Kiosk - Fantasy Female (page 5)

Fantasy Female: The Real Life of Victoria King
(continued)

The Clinic, Victoria’s medical room, is 0n the front, left-hand side of the house. From the doorway you can see a rolling tray table with syringes, scissors, pokers, and prodders, placed neatly on a blue sterile sheet of paper. The tray is about two feet away from a patient’s chair, equipped with shiny metal stirrups and leather upholstery. Above the chair hangs a large ceiling lamp with an intense glare. “Again, in this room it can be a very soft, teasing type of a session where there’s no pain involved at all, or it can go the other way,” Victoria explains.

She launches into a description of the things that go on in The Clinic. Victoria points to two small machines on the bottom shelf of the rolling table. “These are for the purposes of dermatology,” she explains as she lifts up one of the machine’s appendages, “but of course we come up with all kinds of uses for them!” Oddly enough, of all the things in the room, this piece of machinery looks the most sexual, the extension more like a large dildo than a tool for skin rejuvenation. She stands in front of the patient’s chair-from-hell and takes a seat. She looks up at the light hanging above her and remarks: “I can tie their testicles to that lamp for instance… with just a little bit of tension so that it’s pulling— again it’s just mostly to scare.”

Of all the explanations Victoria gives for why her work is less about the sexual and more about relaxation—however difficult it is to believe— the best comparison she makes is between the feeling her clients come away with and the experience of a visit to the dentist. “You know when you’re at a dentist’s office and you’re sitting there for hours and you find yourself clenching your fist— and then you get out of the dentist’s office and you’re exhausted! You always want to take a nap! It’s the same thing, and mentally it’s their release.”

When asked about the contact she has with the genitalia of her clients, Victoria states her policy bluntly. “I handle their testicles. I don’t handle their penises— I just feel that that’s really obvious so I don’t really touch it. If it’s in the way I might”—and here Victoria makes a swatting motion with her hand, cutting through the air sharply.

“In this room as I also do surgeries,” says Victoria as she looks the room over with an appraising glance. “It’s like a mock surgery, but I do have the suture material. That suture going over the top skin feels nothing more than if you took a straight pin and then put it through your dead skin. You feel a little prick at first and then it’s over.” For a period of time Victoria actually worked as a nurse, which she makes mention of on her website, along with the fact that she has been a runway model. It seems likely that this information turns on her clients all the more. Mistress Victoria is a real, naughty nurse.

She walks over to a large standing cabinet. “Mummification goes on here. I have all of this ACE wrap, but it’s really special wrap. That’s just part of bondage— that would require a two or three-hour session. I have people who want to be wrapped up, immobilized, and then left for hours. I’ve had people come in and just want to be put in the closet, and I’ll secure them in there and leave. Some girls do actual casting… extremities, casting the legs, castings the arms. That takes a lot of time.”

With the attitude of a teenage girl showing off her latest shopping acquisition, Victoria opens up the closet next to the clinic’s door; inside are her costumes. “Rubber dresses, your basic nurse dresses… classical white ‘starch nurse,’ or ‘leather nurse.’ I have a lot of lab coats if they want streetwear underneath the lab coat. Some of these dresses are from England, Old England type. I’ve got PVC… if they have a boot fetish, they can make a request.” Victoria spends a while describing her latest purchase: a pair of custom-tailored leather thigh-high boots made by a boot specialist in France. “I would wear… underwear, stockings, with a garter, and then just the boots with a bra and top,” describes Victoria, “or I could wear even— if someone’s really got a leather fetish— I would be in complete leather. Sometimes they want the white, crisp, nurse’s [dress] with this; good nurse, bad nurse.”

Slave Rubbish is bound and gagged, blindfolded, kneeling prone on the vanity bench in his room at the Surf and Sand, and his boxers have just been filled with the ice delivered minutes before he arrived by the hotel’s room service. The ice was meant for the Mistress’s cocktails, but it has been put to better use. She laughs as she pats his saggy boxers, now soaked with frigid water and weighed down with the ice. The man’s underwear has the appearance of soiled diapers.

Mistress Victoria moves to the bed and picks up the electric handheld bug zapper. She hasn’t used this tool in a domination session before, so she tests it lightly on her forearm before using it on her “sub.” Satisfied that the sensation only ranks as uncomfortable and not excruciatingly painful, Mistress Victoria moves over to Slave Rubbish.

“Your ass is really cold. I know it is,” Mistress Victoria giggles as she pats the lump of ice cubes in Slave Rubbish’s boxers, “but I brought something very special for you. Now here’s the trick— see the little red light? That means it’s powered on,” Mistress Victoria explains, knowing full well he can’t see. She admires the bug zapper. “I wonder if it’s more painful when it’s wet.”

She stands to his side facing away from him, throws one leg over his torso, and sits on top of him. Mistress Victoria turns on the bug zapper and gives Rubbish a swat. In the darkened room, sparks fly off the man’s bare backside as the zapper makes contact with his skin. As the light show plays on his buttocks, Rubbish lets out a muffled yelp. With quick bucking motions, he sends Mistress Victoria inches off his back and then down again like a mechanical bull rider. Mistress Victoria, giddy from the experience of the first jolt into the air, lets out a peal of giggles and begins to swat at Slave Rubbish with increasing frequency. “Hey!” Mistress Victoria exclaims, trying with great difficulty to keep from exploding into a fit of laughter, “I’m starting to smell some skin!” Indeed, the room is filling with the musky odor of burnt hair. Finally, the hilarity of the situation becomes too much for Mistress Victoria and she throws back her head, laughing uncontrollably. “Woo hoo! Ride ‘em, cowboy!”

(continued on page 6 )