheels before the rear door on the opposite side flew open. Then, from out of there came what I can only describe as a pink and blonde bush of long, wavy hair charging out around the car.

And I guess I just stood there all the while in another bout of shock—my nerves and anxieties half blown away—as the squeals rose so much louder.

“Apologies, ma'am, for the high volumes you may begin to encounter from here on in,” the driver said, adding a playful wink.  

I laughed. “No, it’s fine . . . Yes, we spoke on the phone already . . . I know.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” came those familiar high volumes right on cue as my first for-real glimpse of Sal came flooding into view.

She stood there for a short moment (no doubt to build the drama and gain attention), wearing thigh-high boots and a multi-coloured, figure-hugging sweater dress, all wrapped up in a wavering pink feather boa. And, whilst holding up two flutes of champagne, she launched forward, practically screaming right in my face.

“V-VIX! It is you. Oh my god! I knew it was you! H-E-Y!” I flinched as she almost landed the contents of those drinks all over me, lunging in with a frantic pass to hug it out. “Oh my god, I nearly—Jeeves, make yourself useful and hold onto these. Oh god, VIX!” she squealed again. “I can’t believe you made it here. And god, you must be frozen; I’m so sorry we’re late. But look—just look at you. I’m like, WOW! You look so amazing. I’m just loving all this.”

My brain raced to register and update the last few seconds as she planted big smacking kisses on both cheeks many times over, giving me near-mouthfuls of pink feathers and curly hair.

“So whatcha think?” she asked, taking a step back and twirling her feather boa whilst striking quite the exaggerated, sexy pose. “Meet your expectations?”

My head was in a daze. But yes, I couldn’t help smiling—her infectious sense of fun just filling the cold, foggy air with sudden rays of sunshine. 

I lowered my glasses slightly, looking her up and down. “Perfectly so, Sal,” I said with glee, feeling her warmth radiate.  “You really do—you look amazing!”

And I really meant it. My Red-Cat Sal from New York City finally standing right there in all her gorgeous, curvaceous, technicoloured glory, giving it the full-on stunning vibes right up to eleven—I mean, WOW, just WOW!

She gasped and leapt towards me again. “Wait,” she said, reaching out for my sunglasses. “I wanna see those baby blues.”

And as she removed them—in that split second—I realised I was still kind of using those dark glasses like some sort of safety blanket to hide behind. I felt a tinge of vulnerability in that moment, but she slowly lowered them, greeting me with such a delighted smile.

“Oh my, Vix, you look . . . just GORGEOUS.” She held my shoulders firmly whilst fixing my gaze with intent as her tone switched without warning. “And remember,” she said in warm yet seriously affirmative words, “this is you now. This is the YOU you’ve wanted to be . . . Finally. You’ve arrived, Vix . . . And it’s from now on, y’hear?”

I nodded. The determination welled up inside, and I felt the emotions begin to release. “Thank you, Sal . . . Thank you so much.” I really did kind of croak. My throat felt suddenly dry, and I teared up a little as she enveloped me fully in her curvy curves and towering height, making me feel so warm and accepted.

And really, that hug felt magical . . .

“Ahem, your carriage awaits . . . Madame?” cut in Jeeves, returning back from lugging my case into the boot.

“Yeah, Okay,” scoffed Sal, showing further impatience towards her driver. “Can’t you see— moment here?” She shook her head. “Gosh, you can’t get the staff these days . . . Anyways,” she squealed, reverting back to her high-pitched tones once again and clapping her hands excitedly, “We can’t stand here freezing our asses off . . . So, care to join me in taking a wild ride of discovery?”

I laughed. “I do.” 

And with that, Sal quickly planted a flute of champagne into my hand and whisked me off of my spike-heeled boots.

“Onward Jeeves!” she shrieked, banging the limo's roof. “And step on it, baby . . . There’s much loving to be made.”

WE DROVE AWAY FROM THE AIRPORT AT QUITE A PACE as the limo speedily navigated the winding side roads, taking us onto the main highway. Finally, I was on my way to a destination, an adventure, a lifestyle awakening I could once only imagine in my wildest dreams. I just knew with so much certainty this was about to change my whole way going forward—maybe forever.

“Oh, Wow, this is amazing,” I said, settling back into the warm, comfy seats while watching Sal opposite as she jerkily scrambled about the mini-bar.

“Ha, it’s hardly even begun.” She crouched in to sit back down, returning with a champagne bottle in hand as the car veered sharply over into the fast lane, making her stumble. “Hey, slow it down, Jeeves! God’s sake! You don’t wanna get us killed before we even get there, do you?”

“Yes, ma’am . . . I mean, no, ma’am,” he said, slowing it down only a tad. “My apologies, ma’am.”

She poured me another drink and began to giggle. “You know, I made him put on a British accent just for our high-class English guest . . . Ain’t that right, Steve?”

“You’re darn right it is!” he answered, giving it that classic Texan drawl.

I chuckled as she slumped back down beside me and poured one herself.

“It’s not too early in the day for the bubbly, is it?”

I shook my head mid-sip.

“Anyway, Vix, if you think about it, you’re still on UK time. I make that about eleven, twelvish for you. That’s respectable, right?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, chinking my glass with hers.

She gazed out the window and shrugged. “Well, I was hoping to give you the whole ‘Big Apple, Big City’ touristy ride, but the weather’s so shitty today . . .”

She wasn’t wrong! There was still nothing out there but a freezing blanket of greyness. But the view outside was hardly a concern right there and then. Just the excitement of having Sal so close beside me was enough to make my New York experience as perfect as I wanted it to be.

And my mind drifted there for a moment as to how this all began, of how we first met, and to all those fantasies we’d exchanged along the way. It almost felt so weird to think—after the words and arrangements and all those fantastical, sensual dreams—it began with that one particular incident (a mishap, if you will) of some air-headed stunt going horribly wrong . . .

So yeah, it was back about half a year before, sometime over the summer months, and back in the more ‘normal’ days of my Midlands hometown in the UK . . .

I’d only been in my new, big-city design job for a few weeks, and I guess my enthusiasm was close to flatlining already. I mean, going into that full-time position, I really had it down as my ultimate dream job—designing monthly fashion magazine catalogues and all the juicy art stuff—but it wasn’t exactly the high-end fashion thing I’d had in mind. No, this was more the aged granny big-bloomers and drab knit-wear of yesteryears kind of deal, totally devoid of anything nearing style AT ALL! But, stalling ambitions aside, at least it gave me my very own liveable place: my one-bedroom top-floor apartment flat—albeit a tiny shoe-box of a place. Though it was certainly a far cry from those shared accommodation, shit-hole dumps I’d been living in for years at Uni. So yes, having a place of my own was a massive relief in itself—Freedom at last! 

In that short time living there, I’d managed to get most of my deliveries, transactions, and all the change-of-address crap all pretty much transferred over, but still, the downstairs mailbox always seemed piled high with junk from previous owners. I usually re-directed most of it en-route to work, but a few plain-covered items sort of ‘slipped through the net’ occasionally. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the first one I mistakenly opened was purely by mistake, but . . .

So, I’d been in a mad dash running late one morning and wasn’t really paying attention to much at all. Still somewhat half asleep, I dived into the mailbox, grabbing a handful of whatever was in there, and just ripped open the envelopes—stuffing the contents inside my bag to go through later. I was almost out of the door and off on my merry way when sitting there right at the top—almost mooning right up into my cloudy eyes—was a very ‘exposing’ cover to some subscription magazine for a kinky adult clothing range . . .

Let’s just say I got to work pretty late that day!

And those little magazine/brochure things kept coming in thick and fast. I was getting plied with regular copies almost daily on all those incredible ranges: from fancy lingerie, red-hot bondage gear, sexy dresses, skirts, tees and shoes, going punk style to gothic, fancy to filthy, and with all those super-glam, model-like girls totally owning each outfit with full-on attitude and grace.

I mean, talk about an inspiring stab in the eyes . . . I could totally see all this so-called ‘taboo’ as the potentially stylish and high-end fashion-type stuff I so wanted to be a part of. I just loved it!

So yes, that little devil-inside-me feeling—going way back to god-knows when—was beginning to stir, to re-ignite, wanting out and wanting to play along for REAL this time . . . I so wanted in! I wanted to make and design all those fashions and styles and to make them mine. I wanted to become it—ALL OF IT! And I sure enough knew, this time, I wouldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to. Not this time!

[So, cue that montage music one more time!]

I got to work . . .

Any spare moment I could muster became a full-on ritual: studying those styles and seeking those attitudes to find and catch that fire. I trawled through those pages until my hands were raw, highlighting, sketching, redesigning, and taking notes on anything that came close to the visions formulating in my head.

I began to mix and match my worn-out clothes, adding new high-street finds and accessories: chains, studs, pins, tassels, ribbons and anything that caught my eye. I ripped up shirts and shredded jackets, dipping them in paints and spraying on patterns and lines.

But this only got me so far. I was still missing those main items to stitch it all together . . . And that’s when the parcels started to arrive.

That’s when the fun began!

I’d gone in pretty hard on those magazine orders, racking up that old credit card with a new sense of mischief. I honestly didn’t care! It was like Christmastime and Halloween rolled into one—gifts galore and all for me. In a flurry of posts, there came in sexy dresses, mini-skirts, silky corsets, leather bondage, heels galore, and enough sexy lingerie to kit out a brothel.

I may have overdone it (I’m sure my bank manager would’ve agreed), but again, I didn’t care. I was too ablaze, thrilled by the excitement, and ready to start building, enhancing, and shaping it all into my own creations.

And I got to work some more. . .

I began matching, sowing, sticking, spraying, and whatever else was needed to pile on the extras. Everything just came together. Outfit after sexy outfit matched up perfectly with every modification I added, coming off the production line and straight into my wardrobe. I hung up every completed piece, head to toe and side by side. Soon enough, I had a whole row of killer costumes, iron-man-style: A new adaptive persona for every type of mission, each complete with cute matching foxy ears to give it my own mark.

I couldn’t quite believe how it’d all come together so smoothly, though now was the time to take flight and give it all that full-on proper test run . . .

And so it was, on a warm summer’s Saturday evening, in my tiny, top-floor apartment flat. . .

I’d fully fixed up my shaggy, shoulder-length hair with full-on style and attitude, and my make-up was finally done to somewhat near-satisfaction—even if it did take almost five attempts (we’ll cut that part out in the edit). I was all set and ready for my first outfit creation—with a litre of vodka to hand and Darkwave records playing loudly on a loop to totally set the scene.

Through trials and errors and long moments of struggles—strapping, tying, fastening, cursing—I was almost complete. Fixing on my black and pink foxy ears to finish it off, I approached that full-length mirror nervously, feeling almost sick to the stomach . . . And standing there looking on and looking back, there I was . . .

My little wild heart fluttered.  I gasped loudly. I really couldn’t quite believe it—believe the ‘me’ standing opposite. There I was in that black, lacy corset with pink leopard-print panels, feathery short skirt garnished in ribbons and chains, and those wicked thigh-high boots, giving it the total sexy, gothic/punk Ultra-Style fusion of my very own. It was like seeing myself for the very first time.

THIS WAS ME! I was pretty much in shock and awe, staring on all the while and scanning over every perfect detail. This was the me I’d always wanted to be; the me I’d wanted to be for so damn long . . . And I realised it right there and then, this was the ‘real’ me, the ‘true’ me—‘She’ was here . . . Vix was finally home!

And the more the night went on, the more bedazzled and completely in love with each and every outfit I became. It all looked so incredibly good and fit so unbelievably well. I felt so sure my vision properly matched the direction I so determinedly craved to head into—all the while so blissfully unaware of a crash and a boom just around the corner . . .  

So, I’d almost secured my final, most revealing piece—fastening up the pink bondage leather straps over a black fishnet catsuit before slipping over a punk-style vest barely held up in safety pins. And I’d become almost lost in my efforts to tie up the maze of laces on those block-heeled, neon-pink boots—the same ones I was well aware I hadn’t quite mastered to walk in yet—when I heard the boom of fireworks from somewhere close outside. This was followed by shrieks of laughter, cheers and celebrations.

I soon became distracted by the partying high streets just over the rooftops, buzzing with Saturday-night revellers, as the city beyond came to life.

And in a sense, I’m sure I’d had it in mind that, with a bit of Dutch-courage vodka support and a musical revving up, it’d all give me the strength and courage just to step on out there and stride on down that revelling high-street for all to see. I somehow thought that big decision just to go forth and not give a shit would just magically kick in at some point, like some big-shot ending to some fabulous feel-good movie—me being the leading lady, of course . . . But I soon realised in that moment of reality I was still a million miles from any of that.

I continued gazing out the window at the lights, suddenly feeling frozen in the woes of isolation. Although I’d felt the initial full-on buzz of my new persona's great big strides, I became fully aware that it was all just as far as my tiny, timid little ego would allow me to go . . .

And with that sinking feeling dragging me way back down to earth, that’s when I heard another loud boom. But this time, I was sure it wasn’t coming from outside. I quickly realised that that second boom came from somewhere within the actual building. 

I instinctively shot for the door, peering outside and into the corridor to see. From the apartment flat running directly opposite mine came some kid in a hoodie scrambling out through the darkness of the neighbouring doorway. This brick wall of a kid rounded the corner into the hallway whilst lugging a heavy-looking bag that definitely wasn’t a pizza delivery.

Right around that point, he was almost on top of me, and I was easily within grabbing distance. So, without an inkling of thought for my own safety, I lunged forward, managing to hang securely onto his hood. But, with some hefty brute force (a heck of a lot more than I had) he pretty much just kept on going. I was effortlessly yanked forward a clear metre or two before swinging off in a heap right into the wall. And further, without thinking (what the hell?), I tried to make chase . . . Almost instantly, my balance in those stupidly tall, block-heeled boots just let me down. Within two to three advancing steps, I completely crashed and burned, tumbling over at the ankle and going over at an angle only a supermodel could have survived.

And that’s when I heard the SNAP!

I was left there crumpled in a gnarly heap—revealing outfit and all—clutching at my ankle and trying hard not to scream the whole place down. But, with some actual luck and within just a few seconds, the door opened at the end of the hall, where the old dear living across the way came shuffling in to my rescue.

“Please, just help me to my door,” I begged, not even realising my semi-exposed shame. “I’ll go ring the police. Just please, get me inside.”

Bizarrely, she didn’t even flinch at the sight she must have been witness to. She was in there like a trooper, giving it the full-on Super-gran stronghold before dragging me back inside.  

“It’s all right, dear. I’ve seen worse,” she said when I gestured an apology towards my dress sense, grimacing at the half-wrecked sight in the mirror. She just smiled. “Been there, done that.”  

So, long story short, that mishap led to a very broken ankle.

I could barely move, let alone go in to work. It needed a hell of a lot of healing time before even thinking about donning heels or anything close again. Plus, my workplace was suddenly stressing out over finishing that month’s magazine, with a pretty mad deadline coming up (No rest for the wicked).

The solution appeared only a couple of days after. . .

“Delivery,” came a call from outside my flat door that Monday morning.

I pulled hard at the stringed pulley system I’d managed to rig from my sofa to the hall door. With a number of attempts, it just about worked, unlocking the latch and rendering the door ajar.

“It’s open,” I shouted.

Following that, a mountain of stacked brown boxes came wheeling in on a trolley, as the tech guy from the office—the one I swore lived in the broom cupboard under the office stairs, only coming out to spread the joys of his digital knowhow to any poor unfortunates—strained himself to push inside the gigantic load. 

 “Where’s it going?” he asked, giving his usual vacant stare.

“Over there, maybe?” I pointed out my drawing table in the corner.  

“And where’s the main power source and phone outlet?”

“Same place,” I said.

“Handy Andy,” he gleefully exclaimed, giving it an air punch like it was the best news of his day.

So yes, it took him almost forever to set that whole bloody thing up. I could only sit back with my feet up on my coffee table, watching him struggle (though I did have to listen to that endless, monotonous droning for almost half the day). And he really gave it out in spades. He pretty much reeled off every minuscule flippin’ detail on that growing mountain of a computer, which just got bigger with every additional piece he piled on.

“And there it is,” he said proudly, standing tall beside it like some showroom assistant. “The Kumquat two-zero-zero-zero—State of the art Nineteen-Eighties BIZZ!” He paused, and I’m sure he was waiting for applause. “Y’know, someone must really like you to give you a setup like this.”

I looked on at that huge monstrosity threatening to cave in my poor old desk and gave a not-so-convincing smile. “Yep, they really must . . .” 

“So, this is your main screen area.” He said, powering that sucker up with a loud ‘clunk.’ “It’ll come on soon so you can see.”

Wow, this really was computing for dummies. I was unable to run away, totally at his mercy, as he went on and on.

“This part here shows you all the programs you’ll be needing. They’re already set up and ready to go, so you only need to double-click to launch. I’m guessing you already know—”

“I do,” I called out before he had the chance to explain.

“And then there’s your photo scanner, penholders and a paperclip case.”

Kill me now!  

“While on the other side, you have the fax machine and laser printer, with extra floppy disk ports underneath for when you need to use more than one—”

“What’s that bit down there?” I asked, pointing to a weird-looking box sprouting a telephone receiver on top.

“Oh right, the modem. That’s an interesting one.”

“You mean like in War-Gamers?” I immediately gained a sudden bout of interest. “Is that the thing from the movie War-Gamers?”

His shoulders literally dropped. I guess it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it said. “Well, technically, y-e-s,” he replied, readying a long speech with an intake of breath, “But on the other hand, the actual system can only—”

“Wanna – Play – A – Game?” I interjected, giving it my robot voice.

And right there, you could almost see his corporate chip start to melt. But of course, he did go on, and for another half an hour, in fact. He gave it the king of all deep dives, going way into this ‘inter-web’ thingy and the ‘Great Super-Highway’ speech that totally went over my head. But then there came one particular part which certainly regained my attention. . .

“So, if you can’t actually hack into banks or launch nukes,” I continued, still trying to tease out his cyber-brain, “then what’s the point of even having it?”

“Well, there’s an ever-expanding amount of computer information going in there right now, like some endless living encyclopaedia.” Then he stopped before dejectedly dropping his shoulders once more. “But it’s still early days . . . To be honest, the only reason anyone’s on it at all right now is just to look up porn.”

And THERE IT WAS!

“Aw, thank god for that,” I muttered when he’d finally left, feeling my will to live at an all-time low.

And yes, his words ‘someone must really like you to give you a setup like this’ properly rang true—as I found out shortly after . . .

So, apparently, two of the top designers from the company had quit only days before, and I was the only one at hand to take on that whole bloody work schedule. Thanks to the little demon boss, Miss Polly, with her weird blonde bob and face-covering round dark glasses, I got my un-asked-for promotion as Head Designer (or only one left, to be more accurate).

But all that aside, that little modem box of tricks and its possible technological connections to the outside world suddenly became the main thing on my mind (can you guess why?).

“Okay then, Inter Highway, or whatever you are,” I said, sitting before that great ugly beast of a machine and clicking the links to get into it, “now show me the money shots!”   

Sometime shortly after, I realised I hadn’t really thought it through. After staring at a blank page with its solitary address line and blinking curser-thing, I spent hours randomly typing in dumb commands and rude words. But whatever I tried, it just did nothing. I even attempted going through that billion-page manual provided, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was I was even trying to look for . . .  

I mean, shit, this was the pre-Googley, pre-mainstream and certainly very much the pre-user-friendly webby-net era. I guess this thing, in its totally primitive form, was strictly intended for brainiac cyber-nerds only.

I had to get with the program . . .

And that’s when I remembered something right under my nose I’d seen over and over. Inside all of those kinky catalogues and magazines I’d been rooting through, I’d noticed within all the ads and dirty articles those tiny tags and weird little address lines.

Just maybe . . .

So, I started combing them through, jotting down lines I could actually read in such faded and small type.

“Okay, computer,” I said, tackling that hunk of junk once again. “This time, we’re going to work together!”

With the first address line carefully typed in, I hit the return . . .

After a few worrying crackles and gurgles, the phone line suddenly sprung loudly into life, screeching in noises I’d never heard before. Things finally started to properly happen slowly on the screen, with basic and quite grainy drawings starting to etch out—line by line and bit by bit. Eventually, those random lines stitched together into some bondage-style woman with devil horns holding a stabby, three-pronged fork and a weird-looking four-crescent-moon star behind it. I mean, it really looked like some weird bondage/witchcraft type thing, but it sure looked exciting! Then, right below that—still coming in oh-so-slowly—the main title drew out in some gaudy, gothic font of some ‘deviant-friends-club’ title or something along those lines.

“Interesting,” I said out loud, half catching the gist of what this site-thing was really all about.

So yes, apart from the quite dark and unfriendly first impressions, I soon realised it seemed to be along the lines of some link-up take on the old ‘pen-friends’ hobby type thing—though definitely concentrating on the VERY ‘adult-extreme’ side. And scrolling down and delving in further, I became bombarded with a whole ‘other-world’ of lifestyles and kinks—from bondage fashions and fetishes to roleplaying, sex parties and things going way beyond even that. 

Yes, indeedy, it certainly piqued my interest! 

So, with new-found enthusiasm, I navigated onward to somehow sign myself up.

It all seemed quite the rigorous and way in-depth assignment, throwing out surveys galore and dozens of boxes to tick off along the way. I trawled through kinks, pleasures, experiences, tastes, and some eye-watering activities I’d hardly even considered a ‘thing’. But I blazed through, ticking my entries and giving it as much a full-blown, honest account as I could (fairing no one would ever see it anyway). And, with my sign-in name thought up—giving reference to my newfound foxy-eared fashion fetish—Vix, The Vixen, aka TVIXEN, was activated, signed in, and all on board!  

So, as the weeks flittered by, getting through all those massive, never-ending work tasks while taking forever to heal, my interest in that sexy, forbidden site was properly taking over. I was spending endless hours in there—night after every single night.  

I trawled members’ pages, gathering thoughts and ideas, interacting in chatrooms, and getting overly familiar with a whole load of weird and wonderful lifestyles dominating a near-fantasy world of pleasure. And I totally came to admire the courage of those people—people who were probably condemned in regular society for just living out their lives exactly how they sought to go about it.

I mean, Wow! I certainly could relate to that!  

It all made me realise just how, with my own struggles and setbacks, all those chains I’d put around me were pretty much the same as what others had experienced. But, within those words, there were so many inspiring stories and aspirational people just going out there and not giving a damn. And it totally hooked me in on that mindset to just rip it off and do what I wanted to do . . . (at some point).

But new positive thoughts and feelings aside, the more I trawled and conversed in that place, the more I noticed an almighty buzz around one particular member. I mean, no one else came anywhere close to their absolute fame-like popularity . . .

This was a member calling herself REDCAT541. And Holy-Purr-fection, her paw prints were all over that place!  

There was just so much full-on attention going on within this woman’s wild and incredibly eye-opening and eye-watering lifestyle. With gallery dedications, requesting pleas galore, and some of the most rip-roaring stories ever—all of which I initially took as pure fantasy—she had the whole attention from all of it! And with all those endless messages, in the tens of thousands (quite a massive feat for those early online days), everyone and anyone had connections directly to hers.

I even managed to catch that elusive, fascinating woman on a live chat one particular time—a late-night session, half-asleep and half-drunk. I’d barely even noticed her name popping up in the chatroom, but within seconds, all hell broke loose. I mean, the whole flippin’ place went into meltdown (albeit in a very slow-refresh-rate sort of way). People began streaming in thick n’ fast, messaging pleas and callouts solely and directly at her. This girl really was the absolute star of the show!

I quickly came to recognise she totally had an eye for playing the crowd, lending out support and leading her leash through the fantasies, all with a sense of so much fun! And with the photographs to prove it, it came as an actual surprise to realise her whole shtick was most definitely for real! There were so many of her followers having fulfilled their dreams in more ways than one. From all the weird, wild and wonderful locations she’d been at, this so-called REDCAT541 woman was acting on quite the global scale—having the ultimate licence to thrill!

And so, I guess—along with the rest of the crowd vying for a front-row seat—YES, I too wanted in! I wanted in on whatever it was she could possibly offer, on whatever helping hand she could give . . .

So, with a fast developing and wild yearning strategy in mind, I signed up for the full-on fun and Ultra-Sex games . . .

I pushed all my thoughts and fantasies much further, turning the heat all the way up in my accounts while weaving in ways to fulfil them. I kept my extremities somewhere in line with my true and honest self, adding in hopes and aspirations, desires, and even doubts. Then, within all of that, I created the stories around my wildest ideas. I added photos and outfit designs matching into my hottest scenarios, with each and every one pushing my own timid boundaries to another level entirely.  

Within only a few weeks, I was already gaining mass attention from all corners of that site. There came in a drove of sexy requests—all-comers, new and old—with supporting words and wishes and raving fans in their masses clambering over my fantasies and adventures. Even my outfits were getting all the love and attention I very favourably desired. My inbox was rammed!

It was all so positive and encouraging, and I just cherished all of it with returning words of praise and thanks, making many amazing, weird and wonderful friends along the way . . . But still, I waited . . . 

And then, most of all, within just another short month of seeking that attention, amongst all those dozens of messages coming in every day, I got the one I really desired . . . I got the call from HER . . .  

We’d been travelling in that limo, tearing down the foggy highway, for well into an hour already, and time was whizzing by almost as fast as we’d both been manically chattering.

Sal was giddy to hear more about my life’s journeys and all our back-and-forths from the moment she came across my pages on that very site. And yeah, it felt so weird hearing her perspectives on discovering me, especially as I’d put out so many obvious feelers right in her direction.  

“Oh god, Vix, yeah, I took all those dreamy stories of yours to heart—stored them in my hairspray head,” she said eagerly. “Especially the ones involving the woman who sounded an awful lot like myself.”

I laughed as she dealt her words with a playful nudging elbow to my side. “I know, I know,” I admitted, feeling a definite blush spread over my face, “Okay, so you got me there.”  

She giggled at my coyness. Then she teasingly moved in closer to whisper in my ear. “So . . . you believe dreams can come true?”

Her wicked smile was met with my own—and I’m sure the champagne definitely helped in controlling my sudden flutter of nerves.

We both gave a little chuckle as our eyes locked so much closer together . . .    

“Not far now, ladies,” came Jeeves’ call from upfront.

Sal threw him a scowl, raising her hands in objection. She seemed ready to bite at his interruptions yet became suddenly distracted by the dramatic change of light shining in from all around. And I hadn’t even noticed we’d been travelling through some narrow underground tunnel, only to be coming out at the other end. But within an instant, the light expanded, throwing us into dazzling rays of glorious sunshine.

“Oh my god, it’s a miracle!” came Sal’s excitable screech as we reached ground level.

And her words were totally justified. The fog had dispersed entirely, leaving us momentarily blinded in light.

I screwed my eyes to adjust to the brightness, only to be dazzled even more by the oncoming surrounding views.

“Holy Shit!” I added—my jaw almost literally hitting the floor. We were suddenly right at the centre, coming in all at once to the colossal and whole razzmatazz that New York City had to offer.

And it hit me like a bullet!

The enormous towering buildings rose as far as I could see, and the rush-hour cars jammed together, jostling to pass with sounding horns in every direction. And all the people in their droves on morning commutes lined the pavements to the bustling, never-ending streets with lights and banners and everything everywhere flashing before my wide eyes.

“So, wotcha think, Vix? You like?” Sal asked, seeing my total shock and awe.

I think I just nodded—probably after picking up my jaw.  

“Well, let’s see it properly,” she said, rising to her feet and giving a call. “Jeeves? Do the honours and get this sunroof open!”   

And so we did . . . Journeying the rest of the way, we hung out the top of that limo, attempting to hold onto our champagne glasses whilst whooping and waving, howling at the top of our lungs, as we drove down those wild and crazy streets.

“Hello, New York City!”  

THE WHOLE STREET OF OUR DESTINATION must have been alerted to our noisy, riotous arrival. Our crazy party limo pulled up outside some of the most prestigious-looking apartment buildings I think I’d ever even seen.

“No way?” I said to Sal as I exited the car. I just tranced out, staring on in total disbelief. “This?!”

She simply shrugged.

 “Your bags, Miss Red?” asked a bell boy, appearing from out of nowhere at the limo’s side.

“That’s right,” said Sal with a grin. “Just my best friend’s case, if you will.” 

And picking up my jaw once again, it suddenly hit me . . . I mean, apart from all the sexy-talk interactions, explicit adventure exchanges, and full-on phone chats we’d had, I realised I still barely even knew the first thing about this wonderfully wild woman.

Sal dramatically rewrapped her pink feather boa and donned a pair of oversized, Hollywood-style sunglasses to her star-studded look before linking arms with mine. “Onwards, into the light,” she ordered, strutting forth and dragging me along at a supermodel’s pace.

The main entrance doors were held open with all the pomp and pomposity of a royal arrival—the smartly dressed doorman welcoming us through to the shiny, ever-so-fancy, marble-covered reception area. Staff from every nook and cranny gathered, acknowledging ‘Super-Star’ Sal with calls, waves, and further welcomes.

“Morning, Miss Red,” began to ring in my ears after hearing it from all directions. I mean, talk about high class—this seemed the highest.

“We’ll be fine from here,” Sal said to the bellboy once we’d reached the elevator.

He rolled in my case, giving out a bow, before shuffling away backwards.

Sal stifled a giggle, and I looked at her suspiciously. “So, did you get them all to do that, or is that how they always greet you?”

She shrugged, giving away a tiny grin. “Oh . . . maybe just a little.”

I’m sure it was about the fortieth or fiftieth floor (somewhere thereabouts) when we arrived at our destination. Whichever it was, it came as a massive, high-flying shock!

The elevator doors opened onto a vast cityscape view—and a very, very high-up one at that! Those floor-to-ceiling huge glass windows looked out onto a jaw-dropping, insanely open, sprawling metropolis below.

I guess I just wasn’t prepared for it.

Sal just laughed at seeing me literally cling to the side walls as we exited into the corridor. 

“Oh, come on, Spider-babe,” she teased, retaking my arm and dragging my wobbling legs onwards. “Just swing it over this way. Come on, you’ll be fine.” 

Luckily, her front door was only a short walk away. On inserting her key, she stopped and turned, giving out a warm smile.

“So welcome, Vix, to our humble abode. I think you’re going to enjoy your little stay here.”

 I stepped inside, and my jaw dropped once again (too many to count now). I mean, maybe I was all out of superlatives by that point, but I was pretty much lost for words on entering that purely dream-style palace. And like a moth to a flame, I just dropped my case in the hallway, diving right into the whole brightness beyond.

“Oh wow, oh wow,” I repeated in gasping exhales, gazing around in circles at all the finery. And from those plush white carpets, winding couches, marble stone tables, and designer paintings paving the walls, I just repeated those words over and over.

“Okay, come back down, space-girl,” said Sal, trying to catch my attention. 

“I know, but . . . this place,” I squealed—sounding somewhat like Sal herself. “It’s just so . . .” My attention wandered again over those black and white abstract paintings, with morphing, intertwining bodies so gorgeously hand-painted, before I froze once more at those insanely panoramic views so open and so high, with the sun blazing in through the apartment’s large expansive windows. “Would you just look at that,” I squealed again. 

“Oh . . . not so scared of the heights anymore?”

I laughed, patting my heart. “Okay, so I’m almost getting there.”

“Here, see?” Sal opened the sliding glass doors to the far side, leading onto a balcony outside. “Come on, it’s pretty spacious. Don’t worry; you don’t have to hang yourself over the edge or anything.”

I cautiously followed, taking a few timid steps outside.

“Oh shit, it’s still so cold,” I said, shuddering as a breezy rush of freezing cold air caught my breath once again.

“Cigarette?” she asked, offering an open pack. “Calm your nerves, yeah?”

I smiled back, though I must have looked like some frozen wild animal right then, what with the wind blowing out my hair.

“Come on, Vix, you’ve got this.” She lit one up and offered it over. “You’ve got all this, I can tell.” 

I accepted, taking the longest drag possible. “Oooh,” I sighed, coming down a few feet. “I think I needed that.”

Sal put a hand on my shoulder, drawing me in close, and rested her head next to mine. “Look, I know what a big step this is for you. I know it’s a little scary—and I’m not just talkin’ coming out here on this balcony. But yeah, you’re gonna love it, I promise you. Just deep breaths, okay? I’m with you all the way.”

And yes, I guess she read it right. I mean, aside from the wonderment and giddiness and the whole everything-around-me, I suppose I really was still skipping a beat with nerves for this massive step venture. Again, this was way outside my comfort zone, but I just knew from the heart it was precisely where I very much needed to be.

“You know,” she said, taking another drag and exhaling. “I’ve gotta come out here every time I wanna do this. Michael hates these things. He’d rather me freeze my ass off out here than—”

“Course, yes, Michael,” I said, realising I’d almost forgotten about Sal’s husband. “Isn’t he—?”

“Oh, he’s got business and stuff over in somewhere. I think he said Jersey way. I told him he’d better be back in time, wherever it is.”

I may have shown signs of feeling a little apprehensive about meeting. I mean, it’d turned out I hadn’t known as much backstory to Sal’s life as I’d thought, and I knew even less about her husband.  

“Oh, don’t worry, Vix, he’s a pussy-cat,” she said, instantly reading my thoughts.  “And besides, he absolutely cannot wait to see you. He’s seen your pictures, and I’ve told him . . . well, stuff.”

I smiled through chattering teeth.

She gave a Laugh. “Yeah, it gets pretty chilly-willy, right? Come on. This is a filthy habit anyway.”

I swiftly followed back into the warmth. Sal guided me through the kitchen area and towards a cosy TV room off to the side of the main open lounge. 

“Oh wow,” I said, seeing an almost identical model of that huge Kumquat computer stacked up in the corner. “So this is where the dreams are made.”

“Yeah . . . Hideous, ain’t it. And that thing’s totally out of bounds for the week, of course. The fans’ll just have to wait their turn. Only my special guest gets to come first.”  

 I smirked at the obvious.

“So yeah, relax and put your feet up,” she said. “It’s been a long trip. I’ll go rustle something to eat, and I’m sure you’ll be needing a coffee right now.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Thanks, Sal. That’d be amazing.”

I began to unload my case while she clattered around the kitchen. 

“Oh, and there’s a nice vanity table in there,” she called. “You can put all your bits n’ things in . . . and the room adjacent—you’ll see it— it’s a walk-in closet. Feel free to hang up whatever . . . It’s pretty empty. Make it yours.”

She came in shortly after as I was just finishing up hanging my collection of outfits, offering a much-needed mug of hot coffee.

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m seeing these for real,” she said, running her hands over the materials and making a beeline for my customised lingerie items. “You’ve sure got talent . . . And yeah, can’t wait to see them . . . up closer.”

I caught the apparent tones and playful glint in her eyes and couldn’t help but snicker.

“Oh yeah, and ‘case you wanna freshen up,” she continued, casually moving on, “there’s a shower room right over there.”

I showed my relief. “You’re not kidding, Sal. I really do.”

“Great, well, I’ll go rustle something up. You kick back, do your thing, and I’ll be ready when you are . . . madam.” She left with a curtsy and her signature squeaking laugh—making me do the same.

After one of the most glorious showers I think I’d ever had—especially after spending all those endless hours travelling—I dried myself off and slipped into one of the cosy-warm towelling bathrobes hung over a heated rail. I used the dryer on the wall to restore my hair to some sort of style again and applied a little basic makeup look (I didn’t want to go out there totally naked).  

“There’s bathrobes hung up on the—”

“Already there,” I said, opening the door and catching Sal mid-sentence.

“Ah, good timing,” she said. She busily set out some plates on a small table opposite a gorgeously comfy-looking white sofa. “Right, so yours is the bagels, bacon, and scrambled eggs. . .” She stopped, seeing my expression. “And I’m suddenly guessing . . . you’re vegetarian, right?”

“Yeah . . . Sorry.”

“And that’s why I made a second plate . . . Bagels, cream cheese, and all the trimmings . . . I’ll take that one. I’ve tried going veggie, but I guess I really can’t help loving my meat.”

As corny as it sounded, I couldn’t help but laugh along—her love for innuendo becoming a staple diet the more I got to know her.

So, for a good while, we just sat and ate and chatted a whole lot more. It was just so nice to totally and utterly unwind next to my no-longer, long-distance friend over some daytime TV, sinking deep into that comfy sofa and getting so relaxed . . . And I’m guessing at some point during that time, I must have gotten a little too relaxed, dozing off entirely for god-knows how long . . .

When I finally awoke—wondering where the hell I was for a disoriented minute—I noticed Sal had disappeared from the room, with just the TV playing out some trashy talk show to itself.

“Shit,” I cursed, realising the coffee cup I’d somehow still been holding had spilt onto my once-perfectly-white bathrobe. “God, you can’t take me any—” But, on attempting to lean forward and place my cup back onto the table, I noticed something feeling oddly different. And, on further shifting my weight to stretch out my leg from the cramped, folded position I’d been sleeping in, again, that ‘something’ down below really wasn’t feeling quite right . . . I reluctantly loosened the towelling belt of my robe, unfolding the front, before lifting slightly to cautiously check it out . . . down there, down right between my legs . . . at something weirdly shiny.

“What the—?” I uttered out loud.

And there it was . . . my not-so-secret little secret (the thing maybe I’ve forgotten to mention), all wrapped and bound and totally secured in what I can only describe as a shiny metal and all-concealing COCK-CAGE.  

“How?”

And it’s kind of weird that this was the very first thought crossing my now-very-alert mind. I mean, it wasn’t ‘what’ or ‘why’ or ‘Oh my god, is she trying to kill me?’ but yeah, ‘HOW.’

I even took a strenuous closer look, giving that shiny thing down there a further inspection. I could certainly tell it’d been perfectly locked in—a metal ring fitted snugly around my balls and tight over the base, all connected securely to an achingly short and all-encasing metal cage, padlocked in to make doubly sure of no escape.

Again, I muttered out loud, “How? How the hell did she do that?”

[And, of course, Sal knew all about my little secret right from the get-go. I mean, apart from it all written down in my online journals, we’d discussed everything together at length—my hopes, my dreams and overcoming all my fears to achieve my aspirations. She’d been the supportive rock all the way.  Hell, she was the one to send me the golden ticket to fly on over to celebrate the act of taking it further.

And, of course, she was more than ready to take it a lot further.]

So yes, in that crazy moment of realising and discovering that extra attachment, I suppose it almost felt like she now held that secret all to herself—locked in and perfectly sealed. I began to beam a broad, growing smile before properly chuckling out loud to myself. . . I mean, yes, I couldn’t quite believe it, but I suppose, in a sense, I absolutely loved it!

Once again, I attempted to place my cup onto the table—realising again just how snug and constricting that thing really was—when I spotted the second piece of the puzzle: A note right there in front . . .

It simply read:

TO MY DARLING VIX . . .

BE READY AND DON’T BE LATE,

REMEMBER ‘KUMQUAT’ JUST TO BE SAFE,

FOLLOW THE DOOR OVER TO YOUR RIGHT,

CONTINUE DOWN INTO THE LIGHT.

AND WAIT THERE, ON THE BED,

 LOVE U, UR MISTRESS, RED!

Wow, just Wow! The game was ON. It truly was!

In a mixture of overwhelming giddiness and nerves, I felt a rush of heat flushing into my cheeks, noticing my reddening face in the mirror opposite.

Oh shit. How long have I been out? I asked myself, reading again her words of ‘don’t be late.’ Oh shit, shit. No time to waste!

I made a mad dash for the walk-in closet, trailing off the robe en-route while quickly piecing together the desired outfit in my head. Within moments, I was strictly on top of things—my neatness paying off. In quite a scramble of grabbing and matching, I laid out my outfit all perfectly ready for action . . .

First on was a black and pink thong, making sure to secure things in at the front—taking into account that all-new, extra addition. I then rolled on my stockings—sheer black holdups on first, doubled with loose fishnets over those—and then strapped on a glossy pink, extra-extra padded bra, with a loose-fit, peek-a-boob, black fishnet vest over that. I slipped into a matching satin and lace frilly miniskirt before finally unloading a barrage of extra accessories—leather cuffs, studded collar, bangles, belts, chains, and, not forgetting, my pink and fluffy, foxy-eared hairband. Nice!

I then raced back into the TV room, crashing myself down at the vanity table, and dug out my overflowing makeup bag of tricks. With record timing and perfect precision, I went to town on fixing that Ultra-Style look once again.

Just as I thought I was pretty much done, I realised. “Shit, my tail!”

I mean, what’s a foxy Vixen to do without a tail?

I shot back inside the closet, rummaging through my case until I found it: my pink, striped, fluffy foxtail—with the silver plug base for that extra-secure insertion fit.

And yes, it certainly took a little extra silky ‘securing’ to make it fit!

So, with some last-minute adjustments and a little posing, adjusting some more, and a few side-on glances to be absolutely sure, I was off to the races . . . 

And breathe.

I headed on through that magical, mystery door to the right as instructed . . .

CONTINUE READING BY JOINING MY PATREON . . .

COME JOIN THE CUB!