Shipwreck SF: The Devil Wears Prada

Julia Wilde
Apr 23 · 5 min read

The Clackers

Andy was busy tweeting “tfw choker necklaces make a comeback and you feel old as shit.” when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She heard the distant sound. Repetitive, rhythmic, hypnotic, CLACK CLACK CLACK. Andy didn’t know her name, but she knew the sound of her Valentino shoes on the marble lobby floor. Andy tried to convince herself how dumb, how shallow this blonde “Clacker” was. Clackers followed Miranda around like lovesick puppies. It was disgusting. The Clacker turned, raised her eyebrow at Andy and entered into Miranda’s office without knocking. Andy gasped. Who would have that kind of gall? She shook with awe. … or caffeine.

Andy’s curiosity could not be contained. Rushing to the door, she caught it just before it shut to peep in.

The Clacker removed her Burberry trenchcoat, revealing a grey sweatshirt! A basic bitch sweatshirt! Andy squinted to make out the design on the front, it looked like the outline of two overlapping scissors. How weird for such a fashionable woman to wear a sweatshirt? Before Andy could look again, she heard a familiar sound approaching. CLACK CLACK CLACK. Shit. Another Clacker. This one’s distinctive hairstyle separated her from the rest. Split almost down the middle, one side jet black, the other white as snow.

Miranda’s quiet, sharp voice pierced the silence. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Andy didn’t know if it was directed at her or the Clacker, so Andy and the Clacker entered the office together.

“Nice hair Miranda. I wonder though, does the carpet matched those perfectly coiffed drapes?” The Clacker hissed as she removed her spotted coat and set down her large duffle bag.

“Shut the door please behind you, Jillian.” Miranda said icily.

Andy glanced at the Clacker in the tacky sweatshirt.

“Yes I have a name, I’m aware you refer to me and Ms. deVil as… what was it?”

“Ah, Clackers,” Ms. deVil laughed.

“Excuse me? Clackers? I have a PHD in astrophysics from Harvard.,” Jillian huffed.

“ Fine.. DOCTOR Clacker, what are you doing here?” Andy retorted.

“I couldn’t relate to the stars, but I could relate to how people feel when they find the perfect dress”. Jillian explained.

“Are you saying dresses are more important than our place in the universe?’ Andy sneered back.

Jillian whipped around and glared at Andy.

To stop the fight Miranda cut in with, “We are the center of the universe. Everyone wants to be us. Why as women do we find the need to compete and tear each other down? It’s a man’s world, it’s hard enough as it is fighting the patriarchy, why don’t we support each other?”

“Yeah, fuck the patriarchy,” Andy agreed.

“Yeah fuck me,” agreed Jillian.

“Well that is what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

Andy turned to Ms. deVil in shock.

“You see Andy,” Ms. deVil explained, “Miranda may be a top in the boardroom, but she is most certainly a bottom in the bedroom. And that’s where we come in.”

Jillian chimed in, “Why do you think we wear these heels? Just because they look good and make us feel powerful? Oh no, those heels that you so condescendingly refer to as “clacking” are actually quite good at fucking”.

Andy looked closer at Jillian’s heel and realized the scrolling pattern looked rather phallic.

“You are welcome to join us. Jillian, fetch the lubricant. Cruella, suit up” Miranda barked.

Like that moment when you realize the word SEX is spelled out in the Lion King, it dawned on Andy. The legs on all the chairs looked like dicks. The curve of the back of couches looked more yonic. Miranda’s office… was a sex dungeon.

Andy finally understood the awe she felt around the head of Runway Magazine. It wasn’t that she wanted to BE Miranda Priestly, she wanted to be ON her.

Andy turned to watch The Clackers. Jillian was removing her sweatshirt. Cruella was putting on what seemed to be a full body suit; white covered in black dots. She reached deep into her duffel bag and pulled out something else made out of the same material. She placed it over her head. It was mask with ears that looked like…

“A dog, yes, Ms. deVil enjoys dressing up like a Dalmatian,” Jillian explained while stripping down into nothing but Rodeo boxer briefs and a Calvin Klein sports bra.

Andy’s wetness grew at the sight of the two of them. They looked like a kinky version of Lady and the Tramp. Jillian sensed her shiver and went to her. She breathed softly into Andy’s ear and ran a light fingertip down her arm. “Dr. Clacker will see you now”, Jillian said with a wink as she attached the phallic heel to her boxers.

And with that their mouths were on each other. Hungry and fierce. Jillian tasted of peppermint. Out of the corner of her eye, Andy saw the Dalmatian preparing to mount Miranda. She heard Miranda sigh, “By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.”

Jillian felt her way up Andy’s cerulean sweater. As she reached under Andy’s bra, she whispered “is this okay?” Andy eagerly nodded as Jillian’s cold fingers circled her nipples. In a flash Andy whipped off her sweater and shirt. Andy was briefly distracted by Miranda’s cry of “YES I WANT IT DOGGY STYLE”. But she grabbed Jillian’s hips and pulled her close. She felt the hard heel press against her pelvis.

Jillian led Andy to a couch and slid her skirt to the floor. “Is this okay?”

“Yes , yes!” Andy enthusiastically consented.

Jillian’s fingers swirled around Andy’s untrimmed lady garden and made their way towards her vortex. She fingered her fiercely until Andy was right on the edge of cumming. With a sly smile she licked Andy’s lady juice off of her fingers and said, “I like a woman in heels, but I REALLY like my heels in a woman”.

Jillian reached for Miranda’s bottle of Chanel Number 69. She took the couture lube and covered the gold plated dildo in the glittery goo. Andy guided the gilded member inside of her. CLACK CLACK CLACK. Instead of coming from heels on marble, the rhythmic sound came from furniture rocking in time with their love-making. With every thrust Andy felt a wave of appreciation of fashion wash over her. She understood why she had misjudged an entire industry. She realized how her socialization had tricked her into thinking that anything deemed feminine was frivolous. She realized with every moan that feminine was fabulous… was powerful… was… her mind became blank as she cried out in ecstasy as she climaxed again and again and again and again. Under the heel of Jillian’s Valentino dildo, all the limp dicks she’d ever fucked became Crocs. She literally had the patriarchal nonsense fucked out of her.

Hours later, Jillian and Andy collapsed in a pile of radiant love for women and basked in the glow of really great lady sex.

Andy woke to the CLACK CLACK CLACK of Ms deVil slinking away. Miranda followed her, but she paused in the doorway and said, “You’re a Clacker, Andy. Find the shoes for it. That’s all.”

Written by

actor/writer/host. Writing about science, LGBT, mental health or cats

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